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onepiecereactions · 3 years ago

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Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration, OS

Smoker, Tashigi, Garp, Kizaru OS.

Humour.

Warning vulgarity.

2100 words.

English Version

Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration

Smoker hated coming backfrom a mission. Don't get me wrong, he loves his job! But two things annoyed him the most about these moments.

On the one hand, that meant not going on the sea for at least a few weeks. Indeed, Marineford had established a complex system of turnover of vice-admirals so, with some exceptions, at least 3 vice admirals are always present on the base in case of necessity.

The feeling of freedom, feeling the air on his face, not being locked, that was what made Smoker happy deep inside him. That and the feeling of having helped the citizens and brought some justice back to this damn world, obviously.

On the other hand, returning to base meant a horrible administrative mountain. And just thinking about it, headaches were already migrating through the vice-admiral's head. Luckily, Tashigi was always ready to help him and do some of his duties to let him rest.

So it was with a heavy heart that Smoker set foot on the base for the first time after months of mission. While Tashigi was already rushing into his office with the firm intention of working all night to do her report on time, Smoker was walking mechanically to his private apartments. He threw his dirty jacket on the floor, took a long, hot shower, and get into his bed, already cursing tomorrow's hellish day.

The next morning the vice-admiral woke up in a bad mood. He grabbed his jacket that he had left on the soaked bathroom floor and sighed: it was ruined. As resistant as the clothes made by Marineford are, staying intact when you get cannonballs in your back is complicated. And Smoker, unlike many of the women on the base, hated walking around topless.

So his first resolution of the day was to go find a new jacket. And of course, he was going to ask Tashigi to do it for him. At first, as a man of integrity, Smoker was remorseful about leaving so many of his tasks to his colleague, even if the latter was doing wonderfully. But after several years in Marineford, honestly, now he didn't care.

So he grabbed his den den mushis and called the brunette. After several seconds of waiting, Tashigi did not pick up. Smoker worried, it was very unusual for the young woman who had a reputation for answering even when she was asleep.

He then quickly took two cigars from his desk, threw his dead jacket over his back, and walked quickly to his office.

Misfortune never happening alone, of course, on the way he passed Admiral Kizaru. The latter joined him in his race to his office and took the opportunity to discuss. The Yellow Admiral had the reputation of loving to talk, much to the misfortune of Smoker who loved calm above all else.

"Oh, tell me dear friend, are the holes in the jacket a new fashion? I know that I am no longer very young but still, I don’t understant. Is it to provide a ventilation system? Don't tell me you have a fever my dear friend? Do you want me to call the dear caregivers of the "

Kizaru didn't even have time to finish his monologue when he got the door of Smoker's office in the face. The latter had already crushed his cigars to refrain from hitting the high-ranking officer in the face.

Once he was sure he heard the yellow monkey leave, he got into the chair across from his desk and reached into the second drawer to extract two new cigars.

After a few seconds of enjoying the smoke reaching his lungs, Smoker grabbed the stationary den den mushi of his desk and, as he went to call Tashigi, a note stuck to the back of his device intrigued him.

"Even though I warned you last night, that I sent you an official mail 48 hours before and that I slipped a note under the door of your apartment, I want to remind you, just in case, that I am absent that day until 7:30 p.m. All the captains have a meeting. I wish you a very nice day. Captain TASHIGI. "

Oh shit. For a little Smoker could have cried. It was certainly one of the worst announcements he could receive. No Tashigi. No Tashigi for a whole day! One more day after a mission! All the calls and assignments she receives today will go straight back to him, her boss! In addition to her work he was going to have to do his own! With holes in his jacket.

Smoker decided to go on strike. The schedule for that day was already far too scary to be able to live it. A thousand times he would have preferred to fight against Monkey D Luffy rather than going through it.

He then decided he would do what was necessary. He got up quickly from his seat, crashed out of his office and almost ran towards Building C. It was barely nine in the morning but the Vice Admiral thought he was fainting when he saw the huge queue in front of the door. . Obviously, it was Monday, and those morons in the administrative sector never worked weekends.

He then did like everyone else, walked over to the door to grab a numbered ticket, sat down on one of the few free seats and waited.

To his left was an ordinary soldier, without a shirt and pants, just his underwear. Smoker could smell a familiar scent of magma. Akainu had made his own again during the training of his subordinates.

Smoker looked at his ticket, number 38 and sighed. As he was about to improvise a nap while waiting his turn, his portable den den mushis rang.

"Vice-Admiral Smoker, I'm listening. » He said wearily.

The soldier at the other end of the line looked surprised to find the Vice Admiral and not the Captain. “Captain Tashigi is in a meeting, her calls are being redirected to me. If it's not urgent hang up ". Without further ado, the soldier hung up to the vice-admiral's delight.

1 hour later.

"I swear in front of Gol D Roger that if that damn den den mushi rings one more time I will blow his head against the wall." Grumbled the marine for the third time in a minute.

After an hour of waiting and 15 calls, the Vice Admiral was finally called into the room.

He almost tore his jacket from his back, put it violently on the desk while trying to keep his nerves and glared at the woman in front of him who remained unmoved.

"Vice Admiral Smoker, registration number XXXX, I need a new model 3 series AB size 98 jacket with option 13". Smoker had been clear, to the point, and hardly angry.

The woman, who was well into her fiftieth, looked at him indifferently.

“It doesn't work like that, vice-admiral. She said in a weary voice, as if she was talking to the first moron in the area.

Smoker struggled not to crush his cigars again but revised himself to think it would be difficult to face this without cigars.

"So how do you do in this case?" He asked sharply.

The woman didn't even bother to answer him, she just gave him a form. Smoker thought it was a big joke when he found himself with a five-page double-sided document in his hands.

" Are you kinding me ? Five fucking pages for a fucking jacket? Can't you just write 22 fucking words on a fucking post it note and talk about it? Bellowed the Vice Admiral who was already starting to turn to smoke in annoyance.

"Blblblbl, blblblbl, blbllb" The den den mushi began to ring, straining Smoker's last strength to stay calm.

" It's not my fault ". The woman began in a slow, boring voice.

Blblblbl, blbllblb, blbllb

"If you are too stupid"

Blblblb, blblbl, blbllb

"To complete a simple form"

Blblbllbbl, blblbl

"That even Kizaru gets to"

Blblbl, SCRATCH.

The vice-admiral's den den mushi flew across the room, finishing its course into the wall.

To the slow voice of the woman was added the tears of the den den mushi.

"FUCK OF," Smoker yelled as he stormed out of the room to make sure his fist didn't end up in the woman's face. He went out like a madman and locked himself in his office to try to find calm and serenity.

He grabbed a third cigar and after about ten minutes of relaxation began to fill out the damn form. He was only halfway through when the door to his office slammed open, knocking out the lustrous wood that had already received quite a few knocks.

"Ah my dear friend, I went to the infirmary and got you some medicine to lower your temperature. But beware, this is a suppository! ".

Smoker felt his heart stop beating when he saw the yellow admiral's face in front of his nose.

Blblblb, blbllb

"Oh my dear friend I think someone is trying to reach you on your stationary den den mushi. "

Blblblb, blbllb

"Maybe you should answer, maybe it's urgent, don't you think? "

Blblblbl, blbllb

Smoker had a vision. The den den mushi stuck, smeared with haki, right in the middle of the admiral's face, his nose bleeding.

It took phenomenal self-control for the vice-admiral not to reproduce his impulses. For the second time, he chooses to escape.

He took a pen with him to finish filling out the damn file that had become completely unreadable so much he had massacred it.

He found himself in front of the lingerie door, walked past all the soldiers and walked into the office. He barely had time to put a foot inside when he felt a stapler cross his face with its smoke.

"I DON'T THINK I CALLED YOUR NUMBER!" Yelled the woman who had "briefed" him earlier.

Smoker crushed the doorknob but stayed calm. He turned around, took a ticket from the machine, and sat down in the only seat available: the one next to Vice-Admiral Garp. "

Smoker sighed and prayed to all the gods that this old fool would leave him in peace.

So he settled down next to him and inspected him discreetly. He then realized that the old man's uniform was impeccably worn if the traces of grease were omitted from his shirt from all the donuts he had. But the Marineford hero wasn’t wearing socks.

"Don't ask questions kid." The grandfather simply told him when he met Smoker's gaze.

"Hey Smoker, I heard you're after my grandson. Did you know that when he was young he used to have fun sticking his finger up his nose to eat his boogers? Except that this stupid pirate, as he is elastic, he always ended up bleeding from the nose. Suddenly he would start screaming and running in all directions. Most of the time he would smash into a tree or a wall and fall apart, by the time the bleeding ended. Did you also know he got clean very late? I had to buy him pyjamas with an opening pocket on the buttocks because he never managed to undo his buttons and ended up pooping on himself? Ah and also the time when ”.

Smoker wanted to: die.

Blblblb, blbllbl

A mirage ? a hallucination?

"Vice-Admiral Garp, I'm listening. Ah hi Sengoku, how are you? A fishing trip? Now ? Ah I'm coming. By the way, don't you have pairs of socks to lend me? »And so the Vice Admiral disappeared through the maze of hallways, much to Smoker's delight.

It took no less than forty-five additional minutes of waiting for Smoker to finally put the damn file in the damn good drawer which, by chance again, was in building A and, as it happened, no administrative soldier was available to take the paper which he therefore had to deposit himself.

The same day, at 10 p.m.

"A call for you Vice Admiral Smoker." The bartender handed the den den mushi to the vice-admiral, who took a last sip of sake before answering.

"Good evening Vice-Admiral, I hope you had a good day! » Tashigi began. "I was wondering why you weren't answering den den mushi... I received an official document for you. It involves a fine for "disrespecting an administrative colleague" as well as a two-week ban from returning to the lingerie office. Is everything okay ”.

"I STILL PREFER TO WALK NAKED THAN TO RETURN TO THIS OFFICE".

#one piece #vice admiral smoker #monkey d garp #tashigi #Kizaru

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spicyvampire · 3 years ago

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Thank you @rashfcrd and @armstry for tagging me

1. why did you choose your url? I used to eat a lot of spicy chips in high school particularly jalapenos ones (almost everyday, so much money wasted smh), I honeslty I’m not sure where the demon part of it came from but I think it’s because downworlders in Shadowhunters (2016-2019) are half demons and I’m love Magnus Bane a lot

2. any sideblogs? Yes, @sidespicy, at first all my original content were supposed to be created and posted on that but tumblr flagged it at some point in the purge back in the days and nothing I did ever worked to get it unflagged so I use it as an archive and ordering tool

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

4. do you have a queue tag? Nah, I’m lazy

5. why did you start your blog in the first place? Probably cuz I don’t have anyone irl to talk to about the 150+ shows and 2000+ movies that I watch

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp? It’s the love of my life Bitchy Bunn, before that it was Magnus Bane for like 4 or 5 years

7. why did you choose your header? I don’t really like having headers so I got none rn

8. what‘s your post with the most notes? It’s probably a meme and I don’t really keep track of those so idk

9. how many mutuals do you have? That too idk, maybe 20-30?

10. how many followers do you have? Too many, but we all know most of them are gay armpit fetishists pornbots

11. how many people do you follow? 638

12. have you ever made a shitpost? Is there any post I make on this website that isn’t kinda a shitpost

13. how often do you use tumblr each day? I only am not on Tumblr when I’m asleep

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? Not that I can remember, I’m an only child so I avoid conflict

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this‘ posts? Don’t care much about them, I learned young that you have to be your own audience and compliment yourself on things u made so I’m really a self reblog kinda person, I won’t guilt u into reblogging my shit and I certainly won’t beg u to do it

16. do you like tag games? Sure, they are usually fun

17. do you like ask games? Sure, they are usually fun

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? @mymycorrhizae @andysambrg @laowen @magnusedom @thelaziestmotherfucker @sunsetandthemoon

19. do you have a crush on a mutual? Yes

20. tags (if you want to) : @oh-aew @magnusedom @theindieprincessblog @gayjomarch @sunsetandthemoon @andysambrg @glockpaperscissors @intricatecakes

#tag game

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sambergscott · 5 years ago

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OOH! 🚦im excited

prompt: kissing at red lights + driving mac home for the very first time

He nervously taps his hands against the steering wheel, fiddles with the mirrors and lowers the window, despite the cool October air sending a shiver through his body.

He’s driven this route a million times over - their apartment to the hospital and the hospital back to their apartment. From the early days of their partnership, taking Amy home after she fell and sprained her wrist in pursuit of a perp, to their anniversary last year, holding hands over the central console and discussing their Thai take-out order, to a couple of months back, touring the maternity ward; he knows every pot hole, left turn and shortcut to avoid the crazy New York traffic. But he’s never driven it with a baby before. His perfect, day-old, liquid fire baby. It’s a lot of presh.

He glances at Amy over his shoulder, quadruple checking that Mac’s car seat is secure. She kisses his chubby cheeks and shuts the passenger door, climbing in the front with Jake.

She grimaces in pain as she settles into the seat.

“Still sore?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer. He saw Page 53 with his own eyes.

“Mm-hmm,” she confirms half-heartedly, trying not to complain. Not after they waited so long for this moment. Not after all the vitamins and overly-scheduled sex and nights spent crying into his chest. She’s already told him she’d go through the pain - both physical and mental - all over again to end up with this outcome, to end up with Mac.

(“I could’ve done without having to run an entire precinct on my own during a citywide blackout while in labor, mind,” she added, making him laugh.)

“You’re a freakin’ hero. You did so good, Ames.”

She blushes under his complement and double-tucks and yeah, that still sends his heart into overdrive.

“As soon as my Paternity Leave is up, I’m recommending you for a Medal of Valor. As is Holt. As is Terry. As is Rosa. As is Charles. Hitchcock and Scully still think they saved the precinct by emptying the fridge, but I’ll just forge their signatures or something. You deserve this.”

Mac makes a noise of agreement in the backseat or maybe it’s more of a “hurry up and get home so I can get out of this car seat” kind of thing, but either way, Jake starts the engine.

“I love you so much,” Amy says, her eyes filling with tears.

“Love you so much too,” he responds easily. He can’t believe he ever struggled to say those words, the way it comes so naturally now. He tells her he loves her all the time - at the end of phone calls, on post-it notes stuck on the fridge, in work emails attached to information on a case, at home, when she brings him a coffee or pretends to care about Mario Party, when she wears one of his plaid shirts or on Thursdays when she goes over their weekly budget, her tongue sticking out her mouth in concentration. His heart feels so full, yet his love for her only seems to grow and grow.

His love for the little guy, too.

Every look, every tiny whimper, every time he clenches Jake’s finger in his fist. He may have his dad’s face, but he has certainly inherited Amy Santiago’s incredible everything else.

He goes to press his foot on the gas, but his muscles atrophy, refusing to let him move the metal death-trap and endanger his newest best friend.

He takes a deep breath, reassures himself that it will be fine, that people safely take their babies home from hospital all the time, that they specifically bought this car because of its safety features, and tries again.

Nope.

His leg won’t move.

His brain runs wild with everything that could go wrong. He could fall asleep at the wheel, crash, and die. A drunk driver could swerve towards them, crash, and die. The engine could blow up, causing them to crash, and die.

“Jake, let’s go,” Amy prompts, already missing the weight of their son in her arms.

“I’m scared,” he confesses, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “What if something happens? What if I suddenly forget how to drive? What if the car spontaneously explodes?”

“This isn’t Fast and Furious, Jake. There will be no explosions. We’re just taking our son home.”

“We have so many arch nemeses that might want to hurt him,” he frets. They’ve collectively put away hundreds and hundreds of criminals and the list of those wanting to get back at them is long.

“Then they’ll take one look at his adorable face and change their mind. Come on, if I can push this massive baby out, you can do the 15 minute drive home.”

He nods quickly, looks at Mac one last time, and gently presses the accelerator. For his wife.

He drives at like 20 mph, earning himself a lot of honking horns, middle fingers and shouted curse words in thick New York accents from the queue of cars behind.

“You alright there, Peralta?” She says as he stops at a red light, raising her eyebrows. “You never drive this slow.”

“Got precious cargo in the back,” he explains. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. His eyes are all over the place, his detective intuition seeking out any potential threats. His heart beats faster and faster.

Amy leans over the central console and kisses him tenderly.

It helps.

There’s an angry honk behind them when they miss the light change and he holds his hand up in apology, setting off at a snail’s pace once more.

He stops at 8 more lights, earning a kiss for every block closer to home.

When they finally reach the apartment and he switches off the engine, he leans his head back against the seat, releasing a shuddering breath. “That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done. And I had to use a prison shower.”

“You’re a freakin’ hero and you did so good,” she repeats his words from before.

He shakes his head. “Driving has got nothing on Page 53, babe.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Page 53 was not fun.” She scrunches up her nose at the memory. “Help me out?”

“Of course, m’lady,” he grins, jumping out of his side and jogging to her door, wrapping his arm around her torso and helping her up.

Amy gets Mac, delighting in the way his eyes light up when he sees her and Jake gets the bags and Baby Boy balloons and locks up the car, following them to the apartment door.

First big dad challenge, nailed.

Maybe he can do this after all.

#my writing #b99 fic #jake x amy #b99 spoilers #I love Mac!!!!!#I will never shut up about him

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wallofweird · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by @intothewickedwood, thank you so much :D <3

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better

Name/Nickname: online is Fae, but my real name is Domenyque and nickname is Dome :)

Gender: female

Star sign: Aquarius

Height: 1.57 meters

Time: 17:16

Birthday: 06/02/1997

Favorite bands: U2 and Queen

Favorite solo artists: tbh there’s not really a solo artist or band that I listen to religiously, it’s all according to my mood and I can pretty much listen to everything, if I have to choose the artist who I probably know more songs by it would be James Bay? I love his style, but tbh most of the songs I know are from his first album

Song stuck in my head: I Will Never Let You Know

Last movie: Beyond The Lights

Last show: Last show I watched was Smallville, but I was re-watching an old episode, the last show that I watched a new episode of is Moonshine and Valentine and the last show I concluded is Pose (highly recommend this one, great story and extremely diverse <3)

When did I create this blog: I think it was February 20th

What do I post: I mostly post my opinion about stuff regarding my favorite TV shows (specially This Is Us) and reblog whatever I think it’s important, interesting or funny. You’ll find TV shows, cinema, politics, humor, fashion, architecture, literature, memes etc among my reblogs.

Last thing googled: ‘judge hurry up gif meme’ lol

Other blogs: I have a private one, but it’s just to organize my stuff lmao. I can’t manage different blogs for different interests, I also can’t manage queue, so I do everything here and I only post when I’m online lol

Do I get asks: sometimes :)

Why I chose my url: because of Smallville

Following: 416

Followers: 141

Average hours of sleep: Since I spent some time having problems to sleep and stay asleep, I stopped counting in order not to freak myself out because it was certainly not a health amount, so idek... It’s gotten better lately, though.

Lucky number: 23, I just figured a lot of the cool things happened to me had this number, or 2, 3, 1, 5 or 6 (= 3-1, 2+3 or 2x3) involved somehow so whenever I have to choose a number I go with 23

Instruments: I don’t play any, but I’d love to play as many as possible. I’m particularly obsessed with flutes (tin whistle and crystal flutes to be more specific).

What am I wearing: a night top with straps and shorts that I wear not only when I go to sleep but during the entire day when I’m home (which is 99,9999% now) because this city is too hot to wear anything else (:

Dream job: musician, writer, director, producer... music and TV are what I love the most

Dream trip: I really want to go everywhere and see everything, if I have to choose one country, though, it would have to be France because of the history and medieval/Gothic architecture (specially Sainte-Chapelle and Carcassonne because I’m obsessed with them)

Nationality: Brazilian

Favorite song: Hallelujah

Last book read: I don’t remember the last one, but I begun The Mote in God’s Eye today :)

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: Most of the fictional universes I’m used to are from dystopian stories, so they’re not a great place to live in lol... I can only think of Pixie Hollow right now, that place looks fascinating.

Why is this called 30 questions when it’s in fact 29? lol

Tagging: @90spopstargirl @cella1001 @flythesail @thisiskevison @madsdefencesquad @elephantsneedwater @ourfinehouse @betweensunflowersanddaffodils @lullabiesandgoodbyes @holding-up-the-universe @thesocietalmisfit @purpleinthesky @kevisonendgame @smoakingpinklipstick @jyucogin @piningperaltiago @madisonsimonsstan @countinsix @mary-waitforit-lou @divingintohope @barbie6 @mysuunandstars

Happy holidays!!!!!!

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years ago

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Yours Truly [Part Eleven]

Summary: Chris and Layla return from Minnesota. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1810 Warnings: FLUFF. A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post.

July 13

Caroline,

I skipped a few days of letters, waiting for Chris to head to Minnesota. I dropped him at the Kansas City airport this morning, and in a couple of days, I’ll pick him and Layla up and bring them home.

I have an interview this afternoon with the elementary school that Layla will be going to. I’m excited, especially after having met a few of Layla’s friends at her party. They seem like good kids, and would be so fun to teach. I like the town, and staying close would be good.

How are things with Chris? Ugh, I’m so torn between wanting you to be able to keep your job and not have to deal with the media, but also wanting you two to be together! He’s just so perfect for you, and even seeing you on stage next to him – you’re adorable together. I hope you haven’t completely given up on him.

See how I’m avoiding talking about my Chris? I can’t even write the words, but I guess I have to since we have sworn off the phone again. The date was pure perfection. He made me dinner and we ate outside on the patio with the first sunflower blooms of the season in a vase on the table. We danced to that Billy Currington song I’ve always been obsessed with, and then it started to rain. We ran inside and he kissed me and then – don’t you DARE say I told you so! – told me that he loves me.

Caroline. Why does that terrify me? Chris is amazing. He makes me laugh – like really laugh, not the polite way like when something is kind of funny, but the kind of laugh that comes out when you don’t expect it.

I know why it terrifies me. It’s because he also told me that I filled a hole in their home. What if he only thinks that he loves me because I’m filling whatever void Emily left behind? Honestly though, I think that’s what worries me the most, and it’s because – am I really about to say this? – because I love him, too.

What the hell is going on with us, C?

Yours truly,

Sadie

After donning the same outfit she had worn for her date with Chris, Sadie tucked the letter into her bag to mail out later, and headed for the elementary school.

Mr. McCaffree, the elementary school principal, greeted Sadie cheerfully when she arrived, and welcomed her right into his office. He asked all the usual interview questions, and seemed very impressed with Sadie overall.

“I do have a couple of other interviews, one today and one tomorrow, but I have to tell you, Ms. Coleman, they’ll be hard-pressed to do better than you,” Mr. McCaffree told her with a smile. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Sadie smiled back. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

He nodded. “I’ll call you by Friday.”

“Sounds great,” Sadie replied, shaking hands with the man. “Thank you.”

She left the school, stopped at the post office, and then headed back to the farm. She changed into a tank top and shorts, and decided to take a walk around the property. With the distraction of the interview over, there was only one thing on her mind.

The last few days with Chris had been wonderful. He had apologized immediately after blurting out that he loved her, assured her that he wasn’t out to rush her and there was no agenda behind his spontaneous confession.

“You’ve stolen my heart,” he sighed before kissing her knuckles. “I don’t expect things to happen so quickly for you, but, please, tell me I haven’t ruined what we’ve started.”

Sadie had assured him that nothing was ruined. Though she knew she felt the same way, she didn’t let on to that fact — simply told Chris that rushing things would likely ruin the connection between them, and she didn’t want that.

“It’s more and more clear the longer I’m here, there’s a reason this job posting came to my attention. There’s a reason it all worked out so well, losing my job back home but finding an opportunity here with you and Layla. But, I don’t want to lose this, either.”

They had spent the rest of the evening talking on the couch, once they changed into dry clothes. Sadie avoided going to bed, knowing the storm would keep her awake; Chris wasn’t in any hurry to leave her while she was frightened. They fell asleep together on the couch, comfortable and warm.

The next couple of days after that, Chris gave her her space to process his confession. He was always open when she approached him, but wasn’t in her presence more often or for longer than need be. The night before he left for Minnesota, Chris took her out to dinner in town. Their interactions were easy and comfortable, despite the confusion and uncertainty Sadie was experiencing about their feelings for each other.

At the airport that morning, Chris had kissed her sweetly and promised to call when he could. It was a short flight to Minneapolis, but there would be a couple hours’ drive to the town where his parents lived. Sadie had a lot to think about, but so did Chris. After all, he hadn’t planned on saying what he said; he hadn’t planned on falling in love with the woman he hired to teach and care for his daughter over the summer – and certainly not so quickly.

No closer to reconciling her mixed-up feelings on the matter, Sadie wandered into the shed. She had been in this building only once before, and that was to retrieve Layla who had gone out under the pretense of asking her father a question, then stuck around to bug him.

She looked around at the tools in the shed, recognizing some and wondering about the purpose of others. Finally, she came to Chris’s workbench, smiling at the pictures of Layla from over the short years of her life. Finally, she found a copy of the picture of Sadie and Layla from Layla’s birthday party. Sadie remembered making an extra copy for Chris, but never thought he would put it up anywhere. She took the photo down from where it was taped to the inside of a tool box lid, studying the image for a few moments before flipping it over.

“My girls at Layla’s fifth birthday party,” Sadie read on the back of the photo. As a smile spread across her face, she repeated, “My girls.”

With those two words, every bit of confusion was erased from Sadie’s mind – and her heart.

When the day came for Sadie to pick up Chris and Layla from the Kansas City airport, she was so excited, she left the farm a full hour sooner than necessary. The house had been too quiet without Layla, and just plain lonely over the few days that Chris was gone.

While she waited for their flight to arrive, she sat and read a book, although she was so excited, she had to read several of the pages two or three times. Focusing on the content of the book was not her mind’s priority.

“Adie!”

Sadie dropped her book just in time for Layla to launch herself into Sadie’s arms. Sadie squeezed the little girl tight, feeling relieved at having her charge home once more.

“Did you have so much fun with Grandma and Grandpa?” Sadie asked.

Layla nodded earnestly. “I did! I have something for you, but you have to have it at home Daddy said because it’s in my suitcase.”

“Fair enough,” Sadie chuckled, tucking her book back into her bag and handing the keys over to Chris. “Glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” he smiled, as Layla ran ahead to the baggage claim. “I haven’t told her about us yet. I thought I’d let you decide when you’re ready for that.”

“Soon,” Sadie promised. “Layla, sweetie, stay where we can see you, please!”

Chris’s and Layla’s suitcases showed up about ten minutes later. Once the car was loaded up, they were headed back home. Another rainstorm had set in on the last twenty minutes of the drive, which meant Layla and Sadie made a mad rush for the house when they arrived, while Chris grabbed the luggage and ran in behind them.

“Daddy, now can I give Adie her present?” Layla pleaded.

“Take your bag to your room, let Sadie help you unpack. You can give her your present while you’re in there.”

The two girls made way for the bedroom. Sadie retrieved Layla’s dirty clothes for the laundry, while Layla dug for an envelope. Adiewas scrawled across the front of the photo envelope in Layla’s handwriting; Sadie smiled and took out the paper folded inside.

“Is this us?” Sadie asked, her heart swelling with love.

Layla nodded. “That’s me an’ you an’ Daddy! With the sunflowers. See?”

Sadie looked at the picture, unable to stop her smile. In the picture, the three of them were holding hands, and each one had a red heart on their shirt.

“It’s ‘cause we all love each other,” Layla said, pointing at the hearts.

Sadie held the picture to her chest. “I’ll treasure it always, Layla. Thank you, so much.”

Together they finished unpacking the suitcase, then Sadie tucked the picture safely away in the nightstand in the guest room, under Layla’s close supervision.

“I thought you two went to bed!” Chris teased. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

“Me!” Layla replied, jumping up and down. “Can we have popcorn? And get pizza?”

Chris exchanged a look with Sadie, who shrugged. “I suppose coming back from vacation is a good time for a movie night. You got it.”

“Yay!” Layla cheered, dancing around.

With a little more convincing by the five-year-old, every pillow and blanket in the house was constructed into a fort-type structure for them to watch movies. While Chris went into town to get the pizza, Sadie helped Layla with her bath, got her into pajamas, and braided her hair. Sadie braided her hair as well, got into a pair of sweats and a tank top, and kept Layla busy until Chris returned.

They only made it through a portion of the first movie before Layla was asleep between the two of them. Chris picked her up and tucked her into bed, returning a few minutes later. He put his arm around Sadie’s shoulders; she tucked her head against his chest.

“Missed you while you were gone,” she told him.

“Missed you, too,” Chris said, laying a soft kiss on her lips. “Up for another movie?”

In truth, Sadie was feeling tired, but to be there cuddled with Chris in a pillow and blanket fort – she would never be tired enough to turn that down.

Part Twelve

#chris pratt #chris evans #fanfiction #oc appreciation day 2020 #new to this blog

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jewish-privilege · 5 years ago

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...My weary tone doesn’t mean I’m not upset by [John] Cusack’s actions. The meme he shared is indeed unambiguously antisemitic: An image of a Jewish hand, marked by the star of David, crushing the people, accompanied by the quote, “To learn who rules over you simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize” — erroneously attributed to Voltaire, but actually from a neo-Nazi called Kevin Alfred Strom. Cusack added his own gloss, a glibly hateful “Follow the money.”

This was all bad enough. But in some respects, it was his confused attempts to atone that frustrate me most. He first defended the tweet, citing Israel’s “atrocities against the Palestinians,” then conceded that “even if you don’t have an anti-Semitic bone in your body, it is still an antisemitic cartoon”. He then explained that he initially thought the start of David signified Israel. Now he understands that yadda, yadda, yadda. He never did address the “Follow the money” quip.

My frustration is partly because, given the incessant controversy over anti-Semitism, it’s extraordinary that anyone can claim ignorance anymore. Was Cusack asleep during the firestorm surrounding Ilhan Omar’s “All about the Benjamin’s” comment? I’m also frustrated because the implication of his apology was that, had there been a symbol that could signify Israel without implying Jews, it would have been fine. I say this not as a defender of Israel, but as someone who believes that the Palestinians are being oppressed not by a world-conquering venal conspiracy, but by regular human beings.

...It’s the easiness of social media that is our downfall. Did John Cusack ponder his post for hours until he got it just right? Almost certainly not: I would guess that he was in the queue for the dry cleaners, sitting on the toilet, or half-watching TV when he lazily pushed the button.

None of that means that there wasn’t something real behind his desire to post. Anger on behalf the Palestinian people is of course not, in and of itself, illegitimate or anti-Semitic. Cusack may have been moved by very real suffering.

But what is truly poisonous about social media is that it provides a constant temptation to respond to genuine concerns in a facile way. Too often, we are drawn into a simplistic logic: I am angry about something, I want to address the cause of that anger, I will express my anger in the strongest possible terms, I will hate, I will draw on the most convenient way of expressing that hate.

And in the case of Israel-Palestine, anti-Semitism offers the most convenient form of hatred.

I don’t think we really know how to respond to convenience anti-Semitism of the Cusack-variety. Too often, Jews are working with an implicitly essentialist model of anti-Semitism in which a particular anti-Semitic incident is evidence of a wider world view that is implicitly or explicitly anti-Semitic. But what if there is no world view at all? What if all that exists are the lazy pleasures of hating, generated by equally lazy forms of empathy?

...John Cusack’s tweet didn’t help the Palestinian cause and it didn’t stop him from ruining his reputation.

What we desperately need right now is a collective effort to try and nurture a more reflective, less convenient, online discourse. This is probably a generational project and it’s difficult to know where to start. Still, it’s worth considering how, when we call anti-Semitism out online, we can refrain from the lazy hatred that Cusack expressed.

Might a patient, clear and calm explanation of where Cusack went from work better than mass derision and anger? One challenge here is that even those tweets that are carefully expressed can, if joined by many others, create a cumulative effect that ends up looking like a hate campaign — so-called “dogpiling.” I spent a portion of yesterday being accused by one tweeter of doing just that, despite trying (sometimes successfully) for years to be as civil as I am able. It may be that online restraint, posting only when one has something new and different to say, is the model to follow.

Restraint is not a fashionable virtue these days. Perhaps though a counter-cultural emphasis on not saying immediately what is on your mind could popularize the practice. Even then though, for a film star with declining name-recognition, the desire to be heard and state that “I am still here” may be too strong to resist.

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

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The French Connection - Chapter 1

A HardyxMiller AU

Ellie Miller is left to go on her honeymoon alone after a devastating secret about her fiance comes to light - halfway through the wedding ceremony. Sitting in St Pancras International in London waiting for her train, she runs into none other than her uni rival/best friend Alec Hardy, on the run from his own recent heartbreak.

They decide to make use of Ellie’s pre-paid trip, rekindling their friendship and escaping real life; yet, it turns out their years at uni are the hardest to outrun. Based on this prompt from @timepetalscollective

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday. Beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma

Masterlist | AO3

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Ellie Miller sat slumped over a table for two, picking at her unappetizing, healthy breakfast wrap as she waited for her train. She still had twenty minutes before she could begin boarding, and despite having already made the effort of getting into London, wasn’t even certain she would be on the train when it pulled out.

In fact, she might be quite happy to remain at this table forever. No one who knew her, no one to bother her, offer advice or sympathy, scold or belittle her. She might, if she was lucky, never have to hear her own name ever again.

“Millah?”

Spoke too soon, she thought bitterly, eyes slipping closed and turning her head away from the direction of the voice, hoping whoever it was would believe they were mistaken and continue on.

“The hell are you doing?”

Her eyes snapped open as her table jostled, and sure enough, it was exactly who she’d suspected (feared) now in front of her.

“Fuck off.”

While most men would cower at her vitriolic tone and icy stare, Alec Hardy had been her rival for top of the class at uni, and was therefore all but immune to her intimidation tactics. Being a Scot, he probably considers that a friendly greeting, she rolled her eyes.

He’d helped himself to the chair opposite her, folding his arms on the table and leaning towards her, that curious look in his eye that said he thought he was on the scent of something. “Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine? I thought I was the grumpy one. I distinctly remember you ordering it to be so.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and despite her irritation, hers quirked in response.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Running away. You?”

“The same.”

Staring down at her sad breakfast, she could no longer stomach the thought, and pushed it across the table at her one-time schoolmate. “Here, it’s rabbit food, you’ll like it.”

Hardy made a face, poking at it, before shrugging. “Thanks.” He took a bite, grimacing as he chewed, and gingerly set it back down. “You know attempted murder’s a crime, don’t you?”

“You should arrest the bloke in the shop then, ‘cause he promised me it was good.”

That got her a soft laugh, and they sat in silence for a minute, not quite meeting each other’s eye.

“So, how long has it been?” he eventually asked, brow furrowing as if trying to do the math himself and getting nowhere.

“Eight years?” She hadn’t seen him since graduation – or more specifically, the morning after graduation. Involuntarily, her cheeks flushed at the memory.

Hardy froze for just a moment. “Right,” he said, perfectly neutrally, the moment growing more awkward by the second as they both tried to pretend everything was normal.

“What’re you running from?” Ellie asked, just to change the subject, before wincing.

“My girlfriend was having an affair with one of our coworkers, I decked him in the middle of the bullpen, and am now on forced vacation.” He rolled his eyes, slumping down in his chair. “I’d been working thirty-six hours straight so they let me off with just a warning, but strongly suggested I take the next two weeks off.”

Ellie hummed in sympathy, cuddling her coffee cup to her chest to resist the temptation to reach out to him. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “Me too.” He paused a moment, before glancing up with a wry grin. “It was a shitty punch, didn’t even break his nose.”

She laughed, some of her tension easing, though it reappeared instantly when he continued speaking.

“What about you? What’re you running from?”

“Eurostar, London to Paris, now boarding. This is the first call for Eurostar to Paris.”

That was her, but she ignored the announcement to confess, “Yesterday was my wedding day. Halfway through the ceremony, my husband-to-be was arrested on child porn charges.”

“Shit.” Hardy’s eyes went wide, and let off a low whistle. “Shit. Sorry, yeah, that’s worse.”

“It’s not a competition,” she tried to laugh, lower lip wobbling. Don’t cry. Whatever you do, do not cry in front of Hardy. “But, thanks. Anyway, I’m off on our honeymoon alone. Maybe. Where are you headed, though? Where’re you spending your time off?”

He shook his head, shrugging. “I was just going to buy the cheapest ticket and see where it took me. Anywhere but here, you know?”

“You could come with me,” slipped out before she even thought about it, cheeks flaming as she realized what she’d said.

“What?”

“I have two tickets,” she explained, ignoring the little voice saying what’re you doing? Wouldn’t you rather be alone? “Everything’s paid for, and I promise not to ask about your ex if you don’t ask about mine.”

“Second call for Eurostar to Paris. All passengers please make their way to Track Two for boarding.”

Hardy stared at her, a slightly incredulous expression on his face, but after a moment, he shrugged. “What the hell. If you’re sure, why not?”

“Excellent!” Ellie chirped, jumping up and grabbing her luggage. “Shall we go, then?”

As soon as they found seats and settled in, Ellie fell asleep against the window, leaving Alec alone with his thoughts as he watched the countryside fly past.

Eight years, he wondered, slightly amazed. Has it really been that long? In some ways, it did feel that way – it felt like ages since she’d been a part of his life, and it had been jarring, going from seeing her near every day to never again. They’d had a complicated friendship while in school to say the least, one that barely even qualified for the word ‘friendship’, but it was the best description he had.

In other ways, it felt like only yesterday they were antagonizing each other, fighting for top of the class and trying to out-perform each other. In the moment, he hadn’t realized how much fun it was to have her for a sparring partner. For as much as they would argue, it never felt like fighting.

Focusing on her reflection in the window, he considered the utter coincidence that they had both ended up at St Pancras’ on the same morning wanting to run away from their relationship problems. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it was fate, given he didn’t really believe in the concept, but he also didn’t believe in coincidences after so long as a detective, and yet running into her had to be one.

If nothing else, this will be a memorable trip.

Doubts plagued Ellie as soon as the train began to move, and she quickly feigned sleep to avoid any conversation.

Apparently she feigned a bit too well, because the next thing she knew Hardy was gently shaking her shoulder.

“We’re here,” he said quietly, and she sat up, yawning and brushing the hair from her face, horrified to find a bit of crusted drool on the side of her mouth, which she tried to frantically swipe away as they shuffled off the train into Paris’ famed Gare du Nord dragging their luggage behind them.

“Now what?” Hardy asked when they came to a stop in a relatively quiet, out of the way corner, and Ellie let go of her suitcase to dig through her purse for the folder she’d made with all the arrangements.

Yawning again, she re-committed the hotel address to memory before safely storing the documents. “Taxi to the hotel.” She reached for her suitcase again, only to find his hand already there.

“I got this,” he shook his head, “you just lead the way.”

Feeling disoriented for so many reasons that had nothing to do with the foreign country or language, she led him through the train station and out onto the street, joining the queue for a taxi. Thankfully it moved quickly, and soon enough, they were settled in a cab and winding their way through Paris.

“Look at this,” she murmured, staring out the window at the architecture flying by. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” They didn’t pass any famous sites on the way, but Ellie wasn’t bothered; she’d be seeing them soon enough.

On the plus side, I’ll actually get to accomplish my itinerary instead of staying in bed all day, she thought wryly, focusing on Hardy’s reflection in the glass. He was looking out the other window, which was probably for the best. She was still more than a bit stunned at his presence, but after the chaos of the previous twenty-four hours, it was low on the ‘shock’ factor. And he’s certainly not going to ask me about Joe.

The thought of her former fiancé hurt, but she couldn’t quite muster the energy to cry – she’d spent the entire night doing that, curled up alone in her bed, sobbing why? over and over.

She’d hadn’t gotten an answer.

The driver cleared his throat, and she realized they had arrived at their hotel. Situated on the north side of the Seine directly across from the Île de la Cité, it offered an amazing view of the city, and was conveniently located for walking to all the top sights.

“Merci,” Ellie said, but before she could pull out her money, a few notes crossed in front of her nose, and she turned to find Hardy with his arm outstretched.

“I got it,” he shrugged, gesturing his head for her to climb out. He followed quickly, unloading their suitcases from the back, and with a final check, they sent the cab off and headed into the hotel. Again, he grabbed her suitcase before she could, sending her ahead.

I don’t remember him being such a gentleman, she thought, before pasting on a bright smile and checking them in with her admittedly rusty French.

Within moments she was handed two plastic room keys with a cheery Felicitations!, and with a nod, she led him back towards the lifts.

They rode in silence, smiling awkwardly at each other, but thankfully it was a short trip and they quickly spilled out into the hallway. It wasn’t until she opened the door that Ellie remembered she had booked the premiere honeymoon package.

“Shit,” she muttered, holding open the door as she stared inside, Hardy looking over her shoulder. It was a romantic’s dream, but at the moment, the vision just made Ellie want to throw up. “Oh, fuck.”

It was a fairly decent sized room for Paris, a small bathroom immediately on the right before opening up into the main area. A desk and chair sat under the window, offering a view of Paris and in the distance, the towers of Notre-Dame rose above the rooftops.

The main feature, of course, given that it was the honeymoon suite, was the bed.

“Am I losing my mind,” Hardy asked from behind her, “or is that bed really heart-shaped?”

It was, with a delicate canopy to boot. Loose rose petals covered scarlet sheets, while battery-operated white candles were arranged on every flat surface, giving the room a romantic glow despite the lack of real flame. A bottle of champagne sat nestled in an ice bucket next to the desk, two flutes ready nearby.

“Uh huh,” she said faintly, finally moving forward enough to enter the room and letting him in behind her, neither paying any mind to the door slamming shut behind them.

He coughed, shifting his weight. “This is cozy.”

“This was a terrible idea.” Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes, and she had to viciously bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “This whole thing. I never should’ve come – what was I thinking? Oh, fuck.”

“Hey, Miller, it’s okay,” Hardy fumbled, patting her back, only pushing her closer to tears.

“Just give me a minute,” she sniffled, turning into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her before letting her emotions go.

Left alone in the entryway, Alec looked around the room with a frown. Doing his best to ignore the sobbing from the bathroom he stepped further into the main area, crossing his arms as he took it in.

Deciding to try damage control, he cleaned up the rose petals and shut off the candles, doing his best to remove the more romantic overtones. Not that he could do anything about the shape of the bed.

Glancing towards the bathroom door he saw no indication she would soon be emerging and investigated the room a little, pulling open drawers and closet doors to see what they were working with.

No evidence of a sleep sofa meant they would have to share the bed, and he grimaced at the thought. Not that he didn’t think they could do so without incident, but more because he feared it would absolutely send her over the edge.

Eyeing the champagne, he decided to open it – it came with the room, and maybe a little alcohol would ease the tension.

Not too much, the little voice in the back of his mind warned as he popped open the bottle, the last thing either of us needs is a repeat of graduation night.

He kindly told the voice to get stuffed. Just as he finished pouring the second glass the bathroom door opened, and he held out one of the flutes towards Ellie, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“Champagne?”

#bbatcfic #broadfic #Broadchurch #HardyxMiller #Alec Hardy #Ellie Miller #AU #The French Connection #platonic honeymoon fic

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kip-quest-blog · 6 years ago

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It’s been a good year.

We’re coming up on KipQuest’s first year anniversary and it is with a heavy heart and a conflicted soul that I announce that I am going to be closing this blog.

What happened? D:

Nothing happened in the traditional sense. I came out here for a good time and I had a good time and then I stopped having a good time. So I decided that drastic measures needed to be taken. I don’t have the desire to quit pokeask blogging, or blogging in general, or art, or storytelling, or any of that.

I just want to quit this particular blog and all the other blogs attached to this primary blog outside of my artblog (which I made a sideblog for this exact reason) and Maat’s blog. The disconnect has been months in the making and it is not at all related to my mental health or my motivation for art, or even my lack of physical energy. I’d just rather be doing literally anything else and that’s a really really bad thing for a long term project.

I tried everything I could think of to get myself going again. Memes, interactions, hiatus, total disconnect from Tumblr, a different, less stressful blog. I tried a lot. And it didn’t work. Ideas just fall flat and die sometimes so I am taking my own advice and just doing what I want to do.

Where are you going?

I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to write a blog from start to end. I’m going to have a plan. I’m going to reevaluate myself and my life choices. I’m going to do something self-indulgent and something that I will be passionate about, even if I’m just a cliched and tropey mess. I don’t know what the blog will be or the format, or the style, or even the name. I don’t know anything right now.

I don’t even know if I’ll have an answer for that question anytime soon. I will, however, be on my artblog, drawing art and dumping it there every once in a while. I’ll still be drawing pokemon like a damn nerd and I will still love it. I will probably take all the art prompts I have stockpiled and go through them as I figure out what the fresh hell I am going to do.

I’ll still be on this primary blog while I work on my other things. All the memes will be posted on my artblog as I finish them. (Though I run mostly on a queue.)

How can we reach you?

Please for the love of god, follow me on Twitter. Interact with me on Twitter because 1v1 convos are not happening and that’s because I’m busy all the time with other things. Twitter is where you can see my hilariously awful jokes and updates that get pruned out so my art is the main attraction and I can still have my fun.

My discord is not open because it’s going to be the same deal. 1v1 convos are just not on my agenda unless you’re alright with me never speaking or just saying the same tired things all the time. (i’m tired/busy/sleepy/busy) Maybe someday I’ll be in a group discord where I can talk to a lot of lovely people at the same time. (I’m already mod in one, but it has been capped for now.)

Will you tell us what your new blog is when it’s made?

Maybe. I won’t try to use this blog to promote my new one because I feel that it is disingenuous to use this thing I didn’t finish to promote something I hopefully will. Pride? It’s more like guilt. I’d hate to be a disappointment again. I’d hate to disappoint you again.

What about this story?

I can give you the very short version of what I had originally intended for Kippy’s KipQuest under the cut if you want to know the story at the most surface level. There, you will see my incredible lack of planning. I will not elaborate much more than this in the interest of not writing a novel. I apologize that all the nuance is gone. Rip all the worldbuilding.

Just in case, you decide to not read under the cut (it’s all story stuff anyway) I wanted to say thank you for all the good times. I learned a lot about art, myself, and commitment. I asked a lot of questions to a lot of people and learned so much about others. It was fun while it lasted. This is not the last you will see of me. But this will likely be the last update post I make on this blog.

You know what they say, right? Better luck next time.

Kippy would have made their internal struggle known to their mother that they didn’t know whether to pick a boy name (Skipper after Amelia’s father) or a girl name (Pankaja which is a name related to soil though the language of origin escapes me). Kippy’s mother, Amelia, assured them that no matter what they ultimately decided, it was their choice to make and that she would be proud of her little kipper.

Kippy, who was born male, chose Pankaja as her official name but still likes Kippy as a nickname. She then takes on female pronouns and begins to make her way into the world at large. During this time, Jalon, a Honchkrow leader of the village Kippy lives in, has her put on a team prematurely because Jalon does not like that Baaba challenges his authority.

Baaba confronts the Grand Psion - a sort of gauge for an individual’s potential - and demands that he tell the truth about Kippy’s potential. The Grand Psion, who was most certainly lying about Kippy’s abilities at the request of Amelia, claims ignorance and Baaba doesn’t buy it, so he storms off with renewed vigor to get Kippy trained in the only way he knew how.

Amelia has the Grand Psion lie about Kippy’s potential because Kippy was born a Bad Egg because Amelia had a lot of trouble with having children. Amelia had a number of previous attempts with her mate, Armament - who was a Garchomp that died in the line of duty - but they all either miscarried or just did not hatch when they were supposed to. She begged the Grand Psion to lie about Kippy so Kippy wouldn’t get herself killed in a military life. Kippy never finds this out.

Kippy is paired with Pepin, a Buneary who failed to live up to his family’s astronomical expectations, and Pax, a Swablu who hates being a Priest and fulfilling the role of a “healer” despite having the ability to use Heal Pulse. The three of them are sent off on a mission that was not meant for them to complete, due to a mix up between assignments.

They end up delving into a cavern and finding evidence of humans existing as well as the Red and Blue Orbs and the Meteorite, which were placed in this deep cavern to keep Columbia, a radically violent and nihilistic Origin Jirachi, from continuing to hunt down and slaughter other Jirachi to gain their power.

Kippy releases Columbia, who very nearly kills the three of them on sight and disappears into the Realm of the Fairies, who have begun preparations to make an attempt at truce.

Bellatrix, who had saved Kippy and Arimus from the approaching Fairies in the beginning, ended up returning to face those approaching intruders head on with her partner, Ronnie. Ronnie is a Gardevoir who did not gain the Fairy typing when the original Blight swept the land. Nobody knows why this was, but that is the only reason she is accepted in the Valley of Darkness.

That Fairy party was a party sent by the highest order of fairy nobles to attempt a truce with the smaller neighboring land before a hopeful collaboration to unify with the Land of Dragons. The Prince of the Fairies was sent as a means of instilling an element of trust, but Bellatrix doesn’t believe that the instigators of this divisive conflict have any positive intentions in mind. She mega evolves, kills most of those present on both sides, and flees into the forest, where she succumbs to the dangerous power that mega evolution entails and falls into madness fueled only by fury and rage. Ronnie survives only because the Fairy Prince, Adelaide, stabilized her.

When Kippy and company return to the village, Jalon panics because he assumed they were going to do something simple, and instead came back with items that belong to the Land of Dragons. In order to maintain control of his people, he accuses Kippy and company of being insiders and mounts an attack using only his Murkrow flock. Pax’s trainer was an Eevee and she jumps in to protect her trainee, evolving into a Sylveon to have a better chance of fending Jalon’s lackeys off, though this solidifies the accusation that Kippy and co (and by extension, their families) are spies for the enemy.

Amelia immediately and instinctually uses her combined strength with Pax’s trainer, and Baaba, to give Kippy and co a chance to escape alive. It is never determined whether their families survived this attack because Kippy never ends up going back.

Baaba finds them in the hills outside of the village. Kippy is panicking, but Pax and Pepin are able to calm her down well enough for the four of them to figure out where they need to go. Baaba says that the Land of Dragons would be their best bet because he knows someone who has clout.

They are discovered by an adventuring party of Fairies, are captured, and taken back to the main hub where all the decisions are made. They are granted amnesty because the Fairies are attempting to make peace with the surrounding areas.

The Fairies are under the control of Xerneas, who is a fragmented and corrupted being that was created by The Bastard Palkia. Xerneas itself is an instinctual being, who has complete and total mind control over all Fairies on this world when it is awake. It only ever seeks to destroy anything that would oppose it, as well as anything that it deems a danger to it. Xerneas had been asleep for a while, but the damage already done had to be slowly undone, which proved to be almost impossible considering that the sight of a Fairy usually meant a fight was going to break out, so peace talks were rare and were hardly ever successful.

Kippy wants to help, naturally, but has no idea how to do so. She thinks that the Jirachi she released would be able to help, so she goes looking for it. Baaba stays close by for the longest time until he is attacked during another encounter with Columbia and is revealed to be a Zoroark. Kippy takes this rather well in the moment, but later confronts Baaba about it.

Baaba explains that pokemon in the area all live on a massive island created by the same Mewtwo who gave Bellatrix the ability to mega evolve. This area used to be a secluded safe haven in Kalos, so many pokemon who were harmed by experimentation make up the population, which is why there is a rather tumultuous civilization in the works. Columbia offers to spare this world if they can convince the slumbering native Jirachi to appear so Columbia can take it. It is assumed that Columbia’s attempts at seeking the native Jirachi failed, and he claimed that he was “helping” the mortals because he is a god.

Columbia is an elder god, but he is also a creation of The Bastard and is therefore, fundamentally broken on every single level of his existence. This doesn’t really matter, but Columbia spins it in a way to make himself look better, and to get Kippy and Baaba to call the native Jirachi. This works later on and that Jirachi is shredded and consumed by Columbia, who then departs to find more Jirachi to consume after flipping all his middle fingers up at the preps.

Baaba does not accept Columbia’s offer, but Kippy comes up with a plan to trick Columbia into a false sense of security. This plan fails miserably. Columbia kills the native Jirachi, and in retaliation for mortals even attempting to lie to him, wakes Xerneas up from its deep slumber. He naturally has a big villain speech explaining how Fairies are indeed evil by design because The Bastard doesn’t care about what it makes and leaves things to fester. Even humans have harnessed Fairy energy to create devastating weapons and this is no exception.

Xerneas arises and takes control of all the Fairies. At the same time, in human civilization, Magearna and the Ultimate Weapon designs are finished and deployed. The rise in harmful energy leads to a chain reaction where Xerneas’s instability directly contributes to the creation of a second, more unstable Yveltal constructed of corrupted energy.

Yveltal flees, spreading devastation and destruction everywhere. The world begins to end and there is a bright light in the sky.

Kippy and co try their best to help, but they are divided on what to do. Xerneas needs to be stopped, but there is chaos unfolding around them as they try to escape the Realm of Fairies and make their way to the Land of Dragons. Baaba has stayed with them, and no longer assumes the form of a Rattata. When they make it to the Land of Dragons, Baaba seeks out and finds the oldest dragon there, a Charizard named Basil.

Basil is upset at how these events have unfolded, but when the gods are involved, it never ends well. He promises that his attacks will be swift, but he is not optimistic. Kippy is worried, though by this time, she has evolved from a Mudkip/Gible into a Garchomp. There was a lot of tears shed and fear throughout this transitionary period, but she is determined.

Columbia has disappeared, but his presence alerted Marty, a Celebi who immediately arrives to survey the damage. It’s too much to bear. The end of the world is coming naturally, so he begins his job to tie up the loose ends and let the world collapse in itself. Despite Baaba begging that Marty not do this, Marty does not listen. Baaba lashes out because he wants Kippy to be okay. That’s his partner. His most trusted companion. And he is too smart to let her go so easily.

Marty explains that it’s better for all of existence if this world dies naturally instead of being ripped apart for no reason. Xerneas must be contained. Baaba asks Marty if Xerneas could be contained, would that allow the world to be left alone. Marty makes no promises, but does hint that their time would be extended, as everything dies eventually.

Baaba and Kippy convince Pepin and Pax to go back to the village to reiterate the information that they learned. They also convince Marty to go with them to confirm their story. Baaba and Kippy then go to Xerneas, who is deep within the forests, wandering and screaming.

Baaba has a special tool that he plans to use in order to get Xerneas under control. They fight, they win, Kippy mega evolves, and Baaba uses a Master Ball to seal Xerneas away.

It, at one point, would have been made known that Baaba is from human settlements in Kalos, where he was born before his mother made a deal with Mewtwo to create this supposed sanctuary. Humans had done a lot of fucked up shit prior to this and his mother was the result of experiments in testing pokemon’s potential. He carried with him a couple of tools from the human settlements because he inherited that human level of intelligence and planning.

Once Xerneas is sealed away in the Master Ball, Baaba explains to Kippy that there is a whole other world out there to explore and he remembers fondly traveling through Kalos a little bit before his mother whisked him away from humans as a whole. He says he wants Kippy to see the world for what it is, a wonderful place, but humans are also not to be messed with. Baaba explains that humans treat pokemon differently and sometimes badly and he wants to change that, but the only way he knows how is to show them. He offers Kippy the opportunity to go with him to Kalos. Kippy accepts.

Baaba also offer this opportunity to Pepin and Pax, both of whom have evolved fully. Pepin accepts. Pax does not.

It ends with Kippy and Pepin willingly being put into customized pokeballs and Baaba assuming the form of a human before it’s assumed that they go to Kalos and change the human world as well.

That’s all ey wrote. Hopefully the next time I do this, I do a better job.

#ooc #blog update

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edsbrak · 7 years ago

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(continued from this post)

so now we’ve established that Eddie is a giggly drunk, but what you wouldn’t expect is for Richie to always try his hardest to be a ‘calm and sophisticated’ drunk

he likes to try and prove to his friends and complete strangers that he can be serious for once, and only ever seems to do it after he’s had several drinks and was already stumbling around slightly. he’ll just butt into any conversation and spew out some ancient quote/philosophical mumbo-jumbo in an act to not appear intoxicated because Richie is a stubborn mother-trucker and wants to prove to everyone he can have a chill conversation aight??

so queue all of the Losers trying to drag him away from group after group and repeatedly telling him “Richie you’re drink you have no idea what you’re saying” followed by “Shut up Bill I am powerful and wise and you’re just jealous” and then one night they all learn Richie also gets really poetic and sappy after Ben had caught Richie staring at Eddie across the room for a good amount of time

“Eddie... he’s just so... so... you know?” Richie will ask Ben

“No, I don’t know.”

and Richie will spend the rest of the night trying his damndest to convince Eddie he thinks the world of him, but Eddie isn’t believing him and continuously claims it’s only because Richie is drunk. Richie will not give up though, dragging Eddie along to dance with him; always hanging by his side and trying to catch his attention; claiming Eddie’s eye shade is the most beautiful thing Richie has ever seen (Eddie absolutely does not blush here)

and when they all leave the party in Mike’s truck, Eddie almost sitting in Richie’s lap in the backseat, Eddie volunteers to put Richie to bed (insert crude Richie joke here). so they stumble up the stairs in the Tozier household and Eddie is trying to remove Richie’s shoes but Richie keeps trying to grab Eddie’s attention again

“Eds, why don’t you believe me when I say I love you? Like, I love you so much, like, to the point where it literally hurts right in here,” Richie says and points to his chest

Eddie can feel his hands start to shake but can’t bring himself to answer Richie, because he’s just drunk, right? but then Richie is shuffling around until he’s pulling out his phone from his pocket, and Eddie has no idea what he’s expecting, but it certainly wasn’t seeing a video of himself, laughing and smiling at the camera, clearly drunk

“Richie, what...”

“This was... that night you got drunk for the first time, and you.. were so affectionate and happy and I... I think that was the night I really fell for you.”

Eddie is at a complete loss of what to say. he gingerly removes the phone from Richie’s hold and sets it down on the table, and Richie looks so sad, mumbling to himself and eventually laying down on the bed and falling asleep. Eddie doesn’t move for so long, and remembering how Richie stayed with him when Eddie got drunk all those months ago, Eddie decides to slip in behind Richie and gently circles an arm around him, skin tingling nervously

Eddie’s heart doesn’t slow down until he finally falls asleep too, and he knows he and Richie will talk about it in the morning

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #drabbles #this is like.. a drunk!reddie series now lmao #99

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lovelylogans · 6 years ago

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do not reblog

my best friend once (lovingly) described attempting to have a conversation about emotions with me was like pulling teeth.

so, ya know. this is gonna be awkward. i’m not good with emotions. fun fact, one of my early childhood memories of my parents trying to Teach Me Stuff (which was kinda rare to be so overt) was my mom saying she was upset, and asking me how i handled it. and i just said “i don’t talk about it! that makes me feel better!” so it’s been in progress like. a while.

i don’t even know if i’ll post this. or post it and then immediately delete it. which i’ve done on here before, so. we’ll see.

i have anxiety. not traditionally, classically diagnosed, but two out of two doctors i’ve asked about symptoms of what i’ve called “the chest thing” during the past two years have said “that sounds like anxiety,” so that’s. that. set right out there. i don’t want to blame everything i say on the fact that i have anxiety, but it is a factor.

let me put this out there: i never expected to become a “big blog.”

like. the fact that i hit 500, let alone 2,000 followers is just bizarre to me. i realize i’m not, like, the biggest blog out there, but this is still. entirely unexpected. like i’ve had a couple blogs over the years, and the most i’ve ever hit was about 350 after three years, on a blog that’s now defunct. i figured i may as well post a few moodboards a day or so after i made the blog, joined a couple discords because some blogs were reblogging invite links.

i just kinda kicked out a fic, figured i may as well make a blog, and maybe i’d write a few cool stories and get some comments and mess around on photoshop a bit. i’d heard about how friendly people in this fandom were, so i hoped, maybe, i’d get a friend, too.

i hopped onto tumblr to see that i’d gotten a message (a rare occurrence!) my follower count had boosted by forty, and my activity just absolutely skyrocketed.

thomas had reblogged not one but two of my moodboards.

i posted a christmas fic. i got on tumblr a few days later to see it’d been nominated for best fic of the year.

i think a solid mood for both of those events was what the fuck.

again. didn’t expect to be a big blog. didn’t expect any of it. and to me it was just... crazy. i’d really only written for huge fandoms (like, harry potter, doctor who, the 100, etc.) or tiny ones where it was me, one of my best friends, two other people, and a napkin. like. no in between. sanders sides was my first in between in a long, long time. i didn’t expect people to be asking about my taglist, i didn’t expect people to hop in my askbox, i didn’t expect people to ask about if i took prompts and i certainly didn’t expect to have upwards of twenty prompt fics. i didn’t expect people to tell me that i intimidated them, or that i had an audience, or to placed upon a pedestal (which. please no.) none of it was expected.

this is where the anxiety part kinda comes in.

i’ve written upwards of about twenty-five-ish fics for this fandom, nearing 100k words, which was a huge deal for me. still is. i’d been struggling with writer’s block, idea block, creativity block, what have you, for nearly two years. the fact that i could connect with these characters, come up with ideas (or get prompts to kickstart those ideas) was big to me. finally, i thought, i can reaccess this skill to get out how i’m feeling, to relax, to fill up my day by doing something semi-productive. and you guys liked them, too. which was, still is, such a gift, and i’m so grateful for it.

and, well, a bit of a thing. i’m going through some... other stuff, to put it in the vaguest terms possible, over the past life few months, something that i try and channel into my writing, something i try and keep my mind off of, see bad at emotions paragraph above.

there was a week, a few months back, where i was going through some of that stuff, where it was busy for school, and i was just not in the best place. i posted a fic, and figured i’d get some response to get my mind off it.

i didn’t.

i freaked the fuck out.

looking back, i absolutely see how i blew it out of proportion; everyone has their ups and downs with responses, and you guys are not at all obligated to respond and i shouldn’t feel like you have to, and it turned out fine anyway. you guys aren’t obligated to cater to my mindset; you should consume what you want to consume.

i know all that. i knew all that. and yet.

i sent a few messages to one of my best friends, at the time of the freakout, despairing about how i was a failure and no one would ever love my work, and a few other things, i forget. anxiety-fueled thinking, you get it.

dude, she sent me back, you realize you’re spiraling, right?

i grabbed my coat, put on some boots, and went for a two mile walk in the near-freezing rain at about midnight on a weekday. it helped calm me down. i got some of that schoolwork done. it helped calm me down. i realized how much i’d freaked out, realized part of it was anxiety fueled, and put away those emotions for later. again, see emotions disclaimer above. but they kept popping up, whenever a fic or post did slightly worse than my usual standards. (and also, hey, quick question, self, when did i get standards for posts? when did i become such a perfectionist, and can i please apply that to schoolwork???)

i know the idea of creation should be for the sake of creation, not for the response and appreciation you might get. it should be an entirely selfish thing, and i should be happy to put out a story that i’m proud of.

i. know. this.

so why do i keep looking at the notes, as if that’s the thing that matters here? why do i keep looking at other content creators, other bloggers, even, and comparing what i have to what they have? when did my thoughts turn from that’s such a cool concept! or that’s such a cute ask and response thing! to why don’t i have that? why didn’t i do that? why do i keep trying to find my worth by following the numbers of my own work? why do i think about posting something like this and feeling like it would be complaining and whining and whatever response i’d get would be disingenuous, but i look at others doing something similar and feel nothing but support and hoping that they feel better soon?

it started to feel like every little thing was irking me. i was starting to think meanly. i hate being mean, even thinking things that could be considered rude. i’d grit my teeth and roll my eyes at any ~fandom discourse,~ i’d scroll quickly by anything that i didn’t like in the slightest, i wasn’t having fun anymore. well, maybe i was, but a lot less than i did before. i felt... angry, basically. annoyed, frustrated, whichever. i was starting to fixate, and i knew i was starting to fixate. but it was on things i didn’t want to fixate on.

i was watching a video recently, and they said something along the lines of the people who only watch the numbers, they’re just unhappy. my first thought upon hearing that was well, yeah. but how do i fix it?

the answer is, i don’t really know. really mostly it’s just... taking a step back to figure that out. there’s no easy fix for what’s going in my life atm. so we’ll see how that goes. i’ll start putting stuff in queue, fanart and gifs and text posts and the like, but posting to a lesser extent than i was before. i’m probably gonna work mostly on big bang, but maybe a couple of littler fics will pop out of the framework, when i’m ready, when i have an idea and the drive.

i still love to write. i really love these characters. i love where the plot of sanders sides is going, as well as thomas’ other content. fanders have been nothing but supportive for me. i’m excited for the works i have planned, and i want my response to them being posted as an it’s up! i’m proud of myself for getting this done! i think i executed this idea to the best of my ability and i have grown as a writer! rather than it’s up! i want positive feedback nOW! if it gets less than x notes then i am a failure and this was a horrible idea!

i wanted to close this one out by saying this is, entirely, a me situation. do not feel guilty for not consuming/enjoying/reblogging/commenting on my work. that is your choice. no matter how entitled a creator might feel to it, it is your choice. sure, it would be nice, as i’m sure most authors would agree! but it is NOT anyone’s fault that i’m feeling this way. it’s my brain and my head and my weird emotions. you guys did nothing wrong. it’s just something that some creators struggle with, and apparently now it’s my turn.

i’m not blaming anyone (other than myself) and i don’t want it to sound like i am. you guys are fantastic, truly and really wonderful, and i want to be sure that i can provide fun things for you guys (again, that you have the choice to consume or not!) while enjoying myself too!

again, please, do not reblog.

also, uh, this is going up hopefully by the time i’m asleep so i don’t chicken out and delete it, so, you know.

#my post #text #not ts #uhh #anxiety stuff tw #i talk about how i'm struggling with some fandom stuff #so if that's a topic you want to avoid please avoid it! take care of yourself!#do not reblog #long post

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nightglider124 · 7 years ago

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31 Days of Titans - Day 8: 3AM

More of a creepy one but has some fluff between two of my faves so y’know; tis all good.

I’ve done “3AM” because its a scary time. For those who are unaware, 3am is known as the witching hour; a time people believe that paranormal things happen the most or spirits are around. Basically, it’s the time most likely to have weird shit go down.

I am now currently in Poland so my posts will be coming via queue! Will check in when I can or when I have WiFi.

Day 8 - 3AM

She tried to shut her eyes tighter; to ignore the pull of wakefulness but she knew it was a futile attempt.

With a sigh that sounded very much like a growl, Raven rolled onto her back and opened her eyes to glare at the ceiling.

This kept happening and it only served to make her more uneasy each and every time.

Cautiously, she turned her head to look at her clock.

3am.

It blinked at her, red and fuzzy in the dark. It was mocking her, reminding her of the significance of being awake at this time.

Because of her demonic heritage, Raven had always been tuned to times when the dead and spirits and other things dwelling within the afterlife, were most active.

She felt a shiver run through her as she lay there. Despite having Beast Boy’s warmth beside her, she felt cold; like something was already with her. Raven held her breath, not trusting herself to reach out and try sensing whatever it was.

Her mouth was dry; she was parched and against her better judgement, Raven threw the comforter back and slipped out of bed. She fought the fear in her stomach, continuously telling herself not to be afraid; that there was nothing to be scared of. There was nothing there.

That’s what she had to keep telling herself. That’s how she would keep her powers under control. Fear was one of the worst emotions when it came to controlling her abilities but she managed, more often than not.

Her door opened quietly, revealing the pitch black of the hallway. She frowned; usually Cyborg left some of the lights on after initiating shutdown but tonight there were none to illuminate the hallway; even a little bit.

Steeling herself for the long walk to the kitchen for some water, Raven slowly started walking. She kept her eyes facing forward, refusing to look around or over her shoulder, in fear of what she might see.

“...Raven...”

The empath froze on the spot, too shocked to do anything else. It must have been her imagination. It was late, she was tired so it surely, was something she imagined she heard.

“...Raaaven...”

If it wasn’t so eerie sounding, Raven could almost imagine it was Beast Boy saying her name in that sing-song way of his. She swallowed, knowing it was all in her mind and nothing more.

Raven continued moving, picking up the pace as she did so. She silently cursed herself for needing a drink of water.

On other nights when she had woken up at 3am exactly as well, she’d simply snuggled into Beast Boy’s side and forced herself asleep but tonight; her mouth felt like a desert.

“Raven.”

She stopped and sucked in a startled gasp. That had been real; she liked to believe the first two were not but this one... she shuddered. She had felt the breath against her ear and the buzzing sound of a voice. The voice made her fear increase too; it was scratchy and demonic, maybe the voice of a woman. She couldn’t be sure.

Raven spun around and looked down the hallway, waiting for whatever it was to jump out and grab her.

“H-Hello?” Raven croaked, hating the fact she sounded so defenceless and weak.

“Raven?”

The emapth made a muffled squeak and spun back around, coming face to face with her best friend.

Starfire tilted her head as she closed the bedroom she shared with Robin, who Raven caught a glimpse of snoozing away.

“Starfire...” Raven breathed, relief flooding her tone. So, the voices had been real but it had certainly not belonged to a demon or poltergeist of any kind.

“Raven? Are you alright?” Starfire wondered, carefully touching her friend’s shoulder.

“Y-Yeah... I’m okay. Why were you calling me?”

Starfire’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Before... you kept saying my name, didn’t you?”

The Princess shook her head, “I only said your name just now, when you spun around to face me, Raven.”

A chill rippled through Raven, giving her skin goosebumps. She so desperately wanted to believe Starfire was playing a joke of some kind but she knew, deep down from the look of concern on Starfire’s face that the strange, wispy voices she had heard beforehand were not just a figment of her imagination.

“What are you doing up then, Starfire?” Raven queried,

“I am having the trouble sleeping. I was on my way to the kitchen to get some of the hot chocolate.” Starfire paused and eyed her friend, “Perhaps you would like to join me... we could discuss what it is that has you so alert?”

Raven exhaled, feeling the familiar sensation of relief. She was still wary but at least having one of her friends with her would settle those feelings a little.

“Sounds... good.”

Starfire beamed and clapped her hands before looping one of arms with Raven’s, taking the lead and steering them towards the kitchen,

“Glorious!”

Raven clearly felt the same joy Starfire did, as she missed the dark creature up on the ceiling that made a swipe for her; missing by mere inches.

#teen titans #starfire #raven #starrae #raestar #friendship #31 days of titans #day 8 #3am #witching hour #halloween #dc comics #fanfiction #nightglider124

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kidsviral-blog · 7 years ago

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10 Moms Share Why They Chose To Breastfeed Their Kids Past The Age Of Two

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/10-moms-share-why-they-chose-to-breastfeed-their-kids-past-the-age-of-two/

10 Moms Share Why They Chose To Breastfeed Their Kids Past The Age Of Two

Extended breastfeeding is the practice of breastfeeding a child past the age of one, and it’s more prevalent than you might think. BuzzFeed Life talked to a small selection of moms about their choice to breastfeed beyond toddlerhood.

1. Extended breastfeeding came under fire last week when mom of two Denise Sumpter went on British television to discuss her decision to breastfeed her 6-year-old daughter until the child self-weans.

2. So what is the deal with extended breastfeeding? BuzzFeed Life talked to moms in the thick of it to find out.

3. Jasmine Banks, mom of three

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Jasmine Banks

“I knew from the very beginning that I wanted to breastfeed and that I wanted to wean my children based on their individual queues. We wanted our child to have all the biological benefits of breastfeeding for as long as possible and we wanted to promote secure attachment. I nursed our first child for three years. He slowly became disinterested and soon preferred his snacks over breast milk, though he asked for it in a cup until he was 4. I found out that I was pregnant with our third child when our middle child was 6 months old. I nursed her through pregnancy and then tandem nursed both the middle and last child until the last child weaned. All three of my children weaned on their own by slowly incorporating more activity and food. I breastfed a total of seven years.”

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DÃ©sirÃ©e Fawn

“On the day of Gretchen’s birth, my goal was to breastfeed for six months. At six months it was a year. At a year it was 2 years, and the ball just kept on rolling. My advice to other mothers is this: DO WHAT FEELS RIGHT. Breastfeed until it no longer works for you and your baby. Never let anyone else dictate the rules of your motherhood experience.”

5. Sara Moe, mom of three

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Sara Moe

“I didn’t really set out to nurse all my children past 2. Obviously I was committed to breastfeeding — you have to be to make it through the first two painful, difficult weeks — but it was nowhere in my plan to continue as long as I did. I figured we’d do our best, see what happened. I guess what happened was partly that I was lazy and nursing was an easy fix in a plentitude of situations. I am also of course aware of the health benefits for both mother and baby — lowered cortisol levels and breast cancer risk for mom, heightened immunity and lowered SIDS risk for the kid, among others — but I can’t say this affected my decision to continue breastfeeding as much as the fact that it was just so easy, effective, and honestly, enjoyable most of the time. Plus I’ll still be able to feed my baby during the zombie apocalypse.”

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Instagram: @brigitteelisee

7. Miranda Wicker, mom of two

“I didn’t plan to be breastfeeding for this long, and to be honest, before I ever breastfed for the first time I thought it was sort of weird when moms breastfed older toddlers. Then my son went on a nursing strike at four and a half months old and a few months later, we switched him to formula. When Emma came along a few years later, my only plan was to take everything as it came and hopefully make it to six months, then six months turned into a year so I could get her through flu season. After a year we were still going strong and she was showing no signs of stopping and before I knew it, we’d passed the two-year milestone.

“A lot of people don’t understand extended breastfeeding. At this point, it’s less about nutrition for her and more about comfort and bonding. My boobs are her security blanket (along with her “baba,” at least three baby dolls, some books, and two or three actual blankets…). Maybe it’s weird to some people, and that’s totally cool. Other people’s habits, like clipping nails in public or heating fish in a shared microwave, are weird to me. She’s healthy, fiercely independent, whip smart, and won’t take my boobs with her to kindergarten. Probably.”

8. Natasha Chiam, mom of two

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Natasha Chaim

“To be honest, there is not much that I ‘planned’ with my first kid, outside of the actual getting pregnant part. It was a complicated pregnancy and an early birth at 35 weeks, and he was only three and a half pounds. Breastfeeding was his best chance to grow and get all the immunity he needed from me and I was adamant that breastfeeding was how he was going to get it.

“My son weaned himself right after his third birthday. He was the one who decided that he was a big boy and didn’t need to nurse anymore. It was both a relief, as I was nursing both kids and it was starting to take its toll on me physically, and a bittersweet moment as well.

“My daughter continued to nurse until she was 4 and a half years old and would have likely continued longer if I had let her! I probably let it go on that long because I knew she was my last baby and it is (was) such an integral part of us being and growing together. She still talks about it (and is now 6) and I am glad that it is such a good, loving, beautiful memory for her (and for me).

“Extended nursing was what worked for us. It wasn’t always easy, especially with my little preemie boy, but in the end, the benefits far outweighed anything else.”

9. Natalia Fabia, mom of one

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Instagram: @nataliafabia

“While I was pregnant it was no doubt in my mind if I was going to breastfeed or not. I had an amazing natural birth at home which was the best experience of my life, the next step was breastfeeding… and I was actually very excited for it. I knew the benefits of breastfeeding were a having happy, healthy baby and the antibodies in my milk were something nothing else could emulate. Plus it is basically FREE FOOD! My mother breastfed me and I have been a huge advocate for it.”

instagram.com

11. Adrienne Jones, mom of four

“I nursed my youngest until right around his third birthday. I planned before he was born to nurse him as long as he wanted in a sort of vague way, with no real idea what that would look like. Then he turned out to be this outrageously high-needs baby (and eventually was diagnosed with multiple disabilities) and I’m so thankful we had BFing as a way to bond because otherwise, being close to him was very, very difficult. I won’t go into all that detail but he screamed for his first few years and rarely slept and it was profoundly challenging, but at least I had that one thing that was working, you know? There was one thing I knew was right and good.”

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13. Titania Jordan, mom of one

“I totally did not plan to breastfeed my son for almost three and a half years. I thought he would self-wean way before that. Of course, toward the end, it was very sporadic and perhaps just to fall asleep for a nap or bed, but it was sweet and beautiful and completely unplanned.

“There were countless benefits to breastfeeding, but it certainly wasn’t a breeze. I’m thankful I was able to get through the rocky phase [at the beginning], as I know it is hard for many who try, especially when you have to balance going back to work with pumping.

“I wish I had more confidence to nurse in public in those early months, instead of hiding in my car or a restaurant bathroom when my son would get hungry. I wish I wasn’t ashamed in certain instances of nursing a child past the age of 1, and then 2, and then (eeps!) 3! It seems like so not a big deal now, but back then, I was a strange bird compared to my friends with children the same age.”

14. Jennifer Latch, mom of three

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Jennifer Latch

“I have three daughters. My first self-weaned at 1. My second I weaned at nine months due to a number of factors, but have always felt it had been to soon for her and had a negative impact on her.

“For my third baby I just decided to nurse her until she self-weaned. The biggest benefit I had from nursing her past 1 was when she became ill and had several febrile seizures several times throughout her second year. She wouldn’t eat, but she would nurse and I was so happy that I was still able to. Now at 30 months (2.5) we are still nursing before bed and when I pick her up from daycare.

“I’ve started to tell her that nursing may be ending soon but she is pretty insistent it continue at this point. Honestly I would prefer not to nurse anymore, but it’s not such an inconvenience that I feel compelled to take drastic measures to stop.

“I think my cutoff will be 3 though. If we are still nursing at 3… well… I’ll have to update you. I HOPE my cutoff is 3!”

15. Laura Christensen, mom of two

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Instagram: @mrs_christensen27

“Nursing her really connects us. It’s that one special thing she can do to calm down and be happy again (if she got upset, hurt, or mad). It’s a mood stabilizer. When is that not much needed with a 3-year-old?!”

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/morganshanahan/ok-but-what-about-extended-breastfeeding

#denise sumpter #ebf #extended breastfeeding #nursing

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zeroeffortenvironment · 7 years ago

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voyager

Do you know how far Voyager 1 is from earth at this moment? It's 13 Billion miles. That's with a B. We as a species made something with our own hands and then put it in interstellar space! I'm not sure what's more inconcievable, the sheer fact of it, or that it got to where it is because we hurled it there at a rate of 38,000 miles per hour, using machinery and knowhow that came from under those same hands. that's almost 50 times the speed of sound. certainly not the fastest thing we've ever threw in the air but this one also sends picture postcards from where he at!! this is with a setup that was bolted in place in 1977. That not only predates your stupid hashtag-riddled instagram feed, but predates instagram altogether, it predates quad band phones, GSM, CDMA, digital light sensor, internet, and based on the fact that you're reading this blog, it probably predated you too...

Anyway. pictures from Voyager reach us in about 20 hours. that's from what? 13 billion miles away. So assuming that I post something here every day (which of COURSE I do), I am happy to report that I am floating in the vacuum so far up the universe's Yeah that by comparison to me the voyager just got the memo and started packing for his trip. to be precise the reason why it's been 682 days is because I'm 1.86 light years away, which, in cubic inches and football fields is 1.0984153e+13 miles out. I'd type it out but I trust google on it. this figure has more places than I have neurons within my skull.

And that, your honour, is why it may SEEEM that I've been slacking on this blog for the last ahem.. 2 years.

It's 10 am, on December 23rd, 2017. I'm on a couch, Roxanna is asleep. It's properly chilly, but I'm not wearing socks, otherwise it wouldn't even be worth mentioning. A great big factory-like window graces a concrete wall to my left, deligently trying to keep out the sounds of a noxious hvac system of a shopping center across the street. For its size it's doing a pretty respectable job. Meanwhile to the right of me the dishwasher is having a deep-tech warehouse rave. the air is a mixture of coffee that's getting cold, and that indescribable but not necessarily unpleasant smell of a place on a cold day when you just wake up. I'm surrounded by plants, plants, some plants, pictures, paper, wires, a bicycle ominously hangs off the wall on a redwood shelf quietly waiting like a panther on a tree for the perfect moment to fall onto its victim. Ahead of me is the door into the bedroom. An ages-old ikea lamp curiously sticks its head out where my desk is, beyond that, more wires, more plants, our DIY plywood bed, graced by a pile of blankets, cats, and potentially roxanna, and an 8' closet door mirror. All of this aligned like planets on Voyager's journey with a reflection of my face at its end 2.25522e-15 light years away.

I look a little disheveled. but not awful. Roxanna has been putting pins in my hair for the last couple months because I refuse to cut it. She is convinced it looks adolescent left to its own devices. At work Jeff Su, our in-house older asian guy with a gray camry and no filter, remarked that I look like a golden poodle. I think it looks fine. more importantly I couldn't care less if anyone thinks otherwise.

This is beat-matched near perfectly with how I feel about almost everything else around me lately. Christmas is in two days, and I feel like all I want this year is to be floating in the vast nothingness of space in complete silence, absence of stimuli, thought or air pressure in my lungs. Or at least in a raft in the middle of a bay. Instead what might be happening is as follows: after christmas, the very morning of the 26ths, I have to be seen in a queue at the LA Federal Building at 7 am flat - that's when they open. I will be there with a heap of documents, forms, and passport photos procuring a same-day passport made using a citizenship certificate that I have just received in the mail which has the CORRECT spelling of my lastname. Once (or rather If) I get this, I am to pack expiditiously and be on a plane with Roxanna at 1AM the following day (27th), which will fly us to Morelia Mexico, where we will be joined by some of her bdgjillion relatives who will take us to a mountain cabin retreat at Zirauen. While out there we will be enjoying great company, and scenery whilst sleeping in a tent for a few days. Come the 28th or 29th (not sure) we set out for Caretero, and perhaps Guanojuato, where we will be impromptu-crashing at the home of other relatives. On the 3rd we fly back, ah! which reminds me - I need to send an email to my colleagues saying I won't be at work until the 4th. Which should technically be 5th because I am a human afterall and don't run on aderol.

ALL of this was figured out last night, between the hours of 5pm when I picked up my certificate in the mail and midnight or so. None of it was by me. I should really be teling this to my spouce, and I guess I will soon enough - but to me planning a last-minute trip of such complexity on such short notice is batshit insane, puts an undue burden on the folks that will be hosting us, and most importantly is the direct opposite of floating in a raft in the middle of the bay. And it is so by virtue of the fact that the latter constitutes Rest, the former - doesn't.

I don't doubt that parts of it will be fun, and I'll see lovely familiar faces and some beautiful places, but the problem really isn't our upcoming trip to Zirahuen, it isn't Mexico, Roxanna, or her great big army of amazing relatives. Btw it's worth a mention that I have already been to Mexico once for a Mayra and Tonio's wedding in Morelia last year, and had a blast.

The problem is not with traveling, it's with making plans. Or rather my perpetually empty calendar and never objecting to anything that other people may want to put on it.

Let's talk about Goals. Cheryl Crow's analysis of the matter falls way short of the Noble Peace prize - it is Not wanting what you got, not getting what you want, it's wanting something in the first place. You know what the hardest thing about meeting your goals is? THE absolute hardest thing no matter whether you're perfecting plie's in an intro ballet class or building the next Voyager - the hardest thing is having a goal in the first place. Because a goal worth having is the kind you absolutely can't live without - it defines you as much as your first and last name and your reflection in the mirror you see every day. With a goal like this, everything else is machine work - resources, design, problem solving, are all a matter of logic. I am convinced that all superhuman feats in history are results of having such goals, and have been dreamed, worked out, built, launched, and remembered because people woke up every morning, looking in the mirror and seeing the voyager reflect in their cornea...

Well, to get straight to point - I don't have one of these. And the longer i think about it the more I'm convinced that I never did. And if anything, this is one thing that keeps my mind completely devoid of thought as I float in my vacuum, and it is this:

if I want nothing and make zero effort towards achieving things I don't want (read: everything), then why the hell are there three achievement awards on my desk? why is my desk electric and goes up and down with a push of a button, and costs $3000 of company cash? How did I come up with Two degrees in Architecture at Cal Poly and UCLA? How did I even get INTO either of these two schools? How did I manage to not only get a job, but to keep it from 2009 until 2014, a period in architecture that was absolutely plagued by the recession. I am not putting myself on a pedestal here. The reason I bring up all these things is because I never looked at myself in the mirror and saw an architect with two degrees, three glass sculptures with my name etched into them, or the handful of buildings that I contributed design efforts to. None of this was ever a clear goal. Neither is the advancement up the ladder that I could be striving for, nor is architectural license that is the next logical step to your advancement up the ladder as an architect. I am not looking forward to any of that. I am particularly not looking forward to my performance review in early January where I will certainly be asked questions pertaining specifically to my ambitions in the firm, the industry, and my career direction.

It's a bizarre problem and I've learned to live with it - being exceptionally good at something but arguably having little interest in it. But it also leaves me in a perpetual search for something to BE interested in, because I'm a human, and we're a curious species, and I'm wired to have goals and predispositions. And like a bit-coin mining rig, my mind is occupied with this all the fucking time, to the point that I get tired of just thinking about it. In the meantime the world around me revolves according to its own rules. And whether I like it or not until I find something worth adjusting my trajectory for, I am at the mercy of the forces that make this world turn. So far, I think, they have been good to me.

To this end I wonder if the Voyager gives two shits where it's going? here is an amazing thing - thousands of years of star gazing, invention, evolutionary thought and technological breakthroughs, wrapped up in a glistening contraption of elegant and perfectly straight trusses, it's own metallic mind and set of eyes forever traveling at 38,000 miles per hour. If the gods were to add up everything we achieved as a species and pick 10 top things - this is one of them! Here's an amazing thing that we made, and then we just sent it off away from us as fast as we fucking could. The only thing we know about the voyager's plans is that 44,000 years from now he has a date with a neighboring star. If that was ever someone's goal for it, they certainly aren't sticking around to achieve it. And thus I believe Voyager has no destination. it's moving in a straight line, occasionally adjusted by the orbits of planets it slingshots off of. And maybe the Voyager is also perfectly fine with that...

crap, I gotta pack...

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