#and she would have to be patient but eventually luis would find her

[geddy-leesbian]

yeah. Im half asleep rn. prequel

The hardest parts were over with. Lucia successfully went “missing” during a fire drill, and Luis successfully reunited with her in her hiding spot a few hours later. Then, in the operating room of a veterinarian office Luis somehow bribed/sweet talked the owner into letting him borrow for a few hours, Lucia's parasite was surgically removed, and then thoroughly destroyed and disposed of. In an ideal world, he would sit and wait for the anesthesia to wear off and make sure she had sufficient painkillers.  But this wasn't an ideal world. It was no secret that Dr. Luis Serra was a little more emotionally attached to his test subject than he was supposed to be. He wasn't the first. The creator of the Hunter γ strain was so attached to his creation that his reaction to Umbrella declaring the project a failure was to smuggle his specimens to Raccoon City before they could be euthanized. Once that scandal came to light, it flavored the gossip around Luis. “What kind of wild stunt do you think Serra is going to pull when they finally declare Lucia a failure too?” was a common discussion topic.  The ever obedient Lucia who never tried to escape like other test subjects occasionally did, who held still and faced every test and procedure with a smile if Luis told her it was okay, suddenly went crazy and ran away from Luis during a routine drill. The next day Luis goes missing. The dots weren't hard to connect. As soon as Luis is reported missing, Umbrella will be using every tool at their disposal to hunt down both him and Lucia.  The clock was ticking, so as soon as her incisions were stitched up and her IV was removed, Luis scooped her up and carried her to the car he bought from a sketchy looking individual with cash the day before, leaving no paper trail. All they had to do was make it to Valdelobos. It was a horrible place Luis had once sworn he would never return to, but it was the only place that he knew Umbrella had no sway in and wouldn't think to search. He was willing to give up all the modern creature comforts and luxuries he'd grown accustomed to for Lucia's sake. The drive isn't awful. Luis did give her a good dose of painkiller just before removing the IV, so that and the anesthesia still in her system keep her sleepy the first portion. Eventually she does start waking up more. After a snack, drink, and pill for pain she's more than happy. She's groggy, but fights sleep because she wants to stare out the window, since she has so little memory of life outside a laboratory. Eventually the road just stops, but by this point Luis knows where he is. Just a short walk to the village chief's manor. Luis checks Lucia's vitals, gets her another dose of meds, and then tells her to stay in the car while he goes to check something out.  “Luis?” Méndez is shocked when he opens his front door and sees Luis, but he smiles. “I didn't expect to ever see you again. What are you doing here?” “I'd love to tell you, but my daughter is in the car waiting for me to come back. She needs somewhere to sleep, I wanted to go ahead and make sure we'd be welcome here.” “Of course you're welcome here! A great grandchild, your grandfather would be proud.” “Well, she isn't my biological daughter,” Luis rips the bandaid off, it'll be obvious when Méndez sees that Lucia doesn't look anything like him, so there's no point in dragging things out. “She's adopted, very long story.” “But a story I'm sure is worth hearing. Though not this moment. Go get your daughter. She can rest upstairs while we talk.”

[waveridden]

gloria and pedro + clinging to each other

The Crabs come back in latesiesta, which means Gloria is working.

“You don’t have to do this,” Valentine says. She’s on the phone, standing at the edge of the field, not far from third base. Gloria can see her from where xe’s perched in the stands. She looks nervous, more nervous than Gloria’s seen in a long time. “You can just be down here and say hi like the rest of us.”

“Nope.” Gloria cradles xyr phone between cheek and shoulder and lifts xyr camera, angling for some shots of the empty field. “I’m the official photographer of the ILB—”

“Nobody gave you that title.”

“I gave myself the title, and nobody’s around to tell me it’s unofficial.”

“That’s not how it works,” Val says, as though they haven’t had this conversation a thousand times. “And besides, your job isn’t— did you hear that?”

Gloria frowns. Xe actually can hear something. “Is that… running water?”

“I don’t think it’s water,” Val says slowly. “But something.”

“Do you need to get to high ground?”

“How do you know what to do in a flood?”

“It’s called thinking,” Gloria says patiently.

Xe’s about to say something else, except then Valentine swears loudly, and then there’s a deluge of… something. Val’s right, it’s not water, it looks like nothing and also water and also oil and also rocks and also something impossible, splashing onto the field of the Crabitat. Val stumbles away, and Gloria can see the few other people brave enough to wait on the field do the same.

Gloria starts taking pictures. “Val,” xe says urgently. “You there?”

“I’m here.”

“What the fuck is that stuff?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”

“I think it’s getting lower.”

“I think you’re right.”

Gloria keeps taking pictures, which means that xe can see the moment that the stuff subsides enough to reveal something beneath the surface. Something crabby and… mannequin-y.

“Oh my god,” xe says dumbly. Xe’s taking pictures, more instinct than anything else. “Val, it’s them.”

“You can’t be sure—”

“I can see Forrest.”

“You can…” Val sucks in a breath. “Holy shit.”

The next thing to breach the surface is something metal and shining. It looks like a wing. Gloria has enough time to frown before the rest of the stuff flows away, as smooth and horrid as it came, and then the Crabs are standing in the middle of the field.

“Pedro has wings,” Gloria says. It’s the only thought that makes sense, and even that doesn’t make sense, because Pedro’s here. Pedro’s here and he looks the same. Pedro’s here, with wings, and the rest of the Crabs, and that’s impossible, because Pedro doesn’t have wings, and the Crabs are gone.

“Pedro has—” xe can hear the moment Val’s throat closes up. When she speaks again, her voice is shaking so badly Gloria can barely understand it. “I’m going to go.”

“Bye,” Gloria says, and pauses in taking pictures long enough to slip xyr phone into xyr pocket. Xe gets to xyr feet, a little precariously, but it’s only precarious because of the height and definitely not because xe’s full-body shaking, and starts taking pictures. Every reunion. Every look on the Crabs’ faces as they look around. Val and Pedro the first time they see each other, and then xe respectfully takes some pictures of other things. And then, okay, a couple not-so-respectful pictures of them, xe can’t help it.

It’s easy to get into a groove. Gloria’s basically a professional photographer now. Xe has business cards. Xe has contacts outside of blaseball. Xe has a life of xyr own in a way that the Crabs… won’t be able to recognize. It’s something xe’s been worrying about since earlsiesta and the hints of the Crabs coming back: what if they don’t know xem anymore? What if xe’s changed too much?

Then again, Pedro has wings. So it’s not like xe’s the only one that changed.

Gloria takes pictures. And pictures, and pictures. Xe ignores xyr phone when it starts ringing; it’s probably Margo or Zeb or something, and xe can deal with that later. Instead xe keeps taking photos: Ken and Finn with their hands fastened around each other’s, Luis and Tot sneaking away, Dreamy and Nagomi and MoCo all rushing towards the Crabs. There are countless stories unfolding in front of xem and xe wants to catch them all.

“Gloria,” Valentine says.

Xe flaps a hand behind xemself without turning. “Busy.”

“Great,” Val says, sounding amused. “We’ll just come back later?”

“Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes,” repeats Pedro.

“Five—” Gloria blinks and drops the camera, letting it swing on the lanyard till it thuds into xyr chest. Xe doesn’t turn around. Xe can’t bring xemself to turn around, because what if it’s not really happening? Xe’s dreamed about this before. Dreams are still hard to figure out sometimes.

“You shaved your head,” Pedro says, and there’s a strange note to it. “It looks good.”

“I don’t care how it looks,” Gloria says, and finally spins around. Pedro’s there and he looks — well, he looks like Pedro, maybe dressed a little different, maybe with giant wings now, but still like Pedro. Xe forces xemself to blink a couple times. “I— I shaved it because I like it better. Doesn’t get in the way.”

Pedro nods. His glasses are smudged. He’s looking straight at xem.

“Hi,” Gloria says, because there’s literally nothing else to say. “Val, take this.”

Valentine, standing behind Pedro, waits for Gloria to take the lanyard with the camera off xyr neck. She takes the camera, handling it like an expert — which she is, she’s played assistant for Gloria enough times to know what to do — and then takes a step back.

“Hi,” Pedro says, which is stupid, because Gloria’s already flinging xemself at him. He seems shorter than xe remembered — or maybe xe’s taller? — but he accepts the hug with grace. His arms wind around xyr back, and Gloria has to struggle to do the same, because there are giant mechanical wings in the way.

“Your wings are dumb,” xe mutters petulantly. “You have to make me some.”

Pedro laughs, a startled burst that makes Gloria grin into his shoulder. “I’m not doing that.”

“I could take great pictures if I could fly!”

“You would be a menace.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Pedro squeezes xem even tighter. “It’s good to see you again.”

He’s already crying; Gloria can feel it against xyr cheek and shoulder, damp and a little gross. So it’s not embarrassing when xe starts crying too. “You, too,” xe whispers, and xe hopes he can tell how much xe means it.

[queerchoicesblog]

The Nightingale

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing projectcontinues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story finale is served: hope that you enjoyed the journey so far.

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools,  La Vie Bohème, Broken Dreams

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

__________________________

It takes some time to persuade Élodie that my idea could actually work. Before sharing it with her, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge and discuss it with Laurent, Carmine and the other friends she has there. They listen to me carefully and ponder my words. When they speak, they evaluate possibilities and chances of the new plan. They even ask Valerie, the singer I saw on stage on my first time at the 'First Palace of Women', to hear it out and share her thoughts on that. She takes a long meditative pause before conceding that it's not a bad idea, after all. "And I think Monsieur Zidler won't have much to object, honestly. He likes Lila, he hired her personally" she adds, shrugging and flashing an encouraging smile. We all share a look. Laurent speaks first, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "Time to break it to Lila!" "Léa's idea, Léa's duty" Carmine winks. "Let us know if you need backup and we'll send the chivalry". And so I do. The following day, when our shift is over, I wave Marie goodbye and head towards Montmarte, cherishing the news in my chest and hoping my idea won't make her too nervous or uncomfortable. Or even worse, offend her.

"A singing act?" Élodie looks at me confused when I share my foolish idea. She almost spits out the coffee she's drinking. "But I'm not a singer!" She keeps looking at me without understanding, furrowing her brows. I wonder if she's thinking I'm speaking nonsense out of the blue. If so, I'm thankful she tries to conceal it. "I know...you sing well though" I notice, smiling. I take a seat beside her and gently wrap an arm around her waist. I ponder what to say next: I know how badly she's suffering despite the brave face she puts on now and hurting her is the last thing I want. On the contrary, I only want to help her, if I can. "I know it's different from what you're used to and what you want...but I genuinely think you could do well. And it doesn't have to be forever, it could be temporary...the doctor said you have to be patient with your recovery. As much as it pains me to remind it, you can't go back dancing now" "I know" she grimaces. "Consider this a...distraction?" I suggest, guiding her face towards me. "When you feel better, you could give it a try and see how it feels. You could sit on a bar stool and play an accordion like that singer at the Cage, remember? Maybe you'll even have fun" I try to be as bubbly as I can given the circumstances and my naive enthusiasm draws a tiny smile on her face. "Maybe" she sighs, half-convinced. "Just think about it: no rush, no pressure" I press a kiss on her forehead. I don't tell her of my conversation with Carmine and Laurent at the Moulin. They go visit her a week or so later, bringing a colourful bouquet of irises on behalf of all her colleagues who "miss her dearly and can't wait to have her back". To my surprise, Élodie mentions them the singing act plan. Of course they pretend to hear it from the first time; it could work, they say. Everything to get her back to the stage she belongs to, they add. I am unbelievably happy to see my love improving as weeks go by. She now leaves her room more often with the help of a crutch and take "little walks" up and down the corridor or simply sits in the main room, chatting, reading. I make her promise not to exert herself but I am glad of this change: keeping her mind busy and quitting her self-imposed isolation seem to do her good. It's in the main room that I find her one evening. The atmosphere is as lively as one would expect from an artist apartment in Montmarte. Luis is discussing of an upcoming exhibition sipping wine in the kitchen with a couple of friends and colleagues or so I wager. He greets me with a nod and hands me a glass of red. I gladly take it and head to the main room where the music comes from. Élodie is sitting on the sofa with a girl I have never seen before. They both greet me with a smile and my love pats the armchair by her side, beckoning me to have a seat with them. The girl stands and offers me her hand to shake: it's Sidonie, the actress roommate. She had a role in a comedy show lately, that's why we didn't get a chance to meet sooner. "El asked me to teach her how to play the accordion" she explains, cheerfully. I am pretty sure my face betrays my surprise. "And it's way trickier than I thought it would be" Élodie protests. "How can a little instrument like this can be so hard to play? I don't get it" Sidonie and I take a seat as she lets out a loud sigh of defeat. Her frown doesn't last long though: a quick smile appears on her face at our proximity. Dropping the instrument in her lap, she reaches for my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, right?" I smile back as she steals my glass of wine. "Right, and you still have time before the big day" Sidonie adds. "What's the big day?" I ask, a little confused. "You haven't told her yet?" she shoves Élodie's shoulder, gaping. "C'mon, El, spill the beans!" Élodie sighs and take a big sip of wine as if to steady her nerves for some big announcement. Saying that curiosity is killing me is an understatement but I try not to pressure her. "So..." she starts, turning to face me. "The doctor visited me yesterday and-" "And?" I fail to refrain myself. "And he is happy with how my recovery is going. Very happy, actually. True, I still cannot dance and probably my days as a can-can dancer are over" a shadow crosses her face but I am proud to see her fight it back. "But I am improving and that's what matters, right? If I keep up the good job, I can get rid of that crutch in weeks, he said" "But that's amazing, El! I'm so happy for you" I cover my mouth to prevent the lump forming in my throat to ruin the moment. I don't wanna cry here, now, in front of her. "And there's more to it" Sidonie winks. "Keep going, El" "I...I may have written a letter to Monsieur Zidler, explaining my situation and mentioning the singing act plan. And asking for an audition to see if I can still fit in. Carmine offered to deliver it when she visited, the answer came in earlier today" She takes a dramatic pause. "He may have said yes" I squeal and wrap my arms around her neck, making her giggle. "He said he will receive me whenever I want. I just have to write him a note and he will give me an appointment" she adds, hugging me back. I linger in her arms a bit longer, longer than I meant at first, suddenly unwilling to resist the wave of joyous relief washing over me. I try to make it last in the familiar warmth of Élodie's embrace. "It's...oh El, it's...I don't even have words for it!" I say, eventually parting. "That's why I asked Sid for help. With the accordion and in general: she's a professional, right?" "A great professional" the actress playfully corrects her. "A great professional" Élodie chuckles. "I know how to dance but not how to take the stage solo, how to move, what to say, how to engage with the audience...oddly enough, it's all quite new to me. So I thought that a little training could help me to pass the audition and stay at the Moulin" "And Theo, our music-hall virtuoso, has been recruited too. He will assist with the singing part" Sidonie finishes her sentence then turns towards me. "Trust me, Léa: we'll turn this dancer into the new singing phenomenon the likes of which Paris has ever seen" True to her word, in the weeks that follow, my indomitable love works hard with her roommates and improvised tutors. She keeps me and her friends from the Cage updated over dinner when we visit her; she asks for suggestions on the songs to sing, songs that might make a good impression on Monsieur Zidler. She's keen to impress him, certainly out of pride but also - I have reason to believe - in the hope that he allows her not to leave the Moulin. That place has come to signify so much for her, more than most could probably understand. Maybe she landed there almost by chance as she said but it's clear what it means to her now: it's her life, her passion. I bet that sometimes at night she dreams the extravagant hall filled with dancing couples and careless costumers sipping champagne. I'm sure the furious rhythm of la quadrille still haunts her sleep: I can only hope it doesn't torment her. I know that she's suffering deep down, that every limping step, every accidental look to her injured ankle reminds her of that night who put an end to the career she was born for. I see it in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. But I also sense a sparkle, a fire burning brighter than the shadows crossing her face and her heart. A month later, she finally decides "it's now or never" and writes a note to Monsieur Zidler. I cannot go with her to the audition because of work, luckily Theo has a free day. Monsieur Zidler listens carefully, smoking his cigar in a first row seat, and claps his hands when the last note dies out. Green light for the singing act! The night of her debut I make sure to get tickets for all my friends. Eventually, I let them know of my friendship with Élodie and the other dancers of the Moulin. I didn't tell them well, everything and I am thankful they don't dig for more. I am also grateful for their genuine concern for my love's accident and the enthusiasm they showed for her debut. The guys insisted to buy some flowers to throw her on the way here and they all dressed up to meet her after the acts. When I look at them, I think back of my first time here and I cannot help but smile to myself. Before venturing to the backstage area, I wave at Pierrette - well Pierre tonight - Amélie and other girls I saw at the Cage. We smile at each other across the room: I knew they wouldn't have missed such an important night. The night of her debut Élodie is so tense she keeps saying she's going to puke and asking for champagne to find the right amount of liquid courage to walk onto the stage. Laurent, Carmine and I try to discipline said amount and escort her till the velvet curtains when time comes. She inhales sharply and gives us all a tensed look when on the other side Valerie announces a little novelty, a second singing act. Her singing act. She squeezes my hand tight till the moment the curtains open and she steps into the stage light. As I predicted, she had no reason to be so nervous, even if I get where her fears came from. When the lights of the music hall wash over her, the audience erupts in a round of encouraging applauses and cheers. The whole room resounds with her name - Lila! Lila! Lila! - as she proceeds towards a bar stool positioned at the centre of the stage. She's still limping but no one seems to notice or care. Especially when she clears her throat and after a gracious greeting, she starts singing. Then everyone goes quiet, enraptured by the sweet melody of her voice. She may not dance anymore but the paying guests seem to love her all the same. After every performance, they whistle in appreciation and clap their hand loud, asking for more songs. Night after night. Week after week. They don't stop. Journalists and regulars end up giving her a nickname that consecrates her new career. They start calling her 'The Nightingale of Pigalle' or simply 'The Nightingale'. With the unexpected yet unmistakable success, she gains a mention on the playbill and the posters advertising the Moulin all over Paris. As a consequence, her acts evolve and become more complex. Élodie asks for new tips to Sidonie and Theo and practises regularly with a newfound determination. She tries to find and memorise new songs to enrich her repertoire. Sometimes she sings them for me when we are in bed and she plays with my hair or holds me close in a loving embrace. Now she performs in duets with Valerie twice a week, and solo, winning the favour of adoring fans over and over again. Paris falls in love with her and well, I can't blame her. I don't think it's possible to know her and not to love Élodie. There is something inside her, a light so bright that encompasses her figure and is now showing. Better, glowing. As her new career takes off, something changes in my life too. I make what my superior calls "a most foolish decision I will regret dearly when it's too late" and quit my job at the atelier. In the end, I don't end up regretting it because, prevailing over a fierce competition, I join the tailor entourage of Les Folies Bergere. When one night I overheard a dancer at the Moulin saying that they were looking for a new seamstress, I just knew I had to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did. The pay is a bit lower than the one I would have now if I had stayed since my supervisor wasn't joking about that long-awaited promotion but I am happier this way. I got my share of Vie bohème sewing and fixing the most extravagant costumes Paris has ever seen. And I heard that Marie, who has been working thrice as hard over the past few months to make up for the time the girls and I covered for her, got 'my' promotion. She deserves it and some extra money might come in handy if Alain makes his move and gets down on one knee, at last. Who would have told, like....a year ago or even just a few months ago? Marie in tears at the thought of being fired and me, the quiet seamstress from the North with an ordinary life. Now my life is less ordinary and the world seem like turning faster and faster. It's thrilling, maybe a bit scary at times. It's like...being caught in a whirlwind, I notice as I share my thoughts with Élodie one night in bed. "Things change fast in Paris" she ponders, smiling to herself. "It's the magic of the crazy times we live in" "Maybe you're right" I agree but then a thought crosses my mind, an uneasy one. I look at her and my heart aches a little: she is always so beautiful I'm the moonlight but she also looks distant, so ethereal she could vanish any minute just like a dream when morning comes and you open your eyes. But I don't want to wake from this dream. I roll to the side to face her and speak again before cowardice gets the best of me. "But there is a thing I don't want to change" I reach for her hand and she rolls to her side too, listening. "This. You and me, together. I...I don't want to change that or that to change" I feel my cheeks burn as soon as the words leave my mouth but I had to say that. To make it clear. I have already lost her once and it was awful, I don't want to go through that again. The mere thought of it make my stomach turn Élodie's hand is cold on my cheek as she caresses it with the soothing tenderness I have come to love about her. "We don't have to change that, Léa" One night I am almost late for her act. I come straight from Les Folies but I wouldn't have missed it for the world since Élodie asked me to be present. She didn't tell me why, she just kissed me and said "you'll see". So here I am. I join my friends at the table reserved for us just as the first dancing act starts. I sip my champagne and do my best to follow even if my mind is somewhere else, backstage. I take a relieved sigh and clap my hands with the rest of the audience when her name is announced. This time though, she doesn't make her entrance straight away, leaving us wondering what she has in store for us. No one seems bothered though, they just whisper excitedly with the neighbours and keep clapping their hands to call her on stage. Then Élodie steps in, emerging from the velvet curtains in a new costume that elicits gasps and cheers among the audience. My friends and I clap encouragely as she saunters towards her stool in an elegant male suit just like the one Laurent wears on scene and swaying -and helping herself with - a walking stick like a dandy. I am suddenly reminded of our night at the Cage of Fools and my cheeks turn rosy. She greets everyone with affable cheerfulness and a mysterious smile that catches the attention of the paying guests. She takes a seat on her stool, with her usual grace and taking her time. When she speaks, she has the general undivided attention and curiosity. "I wrote a song, a little tune for tonight. Would you like to hear it?" An excited murmur spreads in the hall then everyone goes quiet. That's when she starts singing, a gorgeous smile on her lips. She sings of a Parisian boy who once bumped into a fisherman on his walk by the Seine. The old man told him that he didn't like Paris because you can only get small fishes here and pearls are hard to find away from the seashore: there are none in the City of Lights. The young Parisian listened to the man and resumed his walk, quickly forgetting about fishes and oysters. But he soon discovered that the old seaman was wrong. A few days later, the boy actually found one, the brightest pearl, down the River, on the quays of Paris, where Lady Luck is gentle with hopeful lovers. His pearl has hair of gold and a smile sweeter than cherries: she didn't make him rich but turned his life into paradise. He didn't make a necklace out of her like people do when they find those tiny shiny treasures, but he always bears the image of her face in his heart because his Pearl gave him the only wealth worth calling your own in this world: Love. When she hits the final note, it's clear everybody adored it. Loud appreciative whistles and applauses, a chant "again, sing again!" and flowers, so many flowers landing on the stage like a colourful rain. Another success but...this one is different. Élodie bows to the adoring audience and picks up one rose, rising. Her eyes search the crowd until they find me. With a tender smile, she throws it my way. It lands in my hands as someone starts chanting her name over the clapping of hands and stomping of feet. But I don't register it, I only have eyes for her. My heart is on fire. With one last lingering look before basking in her well deserved triumph, Élodie mouths words meant for me only. Words only I can hear in the crowd. "My little pearl"

[cleoselene]

I just got back from my pain management appointment.

The doctor, aggro roided piece of shit named DR. LUIS GUERRERO OF LEEHEALTH IN FORT MYERS, FLORIDA, practically burst into the room like the Kool-Aid man, immediately treating me like a fat useless junkie, aggressively lecturing at me before giving me a chance to speak or even exchange the most minimal of pleasantries.

I patiently tried to explain to him the three models of patient interaction in medical sociology and that the authoritarian-submissive model was not effective for me, he interrupt, I patiently asked if i could speak.  He stormed out of the room, I maybe have yelled some four letter words at him, and I left, letting the patients know in the waiting room that they would find no help here.

But then I wanted to talk to who was in charge, so I went back upstairs and was speaking to her calmly when two ENORMOUS security guards appeared.  She wasn’t listening to me.  She was filibustering until security arrived.  They insisted on riding the elevator with me.  In the age of COVID, I refused, so I gingerly took the stairs.  They mocked my slow movements, saying “it’s no big deal” when I said the stairs were dangerous for me.  I told them they had tiny cocks, not MS.

I got out, told them they had rotten souls, got to my car, drove to the other side of the parking lot, and called my mom, then was having a good cry. It was hot outside and I was feeling that MS heat nausea. I vomited on the pavement.  Right about then, security showed up on their golf car, told me I littered and nodded to my vomit, then made me clean it up in front of them.

I asked them if they really though I should drive in this state, they said they didn’t care as long as I left.  I left, calming down as I went to the post office to mail a gift to a friend.  I was dealing with the mail when my phone started blowing up.

This fucking doctor called the police telling them, and I quote, that I was going to “shoot myself up with pills until I’m dead.”

What.

That statement makes zero sense, but the cops went to my mom’s house, to my house, eventually stalking me to the post office.  On a lie. An absolute lie. 

If I wasn’t white, it could have ended in tragedy.  I explained to the cops that it was a lie, they called the office, the receptionist said she had never heard such thing, and they let me go.

I just called an attorney.  I have my free consultation for malpractice tomorrow.

[sybil-writes]

Happy STS! tell me about the relationships between the characters of ambergris, how do they effect the story?

It took me a long time to answer this ask because it merits a long answer – the relationships are everything here! I’ll start by describing them historically and by importance.

Sylvan and Nia are longtime lovers in a committed relationship. They’re very much at the top of their game relationship-wise– good communication, kind and patient with each other, care so much about not getting the other hurt. But a tricky thing is that Sylvan has a lot of trauma that try as she might, it’s very difficult for Nia to understand, and it’s actively painful for Nia to hear it. So it’s been a kind of sticking point that Sylvan has this very weighty history for which there is no real outlet. It’s sort of made worse by the fact that Sylvan can often talk about it in a very detached manner, and it makes her feel… incorrect and freakish that she doesn’t have the horror/sadness that Nia reacts with upon hearing the things that happened to her. So most of the time they just…dont’ with that even though it would be really valuable to Sylvan to have someone to sort those things out with.

Enter Sentenza, who has a boatload of his own trauma and a nonzero amount of problems and evils he’s caused. It’s interesting that he and Sylvan have this relationship that starts from a sort of fucked-up foundation. Sylvan still has stockholm syndrome/identifies heavily with her captor/abuser, and Sentenza reminds her of him quite a bit. But the trick is that even though Sen recognizes that he has an undue amount of power over her because of that, he never abuses that or takes advantage of it– he does actively want to help her. He’s able to listen to her stories unflinchingly and that’s something she needs quite desperately to sort herself out. 

Sentenza is someone who finds emotional vulnerability very difficult, and in a fucked-up way understanding the degree of power he could have over Sylvan makes it easier for him to open up to her. She also takes more or less everything in a very under-emotional manner so it’s easier for him to just– unload about things without worrying about being judged or having to delve too much in acknowledging his own emotions. 

Sylvan is good for him though, because she is good at calling him out on his bullshit at the right moments. Sentenza and Karro are in a long-ish time committed relationship, though they’re not nearly at the level of healthy communication that Nia and Sylvan have. It’s Sylvan that’s able to tell Sentenza “hey dumbass, I know it’s hard for you but communicating with your partner about your feelings is non-optional”. 

Karro and Sentenza get a lot out of their relationship with each other, though at the start there’s a one-sided element to how much they’re allowed to care for each other – specifically Sentenza is very good at taking care of and nurturing Karro, but he will absolutely not let Karro do the same for him. So that’s a struggle. Karro also has self-worth issues that are made somewhat better by Sentenza. 

Karro and Nia have a supportive working relationship and later friendship that helps with Karro’s self-esteem. Nia puts him to work as a harpooneer straight away and is one of the most openly positive yet no-nonsense influences on Karro’s life. He had a good working relationship with his previous captain, Luis, but Luis had a way of not taking things seriously and all-and-all the job of being a mercenary killer/muscle wasn’t very good mentally for Karro at all. Being a harpooneer suits Karro far better.

Nia gets someone who she trusts to watch her back, and it’s also good for her to have an insider that isn’t Sylvan on what Sentenza is really like as their friendship develops. It isn’t so much that’s she’s jealous, though she is a little sensitive about the fact that she can’t provide that kind of listening to Sylvan, eventually she realizes that it’s a good thing and YES you do not have to be your partner’s everything! You do not! – but the truth is Sentenza IS/was a bit of a shady dramatic bastard and he and Nia have outwardly very different ways of doing things. They later find out they share more than a few important core values, which is nice for them. I wrote a short ‘glasslike’ about them finding some common ground way later on in the story.

Thanks a lot for this ask, it was really fun to answer!

[ghostiedoesherbest]

Patches - IV

Trigger Warning: talk of abuse and abusive relationships

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Pidge had returned to the castle without her father and she was sad despite rescuing all of the other scientists that had been held captive. Mateo and Lotor had been sitting in the former’s room, enjoying each other’s company as they regalled one another with funny stories from their adventures, unaware of the offer that Zarkon had made to the Paladins in their absence. Lotor was busting his gut over the story Mateo was telling him about he and Lance finding a turtle while they were on vacation in Florida. Lance had always been afraid of turtles for some reason and that fear increased when the turtle had these loud squeaking noises. Lance immediately started screaming which only caused the poor terrified turtle to squeak even louder. 

“What happened after that?” Lotor was barely able to wheeze out as he held his sides. 

“I went back the next day with some strawberries and I saw that same turtle. I put one in front of it and it ducked into its shell. It took some patience but eventually it came out and started nibbling on it. I was going to leave it there with some strawberries but it started following me but it was so slow that it was pitiful. So, I got permission to take it home and keep it as a pet,” Mateo explained with a wistful smile. “I learned that he was male and named him Toby.”

“How long can these ‘turtles,’ live?” Lotor asked in concern, not knowing how long the human had been in space.

“Well it depends on the species. Small turtles can live for about eighty years and the big ones can live well over a hundred years - I mean deca-phoebs. So chances are, Toby might outlive me,” Mateo chuckled as he scratched his neck. “Lance’s older brother, Luis promised to take care of him since I couldn’t keep him in the barracks with me while I was in the Garrison.”

Lotor was about to delve into the story of how he almost adopted a flesh eating monster that used its cute appearance to lure its prey into a false sense of security when Mateo received a message from Shiro. Lotor watched as Mateo’s smile faded when his eyes scrolled over the holographic text that appeared before him. He turned to the prince with a grim frown, “We’re needed in the control room.”

Lotor quickly sobered and Mateo gave him the time to gather himself before they left his room. The brief walk was filled with tension and Mateo was trying not to show his worry for Lotor as not to worry him as well. There were even more grim faces upon entering the control room. Mateo ignored the glare that was leveled at him and the prince at his side from a certain Altean princess. “What’s going on?” he asked, taking in everyone’s resolute expression. 

He crossed his arms when no one answered as he patiently waited for them to answer his question. It was Shiro who finally broke the silence before Mateo could grow impatient. “Pidge wasn’t able to rescue her father but...we know where he is and how to get to him.”

Mateo blinked in surprise, his brow furrowed in confusion as he and Lotor shared puzzled looks, “Then why all the long faces?”

Shiro sighed in exhaustion, “Zarkon has Commander Holt and he’s willing to trade him for Lot -.”

“No.”

“What?!” Pidge shrieked in outrage. “What do you mean no! That’s my dad!”

“And this is Zarkon we’re talking about!” Mateo snapped back. “Do any of you honestly think that he’d actually hold up to his end of the deal even if you did go through with it?”

“What do you mean ‘if?’ This is my dad we’re talking about!” Pidge snarled,

“You have all of my sympathy but we have to think about this objectively. Our goal is to take out Zarkon and someone has to take the throne after him. After the first attempt, I’m pretty sure he gets that and he also understands that Lotor would be able to take over after him. If he gets Lotor then this would have all been for nothing. Zarkon wins because for all we know Lotor is the only Galra willing to work with us outside of the Blades of Marmora.” 

“Who -”

“Sh sh sh,” Mateo interrupted Lotor’s inquiry with a finger to his lips, “I’m on a roll here.” He returned his attention to an obstinate Pidge and continued, “We need to have a plan - multiple plans in fact because we can’t trust Zarkon.”

“But we can trust Lotor?” Allura scoffed. 

“More than Zarkon that’s for sure,” he retorted.

“What if they’re working together?” Pidge demanded. “What if this is all some big plan to earn our trust and betray us later?”

“Then it’s even more important to keep Lotor out of Zarkon’s hands. I know you want to jump at the chance to have your father back but we need to think this through.”

Shiro put a hand on Pidge’s shoulder, “Mateo is right. We need to be prepared.”

“My father has held the universe in a death grip for millennia, but he sees it slipping from his grasp because of your efforts and because of mine,” Lotor said, hesitantly resting a hand on Mateo’s shoulder to feel grounded. This will be one of the most difficult things that he will ever have to do. “With our forces combined, we would provide the greatest threat Zarkon has ever faced. He knows we could topple his empire, so this is his attempt to tear us apart. But united, we could forge a new path, open doors to new worlds, and crush the tyrannical ways of an old regime.”

“It’s a regime you ran! We can’t listen to him. He just wants to save his own skin! He shouldn’t even be out of his jail cell!”

“If you return me to my father he would surely see to my demise. And with his most legitimate threat to the throne removed he would only grow stronger,” Lotor admitted.

“One less threat to Zarkon and one less threat to us,” Pidge coldly retorted.

Lotor turned his gaze onto Allura and took a step forward to stand in front of Mateo, “Your father, King Alfor, once stood side by side with Zarkon and protected the universe from harm. There was no foe the paladins of old couldn’t defeat. Sadly, that time of peace has been lost, but, together, we can find it once more. Princess, imagine a new generation that could lift the mantle of peace. The children of King Alfor and Emperor Zarkon, you and I, a royal alliance between Altean and Galra.”

Lance grew defensive when he interpreted that as Lotor making a pass at Allura, “How ‘bout we don’t imagine that!”

“Lies! Every word is a lie!” Pidge insisted unwaveringly. 

“So suddenly Zarkon speaks the truth?” Mateo asked as he watched the very one sided exchange. “You’re still ignoring the fact that Zarkon is our biggest threat and he’s lining everything up so that either he or someone like him could be on the throne. Do you really think he’ll do as he says and return Commander Holt? You expect the corrupted leader of a ruthless empire that has murdered his friends, crushed civilizations under his heel, and ceaselessly chased us through the universe will honor his word?” 

“You think he’ll double cross us,” it wasn’t a question on Shiro’s part.

“I don’t think, I know, Shiro!” Mateo implored.

Lotor nodded in agreement. “I believe he would do anything to rid himself of me and claim the Lions of Voltron.”

Allura’s expression was troubled as she thought over this information, “An alliance with the Galra heir could end the war.”

“What?!” Pidge demanded in outrage. 

“It’s not ideal,” Allura said, trying to placate the volatile Green Paladin. “I don’t like trusting the Galra but it could be our best option.”

“No!”

“Pidge think of the lives we could save. Think of the countless worlds we could free,” the princess tried to reason.

“Think of my father!”

Mateo sighed in exasperation and approached the Green Paladin before bringing his fist down onto her head. 

“Ow! What the heck Teo!” 

Mateo regarded the younger girl with disappointment. “Pidge I don’t want to be that guy but shut your trap and listen. I’m gonna go slow so you can keep up. We’re at war, a war that will never end if we don’t screw this up. If we hand over Lotor everyone else is screwed because Zarkon’s place is secure and even if we did manage to take him down afterwards, the empire would have a power vacuum and we all know how that would turn out. We have the chance to end this war in our lifetime and giving Lotor to Zarkon might tip the scales in his favor in one way or another.”

“You wouldn’t understand, you never even met your dad!”

Lance and Mateo both took in sharp breaths for entirely different reasons. Lance, because he’d seen the murderous look in Mateo’s eyes for a split second and Mateo, to keep himself from throttling the petulant Paladin. He leaned down to glare into her hazel eyes.”I’ll let that go because you’re Lance’s friend,” he said in a deathly quiet tone. “But your voice and wants aren’t the only ones that matter. Hunk, you’ve been quiet. What do you think?”

Hunk flinched, surprised at being addressed. He began to twiddle with his fingers as he tended to do in tense situations, “I don’t know - I mean. If this dude here is on our like he says he is,” he turned to Lotor with uncertainty, “you are saying you’re on our side right? Then, couldn’t he lead the Galra toward peace from the inside like they’ve been saying?”

This was as much as Pidge could take as she rose her voice over Hunk’s, “We are turning him in and getting my dad back. We have Voltron to bring peace to the universe.”

Mateo scoffed, “Voltron is a weapon, not a miracle worker. How long would we have to fight if we turn Lotor in? Months? Years? All because you value your dad’s life over others? How many will die for this Pidge? How much blood are you willing to have on your hands for this?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair,” Mateo snapped at the Paladin’s weak response. “If we do this your way we lose more lives than necessary because of you and you better be ready to live with that because I’m not.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Shiro scolded, getting between them. “We’re trading Lotor for Commander Holt and that’s final.” 

“But Shiro -” Mateo tried to protest, not noticing the way Lotor tensed or how his fists were clenched.

“That’s final, Mateo.” Mateo grit his teeth and glared at everyone in frustration. Lance, Hunk, and Coran avoided his gaze, Allura and Shiro gave him looks of resignation, and Pidge met his gaze head on with one of disdain and anger for not being on her side. 

“If you’re gonna send him to his death, then you might as well make him comfortable beforehand,” he grunted, knowing that he was outranked by the Black Paladin. However, he dared anyone to contradict him as he led Lotor away. Lotor followed in silence, unsure what to say about what he’d just witnessed. The tension in Mateo’s back set him on edge, until he stopped and let out a sigh that seemed to make him deflate. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what we’re about to put you through.”

Lotor chuckled in an attempt to reassure him, “I’m honestly surprised that you still defended me as much as you did. Although, I must admit that I didn’t expect the Paladins of Voltron to be so...”

“Impulsive?” Mateo offered him a bitter smile. “Yeah, it’s actually pretty amazing that we’ve survived this long. There’s only so much you can do when you put an insanely powerful super weapon in the hands of children. Someone’s gotta play devil’s advocate and often times that makes you the devil in some eyes.” 

Lotor hummed in thought as he continued to follow Mateo, recognizing the hall that they were walking in. Mateo stopped at a door and Lotor was met with the sight of the brunette’s room. Nothing had changed since they had last been there, but Lotor noticed with intrigue that Mateo had a little compartment that went unnoticed before. He watched the human tap that compartment and open it to take out a small touch screen device wrapped up in a long blue wire. Lotor sat on the bed next to Mateo when he absently waved him over while unraveling the wires from the device. 

“I don’t know what the Galra have for music, but this always puts me at ease,” Mateo said as he offered Lotor an earpiece. 

The Galra prince hesitantly took the earpiece and placed it in his ear. He watched Mateo scroll into a playlist, not recognizing any of the songs written using one of earth’s many languages. Mateo selected a random song and it began to play. Lotor was intrigued by the sound of stringed instruments and high hats filtering through the earth device, and glanced out the corner of his eye to see Mateo leaning back on his arms with eyes closed. His chin was tilted back, baring his vulnerable neck to Lotor as he lost himself in the music. The prince mirrored his position and closed his own eyes, letting the melody and words envelope him and set him adrift.

He felt weightless as the music took him away from his problems and tried to ignore the dread that came from the anticipation of coming back down to them. His eyes fluttered open when the song ended. “What was that song about? The singer sounded like they were in deep despair.”

“That’s because the singer is narrating the life of someone in a really bad relationship. He’s hurting her and lying to her, breaking her heart and then promising to never do it again only to repeat the cycle. She makes an effort not to set him off, thinking its her fault but nothing she does ever works. The one thing she finds solace in is the rain. It’s cooling and comforting for someone coming from such a heated place and it gets her mind off of her situation if only for a few moments.”

“Why is she still with someone that hurts her?”

“Because she loves him, and love can make even the most perceptive people blind sometimes. She wants to leave this man behind and get better but her heart is trapping her with him. She believes that this man loves her as much as she loves him despite the abuse and that’s what keeps her there. In the end, she does end up leaving him to start a new chapter of her life. She’s decided to put herself first because she knows she deserves better. This was one of my mom’s favorite songs,” Mateo sighed, not even flinching at the twinge his heart gave at the mention of her. He’d long gotten used to the ache. 

“Why would your mother love such a sad song?” Lotor asked in confusion, the phrasing not lost on him. Sure, he could appreciate the song but in his experience, most people favored more upbeat and joyous music than what he’d just heard.

Mateo chuckled, “You know I asked her the same question and you know what she told me?” Lotor gave him a puzzled look, queueing him to continue. “She told me that this song is a testament to strength. This woman wasn’t some great warrior with a legendary weapon. She was a tired woman who wanted more than to be beaten down by life, but she had the strength to be her own savior. No one came to her rescue because no one was going to come. She had to do the saving on her own and that takes a strength that I don’t know if I’ll ever have if put in her situation.”

Lotor stared off in thought, reminded of certain aspects of his own life, “I suppose I can see where she was coming from.” He returned to his previous position, listening to the next song that had already begun to play while they’d been talking.” 

Mateo watched him out of the corner of his eye and made up his mind. He reached into the still open compartment that held his phone. It didn’t take a genius to know what Zarkon would do to Lotor once they hand him over, so he took out the only possession he had that would at least allow the prince to put up a fight. Wordlessly, he slipped it into Lotor’s hand and the prince curled his fingers around it like it was a lifeline. Neither of them said a word as Lotor placed the knife in his boot and they tried not to think about his looming fate. This was the most Mateo would be able to do for Lotor and he hated it. They were supposed to be the good guys, so why were they doing something that felt so damn wrong?

Tag List: @starfaring-princelotor @motheroflittlelions@fandomsoffeelings@done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh@legendofcarl @lotor-for-emperor@marvelheaux @yanderemommabean@lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[angeltriestoblog]

Second sem (and freshman year) recap

It’s pretty hard to believe, but another chapter of my college journey is finally over and done with. Since I had ended the first half of the school year in such high spirits, I didn’t really believe upperclassmen when they warned that things were only going to get harder from there. In fact, I even thought I’d be the one to prove them wrong! I mean, with a class schedule that looked like this, how would I run out of time for all the things I both needed and wanted to do? My Tuesdays and Thursdays were practically free, save for that one Math class I had to attend in the morning that I surprisingly never cut.

For the most part of the semester, I was in a chill state compared to everyone else. I claimed that I had successfully adjusted to the demands of higher education to the point where I found what once was an unreasonable workload to be manageable. I was able to make time for my home org’s activities and devote enough attention to the only project I was deployed to, which I touched on a bit in my first recap blog post (linked here in case you want to jog your memory). As previously mentioned, I was assigned as one of the Documentations Heads under the Information Management department of the Career Building Program, a three-phase event that gives its participants a glimpse into the corporate world. We kicked things off with a resume writing workshop that I was lucky enough to join. The facilitator assigned to me gave useful insights that I was able to apply in the creation of my own curriculum vitae, which I am keen on using when it’s my turn to apply for internships and jobs in the future. I obviously don’t have much on it yet, seeing as I’m just a freshman, but the idea of filling it up with more experiences over the years is exciting me in ways I cannot explain.

Our group was even given the opportunity to explore the studio of the country’s biggest network, where we were briefed by executives in communications and IT and toured around the sets of our favorite shows. We even ran into Luis Manzano while he was filming Minute to Win It! Unfortunately, I wasn’t scouted by any representative from Star Magic and spontaneously put in a love team with Donny Pangilinan, but I guess that’s alright.

I also went to Talent Night with some friends (not in pictures: Gela's boyfriend and ICA barkada), which is shocking since I’m honestly not the type to attend parties like this. I’ve always been the girl who stayed home and binge watched YouTube videos on a Friday night. But, I guess the drunk confidence of those I was with rubbed off on me and I managed to pull through! It was also a plus that Timmy Albert was one of the performers: I do pass him by along the corridors quite frequently, but it’s just different seeing him sing and play an instrument in front of a crowd, especially since I’ve loved Roses and Sunflowers even before I got into Ateneo.

One surprise that I definitely did not see coming was participating in Daloy, our annual program that revolves around corporate social responsibility. This year, we decided to shed a light on how this could be seen in the Philippine clothing industry, so it seemed fitting to hold some talks featuring prominent figures in this field, as well as a fashion show to exhibit the collections of local brands that advocated sustainability. I was really interested in the concept when I first heard of it, and initially wanted to go as a mere audience member - little did I know that I would be tapped by the committee to model! To this day, I don’t know how or why I was chosen: from what I know, there were even screenings held a week prior to the event to determine who would get to walk the runway. But, I was messaged three days before and in that short span of time, I had to fit clothes, find pieces in my closet to match them and perfect my walk (which took several tries on my part, given the fact that when shy, I’m stiff as a board).

Agreeing to join was a huge step out of my comfort zone - the closest I’ve ever come to strutting on a catwalk was back when family members would ask me to “walk like a fashion model” as a kid during reunions. So, the fact that it had all paid off in the end, and that I was even complimented for the way I looked and performed beyond what was probably expected, was definitely a huge confidence boost for me. I couldn’t have done it without Nelly, Daloy’s project head who patiently guided me through the entire process before the show.

Shoutout as well to the other ACTM upperclassmen who were so friendly to me this school year. We may not have any pictures together, but you deserve a spot on this post nevertheless: Gella, my "boss" (hehe) who was always so patient when I asked questions and even went out of her way to say such kind words about my writing; Sam Que who made me feel like we had already known each other for so long even if we had just talked for the first time, and Ysagab who constantly reassured me that I was doing a good job even if I was looking like such a rookie.

My presence in events wasn’t limited to those of ACTM, though. I also went to the Loyola Film Circle’s Under the Stars, where I was able to see the live performances of OPM acts and watch one of my favorite chick flicks beneath the beautiful night sky. Since it took place the day after Valentine’s, I was surrounded by Ateneans and their significant others (who didn’t hold back at all when it came to publicly displaying their affection), but I didn’t even mind since I was content in the company of both my college constants and high school friends.

I dropped by Sulyap as well, which was the culminating activity of the Ateneo Heights Writers Workshop and the launch of the chapbook of their fellows. It was one of the busiest Fridays of the school year, but I still made it a point to go, because I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to be a part of something organized by my dream org, Ateneo’s premier literary publication. As much as I love my course and the people in it, I have to admit that I haven’t been able to exercise much of my creative side. So being in a room full of like-minded individuals and hearing them speak lengthily about their works and the process that brought them to life was a refreshing experience, a much-needed break from the usual routine. My personal favorite was Unica Hijas by Mikaela Regis, which revolved around a lesbian couple trying to make their relationship work despite the fact that they study in a conservative, all-girls high school - a setting which is all too familliar to me.

It’s also worth noting that I was sorta able to tick a particular item off my freshman year bucket list. And I say sorta, because… well, you’ll see. It’s been a dream of mine ever since to watch a UAAP basketball game live, show up to the arena in a bright blue shirt, cheer as loud as I can when a player makes a point and raise my fist in the air while Song for Mary plays in the background. But, even if I’m consistently in school by 6am, I was never able to get tickets - I couldn’t match the efforts of some fans, who would camp overnight just to get their hands on them. But, just when I thought there was no more chance for me to show my school pride at a match, my friend Mika offered me a free ticket to the Ateneo Lady Eagles’ volleyball match against FEU at the Filoil Arena one Wednesday. We weren’t really on speaking terms before because we were from different cliques, but after bonding over K-Pop, I saw how nice and chill of a person she actually is. So, I didn’t want to turn her down even if I was hesitant to go at first. You see, I was never a fan - in fact, I didn’t know how the game went despite the PE lessons I had back in Grade 5. (Ms. Abella, if you see this, I’m sorry.) But, it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to agree and I ended up enjoying way more than I thought I would. Fortunately, I was able to catch on when it came to the rules of the sport: the energy of the crowd was contagious as well, and the performance of the players was way too good it was impossible not to shout either out of triumph or frustration. Once we made it to the finals against UST, I even found myself waiting for announcements on where to buy tickets. I didn’t get any though, because they were either sold out due to the ever-increasing demand (ALE fans don’t play around) or there was a conflict in schedule (hi, Enlit play).

Despite this, I streamed the last game and screamed like I was actually in the venue myself. Apologies to all our neighbors, who probably thought someone was getting killed in the house beside theirs. I was so proud when they brought home the championship after three years, I even bought a Team Ateneo shirt (it’s not that hard to guess whose name is on the back) and went to the bonfire with my friends Gwen, Julia and Lou. I had hoped to meet and take a picture with the players, but they were already far too wasted when I arrived. Like, seriously. I saw Maddie Madayag chug a whole bottle of Mule right before my eyes.

So, you could say that it was all fun and games (quite literally) for me until hell weeks eventually rolled in. Plural form intended. I found out that all my professors were just holding back every major requirement until the very last stretch of the semester. Suddenly, my schedule was chock full of presentations and final papers, comprehensive exams and extra classes that put my time management and endurance to the test. I spent many days in Matteo Down just like before, but also started going to the floor above it in case I wanted to suffer in the company of more people. The studying would only continue once I got home: I’d pull all-nighters despite my brain’s and skin’s desperate cries for help, as manifested in my worsening acne. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that stressed in my life, and it’s scary to think that that’s only the tip of the iceberg in the Ateneo.

Coping mechanisms I’ve picked up to help me deal with these unavoidable circumstances would be trying every restaurant along the Katipunan area whenever I had free time (which I will elaborate on more extensively in another blog post, so do watch out for that!) and eventually discovering Pancake House’s corned beef hash, which I love so much I once had it thrice in the span of a week. Another one would be the addition of yet another emotional support K-Pop boy to my collection. After watching My ID is Gangnam Beauty over Holy Week break, I fell in love with Cha Eunwoo and his god-tier visuals, mild demeanor, impressive English skills and heartfelt determination. This led me to binge watching reality show episodes and furiously putting the entire discography of Astro on loop. If you look at my Last.fm, you could see how Crazy Sexy Cool easily climbed to the top of my most played songs, sitting prettily at the #1 spot with over 300 plays in just a little over two months.

Although I constantly had to bear the pressure and stress on my shoulders over the past academic year, I am eternally grateful to Ateneo for equipping me with lessons both within and beyond the realm of academics that have helped me grow into someone I never imagined, but am happy to have turned into anyway. When my naive and starry-eyed self first entered college, I had such high hopes for what my experience would be and proceeded to map out the next four years of my life in accordance with the vision I had in my head. Having just broken free from the metaphorical chains of my previous school, I found it to be the perfect time to transform into a student who excelled academically, had a long and winding list of extracurricular activities and easily built a vast network of connections thanks to her pleasing and magnetic personality. If I got lucky, maybe I’d have one of those so-called “college blooms” and even get myself an actual boyfriend!

This isn’t something unique to me, I bet a lot of people entered this new stage of their lives with the same mindset so I wasn’t the only one in shock upon realizing that it doesn’t always play out that way in real life. Because of these ridiculous expectations we have implanted in our heads, that basically state that we have to be successful in everything we do and fast, we subconsciously keep ourselves from enjoying the process. In our desire to aim high and aspire for perfection in all that we do, we could end up failing to acknowledge the small yet equally important wins we gain along the way: the friend we make outside of our block despite the sheer discomfort we experience in meeting new people, or the answer we gave in class that impressed our most intimidating professor could appear minuscule when placed beside our goal of being straight-A student who’s active in seven orgs. In addition, we deprive ourselves of the allowance to make mistakes, stray from taking the detours and breaks we need to remain functional human beings and often drive ourselves to the point of fatigue and burnout. And when we are still not flourishing and thriving as planned, we fall prey to toxic comparison: we pit ourselves against others who don’t have the same background or circumstances as we do and question why our progress doesn’t match with theirs.

This is obviously such a toxic way to go about things. Talk about sucking the fun out of what’s supposed to be the four most enjoyable years of our lives. Thankfully, over time, I did some growing up, if you will, and channeled the power of acceptance - both of what I am and what I am not, and the will of God (or whichever supreme being you've placed your faith in) who meticulously planned out what’s ahead of me before I was even old enough to know what school was. I now work to the best of my ability, confident that all I have to do is put in my share of the hard work and see where it takes me, and am also more gentle with myself when I make mistakes.

On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve also been able to form my own opinions about very controversial issues on campus: an example of which would be what I think is the best CR - the answer is definitely Arete. You can’t go wrong with its triple killer combo of aircon, bidet and strong WiFi connection. The only possible downside could be the fact that there are usually a lot of people, so it’s not the best option if you’re planning on being loud and… um, smelly. The secluded and fragrant Leong Hall and ever-reliable New Lib restrooms come in second and third place respectively, while honorable mentions include the 2F Kostka CR (but only from 6:00-7:00am, when no one else is around) and this one specific stall in the Socsci building that's spacious enough that I can bring all my belongings inside with me.

Another point for discussion would be the superior place to eat on school grounds: this might cause an uproar, I’m aware, but I still believe it’s JSEC, despite the stark price difference compared to other cafeterias on campus. I was set on trying something from every stall before the school year ended, but I was too fixated on my top picks: I don’t have any regrets though. In fact, I wish I had more of the beef salpicao with calamares on the side from Casa Paella, the Superbowl from Blendabowls and The Coop fries with garlic aioli served on the side. Besides the fact that the food served is satisfying beyond measure, I enjoy the chit-chats I have with the ates and kuyas manning the stalls, who never fail to ask me how I am and tell me about the cute chinito boys they see on campus that they think I might like.

Although I can’t completely rule out Gonzaga, because of this particular stall with quality liempo and a kuya who always gives me a five peso discount. (I’ve been told he does this with girls he finds cute, but I have yet to confirm that). Also, it’s the only place on campus that I know of that sells fresh fruits by the kilo - perfect for those days when I try to convince myself to go on a diet before I relapse and binge eat at Pancake House.

A lot of people do say that ISO sisig is worth the cross-campus walk it’ll take to get there (e-jeep rides are more recommended! An experience in itself! Especially if you’re seated in the back, where there’s a constant feeling of being sucked in a vacuum! But, I digress) - it might just be a matter of preference, but I think it’s overrated. A destination that deserves more attention is the Cervini Hall cafeteria just by the university dormitories. I’ve only been there a grand total of two times so I don’t exactly have any specific favorites on the menu that I recommend, but I’d definitely still go for the homey ambience.

As for superior study places, Matteo Down has been tried and tested several times: I do prefer getting a place opposite to the entrance though, because it does get distracting having to see people enter and go out the door so often. What was supposed to be a study session often ends up becoming a game to see how many people are wearing a striped shirt today. I usually spend time on the fourth floor of the Rizal Library, and get the couch as often as I can because of the comfort (and charger) it provides.

Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to power through this year without the help of my closest friends: Sevi, Gwen, Raya and Christine. I always had this nagging fear in the back of my head that I wouldn’t be able to find a tight-knit group once I got to college, but thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for letting me be my true self, for entertaining even my most random thoughts and for accepting all the kalat that comes with being my friend. I sincerely hope that we stay together and have more Gino’s dates in the future along with Chloe!

To Gela, Jill, Shar (and Dom, but we don’t have any pictures together except for the last one HAHAHA) - I didn’t expect at all that I’d be writing about you guys. I was so intimidated by all of you at first, because I felt like we were so different in terms of our upbringing and environment. But after getting to know you, I came to realize that you are seriously some of the most down-to-earth, chill people ever. Thank you for always providing quality chismis, volunteering to find me chinito boys to date and giving me apps to make my IG stories look cuter.

To the rest of X1, we weren’t exactly the most united and we knew that - it’s just that we were probably the most diverse out of all the groups in our batch, and with that comes clashing personalities and differing opinions and interests. But, nevertheless, I am content with the time we managed to spend together, where I was able to get to know all of you!

To the friends that I made outside of my block (and even my course), thank you for laughing at my jokes and telling me that I'm fun to talk to. Hopefully, we get to hang out more and maybe even have common classes in the future hehe

To my Enlit section, we barely spoke to one another during the first semester so I fell under the impression that you were all stoic and no fun to be with. But, I was proven wrong eventually. I wish I was able to talk to more people in LL, but to the classmates I was closest to (Dootie, Cyrah, Czarina, She and Jessa), I will never forget our side comments and mini-rant sessions. I heard we’re having another English subject come sophomore year, and I really hope I end up with you guys again.

All in all, there is no other word that could sum up the experience that was my freshman year in college better than “adventure”. It was every single emotion on the spectrum All At Once, but I wouldn��t trade it for the world - in fact, during the first half of the semester, I admit that I’d entertain thoughts of alternate universes where I’d be an Iska/Lasallista/Tomasino out of sheer curiosity, but now I just can’t imagine myself anywhere else. Anyway, enough with all that drama. I’m going back to school in three weeks to start my summer term, which we fondly (lmao) refer to as intersession. So, there’s technically nothing to miss.

Hope the rest of you enjoy the summer break that I unfortunately will not be able to experience until I graduate from college! Wishing you nothing but love and light, always.

Angel

[ehkw1989]

Four Loves - A Choices Crossover Imagine

Pairings: Michael x MC (High School Story), James x MC (The Freshman), Liam x MC (The Royal Romance) and Drake x MC (The Royal Romance)

Ratings: NSFW, some swear words, fluffiness, angst, some hints of smut

A/N: The basis of this imagine came about from a conversation I had with my friend a long time ago.  We were discussing the different types of romantic loves they are and how sometimes, if we’re very lucky, the people that we share the four romantic loves with are the same person.  Please like, reblog or comment if you’ve enjoyed this imagine.  Italics are flashbacks and tags are at the bottom.  As usual, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Love, Edith

Word Count: 3308 words, not sure what happened.

A soft knock on the bedroom door interrupts Evelyn’s routine as she prepares herself for bed.  She is about to call out to ask who it is but before she could do so, she can hear her daughter’s voice through the door, “Mom, are you still awake?”

“Yes, Astoria.  Come on in, my love.” Evelyn turns to face the door as it opens.

“Am I interrupting anything? Is Papa here?”

“Your papa is here and of course, you’re not interrupting anything. Is everything alright?”  Evelyn reaches for her daughter, her forehead creased with worry.

“I just . . . I just wanted to ask you something.  Nothing’s the matter.” Astoria smiled at her mother, wanting to put her at ease.

“Ask away.” The older woman smiles back, waiting patiently as her daughter gathers her thoughts.

“It’s about . . . love.  I . . . don’t know what . . . How . . . how did you know what you had with Daddy was love?”

Evelyn looks at her daughter thoughtfully, gathering her thoughts before she could answer.  “I didn’t know what kind of love it was until I realized it too late.” She admitted.

“What kind of love?  Isn’t there only one kind when it comes to romance?  It’s . . . isn’t it Eros?”

“Eros is one of them.  But there’s four types of romantic love experiences that most people go through.  Your Uncle Thomas once told me that there were four kinds of romantic love.  There’s Phileo, Eros, Storge, and Agape.”  Evelyn looks at the photograph on the bedside table wistfully before continuing.  “And I’ve experienced all four.”

“Was the love you had for Daddy eros?”

“No, love, it was storge.  It’s the kind of love you have when you’re in a long-term relationship.  It’s a very powerful love.  It’s one of the most passionate and best loves that I have ever had in my life.” She smiles at her daughter. “It was the best love that I have had in my life because you were born as a result of this love.” She brushes her daughter’s hair away from her face lovingly as they share a smile.

“What about the other ones?  Phileo, eros and agrape?”

“No, darling, agape.  Is this about Eddie?  Isn’t he the son of Ezekiel and Penelope?”

“Yes, the future Duke of Portavira. It’s not just about Eddie; it’s about Eddie and me.” Her daughter blushes. “I was dancing with him and we were talking about love, future and relationships.  I wasn’t sure what to think so I wanted to talk to you about love and all the experiences that you have had”

“I’m glad you came to me.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead.  “I wasn’t sure about anything when I was in my relationships.  Well, maybe except for one.  Anyways, which love of mine do you want to hear first?”

“Whichever one you want to tell me first.” Her daughter snuggles up to her as they lay together in bed.

“Well, I can start with phileo love.  That’s what most people experience first; it’s also known as puppy love or your first love.”  Evelyn continues to tell her daughter the story of the puppy love that she had experienced at Oliver M. Berry High.  “His name is Michael Harrison.”

“Michael Harrison?  The Michael Harrison, the famous director?  He just won an Academy Award!”

“Yes, that Michael Harrison; I actually received an invitation to the awards but I turned it down.  I don’t think your Papa would have liked that but let me continue.”

“Evelyn, come quick!  There’s been an . . . umm . . . accident at the school parking lot!” Evelyn hears as Luis runs towards her.

“Oh really? What kind of incident?”

“A . . . huge one!”

“Good or bad?”

“You just really need to come see it, okay?”

“Luis, you’re not great this whole ‘lying’ thing, are you?” Evelyn smiles at him.

“You just need to come quick; just come!”  Luis looks sheepishly at her.

“Of course, Luis.  I’m just pulling your leg.  Lead on!”  Evelyn follow Luis towards to parking lot where she can hear a familiar song playing in the distance.  They turn the corner to see Michael holding a stereo standing next to his motorcycle, smirking at them.

“Michael Harrison, what are you doing?”  She laughs.

“Paying homage to one of the most iconic teen movies of all time while asking you to prom.”

“So, even when he was at high school, he was already directing people around to set up scenes?” Astoria grins at her mom.  “You sure know how to pick them.”

“I do, that’s how I picked your daddy.”

“But what happened to you guys?  Because Michael Harrison is definitely not my father.”

“Michael, I got accepted to Hartfeld University.”  Evelyn peers at him anxiously as she tells him of the news.

“That’s great!  That’s what you were going for anyways.  I  . . . ahh . . . I got accepted to USC.  Just got the letter today!” He waved the package in his hand excitedly.

“We’ll be so far apart.” She whispered sadly as moved to embrace him.

“I know . . . but don’t you think it’s time?  We knew from the beginning that this might have happened.”  He kissed her forehead gently.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t believe in saying goodbyes.  Can I say I’ll see you later, Evelyn Carter?”

“Not yet, Michael.  Afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of this summer.”

“Well, most puppy loves don’t last long.” Evelyn sees the worried look in her daughter's eyes, “What you and Eddie have isn’t phileo love, darling.  It’s deeper than that, more emotional;  I don’t know what it is but I know you’ll find out together.” She smiles at her daughter.  “But to answer your question, Michael and I came to an understanding that we couldn’t love each other thousands of miles away and that we had to say “see you later” eventually.  And to this day, whenever I hear “In Your Eyes”, that song from the famous teen movie he’s talking about, I still thank Michael and the innocent love that we shared.”

“Aww, Mom, that is so sweet.” Astoria wipes some tears from her eyes.  “You’re right though, Eddie and I don’t have phileo love, that’s for sure.  I can’t see myself living without him.  So that’s phileo love, how about eros?  Isn’t that supposed to be the love of your life?”

“Eros love is what you experience when you think you found love.  It’s not so much as a emotional love, rather than a sexual love.” Evelyn blushes as her daughter smirks at her.  “It’s influenced by . . . um . . . physical attraction.  Oh, honestly, you’re 21, I will go ahead and say it.  It’s really like a lusty kind of love?  After all, eros is the root word for erotic.”

“And you had eros love with?”

“James Ashton.” Evelyn blushes at the memory of some of steamy encounters she had with James.  “We went to Hartfeld University together.”

“Wait!  The James Ashton!  Mom, how do you know all these famous people?  Didn’t he write Working Title?  And Rosethorne Park?  And his Victorian gothic romance series are so . . .” Astoria fans herself as she prattles on.

“Well, as the Duchess of Valtoria, I’m famous too, you know!  I actually co-wrote Working Title with James.”  She admits. “It was the last play that I ever wrote with him before breaking up with him after graduation.”  Evelyn smiles at the memory of James and her collaborating on Working Title.

“I can see it now.  Our characters sweep across the stage and introduce the world through the magic of song.”  James gestures towards the stage dramatically.

“That sounds like a solid opening.  I’m glad I’ve got a veteran at my back here.”

“I was born in a theater, my dear.” He grins at her.  “Perhaps later, we can go backstage for some walkthroughs?” He winks at her as Evelyn blushes.

“Focus, James Ashton!” Evelyn scolds him before breaking out in laughter at her pretend seriousness.  “Or you can take me here.  Have you ever been ridden in a theatre seat?  There’s a first time for everything.”  A flush began to appear on James’ face, her hand began to trail up his thigh only to draw away before continuing.  “So, our play needs a protagonist.  And I’m imagining a heroine.  Okay, she’s a good girl gone bad.  She’s had enough of life giving her lemons, and she’s building a lemon bomb now.”

“What made her so sour?”  He asks as he kisses her neck. “I don’t think this protagonist is based on you.  You’re too sweet.” He sucks on her neck leaving a small mark.

“You’re going . . . to leave a mark.” She tries to not moan.  “Can we please focus?”  She moves a seat away from him.  “She’s sour because of the horrible socioeconomics but then she does the worst thing anyone can do . . . she falls in love.” She smiles at James noting the desire in his eyes.

“Strong opener. And what shall we call this badass diva with a heart of gold?” He moves towards her, gently nudging her legs apart while nipping at her collarbone.

“St . . . Sella.  Are we done?  We can go to the backstage now, right?” Evelyn rubs his hardening length through his pants.  “ I can’t wait!”

“Afraid not, darling.  It’s my turn to build a character then.” He moves back to his seat; she whines in disappointment at the lack of contact.  “And his name is . . . John.  Or Gabriel. Or Casper.”

“How did I pick a name so fast? Did I do it wrong?”  She moves to straddle him, her hot core rubbing up against his.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  We’re about to do something very, very right.” She giggles as he leads her towards the backstage.

“Mom?”

Evelyn blushes before clearing her throat.  “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“That you co-wrote Working Title with James Ashton?”

“Yes, the four years at Hartfeld were some of the best that I have had in my life.  My peers were amazing, Professor Valdez was a great mentor to me before he passed.”

“Sounds like you and James did some amazing stuff together.  What happened?”

“Hey! Are you ready for some exciting news?” Evelyn calls out as James opens the door to their shared apartment.

“I’ve already got some.  Ruth Gunderson extended a formal invitation to Icebreakers.  She’s going to send the paperwork later tonight.  I can’t wait to see you all bundled up in Alaska.”

“Right . . . in Alaska.  James, I . . .”

“What’s the matter?  I thought you would have been excited to go to Alaska.” He tilts his head in confusion.  “Is everything all right?  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just burst in like that.  What’s your exciting news?”

“I may have just gotten an interview with Quills in London.” She whispered.

“That’s great!  But it’s just an interview, right? I mean,” He swiftly corrected himself seeing the crestfallen look on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know but I know I want to go to London if I get it.” She took a deep breath.

“We’ve done long distance before, we can handle it.” He draws her into his embrace.  “What do you say to a celebration?” He kisses her deeply on her mouth.

“I say, lead the way, Mr. Ashton.” She allows herself to be pulled in the bedroom.

“Well, he got an offer to go to Alaska for an authorship circle and I got an offer to write for Quills in London.  James and I couldn't see each other that frequently and the love we had . . . well kind of fizzled out.”  Seeing Astoria’s watery eyes, Evelyn reached out for daughter’s hand and patted it reassuringly.  “James and I weren’t meant to be.  Our love would have withstood thousand of miles apart if we had an emotional connection.  We supported each other through some really difficult times like Professor Valdez’s death, your grandparents’ separation, and other adventures.  We even put away an evil fratority like Nancy Drew.”

“Fratority?”

“A mix between fraternity and sorority.  Sometimes I feel like your daddy and I didn’t give you the college experience given the circumstances.”  Evelyn sighed, feeling disappointed at herself.

“From what I read, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on much.” Astoria looks amused at her mother.  “You and Daddy did your best.  I love you both so much.”  They both turn to look at the photograph on the nightside table and for a moment, a sorrowful silence filled the room.  “I think the next love is storge.”

“Storge love.  Storge love.” Evelyn repeats as she mulls over what to say to her daughter.  “Well, like I said before, it’s a long that you have when you’re in a long-term relationship. And that’s the love I had with Liam.  It was very passionate and we cared for each other a great deal.”

“Just cared?”

“I’m sorry, we loved each other a great deal but we also cared about one another.  The sexual-” Astoria cringes. “Sorry darling, but the sexual attraction was still there but not as much as there was with James.  It never fizzled out either when we had problems; we pushed through it all together.”  Evelyn lost her trail of thought as she thought about the night she told Liam about Astoria.

“Liam, I need to tell you something.” Evelyn looked at him as they stared at the statue of Lady Liberty together.

“What is it, Lady Evelyn?” Liam looked at her, his eyebrows pinched in worry.  “Is everything all right?”

“I’m . . . I’m pregnant.  About four months along.  I’m so sorry.  I just thought that my cycle was irregular due to stress and all the travelling.  I took a test last week and the doctor just sent me the results.”  She took a deep breath before continuing.  “It’s yours, Liam.”

Liam smiles at her, “You mean I’m going to be a father?  Why would that be bad news?”

“It’s not bad news.  I’m so happy you are excited about being a father.  I was just worried that Cordonia wouldn’t accept this baby and well, us.  Considering all the things that had happened, I didn’t know how you would feel.”

“Lady Evelyn, you’ve opened my eyes . . . it has been a true honor to witness your strength in the face of every challenge you have overcome  And I am so sorry that I was the reason that you had so many challenges during our time together.  But your strength during our trials and challenges lends me courage.  The courage to do the right thing.  The courage to a better man.  And I am a better man because I have you by my side.  All I want to do for the rest of my life is to dedicate my life to being the best man and king that I can be . . . for you . .. and the baby too.”  Liam sinks to one knee, his eyes locked on Evelyn’s.  There is an intensity in his gaze, so loving, vulnerable, passionate and protective as well.  He reached out and grabbed her hand.  

“Lady Evelyn, queen of my heart, I have yearned to say these four words for a very, very long time . . .”

“Liam!” Evelyn covers her mouth in surprise, tears of joys trailing down her cheeks.

“Will you marry me?”

“So, what you and Daddy had is storge love.  So did you have your agape love with Papa Drake?”

“Yes,” Evelyn admits to her daughter quietly.

“What’s the difference between storge love and agape love?”

“Well, you know how I said storge love is the love that you have when you’re in a long-term relationship.  It’s a very powerful love.”  She pauses before continuing.  “Darling, Liam was perfect and I loved him so, so much but what I didn’t tell him and I hope that this doesn’t change how you think or feel about love . . . what I never told him was I fell in love with someone else during the engagement tour.  I fell in love with Drake.”

“Drake, I need to tell you something.”  Evelyn smiles sadly at him as they rode on the ferris wheel together at Coney Island.

“What is it, Carter?” He replied as Evelyn drinks in the view of him, knowing that this will be the last time she could be alone with him.  She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with him but not being able to love him.

“I’m pregnant with Liam’s baby.  I’m so sorry; we were so careful but I . . .”

“I know.”

“How?”  She gasped at him.  

“You were throwing up a lot the last month or so. I just thought you didn’t want to tell anyone else because of Madeline and Liam.  But now that they’re no longer engaged, I guess, well, Congratulations.” Drake whispered bitterly.

“Drake, I.”

“It doesn’t matter.  Liam will propose to you and well, it doesn’t matter what happened between us.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He reached across the gondola and squeezes her hand.  “I’m going to leave after the wedding.  I’m going to go home.”

“I’m so sorry.  I should have left with you when you offered.”

“Carter, it doesn’t matter.  What matters is the here and now.” He moves her hair out of her face and kissed her for the last time.  

“Drake.”  She sobbed as his lips left hers for the final time.

“So how come you stayed with Daddy?”  Came Astoria’s question.  “I’m glad you did though.”

“I loved Liam but also because Cordonia needed us.  After the assassination attempts, the people needed a show of strength from the monarchy.  And what better way than a marriage?  Your birth only cemented Cordonia’s strength.”

“So you got married because of Cordonia?”

“No, I got married because I loved Liam.  I also love Cordonia enough to let Drake go.  You must always remember that you are Queen of Cordonia first, and Astoria Rhys second.”

“I know.”  Astoria sighed, “So how come you and Papa Drake never married after Daddy died?”

“It didn’t matter, darling.  The love that we shared and still share is enough.   Cordonia needed me after Liam’s passing and I visit him as much as I can and he comes to Cordonia for six months a year.  Although, if you become Queen, I may just move there permanently; it may be too scandalous for this court though.” The mother and daughter shared a laugh together.  “Well, does that clear your head a little bit more, darling?”

“Yes, you’ve given me a lot to think about.  I’m still not sure how I feel about Eddie but I hope that we can figure it out together.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you and know that you guys can figure it out together.  Just remind him that if he breaks your heart, there will be an army waiting for him.  Papa Drake and I will be leading it, followed by a few others I know.”

“Thanks, Mom.  I better go to bed; I took up a lot of your time tonight.”  Astoria winks at Evelyn.  “Thank God that Papa Drake has more patience.”

“He wasn’t that patient when we were younger, believe me.  We still have five months together, my darling.  Never apologize for talking to me.  We love you so much.”

“Good night, Mom.” Astoria kissed her and opened the door, only to see Drake.  “She’s all yours, Papa!”

“I’m only the Queen’s visiting head guard, I have no idea what you are talking about.” Drake kissed Astoria goodnight and walked in the room.  “What were you two talking about?  We got lucky that it was Bastien on the rounds tonight.”

“You get to design the rounds the entire time you’re here.  Poor Bastien never gets any vacation when you visit.” Evelyn draws Drake into a kiss.  “Never mind what we were talking about.  I believe you were going to remind me how much you miss me.”

“Always, my Queen.  Always.” Drake smirks at her as he closes the door.

Tag List:

@darley1101; @boneandfur; @everythingchoices; @drakewalkerwhipped; @walkerismychoice;  @hellospunkiebrewster, @angstymarshmallow, @mrswalkerwritesagain @pbchoicesobsessed@choicesfanficlibrary @choiceswreckedme; @parkerattano, @simplyaiden-blog, @snyggflicka, @drakewalkerfantasy, @drakelover78, @theroyalweisme, @confessionsofabrokegirl

[ladystylestores]

Coronavirus pandemic exposes inequality in Ecuador’s Guayaquil | Ecuador

When Victoria Sanchez and her mother, Eufemia Nicolaza Sanches Pin, showed up at their local public hospital in Ecuador’s Guayaquil for Sanches Pin’s weekly dialysis treatment last month, hospital staff refused to let the mother, a diabetic, in because she had a runny nose. 

Hospital staff worried it could be COVID-19 and said they could not risk exposing other patients in the dialysis ward, Sanchez says they told her.

With no money to go to a private clinic or pay for transportation fees to get to the other two public hospitals at the opposite end of the city, the mother and daughter went home. 

A doctor later confirmed the runny nose was caused by a throat infection. Sanchez’s mother quickly grew too weak to move on her own. A week later, she was dead. 

Following Sanches Pin’s death, Sanchez called the emergency lines, but no one would come to pick up her mother’s body in their neighbourhood of Monte Sinai, which lies on the northern periphery of the city. The body stayed in the house for four days, while Sanchez ran around the city looking for a coffin and a cemetery she could afford. She eventually asked her church community for help, who built a coffin for free and helped raise funds for a cheaper cemetery plot in the neighbouring district.

“Thank god, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to bury her,” Sanchez says, through heavy tears. “I feel anger and sadness, because maybe if someone would have helped at some point, she would still be with us.” 

A woman looks into a coffin holding the dead body of her mother after she died at home during the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), in Guayaquil, Ecuador [File: Vicente Gaibor del Pino/Reuters] 

Sanchez is not alone. Ecuador’s coastal city of Guayaquil has been one of the hardest-hit areas of COVID-19 in Latin America. Last month, photos of dead bodies lying in the streets or on park benches flooded social media, showing the collapse of the local healthcare and mortuary systems.  

According to official figures, there were 37,355 confirmed coronavirus cases and 3,203 COVID-19-linked deaths in Ecuador as of Monday, but many say the numbers are drastically underreported. Last month, the state registry released data showing that over 10,000 deaths were recorded for the months of March and April, just for the province of Guayas, where Guayaquil is located. Officials say this is nearly 6,000 more deaths than the same time period in the last two years, leading many to conclude that the vast majority are COVID-19 related. They also include deaths that could have been prevented had the healthcare system not collapsed under the weight of COVID-19, yet no data exists to make this differentiation.

Human rights workers say the virus has highlighted the city’s vast social inequalities, and has disproportionately affected working-class families. Many of these families now find themselves jobless, turned away from saturated public hospitals, facing inflated costs of medication and mortuary services, and having to adapt to a quarantine they cannot afford.  

Waiting 2-7 days for bodies to be picked up

Billy Navarrete, director of the Committee for the Defense of Human Rights in Guayaquil, said at the peak of the crisis at the end of March, he received more than 100 messages and phone calls in just one weekend from families reporting that officials had not come to pick up the dead body of their recently deceased family member. These families had been waiting anywhere from two to seven days for these bodies to be picked up. In some cases, they were forced to put the cadavers on the street, either for fear of contagion or to escape the smell of decomposition.

“There were an infinite amount of testimonies,” Navarrete said. 

“All of them were from lower-class neighbourhoods,” he told Al Jazeera. 

Some of these neighbourhoods include Monte Sinai, Bastion Popular, Suburbio, and Trinitaria in the northern and southern peripheries of the city. Many of these communities do not have access to basic services like sewage systems or drinking water, and have high population densities. These provide the perfect conditions for a virus to spread, Navarrete said. 

Ecuador Indigenous community fears extinction from coronavirus (1:48)

Luis Alfonso Saltos, architect and urban planner in Guayaquil, said people who live in peripheral regions that lack infrastructure would inevitably end up being more exposed to the virus, and carrying it greater distances, as they are forced to leave their home or neighbourhood to find basic necessities.

“Understand citizen logic. If you don’t have water in your house or a store nearby, that obliges you to have to leave and find it,” Saltos said. 

In April, Saltos collaborated with local journalist Blanca Moncaya to collect and map reports left by families on social media platforms, begging for help to remove the cadavers of their loved ones from their homes. The map indicates that the vast majority of these reports came from either the city centre, where there was a large flow of people, or in the peripheral areas in the north of the city, where there are higher population densities and lack of infrastructure, he said. Although this data is not conclusive, it provides an idea of the dynamics of the virus, he added. 

Hard to stay home

Despite being the commercial capital of Ecuador, Guayaquil is one of the most unequal cities in the country. It has the highest poverty rate, at 14 percent, and the highest rate of workers in the informal economy. Nearly half of the working population in the city work in the informal sector, according to the national statistics institute. The informal sector includes jobs like street vendors and domestic workers, those who live off their daily wages with no social security benefits, and earn well below the national minimum wage of $400 per month.

Ecuador’s strict quarantine measures have weighed particularly heavily on these families in Guayaquil. Like most places in the world, lockdown measures include social distancing and the prohibition of all non-essential businesses, but it also includes a strict 2pm curfew, enforced by military and police, that has been in effect since mid-March.

“I don’t agree with the government who always blames the people for not staying at home. You can stay at home when you have your necessities met, and savings in the bank,” said Giselle Viteri Cevallos, with the local organisation Asphalt Women (Mujeres de Asfalto) that promotes the rights of women of African descendent.

Many people continue to leave their homes every day to sell lemons and toilet paper on the street, she said. 

The coronavirus has also disproportionately affected African descendent communities in Guayaquil, which has the largest Black population of any city in Ecuador. Most in this community are informal workers who live in the same marginalised areas that were harshly affected, said Viteri. Not a day goes by that she does not get news that someone she knows has died, she added.  

Healthcare system unprepared

Compounding the situation is the country’s healthcare system, experts say. Ecuador has a three-tier healthcare system, which includes public hospitals that serve everyone; social security hospitals, generally for people with permanent jobs who pay into the system; and private clinics. 

Ricardo Ramirez Aguirre, a retired physician in Guayaquil and head of a regional Anti-Corruption Commission, said the public and social security hospitals in the coastal city have shown “improper handling” of the COVID-19 crisis. Several people have reported hospitals turning away non-COVID-19 patients, leaving them with nowhere to go. Others reported that hospitals not designated to treat coronavirus were turning away patients with dengue thinking it was COVID-19.

Thousands of Ecuadorians took to the streets on Monday to protest austerity policies implemented by the government. Big rallies organised by unions and other social organisations were seen in cities such as Quito, Guayaquil, Cuenca, Latacunga, Ibarra, Machala and Urcuqui [Jonatan Rosas/Anadolu]

The problem is due to historic mismanagement of the public healthcare system, said Ramirez, which has worsened since President Lenin Moreno reportedly cut nearly 4,000 jobs in the healthcare sector nationwide last year. During the pandemic, the government also failed to provide protective gear to hospitals or assure long term job security for new recruits, so many healthcare workers refused to fill necessary positions, said Ramirez. At least 117 doctors and nurses lost their lives while treating COVID-19 infections in the province of Guayas alone, according to local unions.

Those most affected by these hospital conditions have been the marginalised urban sectors, according to Ramirez, where families survive off of their daily income so have been unable to maintain quarantine.

“It’s from here that many of the patients come from who go to public and social security hospitals, because the transmissibility is higher in these conditions,” he said.  

Apart from saturated hospitals, one of the biggest struggles for families is paying for medication and mortuary services, as high demand has shot up prices. Paracetamol that normally costs $0.25 a pill can no longer be found in pharmacies, but is being sold for $4.00 in informal commercial areas, said Viteri. Some families have also been forced to go into debt, as they try to pay the high costs of a coffin and cemetery plot, which could range from $3,000 to $5,000, for their deceased family members. 

Earlier this month, UN Deputy Secretary-General Amina Mohammed warned the global crisis is a health, humanitarian and development emergency, which will hit the most vulnerable populations hardest. She also urged governments to address the inequalities in their country, saying “We have a unique opportunity now, to leverage this crisis to kick-start a Decade of Action to deliver the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).” 

Families, who are looking for their deceased loved ones who have been lost or misidentified during the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), hold signs during a protest, in Guayaquil [Santiago Arcos/Reuters]

Navarrete said Guayaquil has stabilised over the past month, since the central government created a special taskforce to collect the cadavers piling up in homes and city streets, after reports of the bodies exploded across international media. But the government still is not doing enough to help lower-class families, he added. The Ministry of Interior did not respond to several requests for comment by the time of publication.

By the third week in April, Guayaquil Mayor Cyntia Viteri announced a series of initiatives, including the implementation of testing and medical teams in the most affected marginalised communities. The city government also began a weekly project, called the “Strategic Plan for Door-to-Door Service”, to deliver more than 100,000 food rations to the most affected areas of the city, according to the mayor’s press office. 

“We are working intensely on all fronts to help citizens,” the mayor’s office told Al Jazeera. 

Back in her neighbourhood of Monte Sinai, Sanchez says she received donations from the municipality at the beginning of April, but it has not come back. Many people in her community are hungry and anxious, she says. 

“It’s hard to see all of this. I feel powerless at times not being able to help,” Sanchez says. “I want to, but I can’t.” 

Thinking back to the night of her mother’s death, she remembers how often she tried calling officials for help, but it never arrived. 

“They said to call back, but when I did, nothing. No matter how much I called, I never got help. I never even got to speak to a doctor or anything like that,” Sanchez says. “I wish I could have done more, but I couldn’t do it.”

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[cosmosogler]

today i got up soooort of on time. then i got distracted by the internet!!! so i was 2 minutes late for class. the air was chilly today though so the bike ride over to campus was gucci. perfect weather.

i took furious notes in both classical and quantum. classical today was “graded” by a professor who left the comments portion of the lecture very open-ended. we weren’t really sure what to say. i ended up kind of dominating the conversation even though i didn’t really want to.

gotta keep my trap shut!

after that we went to get spaghetti. i missed it, even though we only skipped one week. suzanne asked why i talk to my parents. that got me down a pretty dark lane of conversation. i tried to focus on how i wish i had a closer relationship with my siblings... but i’m still so angry. all the time.

eventually harrison said something like “we need to pick a different awkward topic before my day gets ruined.” 

and i said “OH. i’m sorry my life ruins your day.” 

i was mostly joking. he apologized but we did change the topic to “awkward topics.” 

then i went to group therapy. i had to fill out a survey beforehand. i thought about how i was feeling the last week or two. i only really started feeling like i had any energy at all yesterday-ish. so i kept my answers pretty low mood-wise. 

i only consciously lied on one of the questions because i wasn’t sure what the required response would be. and it wasn’t a big lie. i’m not really at “high risk” of killing myself. maybe 5%. right now at least i feel ok. the past week collectively though, i wasn’t feeling too hot. 

group therapy was... actually good? we tried to focus and dwell on some conversation topics even though most of us are usually lightning-fast about responding. i ended up talking quite a bit. they seemed worried. they also seemed pretty upset about the department thing, where the professors/coordinators lie about how your classmates are doing to try to push you to work harder.

one thing the group leader said though is “how can we help you?” 

i told her i’d get back to her on that. i don’t really know. i said hearing about their self care routines and comparing ideas helps. i have made adjustments to my routine over the last two months. pretty drastic ones. i haven’t yet been able to re-cram in time to meditate before bed but the podcast helps me doze off at least. 

i’ve been drinking more tea too and i think that keeps my stomach a little more settled. caffeine free so i can drink it with dinner.

i need to think a little more about what other people can do to help me. i don’t really have any hope of actually being helped any more. i still get let down all the time by the people who are supposed to be in charge. but like... you only get out of group therapy what you put in. if i can find a specific goal to achieve that these guys can help me get to, and how to get them to get me there, that’d be great! but i also might not have Problems if i am able to get that far? i mean, like, you gotta be pretty on top of things to know exactly what you need help with and what that help needs to look like.

after that i went to e&m. something about that classroom really throws me off, because in the last ten minutes of class my eyes started hurting AGAIN. like a cramp, almost? this doesn’t really happen anywhere else. reading for too long i just get a headache and then i grind my teeth which makes the headache worse. i tried some eye exercises and that helped for a few minutes but by then i was way behind and i was just tired. 

the frustration builds up. the professor will make a step that doesn’t make any sense and not explain it. someone will ask a question and he won’t explain it still because he thought the question was dumber than it actually was. he goes too fast. just little things, but millions of them for 50 minutes straight. and then trying to focus on the board hurts. maybe his handwriting is too small and it strains my eyes? maybe i get frustrated because he stands directly in front of his writing and his lecture is incomprehensible and the anger and anxiety make my muscles tense up which hurts my eyes? i dunno.

after class i checked my email and then biked back over to the group therapy building. but this time i went to the third floor. the person i was having a meeting with was like 10 minutes late even though i got there 5 minutes before my appointment. i took the time to update pokemon go since i haven’t touched it in over 8 months. i caught a murkrow and looked at the entei raid a few blocks over.

i want entei. not gonna happen at level 20 though. my strongest pokemon is 1400 cp. this thing was like 19000.

anyway this new person is annie. the student “care area” is not a therapy office but they can help coordinate between the drc and my department. we talked about maybe dropping e&m for now since the workload is getting to be too much. (i am 4 weeks behind in grading.) 

so i will talk to danielle about it tomorrow, and then see how i do on the test on friday, and then talk to both of them again next week. i’m a little stressed about the consequences of dropping the class. the financial aid requires a certain amount of credit hours. and we’re supposed to be done with classes by the end of our second year, and i won’t even have finished UNDERGRAD e&m by my first year if i drop it. and it’ll give me a glaring weak spot on my next round with the prelim right after new year’s. 

well, i haven’t talked about it with the drc yet, so i probably won’t get anywhere worrying about it right now.

at the end of group therapy i said that even though i like to complain, i will try to follow up with actual solutions more. 

it just seems like... most of the things i complain about don’t really HAVE solutions. or i’ve already made a decision about how to deal with them but they are still very difficult and/or stressful. my classmates said it might be a good idea to reach out to my brother more after he moves away for college because teenagers are super moody and just not very enthusiastic about talking to family members in general. so that just means being patient for another two-ish years.

after that i biked back to the office.

OH! I ALMOST GOT HIT BY A CAR THIS MORNING. it was like three inches away. they were making a left turn across the road i was riding down and they just... didn’t stop. or go and get out of the way. i had to pull a hard turn and swerve up on the sidewalk and i almost hit a pedestrian. 

it’s like they weren’t even looking.

anyway i got back to the office at about 5:15 or so. i took a 45-minute break to eat some food and walk around a bit and goof off on facebook. i felt a little better after that, and then suzanne helped john and i study for our e&m test. we covered the entire chapter, just the main ideas, but it helped a lot i hope. i had my mind blown once at least. i understand dielectrics WAY better now.

we got done with that at 7:10-ish, so longer than a full class period. i was exhausted and antsy by the end of it. i packed up my things, yelled at luis a little bit about the alphabet song since we’d been having an argument about it earlier, and then biked home.

he told me the alphabet song came before the alphabet and that’s why they are in the order they are. i think the vowels should have all been put together.

the alphabet song was based off a mozart piece apparently and copyrighted in 1835. TAKE THAT, LUIS! EAT IT!!

when i got home i made some dinner and hid some cookies around for snoopy to find. she was WAY more interested in looking for them after she watched me hide them. and also had some catnip that i put on her walk-through brush. then she seemed to realize for the first time that her cat bed has two levels, and the lower level had cookies on it.

she’s a goofy one.

by the time i finished eating it was after 8:30 so i watched a few youtube videos and checked the 9 o’clock updates. then i ACTUALLY SAT DOWN AND DID SOME GRADING. i got through 2 pages of a whole lab section, which comes out to 36 pages. i did that in about the same amount of time, and then i spent a few minutes feeding snoopy and preparing my daily planner for tomorrow, and then it was 10 so i started writing. now it is 10:43.

it feels like this week has been going extra slowly. maybe it is because i feel more focused so i am losing less time to the Void of the Internet? my breaks have been more... deliberate. i set aside 90 minutes to play smash bros, and then got back to work after i felt more relaxed. stuff like that. it was a lot of fun, too.

i am a little worried about friday, between the test and the fact that i have to have 9 sections of labs graded by the end of the day, which is just not going to happen. tomorrow i don’t even get to sit down and take a BREAK let alone do work until after 4. friday is busy all the way through 4 too. and today was busy through after 5.

AND i gotta start the classical assignment somewhere in there too so i don’t have to try to slog through a 12-hour assignment over the weekend yet again. 

tomorrow my labs ungraded are gonna bump up to 12. but i made progress today. i have doubled the amount of grading i’ve finished. that’s something, right? 4 is twice as much as 2, even if you need to get to 70. and then 20 more after that.

something good. i jumped right away to asking questions when i got to my meeting with annie today. i admittedly did not have time to look up their office before i got over there, but she was very kind and explained how their office was different from the drc and counseling centers and what they are useful for. we got a solid plan set and another appointment scheduled within 25 minutes. 

now i just need to apply that “here is how this will be helpful” authority to emotions i guess? i’m not very good at asking for help from peers. i do it a lot but that doesn’t mean i’m good at it. well, i can do academic questions pretty well. but personal help is like... a league of its own.

i think i did a good job making use of some break time today and then getting back to work when i was ready. i didn’t have a LOT of time today but i stayed busy at least. and i paced myself really well yesterday because i wasn’t miserable and exhausted today! 

well, i was miserable and exhausted. but not AS miserable and exhausted as i usually get when i work too hard for too long without breaks. because i took breaks!

[nyloncoffee]

News from the source: Colombia 2017

Sourcing for coffees in this vast country is always an enjoyable experience despite the long and arduous flights that amount to 3 days stuck in planes and airports. This year, we did a pit stop in Frankfurt en route to Bogota. During the layover, we managed to do a quick cafe hop in this German capital to check out some local roasters. Similar to other European cities, specialty coffee is growing here in Germany. We managed to grab some caffeine fix at The Brewing Society, Hoppenworth & Ploch, as well as Bruhmrkt. As roasters, we are always curious to try out other international roasters, especially at times when we happen to have roasted the same coffee. It gives us an insight to the different approaches each roaster would have on a particular green coffee. The caffeine fueled us up for the next 12 hour leg to Bogota. (*Note: This is a long post, so fuel up!)

Having visited Colombia the past 4 years, Bogota has always been a transit stop where we hop on to a connecting flight to Popayan. We had never stepped out of the airport until this year, when we intentionally planned a day trip into the city. The specialty coffee scene seems to growing rapidly in this bustling capital of the 3rd largest coffee producer in the world. Usually when we travel to coffee origins, it is hard to find a decent cup of coffee, which is ironical as these countries produce amazing coffees which are exported around the world. We did our homework and visited these cafes which roast their own beans. The cafe scene is vibrant and we tasted some delicious brews at Cafe 18. While many locals still frequent the big chains, like Juan Valdez, there is a trend of more specialty-focused cafes as the demand for better coffee increases.

This year, our trip was highlighted by a special event, which was the wedding of our good friends, Jairo and Juliana. Jairo Ruiz, one of the co-founders of Banexport has been a dear friend since we started sourcing from Colombia. We are extremely honoured to have been part of their special day. We had no idea what to expect in a Colombian wedding, except there will be plenty of booze and salsa. It was one wedding to remember, never had we attended a matrimonial ceremony with so much music, dancing, karaoke, aguardiente (anise-flavoured liquor) and fireworks on the dance floor!

After a heavy night of boogie that lasted into the wee hours, we took the following day off to give ourselves and everybody some well-needed rest. The following day, we started with 2 rounds of cupping at Banexport's office to have a preview of the new harvest from Cauca before heading out to visit some producers in the surrounding towns within Cauca. Over the years, Banexport has worked with countless small producers, helping many to improve the coffee quality. They spend valuable resources, both financial and time, to form a community of like-minded small producers, who want to make a sustainable living out of growing better coffee. The goal is simple, better coffee = better prices = better livelihood and eventually a brighter future for the producers.

One of them is Hugo Trujillo. His farm, named Finca Las Orquideas, is situated in Caldono. The farm is about 3 hectares located about 1500 metres in altitude where Hugo is growing Castillo, Colombian varietal and Yellow Colombian varietal. Hugo is currently selling his coffees to cooperatives and some to Banexport. It is unusual to meet a producer less than 30 years old. While he is young, Hugo has grand ambitions. He has been working with Banexport to improve on his coffee quality. With some technical advice from Banexport, Hugo experimented with the way he processes his coffee after picking. He has been doing double fermentation in his wet mill for some of the micro-lots, meaning fermentation in a "hopper" (tolva), then in a tank.  This processing method is currently being implemented by some small producers at lower altitudes. According to Banexport, the cupping scores have been generally 1-2 points higher compared with the traditional fermentation method.

The second producer we visited was Señora Cenaida Flor, whose farm is called La Esperanza, located in the town of Santa Barbara in Cauca. Cenaida is new to specialty coffee, but we can see there is much potential. The coffee trees are spaciously planted in neat rows. She grows Castillo and Colombian, and has recently acquired some seeds of Maragogype from a friend. She will experiment growing this "elephant bean" varietal which can potentially increase her income in future years if this project becomes successful. From the conversation, we understand that Cenaida is keen to pursue growing more specialty coffee (micro-lots) in her farm, but she will need the support from Banexport in providing technical advice. It is encouraging to see her determination in improving the quality of her coffees and we hope she will persevere to make it happen.

The last producer that we visited is El Naranjal, a farm that came in #10 in the Best Cup Cauca 2016. It was also the lot that we successfully bid and won, allowing us to share the fruits of Martha and her husband, Luis Alberto. After a quick tour around the farm and understanding the processing of the harvests, we presented the couple with a bag of their coffee which we roasted to share with them. The coffee has finally come one complete circle after they were grown, picked, processed in the farm and shipped out to us in Singapore, we were able to roast this awesome coffee and share them with our customers around the region, and they can also get to taste the fruits of their labour. It was quite a heartwarming moment..

We got to know a new friend during this trip, Aldemar Sarasti. Aldemar has been working with Banexport for 1 year and his role is to provide technical advice to the small producers. He is extremely knowledgeable as we hear him dispense information about the type of fertilizers, the type or nutrients the plants would need, and what trees/alternative crops the producers can grow to help maintain the farm. He had been most patient in driving us around, acting as our local guide. We departed Popayan and headed towards another coffee department of Huila. Driving across the Purace National Park, we were occasionally hypnotised by the landscape in this vast country. It was almost a 6 hour journey before we reached Pitalito, located in the south of the Huila department.

This visit to Huila was much anticipated because we had planned to meet Elkin Guzman from Finca El Mirador. We have been corresponding with Elkin via email and Whatsapp when we wanted to understand more about the techniques involved in the way he manages his family farm. Elkin is a young producer, who studied agricultural engineering in Popayan at the university of Cauca. He has been instrumental in the development work within the farm. 6 years ago, he started to collaborate with Banexport in developing new processing methods to improve the cup quality. With Banexport's support Elkin uses Finca El Mirador as a test bed to try out different approaches to cultivation, harvesting and processing. He had also joined the Banexport team as an agricultural engineer so that he can help other producers in the region with his experience.

After a quick cupping at the Banexport's office/coffee lab,  we set off to Finca El Mirador. Last year, we won a small lot in a silent auction from this farm and we were naturally very excited to finally visit. At the farm, we met Elkin's mother, Señora Fanny Vargas. While Elkin manages most of the cultivation, harvesting and processing work at the farm, Fanny oversees the quality control within the wet mill (beneficio) and the drying of the coffees. Elkin gave us a brief overview of the farm. Currently, he grows Caturra, Castillo, Colombian, Catiope, Mokka, Tabi, Bourbon and Typica with some orange Bourbon in the pipeline. Most of the coffees are processed as honey or natural, with a small portion of washed processed. Cherries are harvested when the Brix level is at least 20 degrees. Understanding the genetics of the differental varietals have helped Elkin to decide on which fermentation methods to use for each varietal. For example, the fermentation process for Caturra and Bourbon is different compared to the Castillo, Colombian, Tabi. For the former, he does dry fermentation with Day 1's picking of the coffee cherries, then he adds Day 2's picking, so this is one form of "double fermentation". Elkin explains that the micro-organism is more active on the 2nd day, so less time is required to ferment Day 2's pickings. The pH level and Brix of the dry fermented coffee is measured to decide when to send the coffees for washing. For some other varietals like Castillo, Colombian and Tabi, there is another form of double fermentation which involves 2 stages: 1st stage in a tolva ("hopper") and 2nd stage in fermentation tanks (similar to what we saw in Cauca at Finca Las Orquideas). Elkin explained that such varietals have lower sugar content genetically, so fermenting in a funnel-shape tolva helps to increase fermentation and hence higher sweetness. The length of the fermentation depends on the environment and temperature. There was also some insights to how he is experimenting with carbonic maseration and freezer method of fermentation. Such methods are at the request of some of his clients who are looking to achieve a certain cup profile with these experimental methods.

After explaining in-depth the different fermentation techniques, Elkin then led us to where he dries the parchment. There are 5 types of drying methods used in Fincal El Mirador:

Traditional: plastic, transparent roof, with 2 layers of drying beds; minimal ventilation resulting in high humidity and temperature,

Open ventilated beds without plastic roof; lower temperature,

Similar to 1) but with blue coloured roofs and 2 layers drying beds; cooler temperature than (1),

African raised beds in shade and

Traditional plastic cover with some ventilation, single layer drying bed (biggest area for bigger quantity coffee); parchment are moved every hour.

Elkin has one of the cleanest drying beds we have seen as we were pleasantly impressed by how his workers change to clean slippers before stepping onto the drying beds to rake the parchment.

For natural processed coffees, the coffees are spread out in a thin layer first, then when it drops to a certain moisture level, the coffees are moved closer together to form a small heap. This is to reduce the rate of loss of moisture which protects the cell structure when drying. Natural coffees usually takes about 25-35 days to dry fully. As they are more difficult to mill, so Elkin is trying a modified way of drying, which involves 2 stages: drying the naturals as usual naturals to a certain moisture level, afterwhich the beans are soaked in water for it to expand a little. The coffee cherries are then depulped and dried again. This method leads to a cup that taste like a natural processed, but benefits from easier milling.

We learnt so much from Elkin as he walked us through his farm and his beneficio. As the whole session was explained in Spanish, we probably only absorbed half of the knowledge he was sharing, but nonetheless, it was extremely educational and valuable. Our visit ended with a simple home-cooked lunch together with Fanny. This is true Colombian hospitality! We chatted more over lunch, sharing some history and background about Singapore and Nylon. While Finca El Mirador receives many international visitors, we're pretty sure we are the 1st Singaporeans here....

We concluded the visit by expressing our gratitude to Fanny and Elkin with a bag of Finca El Mirador coffee roasted by us. It was about 1 year ago when we first got to taste coffee from this farm and we are glad we finally met the wonderful people behind this beautiful coffee.

We returned to Pitalito and did another few rounds of cupping. The harvest period in Huila is different from Cauca, with the main harvest starting in October and ending in December. There are parts of Huila with mitacas (small harvest), and we had a preview of those available. Coffees from Huila seem to be more diverse in varietals compared to Cauca. We were excited to try some varietals which are new to us, such as Tabi and Ombligon. Tabi is a hybrid variety obtained by crossing Typica, Bourbon and Timor Hybrid. It was developed by Colombia’s Coffee Research Institute (CENICAFE). Ombligon, according to Elkin, is a mutation of the Colombian varietal. The trees grow well at high altitudes and is quite productive. The cherries are bigger in size compared to Colombians, with pointed ends. We also cupped samples from Finca El Mirador which included some naturals and honey-processed coffees. After shortlisting some potential lots,  it was time to head back to Popayan. 

During the journey back, we chatted with Aldemar about his work at Banexport and his aspiration of owning a farm like Finca El Mirador in future. Coffee farming is a long term commitment and with threats of climate change, there would be challenges and uncertainties for future coffee growers. We hope that there will be a pool of the younger generation of coffee producers to continue with cultivating specialty coffee within the country. In order to encourage them to carry on with coffee farming, the industry has to provide the right financial incentives and technical support as well as know-how to drive it forward.

Arriving back in Popayan, we did a final day of cupping at Banexport for coffees from Cauca. Slurping through all the samples, we picked out a few that caught our attention. Besides finding the coffees we like, we also spend time catching up with our friends at Banexport about updates on recent development and what is in their pipeline. For us, this form of in-person communication is the most effective way to maintain and strengthen relationships with partners. It is the reason why we continue to make time to travel the distance. It's not only for coffee, it is the connection with these incredible individuals that builds the foundation of what we do.

It was another amazing trip to Colombia. Lovely coffees, great food, incredible people. We will be looking forward to the fresh crops of Colombians end of the year.

Viva Colombia!

#nylontravels

[cityofgoldfoodandclass]

The Spirit to Our Hearts: Meeting the Farmers Who Made California’s Food at the Santa Monica Farmers Market

They say that food is the way to our hearts. What I learned on a Wednesday morning at the Santa Monica’s Farmers Market was that it was the people who were cultivating and growing the food from the mere dirt and grass on the ground that were the spirit and love behind our food and food system.

At the Santa Monica Farmers Market, we were waiting to begin our tour of the Santa Monica Farmers Market by the new manager, Jackie. While waiting on one more student to come start our talk, wanting to fill some awkward silence and deciding to feed my curiosity on this unique farmer’s market, I started asking Jackie some questions. Immediately thinking about the ethnography that was impending on all of us, I asked her, “who is the coolestfarmer?” I rephrased this question, “who is an amazing person to talk to? Or has a cool story?” While attempting to recall I am sure the hundreds of farmers she has interacted with she glanced over to the left of where we were standing and saw Kandarian Organic Farms, or Larry’s stand.

The One and Only Larry Kandarian: Space, Organic Grains, and Pure Love

A smile immediately arose and she said, “Larry.” Larry is an amazing guy to talk to, he’s definitely the one to talk to. I remember looking over, seeing this small elderly man with a tan wide-brimmed hat, smiling as wide as the actual market itself. As someone who loves people and reallytalks to people, I could tell this man did the same. It was the way he would always be talking to someone and the way he would smile warmly and gently and touch people’s arms as he talked to them. He gave the impression as the warm grandfather we have all always wanted. Except with extraordinary skills and knowledge on organic, ancient grains. Throughout the entirety of Jackie’s speech, I would glance over to our immediate right and Larry would always have someone he was speaking to, showing some curious customer or close friend his bouquet of ancient grains and the products he was selling that week, perhaps.

Finally, as the farmers market was closing down, I knew I couldn’t leave without at least saying hi to the one I initially wanted to speak to. The one and only Larry! This guy in the sun hat who seemed to the everyone’s friend and just exuded warmth and compassion. But even as Emerson, Mia, and I (I had gathered friends for moral support and backup and they also needed to do their ethnography) approached Larry’s stand, he was still swarmed with people, talking to two different elderly women who seemed to be his good friends.

While waiting right behind him patiently and awkwardly, the employee in front of us, interestingly named Jon Carpenter, asked us how we were doing. I chatted him up thinking I could talk to him while Larry was busy. I initially complimented his long black hair and he told us he just got off of surfing for the day and “didn’t even have the chance to look in the mirror” to fix his hair before arriving to work. He seemed like every other surfer guy you would meet in Santa Monica. However, he later told us he started off working at Space X, eventually leaving because he hated the environment and the people. He realized he was not helping anyone and doing something meaningful. Mia and Emerson, who interviewed him more in depth (I was really trying to get to Larry), found out more about his own business, making nut and grain milks from scratch, even writing a superfoods e-book, which he later emailed Mia a copy.

Ultimately, as I was waiting around and Larry kept being scooped up by other people, I found an elderly woman who worked there and was showing me the famous bouquet of wheats and grains. She pointed out how beautiful the Teff Grain was and its tiny brown beads on this thin stalk. For me, what stood out was how beautiful buckwheat flowers, sprouting tiny white petals at the top. Finally, she found out I had been waiting around for Larry and graciously said she would take me to him.

He was in the middle of the conversation with Guy Frenkel of Céor Breads, an Israeli Immigrant and kind of sourdough celebrity in the Bread World. Oddly enough, he was also the guy who interrupted our initial interview with Murray, tossing a loaf of bread to Steven and telling him to “make something good with it.” Guy, kind of abruptly interrupted my introduction to Larry, asking me if I follow him on Instagram. Eventually, I get some one on one facetime with Larry. He is the type of person who you can feel his warmth and genuine heart once you talk to him. He immediately put his hand on my shoulder and took me around his stand, even letting me try some of Guy Frenkel’s famous bread (despite it being “not for sale” and Guy being very reluctant on wasting his bread on us non-famous farmers).

Larry was the type of guy where when you spoke to him, everything moved slower as if the world slowed down to accompany this guy’s pace and you would slow down alongside him, moved to do so by his warm spirit, making sure to catch every gentle word that he would say. As a nervous talker, I immediately shower Larry with how much he is admired and how long I was waiting to speak to him. I told him he was “too cool for us” and that he was “doing great work.” He gently shook his head and said no, never say that, never say I am too cool for you. He looks me straight in the eyes and got closer to me asking, “I put pants on the same way you do, don’t I? Two feet on the ground.”

This hilarious typical grandfather saying only added to his charm. He kept dismissing my claims of his brilliance and even referred us to Guy Frenkel as the “real celebrity,” making sure we had Guy’s Instagram handle. I remember he was approached by two other people while we were talking, one of them, he introduced to me as his friend. I remember looking at him and we both understood Larry’s true magic, I said to him, “everybody just seems to love him!” And he just laughed, smiling gently, and said, “I know;” both of us in agreement and just astonishment and admiration at Larry, this tiny elderly man’s power at building community, warmth, and love just by sharing his wisdom, compassion, and grains. It was clear his stand was a community bastion and particularly, by all carb lovers. The sourdough guy hanging around and later, Mia and I found out that Larry would be partnering with a beer-maker in Pasadena, coming out with a beer soon!

Larry, I would later find out, runs a farm in Los Osos, California. A farm near San Luis Obispo and is “one of the only guys doing what he’s doing,” according to one of his employees. I would later read that he wakes up farming 100 acres of his 200 himself and waking up at 2:00 am! On the days he had to drive the four hours to the Santa Monica Farmers Market. An outline of his day can be depicted by this interview he did with a food blogger, MC, and on her blog, Farine: Crazy For Bread, she writes:

“Every Wednesday morning he leaves his farm at 2 AM and drives south for four hours to set up his booth at the famous Santa Monica’s Farmers’ Market. He leaves Santa Monica between 1:30 and 2:30 PM, stops somewhere to eat and is back home by 8. The next day he is up at 5:30 AM (as he is everyday) and gets ready for another long day since the Thursday night San Luis Obispo Farmers’ Market -where he is also a vendor- doesn’t open until 6 PM.”

But this magic wheat man had an interesting past, also tied to aerospace like his now employee, Jon. Larry was a mechanical engineer who worked for Raytheon for only six months (even working on the first space shuttle!) before calling it quits in the business and came to seed business. Now having worked over 40 years in the seed industry, Larry is tackling one of the biggest problems in American Agriculture: the way we grow wheat.

Listening to Larry’s story, I recalled watching this 2016 Netflix Documentary, What’s with Wheat?, a documentary (although quite alarmist), detailing the domination of GMO wheat and the rise of gluten allergies in America. The film talked about the way we grow modern wheat today is far from the type of wheat and grains we ate when we first began eating it. We have refined and fortified it to a point where it has become no longer digestable. But mainly, they point to the Monsanto pesticide use of Glyphosate as having interfered with the bacteria in our gut in helping us digest the wheat. Moreover, having studied the violence and terrifying dominion of the Monsanto Monopoly, I knew this was a tough fight.

Back at Larry’s stand, I would find Emmer Farro, a 9,500 plant, and Einkorn, which is the most ancient grain, traced back to its use in 750 B.C. Pasting nutrition labels onto all of his packs of grains, I could see how nutrient dense all of Larry’s products were, putting the nutrients back into the grains we stripped it from.

As we were leaving, I continuously thanked him and remember saying to him that he was doing good work and fighting a good fight as “agriculture is simply amazing.” He smiled, responding that he was happy I said agriculture and not agribusiness; I could tell he had been in some rough fights with the commodification of grains and the fight for organic wheat farmers to stay alive in the Monsanto Dominion. As we left and I threw my last slew of compliments, gratitude, and admiration, Larry just kept laughing. He said something along the lines of, “never say I am too cool for you!” and asked if he could give me a hug. And gently embraced me and hugged Mia alongside me.

As I left, I swore I would come back and I would bring friends. I swore I would add to the love and community that Larry has built for himself here. And just held onto the deep feeling in my gut of love for him, his work, and his employees. I knew I would come back every week if I could, just to say hi to my favorite organic wheat farmer, Larry.

The Willy Wonka of Fruits: World Traveler, Fruit Farmer, and Mad Scientist

Steven Murray Jr. was actually the first person I was able to speak to and we as a class interviewed. Later in Jackie’s speech, she ended up suggesting also visiting Murray’s berries, as one of the farmers on the frontier of berry growing and someone “who we should definitelyspeak to.” They run the Big Red Barn in Bakersfield California, known for their rare fruits and delicious cherries. I knew I needed to meet this man after she called him the “Willy Wonka of Fruits.” I pictured Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka in the 1971 Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, a childhood classic of mine.

We later found this nickname to be incredibly accurate, Steven Murray Jr., named after his father, Steven Murray Sr. This farmer, traveler, and mad scientist embodied the childlike wonder and exploration of Willy Wonka. But instead of a top hat and a quirky overdressed man who wore his eccentricities in his fashion, we got a portly man in t-shirt who seemed busy at the market, on a phone call in his truck as we were waiting at the stand. But further talking to him, we discovered he was more than ordinary. From talking to his employees, everyone seemed to know how brilliant he was. From one worker we found out that he has been to over sixty-three different countries and could speak (from my memory) around 8 languages. He shouted to Steven in his car, “Hey, Steven, you have some fans over here.”

Immediately, Steven seemed ready to unleash his wisdom and travel experiences on us. We found out that he had studied at Cal Poly Pomona in pursuing an education around agriculture but also studying Chinese Studies! Fluent in Mandarin, he spent the majority of his time in China, studying agricultural practices there. But not just that, he went to India, Brazil, Chile, and practically any country you could think of to study rare fruits. He said he was even the keynote speaker for some fruit related convention and was even invited to the International Fig Symposium in Croatia. Apparently, he is one of the North America’s largest managers of rare fruit collection, holding over 300 different species and 2,000 varieties of fruit.

It was clear he was a seeker of the weird, the unknown, and the underground. This was a characteristic that I shared and could spot. This characteristic of a pioneer and discoverer but also a desire to not be happy with the status quo and the common. I later asked him how he developed that and he claimed his childhood farm was never normal. Their family were the first in the area to grow cherries in Kern County. This master grower combined his love for languages and desire for discovery in fruit growing to his travels. At one point, he was explaining the characters in Chinese of rare fruits that he claimed “most Chinese people don’t even know about.” It was simply incredible.

As we ended the interview, he quickly looked at me and said “Nǐhuì shuō zhōngwén ma?”. Asking me if I speak Chinese, quickly in Mandarin I responded, yes. I told him that although I am not Chinese, I am from Taiwan. He quickly was able to recount Taiwan’s rare fruits and produce that I honestly had never heard of was just so distracted by the sheer knowledge of this guy. The farmers market seemed to be closing down as everyone moved a bit faster and people began to pack up. Feeling pressure to end our conversation, I squeezed in one more language and said, “También puedo hablar en español. Gracias por su tiempo! Y mucho gusto!” He responded in the same enthusiasm and salutation. I left that stand, knowing that now on my six hour drives up from Los Angeles to Sacramento, where my mother lives, I will now have the best reason to stop by Bakersfield, California.

--Rebecca

[newstfionline]

The Storm Reaches Puerto Rico: ‘There Is Nothing Like This’

By The New York Times, Sept. 7, 2017

• Hurricane Irma, one of the strongest storms ever recorded in the Atlantic, hit the eastern Caribbean on Wednesday with winds of up to 185 miles an hour, but had slowed to 180 m.p.h. by Thursday morning.

• The Category 5 storm leveled Barbuda, damaging 95 percent of its buildings and leaving the island “barely habitable.” It has since begun lashing Puerto Rico and is also threatening havoc and destruction in the Virgin Islands, the Dominican Republic, Haiti and Cuba. The Bahamas and the Turks and Caicos Islands will also be at risk on Thursday.

• The French interior minister, Gerard Collomb, said at least eight people had been killed in French Caribbean territory, and at least three deaths were reported elsewhere. The authorities warned that the toll would rise as communications improved.

• President Trump declared a state of emergency in Florida, Puerto Rico and the United States Virgin Islands. The storm is expected to reach Florida early on Saturday, potentially causing catastrophic flooding.

‘Barbuda is literally rubble,’ but Antigua is spared. Early on Wednesday, Prime Minister Gaston Browne of Antigua and Barbuda said his nation had been spared the worst of the hurricane, declaring in a statement, “The essential point is that our main infrastructure has stood up and our country can resume normal life within hours.” He went so far as to add, “I dare to say that no other country in the Caribbean would have been as well prepared as we were.”

This turned out to be stunningly inaccurate: While the damage in Antigua was not as severe as expected, Mr. Browne announced in the afternoon that 95 percent of all structures on its sister island, Barbuda, had been damaged or destroyed, rendering the island “barely habitable.” A telecommunications tower was broken in two. At least one person, an infant, was killed.

Barbuda, home to about 1,600 people (3 percent of the country’s population), “is literally rubble,” the prime minister told ABS TV/Radio Antigua.

In his initial statement Wednesday morning, Mr. Browne suggested he had been receiving reports from Barbuda. But he later clarified that, in fact, the storm had knocked out all official communication systems on the island, rendering officials there unreachable after the storm. As a result, it was not until the afternoon, when the prime minister surveyed Barbuda from the air, that the extent of the devastation became clear.

“What I saw was heart-wrenching--I mean, absolutely devastating,” Mr. Browne told ABS TV afterward, estimating that it would take at least $150 million to return the island to some semblance of normalcy.--Carl Joseph, Kirk Semple And Maggie Astor

‘Considerable’ damage in the French Caribbean. President Emmanuel Macron of France said on Wednesday evening that it was too early to say how badly the islands of St. Martin and St. Barthélemy had been damaged or how many casualties there were. But French officials reported that the death toll was at least two, and Mr. Macron said the aftermath would be “harsh and cruel.”

“We will have victims to lament, and the material damage on the two islands is considerable,” he said after a crisis meeting in Paris, adding that the “entire nation” stood beside the inhabitants of the islands.

Mr. Macron said that emergency services were focusing on re-establishing contact with the affected areas and that rescue operations would be coordinated from the French Caribbean island of Guadeloupe, where the French minister for overseas territories, Annick Girardin, was headed on Wednesday evening.--Aurelien Breeden

In the Virgin Islands, ‘it feels seismic.’ Javorn Micheal Fahie, a taxi driver in Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, said most of the galvanized steel roofs in his neighborhood had blown off. He saw two of them, from houses facing his, flying away in the wind.

“Oh boy,” he said in an internet phone call from his concrete house in the Johnson’s Ghut area of the island, where he had been riding out the storm all day and posting videos of it on his Facebook page. “A lot of wind and rain.”

“All the trees around us have no leaves,” he added. “Everything is empty.”

Late on Wednesday, the Federal Emergency Management Agency tweeted a photo from a resident of St. Thomas, in the United States Virgin Islands.

Earlier in the day, Kelsey Nowakowski, who lives in St. Thomas, described how she and four friends had hunkered down and waited for the storm to pass.

“We’ve all been in hurricanes before, but have never felt anything like this before,” Ms. Nowakowski said in a message via Twitter. “It feels seismic, it feels catastrophic.”--Richard Pérez-Peña and Kirk Semple

In Puerto Rico, fears of rising waters. Gov. Ricardo A. Rosselló said at a televised briefing on Wednesday that six to eight inches of rain were expected in Puerto Rico, with some areas receiving up to 12 inches.

“As the history with Harvey states,” he said, referring to the hurricane that battered Houston, “flooding can become the major cause of death in events of this nature.”

With the storm expected to pass just north of San Juan between 6 p.m. and 8 p.m., the governor had cautioned people to take shelter by noon in homes or in one of 156 government-run facilities. He warned that the authorities would suspend rescues once winds reached 50 m.p.h.

Nearly 30 years ago, Puerto Rico was hit hard by Hurricane Hugo, which left more than 28,000 residents homeless. But Abigail Acevedo, 60, who survived Hugo, said Irma was worse.

“This is phenomenal,” Mr. Acevedo said in a phone interview. “There is nothing like this.”

Officials warned that the island’s fragile electrical grid could be shut down for months in some areas. The Puerto Rico electric company said nearly 300,000 people had lost power by early Wednesday afternoon. More than 4,000 had lost water service, mostly because of power failures. The governor has asked the Defense Department to activate the Army National Guard for recovery efforts once the storm passes.

The hurricane could hardly have come at a worse time for the territory, which is in the throes of an economic crisis and does not have money for rebuilding.--Frances Robles and Luis Ferré-Sadurni

St. Martin’s ‘most durable’ buildings are destroyed. The French interior minister, Gérard Collomb, said the four “most durable” buildings on St. Martin had been destroyed.

President Trump owns a property there, Le Château des Palmiers, a walled waterfront estate that is currently up for sale. It is unclear whether that property was damaged.

Power was out on St. Barthélemy, and many roofs had been blown off, according to a statement from the prefecture on the French island of Guadeloupe.

The situation on St. Martin was similar: There was no power, the fire station was flooded, and the police station no longer had a roof. The island’s administrative offices were also “partially destroyed,” the statement from Guadeloupe said, adding that the staff had taken shelter in a concrete room.

By midmorning on Wednesday, the hurricane was “pounding” the island nation of Anguilla, according to the National Hurricane Center. An officer who answered the phone at the Royal Anguilla Police Force headquarters said that one person had died in the territory.

Alex Woolfall, a British public relations consultant, was staying at The Westin St. Maarten resort in St. Martin when the storm made landfall early Wednesday. Mr. Woolfall tweeted updates during the storm before the power eventually went out.

@woolfallalex: May be my last tweet as power out and noise now apocalyptic. This is like a movie I never want to see. #Irma2017 #StMaarten

Evacuations in the Bahamas. Hundreds of evacuees from the southern Bahamas began arriving in the capital, Nassau, a day after Prime Minister Hubert Minnis urged them “not to be foolish and try to brave out this monster storm.”

Marionette Simmons, 60, who left the Inagua district with three of her grandchildren, said she had stayed put during Hurricane Ike in 2008 and “wasn’t going to take that chance again.”

“My life is more important than anything I might have left behind,” Ms. Simmons said.

Dion Foulkes--the Bahamas’ labor and consumer affairs minister, who is coordinating the evacuations--said that only about 200 people had chosen to stay on the islands, which will most likely start to feel the effects of Irma on Thursday evening. Earnel Brown, who owns a small hotel in Pirates Well on the island of Mayaguana, is one of them.

“I am a person of tremendous faith, and I believe that things don’t just happen, they happen for a reason,” Mr. Brown, 54, said. “I believe everything is meticulously planned by God. I am not worried at all.”--Erica Wells

Florida is taking no chances. In Miami-Dade County, memories of the damage caused in 1992 by Hurricane Andrew, a Category 5 storm, spurred residents to prepare for Hurricane Irma earlier than usual.

Most projections have Irma slamming into the state by Sunday, although it is unclear where it might make landfall.

Gov. Rick Scott activated the state National Guard and declared a state of emergency across Florida. At a news conference, he urged residents to heed evacuation advisories and to act while the storm is still days away. Irma, he said, is more powerful and dangerous than Andrew.

“Know your evacuation zone,” he said. “Listen to your locals. This storm has the potential to devastate the state. Take it seriously.”

The Florida Keys were under a mandatory evacuation order: Wednesday morning for visitors and Wednesday evening for residents. The islands’ three hospitals began evacuating patients on Tuesday.

Hurricane Harvey was weighing heavily on people’s minds. “I think because of Texas, people are freaking out,” said Yoseyn Ramos, 24, a Miami resident who said she was worried because she could not find gas anywhere.--Richard Pérez-Peña and Marc Santora

[vowel-in-thug]

So I’m having a pretty chill birthday (because the last two days have been EXHAUSTING) and i want to say thank you again for all the sweet birthday wishes! my 27th year wouldn’t have been half of what it was without this fandom, so it seems like a good time to share something orange and gay :) 

anyway, this is again part of a 5 things orange fic i’ve been writing for over a month that has been put on hold due to finale agonies. i’ve also posted one of these five things HERE (which is actually 3 of 5). this is the first one, and it makes sense to post today, because silver also (theoretically) has a birthday and flint tries to make it nice. emphasis on tries.

The mid-morning heat is thick and relentless, and Flint’s standing on a ladder in his grove, feeling the sweat drip down his spine, thinking about how there’s really no relief from this weather, not even in September, when suddenly he remembers Silver telling him he was born in the summertime.

He freezes, arm outstretched towards an orange. He remembers Silver telling him he didn’t know when the exact day was, but he just chose a new summer day each year to mark the occasion.

The autumnal equinox is next week. Summer is over. And Flint hadn’t done anything. Silver hadn’t said anything. Perhaps it was payback for Flint failing to mention his own birthday. Perhaps he’d simply forgotten, too.

Still. Flint should have remembered.

He throws a few more oranges into his barrel before heading back to the house. He barely pays attention to where he’s stepping. He’s thinking.

He hasn’t celebrated anyone’s birthday in years, and he’s never been very good at it. He can’t throw Silver a party. The idea of having anyone else in their home was unthinkable, lest anyone get the idea that they might actually be welcome there. He could maybe arrange something at the tavern, but Lua would have to be involved, and then the whole town would show up, certainly the whole of her church. He doesn’t think Silver would really want a gathering of that size, but Flint knows for certain he’d be unlikely to attend.

Flint likes the private world they’ve carved out for themselves. It’s the only sure thing he’s ever had in his life, the only time something good wasn’t at least partially clouded with underlying fear. Just because he’s become friendlier with his neighbors the last few months doesn’t mean he wants to invite them into his and Silver’s world.

He’s silent, still thinking, as he and Silver head into town. Silver doesn’t question his silence. It happens, sometimes, to the both of them. Bad dreams, dark thoughts, cold reveries will leave them feeling tense and withdrawn all day, going through their daily motions without much thought, too lost in their own heads. Fortunately, this has yet to happen to both of them at the same time, so the other always knows to step back, to be patient, to wait for the sun to set and for them to get back home. Then they’d crawl to each other, leaving the candles unlit, and the one who’d been quiet all day would finally make a noise -- a soft, uncontrollable sigh in the dark.

Except this morning, the only demon that plagued Flint is this: he is terrible at giving gifts.

He likes things to have use, but Silver doesn’t really need anything. He has plenty of clothes and boots, and he doesn’t like hats. His knife is beloved, his guns must be kept locked away, and his sword is rusting in the cellar. He bought himself a mule.  His crutch is in relatively good shape, but even so, it’s not like Flint is going to buy Silver a new crutch for his birthday. Perhaps he could whittle him something, like a flute.

Flint dismisses that idea immediately. He can already picture the destruction caused by giving Silver something that made even more noise.

With an internal sigh, he realizes he only has one idea that could work, even though it’s a terrible idea, the most pathetic gift he always, always, falls back on -- a book.

The first time he’d wanted to give Miranda a birthday present, Thomas had been spectacularly unhelpful. The beautiful and lavish things Miranda enjoyed were not the kinds of things he could afford on a Lieutenant’s salary. Thomas suggested something from the heart, which also wasn’t something he had a lot of, even back then. In a desperate act, he’d stopped by a bookshop and begged the owner for a suggested title a woman might enjoy, and he’d bought the first one the shopkeeper offered.

When Miranda read the title aloud, “Of Domestic Duties by William Gouge,” Flint had thought she and Thomas were having a combined fit, they were laughing at him so hard. He remembers blushing heavily, apologizing profusely when he realized what the book was, and sinking to his knees as Miranda hiked up her skirts so he could make it up to her.

So, at least that fallback is still an option for him.

He hurries with his afternoon deliveries, so he might get to the small bookseller in time to actually pay attention to what he’s buying.

No one in St. Augustine can make a living just selling books, and the shop sells a variety of other paper goods, and also acts as the mailing station in town. The selection of books is small, many of them religious, none of them originally by an Englishman. Flint finds nothing. Or rather, plenty he might want to read, but nothing that strikes him as something for Silver.

Silver isn’t really a reader. He reads, certainly, and has read most of Flint’s books by now, but he doesn’t get the same kind of joy Flint does from reading. Already this is a terrible gift.

“Santiago,” Luis, the owner of the shop, says after watching Flint rifle through his collection silently for almost an hour longer than he’d intended. “Please. Let me help you. I’d like to go home sometime tonight.”

Flint is hesitant to trust another bookseller after what happened in London. But Luis has given him recommendations in the past for himself that have proved successful.

“It’s for Juan,” Flint admits. “I’m not sure what he likes. I’ve only ever seen him read my books.”

“So pick something out for yourself,” says Luis reasonably, “and give it to him instead.”

“Then it won’t feel like it’s for him,” says Flint, and then adds, feeling a little exposed, “I -- missed his birthday.”

Luis nods sympathetically, and helps Flint look through the same titles he’d been staring at for ages. Eventually, the sun begins to set, and he’s late for dinner, and it’s not like he’s got a time limit for this because it’s a surprise, but he’s set himself on this course and he’d like to finish it now.

“Have you ever read Queveda?” Luis asks.

Flint hasn’t.

“Take this one,” he says, taking the book from behind his counter, away from the other collection. Flint can see the title Francisco de Queveda in faded gold leaf on the spine. “It’s one of my favorites. Your cousin has a strange humor about him. I think he’ll enjoy it. Go on, now. You’re starting to annoy me.”

Flint thanks him, and pays him, shoving the book into his cart as he heads to the tavern.

Silver is tight-lipped and a little pale, waiting for Flint outside the kitchen. His hands are clenched at his side, and when he sees Flint enter the tavern, his shoulders visibly sag.

“Sorry,” Flint says, a bit breathlessly as he sits at his table. “A wheel on the cart fell off, and I had to stop and fix it.”

Silver knows it’s a lie, and Flint knows he knows, but it’s fine because Flint will tell him the truth later that night when he gives him the book and then he’ll suck him off -- both things he’d much rather do in private.

Silver is still glaring at him, ready to push it, when Lua approaches. “See? He’s not dead. Now will you get back to work? These people have hungry.”

Silver is short with him the rest of the night, no matter how hard Flint tries to convey that everything is fine, there’s nothing to worry about, this is actually a nice thing. Silver has surprised Flint with things before and he’d never suspected a thing, why is this so difficult? At least any notion of backing out and not giving him the stupid gift is out the window. Silver would never let it go now.

When they’re leaving, Silver isn’t even out the door before he starts. “What --”

“Wait,” says Flint. “At home. It’s really not an issue.”

Fuming, Silver mounts his mule and is deadly silent the whole way home. This is a nightmare. This is the worst gift-giving ever.

They’re only a quarter mile from home when Flint gives in. “Fucking fine,” he snarls, stopping in the middle of the road. “I wanted to do this like normal fucking people, but since we are utterly incapable of being anything other than the most dramatic, here.”

He thrusts the book up into Silver’s hands, who has no choice to but to grab it. He can see the anger melting into confusion on Silver’s face in their single lit lantern.

“What is it?”

“A book,” says Flint. “For you.” He grits his teeth. “For your birthday.”

“My what?”

“You said you were born in the summer. It’s almost autumn now. We didn’t celebrate, so.”

Silver says nothing, staring down at the book he’s gripping with both hands. He doesn’t look back at Flint.

“Oh,” is all he says.

It’s a terrible gift, and Flint knows that, so he’s not surprised by the reaction. He just sighs, and continues on his way to the house.

Silver is a pace behind him. Flint glances over his shoulder once, and sees Solomon the mule doing all the work. Silver is still looking at the book.

“I can’t make out the title,” Silver says softly.

“Francisco something. A history,” Flint says, looking back at the road. “Luis’s recommendation. I’ve never read it.”

Silver doesn’t respond.

When they reach the house, Silver dismounts and walks quickly inside, leaving Flint to tie up Solomon and unload his cart. Flint feels a little annoyed now, if only because he’s not sure how to change Silver’s attitude to one that wants to get his cock sucked.

Except when Flint walks inside, Silver already has the fire going, his shoe off, and he’s curled up in Flint’s reading chair, new book opened in his lap.

“Oh,” Flint says. He shifts awkwardly in the doorway. “You’re going to read it now?’

Silver hums. He doesn’t even look up when he says, “Just for a bit.”

Flint fiddles with his fingers. “I was going to….” He trails off, not wanting to just come out and say it, but Silver doesn’t even bother to press him.

After a moment, Flint joins him, sitting down to mend his boots, and then Silver’s, and then a couple shirts, and a belt that he can’t remember who it belongs to, and Silver is immobile the whole time in his chair, except for turning of pages.

Finally, Flint gets up. “I’m going to bed.”

Silver murmurs something inaudible, and Flint is going to let it go, walks by the chair to do just that, but then Silver grabs his hand as he passes. He doesn’t look up from his book, but he lifts Flint’s fingers to his mouth, absently presses a long kiss into his knuckles, and mutters something like, “Sleep well.”

Flint does.

The next morning, though, he’s alone in bed as usual, but when he leaves the bedroom, he finds Silver right where he left him, head still in his book.

It’s not that big of a book.

“What the fuck?” Flint asks, standing in the entryway.

Silver blinks at him. At some point in the night he must have moved, because he’d taken off his shirt and undone his hair. He looks utterly exhausted but he still smiles at Flint. “Good morning.”

“You’ve been reading all night?” Flint asks. “Why on Earth -- “

“I was reading it again,” Silver says, finally shutting the book. It rests on his chest, along with his hands. “Or maybe this is the third time. I can’t recall.”

“Jesus, Silver.” He swiftly removes the book from Silver’s person and holds it away from him, like it might be dangerous. “You realize you weren’t expected to memorize the damn thing before throwing it into another fire, right?”

Silver closes his eyes and smiles widely, but says nothing.

“Come on, get up,” Flint says, grabbing his crutch. “I suppose you liked the book, then?”

“God, no,” says Silver. “It’s awful.”

“What?”

“Well, the first time around was pretty bad.” Silver still has his eyes closed. “The second time around, I started to get the joke, once I’d remembered you saying you hadn’t actually read it before. Do you know what The Swindler is about?”

“The what?” Feeling a horrible, lurking sense of deja vu, Flint opens the book to the title page. It turns out, Francisco de Quevedo is the name of the author.

The full title of the book is, History of the life of the Swindler, called Don Pablos, model for hobos and mirror of misers.

“Oh, no,” says Flint.

“I spent the whole first readthrough,” Silver says, yawning, “trying to figure out what about this tale of a foolish young picaro failing through multiple calamities to become someone worthy, reminded you of me, and it was only when I recalled you saying you hadn’t read it that prevented me from waking you up by throwing it at your sleeping head.”

“I’m sorry,” says Flint. “You know I don’t --”

“I know.” Now he opens his eyes, and they’re tired eyes but not angry ones.

“I had been planning on sucking your cock last night, too, you know,” Flint adds. “But you were too absorbed.”

Silver looks away from him. He’s looking, Flint realizes, at the book again. “No one’s ever given me a birthday present before,” he says.

Flint has these urges sometimes -- strange, alien impulses that strike him as hard and sudden as a kick to the back of the head. He’s only ever felt it a few instances in his life, which may be why it feels so strong and so wild to him: a fierce, overwhelming, powerful sense of protectiveness. He gives into it every time.

He gets Silver standing, propping him up on his crutch. He smooths some of the hair out of his face as an excuse to rest his hand in Silver’s hair. “You’re going to sleep for a few hours while I’m in the grove. I’ll take Solomon to make my morning stops and then double back for you, so you can rest more before work.”

“You won’t have much time,” Silver mutters, drooping against him. At one time in their lives, they’d both been able to stay up for days on end, anger and paranoia and fear keeping them too sharp and too on edge to sleep. Flint knows he’s softened in the years he’d been in St. Augustine, and it thrills him beyond measure to see it happening to Silver, too.

“It’ll take me less time than usual without you there,” Flint points out. “I don’t chat.”

Silver kisses him, cupping his face with two hands. He’s sleep-warm, despite not having any, and his lips move soft and wet against his own. Flint holds his side to keep him steady, his other hand still clutching at his hair and neck to keep himself steady. The sun has finally crested the horizon outside, the rays streaking in through the kitchen window, already heating Flint’s back, and he’s never felt so goddamn comfortable in his entire life.

Then suddenly, the kiss becomes heavier, as though all of Silver’s weight is behind it, but at the same time Silver stills against him, his mouth lax, hands limply falling to Flint’s chest. Flint blinks, pulling back a little, and his suspicions are confirmed when Silver tilts forward with him, lips still on Flint’s. He’d fallen asleep mid-kiss. He even lets out a little snore.

Flint gently pushes Silver back and holds him upright. The movement seems to jolt him awake, and he stares at Flint blearily.

“You don’t really think I’m a swindler, do you?” he asks.

“No.” Again, Flint is struck by that wild impulse, so he kisses Silver softly between the eyes. He feels Silver slump against him like he might drift off again. “Although, I haven’t read the book yet, so I can't say for certain.”

“You can borrow it, if you like,” Silver murmurs, sounding tired but not unhappy. “I have a copy of my own.”

[long-way-down-rp-archive]

Winnifred “Fred” Torres

True Name: No Face Claim: Michelle Rodriguez Nickname and Aliases: “Fred.” “Winner” to her adoptive father, Luis Torres. Date of Birth: Unknown. She celebrates April 10th, 1990 the day Luis Torres found an infant on his ailing mentor’s doorstep, as her birthday. Apparent Age: 20’s Actual Age: Unknown. Likely 27-29. Gender: Cis Female. Kind: Shifter - Born Wolf Occupation: Courier Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos: A geometric black band around her right bicep. A Catholic cross on the nape of her neck (a gift from Luis, to protect her in her travels). Appendectomy scar. In wolf form: grey and white markings, dark rings around her eyes.

Personality: She’s solitary and very intensely private and guarded and trusts neither easily nor quickly. She can be prickly and snarky – but her sly sense of humor can also be surprisingly gentle. She’s kind but cynical. Around those she truly loves and trusts, she’s all clumsy affection and goofiness. She doesn’t get truly angry easily, but when she does it’s an ice cold and dangerous anger. She has a history of depression but she’s on an anti-depressant that works well for her – still prone to melancholy, though only those very close to her see it.

History:

Fred doesn’t think much about her past. Or the future. She lets the wind whistle past her and turns her music up and floats and for whole sections of highway she lives only in that precise moment in time. That’s what she likes about the Red Nights, about the vagabond life.

It’s not that her past is unhappy. She’d deck anybody who either tried to psychoanalyze her – she’s not against therapy, she’s done some herself, would recommend it to lots of folks, she’s just against smug bastards who think pontificating a few clichés and poking at someone’s sore spots without their consent means they know shit – or tried to suggest that Luis didn’t do a damn good job raising her. And he did, he really did. She didn’t have an auspicious start on life that’s for sure. Whatever happened, it must have been bad, for a cub – less than a year old, Luis’d always estimated – to end up lost and alone, no pack, no home, until she ended up on Luis’ mentor’s doorstep. But from the moment Luis picked her up she’s been warm and safe and loved.

If she were different kind of person she might get maudlin about those early years. Running just a little bit wild all over the property that’d become Luis’, watching him work, helpin’ and learning beside him. Luis’d had a whole slew of little brothers and sisters, had all the practice he needed and the patient, indulgent but reliable, fair-minded and gentle temperament to be a damn near perfect father. A terrible cook, and it’s a wonder Fred never got scurvy living off so much canned baked beans but hey, nobody’s perfect and Fred’s not in a position to diss anybody else’s cooking. Besides, she still likes canned baked beans.

Still, it’s just the two of them, really. And that’s not a proper pack. Oh, there’s Luis’ mentor, and Fred’s got only fond memories of the old man, but she’s also only got one or two memories of him ‘cause he died not all that long after she arrived. There’s the rest of the Nashville pack, sure, but they’re spread out. One of her only memories of Luis’ mentor is of him telling her stories of how it used to be – before his time even – of how many of them there were, how close they all were. But now, after the Cull, everyone lives far apart and though there’s the canine kinship between them all when they get together at The Back Forty or pass on the street, it’s fleeting.

There’s Luis’ big, warm, generous family. Now that’s a pack, alright. Abuelo and Abeula and so many Tias and Tios and primos for her. But they all live in Texas. And they don’t know why their son has settled so far away. And when Luis takes her to visit them for Easter and Christmas they welcome her like family – but, there’s still the edge of having to be careful around them, the weight of the secret between them.

And there’s the Red Nights. For as long as she can remember, those beautiful bikes and a handful of familiar faces have been riding in and out of her life. They were always family too, Luis’ brethren – even the ones that hardly spoke, or the ones that she didn’t speak the same language as -- but they were family that never stayed. Didn’t mean they weren’t family, but still.

For a long while though, Luis and her, that was enough. But then there was school. Nothing like being forced into close proximity with so many people you had nothing in common with to make you feel lonely. And it wasn’t just the wolf that felt the isolation and alienation. She was a weirdo, right enough. Her shyness was mistaken for stuckupitness. Her strange sly sense of humour for rudeness. Her clumsy affection was too transparent, too lacking in cool. At first she at least could run wild on the playground with the boys, shouting and jumping and playing basketball and feeling the thrill of being in her body bouncing off the energy of others solidly in their bodies. But then puberty hit, and hit a bit early, and suddenly there were lines that she hadn’t realized existed. She couldn’t be one of the boys anymore, but the girls didn’t exactly want her either. And she was definitely too short for basketball. Human or wolf, she just didn’t quite fit in. “Just haven’t found your pack, yet,” Luis’d say, “that’s all.” “It’ll happen. Just be patient.” And she’d tried to be.

She’d escaped into books, found kindred spirits between the pages and an even more powerful yearning for that kind of connection in the real world. Fantasy and science fiction were her favourites at first but then Luis gave her poetry. Gloria E. Anzaldua and Cherrie Moraga. Older women, with powerful voices that filled her up and kept her going.

She was smart, and lucky enough to have teachers who recognized it and encouraged her. Luis was so proud that she’d be the first of his family to pursue higher education. And for half a moment there, in the sunshine and sparkle of Stanford University, she’d thought all her lonely teenage dreams had come true, that she’d found her pack. Everyone was so verbally whip-smart, so willing to tangle words and ideas with her. And she fell in love. She’d never let herself even have half a decent crush all through high school, too keenly aware that these weren’t the right people for her, but here she let herself hope otherwise and she let herself be vulnerable. She let herself realize what she suddenly knew Luis must have realized a long time earlier – all those sapphic lady poets? No, not a coincidence – and in that bliss of letting herself be this new word, “bisexual,” she fell hard and fast for the girl who taught it to her.

And for a while it was heaven. But it was a heaven at least half manufactured, all Fred’s hopes and dreams projected onto people she didn’t really know. As the second year started, Fred started to come out of the haze of new infatuation, started to feel uncertainty creeping in. Started to realize that here too there were things she couldn’t talk about, things she couldn’t be – it’s just that they were different ones than the ones back in high school. She could be intellectual here, she could be queer, she could be witty and sparkling, but… somehow she never talked about being here on a full scholarship, didn’t let her friends or even her lover see her budgeting everything, never spoke Spanish. Things she couldn’t precisely put her finger on. And of course, she kept the wolf leashed and muzzled and hidden. Still, when Emma, beautiful elegant Emma, got down on one knee… Fred said “yes” and she meant it, but she knew she had to tell Emma who and what she really was. And first, she took her home. And in the warm messy kitchen of her childhood home, the fantasy well and truly dissolved.

It wasn’t that Emma did anything wrong, but in a flash Fred saw Emma seeing her home, seeing her father, and saw the flicker of white, upper-middle-class judgements on her face. Fred tried to tell herself that it was her own fears talking, that she was projecting, but then when Luis went to get them coffee, bustling about so proud and happy for his daughter, Emma whispered, “Your dad’s kinda scary, huh?” and Fred knew. That she’d made a mistake bringing her here. But also, that she could have made worse mistakes.

It was supposed to be a short visit, but when Emma went to join her family in Cape Cod, Fred stayed. And stayed. Emma stopped calling and messaging, eventually. Luis didn’t push her, didn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer, not until September came and went and the school started calling. Then he sat her down and told her that whatever she needed to do, he’d support her. Asked her what she wanted. Laid out options, carefully, keeping his voice neutral so she’d know he wasn’t going to pressure her one way or the other. She could transfer. She could take a break. She could quit altogether. She could work with him, he’d always be glad of his right hand girl. Fred couldn’t give him an answer, not then. And not for a while after, but Luis was patient. Eventually, when Fred was still sleeping most of the days away and starting to lose weight, he saw that she needed more than patience. Got her some good help.

By spring-time Fred still had a sadness clinging to her but she was reading and eating again, she was getting her balance back. Taking a lot of long midnight rides, helping out in the garage, hanging out at The Back Forty. When the Red Nights rolled in, it was only natural that she’d roll out with them. And it’s been good for her. As good a path as any for somebody who’s never quite belonged in any one place. Maybe she’ll never find the understanding, the kind of pack, she craves. Maybe nobody but Luis will ever know her and see her, all the mixed up jumbled pieces of her. But with the Red Nights, with her brethren of the road, she’s found acceptance.

On the road Fred’s free to be whoever she wants to be that particular day and unconstrained by the expectations and lenses through which others view her. They’re all misfits too and they don’t judge and maybe they don’t fully see her, but they don’t try to change her to fit what partial image of her they do see. They don’t understand her, but they understand what it is to not be understood. And they let her be. And that acceptance is as close to a pack as she thinks she’ll ever find. It’s good enough. Except for when it ain’t. But then she goes home to Luis or she reads poetry that sings in her soul and has a cry, or sheds her human skin and goes running flat out under the moon until it all fades away and she wakes up clean and strong.

Family: 

Luis Torres, adoptive father, 67.  Sexuality and Relationship Status: Bisexual. Currently determinedly single/casual relationships only. Other Ties: The Red Nights MC. The folks of The Back Forty.

Likes: Kids, even and maybe especially difficult ones, and animals – oh she’s got Luis’ soft spot for strays, alright. The quiet and solitude of the woods. Contrarily, also the noise and easy comradery of dive bars and truck stop diners. Poetry and literature .Her one true love, Lilah, her 1997 Harley Davidson Electraglide Classic, a gift from Luis and the Red Nights before she left for university. Dislikes: The stifling strictures of suburban America and the people of her home town who all believe they know her. Snobbery. Greed. Incompetence. Hobbies: None, really. Unless the spinning of elaborate lies to the folks she meets on the road; a harmless game she plays -- mostly with herself, though she’ll laugh over the most outrageous ones with her brethren of the road or with Luis -- counts. Skills: Mechanics. Martial arts. Medical Conditions: Depression. Lactose intolerance. Current Financial Status: Far more secure than a casual observer might think. She’s thrifty and has few possessions, but she’s got a significant chunk saved in the bank. Her two years in university was entirely paid for by scholarships and she makes a good, if unreliable, income, running for the Red Nights. Places: Torres’ Garage. The Back Forty. Cheatham WMA. Pets: None.

Known Magic: Shifting. Magical Items: Fred might try to claim that Lilah has her own magic, but it’s not that kind of magic.

Rumors: Fred keeps a low profile, but in certain circles she’d be known as a fast and discrete courier for – whatever you might want moved. Anyone who’s dealt with her will tell you she’s decidedly not somebody to mess with and some will remark that she’s got a strange sense of humour.

Writing Sample:

It’s not like she’s actually moving back home. Sure, maybe this time she’s staying a little longer. Long enough to bring Lilah in out of the rain and park her in an unused corner of the garage. Fred tries not to think about the fact that this corner is clear and unused, when everywhere else the clutter and chaos blooms – tries not to ask herself if it was clear here last time she came ‘round or if Luis’ cleared it out for her. If he’s asking her to stay, with that silent clear space just big enough for her bike.

She’s just hanging about a little longer, that’s all, having a longer visit. She could use a vacation. Some time with the old man. That’s what Fred tells herself, but she still feels the old highschool fear of being stuck here clamp in her gut. There’s another stronger fear though, that took up residence there when she felt Luis’ hands trembling in hers, and it’s forcing the old fear out of house and home. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, but he’d smiled so kindly at her, that she’d known it for a lie, immediately. Funny, she’d always remembered him being a scarily good liar. But she’d just nodded, “Okay, Luis,” and let it drop. Or seemed to anyway. That night she’d gotten up and prowled around. Not like she didn’t do that often enough do that. It always seemed to her to be one of the things that was most often different between the bitten and the born. She never could sleep through the night, nights were full of something raw and invigorating. While Luis slept like one of his saints, flat on his back with his hands clasped on his chest. It’d freaked her out, when she was a kid; he looked like he was dead. No, she’s not gonna think like that.

She pokes through what Luis calls his “inbox” – just a wine box, cut down so it’s a shallow tray for paperwork to accumulate in. On the top there’s two checks from garage customers. Sizeable amounts and he’s not even bothered to cash ‘em. She snorts. Stirs a finger around through the papers until something catches her eye and her breath. It’s an envelope from TriStar Southern Hills Medical Center. There’s nothing in it. Her jaw tightens. So. Something is wrong and she’s gonna have to wrestle it out of him. That’ll take some doing. And some time.

Fine. It’ll be her birthday soon. Why not celebrate with Luis? Not that it’s actually her birthday. Who knows when that is, but the day that Luis Torres – home for a little while, taking a break from the Red Nights, to look after a mentor who’d broken a hip – had opened his mentor’s front door and found a baby that he’d named Winnifred, after one of his favourite saints, is good enough a birthday for Fred.

That’s why, really, when Fred opens the front door the morning of her birthday, she thinks it’s a joke. It’s just too much of an echo. A baby on the doorstep. Well, a big man with a tired face and a warm smile standing on the stoop with a baby in his arms. A foundling. Oh, she just knows it. Sure. Sure. Here she is, home for her birthday, and she’s greeted by a foundling on the doorstep, just like Luis all those years ago. ¡Dios! she’s even holding Luis’ favourite coffee mug in her hand, the one he was holding when he found her. Nope. She crosses her arms and gives the man a little bit of a smirk and a little bit of a glower. “Oh, chupa mi pito,” she says, “Very funny. I s’pose Luis put you up to this?” She turns a little and hollers down the hallway, “Luuuuuiis! Your hiiilarious birthday prank is here. Should I invite him in?” She turns and looks the man up and down – “And hey, if he’s one of your set up attempts, I might not even object.” She grins, a little sharp toothed maybe, but not entirely nastily.

[dinafbrownil]

California Nursing Home Residents Told To Find New Homes

Some of California’s most vulnerable nursing home residents, many of whom have nowhere else to go, are receiving letters from their health care plans saying they are no longer eligible for long-term care.

In one notable example, three dozen nursing home residents in San Luis Obispo County were informed on the same day that their Medi-Cal managed care plan was cutting off payment for nursing home care, said Karen Jones, the county’s long-term care ombudsman.

The residents included a 68-year-old amputee with diabetes, memory loss and kidney disease who required dialysis three times a week, and an 82-year-old man with congestive heart failure and diabetes who wasn’t strong enough to transfer himself from his bed to a wheelchair, Jones said.

“It just felt like we were tossing our seniors and disabled adults,” Jones said of the letters, which arrived in September 2018 and sparked a year-long dispute. “‘Sorry, we’re going to save some money here.’ That’s exactly what it felt like.”

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The California Department of Health Care Services, which administers Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program for low-income people, said the terminations by the managed care plan, CenCal Health, were isolated, a perspective some long-term care advocates share. CenCal said it was just following protocol, examining the books to make sure members still met the qualifications for long-term care under Medi-Cal.

But California Healthline interviewed multiple long-term care advocates and legal aid attorneys on the Central Coast and other parts of the state who said they have witnessed an increase in coverage denials for nursing home residents covered by Medi-Cal managed care plans. They worry such denials may soon become more commonplace: Medi-Cal nursing home care in all 58 counties will be placed under managed care beginning in January 2021, the state announced recently — up from 29 counties currently.

Under managed care, the state pays plans a monthly rate for each recipient to provide all of the medically necessary services that person needs. By comparison, under traditional “fee-for-service” Medi-Cal, the state compensates medical providers directly for each service they render.

California and other states increasingly are moving their Medicaid patients into managed care, arguing that the model saves money and also improves members’ health by coordinating care. More than 80% of the 12.8 million Californians on Medi-Cal are covered by managed care.

Long-term care advocates fear that the trend means more frail people will be forced out of nursing homes as managed care plans look to their bottom lines.

“We’re looking at multiplying this problem across the state,” said Leza Coleman, executive director of the California Long-Term Care Ombudsman Association.

The typical nursing home population in California is about two-thirds Medi-Cal, and many have given up everything — their apartments or mobile homes, their furniture, their burial insurance — to qualify, said Lonnie Golick, ombudsman for Shasta, Trinity, Siskiyou, Modoc and Lassen Counties in Northern California. Golick said she’s received a number of complaints against Partnership HealthPlan of California about coverage terminations. “They gave up their whole life,” she said. “And then they’re told, ‘It’s time to go.’”

Exacerbating the problem, Coleman added, is a shortage of assisted living facilities willing to serve Medi-Cal patients who no longer qualify for nursing home care.

To be eligible for nursing home coverage under Medi-Cal, individuals must have medical needs that require continual, around-the-clock care to prevent significant illness or disability, or alleviate severe pain.

CenCal sent the termination letters to the San Luis Obispo County nursing home residents as part of the process of reviewing their eligibility, said Bob Freeman, CenCal’s CEO. Normally that process is spread out over the year, he said, but the plan got “backed up” on evaluations, which is why so many patients were notified at once.

“We don’t like to do this,” he said. “It’s destabilizing; we don’t want to disrupt people’s lives. We do have state regulations that we have to follow.”

Last month, the Department of Health Care Services sent Medi-Cal managed care plans a notice clarifying that federal law allows residents to stay in nursing homes to receive “intermediate care”; in essence, plans should pay for lower levels of care rather than terminating coverage.

Freeman said the plan is reconsidering some residents’ eligibility, given the clarification. And Jones, the San Luis Obispo ombudsman, said CenCal recently hired a new nurse who has begun restoring eligibility for some residents in certain homes.

But residents of other homes — and in other regions — are still facing denials.

David Green, 60, a registered nurse in Santa Barbara County, said his 90-year-old mother received a letter last year telling her CenCal would no longer pay for her care at Marian Extended Care Center in Santa Maria.

She’d landed in a nursing home in 2016 after a bout of sepsis, he said. At first, she was so weak, she couldn’t walk. By the time she got the letter, her strength had improved, but she still had diabetes, kidney disease, hypertension, atrial fibrillation, breast cancer, memory loss and pain in her artificial knees, Green said.

Green sought out the Santa Barbara County ombudsman and, later, a lawyer. Eventually, he prevailed — but he’s always on alert for another letter.

“It’s very nerve-racking,” he said.

Tessa Hammer, the attorney from Legal Services of Northern California who helped Green, said she has worked on seven such cases out of Santa Barbara County, as well as a handful in the state’s rural northern counties. She’s concerned about residents who don’t have family advocating for them.

“I’m not sure where those folks might end up,” she said.

Golick, the ombudsman for several northern counties, said a man in his 80s in Trinity County received a notice from Partnership HealthPlan earlier this year that he was no longer covered for nursing care he’d depended on for a decade. Like many elderly residents, she said, he felt he had no choice but to comply. He told her he might sleep on someone’s couch, or in his brother’s car.

“Rural areas are really scary,” she said. “Where the hell do you go?”

Dustin Lyda, a spokesman for Partnership, said the plan doesn’t track data on these kind of coverage denials, but anecdotally hasn’t noticed an upsurge. Lyda said the plan works with facilities, doctors and family members to determine a patient’s needs. If Partnership determines skilled nursing is no longer medically necessary, it works for 60 days to find an alternative solution, he said.

In the meantime, nursing homes find themselves in a difficult situation. They cannot legally discharge residents who don’t have a safe place to go, but they are no longer paid to keep them. In some cases, including in San Luis Obispo, nursing homes have kept residents without pay.

“We’re all watching this closely,” said Craig Cornett, CEO of the California Association of Health Facilities.

This KHN story first published on California Healthline, a service of the California Health Care Foundation.

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/california-nursing-home-residents-told-to-find-new-homes/