#and then revisiting it i realize she first sings in the same key (or closer to it idk i can't pick a key or note out of the air) as in song

[unproduciblesmackdown]

realized this “oh you think this scary stuff is fun you freak” leitmotif lmao

[myloveforhenrycavill]

Devastated | Clark Kent x Reader

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: cancer, angst

A/N: Hey guys! Really hope you enjoy this fic. It’s super angsty. I revisited an old fic that I wrote many, many years ago for a different fandom, but it felt right to rewrite it with stuff that’s going on in my life right now with my dad. Please let me know what you guys think, but please be gentle (me fragile). This is my first fic about one of Henry ‘s characters, but I look forward to getting back into writing. Xxx much love -Stina

My Fic Recs

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Clark stared at the ceiling of his room listening to the clock hanging above his door. To anyone else, this would have been dull background noise, but to Clark it sounded like thunder roaring. It had been a painfully long day working at the Daily Planet and he was beyond glad it was over. Perry had been breathing down his neck all day about a story and his approaching deadline. Relief washed over Clark when he walked through the doors of his apartment building, but something was still missing. All he wanted to do was go see you.

Oh, how much he wanted to see you. You always brightened his day no matter what he had on his mind. The two of you had a complicated relationship. You were technically just friends. However, you tend to do things that only couples do. You've kissed once or twice after a night out and constantly cuddled each other whenever the chance arises, but it never progressed further than that. Neither of you brought up the subject, afraid of the others reaction and afraid to ruin whatever it was you had. Clark wanted to, god he wanted to, but you’ve never been in a real relationship and he hasn’t wanted to scare you away. He cares about you way too much to let that happen. Clark wants to protect you from ever being hurt no matter the cost.

It had been hours since Clark got home. He’s tried texting you around 10 times and has called you five times. This wasn't like you. You practically lived on your phone. You both always update each other throughout the day. Thank god for unlimited texting or else you would both be royally screwed. Clark was starting to get quite worried. What if something happened? Is she okay? were the only thoughts running through his head. He knew you were off from work today and you would have texted him if your job called you to come in. Maybe she's just asleep. She rarely has her volume up ever. Yeah, that has to be it. Clark was tempted to fly over to your apartment to check on you, but decided to text your sister before doing anything rash.

C: "hey, y/s/n. Is everything alright? I've been trying to reach Y/n for the last couple of hours and she isn't responding to me."

Y/s/n: "Clark, can you please go over to her apartment? She's an absolute wreck. I've heard her like this. I'm really worried."

C: "I’m on my way… what happened?"

Y/s/n: "our dad got his results back..."

The text was longer, but that was all Clark had to read before he flew over to your building. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. The whole world could have been burning and he wouldn’t have stopped. Your dad had cancer when you were younger, but he was doing well and had been in remission for quite some time. Recently, he had started to feel the same symptoms as the first time and went to get some tests done. Y/s/n's text only meant one thing. The cancer was back.

If this was true, then it made perfect sense why you wouldn't contact him. You would be devastated. Your dad was the most important person in your life. You loved him unconditionally and looked up to him like he could do no wrong.

Clark reached you within seconds. He knocked on the door and waited. He could hear nothing but silence which surprised him. When you did not come to the door, Clark retrieved the spare key from the top of your door frame. When he didn’t see you on the couch, he made his way to your bedroom and slowly opened the door, careful not to startle you. You laid there on the purple comforter sleeping. You looked utterly exhausted from crying. Your puffy eyes were singed pink. Your cheeks looked wet and sticky from what surely was hours of countless tears flowing. It truly pained Clark to see you in such a state.

Clark climbed into the other side of the bed just like he'd done numerous times before, but this time was different. You looked so broken. He carefully reached over and wiped a few stray tears off your cheeks and placed a gentle kiss underneath each of your eyes. They slowly fluttered open and acknowledged Clark’s presence. You sniffled a few times, but didn't cry.

"What are you doing here, Clark?" you whispered as if just that was taking all your energy.

"Your sister texted me...what happened, y/n? You know you can tell me anything," Clark inquired knowing that she needed to let it all out.

"You don't have to do this, Clark. Go somewhere and have fun. Don't waste your time on me. I know you'd rather be out with your other friends right now. You probably had a rough day and don’t need me to unload my baggage," you spoke immediately biting your lip and blinking your eyes in order to fight back the tears that were already pooling.

"Listen, love. You know that there is nowhere else I would rather be. I'm here for you and I always will be. No matter what happens, I'll be right here by your side. I care about you, Y/n. I care more than you could ever know, just tell me what happened." Clark cupped your cheek as he gently wiped the traitorous tears away with the pad of his thumb.

You broke and told Clark everything that had happened since he spoke to you last. You were a trembling mess laid on the bed next to him. Clark tightly wrapped both his arms around you, never wanting to let go whispering comforting words into your ear trying to make it even a little bit better.

You grabbed his white t-shirt with two fists and sobbed into it which would surely be ruined with your leftover mascara running from your eyes. It didn't matter to Clark though, not even a little. It was worth it. You were worth it.

Once you calmed down hours later, Clark pulled back slowly still holding you securely and stared at you. You looked up at him through your lashes and had the faintest smile across your face.

"Thank you, Clark, genuinely. For everything. You didn't have to lay here with me this entire time. I'm not worth it..."

Clark stopped you instantly. "Don't ever say that, my love. You deserve the moon, the stars, and the sun. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. I would go to the end of the earth for you and it still would never be enough. I care about you, Y/n. More than I can even put into words. The past few months that this has been going on have been the best of my life. You make me feel whole. Like something has been missing all this time and I'm starting to realize what it was. "

The dim smile that you once wore turned into a full-blown smirk. "I don't see what you're getting at Mr. Kent."

That's it. There's my girl. MY girl. God, I love the way that sounds. That sarcastic idiot is my world and I intended to spend the rest of my life proving that to her.

"Shut up," Clark muttered as he slowly leaned in, meeting you in the middle. Your lips collided and the feeling of his lips connected with your soft ones felt like nothing he could ever describe. He would never get sick of this feeling. The way you made him feel was like he was floating high through the sky (which he had plenty of experience with, but this was a million time better). The best high that no drug could every give him. If you were a drug, Clark was happily addicted to your sweet intoxication.

You both pulled back and Clark rested his forehead on yours cupping your face with both of his hands. "Let's get some sleep, love. We can discuss more of this tomorrow if we need to."

You sluggishly nodded with your head still spinning and placed your head on his broad chest curling into the position you had assumed many times before. Clark loved nothing more than cuddling with you. It felt like home. She is my home.

You placed one hand across his chest as he dropped both of his arms comfortably around your waist not letting you go anywhere. Tonight, she is all mine and I can live with that.

One day you would take the next step closer to each other, but not tonight. You were still vulnerable from the news of your dad’s health. Clark wanted your decision to be with him to be a clear one, not just because he was the only one there for you. Tonight, Clark was simply a shoulder to cry on and he was perfectly content with that. Someday, Y/n. Someday, I will have the guts to tell you how I really feel. How I'm quickly feeling that four-letter word that every guy is so afraid of. But the thing is, I'm not so afraid anymore.

[riceccakes]

Feels Like This

Korra has a basketball game. Everything is about to change.

and here it is: the final installment, the completed Song Based Series. i may revisit this series in the future, though right now i am more than satisfied with what i've created. thank you if you’ve read any of these installments, i hope you've enjoyed reading.

Same Boat, Means Something, Feels Like This (Part 1) are the first three parts of this story, i suggest reading them first to understand the premise behind this series and the songs i based each part on.

read the final installment here on ao3

or right here on tumblr :) x

Korra rubbed her eyes, trying to make sure her mind wasn’t deceiving her. When the girl didn’t disappear, Korra truly couldn’t believe it. In the stands of Omashu University, Asami sat in one of the chairs, wearing her number six Fire Ferrets jersey, cheering for Korra.

She was tired, it was halfway through the third quarter and Korra had been, as usual, on fire. She’d already scored 20 points, completed 3 assists, and stole the ball twice. This was even before she saw Asami. Now after seeing her and watching the girl cheer for her, she had to show off, she had to impress her. She sat out the first few minutes of the quarter and walked over to her coach.

“Come on, Soh! Box her out! Take that rebound! Show her who’s boss!��

“Uh, hey, Coach?”

Coach Bumi turned and smiled. He slapped a hand on Korra’s shoulder and cheered, “Korra! What brings you over here? Yes, Soh! Now, pass that ball!”

Korra grinned. Bumi held his clipboard so tight, his hand started to turn white while the other was in an upturned fist. The whistle around his neck waved furiously as Bumi moved sporadically, as to keep up with where the ball was. He may have been a crazy coach, but he was a good one at that.

“Think you can put me back in? I’m feeling ready.”

Bumi turned to her, looking her up and down quickly before nodding. He called a timeout and took Leng out for Korra. She was getting placed back in as shooting guard, and while she preferred point guard, she knew she could still exhibit her abilities for Asami. Tasoka dribbled down court, analyzing the placement of teammates in front of her. Korra held up two fingers quickly before presenting an open palm. Tasoka nodded and passed the ball. Korra dribbled close to the floor, staying low. Kuvira was in position, Ranran opened up the center key. Korra bursted, weaving around the defender in front of her. She bounce-passed the ball to Kuvira, who was quickly met with Omashu’s defense, leaving a perfect hole for Korra. Kuvira faked a shot then passed it to Ranran, who set up an alley oop for Korra. The arena erupted in cheers as Korra landed on her feet after the dunk. She quickly found Asami again, who had cupped her hands around her mouth and was screaming.

Korra continued to display her skills, though didn’t hog the ball. She helped complete plays, keeping the ball moving around the court, but found the pockets of opportunity to shine. The game ended: Omashu 70, RCU 82. The stands began to empty out, the team stayed on the court to help clean and Kuvira found Korra. She looked at her with an all knowing grin and Korra slapped her shoulder. Korra had a smile on her face she couldn’t get rid of and now with the game over, she tried her hardest to understand how Asami could’ve come to the game.

Asami had even explicitly told Korra she wouldn’t be able to go, but she knew those emerald eyes anywhere. The team collected all their gear and walked out to the locker room. Bumi gave them a congratulatory speech and commended them on a job well done at both games. They earned the rest of their weekend and Monday practice off. The team exited and began to head towards the buses. Korra stood by the tall glass doors of Omashu’s arena and looked around for Asami. As a large crowd of Omashu fans dissipated, Korra spotted her girl doing the same as she was. She quickly ran over to her and dropped her duffle bag on the ground before scooping Asami up and swinging her around.

They laughed as Korra set her back down. Asami had even put on a little face paint of the school’s color under her eyes.

“Asami, I,” she began. Asami’s smile made Korra forget her train of thought and she shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “Asami, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, I just can’t believe you’re here!”

Asami shrugged, “I managed to finish my work earlier than expected. I took the Future Industries jet out Ba Sing Se yesterday--”

“Ba Sing Se?” Korra spurted, shaking her head again. “You watched the BSS game too?”

She nodded, “I couldn’t get better tickets on such short notice so I was kind of far back--”

“You came all this way to watch me play?”

Asami softened. Korra watched her eyes, the emerald green was still vibrant against the night. She could see them twinkle, she could see the love in her eyes.

“Well, I most certainly had to try,” Asami whispered. She sighed, “I felt bad for keeping it a secret but the look on your face when you were sitting on the bench was priceless!”

Korra looked up at the girl, dumbfounded. She couldn’t believe that Asami came, not only to Omashu, but to Ba Sing Se as well. She couldn’t believe Asami took the time out of her weekend to travel and watch two basketball games. No one else in Korra’s life was like that. She could count on her friends, on Mako and Bolin, no doubt, on Kuvira and recently Opal. She knew they had her back but none of them had ever been as selfless as Asami. The boys had viable reasons not to come, Bolin was meeting Opal’s parents and Mako had work orientation at his new job, but this wasn’t the first time Asami had come through like this.

Korra had been sick one summer, and it of course had to happen while Tenzin and his family had left for a mini vacation. She was staying at the boy’s apartment but they kept their distance, wanting to keep Korra’s ill germs away from them. Mako let her take his room while he slept on the couch, at least so guests could still sit there. Asami visited every day and did her best to take care of Korra. The girl explained what the best remedy was for her sickness, how her mother always made a pot of steaming hot stewed sea prunes and served it with a side of homemade blubbered seal jerky. It was more so a comfort than a cure but Korra so desperately wanted the items.

The next day, Asami came in with containers of stewed sea prunes and a package of seal jerky. She explained how she tried to stop at Narook’s to see if stewed sea prunes were on the menu but the restaurant was closed for reconstruction. She found a corner store in the Little Water Tribe neighborhood and asked the merchants how to make the dish. She gathered the ingredients and wrote down the steps, she found a decent package of seal jerky at a pop-up kiosk, and returned to the Sato mansion to make the stew. Apparently, she had to return to the corner store once more, because she over boiled the sea prunes and they turned into an undesirable mush. The second attempt was much better and Asami had to buy another package of seal jerky because she ate the other one while cooking.

Korra tasted the stew; it wasn’t her mother’s, but the fact that Asami made time to go to the Little Water Tribe neighborhood, buy items at the store, cook, go back to the store, and cook again, that stew was near perfect. Asami spent the rest of that day with Korra, stealing pieces of seal jerky and playing Mako’s video games. She wasn’t afraid of her germs, happily laying down next to her on the fresh set of sheets Mako put down for her.

Korra looked at Asami standing in front of her: the girl in her homemade jersey, the girl who traveled so far to see her play, the girl who Korra suddenly realized she was in love with; wholly and utterly, completely in love with. She knew right then the world hadn’t been playing a tiring game with her, rather setting her up for a perfect slam dunk.

The two had locked eyes and Korra hated the distance between them. It was much too far, only inches, but too many for her taste. Her heart was ready for takeoff; this was better than any college basketball victory, better than a crazy college rave, this was her future. There was no one else Korra wanted in her corner, no one else to travel hundreds of miles to watch her play, no one else to be the person she came home to. It may have been too early to be thinking about it, but Korra knew, she knew now, there was no denying anything, no need to question. She couldn’t take it any longer and grabbed Asami’s collar to pull her down and pressed their lips together.

Just like the party, her lips were sweet like cherries and Korra felt like she was flying. Asami began to deepen the kiss and Korra wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist to pull her closer. Korra could hear Kuvira cheering in the background but let it go, she’d deal with her teammate later. All Korra could think about was Asami, about the girl who stole her heart and she didn’t even know she had.

They pulled away and Asami began to stutter, “What, I--, Korra, what?”

Korra laughed, falling into Asami’s hands on her cheeks, “I had to, Asami, you,” she gulped, “you came all the way to Ba Sing Se and Omashu to watch me play, how could I not?”

Korra saw a tear fall from Asami’s eyes. Suddenly the girl was crying and she wrapped her arms around Korra’s neck and buried her face. Korra wasn’t sure what was happening, had it been the wrong move to kiss her? After Wing and Wei’s party, she’d thought for sure that Asami had liked her, or at least it was on her mind, but perhaps she misunderstood and Asami really was just too drunk to realize what she’d been doing.

Asami picked her head up slightly and whispered, “Korra, I’ve wanted you for so long, I never thought this would happen. I--”

“Wait, so these are happy tears?” Korra interrupted, shouting at the world who was teetering back and forth.

Korra backed up to look at Asami’s eyes, but as soon as she took a step, Asami closed the space once more and wrapped her arms around Korra’s neck, hugging her tightly. The tears were still falling from her face when they let go but Asami was smiling; Korra did the same as she wiped them away. Korra knew, she knew it all had to have meant something.

They gently placed their lips together as Kuvira cheered once more in the background.

[roswelldetails]

RNM 2x07 - Como La Flor

Apologies for being so late this week!! Lots of translating to do, and research. Mucho gracias to @queenrikki for reviewing this one for me!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

OLD WOUNDS — Liz (Jeanine Mason) is forced to revisit a painful part of her past when her mother Helena (guest star Bertila Damas) shows up at the diner unexpectedly. Michael (Michael Vlamis) urges Maria (Heather Hemmens) to seek help after she experiences a strange vision, and Kyle’s (Michael Trevino) attempt to get Steph (guest star Justina Adorno) to open up doesn’t go as planned. Finally, Helena’s arrival in Roswell sends Rosa spiraling. Nathan Dean and Lily Cowles also star. Barbara Brown directed the episode written by Danny Tolli & Carolina Rivera (#207). Original airdate 4/27/2020. 

DETAILS:

Max and Isobel both describing to Rosa how it feels to use (and control) your powers.

Isobel:

"Ground your intention.  Feel the current running through your body, your hands guiding it with purpose."

Max:

"Okay, draw energy from your spine…"

Arturo on Rosa:

"I heard a little mouse crying in her room this morning."

Escamoles - like Liz says in the episode, they're ant larvae. One article I found called them "the Caviar of the Mexican desert". 

Helena calls Liz "mi corazón", which means "my heart".

"Arturito, te ves bien."

Arturo, you look good.

Adding "ito" to someone's name in Spanish can both be positive or negative.  It can refer to smallness or also tenderness (like an affectionate pet name).

@tasyfa pointed out that there was a little timeline error in this scene.  Arturo says that he hasn't seen Helena in 7 years, since Jim Valenti's funeral, but last season it was established in 1x12 that Valenti died in 2014.  Also, remember the show is a year behind reality right now, so it's still 2019. So off by 2 years.

The reason for Helena's visit - transferring her ownership of the Crashdown for Liz so that Liz can sponsor Arturo's residency for citizenship. I did a lot of research trying to understand and clarify why this is.  Thanks to those who weighed in when I was struggling to find a clear answer. Eventually I reached out to Define American, the non-profit org that provides support to the show on racial and immigration related issues.  Here's the response:

The short version is that Liz has to meet minimum income requirements in order to sponsor Arturo, because she has to be able to certify that she can financially support him.  Since she's currently unemployed except for the Crashdown, transferring half of the ownership to her makes her a business partner and helps her to meet the income requirements. 

The Spanish:

"¿Cuánto quieres, Mamá?" 

How much do you want, Mama?

"She has a very thoughtful manicure."

If you don't understand, it's cool. I'm not going to explain here.  Feel free to DM me though! I won't judge, promise!!

Narrative thread about Max's nightmare/memory continues from 2x03 and 2x06.  Don't forget that 2x03 was just Isobel remembering it. Max was a hallucination. So when he brings it up here, it might be something they haven't discussed in a very long time.

The Spanish from Rosa on her red jacket:

"Eres una mujercita."

Basically translates to you're a little woman or young woman.  I assume the "cita" is supposed to be diminutive here.

"Mom is an opportunist.  If she found out she had a kid who came back from the dead she would use you to get to Anderson Cooper. And then she'd use him to promote her latest lounge singer gig."

"Isobel pays double.  Becky tax." 

A Becky, according to common colloquial use, is an annoying white woman, usually entitled and privileged.

Lead bartender quit..meaning there's a job opening at the Pony…hmm. Wonder if any of our characters need a job... 🤔

Maria's vision:

Michael drops the change

Flash to Kyle dropping his keys & bending down to pick them up.

Kyle staring into a bright light.

Maria shouting his name.

"My heart was broken.  Liz ended things and a part of me died."

Max's story to Valenti… not all THAT far off from the truth.

Note: has anyone told him about Valenti investigating him? We know Liz and Isobel were questioned.  Michael was present when Liz was questioned. Kyle knows the whole theory his mom was pursuing. And he just wanders in there like nothing happened?

"Try leading several short staffed investigations with the mayor breathing down your neck."

Another subtle reference to the mayor, including the election banners hung around town in S2 and his "anti-immigrant agenda" which was referenced in S1.

Max has been with the department since he was 18 - this is the first time we learned that.  In 2x05 we learned he was there at 21. So that timeline has now been further clarified. Which also means he was hired during Jim Valenti's time as Sheriff.

"I need eyes on you at all times now."

Definitely implies a lack of trust, or possibly still wanting to keep an eye on him for the purpose of her investigation (not a fact, just a theory).

Steph tells Kyle that she's always hanging around the hospital because she's doing admin work for her dad.

"I'm starting to feel like you're a ghost who only I can see."

"Ask them if they can see me. Or if you were just talking to a ghost." 

Note that ghosts have been a running theme this season with Rosa returning from the dead. This seems to be in line with that. Or are they subtly tying Steph to Rosa (I'm grasping at straws here, probably).

Liz leaves the safe on 3...but before she changes it is on 81. Helena leaves it on 78 after stealing the ring. Good continuity, RNM!

The whole "my mom hates cops" theme is a little confusing to me.  I mean, it makes sense given what we know about Helena. Except that she had an affair with Jim Valenti, who was… a cop. And also an addict.  Maybe it was different because they rehabbed together (just an assumption, not a fact). Or maybe the Jim experience contributed to her dislike of cops.

Liz...might be grasping at straws when she refers to police work as "something you love" to Max.  He didn't exactly seem enamoured by the job when we first met him in Season 1.

First time we learn Max and Isobel's father's name. And it is… Dave. 🤔

The Spanish Helena uses when she meets Max:

"Pero que guapo estas."

But how handsome you are.

"Cuidado Arturito."

Careful, Arturo…

Helena found Liz and Diego's wedding registry online. 

“Look there are medical reasons for non-drug-induced hallucinations - epilepsy, schizophrenia…”

“My mom has a degenerative brain disease. My grandma did too. I've always known I'd be next.”

Helena wanted to be Selena.

Which fits with Liz's lounge singer comment earlier.

And the "drunkenly singing in the car with your daughters in the backseat" fits with the story Liz and Rosa discussed in 2x02 about the car accident they got into as kids with Helena driving drunk.

Helena shows Liz her ten years sober chip, suggesting that she's been sober since Rosa died, but Rosa finds pills in Helena's car later in the episode.  Oxycodone. The same drug that Rosa used to steal from her mom as a kid (which we learned about in 2x04) and the same drug that she and Kyle discussed when he was checking her health in 2x01.

During Helena's toast to Rosa:

Preciosa = precious

Rosa Linda… still not sure personally if this is a continuity error or a pet name.  I’m inclined to go with a pet name. Throughout the whole episode Helena uses lots of pet names, nicknames, diminutives to address people. Rosa Linda may be just another version of this since Rosa's middle name was pretty well established as Helena in Season 1 between her grave, memorial pamphlet, etc.

Kyle calls attention to Steph's bandage on her arm.  She says she gave blood, but it feels like she's evading.

Also she calls him McDreamy, which is a Grey's Anatomy reference. Kyle called himself McSexy (another Grey's nickname) in 1x08 as well.

Note: I've seen some people talk about the speech about his sick friend as being about Maria, but I think he's really talking about Steph.  Or both, vaguely. He's certainly trying to get Steph to open up to him. Here's what he says:

"I just found out a friend of mine is sick. And I can't do anything to help her. And I hate feeling helpless."

Only after Steph puts her walls back up, does he gesture to Mimi's files.

The Spanish:

"Oh, ándale, gùero."

Ándale is like, go! Or let's go! Gùero we discussed earlier...basically white boy.

Por favor - please 

Rosa's art that we first saw in 2x05 now looks finished:

Isobel's graffiti "In Pod We Trust"

Both Isobel and Rosa's graffiti:

Isobel's assessment of Rosa's art

"That's a black hole. An unstoppable force of destruction. And it's getting closer. I see a girl looking into her own doom. She thinks it's inevitable, that she can't stop it, but she can. See, she created it. That means she can destroy it."

Rosa on Isobel's efforts to help her:

"You and Max, you keep talking about harnessing emotion and grounding myself, right? But I can't do that.  It is in my DNA to be screwed up. Literally. My mom's mentally ill. So, so am I. I was broken long before Noah did what he did. That's why he chose me to prey on.  That's probably why he chose you too."

Maria on her grandmother:

"When I was a child my Grandma Patty was the only adult who understood my make-believe world. Thing is, I was six.  So my favorite things about her were just illness, I guess…"

Maria on her mom:

"She was always kind of out there.  By the time I realized it was more than that, I just became obsessed with money. Wanted to be able to take care of her. I invested everything Grandma Patty left me, and I worked, scrounged.  It was about three days after my mom was finally fired from her job at the Pony, I bought the place."

Maria's blood does not contain the alien protein that Kyle found in the Pod Squad and Rosa after being in the Pod for a decade. (and yes, he actually said Pod Squad, which feels like an OG fandom victory)

"Look, there is one thing I noticed in your grandmother's file. Her insurance company is the same one that paid for my dad's cancer treatments...My dad got cancer because of an alien incident at Caulfield Prison. A fake insurance company established by Project Shepherd covered his bills."

"Okay so my grandmother got sick at the same alien prison where your mother died?"

More Spanish (there's lots of it this week).

Helena, when she gestures to the present:

"Abre tu regalo."

Open your gift.

Quinces is just slang for Quinceanera.

Just in case you're not familiar with quinceaneras (Liz's was also referenced in 1x02).

"Mija, me enseñas tus prom photos?"

Daughter, show me your prom photos.

Regarding the power outage.  Liz thought it was Max. Max thought it was Rosa. But the wire is frayed, like it was cut or chewed through. So it wasn't alien power related.  When Arturo finds the wire though, he says, "Must have been a little mouse." Which is how he referred to Rosa earlier in the episode. So the question is, does he actually think it was a mouse? Or does he think Rosa cut the wire? And if Rosa did cut the wire, then why? To distract them while she goes after her mom's car?

In the big Liz/Helena argument, Helena calls Max “a güerito cop”.  Güero means white person, similar to the more commonly used gringo.  But by adding the “ito” onto the end (like discussed before), Helena is basically diminuitizing Max.  She’s using the “smallness” above to basically imply that he’s some white nobody.

“I may not be the PTA mom who made cookies for bake sales or hosted sleepovers, but I sacrificed everything to come to this country to give you a better life.”

This is...not actually true.  Liz and Rosa are both natural born U.S. citizens, born in Roswell.  So she didn’t “come to this country” for that reason. She was already here when Liz and Rosa came into the picture.  And it’s not like she came pregnant with Rosa or anything, since Rosa is Jim Valenti’s daughter.

The ring that Helena took was ARTURO'S mother's ring.  It wasn't even Helena's family's heirloom.   

Liz and Arturo sharing flan for dessert.  At the start of the episode before Helena arrived they discussed making flan for Rosa.

Arturo admits that he always knew the truth about Rosa's heritage. (*fistpump* that's one of my headcanons coming true). 

"Rosa es mi hija, siempre y para toda la vida."

Rosa is my daughter, always and for life.

"Maybe you're right. I am playing the hero. Just like you're playing the politician's perfect arm candy.  See, I did a little digging. And your boyfriend, Dirk-- he ran for city council. It's very impressive. But there's no mention of your daughters. I'm guessing Dirk doesn't even know about Liz or Rosa.  Does he know anything about you, Helena? 'Cause it would be such a shame if he found out about a little town called Roswell."

Helena gives Max the ring, but keeps the box… maybe that's what Helena really wanted?

Huevos = eggs.  Basically, slang for balls.

"I know that face.  You uncovered a massive conspiracy."

"I checked the Caulfield drives. No sign of a Patricia DeLuca, but there was a Patricia Harris. Her maiden name. She signed up to participate in an experimental trial. Government was interested in weaponizing alien abilities. They wanted to create super soldiers. Your grandma was one of the first human subjects."

"Kind of wish I was an alien instead."

"What happened to the experiment?"

"It was a total failure. Caulfield shut it down in the '70s after people started dying. I don't understand how your grandmother got involved."

"I do. Henrietta Lacks, Tuskegee, Holmesburg.  The DeLucas aren't the first black people to be secretly experimented on."

Highly encourage you to read these if you're unfamiliar with any of these references.  It's African-American history (and really a black mark on U.S. history) that's rarely taught in schools.

Henrietta Lacks:

Tuskegee:

Holmesburg:

Reality versus Maria's flashes… great gifset by @rosaortecho on this here:

Kyle rips his jacket, staggers out to the parking lot, drops his keys, and is almost hit by a car, but Michael throws him out of the way with his powers (and Kyle still ends up injured because he lands on a glass bottle).

"Now that we know your illness is related to Caulfield we can find a cure for it."

"Maybe it's not an illness. I saw the future today, Guerin. When I first found out Grandma Patty was experimented on, I was furious.  But what if my genetic inheritance isn't just injustice? It's also actual superpowers. Saved a life today. And not just any life-- Kyle Valenti's. Tomorrow he's gonna turn around and save five more lives."

Liz and Rosa's dueling big sister act is super fascinating.  Rosa admits that she wasn't going to burn the car, and then she saw Liz crying, felt helpless, and that's when her powers went all wacky and caused it to explode.

Meanwhile, Liz has spent the whole episode trying to keep Rosa safe from Helena, and is trying to comfort her here by talking about Helena's sobriety.

But--Rosa stole Helena's pills, so she knows Helena is not sober, and she doesn't tell Liz that.  Why? To protect her.

At some point these two should probably stop keeping secrets to protect each other and start actually sharing what they know.

Kyle stitches himself up.

Steph quoted in this scene:

"I was up in the gallery contemplating American downfall thanks to progressive socialism."

"People tend to bail when things get real. I'm not into that."

Cameron's car was impounded a couple hours away.

Max is turning in his badge and gun and is turning down desk duty to search for Cam.

Isobel and Michael's discussion at the Pony:

"Do you think that Noah chose me because I was already broken?"

"I think you are the only one of us who ever keeps it together."

"I'm serious, Michael. The night that drifter attacked me, why am I the only one who started blacking out? I mean, Max literally murdered a man, but I'm the one who breaks?"

"You were traumatized. We were kids. At that age, trauma gets etched on to your soul."

"But what if it's not in my soul? What if it's in my DNA? Look, my whole life, I've played Stepford wife, because I thought that's what I was supposed to do. But...I need to understand myself now. I need to know where I'm from.  And if I don't know who my biological parents are, how am I ever gonna know who I really am?" 

"What are you saying, Iz?"

"I know that we said we shouldn't look into the past, but…"

"It keeps pulling you back. Me too. I spent my whole life thinking I'd build a ship and blast off into the ether. And then the minute I decide to leave that all behind and focus on this good thing in front of me, I'm sucked back in. Maria's family was experimented on at Caulfield. I need to find out more so I can find a cure for her illness."

Rosa takes one of her mom's pills. 😭

MUSIC:

1. Cactus Groove "This World"

2. Shelly Fairchild "Drive"

3. Mathis Hunter "Mrs. Vinegar"

4. Big Stone City "Good For Zero"

5. Big Stone City "Way Down Below"

6. Selena "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom"

7. Elizabeth Moen "Best I Can Do"

8. Wagons "Keep Coming Back"

9. AG "Where Is My Mind" (Pixies Cover)

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ do as your heart tells you.

date: january to early february 2020. some time around there.

location: ash’s apartment.

word count: 1,839 words, not including lyrics.

summary: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification. mentions of youngjoo because... yeah. if you thought i would proofread this and/or provide anything of quality, you thought wrong.

it’s been ages since he wrote something truly sweet, or it feels that way to ash. in truth, he doesn’t know that he’s in the right headspace to be writing anything sweet, but he’s supposed to come back in the spring and he needs to give bc something or they’ll give him something and that’s the last thing he wants if he’s to be honest. he knows he can call up one of the in-house producers he’s grown closer to in the past year, but he’s afraid to end up with another “romanticism”. he isn’t embarrassed of that song, but it hadn’t been the song he’d have written on his own, so he resolves to do just that for this one. it won’t be the first song he creates unaided by any measure, but it’s the first time doing it with the sole intent of proving himself in this way.

he starts it with a beat. as his sound has grown more and more inspired by rhythm and blues, ash has discovered how helpful starting with a beat can be. for years, at the beginning of his songwriting journey, he’d begun songs from the point he knew best. this meant creating chord structures based on a piano or guitar instrumental, but he’s a professional now and he doesn’t have a beatmaker simply for appearance’s sake. different songs call for different processes and a hit needs a good beat.

bc has never let him write one of his promoted singles entirely on his own before. they haven’t exactly given him the go ahead yet this time either, but he’s determined to do it on his own. every comeback, he sees the same comments about how his songwriting is an image they’re pushing. as an idol, and the claims that he must not have the skills to do it on his own. it’s not most people, but even a minority claiming that he’s getting credit when his collaborators, the serious professional producers, do all the heavy lifting, nag at his dignity as a songwriter. it’s not that he doesn’t appreciate all of the hard work others put in when he works with them, but, after a while, the comments have begun to get to him too. is he good enough or is he being hard-carried by those with degrees in music production and jobs earned by their skill at song making?

being an idol isn’t defined by being a pretty face alone like so many would believe. ash will argue that until the day he dies. songwriting ability certainly isn’t a requirement. in fact, ash thinks some companies would prefer their idols don’t express interest in the creation of songs at all beyond the performance, but stamping the title of idol onto his job description never sucked dry ash’s love of music and his desire to create it. if anything, being thrown song after song he couldn’t stand only pushed him more into a desire for control over what he’s putting out. he can pretend he’s unbothered by online commentators thinking they know more about the work he puts into one of the few passions he has left than he does, but even knowing he shouldn’t really care, his attempt at indifference had cracked almost immediately.

he’s only playing around at first, not set on the sound he wants for the song. it’s a song that’s supposed to represent the season of spring, though, and he does know what he wants spring to be. perhaps it’s cliche and he should try to avert expectations instead of falling deep into the pothole in the road they are, but, to him, spring is love, new and pure and passionate. following the cold push and pull game of winter, it’s the blossoming warmth of an embrace between new lovers and falling in love with love.

the beat he creates is slow and plodding, a classic accent on the type of slow jam r&b the song heads toward as he experiments with the composition. he lays held chords over it and the instrumental feels lazy in all of the right ways, like a slightly chilly morning spent in bed with a lover as the sun begins to spill in through the window.

it’s a fantasy. that experience isn’t one he has much anymore, not in the way he’s thinking of it. the last time he had, it had been with youngjoo, and what they are to each other… it doesn’t fit the song he’s trying to write.

that’s what he tells himself, and then promptly gets stuck trying to capture the feelings he wants to bring to life. he has a base, but there’s little more to it than that and he needs more than a skeleton to convince bc entertainment that he’s good enough on his own to have their promotion budget put behind the song.

it’s like his brain hits a roadblock and for days, no matter how hard he tries to write, nothing good comes to him. he neglects other songs he’s supposed to be working on and switches up keys and rhythms and a few alterations stick — they’re genuinely better than what he’d started with—, but all he winds up is a slightly different skeleton, not a fully-formed track.

then, he invites youngjoo over one night. he’s been locked up in his studio for days, not seeing anyone outside of the schedules he’s contractually obligated to attend, and he blames that fact and the drinks he has.

“it’s been a long week,” he confides to her, but quickly moves on so as not to lay the exhaustion of his creative block onto her. there’s nothing she can do to help. she has a way with music, but he’s too determined to do it all on his own to ask for help on this song.

she leaves and he finds himself drunk off of more than sweet liquor.

like he’s drawn by a force out of his control, ash’s feet pull him to his studio and he writes and rearranges and records. when he’s sober, he’ll cringe at his attempts at singing, but it’s more work on the song than he’s gotten done in a long while.

the fruits of his labor are there in the morning when he’s tending to his headache with his second cup of black coffee. the night prior isn’t a blur, but it’s not entirely clear to him either. he only recalls what he’d written when he finds the vocal files he’d recorded his lyrical ideas on.

they’re not bad.

and they’re not really about youngjoo, he tells himself. it’s about affection, infatuation, love… and if thinking of youngjoo the night before (that hadn’t gotten drowned out in his intoxication — he remembers vividly how the lyrics had come to be) had helped him connect to the emotions he wants to write the best, it doesn’t really mean anything.

he’d tried for days to write something romantic out of his imagination, but it had all fallen flat. he’d revisited his favorite romantic comedies and listened to his favorite love songs, but wasn’t until he’d spent an evening with youngjoo again that it had come easily to him.

it’s lingering memories of when they’d dated. yeah, that must be it because, yeah, he can admit he feels something for her, but it’s not that much — not enough to make him sound like he’s falling in love, something he hasn’t written much at all about since he’d ended his last relationship.

they’re sleeping together. of course ash feels something when they’re together. he’s never committed to the illusion of complete detachment from anyone he sleeps with. sex is inherently intimate, so, yes, he has words to write about the warmth of her gaze and the rose blush on her skin. sue him.

he goes over the lyrics again and it’s harder to convince himself of his own theory of revisiting past emotions because the words don’t convey distant feelings he can’t connect with anymore. if they were supposed to be far off memories, they aren’t. the fact that he can finish the lyrics sober and without a reminiscent mind is evidence of that. she comes to mind when he tries to re-record himself and it’s not a romanticized version of the past, when she’d been his girlfriend. it’s youngjoo, wearing what she’d been wearing the last time he saw her, with her hair styled the same and the air of ash’s apartment around them.

he ponders it. he can’t help it.

why had it been so much easier to break past the barrier drunk? had he thought he wouldn’t have to take responsibility for the words that came out? had he supposed, in the aftermath, he could blame it all on his delusional drunk mind? had that security blanket been what he needed to figure out the end of the song? because the blanket’s been ripped away now and the self-realization is an odd mix of too cold and too hot.

the words he’d built to flow off the end of the bridge are the ones that cling to him the most. no matter how he tries to focus on other parts of the song, his mind keeps floating back to the one question he’d repeated like an echo at the closing of the bridge section.

do you love me like i love you?

does he love her? drunk, he’d apparently thought he did, but that doesn’t make it true.

love is a scary word now in a way he’d never thought it could be to him. love. he’d said it so easily to youngjoo in such a short time when they’d been together, but that is lifetimes ago now. even when they’d broken up, he’d never regretted confessing the depth of his feelings to her. they’d been true and, if nothing else, he was an honest man who’d given his heart proudly.

the ash he is now isn’t the same. he can’t say it so easily, not when they’re like this and not when the pieces of his worn out heart are kept locked away in cages to keep him from the temptation of gluing them back together again and sacrificing the bloody, beating pulp of himself again to anyone when it’d failed every time before.

does she love him? no, of course she doesn’t. he’d hurt her and now they’re friends with benefits. those benefits happen to include a lot more emotional baggage than sex alone, and ash isn’t detached from reality enough to deny that, but emotional dependency doesn’t make love any more than sex itself does.

it pricks him like thorns in his back and he can’t ignore the feeling that crawls up his spine. it’s wrong to go back into the chorus after a question as earth shattering as that, so, in an impulsive outburst of risky creative decision-making, ash cuts the final chorus.

that’s it.

it will end with a bridge going nowhere. how fitting of the messy, bitter brew of feelings that had turned into a love song.

[pickalilywrites]

Not the new chapter so no worries if you don’t get to this one. 🙂 Garrison characters of your choice go to the pub or out to eat.

Thanks for always giving me a chance to write for garrison/forgotten characters ^^

i thought you tagged them as mitanka but you tagged them more recently as ankabi but i just named the file mitanka before checking help 

Buy Me a Drink 

Ankabi. Canonverse. 

2006 words. 

Buy me a ko-fi! 

Mitabi has seen many strange things at pubs, but the pubs in Miltras are especially rowdy. He thought that the bars near the outer walls would be louder and more unruly, but it turns out that the closer you get to the capitol, the more disruptive the bar patrons. Mitabi does his best not to sit and stare at other people, but sometimes he can’t help it. As his companions clink their beer glasses together and talk about their patrols, his eyes wander about the room and watch as people make fools of themselves – singing too loudly, picking fights with other customers, or sobbing out their life story to the poor bartender.

Of all the pubs he’s visited, Ludwig’s Tavern is the most interesting to observe. It’s a small, cramped establishment that’s always a little too crowded. Compared to the other bars in the area, it’s dull and in need of repair, but it’s warm and lively and Mitabi doesn’t mind it. His peers often visit after they’re done with work for the day and he’s even seen members of the Military Police have a drink or two here.

He’s even seen Commander Pixis frequent the pub. He’s good friends with the bartender and spends most of his visits at the counter speaking loudly with the bartender as if they’re old friends, although Mitabi notices that Pixis does most of the talking. While he thought most of the bar patrons – seeing as how most of them were members of the military – would stiffen up and lower their voices when the military commander was present, he finds that most people loosen up when Pixis comes around, especially after the commander has had a few drinks in him. He becomes livelier than he normally is, drifting around the room and clapping the backs of his subordinates as he asks them how work is going. He’s even seen Pixis dance with a few soldiers here and there, play darts with some others, and even generously pay for a round of drinks for the entire bar.

Stranger still is Anka Rheinberger, a friend of Rico’s and one of the commander’s escorts. It’s not that she’s anymore rowdy than the other customers. It’s that she’s probably the most well-mannered out of all of them. At first, Mitabi believed it was because she was so used to being Pixis’ responsible escort, always sober while scolding her superior for taking a sip of his flask while on duty, but he realizes that she accumulates an impressive number of empty beer glasses while at the bar. Unlike her commander, she never sits at the counter. Instead, she lingers at a back of the tavern with a glass of beer that she slowly drains away while she flips through a book, the title of which Mitabi never catches. Whenever he sees her the next night though, he finds that she’s made a considerable amount of progress on her reading. How she manages to read in this noisy bar, Mitabi doesn’t know, but he does admire her ability to concentrate in even the noisiest of places.

“Why would someone come to the bar if they’re not going to drink?” Ian wonders aloud. He pops a fried potato slice into his mouth, licking the salt off his fingers. “Does that make sense to you?”

Rico shrugs. While she and Anka had been close friends during their trainee days and occasionally spent their days off together, Rico usually chooses to spend her nights off with Mitabi and Ian. “It’s not as if she’s not drinking,” she points out. She takes a sip of her own beer, frowning at the bitter taste even though it’s all she ever orders. Rico sets her glass down and looks over to where Anka sits. “I’m sure she just wants to relax by herself after following Commander Pixis around all day.”

“That old fellow sure is energetic,” Ian muses. He looks towards the bar counter where Pixis sits. In the old man’s hand is a toothpick with a decorative olive on its tip, and he waves it around as he conducts a choir of drunken men while they sing the same song in a variety of different keys. It’s not a pleasant sound, but it somehow suits the atmosphere of the tavern. “I’d be tired if I were his assistant…not that, er, I wouldn’t be honored.” He tacks on the last part after Rico glares at him.

“What sort of book do you think Anka’s reading?” Mitabi asks Rico. “She’s already reading something when we get to Ludwig’s.”

“Hmm?” Rico says, raising her head. She adjusts her glasses and squints to read the title better, but it seems they’re sitting too far away from Anka for Rico to make out the words. “I don’t know. Possibly more history books or something like that. You could always just ask her yourself.”

“Me?” Mitabi repeats, startled. “Wouldn’t it make more sense if you did? After all, you’re friends with her.” It’s not that he’s not on good terms with Anka, but he’s never said more than hello to her in passing. To strike up a conversation with her in the middle of a crowded bar…doesn’t that seem strange?

Rico doesn’t seem to think so because she merely waves her hand around, her head bobbing about. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Rico tells him. It never takes her very long to get drunk, so she usually doesn’t drink a lot. Even now her face is starting to flush and even though she’s looking at him, Mitabi can tell that she’s not really looking at him. “Mitabi, you know you worry just as much as me sometimes, but don’t worry now. If you talk with her, you’ll be fine. I won’t talk to her right now though. Anka doesn’t like it when people are drunk since she’s always around Pixis and it annoys her when he gets buzzed during his duties. Ian, tell him to go talk to her.”

“You should go talk to her,” Ian says, but he’s only repeating it because Rico told him to. He’s far more amused in observing Rico right now because she’s so much more relaxed when she’s drunk. When he pokes her head slightly, she sways in her seat. Ian grins at Mitabi and says, “Really, go. I’ll take care of Rico. Afterward, just tell me what sort of book Anka’s reading that’s more interesting than anything in this bar.”

Mitabi frowns but nods reluctantly and eventually leaves because while he’s genuinely curious about the book that Anka is reading, he also feels like Ian appreciates alone time with Rico every now and again. He tries not to bump into anyone as he makes his way through the crowded tavern, but he does get a few drinks spilled on him and he grimaces as he thinks about the stains that they’ll leave. He pushes his way past a few other drunken patrons before making it to Anka’s lonely table, but he thinks it’s a far better place than the rowdy tables at the front of the store.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Mitabi says, raising his voice over the shouting and singing of the other customers.

Anka looks up briefly from her book before looking back down at it. “Not at all,” she replies. Without looking up, she shoves aside the empty beer glasses to clear up a space across the table. She gestures down to let him know it’s fine to sit. “Wave a server over and ask for another beer, will you?”

“Er, okay,” Mitabi says, confused. He promptly catches the attention of a nearby waiter and asks for a glass of beer for Anka, but he doesn’t order anything for himself. He sits there nervously, not sure how to talk to her, but Anka finally closes her book and looks up at him.

“I just wanted to finish that page,” she explains to him. She briefly thanks the waiter, giving them a nod, before turning back to Mitabi. She brushes her bangs from her eyes and leans over so that she can speak with him without having to raise her voice very much. “Bars are not actually very good places to read if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t think it would be,” Mitabi replies, feeling better now that she’s made a joke. He settles down in his seat and taps on her book. “May I?”

“Mitabi,” Anka says, hardly blinking. “Go ahead.” She takes a sip of her beer and watches as Mitabi flips through his book.

He’s surprised when he recognizes the cover. It’s an old history textbook that children read during their school days. He had never thought it worth revisiting, but it seems that Anka did because she was reading it now. She had all sorts of notes scribbled in the margins and different pages in the book were dog-eared so that she could find them later. He looks up at her, confused. “A history textbook?”

“I didn’t think it was so interesting back when I was a kid, but I guess I’ve grown older,” Anka says. “There are things in there…that are strange to me. But I’ll look them up later.” It seems like she’s shared enough so she smiles politely at him and slides the book back to her side of the table. “So what are you here for if not to drink? I notice you’re not drunk, or at least not drunk enough.”

“Oh, I only drink a glass or two even when I’m out with friends,” Mitabi laughs, but he’s startled when Anka starts booing at him.

“How unfun,” she frowns. It’s only then that Mitabi remembers the abandoned glasses beside her and realizes that Anka could be the only one to empty them since she’s the only person at the table. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her being able to read and drink at the same time, but she’s more surprising than he thought her to be. “If you’re not here to drink, why are you here at all?”

He smiles as he thinks about Ian saying the very same words about her. “I watch people if they interest me,” Mitabi replies, nodding at Anka.

“Do you find me interesting?” Anka asks, tilting her head with a curious smile. She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she takes a large swig of her beer, finishing it in a few gulps. She set down her glass with a loud clink and grins at him. It makes Mitabi understand why she dislikes normal drunks. Although Anka can’t be considered completely sober at this point, she’s an impressively coherent drunk. “I’m more interesting than just being Pixis’ attendant and reading books, you know.”

He wonders if this is an invitation. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” she says. Her smile is warm and inviting, but she doesn’t offer anything else about herself. She simply sits back in her seat, an arm draped against the back of her chair. She nudges Mitabi’s leg with the tip of her foot. “But if you want to find out any more, you’re going to have to buy me a drink.”

“Ah,” Mitabi says with a smile. He calls over a waiter and orders once more, this time asking for a glass for himself as well, and admires Anka’s pleased expression once their alcohol is served for them. He doesn’t take a sip right away, letting his drink sit there as he watches Anka take a big swig of her own drink, and he settles down against the back of his chair. “So,” he says after Anka seems satisfied with her drink for now. “Won’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I hope you’re ready to buy me a lot more drinks,” Anka tells him, leaning back against her seat, “because there’s a lot to say.”

Ah, Mitabi thinks as he takes a sip of his drink to hide his grin. He’s certainly glad he came to sit with her today. She’s far more interesting to talk to than just watch.

[brandysadventureblog]

Gifford Pinchot National Forest Loop (WA State)

8/2/20-8/4/20

Day 1: Cascade Locks to Trout Late (43.64 miles / 2,542 ft elev. gain)

Day 2: Trout Lake to Lower Lewis River Falls (40.31 miles / 2,491 ft elev. gain)

Day 3: Lower Lewis River Falls to Cascade Locks (49.43 miles / 2,805 ft elev. gain)

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

Another reason I wanted to revisit this blog is because I wanted to write about the weekend bike trip I was able to do this past summer. It was really important to me and I’d been wanting to share my experience for a while but I didn’t because ~reasons~ (the same ~reasons~ I vaguely alluded to in the previous post). It also felt like I wouldn’t be able to accurately convey what this trip meant to me in words, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

After my first two bike trips, I set the goal of doing at least one major bike trip per year. Turns out being an adult with responsibilities isn’t the most amenable to that plan. Other adventures were had, but no bike trips lasting more than one night. This past summer, I was determined to change that.

I had first planned this route back in the summer of 2017.  Unfortunately, the weekend I planned to do it was the hottest weekend of that summer. Also, all of Oregon was on fire. I finished the first day feeling like I had just biked 40+ miles in high 90 degree temps while breathing in forest fire smoke... because that’s exactly what I had just done. I decided it probably wasn’t safe to continue on and I had a friend come pick me up the next day.

I attempted the route again in May 2019. This time I couldn’t even finish the first day. For various reasons, I was dealing with intense body fatigue and I could hardly even pedal on flat ground. Feeling defeated, I had to have my friend come and rescue me again, just six miles short of the campground.

This time around, I was determined to not fail a third time. I decided to actually train for it and began biking almost every day starting at the beginning of the summer. Even getting back into the training rides, I felt myself coming alive again. I didn’t realize how much I missed biking and it was so refreshing to get it back.

When the trip weekend came around, I was excited but nervous. I was in better biking shape than I had been in years, but this route had wrecked me twice before and there were some pretty big mental hurdles to overcome. I was shaking as I crossed over Bridge of the Gods to start, but as I rode further and further down WA SR-14, I started to hit my stride. Turns out bike touring is much like... riding a bike (sorry, I had to). The entire ride went pretty smoothly and, before I knew it, Day One was in the books.

Day Two was a completely different story. After an hour of biking straight uphill, my bike chain broke. I had a spare emergency link but I couldn’t get it to click. The only thing I could really do is coast back downhill to the general store to get to wifi and figure out what to do from there. Right before getting into town, I lost my coasting momentum and had to walk. A few minutes into the walk, I got approached by a couple who said they were also cycle tourists. They asked me what was wrong and how they could help. I told them I needed a new chain, but the closest bike shop was almost an hour’s drive away. To my surprise they were like, “Cool. Let’s go there.” It was a total faith in humanity restoring moment. They were the nicest couple and we got to chat about our past trips on the drive. After the new chain was installed, they dropped me off at the exact spot my chain had broken that morning and I was back on my way.

Or so I thought. All of a sudden, my bike wouldn’t shift gears. I realized there was something wrong with my bike derailleur. Luckily I was able to do some quick roadside bike maintenance and continue on with the climb. The first half of the ride was entirely uphill and the last half was entirely downhill. After the chain mishap, the derailleur issue, and a couple hours of straight climbing, I was looking forward to an easy end to the day. Turns out Day Two wasn’t done with me yet.

Shortly after I began my hard-earned descent, I started to come across some road closed signs. I figured there were maybe some downed trees that cars couldn’t pass by but that I could get around with my bike. I was right—there were a couple downed trees blocking the road. Turns out there was also a section of the road that had been completely washed out except for a tiny sliver just wide enough to very carefully walk my bike over if I took everything off. It took me a few trips to bring my bike across along with all of my gear, but I made it past just fine.

I loaded the bike back up and resumed speeding down the mountain. I zoomed around a hairpin turn where I discovered ANOTHER section where the road had completely washed away. This one was even worse than the other. I actually had to bring the bike down into the crater and push it up a steep incline to get to the other side. The loose gravel made it hard to get my footing and I definitely got close to falling into the abyss several times. For both of these situations, I want you to imagine it being precarious enough to be exciting but not so dangerous as to make you worry that I did something stupid (although it was admittedly probably closer to the latter).

Just as my bike and I emerged on the other side of the crater, a car came rolling around the corner. They had apparently also not been informed that the road had been yeeted down the mountain. I asked if the rest of the route had any more surprises for me and they informed me that, other than some potholes, the road was more or less intact. That was a huge relief as I had been contemplating heading back up the hill to the previous night’s campground because I was worried that I’d come across something even more impassable than what I’d already experienced. The car turned around and I loaded my bike back up. Once I was sure they were well out of earshot, I screamed at the top of my lungs like Jack and Fabrizio on the bow of the Titanic. (For the record, I did not scream that I was the king of the world, but I damn sure felt like it.) 

The rest of the route was pretty chill, but I was running several hours behind schedule. When I rolled into the campground, there weren’t any sites available. I decided to make several loops, looking as tired and hungry as I could, hoping someone would take pity on me and offer to let me set up my tent on their site. I must have looked pretty pitiful because it only took me two loops before a woman named Verna asked if I wanted to stay on her site with her and her daughter. Apparently she used to be an avid cyclist and was excited to see me roll up on my bike.

Day Three was comparatively uneventful other than I biked up a fucking mountain. I can’t remember if it was the most elevation I’ve covered in one day, but it was certainly done in the most condensed number of miles. My strategy was to bike for half a mile (slightly more if I could), wait for my quads to stop screaming, bike for another half mile, and repeat that until I got to the pretty viewpoint that let me know I had reached the top. While I was enjoying the view, a woman came up to me and socially distantly tossed me a pack of energy chews to help get me through the rest of the ride. She informed me that she was a cyclist (wtf does everyone bike here?) and that she carries around energy chews to give to anyone she comes across doing a long bike ride. She invited me to join her and her (making some big assumptions here) gaggle of older lesbian friends (I think she was also making some big, but accurate assumptions about me) on their hike. Any other day, I would’ve loved to join their gay little hiking crew, but my legs wouldn’t have appreciated it that day and I had to decline.

The rest of the ride was all downhill and there was nary another human in sight for a good chunk of it. I used that as an opportunity to sing Brandi Carlile songs loudly and off-key and shout various obscenities at the top of my lungs. When you have an opportunity to do that, I highly recommend not passing it up as it’s very cathartic. I took some obligatory, self-timer photos in front of the Bridge of the Gods sign (oh hey, Cheryl Strayed) before rolling back to my car in Cascade Locks, feeling prouder of, and more like, myself than I had in years. 

I’m not really a God person, but it did feel like something larger than myself was at work here. (Seriously, what are the chances that I would find the exact two people I needed to to take me to get a new chain and that a random car would pull up to a washed out section of a closed road to let me know that the rest of the route was clear??) Everything aligned on this trip just as it needed to. I wasn’t meant to complete that route the first two attempts. I needed to complete it at that very moment in my life. I didn’t quite know at that time that I’d be making some really important life decisions just a few weeks after the end of that trip, but that trip helped give me some of the strength that I needed to move forward with those decisions. There’s really nothing like a bike trip to help you realize your self-worth, to remind you that you can do hard things, and to relearn to rely on yourself while staying open to the help and support others are offering you.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

No Place like Home

for @txf-fic-chicks  post-episode/missing scene fic challenge ... cranked out after feeding the dog and cat and before leaving for church ... proofed while my kid watched, at high volume, Shawn Mendes sing ‘Mercy’ ... any and all errors are her fault :)

______________

She needed to eat.

He needed to eat.

That’s not to say they wanted to eat but need took precedence over desire to curl up and die while the Peacock brothers headed to points unknown with their mother in the trunk and a straight family tree laid out in front of them, uncurving, unbranched and unthinkable.

Scully saw that he was guiding her towards the diner across the street and thinking about shaking his steadying hand from her elbow, she felt him lean in, “we need food before we drink liquor or else we’ll be drunk as soon as we open the magic bottle and passed out by the third sip.”

She couldn’t argue the sound logic and relented, her feet shuffling her across clean roadway and up unchipped curb to a diner that looked like it fell out of Maybury, much, she cringed, like Andy Taylor had. About to slip further into her depression from the last four days, she perked up at the smell of homemade food and ‘Chantily Lace’ playing passively through the speakers. Leading her to a corner booth, complete with red, shiny vinyl seats and chrome table edges, he gestured in a gentlemanly fashion, “ladies choice. Left or right?”

Choosing left so her back was to the wall, she slid in, involuntary smile floating up at the memory of 5-year old Dana and her family eating out on the rare occasion her father deemed them rich enough to afford a restaurant dinner for his family of six.

Mulder caught the memory skirting across her face and tapped her hand, “hey, dime for the thought behind the smile.”

Settling into the cool backrest, the material creaking slightly under her movement, “once in a blue moon, dad would be home and he’d look at the family checkbook and doing all kinds of math in his head and dramatically scribbling for effect on the corners of several old newspapers, he would decide that the bank account could handle taking six people out to the local diner in town for dinner. Now, today I understand that he would have taken us regardless but all his showy dramatics back then made us appreciate our night out more than probably most kids did. We didn’t see him as much as most families so a night out was special enough but then when we’d see just how special it was and we thought it was costing him a small fortune, we made sure not to fight, we were extra polite, we talked and tried to one up dad with stories of how tragically exciting our elementary school lives really were in comparison to his boring existence on a Navy carrier.” Thanking the waitress for the water she’d just set down, Scully pulled the glass towards her, spinning the ice with her straw before looking back at him, “there was a diner like this in town, blue and green instead of red but I swear to you, that waitress over there is the same and I desperately want to ask if she lived in San Diego in the 70’s.”

Mulder, glancing over his shoulder, returned to her gaze a moment later, smiling as well, “I double dog dare you.”

Scully felt some of the angst of the case draining away, “no, I’m good for now with the wondering and the suspecting, proving isn’t necessary to existence at the moment.”

“Fine. Take away my fun.” Opening the menu, “what are we eating? Want to share a shake? Pretend we’re 13 and on our first date?”

With an eye-roll, she poked his leg under the table with the rounded toe of her boot, “I don’t share ice cream well, Mulder. I’m greedy and terrible and need to selfishly have it all to myself. I will, however, give you the cherry from the top in compensation for the denied double-dog dare.”

Tapping the side of her calf back in response, “fair enough.”

&&&&&&&&

Burger and meatloaf consumed, shakes slurped and cherry surrendered, Mulder sat back, “what’s next, G-woman. We don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

“Well, you’d mentioned gallons of liquor and I’m still pretty okay with that idea.”

Figuring there had to be some kind of liquor store around the town that time forgot, he signaled the bill, stood to leave and held out his hand, “come on. Inebriation awaits.” Dropping a sizeable tip, he then charged the meal to the Bureau and led her out with his now standard hand on her back, guiding her forward simply because it always felt like the natural thing to do.

He chose to turn left randomly and before reaching three storefronts down, Mulder pulled her to a stop by the back of her shirt, halting their beeline to liquor and forgetting. Looking over her shoulder, “what?”

Mulder, eagle-eye that he could be, was pointing to a flyer in the window of the Post Office, “we should go see that.”

Following his finger, she read the sign, “you want to go to Home Elementary School’s production of,” squinting slightly to make sure she was reading it properly, “Wizard of OZ?”

“Yeah. We need some culture, Scully. We never do anything cultural, worldly, sophisticated.”

The eyebrow flew miles into the air, “elementary school plays are cultural, worldly and sophisticated?”

“We just lost, into the general population, an entire incestuous family who keep their mother in a trunk. We need this more than we need the entire contents of a liquor store, trust me.”

Realizing he was completely right, “let’s go.”

&&&&&&&&&

The folding chairs wiggling in haphazard rows across the cafeteria floor transported her back to an age where folding chairs were meant to wiggle in haphazard rows across the cafeteria floor. She grinned as she bought her $3 ticket and nearly giggled at the flying monkey who took it at the door, the small boy poking his friend and whispering, “go show them two seats and they’re tall so put them in the back.”

The friend whispered back, “shut up, Tim, I know what to do.”

“Go!”

In an 8-year old huff, the friend led them to two seats in the back row, handing them copy paper programs before walking away. Scully leaned up to Mulder, talking low into his shoulder, “they think I’m tall.”

“They’re delusional kids huffing glue. You’re the shortest thing in adult world and they’ll be bigger than you by sixth grade.” Dropping into a chair and patting the one beside it, “now, sit before they call the giant squad to come take you away.”

Smacking him hard on the upper arm, she settled in, “you are enjoying this too much already.”

“If I had popcorn, I’d be in heaven.”

While he lamented his missing snack, around them parents and kids, grandparents, friends, assorted other relatives filled the seats for the next 15 minutes, the room soon darkened and the play beginning.

&&&&&&&&&

An hour later, they had witnessed four stage-frightened kids, one tremendously loud and surprisingly on-key Dorothy, two fighting trees who threw their apples at each other instead of the main characters, several set mishaps including the curtain falling to reveal the wizard before the wizard was to be revealed, a crier, two trippers and a nervous nose-picking palace guard who then screamed when he realized his nose was bleeding from the aforementioned furious gold-digging.

Once Dorothy finally got back to Oz and all was set right with the world, the lights went down, another kid wailed at the sudden darkness, then, the stage lit up again, a straggling line of kids awaiting applause in the middle of the floor and visibly fearful it wouldn’t come.

They didn’t have to worry … because Mulder was there and he was so damn happy with what he’d just experienced that he jumped from his seat, clapping as loud as his cupped hands could achieve, his yelling praises and congratulations and hooting driving the rest of the hesitating audience up and standing, first looking at Mulder and each other to see if this was proper etiquette then realizing their kids needed hooting and yelling.

Scully buried four fingers in her mouth, letting out a wolf whistle that echoed throughout the cinderblock room. More whistled joined and it took nearly four minutes for the room to quiet again to a manageable level. Kids cheered, bowing and giggling, coming out to the audience to find their families while Mulder and Scully stood quietly alone, grinning at the best night they’d had in a very long time.

The ticket taking flying monkey turned from his parents in the row ahead of them, “hey, which kid do you belong to?”

Mulder gave him an appraising look, wondering fleetingly what it would be like to be owned by a kid, “none, actually. We were just passing through and decided to take in a show.”

The kid nodded, then looked up at Scully, “sorry I didn’t realize you were that short. I would’ve had Tim put you closer up.”

Scully smiled at him, “I saw the whole thing and it was wonderful. Thank you for doing such a good job.”

Something twinged in Mulder’s chest as he watched her speak to the younger boy. He wanted to see her with her kids, watch her raise them in Scully fashion, science quizzes at the dinner table and midnight slime concocting at the kitchen counter because she had to prove Mulder wrong about the consistency and use of Borax in solution.

He would revisit the fact that he was at these midnight sessions and dinner table tests another time but for now, he took her elbow as the kid turned back to his parents, “come on, shorty, time to go.”

Instead of moving, Scully put her hand on his shoulder and climbed onto the folding chair, making her taller than him by several inches. Standing in front of her now and grinning up like a love-struck fool, she grabbed his tie, fiddling with it for a moment, “not so short now, am I?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

Returning his grin, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, crowds be damned, “thank you for the culture, Mulder.”

Arms around her waist, he held her steady and safe high up in the air, “thank you for the world, Scully.”