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seromreven · 6 years ago

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title: here comes the solrock | chapter two.

pairing: mclennon, (paul mccartney/john lennon).

summary: it’s the Monday after, aspiring pokémon trainer, Paul McCartney’s eighteenth birthday. It was today where he would get his first pokémon and start his journey to the regional Pokémon League. A journey which would prove itself to be filled with adventure, friendship, danger and romance.

originally posted on ao3 on 02/04/2019.

Monday, June 20th continued…

The pokéball opened, before it even reached the ground, with a bright flash of light, reminiscent of sun rays, that Paul felt could’ve blinded him if he hadn’t shielded his eyes from the yellow light. And as the room got back to its natural light, the only sound he could hear was his own quick breathing and that of a small yelp. Paul removed his arm and looked to the source. It was a small green serpent-like pokémon that Paul didn’t recognise. It’s large brown eyes looked back at him, studying him. “It’s a Snivy.” He heard the professor state as he held his place in the staring contest it was turning into. The Snivy harrumphed, crossed its arms and turned to look at George, now studying him. Paul took a moment to stare back on forth between his friend and the pokémon before turning to the professor.

“His name is Walton. He was a gift from a friend who no longer could take of him.” She crossed her arms and looked to the small pokémon that were still holding George under a scrutinising gaze. George looked uncomfortable, unsure of what to do other than looking anywhere but at the pokémon. “I specialise in the trio of Charmander, Bulbasaur, and Squirtle so his potential would’ve been completely wasted here. So, in a way, it’s a good thing all of this happened. If not just for him.” She sighed and left the desk to crouch beside the Snivy, who now finally left George alone to look at the professor. It emitted a small sound and pushed the professor's arm with its head, earning itself soft caresses. The woman slightly turned to face Paul and directed with her hand for him to come over. As he crouched beside her, she took his hand and replaced it with hers on the Snivy’s head. “I have a feeling you’ll be great friends,” she said as she stood back up.

Paul smiled down at the small pokémon. Its eyes were closed and he looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Paul silently motioned for George to join him while the professor had her back turned, looking through some drawers. George was careful in his movements and the moment he crouched down, the Snivy’s eyes snapped open, surprising George and causing him to fall over backwards. The Snivy snickered and went to bud its head against George’s knee, inviting him to pet it once he had gotten back up again. It was then that Paul noticed the professor looking down at them with a smile.

“Oh my,” Paul suddenly heard from the professor. “I just realised I never probably introduced myself. Oh, what you must think of me.”

“It’s alright,” George started to say but swiftly got interrupted. “No no,” she shook her head. “Not at all. My name is Amy Varcoe. Professor of this here lab, as I’m sure you know,” she laughed and got over to them. “Well, I’m Paul McCartney,” he knew she knew this but it only felt appropriate, “and this is George… Uh, Harrison.” He introduced his friend with a nod in his direction, too busy with his hands petting the attention seeking pokémon. The professor smiled at George who sent her a glance before feeling his hand pulled by the Snivy, to return his attention to it.

“Got something for the two of you,” she said and went down to sit beside the two boys and the pokémon. Once there, with their attention now returned to her, she handed them each a Pokédex. “Though you might need these,” she smiled. She shifted slightly and looked at George, “And I am sorry I don’t have pokémon for you. I don’t recall having to meet you either.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough yet. I was just here with Paul as a friend.” The professor nodded along to his word. “And what a good friend you are. Keep the Pokédex.” She smiled and turned to Paul. She rummaged through one of the pockets on her coat and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s my contact info if you’d ever need anything. On it is also my nephew's number and address, but right now he should be at the docks for you to find him. Near the arcade, if not in it.” She clapped her knees and stood, shortly looking down at Paul before going to her desk. George stood, and so did Paul, though not before he cast a glance to the Snivy who was looking over at the professor with a studying look.

The professor spoke, “I recommended leaving Walton out of his ball for the first couple of weeks. So both of you can grow accustomed to each other, and also so he can build his trust in you.”

Once they all had said the goodbyes and exchanged their contact information; the boys, and pokémon, left the Pokécenter and headed towards the docks. They hadn’t spent much time with the professor and it was still only late noon. Both equipped with each their own orange, given to them by the professor on the basis of it being ‘good for you’ and ‘full of vitamin c’, the boys yet again passed through the park. The park, Wilkins Memorial as it was officially named, was filled with police officers and their pokémon; talking in groups or searching the area.

The boys looked at each other before leaving the park. Not sure what to either say or feel about the experience at the Pokécenter. Confusion overtaking anything else.

“That was… interesting ” George spoke, scratching his neck while looking back to the center. Paul nodded and breathed out his agreements. Things had wildly taken its own course, leaving them with an adventure of their own, coupled with wonders of Professor Amy Varcoe’s eccentric behaviour.

Paul was conflicted. While he was definitely ecstatic over his first pokémon… There was this… mission? Yes, he wanted to help the professor but knew his father certainly wouldn’t approve or allow it for that matter. Sure, Paul was eighteen. Legally an adult. Yet, he still lived under his father's roof and followed his rules.

But he knew the least he could do, (before dealing with his father), was checking out the docks as told by the professor.

The walk to the docks wasn’t long, though neither were it significantly short. It was good with the exercise, either way, Paul had to admit to himself. As lately he had spent a long time in his room playing the guitar or reading up on Pokémon. And while it had stopped raining long ago, the wind was howling and as they came closer to the sea; the smell of saltwater became more prominent. Along with that of fish.

The part of the docks they had reached were empty, spare leaving workers and a few straggling gulls mixed with one or two Wingulls. The arcade was nearby. Paul had never been there before, and he knew neither had George. It was seen as a place for older kids. Kids typically of a certain… attitude. Gangs, and the sort. Now, Paul was by no mean straight laced; it just wasn’t a place he previously had an interest in going to normally. Today was different.

The façade of the building was old. The paint chipping away and the old arcade sign hanging loose. The sign said ‘Wonderland’ in large letters, with a tagline of ‘Happiness is a Warm Arcade’ hanging dangerously close to the ground. Paul held back a shudder; now fully understanding its reputation. It was creepy, run down, and certainly didn’t look like something that was getting much attention. George and Paul looked at each other, silently daring the other to go first. It ended up being Wilton going into action; who gave a cry of impatience and pushed Paul to the door.

Paul sighed, and unsure of whether he should knock, but decided at the end of just going in. He could feel George holding the back of his old Harrington jacket, helping to keep his nervousness at bay as he walked. It was dark as the window as boarded up. The only light being from a few active machines, played by young men, their backs turned to the door. A firepit was active further in the room, not something Paul thought a smart idea, and it was surrounded by more men. “...Hello?” He yelled into the large room.

It didn’t seem he was heard. Paul glanced at George behind him and gave him a quick nod before he started to walk towards the firepit. As Paul got closer, he could see the scattering of bottles and cigarette butts. There were both men sitting and standing, all either talking or laughing. The clanking of their shoes on the cold concrete floor slowly getting drowned by the volume of the strangers. One huffed out smoke and looked at them, poking to a friend beside him and pointed to Paul and George.

He turned around and Paul immediately recognised him. It was the same guy from the fish ‘n’ chip shop! The guy who winked at him. The one who had winked back at. Paul stopped walking and felt George lightly bumped into him at the sudden halt. “What… Oh,” he heard whispered behind him, assuming that George had now also recognised the young man.

The still unknown stranger, who wasn’t feeling so strange anymore, slowly stood up with a smirk careful in always facing them. “Oi, I remember the two of you,” he gave a small laugh and looked over his shoulder to one of his friends before looking back at them, “come to take Stan up on his offer? I’m sure he’ll be very happy ‘bout that.”

A “no!” came suddenly from George, taking Paul by surprise as George was standing with his head right next to Paul’s ear. John laughed and George continued, unsteadily, “we’re here for, um,” He glanced at Paul, looking nervous with his brows raised, and Paul took over for him. “We’re looking for Christopher Varcoe.” Walton gave a huff down by Paul’s feet.

“Chris?” The man guffawed. “T’fuck would ya want with Chris?” He came closer to the two boys, a lit smoke in his hand, shortly glancing down at the Snivy. He was looking much the same as earlier, his hair now dry. Paul felt it getting harder to breathe, trying not to feel intimidated by the leather-clad man. He took notice of the other man looking him up and down and felt George shift behind him.

Paul steadied himself and quickly glanced at George, who had now moved to stand beside him in almost a guarding way. He looked the stranger into his slender eyes, “to talk to him.” He took a drag from his smoke and shrugged, “Alright, he’s in the back playing Whack-A-Patrat with ya old buddy Stan.”

And then he started walking away, away from the firepit and further into the room. Paul and George looked at each other confused by the sudden shift in mood. “You coming?” They were asked by the stranger, who had stopped to look back at them. Paul quickly nodded and followed along. He halted as a hand appeared in front of him, “I’m John.” The stranger, John, said looking at him patiently.

Paul was quick to return the gesture and shook his hand. John’s hand were warm against his own, still cold from being outside. He heard George introduce himself, but not much else; his ears suddenly feeling warm, his hand tingling. Strange, but he shrugged it off as John briefly stopped in front of a closed door. He patted his pockets, not saying anything, and continued inside.

The door opened and the boys were immediately meet by the large volume of various noises, ones typical for an arcade. Something Paul hadn’t noticed before now that he had missed, remembering the odd sensation of walking past old beat up machines, left to be forgotten and never played again. There also was the warm smell of pizza, that Paul soon saw several boxes of on an old wooden table almost perfectly placed in the centre of the room. “Can I…?” He heard George say next to him and noticing him pointing towards the boxes. “Yeah, whatever,” was the shrugged response by John who continued walking to the back of the room, with Paul by his heels.

Soon Paul saw the back on two men, one more slender than the other, leaning over something that Paul would have to guess was the aforementioned Whack-A-Patrat machine. Paul stopped and looked as John sneaked up to the tallest one, who wasn’t playing; suddenly yelling, surprising the guy. “Damnit, John,” was yelled by an unfamiliar voice. He turned around and Paul could tell that this was the guy they were looking for; the family resemblance uncanny. His curly hair and bright eyes were quickly turned from John to Paul, and back to John. “Who’re they?” He asked and crossed his arms; sleeves rolled up, showing up tattoos that Paul couldn’t yet tell what depicted.

“Eh... Paul,” John pointed to him with his thumb, “and George.” He then pointed at George and took another drag from his nearly finished cigarette and left to sit on the arm of an armchair, facing the boys, by the table with the pizzas. Paul glanced at John as he went by him, flushing as he noticed John was looking back at him with a smirk and hurried to look at the new guy, Chris, who was looking at them both with a raised brow.

“Yeah?” It came from Chris and before Paul could answer, the guy beside Chris, who had previously been otherwise very active in beating on the machine, turned around with a bright grin. “Oh! Look who it is!” He gave Chris’ shoulder a light shove and nodded towards Paul, “that’s the lad I told you ‘bout.” Chris rolled his eyes, “right, well, he was about to tell me something so, go.” Stan, Paul remembered his name to be, groaned and left to sit on a couch close by John and the food. Paul could feel them staring at him; his Snivy had turned to stare back at them.

“Your aunt sent us here,” he began and continued into telling the story of earlier that day. Of how he had seen the robbers, ignorant of what they had done at the time. Of his meeting with the professor and what she had then relied on them. Of what she wanted them to do. “And,” he started his closing statement, “she recognised one of the thieves. An old friend of yours; Joe Hallard? She expected you to know where to find him.”

“ Joe? ” Chris furrowed his brows and sighed, “haven’t heard that name in a while.” He placed his hand on Paul's shoulder and lead him to the couch, “Let’s sit. You too, George.” He smiled and sat down next to Stan. There was a second couch, across from the other couch with the table between them that the boys sat in. Paul picked up his Snivy and placed him between himself and George. The Pokémon was slowly dozing off.

“I’m not surprised at this, y’know. Joe was always on the edge of the law and easily convinced to do stupid shit.” He looked at John with a knowing smile, “right, John?” John huffed, “don’t know what yer talking about,” and slid down from the armrest to now properly sit in the chair. Chris laughed.

“Anyway, I don’t know his exact location but I can guess where he might be,” Chris cast a quick glance to Stan before leaning over to rest his hands on his own knees. “Now, Paul, Stan isn’t exactly… the sharpest tool in the shed. He-” John interrupted, “he’s a fucking dumbass,” and Chris continued with a sigh. “I suspect after a heist like that; he might’ve just gone back to his parents' house. They’ve always doted on him so they probably don’t even know, or would even believe, that their ‘sweet little boy’ would be capable of doing something like that.” Chris shook his head with another sigh, “he’s completely taking advantage of them.”

John muttered a comment, his nasal tone indicating it may have been an insult, something that Paul didn’t hear. Paul carefully glanced at him, and studied him. His slender eyes focused on Chris, their colours weren’t something Paul could quite tell but they looked brown from where he sat. He was wearing the typical teddy boy attire; leather jacket over a white tee. Drain pipe trousers, though with noticeable wear and tear, scrapes on the knees. Finished off with black booths. Another cigarette in hand. Overall, a look Paul could tell was the kind George had tried to emulate over the past few months, for whatever reason. It didn’t look bad, Paul could admit to himself.

Chris got his attention again by saying, “I can take you there. His parents know me pretty well and will let me into his room even if he weren’t there.” He stood up and looked at John, “come along?” John sighed and nodded, groaning as he got up from his position on the chair, he had moved around and had been sitting awkwardly with his legs across the arm of the chair this time around. Chris looked down at the still sitting Stan, “stay here with the others.” Stan started protesting but Chris had already gone towards the door. Paul and George hurried to follow along. With Walton right at their heels.

Chris talked to them as they walked through the desolate arcade to the exit, “now the Hallard family live a while away into town but I got my car here so we’ll take that. There’s just about space for us all. John can sit up front with me and the two of you can sit together in the back.” Paul and George looked at each other in reassurance and nodded.

They soon reached the car, an old Ford Zephyr, and got in. It had a hanging smell of tobacco and pine. The latter coming from an air freshener hanging off the —- mirror. The engine roared as it was turned on and soon they were out on the road.

Walton was safely secured on Paul’s lap, the body heat of the Pokémon not mixing well with the already warm car; making Paul slightly nauseous and his chest feel tight. As if he knew; John turned on the air condition. Otherwise, the men in the car were silent for a few minutes until;

“Why is it you hang about in an abandoned arcade?” George suddenly asked, leaning forward. John looked over at him and deadpanned, “it’s not abandoned if we’re there, is it.” Chris snickered and decided to actually answer, “it first started out as a job to keep looters and vagrants out. Now we just like to hang out there.”

“So now you’re the vagrants,” George commented with a smirk. Chris laughed, “I suppose so, yeah.” Paul couldn’t see what John’s reaction was, and wondered why he even cared to know.

It was nearly late afternoon by now and Paul could slowly feel the weight of the day on his muscles. He yawned, picking it up from Walton who had just yawned in his sleep. As it was summer, the sky was still bright and sunny, making it easy to forget how the weather had been earlier in the day. The car suddenly came to halt. And looking out, Paul could see a large house, the facade made of rough stone.

“Come along then,” Chris said and climbed out of the car. The others were quick to follow, leaving the Snivy to sleep in the car with the windows down. Chris was quick to the door and soon were knocking it politely. It opened just as Paul had stopped to stand behind John, who was next to Chris. George smiled at Paul as they stood next to each other.

“Christopher!” A woman, who had opened the front door, yelled out. Her slender arms were soon engulfing the aforementioned boy in a tight hug. “Abigail,” wheezed out of Chris. Paul noticed John rolling his eyes. The older woman let go of Chris and smiled greatly, “oh, I haven’t seen you for forever! Are these your friends? Oh! John! Come in, come in.” No answers were managed to be given before Chris had been pulled inside by Abigail. John and George followed the pair and just as Paul were to go along with them; It was then that Paul noticed a Delcatty, standing in the entrance blocking his way.

“... Hi,” he greeted in a small voice, feeling awkward looking at the newcomer. He took a step forward; trying to pass it, but it just wouldn't let him, moving in front of him just as he moved aside. “C’mon,” he muttered and tried to move around it again. And again, he was blocked. He heard his name getting called from further in the house and sighed, looking down at the feline pokémon. He heard a snicker and quickly looked up; it was John, leaning against a wall further in the foyer with a grin on his face.

“Havin’ trouble?” Paul was asked by John, who seemed to find the situation very funny. Paul frowned, feeling the embarrassment finally hit him. It was enough with the Delcatty troubling him, but now he also had an audience. “I’m fine,” he huffed and moved to get in. Again, he was blocked which earned a bark of laughter from John.

Paul glared at John, who now had seemed to take that as an invitation to give his advice. “You have to ask it nicely,” he cooed. Paul closed his eyes with a sigh. Of course . He then looked back down at the Delcatty, willing away his irritation. “ Please , may I come inside.” The pokémon’s only response was to blink at him.

“Nicer!” John piped up, earning himself yet another glare. The cat had now sat down and looked at Paul curiously, it’s head tilted. Paul sighed and started, “ Pretty please, may I-” but before he could continue; out came the rest of the group from the opening behind John. “Oh, there you are, dear Gracie,” Abigail gushed and crouched down with open arms. The Delcatty ran into her embrace with a soft meow.

“What’s keeping you?” Chris asked as Paul finally made it inside and over to the group. John answered for him, “jus’ messing around.” He laughed and gave Paul a light shove, who only frowned at him, now realising he probably didn’t even have to go through all of that to get inside. Realising he had had his leg pulled by John.

“Well,” Chris glanced from John to Paul with a raised brow, “Joe is upstairs. He doesn’t yet know we’re here… So let’s give him a surprise, yeah?” He smiled and turned to walk up the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

Soon they reached the room belonging to Joe, easily recognisable with a bright red ‘Keep Out’ sign hanging on an otherwise pristine white wooden door. Music was playing, the hard tones audible through the wood. Chris knocked but got no answer. John made his way in front and nodded at Chris, “let me”. He smirked and cracked his knuckles. Soon the door was barged open. Joe jumped out of the chair he was sitting in, with a panicked look in his eyes. “Hi!” was the only thing from John and stepped aside so the rest could get in. “A little dramatic, John,” Chris whispered as they passed each other.

“What do you want?” Joe cracked out. He was backed against a wall, looking hurriedly between them all before resting on Chris with wide eyes. Paul could tell he knew exactly what they wanted. “Joe,” Chris started, “we just need to talk. That’s all.” He went closer to the panicked youth. “Tell me where my aunt’s pokémon is and we’ll leave, peacefully.”

John turned the music off, afterwards crossing his arms. Joe stammered, “I-I don’t have them.” Chris sighed and muttered an “ of course ”.

“Then where are they?” Paul piped up and walked up next to Chris. “W-Who’s this?” Joe glanced at Paul, not daring to take his eyes away from Chris. “Nevermind who he is,” was heard from John who walked up to Joe. “Just answer the kid,” he urged.

“Blackpool!” was sputtered out by an increasingly panicked Joe. “They’re in Blackpool. With Tommy. Uh, Thomas Brauer.” He feverishly nodded along to what he said. “Yeah, yeah… At the, uh, Escavalier Inn, near the south pier.” He shifted, probably uncomfortable in the position he was in. “That’s all I know! He knows more than I do, I swear!”

“That’s enough,” Chris commanded and John took a step back and muttered, “remind me to never have me in my secret organization.” Joe heaved a big sigh of relief and slumped down unto the floor. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve already called the cops.” Paul turned, not having expected George to speak. They smiled at each other, satisfaction getting to the both of them.

Later, the gang were gathered back in the arcade; only the four of them left as it had gotten late and most had left for their own homes. Paul and the rest were sitting exactly as they had done earlier, the only exception being Walton, who had curled up into George’s lap.

They were discussing their plans and what to do with the new information. It hadn’t taken them long to reach a conclusion; they had to go to Blackpool. The only thing was, Paul knew his father wouldn’t allow it. And George shared his scepticism about his own parents. And Chris had informed them that he couldn’t go to Blackpool due to the simply having the lack of time for it; work being too important to miss.

“He might let me go,” Paul informed them, “if George were with me. But not if he knew why. I’m not much for it but; I’ll just tell him it’s for a trip. A short vacation.” Beside him, George nodded, “My parents would let me go for that.” John silently looked at them both and suddenly stood up, “I’ll go with the both of ya… I don’t have anything better to do, anyway.” He sniffed and looked around, “We can meet here tomorrow morning, at eight, and then take the train to Blackpool.” His eyes settled on Paul, “See you then.” And then he left.

“Right, well,” Chris stood up. “That’s that then. Get home safely, okay?” And then he left too, leaving Paul and George alone in the empty arcade room. Both stood up, George cradling the sleeping Snivy, but before they could do anything more, Chris had hurried back into the room, his light curls bouncing. “You have my contact info. Here’s Johns. I’ll give him yours, don’t worry. Goodnight!” He smiled and quickly left again.

The boys looked at each other and started to laugh. It really had been an long and active day, and both were excited for the next, but more importantly; they were excited to get home and sleep. Just as the little Snivy was doing now. They left the arcade, eager for the days to come.

#here comes the solrock #pokemon #the beatles #paul mccartney #george harrison #john lennon #mclennon #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #au

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fragmentedshards · 5 years ago

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Lee and Rio and the Haunted Doll

Chapter Two

Lee Harker stared at the bar window from inside his car, feeling unusually apprehensive. After President Jelani assigned him to be Rio’s investigation partner, Lee had reached out to Rio in an email. She had responded asking him to meet her later that day at Wanderley’s, the bar near Thredson College.

He had not been entirely honest with President Jelani; he had been in contact with Rio since her high school graduation, although he had not talked to her since long before either of them had started teaching at Thredson. While he wasn’t exactly nervous about seeing Rio again, he wasn’t sure how it was going to go. Even though their parting had been amiable enough, it was still a little awkward. Lee sighed to himself. He wasn’t even sure if Rio was already inside or not. Shaking himself, he climbed out of the car and walked into Wanderley’s.

Of course the light was dim inside. He waited for his eyes to adjust, then scanned the place for Rio. He found her sitting at the counter, flipping through papers and drinking a margarita. Before he could start walking towards her, she looked up and spotted him, waving him over. Once he reached her he ordered a beer and glanced at the papers in front of her, only to realize they were essays from her students.

“So they really asked you to be the one to help me out with these projects, huh?” Rio asked, spinning on her chair to face Lee and taking her margarita with her.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I’m the scientist, you’re the bookworm. That’s the balance needed for these cases, apparently.” he gestured to the folders in Rio’s large embroidered bag, which was draped over her chair. “Are any of those our first case?”

Rio’s face lit up. “I’m glad you asked!” she closed the folder of papers in front of her (“I’m so sick of reading these papers on Catullus; that man is proof that toxic masculinity has always been part of human nature”) and pulled another folder out of the bag, plopping it onto the counter and opening it to the first page. “Check this out. We’re going to investigate one of the most famous haunted dolls in the world.”

“Annabelle?”

“No,” Rio shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure Annabelle is with Lorraine Warren. This one we have to investigate is called Letta. Take a look.”

Lee dragged the folder over to himself as the bartender brought him his beer and took Rio’s order for another margarita. He read over the information in the file before taking a huge gulp and looking up at Rio. “So, the only evil thing related to this doll is the foreboding some people feel when they’re around it, is that right?”

Rio nodded. “But he does periodically call out; that’s how he got the name of Letta, for Letta me out. He supposedly has real human hair and the likeness of a human brain -”

“Now what on earth does that mean? What does a likeness of a human brain look like inside a doll head?” Lee asked.

“Dunno,” Rio shrugged. “That’s part of the mystery and part of what we’re going to figure out.” she drank from her margarita and pointed to a section of the paper. “See what it says about how Letta was found? Kerry Walton found him under the porch of an abandoned house. I’d be interested to know how the doll got there in the first place.”

“So how do we do that?”

Rio reached into her bag and fumbled around, looking for something. “Shit,” she said after a minute. “I left it at home. You’ll have to come with me for a bit.” she tossed some money onto the counter, said “His is on me” to the bartender, and hopped off the stool while gathering up her folders in her arms. “Come on,” she waved at Lee to follow her.

“Jesus, Rio,” Lee muttered when he stepped through the door of her apartment. “What the hell did you do to your place? It looks like some conspiracy theorist’s hideout.”

“Shut up,” Rio balled up her sweater and threw it at Lee jokingly.

Lee wasn’t wrong. The bookshelves were crammed full of books, yet more books still lay open on every flat surface. The walls were covered with maps and pictures and pages of information, either printed out or torn from books - though if Lee knew Rio, there was no way she would have torn pages out of books, so where she got the torn pages was a mystery to him. Rio had tied strings to thumbtacks and stuck them in various places all over the pages, connecting concepts and facts, similar to a murder board. It looked exactly like a place a conspiracy theorist would live.

Rio made her way carefully to her desk and fished through a stack of papers. Finally she seemed to find what she was looking for, clambering back to Lee and handing him a printed-out email.

“If you read that, you’ll see it was from Kerry Walton, giving us permission to ask him more questions about Letta.”

Lee adjusted his glasses and peered at the paper.

Professor Bennett,

Yes, I know Letta draws much attention from all over the world. If you have some questions that have not been answered by the other interviews I have done, certainly you may meet me and ask me. I have some new developments on the doll which you may want to hear anyway.

You may as well meet me in Sydney. Let me know which hotel you choose and I’ll come to the hotel bar. I’ll even bring Letta along, if you wish. Come quickly.

Regards,

Kerry Walton

Lee folded the paper in half and handed it back to Rio. “So, when are we going?” Rio handed Lee a plane ticket before he even finished his question. “You can pay me back for that later, though you don’t need to worry about the hotel bill. The college took care of that.”

Lee took a closer look at the ticket. “Tomorrow?” he exclaimed. “God, they could at least have given me a heads up so I could organize something for my classes to do while I’m gone.”

“Just create an extra credit project for them,” Rio shrugged. “That’s what I did for my classes. I posted it on the website; the creative writing classes have to come up with an additional short story, the literature and core English classes have to write an additional literary criticism paper, you get the idea.”

“Hmm,” Lee rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I could assign them a research project about invasive species in the Everglades.”

“Oh, right,” Rio disappeared around the wall to where Lee assumed there was a kitchen, and his guess was confirmed when he heard a Keurig up and running. She continued to talk loudly over the coffeemaker. “That was your area of expertise, wasn’t it?”

“Still is, technically, but yeah.” he replied. “How did you know that, though?”

“I still talk to Winter once a week at the very least,” Rio said over the clanking of a spoon on the inside of a mug. “Though I haven’t had the chance to tell her that you’ll be my case partner.” she poked her head around the wall. “Coffee?”

Lee shook his head. “I didn’t drink all that much.” Rio’s head disappeared and reappeared again in a moment, gripping a Hello Kitty mug in her hands. “I should probably go pack, if I have to be at the airport in the morning. I’ll pick you up from here and we can go together, does that sound good?”

Rio nodded, sipping her coffee. “That’ll be fine. I’m packed, so I’ll just double check to make sure all the papers are together and then try to sleep.”

Lee was halfway out the door of the apartment before he turned back and said half- smiling, “Hopefully that’s decaf, then,” before dodging a poorly-aimed ball of paper Rio threw at him and laughing as he exited. Not awkward at all, actually, he thought to himself. And apparently she still likes to throw things.

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mauimakes-blog · 6 years ago

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“Frankenstein” Book Report

Author: Marry Shelley

Date Submitted: March 16,2019

PLOT

ROBERT’S VOICE:

In the beginning there was a man named Robert Walton, he was an explorer or an adventurer, he always send letters to his sister, named Margaret Saville. Robert was off to an adventure far north of London, hired a ship with steadfast and bold spirited sailors for the voyage and kept sending letters to her sister on what happened that week and so on. Until months later, Robert sent a letter to her sister a letter about something strange happened that week, it said to have encountered a giant man, about 7-8 feet tall, riding a sleigh dragged by wolves and it vanished but later on they saw a man also riding a sleigh with wolves and he said, “before I come aboard, will you please tell me where you were headed? ” it was only when I replied we were on a voyage to the North Pole, and he agreed to come aboard. And after he felt comfortable in his cabin, he woke up days later and we asked him what was he looking for in the breeze of snow outside, and he said, “I was after someone who ran away from me” and we said, “was it a giant man raiding the same sleigh of yours” and said yes. And then he wanted to go outside to continue for the search but then I persuaded him to stay in his cabin where he is comfortable because he can’t withstand the breezing air outside, and I promised for someone to watch for him and tell him if we ever encounter again that mysterious man in a sleigh. Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You must have guessed, Captain Walton, that I have suffered great miss fortune. I had decided before to let the memories of these evil die with me but I have changed my mind. I see that you seek knowledge and wisdom, as I once did, but I hoped that the fulfillment of your ambition will not be snake to sting you, as mine has been. Prepare yourself to hear my strange tale.” And I could still recall as nearly as possible what he told me:

VICTOR’S VOICE:

My name is Victor Frankenstein, I came from Geneva. My father was a high ranking government official and my mother is a daughter from a well-to-do merchant. I was born in Naples and we moved to Italy, in many years I was their only child. When I was five, I and my mother saw a poor cottage. In it lived a peasant with his wife, who is struggling to raise five children, but one of the five children was a different one, she was a thin, blue-eyed girl unlike the others who is dark-eyed and hardy. And the couple said that it was a daughter of a wealthy man who has died and was laid to their arms. And then my mother adopted her from her guardians with my father’s permission, and so Elizabeth Lavenza became a part of the family. The next day I promised her to be as mine-to protect, love, and cherish. We called each other cousins.

Elizabeth and I were brought up together, our differences stitched us together. While Elizabeth was calm and focused, I was passionate and hungry for knowledge. While she is satisfied with thing’s magnificent appearance, I found happiness studying the causes of it. When my brother, Ernest, was born, we moved back to Geneva. At school I had a friend named Henry Clerval. Our interests were different, he is interested with the study of morality and virtue, I was in the study of metaphysics, the study of the physical secrets of the world. When I was thirteen, we went on a vacation to Thenon, and we went to an inn where I discovered a book on the works of Corelius Agrippa, I read it and was fascinated and when I told my father about it he said, “Don’t waste you time with such nonsense” but I didn’t agree. When we went home I bought more books of Agippa, and ran into the books of Paracelus and Albertus Magnus. Their wild ideas thrilled me and got me join to the search of the philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life; and imagined how glorious it would be for a man to discover how to get rid man of disease and allow him to live forever.

My mother died of scarlet fever when I was seventeen and her last words were that she hoped I and Elizabeth would marry. At that time I was studying at the University of Ingolstadt and I promised to my sweet Elizabeth to write her everyday as possible. And there I met my professors, and the first was Mr. Krempe, a natural philosophy professor, I mentioned the names of the three alchemists I studied and he said,” did you really spend your time reading through that nonsense?” he told me to stop reading ancient theories and read new ones. He wrote a list of books to study, that’s why I didn’t like Mr. Krempe that much. And there I met Mr. Waldman, a chemistry professor, which I like the most. He disagreed that the theories that I studied were to be true but then he said,” without those ancient theories there wouldn’t be the chemistry there is today. He said that if I wanted to be a man of science I must not only study about chemistry but also every branch of natural philosophy, like mathematics and then he showed me instruments I needed for it.

On that day on, I studied chemistry and philosophy. And what had me the interest was the human body. From what source did life originate? But first you must study death before life. I spent days and nights trying to see human body parts decay as worms come out, examining bones and rotting corpses in vaults and charnels. I tested my laboratory until I discovered what the cause of life was. After I discovered what power I encountered then I decided I must make a human being, I wanted it to be a giant about 8 foot tall. Then I gathered all the materials, bones and body parts in slaughter houses and took me seasons of months but paid no attention to anything but my gruesome task. I grew very weak, thin, and pale and neglected to write for my family and friends, the only thing in mind was my creation.

As I was asleep I was woken up by something and then I looked around I saw a monster gazing at me while grinning, it had green skin, yellowish and black lips which adds horror contrast to it. And then I rushed to the door slammed it close ran down downstairs and slept until it was morning but still I wouldn’t dare to look around until someone knock my door and opened it, it was my friend Clerval. And I was so happy to see his face and invited me to breakfast but I still have to get something upstairs but the monster was gone. I gone back downstairs and was jumping with joy and screamed “his gone, his gone…” again and again insanely and I fainted and was believed that I am sick from a nervous fever. Then I read Elizabeth’s letter to cheer me up. And months later my sickness was gone and Clerval asked me about the creature and I told everything. Then when I was relived I went back to school now studying language with Clerval as I now hate chemistry. As spring passed I we decided to have one last tour around Ingolstadt to breathe the air to relax my sickness and to appreciate once more the nature around me.

When I returned to college in a Sunday afternoon, there was a letter waiting for me from father saying that my son William and my brother was found dead. After I read the letter I quickly gone to the place where my son and my brother died and then saw a giant man crouching near a tree and quickly realized it was the monster I created. I would have attacked but he escaped as he saw me.

When day came, I was thinking of telling the authorities about the monster but I was thinking, “Who would believe of such madness besides me” so I decided to stay silent. At five in the morning, I went home and entered. It was my brother, Ernest, who I saw first and welcomed me home and said that my father is growing sadder and sadder each and every day but my dearest Elizabeth is the one who needs comfort the most, she blames herself for the murder of our son. And Ernest told me that the murderer was captured and I said, “No, that’s impossible” and he said that it was Justine. And then we entered to court for the crime that isn’t true, and when no one believed that she was innocent she was sentenced to death. And I became in such misery and blame for myself for creating that monster. And I thought of changing place and in the next morning I went horseback riding going to trough mountains and valleys, rivers and creeks, cabins in between trees of forests until I almost forgot the happenings from months before. It was two months before Justine is to be sentenced death. And I thought of climbing mount Blanc and stayed in a cabin on top it.

In the morning , I spent the time riding through valleys and mountains with a new mule for it was too rough to ride on a horse. As I was riding I saw a figure of a man and quickly figured it as the monster and I was right, it was the wretch I made, as I he dashes through the cracks of ice with a stunning superhuman speed. And a he was coming towards me I yelled, “Come at me you giant wretch and I will kill you!” and he said “No I mean no harm” and I said that we will never find peace with each other for you killed my family and and I won’t stop hunting you until one of us dies!” but he said that he is experiencing such misery and wanted to tell me his story and we went to his cabin and he told me his story beside the fire.

THE MONSTER’S VOICE:

The memories of the beginning of my life were vague and confused. I learned how to move, smell, hear, and taste at the same time. So I had the freedom to walk. So I was near a forest from Ingolstadt to drink water from the creek and after that I grabbed a coat of yours to warm me up when it is cold and hid outside through the snow and rain. After many days of searching for a place, I saw a village filled with beautiful houses with delicious food, and that made me hungry. And while I was grabbing fruits from trees the villagers saw me and would run away but some poke me with sticks and throw stones at me. And so I found a house and hid outside of it. There was a child inside learning with his sister, as saw through a hole to peek. And so, I also learned their language from days of learning but they discovered where I hid and tried to kill me but I was not to attack for they blessed me the power to speak. And so I saw a child hiding in a farm and I captured him and he told me that I should be scared for his father was a government official with the name of Victor Frankenstein” and when heard the name Frankenstein I threaten him to kill him and so I did.

FRANKENSTEIN’S VOICE:

As he finished telling me his story he commanded me to make another one like him but a female. But I neglected it but he threatens to kill all my family and love ones, so I ended up doing it. But I failed to because of lacking materials so he went rouge and would kill every person he sees and I followed him and ended up here in the North Pole and saw you.

ROBERT’S VOICE:

Would you believe it Margaret this man had a totally miserable life and this creature he has created is real and is on the hunt on victor. And later on victor was fallen sick and we called on the ship nurse and had a bad news that told that victor is going to die soon. And he called me and whispered to my ear saying that his life is going to end and my enemy’s is not, so would you promise me to kill him you would have my complete honor. And hours later he died and heard the people outside screaming that the monster is here and went inside to see victor but he found him dead and was in full blame of himself and killed himself.

MORAL

When Victor Frankenstein abandons his creation, the monster is forced to figure out for itself what his purpose is in the world and why he was brought into it.

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein holds many themes still applicable to today's society

"When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have precipitated him to their base"

Revenge...

Themes Such as..

Frankenstein

Nobody, not even the man who created it, could get past the horrific appearance of the Creature and realize what a thoughtful and emotional being it was. Too fearful of the outside image to care about what the monster was on the inside.

From this I learned that no matter how wrong and unfair the situation is, seeking revenge will only lead to negative consequences and regret.

This served as an important reminder to never make opinions of others be based solely on their physical appearance and to show compassion and acceptance to everyone.

Hollywood's Influence

Through this I learned the importance of having communication and relationships with others and how terrible life would be if you were forced to go through it alone.

-The Creature

Nature

Lessons Learned

His time in the mountains provided him with an escape from his troubles and a release from his inner turmoil.

Although Victor went against it with his creation...

But after ignoring the previous description and realizing how truly horrific the creature would've appeared as well as the complexity of its actions and thoughts, I gained a new appreciation for the Monster Mary Shelley created.

Frankenstein

The Danger of Going Against Nature

The novel serves as a warning to not tamper with the balance of nature. Victor's ambitious and unnatural creation of life from death upset that balance and was a sure cause of the chaos that arose from it.

“How dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to be greater than his nature will allow.”

Fueled entirely by emotion, Victor and his Creature create a cycle of destruction and devastation only hurting themselves and the situation further. While in the moment it may have seemed like the right move to kill the people Victor loved, by the end of the novel the Creature was ashamed of his actions.

The Dangerous Quest for Knowledge

By Mary Shelley

"I was dependent on none and related to none. The path of my departure was free, and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them."

"'All men hate the wretched; how then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me"

Shallowness of Society...

Without a guiding figure to look up to or true human interaction, the creature is forced to ask itself questions about his existence that many people may wonder for themselves.

The lessons taught by the actions of the characters in the novel are lessons that everyone can learn from.

Life and the Meaning of Existence

The Desire for Companionship...

Throughout the story, you begin to understand the creatures desperate pleas for a companion because we all seek to make connections and relationships with others.

"I am alone and miserable: man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species and have the same defects. This being you must create.”

CHARACTERS

* Victor Frankenstein, when he was just a child he was interested in science, his specific study was chemistry and natural philosophy. He was so into science that he would spend more time with it than with family and friends. So when he dug down deeper he discovered the power on how to make life. So he decided to try and make a human being then later on when he finishes to, he realized that he made a monster. He was so furious and he would kill everything he loved, and when one of the family died he was so mad that he tried to kill the monster himself but so he died in the end full of regrets.

* The Monster, he has a very important role in this story, he is the one building-up the climax. He is thought to be rough and furious by most for he has a giant and monstrous body. He was just confused at the beginning of his life but was so unlucky to have such body. He was so mad at his creator, Victor Frankenstein, that he would kill everyone he loved. He blames his creator for him being that way and commanded to make a female mnster like him for companion but after that, Victor died and cried for this was his fault then he killed himself after seeing Victor’s dead body.

* Robert William was the first character to be introduced along with his sister sending each other a letter. And when he went to an adventure he saw victor trying to capture the monster but he let him stay in his ship for comfort. And Robert William was like the story teller of the story by sending a letter to his sister Margaret. And when Robert let Victor stay Victor told his story about his unsuccessful life. And while he was to listen the monster was there but victor already died and would avenge victor but he hadn’t kill the monster but it killed it’s self.

* Henry Clerval was the childhood friend of victor’s until they were adults. Henry would help victor if victor is in need while they were in college when his family is not here. Henry was like a brother to victor, he would risk his life trying to save him. He was with victor when he had down times and would cheer him up. He was a supporting character of this story, supporting the main characters.

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laufeyson-l0ki · 6 years ago

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Ѧαʏ Ɩ Ƭɛαcн Ƴσʋ?

C̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥h̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ḁ̥̥̥̥̥̥p̥̥̥̥̥̥t̥̥̥̥̥e̥̥̥̥r̥̥̥ 2

Now you noticed the smell too and got ashamed of yourself. "Don't worry, I know how it feels like. Anyway, get up, wash yourself and meet me here again. I will show you around." You didn't even want to think anymore, so you just agreed by nodding shortly. He got up and left, saying, "I hope you're not a complete waste of time."

You sighed and looked around. Noticing that you didn't even know where to wash you, you stood up and walked through the room, soon deciding to go out and look for the bathroom. When you first took a step out of the room you were surprised by the hugeness of this place. Walking around with wide eyes you totally forgot what you where searching for. Until you saw someone coming closer. You didn't want to get caught by being suspicious, so you turned around and ran into a random room. Inside, you locked the door and took a deep breath.

You were lucky, because this room was the bathroom. You looked around and were fascinated by the way it was built. But because you had to hurry a little, you took your clothes off and took a shower. Or, if you can call it a shower. Basically there was a whole waterfall coming down and the coolest thing was, you didn't even have to use any soap or shampoo. The water cleaned you perfectly. When you got out you quickly put on your clothes again and tried to find your room again. After some minutes of wandering around you found Loki stand in front of the door, looking down and waiting for you, obviously. He raised his head and looked directly at you. "Oh", he said, there you are. Have you finally found your way back?"

"I would have been faster if you had told me where that bathroom is", you replied in a sharp tone, silently judging him for his sassiness. He nodded and opened the door, entering it after you did. On the bed he placed three piles of clothes, which you picked up and looked at shortly. "These look... old fashioned", you said, inspecting the dress you held in your hands. Loki poked your arm, saying "But with this you'll be the centre of attention. That not in fashion here in Asgard. Wear that, you'll be fine."

A sigh left you, again, and you nodded reluctantly. You didn't really like old fashioned clothes, nor dresses. But you read a very inspiring quote that said "Adapt, improve, overcome." Okay yeah, it was a meme, but you found it fitting right now. Turning your head towards Loki, you indirectly told him to leave, so you could change, but our man didn't get it, raising an eyebrow. "Could you... please", you asked, making a gesture to either turn or go outside. "Ah, okay, yes. Of course. If you need help, I'm right in front of the door. Don't take too long." He left without a word, again.

Shaking you head, you started to undress yourself again and tried to put on the dress you just held in your hands. Luckily, there was a mirror standing in your room. You stood before it and tried to put the assessors on the right place. Unable to get anything to hold onto you, you reluctantly went outside and asked Loki to help you.

He had to chuckle a little, but then helped you put the assessors on. The moment you looked in the mirror again you realized that you're really here for a long long time. Loki already waited in front of the door again. "Hurry up, I don't have an endless amount of time, you know?", he said a little grumpy and started walking away. You quickly followed him and found yourself in a big garden with fountains and flowers everywhere. To you, this looked like paradise. Looking at the huge variety of flowers you totally forgot to follow Loki, who has been waiting for you near a fountain. "Hurry", he said, nearly shouting.

You quickly ran up to him and smiled, trying to get at least a little closer to him. "Now", he started, taking one of your hands, "what do you feel?" You looked at your hands and thought for a bit. All you felt was a weird tickling coming from his hand which was very light but still kind of annoying. "Your hand... trickles a bit. It's feeling weird. As if it was vibrating a little", you answered making him laugh out loud. "It tickles you? What are you? Do you even have feelings?" - "Of course! What's the matter?" He explained to you, that this was one of his little tricks where he would shock someone, but it somehow didn't affect you.

It was interesting to listen to him. His voice was calming and the way he explained was reasonable. You soon felt comfort in his words and smiled form time to time, which kind of irritated this poor man. When he was done explaining he asked you, if you wanted to find out, what your speciality is. He knew you had one, but he couldn't make out what kind of power was inside of you. "Well... I don't know, honestly. That's why I'm here, obviously, because I don't know"

He nodded and sighed a little. "Of course you can't know that... ugh, that's so stressful, why am I always the one having to do this kind of stuff?" You felt a little insulted by that, but bursted it off since he didn't seem to be a polite man after all. At least he was honest, so, that's a good thing, right?

Suddenly, the moment you least expected it, Thor joined the little chit chat you and Loki had. Thor lightly punished his brothers arm asking happily, "How is everything going, brother? Do you already know what makes her a Demigod?" Annoyed, Loki rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "If I had, brother", he said, trying to brush of Thor's arms that laid around his neck by now, "I wouldn't be standing here with her." Thor laughed a little and asked, why we wouldn't ask Frigga for help. Loki nodded and said, "That would be a better and less time consuming idea. Thank you, brother."

So he took your arm and dragged you after him. You didn't understand why his mood changed so rapidly after Thor joined you, but you weren't in the position to judge anybody right now. When you finally were far enough from Thor he sighed and rubbed his eyebrows. "This man of a brother will be my end someday", Loki whispered to himself. "Why, if I may ask?" - "He always has this smug smile and this self consciousness, I can't bear that. I-", he stopped right there before he couldn't help but brabble it all out. "Anyway, let's go to my mother now. Maybe she can really help us more than I could the last hours"

To be continued

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I'm sorry for not updating as much as I used to. I'm currently working on commissions (art related) and I am currently grieving. I hope you understand the lack of updates. I'm trying to recover from the loss as fast as I can in order to function and write properly again. Thank you very much for reading my stories. I'm glad you enjoy them. Have a really lovely day!

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#avengers #avengers au #loki #loki fanfic #loki headcanons #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #thor #thor headcanon #thor imagine #thor odinson #thor ragnarok #avengers headcanons #avengers infinity war #loki au #loki imagine #loki requests

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barryhuff · 4 years ago

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My Cut - 3rd Revision (Fiction Story)

“It’s better to avoid the cut, than it is to heal the wound,” Minister Christine Steves warned firmly as she stood behind the wooden podium at the front of her church buried by layers of preaching robe fabric.

Subdued choruses of “Mm-hmms” from the nodding heads of the sisters filling the auditorium replied back.

“I said, ‘It’s better to avoid the cut, than it is to heal the wound!” she announced with more volume.

More subtle murmurs.

"Now...!" Minister Christine sang out, beads of sweat framing her face, "Turn to somebody close to you, and say, 'It's better to..."

Obediently, her congregation of “Big Mommas”, elderly men, and restless children shift in unison like well-dressed, brown-faced, ocean waves, and toward the person seated next to them in the stiff-backed pew.

However, I sat straight-up and stare at that nigguh two pews up who owed me $20 from March 7, 1994. Sooner or later, I was gonna get my money.

"It's better to...," the church body parroted together.

"A-VOOOOOID the cut," Minister Christine sang out as she leaned over the podium as if she needed to give herself the Heimlich Maneuver. Her billowy, preaching robe flowed forward like icing being applied to a cake that was still too warm.

"A-VOOOOID the cut!" the alto-voice of the congregation echoed back.

I sat stone-faced, concentrating on that $20 stealing-nigguh.

"Boy...," my concentration interrupted by rapid-fire tapping on my shoulder.

I turn slowly to my left, my eyes dark angry slits. I didn't know anyone in this church. I just wanted my money. "What?" I growled.

"Boy...," she repeated, through her clenched teeth, lips pressed tightly, like she was about 10 seconds away from pinching me like my Momma used to when my brother and I started acting up. "Say what you supposed tuh," she whispered.

I shrugged her gloved finger off my shoulder roughly and continued to stare at her. The pearl earrings, matching the pearl-colored veil that rained down from her small hat tilted slightly on the corner of her head. A true church O.G.

"Say. What. You. Sup-posed. Tuh. Say," she demanded quietly. Her probing finger had regained its perch on my shoulder, joined by its pinching partner - her thumb.

Uh-uh, I thought to myself. I know this bi-

“...to heal the wound!” Minister Christine called out to her people, layers of fabric pouring off her extended arms.

“...To heal the wound!” the Church O.G. screamed out, staring at me wildly. Her pincers ready to snag the skin off my shoulder at any second. “Say it!” she screamed.

I stared back silently, equally wild-eyed. Other crowned church O.G.s start turning their heads toward us, including that $20 owin’ fool.

“Say it!” she screamed again, raising her white-gloved, left-hand in the air as if she was wanting a teacher to call on her in a classroom of her youth. Her white-gloved right-hand was still in a strike-ready position on my shoulder.

“Say it!”

Suddenly the organ pounded twice in syllabic rhythm to Church O.G.’s demand.

“Say it!” Two more organ harmonies again echoed back.

Several other church OGs stood up around me, arms raised, gloved fingers spread out like they were trying to block a Lebron James last second-shot, and screaming so loudly their throats must have felt like they were gargling broken glass. “Say it!” they cried.

Two more harmonies from the organ, joined by the keyboard, bass, and lead guitar.

More Church O.G.s started to rise up, each belting out “Say It!” The music was now loud and continuous. Everyone, except me, was on their feet praising the “Lawd”.

I could no longer see that $20 bastard through the thick layers of O.G.s. I’m sure that slippery nigguh was out the door of the church, and off with my money.

“Avoid the Cut!” I yelled out threateningly, hoping he could somehow hear me through the forest of swaying bodies and raised arms begging for the Holy Ghost. I patted the front pocket of shirt to make sure my Camels were ready to smoke once I walked out of here.

“You sound just like him!” Denise breathlessly called out over the pulsing cackles of her brothers and sisters.

“Nigguh, no you don’t!” Damon hissed silencing his brothers and sisters sitting underneath the tall, thick pecan tree. Forgotten branches and bark littered the ground of the brittle tree. Their mother was only there in spirit, and not physically there with her arms crossed, lips pursed and cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised, casually asking, “Why don’t one of you pick up those branches?”

A question that couldn’t be easily ignored, because Momma was their Daddy’s woman. Their Daddy seemed to be tuned into anything that would have her continue to cook for him, wash his clothes, give him silence in his home, and provide him with some not-so-subtle night time romance. And if it meant surgically slicing the legs of their kids in order to continue to get these things, then so be it.

“All that damn proper-talking was getting on my God-”

Damon coughed, as if he heard his mother’s warning about using her Lord’s name in vain in the whispers of the leaves dancing on the breeze above him.

“Got-damn nerves,” he corrected himself unaware that his eyes cautiously darted left and right.

“Look at this nigguh here,” Deacon laughed.

The only people brave enough to call him Deacon instead of his preferred “Deek” was Momma and Daddy. Although Damon once called him “Deez” as kids.

“Why Deez,” an 11 year old Deacon asked then his 13 year old brother on the bus after school, “and not Deek?”

Damon stood up on the moving bus, grabbed the crotch of his blue jeans, lifted his head to the ceiling, and screamed, “DEEEEEEEZ nuts!”

Damon and Deacon easily slipped into arguments and fights everyday of their relationship after that point.

“He thinks Daddy rotten carcass is gonna pop up and give his ass yet another whoopin!” Damon chuckled.

The circle of graying brothers and sisters start to laugh again.

Denise’s toes burrowed deeply in the moist dirt, as weak anchors for her white plastic lawn chair on its relentless rotation onto its unsteady back legs. Denise’s left arm slips off the armrest, causing her fingers to graze the tops of the thick bladed grass.

She breathes in deeply, and closes her eyes expecting darkness.

Not the unknowable darkness of death -- only her dead father and mother could speak to that. Her darkness felt like soothing water in its inevitable pursuit to quickly drench and consume dry body parts -- even to the point of consuming sound as it fills the crevices of the ears. Clear voices become muffled and eventually silent the deeper a submerged body travels.

In the silence she could again feel the blades of grass in the yard. This time, each blade reaching out to her, caressing her feet, teasing her ears. Reminding her that the only way to cool the burning soles of her 10 year-old sidewalk blackened, bare feet was to hustle five houses down to Mr. Walton’s yard.

“Put on your shoes, Girl!” Momma’s fading voice demanded in the vacuum of the silence.

Denise stares down at the tops of her little girl feet as they take turns pressing down on the sidewalk radiating the scalding punishment expected from it’s solar summertime master. She feels the thick air moving through many shiny, oiled parts of her braided hair. The parted hair looking like a map of countless, unlabeled, intersecting streets. Each square block of parts bordering its own small limp braid.

Houses blur past her as she gains momentum towards Mr. Walton’s.

His face glistens like wet coffee grounds, underneath his straw, wide-brimmed hat. Quietly, he works his yard. Spreading piles of dirt, cutting, trimming, repeat. Against the sun-bleached sidewalk, his yard glows green like a full pot of freshly cooked collard-greens.

And the reward to stubborn, naked feet, was cooling off for a moment in Mr. Walton’s creation. Soothing blistered feet in his finely crafted suburban front yard for three seconds before he could growl, “Get yo’ black-ass out my yard!”

Bright light forces its way through Denise’s eyelids causing her to wince.

“Neese! Neese!”

“Stop calling her that! Yo’ drunk ass know she hates that nickname!”

“Neese! Neese!”

“You all right, Girl?”

“Y’all always breaking my shit! Leaning back and breaking the legs of my chairs! That’s why I cain’t get anything!”

“Serves her right for acting like she ain’t never heard that story before. She and all y’all are God..Got-Damn fools!”

“Nigguh shut yo’ ass up! It was funny. Yo’ black ass always with his lip poked out like you fixin-nuh get a whooping! Shit...I’ll beat a smile onto yo’ face right now!”

“Neese...uh, Denise!”

Her eyes slide away the mist of memory. The cackles become the familiar faces of her family staring down on her like they have always done. Faces full of critique and disdain.

#Revisions WritingPossibility

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actuallymollyweasley · 8 years ago

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kids of the in-between: ch. 13

aka “A Place to Stay”

Thank you all for waiting patiently! Feel free to ask to be tagged in updates if you want!

(Also, just a heads-up, Adam gets a phone call from his dad in this chapter, but we only hear Adam's side of the conversation and there's no abusive language or anything like that. But he does have to deal with talking to an abuser, so if you think that might be triggering for you, then find me on tumblr and I'll explain what happens in more detail.)

Read all parts: on tumblr | on ao3

Ronan woke up with a warm hand pressed against his back. A long-fingered, calloused, freckled hand belonging to a boy with dusty hair, river-blue eyes, and a slightly crooked nose.

For five minutes, he was certain he was still dreaming.

Then he remembered Adam pulling into the parking lot outside of Walton at four o'clock in the afternoon and staring Ronan down until he helped carry their camping gear into the dorm. He remembered Adam dumping the equipment in the living room unceremoniously and dragging Ronan into his room. He remembered languid kisses and his heart beating frantically because they were alone in his room and Adam was kissing him and Adam wanted to kiss him and where was this going, what was this what was this what was this—and then Adam was pushing Ronan onto his bed and getting up before Ronan actually had a heart attack.

"Look," Adam had said, "an actual bed. Now go to sleep."

Ronan had blinked up at him, sleep-deprived brain slow to figure out the meaning behind his words. The moment it did, he'd tensed and said, "No fucking way."

"Ronan," Adam had said, and Ronan's breath had caught at the softness in his voice, at Adam Parrish talking to him like he was something worth kissing. "You're not going to dream up anything dangerous."

"You got any evidence to back that up, Parrish? Because in case you didn't notice, the only things you've ever seen me dream up are blood, gasoline, and a wrecked car."

"You're not," Adam had insisted. "At this point, you'll be too tired to dream."

"That's not how it works," Ronan had muttered.

"Ronan," Adam had said again, this time in exasperation. "You can't just stay awake for the rest of your life. Listen. I'll stay. I'll wake you up if I have to."

"You think that's helpful?" Ronan had demanded. "No. Fuck. You can't stay."

"Too late," he'd said. "I already gave up my dorm to Blue and Gansey."

There were other arguments Ronan could have made. He could have told Adam to sleep on the couch, or in Gansey's room. But Adam fucking Parrish was basically demanding to share his bed, and Ronan was too tired to be selfless any longer.

"Fine," he'd muttered, kicking off his boots and shucking off his jeans and trying not to feel weird about getting into bed with Adam watching him. Then Adam had stepped out of his jeans and pulled off his shirt as well, and Ronan had other things to feel weird about. Namely, the way his throat had gone dry and he was maybe, possibly, potentially developing a boner just from looking at the boy in front of him. "Adam, about today—"

"Nope," he'd said, ducking under Ronan's comforter and poking him until he scooted over. "Seventeen hours of being awake can impair your judgment to the equivalent of a 0.05% blood alcohol level, and you've been awake much longer than that. We're not doing this right now. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Now it was morning, and Adam's hand had rucked up the edge of Ronan's shirt while they slept, and his palm was warm against Ronan's back, and Ronan definitely wasn't dreaming.

He couldn't have imagined the sound Adam made as he shifted in his sleep, pressing his nose into Ronan's shoulder.

Ronan barely suppressed a shudder. "Wake up, shithead," he said, turning so he was facing Adam. But that was worse, probably, because then he had to watch Adam's eyes blinking open and Adam's hand running through his sleep-ruffled hair. He wanted to reach out and capture Adam's hand, press it to his lips for a kiss. But despite the other kisses, despite Adam laying there right in front of him, despite the fact that Adam's jeans were on the floor of Ronan's fucking bedroom, Ronan still wasn't sure that he was allowed.

"Hey," Adam said.

"Hey," Ronan said. "It's morning."

"It's morning," Adam agreed. "Do you still want to do this?"

"This? What's 'this?'"

"I don't know," Adam said. "Whatever you want 'this' to be. Boyfriends, hopefully."

Ronan forgot how to breathe. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. If you want."

Ronan forgot that he hadn't brushed his teeth since almost dying and the last thing he'd eaten had been bacon and eggs and his breath definitely tasted like death. He forgot that the same was true for Adam. He tilted his head down and kissed Adam, and from the way Adam closed his eyes and wrapped a hand around the back of Ronan's neck, Ronan had a feeling Adam forgot too.

That didn't stop him from pulling away and saying, "Brush your teeth, you taste like Chainsaw's shit."

"I don’t want to know how you know that," Adam informed him. But he was smiling.

Ronan thought he might be smiling too. "No, you don't," he said. "I'll go see if there's anything left in our cabinets besides Gansey's old man cereal."

Adam's smile widened. "Don't tell me he eats Raisin Bran."

"He eats fucking Raisin Bran," Ronan confirmed. "With extra raisins."

Adam's laugh followed him out of his room.

It was strange to be awake at a reasonable hour. It was even stranger to feel awake at a reasonable hour. Ronan searched through the cabinets and discovered that there was, in fact, something in there besides Raisin Bran. Coffee beans.

Adam came out of the bathroom and stood beside him, inspecting Ronan's haul. "Do you even have sugar to go with those coffee beans?"

"No," Ronan said. "Gansey likes to suffer."

Adam snorted. "Dining hall it is. You should shower first, though. You smell like exhaust and rotten eggs."

Ronan wanted to say that Adam wasn't any better, but the truth was that he smelled fine. Fucking Parrish. "Whatever," he said. "Don't let Chainsaw trick you into giving her treats."

"I don't know why you think that'll be a problem," Adam said. "Oh, and Ronan?"

"What?"

"I used your toothbrush."

Ronan scowled as he went to his bedroom to grab some clothes, and he scowled as he made his way to the bathroom. Then he stared at his toothbrush until his eyes crossed and he actually believed it when he told himself, This is not a dream.

When Ronan opened the door of the bathroom, Gansey was waiting in the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ," he swore, trying not to look like he was startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Blue's smuggling breakfast out of the dining hall for us," Gansey said, with that disgustingly fond look in his eyes that he got whenever he was thinking about the maggot he was dating. "In the meantime, I wanted to get the coffee maker started. The dining hall coffee is atrocious."

"Well, it looks like sludge whenever you drink it," Ronan said, "so I'm not surprised."

"Yes," Gansey agreed. Then he folded his hands in front of him on the countertop, leaning forward like a well-meaning guidance counselor. "Now listen, Ronan. About the other night…"

Ronan considered turning around and slamming the door behind him, even though he'd already brushed his teeth and hung up his towel. He considered crossing his arms and exuding aggressive distance until Gansey gave up. Instead, he crossed the room and stuck a glass under the tap—because coffee was disgusting and black coffee was its own peculiar brand of foul—and drank the entire thing before saying, "What about it?"

Gansey steepled his fingers. "You know… you can talk to me about anything, right? Or if you need anything, I just… I don't want you to feel like you have to be silent until you dream up a car smeared with blood. I don't want you to feel like you have to keep withholding secrets because of how I might react to them."

Ronan raised his eyebrows. "You're one to talk. Noah told us that wasn't your normal ringtone yesterday."

He didn't miss Gansey's flinch. "That's not the same, Ronan. That's not—it wasn't a bad phone call. It just wasn't what I wanted to hear."

Ronan frowned, but he could tell when prodding would make Gansey feel better and when it would only make him more anxious. This was one of those latter situations. "Whatever," he said eventually. "And to answer the question that you're trying to get around to asking me—I'm fine."

"Ronan, you don't have to—"

"I mean it, all right? I'm actually fine."

Gansey narrowed his eyes. "Well, if you're sure—"

"Ronan, are you done with the shower or n—Oh. Hey, Gansey."

Ronan almost didn't want to look.

Fortunately, the sight wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Adam had pulled his jeans back on, at least. But he was still shirtless, and he had still clearly walked out of Ronan's bedroom.

Gansey blinked at Adam. He turned and blinked at Ronan. He said, "Are you two—?"

"Ronan and I are dating," Adam said decisively.

Ronan's heart was pounding like he'd accidentally veered his BMW into the median of a busy highway, or he was standing in the middle of a burning building, or he was drowning in rain while a tornado approached in the distance.

Then Gansey smiled and said, "That's great."

His hands corrected the steering wheel. The stream of a fire hose found its way into the burning building.

"So out of curiosity," Adam said, "did you just run out of milk, or do you actually pour black coffee into your Raisin Bran instead?"

Gansey furrowed his eyebrows and said, "Why would I put coffee in my cereal?"

"I mean, there's nothing else in your kitchen," Adam said, but when Gansey still looked confused, he smirked at Ronan.

Ronan grinned back.

And with a final howl of wind, the tornado and the storm dissipated into mist, leaving room for the sun to come out.

Ronan couldn't believe that he still remembered how to be this happy.

He'd been dating Adam for two weeks, and it was.... He couldn't even describe it with words, and that was what made it so unbelievable. For the first time since August, Ronan felt like he could paint happiness for Dr. Azalea's art class. He couldn't wait to try.

Today, though, he was content to sit next to Adam on the kitchen's bar stools and eat half of a grilled cheese sandwich that he'd cooked himself.

Adam took a bite from the other half and raised his eyebrows. "Damn, Ronan, this is actually good."

"Actually good," Ronan scoffed, pretending that he wasn't pleased. "Who do you think I am?"

"Someone who lived off of beer and spite for the entire first month that I knew him?"

Henry laughed from the couch, where he was once again draped across Noah's lap and looked stupidly content. It didn't bother Ronan as much as it used to—although there was no way in hell he was going to tell Henry that. "He got you there, Birdman."

"How the fuck would you know?" Ronan retorted, pointedly ignoring Henry's fifth weird-ass nickname for him in as many hours. "You didn't meet me until mid-September."

"Yeah, and you lived off of beer and spite for most of October," Blue said. "So of course Henry assumed that you'd lived off of it in August and September too."

"There's no need to be rude," Gansey said, and for a second Ronan thought that he was actually going to defend him. Which would be entertaining, if unnecessary. Then Gansey grinned and said, "He also ate greasy pizza from Nino's."

"Oh, yes, you're right," Henry said. "How foolish of me to forget. Lynch, you're a paradigm of health and nutrition."

"Well," Ronan said, "I was going to make you all food too, but if you're going to be insulting assholes about it—"

"Hang on," Noah said. "I haven't been an insulting asshole."

Ronan smiled. "All right. Noah gets lunch. The rest of you fuckers can starve."

"Not still mad about the mind reading, then?" Adam asked quietly.

Ronan shrugged. "Not like he can help it." He decided not to add that it had only bothered him in the first place because it meant Noah had known the way he felt about Adam for months. "So, Noah," he said louder, "what kind of cheese do you want?"

"Ask if he has Monterey Jack," Henry stage-whispered.

"Why would I do that?" Noah stage-whispered back.

"So I can eat half, of course," Henry said, surprised into speaking at normal volume.

"Henry, I love you," Noah began.

"I love you too," Henry beamed.

"That doesn't mean you can steal my food."

"But Noah—"

"What kind of cheese?" Ronan repeated. "You've got five seconds before I stuff Gorgonzola between two crackers and call it a day."

"Do you even own Gorgonzola?" Adam asked, amused.

"Gorgonzola is just moldy Swiss, right?" Ronan grinned. "With the way Gansey buys groceries, I'm sure I can dig up some moldy Swiss."

"Ronan," Noah whined.

"Czerny," Ronan shot back. "Type. Of. Cheese."

Noah let out a sigh that was much more dramatic than the situation required. "Cheddar is fine."

"Fucking finally."

"All right," Henry said, "cheddar is an acceptable cheese."

"For the last time, I'm not going to let you eat my—"

Ronan noticed Noah's face scrunch up with worry before he saw Adam's blank stare. "Parrish," he said. Adam didn't move. "Adam. What's wrong?"

Slowly, Adam turned his phone around to show Ronan an incoming call. He didn't recognize the number, but it was clearly a Virginia area code. "Who is that? Adam, what the fuck is going on?"

Adam shook his head.

Noah said, "It's his dad."

Ronan dropped the pan he was using, grilled cheese and all. It hit the floor with a clang. At the same instant, Adam's phone went to voicemail. A few moments later, it started ringing again.

"Don't answer it," Ronan said.

"The last time I didn't answer a phone call from my parents," Adam said quietly, "my dad showed up in front of my dorm."

Blue swore.

Henry swore.

Ronan wanted to swear, but he didn't have the breath for it. He was really starting to hate phones, and phone calls in particular, because Gansey had gotten weird after his phone call two weeks ago, and now Adam's phone was ringing too, and Adam's hands were gripping the edge of the counter like a lifeline, and Ronan didn't know what to do because this wasn't a threat that he could punch and this wasn't his battle to fight but he wanted to fight it because it was Adam, it was Adam, it was—

"So answer it," Gansey said, sounding clear and confident and presidential. "But remember that you're not answering it alone."

As he spoke, Gansey stood up and walked over to Adam's right side, and Blue followed, hooking her chin over Adam's shoulder. Henry and Noah scrambled off the couch as well. Only then did Ronan remember that it was Adam, and he was allowed to be worried about Adam now. He moved to Adam's left side and took his hand, carefully ignoring the fact that it was shaking.

"Okay," Adam said, taking a deep breath. "No one else say anything."

He answered the call.

Its volume was too quiet for Ronan to pick out what Robert Parrish was saying, but that was probably for the best. First of all, it was obvious that Adam hadn't put the phone on speaker because he didn't want his friends to hear his father speak. Second, he could still watch and listen to Adam's half of the conversation, and that meant he could see that Adam's hand was still shaking, but his voice came out steady when he replied, "I was busy. What do you want?"

There was a pause, during which Adam's eyebrows drew tighter and tighter together until he was practically wrinkled. Ronan wanted to take the phone from Adam and yell at Adam's father until he hung up. He wanted to drive down to Henrietta and send Robert Parrish to the hospital in retribution for all the times he'd forced Adam to go there. But Adam squeezed his hand in a silent warning, and Ronan forced himself to stay quiet. This wasn't his battle to fight.

"I already told you," Adam said. "I don't owe you anything."

Another pause.

"I don't," Adam said. "Children don't owe their parents for allowing them to continue to live." This time, he barely listened for half a moment before arguing back, his voice firm. "No, I don't. That was your fucking job. And you were shit at it, so it's a good thing that you don’t have to do it anymore." He took a deep breath and then insisted, "You don't have to pay for my college, and you don't have to pay for my food, and you don't have to pay for anything having to do with me. I am out of your life, and I expect you to be out of mine. As of now, I'm never going to see you again."

There was a pause, during which Adam gripped Ronan's hand so tightly that Ronan thought he might break a finger. That didn't mean he wanted Adam to stop, though. Then, "I can," he said, voice tight like he was interrupting his father. "I can, and I will. I'm an adult. I have control of my own life. I've talked to campus security, and you will never be allowed to set foot on this campus again. We're done."

Ronan wasn't trying to listen in on the phone call. He respected Adam's privacy and would do what Adam asked and wanted to be a good boyfriend and shit. But Robert Parrish was yelling, louder and harsher than he must have been speaking at first, and Adam winced and held the phone away from his ear and suddenly Ronan could hear every word. Judging from the tightening expressions on his friends' faces, they could too. "College isn't a lifelong hideout," Robert Parrish was saying, harsh and cruel and condescending and altogether fucking awful. "You can't live there during every break. You can't camp out in your fancy dorm during the summer. Where are you going to stay?"

"I…" Adam faltered for the first time.

This wasn’t his battle to fight—but that didn't mean he couldn't do anything. He knew Adam didn't want him to speak while his father could hear him, so he rubbed his thumb along Adam's wrist bone and rested his free hand on Adam's shoulder and used every silent signal he could think of to convey that Adam had a place with him. He saw Blue doing the same thing, wrapping her arms around Adam's waist and burying her face between his shoulder blades, and as much as he didn't like Gansey's maggot girlfriend, he had to admit that… fuck. Fucking shit. He did like Gansey's maggot girlfriend.

Apparently, something they did got through to Adam, because he cleared his throat and said, "I have a place to stay, and it's not with you. Don't call me again."

Ronan listened to ten seconds of Robert Parrish's stunned silence before Adam disconnected the call. It wasn't quite as enjoyable as punching the shit out of him, but it was pretty fucking close.

As soon as he hung up, Adam pushed his phone across the counter and sagged against the back of his chair.

For a while, no one quite knew what to say.

Then Noah muttered, "Good fucking riddance," and the vehemence in his voice was so startling and so very un-Noah that the tension broke.

"Good fucking riddance is right," Blue said, her grin sharp and proud. "Good job, Adam."

"I know a judge," Gansey said. "You could file a restraining order. He'd make sure it went through…" He hesitated. "If you want that, of course."

Ronan could feel the tension spreading across Adam's shoulders. He said, "You already told him not to get anywhere fucking close to you. A restraining order would just make sure he actually fucking doesn't."

Adam thought about it. Adam exhaled, slow and steady. Adam said, "All right, Gansey. Let's do it."

The rest of the day was spent figuring out what Adam should do next. He changed his phone number, got administration to remove his parents' names from every piece of paperwork that he'd been forced to include them on while he was a minor, and visited a judge with Gansey. It wasn't until after dinner, when Adam was starting to mention leaving Ronan's room and returning to his own dorm, that he traced a path along Ronan's knuckles and said, "So. Do I have a place to stay here?"

Ronan didn't even have to think about it. "Fucking always," he said. "Like I'd let you get out of cooking at Thanksgiving."

Adam dropped Ronan's fingers so he could brace his hands against Ronan's chest when he kissed him.

Ronan kissed him back and tried not to look too smug when Adam decided not to go back to his dorm after all.

@reytrashqueen @pygmytyrants @thehufflepuffshuffle @thegreywarenloveshim @waldcnsheas @thefangirldiaries98 @adamprrishcycle @aroczerny @lirapheus @sacrebleusargent @laniemoriarty @actuallyronanlynch @iridescentsparrows

#pynch #pynch fanfic #ronan lynch #adam parrish #trc fic #trc #gangsey #otp: the ocean burned #otp: scio quid hoc est #i wrote this #kids of the in between #kotib

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

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[SP] Thought Experiment

“I feel empty.”

This statement rang out into the silent air, the oppressive stillness parting for a moment before returning once more. Nature abhors a vacuum, after all.

That place was never truly silent, actually. Along with the constant hum of the noise machine, designed to make listening in to our conversation impossible from the outside, there was the steady tick-ing of Dr. Schuman’s clock. But, when I say silent, I mean silent to me. I had learned to tune these things out.

“And what does ‘empty’ feel like?” Dr. Schuman asked.

Dr. Schuman asked me questions like this often, and never seemed to be deterred by my lack of a satisfying answer.

I shrugged.

“It feels like nothing,” I told her.

Again, silence. I took this opportunity to study the wall behind Dr. Schuman. It was covered in peeling wallpaper which was adorned with small sailboats. I didn’t like the sailboats.

“And what does ‘nothing’ feel like?” She put a peculiar emphasis on the word “nothing”, as if this particular phrasing was very important.

For a long time my only reply was to stare at her intensely. I tried to make it look as if I was gathering my thoughts, but I knew that I really didn’t have any answer to that question.

“It feels… empty,” I clarified, at last.

Dr. Schuman opened her mouth to, probably, ask for more specificity when a small timer placed on the desk directly to her right rang sharply. She reached over and switched it off.

“I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” she said, extending her hand, which I took in mine. After a brief, awkward, downwards motion, I released it and walked back out the door and into the waiting room.

The waiting room was full of dour people. Some were flipping through the boring magazines which litter doctors’ offices. Some were playing on their phones. Some even stared out into space, entirely motionless. I passed them and continued on to my car, turned the engine over after several unsuccessful attempts, and began the drive back to my apartment.

Dr. Schuman always did her best, and I appreciated the effort, but these sessions did not seem to be progressing towards anything. I had not experienced the epiphany which the layman seems to think is the goal of psychotherapy. I assumed the fault lay with myself.

The radio was playing a debate between a Christian and an atheist over the existence of God. I listened, found myself unconvinced by either side and switched it off. Afterwards, there was nothing with which to occupy myself but the white snow and monotonous rhythm of the traffic. My mind was blank until I arrived home.

***

I didn’t like the way my apartment looked from the outside. I couldn’t really tell you why; I just didn’t like it.

When I stepped through the door my girlfriend was waiting. She kissed me on the cheek and asked how my day had gone. I shrugged and told her that nothing had happened. She told me that something must have happened. Something is always happening. She repeated her question. I paused for a minute, thought hard, and replied that I had gone to my appointment with Dr. Schuman after work. She asked me how that had been and I told her that it was fine.

She accepted this and we ate dinner together, mostly in silence. Afterwards we watched TV for a while and went to bed. We had sex and then set the alarm clock and went to sleep.

***

“How are you feeling today?” Dr Schuman asked me.

I shrugged.

“I feel empty,” I told her.

“And what does ‘empty’ feel like?” Dr Schuman asked.

I told her that it felt like nothing.

“You’ve been feeling that way a lot since your father died, haven’t you?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been feeling much since then, I guess.”

I could tell that she was about to ask for further clarification when a strange expression crossed her face and she seemed to change her mind.

“Have you heard of philosophical zombies?” she asked me.

“No,” I replied.

“A philosophical zombie looks exactly like a human being from the outside and displays all of the characteristics of one. They eat and talk and answer questions, but they’re not conscious. Hence: zombies.”

I nodded.

“You, Philip, are not a philosophical zombie. You’re feeling something right now.”

This was a joke. I laughed a little.

“Would you know if I wasn’t?” I asked her.

“Probably not,” she shrugged. “The whole point of the thought experiment is that they act exactly like a normal person.”

“Interesting,” I said.

It was interesting.

***

The next day at work my boss yelled at me, but there didn’t really seem to be that much anger behind it. It almost seemed like a chore to him, something he just had to get out of the way. There was this queer emptiness behind his eyes, like nothing was there.

I told him I was sorry for misfiling my report and that it wouldn’t happen again. He walked away.

Karen from accounting asked me if I was okay. He seemed pretty mad, she said.

I told her that everything was fine. He wasn’t really that mad; I could tell.

She left with a concerned look on her face, but I could see that there was nothing behind it.

***

My girlfriend wasn’t happy when I got home. Apparently, her sister had said something insulting to her aunt, despite knowing that the two of them (my girlfriend and her aunt) were close. They weren’t speaking now (my girlfriend and her sister that is). I told her that I was sorry and she said it was okay, that she just needed to vent. I nodded and went back to typing on my laptop.

I had set myself up in front of the TV which was off. I didn’t want it to distract me, but since the conversation with my girlfriend had already done that, and since I needed a break anyway I turned it on.

The President was giving a speech about a mass shooting. Twelve people had died. He was devastated. He offered his deepest condolences. He promised that “something will be done.” But there was nothing behind it; I could tell.

***

That night, as my girlfriend and I lay next to each other, falling asleep, I looked at her and wondered what she was feeling.

Maybe she’s not feeling anything I thought to myself. I looked into her eyes. She looked back. I saw nothing there.

“Is something wrong?” she asked me, after this continued for some seconds.

Dr. Schuman’s words echoed in my mind: “They eat and talk and answer questions, but they’re not conscious.”

After I didn’t respond, she put her hand on my arm.

“Are you okay?” she persisted.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told her.

That night, I dreamt of zombies.

***

My next session with Dr. Schuman wasn’t until the following week. Nothing happened in the interim, really. She asked me how I was doing and I told her that I still felt empty.

“It might be time to try other methods, Phillip.”

She took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it.

“This is a prescription. I think it might help. Give it a shot and if nothing changes in a week or so, we’ll know that it’s not for you.”

I reached out and took it.

“Thanks,” I said.

On the way home, I stopped at the drugstore and tried to fill the prescription for the first time. They told me it wouldn’t be ready for a few days.

My girlfriend told me she was going to visit her parents and would be back later in the week. I said goodbye and she walked out the door.

That night, I dreamt of nothing.

***

The next morning the TV was playing the Presidential Debate. One candidate promised equality. The other responded by promising a balanced budget. The first said that the country wasn’t doing enough for the poor. The second insisted that we couldn’t allow rogue nations to acquire weapons of mass destruction.

And never the twain did they meet.

***

Work was not going well. Fixing my mistake with the report was taking longer than I anticipated and Doug wasn’t happy about it. He wanted the corrected report on his desk by the end of the day, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do that.

I told this to Karen, and that worried expression crossed her face again.

The same one.

Exactly the same.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

I shrugged. Somehow, I wasn’t too concerned.

When I brought what I had managed to finish to Doug at the end of the day he was furious. I’d never seen him so angry. His eyes were wide and people on the other side of the office could no doubt hear his tirade.

But, I remained calm. I knew there was nothing behind it.

***

The next night, my girlfriend returned and asked me how my day had gone. I told her that I had been fired. She dropped the plate she was holding and spun around to look at me. I pushed past her to retrieve the broom and dustpan, then bent down to begin sweeping up the shards she had created.

“What do you mean you were fired?” she asked in a shaking voice.

“I mean that I don’t work for Walton Chemical anymore,” I told her.

She knelt and put her arms on my shoulders, stopping me from continuing with my work.

“How are we going to pay the rent, Philip? What about food and car payments and... medical expenses?” she guided my hand to her stomach. I was confused.

“Medical expenses?”

In response, she held up a pregnancy test. It showed positive. I took and examined it quizzically.

“You’re pregnant.”

She gripped my shoulders tighter. “Is that all you have to say? After losing your job and finding out you’re going to be a father?”

I continued sweeping.

“Well?!” she yelled, shaking me. This was annoying.

“Could you move your foot a little?” I poked at her left shoe with the handle of the broom.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” her voice was rising in volume. It was beginning to hurt my ears.

“There’s ceramic on the floor,” I murmured, gently moving her foot to get at the piece of plate trapped beneath it.

A loud crack reverberated around the room as her hand connected with my cheek. I was surprised at how much it hurt.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, holding the side of my face.

“To wake you up, Phillip! Jesus Christ! We have to talk about this. We have to do something! We can’t support ourselves on what I bring home, especially not with a baby on the way.”

“So abort it,” I shrugged.

She looked as if she were preparing to hit me again when, instead, a resigned expression crossed her face and she stepped out the door.

I went back to sweeping.

***

The next day my prescription was ready. The pharmacist handed me a small, colorless bottle. Later, I took my first dose, with food as the bottle had instructed. Though both Dr. Schumann and the internet suggested that no effects would be apparent for several days at least, I instantly felt something shift within my mind.

***

I was growing to hate my own cooking. So, the next day, instead of making myself food as I normally would, I ate all three meals at the McDonald’s down the road. It was hardly more expensive.

When I remarked on this to the cashier he just nodded and handed me my order number.

It was usually a quiet place, but as I entered the building for the third time I saw a little girl sitting in the middle of the floor and crying loudly.

I crouched in front of her.

“Does anyone know who this girl’s parents are?” I asked.

No response.

I spent a few minutes just looking at her, examining the way her tear-stained cheeks rose and fell, how her little chest danced erratically back and forth.

The salty droplets traced rivers and valleys on her skin. They reminded me of rain whipped against a car window. I thought of the canals on Mars.

Still, no one came to help. After a while, her voice grew hoarse.

She looked for all the world like a broken android.

***

I was walking to McDonald’s again when a loud pop drew my attention. A man with a gun was walking away from a female figure lying on the sidewalk. Blood leaked from its mouth and onto the ground.

Many people walked past her. A fair number were even forced to step over her torso or legs in order to continue onwards. Yet, nobody made any attempt to render aid or stop the murderer as he evaporated into the night. In fact, nobody other than me even acknowledged the dying woman.

I knelt and clasped her hand in mine, looking deeply into her eyes as the life drained out of them. I wanted to see if I could find the instant when they passed from humanity to objectivity.

She smiled at me as I attempted this, as if she were glad to be of service.

Eventually, it became clear that she had died with that Chershire mark still upon her face.

I never did figure it out.

***

The next day was the election. That night, as the results were announced, I mused vaguely that I had forgotten to vote. It was at a dreary bar on the other side of town that I watched the tallies from the various states trickle in.

The candidate of change pulled ahead, and I felt an electric wave of excitement wash over the room. It was quenched suddenly when the candidate of the people took the lead and held it until the end.

As the victory and concession speeches played, I saw anger and confusion explode from the people sitting across from me. Their faces radiated frank horror.

Then, a deafening bang sounded directly to my left and I turned to see the man sitting next to me slumped in the chair, his recently discharged gun held in a limp fist. Blood trickled to the floor.

Then, another bang rang out, and another and another until most everyone in the bar met the same fate, and by the same means. The few who remained calmly raised their glasses back to their lips and continued to drain them one sip at a time.

The floor was slick with blood and viscera.

I got up, only to slip and tumble back down. I had fallen next to a young woman with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to her chest.

She reached out to me and I put my hand on her cheek, whispering soothing words.

“It's going to be okay,” I told her, again and again, stroking the side of her face.

“No. It’s not,” she whispered back.

I almost thought that I was witnessing the destruction of a human soul, amidst the mire and blood, in the bullet’s wake. She almost succeeded in convincing me that there was such a thing to destroy.

As I looked into her dimming eyes, I saw their evaporating existence as nothing more than a facade wrapped around the unyielding void at the bottom of all human life. But, still, her heartrending final gasps and bloody caresses, which I received with gravity, were truly lifelike.

Later that night the President-Elect gave a speech about the incident. He promised that “something will be done,” and offered his deepest condolences, but there was nothing behind them. I could tell; I could always tell.

***

Every time I visited the library that room was closed. At 3 PM, no earlier and no later, I would walk up to the librarian and politely ask if the room was open today.

“Not today,” she would tell me.

The day after the election, however, she smiled at me instead of giving her customary rejection.

“Yes, today it is open.”

I nodded sagely.

“Take me there, please.”

She obliged, taking up a lantern and leading me into the space behind the librarian’s desk. We moved slowly, hobbled by her ancient legs.

“Why, today, is it open?” I inquired.

“All things closed must open eventually, elsewise they are not really closed, they do not exist.”

This was a reasonable answer.

“I am not open,” I told her.

“Presumably, you have bled at some point?”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Naturally, you would not exist.”

This too was satisfactory.

We came to the room and she left me and the lantern, the only light source available to me. For a long time, it was the two of us and nothing. Then, a ghastly scream began to echo in the dim chamber. For several seconds, it ricocheted wildly, as one would expect in a place with narrow walls. And then the echoes became more and more distant, as if the walls were drawing further and further apart. At that instant, the room was flooded with an unbearable light, against which I screwed my eyes shut, to no avail. It pierced my eyelids like rice paper and became more and more painful until I feared it would precipitate blindness.

And, strange it was, strange indeed, that in the instant blindness appeared certain it came not. Spinning and blue, and green, red and yellow, and indeed all the many particularities of human ocularity came instead, laughing and crying and smelling gorgeous. An eternity passed like this, and then another in reverse. All of this, of course, passed through my eyes, but then, vision inverted itself and I stepped outside the vantage of these globular impediments and saw them instead, especially the pupils, and what handsome blackness they were!

I saw them fold in on themselves, drawing the rest of my formerly useless body along with them, back into the nonexistence which gives rise to us all. Free, finally, from corporeal entrapment, the humor of it all became very clear, and the visions resolved into the form of a woman quite familiar to me: Dr. Schuman.

“And how are you feeling?” she asked.

“I feel nothing,” I told her.

I ran my hand over Dr. Schuman’s body, and at every flinch, every shudder, I suppressed the urge to laugh. She smoothly undid my belt, with quiet efficiency.

And then, the rhythm of the act, normally so primal, so human, began to grow metronomic and hysterically precise.

She let out soundless gasps and arched in perfect stillness, suffering nameless, horrific ecstasy. Her sweet nothings, whispered directly into my ear, were most funny of all, for I couldn’t tell whether these responses were born of passion or programming.

Images of violence and savagery flitted behind my eyes, all of them hilarious, putative outrages upon the body. And then, mangled machines: twisted, broken, unused.

Everything dissolved into phantasmagoric splinters, swirling in cosmic uncertainty, and, of course, as above, so below. I couldn’t keep it all straight: man, machine and morality.

Severed limbs, rusted engines, brains and motherboards. All of this appeared in my field of vision superimposed upon Dr. Schuman’s body, still motionless and writhing. And, finally, I was able to stand it no more and the sound of my laughter exploded against the unnarrow walls as I was forced to wonder, what difference is there between these things?

forgetting To how I talk am. was Right that? and yoU aLl; --

It’s funny, isn’t it?

W0r ds c1n

Ho w

bE so broke,n st

ilL and so und3rstan;dable. l1k3 SomUch intHat way

Peo ple they are Like you aNd like

ME!

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Strawberries Quotes

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• A field trip. You interested in doing something dangerous, and possibly illegal?” Does it involve underage girls, broken curfews and soorte4d fruit toppings?” I dropped the empty can into the recycling bin and leaned against the kitchen peninsula, grinning like an idiot. “Two of the three. And I could probably scrounge up some strawberry jam, if you’re desperate.” “I’m never desperate,” Tod said, only his voice hadn’t come from my phone. I whirled around to see the reaper standing behind me, still holding his cell. “But for the record, I prefer apricot.” “Yuck. Nobody likes apricot jam. – Rachel Vincent • A girl told me my lips looked like somebody had pressed strawberry yogurt against my face. – Katherine Heigl • A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted! – Gautama Buddha • A man was found dead covered in sprinkles, strawberry sauce and a flake. Reports said he may have topped himself. – Frank Carson • A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. – Ovid • a salesman is an it that stinks to please but whether to please itself or someone else makes no more difference than if it sells hate condoms education snakeoil vac uumcleaners terror strawberries democ ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair – e. e. cummings • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • A white truffle, which elsewhere might sell for hundreds of dollars, seemed easier to come by than something fresh and green. What could be got from the woods was free and amounted to a diurnal dining diary that everyone kept in their heads. May was wild asparagus, arugula, and artichokes. June was wild lettuce and stinging nettles. July was cherries and wild strawberries. August was forest berries. September was porcini. – Bill Buford • About one thing the Englishman has a particularly strict code. If a bird says Cluk bik bik bik bik and caw you may kill it, eat it or ask Fortnums to pickle it in Napoleon brandy with wild strawberries. If it says tweet it is a dear and precious friend and you’d better lay off it if you want to remain a member of Boodles. – Clement Freud • All schools, all colleges, have two great functions: to confer, and to conceal, valuable knowledge. The theological knowledge which they conceal cannot justly be regarded as less valuable than that which they reveal. That is, when a man is buying a basket of strawberries it can profit him to know that the bottom half of it is rotten. – Mark Twain • All this talkin’ about eatin’ is makin’ me awful hungry. I’ll have two chili burgers with an order of fries, onion rings and a chocolate milk shake. And a Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae-with pickles. – George Lindsey • And a refrigerator may hold a basket of strawberries, which would be important if a maniac said to you, “If you don’t give me a basket of strawberries right now, I’m going to poke you with this large stick.” But when the two elder Baudelaires and Quigley Quagmire opened the refrigerator, they found nothing that would help someone who was wounded, dying of thirst, or being threatened by a strawberry-crazed, stick-carrying maniac. – Daniel Handler • And now — now it only remains for me to light a cigarette and go home. Dear God, only now am I remembering that people die. Does that include me? Don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours, Claire? I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.” The wind stirred the leaves of the chestnut trees nearby, and the scents of late summer rose up rich around us; pine and grass and strawberries, sun-warmed stone and cool water, and the sharp, musky smell of his body next to mine. “Nothing is lost, Sassenach; only changed.” “That’s the first law of thermodynamics,” I said, wiping my nose. “No,” he said. “That’s faith. – Diana Gabaldon • Any chance of getting something sweet to go with my coffee?” [Finn] asked in a hopeful voice. I arched an eyebrow at him. “You mean all those pieces of strawberry pie that you ate for lunch weren’t enough?” “I’m a growing boy,” Finn said in a sincere tone. “I need my vitamins.” Bria snorted. “The only thing that’s growing on you, Lane, is your ego.” Finn sidled up to my sister and gave her a dazzling smile. “Well, other things of mine also tend to swell up in your presence, detective. – Jennifer Estep • Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes. – Paracelsus • Are you going to give a speech?’ she asked gaily. He gave a choked laugh. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Not for ages.’ ‘My cousin Davey gave one on his very first day!’ … ‘In the Lords, I remember. It was about how he didn’t like strawberry jam.’ ‘Be nice, Charles! It was a speech about fruit importation, which I admit devolved into something of a tirade.’ She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Still, you could talk about something more important.’ ‘Than jam? Impossible. We mustn’t set the bar too high, Jane. – Charles Finch • As our lives speed up more and more, so do our children’s. We forget and thus they forget that there is nothing more important than the present moment. We forget and thus they forget to relax, to find spiritual solitude, to let go of the past, to quiet ambition, to fully enjoy the eating of a strawberry, the scent of a rose, the touch of a hand on a cheek… – Michael Gurian • Ask of Her, the mighty Mother. Her reply puts this other Question: What is Spring?- Growth in every thing –

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

Cluster of bugle blue eggs thin Forms and warms the life within, And bird and blossom swell In sod or sheath or shell. – Gerard Manley Hopkins • Asking me what I think of Oscar (Hammerstein) is like asking me what I think of the Yankees, Man o’ War and Strawberry Sundaes. – Billy Rose • Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make – bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake – if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble. – Daniel Handler

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Strawberr', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_strawberr img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Blueberries, strawberries and blackberries are true super foods. Naturally sweet and juicy, berries are low in sugar and high in nutrients – they are among the best foods you can eat. – Joel Fuhrman • Bonnie who had never hurt a – a harmless thing for malice. Bonnie who was like a kitten making airy pounces at no prey at all. Bonnie with her hair that was called something strawberry but that looked simply as if it was on fire. Bonnie of the translucent skin with the delicate violet fjords and estuaries of veins all over her throat and inner arms. Bonnie who had lately taken to looking at him sideways with her large childlike eyes big and brown under lashes like stars… – L. J. Smith • But don’t forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes. – Clarice Lispector • But I’d like the pie heated and I don’t want the ice cream on top I want it on the side and I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it’s real if it’s out of a can then nothing.- Meg Ryan

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

• Cold Mountain Buddhas Han Shan Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness be dancing. Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning. The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry, The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony Of death and birth. – T. S. Eliot • Darryl Strawberry has been voted to the Hall of Fame five years in a row. – Ralph Kiner • Dating a new man is like holding a strawberry milkshake; first the taste, then the pleasure. – Marilyn Monroe • Doubtless God Could Have Made A Better Berry, But Doubtless God Never Did – Izaak Walton • Dried oregano has thirty times the brain-healing antioxidant power of raw blueberries, forty-six times more than apples, and fifty-six times as much as strawberries, making it one of the most powerful brain cell protectors on the planet. – Daniel Amen • Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life. – Pema Chodron • Eat more berries. Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and other varieties have anthocyanins that can help reverse some loss of balance and memory associated with aging. – David H. Murdock • Eating alone is a disappointment. But not eating matter more, is hollow and green, has thorns like a chain of fish hooks, trailing from the heart, clawing at your insides. Hunger feels like pincers, like the bite of crabs; it burns, burns, and has no fur. Let us sit down soon to eat with all those who haven’t eaten; let us spread great tablecloths, put salt in lakes of the world, set up planetary bakeries, tables with strawberries in snow, and a plate like the moon itself from which we can all eat. For now I ask no more than the justice of eating. – Pablo Neruda • Every child should have mud pies, grasshoppers, water bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb. Brooks to wade, water lilies, woodchucks, bats, bees, butterflies, various animals to pet, hayfields, pine-cones, rocks to roll, sand, snakes, huckleberries and hornets; and any child who has been deprived of these has been deprived of the best part of education. – Luther Burbank • Everyone thinks you’ve been kidnapped,” he said. “We’ve been scouring the ship. When Coach Hedge finds out- oh, gods, you’ve been here all night?” “Frank!” Annabeth’s ears were as red as strawberries. “We just came down here to talk. We fell asleep. Accidentally. That’s it.” “Kissed a couple of times,” Percy said. Annabeth glared at him. “Not helping! – Rick Riordan • For those dependent on their gardens for fresh food, it was often a case of feast or famine… (One settler wrote), “Strawberries were now so plentiful that… I made 287 lbs of jam…” – Bee Dawson • Gooseberries should be mainstream berries! Why are chemically fattened strawberries a thing? Why not the delicious gooseberry? – Andrew Dost • Grapes are juicy. Strawberries. Oranges. Good pork chops are succulent,” said Dusty. “But the word isn’t accurately descriptive of a person.” Smiling with delight, Ahriman said, “Oh, really, not accurately descriptive? Be careful housepainter. Your genes are showing. What if I were a cannibal? – Dean Koontz • Happiness, I have grasped, is a destination, like strawberry Fields. Once you find the way in, there you are, and you’ll never feel low again. – Rachel Simon • He (Darryl Strawberry) is not a dog; a dog is loyal and runs after balls. – Tommy Lasorda • He had kissed her good night that night, and she had tasted like strawberry daiquiris, and he had never wanted to kiss anyone else again. – Neil Gaiman • Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a popsicle stick: turn her sideways and she practically disappeared. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Hey baby. You’re sexy like a chocolate strawberry. – Ronnie Shields • I actually think the same things do make most people happy. The differences are extremely small, and around the margins. You like peach ice cream; I like strawberry ice cream. Both of us like ice cream much better than a smack on the head with two-by-four. – Daniel Gilbert • I also eat fruit instead of drinking juices. That’s something I’ve read up on. I think that if you drink a lot of fruit juice you take in way too much sugar. You’d be better off eating a bunch of strawberries or apples. – Kris Humphries • I don’t like it when people ask me what my favourite Beatles song is. I always get that. First of all, I don’t like having to pick a favourite thing anyway. You can’t pick a favourite Beatles song! What about “Strawberry Fields”? What about “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”? What about “Tomorrow Never Knows”? Come on. That question is small minded to think you could even have a favourite Beatles song. – Kemp Muhl • I eat a huge breakfast every morning – it’s what I look forward to. I’ll do steel-cut oatmeal with blueberries and strawberries, an egg white scramble with mushrooms, zucchini, and onion, and a piece of cinnamon Ezekiel bread with almond butter. I could do that every single day. – Heather Mitts • I finally found something that can stop the fox. The fox cannot summit Strawberry Hill.” – Takumi – John Green • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. I uprooted it rashly and felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can. – Dorothy Wordsworth • I grow vegetables – I’m a vegetarian; I’ve got strawberries, artichokes, leeks, broad beans. – Anita Pallenberg • I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough. Waiting for perfect love? No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” – Haruki Murakami • I have been 130 lbs. as well as 215 lbs. I have had blond, strawberry blond, green, pink and purple hair, and none of that has ever exempted me from having lewd comments flung at me in the street. – Beth Ditto • I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies. – Toni Morrison • I like a much more Japanese style of blood, where it’s red and it almost has a paint kind of quality to it. You can put it on metal, and it has this vividness. Because, normally, what they use in Hollywood is this stuff that looks like strawberry pancake syrup or raspberry pancake syrup. – Quentin Tarantino • I like to make pies. Thats kind of my new obsession – peach, blueberry, apple, strawberry. I make a really good pumpkin pie with real pumpkin. – Morgan Saylor • I love berries. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, black berries, anything with an ‘errie’ in it! – Jordin Sparks • I love surprises – champagne and strawberries, all that pampering, romantic stuff. Guys ought to know how to pamper their women properly. – Danica McKellar • I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I’d call myself a fool to ask for more. – Sylvia Plath • I recycle. I have a house in the south of France and I have a small garden. My name is Dujardin – ‘from the garden.’ I grow carrots, peppers, strawberries, green beans, and things for salads, but there are lots of wild boars all around and they steal the food. – Jean Dujardin • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches. – Edie Sedgwick • I think drugs are like strawberries and peaches..There’s no way to tell anyone who hasn’t been through it, there’s no way to explain it to anyone who hasn’t tasted it . To keep that superlative high, just on the cusp of each day, so that I radiate sunshine – Edie Sedgwick • I think he became a man who brought peace and wisdom to hi world, because he knew about war and folly. I think that he loved greatly, because he had seen what lost love is. And I think he came to know, too, that he was loved greatly.” She looked at the strawberry in her hands. “But I thought you didn’t want me to tell you your future. – Gary D. Schmidt • I think once I made up my mind that I was allergic to alcohol, and that’s what I learned, it made sense to me. And I think it was kind of pointed out that you know if you were allergic to strawberries, you wouldn’t eat strawberries. And that made sense to me. – Betty Ford • I want you to make u and go halfzies on this cake. K? But. . . I want a piece too, so i guess we’ll have to go thirdzies. . . Awwww, we’re not going to be able to split the strawberry on top though. What should we do? Maybe I should just take it after all strawberries are my favorite. . . oh! I forgot to ask Hiku-chan, Kau-chan do you like strawberries? -Hunny – Bisco Hatori • I would be lying if I said I cut out all dessert. When Im training, I try to satisfy those cravings with a slightly healthier dessert, like a piece of dark chocolate or whipped cream and strawberries. Those are two of my favorites! – Josie Loren • If ‘heartache’ sounds exaggerated then surely you have never gone to your garden one rare morning in June to find that the frost, without any perceptible motive, any hope of personal gain, has quietly killed your strawberry blossoms, tomatoes, lima and green beans, corn, squash, cucumbers. A brilliant sun is now smiling at this disaster with an insenstive cheerfulness as out of place as a funny story would be if someone you loved had just died. – Ruth Stout • If I can’t serve on grass, I can maybe help cut the grass, paint the lines and serve some strawberries. – Goran Ivanisevic • If I want to make – I don’t know – strawberry jam, I’m going to have to add something to strawberries to make it gelatinous and thick, right? I’m going to have to add pectin or something like that.But if I want to make cranberry sauce, all I have to do is pop some cranberries in a little saucepan and when it cools off, it’ll be thick and gelatinous. So what’s up with cranberries? – Ari Shapiro • If you get vegetables in season, the difference is remarkable compared to vegetables that might have been imported. You can’t beat fresh ingredients and seasonal fresh ingredients. There’s nothing quite like the taste of a beautiful summer strawberry. – William Katt • If you keep my secret, this strawberry is yours. – Tsugumi Ohba • I’ll be clickin’ by your house about two forty-five, Sidewalk Sundae Strawberry Surprise. – Tom Waits • I’ll give you this strawberry if you keep it a secret. –L (Death Note) – Tsugumi Ohba • In Bakersfield, California, a Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 and no English was lent every penny he needed to buy a house for $724,000. – Michael Lewis • in her dreams, blood tasted like fizzy strawberry soda. If you drank it too fast, you got brain freeze. When she was older, after she’d licked a cut on her finger, the taste of that became the taste in her dreams: copper and tears. – Holly Black • Instead of past, present and future, I’d prefer chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. – Ashleigh Brilliant • It’s just another of Robin’s sayings. Like, ‘Holy strawberries, Batman, we’re in a jam! Or, Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it! – Karen Marie Moning • It’s unarguable to say that every one of us has been moved by the beauty of what I have called snapshots, but for photographers they are charms and proverbs, and like lightening or wild strawberries. – Tod Papageorge • I’ve got it all in here ultra violets, flying saucers, strawberry bootlace come on get involved. – Noel Fielding • John [Lennon] as a singer – the way he sings on “Twist and Shout” and the way he sings on “Strawberry Fields Forever” – is a very odd voice, in the sense that it seems to be celebrating but almost mourning at the same time. There’s a quality of mourning to his voice, which is very enigmatic. – Alasdair MacLean • Kid 1: *examining my gorgeous strawberry and blueberry pies*: Wow, Mom, your pies don’t look awful this time. Me (Ilona): … ~A little later~ Kid 2: *wandering into the kitchen* Kid 1: Hey, you’ve got to see these pies. *opening the stove* Kid 2: Wow. They are not ugly this time. Kid 1: I know, right? – Ilona Andrews • Late February, and the air’s so balmy snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard will come, blighting our harbingers of spring, and the numbed yards will go back undercover. In Florida, it’s strawberry season- shortcake, waffles, berries and cream will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus. – Gail Mazur • Maybe we too busy being flowers or fairies or strawberries instead of something honest and worthy of respect . . . you know . . . like being people. – Toni Cade Bambara • Morning. Strawberry sky dusted with white winter powder sugar sun. And nobody to munch on it with – Francesca Lia Block • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My grandma used to make syrup for us because we couldn’t afford it and I just played around with her recipe. I made strawberry syrup and that didn’t really work out but I made strawberry-vanilla and that sold. Then I just went out and took marketing classes, went to seminars, learned about marketing a product and striking deals. It ended up taking orders of $1.5 million. – Farrah Gray • My guiltiest pleasure is… chocolates with strawberry cream and trashy television – ‘Geordie Shore,’ ‘Katie,’ etc. – Ellie Goulding • My mom wouldn’t let me sing ‘Strawberry Wine’ because it had ‘wine’ in it. – Avril Lavigne • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • Oh, the strawberries don’t taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! – John Steinbeck • Once upon a time, when men and women hurtled through the air on metal wings, when they wore webbed feet and walked on the bottom of the sea, learning the speech of whales and the songs of the dolphins, when pearly-fleshed and jewelled apparitions of Texan herdsmen and houris shimmered in the dusk on Nicaraguan hillsides, when folk in Norway and Tasmania in dead of winter could dream of fresh strawberries, dates, guavas and passion fruits and find them spread next morning on their tables, there was a woman who was largely irrelevant, and therefore happy. – A. S. Byatt • One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • One of the joys our technological civilization has lost is the excitement with which seasonal flowers and fruits were welcomed; the first daffodil, strawberry or cherry are now things of the past, along with their precious moment of arrival. Even the tangerine — now a satsuma or clementine — appears de-pipped months before Christmas. – Derek Jarman • Only in Texas can mesquite have its own festival, then there’s a crawfish festival, a festival for strawberries, everything has its own festival, with each town having their own yearly thing. – Kevin Fowler • P.S. May, don’t these strawberry tarts just make you want to cry? – Kiera Cass • Personally I am very fond of strawberries and cream, but I have found that for some strange reason, fish prefer worms. So when I went fishing, I didn’t think about what I wanted. I thought about what they wanted. I didn’t bait the hook with strawberries and cream. Rather, I dangled a worm or grasshopper in front of the fish and said: “Wouldn’t you like to have that?” Why not use the same common sense when fishing for people? – Dale Carnegie • Poetry and music are very good friends. Like mommies and daddies and strawberries and cream – they go together. – Nikki Giovanni • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Right now I just want to chill for a while. Take a hiatus from all the craziness. To clean my house, see my family. Just see some movies and pick some strawberries. – Lauren Ambrose • She has a laugh so hearty it knocks the whipped cream off an order of strawberry shortcake on a table fifty feet away. – Damon Runyon • She makes use of the soft of the bread for a napkin. She falls asleep at times with shoes on, on unmade beds. When a little money comes in, June buys delicacies, strawberries in the winter, caviar and bath salts. – Anais Nin • Some people tell you you should not drink claret after strawberries. They are wrong. – William Maginn • Sometimes you’ve just got to grab an apple – or grapes, or strawberries. Something that’s healthy but maybe a little bit more adventurous, if you can see fruit as adventurous. – LL Cool J • Soon to come in licorice, orange, cinnamon, and banana, but not strawberry, because I hate strawberries. – Terry Pratchett • Spring is super in the supermarkets and the strawberries prance and glow never mind that they’re all kinda tart and tasteless as strawberries go meanwhile wild things are not for sale anymore than they are for show so i’ll be outside, in love with the kind of beauty it takes more than eyes to know – Ani DiFranco • Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at the tongue’s root, Confounding taste with scent, Beats a full peck of garden fruit: Which points my argument. – Robert Graves • Strawberry fields forever – John Lennon • Strawberry Fields is anywhere you want to go – John Lennon • Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back – Ilona Andrews • Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beatified Strawberry. – John Keats • Tell me I didn’t imagine it, Leo. Tell me that even though our bodies were in seperate states, our star selves shared an enchanted place. Tell me that right around noon today (eastern time) you had the strangest sensation: a tiny chill on your shoulder…a flutter in the heart…a shadow of strawberry-banana crossing your tongue…tell me you whispered my name. – Jerry Spinelli • Tell you what I like the best – ‘Long about knee-deep in June, ‘Bout the time strawberries melts On the vine, – some afternoon Like to jes’ git out and rest, And not work at nothin’ else! – James Whitcomb Riley • That pipe, just so happens to lead to the room where I make the most delicious flavored chocolate covered fudge.” Then he will be made into strawberry flavoered chocolate covered fudge, they’ll be selling him by the pound, all over the world!” No, I wouldn’t allow it. The taste would be terrible. Can you imagine Augustus flavored chocolate covered gloop? Ew. No one would buy it. – Johnny Depp • The days were sunny, the nights were star-studded. Indeed married life was strawberries for breakfast and loving all the time. – Marabel Morgan • The mystery of God touches us – or does not – in the smallest details: giving a strawberry, with love; receiving a touch, with love; sharing the snapdragon red of an autumn sunset, with love. – Marion Woodman • The night is a strawberry. – Louise Penny • The only vampires I’ve ever seen are the Goths trying to get a glimpse of Anne Rice’s house, who drink strawberry sodas and tell each other it’s blood. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • The police are asking through the bedroom door, why did I make a batch of strawberry daiquiris before I called them? Because we were out of raspberries. Because, can’t they see, it just does not matter. Time was not of the essence. – Chuck Palahniuk • The public never appears to tire of endless courses of strawberries and cream, and the theory that you run the risk of boring people with endless photo montages of the Chelsea Pensioners in their dress reds, or close-ups of a Pimm’s Cup sprouting all kinda of flora, has yet to be proven. People like Wimbledon in the same way they like blue jeans or even their own spouses: for the pleasure yielded by their reliable sameness. – Peter Bodo • The strawberry grows underneath the nettle And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best Neighbour’d by fruit of baser quality. – William Shakespeare • The thing I learned is that the work is getting done by people who dig in and work on a particular project: the people who spend 20 years sustaining a theater for black teenagers in Chicago; the people who reintroduce sticklebacks into Strawberry Creek in Berkeley and then wait patiently for the first egrets to show up. – Robert Hass • Theirs [the Beatles] is a happy, cocky, belligerently resourceless brand of harmonic primitivism… In the Liverpudlian repertoire, the indulged amateurishness of the musical material, though closely rivaled by the indifference of the performing style, is actually surpassed only by the ineptitude of the studio production method. (Strawberry Fields suggests a chance encounter at a mountain wedding between Claudio Monteverdi and a jug band.) – Glenn Gould • There are certain products that it’s worth buying organic just because the alternatives have so much pesticide. There’s a list of the dirty dozen that you can get off the Web. Strawberries, potatoes. A handful of crops that have very high pesticide residues if you don’t buy organic. If you eat that a lot, that’s a good place to invest. – Michael Pollan • There is a tradition in Southern cooking of recipes handed down for generations. And when I make my grandmother’s strawberry pie I feel her right with me. – Kimberly Schlapman • There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, or liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal. – Daniel Handler • There was a tale he had read once, long ago, as a small boy: the story of a traveler who had slipped down a cliff, with man-eating tigers above him and a lethal fall below him, who managed to stop his fall halfway down the side of the cliff, holding on for dear life. There was a clump of strawberries beside him, and certain death above him and below. What should he do? went the question. And the reply was, Eat the strawberries. The story had never made sense to him as a boy. It did now. – Neil Gaiman • There’s nothing more satisfying than going to a market and meeting the person who picked the strawberries, or it’s their farm that the strawberries came from, and giving them a fair value in exchange for what they’re giving you. – Billy Corgan • This is really good,” Donovan Caine said, attacking his third strawberry pancake. “You sound surprised,” I said. He shrugged. “I just didn’t think an assassin would be able to cook like this.” “Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.” The detective froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m kidding. I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me. – Jennifer Estep • This Mayagüez gold, my third consecutive with the national team, has a strawberry flavor. – Milagros Cabral • This special feeling towards fruit, its glory and abundance, is I would say universal…. We respond to strawberry fields or cherry orchards with a delight that a cabbage patch or even an elegant vegetable garden cannot provoke. – Jane Grigson • Today While the blossoms still cling to the vine I’ll taste your strawberries I’ll drink your sweet wine A million tomorrows shall all pass away Here I forget all the joy that is mine. Today I’ll be a dandy and I’ll be a rover You know who I am by the songs that I sing I’ll feast at your table I’ll sleep in your clover Who cares what tomorrow shall bring I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory I can’t live on promises winter to spring Today is my moment and now is my story I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing – John Denver • Truth out of season was sourer than strawberries at Christmas time. – Eleanor Hallowell Abbott • Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful. – Francesca Lia Block • Washington state’s 2nd Congressional District is a major producer of small fruit crops such as raspberries and strawberries. This research center is doing important work to help farmers enhance the quality, yield and marketability of their small fruit crops. – Rick Larsen • We did make use, from time to time, of candles, neckties, scarves, shoelaces, a little water-color paintbrush, her hairbrush, butter, whipped cream, strawberry jam, Johnson’s Baby Oil, my Swedish hand vibrator, a fascinating bead necklace she had, miscellaneous common household items, and every molecule of flesh that was exposed to air or could be located with strenuous search. – Spider Robinson • We do not rejoice in victories. We rejoice when a new kind of cotton is grown and when strawberries bloom in Israel. – Golda Meir • We may say of angling, as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did; and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling. – Izaak Walton • What do we look for as reward? Some little sounds, and scents, and scenes A small hand darting strawberry-ward A woman’s aprons full of greens. The sense that we have brought to birth Out of the cold and heavy soil, The blessed fruits and flowers of earth Is large reward for our toil. – Ruth Pitter • When I think back about my immediate reaction to that redheads girl, it seems to spring from an appreciation of natural beauty. I mean the heart pleasure you get from looking at speckled leaves or the palimpsested bark of plane trees in Provence. There was something richly appealing to her color combination, the ginger snaps floating in the milk-white skin, the golden highlights in the strawberry hair. it was like autumn, looking at her. It was like driving up north to see the colors. – Jeffrey Eugenides • When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird’s beak, We shall live well–we shall live very well. – Elinor Wylie • Who puts strawberries in a salad? Seriously, is this a thing now? Is it a thing I don’t know about? Is it an American thing? It can be. It’s freaking me out. – James Corden • Why did she give up wine for Lent? Polly was more sensible. She had given up strawberry jam. Cecilia had never seen Polly show more than a passing interest in strawberry jam, although now, of course, she was always catching her standing at the open fridge, staring at it longingly. The power of denial. – Liane Moriarty • Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life? – Sylvia Plath • You’ve gotta taste the light, like my friend and fellow shooter Chip Maury says. And when you see light like this, trust me, it’s like a strawberry sundae with sprinkles. – Joe McNally

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Strawberries Quotes

Official Website: Strawberries Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push();

Flesh and fleece, fur and feather, Grass and green world all together, Star-eyed strawberry breasted Throstle above Her nested

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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netherworldwritersguild · 6 years ago

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The Dreams of the Frost Queen

Image copyright Xusenru

When the heart of Felice Navidad, Queen of the Frost Elementals, was pierced through by a metal poker wielded by the vicious vampire Tobias Walton, the Christmas elf Tinsel, her husband of 14,775 years, was felled by despair. Among the few things that can kill an elf is intense grief, and Tinsel’s twin brother Teacake feared that he would lose his best friend if he were not able to bring Felice back to life.

Teacake drank the elixir from the sap of the Moon-Tree of the Enchanted Wood and fell asleep at his altar. He descended the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber through the Cavern of Flame, and, upon entering the Enchanted Wood, he was approached by six-hundred and sixty-six Zoogs, cunning rodents with tentacles beneath their noses like moles. Zoogs could be treacherous, but Teacake had been kind to them, and so they wished to assist him.

The Queen of the Zoogs stepped forward and placed a glistening red seed in Teacake’s hand. She explained in her chattering voice that this seed came from a tree which grew where the first drop of King Zyrion’s blood fell on the surface of the moon, forming the long-lost Selene Empire.

Teacake was to give the seed to his brother to plant within the damaged heart of his beloved. They were then to lie Felice to rest on the altar beneath the gardens of the Winter Palace. Within twenty-eight solar days, Felice’s heart would be mended, and a wondrous new tree would grow in the garden.

Teacake took the seed and expressed his gratitude to the Zoogs for their assistance. He opened the great bag which he had brought with him, which contained exquisite treats from the markets of Beersheba and Celephais and hearty breads and cheeses from the shops of Dylath Leen and the farms near the Katharian Hills.

The Zoogs fell about the kindly Elf’s feet and embraced him, climbing up his body to feed him morsels of the bounty which he had bestowed upon them. After spending a few moments in their vivacious company, Teacake bid the Zoogs farewell and returned to the waking world. He woke with the sparkling seed in his hand and hurried to fetch his grieving brother.

Tears of gratitude flowed from Tinsel’s eyes. He gathered a few stalwart guards to carry the Queen’s body to the chamber beneath the Royal Gardens. When she was laid upon the stone altar deep beneath the frozen Earth, he gently planted the magical seed within her wounded heart. His tears fell upon the seed. Tinsel softly kissed his wife’s cold lips.

“Return to me soon, Beloved,” he pleaded. “Life without you is not life at all.”

Queen Felice lay in her chamber beneath the gardens of the Winter Palace and dreamed. Some of the dreams were nebulous and Felice could recall no details upon awakening. However, a few stood out in her mind.

On the first night, Felice dreamed that she was starving and trapped in a chamber filled with rotting meats and fruits. She was so hungry that she tore off a piece of putrefying flesh from a roast and popped it into her mouth. She viewed herself in a mirror behind the table and screamed, for the face she beheld was that of a loathsome ghoul.

On the third night, Felice recalled a simpering suitor whose saccharine words and boorish manners nauseated her to the core.

On the sixth night, Felice’s dreams recalled the delight of meeting her future husband. The sweet little elf brought her exotic foods from Beersheba in the warm Liranian desert, and they supped and laughed together. By the end of the night, they were feeding each other.

On the ninth night, the wounded Queen despaired at the evil in the world and found herself lamenting a long-ago golden age. She recalled her brother-in-law sardonically remarking that sometimes shit rose to the top instead of cream, and she laughed and promised to keep fighting.

On the twelfth night, Felice recalled meeting her beloved dragon Acey. It was her twelfth birthday, and she was terribly unhappy, for the object of her affections, Prince Jean of the Realm of Rain, said that she had the face of a horse and hair like straw.

Felice slept away the afternoon, and when she walked out to the garden, she found a wondrous golden dragon sitting there. It was about the size of a small horse, and was outfitted with a harness, with pouches and pockets. A silver knife poked out of one of the pouches. Upon noticing Felice, the dragon spoke.

“Finally! I thought you’d never wake up.”

Acey was a gift from Felice’s beloved uncle, and she so delighted the young princess that Felice couldn’t care a whit if foolish Prince Jean thought she had the countenance of a were-pig. Acey was still Felice’s best friend after many centuries together.

On the eighteenth night, Felice recalled visiting the grave of her father, who was slain protecting the realm from a surprise attack by raiders from Yuggoth. During her last few visits, she had noticed various offerings placed upon the grave. As she looked up, she saw the elf brothers Teacake and Tinsel, the bravest of fighters despite their tiny statures. The pair attempted to hurry away into the surrounding woods, but Felice called them back and thanked them for fighting so fiercely and for remembering her father so fondly.

Something in Tinsel’s kind eyes, which shimmered with tears, made Felice want to know him better. So, she invited the brothers to the palace. Teacake busied himself with various tasks while Felice and Tinsel chatted. By the end of the evening, she was in love.

On the twenty-eighth night, Felice rose and ascended the stairs into the garden, where she found her beloved husband tending to the lovely little tree which sprouted from her breast, took root in the soil, and would now bring delight to the kingdom forever.

Created with love by Team Netherworld Productions

Word count: 1000

Dedicated to H.P. Lovecraft

Earth's Dreamlands and its locations and creatures are the creations of H.P. Lovecraft. All characters in this tale are the creations and property of Team Netherworld Productions

References and Links

H.P. Lovecraft Stories:

The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath

The Outsider

Pickman's Model

The Whisperer in Darkness

https://www.yog-sothoth.com/wiki/index.php/Dreamlands

http://characterdevelopmentforwriters.tumblr.com/post/181713728318/has-your-character-ever-eaten-obviously-rotting

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/cringe/

https://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2018/12/13/monthly-prompt-january-2019/ (link contains NSFW material)

http://coffin-prompts.tumblr.com/post/181712979316/our-history-proves-to-be-more-succesful-than-our

https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/181712529356/one-day-you-walk-out-into-your-back-yard-to-find

http://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/181712282080/so-not-to-be-rude-or-anything-but-ive-been

#Team Netherworld Fairytales #team netherworld creations #team netherworld elemental realms

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kidsviral-blog · 7 years ago

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49 Real Life Labor And Delivery Stories...If You Can Handle Them

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/49-real-life-labor-and-delivery-stories-if-you-can-handle-them/

49 Real Life Labor And Delivery Stories...If You Can Handle Them

Childbirth is no walk in the park. Unless you happen to be walking in the park when it happens.

View this image ›

Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

The BuzzFeed Community asked readers to share their craziest memories from labor and delivery with us, and holy wow did they come through. If you’ve never given birth, proceed with caution. No, seriously.

1. “He delivered our baby on our bathroom floor.”

“As we were getting ready to leave for the hospital, I thought I was going to poop the turd of the century. I ran to the bathroom. My boyfriend was screaming, â€˜What are you doing?! We have to go!’ And I yelled back, â€˜I can’t stop it! I think I have to poop but this just doesn’t feel right!’

My eyes widened and I yelled â€˜THIS BABY IS COMING NOW.’ My poor boyfriend delivered our baby boy on our bathroom floor at 4:50 a.m. So, to my precious, perfect babe, yes. I thought you were a giant, monstrous shit, not a 7 pound, 14 ounce squishy ball of cute.”

–Chantel Guidera, Facebook

View this image ›

Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

2. “Her water broke in the middle of a Burger King…”

“When my mom was pregnant with me her water broke in the middle of a Burger King, so she threw down her cup of soda to hide the evidence.”

–Catie LaGrasta, Facebook

3. “I taught him in med school.”

“I was in mid-labor when a shift change occurred and the OB on call asked if I minded some interns coming through. Not at all, until one of the interns looks up, mid-examination, and asks me whether I taught neuroanatomy at a local medical school. Yeppers. I had taught him in med school. All I could think to ask was whether he had passed my class as I sure as heck wasn’t in much of a position to remember him!”

–Jen Kulak, Facebook

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4. “I’ll never understand how he moved that fast.”

“My husband was front and center of the action, and on my second push my water broke violently in a huge, forceful gush. Being a paramedic, my husband is really, really good at dodging bodily fluids. Immediately after my water broke, I heard him say, â€˜What the hell was that?’ from the opposite end of the bed from where he had just been. Not a drop on him; I’ll never understand how he moved that fast.”

–Brittaney Gilmore, Facebook

5. “Whoa! Somebody pooped in the pool!”

“My baby had a BM [bowel movement] in utero, so the first thing I heard when the doctor opened me up for the C-section was, â€˜Whoa! Somebody pooped in the pool!'”

–Rosanna Bigford, Facebook

View this image ›

Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

6. “It was a legendary story for the nurses there.”

“When my mom was in labor with my sister, her water broke and all of it splashed onto the wall, almost hitting the doctor.

A couple of years later my mom was in labor with my little brother and her water exploded in the waiting room all over the floor. She was horrified. The nurse tried to comfort her. â€˜Don’t worry,’ she told her, â€˜there was one woman whose fluids ended up all over the wall.’

â€˜Yeah,’ my mom said, â€˜that was me.’ Apparently she was a legendary story for the nurses there.”

–Rachel Elizabeth Mabey, Facebook

7. “I was peeing all over myself.”

“I had gotten my epidural, and during one of the hourly checks, my nurse was discharging my bladder. I really have no idea how she did it, but it involved some sort of tube into my bladder and into one of those pink tubs. Well, she did the tube thing, was looking at my stats, and I felt something move between my legs. Basically the pee tube had popped out of the tub, and I was just peeing all over myself. Honestly, I wasn’t really that embarrassed. I mean, the woman had already had her hand up my vag how many times at this point?”

–Tiffany Adams, Facebook

8. “I had two choices: Wipe my face, or be a good sister.”

“My sister was in delivery and I was holding one leg as she was pushing. She had an epidural so she couldn’t feel a thing. As my niece’s head popped out, I got splattered in the face with juices. Decision time. Drop her leg and wipe my face or be a good sister and keep holding up that leg as the rest of the baby came out. I was a good sister. Have never washed my face so well in my life!”

–Meghan McGovern, Facebook

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9. “You are scaring the moms in the other rooms.”

“I screamed bloody murder during my contractions. The nurse walked in and told me in the nicest voice, â€˜You are scaring all the moms in the other rooms who aren’t as far along as you are.’ I didn’t care. I screamed until I got my shot.”

–Lorin Armstrong, Facebook

10. “Fuck! He knows I’ve got kids!”

“I was pretty loopy on gas while they were putting the epidural in for my emergency C-section. All I remember thinking was how gorgeous my anesthetist was, and that â€˜fuck, he knows I’ve got kids!'”

–Sarah Kerby, Facebook

11. “Everything tasted blue.”

“I got really drunk on gas and air with my second daughter and said that I could smell melted vanilla ice cream and that everything tasted blue.”

–Maggie Moo Spiller, Facebook

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Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

12. “Shut the hell up and stop being so supportive!”

“After about 30 hours in I yelled at my mother to â€˜shut the hell up and stop being so supportive!'”

– Whitney Roy, Facebook

13. “My vagina feels drunk.”

“After trying to â€˜breathe through the contractions’ for a few hours, I asked for an epidural. They gave it to me and it felt so good once it kicked in, I started to feel loopy because I was pain-free after so much pain. The anesthesiologist came in to check on me and asked me how I was doing. I looked at him and said â€˜My vagina feels drunk’… He tried to keep a straight face and act professional but had to turn around because he was laughing so hard.”

–Erin Ann Johnson, Facebook

14. “My wife is high as a kite.”

“I kept asking my husband to call Colton so I could tell her I loved her and missed her. The nurse was so sweet — she asked me if I knew Colton’s phone number and I started to cry. She said she would lend me her phone so I could call her. As she pulls out her phone my husband comes in and asked what we were doing. She tells him we’re gonna call Colton â€˜cause I obviously need her. He goes, â€˜Colton is our dog. My wife is high as a kite.’ To which I started to cry again and asked him to bring her.”

–Nancy Jaimes-Soto, Facebook

15. “I sold a garage door during my C-section.”

“I was so doped up during my C-section that I spent the whole time slurring a sales speech to the anesthesiologist for a garage door and opener. LOL… He bought one a few weeks later though!”

–Angelica Halls, Facebook

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16. “It’s a disaster down there.”

“Right after my daughter was born and they were sewing up my degree tear, my husband says: â€˜Whatever you do, don’t look in the mirror. It’s a disaster down there.'”

–Karen Halker Miller, Facebook

17. “You can kiss her first if it makes you more comfortable.”

“We had a very sweet female nurse in training come in with another nurse. The experienced nurse checked for dilation and took note on it and told the student to take a try. It was very apparent she had never had her fingers in another female before and she looked terrified. My husband, who is NEVER serious and always tries to make others uncomfortable, says â€˜You can kiss her first if it make you more comfortable’… *mortified*. She did NOT think it was funny…”

–Lauren Ashley Walton-McGee, Facebook

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Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

18. “We maintained the most uncomfortable eye contact.”

“There I am, post-epidural, and the nurse comes to see if my water has broken. â€˜I think so’ I say, not really knowing what I was supposed to be looking for. So she slides her gloved hand up in my business, and with the slightest of pokes proceeds to break my water. Unfortunately, the shock was such that I immediately contracted and trapped her hand in my vag. We maintained the most uncomfortable eye contact as her glove filled with fluid.”

–Madeleine Kaizer, Facebook

19. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF ME.”

“So my doctor is an older guy and when he came in to break my water he says very professionally, â€˜This won’t hurt at all, but you will feel a lot of pressure.’ So I sit back and prop up. He pulls out a massive torture device that looks like something from American Horror Story. He places it in me and I immediately arch my back and try to kick him away while screaming, â€˜GET THE FUCK OUT OF ME.’ He looked down ashamed and quietly laughed, â€˜That’s the first time a woman has told me that.’ My husband beamed at my doctor with the potential friendship he saw blossoming.”

–Celeste Pitre, Facebook

20. “Wow, you need to wax.”

“When they put my legs up to start pushing my husband looked at my vag and said, â€˜Wow. You need to wax.’ I’m not sure I have forgiven him yet.”

–Heather Drew, Facebook

21. “Are you flossing my vagina?”

“When my beautiful 10 pound 3 ounce baby girl was born my world changed, I was instantly in love. I was looking at her when my doctor started stitching me up. Now, I’ve never had stitches before so the sensation was new (and in my effing vagina, no less) so without thinking I just looked at my doctor and asked, â€˜are you flossing my vagina?'”

– jacquelines4a31a66f9, BuzzFeed.com

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22. “I can’t do this!”

“I think my most glorious moment was when I grabbed my husband during transition and told him 100% seriously, â€˜OK, this next contraction YOU have to push because I can’t do this.'”

–Amy Mansell, Facebook

23. “At least you didn’t head-butt me like the girl yesterday.”

“Once I hit a six I wanted my epidural, but the anesthesiologist took two hours to go from downstairs to the second floor. During that time I got ANGRY and yelled at my nurse. Once the epidural finally arrived and I’d calmed down, I told her I was so sorry that I yelled and I didn’t mean it. She said, â€˜We are used to it. Don’t sweat it. At least you didn’t head-butt me like the girl yesterday.'”

–Callie Anne Crabtree, Facebook

24. “I suddenly started laughing and couldn’t stop.”

“With my third kiddo, I was well into active labor and overly exhausted (as lots of moms get to be at that point), when I suddenly started laughing…and I couldn’t stop. For 20–30 minutes. No joke. The nurses were both freaked out and laughing, too, as was my hubby. Needless to say, I was well known on that maternity ward for being the first mom to laugh uncontrollably during labor. *Note: If you end up in a similar situation, laughing through powerful, unmedicated contractions hurts like hell, but it makes the experience much more memorable. :)”

–Erin Wolf, Facebook

25. The Ultimate Potter Fan

“I was watching a Harry Potter marathon when the nurse checked to see how far dilated I was. I was 9 Â¾. I was so ecstatic!!”

–Sarah Pike, Facebook

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Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

26. “I was told I bit my father-in-law’s shoulder.”

“I was three days overdue, felt some consistent contractions, went to the hospital, and was hooked up to the monitors. After being there for three hours (we left at midnight), I wasn’t dilating anymore so they sent me home and told me to rest, that it would be in a day or two. I didn’t get any sleep that night, I tossed and turned and was in constant pain. I felt lots of pressure, went to the bathroom, held a mirror down there and could see my daughter’s head. I told my mother-in-law, she woke up her husband, we were all just in a panic and screaming at each other, the paramedics were called but she was born in front of the bathroom before they got there. I don’t remember a lot but I was told I bit my father-in-law’s shoulder.”

–Shea Posey, Facebook

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27. “So I’m just hanging out on my hospital bed, legs wide open…”

“I had been pushing for about 15 minutes and my daughter was crowning, but apparently I was a little too numb because I was having a hard time pushing her past that point, so my doctor told me we were going to take a break and she’d be back in about five or 10 minutes. So I’m just hanging out in my hospital bed, legs wide open with my daughter’s head poking out, when, after 30 MINUTES, my doctor finally came back.”

–Carmen Breckenridge, Facebook

28. “Well, it happened.”

“I had my mom, my boyfriend, and two support people in the room, as well as my nurse, who was telling me to push (really to practice for when she was coming in the next few minutes). I was refusing since I had everyone in the room because I felt I was going to poop. I was screaming, â€˜I can’t push, I can feel it. I’m gonna poop. I don’t want anyone to see that,’ and the nurse was assuring me I wasn’t, and everyone was trying to convince me to push because it’s OK. Well, it happened. Nobody said anything. But the nurse came and wiped me and all I said was â€˜See, I told you so…'”

–Bethany Danielle Cooke, Facebook

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Morgan Shanahan // BuzzFeed

29. “Nope, that was you.”

“I heard someone rip a big one… I looked over at my sister and asked, â€˜Was that you?!’ She just laughed and said…’Nope, that was you.’ Everyone was cracking up, especially me since I was so doped up.”

–Mariah Irvin, Facebook

30. “The bed did a sort of â€˜Tokyo drift’ into the delivery room…”

“Partway through my labor, I felt a sudden, much worse pain than I had ever felt before. I hit the nurse-call button shrieking for help. A second nurse came in as the first one lifted the sheet to check…and they both exclaimed: â€˜STOP PUSHING!!’

They started wheeling me out of the room. They kept shouting: â€˜STOP PUSHING!’ and I kept shouting back: â€˜I’M NOT PUSHING!’

We slammed through the double doors of the delivery room and the bed sorta did a â€˜Tokyo drift’ to a stop in the middle of the room. The momentum caused me to drop from my side onto my back and as soon as my back landed on the bed, the baby popped out (and the pain went away). The nurse standing at the foot of my bed was pulling on gloves, and she snapped the last glove on and exclaimed: â€˜Tell the doctor he can take his time now.'”

–Patty Smith, Facebook

31. “He just kept pointing at the baby and shouting how cool it was.”

“Giving birth to my second baby, as he was coming out he stuck one arm out and grabbed the head doctor’s scrubs and pulled. The young intern was so excited he just kept pointing at the baby and shouting how cool it was. Even my seasoned doctor seemed amazed. All I could think of is the baby must want out as bad as I want him to be.”

–Cherish Fritts Newman, Facebook

32. “GET IT OUT!”

“When the doctor finally arrived in the delivery room mid-pushing, he checks me and tells me to reach between my legs and grab her head. By that point, though, I was so ready for it to be over, I just screamed at him. â€˜Get it out!'”

–Cassi Osborn, Facebook

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33. “It looked just like Heath Ledger’s fucked-up smile as the Joker.”

“I made the mistake of looking at my vagina in a mirror out of curiosity after being stitched up — it looked just like Heath Ledger’s fucked-up smile as the Joker.”

–Erin Day, Facebook

34. “Never touch the placenta.”

“After my son was finally out, in my epidural-high state, I asked to touch the placenta…and they let me. Ladies. Never touch the placenta.”

–Kirsten Strider, Facebook

35. “He’s still attached!”

“The nurse was so worried about getting my newborn son cleaned up and checking him that she tried taking him before they cut the cord. It hurt. I yelled, â€˜He’s still attached!’ and she set him down real quick. I almost punched that lady.”

–Rashelle Koier, Facebook

36. “I have never seen no shit like that in my life.”

My grandmother was present at the delivery. After the final push as my daughter was born, I looked over to my grandmother to see if she was crying… She wasn’t.

She was standing in the corner, horrified at what she just witnessed. After the chaos died down I asked my her why she was so horrified, having given birth herself. She looked me dead in the eyes and said, â€˜I have never seen no shit like that in my life. Don’t call me till after the baby’s born on the next one, OK Mija?’“

–Janay Danica Alexandra Guevara, Facebook

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Jenny Chang // BuzzFeed

37. “Sorry doc, you missed the whole show.”

“While sleeping in the hospital, I woke up with a start, screaming at my husband that baby was coming. By the time the nurse finally got in to the room and checked me, my daughter was already crowning. The nurse grabs the nearest on call doctor who barely made into the room, literally at the last second to grab the baby.

Five minutes later my OBGYN walks in, and goes “ok, are we ready to have a baby?” Sorry doc, you missed the whole show.”

– Vanessa Schira, Facebook

38. “My husband and I made an agreement that he would not look down there…”

“Before my son was born, my husband and I made an agreement that he would not look down there… Well, after he was out and they were going about the after-business, I came to enough to see him making a weird face. I asked him if he looked, he nodded yes and said he saw the placenta. He then whispered that it looked like a meat toupee.”

–Sandra Walker, Facebook

39. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

My husband and I was just waiting for me to go No. 2 so we could be discharged when I had already been in there two days. I wanted to do the suppository because the nurse said it was faster. I felt the poor nurses had seen enough of everything so I offered to do it myself. The nurse left and here I am in the bathroom trying and failing miserably. Instead of calling the nurse back in, I had my husband do it. He was mortified but a champ (while wearing gloves lol). After everything was said and done he looked at me and said, â€˜If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.'”

–Kara Kieffer, Facebook

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40. My teeth!

“While in labor with my sister, my mom remembers her mom arriving and screaming with excitement. Her teeth flew out under the hospital bed, and she couldn’t get them until after the birth!”

–Angel Morrison, Facebook

41. “Oh my god, I birthed an alien!”

“I felt what I thought was a No. 2 slip out just as I got into the birthing pool. I said to my husband, â€˜Oh my god, I pooped in the pool!!’ Just then, a big bubble floated to the surface and I said, â€˜Oh my god, I birthed an alien!’ The midwife grabbed the â€˜bubble’ and tore it open. My son was born inside of his amniotic sack.”

–Laura Downie, Facebook

42. “Hell no, I want to check my hair.”

“In the delivery room they had a giant mirror on wheels so if you wanted, you could watch the delivery. I asked my nurse to wheel it over to me and she said, â€˜Aw, you want to watch the delivery??’

“â€˜Hell no, I want to check my hair.'”

–Sarah Fouquet, Facebook

43. “He SHOWED my poop to my husband…”

“I pooped and the doctor lifted up a blue tarp with my poo on it and showed it to my husband saying, â€˜This is why I put that there.’ Yep. He SHOWED my poop to my husband while I was trying to bring our child into the world.”

–Kristin Tutt, Facebook

44. “It looked like a crime scene in there.”

“While I was in the final stages of labor (i.e., pushing) a nurse stepped on my IV cord and dislodged it. We had no idea, so with every push more and more blood sprayed out of the unattached cord. Nobody noticed blood spraying everywhere. When the doctor came in for the last few pushes she remarked that it looked like a crime scene in there. There was a pool of blood on the floor and the nurse was splattered with it.”

–Tracey Citron, Facebook

45. “He was crowning!”

“Craziest moment from labor? When I was told to stop pushing. My son was crowning and they said to stop because the doctor wasn’t there yet. The nurse didn’t want to deliver him on her own. Stop pushing??? HE WAS CROWNING!”

–Alycia M. Smith, Facebook

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Morgan Shanahan // BuzzFeed

46. “He was tasked with scooping my poop nuggets out of the birthing pool with a fishing net.”

“I had a planned home-water birth, and when I was pushing I guess little bits of poop were coming out. What I didn’t learn until later was that every time one would float to the surface my incredibly dedicated husband was tasked with fishing my poop nuggets out of the water with one of those green aquarium nets.”

–Jana Silver, Facebook

47. GOAL!

“When my mom delivered my older sister, she was in Nigeria during the World Cup and the doctor made her wait till the match was over.”

–John Alex Nieboer, Facebook

48. Word to the wise…

“Words of wisdom: DO NOT EAT SPINACH DIP PRIOR TO LABOR.”

–Marla Czechowski, Facebook

49. “He put the placenta under his foot and stretched it up to his head.”

“After the exciting part was said and done, the doctor motioned for my boyfriend to join him and the foot of my bed. He said, â€˜Watch this!’ and put the placenta under his foot and stretched it all the way up to his head. Boys….”

–Liz Boeche, Facebook

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Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/morganshanahan/birth-is-freaking-hard

#flipped #giving birth #labor and delivery #pregnancy

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robertkstone · 7 years ago

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2018 Mitsubishi Outlander Sport SEL First Test: Refreshed but Lacking

Straight to the point: I don’t care much for the 2018 Mitsubishi Outlander Sport. It simply is outclassed by most of its rivals—and in a few months, Mitsubishi will have a better, similarly priced sibling on the same showroom floor. Although Mitsubishi has updated the Outlander Sport for the 2018 model year with new technology—the subcompact’s strongest point—the rest of this crossover has more clouds than silver linings.

Aesthetically, the Outlander Sport received an updated front grille, a new rear fascia and chrome garnish, and a new center console design and shift lever. New technology includes a standard 7.0-inch center touchscreen with Bluetooth phone and audio streaming and optional Apple CarPlay and Android Auto for smartphone connectivity. The 2018 Outlander Sport also now offers a new Touring package for the top SEL trim. It consists of new driver-assist features such as emergency automatic braking, lane departure warning, automatic high-beams, and niceties such as the panoramic glass roof (not a moonroof) and the Rockford Fosgate premium audio system.

It’s refreshing to see emergency automatic braking added to the Outlander Sport. Some automakers overlook this safety feature on some of their entry-level models (the Honda HR-V, Buick Encore, and Audi Q3, for instance). Fortunately, I never witnessed this feature in action, but in Insurance Institute for Highway Safety tests, the system avoided both a 12- and 25-mph frontal collision, earning the highest rating of Superior. The new lane departure warning system operated appropriately during my observations.

The resolution on the 7.0-inch touchscreen display is sharp but attracts a lot of glare. However, you might forgive that flaw because the infotainment system, equipped with Apple CarPlay and Android Auto, is quick and works well. If your smartphone has Siri, the system defaults to that for voice commands instead of the less accurate factory one. Unfortunately, when using Bluetooth calling or voice commands, the audio only comes from the front passenger-side speaker and at a low volume, hard to hear when driving sometimes. The nine-speaker Rockford Fosgate audio system is welcomed and provides plenty of thump, but the big subwoofer reduces cargo space by about 1.6 cubic feet.

Another area where the Outlander Sport performed well was at the track, thanks in part to its 2.4-liter I-4, which produces adequate power, 168 hp and 167 lb-ft of torque. The Outlander Sport is quicker than rivals such as the Honda HR-V and Jeep Renegade in both 0–60 and quarter-mile times, and it brakes shorter from 60 mph, as well (118 feet). The good throttle response makes it feel quicker than the 8.5-second 0–60 mph suggests, but the crossover slows at speed, something associate road test editor Erick Ayapana noted. Braking distance and feel are good, but according to Ayapana, “The Outlander seemed to pull to the right under hard braking. Not sure if that’s specific to this tester or endemic of all Outlander Sports. Otherwise solid brake feel.” When put on our figure-eight handling course, the Outlander Sport was about even with the other two subcompacts, but road test editor Chris Walton didn’t have an easy time around the course. “This is one of those vehicles that wants to do only one thing at a time: Brake, corner, or accelerate, but never a combination of those three,” he said. Walton also noted slow and vague steering feel but was happy with the well-controlled body roll and quick-responding CVT.

A lot of what happened on the track translates to the street. The 2018 Outlander Sport has plenty of grunt off the line, but at highway speeds I found myself having to go wide-open throttle when merging or passing vehicles. Due to the nature of the CVT and not enough sound deadening, wide-open throttle is loud and harsh, adding a lot more NVH than most would want. Activating Sport mode through the shifter only makes things louder and harsher and doesn’t even improve acceleration time. If you hit a twisty stretch of road, expect the handling dynamics to be that of your average crossover, not that bad but not fun. Ride comfort is good considering the short wheelbase, but large road undulations really upset the small crossover. Braking feel and power is good.

Subcompacts aren’t known for their cargo and passenger room, and the Outlander Sport is no exception, offering 21.7 cubic feet of cargo space with the rear seats up and 49.5 cubic feet with the seats down. That’s less than the HR-V’s 23.2 and 57.6 cubic feet, respectively, and slightly less than the Renegade’s 50.8 cubic feet of maximum cargo space. Passenger volume is also less than the above rivals, up to 97.5 cubic feet in the Outlander Sport (95.6 with the glass roof) and up to 100.1 cubic feet for both the HR-V (higher trims have 96.1) and the Renegade (with the standard roof). The differences, though, are quite minimal—a subcompact is called a subcompact for a reason.

The Outlander Sport performs OK in crash test safety scores, earning a four-star overall safety rating out of five stars from the NHTSA. The Mitsubishi fared better in IIHS testing, receiving the highest rating of Good in four crash tests and the second-highest rating of Acceptable in the small-overlap front crash test. The HR-V received the highest five-star rating from the NHTSA and scored the same as the Outlander Sport in IIHS crash testing. The Jeep Renegade also had a four-star overall safety rating and scored the same results in IIHS crash testing, with the exception of the head restraints and seats test, which was not conducted. The Outlander Sport’s Superior rating for front crash prevention topped both rivals.

In the case of these subcompacts, fuel economy ratings have a correlation with power output. The most powerful of the three is the 180-hp Renegade, but the Jeep delivers the lowest EPA mpg rating, 21/29 mpg city/highway. The 168-hp Outlander Sport is rated at 23/28 mpg, and the least powerful 141-hp Honda HR-V has the best fuel economy rating of 27/31 mpg out of the three (comparing all-wheel-drive models). The total EPA driving range (when driving 45 percent highway, 55 percent city) is almost identical for the Outlander Sport and HR-V at 395 and 383 miles, respectively. The Renegade’s total driving range is significantly shorter at 305 miles, mostly due to the smaller gas tank.

Inside, the Outlander Sport loses a lot of points. At first glance it looks like your average crossover, but once you start poking and prodding the materials, trims, switches, and other components, you start to realize how cheap they feel and how aged they look. At about 6 feet tall, I had plenty of room, but I had a hard time finding a comfortable driving position (a first for me in a crossover); the steering wheel didn’t telescope out enough. The build quality—at least in our tester—was also subpar. A rattle from the steering wheel column cover sounded over every rough patch of road, and the driver’s seat had a slight rock to it, noticeable when adjusting yourself in the seat. More sound deadening is needed, as road, wind, and engine noise is quite loud. After hearing a constant clicking sound coming from the engine compartment, my wife asked me if something was wrong with the crossover. I told her not to worry—it was the sound of the A/C compressor working away.

Still, our loaded $29,110 SEL tester came well-equipped with premium features including power-folding and heated side-view mirrors, the panoramic glass roof that lights up, HID headlights, 18-inch two-tone alloy wheels, an eight-way adjustable driver’s seat, leather upholstery, heated front seats, the aforementioned 7.0-inch touchscreen display, automatic climate control, a quick entry system with a push-start ignition, and a soft-touch upper instrument panel, door trim, and center console knee padding. One of my favorite features is the selectable AWD system, which converts from front-wheel-drive to AWD and vice versa with the hit of a button on the center console. Outside, the Outlander Sport looks stylish and attractive for the segment, not trying too hard like others.

The Outlander Sport’s starting price of $21,235 puts it just above the HR-V’s ($20,645) and well above the Renegade’s starting price ($19,540). Our loaded tester still equals the price of its rivals when similarly equipped, making it difficult to recommend, especially when you consider that the crossover hasn’t changed much since its release in 2011. If you’re set on a Mitsubishi, consider waiting until March when the automaker’s all-new and similarly sized Eclipse Cross goes on sale. I have driven it, and it’s by far a superior vehicle.

2018 Mitsubishi Outlander Sport SEL BASE PRICE $26,835 PRICE AS TESTED $29,110 VEHICLE LAYOUT Front-engine, AWD, 5-pass, 4-door SUV ENGINE 2.4L/168-hp/167-lb-ft DOHC 16-valve I-4 TRANSMISSION Cont variable auto CURB WEIGHT (F/R DIST) 3,375 lb (58/42%) WHEELBASE 105.1 in LENGTH x WIDTH x HEIGHT 171.5 x 71.3 x 64.8 in 0-60 MPH 8.5 sec QUARTER MILE 16.5 sec @ 84.6 mph BRAKING, 60-0 MPH 118 ft LATERAL ACCELERATION 0.79 g (avg) MT FIGURE EIGHT 28.0 sec @ 0.59 g (avg) REAL MPG, CITY/HWY/COMB 23.0/32.0/26.4 mpg EPA CITY/HWY/COMB FUEL ECON 22/27/24 mpg ENERGY CONS, CITY/HWY 153/125 kW-hrs/100 miles CO2 EMISSIONS, COMB 0.81 lb/mile

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