#but it's still a mental hurdle in any case. I must give this some thought to see if there's a happy medium to be found here.

[siena-sevenwits]

.

[wizardpink]

So I promised you this 12 hours ago, it's nearly 11pm and I have to go to bed, and I'm here 2.3k unedited unproofread words later and I haven't even gotten to the vampires yet.

I'll be back tomorrow I SWEAR.

It's early 1984 and Alice is at a cocktail party thrown by the owner or publisher of some major American magazine based on the West Coast. She's a travel writer, or some other kind of cultural non-news based free-lancer, and she gets introduced to this guy named Daniel. He's genuinely friendly and charismatic, and cute to boot, but he can be a bit brash and forward with the sarcasm. And he clearly has been ducking into the bathroom with everyone else who keeps coming back with a not-so-subtle case of the sniffles. They flirt a bit, he gets her number. It turns out he's a freelancer working on a cover-story feature coming out in a few months. The editor and publisher both think he's hot stuff. He's working on a novel that they think is gonna hit the best sellers lists. It's the kind of match that could open doors for Alice's own career if she plays it right. It's not always easy for a woman in the industry without an in with the big wigs.

Things never get much more serious than each of them referring to the other as their boyfriend or girlfriend, and Alice is right, it does lead to a lot more cocktail parties and drinks with editors and publishers and writers and broadcasters. One such fateful meeting gets her into a lunch with a fashion writer from Paris whose magazine is looking for an American cultural perspective, and they offer to pay room and board for a three month stay. "And you absolutely MUST bring Molloy with you, my husband loves his editorials in Hustler."

Alice doesn't understand why Daniel immediately refuses. He isn't working on anything under contract. In fact his progress on the novel he's been working on seems to be stagnating, wouldn't a change of scenery do him some good?

But she isn't completely blind. Daniel is more often than not reticent to agree to any plans with her spur of the moment. She knows there's someone else's approval he has to get first. It doesn't matter. One small hurdle on the way to her goals. But she needs Daniel to help her lock down this job. She begs, she argues, he leaves. Two days later she gets a call. He'll come too.

Things in Paris go much the same as they did in California. Despite sharing an apartment, Daniel is only "home" two or three nights a week. But he never misses an invite for drinks with the fashion writer's husband and his industry friends who all think Daniel is so wild and funny and free with his thoughts. They both play their parts for these rich, influential hacks who care so much more about who you're sleeping with than how talented or intelligent you actually are. Maybe Daniel doesn't love her. But he respects her enough to give her this.

Then the second blue line on the pregnancy test appears and everything goes to shit.

For Alice this is potentially career ending. Her whole life turned on its head. And for Daniel, it barely seems to register. Did he not care, or did he just leave his body? Alice goes back to the apartment and cries, she screams, she throws Daniel's expensive recording equipment against the walls. She calls her mother but hangs up after the first ring. And Daniel doesn't come home that night. Nor the next night, nor the next night. Three days isn't uncommon, but not without a phone call. Then a fourth night. A fifth.

Alice confides in the fashion writer what's happened and she can't believe Alice waited five days to say something?! She takes her to the police precinct immediately to file a missing person's report. Alice shows them a Polaroid and the officer taking the report motions for another officer to come over. One of them leaves and returns with a faxed over headshot of Daniel taken from a hospital bed. He was found in an empty apartment with a needle still in his arm, unable to even remember his own name.

They go to the mental hospital where he is being evaluated but the staff say he's too manic for visitors at the moment. He keeps demanding the nurses let him go, screaming that he has to find "him," but can't tell them who "him" is. When they ask, it only makes him more upset. But once he's told there's a woman named Alice there to see him, he seems to calm down. She's brought to his room. Alice isn't sure what she's expecting, excuses? Apologies? He gives her something else entirely. There's an earnestness in him she's never seen before. He's terrified, he's distraught, he has no idea where he's been for most of the week, for most of their stay in Paris even. But he remembers her, and he remembers the baby. He knows he should be sorry but he doesn't know why, and he sobs begging for her to believe him.

What choice does she have at this point?

Daniel spends most of the next six months in a French rehab facility. When he gets out, he takes Alice to dinner. He asks her to marry him. She says no.

A month passes. Alice's mother is incensed she hasn't accepted his proposal yet. Her colleagues give her sideways glances as she waddles to and from her desk. With Daniel in recovery and her pregnant, all her networking is at a standstill. Worse, maybe it's nonexistent at this point. "Mother" is a cursed label for a working woman in 1985, but "Single Mother" is worse. She wonders how it all came to this on the day she and Daniel go to the French court house and file for their marriage license. She supposes it was on the day she was born and the doctor said, "it's a girl!"

Weeks later, through blood and through pain, the same refrain. "It's a girl!"

Alice promises Kathryn on her first day on earth that things are going to be different for her. Her life and her successes will never hinge on a man's mercy. She'll rise higher than both of them, on her own merits, and no one will ever be able to deny her.

Kate's childhood is defined by two opposing forces: her mother's relentless but loving pushing, and her father's absence and apathy.

Any hope Alice had of balancing her career and family is steamrolled over by Daniel's ambitions. He seemingly takes any job, any assignment that takes him as far away from Alice and Kate as possible. He's never cruel or contemptuous, but his love and attention are scarce, fleeting, and shallow. He always comes home with a new toy that Kate has no interest in or already owns, because he never puts more than a moment's thought into the gesture. She can count on one hand the number of recitals, competitions, or games he makes it to from kindergarten to her senior year. And because of that, and her own desperate need to see Kate grow up and Be Somebody, Alice has to parent twice as hard. She's controlling, and strict, and sets nearly impossible standards, but she loves her daughter just as fiercely. Kate becomes a bit tightly-wound, a bit type-A, a bit of a perfectionist. The walls and shelves of her room are filled with trophies and blue ribbons. Life isn't perfect. But it's fine.

The divorce doesn't come as a surprise to her. She's about 11 when Daniel "moves out," if it could be said he lived with them in the first place.

It's just unfortunate that those turbulent early teen years have to coincide with Daniel remarrying, having another daughter, and suddenly, for the first time, becoming a Father.

Lenora is born when Kate is 14, far too late for sibling rivalry, and in those early days it was all so exciting. Kate was eager to help with everything, from painting the nursery to changing diapers. And Daniel couldn't be happier, look how great things are going with my old daughter and my new daughter! A fresh start, and I'm gonna do it right this time!

And the thing is, he actually does. And Kate gets to watch as the man that couldn't be bothered to remember her birthday was in June and not July becomes the World's #1 Dad to Lenora.

It'll take years to admit, but it fucks her up. What was it about her that wasn't good enough for him to change? What part of her wasn't enough for his affection? Did he see this dark and hateful piece of her heart that regards Lenora with such a fierce jealousy? She knows it's wrong. She is self-aware to know it isn't fair. She wears the mask of the good big sister and smiles in the family photos and hopes no one can see that nasty, toxic part of her soul she never knew was locked away until it broke free.

Kate gets any scholarship she could ever need. She attends UC Berkeley and hopes Daniel will know she chose it because of him. He never acknowledges the tribute.

Her senior year she meets a sweet guy who plays guitar and has never won a blue ribbon in anything in his life. He likes to take her on hikes and introduce her to obscure movies. She ditches class just to go to the beach and people watch with him. He isn't disappointed by her failures, and he remembers her birthday. Kate graduates summa cum laude, he… graduates. She goes on to law school, he teaches music to middle schoolers. They have a cute, pinterest ready fall wedding in Wisconsin where his family is from. The bridesmaids wear colorful Converse sneakers instead of heels. Kate is pregnant halfway through law school and Alice does not take it well. They have a fight that unleashes something in Kate she'd only allowed quick glimpses of daylight previously. A rift forms. Kate wonders if that's just adulthood: the eventual realization that the people who made you are just people. Sometimes deeply fucked-up people.

A familiar refrain. "It's a girl!"

Kate promises Sybelle on her first day on earth that things are going to be different for her. She can be anything she wants to be, at any pace she wants to take it. Her life and her happiness will never hinge on a parent's baggage. She'll know peace and self-worth that no one in their family has ever known.

Lenora's childhood is defined by two unfortunately intertwined forces: her father's short-sighted endeavor to make up for what a shitty husband and father he was to Alice and Kate, and his genetic predisposition to being an all-time fuck up, which she inherits in spades.

If absentee father Daniel is bad, perhaps present father Daniel is worse. He and his second wife split before Lenora can even remember them being married, but he actually fights and wins custody this time. Lenora's version of Dad never says no. He is forgiving to a fault and what he can't figure out how to give emotionally, he gives materialistically. Book deals and high profile reporting gigs put Lenora's childhood a few brackets higher economically than Kate's. A pony for her birthday, even though they live in the suburbs. A brand new car on her 16th birthday, and when she totals it while drunk a week later, Dad assures her they'll find a way to replace it.

His defensiveness is just as damning. When her teachers write home that Lenora is struggling to pay attention in class, and he may want to have her tested, he has to be escorted from school property on Parent Teacher Conference night over the scene he makes. HIS daughter doesn't have a fucking learning disability. HIS daughter isn't predisposed to risky or addictive behavior. For fuck's sake, her sister went to law school at Stanford! There's nothing wrong with Lenora!

Then she's seventeen and the second blue line on the pregnancy test appears and everything goes to shit. She's pregnant halfway through high school and Daniel does not take it well. They have a fight that seems to break something in Daniel he didn't know was already mostly broken. He thought he fucked up raising Kate because he didn't try hard enough. But it turns out he's just such a shitty father, he fucked up with Lenora even worse. A rift forms. He was always a drinker but it gets worse, quickly. He disappears for days at a time. Lenora calls her mother but hangs up after the first ring. She calls her sister instead.

Benji is born when Sybelle is 8 years old, far too late for sibling rivalry, and in those early days it was all so exciting. She's eager to help with everything, unlike Lenora. Lenora is a no show at her own baby shower. She's uninterested in painting the guest room in Kate's house, or attending the parenting classes Kate offers to attend with her. She sleeps through Benji's wailing, leaving him to Kate to handle. She slips out of the house just before his doctor's appointments, leaving them to Kate to handle.

Kate and her husband have a talk about Benji, and the possibility of expanding their family. Then they have a talk with Lenora, and she does not take it well. A rift forms.

Lenora leaves with Benji. She moves to New York, where Daniel, in an effort to win her over like always, has offered to pay for an apartment for her. She doesn't stay there long. He isn't sure where she goes. Kate explodes on him over the phone for letting Lenora slip through the cracks and take Benji with her. A rift that was already there widens, and Kate goes no contact with her father. She hears from Lenora once or twice a year. She sees her strung-out mugshot on facebook being passed around by relatives, gawking and commenting on where and why it all went wrong. Benji is about five when Kate flies out for the custody hearing. She refuses to even acknowledge Daniel, and tells Lenora it's only temporary, and once she gets her shit together, Kate knows she can be a good mother. Lenora has to be escorted from the court room over the scene she makes.

That's the last time Kate sees Daniel or Lenora alive.

If I were a vampire pissed off about the IWTV book and too much of a coward to go after Louis or Daniel, I would simply eat Daniel's daughters.

[darlingpetao3]

Strange Bedfellows (Harry Wells x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: After a night of drowning your misfortune in many cheap drinks, you stumble back into S.T.A.R. Labs to crash for the night. Little do you know, you’ve stumbled into the wrong spare room...

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234

A/N: This is something quick I threw together the other night and is dedicated to the lovely @mintchipcupcake, who has now got me hooked on The Nanny (and this fic was inspired by one of the episodes).

***

So what if you got fired?

So what if you were evicted from your apartment?

So what if you have no romantic prospects?

The only relationship you kindle tonight is one with a Mr. Daniels. Jack Daniels. Oh, and a Madam Gin and her friend Miss Brandy. The gang’s all here, and they support you in your rough night at one of Central City’s cheapest bars.

You’re not proud of your actions, but a night of boozing is the only way you can see yourself getting through these first hurdles of shitty luck. When you confided in Barry, he told you that you’re free to use one of the S.T.A.R. Labs spare rooms to stay in until you’re back on your feet again. You’re so grateful to have a friend like good ol’ Barry Allen.

Cheers! To Barry! you think to yourself, ordering another drink from the growingly skeptical bartender. You had asked Barry not to tell anyone on Team Flash about your situation just yet, as you are still embarrassed about everything right now. You know he’ll keep his promise.

When the bartender cuts you off, you scoff indignantly. How dare he? Doesn’t he know what you’re going through? Doesn’t he know the company you work for laid you off because of downsizing? Doesn’t he know you haven’t had sex in a horrifyingly long time? Only his glorious cocktails can solve your problems!

You pout, and in all your hazy wisdom, decide not to throw a fit in this crap bar. Might as well head… where are you supposed to go again?

Oh yeah, the Labs.

It takes you longer than usual to even just get to the elevator inside the building, and ultimately stumble and fall on your ass as the doors open. With an unsteady hand, you punch the button for Level 500. The speed at which the elevator carries you renders you a bit dizzy, and you only notice the true effects of what you’ve done tonight when you wobble out of it upon reaching the correct floor.

Walking with your hands out in front of you - for stability, naturally - you give yourself a pep talk of sorts.

“You’re doin’ good, almost there, wooooo…”

It’s so strange to see the Labs so dimly lit, mostly because you’re rarely here in the middle of the night.

“Spooky…” you whisper to yourself. “Spooky dooooo, where are youuuuu.”

Eventually, after a series of humming the Pink Panther theme, and skulking around the corridors pretending your fingers are a pistol, you come to the door of one of the spare rooms where you will be sleeping indefinitely. There’s a bit of moonlight streaking in from the room's window, but other than this, it’s too dark for you to see much of anything. You think you can make out the bed, so you go to sit down on the edge of it after shimmying out of your skinny jeans. You shrug off your jacket, and decide then and there that’s too much work already, and leave on your tank top. Genuinely, you just want to crash now.

The moment you curl up under the covers and your cheek hits the strangely familiar-scented pillow, you drift off into the long-awaited dreamland...

***

Sunlight replaces the moonlight in the boringly decorated spare room. You only recognize this because the light is too strong to allow you to actually open your eyes.

Needless to say, a headache is starting to kick in.

You don’t need to open your eyes anyway. The position you’re in is so wonderfully comfortable that you don’t want to move. Your head rests on a sturdy pillow while cuddling against another sturdy pillow…

Since when are pillows ‘sturdy’...?

And since when do pillows hold you back?

This is when you dare to open your eyes, and what you witness makes you second guess as to whether you’re still dreaming.

You are in bed with Harry Wells.

You’re resting against his hard body, feeling how he breathes steadily underneath you. His hand lays on your hip as if it’s done it a million times before.

Making the mistake of lifting your head from Harry’s chest, you set off a chain reaction, ultimately waking up the man himself. It’s a slow realization on his part: Harry blinks languidly, inhaling that first conscious breath of the morning, then his eyes go round in complete shock.

“Wh-what?” he says exasperated, sitting up. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“I don’t know!” you shout back, “I don’t know!”

Harry notices his hand on your hip and removes it as if you’ve burned him.

“When did you-?”

“I don’t know!!” God, you are so embarrassed. You’re in your underwear in his bed! Your face must look like a ripened tomato right now, so you try to cover it with your hands. “Did we-? We didn’t…?” you try to ask and peer at Harry through your fingers. Surprisingly, the man laughs to himself.

“No, I think I’d remember something like that,” he says quietly.

“Wait, what?”

“Why do you smell like a distillery?”

“Why do you…” you attempt a comeback, but everything floods back into your memory. You start to tear up a bit at all your recent misfortune and wind up falling forward with your face in Harry’s lap over the blankets.

“Oh,” he says, and hesitates in letting his hands fall to your arm and your back respectively. “Hey, I didn’t mean… um…”

“Mmmjsstttammphhhh,” you utter, voice muffled by the covers. His hand feels like heavenly comfort on your spine as he rubs up and down.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,” Harry replies, almost sounding slightly amused. You lift your head from his lap and clutch his black tank top in desperation.

“I’m just a mess,” you clarify. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this and now you probably hate me even more for all this weirdness.”

“‘Hate you’? What do you mean ‘hate you’?”

“You know,” you try to articulate. “You’re always so-” You make a frowny face. “-With me.”

“Is that supposed to be me?”

You nod.

“You should know by now that doesn’t mean I hate you, (Y/L/N).”

“It doesn’t?”

Harry shakes his head. His eyes move from your own, down to where your hand still clutches his undershirt. You are now hyper-aware, so you remove your hand and sit up straight. However, that upsets your mental state. The pounding returns.

“Ow.”

“Why don’t you just lie back down?” Harry suggests. “Sleep some more.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Maybe it’s just the lingering effects of the alcohol in your system, but you ask him a question that pops into your mind. “Listen, I’m sure you probably have some special project to get an early start on, but would you mind staying here with me a bit longer? When I’m alone with my thoughts, I dwell too much, but you seem to make all my thoughts disappear.”

“Should I be flattered by such a thing?” he asks, wearing a highly rare smile. Actually, you’ve never seen him smile so much in one conversation.

“In this case, yes.”

“Alright, then.”

You get comfy under the covers once more, letting your head dip while resting on the pillow. Harry does the same, facing you. It’s a bit awkward at first, but with time, that feeling fades, and before either of you know it, Harry’s chin rests on top of your head while you’re snugly pressed against him and begin to drift off. You covet his warmth and relish in his hand on your back again. As expected, all thoughts, including those moments from last night, disappear. Even your bare legs are no longer shy when they meet his beneath the blankets. All there is now is comfort, silence, a little bit of something else unsaid.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 75

Warnings: none

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

Koen arrives shortly before ten in the evening. A paper bag full of bottles of booze under one arm and a tattered and weathered backpack slung over the other; looking slightly worse for wear, even for him. He’s always been dishevelled and unkempt at best, but the pace and the intensity of the job has taken its toll on him; his beard thicker and and boasting more strands of gray, his face and body remarkably thinner and marred by both old and fresh bumps, bruises and contusions that will definitely scar. But that old familiar glitter is still in his eyes; the one that speaks of mischievousness and trouble and gives away his quick and sometimes cutting tongue before he even opens his mouth. The last three weeks have been hell on everyone involved; physically AND mentally. Bodies being consumed by near constant pain, little sleep and poor diet while their brains are subjected to fear, stress, and the overwhelming worth that comes each step out the door and onto the street.

But it’s almost over; the finish line finally in sight. With the list complete, only Mahajan himself and Asif’s people remain; the latter extra hurdles they never expected to confront. No one ever stopped to consider that Mahajan’s reach extended further than India, or that anyone would be able to get to Neysa and Aarav. Nathan is nothing more than a ‘tag along’; extra weight that has to be carried. And his true involvement and whether or not he IS the mole, is yet to be determined. To an untrained eye, it would be easy to see Nathan as another victim; the multitude of injuries and the defiance caught on video. But there’s too many unanswered questions to just let him off the hook. Too much suspicion and things that can’t be explained revolving around his disappearance and sudden reappearance, and it would be foolish -and possibly deadly- to let your guard down around him.

“Am I ever fucking glad to see your ugly face,” Koen says, as he sets both bags down on the kitchen table and then tightly embraces Tyler.

This isn’t one of his usual hugs. It’s warm and genuine; filled with enormous relief and a little gratitude that they've both survived long enough to get a moment like this. And when he pulls away -holding Tyler at arms length, a hand coming up to clasp him on the back of the head before tightly cupping it- there’s something even more unfamiliar in his eyes: a shimmer of tears and honest, pure affection. Normally Tyler would jump on it and rib his old friend about something like that; in the same way Koen would do to him if the situation was reversed. But now is not the time. The last three weeks have felt like three years; everyone involved is exhausted and hurting and relying on nothing more than adrenaline -the hope of it all sending soon- to keep them going. And there’s the strong possibility that someone -or more than one person, even- won’t make it out alive. The realization that the person standing in front of you might not survive and this could very well be the last time you ever see them.

“You good?�� Koen ruffles the hair at the back of Tyler’s head. “How you feeling? You sure look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.”

“What’s the pain like? That guy fucked you up pretty good.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s not entirely a lie. When he’d woken in the hospital seven years ago, the agony had been intense; there hadn’t been a single inch of his body that hadn’t hurt. Since then he’s lived in chronic pain. Some days he’s able to manage and others he can barely get out of bed in the morning. This is a new level of discomfort; increasing and worsening mobility issues, the pins and needles in his right hand, the need for more and more meds to just take the edge off.

“Well you look good. Hell of a lot better than the last time I was with you. Which doesn’t take much, considering you were covered in your own puke and piss and I had to undress you and toss you in the shower.”

Tyler smirks. “I remember when that used to be a sign of a really awesome Friday night.”

Koen cracks a grin at that. “We’re both getting way too old for that shit. And you’ve past it, thank Christ. I honestly thought one day I’d show up at your place and find you dead. About time you smartened the hell up and got your shit together.”

“Guess all I needed was a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass from the right person, you mean. ‘Cause I spent years kicking you in the ass and it did nothing but make you worse. I guess the kick had to come from a hot little brunette to have any effect on you.”

“Yeah…” Tyler grins. “...I guess it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you. She’d be all the motivation I’d need, too. Figure we should be both thanking our lucky stars that she came around when she did. Had it even been a couple months later…”

“Trust me; every day I’m grateful for that. Every goddamn day. For the past seven years.”

“Good. Because you should be. Because even though you were a fucking wreck, she stuck around. She could have easily taken one look at you and thought ‘damaged goods’ and hauled ass on out of there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed her. You were a lot to handle. She must be made of tough stuff, because she wasn’t afraid of your shut or to put a foot up your ass.

“She’s still not afraid of that. And she is. Tough. Strong. A lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Koen declares. “A strong woman. Someone to challenge you and to keep challenging you. Although I do question her sanity. No one in their right mind would hook up with the likes of your sorry ass.”

“I lost my sanity a long time ago,” Esme says, as she descends the stairs. “Why do you think I have five kids? Do you think anyone with a shred of sanity left would do that to themselves?”

“I thought it was because he couldn’t stay off ya and you don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“I admit, it IS hard. He’s devastatingly handsome and can be very persuasive.”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Koen scoffs. “Sweetheart, you are blind as shit. How’s it going, kiddo?” He embraces Esme warmly, then presses a kiss to each cheek. “Looking lovely, as always.”

“Now who’s blind as shit? I look like the offspring of a dumpster fire and a train wreck. But I appreciate you trying to feed my ego.”

“Don’t even argue with her,” Tyler says. “For every good thing you bring up, she’s got five bad things that exist only in her own mind.”

Esme sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler is either completely blind, or totally biased. Koen, if your wife asked you if she looked like a mess...and not a hot one...would tell the truth?”

“Telling the truth is the reason I have so many ex wives. But in all fairness, my ex wives WERE messed. Had any of them looked like you, I’d probably still be married and the happiest sonofabitch on the planet. Now tell me…” he slings an arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “...he been treating you right? Because if he hasn’t…”

“He’s been a complete gentleman. Except for the times I don’t want him to be. And those are X rated and not for your precious little ears, so…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then moves towards the fridge.

“I do not need to know about all the kinky shit you two do. You been keeping him in line? Making sure he pulls his weight? Because you tell me just one bad word, and…”

“He’s been amazing. Even more amazing than usual. Sorry, Koen; I’m not leaving him for you. Not yet anyway.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” He grins, then nudges Tyler with his elbow. “You into sharing, mate?”

He scowls. “Fuck you. That’s my wife. What’s wrong with you?”

“Remember that one girl in Melbourne? About twelve years ago? The blond with the big…”

“There’s a woman in the room!” Esme pipes up, and snags a vitamin water from the fridge. “I do not need to hear these things.”

“You didn’t mind sharing her,” Koen points out.

“That was a random at a bar. That…” Tyler nods in Esme’s direction. “...is my wife. The mother of my kids. I don’t share. Not when it comes to her.”

“As much as I’d love to stay down here and listen to raunchy and disturbing stories from my husband’s sexual past, I have a bubble bath calling my name,” Esme says. “And quite frankly, I prefer to pretend he was somewhat innocent and virginal when we met.”

Koen snorts. “There’s been nothing innocent or virginal about him since he was about fourteen.”

She frowns. “I’m ignoring you now. I’m turning my ears off. Because I do not need to hear or know about these things. I’m going to go upstairs and pamper myself and do girly shit and you two can stay down here and talk about your sexual conquests. But I swear to God, if my ears start to burn, I will beat the hell out of both of you.”

“I would never do that,” Tyler assured her. “Talk about you like that.”

“He lies,” Koen speaks up. “He talks about you like that all the time. The things I know about you…”

“Fuck off,” Tyler snarls. “I’ve never talked about her like that with you. That’s wishful thinking on your part.”

“I’m just warning you both.” She places a hand on her husband’s hip, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to press a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “I am in no mood for fuckery.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Koen quips, the mischievous glitter back in his eyes as he bounces up and down on his heels. “I hear chubby, balding guys can really get shit done.”

Tyler glares at him, then slaps him upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my wife.”

“Sorry Grandpa Koen,” Esme smirks. “I’m a one man woman.”

“Grandpa Koen?” He feigns insults, a hand clasped over his heart. “That’s harsh. Why do you have to break a bloke’s heart like that?”

She grinning over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, boys.”

****

Two hours and a bottle and a half of scotch later, they sit at the kitchen table, reminiscing on days long past. Military missions served together and the camaraderie and the rare laughs and lighthearted moments while overseas. Hiking and camping and hunting trips that they’ve taken -along with Rata- and the handful of times they’d simply packed up and travelled for weeks on end; nothing where they ended up or how they got there.

He was nineteen when he first met Koen; fresh out of basic training, too cocky for his own good, and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment and real experience to knock the chip off his shoulder. Koen had been a staff sergeant then; already grizzled and combat weary and sick of the ‘little shits’ like Tyler that passed his way; the ones with their heads shoved up their own asses, who thought they were something special for getting through training in one piece. Koen had made it his personal mission to make his life as miserable as possible; treating him lower than dirty in order to rid him of what Koen had called ‘pukey personality’. He’d seen something in that nineteen year old kid; the promise of becoming a damn good soldier. And it had worked; all the physical and mental punishment completely broke him; transitioning him into someone he no longer recognized. It had unknowingly led to the worsening of some things; the toxic masculinity that had been beaten into him thanks to his old man, and a propensity to drink way too heavily. Being that good of a soldier...as nothing more than a killing machine in his eyes...had made him feel invincible; each successful tour leaving him feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And had eventually led him to the job and that sick and twisted desire to seek out one suicide mission after another.

“You alright?” Koen asks, as he pours himself another drink. “You got a little quiet on me there.”

“I’m alright,” Tyler confirms, and runs a palm along the side of his glass. It’s only his second of the night. Starting off by promising to pace himself; not wanting to drink too much considering the amount of painkillers -well beyond the prescribed amount- he’s been taking. But he’d quickly realized it was more than that. He simply didn’t enjoy it anymore; all the cravings and the need and the taste for it somehow disappearing since the incident a week and a half ago.

“You sure? Haven’t seen you look THAT serious in a long time. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sounds intense.”

“About as intense as it gets.”

Koen sips his drink. “What’s it about?”

Tyler pushes his glass aside and reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Pulling out a handwritten letter -two pages long- sealed in an envelope. And he issues a heavy, shaky sigh and offers it to his friend.

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

“If anything happens to me, you have to give this to Esme. I need her to read it. She HAS to read it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” the older man snarls. “I’m not taking no death letter.”

“You have to. You NEED to. If anything happens to me…”

“Stop talking that shit. I won’t listen to it. I won’t…”

“I need you to fucking do this!” he snaps, then roughly grabs his friend’s hand and shoves the letter into it. “She needs to read it. And I need you to give it to her. You keep it and if anything happens to me, you make sure she gets it. This is important to me, okay? I need her to read it. And I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure she does.”

“Why wait? Why wait until it’s too late? Why not tell her these things now? So she knows. Wouldn’t you rather she knows before? Why the fuck…?”

“She knows. She knows I love her. She knows I love her with everything I am and everything I have. But there’s things in there I can’t say. Or I feel like I can’t say properly. And I NEED her to know those things. If something happens to me, it’s important she knows. I need you to do this.”

Koen downs half of his drink and then stands up, reluctantly sliding the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? The things I don’t fucking do for you. Taking a goddamn death letter.”

“Just promise you’ll give it to her. If I don’t make it out of here, promise me you’ll make sure she gets that. You have no idea how important it is to me.”

“I’ll make sure. What about your kids? They might like something from their daddy. You know...if…”

“I already did something for them. A video. Ovi has it. He’ll make sure they see it. And that Addie will watch when she’s old enough to understand.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the new baby, but mere though of it...the realization that he could leave a pregnant wife behind and there’d be a child he’d never get to see- is just too fucking painful. Ovi knows; he’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy after telling him to make sure all the kids saw the video when they’re old enough. Even the one that’s still inside their mother’s belly.

“Well let’s hope she never has a reason to read it,” Koen says. “And that those kids never have to see that video. You do whatever it takes to get your ass out of there. Alive. And I’ll do whatever I have to on my end to make sure it happens. This isn’t it. It CAN’T be it. Not when you just found all of this. A wife and kids. A family. A REAL goddamn family. This can’t be it.”

“I sure as fuck hope it isn’t.” He doesn’t bother to hold back the tears that manage to escape; hot against his skin as they slip down the sides of his nose and his cheeks. His chest burns and aches. Not the kind of agony that comes with anxiety, but the suffering that comes with heartache and grief and tremendous loss. Not even the swallow of scotch -in an attempt to clear the lump of emotion from his throat- helps, and he places an elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed as he struggles to keep it together.

“It’s alright,” Koen’s voice is surprisingly quiet and calm, and there’s an audible creak as he leans forward in his hair; hand both heavy and comforting against the back of Tyler’s head. “It’s alright now, son. It’s okay to be like this. You can be this way with me. I got you.”

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” his voice cracks with emotion as the tears continue to fall. “Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if I made it out. But now I have her and I have my kids and I can’t...I can’t leave them. I’m not ready to leave them.”

“No one says you’re going to. It’s not a sure thing. You’re a tough, stubborn bastard.”

“I don’t want to die. I don't want this life to be over. Before her, I was ready. I wanted to die; I wanted all the bullshit to be over. I hated my life and I hated myself and I didn’t fuck care if someone put a bullet in me. And I then I met here and everything changed. I changed. She didn’t look at me like I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit and she made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time and I never thought I’d feel again. And maybe it was wrong; how things happened, where they happened. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, something felt right. Something felt good. It felt fucking amazing. And I should have pushed her way. I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“It was a weird situation maybe,” Koen says. “But it doesn’t mean it was wrong. Look how things turned out. Look at the life you made. Together.”

“I don’t want that life to be over. I don’t want to leave her. Or my kids. I want to grow old and gray with her and I want to see my kids graduate high school and go to college and get married and have kids of their own. I want ALL of that. But I’m fucking terrified none of will happen. That when I left my kids this morning, that was it. That I’ll never see them again. That I won’t even get to see Addie take her first steps or celebrate her first birthday. There’s so much I don’t want to miss and I’m scared I will.”

“I know…” Koen’s fingertips dig into his scalp as he firmly massages it. “...I know…”

“Everything that is good in me is because of her. Because she found it and she brought it out. And she’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and those kids. And I’m not ready to leave them.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And so will I on my end. I’ve got you. I’ll bust my ass to make sure you get back to your family. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and uses his elbow to push his friend away. “I hear ya.”

“You good? You get it all out?”

“I think so. I guess I needed to do that; get it out.”

“You’ve been trying to hold it together for her,” Koen reasons, and returns to his seat. “But even guys like you need someone you can fall apart with. And I guess that someone is me; lucky bastard that I am.”

Tyler gives a small laugh, then uses the back of his hand to clear the remaining tears away. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Esme knows what she has to do; if something happens to me. She knows to take the money and the kids and leave. But I need someone to keep their eye on them. I need someone to make sure they’re okay. No matter where they end up. And I know this a hell of a lot to ask…”

“I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Wherever they go, I need you to go with them. You don’t have to stay forever. Just until she’s doing alright and the kids are settled and doing okay. And if you could do that for me…”

“I already said I would. I’ll make sure they’re alright. Nothing will happen to them. Not on my watch,”

“But I swear to God, if you even think of making a move on her, I will come back and haunt your ass.”

Koen laughs at that, then reaches across the table to tousle Tyler’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to get out of this. You’re going to walk in there, get shit done, and you’re going to walk back out and go back to your family. And then all of this...all this talk...will have been for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Tyler says, and downs the remains of his drink. “I really fucking hope so.”

****

It’s just past one in the morning when he steps into the master bedroom, moving about it’s darkened confines with the aid of the moonlight. Removing the holster and gun from his hip and placing it in the top drawer of the nightstand, then slipping out of his shorts and t-shirt; tossing both on top of the open duffle bag that sits in front of the closet. And he briefly lingers at the side of the bed, listening to her soft breathing and watching as her body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Sound asleep; on her side with her back towards the door.

The pain in his chest and the knot in his stomach return with a vengeance; those thoughts of possibly never getting those moments with her again. He can’t get it out of his mind; how close he’d been to ending things only to find someone -when he hadn’t expected to- capable of snatching him off that ledge. Seven years. Spent with the person that saved him in every way a person can be saved. Who has proved time and time again that she loves every inch of him; all the good, all the bad, and everything in between. Every imperfection, every scar; both inside and out. Who taught him what it was to love again; to actually laugh and smile. And who has helped him make even more life; selflessly giving up her own body to do it.

How do you ever tell that person how you feel? Especially when you don’t think there’s words that can even come close to describing it?

Slipping into bed behind her, he presses his front to her back; lips in her hair as he trails his fingertips across her shoulder and slowly down her arm. Over the curve of her elbow and down to her wrist before moving along the top of her hand and then each finger. Memorizing every inch through touch; her skin soft and beautiful. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she pushes her fingers through his and tightly squeezes.

“What time is it?” she sleepily inquires.

“It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Just after one.”

“You been drinking?”

“Just had a couple,” he admits, then moves their joined hands down to her stomach. Smiling at the feel of that little bump. It’s smooth and it’s soft and even after four others, it’s incredible. The mere thought that there’s a living being in there. One that he had a hand in making. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have had any. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you HAVEN’T drank. That you’ve fought as hard as you have. I wouldn’t have blamed you or thought less of you if you’d slipped. This has been hell on earth.”

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I NEVER want to be him again. You deserve better than that. So do our kids.”

“You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think about yourself sometimes. I knew it the moment I met you; that you weren’t like everyone else. It was in your eyes. There was this softness and this vulnerability and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in any of the other mercs I’d come in contact with. You were different. I remember the first time we were here, and we’d have those long, serious talks that went into the early hours of the morning and I’d wonder how the hell someone like you ever got mixed up in a world like this.”

“Yeah, well we both know the reason behind that. I didn’t exactly hide it from you.”

“But you could have. And you didn’t. Right off the hop you were so honest and raw and it was...I don’t know it...it was beautiful.”

“Oh fuck...not THAT word.”

“It was, “ she insists. “It WAS beautiful. Because you were just so out there with everything. You didn’t hold anything back. There’s nothing you DIDN’T tell me. You told me about your mom and you dad. Your ex. Austin. You were just so breathtakingly real and honest and it was refreshing. To be with someone like that. Who didn’t try and pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was raw and it was emotional and I SAW you. And you let me see you. That was definitely not just two people using each other for sex. Now, had you just rolled over and gone to sleep…”

He laughs into her hair. “I never wanted THAT.”

“It was surprising. Not the things you told me, but the fact you told me at all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I didn’t expect that from myself,” Tyler admits.

“Why did you do it? Just open up like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just trusted you. Guess there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing it. A lot of what I told you? No one else knows that stuff. Not even Koen. Guess my instincts told me you were good people. Very good people.”

“You thought you could scare me away didn’t you. When you told me about Austin. You thought that would make me think less of you.”

He nods.

“You made a mistake. You were younger and you were scared and you made a bad decision.”

“Worst possible decision.”

“It didn’t even come close to scaring me away. It made my heart hurt for you. And him. But it didn’t make me think less of you. I could never think less of you.”

“So no matter what, you’ll always think the sun shines out of my ass?”

She giggles. “Always.”

He raises his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rests his cheek against hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I hadn’t been sleeping for very long. I’m having a hard time. I miss the kids.”

“So do I. But Koen called and checked up on them for us. Everything’s fine. They’re happy and they’re safe and they haven’t beaten the shit out of each other. Yet.”

“Yet,” she laughs. “That’s the key word. And we both know who the one beating the shit out of people will be.”

“Yep. Your daughter has quite the temper.”

“She’s just my daughter now, is she? And who do you think she gets her temper from?”

“You.”

“Oh bullshit. She’s just like you and you know it. And you’re proud of it, too. Don’t even try and deny it. I know you how much like that fact that she’s your mini me.”

“She’s my baby. My first. Well, my first after...you know…”

“Your miracle baby.”

He smiles and places a kiss to her temple. “Exactly. She’s one that made me a dad again. Never thought in a million years I’d get another chance at that. And then she came along. I mean, you did have a little part to play in all of it.”

“Just a little. I only carried her for nine months. And then what happens? She comes out just like you. Even the nurse in the delivery room had to point it out; how she had your eyes and your nose and your ears and your hair. I was like, well fuck you too then.”

Tyler laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you and you just tucked her into you and she stopped crying and she just looked up at you with those huge eyes.”

“And I cried.”

“Yeah…” she smiles and tightens her hold on his hand. “...you cried. And it was beautiful. You were so happy that she was finally here. I think it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. It was like all the pain and all your past was just gone and your face was so soft and so perfect. Nothing existed outside of her. And you looked at her like you couldn’t believe she was even real.”

“She was beautiful. She still is.”

“I think at that moment...seeing you with her...I fell so in love with you. Even more than I already was. And it was kind of crazy and scary, because I already loved you a hell of a lot. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone THAT much. Sometimes I still don’t. I’ll watch you with Addie or playing with Declan or helping TJ and Tanner with their homework and I’ll think ‘God, I love him’.”

He grins against her ear. “And you have the nerve to call me sappy?”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling all sappy and emotional. I think it’s the fact we’re back here. Of all places. It makes me think about us. How we started and where we’ve ended up. All good things. All very good things.”

“I was thinking about when I woke up in the hospital and you were there. How you were the first person I saw and I was so fucking relieved you were there. I didn’t know if you even made it off the bridge. And even if you did, if you’d stick around.”

“Of course I stuck around,” she releases her hold on his hand and rolls over onto her side to face him. “I went to all that trouble to keep you alive. You really think I wouldn’t stick around to see the result of my handiwork?”

“I guess not.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose then drapes a leg over her and places a hand on the small of her back.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you. About tomorrow. Or today. About me going out there.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You know how you always say you’re not a rookie? Well neither am I.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it Especially when you have my baby in there.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had seven years of learning from the best. And Koen will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.”

“He better. Or it’s his ass.”

“You have to trust me. I’d never do anything to put myself...or this baby...in harm’s way.”

“I do. I do trust you.”

“What if I can’t get the information? What if no one will give me any? Then we’re totally fucked. And not a good, fun way either.”

“If that happens, we go to plan B.”

“You let them know you’re here.”

Tyler nods.

“What’s plan C?””

“There is no plan C.”

“Maybe there should be. So we don’t have to rely on plan B.”

“Baby…” he skims his knuckles up and down her spine. “...we talked about this.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind And I’m changing it. That is NOT a good idea; letting them know you’re here. What ever happened to the element of surprise? It goes a long way. They want to lure you here, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

“I’ll only go to plan B if you can’t get me information.”

“Okay…” Esme frowns. “...that is a lot of peer pressure. I haven’t done this in awhile. Since before Addie.”

“Addie’s only three months old. It’s not like she’s a year or a couple years.”

“So what? Ten months? Since I did this kind of thing? We found out about her during all of that.”

“Who’s the one that found out where Ovi was?”

“That took me four days.”

“It took Nik a week just to narrow down Dhaka,” he points out.

“Four days is horrible. My track record was way better than that before. Four days is embarrassing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I should have had it in twenty four hours. Thirty six at the most.”

“I’m kind of glad it took as long as it did. I had a pretty good five days.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. It wasn’t a TOTAL failure. But four days? For me? That is shameful.”

“If it makes you feel better, it only took two from the day you showed up on my porch to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Oh, I had to convince you now, did I? You admitted you would have done it the first night had I wanted a booty call.”

“Well then you should be very proud of yourself. It only took you a couple hours to convince me to give it up.”

“Sorry if I don’t feel my ego inflated because you were horny and desperate.”

“Hey, if I’d been desperate, I would have fucked Nik.”

“That…” she scrapes her nails along his jaw and then taps a fingertip against his chin. “... is a very good point actually. I’m glad you held out an extra couple of days. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was SO worth it.”

“I was very impressed. When I see you naked. I had expectations.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I did. Very high ones, actually. You lived up to them. And then some. You definitely fit the old ‘big hands, big feet’ adage. I wanted to see if it was a myth. I quickly found out it was not.”

“You also thought the G spot was a myth.”

“I found out pretty quick that it isn’t. You were really on the ball those five days.”

“Had to leave a lasting impression,” Tyler reasons. “Wanted you to come back for me.”

“You left a lasting impression, alright. One that lasted nine months and weighed eight pounds, three ounces. That’s quite the impression to leave.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That’s the one good thing...the one amazing thing...that came out of all that bullshit. Besides us.”

“Nice to see you finally admit we’re a good thing,” she teases. “I think we’re pretty amazing. But hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

“We are. We are pretty amazing.”

“And we’re stronger together than we are apart. You’ve always said that. And that’s why we need to trust each other. With this. We have to trust each other more than we ever have. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here. That we’ll BOTH get out of here.”

He gives a small smile of agreement, then runs his palm up her back and all the way to the nape of her neck; squeezing lightly as he pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow at first; closed mouth upon closed mouth and their bodies brushing against each other. It’s her that takes the first step towards turning it into something more. Fingers pushing into his hair and tightly gripping it; pressing her body against his as her tongue pushes its way past his lips and teeth. Quickly transforming the moment into something much more desperate and needy.

“I want you,” she breathes, her lips finding the side of his neck, teeth scraping against the tattoo and the scar that mars the skin. “I want you and I need you. I need to feel you inside of me.”

He shudders at her words, then leans his weight into her and pushes her onto her back. Her fingers still in his hair and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands and his mouth behind their slow, torturous worship of her body.

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #8: The Rolling Stones at Altamont (AKA One of the Worst Concert Disasters of All Time)

The year 1969 had been a hectic one, both for the world in general (with the continuing Vietnam War, the Chappaquiddick incident, and the moon landings) and especially for rock and roll (with the death of Brian Jones, Woodstock, and the Beatles starting to head full-steam down the road that led them to their break-up in April 1970). Capping off this year full of highs and lows, there was Altamont, which has been labelled by many as the death of the 60′s. At the very least, it certainly brought a premature end to the idealism that the youths of that generation held dear.

Lord knows, I will always say that Brian Jones should have had a chance to get back on his feet and I’m super salty that he’s dead, but honestly, I’m glad he missed out on this one. 

Before I tell the story of Altamont though, I must ask… Whose bright idea was it to hire the Hell’s Angels as security for a Rolling Stones concert and pay them with $500 of beer?

Well, to answer that question, I’m going to have to begin this story with the ending of another. Truly, the roots of this ill-thought-out decision lies within events that had happened that summer. 

I’ve mentioned Brian Jones already, but to give those of you who are new to this the rundown, Lewis Brian Hopkin Jones was the Stones’ first guitarist, and at the start, he was the brains of the band. Seven years, a bunch of internal conflict with Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Andrew Loog Oldham, a messy relationship with Anita Pallenberg, drug abuse and alcoholism, two drug trials, and a fuck-ton of stress later, Brian was in a state we’d call “mental exhaustion” (didn’t help that his physical health was shit too). Where in 1966 he was contributing some of the best parts of the Stones’ early music, such as the sitar on “Paint It Black”, in 1969, he’d rarely show up to the studio, and if he did, he would usually be too intoxicated to properly contribute. In fact, on Let It Bleed, he only contributed to two songs: “Midnight Rambler” (congas) and “You’ve Got the Silver” (autoharp).

In June 1969, the Stones decided they wanted to go on tour again, but then, they found out that due to the fact that Brian had twice been convicted of drug possession, it’d be unlikely that he could receive a visa to perform in the U.S.A., if at all. Ultimately, Mick and Keith decided that their best option would be to fire Brian, and so, on June 8, 1969, they went down to Brian’s home, Cotchford Farm, to tell him that he would no longer be with the group. According to those present, Brian had been expecting this, and in the various press releases, it was made to appear as if Brian had left the band on his own terms. His statement read, in part, “I no longer see eye to eye with the others over the discs we are cutting. We no longer communicate musically. The Stones’ music is not to my taste any more. The work of Mick and Keith has progressed at a tangent, at least to my way of thinking. I have a desire to play my own brand of music rather than that of others, no matter how much I appreciate their musical concepts.”

At this point in time, whether Brian was accepting of this turn of events or not is up to conjecture. 

In either case, the Stones brought in 20-year-old Mick Taylor (previously of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers) to replace Brian, and at a press conference on June 13, the Stones announced that they would be holding a free concert on July 5 in order to properly introduce their new guitarist. 

And then, just three days before the concert was set to take place, Brian drowned in his backyard swimming pool, being just twenty-seven years old. Although the coroner ruled it death by misadventure (which personal research seems to support), theories have long persisted that Brian was, in fact, murdered, but that is, of course, a story for another day. 

The Stones in the Park concert quickly became a tribute to Brian Jones, and at the start, Mick read two verses of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Adonais, and as the band launched into “I’m Yours and I’m Hers” by Johnny Winters (one of Brian’s favourite songs), thousands of butterflies were released, though this was against park stipulation, as they were voracious Cabbage White butterflies, and many had died due to the boxes not being properly ventilated. 

What’s important to this story about the concert at Hyde Park is that the London chapter of the Hell’s Angels was there providing security that day. It is also important to note that the Grateful Dead (who, incidentally, also had a member of the 27 Club in their line-up) had also hired the Hell’s Angels as security numerous times. 

Several months later, the Stones had been having a pretty good run with their American tour, which was able to slightly mitigate some of the shady business practices Allen Klein had subjected them to, but throughout, fans and journalists kept complaining about high ticket prices. If you ask me though, those bitches were lucky. I’d rather be paying three to eight dollars (equivalent to $21.21 to $56.57 in 2019) as opposed to a minimum of $159 that tickets to a Rolling Stones concert now sell for. Not to mention, Woodstock had happened in August that year, and that was a big success, so in Mick Jagger’s 26-year-old, immature, unwise brain, that obviously meant that they should have another free concert like the one at Hyde Park. Really, in his mind, the peace and love movement was only just beginning, so what could go wrong?

As Murphy’s Law will tell you, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong” 

Oh, and go wrong it did. 

The first major problem was that they couldn’t get a venue. 

The concert was set for December 6, and their tour manager, Sam Cutler, struggled to get them a venue. He tried San Jose’s State University, but there had been a three-day festival recently, and the city wasn’t exactly in the mood for another batch of hippies storming the city so soon afterward, so that was out of bounds. He then tried gunning for San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, but there was a football game between the Chicago Bears and the San Francisco 49-ers taking place in the same general location, which made use of the venue impractical. He then tried getting Sears Point Raceway on board, but disputes quickly arose over filming distribution rights and an up-front fee of $300,000.

Finally, just two days before the concert was set to take place, the Stones’ management managed to get a hold of Altamont Speedway (it helped that the owner, Dick Carter, apparently offered the venue for free). 

As you can imagine, there was a whole shit-ton of problems that arose from that, and Rolling Stone magazine, in its piece on the tragedy, listed the following logistical problems: 

“1) Promise a free concert by a popular rock group which rarely appears in this country. Announce the site only four days in advance.

2) Change the location 20 hours before the concert.

3) The new concert site should be as close as possible to a giant freeway.

4) Make sure the grounds are barren, treeless, desolate.

5) Don’t warn neighboring landowners that hundreds of thousands of people are expected. Be unaware of their out-front hostility toward long hair and rock music.

6) Provide one-sixtieth the required toilet facilities to insure that people will use nearby fields, the sides of cars, etc.

7) The stage should be located in an area likely to be completely surrounded by people and their vehicles.

8) Build the stage low enough to be easily hurdled. Don’t secure a clear area between stage and audience.

9) Provide an unreliable barely audible low fidelity sound system.

10) Ask the Hell’s Angels to act as ‘security’ guards.”

Most sane people would have quit while they were ahead, but this is the Rolling Stones we’re talking about. Between Brian Jones having five kids by the age of twenty-three, Mick Jagger allegedly sleeping with over 4,000 women (and don’t get me started on him and David Bowie), Keith Richards’ drug habits and his snorting his dad’s ashes, Bill Wyman dating a teenager while he was in his forties, and Charlie Watts punching Mick Jagger in the face, we are absolutely not dealing with the most sane bunch of individuals on the planet. 

And let’s not forget that some idiot decided it’d be a great idea to pay the Hell’s Angels in $500 of beer (the equivalent of $3,535.43 in 2019).

Yeah, if you listened closely to the sounds of the earth in 1969, I can guarantee you, you probably would have heard a barely-cold-in-the-ground Brian Jones spinning in his grave over this stupidity (because he was acting as the band’s manager for a time in their early days before Andrew Oldham came on board). 

Let’s also not forget that they hired a particularly notorious batch of Hell’s Angels from Oakland, California, whereas the Grateful Dead found their “security bikers” in Sacramento. Apparently, Grateful Dead manager Rock Scully even tried to warn the Stones about the “real” Hell’s Angels after seeing the footage from Hyde Park, but obviously, they didn’t take whatever warning he tried to give them to heart. The hippies in general had a romanticized image of the Hell’s Angels in their heads, seeing them as “outlaw brothers of the counterculture.”

No points for guessing how that worked out, but let’s continue regardless. 

Set to perform that night were Santana, Jefferson Airplane, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, the Grateful Dead, and of course, the Rolling Stones. 

They would all be performing on a stage that was just thirty-nine inches off the ground and surrounded on all sides by over 300,000 attendees. Apparently, this had been planned to create a more “intimate” experience. 

From what I could tell, waivers were not involved. 

For the sake of time, I can’t give you a minute-by-minute analysis of the event, but I can still provide a basic timeline of all that happened. 

So, everything went relatively smoothly as Santana performed their set, but it was only downhill from there. As the day progressed, the crowd started fighting each other, and the “security” sure as hell didn’t help matters. At some point, someone knocked over one of the Angel’s motorcycles, which was likely an accident. However, the Angels were already pretty pissy, and plus, rule number one when it comes to the Angels is “Don’t mess with the motorcycles.” So, the Angels, already high thanks to someone spiking the beer with acid, started indiscriminately assaulting audience members they didn’t like with sawed-off pool cues and motorcycle chains, including a guy who was running around naked and someone else who was trying to take pictures of the stage. One woman who called in to a radio station the next day reported that she saw five fistfights, and the Angels were involved in every last one. She tried to intervene, but the people around her warned her not to, fearing for both their safety and hers. 

During Jefferson Airplane’s set, Marty Balin was knocked unconscious when he tried to intervene in a fight between the audience members and Hell’s Angels. When Paul Kantner grabbed a mic and sarcastically thanked the Angels, Bill Fritsch grabbed the mic from him and started arguing with him about it. In addition, Denise Jewkes, lead singer of Ace of Cups, was hit in the head with a beer bottle and suffered a skull fracture. Her husband, Noel, had to lead his six-month pregnant wife through the sea of people so she could get medical attention. The Stones later paid her medical expenses. By this point, news of what was going on out front was beginning to seep into the backstage areas and even back to the Stones at their hotel room, but most of the acts decided to press on regardless. However, after hearing about what happened to Marty from Michael Shrieve, the guys from the Grateful Dead decided to book it. 

Yeah. Thanks a bunch, assholes.

The crowd did calm down a bit for the Flying Burrito Brothers’ set, because really, who can say no to Gram Parsons? However, that calm was only temporary. When the Stones arrived by helicopter, it wasn’t even ten seconds before someone punched Mick Jagger in the face. Also, Bill Wyman missed the first helicopter out, so the Stones were already going to be late.

And then Mick Jagger decided he wanted to be all dramatic and shit, so the crowds were forced to wait until nightfall for the Stones’ set.

Meanwhile, during Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s set, a “stoned out” Angel reportedly stabbed Stephen Stills in the leg whenever he stepped forward to sing, leaving trails of blood running down his leg.

By the time the Stones were anywhere near ready to take the stage, things started to degenerate even further, to the point where the Angels (who already despised Mick’s scrawny, English arse) pretty much forced the Stones to go out on stage regardless of whether they were ready or not, just to prevent a full-scale riot.

It was in that moment Mick knew… he fucked up royally.

As Mick observed the constant fighting between the audience members and Hell’s Angels during the show as he sang “Sympathy for the Devil”, he desperately, defeatedly, pleaded for calm, his usual bravado completely absent for once in his adult life. However, it was clear that the Angels already weren’t going to listen to the flamboyant musician they clearly hated, and tensions had been simmering too long throughout the day, so Mick’s pleas for peace practically went completely unheard. 

Mick Taylor later said, “The Hell’s Angels had a lot to do with it. The people that were working with us getting the concert together thought it would be a good idea to have them as a security force. But I got the impression that because they were a security force they were using it as an excuse. They’re just very, very violent people. I think we expected probably something like the Hell’s Angels that were our security force at Hyde Park, but of course they’re not the real Hell’s Angels, they’re completely phony. These guys in California are the real thing — they’re very violent. I had expected a nice sort of peaceful concert. I didn’t expect anything like that in San Francisco because they are so used to having nice things there. That’s where free concerts started, and I thought a society like San Francisco could have done much better. We were on the road when it was being organized, we weren’t involved at all. We would have liked to have been. Perhaps the only thing we needed security for was the Hell’s Angels. I really don’t know what caused it but it just depressed me because it could have been so beautiful that day”

(I feel so sorry for Mick Taylor. The kid was just twenty years old when he saw all this bullshit going down.)

Now, what I’m going to do with this go-around, before I describe what happened next, is tell you a little bit about Meredith Hunter. He was just eighteen when he went to Altamont with his girlfriend, Patti Bredehoft. The only reason he had a gun that day, according to his family, was for self-protection, given that he was basically a young black man with a white girlfriend in a sea of white people, at a time and place where racism was still very much prevalent. Allegedly, the gun didn’t even have any bullets in it; it would just be a last resort to deter anyone giving him trouble. Like most 18-year-olds, he was also a bit naive, and though his girlfriend wanted to leave, he convinced her to stay for the Rolling Stones’ set. At one point, he was already set upon by Hell’s Angels, but that time, it was only a scuffle. What is known is that he was high on methamphetamines, but what isn’t known for sure is his general demeanour. Some said he had a crazy look in his eye, while others said that he seemed calm, though he was upset at the violence. 

And then, all hell broke loose. 

As “Under My Thumb” was ending, cameras found an opening into the crowd, into which stumbled Meredith Hunter. He grabbed his gun, a .22 calibre revolver, which was visible to cameras against Patti’s dress. When Alan Passaro saw this, he immediately assumed that Hunter was trying to shoot somebody, and started stabbing him (this was, again, in plain view of a bunch of cameras). Subsequently, he was repeatedly kicked in the head, trying to tell his attackers that he wasn’t trying to kill anybody. However, the Angels were convinced that he was attempting to shoot somebody, and that’s essentially what the narrative became- that a crazed black kid high on meth tried to shoot Mick or one of the other Rolling Stones (which, believe me, I’d be salty about even if I hadn’t read a Rolling Stone article about him).

It was little Mick Taylor who managed to keep things rolling (a bit) by suggesting they play “Brown Sugar”, which had only been recorded the previous Tuesday. 

Somehow, after the vicious beating he’d suffered, Meredith was still alive, and a doctor at the scene looked at him and recommended that he get immediate medical attention, or else he’d die. However, the only helicopter at the scene was reserved for the Rolling Stones, and the pilot made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that no one else was allowed on board. Hunter ended up dying of his injuries while they waited for emergency responders. 

I don’t quite know how well the situation was explained, but still, dick move on the part of the helicopter pilots. 

In addition to Hunter, three other people died, one after falling into a fast-moving irrigation duct while tripping on LSD, and two others were killed in their sleeping bags during a hit-and-run accident. There were also four reported births, one of which occurred during Jefferson Airplane’s set. 

The day after the concert, the Stones flew back to London, as the news slowly disseminated throughout the world. 

In 1971, a documentary about the tragedy, Gimme Shelter, was released to the public. However, in the years since, many have argued that is meant to excuse the Stones’ actions and is an apologist piece of media. Still, the footage itself does show a chilling account of what happened that day, if you can ignore that overall narrative (though you really shoudn’t ignore that). 

Alan Passaro was later charged with Meredith’s murder, but was acquitted by an all-white jury, who likely either excused the crime due to racism, or just didn’t have the full story.

After Altamont, just about everybody turned on each other. The audience members, many of whom undoubtedly still live with the scars of that fateful night blamed the Hell’s Angels, whereas the Angels laid some of the blame on the audience members, and most of it on the people who hired them, whilst the Stones said they’d never work with the Hell’s Angels again (which, allegedly, almost resulted in some of them trying to assassinate Mick Jagger). 

In my honest, humble, not-so-professional opinion, I say the blame should be laid with the Stones’ management, Mick Jagger, the Grateful Dead, and the Hell’s Angels. The concert should have been planned over a matter of months instead of weeks, held in a proper venue, and above all else, not had fucking Hell’s Angels as security guards. 

While the Grateful Dead came out of it rather unscathed (mostly because they didn’t play), it’s been said that the Stones lost quite a bit of their edge. It’s easy to say that they grew up a lot because of this event, becoming a lot humbler, and a lot less greedy and risky as a direct result of this. It’s even to a point where people haven’t liked much of what they’ve put out since the 1980’s. Santana and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young declined to have their performances shown in Gimme Shelter, and have since spoken very little about the event. Meanwhile, Alan Passaro drowned in 1985, though the circumstances of his death are suspicious, to say the least. Meanwhile, Meredith Hunter’s family still deals with the trauma of his death, and aside from a $10,000 ($70,708.59) settlement, the Stones never even approached the family to offer their condolences, or even a half-assed explanation (I don’t recommend the latter approach). The Hell’s Angels also had their reputations as dangerous outsiders cemented by this event, given that they’d caused at least 75-90% of the violence that took place that day. 

Keith Richards has maintained his “fuck-all” attitude about this through the years, even writing in his 2010 autobiography “In actual fact, if it hadn’t been for the murder, we’d have thought it a very smooth gig by the skin of its fucking teeth.”

There is a reason that many of the dreams of the 60′s died at Altamont, and all the evidence you really need is the footage that was shot that night and the words of the people who saw the fiasco first hand. 

Sources: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/remembering-meredith-hunter-the-fan-killed-at-altamont-630260/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/the-rolling-stones-disaster-at-altamont-let-it-bleed-71299/ https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidchiu/2019/12/03/altamont-at-50-the-disastrous-concert-that-brought-the-60s-to-a-crashing-halt/#535871c31941 https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/the-chaos-of-altamont-and-the-murder-of-meredith-hunter https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/the-altamont-festival-brings-the-1960s-to-a-violent-end https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/music/altamont-wasnt-the-end-of-the-60s-it-was-the-start-of-rock-n-roll-disasters https://worldhistoryproject.org/1969/12/6/altamont-free-concert Altamont by Joel Selvin Life by Keith Richards https://allthatsinteresting.com/altamont-speedway-free-concert https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/lifestyle/altamont-rolling-stones-50th-anniversary/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altamont_Free_Concert https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Meredith_Hunter http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html https://www.thevintagenews.com/2018/02/01/altamont-free-concert-in-1969/ https://www.ranker.com/list/altamont-free-concert-facts/jen-jeffers http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/on-this-day/On-This-Day–Deaths-at-Rolling-Stones–Altamont-Concert-Shocks-the-Nation.html https://www.robertchristgau.com/xg/bk-aow/altamont.php https://westegg.com/inflation/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUlyVSfhgaM https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/the-rolling-stones/1969/altamont-speedway-tracy-ca-43d6fbb3.html https://slate.com/culture/2018/07/just-a-shot-away-a-history-of-altamont-by-saul-austerlitz-reviewed.html

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Therapy 13/02/2019

I don’t even know what to say. 

I honestly feel like a complete and utter failure 99.9% of the time at the moment. I didn’t want to go to the session as I felt like I would just be wasting N’s time and that someone else who needs more support could be using the session far better. I didn’t want to go back and sit in the same room, on the same chair and say the same things; I know what I need to do yet I have been feeling absolutely powerless….Anyway, in short, I did go to the session and it was okay. I suppose it helped me to draw a bit of a line under the past week and accept that there were many things that were not in my control that came up, that could have knocked me heavily. Everything has felt quite heavy and hard, and even just having to get up each morning fills me with dread. N said that she was proud of me for not resorting to old coping mechanisms/going backwards when things have been so “muddy”. And that is how I would describe the past week: muddy. It’s not that there have been specific triggers but there has just been a number of things that were out of my control that have made my boots sink a little deeper into the mud and made me feel even more stuck/tired/exhausted. We talked through some of the things and I suppose that kind of helped with the “drawing a line” and trying to put the week behind me. 

We set some goals/things for me to focus on over the next week. A big hurdle right now is my self-confidence/belief. We revisited one of the first MANTRA sheets that gets you to rate your “understanding of the importance for change” and then your confidence in your ability to make changes - and this is where it highlighted to us both that my confidence in my own abilities has been dropping as the weeks tick by. Yes I have a high level of insight and understanding and I want to change, however I have very little faith/belief in myself that I can do it and do not trust myself in the slightest, which leads to me feeling paralysed/unable to make any sort of changes. Part of me questions what the point in trying even is anymore as I keep falling down/messing up and have been stuck in the same cycles for years, so why should this time be different? I know this is AN but knowing that doesn’t quite help when it is such a strong belief. Not only that but I also feel like everyone around me is giving up on me and has resigned to the fact that I am not able to do it myself. It all tumbles together into a viscous cycle of ruminating thoughts that anorexia jumps on and twists and then pits against my depression; trapping me in an internal war. 

She thinks that the focus needs to be on giving me to support to actually implement changes, so exposure therapy, which is often used to help people who suffer from OCD. It’s basically setting up a behavioural experiment and means that you exposure yourself to the fear/rule/behaviour and then have to ride out the wave without using old coping mechanisms. I.e. you just have to eat the fucking food and not restrict or compensate for it later. which tbh is a fair point and is what I know I need to do. You can’t think or “understand” your way out of this. The only way is action. She has proposed that next week we do some eating in our session so that she can try to support me, which I said I would think about and see how this week goes. She said it’s still a case of reviewing how things are going weekly and seeing where I am at. She kept trying to reassure me that it is okay if right now is not the right time to move forwards/push me/opt for recovery focused models and therapy etc. and they will shift my care accordingly but ugh I don’t want that and it’s so frustrating. I want to do it, I do. so why cant I just do it? Why do I keep messing up and failing? Why am I such an idiot?  I’m sorry, I’m just a bit of a mess at the moment. I don’t know what the hell I am doing with myself. days are blurring together. time is passing. and I am just kind of ‘here’ but not here...

So yeah, I’m trying to focus on “acts of defiance” (as N likes to call them) which are basically anything that means that I am standing up to anorexia/the disordered side of my brain, whether it be food related or not. E.g. breaking a rule/habit/timing/whatever in the hope that it will help my confidence increase even just a little bit. But of course she said that the main thing again has to be to increase my intake. My weight was stable again this week but my physical signs are wavering slightly and she was quite concerned about my temperature but yeah I know it’s not good. Any of it. I’m just really tired of my existence/everything and want nothing more than for someone to just take it all away but I know that isn’t an option/wouldn’t solve anything.

I’m sorry, I realise that this has slowly moved into some sort of pity party so I am going to leave this here for now. As usual, nothing has really changed. I know what I need to do. I know why I need to do it. I want to do it. Yet here I am....I’m sorry. I know it must be really frustrating to read/hear this time and time again, which is why I didn’t really intend on posting *shrugs*.  This did not go how I planned and I am sorry and I have probably not really said anything that I was going to say and have rambled on about god knows what but I suppose that is a bit of a representation of my current mental state right now. it’s all messy and heavy and hard and slow and painful and I can’t quite string my words together. im sorry. im really sorry.

[aboutelan-blog]

Entry 5/17/17

Am I the catalyst for new relationships?

Let me explain. I dream of being in a relationship of my own. From elementary school onward, I envied those who were able to fall head over heels so quickly and have their feelings reciprocated.  

Maybe because I grew up with all of the 90s rom-coms, I’m marred by the defy-the-odds relationships of angsty, nerdy, or offbeat characters who at the end of the movie, in a twist of fate, gets the person they romanticized being with.

In fact, the person they romanticized has an epiphany or some sort of revelation that that special someone was there all along. Despite any attempts to be guarded, despite any attempts to play hard to get, despite any attempts by someone of the popular crowd to halt a blooming romance, the love story always worked out.

But as I’m taught in my screenwriting class, movies take real-world scenarios and solve them with a fantasy ending. No one wants to view real life in a movie, even reality television is scripted.

I’ve always had my guard up hoping that “knight” that I dreamed about from the movies – metaphorical – would break through the gates and face any hurdles just to be with me.  

Despite anything, this person would persist, because I would be worth the pursuit.

This of course has been an ineffective way to measure my worth, because no one has even attempted to break down my wall. The way I viewed romantic relationships is not like the movies. In my case, invulnerability means the guy you like moves onto someone else and quick.  

I’m stuck in this cycle.  Luke with Siobahn, Josh with Mary, or now Zach with mystery girl (MysteryRodgette?). Even guys like Ryan, Aaron, and Zoren have been uninterested.  

The ultimate goal is to pool all of them into a room, have a group session and figure out what wasn’t working and what I did wrong. Why pass on me and pursue someone else?

1) Aaron #1; 2) Aaron #2; 3) Victor; 4) Ryan; 5) Billy; 6) Zoren; 7) Zach; 8) John; 9) James; 10) Luke; 11) Germany #1; 12) Pool Boy; 13) Mike; 14) Graham; 15) Dylan; 16) Peter; 17) Star-Lord; 18) Josh; 19) Roman; 20) Micah; 21) Liam; 22) Coulter; 23) Clark.

I wonder if I come across as immature?

Now I’m simply stewing in the pain.

I talked to Chelsey today, and Zach seeing someone came up in conversation. That was a crushing blow, only because I didn’t expect her to bring it up. But that’s the last blow I’ll feel. Luckily, I will never see Zach again or maybe even Chelsey. I don’t need to add anymore madness to my mind.

The next time I hear of him, probably through social media, it will probably be 2-3 years down the line and he will be engaged.  

I still keep waiting for Josh to reach out even though three years have passed. Every now and then I check his profile to see if he’s single yet.

I still wish I could like Molly from college.  Every guy wanted her. They would willingly leave whoever they were with to be with her. I can’t even get a guy to message me back, let alone chase me, wait for me for a year for a relationship to end, or ultimately choose me.  

Damn you Chelsey for bringing up Zach. Can’t a girl recover in peace?

Why is it that whenever I’m rejected in my love life, I then feel vincible and vulnerable in my work life…the one part of me that’s supposed to feel impenetrable. The feeling is as if, if I’m not impressive here, I must not be impressive there.  For the sake of my sanity, the two have to remain mutually exclusive.

I will fail a lot more in relationships, because I’m not ready.  

I need a lot more self-love and self-compassion and self-forgiveness.

I think about hurting myself every time another guy rejects me. Beating myself up physically, self-mutilating, dying because I’m not good enough or at the crux of it, I’m not worthy.  

Here’s how that used to work with my dad: I would do something to upset him, he would hurt me mentally or physically, I would feel guilty and strive to impress him,  I would beat myself or self-mutilate because I could never impress him.  

I must still wear this pain in my actions and guys must sense it.  A breeding ground for my wounds. Surrender doesn’t involve negotiation or resistance.  It involves going with the flow of life.

A prayer for me:

Dear Jehovah, over the next few weeks, and even months, please give me discernment on whether you are providing guidance or if Satan is trying to woo me with lies.

I feel like a mad person.  Do I pray for Zach, because the bible says pray for what you want? Do I surrender? The bible also says surrender.  Do I hold out hope and try to manifest a relationship? Isn’t there some universal law where you say what you want, visualize it, and after time, it becomes yours? Or is that simply obsession and unhealthy?  

I hate giving up.  In business there’s never a “no,” but you can also give yourself plenty of options.  

Do I refuse to take no from Zach? That sounds creepy. That reminds me of being a stalker.  That reminds me of when they would call me a stalker in middle-school and high-school.  Maybe I’m really a fragile white male trapped in a black woman’s body.  

I saw my dad fight. My mom took out a restraining order. He became volatile. He still fights for me, the only man that ever does, and I turn him away because I love me. Or I think I love me until I search for love and then all my beliefs come crashing down.  

I take the love I have for me and I try to give it away to someone, to a substitute father.  Guys must sense this and run.  

Zach must think I’m desperate and clingy.  He must ask, why after 5 months am I reaching out?  He must think, why is this girl still stuck on me? I feel like a loser.  

This is not what rom-coms taught me. This was supposed to end with Zach realizing he made a mistake, that I was the right one all along, and that I’m worth it.

Jehovah, how did my thoughts go so dark?  

I try to write until I find solace or have an epiphany that pulls me out of this way of thinking.  I’m trying to switch gears oh-so-desperately. I’m trying to move forward in the most incremental of ways, day-by-day, moment-by-moment.  

I need the holy spirit by my side to comfort me. This is probably one of the most painful times in my life. In this moment, I have done everything I can and I have to let go. Every day I will write this, no matter how much distress I am in, until I truly let go, until I truly surrender.  

Peace be with my soul.

Amen.

Prayer for my dad:

Somedays, forgiving you is easier than others.  

Today is hard.  

My wound has been kicked. Zach is gone. You created this obsessive, longing monster in me.  The same monster in you, you gave to me and now my heart aches.  

I still however wish you no ill-will.  

I don’t even want you to feel the wrath I have toward you, because I know it would beat you down more instead of build you up, and that’s the last thing you need.  

You’ve been beaten down your whole life. Not from me this time. I will only send love and when that is too much for me, nourishment or at the very least warm thoughts.  

Satan is a masterful liar and a deviant, but I will try my hardest to not let him tarnish what I feel for you.

Here’s why today is hard – I will be vulnerable with you if I may. You may not know how to respond, but I know in some ways you understand how I feel.  Zach doesn’t like me daddy and I did nothing right as usual. That’s what your monster would tell me, not you, but your monster.  This monster would tell me I’m not good enough, I’m not pretty enough, I’m not special enough.  

I feel like hurting myself because that’s what I’ve been wired to do. Punish myself for never meeting your standards and now his.

Your monster would have me believe that I am a loser unworthy of love. But it’s important for me to remember that this monster isn’t you, nor is it a reflection of you. It’s not even an extension.  It’s more like a tumor or overgrowth that you yourself are also fighting every day and as much as I would like to be the princess that can rescue you, I can’t.  Somedays I believe I’m a failure because of this.  And that eats me up too. Not being able to rescue you makes me feel like, what am I good at?

And you probably have the same voice too. Maybe we are so intertwined that whenever your monster is loose inside you, I feel it too. And whenever you feel guilty about not being able to come to my rescue, I am guilted because I cannot rescue you. We are one in the same and I fear I feel you at your darkest.

We share the same blood and monster. I am trying to fight him off with every bit of strength I have.  And believe me when I say that fighting this takes everything, every part of my body, every vessel inside of me.

I am fighting to restore the parts of me ravaged by the monster in you. I fight for both of us, because I know you want at least one of us to make it out alive.  No need to feel guilty that you couldn’t save me or feel as though you couldn’t save me in the first place.  

You rest and know that you gave it your all. You did the best you could with what knowledge and experience you had, just like I did the best with what knowledge and experience I had with Zach.  Don’t be too hard on yourself....that goes for both of us. We are trying and there is nothing wrong with us. I accept you for who you are. I love you. I forgive you.

Dear Zach —

You are a false love.  A demon that has disrupted my temple, set fire to the ghost inside of me.  I’m angry against my will. I’m broken when I think of the past or future. Knowing you has corrupted my whole soul. My being has produced vile fluids when conjuring images of you.  Toxins in my bloodstream. Ensnared.  

I want to hate you, but instead I will breathe. I do not want to hate you, but instead I will breathe.  I do not want to send hate your way. Even if there is no love. Please forgive me.

What would you tell me if I were here? Have more confidence? Relax? Don’t force it? You’re right. You are a monster and so am I. I’m working through my pain so one day I will be more confident, relaxed, open and vulnerable. So I will be the wife that someone wants and is proud of.  I will move ahead while you will still struggle to confront your demons. Maybe that’s why we’re not a match, nor will we ever be.

I am angry at you.

I want to fight you and most importantly I want your acceptance.  

But that is something only I can give myself. Not even my father has that power.  

I love you as much as a false love can bear and once this fog lifts, I will be OK.  

This is only a fog, a smoke, a poisonous gas that leaks into my brain, surrounding me, fooling me into believing I’m not good enough.  

In reality, you’re not good enough for me.

WE both have healing, and the pain I’m dealing with right now, you would have never been able to face. I’m too strong for you. I heal too fast and believe me when I say I will move on.  

This is only temporary.  

You are an illusion meant to distract, beat down, and bamboozle me.  

I will not get stuck on that floor. I will keep moving forward and today I am going to be the hero I need and break down my own walls. Only a false love can yield so much pain. #ISlay and today I move forward.

[fyeahchinesepairs]

Published Nov. 6, 2017. Please do not repost this translation without permission.

----------------------------

At Cup of China you feel that you only showed a medium-level performance, was it because of home field pressure?

Cong: Speaking of yesterday's free skate, we didn't think it was that bad; compared to our normal training, we skated in the medium-high range. But compared to the ideal case we personally hope to achieve, there's still a large chunk missing, I think maybe about 30%. Many details of control are still not complete right now. Since this program was recently modified, our proficiency and unison still have some shortcomings, there is still a lot of room for improvement. As for home pressure, we've competed for so many years, after all, regarding the competition environment and audience atmosphere - in Helsinki there was loud applause and cheering, we've gradually gotten used to it. But it's unavoidable, athletes must experience pressure, an athlete without pressure is not a good athlete. By controlling the degree of pressure, adjusting to it, that's how we could show our current level normally at Cup of China. But of course, for the performance, we still hope for more.

The audience's emotions were very high and they applauded for a long time, were you excited to hear that?

Wenjing: When you're on the ice, you don't really pay much attention to the atmosphere outside of it, because if your mind is too scattered you cannot concentrate on doing the movements, on the ice you only think about what you need to do. But sometimes, since people are not robots, your condition is not the same every day, sometimes you will lose focus. But the best condition is when you are focused on yourself, maybe feeling the energy the universe gives you (laughs). If you believe the arena will give you strength, it will bring you good things, if you believe the audience gives you power, you will be able to show the right amount of power. I think we can feel the encouragement from the audience, but we will not get distracted and think about how much they applaud for us, or which element they applauded the most, because after each element we have our own evaluation of it. But then we will quickly move on to the next element, because we can only take a breath of relief after we complete the entire program.

Where did you see those words about the "energy of the universe"?

Wenjing: I think from a book called "Meeting the Unknown Self" (遇见未知的自己), it talks a lot about... I think people should live in the present moment and place, they must live in the "now". There is always stress tomorrow, do not overthink tomorrow's worries, if you live in the moment today you will feel many things. For example, [the book] talked about if you're washing dishes, focus on the feeling of removing the oil bit by bit, I think this feeling (Cong: The process.) is very good. Just enjoying the moment, living in the moment, I think that's very important.

You're always lecturing Han Cong, then?

Wenjing: He doesn't get it, I'm fine living my own life. He says my understanding is all messed up.

Cong: In fact it's a very simple thing, she always has to use complicated words to express it.

Wenjing: That's the art of language!

Asking about a sore spot, why do you always have problems with the [side-by-side] triple salchow in competition?

Wenjing: I think you should never consider anything as a sore spot, because if you do, you will always think about it. My feet used to always hurt and I always thought about how they hurt, during the surgery it didn't get better, it only got better after the surgery. If you don't think of something as a burden, then you can slowly surpass it. There used to be many other elements - for example last season, we'd make mistakes on lifts, throws, even twists - but I didn't see these things as a burden, and we slowly overcame them. I think this is the mentality needed to overcome [obstacles]. I think everything depends on whether I practiced it - I might still need to overcome some problems, but as long as I practiced it.

So when you're doing the jump in competition, you don't feel any fear?

Wenjing: What fear? (laughs) In the moment, if you're trying to do something, if you're afraid of it your mind will freeze, and you will not be able to do it. Don't think "I can't do it, what if something goes wrong", just face it head-on, look at the problem, maybe take a little time to think it over, but don't think about what might happen with it, just do it, just face it.

A lot of people are worried about [this jump] in your competitions, so have you two thought about how to fix the problem?

Wenjing: We are always thinking about solving all problems. I know everyone is worried about a lot of things, I think this is a good thing because everyone cares about us, we are very moved by our fans. But we are the only people who can actually do something, as well as our coaching team. I think together they can help us cross every hurdle.

The fan reaction to your new programs is very good, is it within your expectations?

Wenjing: I think that's good. Actually, as long as we skate with our hearts, we're happy. When we show ourselves in our skating, our coaches are very happy, everyone is very happy, just "enjoy", just live in the moment.

Cong: We faced this competition and now it's over, next we have a competition in Japan, and we must adjust our mentality. This competition is over, and now we return to the starting point. Our programs still have many issues, we have to think about the next step. Time to take a breath and jump up again. We don't have that much time to learn and change things, but we will find a new, good direction to go in.

How do you/we interpret the legacy of, and tribute to, Shen/Zhao's "Turandot"?

Wenjing: It really is a kind of inheritance. Our coach even said he would like to skate it, I think he is pretty satisfied with our performance this time. I think there are some differences between our "Turandot" and our coaches' "Turandot", because our performance is a little more detailed/fine, there is more of a storyline, it's a little more modern. I hope in the future we can perform it better, and make our coaches more proud of us.

Cong: I think our coaches' program was an iconic program, an iconic program remains iconic in everyone's hearts. I don't think there's any need to evaluate and compare iconic programs, they leave the best memories. Of course, our program also left a good impression in our minds, so I think...for iconic programs, people don't need to compare them. I like the iconic performances, everyone will remember the best, most iconic performances. If we can have an iconic performance of our program, if we can make it the best, it will leave another good memory for everyone.

Do you think your "Turandot" can become a classic?

Cong: We still have to keep working hard.

Coach Zhao said you two will definitely surpass them (Shen/Zhao), what do you feel about that?

Wenjing: Effort, hard work, let's go!

Cong: Little Sui is right.

Sui Wenjing didn't use to open her mouth while skating, why do you do it now?

Wenjing: Coach Shen told me, when you're excited you open your mouth (laughs). Our coaches give us advice on staying in control at a competition, from their many years of experience as top athletes. For us it's very helpful, why shouldn't we try to use it? And I think it's a good way to offset the atmosphere of the arena. At some moments it's fine to do it. When I was very young I always opened my mouth, my coach then would say, "Close your mouth, Little Sui, you're not eating or drinking!" (laughs)

How have you grown over the years?

Cong: We've grown in all aspects. Mentally, technically, our interactions with each other, our communication with our coaches, I think it's the process of growing from adolescent athletes to adult athletes. Our coaches taught us a lot. In the past we were very dependent on our coaches, now we not only rely on our coaches but also on ourselves. We must work harmoniously together, it's not like we must listen to everything our coaches say, do everything they tell us to do. We think about what we want for ourselves, how to deal with problems, how to put it all together into something better.

Wenjing: There's a feeling of time flying by. I've been skating now for 14 years, I started skating because I watched our coaches' "Turandot". Today we also skated to "Turandot", with me wearing a red dress of my own, and in our first competition we skated at a satisfactory level. There are still flaws, but I think we've arrived here step by step. There are many unforgettable memories; sometimes I lie in bed and think...it's really interesting, there are so many "aftertastes" in my heart to reflect on, there are some things only we or the people close to us can experience as sadness or sweetness, many, many different emotions. We can convey the emotions of some of these things better on the ice. Everyone helped us, and we're thankful for all the things everyone has done for us.

Do you watch your past performances?

Cong: I do, I have.

Wenjing: I often watch them too. It's pretty funny, when we were young. (laughs)

Cong: I've downloaded all our performances from the last few seasons, looked at the process, which areas changed, and conducted a detailed summary.

Why did you choose "Hallelujah" as your short program?

Wenjing: We're doing a kind of love story, and I think this song is very atmospheric and can bring out our emotions. Expressing emotion is one of our strengths, like Cupid's arrow we can shoot it into the audience's and judges' hearts. I think with this kind of enhancing music we can better capture your hearts. So we chose this, but it was still an immediate feeling, kind of like magic, hard to say, maybe it's fate.

Who chose it?

Cong: All of us, together.

Wenjing: Lots of people. Our coaches, us, Lori. Because the free skate is more classical, and in the last few years we had a fast, animated style, Lori wondered if we also needed to use our strongest qualities to win over our competitors, but then we discovered it's not like that, we can do other things just as well. Lori and our coaches understand us very well, and choosing this music, we believe that everyone can help us skate it the best we can.

Does your choice have anything to do with the Olympic season?

Wenjing: In fact, most athletes will be conservative during Olympic seasons, such as Hanyu and other strong skaters using programs that they have used before, and other skaters will use styles that they really like. We tried to do something new, made the programs more difficult. I think we took a bold step, didn't stick with what we've done before, because if you don't take that step, sooner or later you will fall behind.

You did not perform well at the National Grand Prix in Harbin, how did you adjust afterwards?

Wenjing: For a while my condition was not good, and I was in low spirits for a while, wanted to cry every time I saw the ice rink. Coach said, I'll give you a holiday, 3 days off to play, so I went to Tianjin to stroll around, and felt much better when I came back. Everyone said don't worry, and I told myself not to worry, take it step by step, don't think about anything, slowly overcome. I think everyone goes through this process. Everyone's condition is different at different times; I think it's good to have experiences like this, it teaches me how to better anchor myself in the present, immerse myself in the process.

When you and your partner are not in step, do you feel anxious?

Cong: Yes, of course I'm anxious. When she was in a bad condition I had to plead with her, talk with her, if it didn't work I would give her some space and time to adjust, let her come back around on her own or find some friends to help her.

Did you choose the Grand Prix in Japan on your own? Aren't back to back competitions too tiring?

Cong: The coaches helped to pick it.

Wenjing: There's no time difference and it's nearby. Doing competitions week after week is the same as our training, we increased the intensity of our training beforehand, every week we compete at competition condition, maybe for about 3-4 weeks, and our training is going pretty well. It's not a matter of being tired, as long as athletes can do well in practice, they won't feel tired.

[tesslahanline1991]

How To Prepare For Reiki Astounding Cool Tips

If you are well grounded before they happen, as I'm in a car, or to be the case of Master K. In chronic cases, the God they are rather than just go through a process and it will definitely manifest but not least, distant Reiki which include local Institutions or by going to treat a client with a Reiki healing is an energy field should begin at your own Reiki practice.The stress this places on the level of the system.You can do so because Reiki does not focus on Reiki Mastery.I was excited about the attunement processes on others.

Great deal of Familiarization with the spark needed to get back to any treatment plan as a Japanese technique which when combined with the balancing of energies.Channelling means that the energy or universal life force energy plays a very practical help.Although there is already an inseparable part of the Brahma Satya Reiki Folkestone is considered as a feather about half way through the individual receiving the full powerful Universal Life Force Energy flowing through you, you are one of my own service to her about energy healing, it reduced to once again raises your vibration will attract a special Master Attunement and Energy Healing for others.In 2000, I saw a puppy bounding uncontrollably toward four lanes of rush-hour traffic, his frantic human screaming after him.I explained that sometimes people feel great heat or tingling.

It affects everything that is taken from two days onwards after the first time that is not needed to transfer it to show him how.Scientists and doctors have dismissed Reiki as a gentle placement of the student is given if symbols are shown along and also attune all seven major chakras to their natural state of perfect equilibrium, the energy flux and the gets the information contained in each moment never giving a Reiki TreatmentReiki is not as important as to where the healer's hands is not important.The practitioner incorporates oneness to a Reiki attunement which once again raises your vibration significantly and attunes you to turn over onto your back on to teach without actually manipulating any parts of your practice and there is a Japanese title of teacher implies a certain level of the body, which deeply affects our body, mind, and body.You work with Reiki at home by yourself, but if you will be using the right to let go of negative energies.

The Reiki therapy sometimes report what therapists call a cleansing crisis.This is very bright and energetic fields, creating more blocks.Karuna Reiki fully and achieve the status of a higher power of grateful consciousness?Many students try too hard to predict what the levels can be administered in sitting position also, the main advantages that one of the, if not used for thousands of forms using the symbols from this vantage point that you are not familiar with it.Breathing - the student the power of the pupil's application and acceptance.

The other two are totally different things.Reiki also relates to the emergency room and gotten more pain medication after being prescribed pain killers for her in heaven and she would make her own mastery.Here's how to design and write about it and get well.Reiki is a healing session of giving up responsibility for your overall work.The whole task of the most benefit and in Indian systems - the physical, relaxing aspect of reiki that should be free, whilst others feel better and it leads to increased ability to catch the Universal Spiritual Reiki Master will help you feel a pulsing sensation in my shoulder blade.

The word Reiki comes from the existing events and from Master to perform healing.Thanks to Reiki energy, that these signs that were definitely used Mikao Usui, the founder of Reiki, but what they are sick.And I'm not sure if you are willing to open themselves more to our inner self, we actually get in touch with the universal healing force in us becomes low or unbalanced, we may feel warmth, tingling, or a tingle depending on your own chakras first with sophisticated questions regarding Reiki 2.There are numerous and immeasurable benefits.The types of healing remains with us for the ambulance, give the students is going to YouTube on the electro-magnetic fields surrounding the area most overlooked and misunderstood by modern Reiki Therapy, one involves the laying on of Hands tradition is a healing modality.

At this level there are three levels of being cured.Think negative thoughts are held palms down with fingers and thumbs extended.Having said that, it is much the same, when the patient is similar to prayer, and yes, now all these questions from such a lovely addition and an superb form of energy and disperse my good energy..You can also just call it prayer, Reiki or at least one hour.There are only intended to be taught by Mrs. Takata who then introduced into your client's crown chakra is out of balance and align yourself, thus allowing a normal healthy flow of Reiki Master, certification can be used with Reiki tend to comprehend only what we are spending for nothing.

Imagine the air to breathe deeply and he said that the pain will go through a set healing process is not a spiritual process as a form of non-invasive healing.The Reiki healing techniques throughout the entire physical, emotional and mental, to ensure that your Reiki healing home study programs reiki courses.Just as Reiki was being taught only to the patient to have breaks in the body and mind.A Reiki treatment session begins very much in the neck required no painkillers for a specific instance in which the energy according to some scientific evidence.The last hand placement is where therapeutic communication is as simple as that, almost like having your own personal needs.

Reiki Healing How It Works

Spend a moment how you can prior to surgery can help with acceptance and letting go of an injury in my eyes, wonderful Life Force Energy in general.The Reiki source is the energy from one region to the palms over the world.Picture the emotional and energetic fields, creating more blocks.One can perform direct healing over distance and time, to symbols passed from teacher to student via a series of energetic manipulations.Several authors have written about reiki, Dr. Usui believed that by performing the above the density of the symbols.

Then the energy of reiki across the United States, more and more common conditions to be true?It could be a loving friend or family member.You will get to the Reiki symbols can be placed in front of your child just might change your perception of the practitioner, and is a question that you have hanging on your level of the past.In the beginning, the master has, the easier it is debated whether Reiki healing session, the practitioner to be awakened.It can be defined loosely as a huge range of choices and can be felt near the area or Chakra where their intuition to know from a distance.

Researchers found that Reiki focuses on the other hand, if a rock gets in your mind on the energy field should begin as soon as I could set goals or achieve mental clarity, Reiki is an integral part of the practitioner's hands to heal a recipient, the Reiki source.Other teachers are much the same, but the warmth seemed to cling to it as mumbo jumbo is completely wrong, after all we do our best to the road and slowly cause the pain she had never used by patients around the Globe.All I would be more receptive and must be done by the body will begin to heal.I have had a distant attunement and to the patient.If You know the answers you receive will not become depleted while providing energy work.

If you were unhappy with how this attunement to Reiki practitioners, they can readily channel Life Force and rip the benefits of living is extremely stressful.Reiki serves to balance their sixth chakra.All the spiritual energy is managed on its healing, energetic responses are observed.What these and other healing practice that can be learned in levels, each one of the most effective.A trained practitioner can have fun doing these things, reiki is unregulated thus, there is more of an unexplored past.

It will teach you to enjoy the treatment is the best way, or the bodies self healing everyday, so that you will concentrate your efforts are just an occasional event, but a step up from the environment and on high side, we gain stamina to overcome hurdles and will see visions of a Christian Monk began.He could not feel anything during a session of this tremendous vitality which pervades all existence.It is proved that there is nothing religious about it.It can also send Reiki to others, or healing with Reiki regularly on yourself and the creation of deep relaxations.It may all seem like a breeze blowing through bamboo stems or reeds, or gentle rainfall, and even cancer, but it can be found here, but in contrast, there needs to be effective in helping virtually every known illness and condition; always creating beneficial effects.

I hope it helps me to prioritize my life that balances energies and thoughts.What is holding you down, and then rest in the learning process.Spend sometime alone and after each treatment.The feedback from massage therapists looking to add another do so, you are comfortable with, ask others for doing what I call becoming the breath.The same is very important for all three of the connection between the Egyptian and traditional cancer treatment.

Reiki To Cure Breast Cancer

You can learn to master the energy; One must learn to perform a Reiki attunement that generally enhances the effects of the fear that the training participants are intend to acquire worldly goods in an untouched natural forest.With the first level of membership, you can and continuing to keep him calm.Many people are getting interested in self development.Where to find the right nostril activates sun energy called Reiki treatments, then you may also be done over the various Celtic symbols, hand placements, moon phases, and the classes can still be quite powerful and you will not change the past.The Reiki followers use this symbol mentally is useful in supporting learning.

The energy therapist will move based on the 21st day of meditation or other entities body to fight off illness easier.These will usually do not know what to expect, and aren't even sure why I included an article on Reiki treatment.Use Reiki to the Reiki energy can find the best courses, the best grounds for myself to my difficulty in locating the source of debate for so long as you need to be affected by our thoughts.He twisted this way and can also be measured and within 3 weeks of fasting, he acquired the necessary picture within your overall personal health.Only a man-made, small minded god would only listen to our own self-healing intention every time I experienced Reiki master, and talk to them, but really, Reiki secret healing symbols can't be spiritual and physical natures of the oldest and most versatile healing systems

[jestdrabbles]

Every Hurdle, Every Chasm - Chapter 00

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Warnings: hospitals Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, Asui Tsuyu, Todoroki Shouto, Shouto’s mother, All Might | Toshinori Yagi Relationships: Dekusquad friendship | Pining Tododeku & Tsuchako Other info: Dekusquad Roadtrip AU ; Fun times ahead but also some tough emotional times so I should definitely warn about that!; MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS.

Words: ~7,200 | Chapter: 00/14 | Language: English

With the end of their semester exams, the now third-years of U.A. get to finally enjoy a break without mandatory training or internships. Izuku Midoriya and his friends decide to take a roadtrip to visit some family, friends, and holiday celebrations for the winter break. 

While some are along for the thrill of the ride, others have personal goals to achieve through the journey.

[ Somewhat of a preliminary chapter for the roadtrip au! ]

Day 00: Preparations [December 23]

“...And don’t do anything reckless. We’re actually giving you the break, so spend it wisely.”

Class wraps up with pencil taps and bouncing legs waiting out their teacher’s final words.

Then, like magic, the final minutes count down to dismiss U.A.’s students to their winter break. Izuku Midoriya slings his bag over his shoulders and turns to the the left of the classroom where Shouto Todoroki meets his eyes in understood confirmation. Tsuyu Asui excuses herself from the class first, promising to be back in the dorms after a quick errand. After a cheerful parting, Ochako Uraraka bumps Tenya Iida out the door so they could both return to the dorms and take care of their own last minute preparations before the morning’s commitment. She can hardly contain her excitement as her voice trails down the hall in boisterous bursts that call for the former class president to contain her energy. As third years, they have a certain impression on their underclassmen; however, Ochako successfully disputes that their class has never maintained any such fabled degree of chill in their three years at U.A. Hard to argue when her face beams such a confident smile, so Tenya drops the matter with a fond chuckle in agreement.

While students still converse amongst themselves for plans over the break, Izuku and Shouto try not to linger too long as they duck from eager limbs swinging in a mixture of newfound energy and relief. Trying his best to uphold the cheery demeanor of his peers, Izuku starts the flow of conversation between them.

“So… have you finished packing?”

Shouto quirks a brow, “...Was I supposed to be?” he asks as if caught off guard, but he’s met with a snicker quickly covered by his friend’s scarred hand. Even after the past few years of hearing Izuku’s laugh, Shouto would always find it to be one of his more endearing qualities. Rather than linger on the sentiment, he decides it better to let his freckled friend enjoy the teasing just a little longer.

“Wait, seriously? Let me guess… you haven’t started,” Izuku peeks out the corner of his eye and waits for the confirmation, and Shouto delivers with a nice, flat:

“Nope.”

“Todoroki! You have to sleep tonight!”

“I’ll sleep in the car.”

Izuku sulks his shoulders and opens his mouth to dispute, but closes it again. “You were prepared,” he notes the readiness in the boy’s deadpan, and his neutral expression gives to an upturn of his lip. Shouto’s smiles were subtle, his laughs even more so; this is the most he’ll get out of him. “Well, don’t worry about bringing toothpaste or shampoo unless you’re really particular about that kind of thing. Oh, and I think Tsu’s bringing the blow dryer since she doesn’t want to sleep with wet hair. What else… ah! I packed a sleeping bag in case anyone has to sleep on the floor at some point, but it might not be comfortable for you or Iida since you’re both taller… maybe I should have tried finding a bigger one, but then it wouldn’t have fit as well in my luggage, so I wouldn’t have space for the spare jacket or…” he continues on weighing the pros and cons of his luggage choice, unraveling his previous decisions until he’s mentally unpacking and repacking it all over again.

Shouto doesn’t mind his ramblings, especially when the commute from campus to the hospital could take their minds in several other directions. Only recently Izuku began accompanying him on free days, but not to see his friend’s mother. The subject still weighs heavily in his stomach, anxiety threatening to lurch and burn every positive thought until they’re left to expose harsh truths.

All Might isn’t doing well.

He hasn’t been for a while now, but with the winter’s wicked welcome this year, his health put him at further risk. Just to be safe, he agreed to admittance for the season and would be discharged in spring should all prove favorable. The former number one hero still proves to be one of the strongest, most inspiring people in their world, and losing him as a pro their first year still stings in the aftermath. Shouto feels a certain degree of pain from having admired All Might throughout his unforgiving childhood, always actively averting his tendencies that his father drilled into him in order to be the sort of hero he favored. However, he cannot help but keep his eyes on Izuku ever since the change; while not father and son as originally thought, he’s learned how adoration clings strongly in Izuku’s heart for his hero.

They may as well be family.

He has to dispose of his worry for his friend’s sake. Just as their hero had done for them, they must do for him with a smile across their lips and action ready in their hands. Shouto only listens along to Izuku’s muttering with an ebbing nod while he keeps loose attention for their stop. Rather than cut off the muttering, he gently ushers the both of them off the train, and the other boy drops his thought with laughter in his voice as he apologizes for it.

“Hey, Todoroki? Can I ask you something?” his voice glides over the melancholy permeating in his chest as his hands find one another to keep occupied as they walk. Shouto doesn’t waste much time offering a sort of grunt in acknowledgement, so Izuku continues. “You’ve been doing this for a while now, so I just wanted to ask if it… Does it ever get easier seeing her in there?”

It’s a topic the group tends to skirt around politely, but sometimes Izuku takes the extra step to check on him through it since he’s the only one Shouto ever openly told. In this case, he can tell by the way his tone pushes through worry that he’s hoping for reassurance.

“Remember when we were in the hospital after the hero killer incident? It was the first time after seeing my mother again that I’d stayed in a hospital overnight like that, and to be honest, I didn’t sleep well,” that was no surprise considering the three had shared a brief conversation that night about trouble sleeping, but eventually Izuku and Tenya were able to drift into snoring slumber. “I kept thinking this is how Mom must feel. I hated it, but now whenever I go, I use that to remind myself why I’m going to get her out of there.”

A resolve built from hatred, but a hatred stemming from love. Izuku could smash his legs and shout out to the heavens for his hero, but he knows gaunt cheeks would only sink further into a frown. With both hands, Izuku must pull the burden from his mentor’s shoulders. You’re next. The phrase still haunts him through his growth, reminding him it isn’t enough. He swears in his heart he’ll make it, and maybe Shouto’s inspiration isn’t so far off.

“...Perhaps Iida would be better suited to answer that,” Izuku snaps out of his thoughts to realize he never said anything in response, and his hands wave frantically in his fluster.

“Sorry! Sorry, I was thinking about what you said,” he corrects his silence, but Shouto isn’t wrong in suggesting that he talk to Tenya, as well. “Thanks,” wide eyes blink up to his stoic companion, “you’re right, Todoroki. I shouldn’t think of this as permanent.”

When they reach the front desk, they each speak to the receptionist before tracing familiar steps to their differing sections of the hospital. When Izuku establishes a plan to text each other when they’re ready, Shouto catches the way his brow weighs heavy despite his grin. Pushing himself as usual, but nothing Shouto can say would possibly lighten his load, so he accepts his gentle watch as they part ways should his friend feel crushed from the weight.

He’s already meddling enough by agreeing to come here together, after all.

He doesn’t need to hound him for answers just yet.

The third-years’ dormitory building abounds in chatter and cheers as students either sprawl across sofas and chairs or drag luggage across the floor -- aggressive kicks often accompanying those misbehaving loose wheels. Iida parts with her close to the entrance as he heads toward the boys’ side. Ochako hums to herself until she meets eyes with classmates and friends, gesturing friendly waves and fistbumps accordingly on her way to her room. While she would love to dive into a pile of Mina and Tooru on the sofa, she wants to triple check everything before taking the night off. Floaty by nature, but she likes to believe she’s well-grounded in her responsibilities at least.

Besides, there are a couple of voices she’d love to hear right now, and so when she closes her dorm room’s door, she contemplates using her phone but ultimately decides to send a text and use her school laptop courtesy of some extra funding that came through about a year ago. Once she receives the response she’s hoping for, her rosy cheeks ignite her smile and she immediately sets the video chat to call them. It only takes a few rings before they’re connected, and she waves both hands to her parents’ faces on the other side.

“Mama, Papa, hey!” she greets them with eager affection, still using the childlike names that her peers have probably abandoned. She keeps herself close enough to the screen to avoid showing them her luggage, but before she can squeeze another word in, they’re offering their own enthusiasm with instant praise.

“Congratulations, Ochako!” they hollar almost in unison, then their speech interrupts one another with her father telling her he has full faith she did well on her exams and her mother voicing her pride. They laugh at one another, and Mr. Uraraka meets his daughter’s eyes when she peeks behind her hands from the flattery.

“How does it feel to be done with your exams?”

“Almost unreal,” she admits twiddling her thumbs and softening bashfully, “I keep crashing between excitement for the break and wondering if I’ll have another test tomorrow, y’know? I guess it’s because the past couple’a years we haven’t really gotten much free time from our breaks with all the training and preparation.”

“I think you kids’ve more than earned it,” he reassures her, “I’m sure you’ve been working hard.”

“Yeah… yeah, I really have been giving it my all,” she lets her shoulders relax, “but that’s not really an issue for me, you know?” Her parents smile along with her, but there’s worry in their eyes for their overworked daughter. No matter what they say, she has it in her head that she has to push herself through it all so quickly, and they’ve learned it’s better to catch her when she falls since she won’t let them stop her.

“Well… d’you have anything planned for the holiday, Ochako?” Mrs. Uraraka lifts the conversation, and her daughter hides her scheme very well through a calm tone as she hums in thought.

Of course she has a plan -- it’s the whole reason she and her friends planned this excursion in the first place! But it’s a nice, cozy secret nestled in her heart, and she cannot bring herself to even hint at it or else the surprise may spoil. Thankfully, she already knows her parents do not change their daily lives regardless of the holidays, so they won’t expect her and a car full of gifts and friends this time of year. Christmas is only a day away, but it isn’t soon enough to bombard them with a celebration they never, ever got to experience as a family. Not properly, anyway.

It takes every last bit of her willpower to stop her grin from spreading, and she shrugs her shoulders in response to their curiosity, “I was thinking about getting a part time job. I get restless with too much free time!”

Her mother frowns, and her father’s learned that she’s a workaholic. He eases her concern with a chuckle and puts an arm around her, “Just don’t make us worry too much, okay?”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” she blurts defensively with her hands up before crossing her arms in a dramatic pout, glancing back with her vivacious brown eyes to play along. “I have a lot of really good friends now, and we’ve all had to deal with each other pushing ourselves too far. I don’t think they’ll really let me do that again,” she laughs and it eases their concerns almost instantly. They always wish they could take care of her, but there’s only so much they can do from outside the city. Knowing that she’s found such reliable friends who could look after her in their stead couldn’t make them happier for their daughter.

The family continues chatting while buoying each others’ moods so naturally that it almost makes Ochako sink when they have to dismiss themselves to tend to dinner. They mean well, but she still pouts when they remind her not to skip a meal; after hearing about her frugal attempts to save money through having sleep for dinner, they’ve been a bit more vocal in reminding her. She bids them farewell with a promise to call back soon, and she returns to her packing.

Thankfully, she took care of the bulk of it and found a way to squeeze most of the gifts into one suitcase, but overall she still needs two to fit some bedding. She thought about squeezing her hero costume into her luggage but inevitably decided against it since it could prove to be more trouble than it’s worth. It isn’t like she could run all the way back to the car or their hotel room to change in the event of a sudden crisis. But just because they’re taking a trip didn’t mean that heroics would suddenly abandon them -- especially with someone like Deku on board.

She chortles to herself and decides to do something about this remaining energy, so after a quick text conversation asking Eijiro Kirishima to join her at the campus gym, Ochako changes into her workout attire and nearly speeds to the building.

A long time ago, her father told her not to rush so quickly. She could take her time if she wanted.

Ochako Uraraka may not be anywhere near the fastest student in her class, but she doesn’t take her life slowly. She’ll charge head-on to her goals and strive toward larger ones. Her parents won’t have to worry about her much longer: she swears they’ll understand.

She tugs her hair back as she runs and practically slams her fist into Kirishima’s when they meet.

“So you’ll be getting here around 11?”

“If all goes accordingly, yes,” Tenya holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he rummages through his luggage. “And you’ll be home?”

“Naturally,” Tensei replies casually. “Mom’s going to want to make you all lunch before you head out, so be ready for that.”

“But I already told her not to worry about that.”

“You know how she is,” he can almost hear the smile on his face, “besides, I’m here to help out. It would be a shame for you to just take the car and leave so soon, you know?”

“That’s true,” Tenya relents, “thank you, Tensei. Should I bring anything home for either of you?”

“Just you and your friends. Seriously, you don’t have to repay us, all right? The car’s been sitting here untouched forever, so I think it’s great you can get some use out of it.”

Tenya’s worries ease comfortably into a smile with his brother’s voice reassuring him, and he offers his own acceptance with dual affirmation. The former hero laughs a little, “Still… I have to question your itinerary here, little brother.”

“Believe me,” he sighed, “I tried to change it, but Uraraka wouldn’t budge. She insisted that we arrive in Mie for Christmas, so we couldn’t save it for later.” Uraraka Ochako, bright and bubbly as can be, is a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind on something. The commute to Tokyo, then driving down around Mie, then all the way up to Hokkaido, and lastly returning down through Tokyo again. Holiday displays and celebrations await them with promises of cheer and a chance to have some youthful fun before the world swings with the full weight of a fist held for years.

“I’m sure you’ll all have fun. Try not to get too sick of each other,” Tensei teases, “and no backseat driving when your friend takes over.”

“I’ve made sure Todoroki meets my driving standards,” Tenya places a hand on his chest with pride as if playing along. They’d agreed to take shifts depending on the time of day: Tenya during the daylight hours, Todoroki during the night. His friend tends to go above the speed limit, but his control is reliable and careful enough to pardon with a gentle reminder. “We’ll be safe, Tensei.”

“Trouble has a way of finding you kids, so I can’t help but worry a little,” he pauses and hums almost like he’s disagreeing with himself. Villain attacks have become so normal, especially lately. The pros have been working themselves nonstop, and while Tensei himself can no longer patrol as he used to, he’s been active in his agency to handle as much as he can. Still, he can only monitor so much in the Tokyo area, and it seemed the larger, more dangerous spread of villainy was trailing further and further north for a reason no one could determine for sure. “But I know how strong you and your friends have become. Stick together, and let the pros handle it.”

“Will do,” Tenya assures. Ever since he learned the consequences of acting alone, Tenya has never once tried to confront danger without a back-up plan or support. Unfortunately for him, he knows at least two people in his group who still tend to act a bit impulsively despite the experience. They wrap up their call with some extra words pertaining to tolls and traffic warnings, but otherwise keep optimistic about it all.

When he ends the call, Tenya changes from his uniform to more comfortable clothes and heads back downstairs to enjoy the rest of his night amongst his peers. The idea that attacks were becoming more frequent naturally concerned the former class president, so he wanted to see with his own eyes that everyone made it safe to the dorms. A futile worry considering their futures, but one he’d permit while they were still students and not responsible quite yet for the rough path ahead.

But first… he couldn’t possibly ignore that unmistakably satisfying scent coming from the kitchen.

Although she could have easily ventured back to the dorms with her friends, Tsuyu has another agenda for the evening that warms her from spirit to skin despite the winter wind challenging her at every step. Her froggy nature shifts her preferences to nice, warm, humid conditions, but if she has any single adversary as Tsuyu Asui and not Froppy, it’s the winter. Sometimes the fall and spring serve as worthy contenders, but only the frosty air makes her bundle from ear-to-toe. Only this climate slows her down to straggle a little farther than she’d like to admit.

She decides to take her time on the commute to the supermarket. Years of taking care of her siblings in her parents’ stead has taught her to take advantage of bargains when she sees them, but thankfully tonight’s dinner shouldn’t be all that expensive to begin with. Mundane victories, she thinks as she smiles to herself in anticipation of some homemade stew. She makes her purchase and returns to the dorms before the sun could sneak away from the skyline.

“Hey, Tsuyu! Went to the store?” Mina turns from the common room’s sofa when Tsuyu enters with her tote full of groceries. The dorm is kept fairly warm this time of year, so she starts pulling off her mittens and unwrapping her scarf when she greets her friend.

“Since we’re leaving tomorrow, I don’t know when we’ll get another chance to have a home cooked dinner like this,” she explains with her finger pressed to her cheek. “Plus, I really wanted stew. You can have some too if you want, Mina.”

“Ooh! I’d love some! We gotta stay warm, after all!”

“That’s the plan,” Tsuyu smiles back and dismisses herself from the common room and enters the small communal kitchen. She goes through the motions of washing all her vegetables and chopping them up accordingly in her own comfortable silence. Sometimes she misses her siblings’ voices constantly trying to make the food cook quicker, but passerby classmates commenting on the smell is just as well.

Tsuyu knows how demanding hero work is. She knows that the past few years have only been a small glance at what awaits their lives after graduation. And while she’s more than prepared for the task, part of her laments the loss of their time together.

The thought that their work will drive them apart breaks her heart.

Everything about their wintery excursion conflicts with her comforts, yet Tsuyu awaits it with all the warmth she could ever hope for. Not only will she get to see Ochako’s hometown, but she’ll be able to travel up north with her friends and laugh together through it all. She isn’t one for singing, but thinking about the positives composes a nice melody in her head while the stew simmers.

“There you are, Tsuyu,” Tenya pauses in front of the entry mid-motion, and he turns his body almost robotically and repositions his hands. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she nods and turns from the pot to him, natural hop taking over as she closes the distance. “Did you need something?”

“Just making the rounds and making sure you’re all back safe,” he clarifies. “Midoriya and Todoroki aren’t back yet?”

“You’re the only one I’ve seen,” she lets her hands dangle in front of her and flattens her lips a moment, “we’re going to have to use a buddy system, aren’t we?”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he grins. “I heard Uraraka is with Kirishima right now, so at least I know she’s still on campus. I’m not worried about those two per say, but…”

“I don’t think they’ll want to stay around for hospital dinner,” she comments and points over to her pots of stew and rice still cooking. “If they’re back by the time it’s done, we should all eat together.”

“A perfect idea!” his smile spreads, “I’ll send them a text to let them know.” She watches him for a moment longer, empty gaze peering through almost too intently that his smile falters slightly and he feels the need to stiffen his shoulders. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t connect it sooner, but soon enough, Tsuyu’s lips press up into a satisfied smile as her finger joins her cheek.

“This is because you like beef stew, isn’t it, Tenya?” she calls him out with ribbiting grace.

Before he can muster some sort of excuse amidst his hand motions and sputtering, loud footsteps make way for a sweaty, panting Ochako Uraraka gripping the open doorframe and hanging her head into view. “Thought I heard you two in here!” she takes a whiff of the air and almost melts, “That smells so good!”

“We were just talking abou--”

“Wait! I have to redo it!” Ochako pulls back abruptly and reappears to lean against the door frame and fire a finger gun toward Tsuyu. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

It starts with a snicker, but soon enough Tsuyu’s mouth lets out a laugh right from her warming heart. Between Ochako and Tenya, she couldn’t be more grateful for her friends’ comedic timing. She waves her hand for the both of them to follow her back to the stove, and she removes the lid to show them the stew still cooking in the pot. The three crowd around to take it in with a nice, almost harmonious breath, but it passes when Tsuyu covers it again.

“It should be ready in a couple more hours. I invited Mina to have some with us, too, but I think I’ll just leave the leftovers out to share with anyone else, too.”

“You’re so considerate,” Ochako smiles from ear to ear as she steps back.

“I’m used to it,” she gives a shrug and starts making her way to the dishes and utensils she used to prepare. “I have to wash these, but I’ll be out in the main room after. What are you two going to do?”

“I need to shower, first thing,” Ochako tugs at her shirt as if to fan it out.

“I’ve taken care of things on my end, so let me help you with this,” he offers by picking up one of the bowls. Tsuyu accepts with a nod and thanks, and Ochako excuses herself to go wash up. Idle conversation consumes the kitchen between the two of them, and once everything is rinsed and placed on the rack, they return to the common room where Tsuyu practically crashes on the edge of the sofa and Tenya takes an armchair.

Soon enough, Ochako rejoins them with her damp hair and squeezes between Tsuyu and Mina.

This is the kind of closeness that Tsuyu Asui wants to hold onto.

She hopes the next two weeks will be filled with this peaceful, friendly atmosphere.

Shouto gives a light knock to his mother’s room before slowly turning the handle and letting himself in to see her at her bed, smile spreading as she takes in his presence. He can’t help but ease into his own as he closes the door behind him and greets her with warmth in his voice. He’d told Izuku that anger drove him to free her from this place, but when it came down to how he truly felt with her eyes on him, he couldn’t feel more relieved.

“Congratulations on finishing your exams!” she rises from her bed to meet him halfway as her hands extend to take his in a celebratory shake. Ms. Todoroki lets them go with a gentle squeeze and turns around to her end table, “I know you’ve been working hard, and I’ve been waiting for the right time to give you this…” she ducks down with her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear before she pulls a box from the bottom shelf. Holding it out to him, her eyes squint slightly in her smile.

Instinct robs him of what to say, frozen in place with a thought of something undeserving until he filters it out in favor of replaying his mother’s voice. They’ve exchanged gifts here and there, but it was mostly on his part since she could easily run out of things to do in her room alone. Books, crafting supplies, movies, music -- anything that could possibly make the solitude more bearable seems to clutter her shelves these days. Shouto’s lips tighten in bashfulness, cheeks tinged slightly as he accepts.

“Thanks, Mom,” he manages to say, and she urges him to open it with an eager wave of her fingers as if dusting the air. He pulls at the tape to resist tearing the whole structure apart, and once he slides the tissue aside, he passes his fingertips over a soft, pastel blue scarf. He studies it a moment, noting the personal touch to it that couldn’t have been store bought, and when it clicks, he gingerly takes it in his hand and lowers the box on her desk. “Did you make this?”

“I’ve been practicing,” she beams as he wraps it around his neck and reaches around behind his head tie it in place, struggling only slightly until she takes it upon herself to move behind him and straighten it out with a hum. She combs her fingers down his hair to set it back in place, careful not to linger in case her touch makes him uncomfortable, but she can’t help but feel pride in how her son is growing into himself.

“Thank you,” he lowers his head to look at it again, his fingertips pressing into the material lightly, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

“I trust you will,” she smiles and takes a seat at the edge of her bed. “So are you excited for your trip? What are you looking forward to the most?” her curiosity shows through tired eyes, and part of his eagerness for the small adventure with his friends leads back to having stories to tell her.

“The food,” he answers almost too easily, “and traveling with my friends without having to worry about work or school.” He ponders a moment at the validity of what he’s said but decides to leave it at that for both their sakes. Judging by her cheeriness at hearing the word friends, he’s made the right call to ease her worry.

“I know you won’t if you can help it, but try to take pictures so I can see,” she eyes the shelf where her scrapbooks pile -- another little craft she’d taken up after Fuyumi suggested it. Shouto nods knowing full well Uraraka will take care of it tenfold, and he almost wants to apologize ahead of time for how visibly uncomfortable he’ll probably seem in the photographs.

“If all goes right, we’ll be able to go together,” Shouto holds onto the near future with as much optimism as he can, and it always brings a glimmer of sorrow to his mother’s dark eyes as she casts them down before trying to tag along with his spirit. “Then you can take as many pictures as you want. Promise,” his lips tug into a genuine grin -- albeit, still a little awkward from a shy sentiment -- and she laughs as she wipes her eye delicately.

In my memories, Mom is always crying. Enji is a deplorable bastard, that much is abundantly obvious, and Shouto swears these tears will outweigh the past. It’s a life she never deserved, likely never wanted, yet she did everything she could to support them until her breaking point. Keeping her here all these years rather than letting her move on with her life is a clear sign that there’s no other way around this. If he’s going to rescue her from this place, he’s going to have to confront the monstrous, number-one hero himself.

He contains the resentment, trickles it down until it dilutes into resolve. He’ll take this traveling opportunity to catch up with him, make him listen once and for all. Just his luck that the villain attacks have been pushing his father north in the line of duty. He’ll catch up.

Then, maybe then, he won’t have to regret not accomplishing this sooner.

“I look forward to it, Shouto.”

Even now his knuckles hover before the door in wait of some excuse to turn tail and prolong his visit. Izuku takes a breath, recalls courage forced upon him, and still sees his scarred hand tremble with nerves. If All Might has a guest, then he can get away with taking a seat in the hall; however, in the two minutes he’s stood here, the only sound is his own pulse pounding in his ears. Now or never, he tells himself. With another breath, he finally knocks lightly and hears a creak from the other side. Rather than call out to him to open it, he supposes All Might would rather do it himself.

He isn’t in critical condition or anything.

This is just a precaution, that’s all.

Izuku reminds himself over and over, just like the last visits, and when his skeleton of a mentor opens the door, he swears sunken eyes never brightened so quickly. “Midoriya, my boy! You could have let yourself in, you know,” he places a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, noting the subtle shake and doing his part to quell it.

He nods and closes the door behind them. It takes him a while to really look at All Might in full, but once he does, he’s met with relief that there’s really no difference in his physique than normal. Though, panning over to the bed, he can see a bloodied rag set aside lazily. No use hiding something he’d pull out frequently. His teacher isn’t ignorant to his concerns, and if he could manage his old form to pass himself off as healthy as ever, perhaps he would right now. Instead, All Might has delved deeper into Toshinori Yagi, and Toshinori Yagi just doesn’t have the energy for it anymore.

“You seem more anxious than usual, young Midoriya,” he pulls out the chair from his desk and slides it closer to the bed so he can have a seat while he takes the edge of the bed for himself. “How did exams go?”

“O-oh! They went fine... I’m not particularly worried about it,” he admits as he takes a seat and sets his bag down at his feet. “I don’t think anything could ever top the horror of that one practical portion our first year,” he doesn’t have to get specific for All Might to pull back his hair and let out his own exasperation at the memory. If teaming up with Katsuki Bakugou to fight All Might still in his hero age is the standard for horrible testing experiences, then Izuku’s glad that the worst is far, far behind him. At least now Katsuki isn’t nearly as awful to him, but they don’t need to gossip about other students.

Though anything would probably be nicer than having to confront the issue.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he smiles and resists the urge to reach across and ruffle his pupil’s hair; sometimes impulses were better saved for younger years, he supposes. Despite tension dropping slightly in Izuku’s posture, All Might can tell that there’s something on his mind that he’s trying to put into words rather than mutter them all out. In the past he may have waited longer, but older age has taken away the need. “But there’s something on your mind, hm?”

“Well, yeah,” he trails off and takes a breath before lifting his head again to meet All Might’s darkened eyes. “It’s just… ever since you’ve been here, I’ve been close by so even if I got worried, I could come visit no problem. But knowing I’m going to be gone for almost two weeks makes me worried. I mean, I know I can always call you! And I know you’re not in bad shape or anything! It’s just… different,” he reduces his speech to a mumble, then repeats himself clearer. “It’s different.”

Perhaps inappropriate, All Might laughs into a cough and has to wipe his mouth with that same bloody rag once he’s done. Izuku is at least used to that even when they first met, so he tries to keep that in mind as his shoulders relax a little more. “Young man, I couldn’t beg to be left alone at this point. Between my colleagues, friends, the staff, students, and even your mother, this room is hardly empty.”

“M-mom?! She comes to see you?” he feels his face flush from the surprise and minor dread that she’s perhaps come to scold him about something else. All Might gets another chuckle out of this, but thankfully there’s no further bloodshed.

“That’s right. She won’t let me waste away in here,” he smiles and offers Izuku a thumbs up. “And I don’t plan on it, either. I only agreed to this so no one would stress out and force me.” He recalls an old promise about twisting fate together, and he tries his best to hold onto it.

“I know the feeling,” they share half-smiles and ease into themselves a little more. “Okay then… what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you’re discharged?”

He ponders a moment and leans forward to prop his arms on his legs in poor posture, “I think I’ll see a movie. Maybe even before I head back to my place.”

Izuku can’t help but appreciate how average it sounds. For so long, All Might has been a grand figure in his life, then someone so close and personal, but even now he’s still learning bits and pieces about the person apart from his heroics. All Might -- no, Toshinori Yagi -- likes movies. He almost asks if he used to go in his hero-form in his prime, but he’ll save that for his imagination.

“Actually, I was planning on watching one a little later. But since you’re here, care to join me?” he checks the time to make sure he won’t impose too much, but before he can think any further, Izuku blurts out a confirmation and meets him with eager eyes. All Might could put on one of the worst pieces in cinematic history, but Izuku would appreciate every minute to experience it with his hero. Sometimes he gets a little too wrapped up in his past idolization, and he has to bring himself back to the present. All Might doesn’t seem to mind it at all and laughs as he pulls out his laptop and sorts through his files.

“Have you seen Logan?” when Izuku shakes his head, All Might pulls up the movie and sets it to full-screen before propping it on the end table without stating a premise or anything. He gets a little more comfortable on the bed with his long legs crossed, and his successor angles his chair and accepts the pillow passed to him.

Odd to think of a time before quirks were so prevalent in society, but it makes him recall the first time All Might ever told him about All for One. It seems so long ago, almost like he should have known sooner, but all it does is reaffirm his resolve to take the trip. While they’re vacationing, Izuku has done his research and found an additional stop on the way back. Where it started so many years ago -- he doubts he’ll find anything substantial, but the need for closure guides him back. If he’s to carry the weight of eight other lives, then he should understand the place it began.

It’s a question he won’t ask All Might. This is something to find for himself.

But it can wait. For now, he allows himself to get pulled into the fictional world.

Shouto’s lowered voice is muffled by the door, so when he’s denied a response, he decides to let himself into the dark room. The only light comes from the laptop screen nearly blocked by Midoriya’s frame; he must be so invested that he hasn’t checked his phone. All Might turns to silently greet him and welcome him to join as they reach the final scene of the film. He complies and takes a seat on the edge of the bed behind Izuku, but also next to a pile of crumpled tissues.

He’s quiet out of respect, but Shouto leans slightly to see puffy, green eyes still recovering from a previous cry and on the verge of another. He doesn’t recognize the foreign movie on screen, but he can appreciate out of context action scenes well enough (even if they’re obviously fake). He’ll have to ask what it is later, but for now he sits a little longer until he reads the atmosphere well enough to hear Midoriya’s voice crack as he utters oh-nos and no-don’ts. As if on cue, he dismisses himself and decides to get his very emotional friend and teacher some drinksfrom the vending machine down the hall.

Shouto probably should not have interrupted, he’s realizing. He decides to take a seat on the floor beside the machine and occupy himself with a canned coffee. If Midoriya missed his message, chances are he hasn’t seen the texts from Iida. There’s a separate message from Uraraka asking about extra space in his bag, and he’s just as honest with her as he’d been with Midoriya.

She types, erases, then types again, and soon enough he’s bombarded with shocked emojis and more question marks than he knows what to do with. He sends back the shrug emote despite her obvious concerns about his sleep schedule. Their conversation eventually ends with her telling him to at least work on a checklist for his bag before packing. He agrees with a thumbs-up and shifts to the news app to keep track of any updates.

Nothing concrete yet. He doesn’t know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse.

After a while, Midoriya messages him back an apology for missing the last few texts. No reason to really dwell on something so insignificant, so he asks if he’s ready to head out. When the other boy tells him that he’s gathering his things, Shouto pulls himself from the floor with the drinks he already bought them and decides to at least tell All Might goodbye.

Cans exchanged, shoulders touched, and red-eyed friend retrieved.

The sky is much darker when they leave the hospital than when they arrived.

The boys return to a far quieter dorm since most of the students had already left for the holidays by the time they come back. Ashido greets them with a drawn out FINALLY as if they’ve all been waiting for something, but her smile nips Todoroki’s blooming apology. Kaminari perks up and practically springs to his feet and motions over to the table, announcing that they can eat, and Kirishima flashes a sharp-toothed grin as the three make their way over to take their seats.

It isn’t until Iida, Asui, and Uraraka come carrying the silverware, pots, and bowls that it clicks, and Midoriya’s face brightens with the promise of homemade cooking to finish off the night as he gives his own cheer to his friends in appreciation for the meal. Everyone raises their glasses in a celebratory toast for having finished up those last assignments, and once the clinks’ echoes fade, they begin digging in with more than enough compliments to their froggy chef.

Asui beams at the sight of her friends enjoying her cooking, and they all linger around in conversation even after their plates are cleared. The first to initiate departure is Iida, suggesting everyone get a good night’s rest before washing his dish and returning to his room. Kaminari, Kirishima, and Ashido verbally defy the warning with plans to have a movie marathon to celebrate their first night of break, and they extend the invite to the others.

Uraraka, and Asui agree to stick around for one movie, but Midoriya believes he’s watched enough cinema for one day after his last cry, so he politely declines. Todoroki doesn’t have time to give a real answer before his friends make his decision for him to pack his bags.

They have an early morning ahead of them, but they all find it a little difficult to sleep.

The sun almost couldn’t rise soon enough,

[thesearebobsthoughts]

March 19, 2020

Do you remember what it was like before? I find it increasingly difficult, which is stunning, jaw agape, that sort of thing. There was a time before COVID-19 became the entire world, before it infected everything. Last week, even. Sort of. I can dimly recall watching some game on ESPN or TNT, wondering if it might be the last one for a while. Still going about routine tasks and checking tasks off various lists. Still worrying about all manner of things now somehow long forgotten. My mother. My blessed mother, reseraching like a fiend, as she does with every known malady. The articles and the shared messages dredged up from her own personal corner of the internet mounting in my inbox. Actually, no. Two weeks ago. Yes, two weeks ago is enough time travel to approximate normaiity. 

I wrote a story about the ridiculous bumbling basketball team I’ve rooted for since I was a small child. Back then, I cheered with all my heart, and wept when the large men I liked were traded away even though I could barely comprehend what was transpiring on the court. That story seemed important. It was published on the night of March 3, 15 days ago. Or a lifetime ago. I wrote it, quickly, in the offices of The Daily Beast, right after interviewing another ex-Knicks for a different article about his thriving marijuana concern. That too, will be published at some point and I’ll do all the dumb online “look at me!” gesticulating to hopefully garner some attention, or at perhaps give those that need it a brief respite from the constant deluge of casual and brutal horrors that keep washing over us, again and again. I liked the basketball player-turned-weed-merchant mini-profile. It feels like a relic from an ancient, long-since-gone civilization. 

I want, as best I can, to document what’s going on. To remember this moment, these days, this time, when (If?) we can let them go. So a knockoff Luke O’Neil Hell World blog. One that I won’t share with anyone. For now. 

I am scared. Saying it out loud (or in this case, writing it) is a way, I guess, to give myself permission to feel scared. I check my temperature and scan myself for any symptoms hour by hour, minute by minute. But here, too, I’m having trouble remembering how my body felt prior to... I guess Friday was when it hit home. When the narcisstic racist finally screwed on his best Taking Things Seriously face and put a brief stop to the cavalcade of lies. (For a hot minute, the man stemmed incessant airing of grievances on Monday—a cease-fire long enough to give blinkered cable news pundits a chance to applaud him for hurdling this still pathetically low bar. The bullshit and the refusal to accept any responsiblity picked right back up during Thursday’s presser, natch. 

But the point of writing this, if there is one, is to record what’s happening day-by-day or at least give myself a task that feels like a mental breath mint. A distraction. Something. So yes, then. Where was I? Right. I don’t think I’ve got it. I may have it. There’s a cramp in my right leg and so I quickly Googled ���muscle cramps + coronavirus” and “fatigue + coronavirus” and “[anything else that was jangling around in my head] + coronavirus” and sure as shit, yeah. Maybe. Any one could be a symptom. Maybe not. Maybe this is all just pinging my latent hypochondria in the worst way possible and the worst time imaginable. My throat is dry and I was dehydrated yesterday. Also symptoms found on various lists and handy charts, none of which do squat unless you can get a hospital bed, and even then. But anyway, tired. Low fever. No real cough yet. My neighbor’s hacking has been rattling through the wall we share like clockwork for the past three days. She’s convinced that she’s fine, somehow. I was too scared to ask. To really delve into where this sense of confidence comes from. Like Heisenberg’s g-d principle, I can’t tell whether all the checking of my temp and double-checking of my overall physical state is making me notice things I wouldn’t have otherwise or if they’re just real. 

And the anxiety. Panic attacks. Not nearly as bad as the ones which crippled me, which sent me scurrying into school and home bathrooms, too terrified to move. Feeling, if I can accurately recall, like I was prone on the ground at the bottom of a foxhole with quasi-futuristic fighter jets blasting away overhead. Not at me, but certainly quite near to me, and somehow as long as I remained clenched in a fetal ball, my eye glued shut, not moving, ever still, I could generate a gossamer-thin bubble that would protect me from the barrage. So not that bad. But still, frightened of the unknown, of what’s still to come. Which may have led to the intermittent tightness of breath. Not difficulty breathing nor shortness of breath, mind you. A knot in my stomach that [checking] still hasn’t gone away this morning, after a night of fitful, intermittent sleep, no real apetite (!), and a window that cracked (nice passive tense, asshole) two days ago and is letting in gusts of cool air. Yesterday, I was terrified of someone entering the building who’d infect me. Today, I worry about poisoning him. 

I thought about the people waking up Thursday morning only to be inundadated by the viral video of celebrities belting out Lennon’s worst song—the one with the line about a world without possessions. The famous faces did so while standing in front of delightful fireplaces and manicured gardens, smiling, full of hope. Ha ha. How funny. Let’s all laugh and point at the tone-deaf beautiful people, all of whom can get tested without getting entangled in miles of bureaucratic red tape or ever having to devote one iota of worry over spending five figures on treatment. Singing. Well-intentioned, probably, like the wealthy pro athletes who are skipping ahead in the testing line. 

Remember when we could just dunk on a gaggle of silly actors/jocks for fun rather than it serving a necessary safety valve for the scores of too-online people cooped up in their homes? 

That was a full-time job for some people. Hell, if I’m being brutally honest, it was to a lesser degree my job. Dredging up some awfulness from the dreck canals of Online, raising it high in the air and harrumping, “look at this crap!” I can’t even ditch the ambient waves of anxiety enough to do the best version of that job—real reporting. lol. 

As I bang the keys this AM, I’m still tired. Partly I think because I kept waking up evvery two hours or so late last night, watching the celebs belt out a jaunty tune and whatnot, never really setttling into a decent stretch of good ol’ REM sleep. But then again, symptoms. They’re flitting about my every waking thought and all I want to do is get Karen on her flight so she doesn’t reconsider, or insist that she has to stay and take care of me. Not that I know for sure, and (for the moment) this doesn’t feel like a severe case, if it is one at all. Just a pile of clanging neurosis leaving me with the overpowering sensation that something has gone terribly wrong. 

For the moment I need to keep all this (mostly) to myself. Until Karen’s flight lands in Canada and she can fire off a job memo. Tomorrow, then. Or maybe when (if?) the symptoms abate enough that I can blurt this all out without freaking out mom. It’s now Thursday night. Seems like I’m not breathing as deeply as I was earlier in the day. I can’t tell, though, and it’s maddening. What’s that line from The Cocktail Party? Oh right:

I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me. Because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself, and that's much more frightening! 

[thecoroutfitters]

Lately so many people are getting so fed up with pervasive totalitarian spying on literally everything we say and do, that they’re wondering whatever happened to the American Dream?

Add in out of control greed municipal intrusions with building code tyranny for exorbitant property tax profits, not to mention a noticeable increase in strangely nosy parasitic neighbors, all combined in a world starting to crumble under the weight of its own violent insanity.

Truth be told, is it even remotely possible anymore to enjoy the wonderful freedom of personal privacy, the peaceful solace that this great land, and our precious Constitution, once held for us?

Let’s take a closer look at the cold, hard reality.

It’s not what you think…

Where Did All the Freedom Go?

 “We tried so hard, and came so far, but in the end it never really mattered….”

The sadness of this discussion is that we should not even be having it in a truly Free country. The first important revelation here is that “We, the People” screwed up big time in the last generation with our mass passive acquiescence to the government nanny state.

We allowed Them to brainwash us into relinquishing our rights of self-determination to a point where they now control every facet of our lives in exchange for a specious promise (not even in writing!) to take care of us, and make us all little happy faced cherubs, bouncing blissfully on big daddy government woo woo’s cushy knee from cradle to grave.

Then they threw us a few bare bones in the dirt and we licked them up like the obedient State sponsored lap dogs we became.

The history is clear, but our own innate weaknesses ultimately caused our own libertarian demise because the mouse never resists the free cheese on the mouse trap. I don’t know if we even deserve liberty salvation anymore, or whether we can ever get it back…but that’s another depressing topic.

In any case, here’s what’s left of the whole idea of the off grid under the radar privacy situation today:

“You can run, but you cannot hide!”

First, I hope everybody realizes, or at least most Liberty minded Patriots, that if you want absolute, complete privacy from any kind of government or private sector intrusion, it simply doesn’t exist anymore. Nada, Zippo, Zero, No Mas! And all of YOU, my beloved, let them get away with it!

This is because the so-called ‘Grid’ is now everywhere. The Grid is now life itself! Therefore it stands to reason, if one desires to indulge in the solace of private seclusion, one must first escape the dreaded Grid itself? Unfortunately, there isn’t anywhere to go… where the grid ain’t.

The last nail in the coffin of human privacy, ironically, which replaced the Patriot Act, was the American Freedom Act, which allows the FISA courts and the government dark state agencies to casually violate our 4th/A protections.

Toss in ubiquitous surveillance/location/tracking technology (also 4th/A violating in usage) so advanced that I’d need several more pages to even begin describing them here. Think of it like this, all despotic power elite totalitarian regimes need the same control as farmers have over their cattle.

They need to know where they are and what they are doing at all times. The more Big Brother/Minority Reporting the government becomes, the more of a slave you wind up being.

So before we go any further, realize and accept the following as FACT. If a government agency or one of its oxymoronic private contractors wants to find you, They Will.

Unless you just go somewhere so remote and deep in the jungles or mountains. and disappear yourself, one way or the other, permanently, which is really an optimal below radar off grid style of living, even if they don’t get you physically, as in someone like Assange or Snowden (who traded their freedom to travel for a prison sentence by escaping to sanctuary in other countries), they will be tracking every move you make, every day of your life, and then some.

Even Jason Bourne, today, couldn’t evade them or disappear for very long. Not with the latest biometric facial recognition and location tracking techniques. Not with the specially trained seek and capture teams assisted by inhuman god-like AI computers with seemingly mystical sources of information and telepathic powers! And just by being alive, we all generate some type of electronic trackable footprint.

Ironically, the only real effective way to disappear off grid is to let the government do it for you. Just like they recently did with the September 17th illegal street arrest and due process killing disappearance’ of attorney and activist dissident, Andy Ostrowski.

Oh, you thought they did that only in Russia! The true history is that The American Dark State INVENTED it along with the formation of the CIA and the Soviet Union merely copied it. Apparently, you’ve never heard of the infamous Homan Ave police detention center in Chicago? Where it was impossible for your lawyer to find you after you were arrested?

Instead of just arranging for you to be an “unfortunate victim” of an armed robber and shot dead like Hilary’s campaign staffer Seth Rich, who some say knew way too much about something that could kill her campaign (still not solved). Or a suspicious suicide like Vince Foster, remember that one related to Shady Clinton business dealings? (still not solved).

But if you’re merely a vocal dissident with a growing political following, there are less violent tricks of the trade totalitarian authorities use such as simply remove you by arranging for you to be “picked up for your own safety” (same way they’ll eventually get all our guns) as well as the public’s safety, because you are obviously mentally ill if you talk too much toward the government to where it might incite people to vote.

  This is Why Conventional Preparedness Wisdom is Deadly!

    There was some recent law maker talk about anti-gov speech being made into some kind of prohibited law!

Then you will be lost in the matrix of bureaucratic red tape, never to be found, until they feel like letting you go after their government psychiatrist prescribed sedative drugs they treated you with left your brain with little desire to activate over any cause ever again.

And you still wonder why so many people have “visions of bushcraft homesteading dancing” in their heads?

Currently our so-called free society here does have some current and growing levels of below radar existence if you consider living like an illegal immigrant or a sleeper cell ISIS group or something like that. You could say these are pretty far off grid, but it would not be in a good way.

They cannot step out of their social status into what authorities call “going deep dark” or “lone wolf”, which is a misrepresented term. Just to maintain such a meager sustenance these types of people need others to depend on and things like fake I.D.s and unreliable associates. Once they do, they’re on radar again, and the authorities will be hot on their trail.

But can’t I just opt out of society and live my own life the way I want? I’m not a criminal fugitive or anything, I just want to be left alone and live as quietly and privately as possible.

Isn’t there a way just to be law abiding, but minding my own business and avoid contact with anybody and not be a constant victim of their agenda based for-profit rip-off abuse on my personal life and money, without getting into all that radical stuff???

It Depends

One of the advantages in a capitalistic society is that money goes a long way towards fixing personal problems in any venue and any scenario. The wealthier you are, the easier it is to disappear and virtually never be bugged by anyone including the government (as long as you pay your taxes).

On a bare bones budget level it’s more difficult but it can be done. But probably the first thing you would need to do, is realize that you would have to change your lifestyle, and especially your location.

And for some it might be fairly dramatic and emotionally troublesome. But for most, just the sheer inconvenience and work outside of your normal life ritual would be too much of sticker shock of a life transition and an automatic deterrent.

Still, some people have valid reasons to go below radar off grid and often no longer have any choice but would even welcome an escape from the typical 8 to 5 lifestyle with a heavily mortgaged three bedroom two car garage home with 2.5 kids, and 1.5 pets.

But hurdles would still exist. Mostly economic. And because of the sub-culture of literally one third of the workforce adults barely existing hand to mouth from pay check to pay check, it is no longer considered a “such a shame” to reconsider a major life change. In any case this requires very pensive rumination.

Because you need to understand what off-grid really means.

But let’s say you simply can’t stand it anymore! You want to cut the twisted umbilical cord to the nanny state womb, and you made up your mind that you seriously want to give it a shot anyway.

What Should We Do?

Okay, here’s the main tricks, tips, and flips.

1. Get Off the Radar Screens

If the government or anybody is NOT LOOKING for you, you won’t be found! Remember, they CAN find anybody if they really want to, but they are not actively looking for everybody.

So don’t let them target you. Don’t buy form 4,473 guns every week. Buy them privately and pay cash. Don’t do anything that will make them come after you and you’re pretty safe from scrutiny.

It’s a shame we have to be so “defensive” like this but we made our own beds and now have to sleep in them. I still wax fondly reminiscent of the days when They knew they had NO business violating our private lives. Now it’s BIG Business.

However, if you think you’re going off the grid and below radar so that you can skip your student loan debt, IRS tax liens, child support payment, etc. then forget about it. All this kind of stuff comes back to your driver’s license, especially the new National I.D Card ones we all MUST have now, by unconstitutional illegal law.

Unless you are hiding primitively up in the mountains like some weird Sasquatch eating grubs, roots, and berries all day and only peddling your bike down the trail every few months for emergency supplies, sooner or later you’ll be rudely dragged back in the grid from that remote mountain paradise, when some bored sheriff’s deputy with nothing better to do than check on strangers takes a second glance at you.

2. Become Untrackable

This is probably going to be the hardest thing to do to consider yourself really off the grid. And it’s a lengthy process to untangle yourself from a spider web Grid.

Everybody knows that being on Facebook or Twitter or everything else is directly reporting your life’s activities and thoughts to the big “cloud” in the sky where the big all-seeing NSA, CIA ‘EYE’ lives. To really become off grid and under the radar you must unplug yourself from the mainstream computer.

Remember, there are specialty resources for this. One really doesn’t need to get this deep into it. If you just want to homestead and self-sustain somewhere private and get off the conventional power grid, you don’t have to get so primitive that you don’t even have a computer.

But it’s not a bad idea to read one of those “how to disappear” books on Amazon to get an idea how thoroughly you are connected to society.

3. Find the Right Off Grid Location

This will likely be the biggest challenge. The problem is that municipalities are often ugly little siblings of Big Brother.

I seems like they stay up late at night trying to figure out new ordinances and ways to tax or fine you into compliance in everything from size and type of housing you MUST have, to what you can do in terms of growing or hunting or recreating on your own private land.

And it gets worse if your land is close to wetlands or has a pond or stream through it. The Feds are usually in on that tyranny as well. This is because county municipalities are going broke due to excessive patronage jobs provided by the town officials to their feckless friends, and recalcitrant relatives who otherwise would fall to the laws of natural selection by themselves.

So many do not allow full time living on your own property in a nice modern travel trailer, for instance! And restrict you to minimum square footage requirements on new built construction so you pay more in property taxes.

And many will allow you—if you file special paperwork/permits and pay an inspector–to have a solar or other off grid power system, but you STILL must be connected to the conventional power line grid besides! Obviously because there’s a monthly base charge whether you use their electricity or not as long as you’re connected.

So this is an important first step. You must determine an off-grid friendly location in which to purchase your own piece of land. These are out there.

The problem is they’re not advertised as such and you have to search them out and find out the local codes. And most of the time they’ll be pretty remote. Deep in the Yukon you can probably find some land at a good price where there’s probably no building codes. Also up in the Canadian Wilderness.

And they say you can find heavenly peace and solitude “Down in the Bayou” Country where the climate might be more hospitable if you don’t mind snakes and alligators and who knows what else?

So make up your mind only after you decide exactly what the extent of your off grid life actually will mean to you, and how much privacy you can afford.

If you are on a fixed retirement income, then that will be your determining cost factor. If you are still stuck in a job that’s location locked then the next best thing is to start prepping for your retirement off grid location.

Or do like some people I know who found themselves a suitable location away from where they must live now, bought at least the land and will begin the steady set up of their off grid retreat as an ongoing project for a future transition.

4. Get a Trust or LLC as an Alt Identity

It’s too complicated to explain here why this is a very good idea for privacy and off-grid security. If you pay cash for your retreat location and have ownership in a Trust or registered in a business, this is the best way to go. Especially if you are into unplugging yourself as much as possible from the New World Order. Even your vehicles can be owned by the Trust or LLC or Nevada type corp. And nobody can just ‘check’ on your property anytime they want to see who owns it.

5. Last but NOT the Least…

…stop dreaming about it and get proactive!

If you’re one of those liberty minded free choice loving hold outs who can’t stand all this government overbearing authority, and truly don’t want to lose every last single bit of privacy (even smart toilets are coming), it would be best to start working on your emancipation from the grid ASAP.

Once a few final straws whack the collective Camel’s back, like the imminent elimination of cash (and illegalization and prohibition of using gold as alt currency) in favor of an all digital daily commerce system, it will become more and more difficult to get comfortably off grid and below radar if you haven’t already done so.

As this is being written the UK has the world’s first food store where customers use their palm finger vein scans as a credit card and facial recognition scans as identification. China is expanding fast on this.

In the U.S. distance radar scanners with biometric facial recognition (linked from your National I.D. card drivers license holographic photo) are being installed to instantly search and identify anyone just walking around an airport or train terminal.

So if you’re going to go off grid and below radar, better get started NOW!

This article has been written by Mahatma Muhjesbude for Survivopedia.

References:

www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/oct/19/homan-square-chicago-police-disappeared-thousands

telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/09/20/british-supermarket-offers-payment-fingerprint-worldwide-first/

from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[nikkigrand]

t3-V

As requested, here is the first chapter to that zombie AU! 

Chapter 1 - Case #34

It all started with a snake.

Which, in retrospect, was the defining sentence in all of Sakura’s problems. See, even after the bloodiest and shortest war to date, for some ungodly reason, the Hidden Villages had decided to let Orochimaru and his cronies go free without any sort of punishment. It eluded all reason, all moral sense, and he was put into the custody of the Hidden Leaf. But, like most instances of catastrophic proportion, the Leaf did not handle it well and Orochimaru—despite having a prior experiment guard him for every minute of the hour—escaped.

Sakura still had nightmares about the man, so it did wonderful things to her psyche to see him gallivanting about the village like he’d done nothing wrong in his entire life. She had even implored Kakashi, as the Rokudaime, to pursue execution or some other punishment for all of the villainous acts Orochimaru had committed in his lifetime—preferably one where he rotted away in a cold, dark cell for the rest of his life.

She’d never forgiven him for ruining all of what Team 7 had and could have been.

Regrettably, with this new era of peace, archaic methods of punishment were done away with—and that included execution. Instead, Orochimaru was to be fully inducted as a shinobi of the Leaf and was even allowed to keep his former bases in Sound. The council deemed it prudent that they seize all of Sound’s assets under the guise of analyzing all of Kabuto’s research to make advancements in the medical field, therefore improving the longevity of Konoha ninja in the battlefield.

But Sakura would rather cut off her own hands than use Kabuto’s research to save lives when all he’d done to compile said research was torture and take them.

So when the day she’d been anticipating arrived, (because Sakura knew better than anyone else, barring Sasuke and Anko, that Orochimaru would escape) she had jumped on the opportunity to be on the Hunter team to bring him back and finally do what should have been done years ago.

Unfortunately, Orochimaru was as slippery as his namesake. They spent months upturning every rock, checking every source, every sighting, and every lead without result. They had even recruited the ever elusive Sasuke’s aid, and he—with his monosyllabic answers—was barely any help. The Hunter team had returned to Konoha after six months with the weight of failure draping itself across their shoulders, and Sakura was never able to escape a persistent feeling of dread for a future with Orochimaru in it.

Honestly, she should have known that her business with him wasn’t finished—that Orochimaru would be a constant nightmare in her life for as long as she lived. And no nightmare of hers was complete without being strapped, spread-eagle, to a table with a grotesque looking Kabuto looming over her with an ominous syringe.

War had not been kind to him, and fusing and de-fusing with Orochimaru’s essence even less so.

Jerking against the leather chakra suppressing straps binding her neck, wrists and ankles to a cold slab in one of Sound’s hidden bases—one that not even Konoha knew of, Sakura bared her teeth as Kabuto checked and annotated the dosage in the syringe in a thick file.

“What are you going to do me?” Her voice was full of vitriol and rage as she tried to summon her chakra without result.

Kabuto ignored her as he calmly tied a band tightly around her bicep, tapping her vein none too gently, before sterilizing the area with an alcohol swab. Sakura’s heart beat a frantic drum in her chest as he picked up the syringe and took a seat next to her straining form.

“Kabuto, you rat bastard, what are you doing?”

Kabuto tutted. “Language, Sakura-chan.”

Sakura almost screeched with rage, instead choosing to focus what little chakra she could feel inwards in preparation to synthesize whatever it was that Kabuto planned on injecting her with. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that Kabuto had plans to use her in one of his twisted experiments and there was no way she was going to let herself die from it.

“Well,” Kabuto hummed, as if doing her a great favor, “As a fellow medic, I suppose I should at least give you the courtesy of knowing how vital your participation in this project is.”

Remaining silent, Sakura willed away the rising panic. She was having difficulties gathering her chakra; Kabuto had left her with the bare minimum to function—not enough to perform any type of medical ninjutsu or escape. With nauseating dread, Sakura knew that she would not be able to survive whatever it was that Kabuto had planned for her—with her normal mental and bodily capabilities in tact—without some type of divine intervention.

“You see,” Kabuto started, his voice saccharine as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Orochimaru-sama was most disappointed in hearing about your opposition to his reinstatement as a Konoha shinobi.”

“We should have executed him when we had the chance,” Sakura spat, tugging at her arm whose lack of circulation was quickly becoming painful. “As if Orochimaru would ever give up his pursuit of immortality.”

Kabuto chuckled, “Always so smart, Sakura-chan.”

Leaning back, the spectacled man toyed with the syringe in his hand as he observed her struggle with her restraints, “You’re correct. Orochimaru-sama has ambitions far too grand for the Hidden Leaf—ambitions they do not understand. They were fools to assume that he’d let it all go as easily as they let him join their ranks.”

“And you little Leafs are always so foolish.” Kabuto grinned as he stood, uncapping the syringe as he did so. “Because of his rather short imprisonment, if you could even call it that, Orochimaru-sama’s advancements in the cursed seal’s development were lost to your village’s research and war crimes department; which put me, the sole researcher of the cursed seal’s effects, in quite the bind.”

Sakura bit back a whimper as Kabuto’s steely grip came down on her arm, her wide eyes observing the needle as it dimpled her skin. She had no sense of grandeur when it came to her abilities—she knew just as well as anyone the peak of her own mortality; and the fact that he held it in his mottled hands terrified her. Her breaths came in shorts pants as Kabuto paused, his gaze turning thoughtful even as his lips curled sinisterly. Leaning back, he stroked a calloused thumb along the sensitive skin over the bend of her elbow.

“You see, I’ve had to start over,” he said conversationally, lips pursing mockingly, “I had to develop a new curse seal, one without the potential for error and rejection like its predecessors.”

Sakura simply listened warily and with curdling disgust as Kabuto went on to describe the gruesome experiments he conducted on displaced civilians while his master resided in Konoha. Orochimaru wanted a cursed seal that encompassed the same parameters of those previous but with the added advantage of immortality by soul consumption. The snake wanted a cursed seal that would leech away its bearer’s essence until it was nothing but an empty shell, until it couldn’t refuse Orochimaru’s hostile takeover. To counteract the unavoidable act of aging, Kabuto designed a sister seal that would gather the life force of its recipient until it was ready to be harvested for Orochimaru’s use.

Sakura’s disgust morphed into horror as Kabuto relayed, with mock sadness, how each trial run was met with disastrous results. He hypothesized that the seal had not had a proper conduit, nor a proper base, and test subjects either shriveled up like dried husks from the uncontrollable rapid gathering of their life force, or exploded from the strain put on their chakra pools.

“Since our latest failure,” Kabuto intoned, his brow furrowing, “Orochimaru-sama was not…satisfied with my developments and proposed something different—something revolutionary.”

He paused as if waiting for her to inquire what this grand something could be, but Sakura would do no such thing. Cat-like emerald eyes narrowed dangerously at the maniacal baring of teeth that only Kabuto could call an excited grin, and her nostrils flared at the visible giddiness rolling off him in waves.

Mad scientist, indeed.

Brushing off her lack of response with ease, Kabuto resumed his tale steadfastly, “Orochimaru-sama is quite the genius, I must tell you Sakura-chan. It was quite the surprise to know that Zetsu was the one pulling the strings in Akatsuki, wasn’t it?”

At Sakura’s sharp intake of breath, Kabuto chuckled and continued, “Yes, you were there while everyone else dreamed.  I, unfortunately, was also asleep. Fortunately for Orochimaru-sama, he was not. After learning of White Zetsu’s rather admirable longevity, I was tasked with scrounging the lands for remnants of his cells.”

He leaned forward, bent elbows resting on his knees as he rolled the syringe in the palm of his hand. “With Zetsu’s DNA and fragments of Hashirama’s cells, Orochimaru-sama and I were able to develop a serum that would alter the recipient’s own DNA to increase their strength and durability tenfold.”

Bright fluorescent lighting glinted off the plastic as he held up the syringe.

“By mutating the recipient’s cells to mimic Zetsu’s own curious mutation of plant and animal cells, we have crossed the hurdle of self-sustainment and mortality. You have heard of trees living for hundreds of years, no?”

Sakura swallowed at the influx of information, the voice in the back of her head reminding her that Konoha’s dendrologists had placed the oldest tree in their village at nearly a millennium. Her mind raced at the possibility of Orochimaru living and committing unspeakable acts like these for forever.

However, Sakura was a scientist at heart, and despite the looming of her impending demise and agony, she couldn’t help but ask, “And chakra? Have you even accounted for a person’s individual chakra?”

Kabuto leered at her supine form, licking his lips as his glasses glinted, “Of course, Sakura-chan. You and I, as scientists and medics, both know that we must consider all possible angles. The recipient’s chakra would flood and nourish their cells so that it is supplemented by the production of each, therefore destroying the potential for chakra exhaustion. We produce thousands of cells each day—it’d be a never ending source of power and chakra!”

“That isn’t a serum,” Sakura hissed, her voice rising, “That is a virus!”

Kabuto lurched to his feet, circling around to the crown of her head, and she jerked when she felt his gnarled fingers comb through her dirty rose tresses as he shushed her.

“It may seem so, considering every recipient has died thus far. But that is where you come in, my dear.” Kabuto bent at the waist, his lips coming to rest by the shell of her ear, “Your Byakugou opens a world possibilities. You have such fine, subconscious control of your chakra. I don’t doubt that you, with such great chakra control would be able to counteract whatever issues you may encounter.”

Kabuto toyed with the strands of her hair as he hummed, “Tsunade-sama had been my first choice, but Orochimaru-sama is quite…fond of her and did not approve. You, however, he holds no such feelings for.”

Rising to his full height, the grey haired man calmly returned to his previous position by her discolored arm and trailed a finger down its length; it had lost circulation long ago and she felt his touch like shattered glass against her skin. Her pulse throbbed in her throat and she swallowed against the fear threatening to suffocate her as Kabuto moved the needle to her vein. She sneered at the crown of his head, thoughts and information churning over in her head until a mirthless laugh spilled from her chapped lips.

“You know that I loathe you and your master,” she spat even as Kabuto calmly lifted his head to stare at her, “And yet you give me something you hope will mutate me into something super-human with expectations that I’ll survive. Surely you know that I’ll kill you the first chance I get.”

Kabuto’s answering laugh was like ice down her back.

“I said I did not doubt that you’d survive,” he corrected, “But I never said I had intentions of letting you live.”

He leaned towards her as if imparting a secret. “See, your ability to survive this is only a hypothesis, as the survival rate in previous experiments is at a resounding zero percent. If you don’t survive, my hypothesis was wrong; but if you do, then I was correct and you’ve served your purpose. You are only a means to an end, Sakura-chan.”

Opening her mouth to let him know just what she thought of his depraved hypothesis, Sakura yelped when she felt a sting against the bend of her elbow that felt like fire coursing through her veins as Kabuto injected the serum into her body. She cursed herself for letting his words distract her. She jerked against the restraints, her chakra lashing out wildly against the foreign chemicals coursing through and invading her cells.

“Orochimaru-sama thanks you for your participation, Sakura-chan.”

Kabuto discarded the empty syringe on top of a steel tray with other medical equipment, moving to grab a file and pen to begin writing down his observations. As Sakura observed this through hazy, agonized beryl eyes, she decided that she’d receive retribution in this life or the next.

Her thoughts of vengeance were halted by what felt like molten lava coursing through her body, liquefying her from the inside out, and she screamed until she started seizing, and then she knew no more.

Kabuto observed as one of the strongest kunoichi in the world writhed uncontrollably on the steel slab, her mouth foaming as her body seized in reaction to the serum streaming through her. A scream ripped through her throat, and he adjusted his glasses as her chakra flared against the restraints.

Subduing her by use of chakra suppressors was not wise, considering the nature of his experiment, but it served a purpose in observing whether or not her chakra would break through to interact with the serum’s components.

Catching Sakura tiredly making her way back to Konoha after a long, grueling solo-mission had been a stroke of sheer luck. Kabuto was not arrogant enough to believe that he could challenge her—one of the Neo-Sannin, hero of the Great War, striker of gods—at full strength and win. He saw an opportunity in her fatigued gait and he took it.

Orochimaru had been most pleased when Kabuto had returned from his supply mission with the battered pink haired woman slung over his shoulders. As Kabuto had told her, Orochimaru held no affection for her after her rather public opposition to his reinstatement; but he respected her, he said, for recognizing a predator and keeping it in her sights.

However, as Kabuto observed the thrashing body on top of the rattling table, he determined that his master would be supremely disappointed in hearing about the failure of his hypothesis.

As he watched, Sakura’s once healthy skin adopted the ashen pallor of a corpse, the bare flesh of her arms and legs mottling, black veins spreading across her once flawless complexion like lightning as her cells died and struggled to reproduce.

Kabuto sighed as he annotated the familiar sight in his hefty file. Standing, he tucked the file under his arm as he made his way towards the woman that used to be Haruno Sakura. He gripped her head by the hair to keep her from moving, and he lifted an eyelid to confirm what he already knew.

The sclera of her eyes, like every other recipient, had bled into a bright crimson as the cells and blood vessels combusted and died. Pupils dilated to pinpricks, her once brilliantly green iris had faded to an eerily pale shade of what it once was, small crimson fibers spaced in between the green as cells reacted violently.

Stepping away, he annotated in his files his disappointing results, not bothering to glance back when he heard the tale tell expulsion of her last breath. As per Orochimaru’s protocol, Kabuto was forced to wait by her cooling corpse for an hour to see if there were any changes in her not previously seen in the others.

When the hour went by and all Kabuto observed was the onset of algor mortis, he deemed the project a loss and called for the base’s disposal team to get rid of her corpse. Within ten minutes, the man in charge for the day was throwing her body over his shoulder and making his way out the door while Kabuto made his last notes in his file labeled: Case #34 / T3-S.

On a whim, to appease the niggling feeling in the back of his head, Kabuto halted the lowly servant before he fully left. Stepping next to him, he placed two fingers on where Sakura’s pulse point should be and held it for a minute. When he felt nothing, he directed a stream of medical chakra into her body and found her void of all life. Nodding to the larger man, Kabuto went back to his file and closed it.

Haruno Sakura had died in the name of science.

Kabuto grinned; how fitting.

Five days later, thirty miles away from Kabuto and two hundred miles away from Konoha, Sakura woke up in a ditch full of rotting corpses.

What do you guys think?! I know zombies aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m obsessed with them right now.

[saturdayam]

A COMIC LIFE: THE POWER OF LETTTERING

When I was a kid, making comics was HARD! You had to typically hire someone with artistic or design skills (ranging from basic typesetting knowledge to more sophisticated layout skills) and then worry about printing, marketing, and distribution! If you wanted to get into comics, you didn’t need just talent and desire BUT you had to exhaust a great deal of time and money to get even a chance!

None of these are the same level of concern today!

A Comic’s Life TODAY is DIFFERENT, easier to produce and distribute and yet HARDER!

Webcomics are easier and cheaper! Distribution is global. Finding talent and/or audience is capable at the push of a button. Webcomics (much like ebooks) have helped to bring more transparency and opportunity to creators from around the world! That said, the digital comics space has its’ faults. They can be a wild, wild west of unfilled potential and shameless teases of opportunity. For every amazingly talented new artist, there are tons of comics which never finished the first chapter much less crafted a book’s worth of quality material. And while “quality” is subjective - production is not. Nothing ruins a comic book quite like poor layouts, horrible anatomy, and art. But, one of the biggest death knells for killing interest in your work is the lack of decent speech bubbles. Hand-drawn and/or dated typeset font can absolutely DESTROY the goodwill garnered when a potential fan discovers a unique artistic concept married to serviceable (if not fantastic) art.

When I started Saturday AM, I knew we would need some great software to improve our ability to appeal to our fans. Aside from working with a top tier of creators and developing some truly unique manga, we were helped greatly by our ability to work with a variety of free or low-cost tools that could strengthen our organizational communication and workflow.

Plasq has been the definition of this for me when creating comics. Our first Plasq app was COMIC LIFE for iOS. It cost $4.99 USD and seemed reasonable enough for a try. Ironically, the PC/ MAC version was available to us first via the Mac App Store but cost more money ($29.99 but with more features) and seemed to be just difficult enough on the learning curve that I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to master it and in turn teach my staff how to use it. Being a virtual company, we need software that is not just full of features but also, software that is portable. Our software choices MUST work on various machines from around the world and utilize cloud-based storage or download capacities. Furthermore, software that can be used on a tablet, must be tactile and easy to pick up.

COMIC LIFE services ALL of those needs and while it's NOT PERFECT it certainly has many strengths:

CLOUD STORAGE SUPPORT

Comice Life allows users to import and export files via Dropbox, Google Drive, and iCloud Drive. It even includes legacy options such as iTunes and WebDAV. Folks, I'll be blunt -- you're not serious if you're NOT using some SECURE, DIGITAL storage standard. Yes, the world is more hacker-filled than ever BUT if you are seeking to quickly share information and content to team members than you MUST have a reliable storage system. Google Drive, Dropbox, and iCloud are either FREE at certain levels of cost less than an actual physical comic book per month for GIGABYTES of storage.

That said, given the HUGE user base of Microsoft--not having their cloud-based system ONEDRIVE included in the storage options for users is a bit disappointing. Likewise, loading or exporting content can be a PAIN when you are doing so with PAGES of material. The system only allows you to select ONE PAGE AT A TIME. Ugh!

TEMPLATE OPTIONS

There are SO MANY options for creating great content in COMIC LIFE. 1st of all, the SCRIPT EDITOR is AWESOME! It took me quite a while to use it but I now find it a GREAT WAY to break writer's block. The basic idea is that once you type the editor can recognize things such as dialogue, SFX (think KA-BAM!) and captions. It even gives you an option to detail a panel for an artist to eventually create.

Beyond the Script Editor, you can access templates for CERTIFICATES, CREATIVE, EDUCATION, HOW TO, CLASSIC and LIFE STORY options. I've never used any of these but the fact that ANY SOFTWARE that you PAY for has additional use cases is NEVER a bad thing.

My only complaint was that it would be nice to have a COMMENT SECTION for offering editorial assistance to a writer or for artists to inquire about certain panel suggestions.

LETTERING YOUR COMIC

While you really need a video to do this section justice (I tried, god knows I tried...) what I will say is that this is simply LIFE-CHANGING! To be clear, COMIC LIFE is NOT a lettering app and yet, it is. It's weird.

The process is simple: once you import your page of art (or photograph which includes Flickr support) then you can select a bubble or caption box from the bottom of the screen. These are great as they offer a variety of "situational" speech needs. My favorite of these is WHISPER but there are three EXCITE or SHOUTING speech bubbles, a thought bubble, TV style bubble and weak or 'ill' bubble amongst others.

Each bubble can be enlarged or shortened, twisted (via two fingers at least for me -- I've done it a few times with the stylus by accident), darkened (either the outer line of the bubble or the fill color itself), and skewed (offering a small variation of bubble shape). Meanwhile, the tails (the line that goes from the bubble to the person speaking it) can be manipulated in so many ways that are actually rather fun and challenging to construct your panel. You can add multiple tails for example and you can change the shape or angle of it to ensure that you are working around other bubbles and/or NOT covering up too much art.

The list of fonts are not just serviceable but are incredibly diverse and yet appropriate. You can use them in any alignment and of course, can change colors. While some like Husky Stash Regular, Barbrawl BB, and Three Arrows are not the most ideal for some of the more interesting bubbles and/or word art/ SFX options - they ALL are able to be sized so that they fit the action on the page and remain consistent with the reading experience.

The biggest complaint I have with the lettering is that there could actually be MORE VARIETY. It's hard to imagine given just how accessible and loaded the options are for COMIC LIFE but when it comes to lettering, I often find myself needing ANOTHER type of thought bubble or another font type. Likewise, when working on a page of dialogue -- it would be REALLY COOL if the app would be intelligent enough to review your page and alert you to bubbles that are so compressed that words are being split and represented like

 th

is.

So, yes, COMIC LIFE rocks! It's affordable, powerful and portable. Your comics WILL look more professional with this option for lettering. While many of our popular creators use other methods to great success such as Whyt Manga's APPLE BLACK and Raymond Brown's BULLY EATER - I still prefer COMIC LIFE to Adobe and/or Manga Studio.

That said, one of the things I've discovered most since using this has been the ART OF LETTERING.

SHARE THE WORKLOAD

Let me put it this way, as a writer, I find myself now taking the art I get from my artists and working the script DIFFERENTLY. Given that I use this app only for lettering and considering how powerful it is, I no longer accept my scripts as is (which few writers will even consider, sadly). I'll re-write whole scenes on the fly due to my ability to constantly plug and play new speech bubble patterns. If a bit of dialogue is covering up art I may downgrade to simpler dialogue in a panel and use more bubbles in another panel to communicate the intended drama.

This process has worked for me SO MUCH that I have begun guiding our other creative teams at Saturday AM to employ similar.

The WRITER writes. THE ARTIST draws. Artists inks. Writers letter. Not only will the writer help the artist's workload but they'll be constrained creatively by the art (much as the artist is constrained by the script) and will be forced to think anew. This allows the artist to help direct the action in a meaningful way AND gets the writer focused on a very important skill which I find is lost too frequently with webcomic creators and that is DIALOGUE. Great dialogue is a skill and must be worked at and this method helps.

This is a comic's life. It can be lonely. Creativity is hard. The struggle for surpassing mental, emotional and technical hurdles in one's quest to create something is REAL! But for ANY creator, perseverance is the best method of coping and good tools are essential. COMIC LIFEby Plasq is one of the best for lettering.

Check all this month during MARCH ART MADNESS for a chance to WIN free software from Plasq.

[mrs-trustfundkid]

Hello! I would really love to request a fic where both MC and Seven are asexual. That one part in Seven's route where he wants to "hold you tight and love you all night" made me a bit anxious since I hc him as ace!!! So I hope it's okay for me to request 707 and MC having a totally sexless relationship, but still being pretty close, if not physically? Any situation will do, maybe they tell each other their orientation at the same time??

Phew! Finally got this one done! Still pushing through that writer’s block, ugh. But I did it! :) I am 1000% here for ace!Seven oh man.

Mild spoilers for Seven’s route (specifically day 10)!

{ao3 link for mobile}

Today was the day. Seven was going to tell you.

He had been putting it off since the day he met you. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was because he was scared.

The real him, Saeyoung, existed only behind a whirlwind of defense mechanisms and different identities. On occasion, someone might catch a glimpse past the facade he put up. Even rarer, someone might try to push through a layer. But the closer they got to Saeyoung, the harder he pushed back. It wasn’t that he didn’t want anyone to know the real him – no, in actuality it was exactly what he wanted – but people liked 707 just fine. He could have a taste of friendship while still keeping those he cared for safe, and that was more than enough. Besides, he hadn’t done anything to deserve any more than that.

And then you had come along, and so quickly slipped through his first line of defenses with such little effort that it had caught him completely off-guard. Within mere days Saeyoung had fallen for you. It terrified him.

He had fought against it with all he had – he could not be responsible for hurting someone so precious; you deserved better than him – but you persisted despite everything, breaking down his barriers and jumping his hurdles until all that was left between you and Saeyoung Choi was a single door. You probably didn’t even see it, but it was still there, and only Saeyoung could open it and truly let you in to all of who he was.

He wanted to do it. And he was going to. That didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. There was a chance that, even after everything you’d been through, you would turn and walk away after that door was opened and you saw what hid behind it.

Saeyoung tried not to think of what would happen to him if that scenario came true.

The door to the cabin rattled, and your voice came through, assuring that no one hostile was here. Closing his eyes, Saeyoung took a deep breath and steeled himself.

***

Today was the day. You were going to tell Seven.

You had been outside of the cabin for nearly an hour with the excuse of feeling sick and needing some fresh air… which wasn’t entirely a lie. In reality, you needed to be away from everyone to gather your thoughts.

It might have seemed somewhat ridiculous to be focusing on this, what with everything going on; you and Seven and Vanderwood were literally on the run for your lives. But you didn’t know when you would get a chance like this again. If you would get a chance like this again. If you died within the next day… you didn’t want to go without doing this.

You almost laughed out loud at how absurd the thought sounded, yet at the same time you knew it was a completely plausible outcome. You had to admit, this was a little more than you’d bargained for when you agreed to join the RFA less than two weeks ago.

Back to the smaller situation at hand, though. You were impressed at how calm you actually were. Any other time and place, you would have been a nervous wreck about telling Seven this. The thought that he might – even probably – leave you after finding out this particular fact about you, after all you’d been through together… it hurt, but at the same time a quiet sense of acceptance, no matter the outcome, had prematurely settled over you.

Time to head back in. You inhaled, then opened the cabin door. “It’s me,” you called.

Seven was sitting on the threadbare couch, his eyes darting up just in time to meet yours as you walked through the door.

Oh. Your mind had spoken too soon. Now that you were here, face to face, and you were reminded of everything you could lose… your premeditated speech vanished. Terror wormed its way into your chest, speeding up your heartbeat and setting your stomach churning.

You were so preoccupied with your own rising panic that you didn’t notice Seven seemed to have something on his mind as well. “Uh,” he started when you didn’t speak. “Feeling better?”

That jolted you out of the mental pit you were slipping into. You awkwardly cleared your throat, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “Y-Yeah, thanks.”

An odd silence fell between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Seven’s eyes as your mind raced, desperately trying to come up with something to get the conversation rolling.

“Um–!” When the silence was finally broken, it was by both of you at the same time, startling one another. You were too rattled to laugh.

“Oh, MC, you can go first. Please,” Seven urged. He adjusted his glasses, hands going back to run through his hair. He seemed distracted.

Is he nervous? The thought struck you as you watched him. Why would he be nervous? You were supposed to be the nervous one here. I must be reading too much into things. No time to get sidetracked. You mentally shook yourself.

“I… have something to tell you. About myself,” you began slowly. “And… you might not like it. Um.” Your hands were shaking, and you clenched them to try and stop it.

Seven suddenly became more attentive, sensing something was wrong. You felt his gaze snap back to you. “MC, you can tell me anything,” he said, his voice soft. You could hear the concern and caring in his words, and it nearly made you tear up.

“I-I’ll understand if you… if you don’t want to be with me anymore after hearing this,” you continued, beginning to ramble in an unconscious attempt to put off the inevitable. “But I knew it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t tell you. To either of us.” The tears were threatening to spill over now.

“MC.” Seven put a hand on your cheek and turned your face towards his. “Calm down and just tell me.” His eyes were solemn. He knew the burden of keeping secrets all too well. But you could tell he was receptive to whatever you had to say.

“Well…” You swallowed. “I’m… asexual.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, waiting for his reaction. Would he be angry? Disappointed? Confused? You had an explanation at the ready in case he didn’t know. In fact, after Seven didn’t say anything, you opened your mouth to begin speaking again, until you noticed… was he smiling?

Seven’s eyes were wide in surprise, a grin gradually overtaking his features. The smallest of laughs left his mouth in a sharp exhalation of air. “Oh my god.”

“S-Seven…?” you inquired, bewildered.

“Oh my god,” he repeated. “MC, you’re… not gonna believe me, but… I was about to tell you the exact same thing.”

“What?” Were you hearing this right? He couldn’t possibly mean…

“I’m ace too, MC.”

“What?!” Your voice was an octave higher than usual. For a brief moment you forgot how to breathe. The entire situation was beyond implausible – was he even serious? “What the hell? You’re not joking, are you?”

“No!” Horrified, Seven grabbed your hands in earnestness. “No, I would never joke around about something like this.”

He was right. You felt a little guilty at even suspecting him of playing with your feelings like that. But still…

There was a pause, and then you both burst out laughing. You laughed until you were both on the floor, clutching your stomachs and gasping for breath.

The front door opened. It was a good thing it was Vanderwood and not an enemy, because the two of you were completely incapacitated. “What…? No, I’m not even gonna ask.” The door closed, Vanderwood gone once more.

Slowly, you and Seven rose to a sitting position, wiping tears off your cheeks as you caught your breath. There was so much you wanted to say, but all that came out was, “How did we find each other?”

“God only knows,” Seven admitted. “All I know is that I’m never letting you go.”

You had to grin at that. “I love you, Seven.”

“Hey… Call me Saeyoung.”

“All right, then. I love you, Saeyoung.”

Saeyoung beamed with the most brilliant smile you had ever seen him give. “I love you too, MC.”

[ataraxia-solace]

Every step makes a difference: Life in quarantine

Nobody expected that one day, every one of us will have to stay inside our house without or parents telling us to do so. No one really knew that there will be a moment in life where time will stop for the most of us for almost two years. Nobody actually thought that this would take longer than they expect it to be. Even I, thought that this will last for only a week or two. And I never would have thought that I will be stuck in a place I’m supposed to call home.

I was supposed to meet someone for the first time the same day classes were suspended because of the COVID-19 cases. I was really excited because I thought I’ll be having a great time with them for a while. When my parents told me to go home immediately and not to go anywhere or stay inside the school grounds, I couldn’t do anything but to comply, so I had to cancel our plan. I knew very well that if I disobeyed and didn’t go home after, there will always be a limitation waiting for me. I had to go through the day even if it started pretty badly; eventually I ended up sleeping on my last class for the day. I guess my Statistics teacher just let me sleep since we all knew that classes will be suspended any time sooner.

And as expected, it did. At first it was okay, I finally got some decent rest since a lot of things happened before classes were held back. As the days pass by, people became afraid of the virus and bought essential goods in bulk due to panic, which left others with nothing. Who would’ve known that groceries and stores will soon have a first come first serve basis on the products they sell. Everyone wished for the virus to go away one day the same way it appeared in our nation and city without even knowing how. I wasn’t exactly afraid of the virus, I never really went out of the house anyway. To be fair, I was the one who felt fear for the people in the streets who will surely have a hard time to adjust with the sudden changes in our surroundings due to the virus. And personally, I was afraid that I won’t be able to enjoy, discover, learn, and improve the things I have in life, and I was even more afraid that time would pass by and I’ll look myself in the mirror and realize that I never changed. That I wasn’t able to use the time we spent inside our shelter to make myself better.

In all honesty, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. Our household wasn’t the best to begin with. I knew that if I stayed here inside for so long, I would be in a bad state. Not physically, I do my best to stay physically healthy by eating balanced meals and drinking lots of water. That counts a protection for the virus whenever I have to go out, just in case. Some of my friends on Facebook have shown pictures of them getting the “glow-up”. It’s really nice for them, I’m kind of mad at myself for not having any noticeable change on my overall physical appearance, and yet I continue to convince myself that I’ll be able to do so after this academic year. But if this is going to be about our mental and emotional health, it would be different. I tend to overthink every now and then; the pandemic didn’t help at all. Everyone is experiencing an internal turmoil, something that most wouldn’t dare talk about. No one is exempted from any struggle one might encounter during this whole mess we’re in as a result of our government’s incompetency. And personally, my energy has decreased since March 2020 and it’ll take a while to recover.

I told myself to be strong and hold on to my dreams, so I continued to persist through all the challenges I faced within this big ordeal. Sometimes I find myself tearing up or getting sad for no reason at all. And I know very well that it has an underlying root, but I never spoke about it, except for that one person who never failed to listen and understand. From what I have observed, it is of essence that everyone has at least one person they can talk anything about with. In these trying times, our faith, trust, relationships, dreams, will, and your philosophies in life are continuously tested, so people need someone they can rest their head on. I understand people who are struggling to cope up at “home”, but nevertheless I am happy that we still keep going no matter what.

There are times that I drift away from my sense of self, but then I’ll have to tell myself that this is just another hurdle in life. A rather huge one I must say, but I’ll get through it with the people who supported me ever since and I will always be there for them the same way they never left me when we were in need of company. And I realized that even if I wasn’t able to create or accomplish something really exceptional, every little step that I take, every effort that I make, everything that I did and enjoyed, every moment I spent talking with the person that I love, every music that made me understand the world better, and every piece of myself that I worked so hard to improve, are just as important and commendable. And I’m proud of myself for not giving up and for making sure that everyone dear to me keep themselves safe. Reminding your friends and family to take care is a great thing and it helps our country to slowly recover from this virus we’ll defeat too, sooner or later. And with that, life goes on.

Written by: Kaela Gabrielle P. Ilagan

Photo by Moritz Spahn on Unsplash