#but ive only talked to my wife about this and it still aches and haunts me.

[mielcite]

i have alot of thoughts and feeling about that last post bc it has touched my life personally and like not that that matters, not that it was necessary for me to care, at the same time * handwaves* you know? anyway i want to talk about it its under a readmore bc it kinda got out of control..

But i was a part of a community service club at school, and our whole thing was like going out into the community and figuring out what people, organizations needed and then developing and building those things for them. Usually charging for materials or if ASI covered it then doing it for free.

Last semester two members became fellows of an organization Tikkum Olam Makers (TOM), and our main project that semester was making these little mobility trainers for disabled kids and giving them to a local childrens hospital. I helped out as much as I could but honestly besides the two members no one else really had any direct contact with the org.

...Until this semester they announced the club would be joining a competition sponsored by TOM and if we could all sign up please so they could get more money? And I did and once the emails started coming in...noticed this was an org based in Tel Aviv. And my heart sank and I couldn't reconcile taking money from these people even if it was to help others and so I emailed them asking to be dropped from the competition.

Next meeting I show up hoping for another project that ISN'T related to TOM but it seems like the club has gone all in, with prev. mentioned members talking about internships that TOM offers (in israel of course) but how they weren't going to apply "because of the war" and how their mentor had been drafted into the iof and i wish i could say i did something but I just quietly left..and dropped the club and I don't talk to these people anymore.

because like..how can an organization based in a settler state claim to be for the children...helping disabled children when people WITHIN the organization are disabling and killing children, people only a couple miles away? how can they pick and choose which children to help and which to hurt? i dont know how to end this i agonized over it for a long time...

[kenzieam]

Save My Life - Chapter One

@jewels2876​ ​​​​​ @moonbeambucky​ ​​​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ ​​​​​ @iammarylastar​@captstefanbrandt​ ​​​​​ @badassbaker​ ​​​​​ @pinknerdpanda​ ​​​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Warnings: Definitely M. Language, violence, adult situations, graphic mentions of horrible things, traumatic death and descriptions.

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!!!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!!

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Paramedic Bucky Barnes has seen it all and it’s definitely taken a toll on his mind and body, witnessing senseless death, all but wading through it at times as he is the first responder to so many ghastly accidents and mishaps. The widow of one of his former patients haunts him long after his brief, chaotic contact with her and destiny conspires to cross their paths again. Can the broken man and grieving woman find peace together?

Feedback is life, y’all.

***********************************************************************

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

With a growl and a groan, Bucky rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. His body throbbed in a way that, while unwelcome, was far from unpleasant and he reached down, palmed his aching cock through the plain black boxer briefs he usually slept in.

It was so much easier to stumble to the shower if he only had to tangle with briefs, not try to pull a t-shirt off his muscular frame, it wasted precious seconds that could be better spent gasping for breath under the spray, hands pressed to the wall and bowed forwards, water washing away the nightmares that had torn him from uneasy sleep to begin with.

The dichotomy wore at him, even as he relived the horrors of her husband’s messy final moments of life, his body yearned for her, his cock hardening while his mind played the reel over and over, the sightless eyes, the crunching of the man’s ribcage beneath his hands.

There was no use fighting it, he’d tried so many times, only to lose every battle.

His pleasure crested, peaked and he groaned in release, his cock pulsing thick ropes of his seed onto his heaving stomach but the physical gratification didn’t touch the emotional turmoil and he dropped his hand with another groan, squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth until the sensations faded, both the ecstasy and the guilt.

Finally, he moved, hauling himself off the bed, off the tangled, soaked sheets and grimaced; the evidence of his twisted mind drying on his belly. Stumbling over last night’s jeans he shuffled into the bathroom and turned the water to scalding, scowling at his face in the mirror, scrubbing a hand over his stubble.

Would he finally get his shit together today? What compelled him, day after day, to continue like this? Sure, not every call ended the way that one had, but the good ones had long stopped overpowering the bad, their shadows too dark to chase away.

His phone jangled, clashing with his already raw nerves. Would such a simple sound ever stop eliciting such a heart-stopping response in him? He reached for the receiver, his seed still painting his belly, pulling at the downy hair there as it dried and silently held it to his ear. The voice on the other end knew he was there.

“Hey.” Steve said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Is today the day?” The day you stop this, quit the job that’s slowly killing you and start putting yourself back together again?

Bucky exhaled, a harsh yet anemic sound. “No, not today.”

Steve, his partner of eleven years, the man who usually drove the ambulance while Bucky worked so hard in the back, sighed quietly. Closer than brothers, he could read Bucky like an open book, but it went both ways and Bucky could hear the small smile on his face too. Although it was slowly killing both of them, there was nobody they’d rather die beside.

“See you at the station?”

“Yeah, an hour.”

“Coffee.”

“Your turn.” Bucky grunted, slamming the receiver down. Their shorthand baffled most, pissed off others, but you couldn’t be stripped bare emotionally in front of someone for over a decade and not connect like that.

One last lingering glance in the mirror, a brief grimace at the haunted cast in his blue eyes, then he continued into the shower, letting the water wash away both the sweat and the tears.

**********************************************************************

“Still having nightmares?” Steve asked, glancing Bucky’s way before returning his attention to the road. On their way to a frequent flyer found semi-conscious and, no doubt, more than semi-intoxicated, sprawled on the ground outside a local McDonald’s, there was a mild sense of urgency but an even larger sense of ‘same-old, same-old’ weary acceptance.

“Never stop.” Bucky replied shortly, barely looking up from poking listlessly at the computer screen mounted on the dash.

“About her?”

Bucky exhaled, eyes falling closed until the pain, while by no means gone, diminished enough to allow him to draw the next breath. “Yeah.”

“Man, that was over a year ago and you haven’t seen her since. What gives?” Steve demanded, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand before cursing under his breath and hitting the sirens again to persuade a stubborn car out of their lane.

Bucky mused that he’d probably hear those god-damned sirens in hell.

“I don’t know-”

“Her husband died-”

“I know!”

“And I’m sure the last person she wants to see is the guy who was covered in his blood literally crushing the man’s ribs!”

“I know!” Bucky bellowed, slamming his fist on the dash then pulling it back with a grunt to cradle against his muscular chest. He’d need the full use of his hands, both massive paws that somehow could be so gentle and precise while intubating or placing an IV line, to deal with the patient they were now pulling up on.

“You using again?” Steve asked, voice low, bordering on a mix of angry and disappointed.

Bucky turned away, opening the door and jumping out before the bus had come to a full stop.

************************************************************

Lev glanced around briefly before dropping her eyes again. She felt supremely uncomfortable here, despite the fact that she was one of the more in-control attendees; she wasn’t weeping ceaselessly into a handkerchief, or burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook, or muffling her wails on the shoulder of the person beside her. She was keeping it together.

Wasn’t she?

Eighteen months since Clint’s violent and unexpected death and this was her first meeting for grieving survivors, held in an aging school gymnasium that smelled like old socks and even older sweat, the wood floor marked and scarred with years of abuse.

Her friend Wanda had finally put her foot down, after a year and a half of back and forth, of, ‘I’m fine, just tired’ excuses and tearful limbo and all but dragged Lev to her doctor, where the kindly soul who may or may not be hiding pain just as visceral as hers and therefore knew what he was talking about had suggested this place, as an alternative to the pharmaceutical option that had been the first choice, and rejected so vehemently by Lev to warrant it’s proposal.

She glanced around. The middle-aged woman who’d lost her husband when he’d choked to death right in front of her during their weekly Sunday brunch, three chairs over in the large circle; the man who’d suffered through agonizing minutes of his wife pleading for help over her phone, then her final screams of terror as her car’s throttle had malfunctioned on the freeway and she’d careened at top speed into an embankment, instantly dying but taking with her his unborn son as well, five chairs over; then…. Him.

Lev startled slightly, dropping her gaze before it could be returned. Her memories of that time were so scattered and chaotic, stained with Clint’s blood and the sound of that goddamn siren, but she remembered him, or more accurately, the pain in his supernatural blue eyes.

Built like a marine, massive and muscled, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a loose bun, clad not in his uniform but a simple red long-sleeved Henley and jeans, hulking and intimidating until you looked closer and saw the anguish, was the paramedic that had tried so hard to save her husband’s life that lifetime ago.

Her heart sped up and she focussed obsessively on her cuticles. She wished suddenly for Wanda, but she’d insisted on attending tonight by herself and consequently was now alone as a tsunami of memories crashed over her. The incongruity of smells: bitter antiseptic, raw panic and body expulsions, warm male musk and blood; the duelling opposites that had all but torn her in half: frightening, in-your-face reality as Clint’s blood dried on her face coupled with the dream-like quality of the whole drawn-out nightmare.

How did that man cope? Dealing with that life and ugly death daily? Was that why he was here now, slumped in his chair and listening to other lambs to the slaughter open their veins in wretched attempts to assuage the pain?

She was called gently upon to speak, to give her name and reason why she was here; what screaming banshee howled unending torment in her ears, but she shook her head, burrowing further in on herself and muttering a vow to make herself talk next time, no matter how uncomfortable.

An eternity and an eye-blink later, the meeting ended, and Lev stood stiffly, her body raw and pulsating with fresh grief. For lack of anything else to do, she wandered to the refreshment table, knowing she was far too shaky yet to attempt to drive herself home and picked up a pre-poured paper cup of juice and pack of generic cookies. She’d just sat at an empty table and touched the cup to her lips when a quiet, tentative voice washed over her.

“Hi.”

She glanced at him, quickly back down again. “Hi.” Her voice was stronger than she felt, and she was grateful for the support of the table and chair.

“May I sit?” There was a puzzling hesitancy in his voice, as if he expected screaming rejection, but Lev was too tired to push someone else away, it was too wearying keeping her own mind and body quiet.

At her nod, he sat, picking at his own pack of cookies, seeming to be warring with himself about something.

“I remember who you are, you know.” Lev added, watched his shoulder slump with mingled relief and trepidation.

“I didn’t know… if you…. did or not-” He mumbled, trailing off uncomfortably.

“Hard to forget that day.” Lev whispered. She hesitated before adding. “I never got a chance but… thank you… for trying.”

He nodded, jaw tight, not lifting his eyes from the table.

“How do….” She didn’t want to ask, but God, she did too. “How do you manage to do that… as a job I mean?”

He smirke humorlessly, gesturing with one massive hand to the assembly around them.

“Does it help?”

He shrugged. “More than the company counselling. A friend of mine suggested it a couple years ago; I try to come when I can but….” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

Lev dropped her eyes again, puzzlingly embarrassed. “My first time. My friend… she made me see a doctor-”

He held up a large hand. Say no more.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked quietly, lifting his hypnotizing gaze to hers again, which she quickly averted, in parts shocked and soothed by the tractor-pull that seemed to emanate from his supernatural blue eyes.

The question stung somehow, and it was so much easier to bite at that then lay bare the devastation beneath. “How do you?” Even as the question left her lips she recoiled, horrified with herself and pressed her hand to her mouth.

He flinched, barely perceptively, but the dark rings under his eyes answered her.

“God, I’m sorry-”

He shook his head, held up a massive hand again. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” What was wrong with her, biting the first hand that extended any type of friendliness? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“This place… feeling this way… it makes you raw.” He replied, glancing up at her before looking away and gesturing with a chin jerk to a nearby table. “Sweetest old lady you’ll ever meet over there, but once she comes here and starts remembering her husband’s death again, turns into an old hag.” He twisted the paper cup in his hands, completely engulfing it before taking a sip. “Later, she’ll sit there with a stunned look on her face, like she’s waking up from a black-out.”

“I don’t want to be an old hag.”

A faint smile touched his full lips, temporarily lighting up his unbelievably handsome face. “You’d never be.” A faint pink flush and he looked away again.

Lev suddenly couldn’t breathe. The room, the man across from her, were taking all the air and she stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”

He watched her, face falling and tried to stand but Lev lifted her hand, an emotional traffic cop, and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and both knew it, but he only watched sadly as she hurried out the gymnasium doors to the darkness outside, head bowed.

**************************************************

“You never answered me.” Steve spoke suddenly, breaking the silence in the bus as they took a rare break between calls, sitting in the parking lot of a local coffee-shop, trying to wolf down their breakfast sandwiches before the radio blared and re-established reality.

Bucky grunted, knowing what his partner was referring to but hoping that he’d drop it if he played silly buggers.

“James.” Shit, he was serious, using Bucky’s given name.

Bucky sighed, staring out the windshield. “It’s under control.”

“Is it?” Steve all but shouted. “Shooting H? Seriously, man. How do you have that ‘under control’?! What the fuck, James!”

“I don’t do it all the time-”

“Once is too many!”

“Fuck you. You got someone to come home to-”

“DO NOT put that on me, asshole. You’ve had plenty of women hoping for your last name, what the hell are you always waiting for?”

“I’m-”

“Stop thinking about that girl, it’s never going to happen!”

A bitter retort stung Bucky’s tongue and he knew if he spit it out it would poison their enduring friendship, weaken it just when he needed it the most but he was saved from sabotaging himself by the damned radio itself, the dispatcher’s efficient voice relaying maximum information with minimal syllables.

Glaring daggers at Bucky, obviously having a damn good idea what he had been about to say, Steve snorted angrily and grabbed the microphone, snapping an affirmative before slamming the vehicle in gear and hitting the sirens.

************************************************************************

Levi was not at the next meeting and Bucky felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment. Steve was right, this was never going to happen and, even if it did, he had no right dragging this girl down into his shit, not when she was still trying to dig herself out of her own. But still, he was disappointed; she was the rare light in his darkness, had been since the moment he’d first seen her, even with all the chaos and horror around her, cradling her dying husband’s head in her lap, pleading with someone, anyone to help. When their eyes had locked, a visceral, physical jolt had shot through him, almost painful in its intensity and he’d become personally invested in doing all he could to help, if not the patient he’d been dispatched for, then her.

Anything for her.

He was a sad fuck.

He’d barely heard the meeting going on around him, the others whispering their shame and pain, the answering murmurs from fellow sufferers. He rarely spoke at these, was rarely called on anyway because the overseer, a thin, bantam rooster of a man named Tony, who still lost all confidence and swagger when remembering his dear wife, Pepper, who’d passed suddenly from an aneurysm a few years previous, knew who Bucky was and why he was here.

He had no personal stories of loss to tell, but shared the pain of every single death he witnessed, every patient he tried to save and usually ended up only managing to usher into the afterlife with some semblance of comfort anyway.

He left the meeting that night alone, curled up on the floor at the end of his bed and found a vein.

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (33)- Waking

A lot of people commented about how horrifying it would be to wake up in the middle of surgery. Anesthesia awareness happens to about 1 in a 1000 patients, and I was one of those lucky ducks!

It wasn’t major surgery, but I still wasn’t supposed to wake up. I was getting my wisdom teeth removed. They recommended I bring in headphones and listen to music. I was only conscience enough to hear my music. At one point a song came on that I didn’t want to listen to, so I opened my eyes and looked down to my iPod. The orthodontist stopped and said, “Oh just changing the song?”

And then I looked up, seeing two doctors there, with blood covered gloves, and a bunch of instruments sticking out of my mouth.

It’s the only thing I remember from getting that surgery. Not the recovery, not the appointment, not even the song that prompted it. It also only felt like it took 15 minutes, but apparently it was two hours. Anesthesia really messes with the perceived perception of time when you’re only semiconscious.

It’s really a horrifying experience.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Dr. Ernest Boucher would consider himself lucky. He had a loving wife, and a patient son, who understood the importance of his father’s job and didn’t take it personally when he had to suddenly leave.

And now, after a 48 hour shift, he was returning home. Exhausted, hungry, and stressed, but home.

“I’m home!” He called in the door.

“Oh honey!” His wife called from the other room. “We just sat down for dinner! Come take a seat, I’ll make you up a plate!”

Ernest hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. Home cooking, a hot shower, and to sleep for a few hours in his bed…that’s all he wanted.

His wife wrapped an arm around his waist and smooched his cheek. “I made Lasagna.”

“Lasagna…I love lasagna…” He said dreamily.

As he came into the kitchen, he saw his son, pouring himself a soda. “Hey Pop! You look like you got hit by a truck!” The boy laughed.

His son was 17 years old, blonde hair, athletic, looked a lot like Adrien. Several times during the surgery, Ernest imagined it was his boy on the table.

He sympathized with Gabriel Agreste, who looked like a complete mess.

“Pop? You good?”

Ernest yanked on his son’s arm and pulled him into a tight hug. “Just happy to see you, Kiddo.”

With a shrug, Ernest’s son hugged his father back.

—

After a filling dinner and a 8 hour night’s sleep, Ernest arose. His pager hadn’t gone off in the middle of the night. So surely Adrien and Marinette were either in the same place they were, or any minor problems were solved by the team.

He showered, shaved, and got dressed.

His boy was already at school, but had left him a text in the morning.

“You’re my superhero!” It read, simply.

The words brought tears to his eyes.

His wife made him breakfast, a big one with lots of protein to keep him full until he had a late lunch. She also filled up his coffee mug with a fancy kind that outdid the hospital brew.

And then, with another kiss, he was back off to the hospital.

Or at least that was the plan. He was not expecting to be swarmed outside his house by the media.

“Dr. Boucher! What kind of surgery did Adrien have?!”

“Is Marinette alright?”

“Did Chat lose his arm?”

“Did Adrien survive from the whipping!?”

“Have you talked to the families yet?!”

“Dr. Boucher!”

“Dr. Boucher, over here!”

Completely overwhelmed, his head swiveled everywhere his name was called until he was dizzy.

“Stop!” He shouted, hands out.

The crowd calmed to a murmur.

“Everyone be quiet! Just give me a moment!”

Well, if he was a little dazed before, now he was wide awake.

The media settled down, waiting to hear him.

“Bring the mics closer, I’m only going to say this once. Then I must get back to the hospital!”

Obediently, the news crews all passed microphones up to the front, where some poor intern was put in charge of holding them up like a bouquet in front of the good doctor.

Ernest clear his throat. “Alright. Due to patient confidentiality, I can’t get into specifics. But I can tell you that as of when I left last night, both Marinette and Adrien were alive and asleep. They both received care for several wounds inflicted from Salo, including the flogging. Adrien’s arm has not yet been addressed, because of other more serious surgeries first. That is all I can tell you now, thank you.”

The crowd parted as he headed to his car, but they continued to ask questions as he climbed inside.

Ernest took a sip of his coffee as he started the car. He wasn’t sure how the media found out he was in charge of the team. He didn’t worry about it, but it wasn’t expected. Some nurse who hadn’t read their email probably blurted something to someone.

Oh well. He supposed the nugget he gave was fair enough. After a month of knowing absolutely everything happening to the heroes, and then knowing nothing? It would leave people asking questions.

And with Hawkmoth battling with the auxiliary heroes on the Arc de Triomphe, there probably weren’t any more threats to worry about.

He hoped.

—

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away—away—to an indefinite distance—it died. The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said—

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.”

“I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot return.”

It was a weird dream. No visuals, no feelings. Just a soft voice of a mother recanting a story. She spoke quietly, tenderly, just a hum above a whisper.

Then she felt sensations. Pins and needles of sleepiness in her toes, the ache and twinge of long set wounds.

Her knees ached, as they were unaccustomed to having her legs stretched out. But she found she lacked the strength to move.

Was she awake? Or asleep? Neither, she supposed, balancing on the edge of both. That blissful state of absolute comfort.

Slowly, Marinette back tracked in time. What did she remember?

The haunting image of Adrien bleeding out in that chair, watching him collapse in the hall, his slowly languid breaths in that room.

And then a haze. They moved, somewhere. Wetness, like rain. Running?

It was like looking through a thick cotton curtain, muffling sound and sight.

And now she was here. Wherever ‘here‘ was.

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I was still incredulous.

“Do you doubt me, Jane?”

“Entirely.”

“You have no faith in me?”

“Not a whit.”

It was the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. A soft bed, cradling her as if she was fragile, and a warm blanket weighing her to the bed. A soft ambient light held back the darkness, but didn’t pierce through her lids.

Marinette tried to open her eyes, caked as they were. The light was dim, illuminating gridded ceiling titles immediately above her. It smelled faintly of chemicals, while a droning hiss carried through the air. Her neck ached, but as she tilted her head, she briefly looked around the room. No one to her left, though she did see a strange machine and a metal stand, an IV stand. A tube ran from the bag down to her arm. A door cracked open revealed a bathroom and another door on the far side of the room was closed, but silhouetted figure stood in the window.

To her right, she found the owner of the voice, her own mother, sitting in a chair by her side, hand in hers, and reading from a book. Jane Eyre, as it looked. Farther down the bed, her father sat in another chair, his hand wrapped loosely around her foot.

Behind her parents, orange light filtered through the light curtains.

A bright red blob caught her attention. Tikki laid curled up on her chest.

A moment more, allowing her brain to digest all she could see, and she realized she was in a hospital.

The how and when escaped her.

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness— and especially in his incivility—to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”

“Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to read your countenance—turn!”

“There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.”

“Marinette?” Her father interrupted.

Marinette didn’t respond verbally, not knowing if she had the strength to do so. Instead, she squeezed her hand and twitched her foot.

Warm lips pressed to her forehead, as she came to find a mask on her face. She couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to.

“Just sleep, my darling.” Sabine said softly. “You’re very tired.”

She was. That was true.

The warmth, the quiet, the softness, it was soothing.

Safe.

Sleep.

Safe.

Safe.

Adrien.

She awoke with a jolt. It had only been a few minutes, so she thought, but the room was different. Brighter. Day light peered in the window, and her father was gone.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Sabine asked, seeing Marinette startle awake. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Adrien.” She said, in response.

Understanding came over Sabine’s face. “Yes darling, he’s here. He’s in ICU. He’ll be okay.”

She pulled on the mask that covered her face, immediately struggling to breathe. “I need to see him!”

Sabine just calmly replaced the mask. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

Marinette grabbed her wrist. “Where is he? Where’s Chat?” She began to cry.

Sabine pressed a button nearby. “Ssh, darling. He’s alright. Just relax.”

Marinette shook her head, forcing the mask from her face. “I don’t believe you! I need to see him! Adrien!”

A female nurse hurried into the room. “Oh dear, she’s up!” The woman smiled.

“She wants to see Adrien.”

The nurse came to the bed, clasping Marinette’s hands. “Oh honey, I know you do. But you’re in no shape to get out of bed.”

“I don’t care! I need to see Adrien! Please!” Her voice was breaking, as she desperately tried to get out of the bed. She was exhausted, and everything hurt as she moved.

“I’m sorry dear, but you need to calm down.” The nurse pressed the mask back to her face and held it there, as her other hand went to the machine at her side.

“Let me go! He needs me! Please I don’t want to leave him alone!”

The nurse petted her hair gently. “Shh, just relax. Breathe. Breathe nice and deep.”

“No! No! No…no…” she felt weaker. Her vision blurred as the room tilted.

Sleep. Her brain demanded.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Adrien.

She jolted again. Wakefulness coming to her quite quickly. Things had changed again, though she was only out for a few minutes, right? Except, now it was dark outside, and both of her parents were missing.

“Marinette! You’re awake again!” Tikki chirped, floating in front of her.

Marinette stared, not knowing what to say. Surely there should be some tearful reunion, right? Or perhaps shame or guilt?

But her mind was in one place.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Tikki had a millisecond to gasp before being sucked into the earrings.

The suit disconnected her from all the tubes and wires. The needles in her veins were forced out, the pads on her chest were peeled off. She ripped the mask off, finding it difficult to breathe again, but not eager to go back to sleep.

All resulting in alarms blaring.

Ladybug had to act quickly to find him. She pushed up, her arms trembling with the action. Her back twinged, as her torn flesh stretched and twisted.

By time she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the nurse appeared. A male nurse this time, roughly the same age as her father, and built like a fridge.

“Whoa there, little lady!” He rushed to her. “You can’t be getting up. Do you need to use the bathroom? We can get you a bedpan.”

She swatted him away, “don’t touch me!”

“What are you trying to do, Ladybug? Let me help you before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to see Chat! And you’re not going to stop me!” She glared at him, daring him to try to stop her.

He studied the intensity of her glare, and sighed. “Alright. Just relax a second, alright?”

She didn’t, but stopped trying to stand.

“My name is John, I’m the night shift nurse for you.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Now,” he took her hand gently. “I will take you to Adrien, but we have to do it the hospital way, okay? You don’t want to hurt yourself more, right? Chat wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

She softened at the tone. “You’ll take me to him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll take you to your husband.”

Husband.

So that wedding really was official after all? It hadn’t felt real. No one treated them like husband and wife. They were only treated like garbage.

Her shoulders relaxed, fist uncurled, jaw unclenched. “What’s the hospital way?” She asked.

“I’m going to get you a wheelchair. We’ll reconnect you to the IV, because you’ve got to get your fluids up. Then we’ll stay for a little while, but when it starts hurting too much, we’ll bring you back.”

“I can’t stay with him?”

John knelt in front of her, and held her hands tightly. “Ladybug, Adrien is in critical condition. He lost a lot of blood. We gave him a blood transfusion, but the rest is up to him. He needs constant surveillance.”

“Is…is he going to be okay?”

“I think so. He hasn’t passed yet.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“You were admitted four days ago. You’ve been in and out of sleep for the last two.”

She frowned, considering this. Finally, she relented. “Spots off.”

In a flash of pink, Marinette returned, and with her, more pain. She cried out, as John squeezed her hand.

“I’m going to go get that wheelchair, alright? Stay seated, please.” And he hurried out of the room.

Marinette rested her hands on her knees. Her very knobby, scabbed over knees. She wore thick socks, which made her stick legs look even smaller. She was covered in all sorts of cuts and bruises she hadn’t seen in the dark, and her right hand, which had been branded, was wrapped with thick gauze.

She dared not look in the mirror.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, sadly.

“I’m sorry, Tikki,” was all she could say.

“You don’t need to apologize.” The kwami nuzzled against her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re safe now. Things are going to be weird, and you might be a little irrational. But that’s okay. I still love you.”

Marinette shuttered at the affection, reaching up to hold her against her cheek. “I love you too Tikki.”

John returned shortly, pushing a chair along. “Here we are.”

At his arrival, Marinette pushed against the mattress and tried to slide to the floor. But as her feet made contact, a sharp pain bolted up her legs and she moaned in pain.

“I gotcha,” John directed her to sit, not allowing her to stand for more than a second. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“What…what’s wrong with my legs?” She asked as the pain subsided.

“You have infection in both of your feet. From running around the catacombs for several hours with no shoes on.”

She hummed in understanding.

Carefully, John eased her into the foot rests. Then he had her hold out her arm so he could reattach the IV. “This is a saline solution, just to get your fluids up. You’re still pretty dehydrated.”

“I’m thirsty.” She admitted.

“I’ll get you some water in just a second, okay?”

Marinette couldn’t watch as he inserted the needle, but did look after he started to secure the tube for the IV. “Its…bizarre.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s…so strange to have you be nice to me. Like…I know you’re a nurse, and that you’re only trying to take care of me…”

“But you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?”

She nodded.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Marinette. I might boss you around a little, but I only have your best interests at heart.”

She decided to relax then, leaning back. Her back twinged with the movement. “Agh,” she hissed.

“When we get back, I’ll get you some pain killers.”

“…thank you.”  

Marinette was escorted into the hall, and they almost immediately were stopped by a man in a white coat.

“John? What do you think you’re doing?” He spoke firmly, but calmly. “Miss Dupain-Cheng should not be out of bed.”

“She shouldn’t.” John agreed. “But I found that she is liable to hurt herself if she doesn’t see Mr. Agreste. She transformed.”

“Ah,” the doctor nodded, in understanding. Then he crouched so that Marinette didn’t have to crane her neck to look at him. “Hi Marinette, I’m Dr. Boucher. I’m the main physician for you and Adrien.”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him.

“I know you probably have a hard time trusting anyone right now, but I promise—“

“Stop wasting my time.” She bit, pain starting to creep into her body without the aid of painkillers. “I was promised to see Adrien.”

The doctor smirked. “Yes, of course my dear. John, I will relieve you, if you would go tell the parents where Marinette will be? I believe they are having dinner at the cafeteria right now.”

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll meet you in ICU.” He took hold of the chair and started to push her towards the elevators.

“Are you sure I can’t stay with him?” Marinette whispered.

“No, my dear. I’m very sorry. I’ll take you to see him, but I’ll warn you that he looks very scary right now. A lot of tubes and wires all over him. But I promise it’s very his best interest.”

Marinette didn’t outwardly react, but she did feel saddened.

Over the years, Ladybug had seen Chat Noir die several times. Whether it was turning into something, vanishing completely, or hitting the side of a building too hard.

But after the cure, he always bounced back to his normal pun-loving self.

However, this was different. Of course it was. No kwami, no powers, no five minute alarms blaring in her ears. All of it was permanent. She knew that in her head.

But her heart didn’t want to see his scars.

Dr. Boucher wheeled her to an elevator, and then pressed the button for the ground floor. The back wall of the elevator was a window that looked out into the courtyard. In the night, she could look across the yard to a set of large windows, showing the cafeteria, busy with people.

The elevator came to rest, and she was led into the hall.

This was a very nice hospital, with art and sculpture along the walls. As they passed various rooms, nurses and doctors alike spotted her and stared as she went.

“They’re looking at me.” She told the doctor.

“They mean no harm.” He assured. “You should know that you and Adrien are the biggest topic of conversation in Paris right now. Everyone is curious to hear how you are.”

“It’s none of their business,” She bit.

“It’s not.” He confirmed. “But…that woman made it everyone’s business. They just want a happy ending.”

Marinette gripped the armrests. “So do I.”

“Recovery won’t be easy, but you have a wonderful support network. And I have several therapists for you both to utilize. That should make it easier for you.”

Marinette didn’t respond, only digested the information given.

Before too long, they arrived at a room in ICU, being guarded with a police officer. He frowned when he saw Marinette.

“I’d like to see Adrien.” She said sternly.

The man just looked at the doctor. “Far be it from me to stop this…but she should be up?”

“It’s only for a visit. It’s alright.”

The man nodded, and allowed them in.

Marinette’s eyes immediately fell on the figure in the bed. He was barely visible under all the tubes and wires, and bandages. He was leaning to his left, propped up with pillows, so he wasn’t resting flat on his back. She could see his bruised eyes, as his face had a heavy mask strapped to it. Some stray locks of hair stuck out from the strap that led over the top of his head. His left hand had a tube taped to it and a oximeter clamped on his finger. A blanket was pulled up to his sternum, making his chest visible, but it was covered in pads and wires, as well as the tubes that ran into his mask. Under all that was a thick gauze right in the middle of his breast bone, taped on all sides. His right arm, which had been dislocated, was in a sling, resting against his stomach. His hand, wrapped in gauze, rested on top of a Ladybug doll, the one she had made herself. Plagg rested in the crook of his wrist.

“Adrien?”

“He’s sedated right now, which is for the best. He’s intubated so he can breathe better. It would be painful if he was awake.”

“Bring me closer.”

“Please don’t move him.”

Marinette reached out and rested her hand on his wrist, careful not to accidentally nudge his arm. Her thumb rubbed over the frigid skin, trying to give him some heat.

Plagg awoke at the movement, flicking his eyes up. Many hands had come and gone in the few hours he and Gabriel had finally been allowed to see Adrien. Ever watchful, he took note of the nurses, and what they were doing, what they were checking, applying.

But seeing Marinette had confused him for a moment, because he hadn’t recognized her immediately.

But then he saw Tikki on her lap.

“Pigtails?”

“Hi Plagg,” though there wasn’t much warmth in the greeting. She did scratch him between the ears with her finger. He only looked at her sadly.

“He’s cold.” She told the doctor.

“I can get him another blanket.” He stated as he moved from behind her. “Stay put.”

She studied Adrien’s eyes, closed to slumber, but twitching slightly. The ECG graphed his steady heart beat, and the ventilator pumped air at a calm rate. Yes, he looked scary right now, but admittedly, he looked better than he had in the hell hole. He looked peaceful, comfortable, and not at all like he was fighting for his life, though he very obviously still was.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to that sliver of skin. “I’m right here, Kitty. I want to stay with you, but I’m not allowed to.” She wiped a gentle tear from her eye. “But I think we’ll be together soon. Once you’re healed enough. So get better soon, please.”

Tikki floated from Marinette’s lap and hovered over him. “Plagg? Where’s the worst injury?”

“…I don’t know.” Said the kwami. “It’s…it’s all pretty bad.”

“Probably his back.” Provided Marinette. “It was right…right down to the bone.”

Tikki nodded and flew over to his other side. Very gently, she nuzzled into his spine.

Adrien’s eyes twitched more, before they settled.

“It probably didn’t do much,” Tikki stated. “But it will help.”

“Would it help if you stayed with him?”

“He’d have to wear the earrings to get any benefits from me.” She looked meaningfully to his ears, which were bright red in most spots, while the top of his left ear was gone, stitches in place. “I don’t thing we should attempt that now.”

Marinette moaned, feeling helpless.

But Plagg wouldn’t stand it. “Hey, I’ve got some healing properties too, you know!” He floated into her face and nuzzled against her cheek, purring. The sound reverberated into her skin, her sinuses, her skull, her spine…she felt a little better. “I just have to keep purring. So tell someone to make sure I’m properly fed with cheese.”

“Oh Plagg…I will. I absolutely will.” Her voice filled with emotion.

“Oh kid…don’t cry. I’m just trying to keep things light.”

Doctor Boucher had returned to the room, but stayed in the doorway, watching with curiosity but privacy. When he noticed Marinette’s tears, he approached her. “How is your pain?”

“I’m not ready to leave yet.” She answered by deflecting.

“Okay. Just let me know.” He unfurled the blanket he’d fetched, and carefully started to drape it over Adrien’s legs. “His hands are cold.” She argued.

“That’s normal for someone with blood loss. Though he’s had a transfusion and should be alright now, he’s not moving, so his circulation isn’t very good.”

“But he’s cold. Can’t you cover him?”

“Not just yet. You can hold his hand though. Just watch the bandages.”

Marinette said nothing, just held his fingers a little tighter.

She wanted to climb up on the bed with him, snuggle up under his chin, and press delicate kisses to his cheek. But hearing that it would be bad for him stopped her from just ignoring everyone and embracing him.

This wasn’t fair.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?”

Dr. Boucher sighed. “We’ll keep him sedated a week, at least. Maybe more. We will bring him out of sedation for about an hour a day, but the goal is to keep his anxiety reduced, especially while he’s on the ventilator.”

“So I won’t be allowed to see him.” Marinette finished.

“Unfortunately, no. His father and Plagg will be here for him, though.”

It was then that Marinette realized that Adrien wasn’t wearing his Miraculous. “Plagg, where’s the ring?”

“Gabriel has it.”

“Shouldn’t Adrien be wearing it?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Marinette.” Said the doctor. “I’m the one that suggested he not give it back to him just yet. I worried that Adrien might try to transform at the first chance he was given. And given that you did, my theory is correct.”

Marinette sighed, hating that she had been caught.

“You’re not in trouble, and we don’t blame you for doing it.” The doctor clarified. “We just can’t have either of you doing that. It won’t help.”

“I understand.” She rubbed her thumb over Adrien’s knuckles. “Thank you for letting me see him. I’ve been worried.”

“Of course. What’s your pain level?”

“Just a little longer, please.”

“Alright.”

It was then that nurse John came, accompanied by her parents, and a disheveled homeless man.

“Marinette! You shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her mother scolded.

“She knows.” Said Dr. Boucher. “But this is necessary to keep her calm. I’m watching her.”

The nurse brought over a styrofoam cup with a bendy straw. “Here you are, Marinette.”

“Thank you.” She said, taking it skeptically.

Everyone watched as she popped the lid, shook the ice around, and smelled it. Then she sipped a little bit through the straw. At the relaxed look on her face, it was obvious she found the water to be clean. She popped the lid back on and sucked more down. “This is really good.”

“It’s just water,” said Sabine, eyes watering.

“It tastes good.”

The disheveled homeless man spoke. “I’m so glad to see you awake, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I hadn’t get to check in on you since you were loaded into the ambulance.”

She hunched her shoulders. “Who are you?”

He chuckled weakly, rubbing a hand over his short beard. “I’ll admit I look pretty bad. But I didn’t realize I was unrecognizable.”

“It’s the beard, Gabriel.” Said Sabine. “It suits you though.”

“Gabriel? Gabriel Agreste?”

“Who else would be here with Adrien?”

She frowned. “Don’t know. Anyone else. Nathalie? The Gorilla? Never like you supported him before.”

“Marinette…” Sabine chastised, horrified at her behavior.

But the Marinette from the torture chamber was not known for kindness or tact. She didn’t flinch at her mother’s rebuke.

“I suppose I deserve that.” Gabriel said sadly. “Plagg has informed me that I…I may be a sociopath. This was something I wasn’t aware of before. I’m trying to improve my behavior. I’m sorry if you felt like I neglected Adrien. Things are going to be different now.”

Marinette cast her eyes over to Adrien, to her husband. “A shame this had to happen for you to see that.”

“Marinette!” Sabine exasperated.

Marinette winced, as a headache started to grow, and her wounds ached.

“I think it’s time we got you back.” Said Dr. Boucher. “We’ll get you some dinner too, hm?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you think you could choke down some soup? You really need to eat something.”

“I said I’m not hungry!” She barked, triggering a coughing fit. The doctor simply rubbed her back as she rode it out. After it subsided, she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave him!”

The doctor crouched at her side. “Marinette, I promise you, Adrien’s not leaving this hospital without you. He’s safe. You’re safe. It’ll only be for a little while, and then we’ll put you in the same room together. Okay?”

She glared at him.

“But you’re making yourself worse by staying here like this. You’re so brave, and so smart…but let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

A few more tears leaked out. “It hurts.”

“Then let’s get you back upstairs, and we’ll give you pain killers, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thats a good girl!” He smiled.  

[orthogonals]

Hey, I saw that you are taking prompts. I very much enjoyed your Achilles/Patroclus story so I'd be thrilled if you wrote more in that universe. Maybe a take on their relationship from another person's POV (eg Briseis, Thetis, Chiron...) Or a crossover with Merthur? :)

Thanks for the ask! Achilles/Patroclus always sends me in an emotional spiral. I wrote this for “their relationship from another POV,” hope you enjoy!

~A note on prompts: I won’t have much time to answer the in the coming months, but still feel free to send them in, and I’ll get to them when/if I can!~

through their eyes

rating: T

words: 1509

summary: Aristos Achaion, they called him. Plucked from the spilled blood between Thetis’ thighs and granted a prophecy by the Gods. He flashed past the other boys, quick as an intake of breath, and Peleus’ face shone. Menotides turned to Patroclus.

“That is what a son should be.”

–

Five times Achilles and Patroclus were the subject of observation during their lives, + one time they weren’t.

read on ao3!

i.

The games beat a broken path through Opus, a thousand calloused feet rubbing the dry dirt raw. Menoitides directed the affair with customary severity, ordering servants out to break rock and clear track until even the seething sun had taken rest. He held a hard nub of determination that his games would hail as the best of the generation, would bear glory upon his shoulders. Glory to rival the glow of Apollo himself; glory enough to erase the festering blight of his weak son, his simple wife.

The youngest boys formed their line, eyes glinting with excitement and the thrill of victory. Peleus’ son stood half a head shorter amongst them, impossible to miss. He reflected light like a piece of glass in the sand. Beside him, Patroclus fiddled dumbly with the wreath. Menoitides clenched his teeth until his jaw clicked.

Aristos Achaion, they called him. Plucked from the spilled blood between Thetis’ thighs and granted a prophecy by the Gods. He flashed past the other boys, quick as an intake of breath, and Peleus’ face shone. Menotides turned to Patroclus.“That is what a son should be.”

And when Menotides exiled Patroclus to Phthia, shame and anger warping inside him, he spared the stupid boy only one parting wish— that he might learn something from Achilles’ shadow.

ii.

The fire cast Peleus’ chambers in a mute glow. Dim crackling filled the spaces between his words, a second voice mingling to tell the tale.Peleus sat deep in his chair, arms dangling like grapevines. Day by day, age seeped further under his skin, to his bones. He hardly felt like the man who had served Heracles and rode with Jason.

Achilles shuffled in the shadows, his eyes a glint of green from the dark. Peleus traced Achilles gaze to Patroclus, who had tilted his mouth in a sweet grin. Achilles’ teeth flashed white in return, and the smile was almost unnatural to see on his son.He remembered youth, of quick heartbeats and rushing hot blood. Of furtive glances at the sweat-coated curve of muscle that stretched across the back of his general. But Achilles, great as he might become, was not yet a man, had not experience nor understanding.

A hand shot out and circled around Patroclus’ ankle. Achilles’ snicker, half-covered, rolled into the air from his corner. Peleus did not miss the light brush of Achilles’ thumb against Patroclus’ heel, the softening of Patroclus’ face.

He called for an end to the night, carefully slipping mention of a servant girl who wished to bed Achilles. The sudden shutter of Achilles’ face confirmed all that remained unspoken.

iii.

The wind stirred the trees and sent air unfurling, crisp and clean, through the leaves. Chiron shifted his tail at the breeze, nosing the scent in the atmosphere. Rain was due by nightfall. He inclined his head towards the boys, a lecture on weather-reading in mind.Achilles and Patroclus were crouched in the grass beyond him, huddled so close that their hair brushed. Chiron heard their soft murmurs of conversation as they probed the ground for herbs. Their fingers touched and lingered among the green blades.

It was unusual for a hero to have remained so long in the crags and caves of Mount Pelion, more unusual still to have done so with a companion. Chiron never asked his heroes to go, yet the day always came when they donned armor and rode to battle.Young Achilles was birthed with greatness sighed above him, sticking on lips like honey. He would take whatever measures necessary to make the words true. Chiron knew Achilles, saw his unerring limbs and swift feet. Saw his blank eyes, the mark of all heroes.

Blank for all but Patroclus, who melted Achilles like brown sugar over fire, shifted his balance from half-god to half-human. Such a thing was as rare as juniper in spring, and Chiron could do little but to protect Achilles’ link to humanity.

Chiron called for them, amused as they leaped back from each other with pink cheeks.

iv.

Briseis lingered by the tent, the flap of the entrance thick and coarse beneath her fingers. The flat bottom of the plate pressed, heavy and cool, on her hand. She glanced at the berries rolling about on its surface, ripe and fat with juice. Their thick skins, washed clean, gleamed in the fading light like pearls. Her pulse thrummed in her neck. She would ask Patroclus today. The berries bumped off each other as she reached to open the tent.

A soft moan stopped her hand in midair, the ties still loose in her palm. She redid the ties with practiced ease, hissing quietly, and quickly backed away. Another sound joined the first, followed by an unmistakable sigh: “Achilles.”

Briseis stopped, eyes wide as the emerging moon, filled with a horrendous wonder.

A response. “Patroclus,” each syllable drawn out and rounded, the word infused with sweetness.  More moans carried away by the evening air, stretched sighs that faded even as they reached Briseis’ ears. She willed her legs to move and carry her away, but they were frozen, stuck to the ground.

Finally, after the sun had slipped from the sky, came the sounds that peaked and tapered away slowly, leaving only breath behind.

“Patroclus.” Achilles’ clear voice, somehow warmed. “Therapon, philtatos.”

“Dikos mou,” Patroclus replied, the words sounding muffled by skin. She listened to his gentle kisses, her Greek proficient enough to understand what he had said.

Dikos mou. Mine.

Briseis left, haunted by the sounds of Patroclus’ love.

v.

The ground hummed as Patroclus spoke, the throat of a melody. Thetis felt his pain course through the earth, making the grass shiver. He spoke of her son with words soft like cotton, as yielding as a freshly plowed field.

Humans were weak, rarely logical and far too easy victim to their emotions. Thetis expected Patroclus to rage of his anger, speak seething of the gods. To lament Achilles and curse his hubris. To give bitter insult to Neoptolemus, his refusal to give Patroclus proper rest.

Instead, all she felt from him was love, strong and coursing.

Below, Achilles’ sorrow speared through her in waves. Hades did not welcome those of Olympus, and her son ached like a limb, a part of her own body. Patroclus’ words washed over the grief that laced her skin, hers and Achilles’ together, soothing as a balm of yarrow.

As always, the salty spray of the sea sang to her, crowded the edge of her senses. But for the first time, she closed her mind to the waters and let herself listen. The hill vibrated beneath her feet.

She scooped away the stone like jam, carving the name with one dark fingernail. PATROCLUS. Together, with her son. In writing as in life, as forever in Elysium.

She smiled as she told him.

~vi.~

Agamemnon whirled towards Diomedes, face white and contorted.

“They have no sense of propriety.” He spit out the words through gnashing teeth, fury tightening his lips.

Achilles and Patroclus giggled at Agamemnon from behind an oak tree, fingers laced together. Patroclus gave him a hard eye roll, and Achilles blew a raspberry before quickly ducking back behind the trunk. Their laughter carried over, tinkling like windchimes.

Agamemnon clenched his fists until his veins popped. “This needs to stop. I will go to Hades himself if I must.”

Diomedes gnawed eagerly at his leg of lamb, letting out a chorus of appreciative moans.

“DIOMEDES!” Agamemnon stamped his feet. “Useless slob!”

Diomedes finally extracted his mouth from the half-eaten roast, lips slippery with oil and bits of herb plastered around his face.

“Give it a rest, Mem.”

“I will not—”

“Just because you got in a spat with your old lady—”

“DO NOT MENTION CLYTEMNESTRA!” Agamemnon toppled dangerously at the intensity of his yell, face coloring from white to purple.

“Look.” Diomedes sighed dramatically and placed a greasy hand on Agamemnon’s shoulder. Agamemnon immediately ducked away, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“You’ve been on about this for, like, three thousand years of their time.” He pointed a finger upwards with emphasis. “When you first started ranting, we were still pissing in holes. In Elysium. Now, we have state-of-the-art toilets with bidets. Bidets, man.”

Agamemnon blanched, eying Diomedes like a particularly stubborn piece of mud on his shoe. “You talk about toilets. While eating.

“Just. Why don’t you go bother Odysseus and Penelope for now? They’re also looking pretty sickeningly happy.”

Odysseus and Penelope waved at them from the distance, and Agamemnon threw up his middle finger.

“Or, go to the sauna or something. You’re always less stressed after a spa trip.”

“Ugh.” Agamemnon grumbled, throwing another stink eye at Achilles and Patroclus, who were now sitting on the ground and giving each other butterfly kisses. “Fine. But I will get them. Mark my words.” He backed away slowly, keeping a menacing stare trained at Achilles. A rock caught his heel, and he stumbled over himself, tripping and falling with a thump.

Elysium echoed with laughter.

[e8luhs]

IVORY TOWER.

LISTEN ON SPOTIFY (I GUESS)

YOU KNOW THE DRILL BY NOW (last edited 04.27.19)

I. POOLS / GLASS ANIMALS

shake my little soul for you now, toy and i settle up into a world of noise i’m a man of many tricks and tools and joy with a battery of guilt on which to poise

II. KATARSIS / SHE PAST AWAY

even though it is a dream you are with me tonight inside me

III. BELA LUGOSI’S DEAD / BAUHAUS

white on white, translucent black capes back on the rack bela lugosi's dead the bats have left the bell tower, the victims have been bled red velvet lines the black box

IV. THE TOWER / VIRTUAL BOY

[instrumental]

V. ONLY AS GOOD AS MY GOD / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

if they crawl out of the mud, wash them away in a flood i'm only as a good as my god, burnt hair and more money

VI. HERE / VAST

where do i put the books? there's so many i could read, but they all are filled with lies where do i put all the lies? there's so many i could say but it seems they're in the books

VII. RED RIGHT HAND / ARCTIC MONKEYS

you'll see him in your nightmares, you'll see him in your dreams he'll appear out of nowhere but he ain't what he seems you'll see him in your head, on the TV screen and hey buddy, i'm warning you to turn it off! he's a ghost, he's a god, he's a man, he's a guru you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan designed and directed by his red right hand

VIII. TOES / GLASS ANIMALS

i'm a man, i'm a twisted fool my hands are twisted, too five fingers to black hooves i'm a man, don't spin me a lie got toes and i can smile i'm crooked but upright

IX. KICKING AND SCREAMING / THE PRESETS

when i was young i was a star amongst zeroes but then i grew up and now i'm heading up river i'm gonna cover myself in mud, mud yeah, i'mma deliver

X. AMERICAN TRASH / INNERPARTYSYSTEM

i've got this planet in my hands yeah, i'll try to save it if i can i'm satisfied with myself don't care for anyone else i'm so united when i stand

XI. MURDOC IS GOD / GORILLAZ

murdoc is god murdoc is god murdoc is god johnny is dead

XII. ALL MY OWN STUNTS / ARCTIC MONKEYS

been watching cowboy films on gloomy afternoons tinting the solitude put on your dancing shoes and show me what to do i know you've got the moves

XIII. PAINT IT, BLACK / THE ROLLING STONES

i look inside myself and see my heart is black i see my red door i must have it painted black maybe then i'll fade away and not have to face the facts it's not easy facin' up, when your whole world is black

XIV. RUH / SHE PAST AWAY

half an angel, half a monster i will sleep in your bosom again half an angel, half a monster i will roam to where you are

XV. FIGURE IT OUT / ROYAL BLOOD

getting hard to sleep, but it's in my dreams but it's killing me to try and figure it out nothing better to do, when i'm stuck on you and still i'm here trying to figure it out

XVI. PERSONAL JESUS / DEPECHE MODE

feeling unknown and you're all alone flesh and bone by the telephone lift up the receiver, i'll make you a believer

XVII. LIFE ITSELF / GLASS ANIMALS

daddy was dumb, said that i’d be something special  brought me up tough but i was a gentle human said that he loved each of my two million freckles when i grew up, was gonna be a superstar

XVIII. BUSINESS MAN / MOTHER MOTHER

talking ‘bout the business man, devil in a sunday hat buddy with the stupid laugh, just talking ‘bout the business man

XIX. IT’S OUT THERE AND IT’S GONNA GET YOU / THE PAPER CHASE

[instrumental]

XX. HAPSBURG LIPPP / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

i'm checking your name off my list, i'm checking your name on my list i'm making up a reason to exist, i'm checking your name off my list you're thinking that your wife is worth a lot i'm telling you your life is worth a yacht no matter whose knife in the dark, still wanking with a robot arm i'm checking your name off my list, i'm checking your name off my list i'm making up a reason to exist, i'm checking your name off my list

XXI. HOW TO SERVE MAN / CREATURE FEATURE

let me clarify before we begin am i getting under your skin? your disposition seems a trifle bland it's time you learned how to serve man

XXII. W.U.G. / CHRIS FLEMING

he’s only comfortable with complete control and authority they should invent something for guys with this kind of affliction like a vr system  where he can believe he’s in a perpetual state of giving you a tour of his house

XXIII. RADIO / ROBBIE WILLIAMS

something's happening, i can feel it moving out of time you'll hear it falling in the way you fear it jumping, thumping, shout out something jumping, thumping, shout out something

XXIV. A NEW SKY / THE PRESETS

and it's alright, it won't be long you feeling something so won't you come outside with me? and it's alright, sing like a song and now you're flying so won't you come and fly with me?

XXV. ASIMILASYON / SHE PAST AWAY

protect yourself, this plague spreads spiders everywhere come on, dig your grave look, the day wakes up again

XXVI. ANIMAL IMPULSES / IAMX

i'm tired of this human duet no civilizing hides our animal impulses

XXVII. EXXUS / GLASS ANIMALS

i can see you running i can see you running gone in the blink of my eye gone, gone, gone in the blink of my eye

XXVIII. NOCTURNE IN F MINOR / FREDERIC CHOPIN

[instrumental]

XXIX. BABY BRIDE RAG / ROAR

oh darling, i'm not so sure about our hearts aligning at sixteen years old, could this just be bad timing? puppies pining listen to me sweetheart, you are nothing when we're apart i can promise you this, when we split the town you won't be missed

XXX. WHO IS SHE? / I MONSTER

oh, who is she? a misty memory a haunting face is she a lost embrace?

XXXI. I WILL POSSESS YOUR HEART / DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE

there are days when outside your window i see my reflection as i slowly pass and i long for this mirrored perspective when we'll be lovers, lovers at last

XXXII. GO-GETTER GREG / LUDO

i've given it some thought... and i really think that you could use a guy like me in your life looking after you, a man to take you home, a hand for you to hold... and i'd never leave you alone

XXXIII. AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION / THE BLAKE ROBINSON SYNTHETIC ORCHESTRA

some call it stalking, i say walking just extremely close behind i'm sure if i sat down and asked you, well you really wouldn't mind you've got those eyes that drive me crazy and i've got eyes to watch you sleep i brought a pack lunch and some coffee for my stakeout in your tree outside your house

XXXIV. NEIGHBOUR / MOTHER MOTHER 

i am your neighbor, i can hear you i got this tin can with a string through and when you're crying, i hear your shaky breath and when you're lying i hear your heart confess

XXXV. OBSESSION / OK GO

a look so quick a movement so slight ah, it’s not passin’ fascination now it’s obsession

XXXVI. STALKER’S TANGO / AUTOHEART

i know, i know, i know, i'm always in your place but don't you see, my dear? i am your doppelgänger have your faith so

XXXVII. DEADCRUSH / ALT-J

extraordinarily pretty teeth beauty lingers out of reach you're my dc oh lee, oh man ray went cray cray over you capturing, but never captured you're my dc oh lee, oh

XXXVIII. CLUB FOOT / KASABIAN

i tell you i want you i tell you i need you

XXXIX. TEAR YOU APART / SHE WANTS REVENGE

i want to hold you close skin pressed against me tight lie still, and close your eyes girl so lovely, it feels so right

XL. PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY / VAST

i didn't want to hurt you, baby i didn't want to hurt you i didn't want to hurt you, but you're pretty when you cry

XLI. DINNER & DIATRIBES / HOZIER

that's the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of

XLII. BERNADETTE / IAMX

you and me in our playhouse living in a veil, we never need to go without memories bring no joy or peace we are alone and all we need

XLIII. THIS HURTS / MINDLESS SELF INDULGENCE

oh, god i'm beautiful oh, god i'm wonderful i'm marvelous, intelligent, so why doesn't that make me feel better? i need some more, i need someone who's insecure i don't care who you are controlling you makes me better

XLIV. YANIMDA / SHE PAST AWAY

they wouldn't know, wouldn't comprehend you are with me, next to me

XLV. THE HORROR OF OUR LOVE / LUDO

i'm a killer, cold and wrathful silent sleeper, i've been inside your bedroom i've murdered half the town left you love notes on their headstones i'll fill the graveyards until i have you

XLVI. WE KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP / THE PAPER CHASE

i don't know about you but i am hellbent, i know what it is that i must do close your eyes when we kiss ‘cause I'm prepared to set myself on fire for this

XLVII. WHAT ELSE DO I NEED / VAST

i know that you don't like me that's alright today i love you, but you bore me don't fuck up my day ‘cause i could stay right here and never ever leave, what else do i need?

XLVIII. YOU ARE MINE / MUTEMATH

there are objects of affection that can mesmerize the soul there is always one addiction that just can not be controlled

XLIX. WALLA WALLA / GLASS ANIMALS

honey honey, don’t you cry it’s a ruse all these creatures are a lie funny bunny, it’s alright i clap my hands and they’re gone into the night

L. TEMPTATION / VAST

i stand alone now, istand alone but can you save me from myself oh, please

LI. BIT BY BIT / MOTHER MOTHER

no i won’t bring too much of anything maybe a little slicker for the rain maybe just a good book and a heart to break Ii’ll make a mistress of a little wiccan thing

LII. COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS / A PERFECT CIRCLE

don't fret precious, i'm here step away from the window, go back to sleep safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils see, they don't give a fuck about you like i do

LIII. STALKER / IAMX

i know you're aching to be saved from all the bullshit and banality sacredly i have watched you grow you've conquered all the self-loathing and high hopes

LIV. UNDER MY THUMB / THE ROLLING STONES

it's down to me, yes it is the way she does just what she's told down to me, the change has come she's under my thumb

LV. CHRISTMAS KIDS / ROAR

appearing unsightly with devils inside me if you ever try to leave me i'll find you, ronnie

LVI. GENGHIS KHAN / MIIKE SNOW

i get a little bit genghis khan i don't want you to get it on with nobody else but me, with nobody else but me

LVII. HAPPY TOGETHER / FILTER

imagine me and you, i do i think about you day and night it's only right to think about the girl you love and hold her tight so happy together

LVIII. TOUCHED / VAST

the razors and the dying roses plead i don't leave you alone, the demi-gods and hungry ghosts god, god knows i'm not at home i’ll never find someone quite like you again

LIX. STOP A BULLET / BLACK LIGHT BURNS

i've got something to say i've acquired a taste for watching you in pain it's pretty hard to admit it makes me feel like shit but i mean it

LX. DANGEROUS / BIG DATA

you understand, i got a plan for us i bet you didn’t know that i was dangerous it must be fate, i found a place for us i bet you didn’t know someone could love you this much

LXI. CAN’T DO / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

he said it's up to me it's up to me, it's up to me, it's up to me, i gotta try it again! it's up to me, it's up to me, it's up to me, i gotta rip it apart! It's up to me, it's up to me, it's up to me

LXII. THE STICKS / MOTHER MOTHER

i'm getting on a mountain, baby, yeah i'm thinking of an island, maybe oh, archipelago, take me i'm looking to isolate me, terra incognita, baby i'm getting away from all the la-di-dah, la-di-dah

LXIII. ISOLATION / THE SMASHING PUMPKINS

but if you could just see the beauty, these things i could never describe these pleasures a wayward distraction, this is my one lucky prize

LXIV. BEEKEEPER / KEATON HENSON

believe me believe me, this loneliness won't go away hear me oh, woman that has gone astray gone astray

LXV. IVORY TOWER / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

do you know what makes me happy? when i clothe you in a swarm of bees and the world is my ashtray, the world is my ashtray tonight shave my head and call me monkey let me see you with the caps lock on if we're all apoplectic then i'll be the neckbeard, alright?

LXVI. ANOTHER SET OF ISSUES / OK GO

it all seemed so perfect it all seemed like everything was right but i won’t let you leave that way, but i won’t let you but i won’t let you, but i won’t let you leave that way but i won’t let you, but i won’t let you leave

LXVII. BREEZEBLOCKS / ALT-J

do you know where the wilds things go? they go along to take your honey, la la la la break down now weep, build up breakfast now let’s eat my love my love love love, la la la la

LXVIII. DUST IN YOUR POCKET / GLASS ANIMALS

yellow nails and pinching fangs, a slimy creature lacking clad, he pulls his fingers from her mind, and lets her see, just like she was blind

LXIX. KRONOS / KEATON HENSON

i'd give you all i have if i could get it back this has been the best of me i hope you end up missing me and i'll hold on to that

LXX. I COME WITH KNIVES / IAMX

i come with knives i come with knives and agony to love you

LXXI. GREENER / TALLY HALL

telephones make you seem miles away from home all alone, i get a little meaner i leave a message at your tone, and miles away from home you get a little cleaner of me and i find a little greener shade of envy

LXXII. PROPERTY / SAY ANYTHING

don't you go leaving baby, i'll find you tell all your secrets and no one will want you it's for your own good, i know what's best for you if you won't sleep with me, there will be no rest for you

LXXIII. DESIRE / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

i want this planet and i want it now to beat like an anvil 'til the poison's out i am a pencil-pusher with the pencil-pusher blues what the hell do i have left to lose?

LXXIV. PSYLLA / GLASS ANIMALS

i wanna make it right i wanna make you cry i follow suit, i follow suit i follow suit, i follow

LXXV. SLEDGEHAMMER / SAVANT

[instrumental]

LXXVI. SHUT ME UP / MINDLESS SELF INDULGENCE

the bass, the rock, the mic, the treble i like my coffee black just like my metal with the bass, the rock, the mic, the treble i like my coffee black just like my metal

LXXVII. SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE / VAST

i wish i could hide from everyone is there somewhere else to be is there somewhere else to be take me in, i want out that's all i need

LXXVIII. CHOKE / I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

now shut your dirty mouth, if i could burn this town i wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die and that would be just fine, and what a lovely time that it would surely be so bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep

LXXIX. PATHETIC / BLAME CANDY

1460 days since we were alright you're having trouble sleeping, and i think i know why 1460 days since we were alright but now you're just pathetic, i said it you are pathetic

LXXX. NO CULTURE / MOTHER MOTHER

so can we let sleeping dogs lie? 'cause everyone believes me when i say it's mine a little wool over the eyes 'cause everyone believes me when i-

LXXXI. BLACK WEDDING / IN THIS MOMENT

i would've loved you for a thousand years i would've died for you i would've sacrificed it all my dear i would've bled for you 'til death do us part, you were unholy right from the start it's a nice night for a black wedding yeah, it's a nice night for a black wedding

LXXXII. DESTRUCTION / JOYWAVE

creeping 'round, i saw a little thing i didn't like; you tried to hide i've been creeping 'round i saw a little thing i didn't like, you tried to hide from me

LXXXIII. INTRUXX / GLASS ANIMALS

[instrumental]

LXXXIV. BREADWINNER / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

hard liquor is my medicine it must have happened when i hit my head hard liquor for my birthday cake power, power, power, power, power

LXXXV. I CAN’T DECIDE / SCISSOR SISTERS

i'm not a gangster tonight don't want to be a bad guy i'm just a loner baby and now you've gotten in my way

LXXXVI. WITHER / SON LUX

you don't have to be afraid you don't have to be afraid like the grass beneath your feet, they will wither away

LXXXVII. WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU / THE PAPER CHASE

so go ahead, hold your breath be my guest, see if i care ‘cause it's your life, it's your body in the morning what's it to you, my sweet bijou? ‘cause if you knew what was good for you you'd stand there lowborn to drop every rampart and drawbridge

LXXXVIII. KILLER / THE HOOSIERS

i hate my work, but i'm in control i'm fearless now, but it cost my soul save yourselves, the moon is full under its power, gravitational pull

LXXXIX. WYRD / GLASS ANIMALS

you can’t run so you must hide you won’t make it back this time i sold your rope for a bucket of lemon peel, now suck it

XC. I’M DYING / VAST

not one day goes by that i don't compromise your love for the cold love of the world it's killing me through my own evil pride not one day goes by  that i don't know that i'm dying

XCI. DEAR DICTATOR / SAINT MOTEL

and at the trial, there'll be no jury and all the dead are going to play witness it's not too late to say you're sorry but it's too late to truly mean it

XCII. GET OUT THE WAY / MOTHER MOTHER

i'm not anti-social i'm just tired of the people and i'm fine with rolling solo so get out

XCIII. SEVERED / THE DECEMBERISTS

i alone am the answer i alone will make wrongs right but in order to root out the cancer it's got to be kept from the sunlight

XCIV. NOBODY LOVES YOU LIKE ME / JONATHAN COULTON

air in my lungs, a cough and a wheeze holes in the bellows and blood on the keys you move along, there's nothing to see nobody loves you like me nobody loves you like me

XCV. TRUE ROMANCE / SHE WANTS REVENGE

when could you tell it was over? when did you turn on me? i'd cry if i thought it would change your mind, cry for the girl i hoped you to be

XCVI. YOU’RE ONE OF THEM, AREN’T YOU? / THE PAPER CHASE

and i believe, i believe, i believe you're one of them you're one of those things so go on and scream all you want 'cause that only excites me i'm aiming this plane for the sea, i'm taking you all with me so suffer little children, suffer little children suffer little children come and get me!

XCVII. DANCE TO THE DEATH / KINGDOM HEARTS 2 OST

[instrumental]

XCVIII. THE HOUSE IS DUST / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

i wish i could be living at the end of all living just to know what happens, just to know what happens i would know every answer and just how far we all made it this is all my life this is all my life

XCIX. A DEATH / AN UNKINDNESS

inevitability, you are my mother bleeding seeds of sour lust onto the mounds of bleeding crust unto all that holy dust i shall return, bathed in fire

C. YUPPIE SUPPER / EVERYTHING EVERYTHING

[instrumental]

[thenameisrad-blog1]

Broken Heart Day 1

I smoked more cigarettes. I wanted to do something to dull the pain. I miss him. He is still my friend. He's my best friend. I'm his good friend, because his best friends are like siblings and it would be weird if he was sexually attracted to his sister. I keep having day dreams about him. His smile and laugh. He is so handsome. I love his lips on mine. He said I was the best kisser he has ever kissed. That makes me blush. He's been with so many women, but I stood out from the crowd. I'm memorable. I'm always afraid of being forgotten.

The memories of us in his bed and in the guest bed of his friends house are haunting me. Feeling so close. I think my favorite part was cuddling. Him pulling me close as his warm body heat surrounds me... It's something of dreams. His head between my thighs... It just felt so right. Ive only been naked in front of one other man and he raped me. It took a lot to take off my clothes for him. It took a lot to let him do things to me. But I don't regret any second of it. I think I only regret not enjoying it as much as I should have. I don't regret giving him a piece of me. I feel like he deserves it. He has been there for me and has made me feel so beautiful and amazing that I am happy I gave him a piece of me. He makes me feel validated and he isn't gonna abandon me. He deserves it. He hated breaking my heart. He said it felt like he was being torn from the inside out. (Something like that I don't remember the exact words). I saw him hold back tears. He couldn't sleep after doing that to me. He heard me wail. He saw me break. It hurt him so much. He never wanted to do that to me.

Jacob (his friend) told him that it was obvious I was head over heels for him and that he wished someone felt that way for him. Jacob kind of envies him.

My heart still aches. But I'm on my way to London. I'll keep busy. But even then I know I'll still think of him.

I want to wait for him. I'll be so busy with school and work.. but I don't wanna waste my time waiting on someone who doesn't want me. But he does want me. He told me. He told me he wanted me. He just can't be with me right now. He's not the man I deserve. He said I deserved a stable man who can answer the phone whenever and be there whenever I needed them. Maybe he's right. But I want him. I don't care.

He is haunting my mind. I'm on a plane and everything reminds me of him. It hurts. I'm so scared. I'm scared of him hating me all of a sudden. I'm scared of losing him. I'm terrified of losing him. If I had it my way he would be the last man I ever said I love you to. It would be his words. His words for keeping. No one else could steal them from him. I have never felt like this before. I want him so badly. These thoughts just don't stop. I would tear the universe apart just to be with him. I love him. I love everything about him. I love him. He knows it. He should. I've told him many many times. He needs to hear it. He needs to know. I'm not trying to shove my feelings down his throat. I want him to know I love him. I don't want him to feel unloved. If you tell someone something enough times eventually they will believe it. So I will tell him I love him until I no longer can.

He wants to be in the military and that frightens me even more. I don't want him to die. The thought scares me so much I can hardly breathe. But if that's what he wants I will not stop him. I just wish he would be with me and then join. Because that way he wouldn't have to live in dorms or anything. He would have someone to come home to. He would have a home with a family.

We talked while I was in Iceland.. he seemed so happy to talk to me which was new. I didn't expect him to sound so interested. He made time for me. He made me smile. He even asked when he could contact me again! I don't know. I worry about him a lot. I love him. I want to make him happy. I want him to be okay. He was playing Poker with Jacob and some friends. They were going to go to Fred Meyer East.. which was WAY out of the way for them. I don't know what those holligans are up to now but I bet it's stupid.

I wonder if he thinks of me as much as I think of him. The thought of him usually crosses my mind. Sitting here on this plane makes me think of him. Traveling makes me think of him. It just makes me miss him. I want him here with me. I thought about traveling but he wants kids and travel and kids don't go well together. It would be hard. I told him to marry me by 22 and we'd start trying for kids at 26. He wants kids early in life. But I don't. I don't wanna rush things. I want to be financially stable and also want to live. I don't like kids. Ive started to really dislike them. Which is hard when I'm supposed to be having his kids for him. I want one... ONE. And I want it via surrogacy but he wants three MIMIMUM and he wants them to be carried by his wife. Id be willing to have one myself.. I really want one kid maximum. Because it's easier. But I guess 2 isnt the end of the world. 3 would be a nightmare. Maybe I'll talk him out of it. It will take a lot of patience though.

[writingguide003-blog]

'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/i-completely-lost-it-the-movie-scenes-that-made-our-writers-weep-2/

'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

From Toy Story 2 to Under the Skin, writers pick the cinematic moments that made them cry and explain why. Spoilers ahead

Aunt Lucys trip, Paddington 2

On the face of it, Paddington is a fairly broad kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, and so probably shouldnt make a grown human cry hot, salty tears. But that description ignores the fact that Paddington is a really, really well-made kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, one that completely gets the pathos of its central character, a little lost immigrant searching for something resembling a family. Both films ably tug at the heartstrings, but the second film got me sniffling as early as 15 minutes in when Paddington imagines giving his only living relative, Aunt Lucy, a tour around London, something that in reality is impossible as shes stuck thousands of miles away in darkest Peru. When at the end of the film spoiler alert Aunt Lucy arrives on the Brown familys doorstep and she and Paddington hug, I completely, unapologetically lost it. Lord knows what surprises Paddington 3 has planned for my tear ducts. GM

When She Loved Me, Toy Story 2

Just before writing this, I put When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 on YouTube once again, just to check. Yep. Just as always, I choke up, in the same abject, lip-wobbling, head-bowed way. It still has that terrible power.

When She Loved Me is the song written by Randy Newman and sung by the devastated toy cowgirl Jessie and in fact performed, beautifully, on the soundtrack by Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan. The song is Jessies way of telling Woody why she has grimly decided to submit to the airless world of the toy museum, because it is better than the inevitable heartbreak and delusion of loving a fickle human child. She reveals her anguish that her owner, Emily, has fallen out of love with her outgrown her, in fact. As Emily entered the world of adolescence, pop music and boys, Jessie was left under the bed and finally dumped.

When I first saw this scene and misled by the size disparity between toy and owner I thought it was a parable for a childs anxiety over being abandoned by the parent. But now that I am a parent I can see the truth which is completely the opposite way around. It is about the parents fear of being abandoned by the child: the terrible fear, actually the terrible certainty, that the kid one day wont want to play with you. They will grow up and want something else. This song is utterly devastating. It is modern cinemas equivalent of the Vesti La Giubba aria from Pagliacci the tragic clown smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. Im afraid to watch it too often. I dont want to break down over and over again. But I also want to preserve its power over me. PB

Ruths death, Fried Green Tomatoes

In many respects, Fried Green Tomatoes is not a movie for the modern age. It is a story about racism in the deep south told largely by way of eliciting our sympathies for wealthy white characters; it is a story about a lesbian relationship that had to slide its lesbian relationship in unnoticed, by presenting it as a very close friendship fulfilled by food fights, poker games and heads leaning meaningfully on shoulders. But I am deeply fond of this 1991 Sunday afternoon classic. Ive seen it more times than is healthy, and so I know exactly what is coming and when, and yet am still unable to resist the inevitable guttural sobbing that comes with the death scene.

There are plenty of teasers for it, too: Buddy on the train tracks, even Mrs Threadgoode talking about the death of her adult son. Nothing, however, can prepare the viewer for Ruth asking Idgie to tell her the old story about the frozen lake thats now somewhere over in Georgia. It doesnt so much pull on heartstrings as play a full symphony on them, and its devastating. As Sipsey puts it, a lady always knows when to leave. RN

The rooftop dance, Eat Pray Love

While I was repelled by the mere existence of the Eat Pray Love book, I found something strangely charming about its big-screen translation. It was a mixture of glossy food porn, glossy travel porn and glossy Julia Roberts emoting porn (she remains one of the best fake criers in Hollywood) all wrapped up in a rather unique tale of a woman trying to unshackle herself from the men in her life. But while that all provided mostly surface-level enjoyment, one scene cut deeper and the extent to which it cuts surprises me still.

As is often with the case with movie tears, these were tied to a real-world experience that had happened not long before I sat down to watch. I was dumped by a long-term boyfriend without much of an explanation and without any sort of warning. I was heartbroken and seeking some form of closure that was kept cruelly out of reach. I didnt understand why it had happened and it was the not knowing that felt harder than the break-up itself.

In the film, Roberts character has left her flighty husband and remains haunted by the heartbreak shes caused. On a rooftop in Delhi, a vision of him appears and they dance to Neil Youngs heart-grabbing Harvest Moon, the song that was supposed to accompany their first wedding dance. She reminds him that she did love him. He tells her he still loves and misses her. They cry and continue to dance. At the end, she tells him that it wont last forever, nothing does. Its a short scene but it hit me like a bus, it still does now. My tears are for the film but theyre also for something deeper: the sting of loving someone who stopped loving me and the ache of an ending I was never allowed in real life. BL

The thunderstorm, Click

Adam Sandler can make me cry harder than hes ever made me laugh, the true test of a clown. Yes, even in the underappreciated comedy Click about a dad who finds a magical remote control in the Beyond section of Bed Bath & Beyond.

Sandlers workaholic architect fast-forwards through the worst parts of his day the dull weeknight frozen dinners with his family, the repetitive arguments, the gross times everyone gets knocked out by the flu in order to get to his next promotion so he can buy his kids whatever they want. His plan doesnt go well, of course. But whats shocking is how gut-rippingly painful it is to see Sandler hit play on his life only to realize hes skipped past everything that matters. His bodys been present, the bills have been paid, but his emotional engagements been staticky a trade-off too many of us can understand.

In the climax, old man Sandler sobs in a thunderstorm as he arrives at his daughters wedding only to learn shed rather her stepdad walk her down the aisle, and his son has grown up to mimic his job-first, family-second example. I rarely cry at unavoidable tragedies where no ones at fault. My weakness is characters regretting choices they cant rewind. Click isnt Ingmar Bergman Sandler gets a happy ending but I barely saw his relief through the rainstorm on my face. AN

The courtroom, Kramer vs Kramer

By all accounts, Robert Bentons film Kramer vs Kramer skews heavily toward Dustin Hoffmans Ted, whose wife Joanna has left him and their six-year-old son Billy. Billy and Ted make french toast together, or argue about eating ice cream before dinner, or visit the nearby jungle gym. Were it not for Meryl Streep and the trenchant, intuitive way she humanizes a woman who, in the 70s, would have otherwise been made to seem mawkish and unstable Kramer vs Kramer might be just a schmaltzy panegyric on fatherhood.

But leave it to our greatest living actor to turn a film on its head with a single scene. You know the one: Joanna, during the custody hearing, is subjected to a string of sexist questions about her failure as a wife and a mother. When asked why shes seeking custody of Billy, she blinks three times, beginning the monologue Streep herself wrote in an effort to redeem her character, who she initially perceived to be an ogre, a princess, an ass.

Billys only seven years old. He needs me, she says, reciting the word need with a whispery uptick as she glances at her ex. Im not saying he doesnt need his father. But I really believe he needs me more. After catching her breath, she becomes more emphatic: I was his mommy for five and a half years. Since I was about Billys age when my parents got divorced, ergo, too young to understand or even care, Ive always been astonished and, by proxy, moved by how compassionately Streep plumbs the depths of Joannas truth. JN

The beach, Under the Skin

Little focuses the mind more effectively on human distress than the arrival of your own kids; scenes in films which I might once have snoozed through now induce boggle-eyed terror OH MY GOD, DONT LEAVE THAT BABY NEAR THAT COFFEE TABLE, IT HASNT GOT A CORNER PROTECTOR! But nothing has topped at least, not yet the scene in Under the Skin where Scarlett Johansson murders a swimmer and drags him off to eat him.

Its not the murder thats so epically upsetting, though its gruesome enough: Johansson, playing an alien visitor permanently on the lookout for human nutrients, simply bangs him over the head with a large stone as he lies prone and exhausted on the beach. Its what goes on in the background that is so awful. A woman goes into the water to try and rescue her drowning dog, and her male partner instinctively rushes in after her, leaving their toddler alone high on the shore. Johanssons chum the only other adult on this lonely Scottish beach goes to help too.

With the speed of falling dominoes, a nice little day out unravels: the mother and father are swept away to who knows where, and the alien takes her chance to acquire their would-be rescuer as a food source. Meanwhile, the suddenly abandoned kid is shrieking in terror as the night closes in. Another, less astute film-maker, might cap the scene with the alien scooping the kid up and adding him to her dinner menu, but what Glazer contrives is absolutely horrifying. Johansson-alien simply ignores it, and leaves it alone. The film moves on, this incident consigned to the past.

I have to confess I was absolutely blindsided by the scene; mostly, I think, because of the its sheer unexpectedness. I think I was gripped by a kind of internal hysteria: shock, hyperventilation, a feeling the back of my head might explode. (I cant say I actually cried though I may have, but in the confusion I cant really remember.) I certainly had to hold on to the seat to stop myself bolting out of the cinema then and there. I am aware theres a some degree of self-indulgence here: the fact that my daughter was about the same age as the kid in the film undoubtedly super-sensitised my reactions. But everyone has their weak spot; this is very much mine. AP

The birth, Cheaper by the Dozen 2

Cheaper by the Dozen 2, if you havent seen it you probably havent, why would you have? is the sequel to the remake of family comedy Cheaper by the Dozen, and Im sure it was made because Steve Martin, the star of the franchise, needed to pay his mortgage. The main gist of the movie is that Martin and his wife, played by Bonnie Hunt, have 12 children who get into various japes. Its asinine. But during a time in my life when I was making a lot of transatlantic flights, Cheaper By the Dozen 2 was always an option on the British Airways seatback televisions, and one day I found, because of the frequency of my flights, I had watched all of the other films.

What choice did I have? At the climactic scene, where the oldest daughter, played by Piper Perabo, gives birth, and then names the baby after her father because he has shown her that there is no way to be a perfect parent, but a million ways to be a really good one, I cried so much the man sitting next to me regarded me with what appeared to be real concern. There may have not been enough cocktail napkins on the whole plane to dry my tears. Was it the recycled air? Was it the two miniature bottles of white wine? Or was it that a joyful childbirth scene can warm the cockles of even the coldest of hearts? JHE

The accidental reunion, Manchester by the Sea

Weve got a real talent for repression back in Massachusetts. Kenneth Lonergans searing Manchester by the Sea plays out a 15-minute drive from my childhood home and, true to life, the characters all struggle to articulate the perfect storms of emotion raging within them.

When Lee (Casey Affleck) has a chance encounter with his ex-wife Randi (Michelle Williams), the shared history between them is literally unspeakable. They sputter out fragments of sentences that act as a shorthand for vast reservoirs of guilt and self-loathing they cant bear to express, and because they know one another so intimately, they can intuit all the meaning they have to. Theyve both shoved a lot deep down inside just so they can look at themselves in the mirror, and when in the presence of the only other person on the planet who understands what theyve been through, some of it has to come out. Randi does most of the talking, inviting Lee to lunch so they can get some closure, and he ends the conversation by walking away. Shes ready to face her past and be fully present in the new life shes built for herself. Lee, a North Shore boy born and bred, feels more comfortable starting a bar fight as his form of therapy. CB

The hotel, Unrelated

Joanna Hoggs first film, Unrelated, has had something of a second life on account of being the debut of Tom Hiddleston, and set during a Tuscan summer, which means swimming pool, which means toplessness, and lots of it. Its nice to imagine the Loki-lovers streaming this masterpiece of English upper-middle-class excruciation. As its ending shows, specificity is no barrier to emotional oomph.

The story sees a woman in her early 40s, Anna (Kathryn Worth), holidaying with old friends and their teenage children. She finds she prefers the company of the kids, especially the charming Oakley (Hiddleston, then 26, playing eight years younger). The holiday implodes. Anna goes to stay at a grim airport hotel. Her friend visits, crossly wanting to know whats behind her behaviour. Anna explains that, quite recently, she thought she was pregnant but no, in fact, it was an early menopause. Shell never be able to have children. She sobs and bends double on the bed. It is shot in one take, from the middle distance, acted with a banal frankness which feels like eavesdropping.

When I saw it a decade back, it floored me: a twist I hadnt foreseen, a pain I could only imagine. A few years ago, I began consciously avoiding the film, fearful a similar fate awaited me. Now I can safely watch it again or, I thought I could, but Hogg is much too superb and mysterious a film-maker for that. It isnt simply the information which is terrible, it is the dreadful catharsis of its expression, coming after so much obfuscation. The stifle has gone; instead there is the most awful sadness. Buttoning up is often the bravest way. CS

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[mielcite]

i have alot of thoughts and feeling about that last post bc it has touched my life personally and like not that that matters, not that it was necessary for me to care, at the same time * handwaves* you know? anyway i want to talk about it its under a readmore bc it kinda got out of control..

But i was a part of a community service club at school, and our whole thing was like going out into the community and figuring out what people, organizations needed and then developing and building those things for them. Usually charging for materials or if ASI covered it then doing it for free.

Last semester two members became fellows of an organization Tikkum Olam Makers (TOM), and our main project that semester was making these little mobility trainers for disabled kids and giving them to a local childrens hospital. I helped out as much as I could but honestly besides the two members no one else really had any direct contact with the org.

...Until this semester they announced the club would be joining a competition sponsored by TOM and if we could all sign up please so they could get more money? And I did and once the emails started coming in...noticed this was an org based in Tel Aviv. And my heart sank and I couldn't reconcile taking money from these people even if it was to help others and so I emailed them asking to be dropped from the competition.

Next meeting I show up hoping for another project that ISN'T related to TOM but it seems like the club has gone all in, with prev. mentioned members talking about internships that TOM offers (in israel of course) but how they weren't going to apply "because of the war" and how their mentor had been drafted into the iof and i wish i could say i did something but I just quietly left..and dropped the club and I don't talk to these people anymore.

because like..how can an organization based in a settler state claim to be for the children...helping disabled children when people WITHIN the organization are disabling and killing children, people only a couple miles away? how can they pick and choose which children to help and which to hurt? i dont know how to end this i agonized over it for a long time...

[writingguide003-blog]

'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

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'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

From Toy Story 2 to Under the Skin, writers pick the cinematic moments that made them cry and explain why. Spoilers ahead

Aunt Lucys trip, Paddington 2

On the face of it, Paddington is a fairly broad kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, and so probably shouldnt make a grown human cry hot, salty tears. But that description ignores the fact that Paddington is a really, really well-made kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, one that completely gets the pathos of its central character, a little lost immigrant searching for something resembling a family. Both films ably tug at the heartstrings, but the second film got me sniffling as early as 15 minutes in when Paddington imagines giving his only living relative, Aunt Lucy, a tour around London, something that in reality is impossible as shes stuck thousands of miles away in darkest Peru. When at the end of the film spoiler alert Aunt Lucy arrives on the Brown familys doorstep and she and Paddington hug, I completely, unapologetically lost it. Lord knows what surprises Paddington 3 has planned for my tear ducts. GM

When She Loved Me, Toy Story 2

Just before writing this, I put When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 on YouTube once again, just to check. Yep. Just as always, I choke up, in the same abject, lip-wobbling, head-bowed way. It still has that terrible power.

When She Loved Me is the song written by Randy Newman and sung by the devastated toy cowgirl Jessie and in fact performed, beautifully, on the soundtrack by Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan. The song is Jessies way of telling Woody why she has grimly decided to submit to the airless world of the toy museum, because it is better than the inevitable heartbreak and delusion of loving a fickle human child. She reveals her anguish that her owner, Emily, has fallen out of love with her outgrown her, in fact. As Emily entered the world of adolescence, pop music and boys, Jessie was left under the bed and finally dumped.

When I first saw this scene and misled by the size disparity between toy and owner I thought it was a parable for a childs anxiety over being abandoned by the parent. But now that I am a parent I can see the truth which is completely the opposite way around. It is about the parents fear of being abandoned by the child: the terrible fear, actually the terrible certainty, that the kid one day wont want to play with you. They will grow up and want something else. This song is utterly devastating. It is modern cinemas equivalent of the Vesti La Giubba aria from Pagliacci the tragic clown smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. Im afraid to watch it too often. I dont want to break down over and over again. But I also want to preserve its power over me. PB

Ruths death, Fried Green Tomatoes

In many respects, Fried Green Tomatoes is not a movie for the modern age. It is a story about racism in the deep south told largely by way of eliciting our sympathies for wealthy white characters; it is a story about a lesbian relationship that had to slide its lesbian relationship in unnoticed, by presenting it as a very close friendship fulfilled by food fights, poker games and heads leaning meaningfully on shoulders. But I am deeply fond of this 1991 Sunday afternoon classic. Ive seen it more times than is healthy, and so I know exactly what is coming and when, and yet am still unable to resist the inevitable guttural sobbing that comes with the death scene.

There are plenty of teasers for it, too: Buddy on the train tracks, even Mrs Threadgoode talking about the death of her adult son. Nothing, however, can prepare the viewer for Ruth asking Idgie to tell her the old story about the frozen lake thats now somewhere over in Georgia. It doesnt so much pull on heartstrings as play a full symphony on them, and its devastating. As Sipsey puts it, a lady always knows when to leave. RN

The rooftop dance, Eat Pray Love

While I was repelled by the mere existence of the Eat Pray Love book, I found something strangely charming about its big-screen translation. It was a mixture of glossy food porn, glossy travel porn and glossy Julia Roberts emoting porn (she remains one of the best fake criers in Hollywood) all wrapped up in a rather unique tale of a woman trying to unshackle herself from the men in her life. But while that all provided mostly surface-level enjoyment, one scene cut deeper and the extent to which it cuts surprises me still.

As is often with the case with movie tears, these were tied to a real-world experience that had happened not long before I sat down to watch. I was dumped by a long-term boyfriend without much of an explanation and without any sort of warning. I was heartbroken and seeking some form of closure that was kept cruelly out of reach. I didnt understand why it had happened and it was the not knowing that felt harder than the break-up itself.

In the film, Roberts character has left her flighty husband and remains haunted by the heartbreak shes caused. On a rooftop in Delhi, a vision of him appears and they dance to Neil Youngs heart-grabbing Harvest Moon, the song that was supposed to accompany their first wedding dance. She reminds him that she did love him. He tells her he still loves and misses her. They cry and continue to dance. At the end, she tells him that it wont last forever, nothing does. Its a short scene but it hit me like a bus, it still does now. My tears are for the film but theyre also for something deeper: the sting of loving someone who stopped loving me and the ache of an ending I was never allowed in real life. BL

The thunderstorm, Click

Adam Sandler can make me cry harder than hes ever made me laugh, the true test of a clown. Yes, even in the underappreciated comedy Click about a dad who finds a magical remote control in the Beyond section of Bed Bath & Beyond.

Sandlers workaholic architect fast-forwards through the worst parts of his day the dull weeknight frozen dinners with his family, the repetitive arguments, the gross times everyone gets knocked out by the flu in order to get to his next promotion so he can buy his kids whatever they want. His plan doesnt go well, of course. But whats shocking is how gut-rippingly painful it is to see Sandler hit play on his life only to realize hes skipped past everything that matters. His bodys been present, the bills have been paid, but his emotional engagements been staticky a trade-off too many of us can understand.

In the climax, old man Sandler sobs in a thunderstorm as he arrives at his daughters wedding only to learn shed rather her stepdad walk her down the aisle, and his son has grown up to mimic his job-first, family-second example. I rarely cry at unavoidable tragedies where no ones at fault. My weakness is characters regretting choices they cant rewind. Click isnt Ingmar Bergman Sandler gets a happy ending but I barely saw his relief through the rainstorm on my face. AN

The courtroom, Kramer vs Kramer

By all accounts, Robert Bentons film Kramer vs Kramer skews heavily toward Dustin Hoffmans Ted, whose wife Joanna has left him and their six-year-old son Billy. Billy and Ted make french toast together, or argue about eating ice cream before dinner, or visit the nearby jungle gym. Were it not for Meryl Streep and the trenchant, intuitive way she humanizes a woman who, in the 70s, would have otherwise been made to seem mawkish and unstable Kramer vs Kramer might be just a schmaltzy panegyric on fatherhood.

But leave it to our greatest living actor to turn a film on its head with a single scene. You know the one: Joanna, during the custody hearing, is subjected to a string of sexist questions about her failure as a wife and a mother. When asked why shes seeking custody of Billy, she blinks three times, beginning the monologue Streep herself wrote in an effort to redeem her character, who she initially perceived to be an ogre, a princess, an ass.

Billys only seven years old. He needs me, she says, reciting the word need with a whispery uptick as she glances at her ex. Im not saying he doesnt need his father. But I really believe he needs me more. After catching her breath, she becomes more emphatic: I was his mommy for five and a half years. Since I was about Billys age when my parents got divorced, ergo, too young to understand or even care, Ive always been astonished and, by proxy, moved by how compassionately Streep plumbs the depths of Joannas truth. JN

The beach, Under the Skin

Little focuses the mind more effectively on human distress than the arrival of your own kids; scenes in films which I might once have snoozed through now induce boggle-eyed terror OH MY GOD, DONT LEAVE THAT BABY NEAR THAT COFFEE TABLE, IT HASNT GOT A CORNER PROTECTOR! But nothing has topped at least, not yet the scene in Under the Skin where Scarlett Johansson murders a swimmer and drags him off to eat him.

Its not the murder thats so epically upsetting, though its gruesome enough: Johansson, playing an alien visitor permanently on the lookout for human nutrients, simply bangs him over the head with a large stone as he lies prone and exhausted on the beach. Its what goes on in the background that is so awful. A woman goes into the water to try and rescue her drowning dog, and her male partner instinctively rushes in after her, leaving their toddler alone high on the shore. Johanssons chum the only other adult on this lonely Scottish beach goes to help too.

With the speed of falling dominoes, a nice little day out unravels: the mother and father are swept away to who knows where, and the alien takes her chance to acquire their would-be rescuer as a food source. Meanwhile, the suddenly abandoned kid is shrieking in terror as the night closes in. Another, less astute film-maker, might cap the scene with the alien scooping the kid up and adding him to her dinner menu, but what Glazer contrives is absolutely horrifying. Johansson-alien simply ignores it, and leaves it alone. The film moves on, this incident consigned to the past.

I have to confess I was absolutely blindsided by the scene; mostly, I think, because of the its sheer unexpectedness. I think I was gripped by a kind of internal hysteria: shock, hyperventilation, a feeling the back of my head might explode. (I cant say I actually cried though I may have, but in the confusion I cant really remember.) I certainly had to hold on to the seat to stop myself bolting out of the cinema then and there. I am aware theres a some degree of self-indulgence here: the fact that my daughter was about the same age as the kid in the film undoubtedly super-sensitised my reactions. But everyone has their weak spot; this is very much mine. AP

The birth, Cheaper by the Dozen 2

Cheaper by the Dozen 2, if you havent seen it you probably havent, why would you have? is the sequel to the remake of family comedy Cheaper by the Dozen, and Im sure it was made because Steve Martin, the star of the franchise, needed to pay his mortgage. The main gist of the movie is that Martin and his wife, played by Bonnie Hunt, have 12 children who get into various japes. Its asinine. But during a time in my life when I was making a lot of transatlantic flights, Cheaper By the Dozen 2 was always an option on the British Airways seatback televisions, and one day I found, because of the frequency of my flights, I had watched all of the other films.

What choice did I have? At the climactic scene, where the oldest daughter, played by Piper Perabo, gives birth, and then names the baby after her father because he has shown her that there is no way to be a perfect parent, but a million ways to be a really good one, I cried so much the man sitting next to me regarded me with what appeared to be real concern. There may have not been enough cocktail napkins on the whole plane to dry my tears. Was it the recycled air? Was it the two miniature bottles of white wine? Or was it that a joyful childbirth scene can warm the cockles of even the coldest of hearts? JHE

The accidental reunion, Manchester by the Sea

Weve got a real talent for repression back in Massachusetts. Kenneth Lonergans searing Manchester by the Sea plays out a 15-minute drive from my childhood home and, true to life, the characters all struggle to articulate the perfect storms of emotion raging within them.

When Lee (Casey Affleck) has a chance encounter with his ex-wife Randi (Michelle Williams), the shared history between them is literally unspeakable. They sputter out fragments of sentences that act as a shorthand for vast reservoirs of guilt and self-loathing they cant bear to express, and because they know one another so intimately, they can intuit all the meaning they have to. Theyve both shoved a lot deep down inside just so they can look at themselves in the mirror, and when in the presence of the only other person on the planet who understands what theyve been through, some of it has to come out. Randi does most of the talking, inviting Lee to lunch so they can get some closure, and he ends the conversation by walking away. Shes ready to face her past and be fully present in the new life shes built for herself. Lee, a North Shore boy born and bred, feels more comfortable starting a bar fight as his form of therapy. CB

The hotel, Unrelated

Joanna Hoggs first film, Unrelated, has had something of a second life on account of being the debut of Tom Hiddleston, and set during a Tuscan summer, which means swimming pool, which means toplessness, and lots of it. Its nice to imagine the Loki-lovers streaming this masterpiece of English upper-middle-class excruciation. As its ending shows, specificity is no barrier to emotional oomph.

The story sees a woman in her early 40s, Anna (Kathryn Worth), holidaying with old friends and their teenage children. She finds she prefers the company of the kids, especially the charming Oakley (Hiddleston, then 26, playing eight years younger). The holiday implodes. Anna goes to stay at a grim airport hotel. Her friend visits, crossly wanting to know whats behind her behaviour. Anna explains that, quite recently, she thought she was pregnant but no, in fact, it was an early menopause. Shell never be able to have children. She sobs and bends double on the bed. It is shot in one take, from the middle distance, acted with a banal frankness which feels like eavesdropping.

When I saw it a decade back, it floored me: a twist I hadnt foreseen, a pain I could only imagine. A few years ago, I began consciously avoiding the film, fearful a similar fate awaited me. Now I can safely watch it again or, I thought I could, but Hogg is much too superb and mysterious a film-maker for that. It isnt simply the information which is terrible, it is the dreadful catharsis of its expression, coming after so much obfuscation. The stifle has gone; instead there is the most awful sadness. Buttoning up is often the bravest way. CS

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us