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ladyreapermc · 3 years ago

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Fic: Closing Time (Johnny Utah x fem!reader)

Summary: You work at a clothing store, you get a last minute customer at closing time and sexy tims happen.

Pairing: Johnny Utah x fem!reader

Author’s Notes: So I’m slowly getting back to writing. I’m not gonna say I’m fully back just yet, but for this week at least, there will be content! Huge thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime and @meetmeinthematinee for being cheerleaders and giving me early feedback on this!

Wordcount: 3125

Warnings: smut. oral sex (F! receiving); dirty talk; unprotected sex with strangers (don’t do this kids!); sex in inappropriate places.

Most days you quite enjoyed it when there was barely any movement at the store. It gave you the opportunity of just being by yourself, reading a book, or enjoying some music or studying for college, things that you didn’t always have the privacy of doing at your dorm because your roommate seemed to always be around. Even during the summer and what was up with that? Didn’t she have better things to do?

She wasn’t like you, who actually had to work to put yourself through college and took some extra jobs during the summer so you could have some savings for the following term when all you managed to get were part-time jobs that you had fit in between classes and paid shit.

Fortunately, at the shop, you had some peace and time for yourself. It was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall sort of place around Venice Beach where tourists could get some shirts and other knickknacks to take back home and locals surfers could find cheap clothing and supplies for a day out on the beach. Most days, you worked from 9-5 and after your shift, you could head to the beach, spread your towel on the sand and enjoy the gorgeous Californian sunset. However, as the summer winded out and the fall winds blew the scalding hot weather into simmering heat, your boss let you close a little early, especially on Tuesdays, when most tourists had already headed home and the new arrivals hadn’t landed yet so there were barely any customers around.

Your plan today had been to finish your reading for class and start the new crime thriller you picked up at the used books store on your way to work. Except, today you were just too restless to focus. You must have reread the same paragraph of your textbook twenty times before you gave up and set it aside, giving the other book a go, but it was just as unsuccessful at holding your attention.

So instead, you moved around the cramped space, adjusting the decoration items, dusting off shelves, and refolding every single shirt in the display until it was perfectly symmetrical while you willed time to move faster so you could end this day. Maybe it was the heatwave that had made an appearance turning the air in the shop stifling and all you had to help you was an old and slow fan that made more noise than blow air. The A/C was busted and your boss still hadn’t called someone to fix it.

Another possibility was the fact that you had to keep the glass doors opened to help circulate a little air and every time any kind of wind blew or someone walked in, it brought with them the crisp smell of salt and sand that always made you ache for the ocean and fight against the temptation of just abandoning everything and heading for the beach so you could cool off taking a dip in the deliciously cold water. Either way, you kept checking the slow ticking of the clock hands, counting the seconds before you could turn the closed sign.

When the minute hand finally hit twelve, you let out a cheer, jumping off your stool and taking a step towards the door. You always locked the doors first to discourage most last-minute walk-ins while you closed the register, put away the money in the back office safe, and slipped out of the store through the back door, taking any garbage with you to throw in the dumpster outside.

Before you could move from behind the counter, a man stepped into the store and you groaned low in your throat. Of-fucking-course! It was like they stood in wait to come in at the precise moment you were about to head out.

“Hey, you’re still open, right?” He asked, pushing the overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and offering you an unsure smile. You felt the urge to lie and say that no, you were closed and he should come back tomorrow.

“Yeah, sure.” You said instead placing your best and most fake seller’s smile. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks!” He replied, flashing a wider smile that showed a small dimple, before moving towards the shirts in the display while you made your way to the main entrance, flipped the sign, and locked the door to bar any other walk-ins.

You hung back while the guy browsed the options, taking a moment to assess him. He didn’t look like a tourist, but also not fully like a local. Most Californian guys that you knew had the most horrifying hair cuts or bleach jobs you had ever seen and that was not the case for the man in front of you.

His hair was dark brown, a little shaggy from too much exposure to sun and salt and it flopped a little over his forehead, just above his eyes. He wore a grey cropped t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and struggled to contain his broad shoulders, showing a peek of toned abs. His jeans were ridiculously tight and hung low on his slender hips, the light-wash of the denim accentuating the perfect bubble butt and for the love of God, you needed to get laid. Badly.

“Excuse me,” he called, startling you and you prayed he hadn’t noticed the way you were checking his ass just now. “Do you have this one in black?”

“Yeah, sure.” You moved towards the drawers. “What’s your usual size? Medium or large?”

“I think large should be good,” he replied and when you turned around with the requested shirt, he was just standing there, barechested, his top hanging from his shoulder and you hoped your gasp wasn’t as loud as it sounded in your head.

“Here you go,” you croaked, offering him the shirt. “We do have a fitting room…” you gestured towards the small cubicle to the rear of the store.

“Oh right!” He glanced over as he pulled the shirt on. “Do you mind if I try them out here, though?”

“Not at all,” you forced your voice to sound somewhat normal.

“Awesome!”

Damn! He wasn’t just fucking hot. He was also cute, the wide grin he just flashed giving him a boyish look that was only enhanced by the almond-shaped chocolate-colored eyes. Biting your lip, you watched as he turned side to side in front of the mirror, checking himself out.

“It think is a little too big,” he said, meeting your gaze. “What do you think?”

“Well…” you cleared your throat and moved closer so you could look at him through the mirror. “If you want it more fitted, then yeah, probably a smaller size would be best. Want me to get it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once again, by the time you turned back to him, he was shirtless, the garment he had just tried neatly folded and resting on the shelf as he took a look at some other shirts, his attention snapping at you when he noticed you coming closer to hand him the new shirt, giving you a glimpse of a pale, sunken scar running down his abs that stopped just above his belly button and that drew attention to the small trail of fine dark hairs that disappeared under the waist of his jeans and holy shit! He was bare beneath those jeans.

“Bike accident,” he commented as he took the shirt that you offered and you met his eyes in confusion.

“What?” You asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“The scar,” he clarified, putting on the shirt and his lips were tilted into a slight smirk. “That was what you were staring at, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, feeling your face burning. “I’ll just head to the register and give you some privacy.”

I don’t mind,” he shrugged, turning to the mirror. “This is better. What do you think?” He turned towards you, giving you a full view of the cotton fabric covering his muscles, looking almost as if painted on him.

“Sure...” you swallowed hard, trying not to stare. “If you prefer it more fitted...”

“I do,” pulling the shirt off and once again giving you the glorious view of his torso. “I’ll take it.”

You took the shirt to the register and he followed, pausing only to pick up his own, which he had discarded on a nearby hanger. You were expecting him to put it back on, but he just threw it over his shoulder, reaching for his wallet as you registered the sale and tried not to stare.

“Is that the only camera you have around here?” He asked, gesturing to a point above your left and you glanced at the object before nodding, exchanging the money he gave you for the paper bag with his purchase.

“Yeah, why?”

“So basically...” he started, taking a step to the side, closer to the fitting room. “I’m completely out of sight over here?”

“Basically, yeah,” you frowned a little, stepping away from the counter. “Why? Are you planning to rob the place? Because let me tell you, there’s not much worth...” You trailed off with a surprised squeak as he tugged on your hand, pulling you over to the blindspot and nearly pressed against his strong chest.

“Because honestly, I never really gave a fuck about the shirt. I just thought you were beautiful and wanted to ask your number when I walked in, but you looked kind pissed so I got cold feet,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

“So you decided to just get mostly naked in front of me?” You snorted, shaking your head and he shrugged.

“Needed to make sure you might be interested and considering the way you were eyeing me earlier, it looked like you saw something you liked.”

“You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at him, not ready to concede just yet. Even if the heat of his body and the smell of sea breeze whiffing off his skin were driving you crazy.

“Only when I’m right,” he flashed you a lopsided smirk and just waited, gazing into your eyes, making it clear that the next step was yours.

Part of you screamed that it was crazy to even consider hooking up with a guy that just walked into your store, no matter how hot he was, but it had been a ridiculously long time since you last had sex and he was so fucking hot, the scent of his golden skin intoxicating and his heat was making you dizzy with want as you looked him up and down, noticing the volume pressing against the denim of his pants.

“We might not have cameras, but the windows are see-through, so get your ass to the fitting room while I finish closing up.”

He flashed a victorious smirk and nodded, heading towards the back while you rushed through the steps of securing the store before joining him.

Your heart was pounding with anticipation as you made your way towards the back, pushing away the curtain that blocked the small space of the fitting room and finding him perched on the low stool that you kept there so customers could put down their things, facing the full-length mirror, legs spread, jeans undone, revealing the bush of dark hairs surrounding his long and thick cock.

You nearly whimpered at the sight, your center pulsing in want as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he run his left hand up and down his shaft, head tilted back, breathing hard, eyes hooded. He was such a beautiful and debauched sight that you felt the urge to photograph him, capture that sensuality.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface.

“You seemed to be doing fine on your own,” you teased stepping into the tight space, fingers itching to touch all that glorious skin.

“I did not just spend most of my afternoon at the corner diner, drinking burned coffee just to jerk off in front of you,” he declared, standing up and turning your way.

“Ohhh, so this was premeditated?” You asked, kicking off your sneakers as he reached for you and you stumbled against his chest.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, large hand hot against your hips and you wanted to feel it against your flesh. “You probably don’t remember, but I was here last week and you had to bend over to get something from one of the lower drawers...” he let out a soft groan, hands moving to your ass and squeezing lightly. “Fuck! I don’t think I ever popped a boner so fast in my life. I had to get out.”

You vaguely remembered that. There was so much coming and going in this place, it was hard to keep track of faces, but customers just taking off after asking to see something usually caused an impression. If you weren’t about to get fucked after six months, you would be more pissed.

“So you decided to come back when I was alone and seduce me?” you asked, running your hands over his chest and abs, scratching it slightly and goosebumps rose in his skin as he hissed.

“Yeah,” he spoke in a low voice as his hands move to the button of your jeans. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he slid your fly down and your breath caught in your throat. “I thought about bending you over that counter and fucking you until you’re screaming.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, just a soft touch, but you gasped and arched your hips forward, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. “I thought about it eating your pussy and your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Those words were whispered right against your ear, before he changed your positions, crowding you against the mirror and pushing your jeans down to your thighs before he once against skimmed his fingers over covered sex, making you ache for him.

“What do you think about that?” He asked, lips brushing your cheek in an almost chaste kiss, completely opposed to the lewdness of his hand exploring your cunt. “Do you want it?”

“If you’re as good with your tongue at eating pussy like you are at talking dirty, then I maybe I do,” you declared, tired of his teasing and you felt his smirk as he gracefully slid to his knees in front of you.

You didn’t manage to get another word out before he shoved your panties down to join your jeans and his lips firmly connected to your clit. He gave it a sharp suck and you groaned, burying your fingers into his hair to keep yourself on your feet as your brain short-circuited and your knees turned to jelly.

He was very good at eating you out, especially because he was very attentive to every sound you made, every tightening of your grip on his hair, and roll of your hips to nudge him into going faster or slower, harder or softer... It wasn’t long before he reached that perfect alternation of fast flickering against your clit and slower and broad strokes of his tongue over your entrance and lips, a combination that drove you crazy.

You were whimpering and moaning, legs quaking with the alternating urge to close them around his face to keep him trapped there pleasuring you forever or spreading them wider so he could have more space to work, but the edges of your jeans were digging into the lower part of your knees, signaling you that that was as far as they could go.

As if reading your thoughts or maybe he just realized he would need more room, he shoved your pants down and helped you to kick them off so you could be completely free of the garment. And didn’t you two looked like a mismatched pair, with you standing there wearing only your top while he knelt in front of you, his jeans still on.

Once your pants were off, he hooked your right thigh over his shoulder, pressing his mouth even harder against your cunt, flickering his tongue over your clit before dipping it in between your lips, gathering the juices soaking your sex like a starved man.

“Fuck! I’m so close...” you hissed, rolling your hips, seeking more because that tight knot deep inside you was about to snap and from the way you ached and shuddered, your muscles tensing, you knew it would be a hard one.

“Yeah?” He mumbled against your core, his breath against your overheated skin making you shiver as he pushed two fingers inside you. “Gonna cum all over my mouth?”

He pistoled his fingers in and out at a fast pace, crooking inwards with every down motion, his tongue matching his rhythm against your clit and it was that made you snap as you bit down on your fist to stop yourself from shouting as your body was flooded with pleasure and all you knew was the unbelievable bliss that surrounded you. Stars bust behind your closed lids, the air came out of your lungs in short gushes as you fought hard not to slide down to the ground because your legs felt like jelly.

“Ok?” he asked, making you finally snap your eyes open to look at him.

He was sitting on his heels, face still glistening with your orgasm, his lips swollen and red from the abuse. His cock was rock hard, red, and leaking and you really wanted to return the favor.

“Way better than ok,” you replied with a gasp. “My turn?” To your surprise, he shook his head and got to his feet.

“Tonight, the only place I’m cumming is in that pussy,” he announced against your ear and shivered with anticipation. “So let’s get out of this fucking store and go to my place?”

“Fuck yes!” you grinned breathlessly at him as you reached for your jeans and he buttoned his over his hard cock and that couldn’t be comfortable.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he said. “Johnny Utah. Just in case you want to know what to shout when I fuck your brains out later.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky smirk and moved closer to him, once fully clothed, the only evidence of your recent climax was the sweat cooling on your skin and the stupid grin that refused to leave your face.

“I think I like you more when your mouth is busy with something other than talking,” you declared and before Johnny could manage a reply, you silenced him with a kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.

xxx

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#johnny utah x reader #johnny utah x you #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #point break fanfic #fanfic

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whitepolaris · 3 years ago

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What Is the Snallygaster?

Spend enough time around north-central Maryland, and you’ll hear about the Snallygaster. He’s spoken of and written about in a cluster of towns in Frederick, Montgomery, and Carroll counties, most prominently in Middletown, Rockville, and Sykesville. The trouble is, he’s almost never described the same way twice. Sometimes he’s part reptile, part bird, with octopus tentacles. Sometimes he has razor-sharp teeth. Other times he has a shiny metallic beak. Sometimes the creature tears the flesh of its victims. Other times it sucks on the veins of its victims until they’ve bled white. And lately the term Snallygaster seems to be used interchangeably with Maryland sightings of Bigfoot.

So where did the Snallygaster come from, and how did his name come to be applied to such radically different creatures? Ah, now there’s a story. The creature’s name comes from the German term schneller Geist-a fast-moving spirit or ghost whose rapid movement causes doors to slam and items to scatter. In north-central Maryland in the early eighteenth century, the German schneller Geist turned into the Snallygaster, a creature with overtones of European dragon lore and the thunderbird myths of Native Americans tribes. This monstrous bird of prey would whisk away chickens and small barnyard animals in the South Mountain region.

Occasionally, a tale would surface of a child being carried off. One branch of local lore stated that the seven-sided hex patterns painted on houses and barns were a charm to ward off the beast. (Few of these still exist in Maryland, though hex signs are still prevalent a little farther north in the old German settlements in Pennsylvania.) And so the stories continued for more than a century, firmly rooted in local folklore.

Written records of the creature don’t appear until 1909, when the Middletown Valley Register published an account from Ohio of a flying creature some twenty feet long, heading toward Maryland. A later issue described a similar creature in Maryland’s northern mountains, sleeping on a kiln. It woke with a horrible screech and flew off.

Fired by these tales, more reports came in, with witnesses describing an eagle-winged but fur-clad creature snatching farm animals, or tearing them apart and drinking their blood. Tales from out of state-mostly West Virginia and Ohio-described children being dragged off in broad daylight. Reports that cannot now be verified appeared alleging that the Smithsonian Institution offered a substantial reward for the creature and that Teddy Roosevelt planned a hunting trip to find it. The whole story soon died down, with a final report from hunters in Emmitsburg who mortally wounded the beast and watched it disappear into the night.

The authenticity of these tales is serious in question, especially because of the creature’s convenient disappearance-that is, until it suddenly reappeared two decades later during Prohibition. Stories began to circulate of thunderous explosions and loud screeching sounds from the mountain’s illegal stills, along with reports of a winged creature with huge tentacles. Hard to believe, but the monster carried people off who were getting too close to the mountain and left their bodies scorched and bled white. The Valley Register ran reports theorizing that the creature had probably hatched from an egg mentioned in the paper twenty years earlier. Sightings increased exponentially, and other newspapers including the Baltimore Sun began to cover the story. In some cases, the tales were intentionally ridiculous, featuring the Snallygaster swooping down from the clouds on an antique bicycle, wearing water wings and shouting, “Balance the budget!” More newspapers were trying to get coverage on it when the Valley Register reported the Snallygaster’s death by drowning in a vat of whiskey. The creature’s death probably had something to do with the fact that Prohibition was about to end and the moonshiners didn’t need the Snallygaster’s protection from prying revenue agents.

Sightings of Snallygaster still occur. At some point, the Snallygaster appears to have become a generic term for the bogeyman and lost its teeth (or beak or tentacles) for good. Any reports of a bipedal mammal called Snallygaster should instantly be filed under Sasquatch. The Snallygaster himself has been killed twice over and should be respectfully laid to rest.

#weird maryland #type read

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captainimprobable · 3 years ago

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Part 3 of that thing I’ve been posting. This is a first draft, once it’s edited I’ll put it on Ao3. There will be five parts! Part1 Part 2 ~~

Amity has a plan.

She knows her girlfriend likes meaningful gestures, especially when it’s about something important. So as she signs her name at the bottom of the pink paper, she wills herself not to be nervous. She’s doing everything right, she knows, and besides, it’s Luz. Luz is understanding and generous. She’ll love this.

(Amity hopes.)

Walking to school the next day is torture, and she’s brought back to a similar morning a few months ago, when she was clutching paper from the same notebook she used today. She didn’t go through with it then, but everything is different now. Luz will say yes.

So why can’t she stop shaking?

She walks into the building and immediately spots Luz. Her stomach flips itself over, as usual, and she nervously walks over to her girlfriend.

“Amity! I missed you!” Luz sees her and runs over, catching her up in a hug. Amity tries not to swoon.

“Luz, I saw you yesterday,” Amity says, smiling as she’s picked up and swayed a little.

Luz pouts as she puts Amity down. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” she mumbles. She looks down at the ground, and her eyebrows scrunch together.

“Oh wait,” she says, stooping down and picking something up. “You dropped this.”

It’s the pink paper. Amity wants to die. “WAIT,” she says loudly, startling a couple of other kids down the hall, “DON’T LOOK AT THAT.”

She grabs the paper and then stops. Wait. Things are different now.

“Actually,” she says, with as much composure as she can muster after an outburst like that, “this is for you.”

She holds out the pink paper. And Luz. Takes it.

If Luz recognizes the type of paper the note is written on, she doesn’t mention it. Amity is shaking as Luz opens the note, inspecting every single change in Luz’s face, anticipating a possible rejection.

But instead, Luz’s face morphs into a huge smile, and she turns the paper over so Amity can see the words she’s written.

“Luz, will you go on a date with me?”

There’s color high in Luz’s cheeks as she asks “Really?”

“Of course really,” Amity scoffs, her entire body relaxing at Luz’s reaction.

“Ohmygosh of course I will!!!!! Where are we going? What are we doing? Can we-”

Amity holds up a hand to stop Luz’s train of thought. “I have it all planned out,” she says proudly. “All you have to do is show up.”

Luz smiles, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes getting deeper as she does. “Of course you do,” she says. “I’ll be there!”

Amity had thought she was nervous yesterday, but that’s nothing compared to today.

Edric and Emira are trying to help calm her down, but they’re somehow making it worse. “I’m sure she’s gonna have a great time,” Ed says sincerely, nodding to himself. “Unless….she doesn’t,” he adds.

Emira hits her twin on the arm. “Ed, not helping,” she scolds, and puts her hands on Amity’s shoulders. “First dates are scary, but this is Luz. You could take her to the dump and she’d thank you.”

“I’m terrified,” Amity confesses to her sister.

“Don’t be!”

“Thanks, Em, suddenly I’m totally fine.”

“Glad I could help,” Emira winks. “Now go get your girl.”

It’s time for her date with Luz. Well, actually, it’s an hour before her date with Luz, but she’s leaving now anyway because she likes to be punctual.

As it turns out, she doesn’t have a lot of time to be nervous, because when she opens the door to leave Blight Manor, Luz is standing there with flowers.

“Hi,” Luz says excitedly, laughing a little at the look on Amity’s face. “These are for you. I got you purple ones because they match your hair!”

“You’re early,” is all Amity manages to say. She takes the flowers from Luz and their fingers touch. Normally, this wouldn’t be such a big deal anymore, but knowing they’re about to go on an actual date makes everything feel a little different. Amity tries not to jump.

“Yeah,” Luz says, hands behind her back. “But I know you, and I knew you’d be early, so here I am!”

Suddenly Amity feels like crying. Being known isn’t something she ever thought she would get to experience. Being known this well was never even a thought. She is so, so lucky.

She blinks the tears away and manages to direct a smile at her girlfriend. “Thanks,” she says. “I love them.”

Luz beams. Amity still marvels over the way Luz’s expressions are so open and extreme. She’s smiling with her entire body, somehow, exuding so much happiness just because Amity liked the flowers.

“So you have an idea?” Luz asks.

“Oh, yeah!” Amity says. “I have the perfect plan.”

Amity watches Luz’s face stealthily out of the corner of her eye the entire way through Bonesborough. They’re holding hands, and it feels like magic, but Amity is so nervous that Luz won’t enjoy what she’s planned that she can barely appreciate it. Luz looks unbothered, though, swinging their hands between them happily as she chatters on about something King did earlier in the day. Normally, Amity would be paying rapt attention, but today she’s a little too wound up.

“Okay, here we are” Amity says nervously, watching Luz��s face carefully for any sign of rejection.

Luz looks up and gasps. “A bookstore?????? I didn’t even know there was a bookstore here!”

“Yeah,” Amity says shyly. “I just thought...well, the first thing we really bonded over was Azura, so I figured maybe we could wander and…” She trails off.

Luz is jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. “Yes! I’ve always wanted to go on a bookstore date! I wonder what kind of weirdness a Boiling Isles bookstore has! Unless it’s just, like, a normal bookstore. Which would be disappointing but still cool!” She grins and pulls on Amity’s hand. “Cmon, let’s go!”

It’s going well, she thinks. Luz looks like she’s having fun as she pulls book after book off the shelf, commenting on them each before putting them back.

“I’ve been wondering about the Azura books,” Luz says at one point. “Like, how come we get them in the human realm and the Boiling Isles? How is that possible?” Luz scratches her head. “Maybe the author is from here and somehow managed to get their books to my realm? Maybe they’ve got a really good publicist? Or maybe they’re human and their books accidentally made it here somehow, like, maybe Eda brought one back one day and someone bought it and-” Luz stops. “Oh my gosh, Amity, do you think Eda is responsible for the circulation of the Azura books on the Boiling Isles???”

Amity considers that.

“You know, I haven’t really met any other people who like these books,” she says. “I always wondered why they weren’t more popular.” Her eyes widen, realization dawning. “What if I’m the only one? What if Eda sold them to the bookstore and I bought them and-”

“Woah,” Luz says. “That is some crazy coincidence.”

“Well,” Amity says bravely. “Guess it just means we were always meant to be.”

She gets a bright red Luz as a reward for her nerve, and she smirks. It’s fun to make Luz nervous. Knowing she has that effect on her makes her so happy.

Luz doesn’t say anything, just reaches out a hand for Amity’s. Amity gets it. Sometimes holding Luz’s hand is the only thing that makes sense.

“Oh no way,” comes a voice from behind them. Amity’s heart sinks. Oh no, not now, why now, why here, why-

They turn around and Boscha comes into view, scrutinizing their linked hands. “You’re actually dating the human. Wow. I thought that was a rumor, like, one so ridiculous it couldn’t even be true.” She smirks. “And yet here you are.”

Amity can feel Luz stiffen next to her, and she’s suddenly filled with rage. Luz escaped her world to avoid being made fun of, she shouldn’t have to deal with that here, too.

Amity raises her chin and looks Boscha in the eye. “Aw, what’s wrong, Boscha, jealous that nobody wants to hang out with you?” She looks around pointedly. “Looks like you’re alone, huh? Has everyone finally realized what a monster you are?”

Boscha’s face turns a shade of pink darker than her hair. “I’m not alone,” she spits. “I came here by myself on purpose. It’s exhausting, having followers all the time.”

“Sure,” Amity says, turning to leave. “Come on Luz, let’s-”

“Can’t believe she went and got a girlfriend from another species,” Amity hears Boscha mutter under her breath. And then, a little louder, clearly intending to be heard- “Guess shopping at the bottom of the barrel is easier than finding someone normal.”

Amity stops. She’s gripping Luz’s hand so hard it’s probably starting to hurt a little, but she can’t help it. Luz seems to sense the storm coming, and she scrambles to stop it. “Amity, it’s okay, let’s just go-”

But Amity is done. Done with Boscha and her stupid games, done with everyone making fun of Luz for things she can’t control, done with her girlfriend being treated lesser than because she wasn’t born a witch.

She releases Luz’s hand, whirls around, and says, quiet as the dead, “Say that again.”

Boscha seems to realize she went a little too far this time, but she’s not one to back down. “What are you gonna do, Amity? Hex me? You don’t have the-”

Before she can finish her sentence, Amity’s fingers are twirling in circles and Boscha is on the ground, angry hives crawling up and down her body.

A security guard comes over, looking bored. He gives Boscha a glance, unimpressed. “Miss,” he says to Amity. “I’m gonna have to ask you to go.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amity says. “We were just leaving.”

Amity thinks her hands might be clenched permanently, now. The anger (coiling, rampant, hot to the touch) she’s feeling isn’t new, but it’s somehow louder now, a line of static in her ears so loud that she doesn’t hear Luz calling her name until the third time.

“Amity!”

Amity blinks herself out of her stupor and remembers, suddenly: she’s supposed to be on a date. A date with her cute girlfriend. A date that she messed up by getting them kicked out of a store.

She knew she’d mess this up somehow.

“Amity, are you okay?”

Luz is looking at her with concern in her eyes, and Amity doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She’s ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, not looking Luz in the eye. She’d understand if Luz dumped her over this.

“For what?” Luz asks sincerely, and Amity looks up in confusion. “Um, for ruining our date?”

Luz raises her eyebrows. “How exactly did you ruin it?”

“I hexed Bosca, I got us kicked out of the bookstore, I-”

“What I’m hearing,” Luz says, taking Amity’s hand again, “Is that you got angry on my behalf and defended me from a bully”

“But I got us kicked out of the store!” Amity insists. She feels like she owes it to Luz to admit what a screw up she is, but Luz isn’t having it.

“No, Boscha got us kicked out of the store. Besides, it’s no big deal, we were basically done anyway.”

This isn’t right. She knows she should be happy that Luz isn’t blaming her, but something inside her insists that Luz needs to know, that Luz needs to understand that Amity messed up and will probably mess up again, that she had everything planned out perfectly and it went nothing like it was supposed to and Luz should probably break up with her and-

“Break up with you?????” Luz sounds scandalized, and Amity realizes: she said everything out loud.

“You think I would break up with you over this?”

“I..I don’t know,” Amity says, closing her eyes as though that will make her disappear. “Maybe.”

“Amity, I-I don’t like you because you’re perfect. You’re only human- I mean, you’re a person, and people make mistakes, and that’s okay! I make mistakes all the time! Just today I missed a step and fell down the stairs. It happens!”

She takes Amity’s other hand and looks her in the eyes. “You’re perfect to me. But not because you never mess up. Because you’re kind, and funny, and beautiful, and you do things like hex bullies because they make fun of me. I don’t need the perfect date, Amity. I just need you.”

Amity is speechless. Nobody has ever said anything like that to her. She remembers what she told Hunter in that cave all those months ago: I grew up thinking everything was an opportunity to justify existing. But there are people out there who won’t make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them.

It’s time she took her own advice.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, smiling shyly. “You’re the best girlfriend a girl could ask for.”

“No, you are!” Luz says earnestly, and Amity realizes that, if she had the courage, she could kiss Luz right then and there.

She doesn’t, of course, but now that it’s in her head, she’s not going to forget about it anytime soon.

#the owl house #lumity #firsts and seconds #writins

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tunglo · 2 years ago

Photo

November 1863, Ignatius helps stir up a series of riots in Ipswich:

Baron de Camin (Andre Massena, infamous shit stirrer) had sniffed out an opportunity given all the coverage of Ignatius and his opponents in the papers, and was due to give a lecture on the dangers of Popery at Ipswich. The Mayor, George Bacon, wisely chose to cancel the event in fear it would whip up further tension.

But it was too late. The damage was already done. Rumours circulated that the Mayor had given in to demands from the military authorities, on the basis that they felt unable to control the Catholic soldiers stationed around the town. Crowds of local men gathered to demand that de Camin be allowed to speak. Usual chants of ‘No Popery’ were joined by indignant rants about the fact nobody had banned Ignatius from peddling his Ritualist beliefs in a recent series of lectures. Police presence kept de Camin out of the Temperance Hall, nevertheless, and he eventually gave up and went home.

The crowds, on the other hand, were just getting started. Superintendent Mason was bludgeoned over the head while attempting to make an arrest. An unnamed constable was ‘unmercifully beaten’, while PC Brett was slightly wounded by a knife and colleague PC Smith was stabbed twice, surviving only thanks to it being so cold he was wearing an extra coat. All the windows at the Mayor’s residence were smashed, along with many others along the route to a committee meeting he was attending - and had then fled on the advice of the constabulary. The mob finally dispersed when it began raining heavily.

The next day, the situation went from bad to worse. The magistrates lifted the ban on de Camin speaking, so his evening lecture went ahead. Huge crowds gathered around the hall and, as soon as the lecture was finished, moved off to the residence of the nearest Catholic clergyman, smashing in all his windows, the gas lamps, plus the Catholic chapel and adjoining school. The Morning Advertiser reported that ‘the police were utterly powerless’ against them. By the time the mob reached the Convent of Jesus and St Mary the nuns were left with no choice but to barricade themselves in the chapel and wait it out.

Police were then called in from all around the county and eventually the mob was dispersed by sheer force. The next day another 300 special constables were sworn in from the militia to help keep order. Drury, the vicar at Claydon who had let Ignatius set himself up there had borne the press ridicule, the local jeering and stone throwing, and the smashing in of his church’s stained glass windows. This was on a whole other level however, and he soon told Ignatius he’d have to find other premises...

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hutchhitched · 4 years ago

Text

Walk Back

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 143: The girl of my dreams asked me if I needed a ride home from campus so I obviously let her drive me home then walked back to campus a couple of hours later to get my car. [submitted by anonymous]

Ratings/Warnings: G

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the sixth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. Only three more to go!

Peeta Mellark knows he’s got it good compared to a lot of people. He really does, but that doesn’t stop him from wallowing in pity every once in a while. He’s in college, the first in his family, on a hefty scholarship; his grades are good; he has a lot of friends and a good work study job that actually does give him some time to study. Those are all good things. They really are, and he doesn’t dispute it, but…

He’s also had a rough home life with a mom who’s never satisfied with anything he does and a father who loves him but can’t stand up to his wife long enough to protect his three sons from her emotional abuse. He’s a first-generation college student who’s excelling in courses for his major but isn’t doing so great in all his other general education courses. He has to work a lot more than he should for someone with his course load. Worst of all, though, he’s madly in love with a woman who likely doesn’t know his name. Well, that’s probably not true, but still. She’s certainly not crazy about him the way he is mad for her.

There’s just no way Katniss Everdeen, fellow Panem University student and the smartest girl in his biology lab, would ever give him the time of day. Not when she already has a boyfriend, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Rugged, who’s about to graduate with a promising career. That’s unlike Peeta, an art major. He’ll never amount to anything, or so his mother likes to remind him every time he’s stupid enough to visit his family.

Besides, Katniss is beautiful and sassy and shy and so many other wonderful things. She has no idea the effect she has on him or any other male within a mile radius, including their biology professor who’s proclaimed her the most brilliant student he’s had in his twenty-two years of teaching. Peeta spends the better part of their class together watching her from across the room, which is probably why his lab partner hates him and his grade in that class absolutely sucks.

So, while Peeta knows he’s got some things going for him, it’s not surprising that he finds himself a little down in the dumps occasionally—especially on days when his crush shows up at his workplace. It’s even worse when his co-worker knows about his hopeless infatuation and has no shame. Johanna Mason may be his least favorite person on days like that. Today happens to be one of those days. He’s cursing his life when Jo comes up behind him and leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Oooooooooh ooooooh. Katniss is pretty, isn’t she? Look at her over there. So serious. What do you think she’s getting ready to check out, and is there any way to make it sexual when gets over here?”

“Shut up, Jo,” Peeta hisses as his cheeks flush, and he curls into himself, trying to hide behind the circulation desk so Katniss won’t see him.

The last thing he wants is for the girl he’s been crushing on for months to hear his co-worker tease him about his hopeless attraction. The problem is that he told Johanna in a fit of self-loathing, and she coached him through it, built him up so his ego was a little higher than the floor and prepared him some for what to say to a girl when he likes her. While it was very kind of Jo to offer, Peeta isn’t that hopeless. He’d had a number of girlfriends in high school, but none of them compare to Katniss Everdeen. She is a goddess.

“What time’s your shift done today, hot buns?”

“Don’t call me that! What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why are you so terrible?”

“Terrible? I’m trying to get you laid, buddy. It’s certainly never going to happen if I leave you to your own devices, although I’m sure you’re taking care of yourself plenty. You’re a guy, after all.”

Peeta’s face floods with heat, and he wants to slide onto the floor and hide behind the counter. She’s not wrong—he is a healthy, twenty-one-year-old man who hasn’t dated in a while—but Peeta doesn’t want his co-worker to know that. She’ll probably tell the whole world if he confirms what she suspects. Or say something to Katniss, which would be horrifying.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, suspicious.

“Knowledge is power, my friend. Knowledge is power.”

Still not convinced, he welcomes a patron and scans the student ID he’s handed. “Exactly ten minutes,” he mutters as he types in the bar codes of the pile of library books in front of him before sliding them across the counter. It’s almost midterm, so everyone’s trying to finish projects and bibliographies for research papers before they leave for spring break. The library’s been slammed for days.

“She’s on her way over here,” Johanna nudges him.

He whips his head up, and his eyes widen as he realizes Jo’s right. Katniss pages through a book as she strides toward the circulation desk. Johanna turns to busy herself with a pile of returned books, and he squeezes his legs together under the desk. If he can just stop his hands from shaking, things will be great.

“Hi, Peeta,” she says with a guarded smile as she hands him her student ID. “How’s it going?”

“K-katniss! Hi!” His voice squeaks, and he cringes internally. He sounds like an idiot. “It’s good. I’m good. How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” She hands him her student ID, and he glances down at the book she set on the counter.

“History of Sculpture? That’s…”

She laughs wryly and nods. “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how I managed to get myself into it, but I signed up for an art appreciation class. I have zero artistic ability, so it’s painful.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s…yeah.”

Johanna snorts behind him, and he tosses her a warning look. He should have known better. The woman doesn’t have a tactful bone in her body. Instead, she comes to stand behind Peeta and surveys Katniss.

“You know, Peeta here is an art major,” Jo announces with her hand on his shoulder. “I bet he could help you with your art appreciation class. He’s great at that kind of stuff.”

“Are you really?” Katniss asks, her eyes widening in pleased surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’m more of a painter than anything else, but I know quite a bit about all the different media. It’s kind of in the curriculum for my major.”

She looks impressed, but she shakes her head as she picks up her book and tucks her ID into her pocket. “I couldn’t ask you to help, but that’s cool. I thought you were a biology major like me.”

Johanna smacks him on the back, and he glares at her before wiping his expression clean and flashing a closed mouth grin at Katniss. When nobody says anything, Katniss turns to go.

“Nonsense!” Jo cries. “Peeta’d be happy to help. I’m sure there’s something you could do for him to repay his generosity.”

He swears under his breath and elbows Jo in the gut.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything I have that Peeta wants—”

“A ride home?” Jo interrupts. “Peeta’s car’s in the shop. He asked me for a ride, but his shift is over now, and I’ve got another two hours before I can leave. Poor guy. He’d really appreciate the lift.”

Relief colors her face, and she nods. “I’d be happy to do that. My car’s on the street. I snagged one of those metered ones that are always full. Must be my lucky day.”

“Oh, I’d say it certainly is,” Jo says, a wide self-satisfied smile plastered on her face. She practically shoves him out of his chair and adds, “Peeta, why don’t you go clock out. I’ll finish this up for you.”

“I can—”

“No, you can’t. You’re too close to hours. Besides, you wouldn’t want to keep Katniss waiting, now would you?”

“You really are the devil, aren’t you?” he hisses as he grabs his stuff. “My car’s in the parking garage, not the shop. What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting you some time alone with the girl of your dreams,” she explains with a withering look. “Now, let her give you a ride home so you can schmooze her.”

Still disgruntled, he shuffles to the door and meets Katniss on the steps. She shifts uncomfortably, tugging on her braid and hunching her shoulders. He wonders if she’s trying to hide or if she’s cold in the chill of the early spring day.

“I really appreciate this,” he says.

She nods and leads him to her car. “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

“You don’t have to do anything at all.”

She’s silent as she starts her car. Hesitating, she glances over at him and asks, “Does that mean you don’t want to tutor me? I understand if you don’t. It’s asking a lot for someone you barely know, especially since I can’t really afford to pay you.”

“Except in rides.”

“Well, yeah. I can do that.” She smiles at him tremulously and shifts the car into gear. Glancing over her shoulder, she signals and pulls out of the parking spot and onto the street.

“You could help me in bio,” he blurts and his cheeks heat.

“Really?”

He cringes and shrugs. “Yeah. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I think I’m one of those people that understands it in theory but not in practicality. I’m doing fine in the lecture, but lab is really confusing.” He doesn’t add that most of that is her fault, but not really, because he can’t stop mooning over her.

“I can do that.”

He glances at the pleased curve of her lips and wonders how he can make it happen again. The joy of seeing her happy sinks into his bones and gives him life. It’s ridiculous, but it’s true. He has no reason to think he should except common human decency matched with his overwhelming crush. He feels like a middle school boy who’s just figured out that girls and boys have different parts.

Katniss stops at the intersection and glances over at him. Bashful, she admits, “I don’t know where I’m going.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow and he motions out the windshield. “South?”

“No,” she answers with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I don’t know where you live.”

He’s an idiot. Of course she doesn’t know where he lives. “Sorry! Sorry. Turn left here. I wasn’t thinking.”

“If you want…”

“If I want?” he prods.

“Well, maybe, if you don’t mind, that is.” She clears her throat and then words burst from her in a torrent. “I know a coffee shop that no one else really goes to. It’s quiet and the coffee’s good. They know me there, and I have a table they kind of save just for me. If you wanted to go over some of this sculpture stuff today, that’d be a good place.”

“Oh. Okay,” he answers, fighting to keep his face clear of the glee he feels. Katniss Everdeen just asked him to go out with her. Well, she asked him to go somewhere with her, but that was more than he’d dreamed would happen any time he imagined actually speaking to her. Not only is he going to sit at the same table with her in a public place, but he’s at her mercy with transportation. She’s got him captive, and he approves.

“Maybe I can take a look over your lab notes with you, too. You know, if you want.”

Oh, he wants. That’s never been in question. He absolutely wants when it comes to Katniss Everdeen.

“That’d be great. Really great.”

The place itself is an independent coffee shop in an older area of town called The Seam. The properties tend to be more run-down than those closer to campus, but the café is cozy and humble and has great choices in both coffee and tea. He chooses a black peppermint he’s loved since his father made it for him when he was sick. His father had also snuck cookies to Peeta despite the disapproval of his mom. He adds sugar before taking a sip that transports him back to childhood. He breathes in as he swallows and blows out a heavy sigh.

Amused, Katniss asks, “That good?”

Nodding, he inhales the aroma and smiles softly. “Yeah. It’s that good. Thanks for bringing me here.”

Pleased, Katniss drops her head and shuffles in her bag for the book on sculpture and her class notes. They work together for over an hour before reviewing information from their biology lab. He finds she’s a good tutor, knowledgeable and skilled at breaking down the concepts into sizable chunks that seemed overwhelming previously. When he compliments her on it, she waves him off but returns the sentiment.

“I already feel like I appreciate art more.”

“Glad I could help.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though,” she teases. “I’ll still need you after break’s over, but I think I can pass the final now, anyway.”

He shivers at her claiming she’ll need him. It’s closer to genuine interest than anything he’s ever gotten from her, and it gives him a small thrill of hope.

Reluctantly, she packs up her bag and sighs. “I really need to get home, but this was fun.”

“Yeah, I should be getting back, too. Got a lot to do before bed.”

They’re quiet as they slide into the car. Contemplative, Peeta almost forgets to provide instructions so Katniss knows where to take him. As he guides her through unfamiliar streets that turn into those he sees every day, he sends silent thanks to Johanna for her brashness and refusal to let things go. He only hopes he doesn’t have a ticket on his car when he retrieves it—hopefully before it’s towed.

“This is it,” he says with a wave at his front door. None of his roommates are home, which means he’s stuck until they return. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, but she’s antsy, unsure what to do with her hands or where to look. “Thanks again for the ride. Come find me at the library after break, and we’ll do a repeat of tonight.”

“Sounds great,” she says warmly. “Hope you get your car back soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” he grumbles.

He watches her leave, lifting his hand in farewell until her car turns the corner and heads back the way she came. Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he sends his roommates a group text asking when they’ll be home and if one of them can give him a ride back to campus. As each of them gives a reason for their absence, he realizes he’s on his own. He does stow his bag inside and grab a drink before heading back outside. Squaring his shoulders, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and begins the walk back.

It takes an hour, and he does have a parking ticket. Still, Peeta has no regrets. The afternoon with Katniss was the best of the year with the promise of more to come. She’s worth the inconvenience.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 143 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #walk back

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literaticat · 3 years ago

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I prefer paperbacks but I know most books are released hardback first. With the rising cost of paper and materials, (pop in inflation and shortages courtesy of Covid 19) and the fact that some books become best sellers when released on paperback--why don't publishers release paperback books first?

Well, first of all, the "hardcover first" model is really a thing in the US. But world-wide, like in the UK for example, most books are paperback first/only, and hardcovers are relatively uncommon.

Also -- "hardcover first" is NOT the case for many, many genre books. Lots of mystery and romance and SF/F for example, come out in paperback and e-book first, and the hardback is either non-existent or an afterthought.

However, you're correct that most things like "literary fiction", nonfiction, and children's and YA books do come out in HC first -- the reason for this is two-fold:

* money * -- obviously, publishers charge more for hardcover books, so they can sell fewer and make more money. This is why huge huge huge bestsellers often take SO long to come out in paperback (see: Wonder, which has been out for five years - it's still selling ridiculously well in HC, so why should the publisher make a PB?). Paperbacks have a much smaller profit margin, so you have to sell a lot more to make the same amount of money.

* libraries & collectors * -- the reality is that many/most children's and YA books have high demand in schools and libraries, and libraries need HC or library bound books. They are WAY sturdier than regular paperbacks -- paperbacks would fall apart with heavy circulation, necessitating re-buying of titles (or eliminating them from the library, which would suck). Hardcover books are also printed on better quality acid-free paper, which doesn't discolor & turn gross -- again, important for those libraries, or for collectors who want to have pristine books, or for any book that has extensive illustrations. GN are often softcover, but you'll notice that the paper is much heavier and "fancier" than in cheap paperback novels -- because the cheap paper simply cannot be used for high quality images.

I do think that some YA publishers are doing more paperback originals, like this new series from PRH -- and I think that's a good thing (because I like them!), so I do hope that they succeed -- but they are much more likely to be books that are things like, say, fun romances or thrillers, that are appealing in a bookstore but might not get heavy use in classrooms and libraries.

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elves-n-angels · 5 years ago

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How Sebastian Stan Went From Winter Soldier to 'Winter Swoldier'

To keep up with the Chrises, Stan upgraded his diet, training, and worldview. And 2020 is shaping up to be his best year ever.

BY LAUREN LARSON

DEC 19, 2019

THE COFFEE-SHOP staff is having a silent meltdown. The peppermint tea I ordered was forgotten as soon as Sebastian Stan walked in. He orders a coffee, receives it instantly, and goes to put it down on a table. The lid isn’t fully on, and the coffee spills. It’s almost a “stars are just like us” moment, but then a barista suddenly materializes with a paper towel in his outstretched palm. “It’s wet,” he says eagerly.

Stan, 37, is wearing black shorts, a black T-shirt, midcalf black socks, and a gray hoodie missing its drawstring. He looks very off-duty SoHo, which he is: He’s back home in New York City on furlough from preparations for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, an extravagant collaboration between Marvel and newborn streaming service Disney+.

He’s also wearing a blue baseball cap, which sits slightly higher on his head than it might on the head of someone with less va-va-voom hair. That hair sent the Internet into a tizzy recently, when a poster for Falcon showed Stan with a short cut. In the past when Stan has played the Winter Soldier (né Bucky Barnes), he’s had shoulder-length hair. Next to his forehead, which is giant—the White Cliffs of Dover of foreheads—the longer style made him look very sinister.

Stan is somewhat less recognizable in street clothes, but women still side-eye him on their way to the bathroom. Maybe they recognize him; maybe he’s just a little too strapping not to be famous.

As Stan talks, he maintains an unsettling deadpan, verging on a glower. “People always ask me if I’m okay,” he says, still glowering. “They’ve said I have ‘serial-killer resting face.’ No matter what I do, I’ve always had dark circles under my eyes that never really go away. Lately there might be a little moisturizer happening here and there, just in case. Preserving a couple years, or whatever.”

The more reserved the actor, the more likely he is to become part of Hollywood mythology. Between Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) and Captain America: Civil War (2016), a rumor circulated that he had gotten too ripped for the arm he’d worn in the earlier film, a wraparound contraption meant to look like a machine prosthetic. Redditors called him “the Winter Swoldier” and “Bulky Barnes.”

Stan laughs when I bring it up and clarifies that he used a new-and-improved arm in each successive film. With the first iteration, he had to apply lube to slide his real arm into what was essentially two rigid metal tubes. “It was like having a massive hammer attached to me,” he says, “but it looked unbelievable in the movie, and it actually informed a lot of my body language.”

Subsequent arms were more mobile, and Stan doesn’t have to lube up to get in there anymore: There’s a sleeve inside the arm for his next appearance as the Winter Soldier. But, he concedes, he did get too big for the arm used in Civil War. “I was so insecure being around these massive fucking guys, so I started lifting really heavy and ate a lot. I remember I showed up, and I was a little bit bigger than I had been in The Winter Soldier. The arm was a bit tight,” he says. “I was losing circulation.”

Stan is not a new arrival in the Marvel universe: He made his superhero debut in 2011, with Captain America: The First Avenger. But recently he’s enjoyed a burgeoning late-term fandom as his roles (and arms) have ballooned. Beyond Marvel, he starred alongside Margot Robbie in 2017’s I, Tonya, as Tonya Harding’s jackass boyfriend. When we meet in October, he’s just returned from shooting the spy film 355 in London, with Jessica Chastain, Penélope Cruz, Lupita Nyong’o, and Diane Kruger. Another insecurity-inspiring roster.

With Stan’s constellation of anxieties—he says he’s “terribly self-aware, to the point of detriment”—he is uniquely suited to stardom in 2020. A decade ago, audiences wanted actors to be pillars of Hollywood hubris, strutting around in latex Marvel suits, muscly and impenetrable. We still want the muscles, but we also want stars to be genuine.

Marvel films can seem at odds with that national craving for authenticity. Steve Rogers, for example, becomes Captain America instantly, in the first ten minutes of The First Avenger: He goes into a machine and emerges fit, huge, and self-actualized. I ask Stan whether that narrative—man gets muscles and immediately earns the admiration and attraction of everyone in his midst—isn’t a dated, unrelatable picture of masculinity.

“When I was watching Steve Rogers,” Stan starts in, “I saw him question his identity, his alliances, the government. ‘Who am I? What is this? What made me come into this is very different than the role I am in now.’ I think it was very timely, in the sense that you could see that character evolve. Then he gives up his shield and is like, ‘I’m out. I’m going to do my own thing.’ He chooses his own life. It’s actually more relatable.”

There’s an obvious metaphor there: Stan is Captain America, and stardom—and the press tours, the scrutiny, and the training that come with it—is his government, always invading his carefully fortified sense of self. As a result, he can appear very reticent in public, offering only occasional glimpses of the unguarded Sebastian Stan. Audiences live for those moments.

Stan is the anti-celebrity in the year of the anti-celebrity.

And his ambient hostility toward questioning is offset by the behavior of his Falcon costar Anthony Mackie. When alone in interviews, Stan can seem deflective and bored, but he gets an enormous kick out of Mackie, who has jumped in to rescue many an interviewer left to writhe on the hook by Stan. He is the Sebastian Stan whisperer, midwife to a charm that can be difficult to coax out.

“When I’m trying hard to find the honest moment, he sort of unlocks me a little bit. We both laugh and we find a way to have a good time,” Stan says. When I tell him that I’m planning to mine Mackie for gossip, he laughs. “Here’s what he’s going to say: ‘He’s way too serious. It’s boring. He slows everything down. It’s always these questions and, like, the stare. Give this kid a Yoo-hoo! Somebody get him a chocolate milk. Good God, put a smile on his face!’ ”

Mackie is the enthusiastic extrovert to Stan’s pensive recluse. Even though I reach him on the phone at 9:00 p.m. after a long day of shooting in Savannah—“I’m already going to bed,” Mackie says in a N’awlins drawl that sounds sleepier than usual—he’s forthcoming about Stan. He describes his costar as a hermit, a chronic Irish-goodbye-er who doesn’t offer much of himself at first. “If the FBI ever needed to get anything out of him, they’d be in very big trouble,” Mackie says. “I don’t know what the male equivalent would be of ‘resting bitch face,’ but Sebastian has nailed that 100 percent.”

His first impression, which lingered for a long time, was that Stan was a very quiet, very reserved actor. They shook hands when they met, but it wasn’t a buddy-com bromance at first sight. It wasn’t until much later, when the two were on a press tour for The Winter Soldier, that they hit it off. Mackie hung out with Stan and a few of his closest friends, and they “unlocked” Stan for Mackie the same way Mackie now unlocks Stan on press tours.

Their chemistry also plays well on set. They share a dedication to their work, and they both come from classical acting backgrounds. (“He went to Juilliard,” Stan says of Mackie. “He can do anything.”) Beyond that, they’re opposites, reining in each other’s moods to a perfect, workable middle. “He calms me down when I’m ready to rage against the machine,” Mackie says. In turn, Mackie bullies Stan into having fun.

Case in point: When they were on a press tour in Beijing, they had one of those endless nights that make press tours seem glamorous. “It just went on and on and on,” Mackie recalls. “We had to do press the next morning, and he’s like, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I’m like, ‘Nope.’ I took his wallet and his cell phone so he couldn’t get into his hotel room. Then, by the time we got to the press, I was fine. He just looked like he’d gotten hit by a car.”

Hollywood has always relished actor partnerships—from Robert Redford and Paul Newman to Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson—but now more than ever, buddying up feels like an imperative. Pairs perform, especially on social media. In November, when Stan and Mackie took over Marvel Studios’ Instagram to announce that they’d begun filming Falcon, fans were as thirsty for their friendship as they were for the show. Their dynamic is the stuff of memes: “[I] want someone to look at me the way Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie look at each other,” one fan tweeted.

I know what that fan meant. When Stan does look at you without suspicion—when, perchance, he laughs at something you say—it’s like winning a battle.

WHEN IT COMES to fitness, Stan has also benefited from the influence of a charismatic spirit guide. He played soccer and basketball at his Rockland County, New York, high school, but he didn’t start running and going to the gym until he was in college at Rutgers University. And he didn’t get really into fitness until 2005, when he was cast in a film titled The Covenant, which Stan calls “really classic.”

Really classic, indeed: The Covenant also stars Chace Crawford, whom Stan would later join on Gossip Girl (another classic), and Taylor Kitsch. Stan plays one of five prep-school boys endowed with supernatural gifts and sick abs.

“I got a call,” Stan says. “And one of the producers said to me, ‘Look, you’re going to have to look like John Travolta in Staying Alive.’ He’s just glistening with muscles. It’s ridiculous. I was like, ‘Oh my God.’ I started to work out with a trainer, but it was my buddy

Taylor Kitsch who got me into it.” With the trainer and Kitsch as his gym shepherds, Stan began exercising in earnest.

Then, in 2013, ahead of The Winter Soldier, Stan teamed up with trainer Don Saladino, who’d also sculpted Ryan Reynolds, John Krasinski, and Liev Schreiber. That same year, Stan starred in a Broadway revival of William Inge’s Picnic, playing a character whose defining trait is his hotness.

“Inge was writing something very important about vanity and how people were perceived in terms of being quote-unquote good-looking, beautiful, or pretty,” Stan said in a Playbill interview in 2013. “In the play, there’s something shameful and dirty about it. Our obsession with beauty has not changed. When we see something that turns us on, we either appreciate it or judge it. It’s so primal. We still dismiss people if they’re pretty; we don’t care how they feel, because they should just be happy looking the way they do. That’s something we were trying to say with this production.” Stan is less philosophical about his Picnic bod these days. “I had to be basically shirtless every night, like eight shows a week,” he says. “I really zoned in on diet, and everything transformed.”

He prefers exercising on an empty stomach, so he generally starts his day with coffee—and a rice cake with some almond butter and honey if he’s feeling depleted. Today he was feeling very depleted, he says, so he had some scrambled eggs with Brussels sprouts and aioli. “I’m not going to tell you the place where I got that,” he adds, unprompted and wary, as though I might start dining there daily in a stalker vigil.

Stan is a proponent of “quality over quantity,” but that doesn’t mean he skimps on his workouts; he just knows that a 20-minute session that catapults his heart rate into the red zone is as effective as an hour of low-intensity bullshit. He runs (“I’m not going to tell you where”) when he’s feeling meditative.

In advance of the Falcon shoot, Stan started lifting weights every morning and knocking out stunt training for the fight scenes. He points out that filming an action movie is a workout in itself: You spend whole days running around and sweating in a heavy suit. “I mean, next to Evans and Hemsworth and all those guys, I feel like I’m 50 miles behind. I don’t think I can get to that size, to be honest,” he says. That aside, Stan feels, in his late 30s, better than ever. “My body right now is probably the best it’s ever been.”

THERE'S A PHOTO of Stan, age 15, on his Instagram. It’s a headshot from Stagedoor Manor, an acting camp that he attended while in high school. He’s recognizable from the brow up—he has the same broad forehead, the same voluminous hair. His arms look pale and soft, like overcooked linguine, and he’s staring down the camera with theater-kid intensity.

Stan lived in Romania until he was eight years old. Shortly after the Romanian revolution, he and his mother moved to Vienna and stayed there for four years before heading to New York in 1995. No, he says, he didn’t have a foreign exchange student’s social cachet in middle school. “Maybe if I was from France or something. But I am Eastern European. We left communism,” he says. “When I came here, I just wanted to be like everybody else.”

I ask Stan which of his mannerisms are typically Romanian. “You’re kind of putting me on the spot to define a whole nation—a guy who hasn’t been there for years,” he says. But he thinks for a second. “For me, based on my mother, the ‘Romanian temperament’ is perseverance—being able to handle more than you think you can. At 27, my mother was working two jobs in a foreign country where she barely spoke the language. There’s a sense of family and perseverance that’s deeply ingrained in the blood.”

Even for someone who has experienced a certain degree of stardom, Marvel fans can be a shock to one’s sense of family. Certain Marvel stars acquiesce to the attention on some level, greeting fans with a Chris Hemsworthian openness to scrutiny. Stan’s boundaries are reflexive and firm, as though his sense of self is always under attack. (Which, to be fair, it may well be: “He’s so reserved,” Mackie says, “but in this day and age that’s a very good quality.”)

Stan is more protective of his personal life than most actors. Celebrities often use social media to dispense calculated chunks of themselves in exchange for privacy. Stan occasionally opens up on Instagram: “Been working with this guy through years of self judgement and mental wars when it comes to fitness and LIFE,” he wrote of Saladino in a caption accompanying a gym selfie. But questions about the people in his orbit ping ineffectually against his poker face.

He attributes this to only-vaguely-alluded-to incidents in which his family and friends were subject to public attention. As a public figure, he has opted into that attention, he explains, but they haven’t. It upset him when they were the targets of scrutiny, particularly when that scrutiny came from his fans. Stan seems to be looking for earnestness in an industry that, on the whole, disdains earnestness. He “tries hard to find the honest moment,” as he himself puts it (much like how he saw a profound statement about “our obsession with beauty” in William Inge’s horny play).

In this, the Marvel universe is an improbably good fit for him. We speak the week after Martin Scorsese said Marvel films “are not cinema,” and Stan is as defensive of the films as he can be without disrespecting Scorsese, one of his heroes. “All I know is that all movies affect people,” he says. “I’ve certainly experienced firsthand many people who have been affected and helped by Marvel movies.”

Captain America fans lean earnest. People have told Stan that Bucky Barnes helped them cope with their PTSD. During Q&A sessions, he’s asked questions like “What would Bucky Barnes’s major be?” and “What happened to Bucky Barnes when he fell from the train?” Stan fields those questions without sarcasm or diversion.

“They think we are these people,” Stan says, again without condescension. He’s content to take questions about Bucky Barnes, especially if it distracts fans from asking questions about Sebastian Stan. “Now we’re much more obsessed with the personality rather than the actor. We take people and swallow them and digest them and chew them up, and then we spit them out the other side. Then we’re done,” he says. “We’ve done that with numerous celebrities—people. I’ve seen people have massive ups and downs and stuff. All I can do is just try to be as honest as I can. And do my job.”

Men's Health Magazine, December 19, 2019.

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #winter soldier #mens health #long post

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redbeardace · 5 years ago

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Between Panic and Indifference

Okay, serious post time.

As you may know, I live near Seattle. And if you’ve been paying attention to the news (in between the politics), you’ll know that we’re currently going through a bit of something. I’ve been making jokes about it, but I sort of want to talk seriously about some of what it’s like here right now.

Quick recap: About a month ago, it was announced that the first case of COVID-19/coronavirus had popped up in Everett, Washington. Everett’s one of the larger suburbs of Seattle, home to a Boeing airplane factory, FunkoPop HQ, and Half-Price Books that I go to once in a while. It was someone who’d been to Wuhan in China and got sick after returning to the US. He went to the doctor, got quarantined, and that was it. The system worked, the disease was contained, the guy got better. And that was it.

Until last week. Last week, they closed Bothell High School “out of an abundance of caution” in order to clean it, because a family member of someone who works at the school had gotten sick after returning from overseas travel.�� Bothell is a smaller suburb than Everett. It’s largely unremarkable, one of those places that takes up three exits on the freeway, but no one really understands why. It’s also where I live, so hearing that the high school was closed was a bit unnerving, but also a bit ridiculous because it was all speculation. It was a family member of a school worker, and that employee was staying home. And it turned out that there was nothing to it, that family member did not have COVID-19. But at least the high school got cleaned.

False alarm, back to your regularly scheduled--

Scoop Jackson High School in Mill Creek is closed on Friday, this time for a confirmed case. Mill Creek is an even smaller suburb, sandwiched between Bothell and Everett, and it’s where my post office and a grocery store I go to is. A student had the “flu” earlier in the week, went to the doctor, the doctor said go home, get better. So the student did that. They got better and went back to school on Friday. Unbeknownst to them, their doctor had performed a coronavirus test. The student hadn’t been out of the country, hadn’t been around anyone who’d been out of the country, so they shouldn’t have had it, the doctor was just performing the test as part of some study.

It was positive.

They hadn’t been out of the country. They hadn’t been around anyone who had been. The only known case in the area had been contained. There were a few cases in California that were mysterious, but at least those were linked to a possibly mismanaged quarantine situation. But in Mill Creek, there wasn’t any of that. Sure, it’s next to Everett where the first case was, but that was contained. So what the hell?

Later that night, there was another case of “possible coronavirus” in Bellevue, the city where I work.

Then Saturday happened. The first confirmed death, in Kirkland, Washington. You know Kirkland as the Kirkland from “Kirkland Brand” at Costco. I know Kirkland as the place I drive through on my commute that’s between Bothell and Bellevue. Several more hospitalizations. A news conference talks about the death and the hospitalizations and, almost as a side note, mentions 50+ people connected to a nursing home, also in Kirkland, as showing symptoms. Fifty people. I’m going to come back to that. None of these people had been to China or Italy and I don’t think any of them knew anyone who had. So what the hell?

Later that night, a scientist from a local research facility posts a short Twitter thread that potentially could have gone unnoticed. It’s a Twitter thread for crying out loud, who knows what kind of crackpot this could be? But it’s not a crackpot. It actually is a local research scientist. The thread kinda gets right to the point. An analysis of a sample of the virus from the first patient genetically matches a sample of virus from the Mill Creek student, therefore it is highly likely that the virus has been circulating around the area, on the loose, for six weeks.

Oh.

That deadly disease that we’ve been watching cripple other parts of the world, killing thousands. That’s here. Now. And it’s been here for weeks.

And by here, I mean HERE. You may have noticed that all those cities I mentioned are places that I go regularly. “Here” is literally right outside my door. I am in the bright red bullseye of the hot zone, as this virus swirls around me.

After Saturday, it’s a bit of a blur what happened when, but the specifics really don’t matter. More cases, more deaths, a Seattle skyscraper closes, Amazon closes, Microsoft closes, more schools close, including the entire Northshore School District (the district I live in), which closed today for the next two weeks.

So that’s the recap. That brings us up to now. But you could’ve gotten all that by watching the news. I’m really writing this post to talk about what it’s like here at the moment.

I think the scariest thing about it all is that we don’t know how scared to be. We’re used to thinking of disasters in terms of a concrete event. Something happened, you can see the impact. An earthquake, a school shooting, a hurricane, a terrorist attack, a volcanic eruption, a nuclear meltdown. Most of the time, it ends, you can count the bodies, tally up the damage, and that’s that. Even in a longer term event, you can see the lava coming and get out of the way or look at a map of the Chernobyl or Fukushima exclusion zones and avoid those places.

But this is an invisible disaster. It’s literally in the air around us. It’s on door handles and shopping carts and library books. Your coworker or neighbor or roommate could be The Thing, and you have no way of knowing. We’re playing a dangerous game of tag against an invisible opponent, and you have no idea you’re it until way too late.

Even worse, we have absolutely no idea whatsoever how bad it actually is. The latest official number I can find as of this writing is that there are 39 confirmed cases, and ten of those have died. A significant number of those cases are associated with that nursing home I mentioned earlier. So 39 isn’t bad at all, out of a couple million people in this region. Even if you limit it to just the “bright red bullseye of the hotzone”, that’s several hundred thousand people. So 39 out of that is nothing. But you’ll remember that I mentioned that there were 50+ people connected to that nursing home that were sick, and only some of them are counted in that 39 number. Then there’s a bunch of firefighters in the area who went to that nursing home, who are sick. Family members who are sick. And that student in Mill Creek and the first guy who died got it from somewhere... And other random people just popping up here and there who had to get it from somewhere. You add those all up, and it’s probably 100+ cases, but for some reason, they’re not yet confirmed (or even tested), so they don’t show up in the official counts yet.

They weren’t really testing people who hadn’t been overseas or been in contact with someone who had been, until this week. It’s been here, on the loose, for six weeks. There are probably thousands of cases that have gone undiagnosed. For most people, it’s like the flu. So how many cases of the “flu” were really COVID-19? They’re retroactively discovering people who died prior to Saturday who had it. Their deaths had been chalked up to some other respiratory disease.

So it’s here and it’s killing people. But... It’s been here for six weeks and we’re not all dead yet. So what does that mean? Is the disease not actually as bad as people feared? Sure, it sucks if you get it and it’s really bad if you’re old or already sick, but so’s the flu, and we haven’t panicked about that since Seattle made it to the Stanley Cup. If that’s the case then maybe this is as bad as it gets, which, frankly, isn’t that bad at all and we’re all overreacting. Or are we just at the start of the spread and it’s about to go Beast Mode on us and lay us flat for two years? We don’t know.

Everything’s shutting down except huge gatherings like ECCC and the Sounders games. King County just bought a motel to use as a quarantine site. Stay in your car on the ferry. Awkwardly jab elbows instead of shaking hands. But only ten people have died out of 4 million, and all of those ten had “underlying conditions”, and it hasn’t been bad enough for anyone to notice until now, so...

So what are we supposed to do about all this? Raid every store for every last bottle of Purell and every last roll of toilet paper and hunker down in our homes like it’s the end of days? Or do nothing in particular because enh no biggie?

It’s like we’re standing on a beach and we’ve been told that maybe a tsunami is coming. We’ve been standing here for a month and a half, and the water is up to our ankles and we’ve just noticed our feet are wet. Is the tsunami still coming? Is this the tsunami? Or is this just the tide?

It’s weird living like this. You find yourself doing things in different ways, noticing things you never noticed. Every morning now, I’m checking my work email before driving in, just in case we’ve been told to work from home “out of an abundance of caution”, or worse, told that we need to self-quarantine because someone in the office tested positive. Every night, I bring my laptop home in case this is the last day I’m in the office for a while. Everyone’s telling a lot of morbid jokes. Traffic is amazing. There are even spots on the second level of the parking garage and there are NEVER spots on the second level when I get in. Every cough is treated with suspicion, and your coworkers cough a lot. Every door handle is treated with suspicion, and there are a lot of door handles. No one from the other offices is allowed to travel to our office and we’re not allowed to go elsewhere. I’m getting targeted ads for hand sanitizer and Windex. I had a slight tickle in my throat that might just be allergies, but I started mentally doing contact tracing of everywhere I’d been and everyone I’d talked to over the past two weeks. I’ve never even considered that I might have allergies before. I have a day off tomorrow, so do I risk going to the store to make sure I have at least three weeks of supplies, instead of only the two weeks I currently have, just in case? Or do I go to the store just to see the circus of empty shelves? Or do I go to the store to buy an Xbox One X so if I do get quarantined, at least I can be quarantined with True 4K Gaming?

I was listening to the radio this morning, and they were interviewing musician Dave Matthews about the coronavirus. He was talking about touring while this is going on, and how he might come home to Seattle between the legs of his tour, and he said something like “We’ve got to find a balance between panic and indifference”. And I just felt like that’s the best possible way to describe where we are right now.

Seattle: Somewhere between panic and indifference.

#covid19 #coronavirus #seattle #but seriously seattle y'all gotta learn about disaster preparedness #we live in an earthquake zone #and ya ain't gonna be able to pop down to Costco to get a cartful of water #when the full rip 9 hits us #why do you need a cartful of water anyway #you know there's a device in your kitchen that gives you water right #and it's probably going to be fine through all this #this virus isn't going around causing water main ruptures #life in the hot zone #that was a longer post than I was planning

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earthstory · 5 years ago

Photo

Swim with a Viking

The ocean is in constant motion. Forget about waves and tides here - in the grand scheme of things, they don't move that much water. We're talking about the 'global ocean conveyor belt'. A vast, global circulation system driven by the Sun and the spin of the Earth, which moves water from surface to the deep and back, and between every ocean basin on the planet.

This cycle is big and slow. Water that sinks into the depths in the North Atlantic won't come back to the surface for 1300-1500 years. This means that if you were to go swimming in the North-East Pacific, there's a fairly good chance that the last person in that water was a Viking. The image above shows us how old the deep water (2500 m) is in different parts of the world.

This system is more correctly called 'thermohaline circulation'. It is mainly driven by changes in temperature ('thermo' = heat) and salinity ('haline' = salt), which determine where water sinks, and where it rises to the surface. Once water sinks or rises, the path of the currents is determined by the rotation of the earth, and the shape of the continents. This global cycling of the oceans determines long-term climate, fuels the productivity of the ocean, and maintains global chemical cycles that keep the planet in balance.

This circulation process is... complex, but here are the basics: the density of seawater is determined by its salinity and temperature. Hot, fresh water is less dense, and cold, salty water is more dense. Imagine a bucket of seawater at the equator - the hot sun will heat it up, and cause a lot of evaporation, which will make the water more salty, and more dense. However, if you poured your bucket into the ocean in the Carribean, it wouldn't sink because it's warmer, and therefore less dense, than the water underneath. Now take that bucket on a long journey North, let's say Iceland. It's much cooler up there, and your warm, salty bucket of water gets cold. If you poured this cold, salty water into the sea off Iceland, it would sink. This cold, salty liquid is about as dense as seawater can get.

Once it gets moving, the water has momentum. Dense, sinking water pushes the water underneath out of the way, and shunts it along the ocean floor, directed by the shape of the ocean floor, and the spin of the Earth. As the Earth spins, there's a tendency for water to be 'left behind' - think about what happens if you suddenly move a glass of water (don't try this near your computer!) - the water wants to stay still, and sloshes up the side of the glass. This is basically what happens to an ocean current: as a current moves South in the Northern Hemisphere, it will gradually bend to the right, as the movement of the Earth 'leaves it behind'. This is known as the Coriolis Effect, [and is the reason that water going down a plug-hole spins clockwise in the Northern Hemisphere, and anti-clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere - we originally put this in here, but it's NOT TRUE! The Coriolis effect is far too weak at this small sale to have an effect - the design of the basin is more important in which way your pughole-water spins. Thanks to our readers for correcting this.

An ocean current will flow along, affected by Coriolis, until it hits a barrier (i.e. a continent) and is deflected. This sets the path of global thermohaline circulation.

Our bucket analogy, while ridiculous, is pretty much what happens. Ocean circulation is mainly driven by warm salty water zooming North up the Gulf Stream, cooling and eventually sinking in the North Atlantic. There is a constant 'underwater waterfall', as this dense water sinks and begins to flow South. This deep current hugs the East coast of America (Coriolis, remember?), and eventually joins the Antarctic Circumpolar Current, which flows round and round the South Pole. Tongues of this circular current lick up into the Indian ocean, and into the South Pacific. The South Pacific current heads North East until it hits North America, where the water has nowhere else to go, and is forced to the surface. This is why the Pacific Coast of the USA has such delightfully cold water, and it's somewhere around here that you might be able to swim with the Vikings. Once on the surface, The water starts its slow journey back to the North Atlantic, via the Indian Ocean, round the Horn of Africa, in the ferocious Agulhas current, and back up the Western Atlantic to form the Gulf Stream, which keeps Western Europe warm. These currents are unimaginably vast. The largest one, the Antarctic Circumpolar Current, flows at 125 Sverdrups. That's 125,000,000 cubic meters per second. Or 50,000 Olympic swimming pools per second. Or 600 times the flow of the Amazon (largest river on Earth, by discharge). And yet, despite the size of these currents, one complete circulation can take up to 3000 years.

The picture above is complex, but doesn't begin to scratch the surface of these global ocean processes. Oceanographers spend their entire lives trying to work out the peculiarities of ocean currents, and how they tie in to climate and our daily lives. A pressing question at the moment concerns the flow of the Gulf Stream: melting of ice sheets have the potential to disrupt a lot more than Polar Bears. The worry is that as the Greenland Ice Sheet melts, it will dump a huge amount of fresh water into the North Atlantic. As we know, fresh water is less dense, and could mix with North Atlantic water and stop it sinking, and take away the main driving force behind the 'conveyor belt' circulation. It's almost impossible to work out what this would do to ocean circulation. The world is as we know it because the ocean currents move the way they do.

Image Credit: http://goo.gl/FBMrdr

, via http://goo.gl/TRNhc

NASA

Further Information: - The ocean currents in action (video):http://goo.gl/UHsJ6m

Watch the Gulf Stream flowing and cooling (video):http://goo.gl/xvIXXH

More detail on thermohaline circulation (NOAA):http://goo.gl/m2HMZm

And a lot of detail (Scientific paper):http://goo.gl/FBMrdr

#science #ocean #current #climate change #thermohaline #circulation #convection #the earth story #gulf stream

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uni-life-tips · 4 years ago

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Lock Up and Remember Your Keys

his isn't just a Uni-tip or anything...but more of a life-tip. Learn to lock-up your place before bed and learn to carry your keys with you whenever you're out of your place.

Growing up I remember that my parents were always super paranoid about locking up our house before bed every night. They would literally walk around the house, checking all of the doors and windows before they went to bed every single night. I remember a time when my sibling and I slept in our parent's room with them ('cuz our rooms were being used by guests or something) and I remember our family settling into bed for the night only to have my mom bolt out of bed beside me and run down the stairs. I followed her to see what was going on and it turns out she ran downstairs to check to see if she had locked the door to the garage...which she had already done previously. She then wandered over to the kitchen and shut the window tightly before going back to bed. Neither one of my parents ever told us about the nightly ritual of checking all of the doors and windows, but it was something I picked up on from watching them do it every night.

When I went away for University I realized that locking the door behind me was a habit I had adopted from my parents. It was a habit that didn't make me very popular with my roommates. We lived in a co-ed dorm complex that heavily emphasized an open-door policy to "make new friends". My roommates were just like me, fresh out of high school and looking forward to our first time living away from our parents. That was where our similarities ended. I was doing my best to be a responsible adult and that included ensuring the door to my living space was always closed and locked. Anyone that wanted to come in either had their own key or would knock and wait to be invited in. This mentality made me very unpopular and my roommates consistently complained about me to the Housing Authority, claiming that I was maliciously locking them out of our suite every night. My defense was simple: "you have a key--use it" but they would whine and scream that carrying their keys around 24/7 was inconvenient for them and they demanded that I stop closing/locking my doors. I moved out partway through the year, paying a premium to live with fewer/no roommates. I couldn't live with people that refused to lock-up or carry their keys around.

A little over a month after I moved out a letter from the Housing Authority and the Head of the University and whatever circulated. Apparently, there had been a sexual assault on campus-grounds in the dorms and the adult authorities were now insisting that people should be locking their doors and that the open-door policy was ridiculous. Apparenty, a girl in the dorm complex I had moved out of had decided to take a nap in her room--with her door open. A male visitor of another person living on the same floor had walked by on their way out and taken liberties with the napping girl. Note, I'm not saying that the girl deserved it for not locking up in this post--the asshole that chose to take liberties with anyone without consent is clearly the one in the wrong here. I'm not condemning the girl for opting to follow the open-door policy and I'm not saying or implying that she deserved what happened to her because she didn't lock up. Please don't turn it into that sort of debate in my inbox.

Over my years in University I eventually befriended some of the other people that lived on that floor that I had moved out of in the middle of my 1st year. Everyone I had encountered from back then acted oddly. A lot of the ones that had complained about me for being responsible refused to look me in the eye and a handful of the ones that were neutral or friendly toward me when I lived there actually asked me to move back in to "fix" things. I still don't know all the details of what happened after I left, but I've been told that "the place went to shit" after I left.

My roommates were always the loud sort and I was always telling them to turn their music down or to take their partying elsewhere because I lived there too and I was studying in my room etc. Without me there, the partying and loudness was just one problem. The three roommates I left were also HUGE proponents of the open door policy. One even had keys made for no less than 3 of her flings--so 3 random people living elsewhere had keys to the floor, keys to the suite and her bedroom, and basically access to all of the common areas. Pots, pans, and toilet paper constantly went missing from common areas--apparently squirreled away by my former roommate's flings from other floors/dorm complexes.

I have had friends living off-campus tell me about how they've had their place broken into. One of my friends never used to bother locking up before bed until they woke up to find a drunk stranger raiding their fridge at 4 in the morning. Another begged me to devise a mechanism to put a padlock on their fridge to prevent a frequent (live-in) partner of their roommate's from stealing everyone's food. Locking up would have solved a lot of their problems.

Over the years I established 2 conscious habits for myself: 1) Always lock the doors and windows especially if i was going to sleep or going to be away from my place for a while. The people that belong there have a key and anyone else can knock and ask for permission to come in. 2) I always had my key on my person. I'd seen far too many people shivering under a bath-towel (and nothing else) during fire evacuations/drills and I knew I didn't want to be the unfortunate soul that had to run around in naught but a towel, trying to track down the dorm head to let them into their room afterwards. Lock-out fees are expensive and if I had $25 to blow on lock-outs I would have used it to buy myself better food.

Checking doors and windows before leaving or sleeping is a good habit to get into. Carrying your keys at all times is also a good habit.

#uni-life #life tips #safety tips #personal #rant

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justimajin · 6 years ago

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Catching a Case of the Doctor Blues ⌠Part 9⌡

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (3.6k) Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU

⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye…

⇢ Warnings: graphical descriptions of surgery

⇢ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

⇢ Next Update: Tuesday, May 21

It’s a simple, quiet evening in the corners of the hospital; nurses are attending to patients, doctors are doing their regular check-ups and interns are keenly observing right by their side.

The comfortable atmosphere sits peacefully in the center of your office, your gaze dancing over a flood of papers as you take a swipe of your pen and swirl it around as an everlasting stamp. The man situated afar from you in the same room is also doing the same task, occasionally bending down to place to slurp on some cooked ramen he so conveniently decided to make.

“How did you even…?” You are unsure about how to phrase the question when your gaze falls on the cooked noodles, especially when he glances up at you with cheeks filled with ramen.

He brings up the bowl closer to you but you shake your head, “Yeah, no thanks.”

“We’ve been working for hours, I got hungry!” Jin replies after swallowing down the large volume of noodles. You roll your eyes, a light smile on your lips when he stretches his legs out.

“Can we take a break?” He whines, “I’m exhausted.”

With a loud sigh, you agree, “Sure. My legs are starting to give out too.”

Both of you get up with longer drawn out stretches, attempting to get some circulation flowing into your veins once again. Stepping outside, the hospital echoes with the faint silence when the dark sky is illuminated through the many windows.

“It’s a little spooky.” Jin comments, closing the door after you and you nod. Working late hours at the hospital wasn’t a very rare event, but the sudden hush for patient sleep was nerve-wracking to be in.

“We can walk around a bit and then come back.” You glance at your watch, calculating that it would take approximately one more hour to finish the paper work with two individuals working at the same time, then the two of you could be pleasantly on your way back home.

Walking around the hallways, the steps you take are silent, with only whispers being exchanged, “Is anyone still here?” Jin asks.

“Should be. Although, I think Jimin went home early today and Jungkook went with him.”

“Those two are awfully close.” Jin chuckles, raising a hand to subtly cover his mouth from the abrupt sound.

“They’re almost like brothers at this point.”

“Brothers? Shouldn’t it be father and son?” A soft laugh escapes you at that.

“I think you and Jungkook are more like father and son.”

Jin looks at you appalled, “Me? Raising that kid? As if!” You hurriedly shush him down when his voice increases in volume and he quickly pipes down.

“Oh come on, Jungkook probably looks up to you.”

“Why wouldn’t he? I’m a fantastic role model.”

Sarcasm drips into your voice. “With an inflated ego? Yep.”

“When you have a face like this, how can you not idealize it?” He dramatically gestures to himself and you try to contain your own laughter from the huge exhibition.

However, before you’re able to retort back with an equally ridiculous comment, heavy pounding against the floor infiltrates your ears.

“There you are!” Namjoon’s wide eyes land straight on you, “I need you to come with me.”

He looks frazzled, eyes scanning around and white coat barely staying on his shoulders. You silently nod as Namjoon begins abruptly walking with this only being your simple cue to follow. It dawns on you that leaving would probably leave Jin to do all the work on his own, but he sends you a reassuring gaze when Namjoon increases his strides, almost as if he was running to his destination.

“Namjoon, what is it?” You ask, jogging lightly to keep up with him.

“An emergency.” He states, “You’re probably acquainted with Jung Hoseok?” He swiftly glances at you and your eyes widen.

“I am.” Beginning to pick up on your own pace greatly to walk on pare with him, tension pools in the pit of your stomach from the sole mention of his name.

Namjoon eventually leads you into the side corridors of the operating room, which was currently a room used for creating and analyzing X-rays. There are fine prints of some hanging on the walls once you enter, but your breath hitches when your eyes run over the large volume of results.

“Diagnosis of pneumonia. Except it’s a lot worse than you would think.”

You nod, baffled when you see the obstruct clouds of white engulfed inside Hoseok’s lungs – an image that was typical for anyone that contracted a mild case of pneumonia. It doesn’t seem to show anything out of the plain ordinary and simply glancing over it makes you still agree it that it only appeared to be a case of pneumonia.

“He has pneumonia, I don’t see-“ Suddenly your eyes flicker over to the image situated on the right side of the X-ray. A CT Scan.

A scan that was always in depth with its findings.

You cautiously walk forward to the image and sharply narrow your orbs, before you finally catch on.

“Pneumothorax.” You whisper, eyes scanning thoroughly all over the abnormal shape the lung was contorted in and uneasiness flooding through every fiber of you when it was such a clear indication of critical suffocation.

Namjoon hums, “Precisely. A collapsed lung,” He pauses, walking to stand beside you, “that’s almost to the stage of shutting down. Potentially for good.”

You turn to him petrified and Namjoon already notices the troubled glint in your eyes, “We need to operate on him by tonight. Dr. Kim stayed back for work and has agreed to assist with the operation, so I need both of you to get prepared.”

You nod, turning to leave but you suddenly halt in your steps.

“Can I have five minutes?”

You rapidly pace through the empty hallway when the tension flashes inside your mind, only one thought being stuck to it. It leaves your nerves in complete shambles and the clock ticks down in slow, frightening intervals.

The office door sparks into your view and you lunged for the knob, attempting to twist but the door doesn’t budge. A frown sets on your lips, but when you inch closer to plant your ear on the door, the softest of sobs speaks immediately to you.

You remove your ear and opt out to gently knock on the door. Instantly a heavy thud resonates on the other side, followed by more rummaging that takes a couple of seconds.

The door flings open and you’re welcomed to a Min Yoongi with pink filled eyes lined with cracks of red.

“D-Did you want something?” He croaks out, sniffling as he speaks.

“Are you okay?” The only thought had run through your mind when Namjoon had explained the situation to you was him. Maybe he had assumed that it wasn’t apparent to anyone else, but you could easily make out the warm exchanges him and Hoseok had – from the way Hoseok spoke so fondly about him and the way Yoongi would subtly linger around his side longer than he was required.

But the news itself was petrifying, leaving you unsure how he was dealing with the knowledge that Hoseok’s life had been dangling right in front of him and that the results of tonight’s operation would ultimately determine his undecided fate.

He sniffles again, this time reaching to dab his eyes with his white sleeve when they unconsciously re-surface drops of water, “I-I don’t know, I knew something was wrong and I just hate that we only found out now.”

He takes a sharp breath, attempting but failing to compose himself, “And by tomorrow…”

“We’ll try Yoongi,” He looks up to meet your fixed gaze, “We’ll save him.”

Taking a long drawn out breath, he nods, “I’m trusting you on this.”

“I’ll try my best.” You whisper, before he starts to usher you away.

“You need to get going. They’ll start preparations soon.” You take a quick glance at the clock and you firmly nod before hurriedly rushing away.

High amounts of concern cloud your mind immensely and the words Yoongi had left with you causes you to slow down, gripping down onto every single syllable.

“Y/N.”

You stop midway, about to head towards the operation room to turning around in Yoongi’s direction. The same heart-wrenching grief remains in Yoongi’s eyes, however the final words he leaves you with makes you feel like his entire world was resting on your shoulders.

“Please make sure he can breathe again.”

You deeply exhale, heading out with now heavy blue covered scrubs adorned instead of the light white coat. Walking towards the sterilization room, Yoongi’s words repeat in your mind when you recall the amount of times you had passed by Hoseok; suffering and struggling.

It was horrible, to even imagine that someone as wonderful and cheerful as Hoseok was dealing with being slowly suffocated as he spent his days here, to the point where his lungs were prepared to give it all up.

But it’s even more horrible when you have to come down to the conclusion that the only sole people who can stop Hoseok’s suffering were you, Namjoon and-

“Dr. L/N?” He questions, standing behind you when his voice again pulls you out of your thoughts and you want to inwardly groan.

“What?” You respond. Having a mind already consumed with impending pressurizing thoughts doesn’t quite leave you with any free space to handle Dr. Kim at the moment.

“Is…” He trails off, but you raise an eyebrow at him when he pauses. Dr. Kim would always speak to you sternly and directly, having his thoughts collected before trying to talk to you. “Is Dr. Min alright?”

If you were confused before, you’re completely blown away now. You were expecting a lot of things – jabs at your association with Hoseok, questioning if you were sufficient enough for the surgery, nit picking at any instance to rile up a distasteful reaction out of you.

Dr. Kim actually questioning about Yoongi’s wellbeing was far from the list, actually not existing on it at all.

“U-Uh…” You’re at a loss of words, not knowing how to retort, “He’s not doing so well…”

You’re not too sure if you should elaborate more to him, but Dr. Kim’s silently nods, “I see…”

Walking forward, you begin to sterilize your hands in the midst of blinking your eyes a couple of times. The whole interaction throws you off, being so well used to Dr. Kim’s rather annoying pieces of conversation that an automatic repulsive answer was always prepared for you. You didn’t think much about it, Dr. Kim set your nerves on fire and lets the rage pool inside, but these crucial reactions weren’t occurring.

Oddly enough, the change of conversation briefly diminishes the worrisome thoughts brewing inside your mind for the soon conflicting operation.

Walking into the operating room isn’t the same now; heavy steps are pounding against the tiled floor, fidgeting hands are kept on bay and your heart is accelerating at a tenfold speed. The same team of individuals surround you as before – nurses in blue ready to assist and the two necessary members situated in front of you.

The atmosphere is coated with the same twisted doubt just like the last surgery you had performed and it causes you to let out a shaky breath. For a brief moment, you try to dismiss all those past lingering thoughts, attempting to get your mind to narrow back in at the task at hand.

However, the white sheets are pulled upward and the moment your eyes land on Hoseok’s delicate features, that entire mentality is thrown out the window.

He’s incredibly pale, looking considerably worse than when you had last seen him. It irks you so much, churning your insides when you recall his sunny disposition and hopeful aura, now being reduced to a frail patient whose life rested in your hands.

With a deep sigh, Namjoon begins the procedure by carefully navigating around the space of Hoseok’s face so he can insert in a tube leading into the lungs. The process thankfully will be less difficult than the previous pancreatomy you had to go through and didn’t require the grueling steps of attempting to remove an entire cancerous organ.

The first step was simple – the lungs needed to be drained of the fluid that accumulated in them in order to relieve the persistent symptoms of pneumonia. Additionally, it gives you the perfect opportunity to repair the remainder issue of his collapsed lung, a part of the surgery that was going to be exceeding hard to maneuver around without draining the built-up liquid.

Once Namjoon finishes attaching the scope to his nose and mouth, a nurse enters the room with a blank monitor and Dr. Kim moves forward to assist her with setting up the machine. It instantly clicks on and displays a clear image of the chaos ensuring inside Hoseok lungs.

Namjoon cautiously moves the scope around, examining the precise location for the largest volume of the liquid. In the midst of this, you keep a sharp eye on the second monitor across from him which showcases Hoseok’s vital signs, fully being aware that it would disastrous for complications during the examination process.

The image drifts back and forth several times before a proper picture of the inside of lungs being displayed and revealing the location of drainage. Namjoon nods as confirmation before both you and Dr. Kim moves swiftly to insert the tubes that will remove the unwanted liquid into the small spot Namjoon had inserted the scope in.

The liquid initially pipes slowly, small bubbles forming inside the tube, but it soon picks up and an abundant amount flows through. Namjoon’s eyes remain glued to the screen, ensuring that the correct fluid was being picked up and that no further complications were occurring because of your actions.

You glance over at the vitals monitor, a sigh of relief escaping through when Hoseok is considerably remaining stable through the drainage.

Namjoon motions you to stop, assessing that the correct amount had been taken out in which the two of you move to remove the tubes while Namjoon keeps the scope inside. After the tubes had been taken out, Namjoon hums in content when the pipes on the monitor have substantially opened up and the hollow tube is not longer filled with a cloudy white mixture.

However, this was the simple part.

You had just performed the basic procedure doctors would do if a patient had a severe case of pneumonia and instantly needed a method of relief if antibiotics were proving to be ineffective. It wasn’t a terrifying operation per say because of how often it would need to be used.

The additional complication Hoseok had however, was the game changer.

His collapsed lung. Essentially a painful pressure of air lodged inside his chest cavity that was causing his lungs to shrink into an abnormal, curvaceous shape. It was the source of all his pain and a small, brief wrong move could cut off his air supply instantly, rendering him no oxygen.

The shiny prick of a needle is displayed through Namjoon’s outstretched hands and its sole appearance tugs your lips downward. Due to the very precise foundation of the surgery, it was utterly necessary to drill into your skull of how careful you had to be doing this.

Taking a gulp, you take the needle from him and look down at the boy currently lying on the stretcher in front of you. You take the syringe component and attach it onto the needle, requiring a pump to decrease the amount of air pressure built inside his lungs.

You cautiously insert the needle into his skin and let it penetrate through into his chest cavity. Slowly inching forward, you flinch when a large amount of air pushes against the needle and immediately flows into the syringe. It arises from the air being trapped inside his lungs for so long and you ensure that the amount isn’t too overwhelming to the point where you puncture into his airflow.

Draining the air comes smoothly and your eyes are fixated onto the spot that you had penetrated through to make sure that no tears are made in the flesh because of the needle.

But this is when his vitals start to respond to you.

You don’t move your gaze when the beep sounds through the room, the small siren alerting you of the treacherous field you were starting to trespass into.

“Blood pressure is decreasing.” Namjoon states, keeping an eye on the monitor as you perform your part.

You nod, blood pressure decreasing was not surprising because you were directly interfering with his air flow which was important for supplying the blood stream with oxyg-

“Heart rate is also decreasing.” Dr. Kim mutters in a tone lined with warning and it causes your thought process to stagger just like the lines on the monitor.

Heart rate…?

Your eyes quickly flicker around, examining his torso when the dark blue veins begin to peep out of his lightly tinted skin.

Low oxygen was interfering with the blood stream. Pressure had decreased, which was normal because of you interfering, but heart rate decreased and his veins were changing color.

He wasn’t getting enough oxygen. You were starting to cut off his air supply.

Panic floods through you when you focus begins to dwindle on the needle placed inside of him and how you were so close to removing all of the air from his lungs. You had to continue on to finish the operation, but he wasn’t being able to breathe at the momen-

A hand reaches out to slide against yours, slowly tugging the needle outwards and you receive an alarming look on your features from the gesture.

Dr. Kim holds the needle with you and his gaze is completely trained onto it, before his eyes briefly flicker onto your own.

“We have to continue with cutting off his air supply but reduce the amount being taken out. We can’t stop the procedure but we can lower the chances of suffocating him.” He gently states, his voice morphing in such a way where he sounded like he was trying to reassure.

You let it pass, nodding when you focus back onto Hoseok who needed all of your attention. Namjoon seems to be in agreement with Dr. Kim when he watches the monitor that continues to violently stray low with the impending decision.

The sirens keep blaring out and you can’t get a proper control on how you keep flinching when every single one rings, knowing that what you were doing was going to be unlikely to work. It becomes even worse when the tremor in your hands appears once again and despite your best efforts, your hands continue to tremble.

A soft amount of pressure is applied to your hands and you widen them, eyes darting around to wonder if the needle was still situated in the same position. It was; however, Dr. Kim’s blue latex hand covers yours completely and you come to the discovery that in the midst of trying to help you, he was actually holding your hand.

Abruptly, you flicker your eyes up at him and are taken aback when you realize his gaze was on you, observing any sort of reaction emitting out as you were internally battling with the situation.

You quickly lower your gaze, having a million questions racing in your mind but attempting to forget them in order to focus. It doesn’t help when you have to acknowledge that any times your hands give out, a slight tremble, a subtle shake, he applies more pressure onto them.

You try to ignore the comforting, warm vibe they emit.

Suddenly, the monitor beeps and both of you glance at it simultaneously.

The air pressure in Hoseok’s lungs had decreased substantially, returning to the normal level.

The huge amount of relief graciously flows in you when you let out a low exhale, returning the smile Namjoon gives when he comes over to assist you in removing the needle and patching up the spot that had been penetrated.

The rest of the operation involves ensuring that everything had been sterilized and that Hoseok’s vitals were still in the safe zone. Once those two tasks had been check-marked, Namjoon utters the words that have a large tired smile lining your lips when the whole entire operation room brims with the satisfaction.

“Surgery successful.”

You close your eyes when the room fills with cheers, many of the nurses patting you on the back when Namjoon shoots you a dimpled smile as well. When you reach out to thank all of them for the considerate amount of help they had done for you, a faint whisper resonates near your ear.

“Nicely done Dr. L/N.” The deep sound of the owner’s voice disappears when Dr. Kim walks in front of you to leave, sending you a small satisfied glance as he walks by.

Although complimented, you tilt your head at the display. A genuine praise, not paired with a smirk, not added with a small triumphing pose in front of you as a way to claim his victory.

Your eyes instantly land onto your hands, your mind flickering when even you don’t notice the slight pink tinting on your own cheeks from the memory.

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