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marta-bee · 2 years ago

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As you might have guessed from the quotes, I’ve been reading Good Omens again. I was all prepared to be uncomfortable with this par. Crowley was about to turn paintball guns into gun-guns, and I was sure after all the mass shootings America has seen since the twelve or so years since I last read it, that part would just hit differently.

I wasn’t wrong, though I’d forgotten how funny and delightfully ‘90s-ish the corporate warfare was. Honestly I was laughing too hard at all the humor around the violence to notice. I can’t recommend it enough, if you’re old enough to remember why Dilbert was funny once upon a time, you really should give this bit a read. A sample:

The contingent from Financial Planning were lying flat on their faces in what had once been the haha, although they weren't very amused.

"I always said you couldn't trust those people from Purchasing," said the Deputy Financial Manager. "The bastards."

A shot pinged off the wall above him.

He crawled hurriedly over to the little group clustered around the fallen Wethered. "How does it look?" he said.

The assistant Head of Wages turned a haggard face toward him.

"Pretty bad," he said. "The bullet went through nearly all of them. Access, Barclaycard, Diners-the lot."

"It was only the American Express Gold that stopped it," said Wethered.

They looked in mute horror at the spectacle of a credit card wallet with a bullet hole nearly all the way through it.

"Why'd they do it?" said a wages officer.

What most struck me though was the bits woven between all the poking fun at white collar office culture and the human capacity to wish violence on each other. I’d almost call it a coincidence if it wasn’t actually relevant to everything else going on. Any of my fellow Sherlockians, you know what they say about coincidences.

Let’s start with Nigel Tompkins. Or a little before he shows up, for context. Aziraphale and Crowley are hunting for the antichrist so decide to go back to the hospital where Crowley left him. It’s been burned down, most of the sisters have left, but now Sr. Mary Loquacious (now Mary Hodges, no sister) has turned it into a rather unorthodox corporate events center. They’re doing paintball. Lots of stultified corporate types have been handed nonlethal guns and told to have at it, which has exactly the result you’d expect (humans being humans) even before Crowley miracles their dearest wishes into reality and turns their paintball guns into real guns.

This is the scene Az&Cr stumble into (the paintball version to start). Nigel Tompkins has the bad luck to shoot at them as they’re getting out of the car, and after much hemming and hawing over stained fabrics, Crowley scares him off:

Tompkins thumbed another paint pellet into the gun and muttered business mantras to himself. Do Unto Others Before They Do Unto You. Kill or Be Killed. Either Shit or Get Out of the Kitchen. Survival of the Fittest. Make My Day.

He crawled a little nearer to the figures by the statue. They didn't seem to have noticed him. When the available cover ran out, he took a deep breath and leapt to his feet.

"Okay, douchebags, grab some sk-ohnoooeeeeee . . ."

Where one of the figures had been there was something dreadful. He blacked out. Crowley restored himself to his favorite shape.

"I hate having to do that," he murmured. "I'm always afraid I'll forget how to change back. And it can ruin a good suit."

"I think the maggots were a bit over the top, myself," said Aziraphale, but without much rancor.

Then later:

Nigel Tompkins had come to with a mild headache and a vaguely empty space in his recent memory. He was not to know that the human brain, when faced with a sight too terrible to contemplate, is remarkably good at scabbing it over with forced forgetfulness, so he put it down to a pellet strike on the head.

He was vaguely aware that his gun was somewhat heavier, but in his mildly bemused state he did not realize why until some time after he'd pointed it at trainee manager Norman Wethered from Internal Audit and pulled the trigger.

It’s this “scabbed over” language that really interests me, because ti comes up again with Mary Hodges. Trying to get information out of her, Crowley puts her into a kind of trance to question her.

"Good"-Crowley glanced at his watch-"morning, ma'am," he said, in a sing-song voice. "We're just a couple of supernatural entities and we were just wondering if you might help us with the whereabouts of the notorious Son of Satan." He smiled coldly at the angel. "I'll wake her up again, shall I? And you can say it."

"Well. Since you put it like that . . ." said the angel slowly.

"Sometimes the old ways are best," said Crowley. He turned to the impassive woman. "Were you a nun here eleven years ago?" he said.

"Yes," said Mary.

"There!" said Crowley to Aziraphale. "See? I knew I wasn't wrong." "Luck of the devil," muttered the angel.

"Your name then was Sister Talkative. Or something." "Loquacious," said Mary Hodges in a hollow voice.

"And do you recall an incident involving the switching of newborn babies?" said Crowley.

Mary Hodges hesitated. When she did speak, it was as though memories that had been scabbed over were being disturbed for the first time in years.

"Yes," she said.

"Is there any possibility that the switch could have gone wrong in some way?" "I do not know."

Crowley thought for a bit. "You must have had records," he said. "There are always records.

Everyone has records these days." He glanced proudly at Aziraphale. "It was one of my better ideas." "Oh, yes," said Mary Hodges.

"And where are they?" said Aziraphale sweetly.

"There was a fire just after the birth."

Crowley groaned and threw his hands in the air. "That was Hastur, probably," he said. "It's his style. Can you believe those guys? I bet he thought he was being really clever." "Do you recall any details about the other child?" said Aziraphale. "Yes."

"Please tell me."

"He had lovely little toesie-wosies."

Neil and PTerry are not authors like me, they don’t just use the same word all helter-skelter because they cant remember what they wrote five lines earlier. They’re funny and most importantly clever people. Or at least they have good editors who will call them on it. So likening this hazy or lost memory to a scab seems intentional to me.

But it’s not that Mary was traumatized by her time with the order. She was young and a bit hemmed in, but they weren’t evil in anything more than being allied with Crowley’s side. There’s nothing about her time with them that would be particularly upsetting, certainly not so much she’d have blocked it out even from her subconscious. Crowley’s putting her under here feels vaguely akin to hypnosis, suppressing part of her mental defenses so she’ll share more information with less filtering. And even then, talking about that time brings on the same sensation Nigel had when exposed to something too scary and --more importantly-- weird to fit with how he normally saw the world.

I think it’s Crowley. Specifically, Crowley letting his human face slip a bit. With Nigel it was intentional, with the nuns, possibly because Crowley was more distressed than he normally was so was less in control of himself? He wasn’t transforming into things that go bump in the night, sure, but between being so upset about the Apocalypse happening and these being his people so he didn’t have to fight so hard to hide his essence, I wonder if he didn’t let a certain something just ... slip through? Something the human mind just isn’t equipped to deal with?

It calls to mind another scene where we talked about memory and the benefit of failing to leave an impression, from much earlier:

"Is that him?" said Sister Mary, staring at the baby. "Only I'd expected funny eyes. Red, or green. Or teensy-weensy little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail." She turned him around as she spoke. No horns either. The Devil's child looked ominously normal.

"Yes, that's him," said Crowley.

"Fancy me holding the Antichrist," said Sister Mary. "And bathing the Antichrist. And counting his little toesy-wosies . . ."

She was now addressing the child directly, lost in some world of her own. Crowley waved a hand in front of her wimple. "Hallo? Hallo? Sister Mary?"

"Sorry, sir. He is a little sweetheart, though. Does he look like his daddy? I bet he does. Does he look like his daddywaddykins . . ."

"No," said Crowley firmly. "And now I should get up to the delivery rooms, if I were you."

"Will he remember me when he grows up, do you think?" said Sister Mary wistfully, sidling slowly down the corridor.

"Pray that he doesn't," said Crowley, and fled.

I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but maybe it’s not Crowley, or just Crowley, that makes her memories of this event feel scabbed-over. “Lost in some world of her own” could just be getting a little absorbed in the new baby (lots of women particularly are conditioned to think we need to coo over infants, and I can’t imagine the type of women who become nuns-- satanic or otherwise-- are much different in that respect). But it doesn’t have to be just that, does it? Prolonged exposure to the supernatural, even the also-human antichrist in his veiled form, seems like the kind of thing that’s too weird for the human psyche to easily come to terms with.

It’s interesting, because that sort of inability to be noticed is really biting Crowley in the backside now.

"Of course, we might be able to get a human to find him," said Aziraphale thoughtfully. "What?" said Crowley, distractedly.

"Humans are good at finding other humans. They've been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is human. As well as . . . you know. He would be hidden from us, but other humans might be able to . . . oh, sense him, perhaps. Or spot things we wouldn't think of."

"It wouldn't work. He's the Antichrist! He's got this . . . sort of automatic defense, hasn't he? Even if he doesn't know it. It won't even let people suspect him. Not yet. Not till it's ready. Suspicion will slide off him like, like . . . whatever it is water slides off of," he finished lamely.

"Got any better ideas? Got one single better idea?" said Aziraphale.

"No."

I’m not saying this has to be the same sort of inability-to-be-perceived that affected Mary and Nigel above. It could be a sort of built-in defense mechanism specially for the antichrist. But it seems on theme at the very least. There seems something deeply sad to me, and probably very relevant to the queer experience of the ‘80s and ‘90s, around the time this book was written and published, to there being something about your true nature that’s just not allowed to be seen and remembered.

Now I’ve made myself a bit sad, and if you’ve read this long you deserve to end on a treat. Luckily, our favorite authors have us covered there as well.

"Ducks!" he shouted.

"What?"

"That's what water slides off!" Aziraphale took a deep breath.

"Just drive the car, please," he said wearily.

They drove back through the dawn, while the cassette player played J. S. Bach's Mass in B Minor, vocals by F. Mercury.

#good omens #book omens #marta rereads good omens #queer representation #of a sort

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “Freak of Nature.”

A continuation from yesterday. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope you enjoy the setup for some other stories I am planning on doing :)

Have a good day!

Breaking News

The Galaxy is left stunned after the events of late yesterday evening, when a single armed shooter appeared from the crowd and fired on UNSC leader and cultural icon Admiral Vir during a routine press conference given at UNSC headquarters Fort Harmony on the eastern Mericandian coast. Reports describe the event as happening midway through Admiral Vir’s address as the single, hooded female pushed through the crowd and drew a handgun on the Admiral firing once before fleeing into the crowd. She was apprehended by armed security agents only moments later as she tried to flee the scene. On scene witnesses report that an accompanying marine tackled Admiral Vir to the ground just as the shot was fired.

In a statement made early this morning by Admiral Vir he reports that, “Thanks to the brave actions of Corporal Angel Ramirez I am alive and unharmed.” Corporal Angel Ramirez is a decorated veteren of the UNSC deep space division and served his first tour aboard the UNSC Enterprise on its maiden voyage. Since then he has served under Admiral Vir on both the UNSC Harbinger and most recently the Omen distinguishing himself in combat during the Burg war and the Kree engagement. Our sources report that Corporal Ramirez was once an up and coming champion in the Mericandian winter Olympic ice skating team before joining the marines.

Reports say that the corporal came out of surgery early this morning and is in stable but critical condition.

The only question remains is who would attempt an assasination on such a beloved cultural icon. More on that with our crime reporter Jim Shaw.

Thank you, Emily, early this morning we received reports from Fort harmony officials that the name and identity of the shooter is 37 year old Adrea Halen member of a traditionalist leaning moderate group the Hunt Party, who have condemned Admiral Vir in the past for his support of legalizing extrial relationships. President Hunt, leader of the hunt Party and CEO of Hunt Metals said in a statement today. “Our party had nothing to do with Ms. Halen’s actions, while we disagree with Admiral Vir on some fundamentals of government, we would never attempt to silence him through violence. At the end of the day Admiral Vir has done far more good than he has bad and no man deserves to die due to his political views. What Ms halen has done is condemnable, and the party does not support her actions.”

Further comment was withheld until a later date. As of yet police have been unable to determine if she acted alone or with the assistance of the group. Police chief Henry Winzer added in his statement today, “Ms. Halen has not, as of yet, divulged her motives behind the shooting, however based on preliminary evidence of the scene it seems as if these were the actions of a woman acting alone. Detectives have been unable to find any correspondence between her and a third party and even her husband had been out of the country for the past few months.”

Her motive remains, as of yet, unknown. There is evidence of a radicalized political view since she did attempt and target Admiral Vir, and some of her personal social media content has been leaked to the public reporting her dissatisfaction with going the GA and her open disgust for extrial activities especially in regards her oldest son who was in a relationship with a Finnari before moving to Noctropolis. We have since been unable to contact him.

In the past Admiral Vir has been known as a great political proponent in favor of extrial relationships, and a non isolationist view having once said that, “Cooperation and companionship with the GA will be the bedrock of human expansion into space.” With the popularity of Admiral Vir as a cultural Icon, it can be said that his political views have been influential on the younger upcoming generations of today, while the older populace still remains wary of political involvement with extraterrestrial life. In oth-

Adam shut off the TV sinking back into one of the stiff plastic chairs that adorned the hospital waiting room. His eyes felt grainy and dry, and his head ached dully behind his eyes. Off in the corner of the room much of Ramirez’s family lay asleep on the plastic chairs including his father and otters who had arrived late last night. They had fallen asleep after a nurse ventured in a few hours to go to let them know that he was stable and alive. Adam himself had not been able to sleep thinking about his friend, replaying the moment over and over in his head wondering if there was something he could have done to prevent all of this from happening. But the more he thought the more he realized that it was probably unlikely. He might have been able to dive out of the way himself before the shot was fired, but Ramirez was already in motion before that.

He couldn’t have seen it coming, no one could have, and no one did.

Ramirez had just been the fastest.

He sunk back into his chair miserably and stared at the wall. There were no windows in this room, the guard detail had insisted upon it incase someone else tried for his life. It all seemed so strange to him. Why would anyone want to kill him?

He knew the answer though, as much as he wanted to think he was just some nobody, he wasn’t anymore. He was… a political figure, someone who could influence what happened in the galaxy and there were plenty of people who weren’t bound to agree with him on a lot of things.

He just wondered why he hadn’t seen this coming sooner.

His implant buzzed, and he looked down to see that his mother was calling. Whoopse, she wasn’t going to be happy that she was just hearing about this over the news, but he knew he needed to talk to her. He stood and made his way into the hallway, where a protection detail eyed him hawkishly.

Closing the door behind him, so as not to disturb its sleeping occupants, he answered the call, speaking out loud as the implants in his throat and ear picked up the sound, “Hey, mom.”

“Adam! Adam are you alright! I just saw the news.”

“Yeah, yea I’m ok.” He took a deep breath, “Sorry I didn’t call. It’s just been kinda hectic.”

“And you’re sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I mean, I feel like shit but no bullet wounds….” he trailed off

There was silence for a moment, ‘I’m so sorry sweetheart, how is Ramirez?”

“Doctor’s haven’t given us all the details yet, but he's at least alive and survived surgery.”

“Thank goodness…. We owe that boy.”

“I know, mom…. I know.”

Just then he heard voices off down the hall and turned to see Dr. kill and Dr Katie approaching from the wings.

“Mom, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you as soon as I can, Ok?”

“Ok.”

She let him go and he hung up as the two doctors approached.

“How is he!”

They motioned him into the room and he followed just as Ramirez’s family members were waking up.

Adam hovered near the door not entirely sure if he was supposed to be there. Ramirez’s mother sat up, “Is h ok!”

Dr. Kati and Dr Krill glanced at Adam. Adam realized with Dr. patient confidentiality, and it being family, he probably wasn’t supposed to be here. He went to step outside, but Ramirez’s abuela waved him back.

Ramirez an Dr Katie nodded.

The little alien stepped forward towards the family, “I have both good and bad news.”

The group waited with bated breath.

“THe good news is that your son made it through surgery. He is stable and recovering in the ICU.” he glanced over at Katie, “The bullet went in through his back, through his right kidney and perforated some of his lower bowl. We were able to fix the tears but the kidney…. Was not salvageable.”

The family glanced back and forth between each other, “That…. That’s not so bad though. He has two….”

Krill shifted slightly, “Well that is the remarkable thing and also the bad news but…. Your son only had one kidney. We wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for our imaging, but it seems he has lived with this defect his entire life without complication.”

Dr. Katie Cut in just then, “Since he was born with the defect, his body compensated. The kidney that was destroyed was much larger than average…” She trailed off

The family members looked between each other, “So…. So what does this mean.”

“We have him on dialysis right now, and he is going to need a kidney transplant.” Dr. Katie folded her hands, “There are a few options, there is always the possibility of getting him a donor kidney or equally possible and more…. Advisable would be to have a kidney grown for him using his own stem cells, that way we can grow him one like the one he lost considering there is no way for us to give him two. If he were to get a donor kidney, he would have to undergo chronic gene therapy to avoid medications that would leave him immunocompromised. However in that case he would need to be medically discharged. If we were to grow him a new kidney, he would be able to return to his post without being discharged, but the cost is…. Admittedly much higher.”

The family glanced between each other their faces pulled into grimaces.

Adam knew their financial situation. He had heard stories about Ramirez growing up and knew enough to know that his family had never been well off. They had been close, his childhood had been excellent, but they had never been rich. Affording either of those options was going to be a stretch.

“Well we will have to talk about-”

“I’ll pay for it.”

The entire room turned to look at him.

“You-”

“I said I will pay for it. With the settlement for the court case, I can pay for it. He saved my life this is the least I can do, Please…”

His pleading was so plaintive that the family could hardly say no. He did have a point as well. Instead, he received an enthusiastic hug from Ramirez’s younger sister who clasped her arms around him and nearly snapped him in half with her strength. She was an olympic boxer after all, so he wasn’t surprised.

“Thank you thank you thank you.” She repeated.

Dr. Katie looked at him with a pointed expression, but she didn’t need to ask. He intended to pay for every last cent of Ramirez’s treatment even if he had to fight his abuela for it. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d win against her, but he would damn sure try if it meant doing something fo his friend.

He owed him after all.

And even if he didn’t Ramirez was his best friend. This wasn’t about owing him, this was about doing anything for someone he cared about.

Dr. Krill shifted in his place, “We will get the equipment ready and start later this week. I…. would be honored to perform the operation. I will be upfront with you and say that I am the universe's foremost surgeon, but I would also be the first Alien to perform a transplant”

“I of course, you saved his life last night-”

They seemed almost in shock. Everything was being paid for and the universe most renowned surgeon was practically begging to do it.

The only way this could have been better is if their son hadn’t been shot in the first place.

***

The steady beeping of the machine echoed around the room. Adam sat with one ankle crossed over a knee looking down at his implant and absently reading through that day’s news report as a soft whirring came from the machine just to his right. He wasn’ technically supposed to be here, but the doctors had made an exception for him and the family. On the other side of that a glass tube was busy growing an extra kidney. There was security outside the door and a doctor came in every few minutes to check on the kidney, and the man to which the kidney belonged.

Adam scrolled dow.

There was a shifting just to his side, and with relief Adam looked up to find Ramirez stirring. The man tried to open his eyes but squinted against the light and groaned raising one IV tethered hand to block the light.

Adam leaned over resting a hand on his arm, “Hey you’re finally awake.”

Ramirez cracked an eye at him and groaned.

“Come on ya freak wake up.”

Ramirez closed his eyes again, “Why…. When I wake up do I have to see your ugly ass.

Adam snorted, “How sweet, freak.”

“Freak, have you looked at yourself lately.”

“At least I was born with all my kidneys.”

Ramirez opened his eyes and frowned, “What?”

Adam smiled slightly, “Turns out your dumbass has lived his entire life with only one kidney. Congratulations, you are a freak of nature.”

“No shit, really? I had no idea.”

“We know, anyway the bullet sort of ruined it, so you have to get a new one. He pointed across the room to the glass tube and its slowly growing kidney which was no bigger than a jellybean right at that moment.”

Ramirez looked and frowned, “Ew, gross… wait who's paying for that,because I don’t think the military covers transplants.”

“It's taken care of.”

“By who.”

“By someone.”

“Someone who.”

“Someone who would rather remain unnamed.”

Ramirez looked at him,”It’s you isn't it.”

Adam sighed, “You saved my life, so shut up and let me buy you a new kidney. I owe you that much at least.”

“Fne, fine.”

There was a pause between them.

“I….. thank you, for saving my-”

“Dude don’t get all sappy and shit on me ok. You would have done it for me.” Adam went quiet still wishing to thank his friend but knowing Ramirez would never accept i.

Ramirez shifted to look at him, “So, you know why they tried to kill you?”

Adam shrugged, “Not really, the lady who did it has some political affiliations who don't tend to agree with me, but that connection doesn't seem to fit completely. Either that or she blames me for making her son an extrial in which case….. That hardly makes sense either.” he shrugged, “Either way she isn’t talking, and now I can’t go anywhere without five to six bodyguards spilling out my ass.”

Ramirez snorted, eyes closing, breathing deeply.

“You feeling ok.”

“Yeah…. I’m alright, just tired.”

“Then go back to sleep ya big idiot. Maybe if you’re a good boy santa will leave a kidney under your pillow.”

Ramirez let off a weak huff, “Didn’t know santa was a black market organ dealer.”

“He is this christmas, now shut up and go to sleep.” Ramirez didn’t argue with him beyond that point, and fell back asleep just as a nurse ws coming to check on him.

Adam was relieved.

Ramirez was, hopefully, going to be ok.

Though what remained were far more questions than there were answers.

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minuteminx · 4 years ago

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Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Old Appalachia

Chapter Summary: Charlie's not sure she's cut out for the Commonwealth, but fate thinks otherwise.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“By being natural and sincere, one often can create revolutions without having sought them.” ― Christian Dior

Outskirts of Concord, December 2287

Charlie had always been somewhat of an idealist. She had to be, growing up in bumfuck Appalachia in a family just high enough above the poverty line that the government wasn’t legally required to offer financial assistance. Her dad was an overworked, underpaid line worker in some automotive factory, and despite never once stepping foot in a coal mine, he carried his ancestors’ resentment toward anything and everything “nucular,” as he called it. He’d always pop off with these wild conspiracy theories about atom bombs and the end of times. It seemed laughably prophetic now.

Her mom had stayed at home, reading books to her and her little brother, and promising them they could change the world if they wanted to. It was those words that kept Charlie going, pushed her towards that Ph.D. that had seemed so monumental back then, so important. Now, as she stomped around an irradiated wasteland, caked in blood and aching from head to toe, she realized how fruitless it had all been. All those years training to help other people only to spend over two centuries in cryostasis and wake up unable to even help herself.

Thank God for Preston. She didn’t know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t almost died trying to help him at Concord. She really had no business in a suit of power armor or holding a minigun and fighting a fifteen-foot tall lizard. Even nearly two months later, she couldn’t come up with a single logical reason why she volunteered so readily. Was she now going to throw her life away just because a friendly face asked her to? She laughed at herself. Probably.

Charlie found herself doing a lot of things simply because Preston asked her to. Grueling, difficult tasks like “eating enough,” “staying hydrated,” and “getting a good night’s sleep.” He drove a hard bargain, that Garvey. What did he take her for anyway? Someone stable?

In the past month, he’d been taking time away from the laundry list of other things he had on his plate, just to teach her some excruciatingly basic Commonwealth survival skills. She’d learned the names of all the things that could possibly kill her: Raiders, Gunners, zombie-like creatures called feral ghouls, supermutants, various types of wildlife threats, and radiation. Everything was irradiated, from the food to the water to the thunderstorms . At this rate, she just figured she was either going to die or grow an extra ear on her forehead. It was a tossup.

She’d also asked Preston to help her learn to protect herself. She didn’t like the idea of guns or violence or any of it, but it was foolish to walk through Hell defenseless. He tried so hard to teach her to shoot one of those god awful laser muskets, but it took too long to ready a shot that she was inevitably going to miss anyway. He had eventually given up on trying, and instead placed a 10mm in her hand. It was nicer than the one she’d used in Concord, with glow sights and an extended mag. Apparently Sturges had fixed it up for her. She was beginning to believe there was nothing that man couldn’t do with a roll of duct tape and half an hour.

“MS. CHARLOTTE!”

Charlie jumped as Codsworth abruptly hovered in front of her face. She’d almost forgotten the Mr. Handy unit had accompanied her on an assignment for Preston, out in Lexington. Once she’d shown some proficiency with a weapon, he thought it would be good practice for her to take out a “small” band of Raiders who were troubling a nearby settlement. It was not small, and while she dealt with the issue and convinced the Tenpines settlers to throw their lot in with the Minutemen, Codsworth knew she’d not gotten out of the ordeal unscathed.

“What, Codsworth,” she asked, more annoyed than he deserved.

“Mum! Oh thank goodness you responded,” the robot exclaimed giddily floating about in front of her, “You have been staring off into nothing for the past hour of our journey despite my efforts to entertain you with conversation.”

She had not noticed him speaking once, well, at least not since he’d mentioned Nate and Shaun when they’d passed by the rusty remains of a playground. Maybe she’d tuned him out after that. “Sorry Codsworth. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you aware that you are bleeding?”

“What?” Charlie glanced down to the large tear in her vault suit, and the blood pouring from a bullet wound in her thigh. She hadn’t even felt it since she used one of those stimpak syringes. She’d almost forgotten she had it. “ Shit. ”

“Such language, mum! Hardly befitting of a lady of your stature.”

“Find me a lady of any stature who doesn’t curse when she’s been shot in the leg,” Charlie quipped, grunting as she sat down to redress the wound, “Do you still have that gauze you picked up at the plant?”

“Yes, of course,” came his quick reply as he produced a bundle of cleanish gauze in one of his metal arms, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking the cloth from him and beginning to work, wrapping it tightly around her leg. She just needed something to stop the bleeding until they made it back to Sanctuary. They weren’t too far now, maybe a mile or so from the bridge.

Once she found her amateur wound dressing to be suitable, Charlie continued on back to the settlement, Codsworth prattling on endlessly about the bliss of pre-war life. She understood where he was coming from. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.

She stopped suddenly in her tracks when she spotted movement ahead of them, off to the side of the dirt road. It looked like a man in raider leathers, digging for something.

“What is it, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked loudly and without an ounce of tact.

Charlie shushed him, but it was too late, the man had already heard them, rising to his feet and moving his hand to draw his weapon. She didn’t let him have the chance, firing several rounds into his chest before he could. She hated that she was getting good at that.

She approached the body, prone and lifeless, and knelt down, beginning to rifle through his pockets for anything useful: ammo, stimpaks, caps . Yes, caps . If anyone had told her that in the future the formal currency would be Nuka Cola bottle caps, she wouldn’t have tossed so many of them in the recycling bin.

It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed that there was another body, a young woman lying in a shallow grave also donning the signature raider attire. Her arms were crossed ceremoniously across her chest, hubflowers scattered across and around her body. Charlie looked down at the man she’d just killed and remembered that he had been digging.

She felt sick. In her mind, she conjured an entire tragic scene in which a poor, mourning raider had simply been trying to bury a loved one and was startled by the obnoxious shouting British robot. When he reached for his gun, just a reflex, he’d been shot in the chest by some cagey redhead with an itchy trigger finger. If she’d only paid more attention, she might have noticed sooner and she and Codsworth could have taken a wider arc around the man. He wouldn’t have had to die.

Pocketing her looted items, she holstered her gun and bent down to pick up the shovel, starting first by filling in the grave of the lady raider. It was the least she could do.

“Pardon me, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked, attempting to be gentle, “What are you doing?”

She sniffed her nose, fighting back the tears she wanted to cry, and pointed the shovel at the woman. “He was just trying to bury her.”

Charlie swore she could hear the gears in Codsworth’s massive metal head clicking and smoking as he tried to make sense of her behavior. After a moment, he spoke. “Need I remind you that these scoundrels would have murdered us on sight?”

She shook her head and stuck the shovel into the dirt. “Doesn’t matter.”

As she worked, her memory was flooded with painful, frozen flashes from the vault. Images of the callous man who killed Nate and stole her baby, of Nate’s stiff, frozen body that still lay in the cryochamber, perfectly preserved with the exception of the fatal gunshot wound in his chest. Charlie had opened the chamber, hoping she could save him, or at the very least say goodbye, but he was already gone. She’d slipped the wedding ring from his finger and left him there, entombed along with the rest of her neighbors who unwittingly signed themselves up for a sick science project. When Preston learned what had happened in 111, he offered to help her lay everyone to rest properly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t stomach the idea of walking back into that frozen hell.

She could, however, offer some absolution to this Raider.

“I’m going to bury him next to her,” she announced, looking at Codsworth before moving over several feet and beginning to dig a new plot.

The robot protested with an exasperated huff. “I applaud your sentimentality, mum, but it is getting quite late. At this rate it will be completely dark before we return to Sanctuary Hills.

“If you want to go on ahead, you can,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave up the road, “Tell Preston I’ll be along shortly.” “Perish the thought,” Codsworth retorted, properly offended. “I will not abandon you to the wasteland at night. Just… do please hurry.”

Charlie worked as fast as she could, but her body was weary from her days of journeying and fighting, so digging and filling in the grave had taken longer than it should have. When she finally finished, the clock on her PipBoy read “23:00,” and the sky was completely dark, well except for the stars. They, at least, had survived the apocalypse.

It was after midnight before Charlie hobbled across the bridge and into Sanctuary Hills, Codsworth zooming past her, a cacophony of buzzing and whirring and shouting for Preston. At this rate he was going to wake up the entire settlement. She managed to make it over to the home where Sturges had set up his workshop, and flopped herself down on the concrete with a grunt. The effects of the stimpak had worn off, and with the bullet still lodged firmly in her leg, it hadn’t healed entirely and it throbbed like a bitch.

There was a hurried rustle of footsteps, accompanied by Codsworth’s voice complaining about how she’d “foolishly buried some raiders against all good judgement.” If anyone needed a chill pill, it was that robot.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Codsworth,” Preston said, a gentle laugh falling off the ends of his words, “I’ll handle it from here.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Garvey. I apologize for my mistress’ recklessness.” His words were pointed and Charlie couldn’t believe she was being tattled on by her own Mr. Handy. He zoomed off to busy himself with the fruitless task of trying to restore their old home.

Preston shook his head, and continued to laugh as he approached Charlie, “Man, that machine is something else.”

“No joke,” came Charlie’s weak reply, as she attempted to adjust herself to sit more comfortably.

“Whoa,” Preston exclaimed and rushed to her side. “You okay?

He hadn’t noticed the wound, and for whatever reason Charlie didn’t want him to. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He frowned, warm brown eyes flicking down to the blood seeping through the gauze on her leg, and then looked back up at her. He smiled, but she could tell he was worried. “That’s funny, ‘cause you don’t look too fine.”

“I beg your pardon,” she bantered. Deflection. She couldn’t stand the way his concerned expression made her feel. “I know I’m not a supermodel or anything but--”

“Charlie.”

She faltered under his gaze, tears immediately bubbling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and fought them back before speaking. “There were more Raiders than we thought. Codsworth and I got overwhelmed and I got shot in the leg, but I’m fine. People get shot around here all the time, right?”

“We try to avoid getting shot,” he remarked, his exasperation not quite as shrill as Codsworth’s, “How many raiders were there?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty.”

“Jesus.” He rose to his feet and walked over to the metal cabinets just past one of the workbenches. He knelt and opened one of the doors, reaching far back inside. He emerged with a full fifth of Old Appalachia and a medical kit that was, like everything else in the world, held together by duct tape. He returned to his previous position at Charlie’ side and sat down making an almost concerted effort to make eye contact. “You know I wouldn’t have sent you out by yourself if I’d--”

“This isn’t your fault, Preston.” She lay a hand on his arm, and offered him a smile. “If anything it’s mine for rolling in the front entrance, guns blazing.”

He laughed. “Man, you’ve got to be more careful.”

“No promises.” Charlie lifted her hand from his arm and pointed to the bottle of whiskey. “What’s that for?”

“You,” Preston answered, picking it up and handing it to her, “We have to get this bullet out of you before it gets infected, and you’re going to want something to dull the pain. So, start drinking.”

“Say no more.” Popping open the bottle, she kicked back a long, burning swig. The whiskey tasted like home and two-hundred years ago. She watched as he opened up the medical kit and dug through the items inside. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Dug out a bullet,” he asked, bitter smirk on his lips, “Yeah. More times than I would have liked. Like you said, people get shot around here all the time.”

Charlie took another drink and swallowed hard, the alcohol not working fast enough to keep her pulse from jumping at the sight of metal tweezers and rubbing alcohol. “How bad does it hurt?”

Preston laughed again, glancing over at her this time. “Bad.”

“Well… that’s comforting.”

“I’m just being honest,” he explained, positioning himself so that he had a good look at her affected leg. He took his gloves off and looked up at her, “May I?” She nodded nervously, and watched as he unwound the bandage and cut away the remaining pieces of vault suit. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the injury until now, and she was thankful that the bullet seemed to be of a small caliber, like those that turrets fired, and wasn’t lodged too deeply. Under the bright lamplight, she could see it’s dull metal reflection. Preston sighed in relief, most likely noticing the same thing.

That it would hurt “bad” had been an honest understatement. Even after several shots worth of whiskey, the sharp burning pain of alcohol and tweezers pulling the bullet from her thigh was enough to make her light headed. Even Preston’s gentleness couldn’t spare her that much, and she squirmed and held her breath just to keep from screaming and waking up the others. When it was all said and done, she was trembling, out of breath, and sobbing like a child.

“Congratulations,” Preston said softly as he began to dress the now clean wound, “You survived your first Commonwealth surgery.”

Charlie let out a weary laugh and let her head fall back against the wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. “Thanks, doc.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a long pause in which she heard him inhale as if he were going to say something, and then exhale as if he thought better of it. She brought her eyes down to him, effects of the alcohol really hitting her, along with the endorphin high. “Something on your mind?”

He stopped what he was doing to meet her gaze. “Why’d you go to all that trouble to bury those raiders?”

“I…” She began, but hesitated, worried that he’d disapprove of her compassion for members of a group that’d terrorized him for days on end at Concord, who killed some of his friends. “I thought it was the right thing to do. When we walked up on him he was in the middle of burying a comrade. He’d spread flowers over her and everything…”

She choked on the last words and trailed off, but Preston seemed to understand, as he nodded and went back to dressing her wound.

“I feel sorry for them sometimes too,” he admitted, as he tied a neat knot in the bandage, “They might be messed up, but they’re still people.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded.

“You’re a good person,” he stated, eyes fixing on hers. “I’m… I’m glad you decided to stick around.”

Her face became hot. It must have been the whiskey finally getting to her, she told herself. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for her to get all flustered over a compliment. She carelessly let her hand fall on his arm again. “Me too.”

Charlie awoke the next day, more afternoon than morning, tucked neatly into a bed that she could scarcely remember crawling into. In fact, everything from the time Preston had finished dressing her wound was blurry and she made a mental note to avoid the Old Appalachia from now on, or at least to refrain from drinking half a fifth in one sitting. She crawled out from beneath the thin blanket and sat up, leg aching more than it had since she’d gotten shot. Damn.

Glancing down, she noticed she was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were too short for her and an old white tee that exposed her navel when she raised her arms to stretch and yawn. They were not her clothes, and she’d no idea whose clothes they were, or how she got out of her vault suit and into them. She snorted out a laugh at the thought of poor Preston fumbling around in the dark trying to help her change. She doubted that’s what happened, but her memory was too fuzzy to say it hadn’t.

Across the room, folded neatly atop her dresser was a familiar blue and yellow fabric, and she hopped up-- too quickly, wincing at the pain in her leg-- and limped over to take a look. Picking it up and unfolding it, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t her whole vault suit anymore, missing an entire bottom half, and split open down the front. She also noticed that there were neatly stitched seams along the edges. A jacket? Someone had gone to the effort of making a jacket from her vault suit and she didn’t even know who to thank.

She slipped one arm in and then the other. It fit like a glove, a much more comfortable, less skin-tight glove than it had previously. A quiet knock on the doorframe nearby drew Charlie’s attention and she darted her head up to see Marcy standing in the doorway, smirk in place of her signature scowl. Suddenly, Charlie remembered.

“I’m glad it fits,” Marcy said as she looked Charlie up and down. Preston had woken the other woman up the night before to ask if she had anything Charlie could wear. Marcy had cursed and complained, but ended up shooing him away and helped her get changed and into bed. Apparently she was also the culprit behind Charlie’s new jacket. “Couldn’t salvage the whole thing.”

“You did this,” Charlie asked, examining the sleeves.

“Yep,” Marcy stated, looking down at the ground as if she was embarrassed, “Couldn’t get back to sleep after Garvey woke me up, and figured it might be good to have. Considering none of my clothes are quite long enough for your beanpole ass.”

Charlie laughed, and tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt. “Thanks, Marcy.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. I still think you’re useless,” Marcy retorted with a huff, but it was clear she didn’t mean what she said. “And I want my clothes back as soon as you find something else to wear.”

Charlie nodded, and Marcy turned to walk away, but stopped and pivoted back around on her heel, pointing an index finger at her. “Mama’s been waiting for you to wake up. She found some Jet this morning and is off her rocker talking about some bright glowing heart shit. Just a heads up.”

Before Charlie could even say her thanks, Marcy was gone. Turning her attention back to herself, she realized she had no clue where she’d left her PipBoy. She scanned the room, and saw it sat on the floor near her boots. Picking it up and examining it for damage, she fastened it to her wrist and then slipped on her boots before heading out into the hallway.

It was a bit disorienting at first. She wasn’t in the place where she normally slept, instead she stood in the house that had become the common area for all of the settlers. She must’ve been too woozy and injured to make it farther into the cul de sac. She turned to her left and spied Mama Murphy in the open living room, sitting in her specially crafted chair, feet dangling happily just a few inches from the ground.

“Hey kid,” she hollered, motioning for Charlie to come closer, and Charlie obliged, secretly hoping that her doped up insight would give more answers about where Shaun had been taken.

“Mornin’ Mama,” Charlie answered and made her tedious way over to the old woman and sat down on the sofa near her.

“The Sight,” Mama croned, “It’s shown me more about your boy, your sweet boy.”

Charlie winced, unsure if she wanted to know now, but leaned forward and took the old woman’s outstretched, weathered hand. “What is it,” she pleaded.

Just as Marcy said, Mama Murphy recited a prophecy about Diamond City, and people with chained up hearts refusing to provide Charlie with answers about her son’s whereabouts. With the exception of one. One heart that would lead her way, “so bright against the dark alleys it walks.” It didn’t make sense, but she’d never been to Diamond City, didn’t have enough information to even begin to decipher it.

“What does that mean,” she asked clumsily

Mama smiled, and shook her head. “Beats me, Kid. I only know what the Sight shows me. Maybe you get me some mentats, maybe I--”

“Now, Mama,” grumbled a familiar voice nearby, Charlie followed the old woman’s gaze to where it had been preemptively fixed on the door Sturges had just entered, face covered with smudges of oil, “You know Ms. Charlie’s not gonna fall for any of that nonsense.”

She shrugged. “Meh, you never know, Sturge. Seems like she wants to find her boy.”

“Not sure the boss would like it too much if he knew you were abusin’ her good graces,” Sturges scolded her playfully as he popped open a bottle of Nuka Cola, and sat the cap in a pile with others on the counter.

“Preston's not my boss,” Mama scoffed, and then turned back to Charlie, “He’s waiting for you though, kid.”

“Preston?” Charlie asked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Me? Why?

Mama and Sturges exchanged a glance before Sturges spoke up. “Don’t really know to be honest. He doesn’t really say much about how he’s feelin’, but he’s been worried ever since you left.”

“He sees your promise,” Mama chimed in, “He sees what I see.”

Even with the analgesic effects of a newly injected stimpak, walking the length of the neighborhood had proven to be a slow, awkward process for Charlie. Her leg was weak, throbbing, and numb, but at least it still worked. At least she was still alive.

The more time she had to think about her escapade at Corvega, the more she realized how she’d survived on nothing but pure, unadulterated luck. She’d seen it in Preston’s eyes the night before, his bewilderment that she’d managed to take down a raider gang of that size. She’d also seen his guilt, as if he intended to blame himself for something that had not happened. For all she knew of him, that was normal. Whatever had happened before she ran into him and the others in Concord really did a number on the guy.

Charlie heard him before she saw him, humming and making an effort to tune a two hundred year-old guitar. A smile twitched on her lips, heart warming at the sight of him sat on a rusty patio chair, surrounded by an audience of lawn flamingos. He had his hat off and laying on the table. In her two months of knowing him, she’d never seen him so relaxed.

“Your G’s a little sharp there Garvey,” she called out to him playfully as she made her way over and sat down in the chair across from him, propping her good leg up on the table. He didn’t flinch or show any other signs of surprise at her approach, and continued to fiddle with the guitar.

“I know,” he answered, tearing his eyes away from the instrument to look up at her, “I can’t get the damn thing to cooperate.”

“It is at least a couple of centuries old.”

He sat the guitar down and turned to face her more squarely. It was the first time she could remember getting a good look at him with his hat off. Objectively, of course, he was handsome, with soft features and a smile that he definitely knew how to use to his benefit. Preston was nice. He wasn’t naive. How could he have been, growing up in a world like the one she’d woken up in? The scar that ran from temple to cheekbone on the left side of his face was more prominent than it had seemed before, masked in shadows. It looked like an old wound, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.

“Well,” he said, amusement plain on his face, “Being a couple centuries old hasn’t stopped you.”

“It certainly tried,” she replied, ignoring the knots in her stomach and back of her mind telling her it might have been better if it had stopped her. “Damn near got the better of me at that plant.”

Preston nodded and let out a breath. “About that… how are you feeling?”

Charlie looked down at her injured leg and then back up at him. “Like shit,” she stated, “But I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s for sure,” he said, sort of absentmindedly, gaze seeming unfocused and off in the distance. There was a long, heavy pause before he spoke again. “I don’t think I ever got around to saying thank you last night. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us since Concord. Without your help...well, I’m not sure we would have made it.”

“I…”Charlie began, but trailed off, “You’re welcome, Preston.”

There was another pause and he leaned forward and grabbed his hat, tracing his fingers across the brim. “I know that I told you I’m one of the last Minutemen, but I don’t think I ever mentioned how it ended up that way.”

She shrugged. “I figured you would tell me when you were ready to talk about it.”

“I’ve started calling it the Quincy Massacre,” he said somberly.

“Quincy. That’s where you and the others are from, right?”

“That’s right,” he answered, “Sturges, Mama Murphy, and the Longs all lived in Quincy when the Minutemen got a call for help dealing with some Gunners who’d been scouting the area. I went with Colonel Hollis, my commanding officer at the time, and several others to answer the call. It all went downhill after that.”

Unsteadily, Preston opened up to her, explaining how his contingent had been the only to arrive, and their numbers were too few to handle an assault by the much more heavily armed Gunners. Colonel Hollis had called for help, only for a traitorous Minutemen veteran named Clint to show up and lead the Gunners right through the gates. Preston told her how he had to watch settlers and his own comrades die, helpless and running through the streets. He’d made a knee jerk decision to evacuate, and take as many survivors with him as he could along the way. Apparently, that wasn’t where the trouble had ended though. He and his group traveled for over a month without finding anywhere safe to settle, facing disaster after disaster until finally getting trapped up in the museum at Concord.

The story was heartbreaking, but to watch Preston tell it was even more so. Charlie could tell that he blamed himself for each and every loss that happened under his leadership. He wore his guilt all over his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said softly, “And I’m glad that I showed up when I did, although I really have no idea how I managed to do… all of that.”

“It’s almost like it’s fate... or something,” he muttered. His words were followed by an embarrassed laugh and a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe his own mouth. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time around Mama.”

“Hey.” Charlie laughed, and slid her leg off the table, leaning forward to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Hope’s addictive. Just like the chems.”

Preston sighed. “Damn it if that’s not the truth.”

“Also, I think the old loon might be onto something,” she added, tapping a finger to her temple, “The only reason I limped out to this end of the settlement to see you was because Mama said you wanted to talk to me, something about you seeing my promise?”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said appearing genuinely surprised, as if Mama Murphy’s clairvoyance was something new, “She’s out here stealing all of my thunder.”

The way he looked at her, as if she held the entirety of his hope in her trembling hands, made her shift uncomfortably. The weight of Mama Murphy’s words now settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket. She had never been one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to accept that any of this was her destiny.

She cleared her throat, attempting to be nonchalant. “So, what’s this promise of mine everyone is so certain of?”

“The Commonwealth desperately needs the Minutemen,” Preston explained, “Now more than ever, and I plan to rebuild them stronger and more organized, without all of the petty squabbles and infighting that have plagued our history.”

“Sounds like you just need to find a good leader,” Charlie remarked, feeling helpful.

Preston eyed her intently and she suddenly regretted her words. “Exactly,” he said with a grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she protested, waving her hands in front of her in a panic, “You’re not suggesting that I should lead the Minutemen, are you?”

“I am.”

“On what qualifications?” She was nearly shrieking. “I know next to nothing about the organization, it’s history. I can barely hold my own in a fight. I--”

“Charlie,” Preston remarked, rather directly, “The Minutemen aren’t an army. We’re citizen soldiers, people of the Commonwealth banded together to protect ourselves and decide our own futures. We fell apart because our leadership forgot what we stood for, but you could bring us back together, bring the whole Commonwealth together.”

“Why me?” Charlie was flattered at his faith in her but so confused. “Why not you, or anyone else?”

“You helped us at Concord and every day since, without anything in it for you,” he explained, “You had your own problems to deal with and you helped us anyway. Hell, you even won Marcy over. That kind of compassion and selflessness has been in short supply around here for a long time.”

“Preston, I am flattered by all of this, but I’m not sure I can take on that kind of responsibility right now.”

“Listen,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile, “If you really don’t feel like you’re up to it, I’m not going to twist your arm. I get that it’s hard to deal with other people’s problems when you’ve got your own.”

Charlie pondered for a moment, and asked, “What would I have to do?”

“Just what you’ve been doing,” he answered as if it were obvious as day, “Help people. Recruit. Spread hope. And I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”

She couldn’t deny that it was tempting. As much of a mess as she was herself, she was compelled to help others. If anything, it could give her something to focus on, a sense of purpose, a way to use her skill set. She brought her eyes up to meet his, chased away the nagging doubts in her head, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Well, the leader of the Minutemen has always held the title of General, and since I’m the last of the Minutemen, there’s no one here to argue with me when I say it belongs to you now.”

“So I’m General Smart now?” Charlie laughed at the complete absurdity of the situation. Leading a bunch of neo-colonials to resettle Massachusetts wasn’t exactly how she pictured her life turning out. “Does that mean I get a cute little hat?”

Preston returned her laughter, relief washing over his face at her decision. “If you want one, General, then absolutely.”

Perhaps her mother had been right all of those years ago. Maybe she really could change the world.

#preston garvey #fallout 4 #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #revolutionary #fanfic #my writing

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years ago

Note

To all,

I am sending this, simply as an update.

I have officially put my foot down, Rai will be taking a break indefinitely, until he is stable enough financially and mentally to take on super-natural issues once more, and I will act as a substitute.

I can’t promise I’ll be a friend like he was, or as comforting as he was, but he says to simply ‘watch and see the trustworthiness ooze out of them” his words, not mine.

I won’t be an active letter writer either, I may not be as busy as Rai is, but I’m sure you all realize that I have a job that takes more priority than this, if Rai shared more than just my name.

That is all.

Skie

[Real life update, I’ll actually be temporarily gone for a few days, family trip :) I’ll prolly be back by around Wednesday or Thursday, so not too long. Don’t wait up for me]

Skie,

Well, welcome to Duskwood Detectives Inc., then :) I figure anyone who can and does write letters is at least an honorary member, even if they're not actually a counterpart of ours.

It's probably good that Rai's taking a break. Dealing with these fucking entities tends to be bad for mental health, even people who aren't directly involved with any of the damn things. And now this Lily

Nope, not calling her Lily, we already have a Lilly. Let's call her Flower, why the hell not.

"Watch and see the trustworthiness ooze out of them"? XD Not sure I can promise that, I have a history of lying about important things, though I'm trying to be better about it. Jake's pretty trustworthy, though.

Yeah, no. Message for everyone, though I don't think y'all actually need to hear it: Please don't prioritize these letters over your daily life. Jake and I can get away with it because we're completely cut off from any semblance of a normal life, but I'd hate to be the cause of anyone being hurt in any way.

Then again, I've sort of indirectly already

Alright, moving onto general purpose updates.

Probably unsurprisingly, those white lilies in the death room full of death symbols are gone. I don't know whether it was Flower or the one that calls everyone sweetling who did it, but that's a thing that happened.

I'm fully healed from that whole thing three weeks back. I mean, on a purely practical level, I've been healed for a little while, but apparently in here we heal COMPLETELY. I'm not scarred in the slightest, and there's no lingering pain or anything.

Juvyr gur ragvgl jnf qvfgenpgrq jvgu Sybjre, V sbhaq gur yvtugre V fhzzbarq ntnva. V qba'g xabj jul vg qvqa'g qrfgebl gur guvat, whfg ohevrq vg, ohg V qba'g guvax vg xabjf naq V'z xrrcvat vg gung jnl.

By the way, remember that "cipher" from forever ago none of us could translate and Jake got really frustrated over? I didn't until recently. Well, we've finally cracked it. Want to know how?

Thomas asked if we'd tried lining up the four pages together and holding them up to the light. There wasn't enough ambient light to do it, so we had to use Jake's phone flashlight, but lo and behold, it fucking worked. Now I feel like an idiot, yaaay.

The papers weren't even that helpful, anyway. It just outlined the ritual we'd have to do to pay an even price, which, as we've already established, is not an option I am considering. Ever. Literally no one is okay with using that option.

On social matters: No one from the Crow Crew is precisely pleased that we've been keeping all this from them, especially the stasis, since the stasis directly affected them. They're not renouncing their friendships or anything, but it definitely hurt things a lot between us. I've been trying to patch things up as best I can, especially by trying to involve them in anything of note. Problem is, there's... just not a lot here to figure out right now. Not without more letters coming in.

Speaking of, it's been a really long time since we've heard from Lis or Jessy, or any of Lis's associated honorary Duskwood Detectives Inc. members. I'm honestly really worried about them. I don't think Lis is hurt or dead or anything, because she's got Goldie, Jake, and Max all helping her out. But I'm way more worried about alter Jessy. If Jake's pursuers caught on at all about our letters back and forth, or if the MWAFerfucker became active again...

I'm worried.

By the by, Crow Crew says hi and welcome. And also has quite a few choice words for the entity that's keeping us here.

Well. I'll hand this over to Jake, now. Hell knows I've talked long enough XD

—Yuvon

Hallo, Skie. I don't believe I have written to you before. It is a pleasure to meet you.

I agree with Yuvon and yourself that a break is likely necessary. I will be sad to see him go, however. He is capable of talking sense into Yuvon, a rare trait indeed.

That is... interesting wording on Rai's part, but I do agree on at least one count: Yuvon is very much trustworthy. She may occasionally lie or hide her true feelings, but she quite genuinely cares about the people she is close to, and does what she is able to help them even to her own detriment. She is quite capable of helping as well. Despite her assertions to the contrary, she is quite intelligent.

That cipher Yuvon mentioned and the solution was probably one of the more vexing things I've experienced recently. It does go to show the inherent benefits of allowing the "Crow Crew" to assist in these matters, however. Outside perspectives are occasionally necessary, loathe as I am to say it.

Please do not share this with Yuvon, but she stated that "literally no one" has been considering the ritual. She is incorrect, though I have not shared this with her as of yet and likely will never do so. The ritual calls for a sacrifice, either of the self or of a willing human sacrifice. It claims that if one of the two of us here were to do the ritual, not only would the kidnapper lose his own life, but the other would escape this place.

You see the appeal, I presume. Not only would Hannah be out of danger, (and possibly Richy as well if he is not simply deceased,) but so would (blacked out) Yuvon. While it would be regrettable that I would not survive to witness their subsequent freedom, I feel that this is quite the lucrative trade. The single hitch remains my pursuers, who may attempt to target Yuvon again. Despite the lack of internet access, I have managed to, in my copious free time, upgrade NYM-OS to hopefully better protect her, but my pursuers nearly succeeded in hacking her once.

Given the events in the alternate Jessica's universe, I am quite concerned about what will happen if they ever succeed.

Of course, given that I will be dead at the time, they may simply cease to pursue me entirely and allow Yuvon to live her life in peace.

As you are an outside perspective, Skie, and one without a vested interest in any version of myself: do you believe this trade is worthwhile?

Sincerely,

Jake

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #rai #skie #you're not on a time limit #jake isn't going to do anything yet

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hello-there · 9 days ago

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Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

#tumblr communities #communities

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robert-c · 4 years ago

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Abortion Solution?

Most reliable scientific polls show that an overwhelming majority of people in the US want abortion to remain legal and safe for women to choose. While I have seen no polling data on this, I would imagine that most would also prefer that it didn’t happen often. As someone who has been close to women who chose abortion, I know that it isn’t an easy decision, even when they decide it is the best choice. It is an extremely personal and difficult choice, which no one else can fully appreciate without a complete and total understanding of someone’s life, which is never possible.

When people approve of various restrictions, they are buying into the extremist’s viewpoint, that their feelings and opinions about the decision have some standing. Even when of good will, I think these people are simply talking about their own feelings of where they would personally draw the line for themselves, but imagining (as anti-choice forces wish) that it is up to someone else other than the woman involved. I believe that as long as something is in your body, then you have the final and only say about what happens to that growth.

In order for there to be a solution, there first has to be an acknowledgement that the choice is the woman’s. But those who wish there weren’t so many abortions could do something about that which would be a lot more constructive than trying to outlaw them.

I’ve often wondered what would happen if the massive amounts of money spent trying to outlaw abortion were instead spent on services that are lacking for most candidates for abortion. If these services were available, free or for little cost, perhaps the choices would be less influenced by circumstances that were transient.

The Guttmacher Institute has gathered statistics about abortion for decades in order to have reliable scientific data available for policy makers. Most of the data is not surprising; for example, most (59%) had one or more children already and even more (75%) were poor. In addition, most of the women were in their 20’s (61%).

This paints a picture of women choosing abortion when they cannot afford (another) child. Anti-choice forces would love to paint a simplistic picture of “why not carry the baby to term and offer it for adoption”. Aside from personal choice issues including health and risk to the mother, that may well be a false choice for most of these women. Poor means low income jobs, most likely without health insurance. These are the sort of jobs that don’t come with maternity benefits and which might even be dangerous for pregnant women to engage in beyond a certain point. And of course the most adoptable babies come from mothers with good nutrition, healthy lifestyle and who have had regular prenatal exams, the very sort of thing a poor young woman with no health insurance cannot afford. She could even lose her job for taking off to see the doctor, even if she could afford it.

This sort of rigid moralist thinking about abortion is creating societal problems that the very anti-choice proponents claim they don’t want to see – viz. unwanted children growing up in the foster care system or in unfit homes with inadequate supervision.

So I’m just imagining what if there was a place where a woman could go to get free, or nearly so (sliding scale?), prenatal care. Perhaps the place would even have job training for getting better paying jobs. Its hours would be very flexible so that people wouldn’t have to take off work, and risk losing their jobs, to avail themselves of the services. There would have to be a dinner prepared and a place for their existing children to be watched while in the after-hours programs. Perhaps the key would be to assign a case worker to each person so that their particular needs, training and assistance could be assessed and provided. At the very least, those whose primary reason for the abortion was inability to afford the prenatal care would be able to carry to term for adoption, and some who couldn’t support another child may be able to after additional job training. But in any event, it would be the woman’s choice, uninfluenced by many of the economic circumstances that might force her choice.

These are just “spit balling” ideas. I’m sure someone better than me could flesh them out more. But the key point here is that, contrary to Right wing propaganda, abortion doesn’t appear to be a casual decision, or a first line of birth control. The idea here isn’t to impose a morality on someone else, but to find a solution to the needs of real people so that the choices they make aren’t unduly influenced by things that can be changed.

One of the (many) ironies of anti-choice folks is that IF women choosing abortion were as flighty and casual about the choice as they like to believe, who would want to have them raising a child let alone adopting one from them? Successfully forcing these women to carry a pregnancy to term will not give them the financial ability to provide for the child (before or after birth) or turn someone into a caring and responsible parent.

There really are only a few reasons that the anti-choice forces are willing to spend so much money in an effort to outlaw abortion again, instead of using those millions to help create a world in which it is less frequent by choice. A big part of it is about imposing a simplistic morality on others. Then they can bask in a self-righteous sense of moral superiority and deftly avoid having to consider the complexities of real human being’s lives and the choices they have to make to get by. It may not be “let them eat cake”, but it demonstrates the same complete lack of understanding and empathy.

To top off the inconsistencies of their proposals, let’s remember what happened before when abortion was illegal. The well off women found doctors who would discretely perform the operation, some doctors would coach the women on symptoms to report so that a D&C would be needed, ending any pregnancy as a byproduct of the procedure. As usual, only the poor and people without those connections had to resort to more dangerous versions of abortion. Since the poor are overwhelmingly people of color, the anti-choice agenda is essentially racist as well. And yet at odds with other right wing ideas that see the poor as criminals and welfare cheats, and other alt-right folks who just want to eliminate or reduce the population of non-whites.

Of course these inconsistencies won’t split conservatives from the “right to lifers” because they have long sense quit being about principles and are all about voting blocs. Even the “right to lifers” have no consistent philosophy to pursue; some favor the death penalty, others do not, some are OK with contraception and others oppose it. Apparently the only thing they agree on is that they should (for some reason) have control of women’s bodies.

If the human race were on the verge of extinction for lack of enough children being born, then there might be some reason for their position. As it is, with human over population being one of the main stressors on the environment and threat to human survival, their position is ludicrous and dangerous.

#abortion

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luked4nuke · 4 years ago

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If, I were President of the United States. (I just wanna state I’m not a democrat or republican)

First I’d enforce Quarantine and extend it. I’d also attend the poorest families or individuals first and provide them with the financial assistance they need. People are struggling hard enough as it is living paycheck to paycheck.

Second I’d shut down the schools as I believe safty more important especially for the future kids who will rule this place. I also don’t like how schools give so much homework and stress. They just condition kids into beleiving working 40 hours a week is normal and that you should be lucky to have weekends. Staying in classes all day then returning home only to be forced to complete more homework that takes up time and robs them of social interactions. These schools don’t even test knowledge. They test obedience and reward them for being quiet little slaves that will slowly become a “regular worker.” They really don’t care about how smart you are, they test memory over all else, when they study a subject and pass the test they move on quickly to the next one stressing them out. If they failed the test, to bad they’re still moving on with you. (Sorry this got way of topic. I just hate how schools operate and also how low they pay the teachers)

Third I would dismantle the police force and create a new one. A better one that focuses on real problems like sex trafficking and drugs. All the horrible crimes that are allowed to fly under the radar. Any excessive use of force would be heavily punished. Fired, fined and jail time. No shooting at peaceful protesters, seriously dafaq is wrong with them unleashing hell upon unarmed civilians and sneaking in rioters to escalate it to justify the force.

Fourth, gold is a finite resource. Pretty much all the money you’ve ever spent is fake, all digital backed by nothing. Personally I hate it but you’ve all becomes achstomed to it so I would attempt to fix the economy so people can afford essential things, like homes and food. Instead of kicking out homeless people Id build shelters. They make it to easy to fall down into poverty and nearly impossible to climb back up. Once you’ve been arrested, once you’ve been homeless, you understand the struggle of trying to reintergrate with society. The easiest path become the dark one. I would attempt to control the population, America is a gigantic habitat and likewise it has a carrying capacity. If you’re gonna argue people have to pay unreasonable amounts of money for food you’re crazy.

Immigrants are definitely allowed as long as they follow the rules and don’t commit crimes. America was litterally founded on immigrants. American stole land from the natives violently and even managed to capture Hawaii, which was its own nation. They taxed us and recognized us as a small power. Iolani Palace has electricity flush toilets and even phones before the White House did. Queen Lili’uokalani signed in duress. It horrible and sheforfeited her whole kingdom in exchange for the people, as a leader should. The people make a country, the government already should put the people first. Without all the hardworking Americans working, there is no country.

We don’t serve the government. As a government worker we serve the people. It’s our duty to ensure everybody is treated fairly. To make sure everybody that we oversee has the essentials for life, a home and food.

And for LGBT rights. I personally don’t care what the heck they do. Love is love, let it be. They can chose to identify as whoever they want and pursue relationships with whoever. You can’t force things onto people. America is supposed to be freedom personified, we can chose to do as we please as long as we don’t bring harm to others. Those camps are wrong. America is also religion free, you can be whatever you want, Christian Muslim, litterally anything. Being a satanist is totally legal as long as you don’t hurt anything. Believe in what you want and don’t force it on others. Gay people are amazing! We all are, were all human and we can change and create change. We are all human at the core and we always have been. We have a right to love, and to be loved by all around us. Love is love, let it be, theres always been love. I can identify as a man or woman, and I can damn well love either as I please as long it’s reciprocated. I’d always rather say I love you too much then not enough.

Climate change is real. The pollution of those stupidly large companies is also VERY real. As an individual you contribute less than a percent of the actual pollution, it’s literally the big corporations. That needs to stop. I’m not exactly sure how but I AM GOING to start a wave of change that will benefit the worlds health. We all live here. This is not political, I don’t have time for games, scientists that have studied their whole lives are begging for us to change. We can all have solar electricity farms and then it’d be FREE. “But you can’t charge people for that you can’t make money.” I’m NOT TRYING TO MAKE MONEY I DO NOT CARE ANOUT MONEY. IM AIMING FOR SOMETHING BIGGER THAN GREED THE BETTERMENT OF HUMANITY. I don’t care about ruining electric companies and other random fossil fuels bullshits that will run out, I want the future to be bright!

Screw it im going off the rails, schools main courses should focus on stuff like self sustainment, like farming and wilderness survival. Creativity because that’s the most human thing about us! Empathy basic Psychology. Kids can get mad they should learn and understand why. Understand why they feel the feelings they feel and giving them all better emotional control. EMPATHY. They need to learn things like taxes since they’re such a big part. Also why the heck are taxes so complicated. It’s just targeting the illiterate foreigners and immigrants who struggle and try to understand it and I believe that’s horrible. Make it easier to become apart of America the land of freedom and the getaway from the crueler areas of earth. Maybe just limit the population. Also seriously fuck off with taxes! Why the hell are you charging and taxing 14 year olds that aren’t allowed to vote, thats taxation without representation.

Taxes should be like Mario kart and Ancient Greece. Quote from some thing I googled

“The philosopher Aristotle developed the theme. His "magnificent man" gave vast sums to the community. But poor men could never be "magnificent" because they did not have the financial means. True wealth consists in doing good, Aristotle argued in the Art of Rhetoric: in handing out money and gifts, and helping others to maintain an existence.

The idea is simple the higher up you are on the financial ladder the more you have to pay taxes and contribute to society. The large taxes from the rich help fund financial aid for the poor and stuff. The rich did not earn that money they climbed to top on top a mountain of millions of shortcuts and underpaid workers It should be an honor to be taxed and help the poor people survive. Like in Mario kart, the higher you’re placed the harder it is to maintain it and the last place people always get the better power ups giving them a constant fighting chance. At most I believe wealth should be hoarded to sustain like one generation of kids, two at the most. Maybe three but theres no reason anybody should have all that money that your never going to spend or all that money that becomes worthless once a war or breaks out or aliens attack or something. Life is more important than money. Something simple everyone should consider.

I think everybody should be able to pursue a career and each career should be sustainable. Enjoyment in a job of your choosing without worrying about financial burden. Jobs would be divided into smaller simple groups and the pay would based on their contribution to society. Like doctors getting paid more and getting teachers paid more, but small retailers wouldn’t get paid as much but they could survive not living paycheck to paycheck. The motivation is everybody should free to pursue the hobby they love without being punished. Maybe little Timmy doesn’t want to be a firefighter, maybe he desires a simple fun life selling flowers. That’s fine! Maybe they don’t wanna become the hero but it’ll be an honor to society. As long as you have a job that contributes to society you can live for free. If everybody is constantly trying to make the most profit, then we all become a bucket of crabs dragging each other down. I can’t sell my $10 good that costed me $2 to make. Also the whole buy back thing irritates me, I spent $60 on this goddamn game and GameStop can only give me like $10 in store credit or $5 in real life? That’s isn’t fair and that applies to pretty much everything. That’s $1000 phone you bought is barley worth $357 right now. I’m pretty sure it didn’t cost that much to make these things but like DAMN. Capitalism sucks.

In summary, I don’t know much about politics but I would be the human party. I don’t care about left or right. I’m the one that doesn’t care about money. I care more about life and creativity. Peoples right to enjoyment and living a happy life with others regardless of gender. Survival of the human race and advancement into the future where more things are free and we can constantly focus on creating an even BETTER one. We can’t go anywhere without each other especially if we’re all just a bucket of crabs. To greedy and self destructive constantly looking out only for themselves. Seriously get your act together humans before you kickstart your own downfall. If we’re all trying to make a profit, nobody does. The best things in life are free. You can pursue wealth for your future or you can focus and live and enjoy and love the now. Mario kart style, where all in this race for life and we all deserve a winning chance.

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marsupials-of-mars · 5 years ago

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It Surfaces on the First Freeze of Winter (Pt 3)

"Yes, I can get the results to you, just give me a moment." Logan sandwiched his phone between his ear and shoulder and reached for his laptop. He opened a new email and attached the Excel spreadsheet full of tediously recorded lab results. He typed up a subject and a brief body and sent it. "I apologize for the wait, this disorganization won't become a habit of mine... yes, I'm suprised as well... no I don't need a sick day." Logan quickly covered the receiver before he sneezed. "Yes... yes I fell into ice water... well thank you for your concern, but it was nobody's mistake but mine... yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. See you tommorrow, yes. Goodbye." Logan allowed his boss to hang up first. He was relieved that his reputation as a near perfect lab assistant was paying off. He basically had a steel cable safety net with how perfect his record was at that point. He prided himself on his workplace perfection; he and his boss were even working to get him a promotion of some kind. That made it all the more odd that he had forgotten to turn in his data the previous night. Whatever had happened had taken a far greater toll on him then he thought it did, his mind often drifting back to the night's events without his concious effort, making it difficult to focus. He had an urge to go back, to find his attacker and inspect every inch of it, regardless of his schedule or his job or his financial stability. The beast seemed so much more important, no matter what he told himself to the contrary. It felt big, revolutionary, life-changing. He finally gave up. He shut his laptop and grabbed a notebook and writing utensils. He slig them into his work bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Roman! I'm going to work!" Roman's head peeked out through the kitchen doorway. "I thought you didn't have work today? That was the whole reason we went out last night." "I forgot to write it on my schedule I guess." Roman gasped dramatically. "YOU? Forgot to schedule something?! The end must be coming for us all!" Logan rolled his eyes. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, simple statistics." "Alright. But take care of yourself, stay hydrated. I'm not gonna let you get sicker after I went through all that trouble pampering you last night." Logan could still almost taste the hot cocoa and chicken chicken noodle soup and feel the blankets wrapped around him from the previous night. "I'll be okay. If it's any consolation, you're in my will. Bedside drawer, you can't miss it." "Shut up!" Logan smiled slightly and pulled on his coat. He grabbed his galoshes and ducked out the door. The drive seemed much longer without Roman, even though they hadn't talked much anyway. Logan gripped the wheel in anticipation. And maybe a hint of guilt for lying to Roman, but he reminded himself of his reasoning. He was a little apprehensive, considering that he was reentering dangerous territory without Roman's extra protection, though he might have been even more scared of the alternative. He tried not to consider that he may have come out for nothing, that he may have to live never finding out what the thing really was. He thought back to Roman's legend, the note that the creature only emerged on the first freeze of winter during a half moon. Logan hoped, considering that that part was a little more ghost-story like, that it was merely dramatization. After all, species weren't nearly that specific. He pulled once again into the empty gravel lot. He checked the temperature. Not freezing, but not warm either. Thirty-eight. He took a breath and gripped the swiss army knife in his coat pocket before stepping out into the chill. The woods looked much different in the day; much less intimidating. Logan plunged into the swamp with little hesitation. It was a bit difficult to locate the scene of his fall considering how dissimilar everything seemed in the light, but after a relatively short amount of time, Logan found it. He dipped his hand into the water and grabbed a piece of hard plastic. He shook out the poor, waterlogged flashlight and tucked it into his pocket. It was of no use to him, but he wasn't one to litter. He looked out intently across the still surface of the water for any disturbance. A few minutes went by. His eyes flicked toward some fresh ripples. Just a twig fallen from a tree overhead. He sighed as he finally began to reflect on what he was doing, how dumb it was, how much time he was wasting. The longer he stood the more stupid he felt. Until he felt something glide across the toes of his boot. He jerked his foot back and reached out for a nearbye tree. He gripped it for stability and retrieved his knife from his pocket. He brandished it down toward the water. Against his better judgement, he forced himself to remain still. Once again, he felt something slide over his foot. It wasn't a tentacle, it was larger, heavier. The body. Logan waited a second longer to be sure. The creature rested its weight against his leg. Logan sucked in a breath. Just as he felt tentacles begin to wrap his foot, he kicked. His leg strained under the weight and his foot was enveloped by boneless flesh, but he managed to throw it off. The beast breached the surface of the water, just long enough for Logan to see a dark green mass of writhing tentacles, before crashing back into the swamp, sending waves tall enough to soak Logan's socks. Logan gripped his blade and plunged his arms in where the creature had fallen. They were met with what he imagined a human corpse would feel like after a month soaked in vinegar. He resisted the urge to let go and wrestled the cephalopod from the water. Before it could slip out of his arms, he strained his back muscles and swung his upper body, effectively granny-tossing the beast into the risen root system of a fallen tree. A chorus of wet flopping sounds accompanied the creature's struggle, similar to one repeatedly lifting spaghetti and dropping it back into a pool of sauce. It soon realized it's helplessness, now tangled uselessly in roots and it's own tentacles, and ceased to thrash. Logan blinked, still reeling from the adrenaline. The cryptid of the Florida swamps. He had it. He hesitantly stepped forward to get a closer look. The creature let out a pitiful noise, a bubbling, growl-type whimper. Logan reached out, and rather than recoiling, the thing reached out as well, matching his approach. Logan retracted his hand, prompting another whine. He inspected the creature: it was primarily a dark grey-green, though it had scalloped patterns of black which grew and shrank, seemingly dependent on it's level of distress. It's eyes were surprisingly human in external shape, though they were a fluorescent green and it's pupils were shaped similar to those of a cuttlefish, in misshapen Ws. Most suprising, though, was that it was vaguely human-shaped, with a similarly proportioned torso and head, though its limbs split off into tentacles. It's beak, which Logan could only assume it had, was hidden under a Cthulu-style beard of tentacles. Overall the creature was abhorrent, in a beautiful sort of way. It was much less terrifying out if water, limp and surprisingly small. While attacking him in the water it had seemed easily larger than Logan, but in reality it was about five feet long at most. It suddenly began to emit some uncomfortable bubbling noises, and before Logan could interfere, it had thrown up a full fish skeleton and a half-digested snake, along with a foamy froth of salt water. "Oh!" Logan once again reached out but stopped himself. He had no plan after this point, a very rare sensation for him. The creature was clearly terrified and couldn't survive long out of water, but if it was returned it could become aggressive. It whined once again, another bit of foam spilling into the water, sending light ripples that lapped at Logan's shins. Logan wracked his brain for anything potentially helpful. He cupped his hands and dipped them into the water, then threw the handful of water at the creature. It hissed at the spray, followed by a long, drawn out rumble in it's throat. It must not have been water it needed. Once again, the creature extended a tentacle toward Logan. It didn't seem aggresive, rather, it was more needy, like a child making grabby hands to be held. A very stupid thought crossed Logan's mind, one that in any other circumstance he would have rejected immediately. But he had nothing better. He bundled the end of his coat sleeve in his fist, allowing no opening. He pocketed his knife and readied his other hand on his zipper. If the creature got ahold of his coat, he could throw it off and escape. He readied himself, and reached his protected hand toward the beast. The cephalopod trilled in what appeared to be joy, and immediately took hold of Logan's arm. Before Logan had the chance to unzip, it had freed itself from the roots and made it's way up his arm, around his shoulders, and squeezed down the back of his coat. Logan froze in shock at the sudden cold sogginess embracing his entire torso. He grabbed a tree with one hand to manage the sudden weight, and with the other, he produced his knife from his pocket. Before he could reach back to defend himself, though, he felt the beast's head nuzzle into his back. It seemed oddly content. Logan blinked and cautiously lowered his knife. If he didn't need to damage the specimen, he supposed he shouldn't. "I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me." Logan found he'd begun speaking to the creature despite himself. It let out a peep, then a series of rumblings. It's tone began to shift, slowly evolving from bubbling to grumbling to vocal outbursts that sounded strangely similar to a human voice. Then something that was hardly expected; "I won't hurt you- -don't hurt me." It wasn't fully human, it was pitched oddly, and sounded vaguely similar to Logan. Like a parrot. Logan's eyes widened and his mind raced. This thing was intelligent. This thing was important. This thing was absolutely incredible. "You talk?! Can you understand?" "-understand?" Logan's astonished breaths billowed out in frozen steam. "Why did you attack me last night? Why aren't you attacking now?" "-aren't- -attacking- -last night?" "You weren't attacking last night? You nearly drowned me. Why?" "Why?" The creature pushed on his back with it's head as if to nudge him on. "You want me to guess? So you can say it?" "-guess?" Logan thought over what had happened. If it wasn't attacking, why would it grab him? Why did it want him now? He shivered. He pulled his coat tighter to block out the cold. The cold... "You're cold blooded, aren't you? You're cold! You need external sources of warmth!" "-warmth!" Logan smiled. Incredible. "If I give you my coat, can I take you off of me?" "-give -coat, can- -take- off-" the creature loosened it's grip. Logan unzipped his coat and pulled it off, making sure it was accessible while not dropping it. The specimen climbed around to the front of his torso and oozed into the garment in his arms. Logan held the thing to his chest. "Do you need water? Most octopuses can survive out of water in moist environments for thirty to sixty minutes but it's rather dry out right now..." "-moist-" "You need water?" "-moist-" "What do you need?" "-moist-" Logan squinted. "Do you just like saying 'moist'?" "-'moist'? -'moist'? -'moist'?" The creature trilled in amusement. It had a sense of humor. Not a very good one at that, but it was another sign of an incredibly advanced organism. Logan waded over to the fallen tree and carefully set the beast down to free his arms. It's posterior tentacles wrapped the trunk for stability while it's anterior tentacles clustered into the coat sleeves. It bundled itself up and nuzzled into the fabric. Logan pulled his notebook from his drybag, sat on a nearbye tree, and began to sketch. He wasn't quite as good as Roman, but he could do structure. He held his pencil up to judge proportion and translated it to the grids of graph paper. His elation grew as he managed a scientific sketch. After ten minutes or so, the creature once again began to whine. Logan looked up from his work and tucked his notebook back into the drybag. He stood and made his way to his specimen. Upon touching his coat, he found that his prior body heat had left it and it had become fully damp and cold with salt water and mucus. The beast whined again. Logan checked his watch. He'd been gone nearly three hours, and it was another hour drive back. He'd need to leave soon for lunch. He was once again met with a dilemma. If he left the creature in the swamp, it would suffer in the cold. But he couldn't really bring it with him, and the swamp was it's habitat. It had presumably survived for twenty plus years having surfaced every freeze. "I'm going to leave. Can I have my coat?" The creature whimpered loudly, echoing out into the forest. "-my coat?" "No, it's my coat. I'll be back, and I'll bring you something warm that you can have, okay? Yes or no." The beast huffed. "-no." Logan sighed. "I promise I'll be back. I know you must be extremely cold... fine. You can keep the coat for tonight, but I'm taking it back tommorrow and giving you something you can keep." The specimen squeaked with joy and bundled itself tighter in the coat. "Try to keep it as dry as you can, or it won't be warm, okay?" "Yes- -keep." Logan reached out and layed his hand on the creature's head. It pushed up into his palm in response, relishing the warmth. Logan stepped back, allowing it to slip out of the coat and back into the water. It swam a few laps around him and once between his legs before poking it's bright green eyes out of the water. Logan made sure he had everything, patting his pockets. "Well. I'll be back... probably tommorrow morning. I have work at night." Logan doubted the beast knew what work was, but he found himself telling it anyway. "Do you... want me to call you something in particular?" "-call- -me-" the creature finished it's sentence with a loud trill, followed by a low growl and ending in a hiss. "Ree...mmm...sss." Logan felt ridiculous trying to name the beast based on it's inhuman noises, but he found himself playing along anyway. "Remus. Like twin. You seem to be a mimic octopus of sorts, with your color changes and vocal abilities. It's perfect. It can be your species name too. I don't quite know your genus, or even your phylum really with any certainty... but I can name your species, I can't imagine anyone has yet. Does that sound like a good name?" Remus darted around Logan's legs for a few more laps and surfaced once again, eyes bright. "Remus. -perfect. -good name?" Logan smiled. "Glad to hear it. I should tell you my name then, shouldn't I? Logan. I'm Logan." "Logan. -good name?" Remus twirled in the water. "Logan." "I'm glad you think so." Logan stared at the creature a few moment's longer before turning and heading back to his car. "Oh no you don't!" Logan turned to see Roman pointing accusingly. "Don't be a shut in! I gathered some ridiculous movies and you're going to watch one with me." Logan looked down at his sandwich and back up the stairs. He usually ate in his room, though he knew Roman disliked it for some reason. He sighed. "Okay." He turned back and gently set his plate on the coffee table. Before he could sit out of his own volition, Roman wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him down onto the couch. "ROMAN!" "Hm? There a problem?" Roman released his hold and blinked at Logan with innocent puppy dog eyes. Logan shoved him, breaking his facade into a quick bout of laughter. "You're an absolute menace." Logan fixed his hair and brushed himself off. "So what movies are you suggesting?" "Well, I wanted to be topical even if last night didn't go as well as we hoped." Roman flicked through his Netflix queue. "Our first option; The Creature from the Black Lagoon!" He imitated an old horror announcer, wiggling his fingers as if there were blood dripping down an imaginary title card in front of him. "Sound's patently ridiculous." "Exactly! Who doesn't like to riff on old horror flicks?" "I'm not generally one to 'riff'." Roman sighed. "I suppose not... then I guess that rules out 'Swamp Thing' too. Well if we want to take a bit of a departure we've got 'The Shape of Water'." Roman wiggled his eyebrows seductively. Logan winced. That was not something he necessarily enjoyed thinking about considering his morning. "Alright. We can watch Swamp Thing." "YES! You can be the Tom Servo to my Jonah!" "I will not be doing any riffing." Roman sighed. "Well then I'll do enough for the both of us." The show was as ridiculous as Logan had expected, and Roman's commentary, although silly, was quite entertaining. He found he had been subconsciously moving closer on the couch, not noticing until his shoulder touched Roman's. Roman looked over, but turned away quickly, almost as if he hadn't noticed at all. Within the minute though, he made another jab at the movie, using his resulting bout of laughter to slip an arm over Logan's shoulders. Not the most subtle or original of come-ons, but Logan's face flushed nonetheless. He returned the gesture by leaning into Roman's hold. The relative chaos of the last couple days was nearly forgotten in the moment. Logan spent the rest of the day brainstorming. He didn't want to reveal his secret to Roman quite yet, so he needed excuses to get out of the house. Of course work would be one, but that only made him think about how he'd manage his work as well as his escapades. The most clear but also most insane idea would be to bring Remus closer to him, but that was out of the question. He had nowhere to put it, Roman would most certainly find out, and their landlord hardly allowed guinea pigs let alone swamp monsters. Then that brought up another problem, being the creature's misery in the cold. Logan was certain it had lived through intense cold fronts before, but that didn't mean its suffering was to be brushed off. Logan chose to focus on the heat issue first and foremost. He considered ways to allow Remus relative warmth without removing it from its habitat. Anything electric would be unwise considering the water and distinct lack of electrical outlets in the middle of the forest. Coats were barely helpful either; the creature was cold blooded, so as soon as the coat lost warmth it would have no way to regain it. It would simply function as a windbreaker of sorts. Logan thought a moment. He pulled out his laptop and did a quick search. The idea was expensive, but doable. It would definitely be a good way to get the beast on his side. Logan found where to buy such a gift and closed his computer. He trotted down the stairs, grabbing a jacket on the way to the door. "Going for groceries!" "Don't strain yourself specs!" Logan ducked out the door and once again into his car. He started it, though before he pulled out he noticed the fuel gauge, indicating he was near empty. He sighed. This project was going to cost him an awful lot of gas.

#remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders

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be-dazzled · 6 years ago

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She’s In Your Court #SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser FFnet link: Click here Tumblr: Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance Rating: M for Sensitive Language

Summary: Gray Fullbuster is a player both in love and in life. He plays Professional Basketball and is being groomed to be in line with Basketball Legends Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Stephen Curry. There’s just one problem, Gray Fullbuster is a play-ah. His life is a giant mess of crazy parties, waking up with random women and waking up in random women’s apartments. Just living the life.

The opinion of the public on him is waning. To save the million-dollar endorsements in the verge of disappearing, Gray needs to change his image. Therefore, Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and Most Valuable Player, will be in the next season of “My Star Can Dance”.

There’s another problem: it seems like his star isn’t that bright since his partner, one of Fiore’s prominent ballerinas, doesn’t know him? His billboard is hanging in front of her dancing school! And it was a good billboard since all he was wearing was his six-pack and an Aztec bandana. How come she didn’t notice?

And the night is gonna be just fine Gotta fly, gotta see, got to be I can't take it So, baby, yes, love never felt so good

– Love Never Felt So Good, Michael Jackson

“It’s not a date.”

Juvia fixed her hair, pulling her blue locks away from her face and into a tight bun – a force of habit. Yet, the style showed off her slender neck – one of her many assets. And Juvia Lockser was well aware of her asset inventory and put them on display once in a while.

Mrs. Lockser stood and leaned against the door frame; watched her daughter put on her own make-up. She had one brow raised; not buying her daughter’s words.

The ringing of the door bell peeled her off from the door frame. It was Mary – Juvia’s part-time assistant. Her voice travelled to Juvia’s room, announcing that she brought the financial reports from the family’s accountant. Mrs. Lockser reappeared and returned to her original position.

Juvia was now putting on final touches to her evening make-up; not too much, not too little. She stood from her dresser and checked her look for tonight at the full body mirror. She was more than satisfied.

Juvia wore a bluish-silver sequined long gown with a V-plunge neckline that was low enough to show some decent skin. The twin spaghetti straps were thin but strong enough to hold the gown on her body at the shoulders. She looked elegant but still sexy.

“You’re saying that but that is definitely a date dress.” Olivia teased.

“I-it’s not. I wear this all the time.”

The surprise of the gown, however, came when Juvia turned around to reveal an open back from the shoulders to reaching nearly the buttocks.

Mary poked her head out of the door frame and agreed.

“No, Ms. Juvia. That is definitely a date dress.”

“It-it-it’s not a date!”

The Magnolia Great Hall. To hold an event in the Magnolia Great Hall was making a statement.

Mrs. Lockser drove her daughter to the Magnolia Great Hall. The latter refused Gray’s offer of picking her up and going to the Fiore Knights annual gala party together. Juvia avoided anything that would resemble her attendance to the event as a date.

“Enjoy your date, honey–”

“–It’s not a date, Mother.”

Juvia narrowed her eyes at the older Lockser which earned an earnest giggle from the driver. She was growing tired of reminding everyone (mostly, her mother) that this wasn’t a date.

“Anyway, just don’t catch a cold. Alright?”

Then, Olivia drove away, leaving Juvia confused whether the reminder was a motherly gesture or the older Lockser was taking a swing at her. She was, after all, wearing a backless mermaid gown in a cold September night. Juvia was now having regrets as the harsh cold slapped her exposed skin. It wasn’t like she came to impress Hoopster. So why did she have to wear this gown again?

“You clean up pretty well, Ms. Lockser.”

Juvia raised her gaze at the man rushing down the steps of the Magnolia Great Hall. His sleek black hair was slicked back; the ends brushed the collar of his crisp dark suit. If she was being honest, Gray Fullbuster looked professional, sexy and dangerous. Not necessarily in that order.

“So do you, Fullbuster.”

Acting like a real gentleman, Gray offered his hand to Juvia and escorted the lady up the low steps. Experience told Gray that on parties like this one, women tend to wear really tall heels, like there was some kind of saying that the taller the heels the better. He didn’t understand women’s need to be off the ground but Gray learned, and he learned the hard way, never to ask a woman about it. He had no complaints when they wore the heels and the heels alone.

Gray led Juvia up the stairs and was taken-aback when he realized that Juvia’s upper and middle back were uncovered. It was almost sinful to look at. Especially, when Gray’s dark, curious eyes kept drifting down somewhere they shouldn’t.

When Juvia noticed that Gray fell behind and stopped moving, she quickly turned back to find him appreciating the great view she put on for tonight. Hoopster was totally mesmerized. Now, she was not regretting wearing the dress.

“Is there something wrong, Fullbuster?” Juvia asked. A smile of triumphant played about her lips.

The question pulled Gray back to reality. He shook whatever thoughts he was having and turned to Juvia like he wasn’t gawking at the woman.

“Ah, nothing.” Gray stepped ahead and took the lead.

The steps were polished to perfection and Juvia felt that they were a little slippery. She was used to wearing high heels but she felt a little wobbly. Her escort was all attentive to her and walked with in her pace. The length of her gown wasn't helping.

As her luck would have it, Juvia missed a step and was about to fall to her great embarrassment. She shut her eyes closed and yelped when she felt gravity pulling her down. Good thing her escort was a professional athlete. His free hand quickly grabbed the lady by the waist and crashed her body against his. At the same time, acting on survival instinct, Juvia threw her arms and wrapped them around Gray for stability.

When she opened her eyes, Gray’s dark ones filled Juvia’s vision. They were pulling her in, drowning her in their endlessness. Then Juvia realized that Gray was close. So close that their foreheads were almost touching. So close that she was almost sure Gray would feel her heart hammering against her chest.

“You know for a dancer, you really are clumsy.”

And she realized too, that she was clinging to Gray like her life depended on him. And suddenly she felt him everywhere all at once.

“Oh!”

Juvia pushed him away, cautiously as not to throw herself off balance.

“Well, the people maintaining this place did a really good job polishing the steps.” She reasoned, masking her embarrassment and fluster with her usual witticism.

“I guess that’s why this place is really expensive.” Returned Gray. “C’mon. Let’s see if the inside is as slippery as the outside.”

Because for sure Gray didn’t mind Juvia clinging to him all night.

The inside of the Magnolia Great Hall glowed in muted gold. Impressive chandeliers hanged from the ceiling, round tables dressed in gold tablecloth spread across. Well-dressed men and women scattered around the room. It felt like Juvia was walking into the Oscar’s or Emmy’s Awarding Ceremony. It wouldn’t surprise the ballerina if she ran into two or more celebrities. The glitz of it all would easily intimidate a regular person. But not Juvia Lockser. Despite being a stranger, she easily belonged to this world.

“Hey, Captain!”

Juvia immediately recognized the first person who approached and welcomed them. It was Fiore Knights’ Vice Captain and Point Guard, Natsu Dragneel, in a dashing suit and a loose and spiky pink hair.

Gray grabbed the hand Natsu offered and pulled him in a decorous chest-bump.

“And is this the famous Juvia Lockser?”

Juvia’s heart throbbed. Her silly little crush on the Point Guard made it hard to control the beating. So, she had to contain herself when the Vice Captain extended his arm for a handshake.

“I can hardly call myself famous, Mr. Dragneel.” She managed to say as she took his hand in hers for courtesy.

Natsu surprised her when the Vice Captain flipped Juvia’s hand and placed a light kiss at the back of her palm.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.”

Gray pulled Juvia’s slender hand away from his Vice Captain, throwing the latter a stink-eye. Natsu was holding the Captain’s date too long for his liking. It was making him feel an irrational urge to kick his Vice Captain. Gray placed his hand at the small of her back, nudged the innocent woman forward and ushered his date towards their table. Like marking his territory.

“I was just pulling your leg, Captain.”

Juvia did not see it nor did she mind what Natsu said after them. She had no idea what he was talking about; and laughing about for that matter. His boyish guffaw echoed throughout the great hall. As Juvia had her back on the Vice Captain, she could only imagine him holding his stomach as he laughed his heart out.

Gray was obviously aware of it though with the way he turned around and threw a finger at the guy. Juvia never understood this type of love among men.

As the ‘not-dating’ couple walked towards an occupied round table, with the warmth of Gray’s palm burning her exposed skin, Juvia quickly recognized the faces seated around it – the Fiore Knights. Her heart skipped a beat and it had nothing to do with Gray’s palm sliding down a dangerous path. Okay, maybe a little to do with it but not entirely. Juvia scolded herself to maintain her composure. But as soon as she and Gray reached the table, the men around it stood to acknowledge their Captain and his ‘not-date’. Juvia’s fan-girl heart somersaulted.

The men exchanged pleasantries the way Gray greeted his Vice Captain earlier. The curious men gathered around the Captain and his date before the former had the chance to introduce Juvia. They were all nice towards her, looking all sharp and formal. The Fiore Knights’ Small Forward, Loke Regalus, almost grabbed Juvia’s hand if Gray had not acted quickly and shook the poor guy’s hand instead.

“Sorry, Captain, but your seat is over there at the Owner’s Table.”

It was Natsu who informed Gray, placing a hand over the Captain’s shoulder which made Gray lean on the side a little.

“Aw men. And the boys were looking forward for this meeting with Ms. Lockser.”

Loke looked serious and offended but the glint in his eyes piqued Juvia’s interest.

“Shut up.”

The voice came from Gray who looked like he was holding back. At the same time, he looked relieved about something.

“C’mon, I’m going to introduce you to my mother.”

Juvia froze. She almost dropped her purse. Introduce her? To his mother? The world started spinning.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Juvia felt weight on her shoulders. She managed to return to Earth and look up to Gray’s gorgeous face pulled in a worried expression. He still looked heavenly.

“Gray?”

But the voice did not come from Juvia. It came from a stranger’s who now emerged from behind Gray.

The stranger was a woman who walked with grace and sophistication. There was a certain air about her that reminded Juvia of her own mother. But the older woman’s face was stern and she looked like the rich, terrifying women Juvia and her mother watched in dramas at night; a powerful mother who would do anything to keep his son away from the woman who she felt unworthy of him.

So why...

“Oh my gosh, it is you!”

Why was this intimidating woman suddenly embracing Juvia?

“I’m such a big fan of the show.” The woman said, not breaking the contact.

Juvia hesitantly returned the woman’s embrace out of courtesy. She looked over the older woman’s shoulder and watched Gray’s lips formed the words: she’s a hugger.

“Mother, you can let her go now.”

Gray did not look like he was annoyed, although he tried to sound it. Instead, he looked even pleased at the sight.

The woman heeded Gray’s words and withdrew her arms around Juvia. She instead placed her hands on Juvia’s arms and studied her like she couldn’t believe Juvia was standing before her, in the flesh.

“You look more beautiful in person.”

“Thank you.” Juvia said, sheepishly tucking her hair behind her ear. Inwardly, she was quite happy with the compliment. Who wouldn’t be when the mother of your… dance partner said you were beautiful?

“There they are!”

Another stranger’s voice, now coming from a man, came from behind Juvia. She spun around to see an older man, around his 40s, smoking a cigarette.

“There’s my beautiful family.”

The man donning a flamboyant fur coat bit the cigarette between his teeth then walked over towards the trio with open arms.

Juvia bowed his head to show the man respect. Also, because she wanted to hide the red spread over her cheeks when the man called them his ‘beautiful family’. She probably wasn’t included in the phrase but she couldn’t help but get flustered.

Mrs. Mine met her pompous husband halfway and kissed him on the cheeks. Then she moved and stood beside her husband as they awaited Gray to make his greetings.

“How about my good ‘ol son?”

Gray did not leave Juvia’s side. Instead, in a formal and distant voice he greeted the man with a simple word.

“President.”

“Huh? Not gonna give your old man a hug after all that ruckus you caused? C’mon, appease this old man.”

Mr. Mine spread his arms in an inviting embrace to which Gray never responded.

“Oh, I get it. A little shy with your female companion around to watch?” President Mine turned to Juvia as he spoke, “This family is a hugger.” Then, he walked over to where Gray was and pulled the poor guy for a hug.

Juvia was not sure if she should pity Gray who was stiff as a stick as President Mine wrapped him in a tight but unwelcomed embrace. She held the laughter that was about to erupt when she saw Gray’s annoyed expression.

“You can let go of me now, President.”

President Mine then let out a hearty laugh.

“And who is this beautiful lady?”

Wakaba Mine blew a smoke away from their circle before addressing the beautiful woman standing beside his own beautiful woman.

“My name is Juvia Lockser, Mr. President.”

“Please call me Wakaba. Don’t follow in this guy’s poor manners.”

Before President Mine was able to reach out a hand to Juvia, a man in a black suit approached and whispered something to him. Juvia noticed the small lapel attached to the young man’s coat. He must be part of the security detail, Juvia thought.

“Guess it’s time to get this party started.”

The owner of Fiore Knights nodded and excused himself. The man in the black suit then led him up the stage and behind a decorated podium. Wakaba Mine commanded with his round voice as he welcomed his guests.

“Let’s take our seats, Juvia. It will take some time before that old man get his message across. Ouch!”

“Don’t talk about your father like that.”

Mrs. Mine slapped her son’s back before inviting Juvia to sit next to her at the Owner’s Table. The ballerina could only offer poor Gray a comforting smile.

Gray took the seat next to Juvia whilst sputtering words under his breath. He was right. President Mine took more time than required to finish his speech. The old man loved the attention, making jokes here and there, sometimes at Gray’s expense. Gray was a good sport and laughed along with the audience.

Good thing the waiters started to serve the appetizers. Juvia was already starving. As they reached the main course, Juvia began to wonder if the President was not hungry. As if sensing her thoughts, Gray leaned in, his lips brushing against Juvia’s ear when he informed her that President Mine had the tendency to forget about food when he was holding a microphone.

“It’s his favorite past time aside from making fun of me.”

Juvia did not catch the last thing Gray said. She was busy calming her heart and hormones.

A thundering applause broke out and drew Juvia’s attention back to the podium. A rustle at the side drew her attention to Gray who was now leaving his seat and making his way to the stage.

“Good evening.” His voice was deep, cool and confident. “I would like to thank everyone for the support they have given the team for the past few years. From back when we were starting and no one believed in us. The road wasn’t easy. We had to practice every day, day and night in the last six years in order to be where we are today. But we won’t stop here.”

A hot swell spread in Juvia’s chest. There was something about how Gray carried himself on the stage that made Juvia look at the man in another light. Gray was proud, confident and genuinely grateful. His pride was coming out of years of hard work, of highs and lows, of blood and sweat. His skill and talent were not served to him in a silver platter. Gray earned it.

“You were the first people who believed in us. So we offer this future wins to all of you.” Gray turned to the Owners’ Table. “Mother, President. Thank you for believing in us first before the world ever believed in Fiore Knights. From this day onwards, we promise to work even harder than we ever did in order to bring pride to the name we all worked hard for.”

Gray stepped back from the podium and walked at the center of the stage. As if on cue, the men around the Fiore Knights’ table stood proud, faced the Owners Table and shouted in unison, “Thank you for your support.” Along with their Captain on stage, the members of the Fiore Knights basketball team bowed in gratitude.

The scene was so touching that a tear almost escaped Juvia’s eyes. She couldn’t explain the feeling. Tonight she saw another side of the annoying Hoopster who walked into her studio like he owned it; the Hoopster who annoyed the hell out of her every chance he got. She liked this side of him. Too much for her own liking.

After a few more speeches were given, President Mine returned to the stage to invite everyone to the dance floor.

“I know we’re kind of ‘danced out’. What with all our practicing and everything. But this song is really fun to dance to.” Gray extended his hand, saying his invitation over the music. “Care for a dance, Ms. Lockser?”

“One is never ‘danced out’, Mr. Fullbuster.” Juvia placed her hand in Gray’s. “Especially, not this ballerina.”

The two stood and walked away from their table; spun and danced their way to the dance floor, even sang along with The Groovefellas band, enjoying a lively version of ‘Love Never Felt So Good’.

Even all the way to the car and through the whole ride to her house, Juvia never had that much fun until Gray. Juvia had two to three glasses of wine. She wasn’t drunk or anything but everything seemed exciting.

Gray walked Juvia to her door, recounting all the fun things that transpired during the party. Such as when Gajeel Redfox, Fiore Knights Center, grabbed the microphone and started to rap. Also, when Natsu asked to dance with Juvia but had to dance with Laxus instead. It was Gray’s doing. Before the night ended though, Natsu was able to dance with the Earthland Sports reporter, Lucy. Also Gray's doing. There was also a time when an older woman hurt her back dancing with Loke. It was so much fun watching Fiore Knights making fools of themselves. But the high of the night was watching the big men of Fiore Knights singing ‘Dancing Queen’ on stage, in falsetto.

“I really had fun, Gray.”

Gray guided the wobbly Juvia through the path-walk of her own home to the patio.

“I’m glad you did. Let’s do that again sometimes.”

“I’d love that.”

The Lockser House seemed silent and asleep. The lights were off which worried Gray.

“Should we call someone?”

“It’s okay. I have my keys.”

Juvia scrambled for her keys inside her purse. It was dark and she couldn’t find the small thing inside her small bag.

“Here, let me help you.”

Gray turned on the light on his phone, leaned over to see inside the purse.

“Found it!” Juvia was happy to announce.

She looked up from her purse and came face to face with Gray. Her heart thumped wildly. Gray was a breath away. She inhaled his scent – ocean, summer and sexiness. She wasn’t drunk but the scent was intoxicating.

“Well, good night, Ms. Lockser.”

Her gaze fell on his lips, red and swollen and very tempting.

“Good night, Mr. Fullbuster.”

Juvia’s gaze never left Gray’s enticing lips and he never moved away from their position. Instead, Gray took another step towards her, bridging the mere distance between their faces.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now, Ms. Lockser.”

His voice was low, hoarse and a little too sexy. For a moment Juvia thought she forgot to breathe. When she remembered that she did know how to breathe, Juvia managed to voice her consent.

“Okay.”

Gray did not rush into it. He took his time, savoring every moment. Heat met heat when je placed his arm at the small of Juvia’s exposed back and pulled her gently against him. The places he touched burned and Juvia wasn’t sure anymore if the heat was coming from her or Gray. She didn’t care. All she could think about was how much she wanted his kiss.

Gray’s other arm cupped her flushed cheek and before the anticipation of the kiss killed her, Gray pressed his mouth against Juvia’s.

The kiss started innocent like those written or depicted in children’s books. Just a mere light touch of the lips. But Gray wanted more. He asked for more. He traced Juvia’s lips with his wet tongue, begging them to part. Juvia was more than happy to indulge him. She wrapped her hands around his neck and followed Gray’s lead. The heat from the searing kiss traveled down her spine to her fingertips. He withdrew his hand from her face and started to explore her exposed back. Juvia’s knees buckled when she felt Gray’s warm and wet tongue tasting hers. The kiss consumed Juvia and if Gray wasn’t holding her, she might have fallen to the ground.

It took all of Juvia’s willpower to pull away from the kiss. But she needed air, both of them.

“A good night is an understatement.” Gray said, resting his forehead against hers. “This is one hell of a night.”

Juvia could not agree more.

Writer’s Corner: Happy New Year! I uploaded this first at ffnet with no apparent reason but I did and I will do that for the next few chapters. Please do reblog this chapter and when you have some time drop me some asks, alright? Tell me what you think.

#gray x juvia #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #siyc #she's in your court #gruvia fanfiction #fairy tail #fairytail #fairytail fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #ktadlam #ballet x basketball #gruvia multichap #gruvia forever

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hello-there · 9 days ago

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#tumblr communities #communities

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lamgrace1993 · 4 years ago

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At What Point Can You Stop A Divorce Staggering Unique Ideas

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#At What Point Can You Stop A Divorce Staggering Unique Ideas #How To Stop A Divorce After Filing

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a-woman-apart · 5 years ago

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Release the Outcome

Yesterday, I applied for a full-time job working for the library system of the city that I live in (my other job is one city over). I probably won’t hear back from them until after August 2nd, because that is when the posting comes down. This works perfectly for me, though, because I really do not want to leave my current position until the new people are more settled. It could be a long shot; I applied to library jobs in my city before and have never been selected for an interview. I also know that I limit my opportunities by only applying for jobs in one section (out of 6) of the city, but my only other economically reasonable option is also applying at the downtown branch and I cannot see my anxiety-ridden self making that drive daily.

My main goal right now is to just keep pursuing opportunities while remaining detached from the outcome. I am tentatively looking into more volunteer opportunities, but nothing is jumping out at me. Sometimes, I think about the types of volunteer positions that would look better on a resume, or help to give me “marketable skills or “build identity capital” but my boyfriend scolded me about that and encouraged me to just volunteer for whatever I care about, regardless of whether it will benefit me in the workplace. He is right. I have been so caught up in the hustle culture (albeit more focused on academics) that I have started to lose sight of what is important. We need to be able to strike a balance between working to survive and achieve things we genuinely want and being work-obsessed.

I realize that in my position, even as a neurodivergent and marginalized person, I hold incredible privilege. Friends and family have helped support me financially, and although it will be going away in a few years (or very soon, depending on my income), I receive assistance from the government in the form of my SSDI. It is both temporary and not nearly enough by itself to survive on in a city like this, but it provides something to fall back on, and has enabled me to work part-time while pursuing my education.

As far as education goes, I know that my original goal to complete my COREs (gaining my Associate in the Arts in the process) can still be completed next year, but I am going to just observe myself and how I am feeling. It is likely that I will be working full-time by then, and if that happens, goodbye SSDI. That is ultimately the goal—and there would be a way to restart benefits if I fell into a rough patch—but that would mean keeping a decent job would take even higher priority than before. I was a part-time—sometimes full-time—student before and a part-time worker, but then I would be a full-time worker and part-time student. My disability does not allow me to go to both work and attend school full-time; many healthy people can’t even manage that, and it is not recommended by instructors.

Ultimately, though, these plans are very tentative. I have really been reevaluating what I want and why I want it. I have always loved writing. To me, turning what I loved into a career seemed like a no-brainer, but now, I can see that I always hesitated. I took a detour and went to school for music instead of just getting an Associate in the Arts (with the goal of transferring to a university to get my BA in English). Do you know what studying music for four years did for my passion for learning about and creating music? It utterly killed it. I had all the knowledge, but now I had no drive to create. I am only now starting to record little demos and play with concepts over a year later.

I can see now that I have been afraid of getting similarly burned out on writing. Yes, there is some element of being afraid that I am not a good enough writer to make a career in editing, publishing, and writing. Those fears are rather faint and distant; I am mostly confident in my writing ability. What I am seeing now, is that we live in a society that encourages us to monetize our passions, and that might not be healthy. On Adventures in Roommating, Meghan Tonjes and Keith Battista talked about being careful about making the thing you love into the thing you depend on to survive. I used to be perplexed about my youngest sister’s decision not to pursue culinary arts as a career, even though she loved it so much, but I can see that maybe she had a lot more wisdom than I do. Maybe we should hold our passions a little more sacred to ourselves. Maybe 2+ years of reading boring 1800s literature and churning out essay after soulless essay for picky English teachers just so I can have an English degree is not what I need to be doing. It doesn’t mean that I’ve “given up on my dreams”. Capitalism will extract value from you in any way that it can, but you can say, “No, this is mine.”

So many amazing writers majored in things other than English. So many English majors started off in other fields. Po Bronson, author of What Should I Do with My Life?, was told by teachers that his writing was so poor that he would never succeed as a writer. His proficiencies were in math and science. My own English teacher— one of the best teachers I have ever had—started off as a pharmacy tech.

My “back-up” plan if I was not able to succeed in writing, editing, publishing, or journalism, was to go to school and get my Master’s in Library Science. Working in libraries is a happy medium for me. It is not my absolute favorite thing to do, but I like it enough that I would not mind working in or around libraries for the foreseeable future. Some people say that the library field is shrinking, but that is not the whole truth; libraries are evolving, and the people that work in them are needing to be more flexible and to have greater variety in their skillset. Being a school librarian also means being adept with media; a reference librarian might also assist with writing grants, ordering books, or budgeting. Jobs are largely becoming more automated, but people who work in libraries are often required to supervise these systems and make sure that everything is working smoothly.

Maybe that “back-up plan” would be a lot better as a “main plan.” There are plenty of library jobs that just require a Bachelor’s. There is great flexibility in what my Bachelor’s degree can be, so now I have to be like “what would complement my Master’s the most, but still be a ton of fun?” I might as well enjoy whatever I am studying, and to be honest, I do not always enjoy English classes. If you have a great teacher, the hard work always feels worthwhile, but a persnickety, nit-picking teacher can turn the experience into a living hell. I do not want to see my love for writing turn into hatred. Yes, it would be great to “be a writer”, but I already am. I do not need a degree to confer that title on to me. I would also just love to explore writing conventions on my own, take independent classes, and continue blogging. I want to network with other writers and see if we can spark off some new ideas.

I could even just be undeclared for a while (AUDIBLE GASP) and just see what speaks to me. I could go to a smaller school that is closer to me. Once the time comes, I can move where I want to move without feeling under pressure to move closer to campus. I can take my sweet time with classes. In fact, if I get a good enough job, they may just pay for me to get my Master’s and that would be lovely.

You can have it all and still be miserable; I think we millennials, who are wrought with anxiety, student debt, and underemployment understand that more than others. We have been fed this lie about working hard and “making it”, and we are utterly disenchanted with the status quo. We are always questioning our identities. We ask ourselves “Is this it?” and we are always looking for meaning and purpose in our lives.

My 20s are almost at a close, so my “quarter-life crisis” is going to need to wrap up soon. If I learned anything from my 20s, it is that so much can change, and that a lot of the things you worry about now will be non-issues down the line. Relationships of all types come and go and people and situations evolve and shift. In fact, you probably experience the most changes in your life in your 20s, and you are laying the foundation for who you will be down the line. Your brain is not even fully developed out of adolescence until you are 25. So, while you are considered an adult in the eyes of the law, there is a reason why you still engaged in a lot of childish bullshit in your early twenties. Not to mention that if you have a mental illness or experienced trauma as a child, you can become “developmentally arrested” (I don’t have a good specific source on this one sorry, but look up “arrested development psychology” and there will be lots of interesting articles.).

Look, growing up, or as we say, “adulting”, is very difficult. As more of us are staying home and/or still financially dependent on our parents or other family members, it is hard to truly feel like we own our own lives. Ultimately, though, we never know how things will change. We just need to keep exploring new opportunities. Don Estell said, “If it doesn’t work, try something different.” It may feel like you have tried everything, but the only other alternative is to give up. Don’t do that. Don’t relentlessly pursue achievement at the expense of your mental health, but do not lose hope. Take a break, dust yourself off, then get back out there.

You will find a way, I promise.

#release the outcome #detach from the outcome #living with anxiety #living with mental illness #struggling student #pivot #changing majors #changing directions #working for the library #volunteering #dropout #roommate pod #adventures in roommating #capitalism wants us to monetize our passions

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veronica-rich · 8 years ago

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avoidance of annoyance not always possible part 2

In the category of Shit They’re Fucking Well Old Enough to Know is Wrong and/or Unacceptable (see previous post for an explanation), my neighbor down the street is annoying, but not angering.

Here’s something that is: And I want to preface this by saying I try not to judge individual people, especially friends - that doesn’t mean I don’t have reflexes to do so once in a while, just that I try to examine why and not do it. (I have no problem judging whole swaths of people fixated on something stupid, like Trump voters.) But there are times it’s hard not to do so, and this is one of those situations.

Here’s the short version of the story. I have two friends with a cat; well, who had a cat. Fluffy was an old cat, hardy and apparently able to survive anything. These friends are older than I am, which is to say I expect them to have the same amount of common sense I do. They’ve had financial and job problems for nearly the entire decade I’ve known them, which is to say they don’t have much income to work with, and you know, I get that. It’s fine.

But here’s the thing. This cat had not been to a vet in years, as far as I know. And if my friends were having to choose between eating/paying rent and getting the cat basic vet care, it’d be one thing. But they run constantly. They say they don’t spend money doing it, but I don’t believe that. Gas isn’t free; neither is food away from home (it’s not free at home either, but it is more affordable).

So a couple of years ago this cat started getting pretty skinny. This happens with old cats - my old cat, may he rest in peace, was really skinny a few months before he died despite taking him to the vet frequently and trying to treat his various ailments. But these two didn’t get Fluffy seen to find out if he had something he needed treated (i.e., hyperthyroidism, diabetes, etc.). And in the past several months, they’ve actually been in a better position of both working and could have probably taken him to a vet. But instead, they bought a new car (I don’t mean an updated used car, which they did need; I mean a brand new car) and continued on with planning to go to a con a few hundred miles away, along with other Fun Things To Do.

Last week the cat started having swelling in his legs. Still no vet. Now one of the friends had lost their job just recently, so you try to think, well, damn, less money coming in. (Trying not to judge yet!) But then it comes out they’re still going on their trip next week come hell or high water (how this affects me is I look after their cat when they’re out of town, and vice versa - plus I’m a friend who cares). So I say something to them - “Do you really think you should be going? Yes, you put a deposit on the hotel room last year, but surely there’s more money you’d spend by going for gas, food, remaining hotel time, purchases, than you’d lose by staying home and taking Fluffy to the vet?”

Nope. Everything’s paid for already. Which I don’t believe, but what am I going to say? How the fuck do you pay ahead for gas and food and incidentals that might add up enough to go to the emergency vet clinic in town?

So the cat got much, much worse over the weekend, close to death. He finally got to go to the vet this morning thanks to a donation from another friend of theirs ... to get euthanized. Here are the things in no particular order that bother me about all of this.

1. If you have a pet, as if you have a child, do your very best to take care of them, especially if they’re sick. “Well, you don’t know,” you might say. Yes, I DO know. I spent several years working multiple jobs with no health insurance and no trips to the doctor, no cable, eating maybe 2 meals a day because that’s all I could afford, steadily going further into debt just paying the bills I had to to get by ... and my cat went to the vet every year for shots and when he was sick enough, long enough, to warrant it. At one point I had to stop buying cheap Meow Mix for him and go permanently to a far more expensive brand so he’d stop getting sick. I was single, I had no partner’s income to help, my parents couldn’t afford to help, and I made just a *smidge* too much to qualify for any public assistance.

2. I’m the first to say even poor people deserve some treats. I like my Starbucks; when I was poorer, I liked my occasional cheeseburger and milkshake at the drugstore, or a nice soap from TJ Maxx. I sometimes got a carryout pizza. But none of this ever came at the expense of leaving a visibly sick or suffering pet sick and suffering. If I had to forego something fun, I did.

3. When my cat had a chronic illness and I went out of town for work or pleasure (what few times I did), I made sure someone could look after him and administer his medicine as needed. I was never gone too many days and I checked in to see how he was doing. I don’t expect anyone’s life to come to a halt for their pet, but again, there’s a difference between that and basic responsibilities.

4. What bothers me maybe the most is self-guilt. I don’t have much money right now, but a year, a couple of years ago, I had a little more. And I thought at the time about offering to pay for Fluffy to go to the vet, and I didn’t make the offer - for one reason. I knew if the vet found something chronic wrong with him (as I suspected they would - he had some of the symptoms my old cat had), it would require ongoing treatment and attention and I did not trust his owners to put aside the money needed to do this (even if it was minimal each month) or to rearrange their “running and doing” schedule to provide that care. And in order for this cat to continue to get the treatment he needed, I had a bad feeling I would end up having to foot that bill ... and that, I couldn’t afford, because I have pets of my own I have to look after. So, one vet visit wouldn’t have helped Fluffy very much. But I feel guilty nonetheless.

They’re going to post about losing Fluffy on social media, and garner all kinds of sympathy and virtual hugs, and I’m not begrudging them that. I certainly don’t want to butt in and turn well-wishes away. But part of me wishes those sympathizers knew what I know. And another part of me wishes I could vocalize to them how I feel about it ... but we come back to Shit They’re Fucking Well Old Enough to Know is Wrong and/or Unacceptable.

#frustrated #there's no way to win on this one #I don't want to judge but I know I am #godfuckingdammit

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serein-333 · 4 years ago

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from a teacher...on FB

I never share stuff that is not attributed. And I know this is long, but PLEASE read this. The whole thing. (Copied from a teacher page, that that copied it from a page...) ****** “I get it. I do. You need schools to open because...holy crap you’re not getting anything done, your kids need to see other kids, you have a job to do, and you just plain need a break. I get it. I do.

I’ve seen the research. Kids are, as much as we can determine barely six months into a pandemic, less likely to get it. They’re less likely to suffer from a severe form of the disease, possibly less likely to transmit it. The calls for opening schools with this data make total sense. Are you going to send your kids into a building with no adults? No. So when you’re out there demanding that schools open and all of your arguments are about you, about what you need, about what your kids need, but NEVER ONCE mention the dangers to the staff and faculty who will necessarily need to be in those schools, you can see where I’m a little concerned.

I’ve accepted that I ask my friends two or three times a year to donate food to our “snack closet” because ending poverty, let alone childhood poverty and all the many things that encompasses it, seems to be beyond us. I’ve accepted that I spend hundreds of dollars of my own money every year to buy things my students need because adequately funding schools seems to be beyond us. I’ve accepted that there might come a time I have to lock my students in the closet in my classroom - and let me tell you how blessed I feel that I have a closet big enough to fit all of my kids - because reasonable gun control seems to be beyond us.

Now you’re asking us to accept going back into classrooms in the middle of a pandemic. Classrooms that are located in buildings that have been neglected for decades (please see: adequate funding), that in some cases have no windows that open, where our support people - occupational therapists, speech therapists are working in closets (please see: adequate funding), and buildings that have sketchy HVAC on a good day.

You’ll forgive us if we’re not quite onboard with this idea yet. You see, if we want hand sanitizer in our classrooms, we have to ask parents to donate it. If we want Lysol wipes for our classrooms, we have to ask our parents to donate it. If we want tissues for snotty noses, we have to ask our parents to donate it. They do. Every year they do and many of them donate these things despite their precarious financial situations. I have no doubt that those parents would make these donations again - despite their much more precarious financial situation - if those things were available for purchase.

Since, for the entire two decades I’ve been teaching, we’ve been asking parents to donate basic school supplies because we can’t or won’t adequately fund education, you might see where we’re a little hesitant to go back into those classrooms without masks, without face shields, because masks don’t work with the littlest kids (though face shields really aren’t nearly as effective as masks, but…), without any promise of reliable, regular testing with a quick turnaround of results, without any plan for what happens when someone gets sick, without any plan for what staff and faculty do when someone in their family is sick, without any plan on how we help parents who need the childcare, so they’re forced to give kids Tylenol in order to get through the temperature screening so they don’t lose their job, without any promise of additional money to hire more teachers, to lease more space, to scale up what distance learning will or could look like. (Does anyone really think we’re going to make it through flu season without ending up right where we were in March?)

Do you know what schools look like once school starts? We are a snotty, sneezing, sniffly, coughing mess and that's without spike proteins invading our beings.

I’m worried for me. I have parents who are considered elderly (sorry about that, but you are). Parents I have only seen from a distance since early March, except for that super socially-distanced Father’s Day. I’m worried for teachers who are parents - what will they do with their kids whose school schedules might be wildly different than that of their parents. I’m worried for the teachers who are older (and I’m REALLY sorry I’m considered one of them). But I’m more worried about our custodial staff, bus drivers, our cafeteria workers, our instructional assistants who are far more likely to be BIPOC, people who are far less likely to have the resources needed to survive an extended illness (again, not funding what matters), whose family members are more likely to be considered an essential worker in some other field.I don’t see anyone having these conversations.

I don’t see ANY consideration for the adults in school buildings in all the articles calling for schools to open. AAP is telling schools to open, but not giving any guidance on how to do so safely for students AND staff alike. That must be nice. You have to open and good luck on figuring out how to make that work. We’re used to flying by the seat of our pants and making it work. This is a piss-poor solution most of the time and it is a completely untenable one in the middle of a pandemic, one that has been managed in the worst possible way at the federal level.

I’m worried for my kids. I know they need to be back at school. I saw how distance learning went this spring. It wasn’t pretty. I know that our kids need teachers who aren’t terrified to be at work because there’s nothing in place that would suggest society values teachers as more than cheap childcare, despite the fact that this spring and summer should have sounded that message loud and clear. I know our kids need to be around each other.

I’m worried that people are going to start calling for “normal” school. Nothing about this is normal. Even if kids are in school full time, nothing about this is going to be normal. We’re going to be facing kids who are dealing with layer upon layer of trauma, we need to make time and space for that, so stop telling me kids are behind. They’re not any further behind than anyone else. They’re behind some arbitrary lines we drew in the sand so long ago we’re not sure we remember why we drew them. We need to meet our kids where they are. I don't want to hear one word about testing, unless it involves a nasal or throat swab. Not. One. Word.

The worst part about this is the completely cavalier attitude I see from far too many about doing what needs to be done if you have even half a prayer of opening schools this fall. Wear a mask. Stay home. No, you don’t need to eat in that restaurant. No, you don’t need to go visit your parents or friends 5 states away. No, you don’t need to go hang out with your friends because you’ll really stay 6 feet away - let me assure you that the pictures you’ve posted show me that is almost never true. Yes. You need to wear a mask. Yes. You need to stay home unless it’s really important. If you can’t do any of those things, but want me to go back to school in August with a smile on my face, you’re asking me to make far bigger sacrifices than the ones you’ve been willing to make so far.” From Amanda Kail

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hello-there · 9 days ago

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#tumblr communities #communities

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googlenewson · 5 years ago

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Subscribe to Outbreak, a daily roundup of stories on the coronavirus pandemic and its impact on global business, delivered free to your inbox. It’s rare for the federal government to include small businesses in stimulus packages designed to prop up the economy during a financial downturn. But the coronavirus pandemic is, clearly, no ordinary event. So small businesses across the country—defined as companies with less than 500 employees—were, at least momentarily, bolstered by the announcement of the $349 billion Paycheck Protection Program. Small businesses operate in every sector of American industry, from restaurants to web designers, art galleries to auto repair shops, bus companies to tour operators. “We’ve never had to shut down the economy to stop a pandemic,” said John Lettieri, president and CEO of public policy organization Economic Innovation Group (EIG), based in Washington, D.C. “The level of concern and anxiety [at small businesses] can’t be overstated. There’s no analogue for it in other crises. Even during the Great Recession there was no off switch for the economy.” The Paycheck Protection Program, announced on Tuesday by Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin and the U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA), will provide loans up to 2.5 times the borrower’s average monthly payroll costs, with a cap of $10 million. The loans, which partially convert to grants as long as the majority of the loan is used for “payroll costs, interest on mortgages, rent, and utilities,” are supposed to help companies keep their staff employed (and, as Lettieri noted, have the added benefit of retaining institutional knowledge) when there might be little or no income coming in. Companies, including sole proprietors, the self-employed, independent contractors, nonprofits, and veterans’ organizations can apply through participating lenders starting Friday.

“On the one hand I understand why it’s very short-term, but what has happened is going to have repercussions for much longer than the next quarter,” said Jen Bekman, founder and CEO of N.Y.C.-based online art seller 20×200.

Jen Bekman is the founder and CEO of N.Y.C.-based online art seller 20×200.

Courtesy of Jen Bekman

With an estimated 30 million small businesses in the U.S. and almost 60 million small-business employees, according to the SBA’s Office of Advocacy, the more companies that can survive, the faster the country will be able to move toward recovery. If the unemployment numbers keep sliding, recovery could take years. “We’re already seeing unemployment at historically unprecedented numbers—times five,” said Lettieri.

That has left small-business owners and entrepreneurs “desperate for information and desperate for clarity,” said Lettieri. “There’s a huge information gap.”

Because there’s no way to know when companies will be able to open their doors again, some employers are wondering if their staff members would be better off getting laid off and going for the bumped-up unemployment checks. And with several programs on offer, including traditional disaster assistance and the new Paycheck Protection Program, small-business owners are unsure which best applies to their companies and, at times, if taking assistance from one would make them ineligible for another. As of Tuesday, Bekman’s understanding was that employers couldn’t receive both Paycheck Protection Program benefits and tax credits for required paid leave.

“It is extremely confusing,” said Astrid Storey, the creative director and sole proprietor of Storey Creative, based in Aurora, Colo. Though she had originally started a disaster loan application, she didn’t finish it, because she thought the Paycheck Protection Program would be a better fit. Even with a CPA and a bookkeeper helping her figure things out, the confusion continued. She spent six hours waiting to speak to somebody at Chase to find out what she needed to do to apply for the program. “But if you don’t have a personal relationship with a banker, you’re not going to hear back,” she said.

Most of Storey’s clients for her creative and digital marketing services were in the conference and events industry. “I lost every single upcoming client engagement between the last week of February and the first week of March. By Friday, everything I had built was gone,” she said. “It was like a barreling train. You could hear it.”

Storey’s business is an LLC. The company’s biggest expense? Her paycheck. Though she has one client on retainer that will still give her some income, her take-home pay from her at-home business took a big hit. The “primary breadwinner” for her family, Storey “had to make my peace with the fact that my credit score was not going to escape unscathed. I kind of had to make it very clear that keeping the utilities paid and the mortgage paid and the car paid were going to be the top priorities, as well as food on the table. Every other creditor can figure out what they’re going to do because they’ll get paid if they get paid, and then they won’t.”

Though Storey has bumped up her networking significantly and has pivoted to focus on industries like supply chain management that might come out ahead because of the downturn, it’s clear that money is going to be far tighter. “I had to forget about my ideal client and my ideal project and my ideal budget. Before I could make $1,000 in six hours. Now maybe I’m making $300 in six hours,” she said.

But, with the help of the Paycheck Protection Program, she plans to push through the downturn. “I’m going after this loan because I intend to stick with this for the duration,” she said. And as a sole proprietor who works from home, she added that her biggest expense is her own salary, so she expects most of the loan to convert to a grant.

What happens after that money runs out isn’t clear. Lettieri said the first round of $349 billion will likely last just a week or two if all the businesses he expects to apply do so. Though Mnuchin talked about expanding the pool of money over time, Lettieri said Congress has to be ready to pass legislation on that now “before they even get back to Washington. [Small-business owners] need to have certainty now to weather a protracted crisis.”

In addition, EIG is advocating for loans with 20 years amortization at 0% financing. The federal government can secure those rates, and businesses, he said, need a “borrowing capacity that will allow them to be resilient coming out the other side.”

Because entrepreneurs tend to be personally invested in their businesses and the well-being of their employees, many will go deep into their own funds if the business can’t support itself. That’s the case for Jeff Lipton, owner and chief mastering engineer at Peerless Mastering, based in Newton, Mass. In business for 25 years, Peerless has worked on masters for artists including Wilco, Andrew Bird, and Throwing Muses. Lipton is hopeful that the stimulus plan will help him get through what is already a significant downturn in his business.

Fifteen years ago, Lipton bought the commercial building where his studio is housed. Buying the building seemed a good idea, he said, until this downturn when it became clear that his tenants are all in distress, and at least two of the three won’t be able to pay rent. And Lipton’s own business is down 50% from a year ago. Musicians pay for mastering and albums through touring, a business that took an immediate hit because of the coronavirus.

Laying off his sole full-time employee is not an option, he said: “She’s absolutely essential.” He can keep the business running for another three months without an influx of cash from other sources, but that would mean going all in with his personal finances too. So after three months, “I would lose my business, my house, everything.” In the meantime, Lipton said, he’s doing some work from his home studio, but that includes offering pay-what-you-can to support musicians who are struggling.

The uncertainty will surely change the small-business landscape for years to come. With so many businesses going dark for, at least, the short term—and the retail landscape already in distress—it’s nearly impossible to imagine a post-pandemic America with an immediately-booming small-business economy.

Some owners are starting to wonder if they should bail out now, no matter how much they would have pushed to stay all-in in the past. For a lot of small businesses, Lettieri said, “it’s now a question of, ‘Should I cut my losses and shut down?’”

For 20×200’s Bekman, the question of whether to pump more money into an uncertain future is definitely top of mind. Like most entrepreneurs, she thrives on risk, but has recently been considering whether there’s a point at which she should just…stop. “Creativity comes from constraint,” said Bekman. “In some ways it’s a puzzle: How do we reinvent ourselves? But I’ve been in this specific business for a long time. I can look back and see times when I should have said ‘uncle,’ and didn’t. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to make that mistake again.”

Without a loan, grant, or use of her personal funds, Bekman would have to shutter the business just about immediately. But even if she gets one of the loans, if the pandemic and wait for a vaccine push the requirement for social distancing and shuttered businesses to six months, a year, or longer, “Then what?” she asks.

More coronavirus coverage from Fortune:

—Financial advice for the millions of Americans won’t be able to pay all their bills this month —“It’ll never be fast enough”: 5 questions for a ventilator manufacturer —Everything you need to know about furloughs—and what they mean for workers —Financial advice for the millions of Americans won’t be able to pay all their bills this month —SBA small-business loans: 8 things to know about the Paycheck Protection Program —The stock market had its worst quarter since 1987—and its worst Q1 ever —How to job hunt during the coronavirus pandemic —PODCAST: Two health care CEOs on why coronavirus tests and vaccines are the ammunition needed to fight COVID-19 —VIDEO: World leaders and health experts on how to stop the spread of COVID-19 Subscribe to Outbreak, a daily roundup of stories on the coronavirus pandemic and its impact on global business, delivered free to your inbox.

from Fortune https://ift.tt/3aQcWl6

#World News

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alicecpacheco · 5 years ago

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Too Much Time on my Hands...

Too Much Time On my Hands

My buddy Dr. Paul Feuerstein always uses song titles for his articles. I suppose imitation is the sincerest form of flattery… sorry Paul. Oh and also my apologies to the band Styx... Last week, Covid-19 was a topic of discussion and an annoyance. This week, it rocked the world. On Monday March 16th and Tuesday March 17th, my office was cranking along at a pace that made me proud. Patient satisfaction was high, employees were happy, and the financial numbers were more than sound. Then there was “that huge sucking sound” that was Covid-19 tearing through the social fabric. On Wednesday March 18th, everything changed for the office. I was forced to furlough 6 employees, cut the hours of those who remained, and begin dismantling a schedule that was a snapshot of front office efficiency. I’m pretty sure that all of you have similar stories to tell. This has been an incredibly awful week and, even worse, there doesn’t appear to be any consensus on when this all will end. My practice is now only treating emergencies and non-aerosol generating procedures. Unfortunately those procedures are not nearly enough to cover overhead. I’ve done a little research in my limited downtime and from what I’ve discerned, cutting back to the level advised by multiple agencies and organizations will drop office production 85-90%. You read that right. If your office has been producing $5000 per day, you can now expect about $750, and that would be on a good day. Covid-19 is not only going to affect biologic health, it is going to have a massive effect on financial health as well. By limiting procedures in our offices we are helping to fight this disease on the front lines ( and as we know, we ARE on the front lines). Our next step is to try and figure out ways to fight the other problems that this crisis is causing. What follows here are some ideas on what to do with all of this time on our hands. Clean, Clean, Clean According to the Harvard Coronavirus Resource Center, a recent study found that the COVID-19 coronavirus can survive up to four hours on copper, up to 24 hours on cardboard, and up to two to three days on plastic and stainless steel. The researchers also found that this virus can hang out as droplets in the air for up to three hours before they fall. But most often they will fall more quickly. Because we cannot be sure who in our office was positive for Covid-19 without showing symptoms, use this downtime to disinfect everything like you have never disinfected before. I have instructed staff to clean and disinfect everything in our clinic. When they are done doing this, I am going to instruct them to do the complete disinfection process again. Perhaps that is overkill, but when it comes to the health of our patients, I think this thought process is the best one. I am also going to have a similar strategy for our reception area. Sometimes we forget about that spot when we are thinking about infection control. Hopefully any virus left in that area would be dead in a few days, but in this case, better safe than sorry. There have been some questions about surface disinfection. Here is info from Kavo/Kerr regarding the surface disinfection product CaviWipes. It is a short but enlightening read. We are also going to devote time to completely cleaning and refreshing the office in general. Not just for Covid-19 but to eliminate those embarrassing “dust bunnies” that can hide under furniture, cobwebs in corners, etc. I will sometimes lay on the floor in the reception area and just look around to see if there are things that need to be cleaned. We’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had a chance to do that, so now is the time! Organize If your office is like ours, these past few months have been very busy. One of my associates, Dr. Sainy Adel, mentioned to me the other day that “since I’ve come on board, we’ve been pretty much pedal to the floor every day.” He’s right. It has been a tremendously busy and productive time lately. Like everything, that can be a blessing *and* a curse. When things are busy, tasks such as organizing usually get less attention. That means entropy sets in and things become more disordered. To that end, this is a great time to have dental assistants tear the operatories down to the bolts and get everything restocked and re-organized. That will greatly help when this is over and the gates open. I am optimistic that when those gates open, there will be a flood of patients coming in and we will need to be prepared for that. This also applies to the business office area. We have 3 members on our Admin Team and sometimes even that many isn’t enough. That means that their workspaces also get affected by entropy. They should also get ready for the tidal wave of things they’ll need to do when offices re-open. Stay in Contact with Patients Utilizing the technologies that we have at our disposal allows us to make sure that patients continue to think of us and put dentistry high on their priority list when all of this begins to fade. Let patients know how much you miss being able to provide their care and what you are doing during this time to ensure their safety when you re-open. Another good idea I heard lately was to have staff reach out to your elderly patients. Let them know you care and ask if they need anything. Many of our elderly patients are frightened, immunocompromised, or both. If you community allows you to be out in public, offering to make a grocery or pharmacy run could be a huge help to these people. Plus it’s just the right thing to do. Dentistry has always had a tremendous social conscience and this is just one more way to help and to show our concern for our older demographic. Focus on Things You Can Control We all have things in our offices that need more focus. Maybe you’ve been wanting to improve your endo skills. Maybe you have been wanting to decide with CBCT system you’d like to purchase. As Technology Evangelist, I’ve always got a long list of products to test and/or new things to focus on and implement. I’m using this time to get my “To Do List” straightened up and things checked off. We’ll be working on making our newer implementations have tighter impact on our every day systems. I’m going to be spending a lot of time with our Axsys 5x400 Mill and our SprintRay 3D printer. I tell people all the time that dentistry is one of the few jobs where the CEO is also the one in charge of creating the majority of the product. There are so many times when, as CEO, we think “if only I had some time to devote to ‘X’ business practice”. Guess what? Now you have that time. Wrapping It Up Work hard on being the leader you need to be. Guide your team and your patients through this difficult time. Before we know it, we’ll be back to full schedules and all the time eating problems we normally face. Take this time to work on and fix those things you’ve been dreaming of fixing. Then get out there and work on making those dreams a reality!!!

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