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ghostsofmemories · 4 years ago

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INSECT POISON: UPDATE 3

okay so first things first: I rearranged some things so what was previously chapter 11 is now going to be referred to as chapter 12, which is so long that it’s the only chapter this update will cover! it clocks in around 6.5k after cutting it down with editing. I’m eventually going to split it into two or three different chapters, but because all the events take place in the same day and were meant to be in one chapter, it’s easier to cover them all in one update and not include the chapters that’ve been written since then, all but one of which are pretty short.

content warnings (some of these are pretty heavy): sexual assault, death and cemeteries, possible hallucinations, toxicity/manipulation, instability

anyway, on with the update!

chapter 12 (formerly 11): quivering lip

this chapter surrounds adult Robert’s trip to visit his sister’s grave in the town he grew up while having a mental breakdown, the woman he meets there, and the interaction they have at her house that leaves him feeling even worse than when he started off.

some select excerpts from the beginning:

All this town knew how to do was rot. Robert realized this upon coming back for the first time in years—nothing was beautiful, nothing was alive, and nothing here was worth coming back to visit.

As he made his way through the empty parking lot, going slow in an effort to remember where Ramona’s grave was, he was struck with another bout of feverish anxiety. The baby was going to be his, and all his genes matched his sister’s, even when held up to the light. Would she grow up to look like her namesake, too? Would he have to watch a carbon copy of his dead sister, his greatest secret, grow up and put her hair in braids and ask for help with her math homework? He could already see it. Freckles and deep brown eyes and dark red hair, soft smile from her mother, talkative and hyper. Everything Amanda convinced herself Ramona used to be. He would be raising a eulogy, a little memorial. Ramona Bennett-Blanchard, in loving memory of Ramona Diane Bennett. Robert had force back vomit at the mere thought of it.

not him being totally wrong about what his daughter’s going to be like I’m-

He made sure no one else was around before sitting cross-legged in front of Ramona’s headstone. The feeling of fever left him just enough to give him hope this might help. “It’s been awhile,” he said, snaking his fingers through the grass around him. Dry, yellow, half-dead already. At least the sky was cloudy. The earth here needed some rain. “It’s miserable out here. Cold and stale.”

There was no reply, of course. The breeze replaced the need for one: skimming the sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck, smoothing him over. He felt like a child, here, thumbing weeds and talking to no one—like a schoolboy being forced to apologize. He made himself smaller, tried to conserve his heat against early November’s faltering autumn. He couldn’t picture himself leaving until his patience ran out, and desperation gifted him with heaps of it.

okay here’s the part where he talks to “Ramona” (she’s either a ghost or a hallucination and you don’t know because neither do I <3)

And there she was. Ragged bangs hanging over thin eyebrows, hair straight greasy and down to her waist, overalls covered in grass stains. Everything about her was juvenile and smelled of stale lake water. She sat on top of her stone, looked straight ahead, as if Robert was irrelevant to her situation. The dead version of Ramona was the same as the old one in looks as well as attitude—she’d been pulled fresh out of a memory, right out of their fifteenth birthday.

“You’re so…” Robert paused, looking up in awe at his sister, vulnerable as he could manage, tired as he was. “Young. And here.”

“You’re old and here.” She said, looking at him, now. He wasn’t sure why he expected her to look older, or if he’d expected to see her at all, but whatever his expectations were, they’d been slaughtered by her stare—cold and violent. No different than when they were both children and alive.

and oops here have some of the manipulation that made me realize some things in earlier parts of the book need to change:

Robert stood up and walked after her, realizing the ground was seeping and mossy and wet all around them. It hadn’t been before, he was sure of it. As he walked, the landscape meshed itself from dying town to young forest, and he was distracted by it, having to close his eyes when he wanted to speak. “How do you know about my daughter?” Robert asked, his socks getting wet beneath his canvas shoes, not standing well against the moist, newly swamping ground.

“Because I can know anything I want to, as long as you knew it first. I’m a part of you.” Robert stopped walking, and Ramona looked back at him. “You still can’t think about two things at the same time? How old did you say you were?”

“You can’t be a part of me. You’re a ghost. You’re dead.” He said, shutting his eyes again. Shutting his vision out didn’t seem to do anything. The landscape was in his head as much as it was around him.

“How is that more feasible than me being a part of you?”

“But you said you hadn’t been in my house. You said you weren’t following me.” He kept blinking, waiting for it to be dark just once. He tried putting his hands over his eyes, which seemed to work, but made him feel childish, all of a sudden. He didn’t know what to do with himself, with his body. He had trouble convincing himself he was inside of it at all.

“Like I’ve never lied to you before. Of course I’ve been there. I’m in your head all the time. You didn’t have to come here to talk to me.” Ramona laughed and started walking again. The laugh kicked Robert in the gut. It was old, rotting. He couldn’t be imagining this, could he? That was so her. She seemed almost more vivid than she had when she was alive—she was a memory playing out around him, but everything in it was raw, fresh out of the slaughterhouse.

a little internal monologue excerpt after ghost-Ramona says something about Robert killing her:

No one, himself included, had ever said it out loud before. He’d spent countless nights as a teenager practicing what he’d say if someone ever accused him, and he’d imagine confessional scenes before he went to sleep, or therapy sessions where he’d admit what he’d done and then disappear and change his name. But it was all in his head, just lips moving with nothing but breath coming out. He couldn’t afford to be overheard by anyone, for even the walls and the ceilings and the mirrors to know what he’d done. When he heard it come from someone else, he became a child caught drawing on the walls. The stages of grief hit one after another, each one knocking the wind out of him, but reaching acceptance was as impossible as catching a bird—he could run and lunge and sneak quietly up behind it, but all the bird had to do was go up.

and that’s that for that scene! now it’s time to meet Agnes! don’t get your hopes up about her :)

“Sir?”

He jumped awake and stumbled backward. There was a young woman, maybe a teenager, standing a few feet away from him, too nervous to get closer. She wore a brown jacket that went down to her knees, probably belonging to her father or bought for a couple dollars at a thrift store. Her hair reminded him of something that fluttered or floated, cut off at her shoulders and so brown it was nearly black, but swaying around her face at even the slightest breeze or movement.

“Sir, do you need help?” She asked, taking another step toward him. She was braver now that she saw how exhausted he was, how red his eyes were, how he coughed so hard that he nearly fell back on the ground. “It’s cold out here, and it’s been raining for awhile now. I think you’ve been out here for too long.”

“It’s raining?” He asked, and made an attempt at directing his attention to his surroundings, though the woman—or girl—seemed to have an extra dimension in comparison to the things around her, like she was a deer shaking in a forest. More rich. More colorful. Just more. But there was still a graveyard, still grass, the mossy swamp and Ramona were both gone. For some reason, this is what he expected. To become the madman who fell asleep in front of a headstone, who didn’t wake up even when it started raining. “I don’t know you.”

What he meant to say was are you from around here? and then because I’m from here. I used to be from here. And I don’t know you. It was nothing unfamiliar for his mouth to cut off the first half of his sentences.

you guys I promise I did not mean to start feeling bad for this guy and now I have to change his whole backstory to make it make sense someone help me

“I’m Agnes, and I don’t know you, either.” Agnes crouched down to be level with Robert, like she was kneeling over an injured animal or talking a toddler down from a tantrum. He supposed he was both. “Would you like some help?” She stuck her hand out, and when he reached out to take it, his blood, frozen, thawed a bit. Her hand was too warm and gripped his too tightly.

She hoisted him up, though she was much smaller than him, probably a lot lighter. “What do you need?” She asked, taking a polite step back. Her eyes were level with his throat, but she turned her head up, eyes darting around different parts of his face. His nose. The blood on his lower lip (if prompted, he wouldn’t have known where it came from). His eyelashes, tangled from sleeping face down over his arm but mostly dry when put up next to the rest of him.

Eventually, he and Agnes were in his car. He couldn’t remember, exactly, what conversation had lead them there, but he was almost sure she was afraid to leave him alone, that she had assumed he lived in town, and that he had probably lied about where he was from or where he was headed or why he was at the graveyard in the first place.

“Are you feeling alright?” She asked, bouncing her knee, looking up at him from her place in the passenger seat. He remembered how wet he was, that he was probably soaking the car and the seat and that he’d have to clean it all up later.

He realized, then, that Agnes had too much faith in him. The girl saw a man, most likely older than her, who’d fallen asleep crying at the grave of someone he most likely loved, and decided he was most likely a good person who was grieving, who was most likely unstable in a self-isolating way, in a no one will ever understand way, in a million ways he wasn’t.

“No,” he said, knowing he had waiting too long to answer and there was nothing else he could say that she would believe. He sighed, tried to remember where he was supposed to be driving. “But I’m sure I will be.”

“I hope so.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” he said, and let his subconscious drive for him. He remembered that he was supposed to be headed to Luther Street, that she lived at the end of it, that he told her he only lived a block away from there and he’d said he’d let her make him a cup of coffee and change his clothes, that they had a tub of her brother’s old clothes that were supposed to go to goodwill that would probably fit him.

“What?” Her eyebrows tied themselves into knots, knitted themselves into something sloppier. “Why not?”

yes I am going to continue oversharing excerpts from this chapter. I spent three months writing it and I think I deserve to indulge

“Because I’ve done a lot of bad things,” he said, and his heartbeat quickened in a way that was unfamiliar. Like someone walked in right after he broke something. “I’ll feel fine, eventually, but I don’t deserve it.” This was not something stated as a way to tear pity from the throat of the small animal beside him, it was a simple fact. This naive girl thought he was something worth saving, trusted him enough to get into his car and let him drive. He was a liar, a murderer, evaded her attempts to learn his name (but would hand it over anyway when she got into his car and saw his nametag from work).

“No one is irredeemable,” she said, looking out the window and making a small noise of understanding, something like huh but only in a hum, her lips never parting. “It’s snowing. It hasn’t snowed since the day before Thanksgiving.”

She was the sort of girl who loved winter, but mostly for the spring that followed. She was the sort of girl who would suffer through the death of everything colorful just for the satisfaction of watching all of it come back to life.

“I am,” he said, and he turned onto Luther, a street of smaller houses, where some of the locals couldn’t afford garbage service and tossed their trash into the back of their trucks until they had the extra cash to bring it to the dump. This was where most the stray cats of the neighborhood called home.

“What makes you so different?” and then a boney finger pointed to a blue-gray house on the right side of the road, a double wide trailer with a car in the driveway that was hoisted up on a jack. “That one.”

“I guess it’s because I’m still not sorry.”

“I think,” Agnes said, looking at him, though he couldn’t look back for more than a second at a time, trying to find a way to park in Agnes’ slender driveway, “that you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

“You have too much faith,” Robert said, turning the car off. He pulled the key out a little too harshly, and was compelled to look at it, to make sure he hadn’t broken it, but he knew better. The key wasn’t broken, half of it still wedged into the ignition, rendering the car and key useless. To check that his key was still in one piece would only further cement his impression as being crazy.

That’s what Agnes had to have thought. There was nothing else for her to think. There was no other option for men who fell asleep in graveyards, who called themselves bad people with no repentance, who checked to make sure their keys weren’t broken when they turned their cars off.

“I think I have the right amount.”

don’t get too attached to Agnes btw (spoiler alert: she doesn’t die (a little unfortunate imo)).

She was already frustrated with him, the stranger. Robert, his ID had said. Robert Bennett. Agnes came from a family of helpers and saviors, and Robert didn’t want to be saved.

Still, there were ways around such things. She would make him want it.

ew ew ew EW

He decided to wash his face in the bathroom sink before he buttoned the shirt up the middle, the warm water a refreshing change from the rain’s cold that seemed to have set into his bones, decided to stay there until it got warm enough to start decaying. He scrubbed with his hands, then with his fingernails, until he could feel his skin shedding. When he stood up straight again, he saw Ramona’s face—all covered in red, just like his, hair dark red and still damp because the towel could only hold so much. He slammed himself back against the wall, which was only a step away. In the kitchen, Agnes froze over the sink, the coffee pot overflowing in her hand, wetting her hand up to her wrist.

“Are you alright?” She asked. A moment had passed with no other sound to follow the crash, and there was nothing to do but ask. It felt like an invasion of privacy to do anything else, anything more.

Robert closed his eyes and took a moment to learn how to breathe again, then how to speak. “I’m alright,” he said, and if he was in his own house, no one would have heard him. The walls here were thin, though, and Agnes shook off the interruption to start the coffee maker.

When he was ready to open his eyes again, the reflection in the mirror hadn’t changed. It wasn’t Ramona. It never was. He just looked more like her than usual, that’s all. It was seeing her that had refreshed the image in his mind, gave his idea of her face more clarity, that’s all.

He sat on the lid of the toilet and held his head in his hands, for a moment, but didn’t let himself cry. There was no reason to, she wasn’t here this time. He hadn’t seen her.

and then some of their coffee scene:

“Oh, that’s terrible. I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it, you can, but you don’t have to.”

He was speaking before he had the sense to stop himself. “I won’t get too far into it,” he said, reaching for his cup of coffee. He had no plans to drink it, but now that it had cool enough to just warm his hands, he was thankful that it kept him busy, “but she drowned. In the lake. It was a long time ago.” Indeed, emptying his troubles out to a stranger was soothing, but Robert wasn’t known for his conversation skills. He wanted to let something else slip out—the sight of Ramona out of the corners of his eyes, seeing her at the graveyard and waking up to this gentle woman. Or girl. She was younger than him, he was almost sure, but she could be anywhere from seventeen to twenty-seven.

“Oh, I think I heard about that. Ruby Bennett? My older cousin was close with her. Well, she says she was. She exaggerates sometimes, but they knew each other at least. Martha’s my cousin’s name. I guess if you and Ruby were twins you would have graduated with her.”

“Ramona,” Robert corrected, and set his cup down. The name Martha was familiar to him, but not enough to distract from his sudden, unexpected defensiveness. He moved himself to the edge of the chair, frowning, already feeling the toll of the cheap furniture on his back. The furniture in his apartment was cheap, too, but it was a sort of cheap he was used to. Thrift-store-miracle cheap, not mass produced for $8 a piece cheap. “Her name was Ramona.”

“Oh, sorry. Ramona,” Agnes ran her finger down the short pile of unopened mail, averted her eyes, embarrassed by the nature of her mistake. Her accidental disrespect of a dead girl.

this next part is where the big content warning comes in, if you’re sensitive to sexual assault (it doesn’t follow through all the way but it’s definitely implied) probably don’t read this excerpt or the one that follows, they’re both pretty heavy

Not much later, Agnes was swiping a kiss in the hallway, walking Robert to her bedroom, breath hot and vision blurry. He was unsure how or when they got there, but it was something like this:

Robert, finishing his coffee out of obligation, hoping the caffeine would soothe his headache and give him the energy to drive home soon. He stood up, took the two or three steps to the sink to rinse the cup out.

Agnes, following his movements faster than he could make them. “Let me get that,” she offered, and took the cup from his hand, set his and hers down in the sink, stared up at him with dark eyes and deep red cheeks.

They were three inches apart. Robert opened his mouth, took a step back (Agnes mirrored it, of course, before he’d processed that he’d moved at all), closed his mouth. Opened it again. A toddler trying to speak, a fish pushing air to the water’s surface, a drowning man.

Several more seconds of staring, then Agnes’ hand on his shoulder, then her lips on his, then the half-walk, half-kiss through the kitchen and down the hallway. Robert felt as though he might doze off, might fall over, might start crying again. He didn’t understand what he was doing enough to stop. Agnes kept kissing him while she fumbled with the loose doorknob, kept kissing him while she shoved the door open. It had been awhile, but she wasn’t completely without experience. She moved like liquid, so fast and fluid that Robert could hardly inhale, let alone speak. Did she think she could baptize him like this? By holding him under? She started unbuttoning his shirt, slid it off his shoulders, let it fall off the unmade bed and onto the carpet.

It wasn’t until he realized that she was undoing his jeans that Robert pulled away. Pushed away. Did both at once. Agnes’ eyes flitted open, and she frowned. “What was that about?” Her hair framed her face in a way that made her look young, innocent (and it was still difficult to believe that she wasn’t either of them). She was sitting on the bed and he stood as far from it as he could. It was a twin size and still took up most of the room. He was only a step away from it and backed against the wall.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t have- I can’t do anything like that. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I-” He already knew his whole face was red and his hands would shake the second he thought too hard about them. “Agnes, I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. I need to go home.” His apologies were as sincere as they were unnecessary. This wasn’t what he wanted. He knew he wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t his father. His marriage was what tied everything together, the only reason he’d ever had to regret his past. It was what kept him grounded, even if that wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted for himself. Amanda was the only promise he’d ever kept, the only thing he’d ever paid faith to.

yeah so after this there’s a really awkward dialogue that needs some work so I’m just going to pretend it doesn’t exist for now, just take the end of this neverending hell chapter :) this excerpt is a bit disorganized and messy but so is Robert and so am I so it’s fine.

Leaving his hometown, dizzy and sick to his stomach a forcing his eyes to stay open for the entire fifty-six minute drive, there was a dull knife of guilt pushing at Robert’s gut, trying to cut him open. Why didn’t he stop her sooner? Had he just cheated on his wife? Where did he go from here?

He kept his eyes away from the roadside when he passed his childhood home on the way out of town. His mother wouldn’t miss his visit, and he was likely better off without it. He understood this better than he understood most things, and yet he had to stop himself from turning around, from finding himself on her doorstep, from knocking on the door and falling into her arms the second it opened. He longed for the comfort of any mother but the one the one who’d raised him. Was that an evil thing to think? Would his mother hate him if she knew he’d driven past her?

It didn’t matter. man does what he has to do sometimes, and if that made him evil, he could live with that. Sometimes, a man has to drive past his mother’s house. And sometimes, he has to stop someone from ending his life in a lake by the forest, watch the bubbles float to the top until they don’t, wait a little bit longer to make sure. And sometimes, he has to come home and tell his wife he wasn’t feeling well and had gone to the doctor and was told that he needed to rest for awhile pick up some tylenol if it didn’t get any better, tell her he’d sleep on the couch so he wouldn’t get her sick, question all night if he would tell her the truth tomorrow or not just to disappear off to work before she was up in the morning and leave a note on the fridge that he was feeling better and that he loved her.

Maybe he did. He couldn’t imagine a world where he’d be so afraid of losing something that he didn’t love. This constant exchange of fear and comfort really couldn’t be anything else.

okay yeah that’s it! hopefully soon I’ll update on the shorter chapters I’ve written since this one, but one of them needs to be re-written entirely since I’m changing so many things about Ramona’s character.

writing this chapter was a bit of a catharsis for me, and also made me realize some changes that need to be made to the backstory/early narrative because Robert’s character ended up evolving into less of a bad person and more morally gray, the kind of character you can relate to but sometimes in ways that scare you a little bit. I hope you enjoyed this update! I spent way too long working on it and even longer writing the chapter. I’m finally getting back in the swing of writing post-covid and post-going back to school for the first time in two months, so hopefully no other large life-altering events happen because I’m having a pretty good time writing this book.

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charmingpplincardigans · 4 years ago

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January Kitchen Sink Check In

This is mostly for me, because I’m trying to become a better person this year, for varying definitions of the term ‘better’, and I like to see my progress laid out all organized like. It helps me move forward. So I’m gonna go through my Body/Mind/Money goals for January and note how I did and what I’m going to do moving forward!

BODY

Working Out:

My two work out goals for the end of the year are to 1) be doing yoga semi-regularly and 2) be working out four days a week reliably, including the yoga. I’m working on easing myself into these (and all) habits, because I don’t want to overwhelm myself and give up on everything, so my goal for January was to work out one day a week. And I worked out *drumroooooooll* NONE! NOT A ONCE. I don’t have an excuse for this. Part of it was stress, part of it was depression, part of it was sheer laziness. I promise myself I’m gonna work out at least once a week in February, but also shoot for the two times a week that is the February Goal.

Food:

I have several overall food goals for the year. One is to give up soda near completely, or at least to break my addiction to it. The others are to start planning meals and eat less meat. For January I wanted to drink only two sodas a day (20oz max). I managed that 23 days out of 31. In looking at the calendar you can reliably match the days I failed to the days that were extremely stressful or anxiety ridden. I have a very bad habit in those moments of throwing up my hands and deciding that I’m a failure anyway so nothing matters. That’s definitely a mental tick to keep an eye on over the next few months as my job no doubt just gets more and more stressful. The other goals I did okay with. I decided to plan one meatless meal a week. New recipes I made in January were:

Black bean soup

Moroccan sweet potatoes

Spinach lasagna

Black bean & sweet potato enchiladas

Do recommend most of them. The lasagna had way too much cinnamon in it, which was kind of weird. If I make that recipe again I’m gonna quarter the amount. But I might just find a different veggie lasagna to make.

For February I want to drop the soda to one a day (12oz max), and start to plan to make two meals a week. I’m doing okay with meat, but I could for sure do better. It helps that I have started making THE WORLD’S BEST SANDWICHES for lunch. Probably just gonna eat those forever instead of ordering out Huey Magoo’s or whatever. (The sandwich is hummus, cucumber, and feta on toasted Good Seed bread. Try it!)

Doctor Things:

Uff. I need to figure out the CPAP issues and the chest pain issues. I absolutely despised the first mask they sent me for the CPAP. It gave me panic episodes and I was ripping it off IN MY SLEEP. Insurance refused me a new mask until April, but my doctor came in like an angel with a sample version of a different type of mask to try. This one is...better. I’m still not comfortable in it and it’s not appreciably helping my sleep. People keep telling me it’s going to change my life, but that has not happened yet. On the other hand I have friends who’ve tried to make them work for YEARS and never did, so I’m wary of this whole process, but still trying.

I had a sort of fraught meeting with my cardiologist last week. My chest pain symptoms had been getting better as of October, but with the change in my job I’ve back slid almost entirely. I had a 36 hour period of chest pain two weeks ago. I go whole nights having every heart attack symptom in slow motion, but doing nothing about it because I can’t afford for the ER to tell me I’m fine five times a month. I cried when she asked me why I didn’t go to a hospital when that happened. I feel so helpless all of the time and I’m certain I’m going to die any day now, even though my heart is technically physically fine. Can you anxiety yourself into a heart attack? I THINK YOU CAN. She did tell me to try to speak to the psychiatrist again about anxiety medication. The last time I tried the woman I saw didn’t want to prescribe me anything. She told me to work on my sleep and come back. Welp! The cardiologist said that if that happens this time she’ll write a note telling her to prescribe me something. We’ll see. I need to try to make that appt this month.

MIND

Therapy:

My therapist thinks I’ve done really well over the last year with working on myself and said out loud that she thinks I’m better at dealing with some things and am in a good position to move forward. But I’m so stressed right now that I just feel like I’ve fallen apart again. We’re meant to start on EMDR this week, but I’m going to have to put a pause on it so I can talk about how I’m at like, the lowest point of my life, which she will be very supportive of and then probably remind me that if we could just get to the EMDR and work with the older traumas this might not feel so dire. I’m just, on the struggle bus and too tired to do anything but freak out about that.

Writing:

I have so may creative goals this year! Too many probably! I should put some back! My creative goals for the year are:

Complete a rough draft of AMLD (10,000 words a month)

Complete and mail out the Girls Who Date the Universe chapbook

Complete and mail out any remaining art for people who helped me with the car fund

Work on poetry and short fictions (Monster Story?)

Actually check in to @gywo every month (10 days a month goal)

My creative goals for January were to write 10,000 words on AMLD, work on the extra poems for GWDTU, and send the remaining postcards from the car fund. And uh...look. I did work on writing. I worked on the chapbook layout and editing pieces that needed to be edited/replaced, because there are several. I did also work on the outline for AMLD, but didn’t write new words on it. Not anywhere 10,000 of them at any rate.

The owing people art thing is just...it fucks me up, man. I have learned a huge lesson between the car fund and the patreon. I get so in my head about how these people deserve beautiful things and then I tell myself I’m not capable of making things worthy of them and then I put off doing the thing because I want to put off letting them down and then it just spirals from there. ALL THE WHILE I AM FOR SURE LETTING THEM DOWN. I realize this is both unhealthy and unprofessional. It’s why one of my goals this year is to clear all of this once and for all so that I can square myself away with everyone and try not to end up here in the future.

So, the January Goals now get rolled up into the February Goals, which leaves the new list for the month at:

10,000 words AMLD

Complete extra poems for GWDTU

Send postcards from car fund

Complete layout for Boston chapbook for car fund

I did check in for GYWO.

Future Plans:

Part of letting off the pressure for the now for me is always about planning for the future. Not like, the actual future, I’m not starting a 401k, let’s not go nuts. But for something that is one step forward. In my notes for my year goals this is all about moving back to Boston. I need to set a date for it. I need to save money for it. I need to keep my job until after I’ve done it. But now I think this part needs to include notes about my job itself and the ways I can either move forward with it or move away from it once and for all.

I talked to Lisa and Kait at the beginning of the year about the moving plan, and now I just need to talk to my apartment complex to see if it would be feasible to extend the lease to December or February without paying an exorbitant amount in rent each month. If rent ends up being more than $2k/mo for the extension then I’m just going to have to have to wait until June 2022. This frustrates me, because I hate not being able to just follow through with decisions once I’ve made them, but patience is another thing I’m working on eternally. My goal for February is figure out money stuff well enough and talk to complex and set a timeline.

Work is. Wow. It’s awful right now. I still have my job, which takes up much of my days, but because of re-org I’m also having to learn a whole new job which would also take up much of my day. I can’t not learn this job, because the person who used to do it is in another department now too, so there’s no one to get the work done if I don’t learn to do it. But I also can’t do both. I CAN’T DO BOTH. An issue popped up last week with my job that literally brought my ulcer back. I asked my boss for help with it and she sent me a message at one point saying she wanted to cry about it. So like. She knows now, right? She knows I can’t do both jobs?? BUT THERE’S NO ONE ELSE TO DO IT SO I GUESS I JUST GET TO SLOWLY KILL MYSELF. I’m just so frustrated, and angry that these decisions get made without taking the people in them into account, and of course anxious and miserable. I’m currently dreading work in a way I haven’t since I was in text perms. It’s real bad. So I have to find a way to make it work or find a way out.

My February approach to that is to finish this Love It or Leave It book and see if I can’t divine where my true motivation lies, and also to research library school. I kind of would rather not go back to school. Not because I wouldn’t spend my entirely life in school if I could. I WOULD. But because it’s expensive and time intensive and there’s no promise my life will be better after it’s over. But every job I think I want pretty much requires that masters, so. We’ll look into it at least.

MONEY

Eating Out:

During the pandemic, one of my money sinks became DoorDash. I never used it before, because it costs literally twice as much as just going to get the food. (Also because I kind of like eating in restaurants alone. Ah, one day again I hope!) But the more afraid I became of the outside world, the less inclined I was to go into a restaurant to pick up take out, so I’ve had it brought to me. And I need to cut that shit out! I have food at home! My goal for January was to order out only 4 times a week. I managed this for three of the weeks, but when I blew it it was definitely those weeks at the very beginning and very end of the month where I was super stressed. The goal in February is to only order out 3 times a month.

Savings:

I need to open a high yield savings account. I’ve had the starting money for the move just sitting in my bank account making me no extra money for like, four months. The latest reason I haven’t moved it over is that I’m worried I’m going to owe a lot in taxes this year because of the partial unemployment I got. Hopes are that since it was a work share the taxes were taken out ahead of time, but I do not trust the government with my money as far as I can throw them, so. I’ll do my taxes this month and finally know for sure. And then I WILL move the rest of the money into a high yield savings account. I WILL.

Also, every time my credit union savings hits a grand, I’ll move $500 of that over into the high yield account to put toward moving expenses.

Budget:

I keep meaning to sit down and work out my new budget for 2021. I’m bringing home a little bit less in my paycheck because I changed my health insurance, and I’m also, of course, trying to save as much as I can ahead of moving so I don’t put anything on credit cards. (I’m doing so well paying those down!) This means I need to save everything I can and not spend money on stupid frivolous stuff. I’m not buying clothing like I did in the before times, but I AM spending too much money at Target still, because the app lets me just peruse any dumb idea I have and then pick it up that day! What a disaster! So, I really need to work something out. Or at least, I need to check my bank accounts more often and keep tabs on how much is actually going out. I have a bad out-of-sight-out-of-mind habit when it comes to bank accounts. Just another piece of me to try to cure this year.

And that’s it for January. I’m now late to bed because I’ve been working on this post for an hour and a half. Working on my sleep is also a goal, but we’ll see how exercise and the cpap handle that. Til next month!

#kitchen sink check in #to do #progress

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theroguefeminist · 5 years ago

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What are the things an (minor) individual can do to help against climate change?

One book that really helped me rethink how I do things to be greener is called The Story of Stuff--this book is great because it thoroughly criticizes capitalism as the source of this problem while also connecting it to how we all live our daily lives. This video is a great introduction, their website is an excellent resource on ways you can get involved, and they have lots more videos. TL;DR: our society is obsessed with working and producing for the sake of it for endless growth instead of minimizing waste and work so we can rest and value the things we produce and buy. We should shift our thinking from endless production to only working and consuming things when we actually need to.

There’s a lot we can do in lots of different aspects of our lives and I think all of us (including myself for sure) could improve. No way can each of us do all of the things I’m gonna bring up in this post, but most of us could probably do a bit more. What we can do will vary depending on life circumstances and privilege, so keep in mind that not everyone will have access to these things and this is not an indictment on people who don’t do some of them (all of us, myself included) and it’s not even a comprehensive list, but it’s a start. Some of these things may not be possible for you as a minor, but you may be able to suggest them to your parents or keep them in mind once you move out on your own.

To make it simpler I will be breaking it down into different categories.

Political Engagement

Be politically engaged and vote / put pressure on politicians to adopt measures that will minimize global warming (this includes increasing regulation of corporate carbon emissions, protecting clean water, supporting the Green New Deal, protecting habitats, and simpler policies like eliminating single use bags and straws when possible, etc). I know you said you’re a minor, but you can still sign petitions and write to politicians (esp local ones). I’d say start reading up as much as you can on climate change policies and which politicians prioritize this issue so you can be ready once you are able to vote. You can still participate in protests / demonstrations and you may be able to join certain organizations like the Sierra Club (although you may need to be 18+ for some) Local Efforts You can join local organizations and volunteer / participate in beach/wildlife litter clean-ups and other efforts to improve your local environment or town. Pay attention to local issues like your parks, beaches, nearby wildlife, water and air policies, etc. In middle school and high school you’re probably required to do community service, so you can devote your hours to something climate change related. You can also find out what efforts are being made at your school to reduce carbon footprint and even get involved with your school board/ student government to address that.

Transportation

Minimize driving as much as possible. Use public transportation or walk or bike when you can. If you have a choice to work or go to school closer to where you live or to do work remotely, take it and minimize commuting. If you are in the market for a car, try to choose a hybrid or electric car or at least one with higher mileage. If driving is unavoidable where you live or for a specific trip, carpool where possible. Help out your coworkers or classmates by driving them or vice versa. This has the added advantage of helping others.

Energy Use / Pollution

Be mindful of energy you might be wasting. Try purchasing rechargeable batteries instead of disposable or using rechargeable appliances instead of battery-operated where possible. Avoid leaving devices on or plugged in when they don’t need to be. Use lower light settings on your devices (this is better for your eyes anyway!). Find out if alternative sources of energy are possible for your house (such as solar power instead of coal). Don’t smoke/vape or pick up smoking/vaping as a habit or quit if you have. Avoid creating sources of smoke such as bonfires or wood stoves/fireplaces unless necessary. Minimize use of heaters / air conditioning except when necessary.

Fashion

Resist fast fashion: try to shop at thrift stores or when you buy new clothes, from sustainable outlets or at the very least more durable staples (i.e. something that will stay in fashion and in good shape). You want clothes that last as long as possible instead of following short-lived trends or being cheaply made and wearing out quickly. (Example: the prom dress I wore for high school was a chic but understated black dress that has lasted me over ten years--most people wear their prom dress and then toss it in the trash). When you outgrow your clothes or become tired of them, donate them to a thrift store, someone you know, or charity--don’t throw them away unless they are stained, have holes or are otherwise worn out.

Technology / Goods Don’t ditch your phone, tablet or computer for the latest model unless necessary. Avoid brands that are designed to die quickly and be replaced. Do research and try to purchase well-made products that will last and get repairs where possible. Avoid hasty purchases for things you will only use a short time then throw away. Try to buy things with re-use value instead of disposable (for instance, a re-washable mop or sponge instead of disposable wipes). When you decide you do not want a product anymore, donate it instead of taking it to the dump. You can also research companies that are making efforts to be reduce their carbon footprint and which are the worst offenders and try to buy from greener ones.

Food

Shop with reusable cloth bags or where not possible, recycle or reuse paper bags (one option during covid-19 is keeping reusable bags in your car or getting bags that roll up small to keep in your pocket and bagging them once you leave the store). Compost, give away or donate food you don’t eat before it expires. Avoid food with excessive plastic packaging. Try to buy local at farmer’s markets, local grocery store outlets or co-ops if affordable and feasible. Use biodegradable bags when shopping for produce instead of plastic bags. Consider minimizing your meat and/or dairy intake if possible. Try to buy in bulk where possible. Try to buy sustainably / ethically sourced food where possible.

Waste

Learn how to properly dispose of special kinds of waste like electronics, batteries and medications. Dispose of these properly instead of just tossing them in the trash. Re-use and recycle where possible. Compost. As mentioned above, avoid purchases that involve high levels of waste such as disposable items or those with built in obsolescence or a short life. Avoid unnecessary use of water (i.e. leaving the sink on while you brush your teeth, long showers, frequent baths). Where possible, avoid buying items with a lot of plastic packaging or individually wrapped parts.

Again, It’s not possible for every single person to do all of these things, but probably the majority of us could do more of these things. Just listing this out made me thing of more things I could be doing. I encourage people do do their own research too on ways to minimize their carbon footprint bc there’s probably a lot more than what I listed here.

#global warming #activism #environmentalism #climate change #green #awkwardbutinwardlyverysassy

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grim-faux · 4 years ago

Text

14 - Exodus on Fire

After examining his surroundings thoroughly, Chris turned and walked out of sight. I wasn’t certain where he had gone, or what the area was like that he was now in. I watched, waited and listened, but at this distance the sounds of his chains were rebuked by the doorframe and the walls. It frustrated me to no end but I was unwilling to proceed until I had some feeble hint to his whereabouts. That area looked dark enough, if I could get to the shadows he might not notice me. Or at least get around him, if I could slip under his field of vision. It was either the big fucker or the fire, and while I was safer in the flames, it was easier to shake him.

I reached the doorframe and listened, he could be on the other side admiring a wall, and I wouldn’t know it. Or he might’ve found some other room to wander into, a way out less dangerous than playing in fire. Sweat trickled down my hairline, the air was dry and warm but an odd draft glanced my brow as I was crouched and waiting. I was on a tense countdown, the brittle timber of the Asylum was going up like matchsticks with every second I wasted. Rush out and get snared by the big fucker, I wouldn’t be worried about burning up with two face. I scooted closer to the doors edge, carefully touched the frame with my left hand and tilt my head near the wood. I strained to hear, to imagine if I could where the big fucker would be. A crack and crunch echoed from the other side, his trademark symphony of demolition. The reverberations had distance on them, not clear cut noises near my position, which elicited a sigh of relief. I peered around the corner and raised the camera, no eyes, no movement. Crouched low I scampered into the shadows and paused, scanning the room. Chris had headed to the right so that’s where I focused my attention. It looked like another office station or watch room, sandwiched between the two corridors that boxed it in. For employees protection, when the doors were present and variants had not gotten loose all over the god damn place. The wood floor ended at broken tile, a few pieces clinked as I stepped on them but the bad spots were easily avoided. I knelt down and waited, the door abuse would have covered up the miniscule sound but it had ceased when I had moved. I strained to pick out movement at the limit of the cameras zoom, but nothing presented itself. The surrounding hall was still and silent, aside from a faint plip-blip. Across from where I knelt, bodies had been situated around a table as though invited to a tea party. Overhead, the leg of one was tangled in a lamp cord and his jagged neck stump dripped blood into the bucket set in the tables center below. Something glittered in the lap of a man on the right side, and I focused the camera to make out the outlines of a head, probably the former property of the man suspended above the gathering. I would chalk this up to one of the more disturbing displays of mutilation, though there was no limit to the overabundance of insanity. At the far end of the room was larger entrance, shocker, it wasn’t crammed with crap so I could run through if I needed. Seemed redundant, but little things like that needed to be noted in the event I rushed through and got lost in my panic. That was an often enough occurrence. I didn’t want to dwell on that scenario, couldn’t afford to lose time. The smoky scent was oddly reminiscent of a campfire, if not for that underlying bite of plastic. As I headed through the broken frame into the next corridor, the hazy vapor swirled in the blinding light lying on its side. The lamp was that model that could be mounted or moved, a second lay a few feet from its twin. Looked like their clamps had been snapped off and they were abandoned on the bare wood floor. A bad spot if I needed to sneak by, but I was momentarily distracted by another plate mounted on the wall labeling directions. Baths were indicated to the left, along with the Cafeteria. A few carts loaded with supplies sat in the way, they creaked as I pushed through toward what looked like another blockade of shelves and some desks. I tested the sturdiness of the desk and found I could wedge my body between it and a shelf. It was better than going back. I grunted and struggled against the furniture threatening to pin my body, and paused only once when the sharp pain crept up my side. Just my ribs wanting attention, by far the worst injury I’ve received here. Worse than the traumatizing loss of my fingers, which were not yet a life threatening matter. If I wasn’t careful a good swat from any of the variants would snap them, and what would follow would be a painful exercise of survival without puncturing my lungs and drowning in my own blood. The corridor must have continued to the cafeteria, but the path was lost for whatever reason. I observed a large and evident archway on the other side of the blockade, boarded up tightly with planks of wood. This activity must have been undertaken somewhere during Mount Missives operation, the wood was aged and I couldn’t see the survivors of Murkoff going to this much trouble to fit the boards so tightly together if they were in a panic. A simple but crude barricade, evidence that even before Murkoff’s influence, Mount Massive was shady and cruel in its own methods. The baths were in the next room on the right, as indicated by the plate beside the open door. I peered around the corner to view rows of tubs for patients, several had decaying slings attached to a weighted arm mechanism beside them. For lobotomized patients? The thought caused my stomach to lurch, I’m sure there were a few even before Murkoff took over. A few tubs in I spotted one of the patients doing… something, I’m not sure I wanted to know what. He looked distracted enough, I just needed to get by without agitating him. The storm had calmed to some degree, allowing light to seep through the muggy glass from nearby rooms, and perhaps the outside lamps. I’m not entirely sure where from, didn’t care too much either if it meant saving my batteries. I secured the camera long before I reached the man, but he raised his head and gave me some brief attention while he did… whatever he was doing. It appeared he was bathing a corpse. “Hushaby, you’ll have your turn.” He sounded feminine, I guess. Or he wanted to? I decided not to record this. This was right on that list of most bizarre and/or disturbing things I have witnessed yet in this place. The corpse was in what might’ve been water at some point, but it was dark crimson and bloated with blood clots. The patient gently rubbed his shoulders and scooped ‘water’ over his chest. “There you go. We clean your belly, clean your arms. Every little crevice until we find that key.” I fought not to make any sudden movements, hasten my pace or stutter as I passed him. “I know one of you babies has it. There you go, shh, shhh.” He was preoccupied, and he was clothed. That was good enough. The tubs along the wall were filled with blood, body parts. Others appeared to have been out of commission, with an oily black tarp laid over the sides to prevent use. A body lay in one, black blood dried along the sides and a twisted expression of agony in his eyes. His mouth was wide open and his tongue swollen black and his remaining teeth cut into the parched flesh. Someone that didn’t want a bath? I was utterly shocked by what was in the last tub I passed. Actual water. I couldn’t explain why, but the very sight of it filled me with horror. Maybe I was becoming so desensitized to the carnage, something so remedial reminded me of the earlier hours of my day. Holding intelligent conversations with semi-conscious human beings, or the recollection that there would be - WOULD BE - a life after this. Once I was out, I could resume a normal lifestyle. Put a fuck lot of distance between my remaining psyche and Colorado, retire, and live on the earnings of my story. But the nights. And the dark. I shuddered. I knew without a doubt I’d wake up in the middle of the night shrieking, horrified by the shadows running up the walls. My heart racing in my chest and the memories of this place - hiding in the corners and wondering if the creature stalking through the black shadows would find me. Would I be fast enough to keep away from it? And when I woke up, was I truly awake, or was I dreaming I had awoken safe in bed? Then feel the same raw terror as Chris suddenly appeared beside me, face cut back in a cruel grin with eyes dead and murky gleaming with malice. The repugnance in that sneer as those skeletal fingers reached for my throat. I’m an investigative reporter, always, ALWAYS willing to risk my neck getting the stories no one in their right mind would dare touch. I’d done some pretty reckless and dangerous stunts in my career, interviewed people that wouldn’t think twice to gut me on the spot to save face. Goaded suspects without a care what they might do if witnesses were not present. The thrill excited me, I needed the challenge, I couldn’t accept a job that wouldn’t reciprocate the kind of work I was willing to put into the means of acquiring the evidence. Political corruption, corporate wrongdoing, Christ, I even interviewed a sick monster of a man that had described his sadistic cult brutally raping women before cutting them into pieces and burning the bodies to conceal the evidence – in their mind, if it no longer existed you couldn’t prove a fuckin thing. All of these stories I had collected and sold, them and dozens more. All for my rent, car payments, bills. Months of data retrieval, sifted into a feasible document that could be distributed to the masses, so they could read and feel and learn what terrible things the world had hidden. The horrible things happening behind their backs when they weren’t looking, what they willingly ignored so they could lead an honest life. Then turn around and pity the people that had endured this shit, and in the same conversation forget them altogether and return to their lives, to their reality. While multitudes of people still suffered to the corporate hog that profited off their blood and sweat. Profited from their voice unheard. Then. Here I am in one of the worst fuckin places in the world, fighting to get out of this little hellhole that Murkoff had burned into the planet. And I was feeling it. I was experiencing the horrors our little side of paradise could muster, the unspoken cruelty hitched to people forgotten to the world. People brutalized, mutilated, and experimented on for the curiosity of a man already long dead. And I was cracking under the strain of it all. Lightening flashed outside, bring me back to this place, back to here. I looked at the tub of water, dirty with grime but it was still water. I took a slow breath and turned to the room, lit with the soft glow of a light. Just a light somewhere above, I didn’t see. The room was a disappointment. A plate by the frame read Sprinkler Valve, and inside was a large pump that must have controlled the distribution of water in this section. I didn’t bother shutting the door as I met the valve and twisted it, the sharp hiss of air being forced from the pipes. It gave a low rattle and I waited dully for whatever may happen, but the noise passed and a low burble vibrated from within the walls. I backed away towards the door, instead bumped into the wall beside the frame and dropped to my seat. I drew my knees up, my body began to quiver and I took in a small breath as I felt tears spill down my face. I hated this place. I hated this fuckin place so much. I pressed a palm against my eyes trying to calm down, but everything was so messed up right now. Had to get out. That’s all I needed to do. Get out with everything I have, and bury these bastards far in the hell they devised. How long had that been my sole mission? Too long, I recalled. A new wave of helplessness surged through me and I choked a bit as I took another sharp breath. The moisture stung the sensitive remains of my ring finger, and I cowered down under the crushing blow of humiliation. Miles. I won’t die here. I can’t die here. I took a deep breath and focused on that odd tickle in my side. I refuse to die. The fire still consumed the Asylum, I had to keep moving. There was no argument in the matter, I was not going to wallow and let death take me at its leisure. I rubbed my collar at my face and got up off my ass. As I hurried through the baths I kept on the furthest side of the tile wall. “No complaining now, we have to wash every little part.” I picked up the pace. “Who’s a clean baby? Who’s a clean baby? You are….” There was no sign of the big fucker on the other side of the barrier. He was probably just in the other room, doing his stalking thing. If I darted past there he would see me and give chase, and I had no idea where I would go after that. Most the barricades were set up to keep him out, I could always come back to this side. Not a good plan B, he’d know I was right here with no other option but to eventually crawl back out. In the meantime the fire swarmed on. Just had to find a fool proof plan A. I slipped out and crouched low crawling on the floor to the doorway I had come through. Through the NV I couldn’t see him in the hall across where the light didn’t reach, didn’t hear him wandering nearby either. I peered around the doorframe, he wasn’t there. He had to be somewhere, the big fucker wouldn’t just take off. Unless he knew I had left this area, he would hunt around until he found me. Somehow he knows where I am, suspects where I’ve gone but he doesn’t know for certain. My only edge was his doubt. I finally realized the light I was standing beside cast a huge shadow on the wall behind me, so if Chris were somewhere it wasn’t in that room. I kept low as I snuck by the cracked frame, to an open doorway at the other end. It was a set of double doors, one door was crushed into the room. I tried the handle of the other out of curiosity to confirm, previously these doors were locked. I entered into another office area, separated into smaller cubicle sections. The walls crossing the room fashioned after the same glassed in design prominent in this section of the Asylum. Long wooden counters boxed in the right side of the room where I entered from, shelves lining the walls within had been stuffed with moth eaten files and books. At least one desk was set up in each cube, the drab glean of the still functioning monitors barely cut into the dark room. I toggled between the nightvision, and whatever light was coming through the windows on the left hand side of the room. I didn’t want to get stuck someplace without batteries again if I could help it. I did manage to stumble when a box of files caught my foot, completely missed as I scanned over the cracked office windows. I passed through a doorway into the other half of the room, finding more of the same, nothing useful aside from some lockers and empty boxes and files lost on the floor. I scattered a few with my foot, but didn’t go through them. At the worst possible time, the big fucker would find me. I needed to pay attention. Though I did stop as I passed by a desk and found a blood blotched body curled up beneath, a camera in his hand. I knelt and slipped the device free of the stiff grip and checked for batteries. There were two, but I pondered the camera a moment. What was he hanging onto this for? Evidence? It was broken, I couldn’t find out what happened in his last moments. But a dial on the top I could just make out, it had the usual features and one I was accustomed to using. The nightvision. This seemed pretty straight forward, so I left the body to resume my own survival. There was still no sign of the big fucker as I wandered to the hall on my left, to a light source that looked promising. I kept checking the office on the other side, where the bodies sat idly around a bucket of blood. I reached the corner of the first hall I entered from, and glanced around the side just as the big fucker stepped out from a doorway. I took a quick step back and lowered my camera, hoping he’d not see me. “Little ghost….” He hummed, as he entered the corridor after me. I hastened to back away, until he flew into a sudden dash. I pivoted and retreated to the office area, a draft glanced across my back as I picked up speed. I was barely an arm’s length out of his reach and the grating sounds of his breath were too close, much too close. I brought up my camera and shot around the corner, nearly flying into the locked door in the hall. Chris hollered out as he smashed into the door at full force, it felt like the whole building shook with the collision. I nearly lost my footing as result but that could have been the shock. The counter was on my direct right, I hoisted over and spun about as I retreated a few steps. Chris entered the room and cast his eyes around, it didn’t take long for him to locate me just standing there staring back. He heaved his girth over the top, simultaneously I sprang over the opposite side and took a route through the back half of the office through the white light cutting through the windows. “It’ll hurt just for a second….” The feeble wood quaked under his heavy boots as he cut the distance. I weaved around desks glancing over my shoulder, the chains caught about his wrists glint oddly in the soft glow of the screens we passed. His fingers twitched as he raised his arms, briefly reminding me of the pain they inflicted when he struck me in the sewers. As I took a sharp turn around the edge of a door, I caught the frame in my left hand and let myself twist about nearly falling to my side. Chris kept going, trying to pivot about just as fast and slipped on his bloodied boots. Some furniture crashed as he slid into it and a flash blinded me momentarily, from a broken monitor knocked off the desk. As he struggled to get up after me, I pulled myself through the door and retraced my steps out of the room. A sharp pain pulsed up my forearm, I didn’t know if I pulled something or tore it. Didn’t have time to give a damn. I didn’t know where to go, he knew I was here and would be hunting my location. There were scarce few spaces I could hide in unless I huddle in the shadows, praying his patrolling sweeps didn’t stumble upon me. I could outrun him, but that wasn’t a solid plan. More desperation than calculation, it nearly cost my life once. A few seconds, I had a few seconds before he honed in on my direction. I needed more time to figure out what should be done next. I really didn’t have a clue. I found myself back beside the room he had emerged from. This might throw him off, this might buy a few precious seconds. It was a high risk gamble, but I wanted to take it for no other reason than to satisfy some sick yearning I had to shirk him. I slammed the door behind me and sprint to the back of the room, where the lockers were concealed by dark shadows. On either side of the wall sat tables and laundry baskets, abandoned with patients uniforms still inside. Rather trap myself in a locker, I ducked under a table at the side as the door buckled, splintered, and crashed open. I froze up immediately, though still out of breath from the running and the panic. I carefully lowered the camera to my knuckles and stuffed my face against my stiff collar. The strong scent of blood hit me and I realized my shoulder had been bleeding bad since Trager hit me with the shears. In all the anxiety, I had totally missed it until now. My eyes locked on Chris as he wandered into the room, he paused near the middle and made the soft sniffling sounds as he tried to track me. I can’t understand how this was possible, he didn’t have a nose. I swallowed and fought with my desire to lower down just a little, I was poised on my hands and knees stock still and felt all for the world exposed. If I shifted, breathed, if I blinked he’d hear and be on me before the realization could process. I was cornered, unless he was flabbergasted momentarily by my audacious concealment attempt. But he diverted into the next room, and searched that area thoroughly before he returned to reevaluate this room. Without a doubt I was here, he just hadn’t found me yet. My breath hitched as he turned to the lockers and made his way towards me. Try not to cough, try not to breathe, don’t even think. I shut my eyes and listened as his heavy steps moved right next to me and stopped. Was he facing me, or was he still staring at the lockers? Don’t tense, don’t move. I squeezed my eyes tighter and clenched my jaw. His labored breath was amplified beside my ear. A locker door flung open and after a pause shut gently. I waited, holding my breath till my sides ached and my eyes watered. Just a little longer. Hang in there Miles. He’ll leave. He’ll leave. The other locker snapped open and after a moment, shut as softly as the first. A tense moment passed as the silence held, was he scanning over the walls now? What was he thinking? He knew I was here, he just didn’t know where. From the position he stood, was I visible under the table? Just leave damn it. Go stalk somewhere else. I promise you, I’m not here. Finally, his boots scraped over the broken tile as he turned. I choked back a thin whine. “Fuck.” His steps grew distant and the rattle of chains departed my senses. Soon the room was silent and calm. I took a deep breath through my collar and winced, terrified he’d charge back in after hearing that subtle gasp. My hand shifted on the floor, and I realized I had it in a puddle of something. I was afraid to look, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t what I thought it was. It was. The remains of my ring finger had torn back when I caught the door frame, and blood collected on the floor under me. I wrapped my arms around me as the quivers began through my body without restraint. As I was pulling myself out from under the table, the adrenalin poisoning caught up to me and I buckled forward vomiting onto the floor. So much for the granola bar. It took a few minutes to get myself under control. I spat out the taste and staggered forward, catching myself on some washer vats before I could fall to heaving again. Focus Miles, focus. Where was I? Laundry room. No way out but the broken door. Was there anything I could use in here? I took the door on the right, where Chris had searched for me. Shelves piled with sheets, some tools and boxes. The only light above didn’t reach the other side of the room, which was a black shadow that looped around the center shelf. The connecting closet had more to offer, a water line with a valve to turn. If there was enough water pressure in the system at this point, I could activate the sprinkles and put out the kitchen. I’d rather let this place turn to cinder, I’m sure that patient would too, but I needed to get out first. I turned the valve, then spun away to leave the room. I paused briefly and peeked around the doorframe, meeting eyes with Chris on his return search. He gave a snarl and lunged, I nearly backpedaled away before I recalled the room was a small water closet. I dove forward on my initial path, he trudged into the room swiping out as I ducked down into the shelving space. I snatched a nearby laundry basket to pull between us, and tumbled backwards when my heel caught my foot. He tried to kick it aside, but the linen sides absorbed the shock and the basket tipped over rather comically. Outraged he hauled it up and threw it my way, as I pulled myself up and wound around the shelf. The basket cracked against the wall and dropped to the floor. It would have been silly, if that ugly bastard wasn’t crushing it underfoot in his frenzy to reach me. I dashed around the shelf and out the door, moving smoothly through the next room as Chris took up the chase. I was still shaken from the last encounter, but it felt like my feet were flying across the floor, I felt so light headed. Which way was it to the cafeteria? A plate on the wall clarified my direction, I was on the wrong side of the hall with the fallen lamps. I twisted and lunged through the watch room, barely raising my camera to see as I was clearing the shadows of the lite corridor. A left here, into the sprinkler room, or whatever it was. Chris was right behind me. I cleared the doorframe and spun about, throwing the flimsy door against the approaching behemoth. When it cracked shut in the frame I threw myself against the wood, with some insane notion I could hold off the wall of rage and muscle about to tear through. Chris collided with the door at full force, throwing me off backwards. I stared up as the frame cracked, jammed in place. But it wouldn’t hold for long. I cradled the camera to my chest and stood examining the closet over. Tiny space, two fuckin lockers. Bad. Bad. Fuckin bad! I was trapped in here with that big fucker, while he clawed through the only exit. Hide in a locker? He wouldn’t fall for that twice. The door whined in its hinges, for a splint second his eyes were visible through the cracks. Now. I had to do something, maybe stupid, it couldn’t wait. Time was against me. I punched the button, relieved that the sprinklers did come on and that I had achieved something after all of this. The door splint inward, and Chris howled in frustration. It made my blood run cold, or that was the cold water soaking my coat and face. Think Miles. There was a way out of this, there had to be a way. I was over thinking the situation, but it was impossible to focus with the door giving under each shattering blow delivered without remorse. The big fucker wouldn’t spare a moment to consider my death when he ripped my head off. He wouldn’t even pause. Had to move, had to run, had to rely on my instincts. That alone was all I had in this room. I crouched low by the door and tucked the camera under my coat. I would need it soon. The door crumpled inward, Chris burst in, and I ducked right out. Right by the back of his bloodied legs, he hadn’t noticed my absence yet. The gushing shower cloaked most of my heavy breathing, the water so thick I was inhaling it. I sped around the next corner and found light illuminating the gap I first entered though. The cafeteria was not far from here. The scent of sodden wood hit me, and black smoke rolled out from the upper frame of the open door. I remember leaving it closed, but this could mean the patient had left. He was the only surviving person in that room. The scorched Murkoff staff met my gaze as I turned the camera through the gloom. I tried to cover it with my other hand as the water fell in torrents, the cold drops aggravated the freshly ripped tissue but I pressed on. It must’ve been the earliest design for emergency sprinklers, or the heads themselves were damaged from years of neglect. Probably a little of both. The flow was beginning to lessen as I navigated the dark room. Thick gray smog filled the ceiling and the room was thick with steam, the violent clash of frigid water and the inferno. Some of the wood persisted to smolder angrily with embers, refusing to douse despite the thick river washing over its surface. I tucked my face into my collar and made my way around the tables and under a shelf, keeping my gaze locked on the soft gleam of the kitchen. My goal. The place where Trager had picked me up. Best event of the day, watching that fucker die. Could almost be better than getting out, considering I wouldn’t have good memories tied to this place. Aside from Trager’s death. I gave the entrance a scan before entering fully. The same countertops and pots were visible, the shelves, all of it was here. I barely remembered this place, but I did recognize the shapes. Shelves for stacking trays, I mused. That made sense. And there was the dumbwaiter I naively crawled into to escape the variants. It hurt to recall these events and I was reminded that on my camera, the entire sequence had been captured. At the moment it saved my life, I didn’t want to admit it but…I would’ve died in that room. No doubt. One thing always led to— Two face lunged out at me with a shriek, grabbing me by the NECK! I couldn’t shake his arms off without risking my camera, so I just slapped him with my bloody hand. It took a few jabs until I finally just struck him with my palm, causing him to stagger backwards. I shoved him away and drew back, freezing in the same instant as he leapt at me with another caterwaul. He knocked me flat on my back before skipping over my face and out of sight. Fourth Rule. Maybe that should have been the first rule. He slammed the doors after him. At least he didn’t hit me with something painful, but my heart was still pounding in my chest. God damnit, putting out that fire must’ve really pissed him off. The danger had passed for the moment, needed to keep moving and put this place behind me. The kitchen looked normal enough, for a horror movie. Long metal countertops were situated at the rooms center, stoves lined the surrounding walls, and pans dangled off racks hung from the ceiling. And a patients body chopped into sections, on one of the island countertops. I was tempted by the provided arsenal to begin tearing through the drawers and cabinets, hunting for a large knife or selecting one of the numerous skillets dangling from the racks. But I remembered the MHSs’ dying words to me, as though he were haunting me this very moment. …can’t fight them…have to hide… It would help me in no way to threaten mentally disturbed people, they probably wouldn’t even realize I’ve caved their skull in with a pot while they carved a knife through my chest. Guns did no good, what hope did I have with a knife? I’d survived so far, that was more than the tactical cops could say for themselves. Tempting, terribly temping, but more harm would come of it. I walked around the table, towards a door on the other side of the wall. I opened it slowly and peered inside. Looked like a small preparation lounge for the staff, I deduced they didn’t do a lot of cooking. A few microwaves had been stationed on the counter. And a bloody bowl. I sighed as I approached the bar and raised my camera. “I’ve said it before, but fuck this place. I’ve still got those fingers left.” Small blessings. I didn’t bother to date the note, just put it away and shut the door. Not a lot to say about this room, no valves or levers or buttons. Just some overturned shelves crammed in the doorway at the back, a few boxes of canned goods scattered on the floor. A small closet on the right had shelves stacked with more cans, stuff you get at your local grocer. I pulled out a few marked cocktail fruits and another of green beans, peas, things with pop tops. I drained a bit of the fluid out of each and dumped the contents into my mouth. I wasn’t big on canned stuff, Alzheimer’s caused by the lead in cans and that sort of thing, but fuck that, I’m hungry. The echo of a shriek came from the other side of the door. I paused to listen, then picked up the camera and crept back into the pantry. I had one last can of chunky soup before I pushed the door open and paused at the kitchen, straining to pick out any other hostile noises on the other side. It might’ve been my imagination, or the floor above. There was no other sound beyond the door, so I opened it a crack and scanned the room over. The main doors were still shut. That didn’t set me to ease like it should, but that was about the limit of reassurance I was going to get. I gave the bowl of fingers one last look, before shutting the door and searching for the way to the elevator. It was easy to find, just had to turn left from the dumbwaiter and retrace the steps Trager had taken. I found the boarded up door, and yes, it was locked. The carpet wasn’t carpet, it was ugly wood floorboards that were older than the tomb of Ramesses. My memory was a little fuzzy, I didn’t remember passing through a doorframe to get out of the hall, but the elevator was right there. I went over and looked up at the lift, where it was stuck. In the end, it had been worth it to see that sick fucker die. I turned away and there, straight ahead, was the exit. In big, bold, red letters. Father Martin was waiting for me out there. I was in no hurry to stroll on out head first, and stumble into worse nightmares than what the Asylum offered. I took my time reaching the gaping doorway trying to see past the rain and gloom, trying to find shapes that might be waiting. And as I brought up my camera, I did see a shape huddled up in the branches. I backpedaled from the mist and sprang through the nearest doorway. What the fuck was that? It sounded like something hissed at me, or yowled, something between the two sounds. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, only that it frightened me. Was that a shadow in the blaze of lightening? I was just being an idiot. There was nothing out there but a crazy ‘Priest’ guy, and that was scary on its own. It could have been him, I just imagined the sound with the rain and thunder. I was terrified enough to imagine those sort of things, the Asylum was always emitting horrifying sounds that were not a figment of my imagination, I was just accustomed to being jumpy at every little creak. I tried to calm myself and glanced over the office I had hidden in. At the end more files had been scattered under a cheerful lamp, one read Confidential. I passed by some spazzed out monitors to reach the lone desk, and flipped through the pages. MKULTRA program, CIA MORI doc no. 140401, pp. 1, 5, 9, excerpts To: File Subject: Special Research, Bluebird I. General Problem For the past several months Bluebird has been endeavoring to ascertain by research, study, instruction and some practice what value (if any) can be derived from SI (Sleep Instruction) and H (Hypnotic) techniques when applied to war and specific Agency problems. 3. Can we create by post-H control an action contrary to an individual’s basic moral principles? 7. Can we guarantee total amnesia under any and all conditions? 8. Can we “alter” a person’s personality? How long will it hold? 17. What are full details on a “sleep-inducing machine. This was the hypnotic sleep system they were trying on those two patients. Hijacking peoples brains to make them perform functions they wouldn’t normally undertake in a lucid state of mind. This was scary stuff, if you thought about it. The military finding ways to reprogram people to perform certain functions, or find out how far they could go with completely reformatting a person’s mind, and inducing amnesia in their subjects. Which brings to light one of my original questions. Had Murkoff been trying to ‘cure’ the patients for further experimentation? It didn’t make sense to perform all this ‘dream’ therapy on mentally disturbed people. That would be the equivalent of experimenting without a control group. What had they been trying to achieve here? Had the patients been a more suitable candidate than those with a solidly fixed and sane state of mind? A starting ground, perhaps? Make mentally unstable people believe God exists, make them feel he exists and see where that goes. It’s been the oldest belief of mankind, to the beginning of history man had a deep rooted desire to believe a higher entity was true and responsible for mortal man’s fate, and bring others to share the dream. Through fear and devotion, belief could drive a man to do anything, even kill his own son. If so, it might’ve worked too well. One question that dismantles this theory though. In the security room, what did I witness kill the tactical cops?

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction

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hopefulfestivaltastemaker · 4 years ago

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September 13, 2020

My weekly roundup of things I am working on. Topics include wildfires, exotic energy sources, speculative energy sources, the Biden housing plan, and creative outlets.

Wildfires in Oregon

Oregon, along with the rest of the West Coast, has been in the news for devastating wildfires that are still ongoing. This is certainly the worst I have experienced, much worse that the 2017 fires in California. Both Oregon and California are having their worst seasons on record.

In Oregon, it started last Monday, when a strong (and unseasonably early) east wind came over an already dry state, drying the air further and spreading fires rapidly. The Portland metro area experienced sporadic bad air quality on Monday and Tuesday, and it has been consistently bad since Wednesday. Today is no noticeable improvement. The weather forecast is for clouds on Monday and some rain on Tuesday, which should finally bring about some improvement.

So far there have been dozens of deaths in the West and several dozen more people unaccounted for and significant property damage. My guess is that most of the damage will be harder to see: the impact of the poor air quality on people who are already vulnerable. These events bring about yet more disruption in a region that has already been reeling from the pandemic, economic hardship, and civil unrest.

I made a facetious remark on Twitter about solar radiation management, but I really have been struck at how much the weather has cooled down. The temperature is at least 20 degrees (F) cooler than it should have been, due to soot particles reflecting sunlight. In my neighborhood, the light-sensitive streetlights are on during the day. I can look directly at the Sun without hurting my eyes. Needless to say, I will need to be convinced that any solar radiation management scheme will not significantly harm air quality before I will believe it’s a good idea.

If anyone is actually reading this, I would implore you not to use the fires merely as a talking point for your pet climate policy. This is something that irritates me greatly. In the immediate term, we need relief and a stronger firefighting force. In the medium term, we need better forest management practices. Greenhouse gas mitigation helps only marginally in the long term. Don’t try to tell me that building a bike lane in New York City is the solution we in the West are looking for. Once the fires are extinguished, most climate activists will lose interest in our land use needs and move on to the next disaster.

Exotic Energy Sources

This week I added an Exotic Energy section to Urban Cruise Ship. I had been considering this for a long time, and I went ahead and did it mainly because I have been stuck on some harder projects and wanted to do something relatively easy. There are no graphics planned, as I don’t see the topic as important enough to justify assigning more work to our graphics guy, but there are a few interesting things.

One recurring scheme is various ways to capture piezoelectricity, which is generated through pressure on a surface, such as when people walk over a plate or cars drive over it. One study in Australia found that with more advanced generators, an educational building at Macquarie University might recover 0.5% of its electricity usage by installing generators at high traffic points. With technology that was current at the time of the study, it’s probably more like 0.06%.

As for roadways, I cited several studies that report levelized costs of electricity in the range of multiple dollars per kilowatt-hour (wholesale prices tend to be in the range of 3-6 cents/kWh and retail on the order of 10 cents). The exception was a California study that reported 8-20 cents/kWh, which as far as I can tell is just an uncritical repetition of claims from the vendor. Also not discussed is the fact the source of energy is kinetic energy from cars, so unless the car is braking, the generators are stealing energy from motorists. We might as well be using diesel generators then.

If I were to make a guess, the pilot project is little more than California burning several million dollars on a patently unworkable scheme because of some marketing by a shady vendor. I’m all for trying bold ideas that are not guaranteed to succeed, but one must draw the line at ideas that clearly won’t succeed or where basic feasibility questions haven’t even been asked.

Biomechanical energy harvesting is an idea that got a bit of hype a few years ago, but now few people seem to still be interested. Making some extremely generous assumptions, I estimated that it would have a theoretical of about 1 exajoule per year, or about 0.2% of primary energy supply. More medium-case assumptions would cut that by at least a factor of five. Plus that doesn’t account for extra exertion required by the person or embodied energy in the devices.

There are probably some niche use cases for piezoelectric generators and biomechanical systems, such as low power distributed sensors and personal electronics respectively.

I even commented on the power from rainfall paper earlier in the year, an idea too silly to take seriously.

Speculative Energy Sources

But even with the above we’re not done. I decided to venture into the realm of speculative physics.

In quantum physics, even a system with zero temperature must have some latent energy due to the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. This has been termed the zero point. So naturally that leads people to speculate that zero point energy could be harvested for useful purposes. The near-consensus seems to be that this is impossible, that it must violate thermodynamics somehow, though I found it surprisingly difficult to find a rigorous explanation of why this is the case. This paper from 2019 is all I found, and even then, it only rules out two of three proposed ZPE extraction methods based on thermodynamic principles. Incidentally, the authors hold a patent on the third method and claim there is inconclusive evidence that it works.

Additionally, there is the NASA Eagleworks project to use the quantum vacuum to develop a spacecraft that can operate without onboard propellant.

There is a lot of interesting physics here that I don’t understand. I was expecting to write a short, dismissive comment for the website, but it would seem that ZPE is a legitimate area of scientific research. Maybe this will actually work for energy production someday. But there is no solid evidence yet, and any claims of a currently working ZPE device can be safely rejected.

Some other ideas that pop up, based in speculative physics, including hydrinos, neutrinos, quark fusion, and the ever popular perpetual motion machine. At least neutrinos and quark fusion are legitimate physics, but as far as useful energy production goes, these are all pathological ideas. I’ll add more as I see them. I briefly covered cold fusion a while ago on the Fusion page.

I expect that when the site is finally done, of the many things people could fairly accuse me of, not being comprehensive will not be one of them.

The Biden Housing Plan

Evidently I am a few weeks late, but the Biden-Harris campaign has a housing plan. The tl;dr is that there might be a few good things here, but I’m not too impressed.

When it comes to housing affordability, the principle I’ve tried to reiterate over and over again is that it comes down to supply. If there are 1,000,000 people who want to live in a city with a zoned capacity for 800,000, then 200,000 people will not be able to live there. It doesn’t matter if you impose rent control, eviction moratoria, inclusionary zoning rules, offer Section 8 or other subsidies, or whatever. As long as the supply is fixed, all these do is change the rationing mechanism from price to something else. Which, it must be acknowledged, is often the intent.

Traditionally, the federal government has a limited role in zoning. That could change of course; the federal government today has major roles in many areas where it previously had a limited or no role. As it is now, I see two plausible hooks for federal involvement in the near term. The first is the Fair Housing Act, where it can be argued fairly convincingly that zoning rules have disparate impact on protected groups, and in some cases intentional impact; and the second is to tie zoning reform to federal Community Development Block Grants or transportation funding, where reform is a matter of insuring that federal spending is actually used effectively.

The Biden plan calls for reinstatement of the Affirmatively Furthering Fair Housing rule, which while imperfect, I think is better than what the Trump Administration decided to go with, which is nothing. As for the second, I momentarily got my hopes up when I saw that they were promoting legislation to do just that. But upon reading the details of the HOME Act (which was introduced last year but I was unfamiliar with until now), I see that the list of measures the bill calls for to promote “inclusive land use” are wide-ranging, and only some of them can reasonably be expected to increase the housing supply. It could be a good piece of legislation, but much rides on the implementation. Zoning reform advocates at the state level routinely underestimate the creativity that municipalities will show in evading the intent of their laws.

Anyway, there is a lot of other stuff here on racial discrimination, energy efficiency, and the Davis-Bacon Act (which probably makes housing less affordable by running up construction costs), but I won’t belabor the issues. All in all, it’s a plan that reflects the set Democratic interests pretty well, has a lot of stuff in it, and would do little to achieve broad-based housing affordability.

Creative Outlets

Like many people, I have been continuing to struggle with a variety of stressful circumstances. I took more time than usual this week on some creative projects, which has helped.

The newest one I am calling Project Epsilon, which for now is a maze generator. I’ve long had a fascination with generative content, and I would like to see how far the concept can be taken, but for now it is really just for fun. It is not deployed, but someone knowledgeable with Python and Flask in particular can download and run it fairly easily. Not that there is much to see yet. All it does it let the user input a few parameters and make a maze.

The other is Repair the Cosmos, which is deployed but hasn’t been updated publicly in a long time, despite considerable local activity. This is an incremental game that is meant to tell the story of humanity from the Paleolithic to the far future. I started it in January and have been working very intermittently since then, but I finally have a burst of creativity going for the first time in months. I still expect at least a few weeks before the next update, and I can only go for so long before I start feeling guilty about not doing real work.

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believingispowerfulmagic · 5 years ago

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“The Christmas Cottage” Chapter 1: Time

A/N: Happy Advent everyone! Here is my gift for the OQ Advent story, which was the one chosen to kick off the calendar! It’s a long one so I’m dividing it up in chapters. I hope you all enjoy this story based on the Hallmark movie “The Christmas Cottage.”

Regina thanked her driver as she opened the car door. She shivered as the December cold filled the car. Stepping out into it, she closed the door behind her and quickly hurried toward the front door of the building in front of her. Reaching out, she wrapped her gloved hand around the golden handle and pulled the door toward her. The scent of pine wafted past her, coming off the festive wreath hanging on the door. It sent a pang through her heart but she pushed it aside as she strode into the warm building.

She stopped at her mailbox, opening it and finding it empty. Figuring her fiancé already checked it, she closed the door and continued into the main part of the lobby. It was decorated for the season with wreaths hung on the walls and in between the elevators. An evergreen bough entwined with colored lights lined the desk where security sat and a tall artificial tree sat in one corner, its lights twinkling and fake presents resting underneath it. To complete the festive atmosphere, holiday music played over the speakers and in the elevators.

It all seemed such a stark contrast to how her day had been. She was still trying to process everything that had happened as she passed their night security guard, Thomas. He tipped his hat to her as she headed straight for the elevator bank, in no mood to talk to anyone but her fiancé. Maybe then it would all feel real.

As she rode up in the elevator, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and she got lost in trying to sort them out. She jumped as the elevator arrived at her floor and the doors opened. Taking a deep breath, she exited the elevator and headed down the hallway to her apartment. Regina pulled out her keys and opened the door, stepping inside. “Daniel? I’m home.”

He didn’t respond but that wasn’t unusual. Daniel often continued working after he left the office and he liked to listen to music when he did so, meaning he likely hadn’t heard her. She knew he was home because the mail sat on the table where they kept it. Regina looked through the items and determined nothing needed her immediate attention.

After hanging up her coat and scarf, she headed down the hallway and entered the bedroom they had converted into Daniel’s office. It was painted white with wood floors and decorated with framed black and white photographs of famous buildings. His drawing table was located by the large window in the room, giving him a gorgeous view of the Manhattan skyline as he worked.

Daniel sat there, earbuds in his ear as his head bopped along to whatever song he was listening to. His pencil flew across the paper in front of him, sketching out a building Regina knew was going to be magnificent once it was built. She hated to interrupt him when he was in a groove but she needed to talk to him, so she gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

He jumped and twisted his body to look at who had disturbed him, relaxing when he saw it was her. Daniel took out the earbuds and smiled at her. “Hey, babe. You just get home?”

“Yes,” she replied, kissing him. She studied the building he was drawing, noting that it didn’t look familiar. “Is this new?”

“It is,” he confirmed. “With luck, this is going to win the bid and become the new centerpiece for the Belfrey Center in Seattle.”

Excitement and pride filled her, pushing her other feelings to the side. She knew his firm was going to submit a bid to Midas Industries but there hadn’t been a decision about which architect would be the one to design it. Daniel had been talking about it for almost two months and she knew he had been campaigning hard to be the one they chose. His hard work had paid off.

“Congratulations!” she said, rubbing his back. “This is a big deal!”

“Well, we haven’t secured the contract yet,” he said. “This is just for the bid.”

“You were still chosen out of all the architects in your firm to create the bid. That means that they respect and value your work. Even you don’t get the bid, this is the start of big things from you. I just know it,” she told him.

He grinned. “Thanks. How was your day?”

The question brought her crazy and confusing day back to the forefront of her mind. Her good mood disappeared as she grew somber. “It was bad.”

“Bad? How?” he asked, frowning.

“Albert Spencer died,” she replied. “He had a heart attack last night. Or at least that’s the assumption since the janitor found him stiff and cold at his desk this morning.”

Daniel’s eyes widened a bit. “How awful! What happens now?”

She sighed, leaning against the wall as she felt fatigue take over. “I think they’re still working that out. We spent the day contacting all his clients. They are thankfully understanding and were expecting our work for them to pause for the holidays anyway. So now I guess it’s just the funeral and then figuring out who will be working with his clients after the New Year.”

“Are they going to replace him? Make someone else partner in his stead?” Daniel asked. She could see the wheels turning in his head and it made the knot in her stomach tighten even more, not loosen.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Everyone was talking about it but I think the other partners aren’t going to focus on that until after the New Year.”

He nodded, rubbing her arm with a smile. “You’re a shoo-in for it, you know. You’re one of their best lawyers. Spencer had to know that or he wouldn’t have kept you on his team.”

She knew he had a point but still shook her head. “I think Spencer was grooming Arthur King to take his place and he’s probably going to get it. Aside from Mal Draco, it’s pretty much a good old boys club.”

“That’s not fair,” Daniel replied, crossing his arms as he frowned.

“I know,” she replied. “But think about it. How many women are in top level positions at your firm?”

He was silent before shrugging. “No company is perfect. I hope ours changes soon. But I can’t focus on that. I need to focus on this.”

Daniel tapped the paper on his desk and she nodded. “Right. Just like I can’t focus on what the firm will do. I need to focus on Mary Margaret’s wedding. Which reminds me—did you ask Thomas downstairs to put a hold on our mail and newspaper?”

“Oh.” Daniel paused but the sheepish grin he gave her when he forgot about something and was embarrassed by it did not appear. Instead, he stayed somber as he said: “We need to talk about that.”

“You’re not coming,” she said, backing away from him. She didn’t pose it as a question—she just knew. Disappointment flooded through her as she pressed her hand to her stomach. “We’ve been planning this for months. I was really excited to go away with you.”

“I know,” he replied soothingly, rubbing her arms. “We can plan another getaway, one where there’s no one else. Maybe we can spend Valentine’s Day on a tropical beach.”

“It wasn’t just about us going away together,” she replied softly. “I was looking forward to going to the wedding with you. For us to hang out with my family and friends in my hometown. You’ve hardly spent any time with them.”

He sighed. “I know and I understand it’s important to you.”

“But,” she prompted, hearing it in his voice. It made her feel even angrier.

“That’s all your past,” he said. “I’m more interested in our future.”

Daniel slid his hand down her left arm until he could raise her hand up. She glanced down at the large square cut diamond sitting on a platinum band studded with smaller diamonds on her ring finger. Her heart melted a bit and she smiled softly. “Our future,” she repeated.

“A future that will be even brighter if I nail this design,” he said, letting go of her hand as he motioned to his drawing. He gave her an earnest look as he continued: “And that’s why I need to stay here so I can work on it. I can’t afford to be distracted right now.”

Her ire rose again and she pulled her hand from his grasp. “My friends would just be distractions?”

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“No,” she replied, crossing her arms as she glared at him. “I don’t. Please enlighten me.”

Daniel sighed, carefully reaching out to rest his hands on her arms. “I meant that I would have way too much fun with you and your friends that I wouldn’t want to ever go back to our room to work. And I have some tight deadlines I need to hit, so I would either not hit them or have to lock myself in our room and not spend any time with anyone.”

“Oh,” she said, her anger dissipating a bit. She should’ve known he had a good reason for what he said. Lowering her arms, she leaned closer to him as she said: “You should’ve started with that.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want to spend time with your friends or that I didn’t care about them. I do. It’s just now isn’t a very good time.”

She nodded, disappointed but more understanding. “I get it. I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he said, hugging her. “This will be our first Christmas apart.”

The lump returned to Regina’s throat as she realized he was right. She tried to swallow past it. “Do you think you could sneak up to Maine for Christmas?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish I could but it just wouldn’t be feasible. Not for what would just be a night. Maybe two—but that would be pushing it. I pretty much need to be in the office on the twenty-sixth.”

“Then what are you going to do on Christmas?” she asked, her heart hurting at the thought that he would be alone.

He shrugged. “Honestly? Probably working. I’ll probably order Chinese or something.”

“That sounds sad,” she told him. “It’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be alone. Why don’t I call Kathryn and tell her there’s been a change of plans so you’ll be coming to dinner?”

“I guess,” he said hesitantly. “But I really need to get this done. It’ll probably be best if I just stayed home and worked.”

Regina pressed her lips together, knowing that he was not big on celebrating Christmas and that he had described his ideal way to spend the day. Still, she pressed on as she rubbed his arm. “Look, if we can’t be together on Christmas, I will feel better if I know you’re with friends just like I will be.”

He relaxed a bit and she knew his resolve was melting when he gave her a small smile. “Okay. If it will make you feel better, you can call Kathryn and tell her I can come.”

“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll call her in the morning.”

She stepped back, crossing her arms as she gave him a stern look. “Have you eaten? Or did you come straight home and start working?”

His sheepish grin finally emerged. “I wanted to wait for you and figured I’d get some work done while doing that.”

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What do you want?”

“I figured we could just order from the sushi place down the street. They’re usually quick,” he replied, taking her hand as they left his office.

She frowned. “Are you sure? I could try to cook something quick. Maybe try one of Glinda Goode’s twenty-minute meals? It would take less time than delivery.”

Daniel paused where their foyer exited out into their living room, gently rubbing her arms. “You’ve had a stressful, emotional day at work. Do you really want to cook?”

His tone implied that it was a rhetorical question. That of course she didn’t want to do that—that no one would want to do that. Rather, they would want to lay on the couch and put up their feet until it came time to answer the door for the delivery person. She had to admit it did sound nice. And she would be able to get some work done in that twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” she admitted.

“I’ll place the order,” he told her, pulling out his phone. “You want your usual?”

Regina nodded. “Yes, please. I’m going to go change.”

“Okay, darling,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “I’m going to get a little bit more drawn on my building.”

He moved back toward his office, head bent over his phone as he placed their usual orders. Regina sighed as she headed into their spacious living room. She navigated around the glass coffee table that sat between two black armchairs and in front of the matching black couch. Two tall lamps rested in corners, lighting up the room. As she headed toward the door that led to the master bedroom, she passed the small artificial Christmas tree she and Daniel had set up earlier that week. It came already decorated with white lights and matching white and black ornaments, looking very sleek and chic. They also had two stockings over the fake fireplace against the wall separating the living room from their kitchen. Both were black and white rather than red and white. There were no other decorations and everything fit well with their décor.

Regina, though, always wanted to do more. She longed to really decorate their apartment for the holiday—especially given how tall and wide their windows were. Lights would look amazing around the edges on them and she knew she could create little scenes in each window, even if no one else could really see them. It would be enough that she could and each year, she stood in the decoration aisle of the local story to admire the decorations. Yet she never purchased any, knowing that in the end, there would be no time to properly decorate as she and Daniel were often too busy. The only reason the tree went up at all was because they just had to take it out of the box and plug it in—just five minutes of set up, if that. And the stockings just hung on hooks they never took down from the fireplace, so it took them even less time.

She missed having a real tree, though, and she missed spending a good chunk of time decorating it with ornaments that held lots of memories and special meaning attached to them. While she got to play Christmas music on Christmas morning, she wished she could play it all the time and dance around the apartment while either decorating or wrapping presents. Or while making every type of Christmas cookie known to man, the apartment smelling like gingerbread or peppermint. Instead, she usually listened to it through her headphones while working as already wrapped presents and factory-made goodies were delivered to their door.

It was another reason why she was looking forward to spending Christmas in Storybrooke—the whole town loved the holiday and pulled out all the stops to celebrate it. There would be real Christmas trees that were properly decorated and music everywhere. And she knew Granny would keep them all well-stocked with cookies, pies, hot chocolate and eggnog—while Ruby would be stocked with all types of spirits to add to the latter two. She had wanted Daniel to experience that kind of Christmas at least once—even if she knew it wouldn’t change his feelings about the holidays, they would at least have the memories.

Most of all, they would have time. It was a precious commodity here in New York. So she was looking forward to just being able to spend time with him without work interrupting them. Maybe they could finally start planning their own wedding…

“Regina? Dinner’s here,” Daniel called out.

She felt as if she was just jolted from a dream. Blinking a few times, she realized she had just been standing in her bedroom and hadn’t moved. She had stopped to think but hadn’t really had the time to do so. One day, she would reach the point in her life where she would have all the time in the world to do whatever she wanted.

Regina realized she couldn’t afford to dawdle much longer. Clearing her throat, she called out: “I’ll be right there.”

Quickly changing, she headed out to their dining room. Daniel set the table and pulled their food out of the bag it had been delivered in. She continued to the kitchen, pulling the stopper from the bottle of wine they had opened the other day. Pouring two glasses, she returned to the table and handed him one. He thanked her and they sat down together to eat.

They discussed their new vacation plans as they ate and sipped their wine. Regina hoped her disappointment didn’t show. Daniel’s excitement over landing the Belfrey deal didn’t seemed dimmed so she guessed he didn’t pick up on it. He told her that they would have all the time in the world after her won that and got promoted to partner at his firm. Regina listened and nodded, hoping it would all come to pass as he said and they would finally have that most precious commodity.

Time.

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#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #hallmark #oq advent #the christmas cottage

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

Text

Need A Best Friend

anonymous said: Hi there, love! I was wondering if you could do some fluffy Rami x reader where they were really close in college and she is brutally OBSESSED with Queen. (Fast forward to filming BoRhap) Rami brings her on set and finally confesses the feelings he's had for her the whole time as Freddie. (Freakin' love your writing ❤️)

“Rami, you know I don’t like surprises!”

Rami rolled his eyes playfully, rubbing the sleep from them as he shifted a bit in the backseat of the car that had picked you both up bright and early to take you out to Rockfield Farm. He’d flown you out to London on the premise that he missed you and wanted to show you the secret project he was currently working on. You’d said yes, on the conditions that he didn’t make you sleep on the bed while he took the couch or chair – or worse, the floor. You knew Rami like the back of your hand, and many-a-night in his dorm you’d had to argue with him for hours on how it was his bed, not yours.

“Y/N, you love surprises more than anyone I know. Don’t even try that with me.” Grinning sheepishly, you glanced over your shoulder at him as the England countryside whirred on by the window, and Rami felt a stirring in his heart that had been mainly dormant since waking this morning, only fluttering once upon realizing the domesticity of brushing his teeth side by side with you in the bathroom.

“You got me,” you giggled, and as your eyes turned back out the window, he found himself wishing that an alternate version of those words was true now more than ever.

“Late night at Ridgway. C’mon. Rami. Late. Night. At. Ridgway.” You were in Graves Res Hall, pushing on a sleeping (or trying, really) Rami who’d made the mistake of copying his dorm key so you could get in whenever you wanted. You’d done the same, of course, but right now he was regretting it as he sat up in his bed, groaning softly and stretching before hugging his legs.

“What time is it?” he croaked, checking the alarm clock next to his bed to find it was just past midnight, the 12:10 staring him back in the face. Looking up at you and blinking blearily, he found you grinning dopily, only outlined by the aggressive red light from the clock. Even then, he could tell you were just a tad tipsy, your eyes glazed over as you leaned all your weight on the bed, waiting impatiently. “Late night at Ridgway? Do they even have that on Monday nights?”

“Absolutely!” you replied cheerily, holding out a pair of sweatpants and slides for him. “And I’m craving waffles, so let’s get a move on, Malek. It’s only open for another hour and some change.”

“God, why do I put up with you?” he teased gently, taking the grey sweatpants and starting to pull them on as he hopped off the bed. His eyebrows furrowed as you kneeled down in front of him, holding out the slides so he could put his feet into them, and an unrelenting blush accompanied the baffled expression when you looked up at him from where you sat (see: wobbled) back on your heels. The point of view was too suggestive for his liking, especially in the dark at 12-something in the morning, and your silly grin as he watched you was heartwrenching. So, he cleared his throat and put his feet in the slides quickly. “Can I at least go to the bathroom before we leave?”

“I suppose I can let ya do that,” you groaned playfully, climbing back to your feet before falling back into the beanbag chair nearby with a small ‘oof.’

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking off for the bathroom at a hurried pace.

The morning light that started to filter in through the window as you drove was giving you a glow as Rami watched you gaze out over the changing landscape, the rolling hills and lush greenery interspersed with some very dark mud that was a product of last night’s rain. You were ethereal to him, an Elysian being that was somehow stuck in the back of a crud-covered Ford Focus with him, a hopelessly devoted man who’d been crushing on a girl for close to 18 years.

“Are you excited to see what I’ve been working on? You’ll shit a brick.” Rami’s voice lulled you out of your trance, and you turned to face the tawny-skinned, curly-haired man you’d grown to love as your favorite human.

“I wish you’d just tell me,” you pouted, and the way your bottom-lip jutted out was dangerous to Rami’s will. Ignoring the tremble in your plump, peachy, lower lip, he instead met your eyes with his own observant green ones, giving you a knowing smile.

“No way in hell.”

“Rami, gun to your head, stop showering or stop brushing your teeth?” you asked lazily, leaned up against one of the trees in the expansive lawn on campus. It was a pretty nice day for April, so you and Rami had elected to leave Bower and instead study on the lawn since finals were rapidly approaching. Lately, it felt like you’d been cooped up in the Fine Arts building, so it was a welcome relief. Rami laid on his stomach nearby, sprawled out with a book that had him invested until you’d distracted him moments ago out of your own sheer boredom.

“Oh, God, stop. That’s so gross,” he groaned, burying his face in his book for a moment before sitting up again and sighing melodramatically. “Showering, if I had to choose.”

“Really?” you asked, peeking over your book at him and catching his eye and he propped himself up on his elbows again. His hair was short, buzzed after a recent attempt at a perm he didn’t need anyways, and he looked completely put on the spot as he caught you staring at him questioningly. “Interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about it?” he asked, crossing his olive-skinned arms over one another as he furrowed his eyebrows at you, his book of no interest to him now. He had a pretty girl’s undivided attention, and it was doubly as exciting that it was you, his best friend and someone he’d grown to be quite fond of lately.

“I don’t know, I just… you’d be so stinky.” Your nose wrinkled a bit at the thought, an action that was fatally adorable and made Rami grin a bit as he looked down at his book, not really reading it.

“Yeah, but rotting teeth? No thank you.” Looking up again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you really gonna choose no teeth over stinky pits?”

Another nose wrinkle. “No way in hell…. Would you rather control your dreams or be able to rewatch them whenever you want?”

He quieted, looking off in the distance as he vaguely recalled a dream in which he’d had the opportunity to kiss you. He did it. Nerves that crippled him in real life weren’t a hindrance in the dream. A soft smile came to his lips, one you couldn’t read even if you tried.

“Rewatch them whenever I want.”

“You know, I kind of regret not splurging and studying abroad at Harlaxton while I had the chance,” you mused as Rockfield Farm drew nearer and nearer, Rami still delighted with your apparent obliviousness to the whole situation. He knew you knew about Rockfield/Ridge Farm. Being best friends with the biggest Queen fan alive was quite a daunting task when you had to keep your work on the film pretty much under wraps. “Just think England’s got so much culture.”

“I thought about it too, but it wasn’t feasible,” Rami lied, looking down at his phone for a moment to hide the shame in his eyes. He didn’t go because you didn’t. The moment you’d ruled it out as a possibility due to money being tight, Rami threw away his application.

“It’s fucking upsetting,” you mumbled, curled up on Rami’s cramped dorm bed with your head resting on his thigh, staring at the CD/radio player that was doing its best to crank out a bootlegged version of A Night at the Opera. His hands ran through your hair uneasily, knowing that anything could set you off at any moment. You had just realized that you couldn’t afford to study abroad next semester, and you were really banking on being able to do so because you’d be just a few hour’s drive away from the birthplace of your favorite band of all time – Queen.

Rami’s steady humming and gentle way with your hair was easing the sadness out of you, but there was still a hint of grief on your face as you closed your eyes, sighing softly. “This isn’t the only chance for you to ever see England and London, Y/N, it’s okay.”

“But what if it is, Rami?” you whined softly, sniffling a bit as the very real possibility of absolutely flopping in your theater studies hovered over you. “What if I become a nobody actress and never get the chance to leave this stupid little state?”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He frowned, pushing your hair back out of your face, and gave you a disgruntled look. “You are not going to fail, you’re going to be the best god damn actress out there – they’ll be begging you to come to London and you’ll probably have to buy a ticket for poor old Rami here just so he can see it.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned, but a laugh was evident in your voice as you rolled over, hiding your face in his shirt and trying to stifle laughs as he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“So what if I am? It’s still the truth,” he countered sassily, making you whine again as you hid your face more in his shirt, refusing to respond again and just sitting in silence with him. The soft sound of ’39 filled the quiet room, sending a pang through the hearts of both of you for different reasons.

Now you were getting impatient. Rockfield was less than a mile away, but you were thoroughly baffled at your surroundings. “Really, Rami, are you taking me out here to kill me and take my riches? I didn’t make that much money from my stint on my last show, so you’re not gaining much here.”

But Rami wasn’t quite listening, knowing that he needed to get into the zone soon so he could be ready to switch over into Freddie once he walked on set. “Hey, when we get there, Kelli’s going to take you over to catering while I start getting ready. Uh, try not to hurt yourself.”

“So confident in my abilities,” you teased, watching as Rockfield’s vaguely recognizable barn/studio came into view, surrounded by a multitude of vehicles, trailers, and the likes all swarmed by various personnel. “Hey, this is… No fucking way.” Realization dawned on you, registering quickly on your face, and your jaw went slack as you looked over to Rami, who was wearing a cheesy grin.

“Surprise?”

“Rami, no way in hell!” you reiterated, practically squealing as you grabbed onto his arm. “I thought this project was toast when Sacha left a few years ago, you didn’t fucking tell me you were the replacement! I fucking hate you! Oh my god, Rami, I’m so excited, I love this for you!”

“So many mixed signals,” he laughed, patting your hand with his gently, but you had a vice-like grip on his arm as you stared in awe at the set you were approaching, knowing that this was Rockfield Farm, one of the iconic studios that Queen had utilized for A Night at the Opera. And you knew that Brian or Roger had announced literally years ago that a movie was in the works, but some friends that you shared in the industry had let it slip that Sacha left over some disagreements. However, you’d never imagined that your best friend was the one to pick the role up.

“Rami, you are playing Freddie fucking Mercury and you didn’t tell me!” you gasped, gently pushing him away and staring at him in shock. “My favorite band of all time and I…. God, I want to hate you so much but I’m so freaking stoked for this I might pass out! Oh my god. This is so exciting! I’m so proud of you!”

At it again with the mixed signals, you excitedly grabbed his hand and squeezed it between yours, staring through the windshield as you approached the barn. While you watched the situation unfold, Rami watched you, hyperaware of how soft and warm your hands were around his own. It took him back to the first time he’d held hands with you, far before he’d realized how head over heels he was for his best friend.

“Lucky for you, you got paired up with the cutest girl in class,” you teased as you walked back to the other side of the stage, preparing to start your dialogue practice over yet again. Rami had broken character, laughing about a line that called him a Mona Lisa because of the way you’d said it. Now he was reclined back on his chair again, rolling his eyes playfully at your brash comment.

“I said I was worried about getting through the lines, that has nothing to do with your relative hotness.” He fingered through the short script for a second, then groaned out and looked over at you with an amused expression. “But damn it, we really are the cutest ones in class, aren’t we?”

He barely knew you at this point, the both of you only recently having befriended each other over this particular class – something about body language and physicality, how to convey your emotions not just through language. So the harmless flirting really was harmless, a way to ease the tension of trying to figure out a dialogue with an acquaintance. You knew Rami was from California, but you’d never seen his dorm and didn’t know he had a twin. He knew you were just recently 19 as of last week, but your shared apartment remained a mystery, and he couldn’t even name your hometown if he tried. You were basically strangers, yet to meet up outside of class, but there was a strange quality to your relationship that made it different – somehow, it was easier joking with each other than it was with any of the other friends you’d made since moving to Evansville a few months ago.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” you laughed, tossing a crumpled up sticky note at him before checking your watch and whining melodramatically. “Shit, our reserved time is up.” As if on cue, the rehearsal stage doors opened and another pair of students walked in, eyeing you as if they vaguely remembered you from class but wanted you out of sight immediately. Exhaling quickly and pushing your bangs back out of your face, you nodded to the exit. “Let’s bounce, maybe we can go grab some coffee and run through lines without you laughing like a hyena.”

“I do not sound like a hyena!” he gasped, clutching at his chest playfully but rising from the chair anyways and retrieving his bag from the side of the stage. Hopping off together, you chatted amiably as you made the trek across campus to the coffee shop, where you both grabbed a quick drink before settling in on the lawn. Rami stretched out casually as he leaned against the tree behind him, and you sat cross-legged, facing him and reading from the script in your lap.

And this time, you managed to get through the lines without an issue, even adding in a few notes as you went along for your interpretations of what should be happening physically at certain points.

“The whole point is, like, physicality, but we don’t want to overdo it, right?” you asked as you penned something into the margin, then took a sip of your coffee and took his hand with the other. Lacing your fingers into his, he watched on in subdued surprise as you squeezed his hand, then quickly switched to just clasping your hand around his. “So, when Marvelli is like ‘ahhh you’re the love of my life you’re the best even though you just called me mona lisa,’ I feel like-“ you had to pause as Rami giggled once, a knowing smile coming onto your face as you rolled your eyes. “I feel like he should grab Angie’s hand, but do we wanna go for the fingers interlocked thing, or just the classic hand hold sweaty hand thing?”

“I have no idea what you just said,” he admitted, still confused by your hand grasping his gently, and you groaned before demonstrating the same two hand-holds again. Finally, it clicked, and his mouth went into an o-shape as he nodded, trying to think about which one wouldn’t be too much and not how soft your hands were, because holy fuck they were soft and she’s kind of super cute so this is great. “Fingers interlocked.”

Rami back then would have never guessed he’d be here, now, holding your hand as he helped you out of the car and straight into the mud at Rockfield Farm. Never would that scrawny little college freshman had thought he’d be on his way to get his Freddie Mercury makeup done, hand in hand with the same girl since that day, day one.

“Don’t fall!” he laughed as you slipped in the mud a bit, gripping onto his hand for dear life, and you sent him a grateful look before finally making it to concrete, where you were both reluctant to let go. But after an awkward moment of not letting go, an assistant was quick to swoop Rami up and he had to drop your hand, a mild sadness filling his features as he promised that he’d be in the third trailer down.

“Y/N?” a young woman’s voice asked you, scaring you out of your thoughts as you watched Rami trek off towards the trailer. Jumping slightly, you put a hand over your heart as you turned to the woman with the headset on, who was giving you an apologetic smile. “Sorry to scare you. I’m Kelli. Big fan. D’you want some breakfast? Rami said you’d probably be starving, so he made sure to order your favorite kind of donuts. Straight glazed, right?”

“He knows me too well,” you laughed softly, dropping your hand to your side and sending him one last glance as he disappeared into the trailer. Lingering for a moment, the creeping thought of Rami preparing so much for you to be here for just one day made a blush appear on your cheeks. “Yeah, I’m starving. Lead the way, Kelli!”

“Sweeeeeet Caroolineeeee!”

“Fuck Phi Kap!” you cheered, grinning deliriously at the blasting music as you leaned against Rami, who was attempting to navigate his way out of the bar while being just as drunk as you. He was singing along loudly, desperately wanting to stay behind and party all night but knowing that catching a cab after last call would be next to impossible. So he dragged you outside, drunkenly singing along to the music that was now muffled by the brick exterior of the building. It was chilly for a spring evening, a breezy kind of cold that alleviated the intense heat that radiated off of both of you.

“Oh, good, there’s one!” Rami slurred excitedly, pulling you over to a cab that was waiting in idle for the inevitable crush of students once it hit 1:30. Opening the door, he let you climb in first before half-falling in after you, rambling off the address of your apartment to the driver.

“Oh, fuck, I love you so much,” you giggled, throwing your arms around his shoulders and leaning on him heavily as he tried to buckle up. “You’re my best friend foreverrrr!”

“How much have you drank?” Rami laughed as he got the damned buckle into the slot finally, moving his hand to rest on your arm while you fell to rest your head in his lap. Your eyelids were still heavy with liquor, practically closed despite your best efforts to fight the feeling of the cab's soothing movement forward.

“My entire life, or just tonight?” you giggled in response, and as you looked up to Rami with low-lidded, bleary eyes, he decided he’d never seen something so beautiful in his life.

“Just tonight, dork.” He grinned even wider, rubbing your arm as you made a face of deep thought, tapping a finger to your chin for extra effect and humming curiously. His heart skipped a beat when you took his hand from your arm, lacing your fingers into his and grinning impishly. God, he would never get tired of that smile.

“S’hard to tell…. I’ve been drinking.” With that, you squeezed his hand and grinned even wider when he burst into laughter. The car began to spin a bit in your vision, so you closed your eyes and giggled as you kept his hand tightly interwoven with yours, his grasp being the only thing grounding you to reality. “I want pizza. Can we order pizza and watch a movie, please please please please?”

“It’s your apartment!” he reminded you, watching your pleasantly serene smile quirk upwards at his voice. “It’s a plan. Might have to skip our 8 am, though, I think Thirsty Thursday has fucked both of us.”

Pizza it was. You ordered a simple pepperoni and downed so much water, you got waterlogged by the time the pizza got there. When Rami went to go get it, he came back to you zonked out on the couch. You were fast asleep, snoring softly, and curled up in his jacket that he’d lent to you when you said you were cold in the cab. Gently shaking your shoulder, he crouched down next to the couch and sat the pizza on the coffee table.

“Hmph?” The quiet noise of question came out of you when he shook you another time, and your eyes blinked open sleepily to see Rami peering at you, looking a bit guilty but still mildly drunk. “Ramiiiii,” you murmured happily, a crooked smile gracing your lips, and he sent back a wide smile in return. “Cuddle with me.”

“Pizza’s here, dweeb,” he teased gently, helping you sit up and getting you a paper towel before handing you a piece. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned, sitting next to you cross-legged and blowing on his own piece.

“Oh, okay,” you mumbled sleepily, blowing on the pizza a little bit as you fell into his side quite lightly, leaning against him and only shifting a bit when he draped his arm over your shoulder. “You’re my favorite, Rams. You’re so sweet…. You’re so nice to me!”

“Aw, don’t get all soft on me now,” he joked playfully, giving your arm a soft squeeze.

“Soft! You’re so soft,” you rambled on, ignoring his attempt to quiet you, but he didn’t try again as you rose in volume. “And you’re so great and so talented, and I love being your best friend because you get me, you know?! You really get me, and you don’t act like I’m crazy for wanting to be an actress. You’re so…. so supportive! And you’re seriously the best. I can’t imagine life without you. You’re like…. The best puppy dog ever. So loyal. And you kind of look like those ones with the eyes, you know, the Boston Terriers!”

“A Boston Terrier?” Rami repeated, smiling a bit at your mini-vent session about him to him. “I’m not sure whether that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment.” Looking down at you, he found you smiling drunkenly and watching him with wondrous eyes. He decided it was a compliment.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” Gwilym asked, looking genuinely interested in what you had to say. You’d known him from a previous project that you’d both auditioned for, so it was a delight to see him in full Brian May ensemble, holding his script in one hand and a scorching hot tea in the other. Brits and their tea.

“I met him freshman year of college in some theater class, ’99. So… about 18 years? Give or take?” Gwilym’s eyes lit up with an appreciative look, and he smiled wider as he nodded, still listening. “I sat next to him because he was the only one that laughed at my jokes.”

“They were all awful, believe me,” Rami suddenly interjected, coming up from somewhere behind you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I laughed for your sake, darling.”

“Uh, I think you’re a big fat liar!” you laughed, bumping his hip gently with yours and eyeing the Freddie mustache/teeth combo. “I see you’re in Freddie mode now, because you’ve never called me darling before. Every nickname that starts with a d usually ends up being dweeb, or dork, or dumbass-“

“I do not call you a dumbass!” he gasped, recoiling and pulling his arm away from you in shock.

“You do so! But only when I deserve it.” He rolled his eyes, sending you a knowing look before turning his attention back to Gwilym, who was eyeing you both with a thoroughly invested expression.

“Uh-huh,” Gwilym drawled out slowly, licking his lower lip before grinning even more. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go grab something for breakfast before I starve to death all day. Cheers!” Carefully and quickly hugging you, he was then off in search of catering as you and Rami instead stood huddled together under the awning of one of the houses, close enough to feel each other’s body heat in the crisp morning air.

“You know Gwilym?” he asked, turning to face you and hugging himself loosely, the red and white fabric of his sweater looking puffy but a little itchy and acrylic. You nodded as you traced your eyes along the collar for a moment, then looked back up to him. A slow grin spread across your face at the sight of him, wig and makeup and all.

“We both auditioned for something,” you answered offhandedly, reaching up to fluff the wig a tiny bit. “Look at you! My god, you’re a spitting image!” After a pause, a softness took over your features, one that made Rami’s heart race as he watched you quietly, afraid that his heartbeat was audible even over the chaos of crew getting the set ready. “Freddie would be really proud, I think. I couldn’t think of anyone better to carry on his legacy.”

“Thank you,” Rami replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as you dropped your hand back to the coffee you were clutching in one hand, using it to warm yourself. You still watched him with the same soft look, so pure and unadulterated in its basis element, that he couldn’t mistake it for anything other than affection. And in that moment of vulnerability, despite the literal hundreds of people surrounding you, Rami released the floodgates after 18 long years. “Hey, um, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you right now of all times, with-“ he gestured to his get-up in general “-this on, but do you remember that night that we went to the bars, and you passed out on your couch while we were waiting for pizza, and I woke you up anyways because I knew that you’d want pizza right then instead of eating it in the morning?”

The question took you a bit aback, and you furrowed your eyebrows for a moment, thinking hard before nodding. “Yeah, what was that, freshman, sophomore year? And you told me to be careful about burning my mouth but I did it anyways because I’m an idiot?”

“And you got sauce all over your couch when you spit it out,” he laughed, looking off in the distance and grinning before taking a deep breath and looking back to you. “The Boston Terrier thing. Did I imagine that, or were we really that drunk?”

“We were definitely drunk, but I will say that you remind me of a Boston Terrier even when we’re sober, so you did not imagine it,” you answered, giggling a little but seeming unsure of where this was going.

“Thank god, because that makes what I’m about to say make a lot more sense.” Watching him carefully, you noticed one of his hands reach out and you took it automatically, his fingers interweaving with yours and just holding you as he spoke. “When you said you couldn’t imagine life without me that night, I thought a lot about whether I could see life without you. And I really couldn’t and that made me sad to think about it, kind of like a puppy would be sad if the owner left. So, in some sort of twisted, convoluted way, that made me realize that I was absolutely nuts about you. Crazy. Devoted. Like a dog loves its owner to death, I- I guess, it made me realize that I love you. A lot. Not in the just a friend way.”

“Rami,” you murmured nervously, a brilliant pink blush spreading across your cheeks as you glanced around at everyone passing by you, completely unaware that your best friend had just full-on told you he loved you, after years of you thinking that you were the one secretly pining over him. “Why- I just…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he quickly added, looking a bit anxious as he searched your face for any sign of acknowledgement besides red-hot embarrassment. “I just wanted to finally get it off my chest. I thought being away from you for work would make it different, but I still do. I still love you. And I-“

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” you almost whined, pulling him in for a crushingly tight hug as he froze up for a second, not expecting that reaction. But then he relaxed as he realized you weren’t appalled, at least, so his arms snaked around you, one hand resting on your back while the other ran over the back of your head, his chin coming to rest on top of it. “I thought I was the one with a hopeless crush on you, damn it!”

“Wait, you thought that you were the one with the whole unrequited love thing?” he asked, pulling back a bit to look down at you incredulously. “You’re like, an eleven. How could you even-“

“You’re out here acting like you’re not a solid eleven as well,” you chastised gently, looking up at him with a fake-warning look. “I can’t believe that I was so freaking stupid for not telling you I loved you senior year, after graduation. I thought I’d never see you again, and that it wouldn’t matter!”

“Jesus, are you telling me that I could have told you in 2003 and we would have felt the same then too?” he groaned, looking slightly distressed as he put you at arms-length, looking you over. “I’m an idiot. Actually… we’re both big idiots, I guess.”

“I kind of like the part where you’re the only idiot, though,” you pouted teasingly, only able to hold the insulted look for a moment before you laughed, shaking your head incredulously. “Well… now what? Can I delete Tinder?”

“You use Tinder?” he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow in question and gaining a scoff from you.

“Well, I sort of have this problem where I have this friend who didn’t tell me they liked me until just now, so I was sort of casually dating in the hopes-“

“Okay, I get it, I get it!” he cut you off, laughing as he roped you into another hug, mainly to muffle your voice against his sweater. “You know, I’m not the only one who didn’t-“

“Let’s just forget about that and say we’re… a thing, now, yeah?” you suggested, your voice a bit muffled but still clear against his chest. He figured you could probably feel his heart racing, but he made a noise of agreement and kept you there anyways, just running his fingers through the side of your hair and cursing the fact that his fake teeth were hindering the whole kissing idea right now. Then, you tensed up, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you, following your line of vision to find that Gwilym and the real Brian May were coming straight towards the both of you, muffins in hand and identical smiles on their face. “Oh my god, Rams, pinch me.”

“No, because you’re not dreaming, dumbass,” he teased gently, letting you out of the hug as he turned to face the two men who were just yards from you. “Also, that’s mean.”

“I totally told you that you call me dumbass,” you commented, although there was no real conviction in your voice as you turned to face one of your biggest idols, huddling up against Rami for support. My boyfriend, you thought, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. My boyfriend is about to introduce me to Brian May. Jesus, what a dream.

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#rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine #borhap imagine #borhap #friends to lovers #cute hehe

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porsche-718-boxster-blog · 5 years ago

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littlehouseofkarlacade · 5 years ago

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Darkness of Wonderland: NaNoWriMo 2019 Day 2

Word Count: 2079

Total Word Count: 3749/50000

Day 1

When the bus reached Lyssie’s stop, she stood, pulling on the string above her head. She was never sure whether that actually worked to alert the driver or not, since he tended to stop at the stop every day anyway, but she figured it never hurt to do it anyway.

Upon leaving the bus, Lyssie patted herself down to make sure she still had everything she came onto the bus with, and when that was settled — for there were rather distrustful characters on the bus occasionally — she set off on her way home. Yet another twenty or so minutes of walking, since her house was so far off any sort of main roads that it was a bit of a trip to get there. Never mind the additional fact that it required her to walk alongside the highway… Occasionally, she would end up with someone pulling over on the side of the road, asking her if she wanted a ride home. She always refused, however; she was smarter than just to take some offered ride from a stranger who could end up doing God knew what with her once she was in their car.

However, going with music blaring in her ears, the trip home was made rather easily. Nobody pulled over today, nobody sped up to make an attempt to fake-hit her — since people also did that occasionally, and it was something that got old incredibly quickly — and she reached the house faster than she had anticipated she would. After freeing the carabiner keychain that hung off her hip, she unlocked the front door and entered the house.

It was a small house, with a simple living room, a small kitchen, one bedroom, and one bathroom. Most people, Lyssie figured, would be unhappy living in such a cramped dwelling, but it was perfect for someone with a budget like hers. Besides that, she lived alone. She didn’t feel the need for more than one bedroom. It wasn’t as if she could afford to be terribly picky, either: while her mother had contributed some help with furniture and other home furnishings, Lyssie herself paid the rental deposit and other associated fees to move in entirely out of her own pocket. After all, she was old enough to do so, so why wouldn’t she?

After a moment, she sighed and plopped herself on her loveseat, taking her earbuds out and kicking her shoes off. “Thank hell that’s over,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair.

As if in reply, a sudden meow sounded, and when Lyssie turned to look, her cat jumped from the floor to land on the back of the loveseat. “Oh, hello, Cookie Dough,” said Lyssie, adjusting herself to bring the cat over. Cookie Dough was a rather large cat; when she had received her, Lyssie had been told that her breed was something called an ocicat, though whatever that meant, she had no idea. Regardless, what had caught her attention the most about this cat was the fact that her coat was beautiful, silver, and spotted. Lyssie had fallen for her immediately, and the cat had firmly attached herself to her by the time she had brought her home. Even now, as Lyssie began to pet her, Cookie Dough instantly began to purr like the contented humming of a car, or rather, what Lyssie figured a contented car would sound like. Were cars ever able to be content? Probably not, considering they were inanimate objects, but… if they could be, what would life be like? Would cars simply refuse to run of they were mistreated and angry about it? Would a happy car go as fast as it could, with no input from its driver?

What strange thoughts. Strange thoughts were no stranger to her, however; she had them every so often, whenever she would allow her mind to wander. Perhaps it was her brain’s way of attempting to keep her above water, above the depths of her hidden despair at her life’s circumstances. Or perhaps she was just strange herself. Sure. That was what it was.

Cookie Dough meowed again, pressing her head into Lyssie’s hand before moving upward, climbing onto her chest to push her head into Lyssie’s face. “Oh, what?” Lyssie asked, giving the cat’s head some scratches. “Are you lonely? Is that it, Cookie? Did you miss me all day? Well, that’s no wonder, I’ve been at work all day…” She smiled, continuing to pet Cookie Dough as the cat’s tail flicked around and the purring continued. Oh, what a clingy cat Cookie Dough was. The only true delight in Lyssie’s life, that was Cookie Dough. Oh well, one delight was better than none, wasn’t it?

A stern vibration from Lyssie’s back pocket sounded just then, right before the jolly, staccato sounds of one of her standard ringtones interrupted. With a sigh, Lyssie moved and pulled her phone out of her pocket, with a miniature groan once she saw the word ‘Mom’ on her screen. Oh, no. “Hello?” she asked, picking it up.

“Alyssa!” the jovial voice of her mother sounded, even as Lyssie cringed.

“Mom, I’ve told you,” Lyssie answered. “If you could even pretend to remember, I go by Lyssie. You know this. Or, rather, you should.”

“Oh, Lyssie, I’m so sorry. I was just calling to see how you’re doing! How’s the job? How are you doing financially? Is everything covered?”

Lyssie sighed for a moment, thinking on just how to tell her mother that she despised this job more than any other job she’d ever had in her life without sounding like an absolutely spoiled brat. “The job… is okay, I guess. It could be better. Way better. Then again, I guess that’s all retail, isn’t it?”

Her mother was silent for about an equal moment, and Lyssie could practically see her shrugging, in the way she always did when she wasn’t actually listening. “Yes, unfortunately, that is all retail. Don’t worry, Lyssie. You just have to work here for a few years, and you’ll find another job. It’ll be fine! Or, you could even move up from your current position, then you wouldn’t have to even worry about finding another job!”

Lyssie rolled her eyes. Retail was not her calling, and she knew that. She knew that better than she knew anything else in her life. She was not a people person, and customer service was the worst position for someone like her to be in. “I don’t want to be in retail my whole life, Mom. I’m hoping for something else that’s not that.”

“Lyssie…” Her mother sighed in exasperation. “Life isn’t all about hopes and dreams, dear. It’s fine to have a dream that you’re working towards, but sometimes it just isn’t feasible. In the end, you’re just going to have to settle like everyone else does. Besides, I know you haven’t gone to college yet, and that’s something you’ll need if you want to get out of retail.”

The redhead sighed. Why on earth did she ever talk to her mother? Every time the subject of her job, of her ideal profession came up, she was always saying things like this. It had been this way since Lyssie was a teenager, when she was preparing for life outside her mother’s house. The thought of a dream is nice, but you have to be realistic. You’re going to have to conform and do your fair share of work, Alyssa. You’re going to have to pay bills like the rest of us. It’s much better to do something practical with your life, like social work, or nursing.

Sure, it may have been good advice for some people, but Lyssie had never seen it that way. Then again, her mother had never been the most supportive individual, either. Whenever any of Lyssie’s interests had come up in conversation, her mother had shot all talk of them down, and since they were not something she herself was interested in, apparently they had no worth to her. In Lyssie’s point of view, if her mother would not have bothered with it, then the interest was worth nothing. Quite a stifling way to live as a child, and it had certainly been instrumental in teaching Lyssie how exactly not to talk about her interests.

“I’m aware I haven’t gone to college, Mom,” she answered. “How in the hell do you expect me to pull that off? I’m working part-time because they don’t want to give anyone full-time, I’m barely able to handle the bills alone, and getting a new job isn’t an option because guess what? They’re all hiring for the same hours, they’re all part-time hours, not full-time! And most of them are for less pay, too! I’ve got the best-paying job I could find, and that’s unfortunately not going to change anytime soon, Mom.”

“Oh, Lyssie, I know it’s hard.” Her mother’s tone, while outwardly sympathetic, seemed to also drip with a tinge of annoyance. “I’ve been in your shoes, okay? I understand how hard it is. But, if it was up to me, I would feel like you need to try a bit harder, is all. There’s more to life than just retail, and even if you can’t find it for ten years, that’ll be ten years of experience under your belt that others wouldn’t get in your shoes! Look at you: you’re living alone at age twenty-five, something that not a lot of people do now! Most of them are going on twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and still living with their parents! And the parents aren’t doing anything about it!”

That’s because nobody can afford shit on their own, thought Lyssie in irritation. It’s cheaper to live with your parents or a roommate now, because rent costs and shit are way too expensive… But, there was no way in hell of getting her mother to understand that, unfortunately. As well-meaning as she was, Lyssie’s mother was still stuck in her very old-fashioned ways.

“Look, I just think you need to step back and appreciate where you are now,” her mother continued. “Not a lot of people can say they’ve gotten here on their own, after all! And before you can say anything to the contrary, I am proud of you, Alyssa. I would just be a bit more proud of you if you applied yourself in your work, and truly ascended to the position that you deserve to be in!”

“It’s not from lack of trying,” she muttered, letting the anger seep into her voice a bit. “It’s a bit more difficult now than it was in your day to get promoted, Mom. It’s not ‘work hard and stay with the company for the large majority of your life anymore. These people don’t care about seniority, Mom. They don’t care how long you’ve worked somewhere. If they decide they don’t like you anymore, they’ll just throw you the hell out, just as soon as if you were someone who only started yesterday, or last week, or something. Just because you haven’t worked in twelve years doesn’t mean you know what’s going on now.”

“Lyssie…”

“No, Mom, I’m done talking about this, okay? I’m not where I want to be, and I’m not where you want me to be, and I know that, okay? I’m doing my best here, and I’d really like it if you could just appreciate that for once in your life.”

There was yet another moment of silence from her mother before a different question arose. “So, how is Cookie Dough? Is she still being my good baby girl?”

Damn, you switched off that topic quick, Lyssie thought. “She’s fine. And she’s my baby, she barely knows you. Last time you saw her, she was a kitten. She’s pretty big now, but I think she’s the biggest she’s going to get. I hope, at least.”

“Oh, that’s good. Oh! That reminds me! What would you like to do for Christmas this year? Would you like me to come out there, or do you think you can come out here again?”

Yet another sigh came from Lyssie. “I don’t know, Mom, okay? I’m running a bit short on money. I had some unexpected expenses these past couple of months. We’ll see.”

“Well, okay. If you change your mind, let me know, alright?”

“Okay, Mom. I have to go.”

“Just think about what I said.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2019 #darkness of wonderland #karla writes

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choicesfanatic86 · 7 years ago

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If Only: Chapter 13 (Liam x MC)

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story. Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS: Liam x Riley (MC)

SUMMARY: Andy and Jana are Riley’s best friends, how we they handle the news that Riley went against Andy’s suggestion of becoming “unwed?”

Permanent Tag List: @umccall71 @drakelover78 @jamielea81 @bobasheebaby @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @theroyalweisme @gardeningourmet @jlouise88 @hamulau @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @mrs-simmy @kaitycole @alwaysthebestchoice @mfackenthal @trr-duchessofvaltoria @pbchoicesobsessed

TAGS: @kawairinrin @gracechoices @madaraism @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @zilch3 @herladyshipxx @mspaigemoore @writtenbycandy @choiceswreckedme @jayjay879 @queencatherynerhys @asprankle @hdcathcart @ranishajay @viktoriapetit @boneandfur @flyawayblue56 @xxrainbowprincessxx @diamond-dreamland @liamxs-world @flowerpowell @crookedslimecreatorpasta @debramcg1106 @ladynonsense @hellospunkiebrewster

06/10/18 - Hi everyone!!! So sorry for the delay in getting the new chapters up. Work was crazy (as expected), but I am having a wonderful three day weekend, so I’m hoping to get a lot more writing in today so that I can post throughout this week. :)

Tags have been updated, if I missed anyone, just message me! That seems to work a bit better. :) As always thanks for reading!! It’s crazy to think there are so many people devoted to these stories! <3 Thank you guys so much, and if you have any questions or suggestions for future stories or one shots, I’m open to ideas. :)

Chapter 13

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” She arched her eyebrows a bit worried. “He isn’t the easiest man to deal with. It might be best if I do it alone . . . breaking the news to him that is,” she said softly. “There’s a lot he’s going to need to hear, and I don’t know how he’s going to take it.”

Liam shook his head firmly. “No. I’ll be with you. I don’t want the beginning of our marriage to be fraught with strain due to a disagreement with your father.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair as they walked out toward the rental car. “I’ll take all the heat he gives me, because I deserve it. If we had done a proper courtship, I would have gotten to know him . . . taken the time to ask for your hand in marriage. We didn’t have that luxury, and I suppose it was wrong of me to disrespect his role as your father . . . but I don’t regret any of this. I just want to show him that I’m going to take care of you,” he said as he looked deeply into her eyes, his hand caressed her cheeks as he was about to lean and kiss her when they were startled by the annoying blaring of a car’s horn.

“Come on already, get back to the room and do that mushy crap,” Drake yelled from the car window.

Maxwell was smiling broadly in the back seat, while Bertrand sulked in the passenger seat next to Drake. The newlyweds blushed as they hurried back to the car. She couldn’t believe that any of this was actually happening. She still felt as if she were living out some crazy fantasy instead of her life. The excitement was short lived when she realized she’d have to face the music soon. She realized that she didn’t just have her father to worry about. She needed to talk to Andy and Jana. And they weren’t going to like the fact that she planned to stay married to Liam. She began to wonder who would take the news worse . . . Andy had been so angry with her this morning that she didn’t know if she’d ever speak to her again. Jana was at least a bit more receptive of things, but she didn’t know how it would fare when she’d have to explain that she would be relocating . . . out of the country.

“Drake, do you know where this motel is?” Riley asked, pulling up the reservations on her phone to show him the address and general vicinity on her mapping app.

“Not really, but I can probably figure it out,” he sighed. “Aren’t you and Liam going to be at the Bellagio?”

“I was just about to ask that exact question,” Liam turned to her in confusion. “Married couples tend to share the same space together, love.”

“Yes, of course,” Riley blushed. “But I need to let my friends know what’s going on and get the rest of my things,” she explained. “Especially if we’re going to try and get out on the first flight to New York. Speaking of which, I should start looking up ticket prices,” she sighed, opening up one of the travel apps on her phone.

Liam laughed a bit loudly. “Darling, I have my own plane to take us to New York. We can leave whenever our schedule sees fit,” he explained to her.

She hadn’t thought about that. She bit her lip slightly, a bit overwhelmed with his revelation. “Huh,” she said thoughtfully. “I knew things would be different once we agreed to stay married . . . I just didn’t realize how much,” she murmured, her fingers playing with the engagement ring that sat snugly on her left hand. “So, if I say we need to head out to New York in say an hour, you could make that happen?” she asked with a great deal of interest.

He smirked. “An hour might be cutting it a little close, but I could probably make something like that happen, yes,” he nodded.

She felt like pinching herself. “Wow, okay, that’s pretty crazy,” she said quietly.

“Your Majesty, might I suggest you skip the trip to New York . . . your parents are rather concerned, and it would be ideal to get back to Cordonia as soon as feasibly possible. Damage control is still underway, and there is the small matter of Duchess Olivia . . .” he trailed off.

“Bertrand,” Liam sighed. “If you’re so concerned about the state of affairs back home, I can charter a plane for you to head back to Cordonia tonight. I’m sure my father and Regina will be delighted to have you working on what you’ve called damage control,” he said tersely.

Bertrand pursed his lips in a single, thin line. “I suppose that may be best,” he said softly. “Might I suggest that Maxwell and Drake return with me?”

“I was hoping to go to New York,” Maxwell chimed in. “Right Drake? Weren’t you just talking about seeing Times Square?”

“If Liam needs us to go back to Cordonia, I’m all for it,” he shrugged. Maxwell looked at him as if he had stabbed him through the heart. Riley could see the hurt from the betrayal in his eyes. She wouldn’t mind if they tagged along. Bertrand, yes, she most definitely thought that the first flight back to Cordonia would be wise, but the other two hadn’t seemed too bad.

Liam gave the matter some thought before shaking his head. “Maxwell, it might be better for you and Drake to return with Bertrand. I’m not sure how long matters will take to settle in New York, and would hate for you to be in a state of limbo until firmer arrangements can be made,” he explained.

Maxwell nodded, a bit disappointed, but understanding none the less. Drake simply shrugged. He seemed to be the type of guy to go with the flow no matter what. Despite not appreciating her initial encounter with him, he didn’t seem as awful as Bertrand. She was more than happy to get rid of him.

“Surely you won’t be staying there indefinitely,” Bertrand gasped.

“No, just until Riley is comfortable with leaving for Cordonia. I’m assuming she’ll have to meet with her employer, her school, her landlord, and of course her father . . . we’ll have much to settle in New York upon her return,” he rubbed Riley’s shoulder comfortingly.

She could already feel the tension be released from her shoulders. What was it about him that helped her feel so relaxed and safe? Normally, she erred on the cautious side. She liked to play it safe and make sure that she had a full understanding of everything that was going on around her. With Liam, she had allowed herself to literally take a giant leap of faith, and she was enjoying every single moment of it. The way he took care of her and made her feel so comfortable . . . she had never felt that way about anyone before.

“Where do I park?” Drake asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“There’s a guest parking lot,” she motioned toward the side of the building.

“This is how far we have fallen,” Bertrand shook his head in dismay. “A motel,” he sighed.

“It’s all we could afford,” Riley explained. “Vegas isn’t cheap, and neither are airline tickets from New York.”

“It’s so . . . small and . . . un-Vegas-like,” Maxwell said thoughtfully. “Who knew such hotels existed?”

“Well . .. it’s actually a motel, and it’s for people who are on a budget,” she tried to explain it at different angle, but was still met with wary glances.

“It’s for people like me,” Drake motioned to himself, when the two brothers clearly weren’t making the connection. “Poor . . . not into the fancy pantsy sort of deal . . .” he trailed off.

She didn’t have to look at him to know that he was already sneering. “What is it now, Bertrand?”

“I’m pondering if our vehicle will be safe here?” He asked seriously.

“Bertrand,” Liam said firmly. “Enough.”

The group got out of the car, and headed toward the lobby of the hotel. They were right of course; it wasn’t anything to look at in comparison to the Bellagio. The Bellagio was grand, spectacular and just oozed luxury . . . this . . . this did not. She found it a bit amusing how the brothers Beaumont were attempting not to touch any of the surfaces around them. As if a single touch would contaminate them with some sort of commoner disease. Watching them take in the dingy hotel was a nice distraction from the overwhelming thoughts of dealing with her two best friends. She loved them, and they loved her, and that’s why she knew telling them she didn’t get “unwed,” as Andy has suggested, would be difficult.

“Where on earth have you been?” Jana scolded. Riley barely had her key card in the door before it has been thrust open in front of her. “We expected you back over two hours ago,” Jana fumed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she sighed. “There was a bit of a complication . . .” Riley murmured. “Sorry for the trouble. I just got caught up in everything.”

Jana and Andy froze, staring at the group of men behind her. “So . . . I have guests,” she tried to sound lively, but was failing miserably. She was so worried about how they’d take the news, she could feel her anxiety rising. It was important for her that Andy and Jana support her in this marriage. They were her best friends, and after all the insane decisions they had made over the years, the least they could do was support her when she went a little off her rocker.

Andy pursed her lips as she saw the men in front of her. “Which one is it?” She asked angrily.

Riley shot her a pleading look to behave, and she saw Jana pinch her arm. At least one of them was trying to be civil.

“Guys . . . this is Liam,” she wrapped her hand in his, looking to him for strength. “And these are his friends Drake, Maxwell and Bertrand,” she went down the line. “Guys, these are my friends Andy and Jana,” she motioned to the girls.

All of them gave a tiny wave. The tension in the room was palpable. Andy was making it exceedingly difficult for anyone to get familiar with one another. She and Bertrand could have made a pair. He looked absolutely devastated about the marriage and looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“So, you’re the guy she got drunk with and ended up married to?” Andy accused, pointing at Liam.

Liam nodded uncomfortably, shuffling his feet from under him. Riley cringed. This is not how she wanted things to go. She wanted her friends to see how charming Liam was and how kind he was. But clearly, Andy was in no need for pleasantries. She was the clear winner in the “who’s more pissed off about this” competition.

Jana rolled her eyes. “Give them a chance to sit down before you start bringing out the big guns, Andy.” She sighed. “Would any of you like anything to drink? We have a mini-bar with some liquid fortification,” she suggested.

“Whiskey?” Drake asked, unable to hide his eagerness.

“Of course,” Jana smiled. “Anyone else?”

“Bourbon?” Bertrand cleared his throat from behind Maxwell.

“Um, no sorry . . . I do have beer and tequila though,” Jana murmured.

Bertrand frowned. “I’ll take the whiskey,” he sighed. “I’ll need it,” he muttered.

“May as well pour me a glass, too,” Andy snorted. “I’ll need to be drunk to deal with all of this.”

Riley frowned. Alcohol was the last thing they needed. She was a prime example of why you shouldn’t drink tequila. She still couldn’t remember what happened between the ceremony and their wedding night, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to considering Liam told her she had done a lot of celebratory shots with Tequila. Lord knows what else had happened. She would happily go decades without remembering that small bit of information. Alcohol would not help anything in this situation. If anything, it would make things a whole lot worse. She needed Andy and Jana sober. Drunk and angry? Yeah that wasn’t a good mix. Not at all.

Riley shot Liam a pleading look and he caught the hint immediately. “Guys, why don’t we give these ladies a few private moments to chat? Maybe we can wait here why they speak in the bedroom?” Liam suggested.

“Hey, you know our girl all of a day and you think you can start calling the shots around here?” Andy asked, sticking her finger in Liam’s chest.

“Andy!” Riley scolded.

Liam smiled, clearing his throat. “It’s not the quantity of the time spent together, but the quality, and the quality has been unforgettable,” he said quietly, giving Riley a half smile before he motioned for the guys to come around him rather than lurking by the doorway.

Riley ushered Jana and Andy into the bedroom, shooting Liam a grateful smile.

“Smooth,” Jana smirked. “I kind of like him already,” she smiled. “His friends aren’t half bad either,” she chuckled. “The one in denim is pretty hot,” she sighed, fanning herself dramatically.

“Stop,” Riley said firmly, but she stifled a grin while saying it.

Andy shot her an angry look, to which Jana shrugged. “What?”

“Stop taking her side on all of this. This isn’t a joking matter,” Andy said.

“What?” Jana arched an eyebrow. “Are you seriously back on that again? What are you talking about? Because I said the dude is smooth with really hot friends?”

“Yes! He’s not smooth . . . he’s manipulative . . . and his friends aren’t hot . . . not even a little bit!”

“Andy!” Riley yelled again.

“No, I’m sorry Riley . . . I know I said I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m taking one for the team here and telling you that you have lost your fucking mind,” she exclaimed. “Lost it . . . as in it’s nowhere in Vegas . . . the Riley I know would never do something like this. Let alone continue with this charade. She’d have the guy thoroughly vetted before even saying yes to going out with him . . . and then we come to Vegas and you skip the whole dating thing and jump straight into marriage . . . to a complete stranger. Is he even from here?”

Riley sighed. “No, he’s not.” She shook her head.

“Oh my God!” She exclaimed. “Do you understand how serious this is? This isn’t a game. Where’s he from?”

“Cordonia,” Riley said quietly.

“Cor-where?” Andy said, her voice rising even louder.

“It’s a small country in Europe,” she explained.

“Jesus Christ, Riley. He’s not even American?”

“Andy, calm down. You’re just making things worse,” Jana interrupted her ranting.

“What does it matter if he’s not American?” Riley asked confused.

“He could be some con artist looking for a quickie green card,” Andy reasoned. “What if he thinks you’re rich and takes you for half of what you have?”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Riley sighed. “One, because I don’t have anything worth sharing and two, he actually does rather well for himself.”

“How do you know that? Because he told you?” Andy snorted.

“I believe him,” she said confidently. “He’s actually a bit of a big deal back in his country,” she explained.

“A big deal? What do you mean?” Jana asked.

“He’s royal,” Riley exhaled a bit nervously. “He’s the crown prince,” she added.

“You’ve got to be shitting me?” Andy said her mouth gaping open. “And you believed that load of bullshit?”

Riley frowned. “It’s not bullshit, Andy. Everything he’s told me has been the truth,” she affirmed.

“Riley . . .” Jana said slowly, taking on a slightly different approach than Andy. “You understand how all of this sounds right?”

“Yeah . . . yeah I do,” she shrugged. “But if he was just looking to get in my pants, why did he work so hard to help me remember things? Huh? And why did he come here to meet you guys? Why is he flying me home to talk to my father?”

Jana looked toward Andy, “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”

“I mean . . . I haven’t Googled him or anything,” Riley shrugged. “Do you want me to Google him? Will that appease you guys?”

“Not really.” Andy snorted. “Nothing about this entire situation will make me feel better. What happened to the plan about getting unwed, Riley?” Andy shrieked.

“Look . . . I know that’s what you wanted me to do, but I just . . . I couldn’t, okay?” Riley said desperately.

“Why not?” Jana asked. “I know you were on the fence about things, but why did you change your mind?”

“Because I fell in love with him, alright? Is that so hard to understand?” Riley said, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

“Yes, actually it is. You were wasted Riley. Completely and utterly shit-faced wasted,” Andy sighed.

“I wasn’t.” She said firmly.

“How do you know?” Jana asked.

“I remembered most of what happened last night . . . and I wanted to marry him . . . and even when we realized there was a problem with the license . . . I still chose to marry him,” she said firmly.

“Whoa, a problem with the license?” Jana asked, a bit confused. “Like you weren’t technically married?”

“We’re married,” she said with certainty. “I just forgot to sign the license, but we fixed everything this afternoon.”

“You’re such an idiot!” Andy screamed. “You had a chance to forget all of this ever happened, and you go ahead and sign the damn thing?”

“Andy, knock it off. Ri, you wanted this?” Jana asked slowly. “You made the coherent decision to be married to him?”

“Yes, haven’t you been listening? I wanted this. I still want this. Hell, I’ll probably still want this ten years from now,” Riley laughed, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so crazy in love with him, I can’t even explain it.”

“So you’re just going off to Europe with him? He’s probably not even a prince!” Andy yelled, ignoring everything Riley had said.

“They can probably hear every single word that you’re saying,” Jana tried to quiet Andy down, but she just wouldn’t listen.

“Good! I want them to hear this. This is insane, Riley. Where’s that huge brain of yours? It’s obviously not working right if you think all of this was actually a good idea.”

“God, Andy! Enough. I’ve taken enough of your verbal abuse over the last twenty-four hours. I’m sorry your ex-boyfriend was a scumbag. I’m sorry he fucked you over. I really am, but don’t try and take your anti-man tirade out on me. Liam has been nothing but kind and caring since I’ve met him. Yes . . . the circumstances surrounding our meeting and subsequent marriage were a bit foggy, but I have since remembered a good chunk of our night together, and really . . . I’m just in love, okay? I’m in love,” she shrugged. “And if you can’t accept this and you want to continue berating me about my life choices . . . then fine, but I’m not going to stick around to hear it . . .and you know what . . . we probably won’t see each other for a while, because yeah, I’m going to Europe with him,” she fumed.

“Riley – “ Jana tried to intervene.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You two are supposed to be my best friends. I’ve supported both of you in every stupid decision you’ve ever made . . . and clearly you both thought your ideas were rather brilliant at the time . . . so if I mess this up . . . let me do it and learn from it okay? Just . . . support me and be happy for me. Because guys, for the first time in years, I feel like I can breathe again . . . and I just don’t want that feeling to ever go away.”

“You’re moving . . . just like that?” Andy asked, her eyes softening. “You’re serious?”

“Yes . . .he’s my husband. I have to go with him,” she said with resolve.

“What about school?” Jana asked.

“I’m dropping out . . . it wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life anyway,” she shrugged. “Dad’ll be pissed, but whatever . . . it’s my life, and if I don’t want to be a doctor . . .then I’m not going to be a doctor,” she said confidently.

The girls remained silence. Riley was happy to have a moment of quiet to finally catch her breath and calm her nerves. She had been so angry at Andy, that she couldn’t stop herself from lashing out at her. She didn’t want it to get to that point, but she didn’t seem to have any other options. It looked like her friends were finally accepting the fact that this was happening. It was real. The marriage, their love, the moving to Europe . . . everything she had just thrust onto them was going to be happening, and the reality was sinking in fast.

“I’m sorry,” Andy murmured breaking through the awkward silence. “You’re right . . . I should be more supportive,” she shrugged. “If this is what you want, then I can’t stop you. I guess . . . I guess I’m just a little jealous. I just always thought that I’d be the first one out of all of us to get married . . . Brent and I were together for so long . . .” she trailed off.

“Yeah, but Brent was an asshole, and I’m glad you dumped his sorry ass,” Riley sighed. “But Liam is not Brent. He’s decent and funny and really affectionate. I don’t want to lose this opportunity to be with him,” she said firmly.

“You’re right . . . are you sure he’s being honest? About the prince thing?” Andy asked.

“Because it’s kind of a bit much, Ri.” Jana added in.

“I’m certain,” she nodded. “His friends corroborated everything he was telling me, and apparently, things have kind of taken a nosedive back home. Once I settle things in New York, I’ll be flying back with him. That’ll be much worse than this, I’m sure,” she sighed.

“Sorry,” Jana said quietly. “We should have been the least of your concerns,” she said thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Riley shrugged. “But what can you do? You were upset because you care about me right?”

Both women nodded.

“Right, so let’s just move forward okay?”

“Did you want us to go back with you? To New York?” Jana asked. “We can help you pack some things up from the apartment.”

Riley shook her head. “No, finish out your weekend. Have fun. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

“So this is it?” Andy asked, her voice cracking.

“Not forever,” Riley reached out to them for a hug. “I just have some things to square away and then I’ll be back for visits,” she explained.

Andy exhaled loudly. “Okay then . . . okay,” she said skeptically. “Need help packing up your stuff?” She asked quietly.

“That’d be great,” Riley smiled lightly.

“I’ll get your bag,” Jana said.

The rest of the time in the room was spent in silence, as the girls helped Riley gather the last of her belongings. Since they were only there for the weekend, there wasn’t much. She could have easily done it by herself in about ten minutes, but they needed this time together. It was crazy how there was such a huge rush of emotions flowing through her. Was it really possible to be happy and sad at the same time? Because that was exactly how she felt. She felt excited and happy to embark on this new journey with Liam, but she couldn’t help but feel sad about leaving Andy and Jana behind. They’d been part of her world for so long, she didn’t know what she’d do without them. It suddenly struck her that this was probably going to be the last time they were all together for quite some time.

She hugged her friends tightly once more before heading back out into the other room. They murmured promises of staying in touch, and Riley assured them once more that she’d be fine. As she entered the other room, she saw Liam waiting on the couch, but the others were nowhere in sight. “Did you hear all of that?” She asked, pulling her overnight bag behind her. “Where are the others?” She asked, noticing that their quintet had suddenly become a duo.

Liam nodded, grabbing the handle out of her hand and taking over carrying it down the motel’s hallway. “I sent the guys off to pack for their return to Cordonia. We’ll have to take a cab back to the Bellagio, but I just didn’t think it was appropriate for them to hear your private discussions with your friends,” he explained. “Paper thin walls and all that,” he mused.

“But you stayed?” Riley questioned.

“Well . . . yes . . . you see, I just made these vows to a lovely woman about being there for her for better or worse . . .and quite frankly, that did sound like a worse moment,” he murmured kissing her forehead.

“It got pretty heated,” Riley acknowledged. “But I think we’re okay . . . or at least we will be,” she sighed. “They’re going to stay here and finish out the weekend,” Riley stated. “It’s for the best, New York is going to be a beast in itself,” she said. She had already been dreading the whole “I married a stranger in Vegas” conversation with her father. Not to mention, she had the added bonus of telling him “by the way, I’m dropping out of medical school and moving to Europe,” as well.

“Well perhaps once things settle down, we can have them as our guests in Cordonia . . . not right away . . . maybe after the honeymoon period wears off,” he smiled.

“You’d do that . . . for me?” She asked.

“Of course,” he nodded. “I don’t want to steal you away from your life, Riley. I understand that you had a wonderful life before me. They’re a part of that life, and I wouldn’t dare to tear them away from you. You’re giving up so much for me . . . for a life you really have no understanding of. Anytime you’d like to go for visits or have them visit us, I’ll arrange it. The same for your father, unless, that is, he’d like to move with us. That could be arranged as well,” he murmured.

As they got into the cab, she turned to him, a deeply, loving look in her eyes. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that? To do all of that . . . for me?” Her smile grew brighter. “How can I thank you enough?” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Maybe finish what we started?” He asked, kissing the top of her head. “As I recall . . . you wanted your memory jogged a bit further,” he said a bit suggestively with a large smirk on his face. “The couch . . . or the bed . . .” he trailed off.

“That . . .that I did,” she smirked back at him, reaching up to kiss his lips softly.

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