#i had to get one for residency and their ridiculous time constraints

[flintstill]

Andy really needs to get a timer that buzzes that he can clip to his apron :(

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 2 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series

Part 1

_______________________________________________

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” I emphasize, shaking my head to further get the point across. “I’m not getting on that thing!”

Azriel tilts his head, still leaning against the motorcycle with casual arrogance and twinkling hazel eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. And we both know you love to ride.”

My face heats at that little joke, but I hold firm in my convictions. “Can’t we just walk?”

We’re going to a beach on his recommendation, but apparently, the one right behind us isn’t good enough. “No.”

“Okay, then why don’t we take the bus?”

He looks at me like I just suggested we crawl all the way their on our hands and knees. “No.”

He offers no other option, just looks at me and waits patiently. 

“Don’t you trust me, dolcezza mia?” he purrs, sliding his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans and smiling.

The walls of my refusal start to crumble, because I’m such a sucker for that smile. I’m starting to think he knows it, too.

“I’m in a dress,” I point out weakly. 

“With a swimsuit underneath.”

I try again. “My hair will get tangled.”

Azriel sighs like he’s over my shit, lips twitching. “You and I both know you’re dying to put a scarf over it like one of those cliché movies you love so much.”

Thelma and Louise is my favorite movie... 

And he does look criminally handsome leaning against the motorcycle, dressed in black like always, sunglasses low on his nose. 

An image pops into my mind of me, riding behind him with the sea a landscape behind us, scarf and red lipstick on, the sun high in the sky. 

I purse my lips, and because he can tell he’s winning me over, his eyes turn amused and victorious. 

What cements the deal is him saying, “I’d never let anything happen to you, Elain.”

His voice is so serious and deep, it sounds like he’s making a solemn vow to me. So I give in.

“Promise you’ll drive slow.”

Azriel dips his chin in agreement, and a huge smile breaks over my face as I run back inside.

Five minutes later, I step back out, still smiling like an idiot. Azriel now sits on the motorcycle, looking like something out of GQ, and he snorts as he looks at the additional  scarf, lipstick, and sunglasses. “Donne.” Women.

Ignoring that display of sexism, I walk over to him and take his offered hand, sliding onto the bike behind him. My hands link in front of him, and he chuckles at how tightly I hold on to him as the machine under us rumbles to life. 

Oh, God. 

Slowly, like promised, he pulls away from the curb and onto the almost-empty street. Most people are at breakfast in one of the busy cafes or sitting on their porches, but one woman smiles as we pass because we obviously look freaking adorable.

I start to relax as we go, because like everything else he does, Azriel drives with complete control and confidence. He acts like nothing could go wrong with him in control, and it puts my nerves at ease. Honestly, I don’t know why I was worried in the first place.

He said he’d never let anything happen to me, and despite knowing him less than a month, I believe him.

He navigates us through the city and to a slightly larger road that runs along the coastline, and I take a minute to appreciate the movie moment.

He shifts to drive with one hand as we go, the other residing on my knee next to his hip. His thumb brushes over my skin softly, and I press my face to his neck, overwhelmed by the moment. 

I never knew I wanted something like this, but considering I feel like I’ve been split open and stuffed with sunshine, I did.. He does that, I’ve noticed; somehow, he knows what I want before I do.

I’ve never asked him for anything, yet every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m receiving a present.

Just a summer fling, I remind myself, even as I press a kiss to the side of his neck.

We ride down the coastline for about twenty minutes, eventually coming to a stop and walking onto a completely abandoned beach. 

It’s secluded, shielded by dunes on either side, and quiet. The sand’s almost white, and the water’s so blue, it looks like the background that comes with a new computer. 

Paradise.

“How’d you find this place?”

Hands in his pockets, he jerks a chin towards a beautiful, sprawling property about a hundred yards from us. “Because I live right there.”

Despite sleeping with him for almost four weeks, I haven’t seen his house before now. I’ve seen him naked, yet for some reason, knowing where he sleeps at night feels more personal. 

Maybe it’s because I get the feeling he’s letting me into his life a little by taking me here.

And maybe it’s because I feel like he never does that.

A smile pulls on my lips as I look between him and the house. He’s obviously trying to play it cool, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that isn’t usually there. I realize why, and my smile grows. “You like me.”

He scowls, making me grin. “Of course I like you, Elain.”

He says it like it’s obvious, and I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. “Yes, but you like me, too.”

He looks toward the sky and thoroughly tries to ignore me as I put my hands on his chest and smile up at him. I kiss the underside of his jaw softly, then murmur, “Don’t worry. I like you too.” 

His lips turn up at that, and he presses a quick kiss to my lips, then takes my hand and tugs me towards the water. 

Pulling off my sundress, I look over his apparel and raise a brow. “You’re swimming in that?”

Amusement dances in his hazel eyes as he responds, “Of course not.”

He pulls his shirt off, revealing his tan, tattooed chest, broad shoulders, and toned stomach. I sigh, fucking sigh, because looking like that should be illegal, and he laughs. 

Then pulls his pants down.

If possible, my brows go up even higher at the sight of him in nothing but his black briefs. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Swimming,” he retorts simply, and before I understand what’s going on, he’s naked as the day he was born.

“Azriel!”

He turns and walks toward the sea, leaving me slack-jawed and with an uninterrupted view of his backside. And what a nice backside it is. 

By the time he’s wading in the water, I’m still standing on the beach, eyes wide, watching him. 

His black hair’s wet, hanging around his face like spilled ink, and the water’s so bright and blue against his tan skin and the dark lines of his tattoos. 

He looks like a goddamn model, and I’m momentarily paralyzed at the sight of it.

“Venire qui.” Come here.

I walk far enough that the water brushes my toes with every wave, cool and calming and serene. 

“You’re naked,” I point out like he might not be aware, still shocked.

“It’s a private beach, tesoro.” 

I take a look around, even though I know it’s empty, and he laughs and walks backward, going deeper into the water. He’s relaxed as he wades in, like he does this every day. 

For all I know, he does.

I’ve never been naked in public, but I’m assuming to be as comfortable with it as he is, it happens a lot.

Az shakes his head, water flying from his hair like rain, and my mouth drops open as things start to move in slow-mo. His tattooed shoulders are above the water, and he just watches me in that dedicated, heated way he always does.

I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from groaning. He notices, and even from the distance between us, I see his eyes darken. “Are you going to join me?”

His voice makes it sound like he’s asking if I’m going to join him in going nude, not just join him in the water. 

“I think you have ulterior motives,” I say back.

He smiles that damn smile, running a hand over his jaw. “Always.”

I make the decision in less than a second and throw the bikini off in almost as little time, then sprint into the water to lessen the chance of anyone seeing me.

He laughs, a full-bodied laugh with his head thrown back, and mutters, “Ridicola.”

“You’re the ridiculous one,” I accuse as I swim over to him, scowling. “Getting naked at 11:30 in the morning.”

The water’s deep enough that I can’t stand, but given he’s half a foot taller than me, he can, so I brace my arms on his shoulders to stay afloat.

“There are no time constraints to when a person can be naked.” His hands span my rib cage, pulling me in close. “And with you, I happen to think you should stay this way all the time.”

My lips twitch. “My teachers might not appreciate that.”

He hums his agreement but seems distracted by the sight of me wrapping my legs around his waist and leaning back to float in the water.

“Bellissima,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s even saying it. “Troppo bella per le parole.”

Too beautiful for words. 

He spins us around in the water, causing me to laugh and relish the feel of the water swirling around me. 

Between the sun warming my face, the cool water relaxing me, and the man making me smile, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

My life feels like a fairytale, and I don’t delude myself about why. 

Pulling myself up, I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him softly. “You make me happy, Azriel.”

He tilts his head, surprise flaring in his beautiful eyes. He looks like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment, despite always giving them to me. The man calls me treasure, yet doesn’t understand that he makes me happy?

Shaking my head in frustration, I kiss him. He deepens it instantly, meeting my tongue with his, and I’m lost. His hair is wet between my fingers, soft and silky and the perfect tool to pull his head back so I can devour him properly.

I suck on his lower lip, and he makes a low sound, almost like a warning.

“I knew you had ulterior motives,” I breathe as he kisses a path down the column of my throat.

His hands cup my breasts, bringing them up and burying his face between them, making a low sound of satisfaction. “It isn’t why I brought you here, but... I can’t think with you around.” He nips my breast, making me yelp. “It’s very irritating.”

I scoff, about to say that sounds like his problem, not mine, but then his mouth closes around my breast, and the retort dies in my throat. 

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I really can’t. 

But when in Rome. Or Sicily. Close enough.

“Lean back again,” he urges, hands running down my back. 

I comply, tightening my thighs around his hips and floating back. 

His voice goes low, and he whispers, “Close your eyes, caro.” 

They slide shut, almost against my own will, and then he’s pushing inside me with one thrust, making my back arch up almost completely out of the water. My eyes open to find his watching me, looking down at the place where we’re joined.

“Eyes closed,” he gruffs, staying perfectly still until I do just that.

He starts to move, doing all the work as he lifts me and brings me back down, going in time with the waves around us.

His hands grip my hips with demanding pressure, but his pace stays plateaued.

One on my back urges me above the waterline, and I blush at being laid out in front of him so exposed, but remembering the heat in his eyes, any embarrassment dies down. 

The waves threaten to move us, but Azriel’s a rock in the storm, never losing his footing, never faltering. 

I hear his quiet, steady breath, the crash of the waves around me, and I feel like everything’s heightened. My body’s buzzing, and I glide my arms through the water, the feeling of the cool water on my over-sensitized skin making me tremble.

“Fuck, Elain,” he says under his breath, hips thrusting a little harder. His name falls off my lips on a moan, and the sound of him groaning in answer does it for me. 

I tighten around him as I come, and he follows immediately, pulling me by my hips until he’s seated deep inside me. We’re still, letting the waves bring us even closer.

He pulls out of me but continues to hold me in his arms, pulling my chest to his and burying his face in my neck. “I can’t get enough of you. I should let you go, but I can’t.”

I open my eyes in confusion, wondering why the hell he’d think that, but pause when I see the look in his eyes. 

It’s a reflection of my own, showing all the things I want to say but am too scared to. “Az...”

“Sei mio,” he says roughly, without a trace of doubt or hesitation. 

The words ring in my head over and over as he carries me back to the beach, then leads me up the dunes and into his house. 

You’re mine.

~ 

The day after our beach trip--which, honestly, was only about thirty minutes of beaching--I come to the conclusion Azriel’s holding back on me.

He’s shown me his home, fucked me on every square inch, and has given me everything I want whether or not I ask for it, but... he’s holding out on me. 

I’ve been around enough people who are hiding something to know that despite seemingly being open and honest, there’s something he’s holding back. 

Even when he’s rough with me, it’s like he has a leash on himself so tight he won’t really let go. 

It’s like he’s afraid I’ll run in the other direction if he does. Like he’s afraid of scaring me off. 

Which is ridiculous, so I’ve also come to the conclusion it ends today. 

I need him to be as happy and free as he makes me, and I think this is the way to do it.

So I’m going to surprise him.

I’m on my way to his house, being driven by a cabbie who asked twice if I was sure this was where I wanted to go, with one plan in my head: make him lose control.

He’s always so composed, so relaxed, and I’m tired of it. I want him to know that no matter what happens, I’m not running. Not from him.

It’s time I find out who he really is. 

~Azriel~

I have three rules in life. 

Three rules that have kept me alive and in this game when the odds were stacked against me.

1: Never leave the house without my .45. 

2: Never give into temptation. 

3: Trust no one.

Rule 1 is easy to follow. I have more enemies than friends, and I’m not stupid enough to allow someone an opportunity to off me while I’m defenseless. 

Rule 2 is usually just as easy to follow, because I’ve lived long enough to have learned how to block myself from ever really wanting anything. 

I have to say usually, though, because lately, it’s a complete fucking bitch to follow. 

Ever since Elain stumbled into my life like a walking, talking version of every dream I’ve ever had, I’ve been fucking helpless against her. 

And I refuse to feel helpless. 

But I also refuse to let her go. 

Which is so unbelievably selfish and fucked up, I can’t hardly stand myself. 

Every time I’m with her, I swear it’s the last time. But then she has to go and be unforgettable, beautiful, kind, and the best lay I’ve ever had, and I’m back to being helpless. 

Oh, and now I’ve gone and fucked rule 3, too. 

Because never, in my entire life, have I shown a civilian where I live. I’ve taken a few women to one of the few apartments I keep, but never my actual home.

I don’t really know why I did it, considering I knew--while doing it--it was stupid. It was like I wanted, needed, her to see at least a part of me that’s real.

Rolling my neck, I try to push all thoughts of her and her infuriatingly addictive smile out of my head and focus.

Luca glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow like he can sense I’m not paying attention, and I nod for him to keep going.

He squeezes the pliers, and screams fill the air as another finger falls to the floor. 

Blood splatters on the toes of my boots, and I narrow my eyes at it. I just fucking washed these.

Luca pauses his work when the guy strapped to the table passes out, walking over to me and lighting a cigarette. “Maybe he’s not going to talk, boss.”

I almost laugh. “They always talk.”

In fact, it’s a little annoying how predictable this shit is getting. Sure, some men, like the one in front of me, are a little stronger and hold out longer, but they all eventually crack. 

It just depends on applying the right pressure. 

Something Luca knows, meaning there’s a reason he’s getting antsy.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You got something better to do?”

He blows the smoke out, doing a piss-poor job of fighting a smile. “Matter of fact, I do.”

I take a cigarette from the pack he holds out and light it. “What’s her name?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, and I know it’s going to be someone I know.

“Gianna,” he finally tells me, and I take a deep inhale of smoke to keep from laughing. 

Yeah. I definitely know her.

He shoves my shoulder when I let a chuckle out, and I at least make the effort to stop being a dick. 

But I can’t help but tease him a bit. “She still into-”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Another laugh escapes me, but I drop it, considering I’m not exactly doing a great job of controlling my own sex life at the moment. 

The only reason Luca gets away with talking to me like he does is because he’s my Underboss and happens to be one of the only non-useless people around me.

I take in the man on the table with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out how to get him to just fucking confess. I know he’s guilty, and he knows he’s guilty, but we both also know he’ll die as soon as he damning words leave his mouth. 

He’s only got four fingers left, has multiple broken bones, and is missing an eye from where Luca lost his cool earlier. 

Clearly, cutting him isn’t doing shit, either, if the gaping wounds on his torso are any indication. 

Stubborn bastard.

“Electrocution,” I decide, pushing off the wall and going to grab the jumper cables. The traitor groans, but doesn’t say the magic words.

Luca frowns. “It always smells like burnt hair when we do that.”

Ignoring the prima donna in the room, I hook one cable to the car battery we keep down here and the other two his chest. 

“Have you, or have you not, been selling secrets to the Irish?” I ask, my voice betraying the boredom I’m fighting. 

He shakes his head, and I have to hold back a sigh. 

The sooner this stupid bastard confesses, the sooner I can go to Elain’s. 

Walking back over to my place by the stairs, I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find her name.

I want to see her so bad I’m almost chafing with the effort not to press down, and it only gets worse as the memory of yesterday comes to mind. Of her floating in the sea, breasts bouncing with every thrust, full lip between her teeth. 

Fuck.

I run a hand over my face, trying to shove the image out, but it refuges to budge.

Damn woman. 

“Falco?”

I snap out of it, looking up to find Luca watching me with a strange expression on his face. Considering he almost never calls me that, I take it that he’s been trying to get my attention for a few moments. 

“What?”

“70 or 130?”

I narrow my eyes at the stupid question, and he rolls his eyes before setting the charge to 130 and connecting the dipoles.

The man screams as electricity flows through his body, his wounds bleeding worse as his heart goes into overdrive. 

Luca unclips the cables when he passes out, smoking his cigarette and frowning when he doesn’t come to. 

A shot of adrenaline to the arm wakes him right up, though, and when he sees us standing over him watching patiently, he curses. 

“Ready to confess?” Luca asks, equally ready to get out of here.

The idiot just glares at him. “Accendilo, cagna.”

Light it up, bitch.

If I weren’t so irritated at how long this is taking, I’d laugh. 

Although, I have to admit it’s kind of satisfying that he isn’t breaking. He’s one of our own, trained and raised by us, so it’d be insulting if he broke down and confessed after one day. 

The longest run we’ve ever had is four days, but the man in front of us might just give the record a run for it’s money. 

But then Luca turns the battery on maximum volume, shocks the ever-living shit out of him, and punches him to keep him awake the whole time. He’s probably a little pissed about the “bitch” comment. 

And that’s the game.

“Basta, basta! Per favore!” 

Luca gives me a victorious grin as he unclips the wires, making me shake my head. Violent bastard. “Parla, cagna,” he demands. Talk, bitch.

Definitely a little pissed about the bitch comment. 

The man shakes from the shocks, managing to say, “I told them about the shipment coming in tomorrow night.”

“Told who?” Luca prods, running a knife under the man’s quivering lip. 

There’s a pause, then he spits, “O’Connor.”

Aka a pain in our asses, but more so for the Chicago operation than here. I’ll give the Capo there, a long-time friend of mine, a call. Luckily, that means it shouldn’t be a problem for me any longer. 

Plus, we still have time to reroute the shipment.

Plus, now I can kill this idiot.

The traitor’s eyes go to me, and he nods, accepting his fate. Not that he has a fucking option. 

The sound of my gun’s the last thing he hears, the bang echoing off the walls loudly. 

Not loud enough that I don’t hear a gasp from behind me.

I turn around instantly, gun drawn and pointed toward the intruder, finger ready on the trigger. 

And look down the barrel right at Elain.

_____________________________________

Part 3

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[aomineavenue]

Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 008. healing

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc. 

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: completed. | series masterlist

↩ chapter seven bonus | healing | at peace ↪

mia speaks:

We’re getting real close to the end, and I don’t think I’ll be ready to part with Atsumu just yet. But I’m super duper excited to start Stubborn. 

If it isn’t too much, please leave a little COMMENT on what you think of this piece or REBLOG if you like it! Thank you.

Rejection can be defined as an act of pushing someone or something away. It is also considered as something to be experienced on a large scale or small ways in everyday life. In the field of mental health care, rejection most frequently refers to the feelings of sadness, or grief people feel when they are not accepted by others. 

In Atsumu’s case, it was the latter. 

The moment he had decided to leave the party to seek you out, he was more or less, on edge. The fear of rejection was eating him out as he traveled back to Kanagawa, and even then as he stared at the hospital door that leads to Atsuhiro’s room where he assumes you’re most likely already in deep slumber from how late it is. However, that doesn’t stop him from his mission, eventually finding the courage to press his knuckles against the door to knock. 

A minute passed and there was still no answer, a part of him decided it was best to leave, so you can rest but wanting to give it another chance, he knocks on the door once more. The lack of response disappoints him but he diminishes it with a little light of hope, telling himself that you’re probably asleep and it was best to try later. As he was about to leave, the hospital door slides open and his gaze lands on your exhausted, surprised, features. 

He stares at you in adoration and before he could stop himself, the words slip out of his lips.  "I love you." 

Silence engulfs the two of you comfortably, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wonders if his beating heart was loud enough for you to hear through the silence. He watches in anticipation how your features shift from confusion to something he couldn't quite recognize. For a second, he berates himself for blurting out such foolishness.

Was it horror? Pity? He couldn't possibly comprehend with his nerves on overdrive, about a handful of thoughts swimming in his mind. If only he knew your heart was beating against its constraints just as fast as his, or that you wanted to throw your arms around him and finally claim him as yours at that very moment. He calls out your name in a stutter to pull you out of your shocked trance, fighting his urge to step through the threshold and pull you into his arms. He holds back the words clawing their way out of his mouth, not wanting to overwhelm you with his sudden burst of emotions. But mostly because he was afraid.

Afraid of humiliation, and of rejection. He was afraid that his feelings for you were no longer reciprocated. Though, he wouldn't blame you. He would understand if he was too late. It had been six years after all, and you, out of the both of you, deserve way better than this. Better than him. 

However, a part of him wishes it were otherwise. He recalls the night he summoned the tiniest spark of courage to capture your lips with his own once more after so long. He doesn't regret his actions, because he realized things that night as your own lips move against his own. It was as if the missing puzzle piece had been rummaged through the piles of chaotic emotions and finally found its rightful place. 

It just felt right. 

If it weren’t for the ridiculous hounds of reporters that interrupted the night, he may have used that opportunity to win you over or at least have a proper talk with you since obviously there are still a lot of unfinished business between the two of you that need fixing for the sake of Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro. 

“What are you doing here?” he hears you question, snapping out of his own thoughts, his shoulders growing tense. 

He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat, wanting to hide his trembling fingers from your sight. “I know I should have reached out sooner, and there isn’t any way I could possibly excuse myself out of that. I’ve probably left you wondering again, and that’s the last thing I want.” 

“It’s the middle of the night, Atsumu.” you mutter underneath your breath, brows furrowing. “What were you doing up anyways?” 

He lifts his shoulders up into a timid shrug, “I was at a party. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so I went straight here. I know it’s late and I should have waited but it’s been days since we last spoke and I couldn’t take it anymore. I—I needed to see you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” you release a heavy sigh, shifting your gaze away from him as you feel your cheeks heat up from God knows what. Embarrassment? Flattery? God, you could only curse at yourself for feeling that way ever since the two of you shared that kiss. 

The corners of his mouth tug up to a small smile, “You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out.” As you give him a nod after lifting your head to meet his gaze once more, he’s hit with a sudden rush of confidence, wondering if this was finally his chance to spill the feelings that had been occupying his thoughts since the two of you reunited. 

It was a mixture of anger and hate the moment he had realized it was you, that was for sure, he’d been frustrated but the one thing that’s been bothering him was the thought of you disappearing again. This time, taking the kids, his sons that he had grown to adore, away from him. The very thought had been enough for him to lower his pride, and a good push from his twin brother. His brother’s words replaying his head. 

‘Quit your moping and win her over before I do.’ 

“I love you,” he repeats his earlier words; this time with confidence, arms extending out to reach out for your hands which somehow, surprisingly for the both of you, you oblige, letting his fingers lace with yours. “I’ve loved you as my best friend the very moment when we were kids when you laughed at me for tripping and having the ice cream slip from my hands and landing on our grumpy neighbor’s bald head. I think a part of me started loving you there and then when you pulled me up from the ground and dragged me laughing away to avoid us getting into trouble.” You stifle a laugh, your eyes scrunching up in amusement at the memory and he couldn’t help but let a Cheshire grin form on his own lips at the sight of your happiness, feeling a sudden surge of happiness bubble in his own chest. There and then, he realized that he truly adored you and that he’s missed you. Missed this. 

Missed the warmth that radiated from just your mere touch. 

“I’ve loved you since we started high school and I know I had a really shitty way in showing that, being so absorbed in volleyball and everything, I don't think I ever deserved you then,” he lets out a sigh, “I never deserved your care. Despite me lashing out because of my own frustrations, you pulled me back into reality just as Osamu could and looking back now, I had been so blessed. And I…” he trails off, tearing his gaze away from yours in shame and his heart skips a beat at your gesture, squeezing his hands in a form of reassurance, “I took it for granted. I realized it too late and…” 

He lets out a sob, lifting his head to meet yours once more and he lets the tears spill from the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he lowers himself down onto his knees and he watches your eyes widen as he gives your hands a squeeze of his own, “Let me prove it to you how sorry I am, please. I know I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve to be a part of Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro’s liv—” 

It almost seemed like time stood still for Atsumu as you drop down to your own knees in front of him, pulling your hands away from his grip, only for you to grip the fabric of his shirt beneath his coat between your fingers, pulling him closer to your body as you lower your head to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Despite the layering of clothes that protected his skin from the cold, he could feel the patch of wetness growing on his shoulder from the tears that flowed from your eyes. “I’m sorry, Atsumu. I’m sorry as well,” those words spill from your mouth, despite your words mixed with sobs and you trying to keep your voice to a whisper to not disturb the residence of the hospital on the floor, he could hear you loud and clear. “I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most. I’m—” you cut yourself off with another sob. 

The sight of your vulnerable state was enough for Atsumu’s heart to clench in its confinement and slowly, his arms snake around your hips to pull you closer to his body. The both of you release a sigh from the warmth. You continue, “You deserve to be loved, Atsumu. You really do. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry for depriving you of the chance to raise such wonderful sons. I—I’m sorry.” 

The cold hospital floor didn’t even bother the two of you. The warmth radiating off of each other’s embrace was enough. 

Home.

The blinding fluorescent lights almost stabs his eyes as he slowly flutters his eyelids open, a hiss escaping his lips from the sudden burst of light. He tries to shield his eyes from such torture by lifting his heavy arm only to let out a groan as a shriek echoes through the small room. Groggily, he turns his head towards the direction of the assault to his ears and blinks his eyelids a couple of times to adjust his sight. 

He suddenly wishes he hadn’t woken up right at this moment. 

As the blonde model notices Atsumu moving from his bed, her eyes widen in excitement at the sight of him awake, trying her best to push through his twin’s protective stance. “Tsumtsum! You’re awake and okay!” she squeals and he winces in response. Atsumu knows his brother well, and from the proximity from between the two by the door, despite his brother’s back facing him, he could tell from his mere posture that his twin had his usual scowl on his face when dealing with the women in his life. He watches from the bed as Yumi turns to face his twin, a scowl scrunching up in her features as she crosses her arms across her chest and stomps her feet. “Can you please tell your brother over here to let me through? I’m your girlfriend!” she huffs. 

“Please pull your head out of your ass,” Osamu snaps and continues to hold Yumi back from entering his brother’s room. “You were never his girlfriend and I’m pretty sure he made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with you a few nights ago. So why don’t you do the whole hospital a favor? Shut up and leave, because I’m pretty sure your excessive whining is disturbing the patients.” 

Throughout Osamu’s annoyed speech, Atsumu had successfully pushed himself to sit on the bed without any assistance. He lets out a groan of pain and uses what little strength he has to press his back against the headboard of the hospital bed. Just as Yumi was about to retort, Atsumu calls for her attention from the bed. Yumi was quick to react, looking over at Atsumu. “Yes, baby?” 

Osamu scrunches up his face in disgust and Atsumu can only let out a sigh, not having the energy to argue with her. “Please leave.” 

The hopeful features that were splashed in her features disappear in a second at Atsumu’s command, “B—But…” 

“Leave, I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” he sighs, tearing his gaze away from Yumi to look over at his brother who had turned his head to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes pleading Osamu to get rid of the irritating model from the premises, “And you’ll be hearing from my lawyer regarding a restraining order. Don’t think I didn’t hear from my son how some ‘mean looking lady’ had ambushed his mother yesterday on the way to the hospital.” 

The model can only gape at Atsumu’s words, blinking in confusion. She stutters, “S—So—Son?” 

“Goodbye now,” Osamu interrupts by sliding the door shut right in front of Yumi’s face, using her dazed gaze to his advantage by locking the door. Turning around, he arches a brow in curiosity towards his brother who looked nowhere near comfortable in his position, “Are you sure it was the right move to let Yumi, of all people, that you have a son?” 

Atsumu lets out a frustrated sigh before waving his hand dismissively, “I’ll handle it.” 

“How are you feeling?” Osamu asks as he occupies the seat next to Atsumu’s bed, “Judging by the look on your face, probably shit huh?” 

Atsumu rolls his eyes before giving his brother a glare, “Yeah, no shit there.” 

“It’s expected,” his brother lifts his shoulders up in a shrug as he leans back against his seat, “Your doctor did list down what you can and can’t do after this surgery, and well, what you would be feeling right after, so this is to be expected. Unless, you didn’t really listen?” 

“Of course I listened, ya shit.” Atsumu snaps, brows furrowing. 

Osamu lets a laugh escape his lips, a grin taking place on his lips, “Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Why is my head hurting so fucking bad?” he lets out a groan, fluttering his eyes shut in annoyance for the pounding headache.  

“You don’t remember?” 

Atsumu flutters his eyelids back open to look at his brother in confusion, “What are you talking about?” 

“You fucking got out of bed the moment you were put into this room after your surgery, you dimwit.” Osamu scolds him with a glare, bringing his hands up to massage his temples with the tips of his fingers, “You were told to rest, not to get out of bed. You passed out after the nurse tried getting you back to bed, in the hallway mind you, and Atsuhiko had to witness it. You didn’t know how scared the little boy was after you collapsed head first.” 

Atsumu winces from the tone his twin was using, not that he cared for his brother’s scolding but it seemed the medication that was still in his system made everything sensitive, including his hearing. A frown makes its way to his lips at the mention of his son, “How about his brother? How’s Atsuhiro? His transfusion was just right after my surgery wasn’t it?” 

“Stop talking and let me explain,” he sighs at his brother’s impatience but somehow he inwardly smiles at this side of his brother. 

Since Atsumu had rushed out of the V.League Associations Party to confess his feelings to you, almost everyone noticed a change in him. Sure, he still attended training but according to Coach Samson, Atsumu seemed to be in top shape and even seemed to be more relaxed and enjoying his time on court. Of course, people who knew of the situation Atsumu was in, knew exactly the reason as to why he was in such condition. 

Ever since the two of you cried to each other, keep in mind, in a hospital hallway, on the cold floor, there was an honest shift in the atmosphere that surrounded both of you. It was calmer and full of the warmth that Atsumu and you had been longing. And for the volleyball player, having the chance to spend some time with his kids was a huge bonus. 

It made Atsumu feel complete. 

Especially when Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro had started addressing him as their father. Yes, Atsumu was on different levels of high; the highest peak of Mount Fuji, Cloud Nine, heck he was just so happy he doesn’t want to let this feeling out of his grasp. And he’d be damned if someone tried to take such joy from him. There was no way that he’d let this good thing going for him slip through his fingers for as long as he lived. 

So the very thought of Atsuhiko witnessing him collapse and fearing for his state was enough for his heart to hurt, he’d never meant to worry the little boy. As the father, shouldn’t he be the one worrying for his sons? He knows what his kids are thinking, having them (mostly Atsuhiko) bluntly express their fears of their father disappearing again. So the sight of him fainting in front of Atsuhiko had probably sent the little boy into panic. He’d have to make it up to him soon. 

“It’s too soon to tell if the transfusion was a success,” Osamu stars, watching his brother inhale sharply as anxiety bubbled in his chest. “But so far, everything looks good. I was with them earlier when the doctor came in and he said he’ll be staying in for another day to monitor him. If everything’s good, he can leave the hospital and return every 6 months until he doesn’t need to have a transfusion anymore.” 

He nods slowly, “And what about if the transfusion isn’t successful?” 

“I don’t think that would be the case,” Osamu lifts his shoulders up in a shrug and gives his brother a reassuring smile, “Atsuhiro and you are a match, so far there aren’t any complications. It’s a success, ‘Tsumu. Don’t worry too much. Focus on getting better. Oh, and actually…” 

Atsumu raises a brow at his twin, “What? You tell me not to worry and end your sentence like that? I ought to smack you if my body isn’t sore as fuck.” 

A chuckle escapes the other twin seated on the chair next to the bed, a sly grin forming on his lips as he remembers the conversation from earlier. “Mom may, or may not be already planning your wedding.” 

He splutters, eyes growing wide. He feels his cheeks heat up from the sheer thought of approaching you after his own mother had probably brought up the idea of marriage to you while he wasn’t present to stop her. Suddenly, he’s embarrassed to face you. “Please don’t tell me she had been pestering about marriage with my sons present.” 

A smile curls up on Osamu’s lips at how his twin addresses the younger twins as his sons before he shakes his head in response, “Nah, Suwa-san took Atsuhiko out earlier for the day and I was keeping Atsuhiro occupied.” 

“Suwa-san?” 

Osamu rolls his eyes, “Reiji, purple haired dude that’s always with your girlfriend.” 

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” he grumbles underneath his breath, frowning. 

His twin lets out a laugh as he teases, “yet. You two are practically married.” 

“I don’t know…” he lets out a sigh, “Do you think she’d be happier with that Reiji guy? He’s been with her ever since…” 

“You’re lucky you’re in a hospital bed or else I would have kicked your ass for that negative pea brain of yours,” Osamu grunts, unamused by his twin brother’s words. Sure, he often teased his twin but he especially didn’t like it when Atsumu put himself down over something serious. “Don’t go there. Just don’t. The two of you have talked things out haven’t you?” 

“How do you—” 

Osamu cuts him off with a dismissive wave, “She told me. We talked when you were being prepped for your surgery. Just be patient, you can’t rush these things and don’t you dare decide for her either.” 

“When did you become the boss of me?” he scoffs from the bed, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling, “I just want what’s best for them.” 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

His twin stands up from his seat upon hearing the knock, thinking it’s probably the doctor or you. Before he could unlock the door however, he glances back at his brother over his shoulder, “Stop moping and just be there for them whether you end up with her or not.” 

Atsumu watches the hospital door slide open and his heart swells at the sight of you and Atsuhiko and he instantly wants to reach out when he notices the little boy’s lower lip quivering as he peers into the room. As the little boy’s gaze lands on Atsumu, the little boy rushes forward frantically. 

“Daddy!” he cries out, throwing himself onto Atsumu’s body as soon as he gets near enough. Atsumu couldn’t even bring himself to complain of the pain from the impact due to the sight of his son’s distress, reaching out to run his fingers into the little boy’s hair, “You okay now? You scared me, daddy! You fell and you wouldn’t wake up! I tried waking you up but you wouldn’t!” 

He tries his best to soothe the little boy who was clinging onto him from the side of his bed but Atsumu couldn’t contain the excitement he felt upon hearing Atsuhiko address him as his father over and over. He realizes that he probably wouldn’t ever get used to it but he wouldn’t mind hearing it all the time. “Daddy is doing much better. I’m sorry for scaring you, buddy.” 

“Good, daddy. You and Hiro should get better so we can start playing together,” he nods his head happily, his mood shifting from his gloomy one upon hearing his father was okay. The little boy scrunches up his features into a look of distaste as he straightens himself up to stand, folding his tiny arms across his chest, “Daddy, the mean looking lady came again! She was yelling at mommy and saying mean things! Uncle Bo helped and I wanna help too but mommy said kicking someone isn’t nice.” 

Atsumu turns to look over at you with a raised eyebrow as Atsuhiko finishes his explanation and you simply shook your head. Giving Osamu a small smile which he returns before leaving the room for the three of you. You turn your gaze back at the man who was waiting patiently for you to answer as you slide the door shut behind you, letting out a tired sigh. “That woman is not worth our time to discuss further, I’m taking legal actions though. How you ended up dating someone like her is beyond me.” 

“She didn’t do anything to Hiko or you?” he asks, worry laced in his voice as Atsuhiko slowly crawls into the bed and snuggles himself into his father’s side. Atsumu notices you about to reprimand the little boy which he simply shakes his head towards your direction, lowering his head to press a kiss to the top of the little boy’s head. 

“She couldn’t even if she tried,” you let out a snort as you approached the bed. He extends his arm out, his hand reaching for yours which you gladly take with your own and giving it a gentle squeeze, “You feeling okay?” 

He nods, “A little sore but I guess that’s to be expected. How’s Hiro? Should you be leaving him on his own?” 

“He’s doing fine, sleeping and our moms are busy bonding in his room, they said they’ll keep an eye on him,” you reassure him, “Plus this little one over here has been pestering me all day to check up on you.” 

He feels his shoulder relax and a sigh of relief escapes his lips, lacing your fingers together with his as he lifts his gaze from Atsuhiko to look up at you, “I’m glad to hear that.” 

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing fine,” you counter as the corners of your mouth tug down to a frown, “You gave us quite a scare, you know. We thought something had gone wrong with your surgery that caused you to collapse, turns out you were just being the stubborn idiot that you are. You really haven’t changed one bit.” 

He places his other hand on his chest, feigning a hurt expression as he juts his lower lip to a pout to gain some sympathy from you which you simply responded with a shake of your head. The pad of thumb brushes against your skin and he lets out a defeated sigh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare either of you. I just wanted to see Atsuhiro.” 

“I understand,” you nod as you finally take a seat on the edge of his bed, watching Atsuhiko listening intently to the two of you, his brows furrowed as if he was trying his best to comprehend the conversation. “Just don’t do it again.” 

“I promise,” he nods, flashing you a cheeky grin which you just roll your eyes at. 

Atsuhiko interrupts the conversation by tilting his head to look up at his father as he remembers the task his Uncle Bo had given him when he had asked a particular question after encountering the mean looking lady moments ago before begging you to visit Atsumu. “Hey, daddy?” 

“Yeah buddy?” Atsumu asks, his heart swelling with pride upon hearing the word daddy once more, shifting his attention back to the little boy snuggled comfortably against his side. 

“What does bitch mean?”

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 20 - as in the midst of battle

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AO3

Masterlist

(TW: toxic relationships, mild gore/fighting)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Sonnet XXV” by George Santayana)

Roman led his friends back into the forest, trying to ignore the sour feeling growing in his gut. It was high noon, and the sun filtered down through the trees in broken rays. The woods looked so different in the daytime. Almost beautiful. Despite how upset it would make them both, and the points to the contrary they’d posed, Roman still thought Patton and Logan would be safer away from the fight. Roman had learned to deal with dangerous situations with nothing but his own skills and quick thinking. Three more people, two of which that were far more vulnerable, increased the number of things he had to think about tenfold. Not to mention their plan was rather half-baked and incoherent at this point. Roman simply hoped that by the time they got to the meadow, the ideas would start coming. Ursula could show up at any moment. They had to be ready to act.

Instead of worrying endlessly, Roman simply kept running over the handful of witchtongue phrases and words Virgil had taught him just in case things got hairy. Be careful, he’d admonished. You don’t have control of your powers yet, so you can’t control how powerful each word’s going to be. It could be like setting off a bomb.

Behind him, Logan drilled Virgil about the magical properties of everyday substances, desperately trying to formulate some kind of attack strategy.

“So, rosemary enhances magic?”

“Sort of,” said Virgil, struggling to explain. “It’s more like it concentrates it in one area. Keeps it from going wrong.”

“Anything else? Something also available to us?”

Virgil stuffed his hands in his oversized pockets, thinking. Patton had his cardigan on, and even Logan wore a windbreaker. It was a little chilly, now that Roman thought about it, but he’d always run hot, even as a kid. He had his usual weapons strapped to his body, but aside from that, just a t-shirt and jeans.

“Coffee puts us to sleep,” Virgil offered.

“So that’s why you never drink it!” Patton exclaimed. “Maybe we could blow a bunch in her face?”

“It’s not a tranquilizer,” he amended. “More like melatonin. It just makes us drowsy and lethargic.”

“We’re almost there,” Roman announced, but the three others were too engrossed in their planning to take notice. He didn’t mind. Roman wasn’t much of a planner. He was a shoot-and-stab first, come-up-with-brilliant-strategies later kind of guy.

As they walked, Roman let his mind wander to Dorian. Was he sleeping? If so, where was he?

A familiar tugging sensation filled his mind, and somehow, he just knew which direction Dorian was. Southeast, about three miles. The location popped into his mind just as easily as any one of his normal thoughts. It felt similar to how he’d found the Silkweed, and that strange sensation he’d felt that night outside the forest with the—

Roman audibly gasped, stopping in his tracks. Logan bumped into him.

“Roman? What—”

“It was you!” he breathed, pointing at Virgil.

Virgil paled, immediately nervous. “What was me?”

“You were the cat that kept following me to the forest every night!”

Virgil relaxed a touch. “You’re just figuring this out now?”

“Well, I mean. Kinda. I guess I didn’t connect the two,” he said, flushing. “Whatever, let’s keep going. We’re almost there.” Roman turned around and continued plodding through the trees, trying to hide his embarrassment. He’d had full on mental breakdowns in front of that cat. He’d talked about Virgil to it. It was comforting, and really sweet, actually—but also incredibly embarrassing.

“Okay,” Logan began slowly, “back to the matter at hand, I guess. Are there any substances that have negative effects? Ones that we can use against Ursula?”

“I mean, iron’s a classic, but there isn’t much of that just lying around,” Virgil said.

“What are its properties?”

“It cancels out magic.”

Logan sighed. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Virgil. What are the constraints? The parameters?”

“Well,” Virgil said as they arrived at the meadow, “magic can’t pass through it. So, if someone was behind an iron door, or in an iron cage, no magic could get in or out. In the Witchlands, they use iron cuffs to bind prisoners.”

“And what of iron in a powder form? What if a person were to become covered in it?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it before. I guess it could cancel out their powers, but it wouldn’t be as concentrated as solid metal. My guess is it’ll simply destroy any control over their spells, or decrease their power.”

They stopped in the middle of the clearing.

“Fantastic,” Logan muttered to himself, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

“Where are we supposed to get iron powder?” Patton asked.

Logan squatted down, pressing his fingers into the dirt. “Right here. Virgil, do you know of any spells that could draw iron from the ground?”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” he said with that same smile that crossed his face anytime the mention of performing magic was made.

“Now, be careful,” Logan warned. “Iron is a necessary nutrient for plant life.”

“Don’t kill the forest. Got it.”

Roman watched as Virgil knelt down, pulling the talisman from his jacket pocket and placing a hand on the ground. He opened his mouth, then stopped, eyebrows knitting together.

“What rhymes with stone?”

Logan brightened. “Tone, sloan, own, bone, zone—tome and roam are slant rhymes, but I’m sure they’ll work.”

“Disown,” Roman said. Atone was also in there, but he refrained from offering that one.

“Shown? Or known?” Patton chimed in.

“That’ll work,” Virgil said, and returned his attention to the ground. “Seek and find the hidden stone, bring it hence and make it known.”

The ground shuddered and beneath Virgil’s palm sprouted a pile of iron flecks, and a few larger pebbles.

“Jahsti,” he said softly, that strange tone to his voice that made Roman’s heart race and fingers tingle. Logan flinched ever so slightly. The iron seemed to vibrate, and soon all the flecks and pebbles were reduced to a fine powder. There was only enough for a fistful, maybe less.

“Wonderful,” Logan said, gathering the substance up in his hand.

“So, what’s the plan?” Roman asked, unconsciously scanning the treeline. “We somehow get close enough to her to chuck the stuff in her face?”

“That’s a rather simplistic way of putting it, but yes,” Logan said. He had that look in his eye. The one that betrayed a million calculations and ideas finally coming together.

A rare grin stretched across his face. “Patton, how fast can you run?”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian lay on the top of a sheer cliff, bathing in the sunlight. Winter was approaching. He shuddered at the thought. Sure, he didn’t need to be warm to live—just like he didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or breathe—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t able to enjoy one and hate another. The cold reminded him of his time in the dungeons.

In his periphery, he could sense the little prince and his friends a few miles northwest of him. Perhaps they planned on confronting the Dragon Witch today? Dorian reveled in the fact that he couldn’t care less. Either they took care of his problem, or he got to kill Ursula and the little prince.

Who he hadn’t become fond of in the least.

Obviously.

Under normal circumstances, Dorian wouldn’t have been so out in the open, let alone sunbathing atop a clifftop, letting his scales shine like beacons. Again, it felt good to have no worries.

And yet, the little prince’s presence kept nagging at the back of his mind. What was their plan? How could they hope to defeat such a power with the prince so oblivious to his own? They had no chance, really. It was bound to end in disaster, and they’d no doubt come crawling to him for assistance.

Which he wouldn’t offer. Under any circumstance.

This is ridiculous, Dorian thought, and in a snap of brilliant golden light, returned to his human form. He needed to clear his head.`

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood at the treeline. Now that the curse was broken, he, too, should be able to leave the premises of the forest. Something that surely wasn’t fear curdled in the pit of his stomach. He’d never approached a human settlement before. Even while hunting Ursula all those centuries, he’d avoided the places as well he could.

Steeling himself, Dorian stepped into the yellow-grass field separating the township from the forest. He would have expected some sort of reaction, even a tingle up his spine, but of course nothing did. He trudged through the field and slipped between two houses. The street was lined with residencies and nothing else. The town square must be around here somewhere, he reasoned, and stepped out into the middle of the road. It was hard, like stone, but blackened and smelly, as if a dragon had scorched it with its breath.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Dorian strode down the middle of the street. Small humans—even smaller than the little prince—rode past on strange two-wheeled contraptions, staring at him with open mouths. While Dorian knew that magicless mortals such as these could not see the scales marring the left side of his face, he wondered if they saw some other kind of deformation more familiar to them. A burn, perhaps?

They continued away from him, stopping behind one of the large metal machines that littered the sides of the street and peeking out at him. Dorian continued down the road, twitching his finger in the direction of the machine. A blaring alarm rang out and various white, yellow, and red lights began flashing. The children yelped in fright and scampered away. Dorian contained a smile.

One of the large machines was moving toward him rapidly. A similar alarm blared at him and the woman inside made a gesture with her middle finger as she gradually slowed down. Dorian cocked his head to the side, and the machine’s engine made an awful cranking sound, black smoke billowing up from the front end. Another jerk of his head, and the entire contraption slid to the side of the road, out of his way.

This might be fun.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

“VIRGIL!” a voice screeched in the distance, ringing like an ornery bird call through the trees. Roman froze, a chill shooting down his neck. He cast a glance Virgil’s direction. He looked paler than normal, and clutched his talisman so tightly, he would have killed it, had it been alive.

Roman knew where Logan and Patton were simply because they’d planned it, but he couldn’t resist using his newfound ability to be absolutely sure. Patton was thirty feet east of him and Virgil. Logan was even farther east. One hundred and twenty-seven feet, to be exact.

“Where are you, cat?!” Ursula screamed in frustration. Roman refrained from using his ability on the witch, just in case he ended up giving their location away. From where they crouched in the bushes, she sounded only a couple hundred feet up the slope of the mountain.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Virgil muttered.

“What?”

“She should know exactly where I am. I’m her familiar,” he said. “I don’t know why she can’t find me.”

“Well, whatever the reason, let’s count ourselves lucky,” Roman said. Though, for their plan to work, they needed Ursula to find them. Reaching into the bush, Roman grabbed one of the branches and snapped it. This needed to seem unintentional.

Sure enough, the witch began stomping down the hill toward them. Her hair was silvery as Roman remembered, though she wore pants, tennis shoes, and a streamlined running jacket. She almost looked like a normal human.

Her eyes scanned the trees. She still seemed unable to pinpoint their exact location.

“I can sense you, kitty,” she muttered.

Before Virgil could make his mind up to bolt in the other direction, Roman grabbed his arm and stood up out of the bush, pulling Virgil up with him.

“We’re right here, Ursula.”

Her eyes snapped to him, then to Virgil. Roman could feel him shaking beneath his jacket. The witch smiled and lifted her hands in a gesture of goodwill.

“I’m not here for you, princey. Virgil’s been misbehaving recently, and I think it’s time he got a reminder who’s in charge around here.”

“You’re not going anywhere near him,” Roman said, unsheathing his sword.

Ursula cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to save that for the demon? Be a shame to tire yourself out before the curse even starts.”

“Leave us alone. You have no business here.”

The witch’s expression darkened. “Where are the rest of your friends, kitty? Didn’t want to join the party?”

On cue, Patton wandered out of his hiding place, calling, “Roman? Virgil? Come on guys, where are you? Logan’s worried sick!”

Roman let out a curse, and a smile stretched across Ursula’s face.

“Patton! Get out of here!” he shouted. Patton’s head snapped in their direction.

“No,” Ursula crooned. “Why don’t you come over here, dear?” She curled a finger towards herself and muttered, “Nohmai.”

Patton jerked forward, as if drawn by a string sprouting from the middle of his chest. Roman’s breath caught. Just like his curse. Patton’s feet skidded across the forest floor as he was drawn toward the witch, his face one of fear and confusion.

Virgil nudged him. Roman started, remembering the plan.

“Baesta!” he cried, concentrating as well he could on the invisible connection between the two of them. Power surged out of him with the strangest sensation Roman had ever felt. It was like blood flowing back into a limb that had fallen asleep.

A deep groove tore into the ground and branches were shorn from trees as some invisible force barreled out of him. The furrow separated Patton and Ursula, and he stumbled to a stop a few paces from her. The witch looked at Roman, astounded.

“You’ve discovered your powers.”

“Patton, run!” Roman barked.

Responding faster than he probably should have, Patton turned on his heel and sprinted in the direction he’d come.

Almost as if he’d expected it.

She’s going to try to use him as leverage, Logan had explained. She’ll see him as the weakest member and since she can’t kill or harm Roman and risk him dying, she’ll try to threaten Patton’s life in exchange for Virgil. As long as you and Virgil can keep her from using magic to capture Patton, the plan will work smoothly.

The chase began without preamble. Ursula dashed after Patton with far more speed than a woman of her age should have been able. Roman and Virgil sprinted after them.

Roman was pleased to find that Patton wasn’t just a good runner; he was shockingly fast. His feet beat the ground in a quick pace, his strides long and loping, yet he swerved around trees and over logs with ease. He was easily faster than Ursula and Roman, and could probably keep up with Virgil in cat form.

They were fast approaching Logan’s hiding place. Thankfully, due to his total lack of magical ability, Virgil had said it would be near impossible for her to sense Logan’s presence.

Don’t let any of it touch you or Virgil, Logan had warned. We want to disable her powers, not all of yours.

Ten more feet.

Ursula growled in frustration, snarling, “Eirholme,” and rising into the air.

Five feet.

She picked up speed, her outstretched hand just centimeters from the collar of Patton’s cardigan.

Roman and Virgil swerved out from behind her just in time to avoid the plume of iron powder Logan flung directly into Ursula’s face as she passed.

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Dorian stood outside the small, two-story house, nose crinkled in disgust. He’d abandoned his quest to find the center of the village when he’d caught the unmistakable stench of magic.

The house was ripe with it. It was bound to happen, given that the last heir to the Witch’s Inheritance, a sybil, and the world’s most powerful witch’s familiar were all living in the same vicinity. He figured they were simply lucky they hadn’t attracted more attention.

Most likely, it was his own scent that had kept any stray magical creatures wandering the outside world at bay. He smelled of death, and he knew it.

Not at all curious, but simply wanting to get out of the public eye for a while—at least until people stopped getting all agitated about thier machines acting up—Dorian stepped up the front porch steps. The door was locked. A simple touch, and the door opened for him.

The odor was even worse inside. Dorian couldn’t fathom how the familiar had stood it all these years. Then again, Dorian used to live in the Witchlands. That scent had once been the smell of home.

He hadn’t sensed such an aroma in hundreds of years.

The house itself was quaint, with a relatively open kitchen and living space. Dorian found a carpeted staircase tucked against a wall and wandered up it. The smell grew stronger.

Four rooms, a bathroom, and a linen closet. He could tell which was the little prince’s without having to open the door, despite it hanging open, revealing a mess of clutter and clothes. He’d grown used to the boy’s particular odor by now. The familiar’s simply smelled like the Witchlands. The third had no particular scent whatsoever. Peeking inside, Dorian found the room studiously neat and well kept. Boring.

What he was most interested in, actually, was the sybil’s room. The child had come out of nowhere, with significantly more power than any other sybil Dorian had come across while in the Queen’s court.

He ran a finger across the door handle and sniffed it. Nothing too suspicious. Easing the door open, he stepped inside. The room was… warm. Homey, if Dorian had to put a word to it. Not much in the way of possessions, unlike the little prince.

Dorian sniffed.

Something was off. The room smelled of the prediction magic typical of everyday sybils, but there was something else. An undertone he hadn’t sensed since his days in the Queen’s dungeons.

Something… prophetic. Divine, even.

A loud thud from downstairs pulled Dorian from his thoughts. Eyes narrowing, he exited the room and slipped silently down the stairs.

The thudding continued. Dorian ambled curiously down the hallway it originated from. Being as powerful as he was, he didn’t have much to worry about in the way of danger.

Turning the corner, he was surprised to find a door, sealed shut with a glowing, violet sigil. The thudding turned to scrabbling at the edges of the door, trying for purchase on any one of the hinges or edges.

The mark of Avalian, Dorian mused to himself, running a finger across the sigil. It sparked and smoked at his touch.

“What are you hiding?” he muttered, pressing his palm into the wood of the door. Dorian slowly wiped his hand across the mark, wincing ever so slightly as it scorched the skin of his hand in protest. Despite the spell’s noble efforts, however, it eventually gave up and dissipated.

The door swung open.

“…swear I’ll stuff a pixie up that cat’s nose and tie his tail to a—”

Dorian’s mouth ticked up into a smile. “Hello, there.”

                                                * * * * * * * * * *

Ursula screamed and fell to the ground, rolling several times. Whatever magic that kept her flying stopped. Patton jogged to a stop a few feet away. Logan leaped out of the bush, breathless with excitement.

“It worked!”

Roman rushed forward, brandishing his blade. Ursula wiped her face furiously with her hands.

“What did you do?!” she wailed, tears from her bloodshot eyes streaking down her face. She coughed. “Iron?!”

“That’s right,” Roman said, pointing his sword at her chest. “Don’t move.”

“Or what?” she said, spitting iron-tainted saliva out onto the ground. “You’ll kill me? We both know you can’t—aaah!” Ursula cried as he drew his blade across her thigh.

“You don’t know what I will or won’t do, witch,” he growled. “I’ve promised a very powerful demon that I’d kill you in exchange for my freedom. Seems like a tempting offer.”

“You brat. No wonder Virgil’s been acting up.”

“He’s not your property,” Logan said, brushing the remaining iron dust off his hands. Patton came to stand next to him. Ursula eyed them both.

“You stupid mortals would never understand. The kind of bond between a witch and their familiar is for life. There’s no going back.”

“He’s done pretty well without you, so far,” Roman countered. “Besides, you’re powerless now. You’re not exactly threatening.”

“Well,” she said with a smile. “I think the little prince needs to be taught a lesson, don’t you, kitty?”

“Roman, do it,” Virgil said hastily.

“What?”

“Kill her! Now! Before—”

“Dokuah Kulong,” Ursula rasped, gesturing toward Logan and Patton.

Roman’s heart dropped to his feet. One second, his friends were standing there, looks of surprise and confusion on their faces, and the next, they were just gone. As if they’d never been there. The world seemed to tilt around Roman, and he couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t… they couldn’t be… could they?

A wounded cry tore from Virgil’s throat.

Ursula was on her feet in seconds, disarming Roman, shoving him to the ground, and throwing his sword into the trees.

“Pounu!” she cried. To their right, several gallons worth of water appeared out of nowhere, sloshing over the ground and soaking Roman’s clothes. She growled in frustration and started for the water, desperately scrubbing mud over her skin, trying to rid herself of the iron powder. She’d obviously meant for it to appear right over her, but the iron was apparently doing its job.

“Makoaste duu fahrnistahll,” Virgil rumbled, his arms raised chest-level, the tendons on the back of his hands pulling taut as his fingers contorted. Tears streaked his cheeks, and his eyes held a fury that made even Roman’s stomach clench.

The world around them seemed to glitch, nothing staying in one place. The ground undulated and grew soft, Roman having to grab hold of the nearest tree to keep from sinking into it. The dirt around Ursula’s feet sunk in on itself, like someone had pulled an enormous drain deep below the ground. An absolutely terrifying noise emanated from the sucking earth. A low, bone-rattling note, like the earth itself were groaning.

Roman, it seemed, was already weak from the one word he’d uttered, and found it difficult to keep a grip on the tree. He was buried up to his waist, the ground pulling at his ankles like quicksand. Hopefully, Virgil wasn’t so enthralled in his fight he ended up pulling Roman into it as well.

Ursula was covered nearly head-to-toe in mud. Preoccupied with trying not to be buried alive, she paid Roman little attention.

“Eirholme!” Ursula rose into the air, the angry black dirt following her, tugging at her feet. She raised a muddy hand and screamed, “Kazhta!”

Virgil gasped, collapsing to the ground. The dirt immediately fell slack, jittering and twitching as Virgil thrashed and screamed on the ground, grabbing at his back.

“Virgil!” Roman cried, trying desperately to free the lower half of his body from the dirt. It was no use. His sword was somewhere lost in the trees. He tried to locate it, but he was too frazzled. He couldn’t concentrate.

Virgil tore his jacket off, revealing countless shallow gashes torn up and down his arms. His back was criss-crossed by them as well, soaking his black shirt crimson. More appeared every second. If it went on much longer, he’d be cut to ribbons.

Ursula approached Virgil, her feet alighting on the ground like she was an apparition.

Roman fought back tears of fear and frustration as he tried to pull himself out of the earth with the hold he had on a low branch. The limb snapped.

“Remember this, kitty,” Ursula crooned, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. She looked over at Roman, favoring the leg he’d injured.

“You both belong to me.”

And with that, she muttered a quick, “Dokuah Cairo,” and disappeared without a trace.

[dropintomanga]

Can Our Otaku Hoarding Be a Disorder?

Around late August, I wrote about the guy who made the Guinness World Record for having the largest Dragon Ball collection and how good is it to collect things for the sake of our sanity. 

Now I’ll discuss in some detail about the flip side of this because there are times to think about what it means to collect versus to hoard.

A much-needed episode of the Psych Central Podcast came out last week that focused on a problem that almost all of us can relate to - having clutter. While clutter is problematic, it might not be that big of a deal when compared to hoarding. Hoarding is basically buying and accumulating things with no regard to your own personal space.

I know there was a book about otaku rooms that opened up many readers’ eyes to the fascinating world of living spaces filled with anime and manga goods. Some of the folks who were interviewed in the book talk about their consumption being used as a way to cope with not feeling/getting the love they need from other human beings. I wonder if that means that they have hoarding disorder, which apparently is an actual thing.

There are 3 criteria that need to be met in order to be diagnosed with hoarding disorder. They are:

1.) Excessive accumulation.

2.) Not using living spaces for their intended purpose (i.e. using your kitchen as a storage room instead of a place to cook and store food).

3.) You’re upset and/or traumatized about something in your life or there’s an impairment in your daily functioning.

I sometimes look at otaku rooms (that are usually their bedrooms) and wonder how the residents manage to sleep. There’s so much stimuli. You have posters, screens, toys, etc. all over the place. Those kinds of rooms feel relaxing and not relaxing at the same time.

I asked myself, “Don’t some otaku get frustrated or become addicted to buying fan goods to the point of misery?”

The social worker interviewed in the podcast, Elaine Birchall, talks about the relationships we have with things in our lives. She talks about what causes those relationships to go awry.

“It’s about having, not using and people who are in this mental situation of hoarding disorder, they acquire things because things soothe them. We all need ways to soothe ourselves. And these individuals have lost track of the ability to self-soothe. They also believe that increasing number of things are important or valuable. Sometimes it’s just the process of decision making. It’s extremely difficult, particularly when you’re as overwhelmed as these folks are to make decisions that you can live with. And if you just get rid of things and some people do that, they try to remedy the situation just by pell-mell, getting rid of things. What happens is you create a void in yourself and then you fill that void and generally you fill it with things.“

Birchall also says that while genetics and mental disorders do play a role in developing hoarding disorder, the one thing that affects anyone most easily is being heavily disorganized. For example, if you lost your job, someone in your life dies or something traumatic happened to you that ruins any sense of order in your life, you start to become very vulnerable to hoard stuff you don’t need. Birchall talks about how online shopping propels this vulnerability further.

First off, I will say that it’s pretty cool that fans have huge manga collections in their home. And yet I wonder how much manga do they really need. Birchall talks about finding your best friends in the things you need as doing a complete purge of your hoard is too extreme,

“Help them find the things that mean the most to them. Because we do have relationships with our things. I’m going to liken it to I guess a metaphor would be your best friend. If you find your best friends among that clutter, it’s going to be much easier for you to identify the other things that are just hangers on. They got caught up in the clutter and in the chaos and the piles. When unimportant is mixed with really important in a pile, the whole pile, whether specific items are of absolutely no importance to you or not, that whole pile feels as important as the most important thing that you believe is in that pile. That’s why slow and steady wins the race.”

So I would like to ask manga collectors - which titles are your best friends? Which titles are the ones that define your boundaries? Which titles can be looked as something you hoarded? What’s driving you to collect a wide variety of manga to a huge degree? Would you be willing to give up your collection if it started to have a negative effect in your life? 3 years ago, I had to make some tough decisions regarding some manga I purchased as I have to deal with space constraints and will continue to do so. 

I know hoarding disorder sounds ridiculous, but considering that otaku (including myself) have many insecurities about themselves and find it hard to relate to the world, it doesn’t sound far-fetched. After all, the world of anime and manga talks about complex subjects and revolves around consumption at the same time.

I just hope any fans who struggle with buying so many things find the middle ground and consume that path to be a responsible otaku who doesn’t have to hate themselves and finds beauty in the outside world too.

While you can talk to me if you ever felt that you just buy anime/manga goods to an extreme, there’s a site on getting help for hoarding problems at: www.hoarding.ca if you feel that you need some help/advice on hoarding. 

[femmesfollesnebraska]

Artist feature: Christine Holtz

Thrilled to present this q-and-a with artist Christine Holtz! All images and text (c) Christine Holtz.

...

Where are you from? 

I currently reside in St. Louis, Missouri with my husband and two daughters. 

How did you get into creative work and what is your impetus for creating? 

I have been creating for as long as I can remember, but my conceptual work really started when I was in undergraduate school. My impetus for creating is to visually embody the absurdities of my daily experience. It’s how I make sense of the world.

Tell me about your current work and why it’s important to you. What do you hope people get out of your work?

 Repetition becomes routine.

Routine creates habits.

Habits generate absurdity.

Absurdities infiltrate identity.

Identity gets lost in repetition.

Repetition becomes routine.

How we understand things depends so much on habit, yet repetition and familiarity often get in the way of ever really understanding anything. I constantly try to make sense of the nonsensical through installations, sculptures, and performances. My ongoing body of artwork is a visual diary about my obsessive thoughts and humorous take on habit, identity, and time. I realize my experiences are not unique, and I hope to connect with others through commonality. For example, my ongoing fascination with identity shows through in my self-portrait work. In #therealme series I embroidered over-filtered self-deprecating self-portraits to embody distorted identity posted through social media. The slow repetitive process of embroidery contradicts the immediacy of an Instagram selfie and forces me to thoroughly engage the imagery thread by thread.

Additionally, every three years since 2005, my Spare a Square for Unibrow Care project requires me to collect my plucked eyebrow hairs and "draw" a new self-portrait on a square of toilet paper by dipping each hair in glue and applying it with tweezers. The excessive repetition and extreme dedication taken to complete my visually overwhelming compilations tests the limitations of both my mind and body. Each of these projects is an attempt to gain an understanding and control over the habits of my life as they are unfolding before me. I meticulously craft ridiculous objects and performances to visually embody my daily experiences that I find absurd.

Some of my works over the past ten years are specifically about motherhood.  At the start of the pandemic, I felt the need to create a uniform as a mother, college instructor, artist, and all of a sudden also a homeschooler.  Covid-19 Work Blazer is my humorous attempt to maintain a sense of professionalism during these unprecedented times.  The blazer has the extra arms needed to keep my family from losing balance in our “new normal.”  The sewn gesture drawings paired with repetitive hand embroidery are both an illustration and metaphor for parenting.  Hand embroidery requires a lot of control and repetition−very much like raising children.  Likewise, in freehand machine embroidery, the machine wants to move in one direction while I encourage it to sew in a more desirable path.  The processes are both a struggle and cathartic−just like parenthood. 

Process plays a huge role in my art practice. Sometimes the performance is the repetitive process of making or collecting materials.  Other times I make a sculpture to be used for a performance. Oftentimes it is both.  I see methods of making as representation for repetitious actions.  For example, Mumbleweed is composed of strips of hand-cut paper covered in hundreds of phrases I found myself saying over and over as a parent. Repeatedly saying the phrases on a daily basis wasn’t absurd enough, so I forced myself to sit and write them again and again as a performance in creating this piece. The sculpture is meant to quietly drift into the corner and go unnoticed just like the countless hours of my parenting words lost to the wind.  

Does collaboration play a role in your work—whether with your community, artists or others? How so and how does this impact your work? In past works, I involved the community in the process more. Some of my past performances were large public displays. For example, my group performance piece as a mascot of myself in the University of Missouri homecoming parade was to commercially promote my exhibition on campus. In the field of art, we have to be our own mascots. My mascot persona hasn’t made an appearance since becoming a mother. I am not sure why exactly, but it will eventually be used as an ageless version of myself.  For now, I have been collaborating with my husband (who is a photographer) and daughters for some more recent works.  My visual diary is constantly evolving.  

Considering the political climate, how do you think the temperature is for the arts right now, what/how do you hope it may change or make a difference?  

Throughout all of history, art has served as a reflection of the time. Now is a time to fight for equity.  I realize that I not moving mountains with my work, but I feel the need to make this work about my shared experiences.  I hope to make a difference by providing a strong and accepting example to my daughters just like my own mother has shown me.  Mother, the fate of the free world rests in me! exemplifies this feeling. One night before bed, I crocheted a doily and the next morning I found Wonder Woman tangled in the string and slowly unraveling the work that I had done the night before. As a feminist, I want to create confidence and equal opportunities for my daughters’ futures. This sculpture is about embracing the random happenings of raising two daughters while guiding them to find their own strengths and identities without the constraint of social constructs.

If you would like to check out more of my works, please visit my website christineAholtz.com

I have considered making a separate Instagram page just for my art, but that wouldn’t make sense with my concept.  My life goes hand in hand with my art making.  You can follow me @holtzchristine

 ~

Les Femmes Folles was a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world. Editor Sally Brown retired from active blogging after 10 years in 2021, but still accepts submissions. sallery_art@zohomail.com https://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/callforart-writing

Check out the 10th anniversary LFF exhibit, Feminist Connect, here:

https://www.les-femmes-folles-feminist-connect.com/

[aion-rsa]

Can Salem’s Lot and Firestarter Reignite Stephen King at the Box Office?

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It was almost exactly four years ago when It: Chapter One (as it came to be called), the first of two movies based on Stephen King’s classic 1986 novel, opened in theaters to a record-shattering $124 million in its first weekend. Adjusted for inflation, the film went on to become the highest grossing horror movie (and King adaptation) of all time, earning $701 million worldwide. Not even the vampires of ‘Salem’s Lot multiplied at that rate!

It’s explosive and unprecedented opening coincided (and perhaps helped drive) a new wave of Stephen King adaptations, both as movies and TV productions, and new generations of filmmakers and hungry-for-content streaming services eagerly tapped into the author’s vast collection of works.

As of last year, some 25 projects based on King novels, novellas, or short stories were said to be in development, but of all those, only three—all limited television series—have made it to their respective streaming platforms. Still, there are two movies entering production as of right now: Firestarter, which began filming earlier this year, and ‘Salem’s Lot, which goes in front of the cameras this month.

Both stories have been adapted before—twice in the case of ‘Salem’s Lot—but never satisfyingly, and both a long time ago. The novels themselves were King’s second and sixth books to be published and are part of the classic first 10 or so works that turned King into a phenomenon (that initial run arguably stretches from Carrie to Pet Sematary, more or less).

Nevertheless, following the release of It, several more King-based movies came out—and all underperformed.

It: Chapter Two, which arrived two years after its predecessor in 2019, earned $473 million worldwide. Which is a handsome sum, to be sure; but it’s also nearly 35 percent below Chapter One. Meanwhile a heavily promoted remake of Pet Sematary, issued in April 2019, stalled at a mere $113 million worldwide (even if its tight $21 million budget made it profitable enough). And Doctor Sleep, a clever and powerful adaptation from director Mike Flanagan of King’s The Shining sequel, was a complete bust, topping off at just $72 million globally.

While it’s harder to judge and quantify how several King-based TV or streaming projects did, it’s reasonable to conclude that two recent limited series, CBS All Access’s The Stand and Apple TV+’s Lisey’s Story, came and went without making much of a dent in the pop culture conversation (although HBO’s limited series based on The Outsider caused a brief stir).

So what happened? Was It’s iconic Pennywise the Dancing Clown ingrained enough in the public consciousness to warrant the first movie’s massive success, without that necessarily signaling a wholesale embrace of more Stephen King material on the big screen?

‘Salem’s Lot and Firestarter may be able to answer that question for certain. The former in particular is considered one of King’s all-time masterpieces and was often cited for years by the author himself as his favorite of his early novels.

Set in the small, rural Maine town of Jerusalem’s Lot, the story follows a writer named Ben Mears who comes back to the Lot where he spent several years as a child seeking inspiration for a new book. He gets much more than he bargained for when it turns out that another new resident in town is actually an ancient vampire—and is turning the entire community into his own flock of the undead.

What was so stunning about ‘Salem’s Lot at the time of its publication (the hardcover arrived in 1975) was King’s deft combination of the vampire mythology with the inner workings of a small yet instantly recognizable 20th century American hamlet.

The Lot, its inhabitants, and all their affairs, secrets, scandals, and everyday workings were so vividly rendered that the intrusion of a monster as stereotypical in its way as a vampire (America at the time was still transfixed by demonic possession in the wake of The Exorcist) was realistic and terrifying.

The vampires that eventually overrun the Lot and turn it into a literal village of the dead—led by the magisterial yet barely seen Kurt Barlow—were truly frightening as well; no sparkly Twilight types or tormented hunks a la Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (published a couple of years later) here.

Read more

Movies

15 Best Stephen King Movies

By John Saavedra

Books

Stephen King: 10 Best Horror Novels

By John Saavedra

They were monsters that stank of the grave yet still possessed enough of their old memories and a vicious cunning to make them formidable enemies for the book’s quickly dwindling band of heroes. King drew inspiration from Bram Stoker’s literary version of Dracula, but actually took the concept to the apocalyptic endpoint that the Victorian author only hinted at.

‘Salem’s Lot was adapted twice, in 1979 and 2004, both times as two-part, four-hour (with commercials) limited series for CBS and TNT, respectively. The first was directed by Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre) and starred David Soul as Ben Mears, with James Mason also top-billed as Barlow’s human assistant/familiar, Straker.

While suffering from the constraints of TV at the time, both in terms of budget and what could be shown, the 1979 version works more often than not. It does combine or eliminate a number of characters, and most controversially changed Barlow from a Christopher Lee-like nobleman to a non-speaking creature resembling Nosferatu’s Count Orlok, shifting the primary villainy to Mason’s Straker.

But Mason himself is quite sinister and very good, as is Soul as the brooding Mears and several other actors. There are also several scenes involving the vampires themselves that are pretty eerie for the time when considering, again, this was a CBS-TV prime time miniseries.

The 2004 version, directed by Mikael Salomon, starred Rob Lowe as Mears, Donald Sutherland as Straker, and Rutger Hauer as a more faithful version of Barlow. The miniseries also restored other characters that had been cut or minimized in the 1979 version and stuck to the same basic narrative while creating a different framing story from either King’s book or the earlier adaptation.

But Lowe isn’t nearly as effective as Soul in the pivotal role of Mears, and both the cast and show overall—despite the names mentioned above and others like James Cromwell—come off as bland. There are moments from the book that are welcome and a few gripping sequences, but this version of the story never ratchets up the intensity to a satisfying degree.

The new feature film, which is now filming in Boston (‘Salem’s Lot at last films in New England, where it’s set, as opposed to California and Australia), has been penned and is being directed by Gary Dauberman, who co-wrote both part of It and has written four of the movies in producer James Wan’s Conjuring-verse (Dauberman also directed the underrated Annabelle Comes Home).

A tremendous King fan, Dauberman told us back in 2019 that his goal was to make vampires on the big screen truly horrific again.

“We haven’t seen that in a really long time and they should be terrifying, and the novel’s terrifying, and it’s fucking great to work on,” Dauberman said. “I can’t wait to bring it to the big screen, we’ve seen it on the smaller screen and it’s going to be awesome on the big screen.”

Whether Dauberman can make King’s 400-plus page novel and all its subplots work as a feature film, even a lengthy one, instead of a more roomy limited series will be an interesting trick to pull off. Some cast members, including Lewis Pullman as Ben Mears, Makenzie Leigh as his love interest Susan Norton, Bill Camp as local teacher Matt Burke, and Alfre Woodard as Dr. Cody, have been announced already, but don’t provide any sense of where the film is headed yet.

As for Firestarter, the book was published in 1981 and warmly received at the time. King was at his early peak of commercial success and readers were eager to devour his next offering. Even so, that tale has probably not retained the same resonance as ‘Salem’s Lot. As the story of a little girl who can start fires with her mind (the result of drug experiments on her parents by a secret government agency), the book was King’s first overt science fiction novel and reads more as a tech chase thriller than his previous supernatural work.

The 1984 film version directed by Mark L. Lester (Class of 1984) featured an extremely faithful screenplay; with a smaller group of characters and its more streamlined, structured narrative, Firestarter is perhaps more adaptable and linear than a vast tapestry of people and incidents like ‘Salem’s Lot. But the film was directed in such workmanlike fashion that the script never comes to life.

The cast is problematic too. Following her breakout in E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, Drew Barrymore seemed like a no-brainer for the title role of little Charlie McGee. But Barrymore—apparently conscious that she was an “actor”—is overwrought and histrionic, becoming more annoying than sympathetic. David Keith is okay as her father, while Art Carney and Louise Fletcher probably come off best as an elderly couple who help the McGees at a critical moment.

The most egregious casting is that of George C. Scott as John Rainbird, the shamanic Native American assassin who forms an unsettling bond with Charlie once she and her dad are recaptured by the agency known only as the Shop. Aside from the fact that casting Scott as a Native American is ridiculous enough, the relationship just doesn’t work on screen—Rainbird’s fascination with Charlie as an avatar of his own death in the novel just comes off as creepily bordering on child predation in the movie.

It will be interesting to see how producer Jason Blum, director Keith Thomas (The Vigil), and screenwriter Scott Teems (Halloween Kills) handle that relationship in their upcoming remake, but at least they’ve actually hired a First Nation actor, Michael Greyeyes, as Rainbird. Zac Efron is also a solid choice for Andy McGee while Ryan Kiera Armstrong (The Tomorrow War) has won the role of Charlie.

Of the two adaptations, Firestarter is clearly the easier to translate to the screen. Both titles carry instant name recognition for King fans and the general public, but it’s ‘Salem’s Lot that has perhaps the greater pull overall. Plus we’ve seen lots of kids, teens, and tweens with psychic powers on screen over the past few years; when was the last time you saw a truly scary vampire movie?

Neither film has a release date yet; Firestarter is in post-production while filming on ‘Salem’s Lot is just beginning. In the meantime, King himself, showing no signs of slowing down as he approaches his 74th birthday, continues to churn out books and stories which studios and production companies will no doubt continue to snap up. All they need now are audiences to turn up and prove that, unlike Pennywise in It, it won’t take another 27 years for King’s name to mean box office gold again.

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[stanleychristopher]

You realize that and as the series went on, it got higher and higher.

The other ship was closing. And right now, a lot of these bands, even some of the big bands, are selling their own stuff because they're just making all the money. Our newest addition to facility. Entry into World War I) and a semi mobile machine gun (America successful

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[orbemnews]

Nepal tries to form a new government as its Covid-19 crisis deepens K. P. Sharma Oli — who touted unproven coronavirus remedies and attended crowded events even as cases rose — was removed from his position after losing a vote of confidence on Monday. Just a month ago, the Himalayan nation of 31 million people was reporting about 100 Covid-19 cases a day. On Tuesday, it reported 9,483 new cases and 225 virus-related fatalities, according to its health ministry — the highest single-day death toll since the pandemic began. Scenes in India, of funeral pyres and people queuing outside hospitals, are being replicated in Nepal, where hospitals are running out of oxygen and turning away patients. Critics say public complacency and government inaction likely worsened Nepal’s coronavirus outbreak. While it might not have been possible to prevent a second wave, experts say the government could have done more to control it. As the crisis developed, the government’s key coalition partner, the Maoist Centre, withdrew its backing, prompting Oli to seek a parliamentary vote to prove he had enough support to remain in power. Oli needed at least 136 votes in the 275-member House of Representatives to ensure a majority and save his government. But he only received 93 votes — 124 members voted against him. Given Oli’s failure to secure a vote of confidence, Nepal’s President and ceremonial head of state Bidhya Devi Bhandari will now put out a call to form a new government. Mixed messaging Nepal’s coronavirus cases began rising in early April, but the government was slow to take action, allowing mass religious festivals, large weddings and other public gatherings to continue. On April 8, when daily new cases had already tripled, Oli said Covid-19 could be treated by gargling with guava leaves — adding to his ridiculed comments last year that Nepalis had stronger immune systems due to their daily intake of spices. It wasn’t until April 29, when daily cases had reached more than 4,800, that the government imposed a two-week lockdown on the capital, Kathmandu. In May, authorities closed border crossings, ordered oxygen cylinders from overseas, built new health care facilities and banned all international flights. But by then it was too late. The messaging from Oli and his administration has at times been unclear and contradictory. On May 8, Oli told CNN the Covid-19 situation in Nepal was “under control,” insisting the government was taking appropriate action. “We are taking very serious measures to control the situation to supply oxygens, to supply beds, to supply ICU beds,” he said. When asked about large events held in the country in recent weeks, he admitted “some mistakes” had been made, but said: “this should not be a political issue.” His assertion the situation was under control drew anger from those struggling to survive. “People are not getting beds, people are not getting oxygen, people crying out for help,” said Suraj Raj Pandey, a volunteer at Covid Connect Nepal, a volunteer-run website that connects patients with supplies and beds. “And the executive head of this country comes up and says to the international community, ‘Yeah, everything’s fine, Nepal is normal, everything’s under control,’ while people are dying out in the streets.” Oli took a dramatically different tone two days later, in an opinion piece published in The Guardian newspaper on May 10, before the no confidence vote. “Nepal’s history is one of hardship and struggle, yet this pandemic is pushing even us to our limits,” he wrote. “The number of infections is straining the healthcare system; it has become tough to provide patients with the hospital beds that they need.” Despite government efforts, “due to the constraints of resources and infrastructure, the pandemic is turning out to be an overwhelming burden,” he wrote. “I have, therefore, appealed to the international community to help us with vaccines, diagnostic tools, oxygen kits, critical care medicines and equipment, to support our efforts to save lives. Our urgent goal is to stop preventable deaths occurring.” Later that day, he was removed from his post. Covid crisis intensifies All the while, as Oli and his administration fell into chaos, Nepal has continued to drown under Covid-19 cases. Photos and videos from the ground show Covid patients lining up outside hospitals, begging for oxygen or an ICU bed. But with supplies running out, health care facilities — including at least six private hospitals in Kathmandu — have stopped admitting Covid patients. “It’s a humanitarian crisis at the moment,” said Eeda Rijal from volunteer group Covid Connect Nepal. “And we, working in the front line, we’ve seen that surge, and we don’t understand why the government has not been able to see this.” Desperate families and Covid patients are pleading for supplies on social media. Surajan KC is among them. Both his parents are hospitalized with Covid-19; his father, whose oxygen levels have been unstable, is now in the ICU. “We’re just waiting and watching whether he’s going to recover soon,” he said. “It is still pretty scary, especially when it comes to oxygen, because even if you find beds in the hospitals, I’ve heard that so many hospitals are telling patients that they have to find oxygen … by themselves.” Doctors, too, say they have been pushed to their limits. “It’s been sleepless nights for the last seven days … I’ve hardly slept for two hours,” said Saugat Poudyal, the medical director of Karuna Hospital in Kathmandu. “I think the global community needs to step forward from now on. It’s the lack of oxygen that’s going to bring about a huge catastrophe here.” In an interim order on Tuesday, Nepal’s Supreme Court urged the government to set up a task force to direct the distribution of oxygen cylinders and other life-saving equipment. The court said no Nepali should be deprived of medical treatment due to oxygen shortages, and that it was the government’s responsibility to ensure supply and save lives. A lockdown in the Kathmandu Valley — home to around 2.5 million people — has been extended until May 27, with residents advised not to go out unless necessary. Gatherings have been banned at party venues, and gatherings in private homes are capped at 10 people. The ban on international flights has also been extended until May 31 — although two flights per week are allowed between Kathmandu and the Indian capital, New Delhi, under a “travel bubble” program, according to Nepal’s Civil Aviation Authority. CNN’s Julia Hollingsworth, Nishant Khanal, Kosh Raj Koirala and Sugam Pokharel contributed to this report. Source link Orbem News #Covid19 #crisis #Deepens #form #Government #Nepal

[trbl-will-find-me]

A Guide to Dressing Your Upstart Resistance

AKA Part 3/(hopefully) 3 in FIRAXIS, WE GOTTA TALK ABOUT TEXTILES AND CLOTHING. You can read Part 1 and Part 2 here, if you want to see how this escalated.

So, high points:

- XCOM, logically, should not have a ‘uniform,’ per se. Central, Shen, Tygan, and haven civilians are all great examples of how, given the constraints of ADVENT, people on the fringe dress (i.e. they throw together what’s available and adapt it as necessary). - ADVENT is still, logically, producing and refining raw materials into commercial textiles. From what we see in game, many of these textiles appear to be synthetic in nature. Mass manufactured clothing still exists.

- If you aren’t in a city center, you have five potential ways to get clothing: (1) stolen off of ADVENT transports (2) bartered for among havens (3) been passed down from before the Invasion (4) come from raided houses/shops/other pre-Invasion locations (5) been made within the havens (e.g. knit, crochet, hand sewn)

- Ready? Let’s go. Living off grid, for our purposes, means dressing for that outdoors/hiking life, yo. What that functionally means will depend on climate.

In general, synthetic fabrics over natural. Synthetics dry faster and will wick moisture. I pestered my resident outdoormsan (Pacific Northwest & Central PA backpacker) into some basic guidelines. -The goal is never to be too hot or too cold, especially if you’re in a cooler environment. Layers are your friend.

That means, if you’re in colder climates: -Synthetic base layer, top and bottom: -Synthetic tee shirt -Synthetic long sleeve shirt -Middle jacket (e.g. a fleece) -Shell (heavy wind & waterproof jacket)

The colder it is, the more layers you’ll want or want to have available --- and no one’s exactly living in the lap of luxury. -But that’s an ideal. Practically, you may not be able to get all of that. In which case, your intrepid XCOM volunteer/haven dweller is going to want wool. Wool is warm, it breathes, and it will hold heat even when wet. There’s a reason it’s been such a useful fiber through history. Hell, even as a non-outdoorsy person, I have had wool socks come in real handy when my boots leaked in the middle of a very slushy, snowy New York City afternoon. Wool undergarments, sweaters, coats, socks, etc. have historically been important in dealing with the cold. While you’ll still need layers, and will still want synthetics, wool is a nice option --- except when you really, really need it to dry quickly.

- You’ll also need to be able to have waterproof layers. This is really important for both hot and cold climates --- sitting in wet things for extended periods of time is ... not great. Tim O’Brien’s works, including Going After Cacciato and The Things They Carried, touch on what happens when you’re dealing with hot and wet in clothes that don’t dry quickly. Spoiler alert: it ain’t pleasant. For overcoats, if you can’t get synthetics, garbardine, oil cloth, or waxed canvas may also offer some amount of protection.

-Yes, in theory, you could cut apart a lot (a lot) of umbrellas and piece them back together as a coat/tarp, if need be. It would be time consuming and you would need a pattern of someone who knew how to drape. Not beyond possibility, though.

- In warmer climates, there is both the concern of needing protective clothing and clothing that won’t overheat you. Again, the primary answer here is synthetics. Historically, however, linen and cotton have also been useful in these climates. But again, linen and cotton aren’t moisture wicking. Please see the above point about extended time in wet things.

So, other than hiking/outdoors gear, what else will be useful and available where clothing is concerned? Vintage militaria and military surplus. These things are made tough and would be available from raiding homes, stores --- hell, even museums, if you’re alright with that. They’ll wear well and won’t wear out, assuming they can be cared for sort of properly.

Underfunded resistance is also probably relying on pre-Invasion tactical webbing and kevlar fabric/plating for its armor --- when it can be found. It’s probably a pretty significant luxury; almost no one in the havens would have it.

Accessories, theoretically, have a lot of room for personalization, especially as they’re more likely to be made in havens or be survivors from the pre-Invasion days. Hats, scarves, gloves, etc. offer more room and flexibility in terms of what you can get away with.

Given all this variety, one thing emerges: man, are matching uniforms gonna be hard to pull off. You *can* make hand-embroidered patches, and having one of those for each crew member is feasible --- and is probably the closest thing ot matchy-matchy you’ll get under the constraints Firaxis has imposed.

tl;dr Hiking and outdoors gear. Military surplus. Fit in wild/ridiculous things as necessary. Turn your upstart resistance into a hodge podge of sensible outdoors gear and whatever they can fish from the annals of fashion history.

[tomfooleryprime]

I find it interesting that you jumped on the concept of how so few people are capable of being trauma surgeons when I explicitly said, “For every profession, hobby, or pursuit you could name, there are a lot of people who lack the personalities to enjoy it.” Yes, trauma surgeon was one example, but what about my other examples? Do you really think a “a tiny sliver of the population is in a position” to be an accountant? Or go free-climbing? No. 

And I actually question whether a ‘tiny sliver’ of the population is capable of being trauma surgeons. Ask any doctor how they got through medical school, and they’ll say studying and unwavering focus had a lot more to do with the equation than sheer brilliance. While things like medical school admissions and residency slots make actually make becoming a trauma surgeon really tough, I bet most people could actually do it if they had to and those practical constraints were removed. They might not be good at it, but if you forced them to go to school for long enough and told them they didn’t have a choice, many people would grit their teeth and get through it in relatively one piece, kind of like a lot of people who have kids and never really wanted them do every single day. Of course, plenty others would still fail, kind of like all the parents who’ve had their kids taken away by the state. 

I’m sure you could even encourage these reluctant trauma surgeons using the same tactics that society uses on reluctant parents. If they complained and said, “I don’t do well under pressure,” you just could tell them “No one does at first, but you’ll get better in time.” That’s more or less what I’ve been told when I point out that I don’t have a lot of patience and probably wouldn’t be great with handling kids. But what if I didn’t get better in time? Just like what if those trauma surgeons never did figure out how to keep their cool when a guy with several bullets in his chest is bleeding to death on the operating table? Tough titties for the kiddies and the guy with the Swiss cheese chest, I guess. 

Furthermore, by saying the “continued existence of the species depends on the majority of adults becoming parents at some point,” you imply that a sizable number of people of reproductive age are eschewing reproducing and that our species is in danger of becoming extinct within generations. I would argue that while there is a trend in people putting off or forgoing parenting, the vast number of people will eventually go on to reproduce at some point in their lives. 

And if you really think that being unwilling to become a parent is somehow more problematic than being unwilling but still going through with it anyway, only to have children end up in highly dysfunctional, broken families out of some ridiculous notion that it’s for the good of the species, then… I don’t actually know what to say here. Congratulations to you for putting the good of humanity above the well-being of individual humans? The needs of the many must outweigh the welfare and happiness of the few? Quantity of humans is more important than quality of human life? 

I’m not even going to fully address your comment about people being incapable of being a parent. I typed out this long angry paragraph, but now that I think about it, I’m sure you didn’t mean to suggest that childless people, that is, people who want children but are infertile, are just as baffling and some kind of drain on society as intentionally childfree people.

To go back to the trauma surgeon example that you think is so far-fetched, , I’ve seen so many parents push their kids into going to medical school because being a doctor is such a respected gig. And so their little darlings kill themselves through high school to get into the best colleges and once there, cry over MCAT study guides and agonize over the B+ they made in physiology just to maybe get into medical school, and when you look into their half-dead eyes, a depressing number of them will eventually admit in hushed tones that they never really wanted to be doctors.

Yet I would never tell those people to suck it up because the world needs doctors and too bad if they want to be professional authors or open a bakery instead. There will always be plenty of other people with the smarts and hearts to be doctors. But all too often, those students push on ahead and either burn out in college or medical school, or maybe they do go on to be doctors and look back at the age of 40 and feel like they would have done things differently in hindsight.

Maybe you’re right. Being a trauma surgeon is way different than being a parent, because at any time, a trauma surgeon could theoretically quit or publicly admit they hate being a trauma surgeon. No parent has that luxury, unless they want to get slapped with abandonment charges, child support, and be branded a selfish, callous dead-beat by society-at-large. Not to mention, you know, the kids and how it would make them feel to know their parents never wanted them. If you really want to know how some of them feel, you could easily find out because there’s also no shortage of kids in foster care or being raised by relatives when mommy and/or daddy couldn’t take it anymore. 

I will say one thing being a trauma surgeon and being a parent definitely have in common is that if you decide to do it, things work best when you really want it. In both cases, things may work out ok even if the person isn’t really committed, but it doesn’t change the fact that the stakes are high and innocent lives are literally on the line. 

Tell someone, “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a trauma surgeon” and most people wouldn’t accuse you of being bad or selfish. Maybe you don’t like high pressure situations or holding someone’s life in your hands. Hell, maybe the sight of blood makes you queasy.

Don’t want to be a professional sports coach? Maybe you’re not good at exerting authority or motivating people. Couldn’t handle being a accountant? Maybe you’re bad at math or would lose your mind riding a desk all day. Think you’d hate free-climbing because you’re terrified of heights? You’re probably right.

For every profession, hobby, or pursuit you could name, there are a lot of people who lack the personalities to enjoy it. And that’s ok. And wouldn’t it be silly to try to convince someone to devote a large portion of their life to something that would clearly make them miserable?

Yet if someone says, “I don’t think I want to be a parent,” there are many out there who insist the speaker must be mistaken or will certainly change their mind. Either that or they’re some kind of defective, selfish deviant.

And the greatest irony is, whenever those people bend to societal pressure and do have kids, even when they never really wanted them, the result is often a resentful, miserable parent and at least one innocent child, a child who never agreed to participate in the experiment titled, “You’ll love kids when they’re you’re own! Just try it!“

[lefishe]

"Re-post": The mask of masculinity

Another of these entries sharing my work from my philosophy class, I truly put it on the line sharing so much personal feelings in this one. The response was to the documentary titled "The mask you live in" on Netflix, exploring the difficulties of conforming to societies views of masculinity. I give my personal experiences and challenges with this issue in this text so that hopefully some can connect a little, if at all.

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

In a time period where feminist and women’s rights movements are on rampage throughout the news and media, a lot of core issues are ignored. When people speak of political and economical issues surrounding the role of women in society and their place throughout history, most ignore other world issues. When people fight for the rights of women, they forget to fight for the rights of natives, the black community, and so many more groups that would take much time to list. From all of these issues, we forget to fight for the right of our planet to live in a healthy manner, and in some ways ignore that if we do not take care of our planet first, there will be no medium left to help us fight for the rights of individual groups. From all of the groups above, the unmentioned group that affects myself as an individual the most is the lack of attention that society pays to men’s well being and nurture. From a revealing Netflix documentary, I have now realised that as a man, I have been raised in the wrong circumstance and have been affected by society in many ways that I did not realise.

It has always been known throughout all societies and communities that men who are mentally strong, silent, and non-emotional are seen to be the most “manlike”. This term “manlike” is the clearest definition of the difficulties that men face in todays society. As we implement this cemented view of what a man should and shouldn’t be, then our world becomes less and less relative. Today, men are still fearful of coming out of this bubble of hope of what they aspire to be, but are restricted by the norms and by the expectations of society. The culture of strong and dominant heroes, actors, and high class men has influenced all of us, as it has influence our parents. This lack of openness in men is a direct link to education in many ways. As young men are taught by school and by our traditional fathers that being a man means that one cannot cry and that one cannot express emotions, we are left to hide in our bubbles. We are kept to be silent because society expects that from us, but also because we know that rejection is the only consequence when getting involved in emotions or a morally right action.

This group mentality that surrounds men is also a great influence to the entrapment of men. In all groups, ranks are earned for being the best “bro” and doing everything that the image of a “real man” would do: disrespecting women, society, and themselves. In a group of men, respect is the only reward for staying quiet. To prove one’s masculinity, one must do whatever it takes to show to their “friends” that they are this societal misconception of what a man should be. A man must avoid humiliation at any cost because violence, alcohol and drugs are the real indications of respect and of manliness. Like one of the father’s men said “Why wouldn’t you want to be what you really are.” Why wouldn’t a man want to become what other men are, what society says that men are, and become the true image of what their father and themselves expect of their body and actions? When one becomes stuck in the vision and imagery of what a man should become, a man and person becomes incomplete and lost. To be a man means to be a person, and to be a person, one must be able to love, be loved and show emotion. This defines a real man.

I feel personally compelled to speak of this issue because I have never really thought about the real constraints that hold back my being. For all men, this movie is meant to show that we should be given the chance to grief, cry and show emotions because this is what a real person does. It is time for men to “rise to the better angels of their being.” In the class reaction to this movie, a certain female student remarked and said that she has never noticed this constraint that men must live with because she lives with male friends that are fine with being sensitive and emotional. In many ways, I have felt compelled to show personal experiences of this restriction because as a woman, one cannot understand what pressure is really exerted on men, as would be if I tried to understand a women’s societal influence on her own decisions. Although this particular student’s friends may be sensitive and emotional (I can relate to this because I am one of her friends), the men still live under the influence that maybe the way they portray themselves as a man isolates them from society as they are not reflecting what is “meant” to be manlike.

Every time I see my family, there is always a sort of remark that one of my family members says that connects to this idea of masculinity. “Look at him he’s getting so big and strong” one can see as they grab my shoulders and shake me around. In all these situations, I never realized why this action was always so uncomfortable for me. Since viewing the movie, I have realized that I felt uncomfortable when people thought that I looked “strong” because I never see myself in this fashion. I have subconsciously adapted to the image of what man should be in our day and age, and I have agreed with myself that my body type does not follow the description of a ripped, strong man. For all the wrong reasons, media has shown me that to be popular and worthy of being a man, one must be strong, fit and withhold a certain body type. In all ways, this claim is ridiculous. As our fellow student said in class, like her friends that accept that they are sensitive and emotional, I accept that I have a weaker body type, but his masculinity concept has still affected me subconsciously.

In my life, I live with the friends that accept me as I am. Although I may not conform to the norm of what a man is supposed to represent, I have found friends that hold the same values as I and I love them for this main reason. I have always understood that who I am is who I will always hold to be and that my connections will reflect my own interests. Another important issue that the movie reflected connects to this idea of relationships between men. As all men should act like people and not an image of who they should be, people require intimate relationships to survive. So many men live under pressure of silence without the objective of sharing their feelings. For this reason, many men live under isolation because they cannot find someone to share their thoughts with, without losing their respected “rank” and masculinity. The main problem with these relationships is that any intimate relationship between is immediately seen as gay or non manlike. I had never seen this view before, although it is something that I struggle with almost everyday.

I myself struggle with this idea because I hold a very close relationship with my best friend. We have learnt to live with each other throughout our hardships and although we are completely different individuals we hold on to each other because we require a person to share our thoughts with. I love my best friend to the greatest extent of my heart because I know that I can share whatever I want with this individual that is incredibly crucial to my life. Although we share a nearly unbreakable relationship, many try to pass this trend as an oddity in our society as we are seen to be to close. I have felt the need to hide names throughout these stories because I understand that discretion is important but the main issue that I deal with in my relationship with my best friend is that we are judged for our intimacy by our other close friends. This is heart breaking in many ways because as a man in a society that tries to constantly conform, I have felt the need to always have a best friend. Is the fact that I have decided to have an intimate relationship with another man really hindering the views that people have on me? The most depressing problem with this relationship is that even if told, my other friends still hold this intimacy as a joke and as a matter to laugh at. They idealise the idea that we would be the perfect gay couple. Against them, I personally argue by saying that once they have met someone who they hold so dearly to their heart, they should try taking the abuse that is dished out on me and my friend in the same way that we receive it. If life is really about equality, why is it that an intimate relationship between men is judged by those near. In many ways, this returns to the flawed expectations of a stone and hard cold man that encloses himself from emotions. I have broken free from this shell throughout my life, but society and my friends still remind me that I should return to the norm.

The final thought that occurred to me throughout the watching of this documentary was the idea of my own expectations and how others judge me. I have always been aware of divisions in all groups of people. At school, there is always the sense of the group of Asians, of hockey players, of the “cool” people, and of my own weird mix of friends. Everyone is capable of distinguishing this fact because it holds true in all groups of society. The biggest issue that I hold with this separation is the view of men and my own view in these groups. It is clear to me that all men that reside in the cool group are normally those who have conformed to the ideal standard of a man in society. This is why they hold themselves with others that do the same. In many ways, I have observed that this group holds itself together for the pure fact that they are constantly trying to adapt to be the best versions of what society expects from them. For myself, I am completely opposite to this idea, and I have always been opposed to this feeling of conforming to the people around me. The biggest fear that I hold in this separation of groups is that I am unable to communicate and connect with those that see themselves in an idealized way because I feel that I am always judged by them. I always feel that the reason I cannot see myself in the “cool” group is because they would reject me for my individuality and my freedom of choice. I have chosen to believe that I will never be this idea of a masculine man and I fear that I am always judged for this thought. I have no real way of knowing that people are judging or seeing me in a different way, but I will assume that they are because society and myself have taught me that I am different and less masculine and thus I fear this judging cool class and what they think of me. This entrapment that I feel I hope isn’t felt by others because as a man, this constant thought that I am being judged haunts me. As I see other people that I don’t hang out with pass in the hallway laughing a bit, my mind always believes that they are laughing of me. This is the life that a man like I has lived with for 17 years. And in many ways, for other men like I, this fear of judgement of masculinity will resonate throughout my life.

In conclusion, although my thoughts on the documentary are convoluted, they all share many common traits. As a man, I have learnt through personal connections that society is really focused on the wrong issues. As men, our true resonating issues are never faced, and this documentary is meant to shed light on an issue that is rarely brought up. To be a man in today's world, one must be able to live like a person and liberate themselves from the shackles of the ideas of what a man should be. For all men who feel lost as they try to discover themselves, remember that “You’re to smart to act like you’re not.”

[julietdorsett1-blog]

Atmosphere Contents.

Individuals which had actually carried out kindness to neighbors and also buddies possessed a great impact to oneself. That cost is probably to imply your metabolism as well as body are going to adjust eventually and the weight will certainly possess even more from an odds off remaining off. The complying with short article highlights some spots to find bedding and also bathtub products for your home and also reveals a couple of environmentally-friendly choices you may help make. Calmness as well as co-operation in the workplace are essential to become a reliable business; where personnels performs not have to spend a great deal of opportunity managing disagreements. The telephone directory is actually long gone, nowadays consumers available mobile phone phonesor Notebook when trying to find companies products and business services. Give your own self at the very least one rest day a week and also keep an eye out for indicators of overtraining like uncommon tiredness, increased muscular tissue as well as shared soreness, sleeplessness and improved relaxing heart price. There is a lot of hype at presents around geo-location based solutions, like Foursquare, Gowalla and Loopt. Both boxers and also their owners prefer to unwind off stressfully times along with ridiculous behaviors and challenging play opportunity, making them both happy-go-lucky folks as well as pet dogs. Most often individuals are brought in to dogs that are actually uncommon and stunning. They are actually very much welcoming and also kind that market love to other people despite background, ethnicity, sex or any condition. I often centered in my lessons on how my students appeared and also told all of them from language skill-sets they had actually forgotten as they typically aren't listening to them.I discovered the gauge from poetry, particularly balanced poems effective. By Day 3 I was down 10 extra pounds-- mainly water weight, inning accordance with Reilly and Roussell, though perhaps a little of body fat. Daily in the news our company come across changes to the Immigration Plans in the United States which are actually counted on to made extra constraints on individuals who find immigration in to the country. They just canceled on the place given that quite a whole lot from times I welcomed my friends over to have dinner along with our team and numerous opportunities. Within this time around, they create a bunch of damage to the atmosphere that is actually ideal steered clear of. Greennbrown is the writer of the short article on Natural Products. Having said that, considering the counted on life expectancy of that type of a car going to the very least 4 times longer in comparison to that, probably down the road our experts will certainly view 20-plus year, 300,000 mile manufacturer's warranties. Shedding stomach body fat prompt is actually achievable click through the following internet site selecting healthy health foods and also normal cardiovascular workout. It is simply a haven to uncover - gold sandy seashores, crystal very clear turquoise waters, mysterious abundant valleys, majestic tall hills, and beautifully pleasant individuals. Veggie interments are actually yet another type from scattering of the cremated remains that are getting in popularity as individuals are actually ending up being more eco conscious. Such locations may embody a LGBTQ-friendly retreat in an or else unfavorable area, or could merely have a high focus of gay citizens as well as organisations. Being ecological today, on all facets from our lifestyles, consisting of the items our company make use of to the location where our company reside, may aid significantly in handling the significant issue of ecological degeneration. Physicians and health specialists caution in the direction of malnutrition as a successful weight-loss technique. Follow these 8 measures genuine, durable fat loss and also health and wellness. Our team generated income development throughout all our item classifications and also revealed enduring document outcomes for our Services organisation. I picture that a ton of passion entered into making mine and also that creates me think therefore delighted.

[templestewards-blog]

Montgomery & Gratz Block Cleanup (10/27/17) - Rheana Panton

I have to admit that in preparation for my first stewardship task, I was a bit nervous. My original plans for my stewardship hours had fallen through due to some time constraints and a date mix-up, but I was lucky enough to come across a flyer about a Temple Student Government block cleanup. I knew that they hosted these clean ups from time to time in collaboration with the Temple University Office of Sustainability but this was the first time that I had considered participating in one.  

I woke up on the morning of October 27th, not knowing exactly what to expect. Before this day, I had never collaborated with any greening organizations, nor had I ever participated in any type of environmental stewardship. Thinking back now, before taking Green vs. Grey, I was pretty oblivious to all things “green.”  This being said, I was a little weary.

One might ask, “What’s so nerve racking about picking up trash off the sidewalk?” I know it sounds a little ridiculous, but I wasn’t necessarily concerned about the actual block clean up itself. Being a person with little background knowledge on the environment, I thought that I would somehow be looked at as an outsider. Someone who was only participating for class credit and not because they actually cared about the neighborhood surrounding Temple or the environment at all. The truth was, I was ready to care. Sitting in Green vs. Grey for those first couple of weeks had taught me not to think of myself as being separate from nature, but a part of it and, as part of nature, it was my responsibility to take care of it, making as little negative impact as possible.

With this in mind, I threw on some sweat pants and headed out my apartment building towards Montgomery and Gratz. It was a pretty nice day and I was happy to be spending it engaging in an activity that I had never done before and one that would actually make a difference. When I arrived at the meeting point, I was instructed to grab some gloves and a garbage bag, find a group, and get to work.

To my surprise, I did not feel like an outsider at all. My group members were kind and welcoming and although I could tell that many of them had participated in block clean ups before, I never felt that they thought less of me because I had not.

In our time spent cleaning up the area around Montgomery and Gratz, we found all types of litter. This included cigarette buds, gum wrappers, many plastic bags, and even broken glass bottles. I was actually a little saddened by all the garbage we found because I thought of all the urban wildlife in the area that could’ve gotten cut on one of those glass bottle or stuck in a plastic bag.

By the end of our two hour clean up, I was proud of, not only myself, but everyone that had participated. I could see a noticeable difference between when we had started our cleanup and when we finished, which made me all the more proud of what we had done. I knew that our hard work would be appreciated by Temple students, the residents of North Philadelphia, and urban critters alike and I vowed that I would participate in another block clean up before the semester was done.

[brieflyuniversallyfun-blog]

Primitive Camping In Green Ridge State Forest

Primitive Camping In Green Ridge State Forest

Pizza is a favorite amongst little league ball groups. Children, kids there are perhaps a handful of people on all the planet who don't love pizza. Those that took the survey rated manufacturers based mostly on familiarity, high quality and buy consideration. We also grab a couple of leggings (as child R has none yet) and lastly a playmat from Fiffy. She let me have a couple items of her hen they usually have been just as good as I remembered. The olive woos is harvested with out having cutting the live bushes but it is basically taken from branches which were decrease for maintenance or those outdated timber that died because of some sickness. Moreover, I've went back and added more hyperlinks and made some updates to some of the individual entries below since over time some things have changed. Each time they're jugged, HD&L are put in cages similar to the one they inhabited in "The Land of Trala La." The one difference is that, the third time round, the boys are all in the same cage. On the draw back although, aside from a handful of games that are fully optimized for the console, the rest aren't as comfy to handle on the SHIELD. While they only launched last month, the truth that they're a sister firm to a different established company known as Waiora gives them an edge over the typical start-up firm.

Bringing the main target in nearer, we are able to see that the share value has been trading 2.44% away from the 20-day transferring average. I can't wait to see how works like as we speak when i'm going in at four:30 tonight. Fish can be a favorite as well as fruits like banana, apples, grapes, pears. If you are planning to make a bulletin board with the spring theme, listed here are some concepts. dunkin donuts Your body is great at utilizing the raw materials you eat to make the hundreds of various chemicals your cells and blood need for you to outlive. St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday, but helicopter tours of the Canyon operate as normal, so it’s a great time to plan your tour as long as you e book it early so you get good seats and a great deal. Additionally, the varies depending on location, so please forward earlier than visiting for this deal. Probably the greatest examples of how BitCoins are altering the way in which we trade was in the course of the ������Banker Bailout Scandal������. However the thing is, individuals are just crazy about In-N-Out. Audio system are invisible. They're built into the unit and each audio system have a ten watt outage. I've ordered pancakes on most of my visits throughout breakfast hours.

But do you've questions about how to turn out the right steak, ribs or barbecue chicken for your folks and household? That is not a ridiculous quantity to pay for every taco, but if I hadn't had the pizza, it could have taken at least three of those to fill me up. However when you have constraints on the quantity you'll be able to dish out, the Forte is truthful, even barely greater than honest if you happen to drive proper. After an preliminary drop, its stock costs have recovered in 2017, because it focuses on promoting a new rewards program for returning clients. Best Pork Chop I have ever had! You don't have the choice to purchase a regular bag of espresso and enjoy it as you may with the Keurig. Add Coffee Innovation Develop Enterprise. With the growing market of delicious espresso, people frequently search their native area for one of the best espresso that's convenient. This Most important Avenue-model retail and residential project might be the first of its kind in North Central Florida, creating a brand new community where individuals will dwell, shop, dine, and play close to main universities and quickly expanding major medical services. United States. As of 2004, 68 p.c of all major retailers offer some sort of a reward card. It has 6 % of your every day vitamin A, 20 % of your day by day calcium and 2 percent of your every day iron wants.

How long has Long John Silvers sold deep fried Twinkies?

— Wesley Albright (@Captain_Gilbert) September 9, 2017

On other parts of the farm you will see barns and milking parlors. see on wikipedia The headquarters of the combined, as-but unnamed goliath will probably be in Toronto, although each Burger King and Tim Hortons will proceed to operate from their current residence cities. Nobody will pressure you to get it once more. Lettuce. I just wish to shout at each idiot buyer that screams in my face about menial things as if I had been purposely attempting to mess up their order. After two minutes, we were ready to order and the employee was still speaking to the 2 girls for round 5-10 minutes. Or, they might go a bit extra loopy and do “Monkey Style” which is a standard cheese burger with the usual ketchup, mayo and mustard, but topped with a spoonful of animal style fries. Opening in 1984 in Wisconsin, Culver’s is a privately owned restaurant chain that features menu items equivalent to Culver’s trademark Butter Burgers, frozen custard, veggie burgers, deep fried cheese curds and sundaes. I known as the company office and simply received voicemail after voicemail and by no means obtained a return call.

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Cons: count on an extended ready time on Holidays. Within the previous BBC assessment, Wealthy mentions the BBQ sauce, and how good it is (reminiscent of gold-fever wing sauce on the 99). I whole-heartedly agree, it's the perfect. It’s actually laborious for me to make use of the superlative “best” relating to clam chowder. First Impressions from the Sedate Spy. Berry Gordy's 1917 Home on Boston Boulevard (also referred to as Motown Mansion). The beef was on an honest tenderness (solely overall simply a bit dry) and the Dauphinoise Potato was the bomb together with the Crimson Wine Demiglace. My tense shoulders relaxed and that i embarked on a mini-journey of finding my father’s vault in the various hallways. This is bear country. The Oxtail actually fell off the bone. I’m certain IHOP sees this as a bonus (fluffy omelets), however for these of us with celiac illness or one other well being-associated reason that we should eat gluten-free, it is downright scary. Micro-Trains Weathered Japanese Diesel Freight Set, BNSF 2 bay coveredn Hopper and 60' field car.

[srotriyac-blog]

Echo of the mountains

As we were driving across the snake like roads of Kasauli, one could see the hills at a distance, stretching its arms wide, as if to welcome us to its home.. The splash of orange, grey and black colours behind the hills gave us a scintillating view of the sunset. I instantly felt my lips widen.. it was a smile.. an inner happiness.. something that can't just be described in words. As the car took the last bend across the steep slopes, we reached a rooftop restaurant to submit to our appetite. The circular stairs took us to the top from where you could see the entire town, a beautiful view. Chicken, whiskey, waving flames of the fireplace and some friendly banter made the place even more enticing for us metro city residents. It warms your heart amidst the cool breeze blowing across your face, so much so that we almost wanted to cancel our return tickets for another day. Kasauli isn't one of those tourist attractions like Shimla or Manali but if one wants to just spend time looking at the beauty of the plains lying in the lap of the hills, this is a place you should go at least once. Obviously there is Manki point (Hanuman temple) and every hills' own sunset point that one can go. When we came back to our hotel, we were thinking of our next activity. Suddenly the discussion turned serious. Most of us don't even remember how but the topic diverted to female rights. As the night grew darker, our voices got louder, everyone trying to prove their point, with logic, real life examples and arguments. A girl is not allowed to enter the temple during her periods, should get married at an early age, should curb her inherent instincts in front of her in-laws and much more. If any of these conditions are violated, they are questioned by their own family, ridiculed by the omnipresent relatives and sometimes even scolded and  mentally pressurized. Although this is not something new for a developing country like India, what hit me that night was our unwillingness to do anything to improve the situation. This is not to blame anyone as they had their own logic for the same. I knew it's difficult but then that's how a system can be changed. By standing up for what is right and keep hitting the nail till it finally breaks open the door to liberation. 

Parents play a very important role in this. Your children look up to you. They need your support. Don't discriminate between a son & a daughter. They are both human beings and are entirely capable of doing anything and everything. The only thing that can hold them back is you, your biases, your worry about what others might say or think. Sochne wale sochenge, bolne wale bolenge... Aap kar ke dikhayenge.. Imagine your daughter at 50 years of age, living her dream, having that smile on her face, being applauded by males and females alike and all she would be doing is thanking you for being different, for being that unconditional support in her life. Just close your eyes once and imagine this situation. It might just change your life, and most importantly, your daughter's. Teach your son the same. Everyone has a choice, is what I feel and one should make the right one at the right time. That is what separates a champion from the rest. Virat Kohli, Indian cricket team Captain and one of the most consistent run getters in the history of the game said this in one of his recent interviews (Breakfast with Champions). "There was a time when I had taken my career for granted. I used to have junk food, no exercise and was overconfident. One day I was going to take a bath and suddenly I saw myself in the mirror. I was shocked to see me. I was ashamed. I stopped, promised to change and never ever took another thing for granted. What you see of me now is a byproduct of that decision I took that day". I strongly resonate with his words and in today's world, this is what is missing the most. The ability to take a stand. To make the right logical choices and believe in one's own ability. People accept that they are driven by fear, fear of losing their loved ones. The question that kept banging my mind- at what cost??? Will today's fear give them a better tomorrow? Will this respect change the view point of our parents or relatives? Most of these answers seemed an obvious NO. I don't want my children to grow up with these constraints. I don't want them to think about their caste, religion or sex. They will never have a say in any of these. Religion starts from a person's belief in his own ideas and keeping it ahead of others beliefs. Caste started with the idea of differentiating labour based on their capability. Brahmins had knowledge of offering prayers to the superpower. Kshatriyas fought, vaishyas did business and shudras cleaned cities. So, anyone who had the ability to fight became a Kshatriya. However, cheap tricks of people in power changed the entire concept of caste. Now, son of a Brahmin is supposed to be referred to as a Brahmin, even if he doesn't have any relevant knowledge or experience. These need to change and yesterday's discussion about a separate but linked topic made me twitch an eyebrow. I realised that this fight is not going to be easy. Breaking myths and superstitions are harder than lifting a car on your shoulders. I just don't want to talk. I want to deliver. My first step will be to educate my sister on the same lines and support her unconditionally on these lines. I believe in the fact that nothing will change unless we change ourselves and then, bit my bit, step by step, we'll be able to carve out a beautiful planet for the generations to come. As I pondered upon these thoughts, I looked outside the window of my hotel room. The sun had risen, as if reminding everyone of its existence, even during the cold winters. I remembered that I have to go back to my hustle. As I was leaving the hills, I was sad and happy. Sad coz I didn't want to leave the place, happy coz now I had a motive, a strong belief to live by. 

Mountains, taught me a lesson!