#i was told its a really good med drama and i had the opportunity and needed some background entertainment

[invye]

I have watched all of three episodes of House MD and I am delighted to report I am absolutely sold on this asshole and his secretly-just-enough-of-a-bastard best friend.

House: *says the most out of pocket sarcastic thing*

Wilson: *rolls with it without even blinking*

I see through you and what I see is love and devotion.

[amltdaily]

Before last weekend, I had no idea that Gary Mendez’s death and my mom’s had anything to do with each other.

(This is a TV story, I promise. Just stick with me.)

Last week, I had the honor of moderating some panels at ATX TV Festival in Austin, Texas. I love moderating, funneling a ton of preparation and research into what — if I do my job right — becomes a fun and illuminating conversation. One of my panels was titled “TV Screens for Cancer,” and it was sponsored by Hollywood, Health & Society. Despite what might at first glance seem like very grim subject matter, I was really looking forward to the opportunity to ask a bunch of TV writers about the cancer storylines they’d crafted over the years.  

I had a personal reason for wanting in on the discussion, too. My mother, Susan Roots, died in May 2021 from Stage IV breast cancer.

The fact of that sentence, by the way, is still as surreal to me as it was the week she passed. I don’t have much memory of when, in a fog of grief and distracted by funeral arrangements, I contacted ABC publicity to let them know I couldn’t make a prearranged phone interview with A Million Little Things creator/showrunner DJ Nash. I’d covered the show since its start; I vaguely recall being grateful, given the tight timelines related to broadcast finales, that our Season 3 finale call was moved to a time more convenient for me.

The conversation I eventually had with Nash, though, stands out in clear detail in my brain. I sat at my parents’ white kitchen table, wearing a shirt of my mother’s because I hadn’t brought enough clothes with me when I rushed home. I was about to launch into my questions when he gently interrupted.

“Tell me a story about your mom,” he said.

If you’ve had the experience of witnessing a loved one in the terminal phase of an illness, you know how tough it can be to think of any time when your shared lives didn’t revolve around the soul-grinding details, and how hard it is to think about anything else once the person has passed. When to administer morphine. Which hospice nurse is coming today. Which setting on the hospital bed brings the least discomfort. Nash’s kind, simple request delivered me from that for a moment.

I told him about a car ride I’d had as a kid with my mom, her mom and her aunt. The horn malfunctioned while we were on the highway, honking randomly, loudly and with abandon at the unsuspecting drivers all around us. My mom, grandmother and great aunt couldn’t stop laughing. My mom gasped for breath, wiping at her streaming eyes as she tried to hold it together so we didn’t run off the road. I cackled too, partly because the horn really was ridiculous, partly out of the novelty of seeing these three women lose themselves in such unhinged fashion.

Nash listened. He chuckled. When I was done, we went on with the interview as planned. I’ve been lucky to have a lot of great conversations with people who make TV over the years, but that one stands out — even more so now, for reasons I’ll get to in a minute.

For those unfamiliar with A Million Little Things, it was an hour-long drama that ran on ABC for five seasons. It followed a group of friends in Boston. At the end of the series, one of the friends — Gary Mendez (played by James Roday Rodriguez), whose experience as a breast cancer survivor was an integral part of the show — died of lung cancer.

As A Million Little Things’ boss and the arbiter of Gary’s fate, Nash was a great fit for the ATX panel last weekend. He was joined by fellow TV writers Erica Green Swafford (New Amsterdam), Adam Weissman (The Good Doctor) and Stephen Hootstein (Chicago Med), all of whom generously engaged with my questions about how to balance realistic portrayals of cancer and making good TV.

Remember how I said I like to be super-prepared for panels? Nash knocked all of that askew when, in front of the audience, he revealed something he hadn’t shared before.

“There’s a moment in the finale that was put in for you,” he said, referring to our conversation years before. “When Walter says to Rome, ‘Tell me a story about Gary.’”

ATX (which is owned by TVLine’s parent company, PMC) filmed the event, so you can see my surprise in the video at the top of this post. I was touched. I was flummoxed. I turned an even deeper shade of red than I normally do while public speaking. Reporters are taught to cover news, not make themselves the center of it. So while I was (and am!) flattered by Nash’s gesture, it was a little unsettling suddenly to find myself on the other side of things.

Most of all, though, I felt a deep gratitude that my mom’s existence was, in an indirect yet careful way, immortalized in a medium she adored.

When the panel was over, after making Nash swear to me yet again that he was telling the truth about the origin of Walter’s line, I confessed that I’d since stolen his story thing and used it when I didn’t know what to say to someone who was grieving. I recommend it.

So there you go: A brief moment of human connection in an industry that traffics in transactional conversations left us both with something meaningful. And somewhere, my primetime-drama-loving mom is absolutely overjoyed that she’s now a part — however far removed — of TV lore.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 06

<= Chapter 5

Summary : Lukas gets to have a heart-to-heart discussion with an absolute asshole. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/81015496

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AAAAH I'M SORRY FOR THE TWO MONTHS HIATUS I HAD A WRITER BLOCK---

Anyway uuuh, new chapter, I have no idea if it's good or not but still, here it is. I did my best to offer you a longer chapter as a compensation, it's twice the length of the last one.

Happy reading ! Thank you for waiting all this time.

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Chapter 6 - “Oh. It’s you.”

The rest of the day had been… Quite blurry for the student. After coming back home, he had sat down at his desk, staring into space for… Minutes, hours, he hadn’t been able to tell. It was an understatement to say that he was in shock after what had happened. Even after everything, his mind couldn’t help but think this was just a joke, or that he had imagined the whole thing. But the script in his bag was a proof of the contrary. For a good while, the young man hadn’t found the courage to look back at it, as if it were some sort of cursed object, haunting him. But then, the Conductor’s words came back to him: “learn your text by tomorrow”. An order, a clear one, coming from one of his bosses. The student shivered as he remembered, soon bringing his hands to his face, massaging his closed, tired eyes. Oh, boy, why did he always get in that kind of situation… Even when he was a kid, he would often get dragged in things like this. He had thought this would get better as he grew up, but noooo, of fucking course it wouldn’t. Lukas let out a loud, long, exaggerated sigh, and stood up. He walked to his sofa bed all while dragging his feet and, once he was in front of it, it was like what was left of his energy left him. What a day . With another sigh, the student felt his body fall forward, and it wasn’t long before his face hit one of his pillows. Air was forced out of his lungs by the impact, though he did nothing but grunt in the fabric. Him? An actor? This couldn’t be right, this just… It wasn’t right. Sure, MJ was a jerk, but he still had the skills and the experience! In comparison, Lukas was just a law student- not a bad one, mind you, which only made it even more surprising to see him getting the role. It wasn’t like he had chosen the wrong scholar path, no, on the contrary, he was skilled in his major. But apparently, his bosses had seen something else deep inside that walking shell of anxiety… -“Uuuuugh...” his voice was low and tired. For a moment, he thought he was almost going to fall asleep like this, still wearing his clothes, but he reluctantly sat down. With a look full of weariness and unwillingness, the student’s attention went back to his bag, in which the script was. He didn’t want to learn the lines, and a single glance at his desk full of homework was a good way to understand why. But it seemed like his paycheck was now depending on it, as much as he would have preferred to remain a stagehand… -“Guess I don’t have a choice…” he mumbled, before moving his foot to reach for the bag, making it slide towards him, so he could open it. He supposed that he would be able to scribble down the answers to his homework during his lunch break… Or, at least, he hoped. And so, the young man spent the next two hours learning his lines, saying them out loud, so he could remember them. A good thing about his brain was that it learned pretty well from words and sounds. Thus, by saying them out loud, Lukas was pretty efficient in remembering them. Plus, truth to be told, those lines weren’t exactly as hard to learn as his law books… Not that it was a bad thing, far from it. At least, it made his job far easier. However, he wasn’t going to lie, there were a few parts that were harder to remember. Once he was done, the student hesitated on whether he should go to sleep (the reasonable option) or try to get some of his homework done. Sure, he was pretty tired, and the day had been filled by a lot of diverse emotions… But part of him knew he just wouldn’t be able to fall asleep knowing what awaited him the day after. He had always been very anxious, this was a secret to no one, and especially not himself… However, this whole thing was very new, and it made it all worse. And so… The student ended up staying up late until three in the morning, managing to get most of his homework done. One of the perks of being good at a subject was being fast. Of course, this would have given him much better results if he had worked on it seriously, without all the tiredness and all, but the context wasn’t really allowing him that.

Thus, Lukas packed up his college stuff for the next day and soon went to sleep for one very short night. Oh, well, not his first, far from it. Thankfully, he had a few sleeping meds he had kept from an old treatment, allowing him to fall asleep rather quick. However, this always came at a price- they made waking up a much more difficult moment, as his body was still very much under the influence of the medicine when that happened. And the next morning… Was no exception, especially since he only got to sleep for less than three hours. Fighting the urge to go back to sleep, Lukas managed to get up and prepare himself for college. New clothes, brushing his hair and teeth… It only took him a moment until he was ready to leave his small apartment. Oh, his face, however… It looked like it belonged to a rotten corpse, who had just come back to life… Somewhat. The trip to college was pretty ordinary, and so was his morning and afternoon, actually. He gave his teachers all the papers that were due, he aced one of his oral presentation despite looking like a dead man… No, really, this day was going well, which was surprising considering he was mostly surviving thanks to coffee and to the fear of collapsing in public. Yeah, no, he didn’t want any attention on him… Which was a funny thing to think about, because this was exactly what he was going to get with his new job! Once his classes were over, Lukas took the bus to his workplace, dread settling on his shoulders, heavier and heavier as the minutes passed. Oh, he didn’t want to get that role… Of course, he could tell his bosses, but there was a small part of him, deep down, that was curious about where this would lead him. Now, obviously, being a stagehand was a pretty classic job, one without risks… But this? While he was terrified of screwing up, especially since people would be looking at him… Yeah, there was something that prevented him from refusing this promotion. And, also, if that could piss MJ off, then it was a good bonus. The studio reception was calm compared to the day before and, for a moment, just a small moment, the student thought his shift was going to be nice. But ooh, no, he couldn’t have nice things- the moment he opened the door leading to the staff areas, he winced as many voices echoed around him. They were coming from all directions, through walls, doors too! It was a large cacophony in there, and people were running around, carrying stuff and bringing props for each shooting. Actions movies, dramas, comedies… Each type had its own part of the studio, but there was this central room linking them all together and, oh, this place was just a battlefield. Moving fast through the agitated crowd, Lukas tried to reach his accredited part of the studio- the children shows shootings. Avoiding props almost falling on his feet accidentally, sneaking between people carrying hot coffee, and bending down to avoid planks being carried around… He bumped into someone just before he got to open the door leading to his area. -“Oh, I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, quickly moving back, so he could apologize properly to the person he had bumped into. However, his eyes widened when he recognized the figure in front of him. Mike! The good twin. For a second, the latter’s face had alarmed him, as he thought he had bumped into MJ instead… But thankfully, while having the same face, the two brothers had very different hairstyles and fashion choices. The student let out a sigh- phew, he wasn’t sure he would have been ready for MJ’s bullshit right at the beginning of his shift. -“Oh, hey!” Mike seemed almost as surprised as he was, though his expression quickly changed to a warm, welcoming one: “Good to see you again- oh, wait, let’s, uh… Get inside,” he then mumbled, opening the door quickly so they both could leave the absolute war zone they were in. Lukas didn’t lose any time and followed the other like a shadow would, only getting the opportunity to sigh in relief as they found themselves in a much quieter place. Kinda ironic that the children shows part of the

studio was calmer than the staff hall... -“Hey,” he finally replied, now that the “battlefield” was behind them: “It’s good to see you too,” he answered trustfully, with a smile. He hadn’t seen the other since MJ’s outburst the day before, and getting the chance to meet him again was a good way of making Lukas’ day a little better and… Less chaotic. -“How are you?” he then asked, deciding to take a moment for a conversation with his only friend in the studio so far. Plus, he was… Worried. With what had happened the day before, and how MJ had thrown Mike’s puppet on the floor like it was nothing, he wanted to make sure everything was okay. -“Oh, I’m… Doing fine,” the other looked away with an awkward smile, which was an obvious sign that things had definitely happened yesterday. With how furious the actor had been when leaving the shooting, Lukas could very well imagine the latter taking his frustration on his brother. What an asshole. But, it was family business, and he couldn’t say anything about it, as a stranger. -“What about you?” Mike added quickly, visibly determined on changing the topic: “I heard you got the role, yesterday. Congrats!” The praise took the student by surprise, and he felt his cheeks reddening from the embarrassment. Oh, man, this was new, yeah… He wasn’t used to that kind of thing. His stance tensed up, and a sheepish smile took place on his lips. -“Oh, uh… Thanks,” he blurted out, and it was his turn to look away: “It’s… Really weird, I guess I’m just… Feeling a bit shocked, you know?” he turned his head back to his new friend and a nervous giggle escaped him. He was fidgeting, not really knowing how to respond to that. -“Ah, yeah, it’s your first time,” Mike nodded, remembering that Lukas had first been hired as a stagehand, not as an actor: “Don’t worry, children shows are the perfect way to start as a beginner. You know, with the public being less critical and all… I’m sure you’ll get used to it in no time.” The puppet maker was kind, trying to reassure Lukas and ease his anxiety. Too bad that his stage fight was skyrocketing since the moment he had stepped in the building again… Another nervous giggle left his lips, and he started to rub his arm, not knowing what to do with his hands. -“I suppose so…” he muttered, still smiling, though it looked less genuine: “It’s just that… I mean… Why me? I’m just a guy who wanted a part-time job. I’m not an actor, I don’t have any experience…” -“Well, from what I’ve heard, you were pretty good yesterday- oh, speaking about that…” Mike’s face darkened, as if he had just remember to mention something unpleasant: “I think you should… Avoid MJ, as much as you can, from now on. My brother, he’s… He didn’t take it well, I’m not gonna lie, and… I mean, you saw how he is with people, he’s not the best at being with others. Now, with what happened yesterday, I don’t think he’ll make your life any easier.” The student grimaced as he listened to his friend. Yeah… Yeah, he had seen that coming. With how livid MJ had been when leaving the set, it wasn’t surprising that the latter was going to make his shifts hell. God, he really hoped he would manage to avoid that jerk… -“Yeah, I… Kinda expected that,” he admitted, tilting his head to the side with a wince: “But, uh… Since he’s not part of the team anymore, I shouldn’t run too much into him… Right?” -“I wish I’d say yes, but…” Mike answered, his face showing conflict: “He has some other roles in the studio, and he might come see me now and then, so… Yeah. Be careful and do your best to avoid him. He’s not… The best person to be around when he’s like this.” “Oh, you mean all the time, then?” Lukas thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut. Not the best thing to say out loud, especially when it came to said person’s twin. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why Mike was making so many efforts for someone that clearly didn’t deserve them… But, then again, he was a stranger, it wasn’t his place to say anything. -“Will do,” he assured his friend, before looking at his watch and- oh, shit, he was going to

be late. Apparently, it must have been visible from his expression, because the puppet maker let out a soft giggle: -“Oh, yeah, it’s time,” he looked up, as if he were trying to remember something: “Last time I saw the Conductor and DJ Grooves, they were in the conference room with some investors. You should go practice in the meantime… My workshop is open, if you want,” he offered with a shrug: “It’s a small room, but I’m normally the only one there, so if you wanna have some quiet, alone time to rehearse, well… I need to help the stagehands for some set repairs, so I won’t bother you.” The offer was a really nice attention, another one that did help to make Lukas’ day a little better. Considering his promotion, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to help the other stagehands while waiting for his bosses, but… Well, practicing really wouldn’t hurt, especially considering how short his night had been. -“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he gave Mike a warm smile, before pointing to a door on the other side of the room: “It’s this one, right?” he asked for confirmation. -“Yep, that’s the one! Just, uh… Please don’t touch anything, most of the puppets and costumes aren’t done, so they’re quite fragile.” Lukas assured him he wouldn’t, and even then, he didn’t have any reason to. At least, contrary to his friend’s twin, he knew how to respect someone’s work… And with that, the two waved to one another, before heading to opposite directions. The student walked to the door with a quick pace, wanting to get as much time as possible to practice. When he opened it, he was surprised to see that, yeah, the room was pretty small indeed, even smaller than what he had imagined. The place was full of puppets hanging from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in eccentric and colorful clothes. It was almost eye straining! Two out of the four corners of the rooms were used to stock supplies and different types of fabric, making the room even smaller than it originally was. Then, hidden in the third corner was a desk with a sewing machine on top of it. It looked like an old but durable one, the kind that would last years even if it was out-of-date. Other than that, the desk was full of smaller supplies, like needles, sewing threads, pens, pieces of paper, templates… It was like this room had no free space other than the center of it. Well, Lukas supposed this is where he would rehearse, then. Not like there were many other option… The young man closed the door behind him and made a few steps, his eyes looking all around him. He didn’t think it was possible to fit so many things in a single room, but, hey, he was wrong! He then shook his head- it was time to work. After clearing his throat, the student opened his bag and took the script out, flipping the pages up to the parts he had the most trouble remembering. Oh, jeez, he really was doing this, wasn’t he? This was so weird… But whatever paid his bills and his studies, he guessed. And so… He got to work. It was a lot easier to practice when there was no one around. No one to judge him, no one to mock him when he fucked up… Yeah, it made it all easier. Sure, he didn’t have any experience in it, but at least he had to admit it was pretty fun. Nonetheless, he still had no idea why the two directors chose him over an experienced actor like MJ… Like, of course he had noticed the latter was a huge asshole, but other than that, his acting skills were obvious. Maybe he was being used to give MJ a lesson…? This seemed like the most probable explanation. After all, MJ’s presence in the casting was supposed to bring attention to the show… And now, one of the most important roles had been given to a nobody instead. It didn’t seem like a good idea, marketing-wise. Law was his specialty, but that didn’t mean he was stupid when it came to other things. Lukas couldn’t believe he had been chosen for his “talents”, because he had none on that field. After a moment, he paused his practice, shutting his eyes and letting out an exaggerated sigh. Shit, this was distracting him. He couldn’t focus

on his lines. His acting skills, if he had any, were affected by it. It was like something was entering his mind from one side only to disappear through another. Memorizing the words was harder than he had thought it would be the day before, and he couldn’t help but grunt in frustration. Fuck, he knew he was able to remember those lines, he had learned much more complex texts before! This script was simple, so the young man put the blame on his short night of sleep. Furthermore, it was hard to memorize something only by starting the day before… He was about to start again when he heard the door opening behind him, cutting him short. The student turned to the direction of the noise, expecting to see Mike’s face and… Well, in a way, he kinda did. Except it wasn’t Mike. It was MJ, the evil twin. “Oh, fuck me,” he thought, paling up. For fuck’s sake, right after Mike told him to avoid his brother! Was it a joke or something?! Before he even got the chance to speak, MJ’s expression changed from a neutral one to one of utter disgust. Yeah, clearly, the other had expected to see his twin, but… Nope, Lukas had been the one in the room. “Lesson learned, never going back in that workshop alone,” the student told himself, though it was way too late to do anything about it. -“Oh. It’s you,” the actor spat, this time not trying to keep his nice mask on like he had been when they had met the day before: “The fuck are you doing here?” The celebrity’s eyes were glaring at him, all while examining him from top to bottom. It was… Very unpleasant, to be stared at this way. And being talked to like that? Yeah, no, Lukas was perhaps a shy person, but he didn’t want to let anyone walk all over him, especially not an asshole like MJ. Usually, he tended to flee conflict, but today was different. He was way too tired to deal with this shit. -“Yes , hello to you too,” he muttered as an answer, quickly putting his attention back to the script: “Your brother’s not here, but he told me I could use the room in the meantime.” Apparently, his tone didn’t please the actor, whose eyes narrowed in response: -“No kidding, I can see my brother’s not here, dumbass,” he shrugged and rolled his eyes: “I’m not blind.” Oooh, the insult didn’t fall on deaf ears, and it really rubbed Lukas the wrong way. He turned to the celebrity again, this time returning the latter’s glare: -“Well, good for you, I guess,” the student spoke louder than his previous mutter. His annoyance was much more visible, though he still remained polite: “If you’re looking for Mike, he’s with the stagehands.” -“Didn’t ask,” the actor retorted harshly. The other’s eyes then fell on the script, and his expression darkened. Well, shit, this couldn’t be good- and, just like Lukas had predicted, it wasn’t. MJ’s look of hatred was soon replaced by a mocking yet salty expression, one that the student really didn’t like. -“Aw, am I interrupting something?” the celebrity taunted him, leaning against the door frame as a smirk took place on his lips. -“Actually, yes. You are,” Lukas’ patience was running out. God, he wanted to punch that guy so bad… Well, not like he would ever do that, he wasn’t that kind of person. Still, the urge was there. In response to his honest words, the actor scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes again. God, that fucking asshole… -“What, don’t tell me you honestly think you have what it takes!” MJ’s tone had changed from a mocking one to a harsher, meaner one: “You have no idea how to play a role- lemme guess, you never had any theater courses before, hm?” At Lukas’ silence, the celebrity snickered bitterly: -“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re just a nobody, a guy who happened to be there at the right time. But you, an actor? Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know shit about acting.” Okay, now that was enough. Politeness was nice and all, but with this guy? No, nu-huh, nope, not happening. In an instant, Lukas’ attempts at remaining civil were thrown away through a window. No one could talk to him like that, and not even his anxiety was

going to silence him. -“Oh, I don’t know shit about acting, that’s right,” he talked back, his tone much more aggressive: “But at least I know how to be a decent person.” -“Excuse me?” MJ’s face showed a mix of bewilderment and fury, probably because no one ever confronted him like this in the past: “I didn’t steal someone else’s job!” -“Hah, that’s rich!” the student scoffed, raising his arms with a scandalized expression: “You lost your job! I didn’t do anything!” his voice echoed in the room as his anger intensified: “If you weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d have kept your place in the-” However, the student didn’t even get the time to finish his sentence. The celebrity had dashed towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, bringing their face close as an intimidating gesture: -“Watch your fucking mouth,” was the warning he got from the other, whose eyes were fixed on his: “There are so many things I could do to make your life a living Hell. I have a lot of strings I can pull, and if I were you, I wouldn’t risk that,” the actor’s voice had got lower, like a murmur, a clear threat directed to him. But Lukas was just getting so fucking tired of it. Enough was enough. He grabbed the celebrity’s hand and pulled it away, forcing the latter to let go of him. -“So, let me get this straight: you want to destroy me because I pointed out how much of a jerk you were to everyone? And you still think you’re the decent person out of us two? You might want to rethink that, buddy.” The response he got was yet another glare, though this time there was no spiky answer. “Of course I’m right, asshole, can’t say anything back, now, can you?” he thought to himself, pride swelling inside him. Man, this was perhaps the first argument he ever won… Holy shit, yeah, it was- and he didn’t even stutter! Maybe he needed to be tired more often- yeah, no, that wasn’t a good idea. Air was forced out of his lungs as he was pushed away, though despite the fear of being punched, it never came. The look of pure hatred he was getting from MJ was almost burning him and, for a moment, he really thought he would get attacked- being someone who had never fought anyone, he wasn’t really confident about his abilities to fight back. But all MJ did was to step back to the door, a furious expression written all over his face: -“You wanna play that game with me?” he spat: “Fine. But mark my words, stagehand, I will win.” And not even giving Lukas the time to retort anything, the actor stormed off the room and slammed the door behind him. It screamed “ I am mad, and I want everyone to know that”. Lukas, however, did not give a single fuck about it. Perhaps it was the tiredness speaking (and it was), but if the other wanted to fight, then Lukas would be ready. Well, he probably wouldn’t in hindsight, once his mind cleared up… But at the moment, the young man’s anger was making him blind to many aspects. One of them being that MJ was a famous person who was indeed capable of destroying him, and making him fail his studies with just the right calls. But this wasn’t something Lukas would realize before calming down. And only then, he would ask himself “why the hell couldn’t I keep my mouth shut like usual?!” Until that moment… The student kept rehearsing, though his anger prevented him from actually anything. Today was going to be a long day…

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Hopefully Lukas won't have too much trouble with this jerk of an actor :)c (who I love with all my heart)

=> Chapter 7

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Fresh Start - Prologue

Ethan x MC

Summary: After going through her own personal trauma, Dr. Naomi Valentine packs up and sets her sights on Boston. But a new job in a new city comes with its own set of challenges and drama.

A/N: I honestly have no idea why this plot popped into my head, but where we are. Part of this chapter borrows from Ethan and MC’s very first encounter in chapter 1, with some very minor tweaks.

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. And enjoy!

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartwriting @mvalentine @nooruleman 

~v~

Don’t get married at 19, they said. Don’t spend the best years of your life tied down to someone else, they said. This will be the biggest mistake of your life, they said.

They were all right.

If you would’ve told Naomi that her husband of 9 years was going to cheat on her with his receptionist and knock her up, she would’ve laughed. But fate laughed harder.

She’s Naomi freaking Valentine – thank God she never changed her last name. She’s brilliant, she’s an attending at one of the best hospitals in Washington D.C, and she comes from one of the most prominent families in this city, but none of that even matters. Because it’s Friday night and she’s currently at home, watching trashy television, crying into her couch cushion.

At first there was the unbridled rage that threatened to consume her from the inside out. Leading up to the divorce, she felt like she was always on the brink of exploding. She wanted to kill her husband, his stupid mistress, his slimy divorce attorney, and anyone else who dared cross her path.

But now that the divorce papers are signed, now that all of the air has been deflated from her, all she feels is overwhelming sadness.

Divorce sucks. It’s a pretty well known fact, but everyone else feeling the same way doesn’t negate her feelings. She’d rather get split down the middle and turned inside out than ever go through something like this ever again. She’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to endure this type of battle more than once.

She’s too wrapped up in her own feelings, she doesn’t notice the front door of her condo opening and closing. But the sound of heels clinking against her wood floors is enough to pull her out of her own thoughts.

“You weren’t answering my calls, darling.”

The vivacious voice of Dorinda Valentine booms throughout the condo. Naomi looks up and sees her mother standing a few feet away. She has Tupperware in her hands.

“Yeah, I turned my phone off.”

“I figured.”

“What’s in the Tupperware, mama?”

“I made you some chicken stir fry. I think it’s safe to assume you haven’t eaten anything today.”

It’s a correct assumption. On any other day, Naomi would devour anything her mother put in front of her face, but now, the thought of food makes her stomach turn.

She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re a doctor, Naomi, you know better than anyone that you should be eating.” Dorinda stares at the tall bottle of vodka on the coffee table. “And just because vodka is made from potatoes, it still doesn’t count.”

Naomi doesn’t respond. She just turns her head and burrows further into the couch.

Dorinda stands there for a few moments, observing her daughter. It’s a depressing sight, one she isn’t used to. If she could take the pain from Naomi and somehow transfer it to herself, Dorinda would do it in a heartbeat.

“Okay.” Dorinda drops her purse to the floor and sets the containers down on the coffee table. She walks to the couch. Grabbing Naomi by the shoulder, she roughly yanks the younger woman. Naomi rolls over and drops to the ground with a thud.

“Mom!” Naomi looks at her mom with a scowl. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s been 2 weeks since you and Daniel signed the divorce papers. I have given you plenty of space and opportunity to mope around in the dark, but I think it’s time for the pity party to end.”

“2 weeks is not nearly enough time to simply get over the past 9 years.” Naomi argues as she stands up and dusts herself off. 

“I know you’re hurt–”

“No offense, but you and daddy have been married for thirty years, and last time I checked, I don’t have any half siblings conceived within that time, so you cannot fathom my hurt, so you can just skip over any platitudes that might be brewing.”

Dorinda raises an eyebrow. “You’re upset, so I’m going to ignore your wildly inappropriate and condescending tone, and give you a one time pass.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi murmurs, flopping back down on her couch. She averts her mother’s gaze because she can feel the older woman staring daggers at her. “I’m just very...out of sorts these days, like I’ve been hit by a bus and then put on a rollercoaster.”

“Now I may not understand divorce, but I can empathize with what you’re feeling.” Dorinda sits down next to Naomi.

“I know everyone thought I was crazy to marry Daniel in the first place, and I’m so sure there's no love lost on your part, but I really went into this with the best intentions. And I thought he did too.”

Dorinda runs her thumb across Naomi’s cheek, collecting a falling tear. “People suck, and life is full of crappy people who do crappy things. And I’m sorry that you had to be a victim to one of them.”

Naomi chuckles humorlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’m sure it feels like the easiest thing in the world to curl into a ball and stay holed up in this apartment, but you are so much stronger than that. And Daniel Thompson does not deserve the right to reduce you to this. If you want to mope on this couch for the rest of your life, then you do it on your own accord, not because of him. But in my personal opinion, I think you’re too wonderful to become a piece of furniture.”

“What do you suppose I do?” Naomi challenges with a shrug. “I don’t how to do anything other than be his wife.”

“Well, that’s not true at all. But first, you’re going to take a shower, crack open a window to let some fresh air in, and then you’re going to do something that helps you vent. Rip a pillow, scream, scratch Daniel’s face out of his pictures, whatever you want. And then you and I are going to sit on this couch and have a very good cry. And I mean an all out, snotty nose, puffy eyes, sore throat type of cry.”

Getting off of this couch sounds like a feat within itself, one that Naomi doesn’t know if she has the strength or energy to do.

“That’s the first step,” Dorinda says, playing with a strand of Naomi’s hair. “That’s the hard part, but once you do that, I promise it gets easier. You just have to trust yourself and put one foot in front of the other, okay?”

A heavy silence falls on the room and Dorinda waits on bated breath for her daughter to respond. She’s never seen Naomi like this, the life completely drained out of her.

Naomi’s voice comes out small and unrecognizable, but she answers nonetheless. “Okay.”

~v~

One month passes and things finally start progressing for Naomi. She won’t say her life is back to normal, but she’s no longer glued to her couch, so her family considers it a win.

It’s a nice day, so Dorinda forces her to leave the comfort of her apartment and spend the day with her family.

“One of your father’s friends is coming over, so be nice,” Dorinda scolds, passing her daughter a handful of silverware so they can set the dinner table.

“Oh God, mom if this is some politician asking for a donation, I can’t–”

“No politicians,” Dorinda interjects. “Naveen is in Baltimore for a few days, so we invited him to have dinner with us.”

Dr. Naveen Banerji has been friends with Naomi’s dad for as long as she can remember. While Naveen was doing his residency at Sinai Hospital in Baltimore, Steven Valentine came in for a broken arm, and they’ve been close friends ever since, even when Naveen had to move to Boston.

Naomi adores the older man, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the best doctors in the country.

“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” Naomi asks.

Dorinda shrugs. “I wanted to see if you could leave that apartment of yours without external motivation.”

“And I did,” Naomi says. “I want a medal.”

“And I want a private island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

There’s a knock at the door that startles them out of their banter. Before either one of them can reach the door, Naomi’s dad beats them to it.

“Naveen, you old man!” Steven greets. “How are you?”

“If I’m old, you’re ancient!” Naveen shoots back with a chuckle. His eyes fall on Dorinda and Naomi, who have joined them in the foyer. “Dorinda! You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Naveen, it’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“And Naomi, I haven’t seen you since your med school graduation.” Naveen sizes her younger before hugging her. “Gosh, I can’t believe you’re so grown up now. What happened to the little 5 year old who used to quiz me on the periodic table?”

“Hi, Naveen,” Naomi greets brightly.

“It smells delicious in here. Don’t tell me you made a huge fuss over me, Dorinda.”

“What? It’s not every day we get to see you.” Dorinda takes Naveen’s coat. “Go sit down, you’re here just in time. Dinner will be out in 10 minutes, tops.”

It doesn’t even take that long, and soon the Valentine family plus Naveen are all gathered around the dining room table, passing around bowls and platters of food.

“So Naveen, I heard you got a promotion recently and you’re now the Chief of Medicine at Edenbrook.”

“Yeah, my days of practicing are over.”

“Do you like the job?” Naomi asks.

Naveen nods. “I love it. I have more free time, which is a plus. And there’s still so much to do, so it fuels the adrenaline junky in me. What about you, Dr. Valentine?” He smiles. “What’s it like being an attending?”

“Demanding,” Naomi answers.

“Any interesting cases recently?”

“No.” Naomi‘s girl scrapes across her plate as she awkwardly shuffles her food around. “I, uh...I’m on a personal leave right now. I haven’t been to the hospital in weeks.”

Naveen knows all about the nasty divorce, so he nods sympathetically and doesn’t press the subject. “You were chief resident last year, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s being modest,” Dorinda says. “She was at the top of her cohort.”

“Of course she was.” Naveen takes a sip of his drink, but his eyes are still trained on Naomi, wheels turning. “How do you like the hospital you’re working at?”

“It’s good.”

“Do you think that it’s the best fit for you? Are you being pushed to your limits? Are your superiors still checking in with you? You’re an attending now, but they should still care about your development.”

Naomi feels overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions. What is this, a job interview?

“Slow down Naveen, what’s with the interrogation?”

“What? I care about you, and I care about your potential. I just hope it’s not being wasted.”

“It’s not,” Naomi assures him.

“You know, there will always be a standing invitation for you to join the team at Edenbrook,” Naveen tells her.

A wide grin forms on Dorinda’s face and before Naomi can respond, she does. “She accepts!”

And that’s when the lightbulb turns on above Naomi’s head. She glances from Naveen to her parents. “Did you guys set this up?”

Naveen raises an eyebrow at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Did my parents ask you to come here and give me a job offer?”

“No, I’m here because I have a conference to attend in Baltimore tomorrow, so I thought I’d drop in. No one asked me to give you a job offer. You’re intelligent, you’re compassionate, you’re a good doctor, and I wouldn’t be a very smart Chief if I didn’t at least try to poach you for myself.”

“And she accepts!” Dorinda continues.

“Mom, stop it!” Naomi scolds.

“You’ll get a chance to work with me,” Naveen adds. “You’ll get a chance to work with Dr. Ethan Ramsey, my protege. We’re a level 1 trauma center, and Boston is a gorgeous city.”

The last thing Naomi needs right now is a new job in a new city, not while her life is in complete shambles. Besides, her entire life is in DC. It’s where her entire support system resides. Functioning without them sounds daunting.

“I really appreciate the offer Naveen, but that is definitely a lot to take in and consider.”

“Of course, I understand. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, nor do I expect any sort of answer.” Naveen sighs. “How much longer are you going to be off of work?”

“A few more weeks.”

“How about you come to Boston, and at least check out the hospital?” He suggests. “No strings attached, and you can stay at my lake house because I’m hardly ever there and there’s tons of space, so someone should enjoy it. At the very least, I think seeing it will at least be a fun experience and a nice vacation.”

“If I say yes to the trip, can we pause this conversation for the rest of the evening?”

Naveen nods. “I think that’s a fair exchange.”

“Then you have yourself a deal.”

Naomi relaxes and slouches slightly in her seat. When she gets home later on, she has a mission to complete: research the hell out of Boston and Edenbrook Hospital.

~v~

Boston is a beautiful city full of history, culture, and interesting attractions. Naomi appreciates the hustle and bustle of the city life, and the fact that everyone is always on the go – a vast difference from the quiet and serenity of Naveen’s lake house in Plymouth.

And Edenbrook is an entirely different beast. It is much larger than she expects, as the pictures don’t do it justice. The building is at least 7 stories tall to her naked eye, sleek and modern.

Naomi silently marvels as she watches doctors and nurses bustle around, chatting quietly amongst each other.

“Wow.” Is all she can say.

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Naveen asks rhetorically, smiling at Naomi’s childlike wonder.

“This hospital is amazing,” is what she finally settles on when words finally come back to her.

“Follow me, we have an unofficial tour to go on.”

Naomi follows Naveen through the hospital. She struggles to keep up as she tries to memorize the complex layout, because this hospital is large and built like a multi-level maze. 

Naveen rattles off information and fun facts as they pass through the pediatric department, they stop to stare at the newborns in labor and delivery, all small and wriggly, and they even manage to sneak into the OR to watch Harper Emery perform a craniotomy, something Naomi compares to a religious experience.

“I can’t believe I just watched The Harper Emery perform surgery!” Naomi squeals with delight as she and Naveen step out of the gallery and leave the OR. “Please tell me that wasn’t a dream.”

“I didn’t peg you for a surgery fanatic,” Naveen teases.

Naomi scoffs. “I’m not, but I respect Dr. Emery. You don’t have to be a basketball fan to appreciate that Michael Jordan is one of the greats.”

“That’s a fair comparison.”

The two of them continue their leisurely stroll around the hospital, making their way to the internal medicine department.

“This is where you’d spend a good chunk of your time, if you wanted to work here, of course.”

“Is it a large department?” Naomi asks quietly. There are a few patients filling out paperwork ahead of their appointments and she doesn’t want to disturb them.

“It is. We have a lot of doctors here so you can spend that extra one-on-one time with your patients, and you aren’t just rushing them out the door to get to your next appointment.”

“That’s good to know.”

Naveen’s pager goes off and he checks it before sighing. “The life of a Chief is never dull. I have to go take care of something downstairs, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Do you think you can occupy yourself in the meantime?”

“Of course.” Naomi shoos him away. “Take your time.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Naomi watches as he walks away, until she can no longer see him through the crowds of people. Once he’s truly gone, she continues her slow stroll through the halls.

Edenbrook seems like an amazing hospital and a great place to work, but she’s not sure if she can see herself staying.

Can she really pack up and move more than 400 miles away from her entire family, and the only life she’s ever known? And is she the type to run away when life gets tough? What will everyone say? “Oh, poor girl gets left by her husband and had to flee the city.”

But what’s stopping you? The little voice in her head asks, and it’s technically right. She looks down at her left hand, zeroing in on the ring-less finger with a deep tan line, a very prominent reminder of what’s definitely not waiting for her back in DC. No husband, no kids, nothing but an empty and quiet condo.

When she filed for divorce, Naomi swore to herself that running off to city hall to get married would be the first and last wild and impulsive thing she’d ever do. And taking a job offer on a whim in Boston is teetering dangerously close to that “wild and reckless” category.

But she’s pulled out of her thoughts when someone gasps loudly beside her. Whipping her head around, Naomi watches as a middle aged woman falls out of her seat and collapses onto the ground.

That sends the waiting area into a frenzy as fellow patients panic and crowd around the woman like she’s some sort of zoo exhibit, and nurses try their best to assess the situation and ask for help.

“Everyone, step back!” Naomi orders, a serious expression covering her face. “I’m a doctor!”

Before Naomi can even reach the woman, another doctor rushes over, kneeling down beside her. He lifts her wrist and pressed two fingers to it. 

“Her pulse isn’t weak. She’s unresponsive.”

His face scans the crowd and Naomi inwardly gasps as she realizes that it's Ethan freaking Ramsey! In any other situation, she’d be freaking out and fan-girling over him.

He spots her and points. “You. Get in here.”

Naomi bites down on her tongue and resists the urge to get snappy with him. She’s not a puppy that can get summoned on command. But she remembers that a woman’s life is on the line and her own hang ups can wait.

“Right away, Doctor!”

With practiced ease, Ethan lifts the woman up and places her on a gurney that’s been rolled over by a nurse. Within seconds, Naomi is at his side.

“What was she coming in for?” He asks, hoping someone can answer his question. “Did she fill out a form yet?”

A nurse clears his throat before answering, “No, she had just walked in.”

That’s not the answer Ethan was hoping for and he frowns. “If we don’t figure out what’s wrong with her fast, she’s gonna die on this gurney.” He spares a quick glance at Naomi. “Check her B.P.”

A nurse hands Naomi a blood pressure cuff and she slips on around the woman’s arm. After pumping it a few times, she checks the numbers. They’re horrible.

“It’s plummeting. She’s hypotensive,” she explains. “We’ve gotta get fluids in her, now.”

Ethan nods, agreeing with the assessment. Another nurse sets up an I.V. while Naomi checks over the woman once more. She notices a bruise on her elbow, one that wasn’t there a minute ago, and her fingertips are turning blue.

“Doctor, look at her fingers,” Naomi says, getting Ethan’s attention. “I think it’s a sign of low oxygen saturation.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You think or you know? We really don’t have time for the guessing game.”

“I know,” Naomi assures him, her tone coming out rougher than she intended. She’s not a fan of being second guessed, especially by someone who specifically requested her to assist.

“Good. Did you notice the bruise?” Naomi nods. “A bruise forming that quickly suggests that this woman is a hemophiliac.” Ethan slides his stethoscope from around his neck and hands it to Naomi. “Check her lungs, quickly.”

Naomi does what she’s told and takes a closer listen to her woman’s lungs. 

“Nothing on her left side, and the right side is struggling. She’s going to suffocate!”

Oh God, how did she get roped into this? This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation away from all of the stress of her life, now Naomi is watching a woman suffocate to death.

Dr. Ramsey isn’t having the same struggle as she is, as he remains calm, though everyone around them is on high alert. “We’ve got a Code Blue,” he says, his voice steady. A nurse hands him a bag mask and he starts delivering air to the woman.

Naomi watches as he does that, trying to remain calm. She closes her eyes and attempts to steady her thoughts, and figure out what’s wrong with the woman.

“Hey, either help out or leave, but I don’t need you here doing nothing,” Ethan says, interrupting her thoughts.

Naomi flinches a bit at the interruption, but she continues thinking. Low oxygen, hemophilia, deflated lungs. What could it possibly be?

As she’s going through the options, it hits her. “It’s a hemothorax!”

Ethan nods, confirming the diagnosis. “A blood vessel ruptured…”

“...and it’s blocking her lungs from expanding any further,” Naomi finishes. She looks around. They’re in a crowded waiting room, not the OR. “But we can’t do anything here!”

“There’s no time to get her to the OR, we’ll have to do an emergency thoracotomy to drain her pleural cavity.” Ethan points to a nurse. “You! I need a chest tube and a scalpel, now!”

A nurse rushes over immediately, placing the items in Naomi’s hands. She barely has time to register the fact that she’s about to perform an emergency procedure on an unconscious woman, and she’s not even supposed to be in doctor-mode today before Ethan is lifting the woman’s shirt 

“We’re gonna need a local anesthetic to–”

“We don’t have time for any of that!” Ethan snaps. “Do it now, or she’s going to die, and it’ll be on you!”

Naomi gulps and wills herself to calm down. Her pulse is racing and she can hear her heart beating in her ears.

But she breathes deeply. She doesn’t have time to panic, not when there’s a life on the line. She steadies her hand, and makes the incision at the woman’s rib cage.

“There you go, nice and easy,” Dr. Ramsey coaches. “Now insert the tube.”

Naomi insets the chest tube into the incision. Slowly but surely, the blood starts draining out of the woman’s chest, and she gasps, breathing again.

The woman, now conscious again, mutters something unintelligible, but she’s alive and that’s all that matters.

“We...we did it.”

The older physician ignores Naomi, instead turning to the nurse that’s been helping them. “She’s stable. Get her into surgery, but she’s stable.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

The nurses take the patient away, while the crowd applauds them for the heroic save. Eventually the crowd disperses, everyone going back to what they were previously doing.

The relief that floods through Naomi’s body is all-consuming. She hasn’t felt this euphoric in a long time. And to experience it with someone as amazing as Doctor Ramsey only elevates things. Doctors can only dream of working with him, and she actually got to do it, even if it was on a whim.

Maybe working at Edenbrook isn’t such a bad idea.

She turns back to Ethan, a giddy grin wide across her face. “Doctor...that was…amazing!”

“You’re right. It’s pretty amazing you didn’t get her killed.”

That takes the wind out of her sails almost instantly. “Wait, what?”

“Your examination was slow and superficial. And your scalpel technique?” He scoffs in derision. “Amateur at best.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Naomi asks. “I’m sorry, I’m not at work today, this entire situation threw me for a loop, and a waiting room definitely isn’t a proper setting to do any of what we just did. And if I’m so amateur at my job, what prevented you from stepping in at any time since you’re so much better than I am? Because if my recollection is correct, I did most of the work, while you stood there like some glorified overseer.”

“You’re the one who yelled out that you were a doctor. I wanted to test your mettle.”

Her blood boils in her veins at his words. So this is why they say never meet your heroes. Because they turn out to be righteous assholes.

“My mettle is just fine. You say it’s a miracle I didn’t kill her, I say she’s alive because of me. And another thing, I don’t need you testing my mettle when a patient’s life is on the line. Next time, save the little power trip.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at her words. No doctor in their right mind has ever spoken to him like this. He stares down at the woman, almost a foot shorter than him, and she’s staring up at him with just as much intensity. “Now I don’t know who you think–”

“Naomi, there you are!”

Ethan’s tirade is cut short by the sound of Naveen’s voice echoing through the halls. He looks up to see his mentor and boss headed towards them.

“I’m sorry that took longer than expected Naomi,” Naveen says once he’s finally close enough. He looks her up and down. Her blouse and pants are ruined, covered in that woman’s blood. “Hue hat happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Naveen,” Naomi assures him. “It’s not mine. And it’s a very long story, one I’ll tell you once I’m out of these clothes.”

“Very well.”

Ethan watches as the two of them casually converse. He’s known Naveen for well over a decade, and not once has he seen or heard of this woman. How does Naveen know her well enough for them to be on a first name basis?

“You two know each other?” He asks, interrupting their conversation.

Naveen nods. “Oh yes, we go way back. Ethan, this is Dr. Naomi Valentine. Naomi, this is Dr. Ethan Ramsey.”

Naomi gives Ethan a tight smile. She’s no longer in the mood for pleasantries. “Charmed.”

“Likewise, Dr. Valentine.”

“Naomi here is from DC, and I’m trying to convince her to come to Edenbrook,” Naveen explains. He knows better than anyone how much Naomi admires Ethan’s work. Maybe he’ll be able to help him convince the younger woman to accept a job at Edenbrook. “It’s so perfect that you guys met and became acquainted, because I actually think she’d be an excellent addition to the diagnostics team.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at that statement. “What?”

[favficarchives]

Beautiful Silence (2/2)

Soulmate AU Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader Summary: Not everyone had a soulmate. You were one of the few who did, and you eagerly anticipated meeting them and starting your destined journey together. You were ready for it. You weren’t ready for when it went wrong. Word Count: 2,295

[Part 1]

[Masterlist]

A/N: *This had trouble posting before, so I deleted the original and am reposting* The second part to this annoying plot bunny. A side of fluff to make up for the drama of the first part. Thank you to everyone who liked the first part, and I hope this does that justice!

“She has some minor frostbite around her feet, some minor cuts and deep bruises from an apparent altercation, but aside from that she’s physically fine,” the nurse told Captain Rogers, distinctly avoiding looking at the anxious Sokovian man sitting in the chair outside of the medical lab.

“Is she good to talk?”

The nurse paused. “I’d give it time, Captain. She seems to be very sensitive at the moment, and I’m not sure further stimulation is going to be a good thing.”

Rogers nodded solemnly, supposedly upset by the stall. As the nurse walked away, Rogers turned to Pietro.

“So what’s the story here?” Rogers asked sternly. “What was the goal?”

Pietro shrugged, blue eyes trained on the closed door that separated him from his soulmate.

His soulmate. The woman whose eyes brought color to his life – while they simultaneously looked at him in panic. The look of fear in her eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life; he was sure of it.

He tried to talk to her once during the flight to the tower. You seemed to be having a very animated conversation with the archer, so he assumed you were recovering well from the trauma that Ultron – and he and his sister, however inadvertently – inflicted on you. He approached you slowly, which you seemed fine with. When he spoke, however, you flinched and leaned away from him.

One of the caregivers at the orphanage was like you, he recalled. She was deaf until well into her thirties. When the kids asked about it (as they often did), she always went on and on about how much she loved the sound of her soulmate’s voice. They met at the local market, as she was so overwhelmed by the influx of noise that she broke down in the middle of the crowd. However, as she told the kids, the sound of her soulmate softly speaking to her brought her back. Her husband’s voice, she said, was the most comforting thing in the world.

Apparently, that was the exact opposite of what was happening between him and you. You brought color and beauty to his world, and he brought pain and suffering to your’s.

As the captain walked away, Pietro rose from his seat and peaked through the window in the medical lab door. On the other side of the door you sat up in a cot, knees drawn to your chest. A large pair of headphones covered your ears, doing his job of protecting your virgin ears from the sounds of world. He watched in horror as your shoulders shook with sobs. You moved to wipe away your tears, lips swollen and eyes red.

He had to help you. He didn’t know how, but he had to help you.

You swallowed a big gulp of air, choking back another sob as you caught sight of the door opening. Sobs were ugly, frightening sounding things. You hated them, and you hated this. You missed the beauty of silence. You wish you’d never heard his…

No. No matter how much you hated this, you couldn’t bring yourself to even complete that thought. You couldn’t bring yourself to condemn the young man powerful gaze and soft touch. You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Perhaps it was years of buildup, but you couldn’t shake the hope that maybe, maybe, you two could have the happily ever after you’d been promised.

You jumped as you felt a hand brush across your shoulder. Glancing up, you gazed into the concerned eyes of your soulmate, reveling in the soft blue gaze that focused so thoroughly on you. His fingers brushed through your hair, his touch so delicate you almost forgot that harsh grips of the robots as they dragged you out of your apartment earlier that day.

He looked as though he wanted to speak. You prayed that he wouldn’t. You didn’t want to be reminded of the horrible conditions under which you first heard that voice. You just wanted the one you were destined to be with to sit with you, to hold you, to comfort you in the way you were told they always would.

Somehow, he seemed to get the message. Without uttering a word, he climbed in the bed next to you, pulling you down to lie with him. You weren’t a fan of lying down right now – it made you feel too vulnerable – but you were willing to try it, for him. You removed the large headphones the nurse gave you and snuggled into his side, a small smile gracing your face as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Y/N,” you muttered, ignoring how odd and untrained your voice sounded.

“Hmm?”

“My name,” you said a little louder and with more clarity. “My name is Y/N.”

You watched him smile, his eyes lighting up in joy. He pulled you closer, pressing his soft lips to your temple. You let out a content sigh, slowly falling asleep to the feeling of your soulmate’s hand running languidly up and down your arm and to the sound of his steady, rhythmic heartbeat.

“Why did Ultron take the girl?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda snapped. “All he told us was that we were going to take down the Avengers. He never said how.”

“He was going to take down the world,” Tony told her. “That was his end game. He was designed to protect the world, and instead –“

“He was going to destroy it,” Steve finished for him. “He didn’t let you two in on any part of the plan? You were his partners.”

Wanda let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head. “We were going to ask him for details when we saw the girl-“

“Y/N.”

Wanda and Steve looked to the genius in shock.

“Her name is Y/N L/N,” he supplied. “She’s enhanced, or inhuman, or something. I’ve been keeping an eye on her for a while, which means Ultron got her information when he stole all of my files.”

“What’s her power?” Steve asked, eyebrows drawn in concern.

Tony shrugged and moved to a computer, pulling up some of the videos he’d been able to recover. “Something to do with plants or nature is my guess. You can only see it if you’re looking, but it’s there.”

Steve and Wanda watched the screen, following Y/N down a semi-crowded sidewalk. You stopped at a flower vendor and examined the bouquets. Your fingers lingered on some of the more pathetic-looking flowers. The flowers began to brighten and straighten out, almost as if you were restoring their life. You purchased a bouquet and went on your way.

“There are other videos like that,” Tony told them. “They’re few and far between – I guess she doesn’t use her powers that often, at least in public. Still, I’m not sure what Ultron would want with her. Seems a little out of left field for a machine hell-bent on destroying humanity to care all that much about saving some flower.”

“Maybe he wanted her to help replenish the environment after he got rid of the humans,” Steve supplied before turning his attention back to Wanda. “He really didn’t tell you anything? You’re not keeping anything from us because we’re the enemy? If he’s still out there on the internet somewhere, we need to get ahead of him.”

Wanda shook her head and sighed again. “He mentioned someplace called Wakanda. Apparently, there is something there that he wanted.”

Steve’s brows furrowed once more, while Tony’s eyes traveled to the red, white, and blue shield that was propped against a wall on the other side of the room.

You sat on the couch in the living area, watching the television on the far wall. Clint recommended watching with the sound on, but the volume low, to ease yourself into the world of the hearing. You obliged, though you focused more of your attention on reading the captions than listening to the voices. If you tried to listen, your mind would wander to Pietro.

It had only been a few hours, but the team and the twins took off the Wakanda after the nurse had given you the okay to leave the med lab. They wanted to take off earlier, but Pietro wouldn’t leave your side and simultaneously refused to miss an opportunity to hurt the person – or thing – that hurt his soulmate. He had the support of his sister, as well as Clint and Tony (who also had soulmates), so Steve and the team relented.

They left a few hours ago, meaning there was still a long time to wait until they got back. You didn’t like being away from Pietro so long so soon. You weren’t sure whether or not you really trusted him, but you knew you wanted him, his touch, and, to some growing degree, his voice. As reality set in and the immediate shock of the past day subsided, you weren’t sure how much of your remaining fear was justified and how much of it was your stubborn response to your not-so-fairytale beginning. And the longer they were gone and you were away from your soulmate, the more your desire to once again hear his voice grew.

You remembered him calling you “printesa.” You remembered the love and fear in his eyes and how it leaked into his voice. The mere memory of the voice that damn near eviscerated you when you first heard it was now offering you more warmth than the blankets Pietro had piled on top of you before he left.

You missed him, you realized, a small smile tugging at your lips as tears welled in your eyes. You missed him and his voice. And you hoped he’d get back soon so you could hear it again.

Pietro’s leg bounced its way into invisibility as he waited for the jet to dock. They had taken care of Ultron’s new body and the remaining robots he brought with him, as well as protected the nearby port city that the robots went to attack in an attempt to distract them. He hadn’t realized how complicated these fights could get. He almost felt bad for judging the Avengers so harshly. He probably would have if he weren’t so distracted. But he couldn’t think of anything other than returning to his printesa, his Y/N.

As soon as the jet docked and the back ramp released, Pietro darted into the building. He found you immediately, sleeping soundly on a couch, the bags under your eyes proving just how exhausting this whole ordeal had been on you. Pietro was beginning to feel the effects of it, himself, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into one of the guest beds Stark mentioned and sleep next to you all night.

Well, he wanted one thing more. He wanted to speak to you.

Pietro had never been much for words. He left the talking to his impressively dramatic sister, occasionally throwing in a few quips when he felt the need. But with you, all he wanted to do was whisper sweet nothings in your ear until the sun came up, and maybe a little longer after that.

You didn’t want that, though. He saw the reactions you’d had to his voice. It scared you, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt or scare you. So, he bit his tongue and kneeled down in front of the couch, brushing his hand along your cheek, lulling you awake. He kissed your forehead as you began to move, smirking to himself as a blissful smile graced your sleeping face.

Eventually, your (e/c) eyes revealed themselves to him, and he was struck once again by how amazing they were. He’d never bore of such beautiful eyes; he was sure of it. He just wished you felt the same about his voice.

He stood as you made a move to get up, holding out his hands to help you rise from the couch. You accepted his offer before wrapping your arms around his waist, holding him close to you as you quietly reveled in his homecoming. He responded in kind, and you thought for a moment of how secure you felt in his arms. It felt so nice, so right. Just like you were told it was supposed to.

You looked up at him.

“Pietro,” you said, ignoring the amused smile on his face as your nubile voice butchered the pronunciation of his name. “Say my name.”

He looked to you in shock, but you just smiled softly and nodded. “Say my name,” you told him once again. “Please. I want to hear your voice.”

You were practically blinded by his smile, but it would have been worth it. His hands moved to cup your face, pulling you in to a brief, heartfelt kissed.

“My (Y/N),” he spoke softly, sending shivers down your spine, “my dear (Y/N), my sweet printesa.”

You swore you’d never smiled so wide in your entire life. Nothing had ever felt so perfect, so right, as to hear him say your name. And judging by the way he gazed into your eyes, he agreed.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Clint called as a paper airplane hit Pietro square in the back of the head,” get a room!”

You bent down to pick up the plane (Pietro being too busy glaring at the grinning archer). There was writing on one of the wings.

Room 23

Code 0518

You showed Pietro the writing, watching with amusement a mischievous grin took over his face. You chuckled as he winked at you, squealing in surprise when he hoisted you off of the ground and darted out of the living area.

“Use protection!” Clint shouted after you.

A/N: It got a little silly at the end there, but I had fun! Originally, I wanted to work in more about why Ultron kidnapped Y/N (it was so she could find vibranium for him so he wouldn’t have to deal with more humans than necessary, btw), but I couldn’t find a way to work it in and it was the most relevant thing to the “””plot,””” so I let it go.

Pietro doesn’t get a lot of love, so if you like my writing style and have a request, feel free to let me know! Also, check out Benefits of Bad Luck, if you’re so inclined. It’s my multi-chapter Pietro/OC story with Stark!Daughter goodness, because I live for drama.

Thanks for reading!

[chilly-territory]

Gangsta BD4 drama translation

I did a summary of it earlier, and now this is a full script of this drama starring Nina, Nicolas and Doug with a little of Theo. The mp3 of the drama was kindly shared in fuckyeahgangsta's post.

Theo: Yeah, I want to request you to guard her for the duration of this delivery. No, it's just one place. One bodyguard is more than enough. Alright, I'm counting on you then. Nina: The equipment we additionally ordered has been delivered, so I'll put it in the storage room. Theo: Okay. Nina. Nina: Yes? Theo: Once you're done, I want you to do a delivery. For Granny Rose in District 4, her meds ran out. Looks like she will be able to visit us for an examination tomorrow, but I want you to deliver her today's share of painkillers. Nina: Understood. I'll go as soon as I'm finished. Theo: I requested a bodyguard, so take him and go. Nina: A bodyguard? Theo: District 4 is near District 6 where the recent Twilight killings took place. So this is just to be on the safe side. Unfortunately, one of the requested persons is preoccupied with a woman and can't make it, but the other should be more than enough alone. Nina: Ah, understood!

Nina: Upsie. Done! Theo: You're here. Nina: *giggles* Nico! Nic: Ah? Theo: Sorry to call you on such short notice, Benriya. Nic(signs): It's fine. Theo: Worick probably told you already, but to reiterate: I want you to guard her for this delivery. She's my invaluable nurse. If anything happens to her, there'll be hell to pay. Nic(signs): If it's a delivery, I can do by myself though? Nina: Ah, about that... The granny this delivery is for, she's, um... she doesn't handle Twilights very well, so... Theo: District 4 is Corsica's turf. It has a lot of people like Corsica himself, who have a prejudice against Tags. Well, a Tag or not, if a guy with a grim face like yours was her deliveryman, the granny's back pains would get so much worse. Nic(thinks): You're the last guy I wanna hear that from, doc. Nina: *giggles* Theo: Another thing. I want to use the afternoon for dealing with the documents that've been piling up, so don't come back until evening. Nic: *grunts* Nina(thinks): But we've got only one delivery, and it will be over fast. So it means I have his permission to play in the city, right? Hehe! Theo: Well, it's on you now. Nina: Yes, sir! Let's go, Nico!

Nina: It's been a while since I got to go out with you, Nico! Nic(signs): Has it? Nina: Yes, it has. Lately, we had an influx of visitors, so I didn't have time to go out much, and now I'm lucky! Nico, how's your injury from the other day? Nic(signs): Fine. Nina: That's good to hear! But you can't work out just yet, got it? Nic: Ugh... Nina: Nico...? You're already working out, aren't you?! Nic(signs): It's just a workout, it can't hurt. Nina: Yes, it can!!! *bumps into someone* I'm sorry! *more people bump into her* It's so crowded... Nic: *sighs* Nina: Eh, up? N-Nico? Nic: *jumps to the roofs* Nina: *yelps* Th-That surprised me. Don't jump all of a sudden... Nic(signs): It will be much faster if we go by the roofs. Hold on tight. Nina: Eh? Nic: *jumps onto the next roof with Nina screaming a little*

Nina: Please take care of yourself. We will be waiting for you tomorrow. (thinks) Good. The painkillers seem to have soothed her. Nina: Thanks for waiting, Nico. Nic(signs): Done? Nina: Yes! And I'm hungry, so let's have lunch somewhere? You know, there is a shop in District 9 that I heard about from a patient the other day, and I thought it'd be nice to visit it. If you don't mind, of course, Nico... Nico? Nic(signs): Let's go. Nina: Okay! *off they go by the roofs again*

Nina: The weather is so nice today! When we jumped earlier, the sky was so close, and it felt so good! Nic(signs): That so? Doug: Damn them! Going and using the opportunity to push the chores onto me! Nina: Doug-san? Doug: Huh? Nina: It really is you! What are you doing? Why are you holding all those bags? Doug: You're that girl from the clin--- Whoa! Why's Nicolas-san here, too?! Nic: Ah? Nina: He was helping me with a delivery. Doug: Oh, I see. Nina: I want to ask you the same question, Doug-san. Are you shopping? Doug: Something like that. The guys from the Guild said, "Go shopping for us if you have so much free time on your hands," and swamped me with requests... They just don't get what house arrest means, like, no kidding. Nina: Hahahaha. Ah, I know! We're going to have something to eat, would you like to come with us, Doug-san? Doug: Huuh? Why would I? Find someone else. Nina: I... see... Since we were lucky to run into each other, I just thought it would be nice if we could have a meal together... Doug: Well, it's not like I absolutely don't wanna go, it's just, uh... Nina: Just what? Doug: Argh, alright, I get it, I'll go, I'll come with you! Nina: Really?! Yay! Nico is happy to have you along, too! Doug: His face is clearly saying "see if I give a crap” though? Nina: Oh no, nothing of the sort! Well then, let's go!

Doug: You said earlier you were making a delivery, are you always the one handling deliveries? Nina: No, usually, we request Nico-- I mean the Benriya to handle them, but today the circumstances are a little special, so this time's request was only to guard me on the way. Doug: Hoo. That Normal mister's nowhere to be seen today. Nina: Worick-san? Ah, he has another job to take care of, right? Nic: *grunts* Nina: Huh? But the doctor said... Nic(signs): He planned to be done with his today's job before noon though. Nina: Oh. (thinks) Could it be that Theo-sensei was being considerate and arranged for me to play with Nico? Nic: *quizzical grunt* Doug: What? Is something wrong? Nina: Oh no, it's nothing! Ah, it must be that shop! I heard it has super yummy stuff! Can't wait to sample it! Doug: Huh? Wait, as far as I know the joints around here don't allow Twil--

Shop'sOwner: We don't have food to sell to Twilights! Get lost and never come back! RandomTwilight: Fuck you and your stupid joint! Go bankrupt!

Nina: Huh?! That person just now... Nic(signs): He got kicked out, evidently. Nina: Why...? Doug: I hear the joints around here don't allow Twilights. Just something of an unspoken rule though. Nina: No way... Doug: It's nothing unusual. Though I do think it's stupid. Nina: Ah, I am sorry... I didn't know it was that kind of place... Doug: Why are you apologizing? We're used to this and not really bothered by it. Nic: *sighs* *grunts* Nina: *yelps* Nico? Doug: You can just come here with the doc next time. Besides, I'm not a fan of respectable places like that anyway. Like, they're so stiff and stuff... Ah, oh! There's a line of buy&eat shops on the other side. Wanna hit those? Nina: Doug-san... Hehe. You're right.

Nina: Wow... It's like a festival! It's my first time coming here! Doug: And this is why kids are so bothersome. Nic: Hmph. Doug: You snorted! You laughed at me just now! Thinking to yourself that I’m kid-sized, too! Nic: No. Doug: Then stop with that annoying half-smirk! Nina: Ah, you two, this is a street, you know, and you're blocking the way. Come on, Nico, let's go.

Nina: It's really crowded here, would you like to hold hands too, Doug-san? Doug: For the record, I'm 21, so don't treat me like a kid, would ya. Nina: Ah, I didn't mean for it to sound that way. But if the two of us took Nico's hands on both sides, it'd look like he's our dad. Doug: HUH?! No friggin way! I absolutely don't want a father like that! Nic(signs): Spare me a kid like that, either. Nina: Really? Doug: In the first place, since Nicolas-san is so short, at best we’d look like sibl–- ow-ow-ow-ow!!! Ouch, ouch, ouch! Don't stomp on my foot, stop, it'll break! Nina: I don't have siblings, but it must be nice to have some. I wonder how it would feel to have one? Doug: I was an only child, too, so I don't really know either. Although I do have someone who’s like a big brother to me. Nina: Ah, that looks yummy! Doug: Agh, let's just buy it for starters then. Mister, gimme 3 of these! Aw damn, both my hands are occupied with the bags. Nic: *sighs* Doug: What, your treat? How generous! Nina: Spots in the resting area on the other side got vacated just now! Doug: Heh, great.

Nina: Nico, this one is yummy, too. Eh, it's hot, so if you wolf it down like that, you'll... Nic: Hm? Nina: If you're OK, then never mind, I guess. Doug: I'll have that too! *gets burnt* Nina: Hey, you need to let it cool first! Water, water. Doug: Oof, I-I'm amazed you can eat something as hot as this, Nicolas-san. Nic(signs): Is this that hot? Nina: Gosh, it's too late after you got burnt. Doug: Did you learn sign language by yourself from the scratch? Nina: Yes. I started because I wanted to talk to Nico. Doug: Seriously? Isn't it too much trouble though? There's plenty of other means, like writing, no? Nina: Mmn. I wanted to talk with the same words as Nico, so... Although there are many words I haven't learned yet. Doug: I'm an idiot, so for me it's totally impossible. Nina: N-No, that is not so, I assure you! Doug: Whoa, you startled me here. Nina: Sign language may look difficult, but there are only so many frequently used words, and once you've learned the basics, it's easy. For example, you make a chop at your right hand with the back of your left hand like with a kitchen knife, and that means "thank you". Doug: Like this? Nina: Yes! Doug: True, it's easier than I thought... Hey, what are other easy words you frequently use in daily life? Nic: Hmmmm. *thinks* Hm. Nina: Nico! You can't show the middle finger!!! Doug: Haha, that’s easy to underst—- hey wait! It’s not even sign language! Nic(signs): This comes in handy frequently though, like for provoking people.

Doug: Gah, I'm so full! Nina: I rarely get to eat out like this, so it was heaps of fun! Doug: Oh really. Good to hear. Ah? Nina: Ah. Nico, at your feet. Nic: Hm? Nina: It's badly injured. Its front leg, probably? The bleeding seems to have stopped, but the bone may be broken. But why is it so dirty...? (thinks) A Twilight's tags? Its owner's, possibly? But why? Could it be that something happened with its owner...? Doug: If it has tags, the best option is to take it to old man Chad, no? Especially if something happened to its owner. *Nina is unhappy* Doug: Don't make a face like that. Nina: It's just too sad that Twilights are discriminated against just because they're Twilights. I don't deny that there are some scary people among them, but not every Twilight is like that. Yet they're treated like it's their fault that they're Twilights Nic: *grunts* Nina: Ah, sorry for my weird ramblings. Doug: What I'm gonna say may sound cold, but this city won’t change just because you alone are crying for us. But to us, people like you are like gods. Isn’t that enough? Nina: Doug-san... Doug: Besides, you're gonna become a great doctor someday, too, no? Nina: Ah... (thinks) It’d be nice if I could. But I’m sure that I... Doug: What's wrong? Nina: Nothing. Doug-san, I thought so before, but you really are a very kind person. Doug: I-I just say what I think! I don’t try to be nice or anything... Nic: Hehehe. Doug: Don’t laugh! Nina: I'll take this little one to Chad-san. Nic(signs): I'll go with you. My job's not over until you're back at doc Theo's clinic, and if something happens to you, he'll kill me. Nina: Thank you, Nico. Doug: Okay, I'll go back to the Guild, then. They'll tell me off for fooling around on my way back too much if I'm too late. Nina: Okay! Thank you for today! Let's eat together again some time! Doug: Ehh? Well, if I feel like it. Heh!

Nina: We should go, too, Nico. Nic: *grunts* Nina: Ah, right, you know what? Alex-san came the other day to make sweets! She baked cookies, and they were so yummy! I wonder when she'll drop by again? Nic(signs): Who knows. Nina: I want to make them together with her next time. I'm practicing with the recipe she told me, so I want Alex-san to taste-test my cooking. And of course you, Nico, and Worick-san, too! Nic: *grunts* (signs) I'll let them know. Nina: *giggles* Thanks! I've got to work hard to make sure it's yummy then!

Nina: ...and then Doug-san decided not to wait until it cools and burnt his mouth! It looked painful! Theo: I see. Nina: But Nico didn't react at all, just quickly ate it all up. Theo: I see. Nina: All we did was have a meal together, but it was so much fun! I even thought that if I had siblings, it'd probably feel like that. Theo: I don't even what to imagine that. Nina: Doctor? Theo: What is it? Nina: Thank you for today. Theo: What are you talking about? Ah, more importantly, make copies of these papers. Without you, the work just keeps piling up. Nina: *giggles* Yes, sir!

[jadelotusflower]

May 2021 Roundup

Watching

Chess: The Musical - My second live theatre experience for the year, but this time with no seating restrictions. It certainly felt weird and uncomfortable to be packed into a full house again, even if everyone was wearing masks. I've never seen Chess performed, although I have watched the 2008 concert version many times. I enjoyed seeing it properly staged and sung live, even though I suspect there may have been some illness in the cast as there was issues of breath control and strained voices on occasion. Natalie Bassingthwaighte has a good pop/rock voice and she killed Nobody's Side but was just fine with the rest (including a patchy British accent). Paulini has the pipes as Svetlana, although I do wonder if she would have made a better choice for Florence. The other standout was Brittaine Shipway as The Arbiter, usually a male role but actually working much better gender flipped and having a powerful female character outside of the love triangle (and who spends almost the entire show onstage observing).

Mank (dir. David Fincher) - A love letter to old Hollywood through the eyes of Herman J Mankcovitz as he writes the screenplay for Citizen Kane and looks back on his days in the studio system. Some familiarity with that film is required, or at least the broad brushstrokes and the main players - William Randolph Hearst as the inspiration for Charles Foster Kane, the actress Marion Davies, and Welles himself (who looms as a shadow figure throughout most of the film, shot in shadow, or profile, or in costume until the climactic confrontation with Mank). Gary Oldman is somewhat miscast as Mank imo; he carries every one of his 65 years and is just not believable as a 43 year old Mank, affected with alcoholism and a broken leg though he is. Maybe it’s that Mank (as the film depicts him) is just not very interesting - we’ve seen the self destructive drunk with acerbic wit so many times there’s just nothing new in it and feels quite tiresome. He is however a fulcrum for the other more interesting characters to work around; the lens through which we see Hollywood in action. And there’s a lot going on - the ruthless duplicity of Louis B Mayer, the writers rooms at work, the rich and powerful dismissing the rise of Nazism, Hearst bankrolling a campaign against socialist Upton Sinclair. This video is worth watching dealing with some criticisms, particularly the depiction of historical events, Marion Davies, and authorship. The rest of the cast is however very good - Amanda Seyfried as Davies, Charles Dance as Hearst, Tom Burke as an uncanny Welles. It was also nice to see Robin Hood alum Sam Troughton as John Houseman!

Seyfried has been rightly praised and she is indeed the best part of the film (aside from the bizarre Brooklyn accent and the missed opportunity to give the role to an actual actress in her 40's), so much so I wish it had been entitled Marion and about her perspective of Hollywood. Because there’s still distance, we are viewing her from afar - the bird in the gilded cage - not privy to her inner world and that’s a shame, because she’s clearly the most interesting of the lot. It should come as no surprise that this film does not pass the Bechdel test, even though there clearly was An Attempt to boost the presence of the female characters. Other than Marion Davies, we have Lily Collins as the long suffering assistant Alexander, Tuppence Middleton as the long suffering wife Sarah, and Monika Gossmann as the enabling German housekeeper Freda. Variations on a theme, all revolving around and Mank and exerting little to no agency. There’s also, rather out of place, the silent women in the Paramount writers room, topless except for sparkly pasties. If it’s meant to be a comment on sexism of the time it fails, because it is just there, like window dressing, when female screenwriters did exist and are yet somehow completely absent. Also absent are the women who wielded power at the time - the gossip columnists Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons who threaded the Hollywood needle much as screenwriters did. I enjoyed the film, it’s beautifully made and the time period lovingly depicted, down to the era-appropriate framing, camera lenses, music, and of course, filmed entirely in black and white. I guess I’m just less and less interested in these kinds of stories, or at least these stories told through the same old perspective. For a different take on the Welles/Mank collaboration, check out RKO 281 (that incidentally does feature both Hedda and Louella and is on youtube in its entirety). For more of the facts, The Battle Over Citizen Kane is also a very good documentary about Hearst’s attempts to kill the film. Marion Davies is also fictionalised (earlier in her career) in The Cat’s Meow, which I have not seen for many years but remember quite enjoying. Girls5Eva (season 1) - A girl group with one hit album in the 90's reunites after a rapper samples their biggest hit - this is a fun show satirising the artifice of 90's pop as well as the current music scene, with a great cast including singing greats Sara Bareilles and Renee Elise Goldsberry, and comediennes Busy Phillips and Paula Pell (who has at least ten years on the other girls, but they hang a lantern on it, and I appreciate her plot/character in no way revolved around her size). I really enjoyed it, and am still singing the ridiculous but catchy title song with big Spice Girls/B*witched energy.

Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (season 2, episodes 5-13) - A meandering, hit and miss season overall - multiple characters introduced and given setup only to be shunted within a few episodes, plotlines picked up then pushed aside (Emily's post-partum depression that basically boiled down to "I'm on meds so I'm fine now" was particularly egregious) - I cut the show some slack because clearly covid interfered and caused a shortened season, which makes the latter half of the season exceptionally rushed. Alex Newell continues to be MVP, and his romance plot was honestly so much more compelling than Zoe's. I didn't really have a horse in the Simon/Max race, I liked both characters even if the OTP of the show was Zoe/Therapy, but while I'm happy the love triangle finally over, the speed of the back and forth really undermined the story. But I enjoyed the final twist and look forward to next season (hopefully it is renewed).

This is Us (season 5) - I don't expect much from this show other than soapy drama and emotional scenes engineered to make me cry, but is yet another reminder about why I shouldn't get attached to ships while shows are still airing. I have a soft spot for Smallville alum Justin Hartley, but Kevin's season of girlfriend's past is so damn tiresome. Maybe it's just that Madison has become my favourite character and I want the best for her, maybe it's the sloppy writing more interested in twists and turns than a compelling character arc. But hey, there's still the always excellent Sterling K Brown and Susan Kelechi Watson, and I continue to be impressed by Mandy Moore - I remember when she was a teen pop star breaking into acting and she's come so far, making all the right career choices (including pulling double duty as producer/choreographer over at Zoey's).

Reading

Mythos (Stephen Fry) - Fry's typically irreverent and witty take on the Classics (even though he is on occasion a bit twee), his focus mainly on the gods, their origin and exploits. I was a Greek mythology kid, absolutely obsessed with these stories although I never really graduated to a Greek mythology adult but rather a casual fan. It was nice to revisit this world, as many of them I had forgotten or had never known all the details (children's versions being understandably light on the rapes and grislier aspects). As Fry notes, these myths were not kindly to humanity and particularly women, which perhaps leads into the remainder of my Greek mythology reading month:

Circe (Madeline Millar)- A retelling of the Circle myth, the goddess best known for transforming Odysseus' men into pigs, and a book that I've finally got around to reading after many, many recommendations. While perhaps not all I was expecting, Millar's writing is lyrically beautiful and touches upon the nature of gods and humanity, parents and children, exile and freedom,and I enjoyed it very much.

The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood) - Another retelling, this time from the pov of Penelope. I've wanted to read this since coming across a quote ("be like water") that I used for a fic, and the novel, while very short, is typical of Atwood's masterful writing style and love of multi-layered meta. Like Circe, this does not paint Odysseus in a good light, as Penelope reflects back on her life from the Underworld, her story interspersed by the Greek Chorus of the maids butchered on Odysseus' return to Ithaca, and the story is as much a vindication for the innocent maids as Penelope.

Writing

Nothing posted this month, but words written for Against the Dying of the Light (1111), The Lady of the Lake (1006), and Here I Go Again (1390). That makes a total of 3,507 for the month and 27,469 so far this year.

[247krp]

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Im Jaebum, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I  remember seeing him with The Outsiders back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say confident and pompous? Apparently now he spends time as an inspector at Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, and keeps skeletons buried at Geumsang Apartment Complex, A104. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, The Rebel; we missed you so.

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

Jae never really fit in anywhere. He wasn’t weird or anything, he just enjoyed speaking his mind. He was a scholarship student in High School so that alone was enough of a reason for people to outcast him. It didn’t really bother him at all. He met a few friends in Highschool, people referred to them as the outsiders, how fitting. The group had its leaders but if the two weren’t so busy snogging each other all the time, jae might have actually not have to pretend he liked them. He never intended to be two-faced, but he couldn’t help it. The rest of the group were pretty tone down, and jae genuinely enjoyed hanging with them.

Of course, his high school life didn’t just slide by, Jae enjoyed creating drama, giving the rich kids something to talk about. He wasn’t just going to sit there and let them mock him. Not after hearing the things they’d say. He would always be the one putting up a fight or starting a fight with either one or all of the privileged kids. He was pretty well known for that.

Because of his feisty character, word spread quickly about the rebel. The poor admired him and the rich tried to get rid of him. But of course, he was never one who was easy to rid of, he had dirt on almost half the school, even the headmaster, which gave him an upper hand. He had his eyes and ears everywhere.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

When he finally graduated, he didn’t know what was next. He was given the opportunity to join med school but dropped out after realizing the only doctors they need in korea were plastic surgeons.

Instead, for a year,  he had worked part time jobs at convenience stores, with an average pay of $6.50 per hour and $7.00 on weekends. He stayed in a one room apartment in a shabby street. He didn’t know what he was doing with his life, but one day, a friend and him sat down in front of the tv. Like a sign, the movie that was being screened that night was Rush Hour 2.

He went and took a risk, joining the police academy. He thought this was it, his big break. But a week into his journey, he finds himself being cornered to clean the briefs of his senior with his own toothbrush. When he graduated the police academy, he was the top of his batch He started off doing paperwork of his seniors, files after files of complaints from the residence living in the area. His big break only came when he helped his senior solve a case. Going out to the field was a completely different experience for him. It was thrilling yet he was scared shitless, the hours he spent behind his textbook didn’t help at all when it came to the real life scenario.

Jae was given a promotion right after his first year for saving his senior from getting shot. After that yea, things began to look bright for him, he was assigned to cases that were big scale investigations. With word from his higher-up s  that favor him, promotions were never an issue for Jae.

Five years down the road, jae isn’t the same old police officer, he’s now an inspector who spends more time going through the goods in his lavish apartment with the criminals rather than arresting them.

Your friendly neighborhood corrupt cop is here.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

Jae was brought up in a proper family who put moral values above anything else. His parents were selfless middle waged workers who couldn’t afford to raise another child, thus him being the one and only child. Jae loved his parents a lot, they were his motivation to do well, so when he gets the opportunity to attend the prestigious high school for free, he jumped at the chance, thinking his studying finally paid off. Turns out what he sees in the phamplet and what he experiences were two completely different scenarios. If you didn’t walk around with a golden spoon stuck in your ass, you didn’t deserve to look at anyone in the eyes. That was the rule. At first, Jae listened, he never did do anything, when his seniors told him to fetch them food, he would. He’d follow them around like a dog, but the benefits of it would be knowing what they’re always talking about. But when he enters his second year, his parents got into a tragic accident which made him loose both of them in an instant. It was a terrible year for jae.

One day he overheard someone talking shit about his deceased parents and he lost it. He got into a fight for the first time in his life and got pretty bruised, but of course he wasn’t the only one. The other party’s parents came down, demanding for him to be expelled, but staying quiet for a year gave him leverage on the boy. In less than a day, the issue was dropped and Jae got away with what he did.

Jae had dirt on almost half of the school’s population, and he knew how to work his way around them, of course, he only uses this leverage when he needs to. 

This was the beginning of his rebellious streak against the rich society.

[bloggerblagger]

82) Obession. Futility. Joy.  (Late summer notes from home and abroad.)

Sitting in a café in a village called Lisle near Perigourd in the Dordogne.

Probably sounds a lot better than it is. The weather has been awful and is still very iffy. As I write I am listening to ‘Talksport’  through my laptop - I am only in this particular café because it has ‘weefee’ as they say ici.  I am glued to Jim White on transfer deadline day. Only football victims will understand why. It would be impossible for any sane person to imagine a bigger waste of the diminishing time I have left. (No, nothing to get alarmed about. Just a general observation about the eventually inevitable.)

Apparently the Ox has gone to Liverpool for sixty thousand a week more than he was offered at the Emirates. (Don’t know who the Ox is? Or think that the Emirates are somewhere near the Persian gulf? Count yourself lucky.)

It always make me smile grimly when  gaziliionaire footballer salaries are talked about in terms of  ‘wages’ of so much a week. I have a vision of one of those cashier’s offices they used to have in offices and factories where, every week, staff queued up to collect their money which was dispensed in small, top-pocket-shaped manilla envelopes through a tiny sliding window. I see hundreds of thousands of pounds stuffed into a suitcase size version of one of those, being squeezed through by some old gorgon who barks out, ‘Mbappe! Sign here.’

Time wasting, continued.

Last week,as keen readers of my Facebook page will know, I was up in Edinburgh for the Fringe.  (Not sure that ‘keen’ is really the word. Very bitter  that I am not getting the number of likes that I deserve. I’m taking it personally.)

I started off by writing potted reviews of the first few shows I’d seen, and pasting them on Facebook. As I suffer - or masochistically enjoy - take your pick - from a mild but very definite case of OCD, I was then compelled by my inner demons to finish as I’d started. So I reviewed  them all - each day’s reviews getting a little less potted than the last.  

Regardless of the degree of potting, writing these reviews was a pretty pointless  exercise, as it was the last week of the fringe. Even if someone was daft enough to take any notice of what I thought, how much use could they be when all  the final curtains were about to come down? (Not content with that, I have now taken pointlessness to whole a new level by reproducing all these reviews a few paragraphs below, a week after the Fringe finished.)

Purpose  discovered.

However what would most definitely not be pointless would be going to the Edinburgh fringe next year. This was the second year I have been and I have to report that it is a  better mood improver than any amount of Prozac. If you need a swift uptake of serotonin, go north young man/woman/non binary whatever.

Wait. I need to qualify that. It could equally be a terrible downer if you fancied yourself as a comedian, actor, dancer, singer, magician, acrobat or any other kind of performer. For, at the Edinburgh fringe, the bar is set dizzyingly high.

I was told that during the four weeks of the festival there are three thousand - THREE THOUSAND!!! - different shows to see, and if the twenty three that I saw were anything to go by, about 80% are three star good or better, and about 15-20%, five  star  stunning. The competition must be terrifying.

You will probably never have heard of the vast majority of performers and given how few opportunities there are for them to make it to the big-time - however  talented, you’d still need a supersized slice of luck - chances are you never will again. But in that in no way diminishes their genius, just the opportunity to appreciate it.

Best in show.

Of all the many delights that I witnessed, there is just one that I will single out. ‘Butt Kapinski’ is the persona adopted by an American comic called Deanna Fleyscher, and Butt is a Sam Spade-ish private eye with a sort of bendy desk-lamp  sticking out of the back of his mac and over his invisible trilby. It is the only light source in the show and the key prop in setting the scene of an impromptu film noir, the cast of which is Butt and everyone in the audience. If that doesn’t sound barmy enough, all the men in the audience are cast as women and the women as men.

Oh and Butt’s voice is another thing; sort of wildly exaggerated Noo Yoyick mixed up with a childish lisp. Why? I haven’t a clue.  Why was any of it funny? I really couldn`t say. I am someone who normally likes his comedy to make sense, to be able to trace the path of the gag, and understand  the lateral jump that allows  two and two  to make five. Butt Kapinski is anything but that. Yet I found it as LOL as LOL gets and l was not alone.  Pythonesque? Possibly but not quite. Milliganesque? In a way, I suppose. Perhaps more Marty Feldman with shades of Stanley Unwin, You have to be my age to get those references but any age will get Butt Kapinski. I really hope Deanna Fleysher is one of the happy few who does manage to break through.

Roll up, roll up.

I have a suspicion that she may be back next year at Edinburgh, because lots of these artistes travel from one Festival to another. There is a worldwide circuit apparently - Adelaide in Feb/March is another considered to be up there with the best. A little far but a lot warmer than Edinburgh.

Yes, the weather is ordinary at best, and the streets are packed -  the population is said to double during the Fringe - but Edinburgh is a magnificent city,  and worth a visit in its own right. Not that you will see that much of it, if you go for the Fringe. You’ll be dashing from play to comedian to magician to dancers to improv to musicians to acrobats and back again.

Do yourself a favour. Next year, skip the beach for a week and try a bit of funbathing in Edinburgh instead.

Five point three days at the Fringe 2017. Twenty four reviews of shows it’s too late for you to see. Plus a thrilling personal highpoint midway through Thursday that had nothing to do with anything I saw. (Skip the rest by all means but do not miss that bit.)

Tuesday.

Arrived in Edinburgh about 6pm on Monday night to see stuff from last week at the Fringe. So far seen 5 shows. If you too are up in Edinburgh, here, for what they are worth, are my potted crits. (Just my opinions - I claim nothing more.)

TWO shows get 5 stars from me and are very highly recommended. ‘Woke’ a one woman drama with the magnetic, totally convincing Apphia Campell. And the astonishing ‘Butt Kapinski’, comedy as you have never, ever seen it. (At least I hadn’t.) Completely crackers but captivating. I give 4 stars to Kai Humphreys a charming Geordie comedian with a refreshing angle on the world. And a measly 2.5 stars to Tiff Stevenson, who has been well reviewed and had some good material but she took aim at what I thought were some pretty easy targets and her relenless de-ermination to ge down with the people by omi-ing every T really eed me off. Finally a black hole to 'Would You Adam and Eve It.’ Enough said.

Four more to see tomorrow.

Wednesday.

Today saw 4 more shows.

1. 'Tutu’ - see photo - all male French comedy ballet troupe. By turns breathtakingly brilliant (the dancing) and completely incomprehensible (the comedy). But I have been to enough Club Med shows to know that what passes for humour en France est très bloody étrange. 4 stars.

2. Gavin Webster, my second Geordie comic of the week. Playing in a tiny space which wasn’t full which was a great pity because this guy deserves an audience. Great delivery and lots of good stuff with one really clever running gag that alone made it money well spent. Very nearly 5 stars and certainly 4 and a bit.

3. 'The Joni Mitchell Story’. A young woman with a beautiful voice and a dowdy dress and lank hair and no make-up and bunions on her bare feet sings Joni Mitchell songs whilst a male voice-over whining in best Estuary tells us the strange story of Joni’s early life as accompanying slides are shown above the stage. Great songs well sung, interesting tidbits, effortless - as in no effort made - presentation. I feel a bit guilty saying this because she seemed very pleasant, but honestly, music apart, it was so half arsed. Average audience age about 170. 2.5 stars.

4. 'We are Ian’. Using dance and mime and a video backdrop (and a lot of neo-gurning) three twenty something girls tell the true life tale of a Mancunian dj called Ian living through the halcyon (apparently) House Music days of 1989. (Ancient history to them and much too late for me to relate to the story.) It was as odd as it sounds and I started off wanting to hate it as I was three time as old (literally) as 95% of the audience. But in the end I was forced to admit they had something and the audience absolutely loved it, just about all bar one - me - finishing up dancing manically on stage. 4 stars.

Thursday.

Seven - SEVEN - shows today! 

1. A man sits on stage completely naked playing with his dick which he refers to as his pussy. No idea what he was on about, nor when he started prancing about giving incomprehensible little monologues as a bitter Glaswegian husband and wife (both parts) and a prancing old queen, in between further sessions of dick handling. The audience nervously tittered occasionally though I doubt they had any idea what they were laughing about. Was it art? Or was it pretentious shit?I went for the latter and left after 20 minutes. Show was called ‘This is Not Culturally Significant’ - and the title was the one thing you couldn’t argue with. No stars but another Black Hole. (Of the astronomical metaphorical variety. Happily I didn’t to stay long enough to see if the audience were ever exposed to the literally anatomical kind.)

2. Not a show but a game called 'Werewolves’, in which twenty people take part under the aegis of a ringmaster with a silvery beard and a voice so quiet I might almost have thought I was a bit mutton jeff. (I am.) The idea is that the villagers have to kill off the werewolves and vice versa. Lots of fun. 4 stars.

Just been asked for my senior’s ID at the box office! Yesss! GET IN!!!

3. A comic and a chef called George Egg cooks breakfast lunch, and dinner using DIY tools from his shed.You even get to sample the food at the end. Ingenious and jolly. 4 stars and a bit of an extra star because George comes from Brighton.

4. ’Notflix’. Six young women make an impromptu musical out of a non-musical film title that they have picked from a hat filled with suggestions from the audience. The title they got was ‘Wardogs’ which was about big biz and oil and the CIA in the Iraq war. Not promising material but they made a decent if not dazzling fist of it. 3 stars.

5.’Ben Hart’ is a magician who left me seriously impressed. At one point he took rings from three different people in the audience and rubbed them until they interlinked. How on earth was that possible unless they were trick rings that were swapped for the originals - and back again when he separated them - or the audience members were plants? Neither seemed likely but what other explanation could there be? I love a good magic show. Who doesn’t? (Well, I suppose some people don’t.) Four stars comfortably.

6. Sarah Kendall, an Aussie comedian - I presume comedienne is no longer PC - produced a cleverly structured hour which had a bit more depth and tad more polish than your average turn. She touched on some tricky family issues and some quite profound ones and smoothly managed the tonal changes required as she went from outright gag making to being thought provoking. Very nearly 5 stars.

7. Denim is a 5 person drag act. I have never quite understood the appeal of drag - Danny La Rue never did it for me. Quite liked La Cage Aux Folles but that was about it. And, in the era of LGBTQ etc when the closet door is so wide open, I wonder whether the outrageousness of drag is really necessary? Is there that much to be outraged about? Notwithstanding all that, they were brilliant singers and performers and gave rousing renditions of a lot old favourites of the ‘I will survive’ variety. 4 stars.

Friday.

Five more shows.

Should have seen ���Trashed’ first, a play that had been highly recommended to me but for which I contrived to be 6 minutes late, and was consequently refused admission. They kept me out but kept my money. Fuck them.

1. 'Not for Prophet’ a stand-up routine by half Pakistani, half Bangladeshi, ex-banker and lapsed Muslim, Eshaan Akbaar, who had a winning, easy charm but too few really good jokes to be worth more than 3 of my hard to earned stars

2. ‘These Trees the Autumn Leaves Alone’. First of two shows with blokes with long curly red hair and beards. This one was a 'story telling’, or so Curly Ginge no.1 explained. This seems to be some sort of new (or really, I suppose, a revival of a very old) niche art form in which someone reads and semi-acts out a story they have written. A sort of prose version of performance poetry. I started off wanting to hate it, not least because his occasional and rather pointless musical accompanists, a smug male guitarist and a simpering woman singer, were each, at the outset, the subjects of a declaration of love from Curly Ginge no.1, delivered without any noticeable irony. On top of that he was barefoot. However, I have to say that in the end my entirely understandable prejudices - not against red hair by the way, I am absolutely not gingerist - were overcome by the charm of his story. Three and a bit stars.

3. 'Double Feature’. Two comedians or possibly actors called Andy Gray and Grant Stott, who are apparently well known in Scotland but not to me, perform a rather stagey show in which they are supposed to be tradesmen of some sort - they wear overalls, that’s the clue - working in an old cinema being converted into flats. Having often come to this cinema when they were childhood friends they reminisce about the old days and act out passages from famous films they once saw. No, it doesn’t sound like a very good idea and it wasn’t. Not even two stars.

4. 'Letters to Morrisey’. Started off wanting to hate this too - default position of card-carrying curmudgeons comme moi - but beardy Curly Ginge no.2 (Gary McNair) gives an electrifying performance in a one man play about a boy with teenage angst and a heavily weighing secret who feels that only Morrisey (lead singer of eighties Indie band, the Smiths, if you didn’t know*) will understand. Four stars and almost five. (*Don’t be too embarrassed if you didn’t. I barely did and certainly couldn’t name a single one of their waxings.)

5.’Siblings’. Had I known more about these two girls (not quite as young as they look in the pic) I would have wanted to hate this too - bloody privileged showbiz kids grrrr - but I have only just discovered on the internet that they are Maddy and Marina Bye, real life sisters, which I would never have guessed as they look nothing like each other, and, more to the point, turn out to be Ruby Wax’s daughters. Not knowing that at the time, and as neither had curly hair and a beard, I was prepared to give them the benefit off the doubt. But even if I had been my usual misanthropic self, I would have been easily won over. They put on a completely barmy sort of sketch show, some of which made sense and was hilarious and some of which made none but which still kept the audience in fits because they radiated such good humour and effervescence. Two stars to each of them. (For the benefit of anyone under forty, get your calculator out and you’ll find that makes four.)

Saturday.

Went to twenty one shows earlier in the week - in four full days and one evening only. (Well, walked out of two, but I walked into twenty one.) Three more today, although one of them is not actually in the fringe. So that’ll be 24 in all!

1.‘Borders’. A harrowing, thought provoking, cleverly worked two handed play about the world of the refugee, unflinchingly and unsentimentally told both from the point of view of the refugee and the people behind the camera lens through which the refugee’s story is brought to us. I thought it was gripping and unsettling and I shower five stars at least upon it. However, i should say that I am possibly biased. Its author, Henry Naylor, a former comedian who, with his comedy partner of the time, once had a BBC radio show, 'Parsons and Naylor’, is someone I have thought of as a friend since he featured in a series of commercials that I *helmed for Direct Line about 200 years ago. (*Never used the word 'helmed’ before but I keep hearing it in film reviews and I rather like thinking of myself as ‘helming’ something. Sounds rather dashing, a bit Jack Aubrey.) Last year, by the way, another of Henry’s plays called ‘Angel’ played to rave reviews - and not just mine - at Edinburgh, and is finally coming to London in the very near future. if you haven’t seen it, look out for it.

2. Cirkopolis. After my conscience had been given a right old prod by ‘Borders’ it was off to the circus. Well almost. Against a dazzling, constantly evolving projected backdrop, French Canadian dance, juggling and acrobatic troupe 'Cirque Éloize’ gave a fantastic demonstration of breathtaking, body bending, gravity defying, ooh-and-aah provoking trickery and dare-devilry in a show loosely themed around Fritz Laing’s legendary silent film,’Metropolis’. All sorts of gravity defying feats but the act that really did my head in was the chap with the diabolo. (See the illustration if you, like me, didn’t know that a diabolo is called a diabolo.) Such whirling, catching, pirouetting, juggling as you have never seen. Unless you’ve seen him of course. Five stars.

3. Finally, the long slow climb to the very top and 32nd row (officially designated row FF. That’s FF as in For Fucks sake, how much further?) Up and up we climbed to the summit of the monster three sided stadium set into the side of the steep granite hill (or whatever it is) that Edinburgh Castle is built upon, there to see - along with 8,799 others - the Edinburgh Tattoo. Easy to be sniffy and cynical about it, and nobody does cynicism with more sniffiness than your reviewer, and yes, there is something faintly comical about military marching bands constantly evolving into new and ever more pointless formations as they play - columns that become circles which become windmills and then back into lines, but why? (A sort of mass group dressage but without horses.) Despite all that, and the Scottish dancing - curiously I am sure there was just one bloke amongst about sixty girls - and the corny voice over (Ken Bruce?) booming through the speakers and the guest dancers from India to mark the 70th anniversary of independence - where were the Pakistanis you might well ask? - and the nippy mid-August chill, I did, in the end, buy into it. It is a staggering feat of organisation and the music - particularly the drumming - is impressive. And when the lone piper stood way up on the castle parapet to play the final piece, I found it really quite moving. If you are going to Edinburgh you have to go. Five stars.

[patriciahaefeli]

Confessions of a Camp Convert

     I was not a “camp” kid growing up. My mother, in particular, seemed to take a kind of pride in her disdain for summer camp and the parents who sent their kids there. She liked her kids, she said. The implication, of course, was that camp was for parents who were self-centered, and just didn’t want to be bothered with those pesky children of theirs. I had friends in school that went to summer camp, and I felt vaguely sorry for them. Poor kids, I thought, their parents must not love them very much. Their parents ship them off to sleep in spider- infested cabins somewhere in the woods while they go to Europe or something. 

     The kids themselves didn’t seem to mind, but I guessed that was because they didn’t know any different. 

     No, I was not a camp kid, and I didn’t see my children becoming camp kids either. Day Camp at the Y, sure. But overnight? Not a chance. My parent’s unspoken message whispered in my ear that the very idea suggested an uncomfortable combination of privilege and self-indulgence. The working mom in me (a teacher no less – with summers off!) served up the guilt: If you don’t want them around when you can be with them, why did you have them? 

     Then, three summers ago, my oldest stepdaughter left home to start work at Camp Wingate-Kirkland in Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts, only about a half hour from our house in Cape Cod. In our brief conversations with her during that first summer, the excitement she felt about her new job, and the fondness she had for the owners and the camp itself, was palpable. When she decided to return the following summer, we agreed to head over Memorial Day weekend and see the place where she would spend the summer. She was anxious to give us a tour of “her” camp, and introduce us to the camp’s owners, Will and Sandy. 

     We drove to Camp WK early that Sunday morning. As we got out of the car, and were walking toward the entrance, Elizabeth, then 12, tugged on my sleeve. “I’m NOT going here,” she whispered fiercely. 

     “That’s fine,” I assured her. “We’re here for Alice. That’s all.” 

     A minute later, we found Alice, who promptly introduced us to her boss and camp owner, Will, who then gave us a private tour of the camp. At this point, I suspected that my husband had other ideas about why we were there, and I tried for an attitude of neutrality: If she liked it and wanted to go, fine. If not, I’d fight for her tooth and nail. No child of mine was going to be forced into a hot, dirty, lice-filled cabin for three weeks. 

     Kumbaya, my ass. 

     So yeah, about fifteen minutes into Will’s tour of the immaculate, tree-filled Camp WK, I wanted to go to camp. And it wasn’t even the lake, the pristine cabins, the variety of activities – or the fact that kids chose the ones they wanted every single day. It wasn’t the bona-fide chef who prepares the meals, the full-time medical staff, or even the camp pig. I think it was mostly the fact that for Will, this place was so clearly a calling, not a job. Owning it was a dream-come-true for him. You just can’t fake the love this guy had for this place, and the conviction he had that “magic” happened there. It was contagious. I looked around at the now quiet, sun-dappled cabins and became aware that, empty as they were Memorial Day weekend, it could have felt a little creepy. Instead, what I sensed was a kind of delicious anticipation. I could almost hear the splashing of water, the yelps and giggles spilling out of windows. My misgivings scattered like caroms. I got a little swept up. 

     Apparently, so did Elizabeth. There was another tug on my sleeve, “Can I go for the whole summer?” 

     That first summer she went for three weeks. She had never been away from home that long before, and of all our kids, this is a child who loves her home. On the long drive up, she sighed nervously from the back seat. “It’s three weeks,” I smiled comfortingly at her. “If it’s great, that’s great. If it’s terrible, it’s only three weeks of your life. It’s all good.” 

     As the “baby” of our blended family, she is an unapologetic homebody. In a family dynamic that includes step-siblings and half-siblings, she is adored by all, and the fact that she is so much younger than the rest made them more protective of her. As a result, she was pretty sheltered, and very certain that she is loved. With immense affection, we laugh often about the time when she was about seven and she said to us, “I love our house, it’s deep in the cresses.” What she meant, I think, was that to her it was a cozy sanctuary. Considering the fact that as children of divorce, all of her sisters went back and forth between our home and that of their other parents’, this meant a lot to me, but would a kid like this do well at sleep away camp? I had serious doubts. 

     By design, drop off is a fairly quick affair. We helped her get her stuff set up in her bunk, took a few pictures, and said good-bye. On the drive to the house afterwards, I allowed myself to acknowledge that when I wrapped my arms around her for that farewell picture, her little body was shaking. I fought back tears and shook my head a little, shooing away the thought. Get a grip, I told myself. It’ll be fine. Alice is there. 

     According to the Camp WK rules, it would be a week before we could talk to her. For me, it would be a long one. 

     I’ll never forget that first phone call at the end of week one. I steeled myself for the possibility of tears, maybe even pleas for us to go get her and bring her home. Instead, the voice I heard was ecstatic. Speaking to us from a wall phone in the noisy dining hall, her words came out in a rush, trying to describe everything and everyone in the brief time we had. 

     When she said she missed us at the end of the call, I had the distinct impression that she was humoring us. She was having the time of her life. 

     Three weeks later, she took the bus back to New York City, and I met her at its final stop at Grant’s Tomb on the Upper West Side. It’s a long trip, and I expected her to be exhausted, maybe even a little crabby, but even the five -hour bus ride couldn’t diminish her euphoria. Once in the car she barely took a breath as she described her new friends, her counselors, and the end-of-camp banquet. She spoke passionately about the nightly campfires, the skits, even the food. 

     At home, as I began to unpack her suitcase, I held up a tee shirt and said, “Elizabeth, all your clothes feel...wet.” 

     “Yeah,” she waved her hand dismissively. “That’s how they are all the time at camp. It’s fine.” 

     Fine??? I looked at her with astonishment. Until then, this kid’s clothing choices were based entirely on the way fabric feels and smells! (At age 3, she once told me that her beloved, and newly washed stuffed animal smelled like “hiccups”). Clothes shopping with this child could be a tactile nightmare! Suddenly, clammy clothes are fine? I stared at her. Who are you and what have you done with my child? 

     She was changed, and part of it was the happiness and pride she felt for having experienced something not just new to her, but something completely separate from us. An experience she had not merely survived, but thrived in, and from this, a unique kind of confidence had taken root. For days, she talked about it non-stop, trying to describe not just the camp, but the feeling. I think eventually she understood that she’d never be able to completely share it with us, and that was okay too. It was, quite possibly, the very first thing that was just hers. 

     Here’s a confession: I remember hovering on the verge of smug as Will described to us how transformative the camp experience is for many kids because of its philosophy of unconditional inclusion. This was a safe and accepting place; a haven of sorts, especially for kids who struggled socially, or emotionally, or physically. At Camp WK, differences are celebrated. Let your freak flag fly! Embrace your inner weirdo and be free of the pressure to conform!        

     Don’t misunderstand, I’m all for social tolerance, but the thing is, Elizabeth is not painfully shy, or socially awkward. She is not handicapped in any way, physically or emotionally. She does not, fortunately, suffer from ill-health or depression. She is, in fact, a child who makes friends easily, and has a capacity for kindness and joy that is a pleasure to watch. 

     So, bless my little heart, I think that for just a moment there, I actually wondered if Elizabeth’s particular brand of goofball might be just a teensy bit too normal and well adjusted for camp. 

     It’s okay, you can laugh. 

     Seventh grade proved to be a difficult year all around for her. There was some of the typical friend drama, and she quit soccer, a decision that she had really agonized about. She faced a tougher academic program, and then a family crisis of sorts put us all on tenterhooks. Each of us, in our own way, became keenly aware of our helplessness. For Elizabeth, this powerlessness, combined with a tendency toward perfectionism and worrying, manifested itself in migraines. When they seemed to be occurring every day, we saw a specialist. He put her on medication, and told us to keep a journal charting what she ate, the time of onset for each headache, and any other details we thought might be relevant. Both my husband and I hated giving her the meds, but watching her grab her head and sob was worse. 

     That summer, there was an unexpected opportunity for her to go to camp for about four and half weeks. She was thrilled, but it all happened kind of last minute, so I couldn’t refill her meds in time and get them up there prior to her arrival, which is the rule. I got to work on remedying that situation right away, and then the craziest thing happened. She didn’t get any migraines while she was at camp. Not. A. Single. One. 

     They post pictures on the website every day from the day before. I don’t know how they do it, but they manage to get just about each kids’ photograph every day. I poured over the photos that summer. Every day, first thing in the morning I’d log in and there she was, unplugged from Instagram, Netflix and Snapchat, doubled over laughing, clear-eyed, tanned, and completely stress-free. When we spoke, I’d ask about her head and the question would seem to throw her for a minute…Her head? Clearly she’d forgotten she even had headaches in the past. 

     Perhaps Will and Sandy were right, I thought. Camp WK did have a kind of magic. All I know for sure is that it was there that she was healed. It was there that she was able to sort of unclench; to trust the universe again and just let life happen. It was there that she began, once again, to let each day unfold, and feel that everything would be okay. She was restored to us, and Camp WK was the cure. 

      Oh, and I should mention that my husband and I got all “bad and bougie” ourselves that summer and went to Italy while she was at camp. Just the two of us. And I don’t mind saying that we had a fabulous time. So in a way, Camp WK healed us as well. 

     This year, she went for the full session. She started the “I can’t wait for camp!” refrain in January, right after she had a mini camp reunion weekend with a few of her best buds who live in Manhattan, and she kept it up until the day she left, one week after school ended. When I promised to call as soon as the first week had passed, she told me, without a hint of irony, that it would just be easier if she called us when she was able. I smiled inwardly and agreed that’d be best. 

     She’s not the only one who has developed a bit of a lax attitude about being apart from us for most of the summer. We’re moving next month, so after I taught a few weeks of summer school, my husband and I got seriously busy packing up seventeen years and five kids worth of house. Still, I feel a little guilty; it took me almost a week and a half after she left to check the pictures. 

    At this point, however, I knew what I’d see: A kid in her “happy place.” A kid wearing a big sumo wrestler outfit laughing out loud, or playing tennis with American flags painted on her cheeks for 4th of July. There’s one with her eyes as wide as her grin as she navigates a ropes course, and another where her face is bathed in the orange glow of a sunset, wearing an expression that can only be described as serene. 

    Mostly, I think, they show a kid with her arms thrown affectionately around the shoulders of other kids. Kids from other states and other countries, who otherwise would never get to know one another. Kids who leave camp to get chemo treatments and come back (and are better this year!), kids from families who live lives of privilege and kids whose do not. Kids who cope with everything from disabilities and stress, to peer pressure and academic competition. Kids whose friendships are somehow more profound than any others, and will probably endure longer than any others. 

     Kids for whom this is most likely the only place and time on earth where they plan their entire day, every day. Where it’s safe to try new things and to suck at them too. Where they accept one another, and support one another through the fears and insecurity and the gracelessness of puberty. Where the coolest thing you can be, is yourself. 

      A place where the most awkward years of their lives are made beautiful. 

      A place of magic.