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kjmsupremacist · 3 years ago

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baby, you’re my angel (chan/felix)

Mildly popular TikTok songwriter Felix meets Chan, famous on TikTok for his music and music reviews. They bond over their common ground, friendship blossoming easy and sweet. There’s two problems. One: Felix thinks he likes Chan more than just as friends. Two: Chan is almost fifteen years his senior.

Chapter 7 | prev next mlist

Characters: Felix, Chan, the rest of skz

Genre: college au, romance, fluff, smut, angst

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: swearing, age gap, smut, daddy kink, minor (offscreen) character death mention

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5.6k

just a friendly reminder that i dont condone age gap in real life, this is just fiction, im just having fun, etc :)

“Ready?” Felix looks up; Chan is fixing one of the lights, facing away from him.

“Yeah,” Felix replies, zoning back into the screen in front of him, sitting up a little straighter in the chair. It’s Saturday, and they’re in Chan’s studio. Chan had planned to do a live while he worked, but since he and Felix are putting a song together, they figured it would be nice to do the stream together.

Chan sits down in the chair beside him, turning towards him with a grin. “Then we’ll start.”

He hits the button and the chat fills immediately. Felix sees a lot of hearts, a lot of question marks, and a lot of capslock. He squints to read a few comments.

“Hey guys!” Chan greets. Felix looks up at camera and waves quickly, smiling. “Felix and I figured we’d sit with you today as we work on our new song. We’ve actually got a couple in the works, but we’ll just be focusing on one today so that we don’t spoil everything.”

“His idea, not mine,” Felix says cheerfully. “Let’s see… ‘Where are you guys, the background looks different?’ Chan, you haven’t filmed in the studio?”

Chan shakes his head. “Somehow all my videos have been at home,” he says, shrugging. “But, you know, we’re here now. Welcome to my studio!” He raises his arms up, looking around happily. “I’m renting it while I’m here in Sydney. I have some friends here, and they were able to reserve me a spot, which I’m really grateful for. So yes, hi new studio!” He waves at the empty room before turning back to camera. “What else? Oh, I’m sure some of you have already seen it, but we’ve both been invited to VidCon Australia once again, so for those of you who are attending, we’ll see you this summer.”

“Someone said, ‘Felix too?’ Excuse me,” Felix says, laughing. “I was there last year, too! I may not be as popular as Chan here, but I get views!”

“Before Felix gets too excited, why don’t we get to work?” Chan says lightly. Felix gives him a look and Chan laughs. “I know, but I’d like us to get something done today.”

“Fine, fine.” Felix settles back in his chair, pulling up his notes app so he can start offering up lyrics.

They work for a couple of hours, pausing to chat with the viewers. Felix gets to show off how much he’s learned when it’s Chan’s turn to record, consulting them when he’s giving critiques and walking them through some of the basics. By the time they say goodbye and end the live, Felix has a bunch of notifications from new followers.

“You’re staying tonight, right?” Chan asks as they pack up.

“Unless that’s inconvenient,” Felix replies.

“Of course it’s not.” Chan smiles at him. “What do you want for dinner?”

Felix smiles, too. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

“We could cook,” Chan says. “But… I’m feeling lazy, and I kind of want something shitty and unhealthy.”

“Oh, yes please,” Felix agrees, laughing.

“Hungry Jack’s?” Chan asks, reaching for his phone. “Or Macca’s?”

“Mm, I don’t want burgers, though,” Felix says. “Guzman y Gomez?”

“Ooh, good by me,” Chan says. “Let’s order ahead so we can just pick it up on the way home.”

A half hour later sees them sat at Chan’s kitchen table, laughing into their burritos. Felix watches Chan fondly, tracing his gaze over the whiskers that form under his eyes when he smiles really big.

“I have a distinct memory,” Chan says, “of eating this shit when I was a kid, and I made my sister laugh so hard she shot a whole black bean out of her nose. I think the three of us almost died, we thought it was so funny. Like, my little brother cried he was laughing so hard. My parents couldn’t even be mad, even though the bean landed in one of the containers of guac.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Hannah swears to this day that her left nostril hasn’t been the same since.”

Felix exhales incredulous laughter. “I thought that only happened in cartoons,” he says.

“Nope, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” Chan says. “I can still picture it, arcing perfectly over her plate and the chip bowl.”

“That’s incredible,” Felix says earnestly. There’s that pang of strange curiosity again. He wants to know more about Chan; he wants to know everything. “What are your siblings like?” he asks.

Chan grins. “Pain in my ass, both of them,” he says. “But I love ‘em, you know? Hannah is seven years younger than me, Lucas is nine years younger. They were both born a few years after we moved here. I think I used to harbor a certain hatred for them because I’d gotten used to being the only one. But I think I probably would’ve been lonely without them, too.” He shrugs. “I like to say I was the rough draft. Which isn’t to say, like—I’ve got a really great life, you know, I get to make a living doing what I love, and I’ve been quite successful. But like—Hannah works as a choreographer for a big entertainment company in Seoul, and Lucas is actually in his last year of med school right now; he went to the States for university. He’s going into his residency this coming August.” Chan spreads his hands. “My parents have a lot to be proud of.”

“They definitely do.” Felix nods, thinking about his own siblings. Soon, that’ll be their lives, too—spread out across the world when they used to share a bathroom and fight over the TV remote. “Do you… still talk to them?” he ventures. He imagines little Chan, aged seven, eight, nine, an immigrant and the child of immigrants, watching jealously as his younger siblings steal attention that was once his. He imagines him a little older, walking between two faceless toddlers, holding their hands. It makes his heart wilt with tenderness in his chest.

“Sometimes,” Chan says, nodding. “It’s hard, because we’re in wildly different time zones, but I did call Hannah a couple days ago, actually.”

“I bet me and Hannah would get on well,” Felix says, laughing. “Middle child solidarity. She can tell me all your embarrassing secrets.”

“I’ll just ask Rachel about yours to get you back, then,” Chan says, chuckling.

Their laughter dies quickly, the reality of it leaving a heavy cloud hanging in the air between them. They won’t meet each other’s families, at least not like that. Felix will never ask Hannah to relay cringey stories from their childhood. That sort of interaction is reserved for significant others; Chan is supposed to be his friend, and maybe his mentor. Nothing else. And if either of their families found out, it would all be ruined. Their families would be furious, Felix’s especially. And the worst part is, they’d be right.

“Anyway,” Felix says after a moment, “I don’t think you should call yourself a rough draft. Did your siblings get invited to VidCon? I don’t think so.”

Chan laughs. “I know. But my life is a little silly, I think, in comparison to theirs.”

“You’re still making a living, and you’re still happy, right?” Felix asks. Chan nods. “So there’s nothing silly about it.” He takes the last bite of his burrito. “You’re living a lot of people’s dream, I think.”

Chan nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he says, looking at Felix with an intense and unreadable sort of expression. “Thank you,” he says. “Really.”

Felix smiles back. “I mean, it’s true,” he replies with a dramatic little hand flourish.

They’re both a little tired, or maybe just worn down from the mental gymnastics of that conversation, so the rest of dinner is relatively quiet. They shower together once they’re done, exchanging gentle kisses, and then start working their way towards bed. Chan lingers behind in the bathroom to pee, and Felix sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him while he towels off his hair.

His gaze falls on the book, lying face-down and open, on Chan’s bedside table. The spine is cracking a little, and Felix sighs. He’s been trying to get Chan to use bookmarks, even if it’s just a random piece of paper or an old receipt. He sees a blank piece of paper on the table beside it and smiles; clearly, Chan was trying, but must have forgotten the last time he put the book down. Felix picks up the book, carefully slotting a finger between the pages to keep Chan’s place, and then plucks up the paper.

Only it’s not paper. It’s a photograph. Felix lowers the book back down the way he found it, feeling the smooth face of the photograph with his fingertips. He wonders too late if it’s personal; he flips it over, and there is Chan, looking much younger, in a full suit and tie. Next to him is a beautiful woman that Felix doesn’t recognize. She’s wearing a wedding dress. Chan is kissing her cheek.

Cold fear washes over Felix’s skin and makes it prickle; confusion swirls in his stomach until he feels like he’s on a boat lost at storm. There has to be some explanation—why Chan hasn’t mentioned her, why he still has the photo, why, why, why—right? It can’t be what it looks like, because if it’s what it looks like—Felix feels sick. Fucking a guy so much older than him was one thing, but one who’s married? That’s a different story altogether.

“Lix?” Felix realizes he’s just been sitting there, frozen in shock. He feels the bed dip behind him. “What’re y—oh.”

Felix turns, praying his voice will remain steady, trying to keep his tone quiet and conversational, even though all he wants to do is scream. He holds up the photo. “Who’s this?” he asks. It comes out hoarse, almost a whisper.

“Ah…” Chan settles onto the mattress, crossing his legs in front of him. “I knew I’d have to bring it up eventually. I just—didn’t know how.”

“Tell me it’s not what I’m worried it is,” Felix begs.

“It’s not,” Chan says immediately. He holds his hand out for the photo; Felix gives it to him. He doesn’t miss the way Chan looks at it, warm and full of love, and around that, smothering like a heavy blanket, sadness. “This… this is Sana. My late wife.”

Felix’s heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach, as his fear and anger dissipates, only to be replaced with guilt and sympathy. “Oh,” he manages. “I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says. He’s still looking at the photograph, at Sana. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you—a while ago.” He sighs, big and deep. “She… she was a year older than me. We met when we were teenagers. We were in the same maths class, and we hated it so much. I asked her out during her last year of school, and we stayed together through university. Once we were out of school and had stable jobs, we moved in together, and then I proposed. She said yes.

“She passed away when she was twenty-seven, and I was twenty-six. We’d only been married about two years. She… had a genetic blood disorder that increases the chance of clots, and we just—we didn’t know. We didn’t know, and she had a stroke, and that was it.” Chan looks up, and his eyes are glassy with tears. “It happened during the day. I was at work; I had a shitty little desk job back then. She was staying home that day because she’d been feeling under the weather. She was just—she woke up headachy and dizzy. We thought it was just a weird day, or maybe a cold. When I came home, she was already gone.”

“Chan.” Felix doesn’t know what to say. He offers him his hand, and Chan takes it. “I’m so sorry.”

Chan shrugs. “I mean, there was nothing we could’ve done. It was just—just bad luck.” He squeezes Felix’s hand. “She was the love of my life, you know? And I miss her, every day. I thought, when she died, that I would never be happy again. I definitely thought I’d never be close to anyone ever again. I thought that was it.”

He tilts his head. “But then you came along. And you know—the first video of yours I saw was your cover of Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, which I know you mostly covered because it was popular on TikTok, but—that was her favorite song. And I guess it was like, I don’t know, I felt like she was telling me I had to live again. At first, I thought it was just a sweet coincidence, that someone who had a shared background happened to be the one to cover that song, but now—I don’t know. It means a little more, I guess.”

Felix’s brows crumple, despite how hard he’s fighting to keep a straight face. It’s Chan’s pain, not his, but it touches him all the same. “That’s really sweet,” he says.

Chan smiles. He sets the picture aside, and then turns back to Felix. “It’s kind of dumb is what it is,” he says. “It’s been almost ten years. I mean, it took me like five years before I felt like I could smile again and mean it. I even—I mean, it was bad for a while, you know? But I had to stay. Lucas was only seventeen, he was still in high school. It’s just that I was so young. I wish I had been able to move on sooner, but I—I just couldn’t.”

Felix frowns. “You were so young, and you experienced something no one, especially at that age, should ever experience,” he points out. “It’s not your fault.”

Chan nods. “Yeah.” He pauses. “Anyway, I think this is all to say, thank you. Because even though I found a way to be happy again, and even though I was content, I didn’t think I’d ever have anyone in my life again in this kind of capacity. No matter how… unconventional or brief. But then there was you. It’s easier now, with you here. And even on nights when I’m alone, it’s easier just knowing that somewhere, you exist. You’ve shown me that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life lonely. So thank you.”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” Felix mutters, embarrassed, and Chan laughs brightly and pulls him in for a hug.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s the best part.” He sighs. “Grief is weird like that. One second, you’re sure that you’ve made all the progress you can make, and the next—something’s changed again, without anyone meaning it to, without your permission. Things get better on their own accord.” He huffs out a small breath of laughter. “I guess that’s why hope exists, right?”

“Yeah.” Felix holds onto him tight. He feels so stupid now; all his worries are trivial in the face of a heartbreak like this. How could he ever bring up his little troubles to Chan, knowing he’s gone through something like this? Felix doesn’t get to ask Chan to flip his entire life on its head just for him. He doesn’t get to ask Chan for anything. “Sorry for—snooping, I really didn’t mean to. I was—I thought you were using it as a bookmark, only you left your book open…”

Chan laughs. “Oh, it’s alright. You didn’t do it on purpose. It’s not like you went digging through my drawers or something.” He pulls back, reaching up to push some hair off of Felix’s forehead. “And even if you did, I don’t think it would matter. This was the only big secret I was keeping. I don’t have anything left to hide.”

Except me, Felix thinks. You don’t have anything left to hide, except for me.

☼ ☼ ☼

Felix wakes first the next morning. He looks over at Chan, limbs flung haphazardly across the bed, hair messy and all curly from drying overnight, outlines of his features barely visible in the low light. He pushes himself up out of bed and pads, shivering, across the hardwood to the bathroom. The weather is getting colder, and even though Chan’s building has heat, it’s like his bones can feel it, even when he’s indoors.

Maybe I’m getting old, Felix thinks as he flushes the toilet and washes his hands. It makes him giggle.

When he returns to bed, Chan is stirring. His eyes find Felix as he settles back under the covers. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Felix replies.

Chan reaches up to cup Felix’s jaw, stroking his thumb over his skin. “Sorry,” he says, “for not telling you about Sana sooner. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Felix shakes his head. “It’s alright. It’s hard to talk about.” Chan hums. “I do have a question, though.”

“Sure.”

“If you… if you started dating Sana when you were still a teenager, then did you ever, um, with another guy? Before me?” Felix feels clumsy. It’s not that he’s questioning Chan’s choices or his identity, it’s more just that Chan seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing in bed, and Felix doesn’t think any amount of porn can teach you that. And he’s not really sure how to ask Chan how do you fuck so good without being rude.

Chan laughs. “I had a very not-serious boyfriend when I was a little younger,” he says. “And then, I don’t know, a few years ago I tried putting myself back into the dating scene. I dated anyone I was interested in—gender isn’t really a factor for me—but never for long. There was no connection, and always the looming pressure of commitment, you know? Dating over thirty gets scary. Everyone wants a ring, and I was just trying to figure things out. It wasn’t worth it, so I stopped.”

“Oh,” Felix says, nodding. “I mean—not that it matters to me. I was just curious, ‘cuz, um, you seem like you’ve had practice.”

Chan laughs again, this time loud and with his whole body. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

“Mm,” Felix agrees, grinning. He leans close to kiss Chan, quick and chaste. “Hey, do you have all the stuff for your Hard Conversation Breakfast? I think we deserve a reward for the hard conversations we’ve had.”

“I think I do,” Chan says, nodding. “And I completely agree.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. “And so does my tummy,” he adds, giggling. “C’mon, let’s see what we can find.”

Felix makes their coffee while Chan cooks (near-black for Chan, and lots of sugar and cream for Felix). He watches Chan out of the corner of his eye as he waits for the water to boil. Things make more sense now—why Chan seems so solitary, why it felt like Felix didn’t quite understand him. But he understands him now, or at least he’s pretty sure. There’s an ache sitting heavy in his chest, one he doesn’t know how to name. It’s like wanting, and it’s also like despair. And mixed in, without his permission, is hope.

Oh god, Felix thinks, the realization hitting him so hard that he nearly stumbles on his way to retrieving their mugs, oh god. I’m in love.

He clenches his jaw as he pours the coffee, trying to focus on not spilling. But inside, his mind rages. There’s the sweet euphoria that comes with all loves, certainly, but it’s drowned by his fear and the knowing that Chan could never love him back.

He wishes he’d thought of it later, later today after Chan drops him off, where he can lay it all out and process it in peace. As it is, all he can do is try to hide how bad his hands are shaking as he carries their full coffee mugs to the table, as he pulls out utensils and lays them out in front of their seats, as he turns and asks, “Need any help?”

Chan flashes him a glance, smiling gratefully. “No, thank you,” he says, and Felix aches.

As much as he tries to act normal, there’s not much Felix can do against his own heart. I love you, he thinks, watching Chan cut his sausages into bite-sized pieces before handing his plate over. I love you, he thinks as Chan slides into his chair and gives a happy sigh at the sight of his coffee. I love you. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Chan will understand.

“This is perfect,” Chan says, gesturing at the coffee cup. “You know me well.”

Felix smiles. I love you. “I’d hope so,” he says. “I’m glad I got it right.”

“So what’s our plan for today?” Chan asks.

Felix shrugs. “Feels like a good day to spend doing nothing.”

“I agree completely,” Chan says, nodding. “Want to find a shitty drama to watch?”

“Oh, I meant nothing like go right back to bed after we eat,” Felix says.

Chan regards him suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “Sounds like you do have an agenda after all.”

Felix offers him a sly smile. “Maybe. Or we can just cuddle, I’m flexible.” And he’s not just saying it to be cute—he just wants to be close to Chan. He doesn’t really care in what way.

But Chan just laughs. “Nah, you know what they say about great minds thinking alike and all that,” he says. “So I say fuck and then cuddle. We can have it all. Hm?”

“Yeah,” Felix giggles, chasing a piece of egg around his plate with his fork.

So they leave their dishes in the sink and do exactly that. Felix snuggles down under the blankets as Chan runs to the bathroom and gets a couple other things in order. He flops down into bed beside Felix a few moments later, leaning close and pressing kisses to Felix’s jaw.

It’s almost unbearable. Felix breathes him in, the earthy vanilla that is Chan to him now, running his fingers over the strong muscles of his arms, tucking his chin in a little so Chan has no choice but to kiss him on the mouth instead. And Chan kisses him. And Felix aches.

“Baby, you’re hurting me,” Chan whispers, shaking his arm, and Felix realizes he’s dug his fingers in, so hard he can barely feel his fingertips—clinging, without meaning to, because he doesn’t want to let him go.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles, releasing him quickly. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” Chan soothes. “You want me close is all. I can do close.” He kisses Felix’s forehead, wrapping one of his arms around Felix’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s not true, Felix wants to say. But instead he lets Chan smother him in kisses, give him so much affection he’s drowning in it. It doesn’t matter. Felix doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough. He throws an arm over Chan’s shoulder, scratching lightly down his back while Chan bites a hickey into his chest. He’s got one of his legs slung over both of Felix’s.

“Chan,” Felix says breathlessly. “Oh my god, Chan.”

Chan untangles their limbs, pushes himself up and on top of Felix, spreading his legs so he can sit between them. He smooths his hands down Felix’s stomach, taking the hem of his t-shirt in his hands and pulling up. Felix helps, sitting up a little so Chan can undress him. Next go his shorts and underwear. Chan makes it fair; he tugs his own shirt off next, along with his sweats and underwear, and then they’re both naked, skin brushing skin. Felix looks at Chan, watches him as he runs a hand down his thigh, watches as he looks up, sees Felix looking, and smiles.

“Toss me the lube?” he asks, nodding at the bottle that he left by his pillow.

Felix scrabbles around for it, tossing it underhand to Chan, who catches it easily. Chan pops the lid, lubing up his fingers and then pressing one to Felix’s entrance. He bends over Felix’s body, pressing gentle kisses to his stomach as he pushes his finger in. He looks up at Felix as he moves his finger, slow so Felix doesn’t get overwhelmed too quickly. Felix runs his hand through Chan’s hair, fingers getting tangled in his soft curls. Chan hums, closing his eyes and leaning into Felix’s touch.

Something feels different, and Felix isn’t sure that it’s all in his head. Chan rests his cheek against his stomach and fucks first one finger, then two, then three, in and out of Felix, stretching him with practiced hands. It’s almost the same, but the air feels different. There’s something heavier, more fragile, resting between them. Chan uses his free hand to trace random patterns into Felix’s skin. The intimacy of the mundane seems dizzying.

Chan rearranges himself, folding in half and mouthing at the head of Felix’s cock. Felix’s grip tightens in Chan’s hair, and Chan takes this as the go-ahead that it is, sinking down on Felix’s cock while he crams his pinky finger in beside the other three. Felix gasps and moans and tries not to buck his hips up into Chan’s mouth, trembling when Chan finds his prostate.

As soon as he knows he’s loose enough to take Chan’s cock, he’s pushing Chan away. “Fuck, stop, stop, or I’ll come,” he pants. “I don’t wanna come yet, stop.”

Chan acquiesces, releasing him and sitting back on his heels, searching for the lube bottle, which has gotten lost in the crumpled mound of the duvet. “Could just make you come again,” he points out, but Felix shakes his head.

“Too sleepy for that,” he replies, and Chan nods.

So Chan slicks up his cock instead and eases himself into Felix, all the way until he bottoms out and their bodies are pressed flush to one another. Chan spreads his legs so that he has a knee on either side of Felix’s ass; Felix tucks his knees up and locks his ankles behind Chan’s back as Chan tips forward and settles himself right on top of Felix, nose against his neck and one hand cradling the back of his skull. Felix lets out a soft moan, one of his hands finding Chan’s cheek.

“Good?” Chan asks.

“Good,” Felix replies dreamily.

Chan rolls his hips, one slow, fluid motion and Felix shakes, pleasure washing over his body, making his skin hot and his eyes sting with unshed tears. Chan’s deep inside him, and all Felix can do is stutter out moans as Chan continues to fuck him just like that.

Chan lifts his head up a little so he can kiss Felix properly, and Felix takes his jaw with both hands and holds him there, kissing hungrily, whining into Chan’s mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” Chan murmurs, knocking their foreheads together as they break apart for a moment. “So eager today, what is it?”

“Want you, daddy,” Felix replies plaintively. “I always want you.”

“But I’m right here,” Chan says. “You already have me.”

“I know,” Felix whispers, and kisses him again before he can say something stupid, like it’s not enough, or I want you but not like this, or I want you in ways I’m not supposed to want you, that I never meant to want you, I love you and I want you to love me too—all true, all damning. Because that’s the thing, the instant this becomes anything more than hooking up, it’s over. And Felix doesn’t want it to be over; he doesn’t want it to ever be over, he wants to keep pretending that it’ll last because he doesn’t know what he’ll do when this is gone.

I love you, he thinks as he kisses Chan fiercely, messy and hot. Chan lets him, just keeps fucking him like that, circling his hips until Felix’s brain slows down, until he doesn’t have to think about any of it any more because he can’t, doesn’t have the space to.

The sun is rising higher in the sky behind the blackout curtains, casting blinding lines of light across the floor and the bed where there are cracks. The room is warm and full with its quietness. Chan holds Felix close to his body, even when they get sweaty, even when Felix’s cock smears precome across his belly.

“Baby,” Chan breathes. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Daddy,” Felix whimpers back. Even just a month or two ago, he would have laughed at the idea that slow, lazy sex would get him like this, would make him feel anything other than a little bored. The Felix from January would have rolled his eyes at the thought.

But so much has changed since then.

Chan gives him another kiss on his jaw, and then pushes himself up a little so that he has more room to move. He reaches down for Felix’s cock; Felix shivers when he takes it in his hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and speeding up little by little, then back down again so Felix doesn’t get overstimulated. It’s so good—Chan knows his body so well now, knows the signs that it's starting to turn from pleasure to discomfort, and relents, waiting for him to settle back down into the mattress before picking up the pace again.

“Beautiful, baby,” Chan says softly, and Felix chokes out a moan. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I—I’m—” Felix tries, he tries to speak, but it’s hard when Chan is lulling him to a sort of lust-filled stupor. “Daddy, ‘m gonna come.” It comes out unsteady, syllables just barely fitting in around his breath.

Chan thumbs at his slit in response with a smile. It’s not as sharp as Felix thinks he meant it to be, the only thing that betrays his fatigue. “Gonna come?” he repeats. “Lemme see, baby.”

Felix gasps, rocking his hips up into Chan’s fist, and comes with a little whimper, watching helplessly as his cock spills his sticky white release over Chan’s pretty fingers, dripping down onto his stomach and mixing with the glistening pool of precome that had gathered there. Chan toys with his slit again, and has the audacity to laugh when the pressure makes some of it shoot up Felix’s chest.

“Like you’re squirting,” Chan murmurs, clearly pleased. Felix only moans shakily as his orgasm subsides and leaves him feeling weak and punched-out, limbs uncooperative and unstable.

Now Chan leans in again, even though Felix is messy. He presses his tongue to a drop of come on Felix’s chest, and cleans him up like that while he fucks him, harder now as he chases his own release. His lips and tongue feel so good against Felix’s skin that it almost distracts him from the slight discomfort of overstimulation.

“Daddy,” Felix slurs, toes curling from the way Chan’s still hitting his prostate. “Daddy, daddy, hurts.”

“I’ll be quick,” Chan forces out, muffled against Felix’s chest, “I promise—”

Felix lets out a soft surprised noise as he feels Chan’s cock twitch inside him, flooding him with wet heat. Chan gasps out moans, pumping his cock in and out shallowly as he rides out his orgasm, breath hot on Felix’s skin.

Chan pulls out as soon as he’s done, dropping his full body weight onto Felix, which Felix doesn’t really mind. He does mind the fact that he can feel Chan’s come leaking out of him, but that can wait, too, he supposes.

Still, he says, “Your sheets are gonna stain.”

Chan huffs. “I have stain remover for a reason.”

It’s a pretty fair argument, so Felix just hums and wraps his arms around Chan, rubbing his back.

“You’re right, though,” Chan says after a moment. “This isn’t going to be comfortable for much longer.”

He pushes himself up and off of Felix, clambering to his feet and offering Felix a hand to help him up, too. They strip the bed; Chan takes it to the laundry machine while Felix goes to clean himself up.

By the time he’s emerged from the bathroom again, Chan is already almost done putting down fresh sheets. He’s fluffing the pillows, and the crease between his brows betrays him—he’s lost in thought about something. Felix can probably guess what.

And for one moment, Felix looks at Chan and sees him in a new sort of light: thirty-five year old Teacher Bang, a melancholy widower who makes music because it’s what keeps him alive. Who’s still around looking for a reason to stay because he doesn’t have anything else, because he stayed so his little brother wouldn’t lose him, and then by the time his brother wasn’t so little anymore, it had already become a habit. Who is kind and friendly by nature, but incredibly lonely because he doesn’t know how to do anything about it.

But then he turns, and catches sight of Felix, and he becomes Felix’s Chan again, his Channie-hyung. The years melt off of his face at the hint of his smile, growing when Felix smiles back. The hope shines in his eyes, bringing with it a bright warmth. And all those other things are still there, under the surface, but they’re not him. They’re just a part of him.

“What?” Chan asks softly, and Felix realizes he’s rooted to the spot, one step out of the bathroom, staring.

I love you, Felix thinks. “Nothing,” he says instead, forcing himself to move, to walk to the bed and help button up the duvet cover.

“Okay.” Chan accepts it with a shrug, giving him a kiss on the forehead when he’s close enough to reach. He scoots down under the covers and holds out his arms to Felix. And Felix aches.

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togglesbloggle · 4 years ago

Text

How We Decided

The day after tomorrow- that is, February 18, 2021- the Perseverance rover will attempt to land on the surface of Mars. It will enter the planetary atmosphere at an acute angle, giving it as much time as possible to experience drag and slow down from orbital velocities. Because Mars’ air is so thin, and the rover is so heavy, this will fail- in the best case, Perseverance would still be going almost a thousand miles an hour when it impacts the surface. To help save itself, the craft will deploy a parachute of advanced design, seventy feet across and able to withstand supersonic velocities. This, too, will fail. Even with a parachute, there is simply not enough air between Perseverance and the Martian surface to slow it down all the way. So this is where the rockets kick in. Once air resistance slows the rover to a bit less than two hundred miles per hour, the heavy heat shield will be jettisoned, and a system of secondary rockets will fire against the direction of motion until it slows to near-hovering. In a final flourish, the rover will descend from the rocket-boosted frame on coiled springs, until it touches down in the western part of Jezero crater in the northern hemisphere of Mars.

As it happens, Perseverance’s destination was one of the very last things we decided about it- not until the craft itself was fairly thoroughly engineered and designed. Formally, the decision was made by the mission directorate. In practice, they follow the consensus of the scientific community, which in turn hashes things out at a series of open-invitation workshops. Things began with a call for white papers- an open suggestion box, basically. In 2015, the first workshop narrowed things down from thirty serious proposals to eight candidates. In 2017, the second workshop further winnowed the list down to three. And in October of 2018, after three days of presentation, debate, and discussion, the final workshop selected Jezero Crater from these final three candidates using a simple vote of all attendees, and passed on the recommendation to the mission leads.

I haven’t been in the business for very long, so the final workshop was the only one of these where I actually participated. It wasn’t a close vote as such, and I didn’t break any ties, and technically we were just making a strongly worded suggestion. Nonetheless, my vote is one of the reasons why the Rover will be going to Jezero Crater instead of Syrtis Major or Gusev, and I think I’m entitled to feel ownership of this mission choice, just a little bit.

(This is, of course, terrifying.)

Having gone through the experience, there were a few surprises worth noting. The first was how small some of the numbers are here. The conference was not very large: only thirty proposals, debated by just a few hundred attendees. I’ve seen book review contests with more entries, and that are read by a wider audience. Which is to say, this is a situation that was, and is, extremely responsive to individual effort. In that small a room, populated by people that are philosophically committed to changing their minds when they see good evidence or a good argument, one person can stand up and change the future in a very real way.

The second surprise was the attendance requirements. Or rather, the lack thereof. The project is public, paid for by American taxpayers, to whom I am profoundly grateful. And one way the process reflected that public-spiritedness is that this is not a walled garden. A small attendance fee (iirc, $40?), and you’re in. You get a vote, if you want to use it. A few non-scientists even took us up on this; there’s one retiree (a former schoolteacher, I think) that’s attended every major conference I’ve been to in the last few years, and sets up a small table in the back with his home mineral collection just for fun. In practice this open-door policy is limited by the obscurity of the event itself; if you don’t move in research circles, you have to be something of a space exploration superfan to hear about it. Still, as symbols go, you could do worse.

And now that we’re coming up on the day itself, the same kind of public-facing mindset is making me think about why I was persuaded to vote for Jezero Crater, what it means to explore there, and how I’d justify that choice to those of you that made the ongoing discovery of Mars possible in the first place.

If you want to know what Perseverance is like, and what you can reasonably do with it, start with Curiosity- the two are built, more or less, on the same chassis. That means you have a mobile science lab about the size of a Volkswagon Beetle. Add some mechanical improvements (no more wheel punctures!) and a few bells and whistles (microphone! helicopter for some reason!). Trade out some of the scientific instruments- raman spectroscopy instead of a mass spectrometer, for example. And it’s got these:

That, dear reader, is a sample return canister. Not to be returned immediately, alas, but to be returned nonetheless. One of Persevereance’s primary directives is to find interesting rocks, collect them, and leave them in place for a sample return mission in the early 30s. There’s a ton of work we can do in situ, but there’s even more we can do in a clean lab back home; things like isotopic analysis really need a much more controlled environment than you’ll get in the field. And so a major, major consideration is to optimize Perseverance’s landing site for cool rocks that we’d like to take back home.

The other thing that Perseverance is really good at is astrobiology. There’s no such thing as a life sign detector as such, but this rover represents an attempt to approach that ideal: instruments like SHERLOC and SuperCam are adept at finding organic compounds and fine-scale mineralogy and chemistry that might be influenced by microbial metabolism. This is a natural extension of what we’ve been learning so far: Spirit and Opportunity showed us that Mars formed under the influence of liquid water. Curiosity showed us that this was not just wet, but actively habitable: lakes and rivers at a neutral pH under a rich and temperate atmosphere. The next question along this line is the hardest, and the scariest: we know it was habitable, but was it inhabited?

If you’re like me, that question makes you feel weird. Collecting rocks is one thing, but a fossil? The mind rebels. We’ve spent the last two generations of space exploration tempering our expectations, reminding ourselves that the other worlds in our solar system are largely barren and dead, learning again and again how precious life is in the cosmos. It’s hard to get in the mindset of people back in the 40s and 50s who could, somewhat reasonably, imagine that Mars might not just host life but multicellular life, vegetation and robust macroscopic ecosystems. We look back at the science fiction of the era, swarthy soldiers hopping from planet to planet in silver rockets, and laugh at the naivete. A smile at the exuberance of youth, if we’re feeling generous. When we were first beginning, we may have imagined ancient canals on Mars and crystal cities on Venus, but that was when space was a blank canvas for us to paint our fantasies. We’ve learned so much since then, and if it was less fun, at least it was true. We did the hard thing and accepted reality over fantasy. We accept that extraterrestrial environments are hostile to life- cratered, silent, and still. We’re grownups now.

Unless…

Unless.

Imagine that we were born just a bit earlier. Say, three and a half billion years or so. We raise our telescopes to the sky, and we see a sister-planet. Not red, but white and blue, with an atmosphere full of clouds and multiple large bodies of water scattered across its surface, prominent ice caps and snow-capped highlands, rivers tracing their way down to the lowlands in the north. (Maybe the water is all under the ice, not open to the air at the surface; maybe the liquid pools are small and limited to craters, not feeding a large ocean.) Sober scientists might have suggested we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much- after all, the gravity is much lower, there’s no tectonic recycling, and there’s no protective magnetosphere. But is sterility really the default assumption we should be making here? Is ‘we are alone in the cosmos’ really the most sane conclusion to draw from this situation? Is it not worth, perhaps, sending a rover to go see?

We’ve adapted our sensibilities to a dead solar system because in the moment we’re looking, it kind of is. We’re hopeful for the icy moons- and the evidence keeps mounting there as well- but the terrestrial planets are a grim reminder of the fragility and contingency of our own world. The thing is, the more we learn, the more we discover that we’re a bit late to a very, very interesting party. Venus is a hellscape, but it probably didn’t start that way. Mars is a desert, but once it was an oasis. What makes Earth special among the terrestrial worlds isn’t that it developed a temperate climate, but that it kept a temperate climate for more than four billion years. Stability, not habitability, is the party trick that makes us unique in the solar system. And if we’re really committed to being grownups, to accepting what’s real instead of what’s easy, we have to learn that lesson too.

And life does not need four billion years to begin. Not even close.

That brings us to Jezero Crater. The most interesting feature here is a large river delta- based on some clever geology, we’re pretty sure that a large river emptied into the crater during Mars’ wet period. When the rapidly-flowing water hit the still water of Lake Jezero, the loose sediments being carried along the current all fell out of suspension at this place, forming a large pile of detritus at the mouth of the river that accumulated over the lifetime of the system. Even more interesting, check out this geologic map:

See those tiny teal deposits to the right side of the image? Those are also river delta deposits. Which means the thing labeled ‘delta’ on this map isn’t the original extent- it used to be much, much larger, at least twice as wide. Which also means that the outer edge of the ‘delta’ that we see here in this image is actually an erosional surface, and we get a natural cross-section of the thing with the oldest deposits at the bottom and the youngest at the top, just before Mars lost its hydrosphere. By climbing the outer edge, we can move through time across a large fraction of the habitable period.

Here’s another image I’d like you to see:

The crater I’ve been showing you is the small circle in the lower right- color is elevation, covering a span of about 5 km. The black line is the watershed of that river, the region of Mars that channeled water to the delta. In other words, the river delta collects sediments- and potentially, biosignatures- from a region hundreds of kilometers in diameter, and gathers them all in one place, neatly sorted by time.

For this reason, ancient deltas on Earth are a favorite of paleontologists. In addition to being comfortably wet and active itself- plenty of access to biologically important nutrients, fresh supplies of liquid water, and a nice dynamic environment- deltas do the legwork for us. Rather than exploring a huge fraction of the planet with a tiny rover, hoping that we stumble upon an ancient life sign, we can position ourselves at the mouth of the proverbial fire hose and let life come to us.

This does come with some tradeoffs. Most importantly, whatever we find, we won’t know the original geologic setting. If we find an unambiguous fossil of some kind- a microbial mat, perhaps- then we’ll know less than if we’d found it in its original home. And if we don’t find life, then the samples we take will be similarly uncertain. They’ll be defined in time, at least relative to one another, but not in space. In the case of life signs, this is an important caveat, but the bare fact of proving that extraterrestrial life exists is sufficiently monumental that it’s still a secondary concern. But if we’re just talking about geology, that’s a hard thing to lose; that terrifying multi-stage descent isn’t the only risk we’re taking. We’re leaning into the astrobiology mission hard with this one.

And the search for life is, in itself, fraught. That’s putting it mildly. There’s every chance that any evidence that’s even slightly marginal is going to touch off decades of debate, rather than being some kind of slam-dunk. As it should! Life is such a fuzzy concept, and such an important concept, that it should absolutely be held to the highest degree of scrutiny we can muster. This is why it matters that Perseverance includes sample return- in the highly likely case that the findings are disputed, we’ll hopefully have the chance to subject those samples to the highest degrees of scrutiny. So it feels like the right time to go hunting.

On top of that, there’s the ‘evidence of absence’ problem. Strong biosignatures update our priors very hard in the direction of life on Mars. But what is the correct amount of evidence necessary to convince us that Mars never was alive? I’m not sure, but failure to find microbial mats in Jezero probably isn’t enough. So the search for life can succeed, but if it ‘fails’ that doesn’t necessarily teach us much; the best experiments teach you something no matter what, and ideally a commitment this large would meet that standard. This is, more or less, baked into the search for extraterrestrial life, and there aren’t too many ways out from under that problem.

That said, Jezero in particular has some compensation. As I mentioned, we’re collecting a lot of good data regardless; and even without the gologic context, there’s a ton of opportunity to sample different minerals and how they formed, and get a nice broad sample of the Martian surface over time. And, even better, here’s the location of another interesting potential field site, in northeast Syrtis:

Note the proximity to Jezero crater! And Syrtis is also a fantastic candidate for a sample return mission. It has exposed mesas with layered outcrops going all the way back to the earliest days of Mars, and extending (potentially) through many of the most interesting periods. Now, these are not ideal for the search for life, although they’d give us a ton of technical data about surface chemistry and the behavior of the atmosphere during the early, wet periods; it would go a long way towards resolving arguments about the temperature of the early Martian climate, for example, or tracing the early destabilization and loss of the magnetosphere while teaching us loads about the planet’s core.

Those mesas are still pretty far away. Too far, probably, for a sensible rover lifespan to make it all the way there. But there’s a plan- called the ‘Midway’ route, as a nod to the compromise nature of it. See, halfway between Jezero and these mesas, there are a lot of banded rocks that look suspiciously like they’re sourced from the table mesas in Syrtis. And those, we can get to, maybe. If we call a specific deadline on looking for life in Jezero, then we can pivot to Midway and hopefully take a really deep look. So, in the end, we’re going hard for astrobiology research, but we’re not going all-in.

The importance of the search for life is… well, there are a lot of people out there, and we enter the world in a lot of different ways. Most of us agree that the existence of extraterrestrial life would be a Big Deal, and we tend to have a lot of different reasons for that. It’s not a bad subject for a future post or three, in fact. But there’s one thing lurking in the back of my head that’s a non-obvious reason to go looking. This wasn’t discussed at the workshop particularly, but it fed into my vote somewhat. Check the logic of this for me, see if it makes sense:

Worrying about existential risks, we sometimes talk about the ‘great filter’. That is, the mysterious phenomenon which explains the lack of extraterrestrial civilizations reaching out to us. Now, maybe we’re in a zoo or a preserve or something, and intelligences are out there watching after all; maybe the Earth really is the center of the cosmos, because of the simulation hypothesis or the various religious explanations. There’s no real way to know for sure at this point. But consider the space of very real possibilities where the universe actually is material, and actually is mostly barren. Why?

Stepping through the sequence, it might be that abiogenesis is really hard- going from a temperate world to a living one is almost (but not quite) impossible. Maybe there’s some hurdle to clear between genesis and encephalization. Maybe, given encephalization, civilization and tool-use are almost impossible. Or maybe there are many civilizations like ours, and the great filter is ahead of us- it is almost impossible for technological civilizations not to self-destruct or turn in to lotus-eaters before they reach interstellar civilization. There are a lot of possibilities for the filter, and for present purposes we’ll divide them into two categories: those which we would have already passed, and those which are in our future.

And here’s the thing: for each possibility we can exclude from the great filter, all the other possibilities increase commensurately, becoming more likely in our estimation. (Assuming the exclusion is ‘clean’ and doesn’t favor some other possibility, that is.) Given that the silence continues, if we could somehow prove that technological self-destruction isn’t a big risk, that would commensurately increase our guesses about how hard abiogenesis is.

Life on Mars, especially if we could be very sure that it evolved independently of Earth life, would be a strong argument against the difficulty of abiogenesis. One biosphere in the solar system, and nowhere else, might be down to luck. The one biosphere has to be somewhere, right? Two in the solar system, and nowhere else, is a good bit less reasonable. If we find a second genesis on Mars, then we’ve learned that life is not rare. That the hundreds of billions of stars in the Milky Way are likely host to many billions of different living (or at least once-living) worlds.

And as wonderful as that news is, as much as it makes me so happy that I literally had to take a second to cry on my bed for a bit, it also makes the great silence much, much scarier. Today, we can reassure ourselves by saying that life may be rare in the universe. But what if it isn’t? If the cosmos is full of life, but not full of thought, then…

If this is the case, we need to know. We need to know as soon as possible, and we need to know it while we’re engaged in the great project of technological development and moral progress. It’s easy to imagine that this particular mission is one that can be framed in purely positive terms- the joy of discovery, the vastness of truth, the love of how things might be. But I do also have this sense of civilizational fragility, you know? And understanding the risks that we face and the chances we’re taking- that’s not idle curiosity. That’s genuinely urgent.

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4stars-uswnt · 4 years ago

Text

Love Heals All Wounds (and Embraces Scars) [Binoe x Daughter!Reader]

requested by anon: Could you do something with binoe the first time they have to pick their teenage daughter up from school because she’s sick?

warnings: mention of surgery and scars

A/N: congrats to the Storm on winning the WNBA championship!! and SBird for her FOURTH **insert goat emoji**

“Megan!” Vlatko calls from across the field, waving the forward over to the sidelines.

Megan passes the ball back to Tobin, abandoning the drill and making her way over to her coach.

“What’s up, coach?”

“Sue’s been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes. Here, she called me.” He holds out his phone, which Megan takes and puts up to her ear.

“Sue? What’s wrong?”

“It’s (Y/N). The school called and said she wasn’t feeling good. They took her to the nurse’s office, but apparently she’s writhing in pain. I’m on my way to pick her up right now. Do you think you can get out of practice and meet us at home?” Sue explains, worry evident in her voice.

You had been adopted by Sue and Megan when you were 14 years old, after they found you living on the streets. You didn’t have the best childhood, bouncing around to different foster homes and group homes, eventually running away to fend for yourself, which is where your moms found you. Although you are now 16, your moms still see you as their baby, and therefore are very overprotective of you.

“Oh my gosh. I’ll be right there.” Megan quickly hangs up the phone, handing it back to Vlatko. “Coach, I really need to go. It’s (Y/N). She’s really sick, and Sue’s going to pick her up from school.”

“Of course, go.” Vlatko nods, knowing how much you meant to the forward, having met you on many occasions.

Megan rushes back to the locker room, gathers her things, and runs to her car. Thank goodness camp was in Seattle. As she drives on the highway, breaking a few speed limits, her phone rings.

“Babe, I’m on my way to the school right now.”

“Change of plans.” Sue tells her girlfriend. “They had to take her to the hospital. They think it’s appendicitis.”

Megan feels her heart drop, and she clenches the steering wheel. “Okay. I’ll meet you at Virginia. I love you.”

“I love you, too. See you soon.” Sue responds, ending the call.

After winding through traffic and speeding through yellow lights, Megan finally arrives at the hospital. Running through the doors, she approaches the reception desk.

“Hi, excuse me. I’m looking for (Y/N) Bird-Rapinoe.”

The receptionist scans the computer and then glances up, an apologetic look written across her face. “I’m sorry, but she’s in surgery right now.”

“Okay, can you at least tell me what room she’ll be in? Or where I can wait for her?” Megan anxiously taps her fingers on the counter.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t have that information.”

Megan could feel herself becoming impatient. “But——”

“Megan!” Sue calls from down the hall, spotting her girlfriend. The pink-haired woman speed walks towards where Sue is sitting.

“Sue, what’s happening? They wouldn’t tell me anything, except for that (Y/N)’s in surgery.” Megan nervously runs her hand through her hair, as she takes a seat next to the other woman.

“Her appendix is extremely swollen, so they’re removing it and getting rid of any possible infections.” Sue grabs Megan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“My poor baby.” Megan pouts, leaning her head on the basketball player’s shoulder.

Sue wraps her arm around her girlfriend. “She’s a strong one. She’s a Bird-Rapinoe after all.”

At that, Megan lets out a little chuckle, smirking. “That she is.”

—————

“Excuse me. Are you the parents of (Y/N) Bird-Rapinoe?” The surgeon approaches the two women in the waiting area.

“Yes, we are.” Sue confirms, while Megan nods her head.

“The operation went smoothly, and your daughter is going to be okay. She’s just got out of surgery, so she’s still asleep, but I can take you to her room, if you’d like.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Both Megan and Sue let out a sigh of relief and stand up to follow the doctor to your room.

He opens the door for your moms, allowing them to enter. “I’ll give you some time with her, and I’ll come back a little later once she’s awake to review the recovery process. She should be waking up soon.”

Megan and Sue thank the doctor and take their places on either side of your bed.

“She gave us a real scare, didn’t she?” Megan huffs.

“(Y/N)’s always keeping us on our toes, that’s for sure.” Sue chuckles.

You had always been independent, given your childhood, so adjusting to having parents was a little difficult for you. It took you some time to abide by their rules, learn to communicate with your moms, and eventually open up and be comfortable with them. Not only that, but naturally, you were an outgoing teenager, constantly trying to new things, which would often lead to a worried Megan and a nervous Sue. Your moms were still recovering from the time you did a Sam-Kerr-esque goal celebration, landing a successful backflip after you scored a hat trick.

“Moms?” You croaked, moving to sit up.

“Don’t try and sit up, (Y/N/N).” Sue gently guides you back onto your pillow.

“Here, kiddo, have some water.” Megan hands you a cup. You take a couple of gulps, soothing your sore throat.

“What happened?” You furrow your eyebrows. “The last thing I remember is being at school, and my stomach wasn’t feeling well, so they took me to the nurse’s office.”

Sue takes your hand in hers, soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand. “You had appendicitis, honey, so they had to remove it.”

“You mean I had to have surgery?” You cringe at the thought of another scar.

“Yeah, kiddo.” Megan gives you a sympathetic look, taking your other hand.

“Ugh.” You groan, throwing your head back into the pillow. “Just what I needed, another scar. They’re so ugly.” You mumble out the last part, squeezing your eyes shut, willing away your tears.

Sue caresses your cheek and wipes the tears that leaked down your face. “Honey, look at me.”

You sniffle and face your mom.

“(Y/N), your scars aren’t ugly. They are beautiful.” She whispers. You go to protest, but Sue gives you a stern look, one you’re all too familiar with. “They tell your story and show how strong you are. They remind you of how strong you are and all of the times that life tried to break you down but failed.”

By now, you and both of your moms are smiling with misty eyes.

“I guess so.” You mutter. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” Sue leans down to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Hey! What about me?” Megan teases.

“Of course.” You roll your eyes, a grin playing across your face. Your face softens, as you speak earnestly. “I love you.”

Megan gives you soft smile and leans down to give you a hug without hurting you. “I love you too.” She whispers in your ear.

A knock on the door interrupts the sentimental moment, and your doctor enters the room.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but seeing that you’re now awake, I thought I’d go over your procedure and your recovery process with you.”

“Sure.” You nod.

He explains the surgery he performed and the timeline and procedures of your recovery. He then looks to your moms, explaining what they should do about your bandages as well as the technicalities of insurance and all that boring stuff.

“Any questions?” He concludes.

“Yeah, how long do I have to stay here?” You ask.

“(Y/N)!” Sue exclaims.

“What?” You turn to your mom, confused.

“You literally just got out of surgery.” She exasperates, causing the doctor to chuckle.

“We’d like to keep you here overnight for observation, if that’s alright with you?”

“That’s perfect.” Megan confirms, as you grumble under your breath.

“Alright, some nurses will come change your bandages, and I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you.” He says, as he heads to the door.

“Thank you, doctor.” Sue calls out after him.

“Why do I have to stay here?” You whine. “I feel fine.”

Megan raises her eyebrows at you, amused. “Really?”

You nod your head.

“Okay, then try sitting up.”

Determined to prove your moms wrong, you move to sit up, but immediately wince at the pain in your side. Laying back down, you let out a frustrated groan.

“Ha. That’s what I thought.” Megan boasts, as she pulls your blankets back on top of you.

You feel your eyes starting to get heavy, your medication kicking in once again.

“(Y/N/N), go to sleep.” Sue gently coaxes.

“But I wanna be with you guys.”

Your moms’ hearts melt at your words, and the two women share a smile.

“We’ll be here when you wake up.” Megan reassures.

“You promise?” You mumble drowsily, your eyes fully closed at this point.

“We promise. Now sleep, honey.” Sue squeezes your hand.

“Love you guys.” You whisper before completely falling asleep.

“We love you too, (Y/N).”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #binoe x reader #binoe x daughter!reader #uswnt #wnba #megan rapinoe #sue bird #binoe

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nitewrighter · 4 years ago

Note

Short fic of Genji stressing out about what to get Angela for Christmas?

“Blenders are romantic, right?” Genji looked up from a store window to Tracer.

“Uh…” Tracer glanced off and sipped her latte.

“It’s healthy—“ Genji tried to explain, “She’s a doctor—it fits. Right?”

Tracer just gave him a confused, pitying look.

“…not romantic,” he sighed, letting his shoulders slump and his head drop.

“Nnno. Not romantic,” said Tracer.

It was one of those seaside winter days that is somehow both bright and cloudy. A jumble of Christmas market-like stalls for tourists fleeing colder northern weather crowded the sidewalks, and a few shopkeepers were poking at their window displays, putting up bows and baubles to draw the eye. Tracer had arms full of bags and boxes, and Genji had only two bags hanging on one elbow. They were both in civvies, Tracer in a baggy cardigan with elbow patches and skinny jeans, and Genji in a neon windbreaker and charcoal joggers. The glow of Genji’s green visor seemed to be visibly dimmed with his own exhaustion.

“I don’t want to overthink it,” Genji said firmly as he and Tracer walked down the street.

“Uh huh,” said Tracer, sipping her overly sweet latte next to him.

“But it’s our first winter moved in together,” said Genji.

“Right.”

“And I want to get Angela something she’ll actually use...”

“Of course.”

“But something that she’ll like,” said Genji.

“Obviously,” said Tracer.

“Something pretty.”

“Jewelry?”

“No, we make too much fun of those holiday jewelry commercials,” muttered Genji, “And I don’t want to get her something office or work related--I mean, that’s not romantic.”

“Mm,” Tracer sipped her latte.

“But she still should use it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But I don’t want to overthink it,” said Genji.

Tracer didn’t really have the heart to tell him that that was exactly what he was doing.

“Genji,” Tracer started gently, “Did she tell you she had anything in mind?”

“She said she couldn’t think of anything and then she said, ‘Oh but I’ll be happy with whatever you give me, Genji,’” Genji huffed.

“Well that’s good!” Tracer said brightly.

“No it’s not,” said Genji, pressing his fingertips to his temples, “She knows she can get me some dumb Tokusatsu thing and I’d love it, but I have no idea what to get her!”

“Oh come on, Genji, you two spent years staying up into the wee hours of the morning talking! You can’t be at that much of a loss!”

“Well we’d mostly talk about work and other--” Genji seemed to catch himself, “Um...”

“...talk shit about the rest of the team?” Tracer guessed with an arched eyebrow.

“No--!” Genji answered on reflex before rubbing the back of his neck, “Well... sometimes.”

Tracer snorted before glancing off. “All right then. Just think-- what does she like to do in her spare time?”

“She reads a lot,” Genji said thoughtfully, “But it’s like... she reads too much for me to know what kind of book to get her, if that makes sense? What if she already read it? Or what if she read a bad review of it? Or what if she read something about the author so she doesn’t want to read it? I don’t read enough to know what book to get her.”

Tracer sighed. “You really are devoted to making this harder for yourself than you have to.”

“I am not!” said Genji.

“Y’know what I think?”

“What?”

“If this is your first holiday moved in together, you should get something cozy! Homey, don’t you think?”

“Cozy and homey...” Genji repeated the word then seemed to think for a few seconds, “...A blender?”

Tracer slapped her forehead. “Why are you so hung up on the blender!?”

“I feel like we need a blender!” Genji said helplessly.

“Well get a blender but don’t make the blender the Christmas gift! For heaven’s sake, think!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m thinking! I’m thinking!” said Genji. He was quiet for a long time. “We both spent so long traveling, and after all my time with Zenyatta and the monks...” he trailed off then suddenly perked up, “I have to go,” he said, stopping his pace.

“What?” said Tracer but Genji was already running off back in the direction of the watchpoint.

“I know what I should get her! Thank you, Tracer!” his voice carried on the air in his wake and Tracer huffed and shook her head, before perking up as Genji suddenly came sprinting back and skidding to a halt in front of her again.

“…I just realized I need a pilot, “ he said breathlessly.

“You need a pilot?” said Tracer, tilting her head.

“You think Emily might want something from Nepal?”

The slightest smile tugged at Tracer’s mouth.

——

“...so you’re borrowing the Orca---for what?” Jack Morrison was leaning against the holo-map in Winston’s lab with his arms folded.

“A patrol,” said Tracer and Genji at the same time.

“It has been a while since we checked in with our contacts with the Shambali” Winston mused.

“Too long!” said Genji with an odd amount of earnestness in his voice.

“Entirely too long,” said Tracer, “Someone really ought to check on them.”

“Someone they know,” said Genji, with an airy gesture, “Just to make sure everything’s all right.”

“No news isn’t always good news!” added Tracer.

“Uh...huh...” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“We can get some intel--” said Genji.

“See where we can help out!” Tracer added brightly.

“Well.. diplomacy was an important aspect of the old Overwatch, and with so little activity from Talon these past few weeks, a fact-gathering mission could help us get our bearings...” Winston said thoughtfully.

“Mm-hmm!” grunted Tracer as both she and Genji nodded eagerly.

“We can send Doctor Ziegler as the mission’s medic in case--” Jack started.

“No!” Genji and Tracer said on reflex both a little too loudly before Genji quickly cleared his throat.

“Er--Obviously Zenyatta would send the best message of solidarity with the Shambali,” said Genji.

Jacks frown pulled at his scars but Winston rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You make a good point...” said Winston, “All right then. You have my permission to take the Orca to Nepal.”

“A very wise ruling, Commander Winston!” said Tracer saluting.

“We won’t let you down!” said Genji, clenching his fist in determination before they both ran off.

Jack watched as the door closed behind them after they left. “...you realize they’re both full of shit and taking the Orca for a joyride, right?”

“Oh obviously,” said WInston, turning his attention back to the holo-map.

“Just checking,” said Jack.

----

It was drizzling on Christmas morning on the Watchpoint. Both Genji and Mercy were comfortably sitting on the floor, in their pajamas, Mercy’s hair up in a messy bun, leaning against the coffee table where their dinky little rosemary bonsai valiantly strained under the weight of a single ornament as Genji pulled the wrapping paper off of a box and lifted up the lid.

“Woah...” a short laugh fell out of Genji, “Really?”

“Is it the right one?” said Mercy, tucking her hair back.

“They haven’t made these in 20 years!” said Genji, pulling the asymmetrical game console out of its box, “How did you get a real FujitaCast One?”

“Well, I found a broken one in one of the pawn shops around here, and then I remembered you talking about playing the first Vivi’s Adventure on it, so I grabbed it, and I had to get D.Va’s help in identifying which components needed replacing and we just...spun them up in the 3D printer here!”

“Angela--” Genji wanted to squeeze the little plastic console close but was handling it very gingerly, “This is incredible. I--” he huffed, “I can’t remember the last time anyone put this much effort into a gift for me.”

“...it really wasn’t all that much trouble--really, just D.Va helping out and looking up some components online--” Mercy was blushing, “I just... thought it might be nice to have something aside from just the holoscreen to warm this place up. I warn you, though, I’m absolutely terrible at video games.”

“Psh. I doubt that. You’ve got surgeon hands.”

“Oh you’ll see,” said Mercy with a smirk, adjusting her glasses.

“Thank you, Angela,” said Genji, gently setting the console on the coffee table. He reached over and grabbed a flatter box and held it out to her, “I, um... got you this.”

Mercy gave the box a tentative shake, already aware of the sliding sound of cloth on cardboard.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with you and Tracer’s mysterious three day trip into Nepal, would it?” she said, giving a sly smile to Genji.

“That was a very legitimate mission, I’ll have you know,” said Genji, folding his arms, “I milked a yak and everything.”

Mercy snorted. “Where would the world be without Overwatch and its yak-milking Cyborgs?”

“Chaos,” said Genji with mock gravitas, “Tragedy.”

“Oh definitely,” said Mercy, opening the present. Genji couldn’t help but smile at the way she only pulled at the folds and ends of the paper, trying to take the wrapping off as intactly as possible before sliding the box out. Her brow crinkled with some concentration as she lifted the lid off of the box before her eyes widened. She pulled a bright golden yellow cloth from the box, let it hang over one hand and traced her fingers over it with the other. “Soft...” she said quietly, before looking up at Genji, “Shambali?”

“Yes,” said Genji.

“...it’s beautiful,” said Mercy, drawing more of it from the box and letting it drape over her forearms as she looked at it more fully. Voluminous sleeves fell over her arm as she spread the cloth out, “Oh--It’s a robe!” she said, her face lighting up.

“I do keep saying you should relax more,” said Genji, with a slight smirk, folding his arms.

Mercy snorted and rolled her eyes before pressing the cloth to the side of her face, “It’s so soft,” she said, her voice half-muffled into the cloth, before her eyes opened. She blinked a few times and pulled the cloth away slightly, peering closer, “This pattern...” she started, squinting a little.

“It’s Omnicode,” said Genji, scooching closer, “Well--the textile, the words are woven into the pattern. So every cloth woven is unique and has its own message. It’s sort of like the lines of code from that pre-Crisis movie--you know, the one where they all dress in black and wear sunglasses and do Kung-fu and freeze in mid-air and--” He caught himself and gave a dismissive hand wave, “What I’m saying is,” pointed down a line that was slightly more orange than its surrounding threads. His finger trailed down the line of tiny squarish symbols that would fall over the heart if she were wearing the robe, “That’s your name, see? Angela Ziegler. And this character right here below it doesn’t quite translate to human language, but it means ‘Part of me,’” he pointed to other lines of Omnicode on the robe, “And--and a lot of this script here--and--here--and here, is from the letters we were sending each other.” He chuckled a little, “It’s really amazing to watch a Shambali Omnic weaver work--they’re trying to turn it into a sort of tourist thing up at the monastery, like, even if you aren’t interested in the Shambali’s message, you can still appreciate the craft, but being that far up in the Himalayas makes it hard to---” He had to cut himself off as Mercy braced one hand on his shoulder and cupped the other at his jawline to land a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth. He turned his head only slightly to course-correct and return the kiss more fully, his hand sliding up the back of her neck to weave into her hair. He could feel her breath puff with a slight laugh against his scars as she broke away, her arms still draped around him.

“Um--” A short laugh escaped her, “Thank you--It’s--It’s beautiful, Genji,” she said, readjusting her glasses, “It’s really beautiful. And the letters--it’s... I love it.”

“Look, I just called in a few favors and milked a couple yaks,” said Genji, with faux-humility, “I’m not the one who 3-D printed components for a 20-year-old game console.”

Mercy snickered and leaned on him amongst the wrinkled wrapping paper, “I’m just glad I didn’t panic and just grab that blender,” she said with a happy sigh.

Genji perked up slightly.

“What?” said Mercy, looking up at him.

Genji just snickered and leaned his head on hers, “Nothing,” he said, smiling, “I love you.”

Mercy snorted. “I love you too,” she said, pressing the soft fabric of the robe against herself as she leaned right back on him.

#gency #holiday fic

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raevenlywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Dasi High, for really reals

Finally got a first chapter I actually like!

I walked an expanse of endless sand. The night desert air carried hints of spice and stone and worried at my exposed skin with cutting cold teeth. I shivered and rubbed my arms in annoyance. This part of the dream was getting old.

But I knew that just over that dune lay a fire, and around the fire, figures danced.

Their long shadows cast out like the tails of an inverse sun, snapping and cracking like dark twins to the flames they danced around. Music made of wind and whispers pulled at me, urged me to come down, come dance, become a shadow.

I’d never once made it down to the circle.

I didn’t dream this scene every night, but I’d dreamt it often enough to be annoyed with its tantalizing tease. If I didn't’ waste so much time on the stupid sands, I might finally get to see who danced in that circle. A figure always broke off, coming to meet me half way, and though I got a little closer every time--

“It’s the top of the hour, and you’re listening to WKSR!”

I smashed my hand against the alarm clock, wishing I could hurl it into the dreamscape’s flames.

Never make a song you love your alarm tone, unless you’re ready to hate that song forever. That goes double if its from show you used to really love, but now associate with rage and dreamus interruptus and can never watch again. I flopped forcefully back against my pillow, tempted as always to just go back to sleep. What was out here for me in this world of pop songs and overly enthusiastic radio announcers?

Plenty, was the answer, and after a while the ennui of waking left me, and I rolled out of bed to wash the sand of sleep from my eyes. - “Hey.”

I looked up to see Brass standing in front of my desk, something held to his chest. Since it was neither latte nor donut, it was hard to muster interest in it this early in the morning. When he set the crusty old book down on my desk like it was supposed to mean something, I just stared up at him.

“Since when do you read?” I teased. Picking on Brass was one of the constants in my world. Sky was blue, grass was green, Brass and I bickered and teased.

He gave me a half-hearted smirk, but I could tell he was distracted. I leaned back in my chair, cocking my head in what I hoped was a sympathetic manner. This was why we hadn’t worked as a couple. Teasing I got. Real emotions? They seemed weird between me and Brass. And it was way too early for it. Best to just let him get it off his chest and get it over with.

He drew a deep breath in through his nose, reminding me way to much of all the times he’d started “a talk”. It was hard not to get automatically defensive.

“So you know how my mom runs that homeopahtic shop or whatever?”

I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from interrupting him. We’d been friends since diapers. I knew his mom as well as I knew my own. Maybe better. “Aunt” Cynthia was way cooler than my stick in the mud mom. And her shop carried some of the coolest stuff. Suddenly this rusty crusty Giles-like book got a lot more interesting.

“What’s with the Necronomicon?”

“It’s not a--“

He cut off, his mouth twisting in that sideway grimace that made his nose scrunch. I hated that I still thought it was cute. I distracted myself from it by flipping open the tome. “Tome” had a lot better ring to it. Yeah, I was liking this tome more and more.

“Apparently it’s a grimoire. Mom likes to collect them for old recipes and stuff, but this one...”

His fidgeting was enough to ruin the mystical communion I was trying to have with my cool new book. I propped my face on a fist, giving him a sort of “spill it” gesture with my eyebrows. I did a lot of talking with my eyebrows. I had expressive eyebrows, worked hard to get ‘em that way. They were kind of my signature thing now. I hoped. Too cool to speak. Talk to the brows. Yeah.

Brass wilted under my killer gaze, reaching down to flip a page in the book. I felt weirdly protective of it, annoyed that he’d dared touch it--even though it was his book. Just because he’d put it on my desk didn’t mean he was giving it to me.

“I thought you should have it,” he said, seeming to echo my thoughts. I felt immediately embarrassed and empowered at the idea. Heck yeah, bow before my cool mind powers--but ick, stay out of my thoughts. Especially since I still kind of like you. Double ick.

“Brass, what about this crusty old book makes you think I should have it?”

When in doubt, pretend you don’t want it. Lessons learned from Sassy the Cat of Homeward Bound fame.

“Cause you’re crusty old news!”

Izzy wrapped her hands around Brass’s arm, giving me her “trying too hard to be cute” nose-wrinkled grin. Brass’s nose wrinkle was better. But hers was cute, I could admit. Much easier to admit since I knew her passes at Brass didn’t mean anything. Izzy didn’t want to date him any more than I had. She’d just been smart enough to say no when he’d asked. Which made him more fun to flirt with now, I guess. I dunno. The mind of an Izzy is a mystery.

“No,” Brass said tightly, trying on the new tactic of “ignore the PDA”. Good for him. The blushing had been cute, but it made him look easy to rile. More fun to tease. Stoic man, that was the way.

“I thought she should have it because--“

“The vibes!” Dani invited themself in our conversation and I tried not to sigh. I loved my friends, I really did. We were tight, tighter than family. But now they were going to chat all through homeroom and there would be no coffee, no book, no ten minute nap. My desk had become socializing central.

“It’s the vibes, right?” Dani insisted, helping themself to my book. I let out a protest as they picked it up, but too little too late. They turned the book over and over, as if looking for a review or pricetag or something. “This thing totally has spooky vibes, just like our Ki.”

“It’s because she’s a Scorpio.” Oh great. Landon had invited himself over too. Party and Kiesha’s desk. “Scorpio’s exude a mysterious energy. But they’re secretly big cry babies.”

I stuck my tongue out at Landon-the-know-it-all, but he ignored me.

“No,” Brass insisted, taking his book back once again. He spread it out over my desk again, opening it back to that same page. It looked like a family tree. He ran a finger over the lines, indicating a very familiar name.

“It’s because it’s literally got her name on it.”

Everyone leaned in, casting an actual shadow on the page they crowded so close. It made the age-faded ink even harder to parse, but the “Kiesha” Brass had indicated was plain enough.

My book.

The urge to close it up and clutch it to my chest nearly overwhelmed me. Instead I leaned away, ostensibly to let everyone else get a better look. In truth, I hated ever looking too interested in anything. I had always been so obnoxious with my interests as a child. I never let anyone see anymore when I was really into something. Always play it cool.

But the book called to me, and the more I held myself back from it, the more I wanted to pour through its pages, discover its secrets. It was my book. It had my name on it. Fate had sent it to me.

My friend’s chattered turned to white noise in my ear. Distantly, I caught snatches of “where did you get it?” and “that’s so cool!” but all I could really hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears. It felt like drums, dusky and ancient, and more important than anything else that might happen that day. Damn you, Brass, for giving me something so cool at the start of the school day. This was going to taunt me all day, just like that stupid fire circle.

I swooned as the beat of my heart joined the whispers of smoke and song. A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I blinked up into Brass’s concerned face.

“Ki? You okay?”

I nodded, shaky and shaken. I needed some air.

“Skipped breakfast. Could one of you snag me something from the vending machines?”

Izzy nodded and hopped off, knowing Brass would be completely distracted by concern for my well-being now. He still hovered like a protective mother hen, even though we’d broken up months ago. Talk about your brooding hero. Dani pulled Landon away and I sent a silent thank you to them for wrangling their snotty boyfriend. Landon was a great study buddy, but he had the personality of Metamusil. Good for you, probably, when you were ancient. We were too young and cool for his old man routine.

Brass crouched down by my desk so I didn’t have to crane up at him.

“Are you really good?”

I nodded, letting myself rest my head on his shoulder. Brass was a constant, weird ex or not. He’d been childhood friend longer than he’d been my... whatever we’d been, and enough time had passed that I could let myself take comfort from him again.

“Sorry about the book thing. I can--“

“It’s great.”

I cut him off before he could finish whatever he’d been about to say. I wasn’t about to let my “be cool” rule part me from my book. I pulled back to better look at him.

“I do really like it, weirdness or not. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Of course.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then stood and beat a retreat to his side of the classroom. Izzy came back with a Coke and some donut sticks, and I slid the book into my bag before any sticky accidents could befall it.

#raev does fic #the kiesha'ra fic #kiesha'ra fanfic #the kiesha'ra #dasi high #kiesha'ra #my writing #fanfic

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mostlymovieswithmax · 3 years ago

Text

Movies I watched in September

I skipped a month again. But not to worry. This is a wrap-up of all the movies I watched in the month of September (2021). I think I maintained a steady ratio throughout but perhaps there’s not as much on the list this time because I wanted to get on with other things, be that work-wise or just trying to get out to the beach as much as possible and make the most of the last dregs of summertime. I went swimming in the sea a lot! But I also got to catch the new James Wan movie, Malignant (twice!) as well as the new James Bond, No Time To Die. Not to mention a couple of classics! My hope again with this list is to introduce people to new movies that they may otherwise not have seen or perhaps have never have heard of. These short reviews are my own subjective opinions on each individual movie. I’m thinking maybe a more informal approach to movie criticism can help include others who are just passing through. So here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of September.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) - 8/10

Coming from Ingmar Bergman, I was surprised to see just how warm this was. I’m a big fan of the Swedish director and while this isn’t my favourite from him (perhaps due to it needing a second watch, or the fact I watched it in three chunks because it’s about three hours long and I overestimated how much time I had in the day) it’s still an interesting departure from what I’ve come to expect from him. Fanny and Alexander is a dreamy Christmassy movie that presents an overarching theme of love, spending a large portion of its runtime just hanging out with this big family on Christmas and showing how close they are. I would love to watch this again at some point in December and see how my opinion shifts but for now, while it could meandre in places, I can’t deny how unique a movie it is.

Another Round (2021) - 10/10

I had seen Thomas Vinterberg’s latest film before this point but this was the first time I got to see it in a cinema. Luckily for me my local independent cinema was showing it one night and while they had a few technical hiccups with setting everything up, the movie itself was still fantastic. Following a handful of school teachers who experiment with whether they can maintain a certain level of blood alcohol throughout the day, Another Round demonstrates a sense of unease and sadness throughout an otherwise comedic tone. These emotions are balanced perfectly, boosting an already intriguing concept that examines our relationship with alcohol from every angle.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) - 4/10

Straight after Another Round, I made my way to the chain cinema to meet up with friends to see the new Marvel movie. At this point, having had my second dose of the Covid vaccine that morning, I was starting to feel the effects and I was not doing well. But I watched the movie anyway, all the while wanting to be in bed. Shang-Chi was massively underwhelming and I’d go as far as to say it was even incompetent. Truth be told, I like the Marvel Cinematic Universe but from the get-go I already wasn’t hyped for this movie and I was expecting it to be about mediocre but what I got was something a lot worse. I won’t rehash what I’ve already said on this film so if you want to hear me rant about it a bit then I would recommend checking out episode 47 of my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon.

Your Name. (2016) - 6/10

Ultimately this was a fun little romance movie but I can’t say I understand why people adore it, nor do I understand why it needed to be animated. For what it’s worth, I found it cute and entertaining but nothing much jumped out to me.

Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang (2021) - 7/10

I’m always stumped on what to say about stand-up shows. It was good! I enjoyed Phil Wang talking about different things in a funny way and it got some laughs out of me. Admittedly I’m writing this a couple of weeks after watching it but it’s certainly a decent way to spend an hour if you’re looking for something light and fun.

The Lego Batman Movie (2017) - 6/10

I remember seeing this in the cinema with two of my friends and the theatre wasn’t exactly packed but those that were there were either children or parents. But I like The Lego Batman Movie! Clearly this was made by fans of the character as it’s packed with a lot of details and references from old comic runs but as someone who has never read the comics or seen those older movies, it still managed to be entertaining and while I won’t say it’s quite as good as The Lego Movie, the animation is still top notch and the voice actors are certainly giving it their all, especially Will Arnett as the titular character. It’s just a bit of fun!

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) - 10/10

A friend of mine told me to go to the screening of Terminator 2 at my local because they themselves weren’t able to attend. The first Terminator movie is a real gem and one of the most 80’s-type movies I’ve ever seen. I was excited to watch T2, remembering next to nothing about what I watched of it when I was a child. So it was just me in this screening, with one person in a row in front of me, and one other person behind me. If I had it my way, I would have been the only person there because this is honestly one of the best movies I’ve ever seen and it was very hard not to yell out every time something incredible happened, especially when it’s so action-packed and basically goes all out at every opportunity to deliver some of the most jaw-dropping effects or choreography. Truly there is never a dull moment and I was grinning like a lunatic the entire time. This film rocks!

Mirror (1975) - 7/10

Andrei Tarkovsky is one of my favourite directors and the new Criterion release of his film, Mirror, had been on my shelf for a while. My friend and fellow podcast co-host, Chris, was also interested in watching this movie so we decided we’d give it a watch and review it on the podcast. But this is such a weirdly structured film that the entire way through, neither of us knew what on earth was happening. What we got from the experience is reflected in the episode we made and I would love to watch this again at some point, hopefully with more context and a better understanding of what I’m in for. But in the meantime, you can hear the discussion on episode 46 of the podcast.

The Night House (2021) - 6/10

The Night House is David Bruckner’s follow-up to his previous movie, The Ritual and while I’ll say I prefer The Ritual, this is still a decent watch, just don’t go in expecting horror. More of my thoughts can be found in episode 46 of the podcast.

The Ritual (2017) - 7/10

After watching The Night House, I decided to go back to the director’s previous film, The Ritual and I got a lot more out of it this time around. Themes of guilt and grief permeate the movie and the result is this weird and unnerving film about a group of guys who go hiking in Sweden after the death of one of their friends and encounter dark forces beyond their comprehension. It can be drawn out at times and probably could have been boosted with a better script but there are so many interesting and strange ideas presented that culminate in a haunting third act that it’s worth watching just to see what on earth they’re being hunted by.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) - 10/10

Straight after recording an episode about our favourite movies on the podcast, I returned to one of my all-time favourites. Holy Grail is such a fantastically funny movie with so many memorable lines and moments that it’s become a staple in the comedy genre. Setting it in Arthurian England is a surefire way to make sure it stands the test of time, making use of the budget in a way that heightens the comedy, for example: not being able to get horses and so resorting to having a man banging two coconut halves together as they skip through the grassy terrain. It’s the writing that really takes centre stage here; the guys from Monty Python were/are geniuses. A couple more points were made on my podcast so please do listen to that to hear more: Episode 46 of The Sunday Movie Marathon

Malignant (2021) - 7/10

The new James Wan movie was bonkers! I saw this one twice in quick succession without hesitation. To find out why I love it so much, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10

We got a marathon of the first three Nightmare on Elm Street movies on the podcast so we watched them in quick succession within a day. This first movie is a true masterpiece of its time. For more insight, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) - 2/10

Quite an embarrassing departure from the genius and fun of the original. Elm Street 2 is not only technically unfulfilling but a wholly unentertaining movie to boot. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) - 3/10

While only a few hairs better than its predecessor, Elm Street 3 is still a mere shadow of the original. All in all, these second and third instalments in the franchise have put me off watching any of the others. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

Her (2013) - 10/10

Her is at once a beautiful love story between a man and an AI, and a scarily accurate look at how technology is expanding and moving forward. It uses warm colours and smooth camera work to create something that feels homely and safe, juxtaposing the often cold and dark feeling of science-fiction films to tell an intrinsically human story. What would it be like to go through this and what are the hurdles that need to be overcome? Her is a masterpiece of filmmaking and it left me emotionally exhausted in all the right ways.

Alien (1979) - 10/10

First time I’ve seen Alien in the cinema (as I was too busy not being born yet to see it on an initial release) and it was amazing! This is cosmic horror at its best. With all the eerie sound design, slow and deliberate camera movement, and outstanding effects, there’s no wonder as to why this is considered one of the greats and seeing it on the big screen was enthralling.

Aliens (1986) - 8/10

I had never seen Aliens before so the opportunity to see it for the first time in a cinema was one I could not pass up, especially since I was able to see it straight after the first. This is more of an action movie than the first one and as that, it was really something to see. While I don’t think it quite measures up to the original, James Cameron does bring a style to it that makes it something completely different while still feeling in line with its predecessor. A problem I’ve found as time goes on is that I don’t find myself thinking much about Aliens whatsoever and that’s probably down to its characters who generally I found quite weak. I’m already not big on standard action flicks and this is a clear cut above those but it does still fall victim to the trappings. That being said, I would in no way call this bad or even mediocre because it was a lot fun and being able to see it in the cinema is an experience I’m very grateful for.

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) - 6/10

Gunpowder Milkshake is trying very hard to be John Wick and although it never really manages it, there is still fun to be had with its action (because really that’s all this movie has to offer). There’s a very creative scene in which Karen Gillan has to fight some goons in a hospital with a gun taped to one hand and a scalpel taped to the other, with the caveat being that her arms don’t work. Despite that and a good enough performance from Gillan, the rest is very goofy, with a villain about as intriguing as an advert for life insurance and a story that to say the least, leaves much to be desired.

I Lost My Body (2019) - 10/10

Another one for the podcast, I Lost My Body is a glorious cerebral animated piece that hits every nerve in my body. Listen to episode 48 for more.

Alice In Wonderland (1951) - 10/10

Perhaps the best early Disney movie in my humble opinion. Alice In Wonderland is complete insanity, doing things simply for the sake of it in a beguiling dreamlike take on Lewis Carroll’s classic book. Listen to episode 48 of The Sunday Movie Marathon for more.

WALL-E (2008) - 9/10

WALL-E is one of Pixar’s best. It is a cautionary tale of where the world is headed wrapped in a sweet story about going to the ends of the solar system in order to help those you love. I do however have one big problem with this movie and you can find out more in episode 48 of the podcast.

Killing Them Softly (2012) - 6/10

A lot about America’s economy at the time, Killing Them Softly goes about showing the lengths people will go to for money and yes it is generally solid with a fantastic speech by Brad Pitt to cap it off, but it cannot avoid meandering scenes of listless dialogue that neither engage me nor make me care about the characters it presents.

The Dirties (2013) - 6/10

Funny! The Dirties is a mockumentary about two guys making a movie about bullies in their school. While often it was generally chugging along and making me laugh, it tended to err on the side of plain as regards its presentation. A lot of scenes happen for the sake of it and in a movie that’s around an hour and twenty, it’s amazing I still managed to dip out in the latter half. More thoughts in episode 49 of the podcast.

Telstar: The Joe Meek Story (2009) - 3/10

Ah, I really hated this. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Just listen to episode 49 of the podcast to hear what I had to say.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - 10/10

This is my favourite movie! I got to talk about it on my podcast! Listen to episode 49 of The Sunday Movie Marathon to hear what I have to say!

No Time To Die (2021) - 8/10

Best Bond movie? Perhaps. I’ve not seen every Bond movie but of the ones I have seen (which does include all of Daniel Craig’s run), this is as good as it gets. Despite a near three hour runtime, No Time To Die felt as though it wasted very little. I’ve always complained that I could never follow the plot to these movies because often I simply didn’t care about it; for me it’s more about the action and seeing Daniel Craig be James Bond. No Time To Die does not escape some of the general tropes that often don’t leave me thinking I’ve watched something masterful but what I will say in its favour is that it’s fucking fun! Don’t expect to love it if you already dislike these movies because generally it stays in the same vein as the others before it, but for Bond fans it’s something totally enjoyable. Captivating cinematography, biting fight choreography and action set-pieces, a core struggle for James who actually goes through relatable hardships his time round, coping with being part of a family and trying to keep them safe.

I was happy to see a bit more attention paid to female characters this go round; in a franchise that often glamorizes Bond’s sexual promiscuity and ability to woo any woman he likes, it was much more refreshing to see that he often did need help from a lot of badass, well written female characters.

No Time To Die has been waiting to be released for a long time now and now it’s actually out, I’m pleased it’s not hot garbage. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The final swan song for Craig’s fifteen-year tenure as one of cinema’s most recognisable heroes outdoes all that came before it. Bravo.

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blueaura · 4 years ago

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Don’t Get Caught

A/N: Hey everyone, hope y’all are doing well. I wrote this little fic one-shot thingy for @crashdevlin‘s 3k review challenge. I got prompt #13. Big congratulations to Cassie for hitting 3k followers! Hope Dean somewhat likes this fic.

Summary: Sam and Dean are hunters, but what if Y/N doesn’t want to be one?

Word count : 2.9k

“What’s for dinner tonight? If you say burgers again, I will tell Sam and then you’ll have to little with the ‘eat healthy’ lecture again.” You walked into the kitchen, peering over Dean’s shoulder to look at what he was making. “As much as I love your burgers, we’ve had them four days in a row and if I see another one today, I’m gonna actually throw up.”

“I liked it better when you didn’t snark back. Now it’s like living with teenage Sam all over again. Teenagers are the fucking worst,” Dean lightly quipped back giving you a look that confirmed he was just teasing. “And it’s chicken pasta tonight, you little monster. I can switch things up every once in a while.”

“You liked me better when I was too scared to offend you in case you threw me out?” you deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. He gave you a look. He clearly didn’t appreciate your humour regarding your rough start with them.

You met Sam and Dean on a hunt. They were appalled that a 15-year-old was hunting alone and basically forced their way into your life. Dean, specially, refused to leave you alone, no matter how many times you pushed him away. Your parents had been hunters and not the most affectionate people, so when pushing the Winchesters away had failed and they had successfully wormed their way into your heart, you were so scared that the first real family you had was going to abandon you if you weren’t enough, you didn’t dare place a toe out of the imaginary line you had created for yourself. It took a long time for them to get you to open up to them and come out of your shell. You never knew why they chose you. From what you knew, they had met other hunter kids before but for some reason, instead of pawning you off to the first responsible adult who could keep you safe, they welcomed you into their life and their home. Your home, you reminded yourself.

“Pasta sounds great. You’re gonna make me fat with all your cooking you know. I’ll have to start running with Sam. I hate running with Sam,” you whined, changing the subject before Dean could start reprimanding you.

“Everybody hates running with Sam,” Dean said, letting go of your previous comment. “And you’re healthy, which is all that matters. I don’t want you thinking about getting fat, you do enough exercise to balance out your eating habits.”

You rolled your eyes. For a guy who claimed to hate ‘chick-flick’ moments, Dean Winchester sure initiated a whole lot of them. Dean lightly clipped you in the back of your head when he saw you shrugging of his words of wisdom. You could see he was gearing up for another lecture. He was such a dad.

“Where’s Sam anyway?”

Dean clearly knew what you were doing but he let you have your moment of victory anyway. If he had learned anything in the past 2 years with you, it was to pick his battles. So, he let it go. For now.

Sam came back in time for dinner. It was one of Dean’s new rules. If you were not on a case, dinner was family time and everyone had to eat at the table. Sam agreed. While Dean acted more like a dad than Sam, the younger Winchester was just as bad. You remembered when Sam accidentally found the pack of condoms in your room. You winced at the memory. There had been a lot of yelling, followed by an awkward conversation about being safe. It was traumatic for all parties involved and you both mutually decided not to tell Dean. If Sam overreacted, you definitely never wanted to see Dean’s reaction.

Being scared of Dean’s reaction was one of the main reasons why you didn’t tell him about the play you were taking part in for school. Yes, you had to go to school. Apparently, high school was important. While you hated school and people in general, you fell in love with theatre. Signing up for drama club had been a blessing for you. Pretending to be someone else and telling stories and being on stage was the only thing that got you through worrying about the brothers when they were out on hunts. But you knew you had to be a hunter. It was the family business after all. So, you never told Sam or Dean what you were doing.

You knew they were getting suspicious. The practices for the play were getting more intense and you could only use the excuse of having detention or staying back to study in the library so many times. For one, they knew that after five consecutive detentions, the school called the parents or guardians, and B – they knew how much you hated school. Just the fact that you were staying a minute more than you had to was a big red flag, specially when you had a perfectly good library at the bunker.

You still had to think of an excuse about going out at night on the final day. While the dress rehearsal was in the afternoon, the actual production was late in the evening and you knew there was no way you could sneak out of the bunker.

While you were pacing in your room trying to think of ideas, the brothers were contemplating your recent behaviour in the kitchen while they did the dishes.

“I don’t know man; she’s been shifty all week. I’m starting to get the feeling she wants us out of the bunker. She keeps bringing up every possible lead for a case. When was the last time Y/N purposely looked for a potential hunt? She hates being left alone. Something’s going on.”

Sam knew Dean was right. This was unusual behaviour for you. Even when you were mad at them, you never hid things. Coupled with all your lame-ass excuses for staying back at school, Sam had a feeling Dean was onto something.

“You don’t think something’s off at school, do you?”

Sam knew all about peer pressure. He also knew Y/N was extremely strong willed but so was he and he still got roped into smoking weed in college. Not that he thought Y/N would ever get into drugs, specially the heavy kind but there was always the niggling sensation at the back of his head going ‘what if?’.

“She would have told us if there was something bothering her,” Sam tried to sound confident but he could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.

Dean paused where he was drying the dishes, looked over at his brother and decided enough is enough.

“Here’s the thing – there’s trusting someone and just being plain stupid. Y/N is definitely hiding something and I’d rather she be mad at us for invading her privacy than regret not stepping in sooner. So, seeing how she desperately wants us out of the bunker next week, we’re going to go out of the bunker. Find a fake case Sammy, we’re going fake hunting.” Dean managed a nonchalant grin as he went back to his dishes. Sam contemplated for a moment and reluctantly agreed.

It was 2 days before the play and you still hadn’t figured out how to sneak out. You contemplated telling them you had a sleepover or a party to get to but they knew you well enough to know you didn’t get along with your classmates. If only you could dumb yourself down enough to socialise with them. You sighed and mindlessly browsed through the men of letters library.

“Hey kiddo, we found a hunt a couple of towns over. Looks like a simple salt n’ burn. You gonna be okay on your own for a couple of days?” Sam’s voice jerked you back to reality and when you registered what he was saying, you barely managed to keep yourself from squealing out loud.

Your giddiness must have been obvious as Sam and Dean shared one of those looks – the ones you hated – and asked you if you were alright.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. And yes, I’ll be good by myself. When are you guys leaving?”

If they had any second thoughts about their plan before, your answer just got rid of them. You were never this excited about a hunt and you always, always asked about every little detail.

“We’re probably gonna leave tonight, drive overnight to avoid the traffic. So, I for one am gonna catch some zee’s while I can. Unlike Disney princess hair over here, I won’t be getting sleep on the road.”

“You know that wouldn’t be a problem if you’d let me drive for a change!”

“Hell no, I ain’t listening to your classical crap.”

You shook your head at their antics as they walked away. Finally, things were going your way.

Things were not going your way. The brothers had left the previous evening (although they didn’t go far, but you didn’t have to know that). The day of the play had arrived and you were already nervous when you heard that the male lead was sick and his understudy had to step in. You hated him. He was one of those cocky high school boys who thought they were the shit. You had to reluctantly admit that at least the guy wasn’t the worst actor in the world. Although, if he kept hitting you with his cheesy pickup lines, you were going to stab him. Hard.

Dean and Sam spent the night at a motel before making their way back to the bunker after you’d left for school. After taking a quick shower and grabbing fresh clothes, the brothers took one of the more inconspicuous cars in the bunker basement and parked outside the school. They knew you would recognise the Impala immediately but you’d never really been interested in the other cars, much to Dean’s dismay.

“Never thought we’d be staking out Y/N,” Dean said wryly.

“Well, at least everything is normal for now. Maybe we were wrong and she’s just being a teenager you know.”

Dean doubted it but didn’t say anything. They waited for Y/N to come out when school finally ended but she never did. Sam even scoped out where the stoner kids were and she wasn’t there, much to his relief. Finally, Y/N came out 3 hours after school ended, looking extra tired but otherwise alright. The brothers shared a confused glance but sighed in relief. At least she wasn’t doing anything illegal.

You went straight home and fell asleep to recharge before your performance tonight. You got up in the evening, one hour before you had to be at school to calm your nerves.

Sam and Dean were confused. Y/N had done what she would normally do on any other day. Maybe she stayed in school for a longer time than usual but other than that, she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.

Dean suddenly had a horrifying thought.

“Dude, if this whole thing is about a boy, I’m gonna actually kill her.”

Before Sam could reply, they saw Y/N leaving the bunker.

“It’s late. Where the hell is she going? And what the hell is she wearing?” Dean’s voice grew more incredulous with each question. “If she’s sneaking out to a party, I’m grounding her. I don’t care how old she is.”

They followed her without being seen. To the school? What the hell?

There was a lot of buzz at the school despite the late hour. Confused, the brothers got out of their car and followed Y/N inside, making sure to stay a few feet behind her.

“Is it just me or are there a lot of adults here?” Dean asked.

Then they saw the poster outside the hall Y/N had just entered. Rock Hills presents ‘West Side Story: the musical’. Sam stood there gaping at the poster and Dean had never been more confused in his life.

“What the hell?”

“I don’t know”

“Seriously. What the hell?”

“I don’t know!”

“Come on. Let’s go in,” Sam nudged his brother in the direction that the other parents were going.

The host said something about the show starting in 5 minutes but they ignored him and made their way backstage. They located Y/N quite easily. She was standing in a corner, mentally psyching herself. They made their way towards her and gently tapped her on the shoulder.

You were just minding your own business in the corner of the room before the show, going through the whole spiel of ‘why did I do this’ and ‘holy shit I’m gonna throw up’ when you felt a hand tap your shoulder. Startled, you jumped and turned around to glare at whoever disturbed you, when you froze. Sam and Dean were staring at you incredulously and had your legs been working you would probably have hightailed out of there.

“Fuck,” you softly exclaimed under your breath.

“Something you wanna share with the class kiddo?”

You couldn’t make out the exact emotion in Dean’s voice but it didn’t sound like anger. You held onto that and realised you had to be on stage in less than sixty seconds.

“Uhm, hold that thought,” was what you said instead. You went to peek through the curtain. Yep, 45 seconds.

“I love you! No time to explain – gotta go!”

With that you rushed on stage, more terrified than ever. That melted away once you started performing though. You forgot all about your worries for the duration of the play. You acted, sang and danced your heart out and when the thundering applause reached your ears and you saw the brothers in the audience cheering you on along with everyone else, you had a feeling it would be okay.

You were backstage again, taking off your stage make-up and gearing up to go face the music as it were. You were scared of the brother’s reaction and even you could tell you were procrastinating. Most of the other cast had left and it was time for you to leave too.

They were standing outside, leaning against a car. The first thing that stupidly came out of your mouth was – “Where’s baby?”

Dean laughed. A full belly laugh. You felt some of your anxiety leave your body.

The three of you looked at each other. Sam was the first one to make a move. He pulled you in for a tight hug, almost lifting your feet off the ground, kissing the top of your head.

“You were incredible, kiddo.”

You buried yourself into his chest as your eyes filled with tears of relief. Of acceptance.

“Thanks moose,” Your reply was muffled against his chest which moved with silent laughter at the nickname.

You finally pulled away from Sam when Dean cleared his throat. He looked at you blankly for a moment and dread filled your entire being.

“You ever pull something like this again, I will kick your ass.”

For a second you thought he was talking about the play and your heart dropped.

But then he pulled you into a hug too. You tensed, confused.

“Dammit kid, I don’t like being worried about you. Stop doing shit like this. Why the hell didn’t you just tell us you were taking part in this thing? You’re not nearly as good at the hiding thing as you think you are. I was terrified something shady was going on with you.”

Although he was almost yelling in your ear, you sagged against him as the tension seeped out of your body. This time you actually did start crying. Dean just hugged you tighter and Sam gently rubbed your back.

After a few minutes Dean pulled back a little and put both hands on either side of your head.

“You never have to hide anything from us. By now I like to think I know how your mind works and I can guarantee that I will never be mad at you if you want to pursue anything other than hunting. You’re not our kid because you’re a hunter Y/N/N. You’re family, regardless of your job. Clearly I’m not doing a very good job at this parenting thing if you don’t know that already.”

You furiously shook your head, hiding your face in his shirt again.

“You’re the best dad anyone could ask for. You both are.”

Your words were barely audible and your face was extremely red but the brothers still heard you and grinned at each other over your head.

“We love you too, kiddo.” Dean kissed your forehead and started walking towards the car, pulling you along.

“What do you say we get some ice cream and celebrate at the bunker? We could watch some movies, make some popcorn? You know what I’m in the mood for Sammy? West Side Story,” Dean grinned as you groaned into his shoulder.

The brothers continued to tease you as you walked to the car. You finally felt happy.

“But seriously guys, where is baby?”

#supernatural #spn fanfiction #cassies3kreviewchallenge #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam x reader #dean x reader #Cee tries to write

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syms-things-5 · 4 years ago

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Clear The Area - Chapter Seventeen

Previous Chapter Here

Warnings: Strong language and an air of discomfort.

Notes: I hope this reads OK as it’s quite dialogue-heavy.

Tags: @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The night shifts weren’t all bad. From time to time, they were even as good as “pretty straight forward”. They proved especially useful when trying to finish patient notes and random admin that always got left to the very end of the shift. Perhaps they’d endure a tidy-out of the stock cupboards if the crew was feeling generous. Since O’Brien had taken up his post at the hospital years earlier, he had insisted upon mandatory training updates for the ER units every three to four months (the national average was about once a year) so the team were regularly reminded not to set fire to their computers and not to leave boxes in places people could trip over. You’d be surprised how often both those things happened in an emerging crisis.

“I swear he thinks we’re idiots half the time.” Complained Jack, his head now glued to the palm of his hand. Jack was hurtling towards an early retirement thanks to an ever-increasing distrust of the corporate environment ER departments found themselves in. We trained to save lives, he’d say, not file stat reports. He was so right, it hurt.

The crew was sat round the reception desk. The ER was empty except for a local homeless man the team allowed in from time to time to sleep off his latest drunken adventures.

“Who doesn’t know how to bend their knees when lifting something heavy?” Jack asked again.

“Ryan for one.” Sarah joked, pointing her cold cup of tea towards the fellow nurse in question. Ryan was a tall and skinny guy, not dissimilar to Alexander Skarsgard in the right light but with less charm although he had left a few of the interns swooning of late. Shanna quite liked him, too.

“One time, Sarah. One time and I suffered for it greatly.” Ryan remarked, spinning a full 360 in his swivel chair. “Did you tick ‘agree’ or ‘strongly agree’ for question eleven?”

“Oh, if you don’t tick ‘strongly agree’ even if you only ‘agree’, they mark you down a couple of percentage points.” Entered Audrey, slamming down a pile of files on the desk beside Sarah. Their nightly routine just got more interesting. “Just get it over with. It’s not worth the effort. It’s just O’Brien being obsessed with stats again. He turns everything into a competition. I swear it’s unhealthy.”

Ryan looked momentarily confused before returning to face his computer screen. He re-read the question for the fifth time and rubbed his eyes in resignation. Something about 3am made this far too complicated.

“When did you even find time to do this, Aud?” Jack asked, turning back to Sarah and Audrey in time to witness their shared look self-satisfaction. “I’ve been sat here for half an hour and am still only part way through the first section.”

“I logged in at home earlier.” she responded before catching Sarah’s quizzical look. “Well, Michael did most of it for me.”

“Fucking hell!” exclaimed Jack, chucking his pen on the table, giving up. “Got no chance then, have I? Michael’s a bloody genius. Hey, how much for him to do mine?”

“Normally I’d say $100 but he’s pretty cheap these days.” shrugged Audrey. “Probably a fancy cigar would do.”

“He still grumpy about the you-know-what?” whispered Sarah to her friend when the guys started joshing between themselves.

Audrey leaned back on the desk beside her and took the mug from Sarah’s hands to take a sip, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. For some reason, Sarah had to have at least three sugars in her tea if she was drinking it post-midnight. It helped to keep her more alert apparently. She didn’t drink it like that at any other time of the day. “No more than usual. Seems like we’re both unlucky in that department at the moment.”

Sarah smiled at her in acknowledgement, lips thin before biting the inside of her cheek.

Following their last meet-up, Chris had been decidedly quiet. Too quiet almost. It was weird. He hadn’t messaged her. He hadn’t called or visited their apartment except to collect a parcel he had left. Sarah has been out for a run at the time and had felt silently glad to have missed him. He hadn’t updated his twitter and there had been multiple sports events occurring that would have guaranteed a humblebrag or five. Shanna had pledged to buy rib-eye steaks for a Saturday night meal during a Celtics game and he had cancelled at the last minute citing an interview he had conveniently forgotten. Even Audrey thought it was weird. If anything was guaranteed to get his attention and bring him out of whatever funk he was in, it was the promise of sports and a ‘Grade A’ barbeque.

Shanna merely put it down to his laziness or him having something better turn up. Scott had started replacing Chris around their apartment, wanting to get some of his own distance from the tricky Zach situation and it helped her feel better knowing he was at least in touch with him if Shanna wasn’t. He was evidently still alive.

Sarah decided to swap a couple of daytime stints to partner up with Audrey for the nights. She needed the comfort of working with a good friend to calm her down from whatever ledge her anxiety had placed her on.

“You know that he’ll come back, right?” Audrey interrupted her thoughts. Maybe Sarah spoke too soon. “Haven’t you got that birthday thing for Lisa coming up?”

That trip was a couple of weeks away yet. She was trying to bank some reasonable excuses but everything sounded lame in the cold light of day and Lisa was never going to accept her not coming as well. Surely things would have smoothed themselves out by then?

“This won’t just fix itself, hun, you’ll need to speak to him eventually. And the sooner the better.”

It was like Audrey had a hotline straight into Sarah’s psyche. It was unnerving at the best of times. Sarah knew she was right of course. It’s just, a little bit of distance would be a good thing, right? Even Chris himself had offered that advice from time to time, and stressing herself out at this point almost seemed counterintuitive.

“I reckon you could go in an hour or so if you wanted.” Audrey offered, nudging her friend with her elbow to bring her back into the room. “It’s dead out there.”

“I hope not.” Sarah joked, trying to lighten the mood. “We’d be shit at our jobs if that was the case.”

Audrey laughed for the first time since Sarah could remember that day. It was moments like this that reminded her of why she enjoyed working alongside her so much, and why she didn’t mind if it resulted in overtime.

“You wanna take patient referrals while I take the EPRs?”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Sarah picked up the dozen or so documents sat in front of her and grabbed the nearest chair. Audrey told her she’d put the kettle on and nudged the guys still glued to their screens. Ryan had pretty much given up logical thinking and was now ticking random boxes. Jack was cursing under his breath. O’Brien was going to be in for a real treat when he could finally tabulate the responses.

It was nearing 6.20am when Sarah and Audrey finally packed up to go. Matt and Stephanie had just arrived to take over for the morning, bringing a fresh perspective for the day. There wasn’t much for them to catch up on so it should be a smooth few hours at least. Sarah even ran a mop through the staff locker room as an added gift – Steph was a notorious clean freak – nearly tripping Greg up in the process.

He’d been on leave for the past fortnight and his hair was a little longer than she remembered. A five o’clock shadow graced the lower part of his face and it suited him more than she thought it would. He had kept up with the informal tie-less attire and he seemed to be, dare she it, enjoying himself.

“God, I’m so sorry.” She held her hands up in a mock mea culpa. “I was just gonna put it away before heading out. It was a stupid place to leave it.”

“Did you not take the Health and Safety refresher?” he joked, rebalancing himself and trying to play down the redness creeping into his cheeks from the embarrassment of temporarily losing his footing in front of her.

“You gonna rat me out to O’Brien? ‘Cos you know as well as I do that he doesn’t need yet another reason to know he’s right.” She shifted the mop and bucket and placed them back in the supply closet before reaching for her bag again.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He moved passed her before turning to face her again. “Tell you the truth, I ghosted the last couple of tabs myself. Who knew there were so many ways to ask questions about standing in elevators?”

Sarah rolled her eyes in acknowledgement. “Yeh. I can’t wait to have the team meeting when he realises we’ve all pretty much done the same thing. That’s gonna be fun. I might finally take some of my holiday.”

“Yeh, good plan. Hey listen,” His words stopped her in her tracks, feet from the exit. “Um, I know it’s been a while but I was wondering if you might want to reschedule that tennis match some time? Or if not, we could get some dinner or something? There’s that new sushi place on Reagan Street. It’s meant to be really good if you fancy it?”

She was indeed familiar with that very restaurant thanks to the glowing reviews she had been unable to avoid since it opened. Audrey had only mentioned it a mere thousand times in her presence. Word was that bookings were now months in advance so she wasn’t sure how Greg was hoping to find a table unless he wanted to make plans with her in November. Given the number of commitments he always appeared to have going on, it wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of possibility.

“Wow, I thought that place was fully booked?”

“Yeh, it is, but I went to college with one of the investors and he’s promised me a one-off.”

Of course he did. Sarah bit her bottom lip to stop herself from chuckling out loud, imagining Audrey’s face when she would inevitably find out. To be honest, she was genuinely surprised he was still showing a minor interest in her. When she finally made eye contact with him, his earnestness was practically shining. Had he always had perfect skin?

“Um…” That was a good start, she thought.

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal if you’d rather not.” He helpfully pre-empted her awkward rejection but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “I’ve been meaning to go is all and I knew you liked sushi and figured it might be fun? They have live Jazz on Sunday nights.”

When did he find out she liked sushi? And live Jazz? Just how much had Audrey told him about her?

Realising she probably looked perplexed, she shuffled her shoulder strap back up onto her shoulder and tried to relax the awkwardness setting in between them. It was still quiet and no one was within earshot that she could figure out of her peripheral vision.

“It’s not you, Greg, I promise. It’s just, I’m not really looking to get into anything right now. With anyone. Plus, we work together and…I’m sorry. I hope that’s OK?”

“Hey, look, I promise it won’t be awkward. There’s absolutely no expectations from me and if you change your mind, just let me know, yeh? I literally know no one else who likes Sashimi so I can’t waste my only chance to get a table.” He chuckled and she felt more at ease.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m a pretty crap date.” She smiled at him as she edged herself down the hall, putting space between them both literally and figuratively. “You wouldn’t be missing out.”

“Oh, I doubt that somehow.” He returned her smile. “I’m serious, though. Just let me know. Anytime. No expiration date.”

And with that, she had been left dumbfounded by two men in the space of a single week.

It would have been easier to get the early morning bus home at this time, as tired as she was starting to feel. She hadn’t slept well in the last few days and she had a creeping nausea from the lack of proper rest. The walk and crisp, fresh air might do her some good. It was practically full daylight even at this hour, and it was sometimes fun to watch people on their own way to work, huffing along, trying not to drop their coffees.

The out-of-town school bus passed her a few minutes out from her apartment and as she rounded the corner, she got this weird sense that someone was watching her. Another corner turned and she could see her building in the near distance. Still, she couldn’t shake it. She stopped, pretending to fumble for her phone in her pocket and turned around swiftly to see a sweaty Chris stop a few steps behind her.

It took her a moment to register it was in fact him, his beard fuller and a Red Sox cap pulled down low over his eyes. He had sweats and sneakers on and looked like he was on a run. Honestly, if someone else had spotted him from this distance, they would have worried he was going to attack her.

“Hey,” she said, turning to fully face him. “What are you doing out at this time?”

He didn’t respond at first. He shuffled from one foot to the other before grounding himself and taking a couple of steps towards her. Again, he shuffled back a step like he was rethinking his move. She didn’t appreciate seeing him like this, so unsure of himself.

“Five months out from filming some pre-shoots so figured I’d make a start.” He finally spoke. Not a really a smile but he at least sounded OK.

“Cool.” She said, nodding back at him. “Um, I’m not sure if Shanna is awake yet but do you want to come inside for some water or coffee?”

“Yeh, that’d be great. Thanks.”

She turned to continue walking on. For a few long moments, he stayed walking slightly behind her. A couple more strides and he had decided to catch up. The last time it had taken this long to walk this same street, she had been so drunk she had narrowly avoided falling into her neighbour’s front garden.

“Five months? You’re not that out of shape.” She tried to make a joke. It was the only thing she could think of. Audrey would be eye-rolling like a champ if she could see them now.

Chris knew she was trying to make small talk now so he decided to indulge her. It was a fair response, he thought - he was doing OK - as he followed her up the stairs deliberately keeping two or three behind her in an effort to keep it casual.

“Oh, y’know. I fluctuate pretty easily. A few pizzas here and there and it’s game over.”

They walked into her kitchen and she had been right in assuming Shanna was still asleep. Unless she had awoken really early but that was highly unlikely, unless there was a sale at Ted Baker she didn’t know about.

He lingered in the doorway while she searched the fridge for a bottle of water. Grabbing one from the back, she turned to hand it to him expecting him to be within an arm’s reach from her but he had been distracted by something down the hall before turning back to her. Gratefully, he accepted it and walked into the kitchen to take up his usual spot leaning against the counter.

“Sorry, did you say you wanted a coffee?” She offered.

“Nah, I’m good. Can’t really take caffeine until this afternoon.”

“Sorry. I always forget how strict it is.” She apologised, offering him a sympathetic smile.

He took a long swig from the bottle, not breaking eye contact from her. “No need to apologise. You OK? Night shift?”

“Yeh. Pretty quiet, thankfully.”

“I’ve always meant to ask but what is it like, a night shift? I can’t work out if it would be worse or not.”

She understood what he meant and laughed. “It can go either way to be honest but it’s been quiet the last few nights. Nothing crazy. I caught up with some paperwork, so…” She shrugged again, acutely aware of how boring she must sound.

He nodded at her. “Aren’t people supposed to be crazier in the summertime?”

“Well, kids are around more and families tend to spend more time together, so…”

The apartment was unnervingly quiet now which was weird. She could hear the uptake in traffic outside which provided some relief that perhaps he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest. She could make out some small sweat patches on his hoodie and it did something to her that she wasn’t expecting. Shaking the thought from her head, she turned to switch the kettle off.

“What?” He asked.

She jerked her head back around to face him. “Huh?”

“You were thinking of something. Your neck just went red.” He smiled, tilting his head at her and relishing the look of surprise making its way over her features, knowing he’d caught her out.

That was news to her. She knew she had “tells” but a red neck was not usually one of them. How come no one had ever told her about this?

“I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not.” She inquired, playfully narrowing her eyes at him in an effort to lighten the mood.

He shrugged a shoulder at her, a smirk starting to cross his fine features. Joshing with her was good. She’d take that. A small step in the right direction.

“Sometimes, it’s really obvious. You get it when you’re embarrassed about something, or when you try to lie. I’d never really noticed it before, but...” He paused. His expression started to turn more thoughtful and she wished he’d just continue to make fun of her instead.

“Guess I won’t be playing poker anytime soon.” She finished the thought for him.

“Yeh, no, you’d be rubbish at that. Just terrible.” He took another swig from his bottle and waited for her to throw something at him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room went quiet again. She stirred her mug of coffee and offered him another chance at one which he politely refused although his discipline was waning slightly now he could smell it.

“So this is fine.” He said after a couple of minutes, nodding in a slightly exaggerated manner. He looked out of the kitchen window. “We can do this, right? No awkwardness. No embarrassment. Just normal, everyday conversation.”

“’Course,” she nodded in agreement.

“Start as we mean to go on, right?”

She nodded again. This felt like a trap and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Chris had a knack for saying and doing two different things at the same time, an intimidating ability that often put people on edge if he thought it would serve his purpose, whatever that may be. Probably the actor in him. When you called him out, he would aggressively defend himself which only served to prove the point you were making in the first place.

Scott was the only one, truly, who knew when it was happening. It had taken Sarah years to get to a similar position but now, she wasn’t sure she was remotely close to it.

“It’s as good a starting point as any, I guess.” She shrugged again, sipping from her cup.

“So there’s no need to ignore me then.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you, have I?”

“You tell me. I’m just pre-empting it is all. I’m just saying we can still interact, you and me, if we need to. Like, it doesn’t always have to be in social settings with other people around.” He took a final drink from his bottle and turned to locate the recycling pot stashed away in the corner. Even with a mundane task, he always looked cool doing it.

“So don’t worry about it.”

“Alright then. That’s good to know.” She shot him a raised eyebrow which he caught and returned with a sly smirk. “I’m just trying to be sensible. We have to get this right or else there’s no point.”

“I know, I get that, too.” If he wasn’t attempting to be serious before, he was now. He had a hand on his hip and seemed to have grown a few inches in height. “What do you think I’m trying to say?”

“I…think I’m on the backfoot again and it’s weird.” She held a hand up in defence.

“Hey, I’m just doing what we agreed, OK? I’m just following your rules.”

“They’re not rules.” She struggled to regulate the volume in her voice in case she disturbed Shanna. “And you’re making it sound like I’m controlling the situation when I’m not. We both agreed on this. There’s no point being difficult about it.”

Was he being difficult? Yes. Obviously, he was. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but happy definitely wasn’t it. Things were out of sorts and he hadn’t been able to eat carbs or sugar for four days so the withdrawal symptoms certainly weren’t helping. He should go easier on her. She was doing the thinking for the both of them. He should learn to be more grateful for that.

He scratched the back of his head and let out an audible sigh in frustration. “I’ll try harder, I promise. We’ve got that cabin thing coming up with Mom, so…I promise I’ll be good.”

He imitated the scout salute and she smiled at him, a smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Another night shift and Audrey and was starting to get suspicious. No one willingly switched for a night shift. For one thing, there was a disproportionate amount of recovery time. A couple of night shifts often took in excess of a week to recover from; a week that a nurse definitely did not have to spare.

“He been buggin’ you?” she asked, finally growing tired of the silence.

“Who?” Sarah looked up from the cabinet. “No, not really. We haven’t really spoken.”

“So why are you ignoring him?”

“I’m not ignoring him! Why does everyone think that?”

“Who’s everyone?”

Crap. Audrey had her there. Sarah open and closed her mouth without a sound coming out. She took a breath. “He’s not bugging me. He’s not. I’m just trying to limit the times we’re in the same place at the same time.”

“Huh, you’d think he would at least allow you to have peace in your own home.”

“Well, to be fair, he hasn’t been around all that much, but…at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up unannounced. It’s stupid but I feel way more awkward about him than I thought I would. It’s like I can’t even stand to be under his gaze.”

Audrey glanced at her friend, wishing she could offer some words of comfort. Even for someone as verbose as she normally was, she was finding it a struggle. Sarah wasn’t much looking for words of comfort at the given time either. She was all too aware of the predicament she was in and how much responsibility laid at her feet. In her mind, waiting it out was the only logical solution she could come up with. The only logical solution that didn’t require more conversations with someone who could feasibly run rings around her “theory” that if they just stayed apart for a little while, they would suddenly and magically forget about the past couple of months.

They stayed filing documents in silence again, the air seemingly getting thicker.

“You ever spoken with someone and it’s like they’re thinking the complete opposite of what’s coming out of their mouth?” Sarah huffed while shoving the cabinet drawer closed.

“Not really. That person’s usually me.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

“I mean, it’s not my go-to response of course. It’s normally reserved for occasions when I am trying to indulge someone because I know they’re talking bullshit. Like, when I know Mike has been gambling but he tries to deny it? It’s just easier to figure him out that way.”

Sarah froze to the spot, looking at her friend. She breathed a heavy sigh and turned to lean back on the table behind her and crossed her arms. She stared at her shoes for a second.

“Chris is a smart guy. I’ll give him that.” Audrey muttered loudly so she was sure Sarah could hear.

“Give me something! I’m your friend here.” She implored her before chuckling to herself at Audrey’s face and her own apparent lack of self-awareness.

“You know what I think? You’ve probably got withdrawal symptoms from the all the amazing sex you’ve had and now you’re sulking. I think you should get back on that horse and let him fuck you again. That’s what this is.”

Sarah eyed her friend again. For once, she would love to hear someone tell her that she was right. “That’s really not helping, y’know.”

“And this is?!” Audrey’s shriller tone cut through the dry air, smacking Sarah right in the face. “Honey, this isn’t healthy. You hiding out in the hospital and treating it like your own solace is not healthy at all. I love you but you are your own worst enemy.”

“Alright, thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your unswerving efforts to be honest with me at all times and not, like a normal pal, be comforting in any way.” Sarah comically bowed to her friend before considering leaving the office. She would have followed through with the idea as well if it wasn’t for the cosy warmth of O’Brien’s office versus the coldness of the ER department thanks to a leaking pipe. “It’s difficult. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna fall out with you, Audrey.”

Audrey just smiled at her. “I don’t know why you think you have to be the beacon of morality all the time, Sarah. Take a look around. No one else is. We all out here just trying to live our lives as best we can and a part of that is taking advantage of moments of happiness when we find them.”

Something about what Audrey was saying did resonate with her but comparing two months of happiness with Chris to ten years with Shanna was not something she could in good conscience do. Shanna was her security blanket. She provided a comfort of living with someone with shared life experience, of knowing how little you thought about yourself because you were given up as a baby. Honestly, from the very first day they had met, Sarah felt lucky to know her.

Yes, Shanna could be immature at times. Maybe a little selfish. She would often get carried away with trivial things and wasn’t the most reliable person, but what Sarah got in return was worth that and more. Her family enjoyed highlighting the maternal care Sarah would have to provide to someone who was seven months older than she was, but honestly it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was one of the rare occasions where Audrey was wrong.

Chris was a fling at best, Sarah told herself, when she was lying in bed struggling to fall asleep. When she was cold and missing his arms around her. They were both having shitty times and they both got something out of it. That was what Chris had said himself at the very beginning.

Chris 08.15am: You home? Shanna said you were working late again

It was like he knew she would be thinking about him.

Chris 08.17am: I really dont want u ignoring me all the time. This is hard for me right now as well

Fuck.

Sarah 08.21am: I kno. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that :(

He didn’t respond. She thought she saw the tell-tale three dots of him writing something but nothing appeared. Giving up on sleep, she got up and headed into the kitchen. Shanna had left her some bacon in the fridge and a fresh bread bun on the side so she turned on the grill and set about making some coffee.

She felt strangely awake for this time and the apartment was nice and warm from the bright sunshine streaming in from all corners. Maybe a run would help. Or a cold shower.

Chris 08.44am: I wanna be honest with u but I dont think u want that

Chris 08.45am: so what do i do??

Fuck knows.

Chris 08.51am: Can I come over?

Sarah 08.54am: that’s not a good idea

Chris 08.55am: cos you know what will happen?

Chris 08.56am: what does that tell you??

She was sure he was nursing some kind of hangover or, quite possibly, he was still a little bit drunk. There were two responses she could give, she figured. The first would be her usual denial and perhaps an excuse that she was busy or working later than planned. The second, and ultimately the one she opted for, was to agree with him.

Sarah 09.05am: I know what it tells me. That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t come over

Another three dots followed. There was only so many times they could go around and around in circles and as much as Audrey’s words made sense to her, it felt like she had to make the effort to regain some normality.

He didn’t respond. She stared at her phone for an age but nothing came through. Maybe he got the message? Maybe he had fallen asleep. She was both relieved and suspicious; Chris wasn’t someone who backed down from an argument when he thought he was right. He had said as much himself.

She turned the grill off, having lost her appetite. A run might make more sense and could help clear her head.

She couldn’t sit around waiting for Chris to make his next move.

#Chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fanfiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 years ago

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INTERVIEW: SAINT MISBEHAVIN’ WAVY GRAVY

by Richard Whittaker, Dec 21, 2010

One day I got a note from ServiceSpace founder, Nipun Mehta offering me tickets to a new documentary movie about Wavy Gravy. Would you like to go?

I went. Although I was aware of Wavy Gravy as a cultural icon, I really knew very little about him. The film is a eye-opener. Michelle Esrick’s loving documentary, Saint Misbehavin’ - 10 years in the making - is a real introduction to this remarkable man. I'd never heard about Hugh Romney, the man who later became famous as Wavy Gravy. And what a story. I'll mention just one of its surprises: earlier in his life, Hugh Romney was Lenny Bruce's manager.

A few weeks after seeing the film, at Mehta’s urging, I had the chance to interview Wavy Gravy himself.

Richard Whittaker: How are you feeling about Saint Misbehavin’?

Wavy Gravy: Oh, it’s a swell movie. I’m honored to be so well-documented, and the review in the New York Times was embarrassing. I’m not that good.

RW: You said in the film that you’re an “intuitive clown.” Would you mind saying something about what that means?

WG: I’m trained in the art of acting improvisation. That means acting on the spur of the moment rather than doing, say, the focused slow burn and all the traditional clown moves. I don’t do any of that.

RW: So that would be about sensing the moment, what’s there, and taking in who you’re with.

WG: Absolutely—and sensing what’s going on. I was, for a number of years, with The Committee in San Francisco. I taught improvisation at Columbia Pictures. Harrison Ford was one of my students and I’ve taught improvisation at Camp Winnarainbow for over thirty years.

RW: I wanted to ask you about your history. For instance, in New York in Greenwich Village, you wrote poetry, right?

WG: Yes I did.

RW: Is any of it available? And is it something you’d want people to find?

WG: There are a couple of slender volumes out there. I think you’d have to go to Amazon or eBay to find them. I don’t even have copies myself. But other people do and will lend them to me when I need them.

RW: Do any titles stand out for you?

WG: Kaleidoscope and there’s Joe’s Song, which is taught in a poetry class at the University of California at Berkeley. Would you like to hear it?

RW: Please.

WG: Okay. It goes like this: “Once upon and ever since I was a child in a child’s world. I have wept a child’s tears and built a child’s wall of clay and stone and colored years of poems in paint and virgin gold. I sought to build a wall so tall from lion eggs from Gallilee, a brick of song among the dregs of silver nails and lesser men a mile long to kiss the sun and climb again. Once ago and ever now I stood a man on a child’s wall. I stopped and prayed to spider webs and roses of the sea. I spoke as one with all the earth and knew the pain of birth and death to be the same without my wall. Once upon and ever furled I stand alone with all the world.”

RW: That’s beautiful.

WG: I wrote it in 1960 or about then. I don’t write lyric poems very often. These days I mainly write haiku, usually when friends pass away, which is happening more and more frequently from natural causes. Also I’ve been having the good fortune to have my art exhibited, and I do a haiku to go with each piece.

RW: I’m imagining that, as a younger man, you had certain visions and deep feelings that could have been a liability for living the conventional life.

WG: I don’t think I ever had to contend with that one [laughs]. I live in the land of one thing after another. [speaking with an east Indian accent] “The sand only goes through the hourglass one grain at a time,” as some Hindu sage proclaimed. I’ve discovered that to be true.

RW: Did you have mentors who supported you in Greenwich Village?

WG: It was kind of amusing. I was going to theater school at Boston University, which was an amazing theater school. The finest directors in the world would come in and the whole college would read for a part. A freshman could get a lead. It was extraordinary. And if you weren’t cast in the production, you would be cast in the lighting crew or the costume crew or the stage crew. Then there was an upset about theater students not doing their social studies and the university attempted to move the campus of the theater school over to where the rest of the university was laid out. Just at that time, the teachers who had all been hired during the McCarthy blackball because they couldn’t work on Broadway, well, the blackball ended and they all quit. They went to work at the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York City, and they took me with them.

But while I was at BU, I had read in Time Magazine about jazz and poetry in San Francisco. I thought, hey, I’ve written a couple of poems and I know some musicians. I can do that! So I got together with a bunch of artists from the museum school and we proceeded to take the basement of a bar called The Rock on Huntington Avenue. The place in the basement was called The Pebble in the Rock. We put in black tables and black clothes and mobiles and paintings and began doing jazz and poetry. It was the first jazz and poetry done on the East Coast. So I had the privilege of inaugurating the East Coast to jazz and poetry. I persisted in doing it for years in, of all places, Hartford Connecticut. On every Monday I would grab a bunch of musicians and go to Hartford and make substantial money. Otherwise I was going to the Neighborhood Playhouse and reading my poetry in the evenings at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, as you saw in the movie.

RW: That’s an amazing story. There was another thing you said in the film, “put your good where it can do the most.”

WG: Which is the advice I gleaned from one of my mentors, the author and adventurer, Ken Kesey.

RW: Did that kind of focus something for you?

WG: Well, it lit up. It lit up. I had discovered that, somewhat. Whenever I would do a good thing, it made me feel good. I think I heard a preacher of color on television in the late fifties. He said, “It’s nice to be nice.” And that kind of hit a chord for me.

RW: Do you think there’s a mix in what artists do? That in your poetry, part of it was trying to give something?

WG: Hmmm, I don’t know. I was just trying to get out of the way and let whatever was inside of me come to the surface. In the early days, I was not all that consciously altruistic—although, in the early days of poetry, the poets were not paid. We used to pass a cornucopia around after an hour or so and people would put money in it. We made an embarrassing amount of money that way. Myself and Len Chandler, who was one of the first folk singers I brought into The Gaslight, he and I put on these capes with hoods—Len was an African-American and he had a motor scooter. And we would jump on the motor scooter at the end of the evening and drive down into the Bowery and find somebody passed out on the sidewalk. We’d stuff his pockets with money and drive off and find somebody else until we’d given away at least half of what we’d made in the course of the evening. It was a lot of fun.

RW: That’s incredible. What do you think led you to do that?

WG: I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. We didn’t need all that money.

RW: Do you remember the moment when Ken Kesey said “Put your good where it will do the most good”?

WG: No. But he told me a lot of stuff—like, “You should honor your mother and your father.” This comes out of the Bible. As soon as I learned that Kesey had written that, I forget how he worded it, I immediately called my mother and my father and honored them verbally as best I could. And it was illuminating for them and for me. Afterwards, I called Ken up to thank him. He said, “Well, it’s just so darn simple.”

RW: I want to ask about giving and receiving. Do you have any thoughts in general, let’s say, about giving?

WG: Giving seems to be easy for me. Receiving is the thing I’m just beginning to learn how to do with grace. It’s a work in progress, like the rest of me. Over the last thirty years I’ve experienced considerable physical difficulty, having had to receive a series of spinal surgeries and spending amounts of time in body casts. You have no alternative, or you starve. So it was necessary. I tell people I learned patience in the hospital. [there’s a pause] That’s a pun.

RW: You’re right! [laughs]

WG: And as my infirmities persisted, I learned to acquiesce to the moment and accept, with as much graciousness as I could muster, the assistance of people who offered it.

RW: I bet this is true for lots of people, that it’s easier to give than to receive.

WG: Right, but as I pointed out, I didn’t have much choice, as with a lot of the stuff that has happened to me in my life. Life situations have presented themselves and it was either sink or swim.

RW: This reminds me of another part in the film. This is at Woodstock. You and the other members of The Hog Farm were brought there to be the police force for the whole event. You called yourselves “the please force.”

WG: We were the Please Force. And we had also set up what we called the Trip Tent.

RW: And there’s a part in the movie where you describe helping a young man who was having a bad acid trip.

WG: As he came in ranting, this three-hundred pound Australian doctor laid on top of him and said, “Body contact. You need body contact” [said with an accent] and then a psychiatrist leaned in and said, [using another funny voice] “Just think of your third eye, man.”

Then I figured it was time for me to make my move. I said, “Excuse me. I’d like to try something here.” And they all backed up. What’s this hippie going to do? That’s when I said, “What’s your name, man?”

RW: And he mumbled something…

WG: I said, “No, your name.” He told me his name and I said it back to him. In fact, I said it back to him several times.

RW: I noticed how very clear and emphatic you were when you got his name. “Okay, Bob. Bob, that’s your name.”

WG: Your name is Bob.

RW: Where did you get the knowledge of using that simple directness?

WG: We’d spent some time on the psychotropic frontiers through the prankster days and beyond. It was not unfamiliar territory.

RW: You knew something about being really concrete, and focused.

WG: And through the greatest professor of them all, professor experience; and from courses at hard knocks university.

RW: You’ve had a lot of hard knocks university experience, I think.

WG: Yes. Well, that’s how you learn things.

RW: You said in the film how you’d found you could get high without the psychotropic assistance. Could you say something about that again?

WG: There are many ways to alter space. I do lots of breathing exercises, and I do mantras. Different people have different recipes to get to a space of consciousness and then to dwell in it for as long as you can, I guess. My own way is an amalgam of many different practices from many different lineages.

RW: You evolved from Hugh Romney doing the poetry to where you were wearing a jester’s hat.

WG: Between poems I used to talk about the bizarre things that happened to me during the day because it was really tedious just reading all these poems night after night after night. Then a guy came along and said, look, skip the poetry. Just talk about your bizarre experiences. That’s how I got into doing stand-up.

Lenny Bruce became my manager. I put out a couple of albums and toured the U.S. —and in fact, something of the world—doing stand-up before these other things came along.

RW: Somewhere you left the jester’s hat and started dressing as a clown.

WG: I was asked, when we had moved to Berkeley in the mid-seventies, to go the Children’s Hospital in Oakland and cheer up kids. On the way out the door of my house, someone handed me a red, rubber nose. I discovered it enabled me to get out of myself and be entertaining to the kids. After awhile, I began to paint my face up as a clown. Somebody gave me a costume, and a clown who was retiring from Ringling Brothers gave me his giant shoes. I worked with kids, with kids who were terminal, even, and did this almost every day for about seven years.

At one point I had to go to a political rally at Peoples’ Park and I didn’t have time to take off my clown stuff. I discovered that the police didn’t want to hit me anymore. Clowns are safe.

RW: Can you say more about what your experience at Children’s Hospital working with kids was like?

WG: I discovered that not only was I helping the kids, I was helping myself. As I began to do this work, I’d gone through three major back surgeries and was in quite a bit of pain. But working with the kids I discovered that as I focused on the children and the pain they were in, I lost track of my own pain.

RW: Is the clown an archetype you can inhabit?

WG: Sure.

RW: Do you think, “I’m a clown?”

WG: I don’t know. I can’t see you.

RW: [laughs] No. I have a long way to go. If I evolved, I might become a clown.

WG: Well, you need to go to camp Winnarainbow. They’ll teach you to clown. It’d be good for you. I think John Townsend said it most brilliantly in The Book of the Clown, “A clown is a poet who is also an orangutan.” But clown comes from the word “clod” or bumpkin, and the red nose indicates they were drunk. But I found all this out later. Suddenly I have these big shoes on and [laughs] a nose and I’m painting my face up, and where does it all come from? I began to study it, and it’s very fascinating, the path of the clown and the jester.

RW: What have you found out about being a clown? What has been revealed?

WG: It enables me to go places I couldn’t go as a regular kind of guy. People feel challenged by people going where I go. But when I put on the patina of a clown I’m no challenge to them in any way.

RW: What do you wish for people when you become a clown?

WG: I wish that they would find joy in the moment. It’s like I expressed in the film, laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh at stuff or you’re going to end up with your beans on the ceiling.

RW: At camp Winnarainbow in the film it showed the labyrinth you have on the grounds…

WG: It’s a unicursal Cretan labyrinth. The oldest one is 3000 years old and was found on the island of Sardinia. The more common labyrinth, like the one you see at Grace Cathedral came about during the 11th or 12th century when Europeans could not go to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. So they developed this other labyrinth, which is different from the Pagan labyrinth, which made it to Scandanavia, to India and somehow to Peru and to the sun temple at Mesa Verde. That’s where I first encountered it when I spent time living with the Hopi Indians for a few months.

RW: How did that happen?

WG: I was enamored of the Book of the Hopi by Frank Waters. And that’s where I first saw the labyrinth. According to the Hopi if there was a condition of planetary emergency the different races would gather on this mesa for instruction from the spirit world. So I showed up. They said, “You’re pretty early.” But they took pity on me and I got to hang out with them for a while.

RW: Was anything given to you?

WG: Not something that I would feel comfortable talking about, but yes—not so much from the people as from the geography.

RW: So you brought this labyrinth to camp Winnarainbow, then?

WG: Yes. I asked Minalanska, who was an elder, what that was. She said, “Oh Wavy Gravy, that’s just the master plan of the universe.” So I borrowed a pencil and wrote it down, and I’ve brought it everywhere I’ve gone ever since. I learned to draw it. Even with my first book, I’d sign it and draw that labyrinth.

RW: Now how do you make use of the labyrinth at camp for the kids?

WG: A teepee at a time, in the evening, the campers get to walk the labyrinth to beautiful music under the stars. If they do good things, they get strokes. If they do bad things they get strikes. Three strikes and you’re out. You can always work off strikes, but you can get enough strikes to be sent home, too. By doing things above and beyond the ordinary camper—for instance, if you get eight stokes in a two-week session, you get to walk into the center of the labyrinth. In the center, there’s also these crystals. You get to take a crystal out of the labyrinth and take it home.

RW: Do you talk to the kids about the labyrinth?

WG: Oh, sure.

RW: What do you tell them?

WG: I tell them that the labyrinth is not a maze. Mazes are designed to get you lost. Labyrinths are designed to get you found. And I ask them to think of each step as a prayer for peace. I tell them you go into the labyrinth and that there’s an energy in the center that I call the spirit of Gaia, the earth mother. I say that if you have cares or problems you can leave them in the labyrinth and come out perhaps lighter than when you went in. And that is sometimes helpful to young people.

RW: In the film you made a comment to one kid that the labyrinth is inside of you.

WG: Oh, I tell all the kids that. The true labyrinth is inside you.

RW: That’s powerful. From the film, I see that your life has been a journey. Do you feel it that way?

WG: Absolutely. It’s been a great adventure.

RW: What are some of the changes from where you were and where you are today?

WG: The things that are the most significant for me in my life are the circus and performing arts camp that I’ve run with my wife Jahanara for over thirty years. We do nine weeks for kids and one week for grown-ups. And the Seva Foundation is another. Through it I’m able to raise funds to help the blind regain their sight. Eighty percent of the blind people in the world don’t need to be—they can get their sight back.

When we first started doing the work it was about five dollars for a cataract operation. Now it’s close to fifty dollars for the operation in third world countries. If you go to SEVA.org you can find out all about us. We’ve helped to orchestrate—it’s going on three million sight-saving operations. I get to put on concerts to raise funds to do that. I’m going to be seventy-five years old in May and I’m looking forward to doing a concert in the Bay Area at the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond and in New York City at the Beacon Theater. And also I’m facing another basic spinal surgery in January. So I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate.

RW: I know we don’t have much more time, but …

WG: Eternity now, I always say. That’s one of my favorite quotes. And we’re all the same person trying to shakes hands with our self. I think that’s a good one, too.

RW: I like those quotes. It’s clear that you’ve spent a lot of time doing forms of service. Camp Winnarainbow seems to be a service.

WG: Well, my greatest legacy is the children that have come out of camp over the last thirty years. Lots of the kids who started camp when they were seven are now running the camp. And I’m sure it will go on long after I’m gone.

RW: Is that something one begins to learn, that the deepest gifts come when one can look beyond personal wants to take in the needs of others?

WG: That is my want! [laughs] Put your good where it will do the most. I can’t say it any better.

[WORKS AND CONVERSATIONS]

#Works and Conversations #Interviews #Wavy Gravy #Clown #Camp Winnarainbow #service #improvisation

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natromanxoff · 4 years ago

Text

Queen live at Capital Centre in Landover, MD, USA - November 29, 1977

(x)

A fan filmed the first couple minutes of the show on a silent Super 8 camera, but he was caught by a security guard and the film was confiscated.

Another fan recalls the band took a 30 minute break in the middle of the show, and started the second half of the show with Tie Your Mother Down. He also says they performed both Spread Your Wings and It's Late.

Here is a review of the show from the next day's Washington Post. It reveals that the band have swapped Keep Yourself Alive with Now I'm Here. The former now follows Bohemian Rhapsody in the setlist, as it had earlier in the year.

There is a great story on Brian May's website by Tracy Chevalier, who attended the show as a youngster:

It started with a champagne toast and ended with a limo pulling away into the night. In between these two gestures symbolising glamour and sophistication, I lost my virginity. Not in the technical sense (that would take another few years), but in other ways. At my first ever rock concert — going with four friends to see Queen at the Capital Centre in November 1977 — I got an eye-opening peek at elements of the adult world, with its power and its limitations, its glittering artifice and dirty reality, and it demonstrated how little I knew and how much I had yet to learn about life.

I was ripe for it; overdue, really. I had turned 15 the month before the concert, and though people thought I looked older than I was, I was remarkably naive and unworldly at that age. Despite a few character-building events in my childhood — the death of my mother when I was almost 8, the experience of being a minority in DC public schools — I was so unsophisticated, so unaware of the world, that I didn’t even realise Queen was an English band until the lead singer Freddie Mercury appeared in a tight white catsuit on stage at the Capital Centre, raised a glass of champagne at 18,000 screaming fans, and toasted us with “Good evening, Washington” in a fruity English accent. I was stunned. Then I started screaming.

I had been a Queen fan for a couple of years by then. A Night at the Opera was the first LP I bought, and I could sing every word of every song. I don’t remember how I was introduced to Queen — though I do remember hearing their biggest hit, Bohemian Rhapsody, on the radio and being impressed by its audacity. It sure beat the hell out of the Beatles, Bob Dylan and Neil Young, which had been my older sister’s staple music diet. By 14, I was writing Queen lyrics on the desk where I sat for algebra class, swapping them back and forth with a boy I had a crush on, and daydreaming of guitarist Brian May kissing me.

The concert was part of Queen’s News of the World tour. While not a great album, especially after the double whammy of A Night at the Opera and its follow-up, A Day at the Races, it did produce two of their best-known songs, We Will Rock You and We are the Champions, which drop-kicked them firmly into stadium anthem territory. Appropriately, the concert began with the lights going down and the primitive, effective, impossible-not-to-join-in-with BOOM- BOOM-CHI, BOOM-BOOM-CHI, BOOM-BOOM-CHI intro to We Will Rock You rolling over the audience. Everyone immediately jumped up out of their seats and began to stomp and clap along. I, too, stood and stomped and clapped, watching in awe as people began flicking their Bic lighters, a gesture I had never seen before. What, were they going to set light to something? I had tried not to act surprised earlier when people nearby started smoking grass in public, but now was there going to be a riot? What other illegal things would go on that night? Then a spotlight picked out Freddie Mercury, who began to sing, “Buddy you’re a boy, make a big noise, playin’ in the street, gonna be a big man someday . . .” and I thought, “Jesus H. Christ, that is the loudest noise I’ve ever heard! Is that legal?” The wall of sound terrified me, and I wanted to cover my ears, but I didn’t dare, as it would have been a very uncool thing to do. I think I looked around for the exit, wondering how many people I would have to climb over to escape the sound. It was just so goddamned loud — exhilarating, yes, but painful, too, dangerous and overwhelming. I wavered between loving it and hating it, but knew it would be uncool to hate it, so I’d better try to love it.

Towards the end of the song the single note of an electric guitar began to hum louder and louder under the chorus we were all singing and shouting, and Brian May stepped into the light to add his distinctive sound, ending We Will Rock You with low, long-sustain, three-part harmony chords, overlaid with a high melody he made fuzzy and metallic by using a coin as a guitar pick. I adored Brian May. He was the reserved, straight guy (literally) to Freddie Mercury’s camp high jinks — tall, dark, good-looking, with long curly hair and a melancholy pensiveness that made every teenage girl want to comfort him. At this concert he was wearing a silvery white jacket with long, pleated wing sleeves; that combined with his mop of curls should have made him look effeminate, but instead he was deeply sexy.

I loved Freddie, too, for his outrageous antics, his riskiness, his joy at performing and glorious indifference to how ridiculous he looked wearing glittery leotard jumpsuits, eyeliner and a mullet, prancing and strutting and posing, twitching his hips, smacking his lips and otherwise hamming it up. But even without being conscious of Freddie’s sexual preference — I hadn’t yet met anyone who was openly gay — I instinctively sensed he was not to be lusted after. For all his extrovert, welcoming stage presence, he was clearly playing a part, which served to hold us at arm’s length; whereas Brian May’s taciturn moodiness was clearly himself served up raw.

Thank God for Freddie, though. Without him, no one would have moved on stage: Brian May was not a dancer, John Deacon, in time-honoured bassist tradition, stood solidly in one place throughout, and Roger Taylor was trapped by his drum kit.

To set us at our ease, after We Will Rock You Freddie toasted us with a glass of champagne — “Moët et Chandon, of course,” after the reference in the hit Killer Queen. My friends and I heard this and screamed and clutched one another. He mentioned Moët et Chandon! That was our champagne! He was acknowledging us! I swear he made eye contact with me, 200 yards away and over the heads of thousands.

For we had done what we thought was the most original and extravagant gesture (for 15-year-olds) a fan could make: we had sent a bottle of champagne backstage. We’d pooled our money and gotten an older sister to buy it for us — the same sister who had been obliged to drive us all the way to the Capital Centre, smirking at our overexcited fandom. We’d even made our way to the stage door down a loading dock at the back of the arena and reluctantly handed over the precious bottle to a bored roadie, who said he would take it to the band. We’d had our doubts about his reliability, and his jadedness had dampened our enthusiasm a bit: had we really blown all that money — $20, which in those days meant 20 hours of babysitting — to have some unshaven jerk with a beer belly swill the precious liquid? But clearly the roadie had pulled through for us, for there was our champagne in Freddie Mercury’s hand, and he was referring to Moët et Chandon in his pretty cabinet, the lyrics we had so cleverly quoted in the note we sent along with the bottle. We were sure we — among the many thousands — had managed to get through to the band.

If we had bothered to look around rather than feast our eyes on Brian and Freddie (I’m afraid John Deacon and Roger Taylor never got a look-in from me), we probably would have seen other clusters of fans also screaming and clutching one another during Freddie’s toast. But we didn’t look around or harbour doubts, or we ignored them. It was only much later that I allowed myself to consider the veritable champagne lake that must have existed backstage at every Queen concert. Tip to rock stars: want a free truckload of champagne wherever you go? Sing a song that mentions some — preferably name-checking a more expensive brand to ensure better quality — and watch it pour in backstage every night from adoring fans. There must have been a hundred bottles from fans back there, not counting the stash the band may well have brought with them in case Portland or Houston or Detroit weren’t so generous. No wonder that roadie looked so bored — he’d probably been put on champagne duty that night.

Freddie’s toast worked its magic, though, giving me the connection I needed to negotiate a place within the strangeness of the concertgoing experience itself: the weird, scary power of a crowd; the mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment at collective participation; the physical discomfort of standing for two hours when there’s a perfectly comfortable seat behind you. It is one of those tricky, unresolved tensions at concerts: are we there to listen to the music or actively respond to it, participate as a group or answer our needs as individuals? It’s an issue I’ve never entirely resolved — from Queen onwards I have spent concerts going in and out of myself, losing myself to the music and spectacle one minute, the next minute overly conscious of myself clapping or singing or screaming, and wondering why concerts have to be such an uncomfortable physical ordeal.

I was taken aback by the sound of Queen’s music live: not just the volume, but the familiarity and also the strange rawness of the songs. Studio albums have all the mistakes airbrushed out, the layers added in, the balance between players carefully calibrated, like clever dialogue in a play without the awkward pauses and unfinished conversations you get in real life. Queen albums were highly produced, multi-layered affairs. Live, the music was necessarily stripped of a lot of the choral mixing, more raucous, simpler and much messier.

The band wisely didn’t dare attempt to reproduce in its entirety the long, baroque confection that is Bohemian Rhapsody. For the infamous operatic middle section, the band members left the stage as the studio recording played. Freddie and Brian then changed costume, and, at the word “Beelzebub”, all four men popped out of a door in the stage floor and joined live again for the heavy metal section, fireworks going off, dry ice pouring out, everyone going berserk, me in tears of excitement. It was one of the best live moments I’ve ever witnessed. Indeed, I was spoiled by seeing Queen play live before anyone else; for sheer exuberant theatricality, no one else has come close.

The concert ended with an instrumental version of God Save the Queen and once more the flicking of the Bics, which, no longer the virgin concertgoer, I understood now as a gesture of tribute. My friends and I weren’t finished, though. Emboldened by Freddie’s toast, we decided to go to the stage entrance again and say hello. I still choke with embarrassment when I think of it. When we got there, a black limousine was pulling away, our heroes and their entourage inside, and we were left with the detritus: older, dolled-up, hard-bitten groupies who had followed the band around and not made this night’s cut. I stared at one, at her long, bleach-blond hair, her miniskirt, her bright red lipstick. She glared at me briefly; then her face went slack as she dismissed the idea of me being any sort of competition. In fact, I had not really taken in that there was a competition, that the girls (and I?) were here to spread our wares and catch the attention of one of the men, and then . . . And then? I hadn’t thought it through at all. I wouldn’t have known what to do with such a man as Brian May if he even so much as looked at me. All I knew was that I was way, way out of my depth, that even if I had eluded the roadie minding the door, there was no way I was ever going to get past a woman like this.

The contrast between the sparkling theatricality of the concert and the gritty reality of the backstage, with its dirty concrete, anonymous faces and unfulfilled dreams turned my stomach, and almost ruined the night. I wished I hadn’t seen it, because it reminded me that the show was a fantasy, while it was my aching feet and the roadies’ boredom and the groupies’ hard desperation that constituted real life. As I stood watching the limo pull away and the unsexy women stand about, licking their wounds, looking for a ride to the next city and another chance, I felt as if a door had been kicked open a crack on to a world I knew nothing about: the seamy underbelly of the concertgoing experience, a mix of sex and power and exploitation, of cigarettes and poorly applied make-up and long, cold nights waiting to be noticed and defining yourself by someone else’s attention. If that was grown-up life, I didn’t want to know about it. I wanted the champagne toast, but not the limo. Not yet.

Fan Stories

“I had just turned 16 a few weeks earlier. I was absolutely 100% in love with Queen (since age 13 when first hearing Killer Queen on the radio) and therefore could hardly believe my sister's friend, who worked with her at the Roy Rogers restaurant at the mall, who said she knew Freddie Mercury's girlfriend, Mary, and that she was going to get a backstage pass and would try to get one for us as well. Well, just before the concert she met my sister at a pre-arranged point (inside the venue) and said that she was unable to get us the backstage passes. You can imagine my disappointment and my thinking at this point that this girl was not telling the truth about knowing Freddie's girlfriend (it seemed too good to be true to me to begin with). Then after the concert, which was great of course, we were depressed (my sister and I - but especially me) at not getting to meet them, so we decided to wait for their limo to come out of the underground parking area at the Capital Centre. When it emerged we got so excited we decided to sprint to our big blue station wagon and follow them. With my learner's permit only, I followed them at probably over 80 miles per hour - I remember it being the fastest I had ever driven but I was determined not to lose them - to a restaurant somewhere in DC. At that age, I didn't have my bearings around the city. We didn't want to freak them out so I think we just watched them go inside from our car. Then we ended up waiting outside in the cold air for I think around 2 hours - anyway - enough to turn my nose red and make my lips and toes numb. We weren't allowed in the restaurant - and there was a bouncer from Liverpool out front that prevented us from even going in the lobby to warm up. At one point Roger came down the stairs into the lobby and I smiled at him and he smiled back and started over to the door - but was stopped by another man who grabbed his arm. So then he just continued downstairs to the bathroom, and ignored us when he went back up the stairs. When they finally emerged from the restaurant, I was frozen in more ways than just the temp. Brian said, "It's a bit cold out here". One of them (I don't know who because I think I was in shock) said, "So, were you at the concert?" And we said yes. My friend who was hardly a Queen fan grabbed the attention for herself by shouting "That was the best concert I've ever seen!" or some such thing. I was so embarrassed not being able to think of anything to say in my stunned condition. Freddie looked at me briefly then looked over at my sister. He nodded at my sister but he never stopped walking to the limo. Brian walked over to me and said something like, "Did you enjoy the concert?" and I think I mumbled something like, "Yes. It was fantastic." Then all I could think to say was "Can I have your autograph?" He said "Sure" and ended up giving me the autograph and his pen. So I had to tap him on the arm to get his attention to give him his pen back. "Here's your pen." Can you imagine - here I am meeting my idols and all I can say is this? This all happened within about 20 or 30 seconds it seemed, and they all got into the limo quickly - they seemed pretty tired. I can't remember if they had one or two limos. All four of the members were there and I think a couple of other men - probably manager and driver(s). Freddie didn't say anything, just acknowledged us without a smile and got into the limo. John did the same. I remember thinking Brian was pretty tall. I stood very close to him. I am almost 5 foot 9 and he towered above me it seemed. Of course the hair probably added several inches! The best part of the story I guess is that my sister's friend, the one who knew Mary, said that when the band got back to the hotel they said there were some "nice working girls" waiting outside the restaurant. I guess they thought we were older - we were only 16 and 17 and still in high school of course. We were dressed very conservatively and with long coats.

My sister's co-worker said that she was good friends with Mary, because their families had been neighbors, and so was happy to get to visit with her. Also she said she thought that Freddie was the nicest member of the group, but very shy.” - Donna13

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

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javier-djarin · 4 years ago

Text

Como Me Duele: Chapter 12

Ship: Javi x Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,557 words

Warnings: Language, Smut, Soft!Javi

Masterlist

(Gifs by @pascvl)

Summary: Life after Pablo finds you and Javi in bliss. Javi adjusts to his new title of fatherhood. You and Javi talk about the future of your family.

A/N: So, this is the last official chapter! (cries for days). Thank you again for all the love and support! Please, please, PLEASE let me know what you think. Please let me know if you want to be on my tag list for any future fics! I have a few lined up. I will be writing an epilogue to this so you know what lies in store for them in their future. As always, the translations are at the bottom.

Your POV

“What do you mean you have to leave?” you asked, sitting up.

He smiled at you as the sheet you wrapped around your front barely left anything to his imagination. “They want to review my case, which means talk about my involvement with Los Pepes.”

“Which means they could send you to jail, Javi,” you said.

Javi shook his head. “They would have come after me sooner if that was the case. As soon as I get there, I’ll get ahold of my lawyer.” He smiled and tried to pull the sheet off you.

“Seriously, Javier?”

He laughed at you and nodded. “If I’m not worried, you shouldn’t be. Now, I’m not going to leave for the airport for a few hours. So, let’s finish what we started.”

You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I knew you’d be trouble when I first met you.”

“Por siempre y para siempre, hermosa.”

He deepened his kiss, gently pulling the sheet down. His hands danced across your skin, sending chills throughout your body. You smiled and laughed into his kiss as you ran your hands through his hair, giving him a slight tug. He growled and moved his lips down your neck and jaw, stopping at your already tender breasts. You let out a sigh, as his warm mouth was a welcomed surprise. He nibbled at one before moving to the other, his fingers already finding their way to where you ached most. He followed them soon after, kissing the inner parts of your thighs. He gently placed your legs over his shoulders as he laid down in front of you, his palms resting on your lower abdomen enough that his thumbs massaged you - running in slow methodical circles as Javi enjoyed the rest of you with his mouth.

As soon as his tongue came into contact with your body, you let out a loud moan. God, his tongue could do magical things to you. No, that man could do wonders. Your hand traveled down to grab his hair while the other had a death grip on the sheets. You felt him growl against you, sending a wave of pleasure through your veins. “You taste so fucking good, hermosa.”

He felt your legs start to shake and close around him. You were close. Your breathing became more labored as you moaned his name, begging him for more. He moved his hand so he could use his fingers while his mouth moved to your clit. He rubbed the inside of you in those same, slow circles while he curled his fingers, running them down your walls. You lifted your hips and cried out as you arched your back. You cried his name, each syllable falling off your tongue like a sweet plea.

He finally came up for air, your orgasm glistening on his face; the sexiest and most arousing thing you’d ever seen. Javi wiped his face and cleaned his fingers off before returning to your mouth. He stopped moving for a moment and looked down at you. “What’s wrong?” you said, placing hands on either side of his face.

He let out a long breath and smiled at you. “Nothing. I just can’t believe that this is real. That you chose me.”

You felt your heart ache for Javi. He knew exactly how to tug at your heartstrings, and he wasn’t even aware of it. “And knowing everything we’d gone through to get here,” you kissed him, “I’d choose you a thousand times over again, mi amor.”

He smiled at you and kissed you deeply as you felt him slide into you as far as he could go. He was the only man who could ever take your breath away and make you feel so alive at the same time. You gasped into his kiss as you felt him fill you completely and you both held onto each other for a moment. “Never leave me again,” he said.

You laughed. “You’re the one who sent me back here.”

He kissed you again. “I was a fool.”

“Javi,” you said, running your hands down his face. “I believe you said it best: ‘They’ll have to kill me before I leave you’. And you should realize, I’m too stubborn to die.”

He grinned at you. Since you woke up in the hospital, you’d never seen him smile so much. And you wanted to keep him smiling forever. “Never stop this,” he said.

“What?”

“Loving me this way,” Javi whispered.

You wrapped your legs around him to pull him deeper into you. He groaned, but never broke his eye contact with you. “I will love you this way for the rest of my life.”

He slowly pulled back before thrusting back in at the same, excruciatingly slow pace. You let out another moan and whimper. He’d never felt so good before, and you never wanted this to end. When you moved to Colombia, you weren’t looking for love. You were looking for a way to find yourself. Find who you were without Michael. Little did you know you’d find yourself Javi. Javi, the man who brought out the real you. The “you” that loved taking risks. That woman, you discovered, loved jumping in feet first, knowing fully well that she could catch herself, but was hoping someone else would be there to catch her. And you couldn’t imagine that someone being anyone other than Javier Peña. He showed you a life of love and happiness that was beyond anything you’d ever experienced or believed to exist outside of stories. “Te quiero, mi Javi.”

He kissed you even deeper as he moved. Your hands moved to his back as your hips moved into him, your body beseeching him for more. “Te quiero, mi hermosa,” he said, “Eres más de lo que podría soñar y todo lo que siempre quiero.”

You felt a few tears stream down your cheeks, and you saw one glisten his. You grabbed his hair as he craned his face into your neck. His velvety skin moving against yours was almost enough to send you over the edge again, thanks to your heightened nerves. “Javi,” you breathed. You felt his muscles tense as you said his name, running your hands all over his body. “More.” You said. His slow pace was torture.

He looked into your eyes and moved just a little faster. You felt yourself getting lost in his eyes, his touch, his scent, his movements. You could feel your body start to quiver and clench around him, drawing our low moans and growls from him. His noises always aroused you even more. But what you loved the most was his attention to detail. When you were close, he knew exactly how to send you over the edge by adding his thumb to add just the right amount of pressure and friction, and then he’d always say to you, “Come for me, hermosa.”

You cried out his name, loud enough that it echoed off the walls. You felt his hips start to move faster, helping you ride out your euphoria. Your body felt hot and cold as he continued thrusting and moving his hips in just the right pattern that left you feeling weak when he was done. You came again, just as he finally had his own release, breathing your name into your neck before kissing you and giving you your breath back.

You held him in place just for a little bit, because you loved nothing more than the feeling of having him inside of you. When he finally rolled over to pull you into his arms, you sighed and rested your head on his chest. He lightly ran his fingers up and down your side and kissed the top of your head. “I was thinking,” he said, “I really like the name Marcela.”

Your heart swelled. Since you’d been back in the States, you hadn’t really talked about what life would look like with the babies. And the fact that he was thinking of names made you love him even more. “That’s a beautiful name, Javi.”

He smiled at you and shrugged. “I just read it in a baby book the other day.”

You rolled over and leaned against his chest so you could look down at him. “You read a baby book?”

Javi laughed and started to blush. “I bought a few, actually. Look, I have absolutely no idea what to expect. Some of these books go into…” he cleared his throat and looked horrified, “detail. I had no idea a woman’s body could do so much.”

You laughed even harder and kissed him. “And think, I’ll be pushing out two of them that day.”

His eyes grew wide, almost as if he was reliving a horrific memory. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”

You curled up against his side and ran your nails over his body. “I’m not. I already love them so much.”

Javi held you tighter and kissed your head. “You’re stronger than I’ll ever be,” he sighed, “there’s no way I’d survive childbirth.”

“You’re going to have to, because if you pass out in that room, I will kick your ass after I push them out,” you said, looking into his eyes with all seriousness.

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing it. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

You settled back against him. “So Marcela for a girl. Any boy names?”

He shook his head. “You’re having a girl.”

“Javi,” you laughed, “I’m having two. We can’t call them both Marcela.”

“Well, I did half the job. You think of another name.”

You glared at him. “I get to spend the next seven months making them.”

“To be fair,” he smiled at you with his adorable, boyish grin, “I contributed to that as well.”

You hated that his grin could get you to agree to almost anything. “I like the names Santiago and Francisco, but I had another idea.”

He cringed at both of those names. “Please tell me your idea is better than those names.”

You lightly slapped his chest. “They aren’t that bad! I also like the name Jaime.” You watched him smile at you again. “Anyway, my other idea was we call him Javier.”

He laughed. “You want to name our son after me?”

“Why not?” You asked, rolling over to look at him again. “It’s a good strong name for a son to grow up and be a perfect example of a man, just like his father.”

You saw tears form in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss you. He let his head lean back against the pillow as he let out a deep breath. “Holy shit,” he laughed, “we’re going to be parents.”

You laughed with him. “Everything is going to change so fast,” you said.

You felt his body tense around you. “We don’t have anything ready. No crib, no nursery. Oh god, the nursery. What colors do we want to paint it? We need car seats. Fuck. We have to buy two of everything.”

You leaned against him and kissed him to calm him down. “Tranquilo, mi amor. Todo va a estar bien.” He looked up at you, and all of the worry in his eyes was gone. “Connie is throwing us a baby shower where we will get a lot of that stuff. You and I will need to go register at places to pick out things we want, but they will take care of it all. And, while we do that, we are also doing our wedding registry.”

He let out a deep breath. “Oh.”

“Besides, we are painting the nursery gray with teal-blue accents.”

You felt him relax under your touch and lean up. He rested his hand on your stomach and smiled. “I want to go with you to your next appointment.”

“I have one next week,” you smiled, resting your hand on his.

He kissed your stomach lightly. “Marcela and Javier.”

“Mi amor,” you said, “we need another girl name, just in case there are two girls in there.”

“Julieta or Mariana,” he said.

“You’re oddly good at this.”

He smiled. “I just know you’re having girls.”

“Are you ready to be a father to two girls? Two mini-me’s running around.”

He looked at you for a minute, almost like he hadn’t considered that. “I’ll be so outnumbered.”

You giggled at him. “They’ll give you these same eyes,” you said, making your trademarked doe-eyed expression he loved to hate, “and you’ll be wrapped around their fingers.”

“Dios ayudame. If we have two girls, you know we aren’t stopping there until I at least get a son.”

You pulled his face to yours again, kissing him deeply. “We’re going to need a bigger house, then.”

“Lo que quieras, mi hermosa.”

His POV

They were sitting at the dinner table over a meal Javi attempted to cook. The further she got into the pregnancy, the more he picked up around the house. It was getting harder for her to carry things, bend over, or even move. For the last several weeks, she waddled everywhere. She hated everything about her appearance, but he loved it. She’d never looked more beautiful to him than when she did her tired waddle up the stairs for bed. Every night, he’d taken the liberty of massaging her swollen feet to help her go to sleep. Sadly, the twins would keep her up for most of the night kicking and moving. “I’m ready to get these kickboxers out of me,” she said.

He set a plate of spaghetti down in front of her and some poor excuses for meatballs. “They’re not as good as yours, but…”

She stopped him and reached for his face for a kiss. “They’re perfect.” She rested the plate on her belly and leaned back in her chair to eat. “So,” she started, “are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

He stared at her for a moment, unsure what to say. On multiple occasions, she had referred to herself as said elephant, and on each of those times Javi had the wrong response. This time, he decided to wait for her to continue. “Cali?” she added.

Javi dropped his head. “I can’t leave the three of you here. God knows how long I’d be gone. I told them no.”

She sighed. “Then take us with you.”

He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Did you hit your head so hard you forgot what happened?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Javi, ever since they offered you that job, you’ve been restless. If you want to go, I won’t stop you.”

His heart stopped. “Hermosa,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “I’m restless because I’m about to be a father of two. I would never leave you to go running back to Colombia.”

“Do you want to do this? Answer me honestly.”

He thought about it for a minute. He hated those motherfuckers and everything they stood for. So, the answer was easy. “I want to see the Cali Godfathers rot in a cell.”

“Then take the job.”

“Without you there, I’d be miserable.”

“Then take us with you. You’re running the office. You won’t be doing field work like last time. I saw the pamphlets on the apartments near the Embassy. They’re much nicer than the one we lived in before. Besides, we will be closer to the Embassy. No one is going to touch us. The girls will be young enough that we won’t have to enroll them in school, so I’ll be with them all the time. Besides, we could really use the money.”

“What about our wedding? Most of it is already paid for, and we can’t get those deposits back.”

She took a deep breath. “We will fly back for the wedding. Connie and Steve can step up in their duties for us, but for the most part everything is planned. We haven’t booked a honeymoon yet, so there’s no need to worry about that. We can take a honeymoon after you bring down Cali. Besides, that is eighteen months away. For all you know, we might be back home by then.”

He shook his head at her. “I just don’t want to relive what happened.”

“I know you’re scared, mi vida, but I also know that you want to bring those fuckers down. You and Steve both.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why they didn’t ask him,” he said.

“Javi,” she said, “if things get so bad that you’re afraid for our safety, I will fly back here and stay this time. I promise.”

“No, I will resign. End of story.”

She smiled, but that quickly turned into a look of pain. “Oof,” she said, setting her plate on the table and resting her hand on her back.

“What?” he asked, half panicked, because he already knew.

“Is the overnight bag packed?” she asked.

“It’s sitting by the door.”

She nodded and took several deep breaths. “Good. We need to go.”

“Oh shit,” he said, “okay. Um, do you need me to help you walk?”

She shook her head and stood up. She started rapidly moving to the door, faster than he had seen her move in a long time. He followed behind her, grabbing the overnight bag.

***

Her parents rode with Chucho to the hospital. They’d been staying in town the last few weeks, waiting for their grandchildren to be born, and Chucho offered his guest room for them. Connie and Steve moved to Laredo when Steve was stationed there after Colombia, and Kate had been staying with them, doing what work she could from here. They were all waiting for them at the hospital by the time Javi and the nurse wheeled her in that direction. Javi stopped when Steve approached him to give him a reassuring hug. “I hope you slept good last night, because that was your last peaceful night,” he said.

Javi laughed. “I’m just glad you moved so close. Connie already offered free babysitting whenever we need it.”

Steve's face instantly changed and he looked off at Y/N being pushed down the hallway. “Free. B-babysitting?”

“It comes with best man duties,” Javi added, slapping his back.

“Javi!” she barked.

“That’s my cue,” he said, running after his hermosa. He caught up to her and grabbed her hand. “You ready?”

She smiled at him and kissed his hand in hers. “With you at my side, of course.”

Ten hours of intense labor, birth, and what he was sure was a broken hand later, he was holding one of his daughters in his arms. He couldn’t stop looking between the little bundle in his arms, the bundle in hers, and her. “They’re perfect,” she whispered.

“You’re perfect,” he said, kissing her softly. “I didn’t think I could be more in love than I am right now.” A few tears ran down her face. “And, you were right.”

She smiled. “I always am, but what about now?”

“They’ve already got me wrapped around their little fingers.” He kissed Marcela on her forehead. “And you’re not dating until you’re in your thirties,” he said to both of his daughters.

Y/N let out a soft laugh and cradled Mariana closer to her. “So,” she said, looking up at Javi. “Cali?”

He gazed down at the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life. “Are you sure you want to go all the way back down there for more bullshiiiiii-of what we went through with Escobar?”

“Nice save, mi amor,” she laughed, “and te seguiría hasta los confines de la tierra.”

He sighed. “I’ll let them know in the morning.”

Marcela whimpered and Javi held her closer to him. “Hey, mi hermosita, it’s alright. Daddy’s got you.” He lightly rocked her back and forth until she calmed again.

He then leaned down to kiss Y/N. “You are magnificent,” he said. His heart swelled so much, he thought it would burst. “Te amo más de lo que las palabras pueden describir y amo a nuestras hijas más que a nada.”

“Te amo, el amor de mi vida. Te amo mucho más que a nada.”

“Todo mi mundo está en esta habitación, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost it.”

She smiled at him. “Lucky for you, you’re stuck with us.”

Javi smiled wider than he ever had. He was filled with so much love and happiness, and the fact that she chose him over any man she could have meant everything. He really did love the three of them more than anything, so much that it hurt. This pain, though, was a good pain. He felt like his heart would bust open, overflowing with love. He looked over and saw her asleep with Mariana on her chest. He was so proud of her for being the strong, amazing, beautiful, and perfect woman she was. If he could take a picture of this scene, he would. He wanted to remember this beauty, this perfect image of unconditional love forever. “Mis hermosas,” he whispered as he kissed her head before sitting down in the chair next to her, cradling Marcela against his chest.

Translations

Por siempre y para siempre, hermosa. - Forever and for always, beautiful.

Eres más de lo que podría soñar y todo lo que siempre quiero. - You are more than I could ever dream of and all that I could ever want.

Tranquilo, mi amor. Todo va a estar bien. - Relax, my love. Everything is going to be fine.

Lo que quieras, mi hermosa. - Whatever you want, mi hermosa.

Te seguiría hasta los confines de la tierra. - I would follow you to the ends of the earth.

Te amo más de lo que las palabras pueden describir y amo a nuestras hijas más que a nada. - I love you more than words can describe and I love our daughters more than anything.

Todo mi mundo está en esta habitación. - My whole world is in this room.

Tag List

@magneticbucky @larakasser @pedropascalownsmyheart @wander-lustbabe @frietiemeloen @wickedfrsgrl

#Javier Pena #Javier Peña #Javier Pena x Reader #Narcos #Como Me Duele

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fmasecretsanta2020 · 4 years ago

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Interest Check Questions Answered!

Mods Tas, Waddi, and Flour have reviewed your interest check responses, adjusted our rules and schedule, and are ready to respond to all your questions about the event. To begin, we’ve pulled quite a few questions from your interest check responses and are publicly answering them below the cut.

Want to learn more about out the 2020 FMA Secret Santa? Check out our FAQ, rules and schedule.

Have a questions about this event? Don’t be shy! We’d love to respond. Send us a tumblr ask!

‘Tis almost the season! Sign-ups open on Monday, October 19, 2020!

I’m new in all of this, so I’d like to know what’s the purpose of the check-in dates. What do we have to do in those?

The first check-in is just to make sure that you are still interested in participating and are ok with your assignment. We understand that real life can get in the way sometimes. We ask that people let us know as soon as possible if they think they need to pull out. The second check-in is to ask when the gift will be posted. The reason for this is that last year we had several dropouts who confirmed they were going to make a gift at check-ins but did not post a gift. The second check-in will allow us to assign to pinch-hitter sooner.

-Mod Waddi

Maybe the second check-in is too close to the posting time? If a pinch-hitter is needed.

Thanks for your thoughts, anon. The second check-in is a little late, and we will adjust our schedule to give you five days between the second check-in and the posting period. However, we are keeping it at a later date for a pretty good reason.

Unfortunately, we assigned most of our pinch-hitters at the end of the posting period last year. We had several dropouts who confirmed with us at our midpoint check-ins but did not post a gift. To avoid that this year, we’re having two check-ins, and at the second check-in, we will ask you when you plan to post. We understand that some people need less time than others to complete a gift, but everyone should have started and have an ETA for completion five days before the posting period. A late second check-in might help us make sure everyone receives a gift on time!

-Mod Flour

Could you perhapse have multiple days for assignments incase someone has a personal issue with someone they are supposed to make content for and can let you know?

We certainly understand where you’re coming from with this suggestion. Unfortunately, since we give people 72 hours to respond to each moderator contact (and we will be asking our participants to confirm that they accept their assignment), separate assignment days would have to take place over (possibly) weeks—6 days at least for 2 assignments, 9 days for 3 assignments, 12 days for 4 assignments, etc.—if we waited for each wave of participants to accept before moving on to the next. We feel that this approach would significantly cut into the creation period. Additionally, the sign-up application will provide a space where you can list people that you do not want to receive a gift from or make a gift for. We encourage everyone to be honest on their application, and if someone is uncomfortable with the person they are assigned, contact a moderator sooner rather than later.

-Mod Flour

what about art styles that don't really do clean lineart but do include colors/complexity/etc, or multiple sketchier drawings/comic strip type things?

Thank you for this feedback. As writers, we appreciate you pointing this out. We will do our best to take this into account.

-Mod Waddi

A minimum of 8 gifs could be a lot if it's an edited gifset. I can see it being okay for a slightly colour-changed gifset with a filter over it, but for more creative gifs it can be way too much.

Thank you for this helpful feedback! This is exactly the kind of thing we want to hear. Admittedly, all three moderators are writers. We do our best to make good rules, but sometimes we don’t take all the variables into account. We’ll lower the minimum from 8 to 4.

-Mod Flour

I tend to write a lot when I get excited; would it be a problem if I write more than 1k?

Not a problem at all! We totally understand this excitement and allow our Secret Santas to produce at or above the required minimum for their specific type of gift. When creating these gifts, please take into consideration your assigned person’s likes and dislikes.

Two things to keep in mind:

1) Please consider the number of days for creation (a maximum of 47 days). Assignments will go out on November 15, with two check-ins occurring on December 1 and December 15. All gifts must be 100% complete before posting between December 21, 2020 and January 1, 2021.

2) If you decide to produce your gift above the required minimum, please do not expect your Secret Santa to do the same. As long as they meet the minimum requirement, it is considered a complete gift.

-Mod Tas

I think they're mostly fine, although, would ships that have them meet when one is a minor and the other an adult, but they're currently both adults be allowed? I understand that this exchange is a way to build bridges in the fandom, but I'm not sure if that's going to work if one of the most popular ships is completely excluded.

Yes, as long as you portray both characters as adults when including romantic or sexual content in your gift, you are free to ship whoever you’d like to (besides incest) no matter when they met. Our rules prohibit major/minor sexual or romantic relationships—minor meaning 17 years old and under and major meaning 18 years old or older. As long as you’re not including sexual or romantic tones that take place when one character is a minor within your otherwise adult/adult ship gift, we’re good. Keep it all non-sexual and non-romantic until both characters are adults.

(As an aside, some people may remember that this exchange had an additional exception for major/minor shipping for small age gap relationships last year; however, no one took advantage of that exception, and it complicated the rules quite a bit. Therefore, we decided to draw a hard line and leave it at that. There’s no judgment there; we’re just trying to craft rules that work for most people.)

Please also keep in mind that we also allow alternate universes and canon-divergent situations in this exchange. A hallmark of fandom is being free to imagine! We feel it would be almost impossible (and unfair to the differing, though equally valid points of view in the FMA fandom) to set ages for every character and then to enforce such a restrictive rule.

-Mod Flour

I think the exchange should allow M and E works, and to create/receive them you have to be 18+—but in order to not pressure minors to self-identity, have the question of whether they're over 18 be optional. (So it's basically, "If you're interested in NSFW and meet the age requirement, check this box.") And unless I misread the definition of pedophilia, it seems to exclude kid/kid relationships. Which I don't personally enjoy, but I know some people like kidfic or "through the years" fics, which are pretty harmless IMO as long as they're not physical/sexual.

We hear you anon. My fellow moderators and I have had many conversations about the rating of this event. We think it’s best to stick to a blanket PG-13 rating. However, there is a footnote that you might be interested in:

This Fullmetal Alchemist Secret Santa Gift Exchange takes no stance regarding “Mature” or “Explicit” content added to the original Secret Santa offering. Please post additional content separately from the Secret Santa offering (separate reblog, post, or additional chapter). Such additions or continuations are at the discretion of the gift giver.

The second part of your comment requires a more in-depth analysis. While there are some restrictions, kid/kid ships are not completely excluded. We exclude sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationships between any character and another character who is 13 years old or younger. We don’t have many shipping exclusions for characters who are 14-17 years old as long as they are shipped to other 14-17 year old characters.

Specifically, our rules prohibit pedophilia (which we define as a sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship by any character to a character who is 13 years old or younger) and major/minor sexual or romantic relationships. While we regret that the pedophilia definition is overbroad, in that it can define someone under 16 years old as a pedophile, subdividing the rules further would make them even more complicated. To grasp the intent of both the pedophilia rule and the major/minor exclusion as it affects kidfics, look to our wording, particularly the part where we say sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship.

To wit, sexual can be defined as, “relating to the instincts, physiological processes, and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals.” For example, if an 8 year old and a 9 year old hold hands and walk down the street having thoughts about how special they are to each other, we would not consider this sexual. If that same 8 year old and 9 year old hold hands and think about wanting to act intimately while jaunting down the street, we would consider that sexual. Innocent physical contact alone wouldn’t break the rule; it’s a character’s intent that matters most here.

Therefore, a participant can make a through-the-years work with a prepubescent setting included so long as any kid/kid shipping is not sexual in nature. To the extent that these rules may appear to allow romantic relationships between minors of all ages, all I have to say is that it wouldn’t be PG-13 to have a 9 year old with a romantic, albeit non-sexual, interest in a 16 year old (or vice versa). I haven’t run across a a lot of media with older minors being romantically linked to younger minors in the fandom, so I’m hopeful that we don’t need to be too worried.

Oh my, that was long. I hope that helps explain our rules a little better.

-Mod Flour

Just a question: out of curiosity, will this event be having a discord server or some other way for the members to talk to each other?

There will be no discord server for this event. Several reasons include:

1) Secret Santa identities should remain anonymous until posting dates. No participant should be able to figure out who their Secret Santa is,

2) we want to avoid conversations which may allude to a participant’s specific gift,

3) after a long consideration, the moderators have decided that this year’s event will be conducted via Tumblr platform only. All participants will need to have a Tumblr account in order to be contacted via the chat.

-Mod Tas

there are a lot of options for the type of gift that can be created-- can the person being gifted ask to have a specific gift (ex: art only)? thank you

Yes, the person being gifted can request for a specific gift. However, the sign up form will also ask for a backup gift type that the participant is willing to receive. The mods, to the best of our abilities, will match up a participant with a Secret Santa who will be able to produce said gift.

Assignments will go out on or after November 15, 2020. Should you have any concerns with the person assigned to you--their gift requests or otherwise, please contact one of the mods as soon as possible.

-Mod Tas

Will there be an option (if ships are allowed) to opt out of ships of adult/minor characters over the age of 13?

The sign up form will ask your likes and dislikes (i.e. favorite pairing or preferred genre), including what kind of gifts you are not and are willing to receive. If you prefer to opt out of a specific type of pairing, please note it during sign up.

Based on the rules of FMA Secret Santa 2020, “Media containing, suggesting, or portraying incest,* pedophilia**, or minor/major sexual or romantic relationships*** is prohibited.” The age of majority is defined as 18 years old.

Adult & minor relationships, which are non-sexual, non-romantic, and bear no indication that it would become such, are allowed. We are also allowing alternative universes, which may include characters depicted as younger or older than their canonical age. If a fanfic or a fanart depicts canonically minor characters as adults, they will need to explicitly state this.

-Mod Tas

If you are looking for other moderators to help facilitate, I'd be interested in filling out an application.

Oh, thank you! This is a really kind offer. We decided earlier this year not to run formal moderator applications, and we are unsure if we need any other moderators at this time. However, we may review this. If you’re interested in helping out, just message @waddiwasiwitch or @flourchildwrites on tumblr, and we’ll go from there.

-Mod Flour

I haven't participated in this before so I don't know if tvis is already a thing, but I think that during sign ups you should have the chance to write a list of topics, characters, and ships that you would rather not do for the exchange, because there's a difference between respecting ships from a distance and having to draw your notp.

Yes, an option for specifying likes and dislikes will be available in the sign up form. This is the case for both what gift you will create and receive. We will be matching people whose interests align, and we will take likes and dislikes into account. The more information provided in the form, the easier our job will be.

-Mod Waddi

Manga edits/colorings okay?

Yes, that's a wonderful gift! In fact, we're going to add manga edits/colorings to the category of gifts available by a recipient’s request or suggestion just to keep the idea at the forefront. If a participant requests a manga edit/coloring or if they say they are flexible on their application and you indicate you'd like to make one on your application, we'll do our best to send you their way during matching!

-Mod Flour

Are sculptures ok with this?

That is a very interesting question. As this gift exchange is entirely digital and doesn't involve physical gifts, we are unsure what that would look like. Us mods were talking about it, and we were wondering if it would be possible to show us an example of what a gift like that would look like. Please get in touch with either myself @waddiwasiwitch or mod @flourchildwrites by Tumblr message. We would need to know more to answer your question. When a gift is unusual, it means we need participants who will be open to such a gift too.

-Mod Waddi

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #gift exchange #secret santa #fmasecretsanta2020

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freetheshit-outofyou · 5 years ago

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Connected Deeper Than Blood

The mystery of the silver .308 cartridge has been solved. It was a gift from an old Army buddy, we’ll call him “Smalls” for the purposes of this conversation because, well, it’s his name.

I’ve told his story a few times before but I’d like to share why it’s important to me. It is a story of never forgetting the person to your left and right regardless of how far apart you get. It is also a story of never giving up on those who were there when you never thought you’d live past the next hour.

To tell Smalls story I have to tell you a little bit of mine. I met Smalls in 2006 when I back filled a unit that had taken more than a few losses in Southern Baghdad. There is little harder to do in the Service than filling the space of the dead and or wounded. People look at you like a placeholder, a fill in for a good soldier no matter how good of a soldier you are. Normally only time and experience can show them you are more than just a placeholder, combat is the exception. Combat shows people's true colors quick, fast and in a hurry. As fate would have it my very first patrol of my second deployment to Iraq would be a freaking mess.

Meet Smalls. We were out about 3 hours when and IED goes off just under the rear end of my guntruck kicking the whole truck into the air at a 35 or 40 degree down angle. We slam into the ground like we’d been hit by a train, the truck is full of smoke, dirt, dust, I can taste blood and I can’t hear or see. I am trying to scream to my driver to keep going at the same time I’m fishing for my gunners legs to make sure he was still in the truck, in 2006 we were not wearing people dummy cords yet. I find one leg and give it a tug and he kicks me, now I know he is alive. I’m trying to get anyone on the Radio, flicking my VIC headset from truck to Squad and back and I’ve got nothing that’s when I realize the the weight and pain I had been feeling in my left leg was part of the BFT (Blue Force Tracker) and SINCGARS mounts that had broke off and I was partly sitting on it and partly under it so the radio(s) all of them were out. Its dark, the truck is in shambles but its running and my Driver is trying to drive strait but has no idea where were are, what our orientation is but we know we can’t just sit there, its right about now that we realize they are shooting at us and my gunner has been shooting back.

All that shit right there is what broke apart and was under and over my legs. At this moment 10,000,000,000 things have happened all at once and it seems like its been about 20 minutes and not the 90 to 120 seconds it’s actually been. I’m yelling at the driver to clear his vision and find his NOD’s (Night Vision Device) and yelling to Smalls to tell me what he sees, where are the other gun trucks and what does our damage look like from the outside. He is yelling in between bursts with the 240B that the LT’s truck behind us looks like it lost a wheel and the L-RAZ (Laser Thermal system, I don’t remember what they are actually called, my trucks never had one.) and all the trucks behind us have their day lights on now and the hole in the road is massive. And right now is when we smashed into the rear end of the gun truck in front of us. It had a positive side effect thought I got the damned radio and BFT mounts off me. We are still taking fire, not very accurate but accurate bullets will still kill you, I get out and met up with SSG Smith (Yes, his real name.) the TC from the truck we just hit. I told him we were good I did not know about the LT’s truck and that we have no “Coms”, he said we were headed to the IA (Iraqi Army) check point about a kick away and to just follow them. We scrambled back to our gun trucks and away were went. The shooting has stopped and we pull in to the IA checkpoint on MSR Tampa smoking and clicking and smelling like we’d shit in our gun truck, because we’d just shit in our gun truck. As soon as we stop I get my crew out check them all over and start the process of figuring out what the damage is, getting the ammo sorted and the gunner back up and ready to rock. The IED has been deep and big, but because it was deep it just blew up like a big asphalt bubble and popped basically just chucking our truck and the LT’s truck into the air and dropping us back down with little damage. The LT’s truck blew the right front wheel when it came back down and we were in the process of changing that when wave 2 of the shit storm kicked off. We were just getting the spare tire off one truck to put on the LT’s truck when a freaking RPG zips by the IA barricade and flies into the field behind it. We all hit the ground, the tire is no longer bolted to the rack and falls off onto MEEEEE, those damned tired are heavy. They get the tire off me, we start shooting, the IA are shooting, and the dismounts are working like a damned NASCAR pit crew to get the tire back on the LT’s truck so we can get the fuck out of Dodge. We get the tire on WE are just making tracks back enroute to FOB Falcon. The rest of the way back it’s quiet, if there is any talking it is a joke about how we almost died on my first run out of the wire and there is much nervous laughter. The radio mount is now in the back seat, the inside of the tick is full of smoke and the smell of burning oil. We still have no lights but I can see our Rhino mount is bent about like 45 degrees to my side of the truck and down, periodically skipping off the ground and sending out showers of sparks. It went under the truck we hit, well most of it went under that truck some of it was just smashed off.

There is the tire that fell on me. Fucking tire always had it out for me. We get back to FOB Falcon and everyone can take a deep breath, we all got back relatively minor injuries all around, it was a good ending to a shitty start. It is at this point that Smalls says “SSG why the fuck did you get out of the truck during a fucking firefight?” I looked at him for a moment trying to think why did I do that, it seems stupid hearing it out loud. I said the only thing I could say “The radio was out.” He laughed and laughed. When we did our own AAR (After Actions Review) it was full of the normal contact report crap, 3 things we did right, 3 things we did wrong, and 3 things we need to sustain. When it was over Smalls says “SSG, how were you so fucking calm thought he whole thing? I mean you were like do this, do this, are you good, are we on fire, can you shoot, then shoot back and all so calm I thought you had a head injury.” I was like man I was freaking the fuck out the entire time, I was just trying to keep us alive, if it looked like I was calm it was just an illusion, I was shitting. That kind of set the tone for our relationship, Smalls kelp me alive or helped keep me alive for the rest of that deployment and we grew closer than blood. But there was one day he saved me from myself and I will always be in his debt for it.

Just a filler photo, I like this one of our old gun truck. About 3 months after I’d got there I got an email that my wife had dropped off our son with her folks said she was going to the store and didn’t come back, our son was 18 months old at the time. Turned out she has bolted with Jodi and had no plans to come back. I was a fucking mess, my son was with my in-laws, Jodi was in my wife and I was in Iraq. The month prior had been rough on all of us operational pace was eating us up, homefront falling apart was eating away at me when the war wasn’t and I was done. At the time we were on Patrol Base 2 off ASR Bug and I’d decided I was done and going to punch out. The thing was Smalls had a feeling I’d broke and that little fucker would not leave my side. I’d send his ass someplace and ZZZIIIIPP he’s right back. It was like having a stake in your pocket and a puppy on a leash, that fucker was never leaving. One night were sitting guard and in the dark he says “Don’t kill yourself SSG, I need you here.” Now I am wide awake, I’m like what, I’m not going to kill myself, only pussys do that shit.” He was like man I know what is what and I know you are crushed right now but I promise I’ll get you through this if you get me through this. That was it, he just let me know he could see me, that he needed me as much as I needed him to STAY ALIVE. That was it, that little wakeup call was what I needed. Shit still stayed fucked up until we redeployed, but I did not punch out. Smalls had been stop-lossed so he ETS’ed (End Tour of Service) 90 days after we redeployed back to Fort Hood, with the promises of keeping in touch. Honestly I’d said that a lot over my 20+ in the Army and kept in touch with 2 people, randomly. But Smalls and I kept in contact, a call once or twice a week just to touch base, talk about family, the weather, and who had opt’ed out of life from our unit, and there have been a few. This whole time Smalls has been going to school to be a family counselor, helping folks is just in his bones. He is working 2 jobs and using his GI Bill to pay for school when he gets a part time job in a crisis center call center. All the lights turn on for him, he loves what he is doing and feels like he is making a difference one crisis call at a time. He shifts his entire major from family counseling to be more directed at crisis intervention, he now has a Masters in counseling with an emphasis in crisis counseling and mitigation. He quit his other side jobs and became a full time crisis phone counselor. That was not enough, he was taking calls from Veteran after Veteran and needed to do more. He applied for a job with the VA’s crisis centers, he was turned down over and over again until he was offered a job in a mid-West call hub. He jumped at it, he called me about how happy he was about the offer but crushed that he could not afford the move and that he was trying to see if he could get a spot within the West coast hub since he lived in CA. He just could not afford to move him, his wife and 3 kids and get a place to live in the mid-west. I knew this was where I might be able to help pay a debt I owed him. I talked to my Bride about what was going on, she always joked about Smalls being my Butt Buddy because we talked so damned much. She understood though and told me what we could afford. After some planning I called Smalls and said I’d move them Just let me know what they were planning. Of course that did not go as smoothly as one might think but we got it sorted, A tractor trailer, a massive U-Haul trailer and my F350 packed to the top we were on our way to the Mid-West. 5300 miles round trip for me, a busted windshield on the truck from a rock in Utah and 5000.00 on his move and it was all worth it. Smalls has been a VA crisis counselor for a few years now, and still loves doing what he does. He’s still saving lives to this day. I’m damned proud to have him as my Brother. I told you that whole thing just to remind you that the people to your left and right who had you back on the thick of the shit still have your back today and you need to have theirs. If you are thinking about punching out, pick up that phone, reach out. The world can be a shitty place but you can make a difference if to no one else but to those to your left and right. Thank you Smalls.

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

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Fang walked into the office, setting her spear near the door next to the Doctor’s sword. “Morning, Doctor. I’m ready whenever you need me.”

“Good morning, Fang,” he replied, swiveling his chair from facing his bookcase to the front of the room. “Glad you’re back from the field. How was it?”

“The usual - we had our ups, and we had our downs, but in the end, we successfully completed the mission. Is there anything you need me to do today?”

The Doctor shrugged. “There’s nothing they need me to do yet today, so I have no idea. Once there is, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” She took a seat at the assistant’s desk and turned on the computer. “I’ll be working on my classes, then.”

“Is Kal’tsit making you take those? Honestly, you’re doing quite well already; I don’t think you need leadership training.”

Fang smiled. “Thank you for believing in me, Doctor, but I still have a lot to learn. She helped me sign up for them, but I enrolled of my own volition.”

“Fair enough.” He looked at his screen for a minute, sighed, and pulled out his sketchpad. “Which school?”

“An officer’s academy back in Kazimierz. I don’t need rank to attend since it’s correspondence, but I’ll only be able to take half the credits I need for a degree. We’re thinking I’ll just transfer what I get done to Lungmen’s equivalent, since they’ll give me the rest, even if it’ll have to be done in-person.”

The Doctor briefly glanced up from his notebook at her, that last phrase sticking out particularly. “In-person? As in taking night classes?”

“I’ll work my shift here, grab dinner, spend a few hours in Lungmen, and then I’ll come back here and sleep until it’s time for me to come in.”

“That seems pretty stressful,” he noted, “especially since you’re already the captain of a reserve team. Isn’t that like having three full-time jobs?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have to do too much work for you, and if my team needs me, they know where I’ll be.”

“Hmm...and if I need you?”

“You know where I live, Doctor,” Fang smiled for a brief moment before the impossibility of her needing him after hours struck her. “But I doubt that will be an issue.”

The Doctor sighed heavily.

“What?”

“From a job standpoint, I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “Nevermind.”

She turned towards him, her curiosity thoroughly peaked. “Doctor, is there something you want to tell me?”

“...” He flipped his sketchpad so she could see it. On it were a series of sketches of her face from the angle he could see of it from his desk.

“Huh.” Fang reached into her bag, found her glasses, and put them on. “I didn’t realize you’ve been drawing me this whole time.”

The Doctor mustered their limited reserves of courage; this was the moment to speak up. “Fang, I don’t want you to go to night school; if you need to take the classes in person, I’d rather you do them during the day.”

“Oh. But who would be your assistant?”

“I’d find somebody,” he shrugged, continuing forward, “but it’d be fine...because we’d both have our nights free.”

Fang knew she heard him right, but the reason he’d said it like that was beyond her. “Okay?”

“So we could...we could...spend our nights together.” The last few words were barely a whisper.

“Together?” A whisper she’d still heard through the dull roar of her heart rapidly beating in her chest. “Doctor, I...are you serious?”

She hadn’t turned him down yet, but what to say next? The Doctor simply let instinct take over. “I know there’s never enough work to keep you busy or even interested, but honestly, Fang, I just want to have time alone with you. Just having you at my side, knowing you’re right there and real, it...it means the world to me. If the timing has to change, then I understand, but I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. Not for anything.”

“Oh my...I don’t know what to say. It’s...it’s rather early in the day still.”

“That’s fair.” He sunk back into his chair, turning his sketchpad back to himself. “Just, um...let me know.”

Fang, still dazed, nodded to herself. “I will, Doctor. Um...thank you.”

“For?”

“Whatever else comes of this,” she smiled, blinking back a tear, “I appreciate that I mean that much to you. My team needs me to function, but that’s really not the same thing at all...so thank you for telling me.”

His voice was a creaking branch as he replied, “You’re welcome.”

It was several hours later. They’d spent the work day in the office, taking lunch as normal, but there was this strangeness to the air that wasn’t there before. The Doctor had spent most of his day giving tactical guidance, leaving him very little time to finish his sketch for the day, and Fang found herself having to answer some substantially more difficult questions on her discussion board assignments than normal, so between that and this new issue, they didn’t talk again until it was time for them to go home.

“Well, that was a busy one. Barely had enough time to finish that sketch you saw earlier. Hopefully tomorrow’s a little-”

“Can I see it?” They were both still by their desks, putting on their jackets. “If you don’t mind.”

He blushed. “Of course.” The Doctor pulled open a drawer and grabbed the notebook tentatively, looking over it with fresh eyes, scanning each line and noting the most minute of imperfections-

“Doctor.” He looked up at her desk before realizing she wasn’t there; instead, she’d grabbed a hold of his forearm and was watching him review his work with an expression he simply couldn’t place.

“Here you go.” The Doctor turned it so she could see it; her eyes lit up almost instantly. “Like I said, I was a little rushed-”

Fang took the pad from him and dashed into the middle of the room before spinning in a circle, holding the seemingly photorealistic grayscale portrait of her at arms’ length. “It’s wonderful, Doctor. Simply wonderful.”

“It is?”

“How did you find the time?” She smiled warmly at him. “I remember when we first met, you said you were working on getting better at drawing, but this is...where did you start that you’re already this good?”

He blushed. “I’m uh...I’ll admit, I’m a bit of a specialist...I can’t draw anyone or anything else.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The Doctor walked towards her. “Turn the page back a couple of times, you can see-”

Fang tossed the book onto the couch to her left and met him in the middle, taking hold of both his hands and holding them between them. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Do you still want us to spend our nights together?”

“Yes.” Why was that even a question she had?

“I talked it over with Dr. Kal’tsit.” She squeezed his hands. “She says that with your practical experience, you’re more than qualified to teach me what I’ve been trying to learn with these courses, so once I’m done with this semester, I won’t be taking any more.”

He blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to remove the clouds of confusion from his mind. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words, but it’s what she meant.”

“Huh.” It finally clicked. “So you can stay at my side-”

Fang let go of his hands to embrace him, the top of her head resting just under his chin. “Day or night, I’ll always have time for you, Doctor. Starting with tonight.”

“I...I didn’t think you’d say yes.” The weight of the world cast off his shoulders, he suddenly felt light-headed. The Doctor leaned into her, and she held him up, sliding her arms under his shoulders as he slumped, his head resting against her shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry I left you time to doubt.” She kissed his cheek. “It was just so sudden, and I...I’ve always admired you, so having you confess to me was a little too good to be true...”

He chuckled, which came out somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “There’s not doubt now, is there?”

“No, Doctor, not a shred. So, um, how do we celebrate?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” The Doctor simply held her to him, a hand reaching to stroke the back of her head. “We have plenty of time...”

#arknights #fang (arknights)#perfectly balanced #arknights fic

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