#it’s almost 1 am I’ll hash out the details later

[fiveswashere]

spent way too much time making Bessie and Chips apartment from TBAH in sims 4 today. Accidentally made it look a lot nicer than I like to think they could afford but y’know what let’s just say the economy is a lot nicer in this universe

[beatricethecat2]

"Another day or two?" Helena gruffs.

"Yeah, um, sorry," Myka replies.

"That storm postponing your flight was one thing, but this? You are aware our rental is expiring eminently."

"Maybe we can extend?"

"I already inquired."

"And?"

Helena grimaces, nose wrinkling.

"I-I'll find us a new one."

"No, I shall, since I've clearly been left to my own devices."

"I'm coming soon, I promise!" Myka yelps. "I'll stay wherever you want. Extend the car rental, too."

"If I must swap it at the airport, I shall be cross."

"More cross than now? How is that even possible?" Myka jabs.

"I believe you know the answer," Helena says, deadpan. "What exactly is keeping you there?"

"I'm figuring something out but it's more complicated than I thought."

"And this 'something,' how long am I to remain in the dark?"

"Not long, but..." Myka's shoulders sag. "I might as well tell you."

"If it's such a burden—"

"No! I wanted to iron out the details first." Myka heaves a heavy sigh. "Ok, here it goes...I'm figuring out how to work remotely. Mostly."

Helena perks up. "This is something you truly wish to do?"

"I..." Myka pushes a hand through her hair, stopping halfway, looking off to the side. "I've been thinking about what you said, that the Warehouse needs to evolve, that it's stuck in the nineteenth century."

"Such a travesty; agents sequestered in a boarding house with modern communication and travel as they are."

"It's not so bad, having your friends there when you need them." Myka's hand drops to her side. "I do love my family here, but if I'm honest, it hasn't felt the same since Leena died." 

"May I say again how truly sorry I am for your loss. She was an extraordinary woman."

"She really was." Myka blinks back a tear and looks down. "But it's more than that. What you said about only traveling for work, of never really visiting a place, that stuck with me, too. How you want to take advantage of all this new world has to offer, things I take for granted, because you've been given a second chance." 

"I can be quite persuasive when I wish to," Helena says, lips turning up at the ends.

"And I love you for it." Myka's smile matches Helena's.

"But those are my wishes. What are your own?" Helena asks.

"I think it's worth fighting for change, even if making up rules as we go scares me."

"You are fond of protocol."

"And you're not. So we complement each other. Or cancel each other out," Myka says, lips lifting into a crooked grin.

Helena huffs a short laugh. "And Pete? How is he faring?"

"He's super bummed, but I think he understands." Myka shifts in her seat, sitting up straighter. "You might hear from him. He said he wants to have a chat."

"What about?"

"A 'big brother' kind of thing."

"I'm surprised he's waited this long."

"Me too."

The air quiets, each waiting for the other to continue.

"There is one other thing. An, um, 'condition," Myka says.

"Just the one?"

"Hey..."

"I'd expect nothing less. Go on."

"I can't go on missions alone."

"Nor would I allow you to."

"Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"While you're working, someone will join you."

"Yeah, you."

"But I'm no longer an—"

"They want to reinstate you."

"Myka..."

"I know, I know," Myka says, waving her hands in surrender. "It'd be on your terms. I'll make sure of that. And I'll keep you in check."

"That's a tall order."

"Believe me, I know."

Helena grasps at her locket and works a thumb over its smooth metal case.

"We'd have our autonomy, mostly. Be working part-time. We're already doing it unofficially anyway. And I think we work well together." Myka flashes a smug smile.

"And the distance from the Warehouse? How will you manage?"

"Abigail agreed to be our eyes in the archive. And we already have access to the database."

Helena stares at Myka for a long moment, fingers clutching her locket. "Can this truly be?"

"I think so. I'm hashing out details with Jane, but we need a few more days," Myka says, smiling. "Find us a place to stay for a couple of weeks. We can figure out what happens next from there."

"With pleasure," Helena says.

"So...can I tell them you're Agent Wells again?"

"I've further terms to discuss."

"Send them over. I'll make sure you get what you want."

Smiles grow wider as they hold each other's gazes.

"So...what'd you get up to yesterday?" Myka asks.

"I traveled by cable car up Hyde Street. The views were breathtaking."

"You did that without me?"

"I was tired of waiting."

"Do not go to Twin Peaks or Coit Tower. We're doing those together."

"I shant. Perhaps I'll peruse City Light Books again and linger in Jackson Square."

"That's where those buildings from the 1800's survived the earthquake."

"Indeed."

"Are you feeling a sense of closure, being there?"

"I believe we could have had quite a pleasant life here in my day. But closure, that may only truly begin upon your arrival."

"I can't wait," Myka says, grinning wildly.

-END SCENE-

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

Bering and Wells: New Horizons ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 8 Title: San Francisco: The 415 Blues Summary: A freak storm delays Myka's flight to San Francisco. Helena learns Myka's taken on more while home than just dropping off an artifact. New paths are revealed while working through a difficult retrieval, as well as an ask that may take them to foreign shores.

Previously: Episodes 1-7 (look in my archive as adding links broke my post last time)

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

After assessing the scene of a retrieval, Myka and Helena duck into a coffee shop.

"That facade's massive! How would we know which one?" Myka asks.

"'It'll be obvious,' Artie said. Far from it," Helena snips.

"Maybe spray it with neutralizer and see what sparks?"

"It's a landmarked structure, too high-key."

"True," Myka says, frowning. "Artie said it was a chain reaction. One brick radiating into the others. Remove the source and the rest will calm down."

"Once one pinpoints the source."

"At least we know it's in arms reach," Myka says, sipping of her coffee. 

"Do we?"

"Someone almost burned their hand on it."

"Nothing felt even remotely hot to the touch today." Helena screws the cap onto her water bottle. "The brick responsible could be beaming down from the loftiest of places. We'd need scaffolding to check properly."

"And that hill is..." Myka motions with her hand at a forty-five-degree angle.

"Is it truly a risk if it's merely hot to the touch?" Helena says, leaning back in her chair.

"Artie's not sure. He thinks wildfire smoke is 'activating' the bricks, making them think they're in the fires after the 1906 earthquake. So it depends on which way the wind's blowing. Prolonged smoke contact equals hotter bricks, and hotter bricks mean the building might catch fire."

"Because these melted 'clicker bricks' were used in rebuilding after the earthquake?"

"Uh-huh. And Artie thinks they caused a previous fire."

"The one where those girls died trapped in the basement."

"So sad," Myka says, shaking her head. 

"I'd read it was arson, meant to discourage the Mission House staff from rescuing those poor immigrant girls from servitude."

"It probably was. But it might not have spread as fast without the clinkers."

"I see." Helena's hand tightens around her water bottle. "We cannot allow it burn again."

"We won't," Myka says, touching Helena's hand to reassure her. "Maybe we can monitor it with heat sensors. I bet Claudia has a gadget."

"I'm certain she shall," Helena says, looking as if she's combing through a catalog in her mind. "We must set up surveillance in the buildings across the street."

"Maybe we can pose as historians studying Julia Morgan, the architect," Myka says, perking up.

"What a blessing it shall be we're here for an indeterminate amount of time."

"Ooh! Maybe this can be our thing, traveling places and staying awhile, snagging difficult artifacts."

"I adore your ingenuity." Helena leans across the table, planting a kiss on Myka's lips.

"Mmm...thanks," Myka hums as Helena pulls back. She lifts her phone off the table, fingers working the keyboard, texting Claudia. "Maybe this is a good time to, um...tell you, there's a...a, um...something else the Warehouse's asked us to do."

"I knew they wouldn't release you that easily," Helena says, narrowing her eyes.

"This one's about you."

"Aren't they all, somehow?"

"Kinda?"

"Well, out with it then," Helena says, sitting back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The artifacts you hid, the Warehouse wants them."

"They believe there are more?"

"Oh, come on."

"They've shelved the Trident and Corsican Vest."

"And the Imperceptor."

"That was not an artifact."

"Fine. Artifacts and inventions," Myka snaps. "And they want us to follow up on cold cases you left behind."

Helena shifts in her chair and looks towards the bridge in the distance. "This is punishment for my unwillingness to interact with the Warehouse. You told them of my issues surrounding Christina."

"No. I said separating your body from your mind then sending it out as a lure for Sykes really pissed you off."

"This is not untrue."

"Pisses me off, too," Myka mumbles.

"They may threaten such a thing again should I not bow to their demands."

"We."

"Pardon?"

"Should we not bow. I'm part of this, too."

"Yes, as my 'handler.'"

"Maybe. But our definition of 'handling' can be kind of fun." Myka skims a finger down Helena's forearm, prying her fisted hand apart and threading their fingers together.

Helena lets out a heavy sigh. "I may not recall everything. I'll need my diaries."

"Do you know where they are?"

"At the Warehouse, of course."

"I meant the real ones."

Helena raises a brow.

"You know they know you hid them before you were bronzed."

Helena grimaces. "I once knew where they were. There's no guarantee they're still there."

"You've already looked."

"I may have, briefly."

"And?"

Helena shakes her head in the negative.

"Then let's start with what you remember."

"Or, start with the items I've hidden since?"

"Helena!"

"Punish me later, darling. We've a smoldering building to extinguish." Helena squeezes Myka's hand and brushes a thumb under her jacket cuff. "Did Claudia get back to you?"

"No," says, checking her phone. "Maybe we should get back to the apartment and do some research?"

"'Research' is our best course of action."

Both women smile in agreement, then rise and hastily take their leave.

-END SEASON ONE-

NOTES: NOTES: And this wraps up Season 1! As you can see, it's set up to transition to a second season, one fairly independent from the Warehouse. Who knows if that will ever materialize (but I do have a few ideas). Links broke my post last time, but look up Cameron House (formerly the Mission House) in San Francisco and Donaldina Cameron for more on that organization and the deadly fire. Clinker bricks are regarded as junk bricks - warped from being fired at too high a temperature, or in this case, mangled by building fires after the 1906 earthquake. Many older buildings in Chinatown contain them as the neighborhood scrambled to rebuild after the earthquake, because white real estate developers were poised to swoop in steal their land. In the Cameron House design, clinkers were also used decoratively in an Arts and Crafts style (there are other buildings in SF like this, like 45 Upper Terrace, also designed by a female architect, Ida McCain). I dedicate this episode to @blackfoxreddog !!

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Lush pt.2

From my new miniseries Lush Life

Summary: You and Steve have now set the rules for your new relationship and things are going extremely well. With an influx of college work and trying to do well with your internship, you get too deep into your own head and Steve is there to help you release that stress.

Pairing: Dom!Steve x Black!SubCamGirl!Reader

WC: 4.7K

Warnings: 18+!!! daddy kink, Dom/sub dynamics, subspace, pain kink, tiny bit of angst, aftercare.

A/N: I think Lush is one of my pieces with the most notes and I’m just like WOAH! Thank you all for the support, I hope you all like this part just as much!! If you like it please leave verbal feedback and reblog

Lush’s Rules

Rule #1: Always be honest with Daddy

Rule #2: Don’t be afraid to safe word, you will not be punished for it.

Rule #3: Punishment will always fit your actions

Rule #4: Never exceed each other’s hard limits unless consented beforehand

Rule #5: Confide in Daddy when it comes to your stressors and personal matters

Rule #6: I may be your Dom but you set the pace, don’t be intimidated

Rule #7: Don’t be bratty. It will result in a punishment.

Daddy’s Rules

Rule #1: Be patient with me, I am new to this.

Rule #2: Don’t be afraid to safe word if I ask for something out of your comfort zone

Rule #3: Don’t be afraid to discipline me

Rule #4: Be honest and don’t be afraid to open up

————

After that night, you and Steve had set terms for each other and things were going smoothly. The team had been badgering him to let them know what he thought of Camgirl Clubhouse and all he said was “he found what he needed and was sticking with it”. While the other guys were talking about their favorites, Steve kept you a secret. They were practically begging him to let them know the details so they could search for the very cam model that pulled Steve out of his funk and turned him more happy go lucky more than usual.

-------

“Come on man, how was it?,” Sam urged, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Let’s just say it was more than I bargained for and it was better than I could have ever expected,” Steve smirked at the people interrogating him.

“Oh no, don’t cop out we need more than that,” Bucky nudged him.

You walked in the room, also very chipper but they didn’t expect anything less out of you as that’s how you were, “Hey guys, whatcha dooooin’?,” you smiled cutely at them with your notebook and folder in hand waiting for Happy as he drove you to campus. You’d told Tony thousands of times that you could drive yourself but he said it would give him peace of mind to know you’re getting to and from campus safely.

“Steve here busted a few last night thanks to some mystery camgirl and he won’t tell us who. It’s a bit selfish, we want in,” Nat crossed her arms and stared at Steve. You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to keep in a chuckle. So now you know where he got the idea of visiting the site from in the first place.

“Nat!,” Steve scolded, “Not everyone needs to know that,” Steve turned red as if he didn’t just fuck you into the next century last night. Smacking you back and forth between realms, and making you cry tears of ecstasy.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I have my own site that I like to visit and I had a great night as well. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Times have changed. Sex isn’t taboo anymore,” you winked at him and everyone turned back to you in question.

“And what site was that?,” Wanda asked but Vision grimaced at her, “What? I didn’t know there were specific sites for guy cam models,” she defended.

“We’ll talk later,” you told Wanda, knowing she’d probably forget about the conversation before you even came back.

Steve raised a brow at you and rolled his tongue in his cheek before biting it, crossing his arms. He knew you were playing games and he enjoyed the teasing.

“Anyway!,” you grabbed a breakfast shake and a fruit cup out of the fridge after your phone beeped from a notification to let you know Happy just arrived, “I’m glad you could finally relieve some stress Steve. It’s healthy,” you patted his shoulder before skipping out of the room. He watched as your ass and lovely thighs jiggled as you bounced and it reminded him of the way your skin rippled as you lied beneath him calling him Daddy like it was a prayer just 12 hours ago.

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

Things were great at first, you were following your rules, you weren’t being bratty and you and Steve were stable in your new relationship, giddy with the fact that it was more than just sex to the both of you. But then your semester hit you like a freight train. You were drowning in essays which you hashed out and did well on but then the internship and the reports were draining you. You were a workaholic and everyone could see that so when you’d run around after being at campus all day and not talk to anyone because you were trying to get shit done, they didn’t blink an eye. But because you and Steve had discussed your exclusive relationship and the dynamics, he wasn’t too fond of it. You were working yourself to death and weren’t acknowledging him and when you did you were bratty and Steve had strictly told you not to be bratty with him.

--------

“Who do you think you’re getting snippy with?,” Steve’s voice was low as he stepped close to you. No one was in the kitchen or near it, just you two.

“Who do you think you’re getting snippy with?,” you mocked.

Steve took another step close and wrapped his hand around your throat, not enough to have you panicking for air, but enough to let you know he wasn’t in the mood to play with your bratty antics.

“I’m gonna need you to get your shit together. You don’t take your bad attitude out on, Daddy,” he gritted through his teeth. 

You huffed and his grip tightened a bit, expelling a whine from you, “I’m serious, Y/N. Don’t test me,” 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you frowned.

“Not good enough. You wanna act bratty? Well fine, just know that brats don’t get to cum like good girls and looking at how you’re acting, you’re facing a lot of time without any play from me,” he released his grip on you

“That’s fine,” you shrugged, “I don’t need it,” 

He did that damn thing with his tongue in cheek and biting the inside as he nodded again, “Remember that,” He kissed your forehead and walked away. You knew you just fucked up, but you were too deep to try and go back to fix it. You’d still get a punishment either way.

---------

But you were so deep in your own head that the specific rule had slipped your mind. You had accepted Steve as your dominant because you needed that structure in your life and you were finally getting it but with everything going on, you paid it no mind.

“Y/N, I’m gonna need you to take a break,” Steve came up behind you in the lab while Tony and Bruce took a lunch break, class was cancelled today so you took this as the chance to finish up those damned reports, “Not for me but for yourself, you’re running yourself into the dirt, baby,” His hands held your waist lightly and he kissed the back of your head. As much as you wanted to meld your body into his, you had to focus, “I-I can’t I’m almost finish, then I’ll take my break,”

You heard him sigh behind you and he turned you to look him in the eyes, “Baby, I’m not gonna ask again. You wanted structure, I’m trying to give it to you but you’re not listening,” Steve spoke in a stern tone and you felt a few bricks from your wall get chipped off.

You were so close to giving in but you had to finish, “I-I can’t, Stevie... just let me finish and I-,”

“You’re off to a bad start. First you’ve been acting bratty all week then when I ask you to take a break so you don’t drive yourself insane, you ignore it and talk back. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself with a punishment and not a fun one,” his nostrils flared and you gave him puppy dog eyes before biting your lip and turning back to your laptop to finish the report.

“Suit yourself,”

——-

And suited yourself you did. Now you found yourself in the corner of your bathroom with uncooked rice under your knees.

“Daddy, it hurts,” you whined. He had set a timer for 15 minutes in time out then you’d be done.

“Each time you whine I add a minute, each minute you spend quietly, I deduct two. It’s really up to you,” Steve sat on the edge of the tub with a smirk and you whined quietly. He knew you’d enjoy being spanked so he took another route. Kneeling on uncooked rice. You had set a list of punishments that you were okay with and though the idea of this was new to you, you were willing to try it. You felt yourself starting to sink back on your heels but Steve yanked you up straight by your collar, “Stay upright, baby or I add time,”

You were having a hard time following this. You felt tears prick your eyes as he stared back at you and that’s when you felt yourself starting to regress into subspace, you didn’t quite know that though as it never really happened to you before but with Steve, it happened naturally. In this moment, only you and Steve existed. Not the rice under your knees, not the dripping faucet from when Steve put water on your knees to make the rice stick, not even the TV playing in your room, it was just you two. You were so dizzy with thought that you didn’t realize he deducted your time because you were so quiet.

He brought you up to your feet and kissed your lips, barely touching them. You moved into him and your hands tangled in his shirt, “I need you, Daddy,” you huffed and you knew he’d deliver, but not without the price of sexual punishment as well. He carried you to the bed and locked the door, telling FRIDAY to turn on the soundproof setting before going into your closet and taking out your fuck machine. He removed your panties and big shirt, just admiring each inch of your body. He kissed your thighs and you sighed in content. You couldn’t really describe your headspace but it was like a big cloud that you just continued to sink down as the time passed and it felt wonderful.

He spread your legs and ran his finger up and down your slit, teasing your clit until he started to see you glisten with your juices. He leaned forward and gave your clit little licks in which you tried to close your legs to shy away from. He forced your legs open and spanked the inside of your thigh,

“Don’t do that. Stay open for, Daddy,”

“Y-yes, Daddy. I apologize,” your hands were by your head and they clenched into fists as he slowly ate you out. Your mind was like a corset and he was slowly unraveling the ribbon ties. He pushed two fingers into you and you sucked in a sharp breath, letting him please you. All that was on your mind was Steve. The man who quite literally, signed a ‘contract’ to be your Dominant and take care of you in every aspect, inside the bedroom and out. When it came to BDSM and your Dominant and submissive dynamics, it was more than just blindfolds and ball gags. It was a connection and bind that only the people in the relationship understood because each relationship is different.

He continued licking your clit as he pumped his fingers, you tangled your fingers in his hair but he wasn’t with you touching him right now. He removed his fingers from you and laced them with yours to keep your arms pinned. His face was buried in your pussy as you moved your hips again his mouth. He let you have your fun as you cursed out at the air about how good his mouth felt. “Daddy, may I cum?,” you asked. Your hips started to stutter as you were climbing the mountain that was your orgasm and was about to reach the peak. Steve smiled against you as he flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit, sucking your lips into his mouth and slurping all the juices you were giving him. He withdrew when he felt your walls flutter against his tongue, you were coming up on your first orgasm of the night, but like he said, brats don’t get to come like good girls. You cried out when you were denied, from this, you sunk further into that cloud. Haziness starting to take over completely.

He pulled you further to the edge of the bed and pushed your machine toward you. He spread your slick lips open and placed the head of the dildo right at your opening before taking the remote and turning it on. The machine starting to slowly fuck you and you tried to crawl backwards, away from it but Steve straddled your stomach and started playing with your hardened nipples.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby. No camera, no audience, just you and me and I’m gonna get you how I want you. So be a good girl and take it, I’ll reward you when I feel you’ve deserved it okay? Can you be a good girl for daddy?”

You peered up at him and your eyes glistened, your mouth hung slightly open before squeaking out an “Uh huh” and a small nod, “I- I promise I’ll be good, Daddy,”

“Good,” he wickedly smiled at you and turned up the pace of the machine, making it go faster.

“Oh G-God!,” the machine was hitting deep and hitting all the right spots, “I don’t wanna be a bad girl and cum w-without your permission, D-Daddy. Make it stop I’m gonna cuuuum,” you warned.

He pulled his cock out of pants and was jerking himself off right in front of your face, “Bet it doesn’t feel as good as Daddy now does it?,” He smirked darkly.

“N-nooo,” 

He slapped his leaking head against your lips and you easily opened, knowing what he wanted. He leaned forward on the bed and straightened himself out, fucking your mouth as the machine fucked you. This was like a wet dream come true. His thighs and ass flexed as he fucked your face down into the bed. You gagged against him but that only encouraged him to go harder, his fingers curl into the bed comforter and his growls of pleasure resonated from deep within him, the way swears left his mouth had you close to cumming all over again. 

“Such a good little whore taking my cock deep in your throat like this. Love the way you choke on me, your lungs begging for air,” he thrusts and your back arches with a gag.

He pulls out and huffs, swearing to himself before sitting up to straddle you again. He tugged at your nipples and twisted them making you yell out in slight pain. He slowed down the machine and leaned forward to attach his mouth to your nipples. He knew your nipples were highly sensitive and any contact could have you almost cumming right then and there. Teeth tugging, tongue swirling, you were moaning out for him to stop or else you’re gonna cum but he didn’t. He then turned up the machine and you were convulsing under him completely.

“Please Daddy! I don’t wanna be a bad girl, I wanna be good!,” easily overwhelmed in this state you got emotional and hid your face in your hands. You felt yourself gushing and cried out louder from the intensity. Steve didn’t slow down though, the sucking noises only got louder and the machine got turned up faster. The deliciously sloppy noises of the toy fucking you took over the ringing in your ears.

“Daddyyyy!!!,” you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away to look at you in your eyes. You were dazed and confused, it was like you were having an outer body experience. He stared back at you and noticed the glint, the look in your eyes was foreign but he was into it, it made his dick harder and he knew if something was up you’d safe word.

“I-I just came w-without your permission,” your bottom lip quivered but he only kissed you.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve decided to let you cum as much as you can tonight. Let me do my job and take care of you,”

He stopped the machine and pushed it away from you to crawl in between your legs and turn you around. You could hear him pulling his pants down all the way then felt his thick girth push into you. You gripped the sheets and felt yourself slip into your cloud even more. He held your hips and buried himself deep, this was different than the machine, this was real, this was your man’s dick fucking into you, fitting like a tailored suit and you felt your toes curl. You were panting and whining into the covers as he picked up the pace.

The way his dick rubbed perfectly against your soaking, ridged walls had your eyes rolling and the tears flowing. He took your hands and kept them latched behind your back and pulled you into him. Your head hung as your body had gone limp from the pleasure. He wrapped a hand around your throat and sat you up right.

“You’re my good girl aren’t you, baby?,” he grunted into your ear as he squeezed the sides of your throat. You felt your air supply shorten and your senses heighten. Your ass bounced against his pelvis at the fast pace he was going. He loved that, he loved the way the skin on his thighs stung as yours bounced off his from the way his body met yours.

“Daddy’s good girl,” you were almost incoherent and you felt yourself tighten around him again, “Pleeeaase! Please d-daddy ah!,” you tried to scream but it got lodged in your throat.

“Please what? Speak up, good girls speak up for what they want,”

Thing is, you couldn’t speak up. You were whining from the feeling and couldn’t speak. You were impressionable in this state so when he said that, you in turn felt like you were a bad girl because you didn’t speak up, couldn’t... speak up. You wanted to be a good girl for your Daddy, but you were feeling so much. “You’re so wet, baby. You feel so good. Cum for me again,”

“I- I- nnnnn,” your thighs shook as you came again, it trickled down your thighs, the shiver that ran through you didn’t match the feeling of your warm cum.

Steve had gone into his own headspace. He was connected with you and experiencing his own euphoria of seeing you in this state. He had to try and control himself harder than usual so he wouldn’t choke you so hard to the point you passed out, though you’d love that in this moment. You were practically inaudible and just weeping. 

You were experiencing too much euphoria you had no choice but to cry, it’s like you died but were resurrected and all your senses were dialed to a thousand. Your sense of touch had your skin feeling like it was a soft pillow and every ounce of contact from Steve had you shivering and your skin tingling. Your sense of smell, you could smell his clean cologne along with the sweat of you two, you could smell the trace of wintergreen mints on his breath. Your sight, despite the tears, it’s like everything was in technicolor, so bright and vivid. Your sense of taste, you could taste him on you from when he kissed you, it was a sweet and subtle taste. Your hearing, you could hear the clock ticking, you could hear the cars way below the tower and the birds calling and flying by, you could hear the way Steve moaned and huffed, it sounded like he was in your head, it was all overwhelming you. 

Steve pulled out and flipped you over on your back again, reentering you and you scratched down his back.

“H-hurt m-me, Daddy. I need I-it, I need it t-to let go,” you gasped and your eyes were having a hard time staying open, “Please!,”

Steve knew you were under a lot of stress right now so he half expected you to ask for that. He took a moment to pull back and asked you what color you were at, “G-g-gold,” Gold meant great and go ahead but he was still cautious. When you wrapped your legs around him he went harder and started biting along your neck and chest giving your nipples harsh nips. You begged him to slap you a few good times and he did just that. Cause your face to heat up from the contact. The sounds of him smacking you were like ad libs to the beat of the song that was your ass getting clapped by him, with your moans and his grunts as the the guitar riffs and the emotion behind it all being the meaning of the song itself. It was beautiful.

“F-fuck me harder, please! I won’t be a brat anymore I pr-promise, Daddy! I won’t be bad, I don’t wanna be bad!,” you sobbed into his shoulder and he went as hard as he could, chasing his own orgasm. Your vulnerability becoming his strength as he fucked little squeals out of you. You bit into his shoulder and softly mewled. All the endorphins rushed through your body like a stampede and you felt Steve getting ready to cum.

“Cum in m-me, Daddy. I n-need it,” you weren’t exactly thinking rationally but you were begging and you really wanted it. Subspace or not, you wanted him to cum deep in you and Steve knew if he did, he’d had to ask Bruce on where to get emergency contraceptive but he wasn’t gonna slow down his momentum with that thought.

“Fuck, baby. Y-you feel so good around Daddy’s cock like that. Taking me so well, so good. You’ve proven to daddy you’re not a bad girl, fuck!,” he threw his head back as he came and that’s when it hit you.

Your entire resolve came down and you hit the depths on your headspace and you were cumming endlessly, calling out for Steve and digging your nails into his arms.

“I don’t wanna be bad, Daddy! I promise I won’t be bad anymore! Please let me c-cum,” you were rambling as you hit the highest peak of all peaks. You were so dazed, you were still fucking yourself against him and whining out. “Did I make you happy, Daddy?, I won’t be a brat anymore. D-don’t wanna disappoint you,” you cried and you had Steve confused.

“You didn’t disappoint me, baby. Daddy just wanted you to take a break to take care of yourself,”

You just continued to hold him tight and cry.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you repeated, still rutting up against him, causing Steve to release his own whines from sensitivity

“Slow down, baby. Slow down,” Steve pulled back and held your wet face in his hands, “Calm down baby,”

“I won’t be a brat anymore... I- I just... it all has been hard and I..,”

“Baby,” he cooed, “Slow down. It is okay. Daddy is here to take all those thoughts away. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?,”

“Nooo!,” you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, “Just wanna feel you. Need to feel you,” you whispered.

He whispered loving words to calm you down, kissing down your neck and along your cheeks, he ran his hands along your body to soothe you as you just kept apologizing.

“You’re the best baby girl I could ever ask for. You didn’t disappoint Daddy, there’s no need to apologize. You made me very proud. You work so hard and I’m proud of you. Just promise me you’ll take breaks so you don’t break down like this okay?,” he kissed your nose as you had your eyes closed, softly rolling your head side to side.

“I promise and I promise I won’t be bratty anymore,” you pouted and he softly smiled, kissing your cute little pout.

“You’re fine, Y/N. I’ve got you, don’t worry. Just melt into Daddy. Trust me,”

You sighed and felt all your problems melt away as he continued to whisper in your ear. “I’m so lucky to have you as mine. So glad I’m your Daddy. You make me feel so many good things, I can’t thank you enough for being my good girl,”

You whimper at his words and raise up on your elbows, opening your eyes to find him staring intensely back at you. He looked so worried but so content at the same time.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He pulled out of you and the wet sounds filled the room. You softly groan as he does so and he just shushes you as he picks you up.

“FRIDAY, run the bathwater, please. Not too hot though,”

“Of course, Captain,”

-----------

“Looving you, has made my life so beautiful,” Steve softly sung to you as you slowly drank from your water bottle, “And everyday of my liiife, is filled with looving you. La la la la la,”

“La la la la la,” you joined him as he washed your back, “La la la la la, la la la laaa,”

“Duuun-duun du duu,” he continued, “Hit it,” he smiled

“Aaaaaahhh,” you finished with the high pitched squeal and he laughed at you, ringing the water of the wash cloth down your back.

“Thank you, Steve,” your voice was low but you used his real name to let him know you were back in the real world and no longer in your headspace.

“It’s nice to have you back,” Steve laughed. He pulled you up into his chest to kiss your shoulder, “How are you feeling?,”

“Relieved. Tension free. I’m sorry I’ve been so bratty. This is still new to me and I just-,”

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize for reacting like a normal human being and cracking under pressure. But your brattiness is something we will work on regardless,” He finished cleaning you up all over as you finished your snack of gummies and then you helped him wash himself with his own wash cloth.. 

Once the bubbles are off of you both, he drains the water and helps you stand up to dry you off. He swaddles you like a baby after wrapping his own towel around himself, once your teeth are brushed and your face is wash, he carries you into your room and softly placing you on the bed. He grabs your Johnson’s bedtime lotion and starts at your feet and moving his way up, working the lotion into your skin. He’s come to find out that this helps you after an intense scene in the bedroom and he’ll pull every stop to make sure you feel better and cared for. That is his priority.

 He goes into your closet and finds a sweatshirt of his (that he had been looking for), takes it off the hanger and moves back to you to help you put it on. He helps you wrap your hair (courtesy to you spending a whole free day to teach him how to properly do it) and placed your bonnet on before getting himself ready to crawl in the bed beside you. 

He had changed the sheets and covers so they had a fresh and clean lavender smell to them. He pulled you close to him and kissed your cheeks over and over until it elicited a laugh out of you.

“I am so lucky,” he smiled.

“No, I am,” you held his head and rubbed his scalp knowing it was his turn for aftercare. It’s not just the sub that needs aftercare, it’s the Dom as well as scenes take just as much out of them.

“You take such good care of me and I’m so thankful,” you kiss him between his eyebrows and you see his face heat up in a blush, “You’re the best Daddy anyone can ask for. I’m never letting you go,”

His smiled beamed at you as he kissed you one more time, “You’re stuck with me, baby doll,”

-----------

I hope this lived up to y’alls expectations. I know it’s not as dirty as part one but, there’s so much more dirty smut that’ll come out me very soon, so stay tuned.

If you like this, please leave verbal feedback and reblog!

Tags- @noire-griot @mbaku-babygirl @blackreaders-assemble @vozit @babybubastis @chonisberonica @majikmelanin @blowmymbackout @justsomemarvelspam @whothehellisbinky @joyofbebbanburg @spideys-wife @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @crawlingnightmares @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @yournonlocalpoc @mirajanestrauss1999 @fromlia-withlove @mokacoconut @curlyhairclub @livayah 

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 10x05: What It Always Is - Details

Okay, how did everyone like the episode? Let’s dive in.

***As always, spoilers abound below for episode 10x05. Don’t read until you’ve watched!!!***

Opening sequence:

This was the part with Kelly. There were quite a few Beth symbols here. It starts out with her hearing lots of birds chirping. 

There’s the dragonfly (think The Deer and the Bug Theory), the banner which had red, blue, green, and yellow on it, 

and of course the yellow and black pig, which she kills. 

The pigs pretty much always die. It’s also kind of a callback to 4x01 when Clara (Creepy Walker Chick) wanted to eat the dead pig Rick found in the woods.

I started thinking about the pigs and trying to define them, much as I did the bus. Here’s what I came up with. In 4a, Rick literally kills the piglets to lead the walkers away from the walls, so they can fix the fences and keep the people at the prison safe. So I think the pigs represent a “sacrifice” to keep the living safe. And it often involves a walker horde. You could say the same of the pigs in S7. Ezekiel was giving them to Negan so Negan wouldn’t attack the Kingdom. So by fulfilling the deal, he was sacrificing the pigs to keep the Kingdom safe. Here, Kelly allowed the walkers to have the pig to save herself. Just some thoughts I had on the pig theme.

When Kelly falls down, sitting by the rock, it reminded me of the dead guy Daryl saw by the deer in Them. She’s just sitting exactly the same way.

Here’s the thing about Kelly in this sequence. I felt like she was a representation of Beth, but it was hard for me, at first, to put my finger on why. As always, hashing things out with my fellow theorists helped. The best we can say right now is that she was, for a short time, a missing girl. And eventually, she was found. It even focused on her forehead injury. (Opposite side as Beth’s, but still.)

Even more interesting, she was found by her sister and, um…Daryl. Well, if Kelly = Beth, Beth’s sister and Beth’s Daryl are alive and well in this world, aren’t they? Just saying. There are more symbols that play into this (such as the colored flags we saw) but I’ll talk about them in more detail later in the week.

Negan and Brandon:

I definitely saw some Bethyl callbacks around Negan this episode. When they’re near the barbed wire—which apparently marks some of the Whisperers’ boundaries—a walker attacks him. He manages to kill it, but only after quite a fight. Brandon doesn’t lift a finger to help him. Once Negan puts the walker down, he says, “Thanks for the help.” That’s exactly what Beth said to Daryl in the golf club in Still. He also fights like both Beth and Daryl did, by using his heel to smash the walker’s face.

When Brandon gives him his coat and “new Lucille,” he asks if Negan likes them. Negan answers, “does pig shit stink?” So, another pig reference.

At one point, Brandon and Negan are rating walkers for “hotness,” which was kind of funny. But the numbers they mentioned were important. Brandon said one was a 7. Negan then says she’s clearly a 3. I was happy to hear both those numbers. Just recently, Emily posted the tarot card with the 7 stars on it, and of course there’s the rule of threes.

Amelia said she and Milo used to have a camp, but it got scattered and now it was just her and her son. That’s actually a lot like what happened in S4 with the prison. And when Brandon wants to follow Amelia and take her stuff, Negan says, “It’s best I go on alone and you go home.” That stood out to me because it has “Alone” and also the “home” theme in it.

Brandon also says, “I get it.”

Later when Negan talks to Milo, the kid is playing with an airplane. That’s super-significant. It’s been a much bigger symbol on FTWD than TWD, but I immediately thought of the plane crash on this past season of FTWD. 

I said that I thought the plane crash represented some major disaster, and maybe was even symbolic of Beth getting shot. Here, Milo is playing with the plane and Negan even says, “oh no, we’re gonna crash.” So, I think this could have foreshadowed Milo’s death later in the episode. Which would just back up my theory about what it meant in FTWD.

Negan planned to take Milo and Amelia to Hilltop, but of course Brandon killed them. So, Negan killed him with a rock. (Ew. Seriously gnarly. *shudders*) Which, again, I think represents Negan killing his former self or his former way of life. This is him rejecting that and choosing a different path.

And then Negan goes to seek out the Whisperers. Which is pretty much what happens in the CBs. But I am glad to see this happening because I still think we’re right on track for what they’ve foreshadowed and this chain of events, no matter how long it goes, will lead to running into Beth.

When he crosses the barbed wire border, he’s wearing his Negan coat and carrying Lucille. He also calls himself the Big Bad Wolf again and says his “little pig, little pig” line. So he seems to be his old, Negan self, but I think it’s all an act to get the Whisperers to trust him. I also can’t help but wonder about that “little pig” reference. Yes, I know it’s something Negan says in the CBs, so it’s not specific to the show. But we’ve looked at it as part of the pig symbolism since Negan first appeared, which was one reason—of many—we thought Beth might show up with him. She obviously didn’t, but now this symbolism is back and I think this sequence will lead to her. Kind of interesting.

Alpha and Gamma:

I don’t have a lot to add here to what I already said yesterday. One thing I did notice was Alpha’s line to the male whisperer who was skinning the face off the walker. She said ears were the trickiest part. I’m not going to explain why that’s significant right now, as I’ll do a post about it later in the week. But just remember it for now. Also, there was a big emphasis on Kelly’s hearing loss in this episode, so it was kind of a theme.

Also, they said on TTD that the walker they were skinning in this scene was one Kelly killed in the opening sequence. That’s interesting to me. Not only did they make sure we caught it via TTD (I for one wouldn’t have otherwise) but think about that. If Kelly was a proxy for Beth, a walker she fought with ended up with the Whisperers. I just feel like it’s another hint at the tie between Beth’s arc and the Whisperers.

In terms of Aaron, I wanted to add that I’m seeing a callback to Them. When Gamma hurts her hand, he shows up with supplies to help her and introduces himself. That’s what he did in Them when TF was in need of water and a home. And of course, that’s when the music box woke up.

Ezekiel:

One thing I forgot to discuss yesterday is, assuming Zeke survives his cancer—which I think he will—how much of a parallel this is to Beth. Obviously, it’s cancer rather than being shot in the head, but the situation is similar. How often do non-believers tell us that because it’s the apocalypse, Grady wouldn’t be able to save her from her wound? Even being near a hospital, they still don’t have the resources they used to have and so won’t be able to save her. This is kind of similar. It’s something that would have been fine in the old world, but given how little they have in the way of medical treatment, they SHOULDN’T be able to save him. Especially if he goes to Grady or somewhere a lot like it for treatment, that will be a huge parallel.

At one point, Siddiq said that Zeke’s lump looked bad. Zeke answered, “No. It’s just the slings and arrows.” That’s a line from Hamlet’s famous “to be or not to be” speech. He talks about the “slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.” I’m reading this about three different ways.

1.       Hamlet’s speech, at its core, is about suicide, and why the majority of people are too cowardly to commit suicide. And while A) that may be in line with Zeke contemplating suicide last episode, it also B) ties him more heavily to Beth and realizing that, overall, he wants to live.

2.       Everyone who dies at the end of Hamlet dies because of poison. So, I think this links Zeke to the poison (and possibly by extension, the radiation) arc.

3.       There’s the “outrageous misfortune” line. In terms of the tarot cards, that wheel we keep seeing is the Wheel of Fortune. It represents life cycles, good and bad fortune, and fate. I might do more detail on this at a later point, but I think for Zeke, this foreshadows his death fake out. His happiness with Carol is over for the time being. And unfortunately, things are about to get worse for him. He’s about to have “outrageous misfortune.”

Near the end, he almost tells Carol over the radio, but doesn’t. Probably a mistake. Maybe to foreshadow that they don’t speak again (or say goodbye) before everything goes really bad?

During this part, Siddiq talks to Dante on the radio. We learn that Rosita is sick. Not sure what’s up with that, but they went out of their way to tell us that. 

Also, apparently Gabriel isn’t at Alexandria. He left for some unknown reason and hasn’t returned. Thanks to @wdway​ for catching that. Why is it important?

Because Gabriel is the embodiment of the Sirius symbolism. And right now, they’re literally waiting for him to return.

Then Siddiq says, “I’m still here.” (Beth line.) And Dante has an interesting line where he says, “The universe is on pause until God returns.” He’s saying that not much is going on there medically and he’s referring to Siddiq as “god.” But it’s still an interesting line about God returning, no?

Connie, Magna, and Daryl:

Of course there’s the fact that they’re looking for the missing girl with all the Beth symbolism around her. Lt’s talk about Daryl’s story about Merle. Obviously it’s a callback to Still, where he talked to Beth about Merle and told a story about him. Beer is mentioned. And it all takes place on a lake. So, a body of water. Also, when he did the motion to tell how he’d hauled Merle alone, he put her arm around his neck. It looked exactly like the way he helped Beth in Alone, after she hurt her ankle.

I don’t have a whole lot more detail than that, other than what I’ve already said. Daryl does say, “I get it,” in that final scene when he’s talking to Connie.

I did notice one other random theme, here. It was a magic theme, of all things. First, Ezekiel, talking about the old world, said it had been a time of sorcery and witchcraft. (In other words, they could do awesome things to fight cancer.) Later, when Negan was talking to Milo, he used the term “voodoo magic” to describe flying. I just thought it was a weird theme. No idea what it means.

Emily’s song:

So I wrote yesterday’s post long before TTD aired, and I totally didn’t catch that they used Emily’s song in the show. By then, I didn’t want to add it to my post. But it’s AWESOME!

So there’s what @angelthefirst1​ said: in 5x10 the music box awoke, an din 10x5, Emily’s song was used. Coincidence? No. Really not, my friends. Plus, just a few days before this episode aired, Emily shared some Bethyl artwork in her story. And a few days before that, she posted the tarot card picture. Yeah, I feel like she’s super close.

I have more to say about the song and how I’m interpreting the symbols in it, but that will be a post all its own later in the week. Overall, I think this is an awesome win for us. It’s music, it’s happening in this episode. It’s played over the scene when Yumiko mentions to Magna that the supplies are missing. That became part of Daryl and Connie’s arc when they were searching for a lost girl. I don’t think any of that is a coincidence, y’all. And I’m super excited to see it.

Also, Magna is reading a book called The Promised Land in this scene. I need to look into it more, as there are many books with that title. Most of them are about Israel or things related to the Old Testament. Given all the Moses symbolism around Beth, that’s not a coincidence either. One in particular was about the Exodus. So I’m wondering if that is a foreshadow about something to do with Magna or, better yet, something to do with Beth. 😉

Thoughts?

[svucarisiaddict]

how do the reader and peter move on from Peter sleeping with someone else?

“Peter. What the hell are you doing here?” your Dad’s voice boomed from the entryway. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”

“Listen. I’m not here to fight with you. I just want to talk to Y/N,” Peter insisted. He held his hands up.

“If she wanted to talk to you she would have returned your phone-”

“Dad. It’s okay.” You walked up beside him with your arms folded across your chest.

“Y/N. I’m not-”

“She’s an adult. If she wants to talk to me she can,” Peter interrupted.

“If you think for one minute I’m going to let you hurt her again. You are sadly mistaken.” He pushed his finger into Peter’s chest. You could see his ears and face turn red.

“Dad please give us a minute.”

He looked at you then turned his gaze back to Peter giving him a pointed look before turning and walking down the hall.

“What did you want to talk about? I think we said it all a few days ago.” Looking up at Peter with an expectant look, you recognized he had shaved, gotten a haircut. It also didn’t go unnoticed that he was wearing your favorite shirt under his ski jacket.

Peter scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the porch. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to ask you out for dinner.”

Raising one brow you nodded your head. “Dinner? With you? Like a date?”

He smiled. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

You pursed your lips trying not to smile. “Fine. 7 pm. Don’t be late.”

At 6:50 the doorbell rang. He was early. Your Dad had decided to ignore you the rest of the day when he found out you were going out with Peter. It was probably for the best. You really weren’t in the mood for another confrontation between them.

Grabbing your heels you made your way to the door. Peter was holding your favorite flowers, peonies, in various shades of pink when you opened the door.

“Oh, uh, wow. You look…wow…” Peter’s eyes trailed down your body.

“Thanks. You look wow too.” You slid your heels on. “Come in. It’s too cold to wait outside.” When you agreed to go out with Peter earlier in the day you already knew what you were going to wear, his favorite dress. It was black lace with a champagne underlay, cap sleeves, open back with the hemline hitting mid thigh.

He passed the flowers to you. “Thank you. I’ll put these in water. Be right back.”

“Ready?” Peter held your coat for you to slip on.

“Absolutely.”

After dinner, you and Peter went to a wine bar that one of your friends had opened a few months prior. “Peter! Y/N! How ya been?” Curtis hugged you then Peter. “Glad you guys could come in again.”

“Good to see you. How’s Amanda?” you asked.

“She’s good. Due any day now,” he responded. “Can’t wait to hold that little girl in my arms.” His eyes became wistful. “Uh, anyway. We have a new Merlot, Y/N. Has your name all over it.”

“Sounds perfect, Curtis.”

“I’ll have the same,” Peter said.

“Coming up.”

“I think I have a new favorite wine,” you commented to Peter.

After a couple glasses each, Peter excused himself to the restroom. You scrolled through Tumblr waiting for him to get back.

“Y/N. Are you here alone?” When you glanced up from your phone Brice was standing beside your table.

“No. I’m here with Peter.”

“Oh. I see. I didn’t realize you got back together.”

“Well, we-”

“That’s not really your business is it?” Peter interrupted as he approached the table. His mouth was a straight line, his eyes narrowed, chest puffed. He had Brice by about three inches.

“I was just saying hi,” Brice responded. “I’ll see you at the office, Y/N. Have a good night.”

“That was rude and uncalled for,” you informed Peter. “You embarrassed me in front of a colleague with your alpha male bullshit.”

“Who you almost slept with.” Peter sat back in his chair regarding you earnestly. “It’s clear he still wants you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” you hissed. “You’re the one who actually slept with someone else six weeks after breaking up.” Pointing a finger at him for emphasis you continued. “You have no right saying a word to me about what I didn’t do!”

“You broke up with me Y/N! Don’t forget that detail. You left me,” Peter retorted.

“Now I remember why. You’re an asshole.” You stood suddenly almost knocking your chair over. “Thanks for the wonderful evening Peter,” you said sarcastically. Grabbing your coat and clutch you stormed out of the bar.

“Damn it, Peter. You are an asshole,” he said to himself. He threw enough cash on the table to cover the drinks and followed you out. When he caught up to you outside you were walking up the sidewalk.

“Y/N. Please. Stop. I’m sorry.” He grasped your shoulder.

“Sorry. You’re sorry?” Your eyes burned with tears. “You broke my heart, Peter. I’m struggling with the fact you slept with someone else. Even though I have no right to be upset. It’s not like you cheated, it just feels that way.” Wiping the tears from your cheeks you looked up to him. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Peter pulled you to his chest. He smoothed your hair as his chin rested on your head. “I’d take that night back if I could. I love you, Y/N.” His voice wavered. “Come back to the apartment with me. Please. Just to talk. I promise that’s all I want.”

Leaning back you furrowed your brow. “Okay. Just talk.”

It felt weird being back at the apartment. Everything was the same and he had actually cleaned since the last time you were here. Peter was busying himself in the kitchen making tea. Your gaze fell to the picture above the mantle. It was from your beach vacation in July.

“That was my favorite vacation.” Peter handed you a cup of tea. “Honey is already in there.”

“Thanks,” you said as you took the cup from him. “Mine too. Seven days of nothing but sunbathing, good food and drinks, and you all to myself.”

“Except for the sunburn.” Peter gently patted his chest.

You giggled almost spitting out the sip of tea. “That was your fault. I told you to wear sunscreen.” Peter had fallen asleep in a lounge chair with his hand rested on his chest, fingers spread leading to a rather funny, but painful burn.

“Oh my gosh. It’s almost 1 am. I really should get going,” you said. Pulling your phone from your clutch you started calling for a cab. You and Peter had a long discussion, slowly hashing some of your issues out.

“No. Stay. It’s late,” Peter said. Peter continued, “you take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

It was late and you really didn’t feel like taking the 30-minute drive back to your parents. “Okay. I’ll stay. I’m going to change.” When you got to the bedroom you and Peter had shared, you noticed your pillow was on his side of the bed. Like he was snuggling with it. You went to the dresser and found a pair of PJ’s. Just as you finished changing there was a soft rapping at the door. “Come in.”

“I just need to change and grab my pillow and blanket,” Peter announced. “Then I’ll be out of here.”

“I’ll step out then.”

“No need. I’ll step into the restroom.” He gave you a smile. Peter changed into a pair of flannel lounge pants and a soft, faded Cubs T-shirt. “Good night, Y/N.” He padded over to you and kissed your temple.

“Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep in here. I’d really like to feel your arms around me tonight.” You started fidgeting with the hem of your top, not really looking at him.

“Yeah?”

You nodded your head. The two of you climbed into bed. Peter turned off the lamp. When he pulled you to his chest your body immediately relaxed. This was where you belonged. This was home.

“Good night my darling. I love you.” He squeezed you, then kissed your hair.

“I love you too,” you murmured before falling fast asleep.

Over the following weeks, you and Peter slowly rebuilt your relationship. Dinner dates, walks in the park, visiting the zoo and just talking over coffee were just a few of the things you did together. Both of your promised to keep the lines of communication open. And you had started seeing a couples counselor.

Peter asked you to move back home three weeks later. Your first night back home, you and Peter made love for the first time since the break-up.

“Thank you for not giving up on us,” Peter said softly as you laid on Peter’s chest.

“And thank you for being persistent.” You ran your finger down his chest to his belly button back up and bopped his nose with your finger.

“Did you seriously bop my nose?” Peter said with amusement.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” you teased.

He flipped you over onto your back, pinning your hands above your head. “You’re about to find out.”

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: By His Side (Always)

A MacGyver ficlet. This one means a lot to me. I don’t even know why. 

So many changes in their lives. Mac’s still an asset, Jack’s still his bodyguard. Everything else’s different. A future fic. Jack’s POV.

It’s those damn birds that wake him up, again, screeching their little hearts out right outside his window, those sick bastards. He would throw a shoe at them, again, but he still hasn’t found the last one yet.

With a groan, Jack rolls onto his side and peers at the alarm clock blearily. 6.37 am. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, he’s too old for this shit.

He could try falling asleep again but it wouldn’t do, he knows, he’s too cranky now. And so, with a resigned sigh, he crawls out of bed and stretches carefully, enjoying the cracks and pops in his joints and the ache in his muscles. Then he scratches his belly and gives his near future a deep thought: shower or coffee? And since they’ve just had yet another hot summer night and he feels as sticky as a well roasted marshmallow, he decides that shower it is. And heads for the adjoining bathroom.

Showered and brushed - shaving’s reserved for special occasions these days - Jack dresses in clean clothes - he really needs to do laundry soon - shoving a gun into his side holster - just a precaution - and heads for the kitchen to make coffee.

The open-space kitchen slash living room’s already full of bright sunlight when he steps out of the short hallway leading up to the bedrooms in the “west wing” as they like to call the left side of their cabin. The “east wing”, the right side of their home, is pretty much a mirror image in design, only there’s just one big room there instead of two smaller ones.

And by said room’s door, there in the shadowy recess of the opposite hallway, there’s a small red light blinking, signaling a transmission in progress. It makes Jack pause and lift an eyebrow. He wonders how long that’s been going on. He should check it out but first, coffee!

He starts the state of the art coffeemaker going - he insisted on that one; before, he used to drink any sludge available, as long as there was caffeine in it, but these days, he likes to actually enjoy his coffee, thank you very much! - and then he heads for the living room with its comfy furniture, a big stone fireplace - and an even bigger TV! Another thing he insisted on.

While the coffeemaker’s doing its thing, burbling and hissing quietly on the counter, Jack switches the TV on and several smaller screens pop up on the big one: surveillance in black and white, cameras set at various angles all around the cabin and the surrounding woods; one’s even aimed down at the lake. All seems to be working right, all looks clear. Later on, he’ll have to go through the night feeds in greater detail, just to be sure, but not before coffee.

The coffeemaker beeps cheerily and Jack walks around the counter to pour himself a mug. Oh yes, he thinks as he closes his eyes in pure bliss, inhaling the strong aroma of a really good coffee, living the good life. Then he pours another cup, grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and heads for the “east wing” and for their very own “war room” there.

He has to fumble with the mugs and the bottle for a bit to press his right hand to the scanner by the door, but finally the door clicks softly and then unseals itself with a little hiss of pressurized air. He nudges the door with his hip.

Walking in, Jack has to pause and let his eyes adjust; the room’s dark - there’re no windows in here and the lights are off - and he would hate to trip, considering the floor is sunken a good three feet below the main level. It’s all done as a precaution, for protection, just like everything else in the cabin. From what Jack understands, a missile could hit their home and this room would survive, maybe a little shaken in its proverbial boots but otherwise intact.

There’s a wall of screens opposite the door, glowing with images of a… desert, it seems. Someone with a camera - probably clipped to his or her vest - is running, hiding, then running again, headed for a ramshackle building, barely discernible in the gathering twilight. If it’s a live feed, it must be somewhere in... Asia? Probably, considering the time difference. Then the camera catches a glimpse of another figure, running along - a man in a desert camo. Ah, Jack thinks, one of those missions…

Finally able to see again, he walks down the steps and heads for the ergonomic chair, made of real leather so buttery soft it makes one want to weep, facing the screens. “Here,” he whispers, handing over one of the mugs.

Mac looks up with a grateful smile and accepts it, wrapping his right hand tightly around the handle. “Thanks,” he whispers back, inhaling deeply; yeah, even Mac learned to appreciate good coffee.

Soft voices are rasping out of the speakers, issuing and accepting orders. Jack sets the bottle of water down on the small table by the chair, then he taps at his ear and points at the screen in a “Can they hear us?” gesture.

Mac takes a little sip of his coffee - it’s still rather hot - and setting the cup down on the table next to the water bottle, he switches something off on the console that seems a part of the chair. “Now they can’t. We have a moment before they need me again,” he says.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks, watching the men, US soldiers from the look of it, sneak closer to the building. There’re two very quiet puffs and a lookout by the door drops dead, then the one at the corner of the house.

Mac points at the screens with his right hand, his left one cradled in his lap. “That’s a terrorist hideout,” he informs Jack simply. “Based on our intel, these people might’ve gotten their hands on a live nuke. The guys had to get in right away to grab it, they couldn’t wait for an expert to arrive and accompany them so…”

“They called you,” Jack finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Mac says. “I got the call at two in the morning, while they were already on the plane. We’ve been going through the basics ever since. Luckily, one of them went through an EOD training so they won’t be going in completely blind.”

Mac reaches out for his mug to take another sip - and in the glow of the screens Jack catches the little twist of Mac’s lip, the tightness in his face as he sets the mug down again, the tremble in his left leg as he tries to find a more comfortable position.

“How’s the pain?” Jack asks, aiming straight for the heart of the matter. 

Now Mac grimaces openly but he also answers truthfully; he’s learned long ago not to lie to Jack about these things, he learned it the very hard way. “Bad,” he admits, sighing. “I haven’t had the time to take my meds yet.”

“Alright. Do you want them now or once this is over?” Jack points at the screens with his chin.

“After,” Mac replies immediately. “They need to get out of there within the next hour or so or they’re all dead anyway, bomb or not. Besides, I need my head clear for this. It is a live nuke we’re talking about here.”

Jack nods. “Fine. I’ll make breakfast and have your meds waiting for you in an hour.”

Mac grimaces again. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Egg-white omlets it is, then. With sausages and pepper. And hash browns,” Jack adds, enjoying the look of horror on Mac’s face; yup, he’s in for a lecture about cholesterol over breakfast. Honestly, he can’t wait.

“9-1-1, you there?” a voice crackles out of the speakers.

Mac flips the switch on his console back on. “Yes. What’s your status?”

“Two guards down, two to go. Geiger Counter quiet.”

Smiling, Mac replies, “That’s good, team leader. We’ll have you on your way back, safe and sound, in no time.”

Jack stands there a moment longer, watching the men on the screens take out two more bad guys and then enter the building. That used to be him, during his Delta Force days, then later on working for the CIA and in Afghanistan, spying for the Phoenix Foundation, and a part of him misses it, the action and the thrill. But another part, a much bigger part, is glad to be where he is right now.

He pats Mac on the shoulder and heads out, mug in hand, to let the kid focus on his job.

Jack takes his coffee out, down to the lake, and walks along the pebbled shore for a while. He has his phone on him, should Mac need anything, but Jack would be of no help to him right now. Assisting people in the field, that’s Mac’s job; under the code name 9-1-1 he seems to have made a name for himself over the last few years. But he also made new enemies. And it’s Jack’s job to make sure that nobody gets to him, just like always. Only these days, they don’t run around the world anymore, no. The world needs to come to them.

His phone rings and Jack pulls it out of his pocket with a smile. A special ringtone for a special person. “Hey, Matty. What are you doing up so early?” He stares across the lake, sipping his coffee and breathing in the fresh air with relish.

“Some of us are actually working, Dalton,” she snaps back playfully. “But why are you up at this hour? You’ve never been a morning person. I would’ve loved to wake you up and make you miserable.”

“You would!” Jack replies, chuckling. “It’s those damn birds, Matty. I swear, one of these days I’ll just shoot them all and make myself a roast!”

She laughs too. Then she asks, “How’s our boy wonder?” Her tone’s light but there’s genuine concern for Mac there. She’s always worried but much more so ever since the explosion that almost killed Mac, scarring him both physically and mentally for life.

“Working at the moment,” he says simply, not going into details. This might be a secure line but even those have ears these days.

“But how is he?” Matty asks again. She’s not asking about his job for the army and the various alphabet soup agencies. She’s asking about Mac as a person.

Jack sighs, still staring out across the lake. “Not getting any better, physically.”

“We knew that, Jack,” she says softly. “The doctors did tell us that this was as good as it would ever get.”

Pausing for a moment, Jack says, “I know. It’s just killing me, seeing him like this. I would switch places with him in a heartbeat if I could but I can’t and-and sometimes, sometimes that makes me so mad I want to punch something.” He takes a harsh breath and lets it out. “But I learned to be grateful that he’s still alive. Small miracles and all that.”

“Yeah,” Matty responds. “You said physically. How about the other stuff?”

Jack takes a gulp of his coffee, now only lukewarm. “His nightmares are almost gone. His PTSD’s getting better, too, slowly. The peace and quiet around here helps. He’s still not ready for big crowds, though. Not after--”

Not after the bomb that he couldn’t disarm and that almost killed him - and that did kill five people down in Miami. The Ghost’s present and his revenge in one. The madman finally found a bomb that Mac couldn’t defuse. It was almost the same scenario as in Mac’s house all those years before - two bombs, connected through a wireless receiver - almost but for two slight modifications: a motion sensor and, most importantly, a timer ticking down fast. 

Disarm this one and the other one, hidden somewhere else, will blow up. Let this one explode and the other one will deactivate on its own. Control the number of casualties or leave it to fate. Choose, MacGyver, choose...

Mac made a judgment call. He let the one he found go. He let the timer run out while they tried to evacuate as many people as possible from the bus terminal where it was found. Still, five people didn’t make it and Mac, too, got caught in the blast. The other bomb, they found it in a hospital later on. It would’ve killed many, many more people if it exploded. Still, Mac never forgave himself.

But they never talk about this, at least not with the others, about The Aftermath. About the weeks Jack spent in the hospital, at Mac’s bed, trying to keep his best friend alive through sheer force of will. It was a dark time, between the explosion and Matty’s new job offer. Because when it became clear that Mac would never be able to go back in the field, there came the question, now what?

Jack turns to look at their log cabin. It was built with the help of the Phoenix Foundation, the men and women who usually maintained safe houses - which this turned out to be for Mac. A sanctuary, a workplace, a new home. Jack and Bozer helped with the rough jobs while Riley and Cage outfitted the house with the best tech and best security measures, their little family banding together to help one of their own.

And then they moved in and Mac became an asset of a different kind, always there, always knowing what to do, just a phone call away, but safe, hidden in the middle of nowhere and with Jack guarding him both from his enemies and his inner demons alike.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, phone still pressed to his ear. He’s been quiet for a while but Matty’s waiting him out, she understands. She knows when to push and when not. And he’s never loved the woman more than in this moment.

“He would like to see you guys in person again,” Jack says, opening his eyes and looking up at the blue, blue sky. “He misses you. And so do I.”

“And we miss you, too,” Matty replies softly. “The team’s on a mission right now but once they’re back, we would love to come for a visit.”

“Speaking of which, how are they doing?” he asks, smiling a little.

There’s a smile in Matty’s voice, too, when she replies, “They’re doing great, Jack. Cage, Riley and Bozer have become one of our best teams.”

“Not as good as me and Mac, though, right?” Jack protest, mock affronted.

“No, Jack. No one’s better than you two, I promise,” she says kindly and it makes Jack’s chest feel warm.

Then he sees the cabin door open and Mac steps out onto the back porch. Leaning heavily on his cane, he walks up to the railing and waves down at Jack, just a little with his weak left hand before he curls it around his midriff again. In the bright morning sun the scars covering the whole left side of his body seem more visible than ever and Jack’s heart aches for his friend again.

But at the same time, seeing Mac there, alive and actually smiling down at him, makes him happy. Mac’s here and he’s safe, despite everything, which is much better than the alternative. Jack lifts his mug in acknowledgment - his coffee’s now gone cold - and starts heading up the slope, back towards the cabin again.

“I gotta go, Matty,” he says into the phone. “His Highness left the audience room and will be expecting breakfast now.”

She laughs a little. “Tell Mac I said hi.” But then she sobers a little and asks him the same question she asks every time. “Do you regret it?”

Jack doesn’t need to ask what. Do you regret leaving your job? Do you regret moving out here where there’s nothing but trees and ducks? Do you regret giving up your whole life to guard this brilliant broken nerd whom you couldn’t love more if he were your own flesh and blood?

And his answer is the same as always. “No.”

Then he hangs up, and putting his phone away, he runs up the slope, chiding Mac before he even reaches him, “You said I had an hour!”

Mac, who’s standing there, waiting for him, shrugs. “It was easier than I expected. When they said ‘live nuke’ I thought it would be something actually complicated. Turns out it wasn’t. But do you really want to hear about that?”

Jack walks across the porch and holds the door open for Mac, who hobbles inside, his cane tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood. “Do I want to hear about a nuke on the other side of the world? Hm, let me think. Did it go kaboom? No? That’s enough for me.

“Oh, by the way, Matty says hi,” Jack adds as he passes Mac on his way to the kitchen. 

Grimacing a little, Mac sits down on one of the stools at the counter. “Did you talk about me?” he asks, a little annoyed.

Unruffled, Jack replies, pouring Mac a glass of apple juice, “Always.”

Mac glares at him but then his frown turns into a grateful little smile when Jack sets the glass down in front of him together with several pills of various shapes and colors.

“So, breakfast, then!” Jack says, rubbing his hands. It’s not a question. Mac’s appetite hasn’t been what it used to be since the incident and if it were left up to him, he would exist on dry toast only.

Mac swallows a pill and nods, replying as expected, “A toast will do.”

Jack laughs. “Think again, buddy.”

Smiling, Mac suggests a compromise. “And... blueberry jam?”

“No food that turns any part of your body blue can be good for you!” Jack states, shaking his head, mock disturbed.

“And all that fat clogging your arteries is?” Mac asks with raised eyebrows.

Jack points a finger at him. “But at least I can’t see that!”

“No, but you’ll definitely feel it very soon,” Mac retorts. “At the very least once you have to buy new pants because your old ones popped at the seams.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jack leans against the counter threateningly. “Are you calling me fat, kid?”

Unafraid, Mac points out, “I think your new wardrobe speaks for itself.”

“Says the noodle with the skinny ass!” Jack snaps back.

They keep it up, glaring at each other, a second or two longer. And then they burst out laughing and Jack reaches out across the counter to ruffle Mac’s hair fondly. Jesus, he loves the kid. And whatever lies ahead, Jack’s exactly where he wants to be, by Mac’s side.

[antarestyl]

PTA Sans - The one with Azzy

So, Azzy it is now. There is a lot of mess to clean up, a lot of talks to be had and Sans is just... really tired.

AO3 Link

Warnings: Uhm... not that many, just some spoilers for the game and talking about the messed up stuff Flowey had done. Also it gets really emotional for Sans there, poor skeleton really needs a break.

I am very sorry it took me so long again to produce a new chapter but I moved countries, got a new job, had a lot of RL stuff going on AND had focused more on TBS with my co-author there. BUT this story is still dear to me so I will continue writing for it. January will be hell for me RL so I try and get some work done now. X.x

Anyway, have fun with this chapter and love all of you who were so patient with me. :D

Things after getting Azzy went... strange. Not bad, mind you but... strange.

The first thing Sans did when he got home was to fall down face-first and waking up much later in his and Toriel's bed. It was early morning when he woke and Toriel was laying with him in bed, her big fuzzy arms wrapped around his smaller form. Sans snuggled a bit more to her, chuckling only slightly when her fur got between his rips, and tried to form a mental check-list.

After the newly named Azzy had gotten used to having limbs again and worked through his minor identity crisis rather quickly they had decided that it would be best if he stayed at Asgore's for now. Sans was sure that Grillby would have volunteered to house the little monster again (bless the soul and core of this monster and Sans knew he and his two partners could never refuse small children) but on the other hand...

Yeah he still felt bad for ranting at Asgore and saying some stuff that was rather unfair to the king, even if he had made mistakes. It really hadn't been the time and place. Besides, it would be good for Azzy to stay with Asgore and re-bound a bit with him. Things would be awkward first but even after all this time, Azzy was just a little kid and Asgore was his dad on more than one level. They could both work on their past and what had happened on their pace. It would probably do them a lot of good too, not just mental-wise. Boss-monster needed the nurture of their parent's love and even with Azzy being a brand-new soul (and probably a plant elemental now come to think about it) Sans really wants to play this safe.  

The rest of them could deal with the rest of this mess.

They had talked about how and when to tell Toriel. They should after all. As soon as possible. Sans really didn't look forward to this but the longer they put it off, the more it would get messy and ugly. But they decided that they should do it together and maybe leave out some of the details Azzy did as Flowey... welp, now he had to find a way to explain to her that Asriel really was gone, that Azzy was like... what did the humans call it... reincarnation? Welp, no, that wasn't it either, it worked completely different... Humans believed that it was still the same soul.

Asriels soul had been green. Azzy's soul was purple.

Instead of losing all his memories with the same soul, Azzy was all of Asriels (and Flowey's) memories but with a new soul. A soul made of Asgore's love for his son, Frisk's compassion to safe him and magic of the machine, bound together by just a tiny drop of determination and a whole lot of other magical stuff Sans had to do to make the machine work again.

The same machine that gave birth to him and Papyrus and that made Gaster go... away. What killed their father thou was a whole different story... it seems that Determination was very very dangerous, even more so seeing how Alphy's experiments turned out.

Stars he should just stop thinking about that.

Point was, Azzy was his own monster, not Asriel, not Flowey but something new. And they had to tell Toriel.

This was going to be hard.

After... THAT was out of the way they had to think long-term. Where should Azzy stay for good, would they enroll him in school to or home teach him, what will become out of the little monster now... Frisk would want him joining school, they loved that little flower boy.

Sans kinda wanted to go back to sleep again. Maybe apologize to everybody involved a few times too.

He kinda missed the days where he just dunked Linda. Maybe he should do that again. She kinda got better these last week but still...

So mental checklist.

Tell Toriel, tell all the others, figure out if Azzy was fit for school... maybe get more sleep. Also he really should sit down with Azzy at one point too. He had talked with Flowey before their little deal was struck but Sans still had some things to hash out with him.

Also, something else had to be done was quick as possible: Destroy the machine. It did its part and Sans would rather not have the reminder of so much pain in the past standing around anywhere. Not to mention all the illegal crap he had to do to get some parts of it and how dangerous it could be if the wrong persons got it.

So... Tell Toriel, destroy the machine, everything else next. Sounds good.

Toriel let out a soft snore, nuzzling at the base of his skull and Sans felt himself flush with magic. Well... maybe he could rest just a little bit longer... Just a little bit.

Azzy in the meantime was... adjusting. It was strange feeling again, it was strange WALKING again. Well, walking in his own body, not one he stole. Yeah that... that was really bad what he did there... Wow he was a jerk. To a lot of people.

Especially Sans thou. Azzy could understand his reasoning at the time. Sans was the only one who remembered some of what was happening and was so interesting to watch react different every time. But wow he did screwed that poor guy up for no reason at all. Sans really wasn't a part of anything, only having a connection to the guy who worked out the foundation for what Alphys did to do the things that resulted in Flowey and yeah, there was no way to justify any of the stuff he did.

He... he really should apologize one day. Especially after he gave him a shot at, you know, caring again.

He wondered a bit why Sans did this for him. It could just be to make sure he wouldn't cause any trouble anymore or make Frisk happy... so they wouldn't reset anymore. But on the other hand, Sans had done stuff he didn't had to do get to this point. Like the time Azzy had spend with the flames was rather nice all things considered. The yellow one had even watered him and Azzy knew that flames usually stayed away from any kinds of water.

Maybe he should ask Asgore... dad... (uh, that was complicated still) to go with him to Grillby's at some point in the future. He really should thank them...  

Anyway, Azzy was... kinda content now? He was laying in a bed Asgore made for him. It was really just a nest of blankets on the couch but Azzy was kinda small still, standing on his hind legs at maybe Frisk's height. He still kinda preferred walking on all four of his pawns but he should maybe practice walking on two legs these next days. He really wanted to have his arms free to do stuff with them. Would make some things a lot easier anyway.

Otherwise he was okay with himself. His body felt like a mix between his old one and the flower one but better. His magic shifted, his soul was different and he might have to relearn everything about magic he knew before but it was alright.

He was a bit upset that his ability to use healing magic was now gone for good.

All Boss monster could do a little bit healing magic and Asriel, with his green soul, had the potential to do greater healing magic. He never got very far in his studies of such of course but it was enough to save Chara that faithful day when they fell into the Underground.

Wherever they were now, Azzy really hoped they were alright. Looking back the plan really was terrible and Chara really wasn't the nicest person... but Chara also was just a child and hurting a lot and there was no doubt they had loved Asriel and all the monster.

But LOVE and hate were terrible things for a soul and Azzy knew first hand how it could corrupt you. Thanks to the new soul his LV was back to 1, a clean slate but he still remembered how it felt. He shuttered.

… maybe that was a reason more to talk to the flames... Grillby was a known war-veteran and Azzy had felt his LOVE while staying with him. He was rather baffled how he could even LIVE with all of that. Maybe there was some kind of secret as how it would not corrupt a monster?

“Azzy? Son, are you alright?”

Asgore's voice pulled Azzy out of his thoughts. He turned and saw the old king in a fluffy pajama and night cap with little ducks on it, a worried expression on his face.

“Yeah, uhm... dad.”, said Azzy. “Just... couldn't sleep.”

“Ah... I know just the thing for that... I'll make you some tea that will calm you right down...”

“No golden Flower tea please!”

Asgore halted at the request, a painful expression on his face and Azzy almost regretted his request. “It just... got a lot of bad memories.”, he mumbled.

“... would a peppermint tea with honey be good?”

“Yeah... yeah that would be alright.”, mumbled Azzy as his father walked away to make tea.

Yeah he hadn't missed THAT so much, feeling bad about stuff like this. But on the other hand he took it any day over not feeling at all. Still, it was strange and awkward and not at all like he remembered being Asriel. He was sure his father felt the same.

Asgore returned with two mugs full of fresh smelling tea later, adding a drop of honey into Azzy's cup just before giving it over to him.

Azzy took a sip and smiled slightly as he felt the tea warming up his body and soul.

“Thanks... dad.”, he mumbled. “... I can call you dad, right?”

“Of course, my...”, Asgore hesitated and Azzy waved with one hand.

“It's alright, you can call me son or... stuff like that. Just don't call me Asriel.”

“Alright, Son.”, Asgore answered with a nod but Azzy did saw the slight hurt in his eyes. “I am sorry, I am just... getting used to this.”

“Yeah I... I don't blame you.”, mumbled Azzy. “This... this is all new. I had months to prepare for it but honestly, I barely thought about it because I thought it was impossible.”

“Well... Sans had proven to manage impossible things quite well.”, said Asgore lightly. “But... I understand your hesitation.” He put his tea down, voice dropping his usual lightness. “I couldn't believe it quite for myself when he told me about... about what he had done.” He sighted deeply and for a moment Azzy thought that his father really did look as old as at least 1500 years.

“I made a lot of mistakes, my son.”, Asgore said softly. “I guess I didn't want to face a lot of them... So I choose to be a coward and look away but just because you don't look at it doesn't mean it's gone.”

“Uh... it's alright.”, mumbled Azzy. “You know, I did a lot of... really bad things to. I could say I only did it because I had no soul and couldn't care but... still...”

A big pawn stilled him and Azzy looked to Asgore who moved in for a gentle hug.

“Hush my son.”, he said softly. “I can't remember what you did and all is well now. I have nothing you need forgiveness for. There are people you have to make amends with but it is not me. And I am here for you. And I love you.”

Azzy sniffled softly at that, tears he hadn't shed for so long finally coming to his eyes. He hugged back his father and cried in his fur, feeling so much and loving and hating it but also somehow feeling it would be okay.

Well, looks like he was still a crybaby but all in all, it was what he was. Even so he thought that Chara would have let this one slide just this once.

Time kinda... ran away from that point. They sat together the next day, Toriel, Asgore, Sans and Papyrus, Frisk and Azzy together with Alphys and Undyne. Sans had kinda wanted Grillby to be there too but he had declined, saying softly that he understood that he wasn't really part of this but ready to offer any help should it be needed.

Sans was so glad to have a friend like this.

The explanation went on long and it hurt a LOT seeing Toriel looked betrayed and hurt and horrified and angry and sad. But they had to do this and in a way it felt freeing too to just talk. They explained as good as they could what happened. Asriel's and Chara's plan, what had happened that day when they died. Gaster's and Alphy's experiments and the creation of Flowey. They all knew already about the resets but Azzy filled in some thing he did while being Flowey, but he left out  a lot of details. Sans was kinda thankful for that to be honest.

After that their talk turned to Frisk's determination and how they saved not only all the monster but for a brief moment Asriel too so he could finally let go. Sans took over and explained his fears and his plan to give Flowey a happy ending too. How he took him from the Underground, how Grillby took care of him and how he started working on the machine together with Alphys.  He did left out how he stole many parts for it thou, no point in worrying anybody. (also it would be better if nobody knew anything in case somebody did came knocking at the doors.)

Alphys and Asgore explained how they made Flowey a new soul. And Azzy explained how he wasn't Asriel still, not really. That he was dead and gone but went without regrets and that he was ready to start a new life.

There were some tears and hugs and apologies but in the end it was... strangely okay.

Toriel did... better than expected, honestly. She requested some time alone and Sans gave it. The others bid their goodbye and even Papyrus announced that he would take Frisk to stay the night at Mettaton's. Sans nodded, told his brother no glitter after midnight and... well then they were alone.

Toriel in their bedroom and Sans in the living room. Time tickled slowly. He wanted to go to her and talk to her but he had no clue what to say.

Sorry I lied. Sorry about your son. Sorry we didn't told you. Sorry I was so messed up these last days. Sorry that I probably committed a lot of crimes and hopefully no human will ever link it to me.

Sorry I made you upset.

So he stayed in the living room, waiting for... something. He wasn't sure what.

Toriel did came down to him later, close to 11 pm. It had gotten dark outside a while ago already at that time. Sans hadn't bothered to turn on the lights... or move at all. He didn't even notice her until she stepped into his view, the moon shining on her soft fur, making her look a bit like a ghost. Sans risked a look at her face and for the first time since a really long time he couldn't say what she was thinking.

That was almost worse than anything he had imagined.

“I am very disappointed.”, she said after a stretch of silence.

“I know.”, said Sans quietly. “I... I am really sorry.”

“... did you had a reason for leaving me out of it?”

“... I... I thought so.”, said Sans. “... I didn't want to... get your hopes up. I didn't know it would even work... I just... couldn't put you through that.”

“I don't like somebody making decisions for me.”

“I know.”, said Sans, very very softly. “I know and I am sorry.”

“... would you do it again?”

Sans looked up at her and she looked down to him. He swallowed. “I... I don't know.”, he whispered. “I... I really don't.”

“Why not?”

There was absolutely no emotions in Toriel's voice or there was and Sans had no idea what to make out of it.

“I....”, he started but stopped. This was... hard. He just wanted to get away, teleport far far away but he couldn't. He wouldn't. How to explain something like that? How to explain he knew he was a hypocrite but still couldn't help acting like one?

“... I really only wanted to... to make you happy.”, mumbled Sans. “I just... I was the... the guy behind the door, remember? You told me everything, I knew how much this... all of this hurt you. Flowey even told me about the timelines he went to you and Asgore and told you two who he were. You suffered so much Toriel and... and it really isn't Asriel. I knew that from the start that he wouldn't be Asriel ever again, he would be somebody new... and I really just... just wanted to talk to you about it when I had all the facts.” He sighed. “I... it isn't all about you, I admit it. I was not ready myself. And it's messed up and stuff but... at least like this I... thought I had some sort of control over the situation? I just... I couldn't Toriel...”

He was looking away from her now, not having the strength to look at her. And Toriel herself stayed silent too.

They must have sat like this for a while before Toriel moved, fabric rustling as he leaned towards Sans and wrapped her arms around him. Sans was shaking, only now noticing just how worked up about this he was. His bones were rattling, now muffled by Toriel's fur.

He still held on to her like a lifeline.

“I am not happy.”, said Toriel after a while, still holding Sans. “But... I think I can forgive you.”

Sans thought for a moment he would pass out at these words. There were definitely tears now in his eyes. He buried his face into Toriels arm.

“I love you so much.”, he mumbled out, earning a humm from Toriel.

“I love you too.”, said said. “I... it will take some... adjustment. But I do think I... we all can come to terms with this.”

There might have been some more they talked but honestly, Sans couldn't remember. The rest of the night was a blurr but they spend it together.

The days after that were a blurr too. They had to register Azzy, make sure he was listed as Asgore's son and all the other things that required lots of paper work. There was debate about how old Azzy was now but they did decide on the age Asriel had died: Around twelve years old, the same age as Frisk was now.

They even made a room for Azzy in Asgore's little house, cleaning out one of the guest rooms and letting Azzy choose his furniture and decorations for himself. The room looked quite nice in the end, painted yellow and green, a deep blue carped on the ground. There was a soft bed, a desk, a chair a big closet with a mirror.

Azzy had chosen the mirror for himself and every morning he would look at himself in it just to prove that there was not a flower and not a goat looking at him but a plant elemental. Just Azzy.

They did talked to him too about school and, as Sans had expected, Azzy really wanted to go to school with Frisk. And because Asgore is still a big fuzzy pushover and Sans had no resistance against Frisk's puppy eyes, Azzy start going to Frisk's school soon after.

There would be time to prepare of course and Azzy was still getting the hang out of doing stuff with his little pawns but it would happen. That means that Azzy would join in a few weeks and THAT meant they would have to tell the school, the teachers and, of course, the parents of Frisk's class.

Sans was kinda looking forward and dreaded the next PTA at the same time.

And in the void, there was something now that wasn't there. A cluster of broken pieces that begun assembling itself like a puzzle. And as one bright white piece clicked together with another, there was suddenly something else.

The sound of a gentle beat of a soul and a spark of magic as a memory completed itself in it. The being felt a spark of joy or at least what could be considered as such at their current broken state. But there was some sort of awareness now, some sort of intent. The memory of a smiling face, some tiny hands and the warmth of love made the being hurry even more.  

The void, for the first time, was not silent anymore and hope let the fragments of the broken soul shine brighter and brighter in the darkness.

So thank you all for still reading this, commenting, liking and reblogging.

Also I got some fanart:

This wonderful Azzy! XD It wasn't like I imagined him at first but I liked the design so much, I pretty much made it canon now. Many many thanks to @amannartblog for this! I am sorry this chapter came out so late now.

[stuprosu]

march 17th, 2020 1:50 AM

yeah

listen

it’s pretty well established that i am absolutely atrocious at keeping this updated. and i always say that i am going to keep it updated. but i never fucking do, do i? so i’ll say it again. and maybe i’ll mean it it this time. but i really do want to keep this up. there’s so much that i am forgetting lately. things i shouldn’t be forgetting. things i want to remember. this is another situation where i am going to have to outline each thing by each month. hold on to your butts. 

[october 2018] see i don’t remember even what’s going on. this is almost two years ago. i saw the national this month. i also went on a date with sam. it went fine but i just wanted to be friends... so he ghosted me. yahoo. it’s coming back to me now. i go to worlds of fun with kady, marissa, ashleigh, amanda, and conner... love these goons so much. 

[november 2018] my other friend - an online friend, one that lived close. we talked all the time and we played a lot of overwatch and shit together. and i’m intelligent. i’m smart. i know when i’m being taken advantage, or know when people try to do this. he asks me out on a date. we meet up in leavenworth. we spend the whole day together and we drink alcohol. i found out later i have a pretty severe alcohol intolerance. i don’t remember much of that night. maybe everything that falls down eventually rises. that whole experience was that stupid fucking bright eyes song. i can’t remember much - that pretty much makes it nonconsensual, right? i have no memory. but it’s been too long. the next day he texts me and tells me he only wants to be friends. i only remember him kissing me and his house and brooklyn 99. my aunt said i was pretty incoherent when he dropped me back off there at 2am. 

i don’t really know what to make of that whole situation. best to not think about it. we have a friendsgiving. but we don’t relaspe. i actually took up smoking, lmao. i cut him completely out of my life. i am talking to people again. i start dating a boy named drew. we were both pretty lonely people.

[december 2018] yooo drew gets in a fucking wreck after leaving my house at 2am lmao i forgot about that. he was trying to avoid a snowstorm and like broke his femur in half. he was hospitalized for 2 weeks. i visited him. he couldn’t walk for about two months. i felt really bad but i didn’t really want to keep dating him. the whole thing was my fault and i don’t know how to feel about it even now. nothing else much happened during this month. someone wrecked into my parked car. i got zaba this month, my ball python. 

[january 2019] kady asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. i break up with drew. it’s cold as fuck. i am sure there are other details. oh, ashleigh tells kady and i she will not be renewing the lease as she is going to move in with her boyfriend. ashleigh, in the past, like august 2018? was dating this homophobe so i didn’t talk to her. when he dumped her (after taking the old v card, which she told me about, which i responded to with indifference, which upset her) i was there to pick up the pieces but i told her she made a really dumb decision and i don’t know what else she expected and that it hurt that she knew my feelings about something and still dating someone so gross. ANYWAYS. new boyfriend. ashleigh wants to move in with the new boyfriend even though they havent even been dating a month... okay. we tell her not to. she doesn’t listen. ashleigh just starts being shady as fuck. jake , her bf, dumps after 2 weeks after she decides to not renew the lease. dumbass. 

ashleigh is still set to move out in may, when the lease is up. so, that’s not my problem. 

[february 2019] i really love my classes. i took ornithology that semester and i really loved it. i also cut my hair then and i came out publicly as bisexaul cause i realized how problematic being pansexual is. i also think i came out publicly as a nonbinary person, too. for so long i had issues with my gender, but i always pushed it aside and literally told myself don’t think about it, don’t worry about it, just stop. cringily, steven universe helped me figure out a label for what i was experiencing through rebecca sugar. pretty awesome stuff. 

[march 2019] a lot of shit went down this month. ashleigh started dating a guy named zane, who she first originally described to me as a creepy guy in her history class. they went on one date and fucked in her CAR in a museum PARKING LOT. lmao  and then proceeds to never sleep with him at our apartment, but will book hotels and shit. like how self conscious can you be?? anyways. i am fed up with it and i vent to some discord server and forgot ashleigh was in it. i delete it just in case but turns out she got screenshots and never told me. ash wanted to come to nakakon the weekend of march 16. march 15, ashleigh brings over zayn and theyre in her room. kady and conner are watching the office and marissa is there too. 

i come home at like 1am and they tell me ZAYN is there and has a fucking GUN on his hip and i’m?? what the fuck. so we start playing that episode of the office with gun safety dwight really really loudly. and then marissa messages ash and asks zayn to put the gun in his car. the gun is a REVOLVER and doesn’t have a fucking safety. she also doesnt have a gun safe? everyone is just super uncomfortable. zayn comes out and makes a huge deal. he tells us we’re being immature and that it isn’t a big deal. i said something along the lines that we live here, he didn’t ask, we’re uncomfortable, respect it or perish, smth like that. he leaves to go put it in his car. comes back in and starts it back up. says that “the big scary gun is put away” shut up cuck. 

anyways we get into and conner steps in because zayn is yelling at me and i am ready to brawl. zayn mentions something abuot how i treat ash like shit. i can only assume she showed him the screenshots of my discord message lmaoooo . anyways the day after that incident ! i cannot resolve it because ash is coming with me and staying at my dad’s apartment with marissa and i for nakakon. ashleigh is really obnoxious some of the time but mostly quiet. but since we were in such close quarters, i couldn’t bring up the whole shit with zayn. so. 

i am fed up and amanda, kady, marissa, ash, and i go to ihop to try and hash this out. we have a talking straw. we talk about alllll of our issues. i thought it went good. i was not aware that ash was aware of the screenshots. we told ash we were uncomfortable with zayn and would appreciate if he would apologize for disrespecting kady and i in our home and how he talked to me especially. this wasn’t unreasonable, considering three other people were witness to how zayn was talking to me. 

zayn said to ashleigh he wouldn;t apologize because he’d done nothing wrong. i told ashleigh i didn’t want him in the apartment. she moved out at this point and we got into it pretty heavily over messenger. ashleigh blocked all of us on facebook. i miss her but she’s a really toxic person who is in a relationship with a really toxic trump supporter who hates antifa and is really cringe. 

[april 2019] nothing much happened. college is good. i still have a massive crush on carter. marissa moved in. she has found out i am a giant recluse by nature and i think that has had an impact on our relationship even today. my past journal articles have illustrated i can only take people in doses, but we’ve found how to get along. 

[may - july 2019] nothing too crazy happened here either. it was an incredible summer, though. i worked, but i went to the lake so much and got close to toby! i hung out with marissa and kady so much and i really love those two girls. dad and amy are together all the time but they’re not “dating”. i know they are, just amy’s kids are young and wouldn’t understand. i know they’ll tell me when they’re ready. i also watched all of hunter x hunter and loved it. rewatched neon genesis evangelion, too, and loved it. i can’t remember when, but danielle handed marissa a letter for me to read. it was really intense and kind of perception-shattering. i texted her and we agreed to become at least non-hostile and chill with each other. i have really been meaning to see danielle irl and talk to her... but i keep forgetting and don’t have much time during the semester. i feel bad but... i don’t know what else to say. i reached out to her in december but was left on read. that was my fault, as i hadn’t responded to her in months. it’s better than what it was, to say the least. 

[august 2019] golden year baby ! just kidding my golden year was whenever i turned nineteen. anyways august is pretty chill. i started my senior year and took entomology. i loved that class so much and had it with carter. i really love the people in my field and i am going to miss them so much. love the biology goons. i also found out from my doctor i am allergic to most alcohols after i had an allergic reaction on my 21st and went to the doctors. i have a pretty severe intolerance. also started playing dragon age again. i don’t really talk to mom at all. my maternal grandfather, cliff, who i have never met/spoken to, has a relationship with my sister ashlee and was at my nephew’s first birthday party. cliff met my brothers and i and was very kind to us. however, i love my aunt shanna with my whole heart and she doesn’t like him at all. there was a very clear and obvious divide of my mom’s sisters and family, like jordan, kenadee, brettney, nana, and my grandfather’s family, like his other children and their spouses. it was all very difficult. i know my grandfather doesn’t have much time left in this world, but he still was rude and treated the family who HAS been there like shit. i know my mom cut my grandfather out, but i am inclined to side with my aunt because she knows best. however, she didn’t pull me aside at the birthday party and tell me not to believe a thing cliff says. cliff, however, did that. told me to believe what nana says and that it was all in the past. that rubbed me the wrong way. i still don’t know what to think about that situation. 

[september 2019] just school and work still, nothing crazy. mammalogy trips, entomology trips, school is really really fun and a lot of work but i love it so much! oh, and carter got me a bernie2020 magnet for my birthday. 

[october 2019] i saw the band cigarettes after sex. they were really awesome. i broke my glasses. i went to ren fest. nathan was creepy. i saw my mom and my aunt brenna at toby’s marching band game. dad, ash, and bentley were there. it was awkward and i didn’t try talking to my mom. a few months prior i kind of ripped into her on messenger and tried to tell her that i wanted a relationship but she had to acknowledge that what she did in the past was wrong (and i told her exactly what she did wrong, and i had talked about this with my siblings and dad, who agreed) and how she could fix it and how i still wanted her in my life. and she refused to acknowledge this. i kind of broke down over it because i realized my mom was never ever ever going to change and it broke me. anyways, i saw her at the game and i didn’t talk to her and answered her questions with as much grace as i could manage. that’s all. she lives in olathe now. that guy and her broke up. toby lives with dad full time now. dad has a good job and bartends part time at top golf. 

[november 2019] there was a praying mantis on my aloe plant! she laid an ootheca. it should hatch any day now :)i went to a deer aging check station. i slept in a bath tub. had some good conservations with my sister. we also had kady’s bridal shower. kaycee’s house is amazing and so is kaycee! i wish she lived closer. 

[december 2019] kady got married! it was a really beautiful reception. i finished my semester with all As and Bs! entomology was really hard, but i got a B in there! most people in ento got Cs or Ds so i did really well :) we started playing left for dead again 

[january 2020] kady is on her honeymoon. marissa and i watched midsommar on new years eve. i started my new classes. i am taking herpetology and paleontology and local flora. i also TA for plant phys and am doing research with dr. barta! life was pretty good. oh, i tried getting glass animals tickets, but they sold out, so i was really bummed :///

[february 2020] chiefs won the superbowl, played dragon age, went to class. i spend a lot of time with amanda and love her so much. i also got my resume together! waiting to hear back so i can start applying for jobs.

[march 2020] it’s the current month. it’s been a wild month because of the virus. i was supposed to find a place to live by may and a job this month but the virus has made that pretty much impossible. my dad has been reassuring but also not at the same time. it will all work out. i voted for bernie in the primaries. i have become extremely socialist in my views. right now, i am really into NGE and jojo’s bizarre adventure and i am listening to a lot of the kinks. jyro turned 11 this month. 11! he’s getting so old. i hope i can find a place to live but i need to find a job first. it’s a stressful time. hopefully i won’t get the virus but... we will see. also, i’ll try to keep this updated. maybe monthly! 

see ya xox

lex

[beatricethecat2]

"This is nice," Myka says, sipping her beer while surveying the bar.

"Consuming alcohol in a public house?" Helena asks.

"Yeah," Myka says, eyes angling down as she picks at her label. "Working with Pete...this wasn't a thing I could do much. Then Steve and I had a drink here, and I remembered what it was like. I used to go on my own in DC just to unwind. Feels like a lifetime ago."

“In many ways it was," Helena says, idly stiring the ice left in her drink. "Could you ever have imagined the company you now keep?"

"I don't think so," Myka says, shifting closer to Helena. "But I like it, a lot. Doing this with you feels...normal. Two people, spending time together, not a care in the world."

"You care for nought?" Helena says, fingers tracing a line from Myka's thumb to her wrist where her hand rests on her thigh.

"Ok, one care," Myka says, eyes flicking up to meet Helena's. "Hey, I know that look. We said we'd stay for the band tonight, not just hole up in our room."

"Is there not another band tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but we said we'd stay for this one." Myka slips her hand from Helena's.

"As you wish," Helena says, settling back on her stool, frustration evident in her tone.

"More drinks, ladies?" the bartender says. "The band's about to start."

"I shall need one," Helena grouses.

"Stop being dramatic," Myka snips.

"Fine," Helena snaps. "Bourbon. Neat. Top shelf, please," she instructs the bartender.

"Comin' right up." The bartender steps away to complete the order.

"Oh, we're getting drunk now, are we?" Myka quips.

"When in Rome..."

"I'd actually like to see that, a drunk H.G. Wells," Myka says, poking Helena in the arm.

Helena flinches. "You may very well if you keep behaving as such."

"Seriously though, when's the last time you drank enough to let your guard down, even a little."

"In the company of others? Not in recent memory. And you?"

"Same."

"Here you go," the bartender interrupts, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of Helena. "Another beer?" she asks Myka.

"You know what? I'll have the same." Myka waves her bottle at Helena's drink.

"Cavalier, Ms. Bering."

"We'll keep each other in check. We deserve to get super tipsy, at least."

"Color me intrigued."

The band strikes its first cord just as Myka's drink arrives. She tugs Helena's arm, and they relocate to a table near the stage.

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

The Adventures of Bering and Wells ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 4 Title: New Orleans: Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Summary: Myka and Helena follow whim rather than duty, driving south, detouring around Washington DC, avoiding a second emotional rabbit hole so early on. After a wi-fi-free week in a cabin, deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, they feel ready to tackle urban density again. ("The Rockies are better," Myka declares. "We'll go there, too.) Vowing to stay as touristy as possible, the pair head towards history-filled New Orleans. But far too soon their carefree trip hits a snag and they're in need of Warehouse help.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

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

***BONUS SCENE***

"Exactly how touristy have you been?" Abigail asks.

"Pretty touristy," Myka answers.

"Practically flâneurs," Helena says, grinning as Myka looks up at her with sparkly eyes.

"Well, that narrows it down," Steve mutters, typing into the keyboard. "Let's start with your hotel. Why'd you pick the carriage house?"

"The lack of adjoining suite and the king-sized bed."

"Helena!" Myka smacks Helena on the arm. "Because it's cute and charming."

"So this ghost isn't listed on their website? Wedding dress woman, Civil War soldier, dancing patio woman?" Steve asks.

"No. And the manager hadn't recognized the description I gave," Helena explains.

"So not all ghosts," Abigail says.

"If seeing them is normal," Myka says.

"Let's say the ones on their website are but H.G.'s isn't," Steve says.

"Are we to assume I've been 'whammied' then?" Helena says.

"You freeze in place. I have to shake you out of it," Myka explains.

"Perhaps I'm studying the phenomenon."

"You're never that still. It's creepy."

"Then I think we should consider it," Abigail says.

"Where else have you been?" Steve asks.

"Um, everywhere?" Myka answers. "That blacksmith's bar you and I went to. And The Gas and Lights Museum--"

"Such memories. So many details wrong," Helena gibes.

"On a carriage ride--"

"Highway robbery! Sixty-five dollars for a turn around the park. And not in the least authentic."

"You said it was nice!"

"I said it was familiar. The sound of it took me back," Helena says.

"I thought you'd like it." Myka leans back and looks up at Helena questioningly.

"I enjoyed the company quite thoroughly," Helena says, laying her hands on Myka's shoulders and grinning down at her fondly.

"Aww," Steve coos.

"Did anything about the carriage ride scream 'lady ghost will now appear at will?" Abigail asks.

"Not to my knowledge," Helena says.

"We also went to the Pharmacy Museum. And on a steamboat ride," Myka adds.

"Not that I'd have stepped foot on that death trap without proof of modern safety precautions. In my day, they exploded frequently," Helena explains.

"Ok...let's start with the Pharmacy Museum," Abigail says as Steve types. "Could this woman have afforded a doctor?"

"She often appears in her Sunday best, but also in, shall we say...less. She didn't strike me as particularly monied."

"Did she look sort of vampire-ish?" Steve asks. "I'm reading that people with consumption were rumored to be vampires due to how the disease aged them."

"I'm familiar with that premise, and no, this woman was not withering away."

"Could she have died on a steamboat?" Abigail asks.

"She doesn't give off that sense. There's a calm about her. She's not in danger."

"Let's try another angle. The neighborhood you're staying in, Storyville, claims to be the birthplace of jazz," Abigail says, reading over Steve's shoulder. "Maybe she's related to that?"

"Myka took me to hear this 'jazz,' and I can't say I was at all impressed."

"I like it. Steve does, too. You really hated it?" Myka asks.

"The bleat of the saxophone evokes vaudeville for me."

"Play her some Charlie Parker. Or John Coltrane. That might change her mind," Steve suggests.

"Does this relate to our ghost?" Abigail presses.

"I don't see a connection," Helena answers. "Her dress is previous to that of jazz, of an age closer to my own."

"Storyville was once a legal bordello district," Steve explains. "The whole neighborhood was shut down in 1917. So maybe she's from then?"

"That makes sense," Myka says.

"Do you see her inside or outside?" Abigail asks.

"Thus far, outside."

"But," Myka protests, "last night, when we were...t-the blindfold, you said 'just in case.'"

"Did that not heighten our activities?"

"That's not the point. I can't believe you--"

"Punish me later, darling--"

"Why don't you two hash this out, and we'll get back to you," Abigail suggests.

"Wait, is this her?" Steve asks.

Steve shares a black and white photo of a woman, seated outdoors, in front of a makeshift white backdrop, her hair styled into a modest, shoulder-length coif. Her linen top, trimmed with lace, hangs off one shoulder, and a string of pearls adorns her neck. Her lipstick, rendered as a middle grey, matches the kohl lining her eyes, giving her a soft, silent movie-era look.

"Hm, possibly."

"Here's another."

Helena leans further over Myka's shoulder, looking closely at the image. "Yes, I believe that is her."

"That's, um, really off the shoulder. Shoulders..." Myka says. "Isn't that kind of racy for the time?"

"Quite tame compared to some. Her expression is unusual, contemplative almost, recalling solemn greek statues rather than the usual fodder meant to titillate men's desires."

"How would you know?"

"One encounters all sorts of materials as a Warehouse agent," Helena says with a smirk.

"As an agent. Uh-huh."

"Listen to this," Steve interrupts, "these prints were made from a stash of glass negatives found locked in a desk drawer years after the photographer died. Many are of Adele, the woman you're seeing, but there are other women, too. They were shot in the 1910s, but these prints were made in the '60s. If there were any original prints, they were never found."

"May I see the images again?"

Steve cycles through and adds a few more, one depicting a roll-down desk with a shrine of photos arranged above, all of women, vignetted portraits and romantic depictions of the female form more typical for the time.

"Not sure if that last one is related. But it says it's by the same photographer."

"Could you send that one over? I'd like to look more closely."

"Sure."

Myka trades places with Helena, and Helena clicks the link. She enlarges the photo and inspects the array of images.

"I vaguely recall flicking through a basket in a shop with ephemera such as this. Perhaps this ghost woman was amongst it, but printed in a manner such as the images depicted here."

"So you're saying the photo in the shop might be a photo from this photo?"

"That is what I'm hypothesizing."

"So when you see her, you freeze like you're her photograph trapped in this photograph."

"Or perhaps I am her, caught in the decisive moment of the image being captured."

"That's really meta," Steve says.

"No matter what, neutralizing that photo should do the trick," Abigail suggests. "Heck, neutralize everything in the basket, just in case."

"Do you remember which shop you were in?" Steve asks.

"My recollection is hazy at best due to the copious amount of drink someone encouraged me to consume the evening previously."

Helena looks at Myka and scowls. Myka looks back, endearingly.

"I don't get hangovers."

"Lucky you," Helena quips.

"I hope you find it soon," Steve says, "because being happy looks good on both of you. You should get back to that."

"Thank you, Steve. And thank you, Abigail, for all your help," Helena says.

"Anytime," Abigail says.

"Have a great trip. Send some postcards!" Steve says.

"What a marvelous idea," Helena replies.

"Isn't flicking through postcards how we got here?" Myka warns.

"Shall you pre-screen everything I touch from now on?"

"Maybe I should--"

"We're hanging up now," Abigail says.

The screen goes blank as Myka and Helena devlove further into playful bickering.

*End Scene*

-TBC-

NOTES: "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" is Cajun French for "Let the good times roll." In season four, Steve and Myka go New Orleans and both say they like jazz, so I'm not making that up. I see Myka as more of fan of popular tunes - Billy Holiday, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, etc., whereas Steve would know the genre through and through (and try as he might, never gets Claudia quite on board with it all). The photographer is E. J. Bellocq - I was going to incorporate that more, but the politics behind photos I mentioned is...complicated. I want this B&W show to focus on our ladies journey, artifacts are side-plot motivations. But if you're interested, look him up, and I suggest reading both Susan Sontag and Nan Goldin's essays for some clarity on why the images hold the status they do. From the research I've done, his images are plastered all over Storyville businesses, so if you've been there, you've seen at least one. Oh and I had a roommate once who could drink anything and never got a hangover. Some people are lucky like that.

[oovitus]

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18

Whenever I write about my experience of eating disorders, I make a point of saying that the healing process isn’t linear. It’s full of odd, surprising twists and turns, realizations and moments that take one by surprise.

Still, it’s natural to hope that a linear trend will emerge. After all, it’s the promise of change, of transformation, that keeps us going when the process is at its ugliest. When recovery was at its worst for me—when I was feeling the most robbed of my identity, the most enraged, the most at odds with my body—I got through it by assuring myself that it wouldn’t always be like this; one day, I thought, it would almost never feel like this anymore.

That wasn’t an empty promise. It’s exactly how things turned out, albeit with lots of ups and downs.

When I wrote this post in May, I was as strong and solid in recovery as I ever have been. In the last few weeks, body dysmorphia has reared its nasty head again, and my experience of it is nothing like it was five months ago. Then, I was able to feel the old triggers, talk about them, note their appearance with some humor and self-awareness. It all felt very grown up, very reasonable.

My experience in the last week has been completely different. The dysmorphia itself has felt different: not like a poke or a prod or a nudge, the way it was in May, but more like the dysmorphia I remember from years ago: hot and angry. Loud. Distracting.

I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years: waking up in the morning with the sensation that I’m trapped in my skin, wanting to claw my way out. Avoiding my own reflection in mirrors. Certainty that my body is a mistake, something that went wrong a long time ago and will always feel wrong. I’m handling it, but it’s unnerving. I’d started to believe that all of this was behind me.

Why now? I’m not sure, but I have some guesses: a new schedule, loss of my routines, being tested and evaluated and sized up by authority figures more regularly than I have since my post-bacc years. Change, nerves, shame, worry—in other words, the familiar triggers.

I’ve tried to let the discomfort of the last few days give me insight into how I respond now, versus how I did in the past. What have I learned? How much deeper is my capacity for self-compassion? The answer is that it’s a lot deeper, and the evidence is the fact that I haven’t restricted food at all since this began or let it enter into my eating habits.

But recognizing my more mature capacity for self-care isn’t actually making this experience less painful. Right now, my primary feeling is resentment that I can’t access my old recourses. Even if there was any part of me that wanted to eat less now, I couldn’t. Food is too important to me. The difference between now and then, I realize, is that I want food much more badly than I want control. This is growth, but it can feel like failure.

On Friday, I found myself at my mom’s place, telling her all of this, probably in greater detail and with more honesty than I’ve ever been able to share with her. “But honey,” she said, “I know you don’t want to go back to where you were. You need your strength.”

How to explain to her—to anyone—that the old ways so often felt like strength—more strength than I’ve ever had? That I do want to turn back the clock sometimes, even if I can’t and won’t? “You don’t understand,” I blubbered. “Back then was probably the only time I’ve ever really felt right in my body.”

I don’t think that’s true. But it felt true in the moment. I’m glad I said it and let it go.

In some ways, the timing of all of this has been unfortunate. I’m on my feet more than usual with my new work, which means I’m hungrier than usual and eating more than usual. It wouldn’t feel like a big deal were I not at odds with my body, but I am, so it does. In my class on Thursday night we practiced the nutrition focused physical exam. It wasn’t an ideal time to have my triceps pinched and belly prodded.

As usual, though, what feels like inopportune or unfair timing may actually be the opposite. Each day at work, I cross paths with people who have experienced dramatic shifts in their capacity to eat. Some have dysphagia, others have lost their appetites from illness or medication. Some are tube fed, and may never take in food by mouth again.

What must this be like? I can’t begin to know or understand, because my only experience of decreased food intake has been a result of my disorder, not a question of necessity. I know that it has never been a choice, but I can recognize the difference and give thanks—the deepest kind of thanks—that eating hasn’t always been easy for me, but it has always been possible.

On Friday, my mom admitted surprise at hearing how badly I felt. “You’ve just come so far,” she said. I know I have. I know that I’ve worked hard to create and protect my recovery. I know that everything is different now. I know that I’ve transmuted a lot of struggle into a relationship with food that’s beautiful, creative, and special.

But that relationship isn’t only beautiful, creative, and special. It’s also messy and complicated. It might always be messy and complicated. There may always be weeks like this, when my relationship with food feels more like a burden than a gift. It’s difficult to accept this paradox. I want to be either a success story, or I want to feel like I used to feel: powerful and in control, even if I wasn’t. But a major part of my recovery has been developing a capacity to handle ambiguity and complexity, to acknowledge realities that can’t be neatly categorized. The very fact of my struggling this week is one of those.

Before I left her place, my mom gave me the sweetest and gentlest word of encouragement that she’s ever given me about body stuff. “Eat your delicious food, Gena,” she said. “Make your recipes.”

Today, I woke up. I made a good breakfast, and later on a good lunch. I’m doing all of the usual batch cooking, so that I have sensible and nourishing things to eat this week. I’ll keep talking about this spell of dysmorphia in therapy, doing the work, sitting with my feelings, being honest. I may hide myself under a few extra layers or baggy garments while I’m at it, but if that’s as far as old behaviors go, that’s pretty good. Another dimension of recovery—one I’m only just getting acquainted with—is to struggle while continuing to put one foot in front of the other, calmly and without discouragement.

In the spirit of making recipes, some of my favorites from the past week. And some good articles, too.

Recipes

My vegan sandwich crush of the week: Gina’s awesome, plant-based pea pesto grilled cheese.

I know what bread-y thing will be a part of my Thanksgiving this year! Eva’s beautifully fluffy, whole wheat dinner rolls.

Deryn and I are on the same page, since I’ve been working on a new hash recipe. I’m loving her easy vegan breakfast skillet and will definitely make it with Field Roast, my favorite vegan sausage.

If vegan chicken parm isn’t comforting enough, here it is served over a beautiful bowl of penne A comfort food fest from Plant Power Couple.

Finally, more comfort: Erin’s creamy, dreamy vegan broccoli cheese soup.

Reads

1. A fascinating look at why the phytonutrients in plants are beneficial for us, while growing research suggests that antioxidant supplementation may not be.

2. Heartache isn’t only a manner of speech: more research is emerging on the link between emotional distress and heart disease.

3. Another look at the health ramifications of stress, this time focusing on mitochondrial DNA and telomere shortening.

4. More evidence that plant meats are a sustainable as well as compassionate choice. (I still need to try the Beyond Burger!)

5. An important, informative article on enhancing diversity within the dietetics profession. It gave me a lot to think about—including a helpful reminder to always check, acknowledge, and address my own biases.

It’s the start of a new week, and I’m entering it with an open mind and optimistic heart. Wishing you lightness, too. I’ll be back with a tasty new slow cooker recipe in a couple days.

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 published first on

[planetarduino]

Packaging xLights for linux as AppImage

Now that I have xLights being built fine within docker (see Automatic testing of xLights builds via Travis-CI/Docker/Github) the next step is to package up the application as an appimage binary so that it can easily be run on varied linux systems.

It is being built based on Ubuntu Trusty and has been tested to work on Ubuntu 16.04, 16.10, Fedora 25 and OpenSuse 42.2 (and should hopefully work pretty much anywhere else as well)

The creation of the AppImage is done by the Recipe.appimage file that I included in the docker image.  This means that building of the appimage is simply:

$ docker pull debenham/xlights $ docker run --name buildvm debenham/xlights /bin/bash Recipe.appimage

I’ll break down the Recipe now to explain how it works:

First up we run the Recipe script to build xLights (as shown in previous post).

#!/bin/bash ./Recipe

Next up we setup the environment ready for later on.  The $VERSION number is generated using the version number in the xLights_4_64bit.iss (which is where the version number is explicitly set for the windows install and so is a good/safe place to grab from).   If I am generating a release version (by passing ‘release’ as the command-line option) it will leave it at that.  If this is not a release version (such as for testing/development) then it will also add the short hash of the last commit.  This is handy so I can easily tell which commit the package was built from.

export BASEDIR=/xLights cd ${BASEDIR}/xlights-git APP=xLights COMMIT=`git log --pretty=format:'%h' -n 1` VERS=`grep AppVersion xLights_4_64bit.iss |sed -e 's/^.*=//g'` if [ "$1" = "release" ] then VERSION=${VERS} else VERSION=${VERS}-${COMMIT} fi

Now we install xLights into the target AppDir directory

rm -rf ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ mkdir ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ make install DESTDIR=${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir PREFIX=/usr

Okay, we have xLights installed in ${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir so the next step is to setup this directory ready to be packaged up.  To do this we import the functions.sh script which contains a bunch of handy functions needed for building AppImages

cd ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ wget -q https://raw.githubusercontent.com/AppImage/AppImages/master/functions.sh -O ./functions.sh . ./functions.sh

Lets put the appicons/desktop launcher in place ready to go

cd ${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir cp usr/share/icons/hicolor/256x256/apps/xlights.png . cp usr/share/icons/hicolor/256x256/apps/xschedule.png . cp ./usr/share/applications/xlights.desktop .

Next we need to grab the AppRun binary (which is basically a wrapper which takes care of setting up all the environment so the binary inside the AppImage uses the right libraries/paths etc).   Since xLights needs a newer libstdc++.so.6 than is included in Ubuntu Trusty we needed a specially patched AppRun which allows for the bundling of the newer library without breaking systems which already have a newer library.  See https://github.com/darealshinji/AppImageKit-checkrt/ for details of why this is needed.

wget -O AppRun https://github.com/darealshinji/AppImageKit-checkrt/releases/download/continuous/AppRun-patched-x86_64 chmod +x AppRun

Now we need to find all the libraries needed by xLights and put them in place.  This is handled automatically by the copy_deps function we imported previously from functions.sh.  I have to manually move the pulseaudio libraries to the common directory (so AppRun doesn’t need to be modified further) and also remove libharfbuzz.* as it causes xLights to be unable to run if it is included.  I also manually copy libstdc++.so.6 to the special path as needed by the modified AppRun.  We finish up by stripping the libraries to save space.

export LD_LIBRARY_PATH=./usr/lib/:$LD_LIBRARY_PATH copy_deps ; copy_deps ; copy_deps # Three runs to ensure we catch indirect ones move_lib mv usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/pulseaudio/* usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu rm usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libharfbuzz.* mkdir -p usr/optional/libstdc++ cp /usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libstdc++.so.6 usr/optional/libstdc++/ delete_blacklisted strip usr/lib/* usr/lib/*/* || true

  Almost done now. Just tell AppImageKit what the target launcher will be

get_desktopintegration xlights

Final steps now.  First we check if we are running within Docker. This is needed so that the generate function knows to not use FUSE to mount the image (since FUSE doesn’t work properly within a standard docker container)

cd .. ######################################################################## # AppDir complete # Now packaging it as an AppImage ######################################################################## if [[ ! $(cat /proc/1/sched | head -n 1 | grep init) ]]; then { echo in docker DOCKER_BUILD="yes" } fi

And the very last step is to call generate_type2_appimage to actually create the appimage file itself

generate_type2_appimage

After all this is done we are left with a xLights.xxxxxx.AppImage file sitting in ${BASEDIR}/out – ready for uploading to the web and people to use!

For me I then scp them to my web server and wordpress will show the new file automatically at https://www.adebenham.com/xlights-linux/

Packaging xLights for linux as AppImage was originally published on PlanetArduino

[oovitus]

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18

Whenever I write about my experience of eating disorders, I make a point of saying that the healing process isn’t linear. It’s full of odd, surprising twists and turns, realizations and moments that take one by surprise.

Still, it’s natural to hope that a linear trend will emerge. After all, it’s the promise of change, of transformation, that keeps us going when the process is at its ugliest. When recovery was at its worst for me—when I was feeling the most robbed of my identity, the most enraged, the most at odds with my body—I got through it by assuring myself that it wouldn’t always be like this; one day, I thought, it would almost never feel like this anymore.

That wasn’t an empty promise. It’s exactly how things turned out, albeit with lots of ups and downs.

When I wrote this post in May, I was as strong and solid in recovery as I ever have been. In the last few weeks, body dysmorphia has reared its nasty head again, and my experience of it is nothing like it was five months ago. Then, I was able to feel the old triggers, talk about them, note their appearance with some humor and self-awareness. It all felt very grown up, very reasonable.

My experience in the last week has been completely different. The dysmorphia itself has felt different: not like a poke or a prod or a nudge, the way it was in May, but more like the dysmorphia I remember from years ago: hot and angry. Loud. Distracting.

I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years: waking up in the morning with the sensation that I’m trapped in my skin, wanting to claw my way out. Avoiding my own reflection in mirrors. Certainty that my body is a mistake, something that went wrong a long time ago and will always feel wrong. I’m handling it, but it’s unnerving. I’d started to believe that all of this was behind me.

Why now? I’m not sure, but I have some guesses: a new schedule, loss of my routines, being tested and evaluated and sized up by authority figures more regularly than I have since my post-bacc years. Change, nerves, shame, worry—in other words, the familiar triggers.

I’ve tried to let the discomfort of the last few days give me insight into how I respond now, versus how I did in the past. What have I learned? How much deeper is my capacity for self-compassion? The answer is that it’s a lot deeper, and the evidence is the fact that I haven’t restricted food at all since this began or let it enter into my eating habits.

But recognizing my more mature capacity for self-care isn’t actually making this experience less painful. Right now, my primary feeling is resentment that I can’t access my old recourses. Even if there was any part of me that wanted to eat less now, I couldn’t. Food is too important to me. The difference between now and then, I realize, is that I want food much more badly than I want control. This is growth, but it can feel like failure.

On Friday, I found myself at my mom’s place, telling her all of this, probably in greater detail and with more honesty than I’ve ever been able to share with her. “But honey,” she said, “I know you don’t want to go back to where you were. You need your strength.”

How to explain to her—to anyone—that the old ways so often felt like strength—more strength than I’ve ever had? That I do want to turn back the clock sometimes, even if I can’t and won’t? “You don’t understand,” I blubbered. “Back then was probably the only time I’ve ever really felt right in my body.”

I don’t think that’s true. But it felt true in the moment. I’m glad I said it and let it go.

In some ways, the timing of all of this has been unfortunate. I’m on my feet more than usual with my new work, which means I’m hungrier than usual and eating more than usual. It wouldn’t feel like a big deal were I not at odds with my body, but I am, so it does. In my class on Thursday night we practiced the nutrition focused physical exam. It wasn’t an ideal time to have my triceps pinched and belly prodded.

As usual, though, what feels like inopportune or unfair timing may actually be the opposite. Each day at work, I cross paths with people who have experienced dramatic shifts in their capacity to eat. Some have dysphagia, others have lost their appetites from illness or medication. Some are tube fed, and may never take in food by mouth again.

What must this be like? I can’t begin to know or understand, because my only experience of decreased food intake has been a result of my disorder, not a question of necessity. I know that it has never been a choice, but I can recognize the difference and give thanks—the deepest kind of thanks—that eating hasn’t always been easy for me, but it has always been possible.

On Friday, my mom admitted surprise at hearing how badly I felt. “You’ve just come so far,” she said. I know I have. I know that I’ve worked hard to create and protect my recovery. I know that everything is different now. I know that I’ve transmuted a lot of struggle into a relationship with food that’s beautiful, creative, and special.

But that relationship isn’t only beautiful, creative, and special. It’s also messy and complicated. It might always be messy and complicated. There may always be weeks like this, when my relationship with food feels more like a burden than a gift. It’s difficult to accept this paradox. I want to be either a success story, or I want to feel like I used to feel: powerful and in control, even if I wasn’t. But a major part of my recovery has been developing a capacity to handle ambiguity and complexity, to acknowledge realities that can’t be neatly categorized. The very fact of my struggling this week is one of those.

Before I left her place, my mom gave me the sweetest and gentlest word of encouragement that she’s ever given me about body stuff. “Eat your delicious food, Gena,” she said. “Make your recipes.”

Today, I woke up. I made a good breakfast, and later on a good lunch. I’m doing all of the usual batch cooking, so that I have sensible and nourishing things to eat this week. I’ll keep talking about this spell of dysmorphia in therapy, doing the work, sitting with my feelings, being honest. I may hide myself under a few extra layers or baggy garments while I’m at it, but if that’s as far as old behaviors go, that’s pretty good. Another dimension of recovery—one I’m only just getting acquainted with—is to struggle while continuing to put one foot in front of the other, calmly and without discouragement.

In the spirit of making recipes, some of my favorites from the past week. And some good articles, too.

Recipes

My vegan sandwich crush of the week: Gina’s awesome, plant-based pea pesto grilled cheese.

I know what bread-y thing will be a part of my Thanksgiving this year! Eva’s beautifully fluffy, whole wheat dinner rolls.

Deryn and I are on the same page, since I’ve been working on a new hash recipe. I’m loving her easy vegan breakfast skillet and will definitely make it with Field Roast, my favorite vegan sausage.

If vegan chicken parm isn’t comforting enough, here it is served over a beautiful bowl of penne A comfort food fest from Plant Power Couple.

Finally, more comfort: Erin’s creamy, dreamy vegan broccoli cheese soup.

Reads

1. A fascinating look at why the phytonutrients in plants are beneficial for us, while growing research suggests that antioxidant supplementation may not be.

2. Heartache isn’t only a manner of speech: more research is emerging on the link between emotional distress and heart disease.

3. Another look at the health ramifications of stress, this time focusing on mitochondrial DNA and telomere shortening.

4. More evidence that plant meats are a sustainable as well as compassionate choice. (I still need to try the Beyond Burger!)

5. An important, informative article on enhancing diversity within the dietetics profession. It gave me a lot to think about—including a helpful reminder to always check, acknowledge, and address my own biases.

It’s the start of a new week, and I’m entering it with an open mind and optimistic heart. Wishing you lightness, too. I’ll be back with a tasty new slow cooker recipe in a couple days.

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

[oovitus]

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18

Whenever I write about my experience of eating disorders, I make a point of saying that the healing process isn’t linear. It’s full of odd, surprising twists and turns, realizations and moments that take one by surprise.

Still, it’s natural to hope that a linear trend will emerge. After all, it’s the promise of change, of transformation, that keeps us going when the process is at its ugliest. When recovery was at its worst for me—when I was feeling the most robbed of my identity, the most enraged, the most at odds with my body—I got through it by assuring myself that it wouldn’t always be like this; one day, I thought, it would almost never feel like this anymore.

That wasn’t an empty promise. It’s exactly how things turned out, albeit with lots of ups and downs.

When I wrote this post in May, I was as strong and solid in recovery as I ever have been. In the last few weeks, body dysmorphia has reared its nasty head again, and my experience of it is nothing like it was five months ago. Then, I was able to feel the old triggers, talk about them, note their appearance with some humor and self-awareness. It all felt very grown up, very reasonable.

My experience in the last week has been completely different. The dysmorphia itself has felt different: not like a poke or a prod or a nudge, the way it was in May, but more like the dysmorphia I remember from years ago: hot and angry. Loud. Distracting.

I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years: waking up in the morning with the sensation that I’m trapped in my skin, wanting to claw my way out. Avoiding my own reflection in mirrors. Certainty that my body is a mistake, something that went wrong a long time ago and will always feel wrong. I’m handling it, but it’s unnerving. I’d started to believe that all of this was behind me.

Why now? I’m not sure, but I have some guesses: a new schedule, loss of my routines, being tested and evaluated and sized up by authority figures more regularly than I have since my post-bacc years. Change, nerves, shame, worry—in other words, the familiar triggers.

I’ve tried to let the discomfort of the last few days give me insight into how I respond now, versus how I did in the past. What have I learned? How much deeper is my capacity for self-compassion? The answer is that it’s a lot deeper, and the evidence is the fact that I haven’t restricted food at all since this began or let it enter into my eating habits.

But recognizing my more mature capacity for self-care isn’t actually making this experience less painful. Right now, my primary feeling is resentment that I can’t access my old recourses. Even if there was any part of me that wanted to eat less now, I couldn’t. Food is too important to me. The difference between now and then, I realize, is that I want food much more badly than I want control. This is growth, but it can feel like failure.

On Friday, I found myself at my mom’s place, telling her all of this, probably in greater detail and with more honesty than I’ve ever been able to share with her. “But honey,” she said, “I know you don’t want to go back to where you were. You need your strength.”

How to explain to her—to anyone—that the old ways so often felt like strength—more strength than I’ve ever had? That I do want to turn back the clock sometimes, even if I can’t and won’t? “You don’t understand,” I blubbered. “Back then was probably the only time I’ve ever really felt right in my body.”

I don’t think that’s true. But it felt true in the moment. I’m glad I said it and let it go.

In some ways, the timing of all of this has been unfortunate. I’m on my feet more than usual with my new work, which means I’m hungrier than usual and eating more than usual. It wouldn’t feel like a big deal were I not at odds with my body, but I am, so it does. In my class on Thursday night we practiced the nutrition focused physical exam. It wasn’t an ideal time to have my triceps pinched and belly prodded.

As usual, though, what feels like inopportune or unfair timing may actually be the opposite. Each day at work, I cross paths with people who have experienced dramatic shifts in their capacity to eat. Some have dysphagia, others have lost their appetites from illness or medication. Some are tube fed, and may never take in food by mouth again.

What must this be like? I can’t begin to know or understand, because my only experience of decreased food intake has been a result of my disorder, not a question of necessity. I know that it has never been a choice, but I can recognize the difference and give thanks—the deepest kind of thanks—that eating hasn’t always been easy for me, but it has always been possible.

On Friday, my mom admitted surprise at hearing how badly I felt. “You’ve just come so far,” she said. I know I have. I know that I’ve worked hard to create and protect my recovery. I know that everything is different now. I know that I’ve transmuted a lot of struggle into a relationship with food that’s beautiful, creative, and special.

But that relationship isn’t only beautiful, creative, and special. It’s also messy and complicated. It might always be messy and complicated. There may always be weeks like this, when my relationship with food feels more like a burden than a gift. It’s difficult to accept this paradox. I want to be either a success story, or I want to feel like I used to feel: powerful and in control, even if I wasn’t. But a major part of my recovery has been developing a capacity to handle ambiguity and complexity, to acknowledge realities that can’t be neatly categorized. The very fact of my struggling this week is one of those.

Before I left her place, my mom gave me the sweetest and gentlest word of encouragement that she’s ever given me about body stuff. “Eat your delicious food, Gena,” she said. “Make your recipes.”

Today, I woke up. I made a good breakfast, and later on a good lunch. I’m doing all of the usual batch cooking, so that I have sensible and nourishing things to eat this week. I’ll keep talking about this spell of dysmorphia in therapy, doing the work, being honest. I may hide myself under a few extra layers or baggy garments while I’m at it, but if that’s as far as old behaviors go, that’s pretty good. Another dimension of recovery—one I’m only just getting acquainted with—is to struggle while continuing to put one foot in front of the other, calmly and without discouragement.

In the spirit of making recipes, some of my favorites from the past week. And some good articles, too.

Recipes

My vegan sandwich crush of the week: Gina’s awesome, plant-based pea pesto grilled cheese.

I know what bread-y thing will be a part of my Thanksgiving this year! Eva’s beautifully fluffy, whole wheat dinner rolls.

Deryn and I are on the same page, since I’ve been working on a new hash recipe. I’m loving her easy vegan breakfast skillet and will definitely make it with Field Roast, my favorite vegan sausage.

If vegan chicken parm isn’t comforting enough, here it is served over a beautiful bowl of penne A comfort food fest from Plant Power Couple.

Finally, more comfort: Erin’s creamy, dreamy vegan broccoli cheese soup.

Reads

1. A fascinating look at why the phytonutrients in plants are beneficial for us, while growing research suggests that antioxidant supplementation may not be.

2. Heartache isn’t only a manner of speech: more research is emerging on the link between emotional distress and heart disease.

3. Another look at the health ramifications of stress, this time focusing on mitochondrial DNA and telomere shortening.

4. More evidence that plant meats are a sustainable as well as compassionate choice. (I still need to try the Beyond Burger!)

5. An important, informative article on enhancing diversity within the dietetics profession. It gave me a lot to think about—including a helpful reminder to always check, acknowledge, and address my own biases.

It’s the start of a new week, and I’m entering it with an open mind and optimistic heart. Wishing you lightness, too. I’ll be back with a tasty new slow cooker recipe in a couple days.

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 9.30.18 published first on

[planetarduino]

Packaging xLights for linux as AppImage

Now that I have xLights being built fine within docker (see Automatic testing of xLights builds via Travis-CI/Docker/Github) the next step is to package up the application as an appimage binary so that it can easily be run on varied linux systems.

It is being built based on Ubuntu Trusty and has been tested to work on Ubuntu 16.04, 16.10, Fedora 25 and OpenSuse 42.2 (and should hopefully work pretty much anywhere else as well)

The creation of the AppImage is done by the Recipe.appimage file that I included in the docker image.  This means that building of the appimage is simply:

$ docker pull debenham/xlights $ docker run --name buildvm debenham/xlights /bin/bash Recipe.appimage

I’ll break down the Recipe now to explain how it works:

First up we run the Recipe script to build xLights (as shown in previous post).

#!/bin/bash ./Recipe

Next up we setup the environment ready for later on.  The $VERSION number is generated using the version number in the xLights_4_64bit.iss (which is where the version number is explicitly set for the windows install and so is a good/safe place to grab from).   If I am generating a release version (by passing ‘release’ as the command-line option) it will leave it at that.  If this is not a release version (such as for testing/development) then it will also add the short hash of the last commit.  This is handy so I can easily tell which commit the package was built from.

export BASEDIR=/xLights cd ${BASEDIR}/xlights-git APP=xLights COMMIT=`git log --pretty=format:'%h' -n 1` VERS=`grep AppVersion xLights_4_64bit.iss |sed -e 's/^.*=//g'` if [ "$1" = "release" ] then VERSION=${VERS} else VERSION=${VERS}-${COMMIT} fi

Now we install xLights into the target AppDir directory

rm -rf ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ mkdir ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ make install DESTDIR=${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir PREFIX=/usr

Okay, we have xLights installed in ${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir so the next step is to setup this directory ready to be packaged up.  To do this we import the functions.sh script which contains a bunch of handy functions needed for building AppImages

cd ${BASEDIR}/$APP/ wget -q https://raw.githubusercontent.com/AppImage/AppImages/master/functions.sh -O ./functions.sh . ./functions.sh

Lets put the appicons/desktop launcher in place ready to go

cd ${BASEDIR}/$APP/$APP.AppDir cp usr/share/icons/hicolor/256x256/apps/xlights.png . cp usr/share/icons/hicolor/256x256/apps/xschedule.png . cp ./usr/share/applications/xlights.desktop .

Next we need to grab the AppRun binary (which is basically a wrapper which takes care of setting up all the environment so the binary inside the AppImage uses the right libraries/paths etc).   Since xLights needs a newer libstdc++.so.6 than is included in Ubuntu Trusty we needed a specially patched AppRun which allows for the bundling of the newer library without breaking systems which already have a newer library.  See https://github.com/darealshinji/AppImageKit-checkrt/ for details of why this is needed.

wget -O AppRun https://github.com/darealshinji/AppImageKit-checkrt/releases/download/continuous/AppRun-patched-x86_64 chmod +x AppRun

Now we need to find all the libraries needed by xLights and put them in place.  This is handled automatically by the copy_deps function we imported previously from functions.sh.  I have to manually move the pulseaudio libraries to the common directory (so AppRun doesn’t need to be modified further) and also remove libharfbuzz.* as it causes xLights to be unable to run if it is included.  I also manually copy libstdc++.so.6 to the special path as needed by the modified AppRun.  We finish up by stripping the libraries to save space.

export LD_LIBRARY_PATH=./usr/lib/:$LD_LIBRARY_PATH copy_deps ; copy_deps ; copy_deps # Three runs to ensure we catch indirect ones move_lib mv usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/pulseaudio/* usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu rm usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libharfbuzz.* mkdir -p usr/optional/libstdc++ cp /usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libstdc++.so.6 usr/optional/libstdc++/ delete_blacklisted strip usr/lib/* usr/lib/*/* || true

  Almost done now. Just tell AppImageKit what the target launcher will be

get_desktopintegration xlights

Final steps now.  First we check if we are running within Docker. This is needed so that the generate function knows to not use FUSE to mount the image (since FUSE doesn’t work properly within a standard docker container)

cd .. ######################################################################## # AppDir complete # Now packaging it as an AppImage ######################################################################## if [[ ! $(cat /proc/1/sched | head -n 1 | grep init) ]]; then { echo in docker DOCKER_BUILD="yes" } fi

And the very last step is to call generate_type2_appimage to actually create the appimage file itself

generate_type2_appimage

After all this is done we are left with a xLights.xxxxxx.AppImage file sitting in ${BASEDIR}/out – ready for uploading to the web and people to use!

For me I then scp them to my web server and wordpress will show the new file automatically at https://www.adebenham.com/xlights-linux/

Packaging xLights for linux as AppImage was originally published on PlanetArduino