#it’s been difficult to gather the motivation to do anything in the yard when I’m an emotional wreck right now

[the-habitat-ring]

It’s been a tough two weeks on the habitat ring. I’ve been trying to get off of the duloxetine I was put on two months ago to appease insurance (which, predictably, didn’t help my migraines) and it’s been absolute hell. I feel absolutely awful and it’s been flaring up all of my other health issues.

On top of that, some “helpful” neighbors decided to A. Spray our shared fence line with herbicide, including three to five feet into our yard, killing half of the plants I had started in the milk jugs, and B. Mow between our fence and the road, including over a bed on the corner where I had planted most of the rest of the seedlings. Hopefully some of those will survive, but whoever did it had their mower set to the lowest setting (much, much lower than we ever mow, which is probably why they decided to “help”). It’s been extremely discouraging (and rage inducing) and we’re still trying to figure out how to handle the issue.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[minmotl]

Chapter 55: Tang Fan Gets Promoted, Tells Sui Zhou that He Loves His Cooking More Than Anything Else

Context: Sui Zhou begins his days as deputy chief of the Northern Administrative Court and overcomes the challenges as mentioned in the previous chapter in his new role. Tang Fan gets promoted, and he heads over to find Sui Zhou, but who knew he would get stopped at the door, his relationship with Sui Zhou subject to doubt and scrutiny?

Featuring half-naked Sui Zhou glistening in the sun as Tang Fan stares!!!!!

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

After Sui Zhou took over the Northern Administrative Court, the first thing he needed to change was the culture, and so he implemented a compulsory rule - starting from the beginning of each month, every three days during yin shi (between 3 to 5am), except for those on duty and those on external trips, it is a must for everyone to gather in the exercise yard and train for two hours. The standards of training is comparable to that of the camp in Jing city, and Sui Zhou even added on extra training items.

For a majority of the men, who have already gotten used to not doing their jobs, sleeping until the sun has risen, and spending their nights trawling through brothels and gambling dens, all of them cried out in suffering. They even headed over to Yuan Bin’s to complain, saying that this Sui-qianhu does not really have a high rank, but the authority he’s wielding is not small. Just to exercise his power, Sui Zhou is disregarding everyone’s lives, torturing his subordinates and is entirely inhumane.

Originally, a complaint of this scale Yuan Bin would not have been able to ignore, but no one knew that Sui Zhou had already notified Yuan Bin.

Before training, Sui Zhou already went to find Yuan Bin and informed him of his plans, clearly stating his intentions and the motivations behind them. It was just as well, as Yuan Bin could not stand to see the Embroidered Uniform Guards being debased to this extent at the hands of Wan Tong. This is the reason why Yuan Bin refused to take action despite so many running to him to lodge complaints.

In all things, it is prudent to earn the understanding and empathy of one’s superior, and once Sui Zhou knows that what he is doing is right, his subordinate’s views are no longer that important. Making any changes to the status quo will always be met with opposition, but if he does not take action because he’s afraid, Sui Zhou can only wait for others to step over him…

Seeing that their complaints have fallen onto deaf ears, everyone can only obey Sui Zhou’s orders and head to the exercise yard for training without a choice.

The first time, when nearly half of the men failed to turn up a minute past yin shi, all these men were all dragged for 10 strokes each with the heavy stick, and after that, they still had to continue training. If they were found to be late the next time, the penalty would increase by 10 strokes and accordingly thereafter.

Once realising that Sui Zhou is being serious, the next time, no one dared to turn up late.

However, these men still protested against Sui Zhou’s listed training strategy. This includes putting a bowl of water on their heads and staying in a squat position under the blazing son for an hour, while holding onto 10kg weights on each hand. If the water spills, this is considered going against the rules and they would have to extend their training time for half an hour. They said this is too hard and tiring, and these already spoiled guards all said they could not do it, much less complete the task within two hours.

Without another word, Sui Zhou personally demonstrated it. Everyone saw with their own eyes how after half an hour, not only did the bowl refrain from dropping, but not even a drop of water spilled from inside the bowl, and it was only then that everyone conceded, now convinced.

Xue Ling and the rest did not need any convincing as they have always followed in Sui Zhou’s footsteps. Whatever Sui Zhou asked them to do, they did without a second word. And once the others realised that their new boss’ working style was strict, determined and efficient, meaning every word he says and that complaints are useless, they could only give up and start training exactly.

However, Sui Zhou did not only make strict demands, as at every end of the month, he would treat everyone to a meal and those who have performed exceedingly well are provided with extra rewards. Of course, this money comes from official funds, but previously when Wan Tong and his men were in charge of both the Southern and Northern Administrative Courts, this fund was often misused for personal gains, taken to be blindly spent. Others in the lower ranks could only dream of getting access to these funds, and since all of them had no benefits, they naturally began taking money from those in even lower ranks than them.

After Sui Zhou assumed his new role, he ordered someone to redo the accounts. Every transaction going out is recorded clearly and from there, there was an extra portion of funds that could be taken and used to reassure the men, and this is a cause for joy.

They spent three months like this and once everyone got used to this torturous training, the complaints lessened. The culture at the Northern Administrative Courts has definitely changed from before, even if it cannot be said that it has gone through a full overhaul. This change is of course good, and even just looking at the way they handle investigations, their efficiency has increased considerably.

A supervisor that lives by the rules he sets and who rewards and punishes accordingly and fairly is naturally much better than one who only knows how to eat, drink, sleep with prostitutes and gamble, then pushing actual tasks to the subordinates under him. Although Sui Zhou is much stricter than the one before him, there are advantages to that. At the very least, those men who had a good relationship with the previous boss can no longer avoid work, while those men who tried to pander to the boss but was unable to, no longer have to worry about being stuck at the bottom any longer.

Unconsciously, Sui Zhou is sitting increasingly firm in his seat as he makes a mark that belongs only to him on these men.

On this day, Tang Fan walks out from the Ministry of Personnel all reinvigorated with good news. His footsteps have become lighter, and seeing that it is still early, he changes direction - he does not head home, but goes in the direction of the Northern Administrative Court.

Tang Fan has not visited since Sui Zhou was promoted, and the previously lax visitor rules have now become even stricter. The guard on duty does not recognise him, and seeing a Rank Six civil official turn up, he finds it strange and stops him. After hearing that Tang Fan wants to see Sui Zhou, he finds him even more peculiar.

“Who are you? What’s your purpose for seeing him?” the guard asks, his attitude unfriendly.

If not for Tang Fan wearing his official’s robes, he would suspect that the man is here for fun. And it is no wonder that he thinks that way because civil officials care about their reputations and those who turn up here are usually “invited” over against their will. Very rarely do they get officials like Tang Fan who voluntarily visit.

Tang Fan says, “I am Tang Fan, and I’m a friend of your zhenfushi’s, I’ll have to trouble you to inform him. If he is off the clock, could you get him to come out?”

Strictly speaking, Sui Zhou cannot be called zhenfushi officially because he is merely a temporary deputy, but it is common to push someone’s status upwards. For example, a fu-qianhu, others would directly address him as a qianhu, taking out the -fu, and it is also easier on the ears of the listener.

The guard on duty shoots him a suspicious look, firmly believing that it is impossible for someone like their newly instated leader to have friends. Moreover, this person’s rank is low, and they wonder if this man is deliberately saying that in a bid to curry favours with their zhenfushi?

Tang Fan sees through their concerns and smiles, “Can I trouble this brother to inform him, and if he refuses to see me, I will return the way I came from and head home.”

It is not that the guards want to make things difficult for Tang Fan on purpose, it is just that regulations have tightened a lot recently. If they go in and bother Sui Zhou, but this person’s relationship to him is not as important as Tang Fan claims, then they are at risk of incurring penalties.

And so that person says, his face stoic, “Zhenfushi-daren has some important tasks at hand, you can come back next time!”

Tang Fan goes ‘oh’, and asks, “I will just ask one thing, is he still inside, or has he headed home already?”

“He’s still inside.”

“Then I will wait for him here, “ Tang Fan nods.

With that said, he picks up his robes and sits on the steps at the side, taking out a book from his hold and starts to read.

The guard on duty glares, “This is the doors of the Northern Administrative Court, how can you do as you like?”

What a joke, the doors of the Northern Administrative Court, reputed for being cold and heartless, sitting a man reading a book? How would others be fearful of them in the future?

Tang Fan slowly looks back at him, “I asked you to inform him but you won’t, so I’m sitting here and reading a book instead. Surely I’m not creating trouble, and also I’m not blocking the way to the door, I’m just sitting my arse down on the side!”

The guard is now speechless, and he is about to reply when another colleague also guarding the door glares at him and says softly, “Are you a fool, what would happen if you went in to inform him? If he’s really zhenfushi’s friend, we would be offending him, and if not, we can chase him out!”

The first guard rolls his eyes, “You really know how to talk, then why aren’t you doing that?”

The other guard laughs, “I’ll go. If I am praised by the zhenfushi later, you better not envy me!”

In disbelief, he sees his colleague head inside to do just that.

After a while, he sees him scurrying out and with a face full of smiles, the colleague says to Tang Fan, “Da-ren, zhenfushi is still busy right now, but he asks that you head inside to wait for him!”

His mouth dropping open, the guard watches as his colleague brings Tang Fan inside and comes back only after a long while. Quickly, he asks, “Who’s that?”

“Zhenfushi’s good friend, don’t you recognise him? He also said earlier that his name is Tang Fan, and I heard that he is temporarily staying at zhenfushi’s home.”

The first guard sucks in a sharp breath, “Their relationships is that good?”

“Of course!”

“Then why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“You can only blame it on your terrible eyesight. I already reminded you and you still refused to inform him. If zhenfushi really is to punish someone later for this, I can’t be implicated and be scolded, can I?” his colleague mocks.

The man sulks, speechless, thinking that he has once again lost an opportunity to show his face in front of the boss.

Aside from what those two guards think at this moment, Tang Fan has arrived at the exercise courtyard under the lead of the guard on duty. Even before he sees anyone, he hears the sound of shouting and fighting from a distance away, and once he nears, he realises that there is a match going on there.

The two figures in the center of the yard occasionally jump and land, their blades clashing with each other’s. This is no performance of beautiful, dazzling tricks, but one exchange of merciless, deadly thrusts and parries. On a closer look, isn’t one of them Sui Zhou?

He is battling another person in the field, and they are surrounded by others, egging them on in unison.

Tang Fan’s eyes briefly survey across the circle of men and finds Xue Ling amongst the crowd. He walks over and unceremoniously pats him on the shoulder.

Xue Ling, startled, is about to rage, but seeing who it is, his anger morphs into joy, “Why are you here?”

Tang Fan laughs sheepishly, “I didn’t have anything to do on my own and decided to wander about. Are you guys competing? Why is the whole of the Northern Administrative Court here?”

“Previously, da-ge set a rule that we must host a competition at the end of every month. Participants can challenge anyone, and the person who wins will be rewarded heavily. A lot of them were taught a lesson by da-ge before and with pent-up frustration and anger, they challenged him, but each one of the were defeated by da-ge. Hehehe, these people don’t know how good da-ge is, and I, Xue Ling, will not offer myself to be beaten up like this!”

In the span of their conversation, the winner of the round has emerged. Sui Zhou’s opponent thought he had his eye on Sui Zhou’s weakness and was about to carry out a sneak attack, his xiuchun blade sweeping across from the back, but who knew that as if Sui Zhou has grown a pair of eyes on his back, the man leaps into the air and flips, then kicks out at his opponent.

Just as his body is about to slam against the ground, Sui Zhou uses the force by which he lands to turn and steadily stand on his two feet.

The entire process is smooth as flowing water and extremely clean, yet filled with the beauty of power. The spectators cheer for him, loud and raucous.

Sui Zhou, who’s standing in the field, is only wearing a pair of long pants and his torso is entirely naked. Sweat drips from his forehead, neck and other parts down his body, and his whole body is wet. His prominent muscles shine under the sunlight and one can see that this strong, sculpted body was earned through days of strict and hard training, and just because he is now in a higher position does not mean that he has procrastinated on training.

He stares at the opponent he has kicked to the ground and turns his hand over to embed his xiuchun blade into the ground. Coldly, he says, “If you’re unconvinced, try again.”

At this point, Sui Zhou is already fully immersed in the fight. To him, there is no difference between a practice match and a battle. Since he is already on the battlefield, he will do his best and treat the battle seriously. This is respect he gives himself, and also to his opponents.

Under his gaze, his opponent feels as if a feral beast has locked its attention on him, and he shudders involuntarily. No longer able to muster any fighting spirit, he quickly keeps his blade and puts his hands forward, “I won’t, I won’t! Da-ren is strong and skilled, your subordinate admits defeat!”

Everyone bursts into laughter. This person has defeated everyone in the Northern Administrative Court for two consecutive months, and he probably felt confident enough to raise a challenge to Sui Zhou. Many others were defeated by Sui Zhou previously, and he thought he would be the exception, but who knew that in the end, the battle finished in his defeat. The whole situation is a little pitiful.

Once the other admits defeat, the sharp and cold aura around Sui Zhou gentles. He walks over and personally picks the man up, then pats him on the shoulder, 

“You are already doing quite well. Yuan-daren is intending for us to have practice matches with the Jing city camp to boost the troops’ morales, when that time comes, we’ll have to count on you to earn the glory of triumph for the Northern Administrative Court!”

The subordinate was actually still feeling a little embarrassed, but once he hears that, he feels encouraged again. Excitedly, he says, “Da-ren, be rest assured that I will do my best, and I will not cause the Northern Administrative Court to lose face!”

The rest of them cannot help but be convinced by Sui Zhou’s strategy of first defeating and then praising others.

Tang Fan, with his hands behind his back, smiles as he looks on. He does not eagerly rush up, and waits for Sui Zhou to motivate his subordinates and announce the end of the session. Once everyone has dispersed, he walks over steadily, “Zhenfushi acted with so much aplomb, it looks like there is much to look forward to in your career!”

It’s not that Sui Zhou did not notice Tang Fan, but it was not convenient for him to speak previously. Now that everyone has gone, leaving only Tang Fan to stare at him with a smile on his face, a subtle troubled look flashes across Sui Zhou’s face as he thinks about his state of undress before Tang Fan.

“Why did you find your way here? If it’s nothing urgent, wait for me to shower and change clothes.”

“Go ahead, I’m not in a rush, I wanted to treat you to a meal at Xian Ke Lou, do you want to go?”

Sui Zhou was walking in the direction of the house where his clothes are placed when he pauses. Hearing hat, he raises his brows, “With money from where?”

Tang-daren no longer has any financial freedom. He spends half of his salary every month and has Sui Zhou manage the other half precisely to prevent Tang Fan from being a spendthrift. If he finishes spending the money he has on his end, it is impossible to take some out from the portion that Sui Zhou has kept for him.

Tang Fan laughs, “It dropped from the sky!”

Seeing that Tang Fan is deliberately being obtuse, Sui Zhou is not anxious either. He proceeds to shower and change. and then finds Tang Fan in his office.

“Go go go, let’s go have a meal!” Tang Fan says as he gets to his feet once he sees Sui Zhou.

Sui Zhou shakes his head, and then asks, “Were you promoted?”

Tang Fan already guessed that Sui Zhou would figure it out and is thus not surprised. He nods, “Yes!”

“What position?”

“With the Ministry of Justice, as the overseeing langzhong in Henan’s Qing Li Si. I’m Rank Five now, and I’ve been given an extra 100 silvers.”

The three items above can be considered the late rewards for Tang Fan’s exemplary performance in the East Palace and also children smuggling cases.

Sui Zhou’s brows move as they relax, and the ends of his lips curve up slightly, “This is indeed good news, and worthy of a celebration!”

Tang Fan laughs, “Although I do not have my eyes on a prominent position and riches, but since I worked hard and earned the rewards I deserved, this is considered a happy affair. You won’t refuse my treat now, would you?”

Sui Zhou nods, then says, “We shouldn’t eat outside, we should get Ah Dong to buy some ingredients tomorrow and I’ll cook at home then.”

At the sound of that, Tang Fan’s eyes shine immediately, and Sui Zhou can confirm that he absolutely sees the sparkles emitted from those eyes. He cannot help but laugh, “You like my cooking more than Xian Ke Lou’s?”

Tang Fan laughs again, his usual learned and sophisticated demeanour nowhere in sight, “Of course! Sui Guang Chuan’s personal cooking, how can it be worser than Xian Ke Lou’s dishes?”

At his generous compliments, the curve of Sui Zhou’s lips widens.

===

Notes:

*河南清吏司郎中 he nan qing li zi lang zhong

This is a full official rank. It is a little hard to find an English equivalent to this on my end so I’ve left it as that. 河南 (he nan) is a city all on its own in today’s map, and in this case it means Tang Fan is heads this particular court located in he nan. I’m not really familiar on the geography of it as well, it could just be a name for the neighbourhood or sector he’s in as well.

*镇抚使 zhen fu shi

Another official rank, where 镇抚 (zhen fu) is the Administrative Court, and 使 (shi) on its own means ambassador. In this case, it can be interpreted as chief, or some equivalent. He is not a commander yet in this case, which is a position reserved for Yuan Bin, and previously Wan Tong.

*千户 qian hu

There are four ranks within the Embroidered Uniform Guards - 千户 (qian hu)、百户 (bai hu)、总旗 (zong qi)、小旗 (xiao qi) arranged highest to smallest rank, aside from the Commander 统领官 (zong ling guan).

*副千户 fu qianhu

Qianhu is the rank that Sui Zhou officially bore before his promotion, while fu 副 means vice.

*仙客楼 xian ke lou

This is the very expensive restaurant that Wang Zhi brought Tang Fan to in previous chapters.

*绣春刀 xiu chun dao

A special blade that only Embroidered Uniform Guards are given.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Knock-knock, knock, knock knock {One-Shot}**

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cheesy, Fluffy Goodness, NSFW, Mild Smut, Cursing

Words: 3.4k

Summary: We all know Chris is a Disney geek and we all know the beginning of this contagious song, he loves it, you—hate it, but you can’t say no to the big dork.

Note: Next up on Christmas With Lee. A cheesy Disney fluff-filled read with some spice. I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for reading!!!!

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

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“Uggh, more snow? How is it possible for it to snow even more?” You looked out your window at the falling snow that met the seven inches already on the ground. You hated the snow, it was cold, wet, and only was “pretty” for like an hour until traffic hit it or feet, then it turned to brown, dirty bacteria-filled disgustingness. You hated winter. Every time you turned around it was snowing. There hadn’t been a winter where you didn’t get sick, slip, trip and bust your ass all because of the snow. You were already over it. Living in Boston you were in prime snow time. The snow season had just begun.

 Dropping into your couch you pulled your mermaid tail blanket up around you and surfed the channels trying to find something to watch. You were home at Christmas because your parents were away on a Christmas cruise and you really didn’t want to be around them being all mushy and gushy. You didn’t mind, there was nothing wrong with being alone. More times than not you enjoyed it more than being around people—well most people, except Chris.

 You found a cheesy Christmas movie and decided to sit through its predictableness. It was a plot as old as time. Prince is in town and needs a service but chooses a lesser-known vendor and while working together they fell in love and then there was a catastrophic falling out usually something like the girl finding out about a long lost fiancé or woman hoping to snag her prince and she runs off feeling hurt and betrayed that the prince she’d known for four days had a life before her. Then miraculously by the end, all was well, and they lived happily ever after. It was the recipe for every novel, movie, tv-show and tv movie. You knew it well.

An hour later the closing credits sealed every one of your predictions. Even though it was predictable and cheesy you still enjoyed it. as you were scrolling for another you heard a series of knocks at your door. Pausing and muting the TV you listened again and there it was.

 Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 You found it strange because you had a doorbell, and everyone used doorbells these days. Ignoring it you unmuted the TV. Several seconds later the knocks came again.

Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 You were warm and comfortable and had no intention of getting up to answer the door. No one ever dropped by unannounced, everyone knew to text or call first. The knocks continued, louder than ever this time.

 Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 You scrunched up your nose and groaned loudly. “Go away!”

 Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 “Get the fuck away from my door or I swear I will come out there and beat your ass with my baseball bat signed by the entire Red Sox team. I swear I’ll do it!”

You waited to see if there would be any more knocking but there was none. You sighed out, pleased with yourself. Just as you were about to continue on with your plan for the afternoon the knocks came again.

 Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 Groaning you kicked off your blanket and stomped to the door ready to fling it open and beat their ass. As you wrapped your hand around the handle of your baseball bat you kept at the door you paused. The rhythm of the knocks finally registered. Exaggeratedly rolling your eyes you leaned against the door waiting for it again. Like clockwork it did.

 Knock-knock, knock, knock knock.

 You swung open the door to see Chris dressed his best for the weather with a huge smile on his face. as he opened his mouth you knew what was going to come out.

 “Do you wanna build a sno—,” Chris began in the sing-song voice from Frozen. Before he could finish you nipped it in the bud.

 “No don’t you dare finish that!” His smile didn’t fall and the glint in his eyes did die out, he still looked adorkable. you wanted to smile but he would have taken that as motivation.

 “Do you wanna build a sno—.”

 Again, you interrupted him holding your hands up.

 “I swear Chris if you finish it I’ll slam this door in your face. don’t do it,” you warned. He stared at you sizing you up trying to see if you really would.

 “Don’t test me, Evans.”

 Chris narrowed his eyes and you knew his defiance was coming.

 “Do you wanna build a snowman!” He was loud as hell and so was the slam of your door in his face.

 You walked away back to the couch and snuggled back in with your mermaid tail on. After a few seconds, Chris used his key and walked inside.

 “You really slammed the door in my face.”

 “I sure as hell did. You were warned. You did it to yourself really.” He dropped onto the couch onto your feet.

 “Hey, those are my feet, Evans. Get off!” you nudged your foot kicking him in the ass, he sprang up and glared at you.

 “Let’s go, it’s prime snowman weather. The snow is falling which means the one that is already there is hard enough but the fresh one will add a layer of soft fluffiness to it. it’ll be great.”

 “Who the hell are you?”

 “Your best friend come on, Y-L-N. What else were you going to do? It’s Christmas and you’re alone.”

 “I’m okay being alone,” you protested skipping through channels. Chris grabbed the remote and put it on top of the fireplace mantel.

 “Don’t start a war.”

 “Come on. One hour that is all I’m asking for. One hour of snowman fun and then we’ll do whatever you want to do.” When you didn’t answer Chris narrowed his eyes and pulled your mermaid tail blanket off your legs and held it.

 “I will throw this in the fire,” he countered.

 “You wouldn’t dare.” He knew it was your favorite blanket, it was a gift from him.

 Chris held it in front of the fire, and you leaped up and to him trying to get the blanket. He moved around your living room evading every one of your attempts. Soon he stumbled and fell back onto the couch with you on top of him. Your eyes met and the air in the room suddenly was the thickest thing. Taking a shaky breath in you bit your bottom lip. the proximity to him was making your heart flutter way too quickly. Clearing your throat, you got off of him and stood away from the couch. He sat up and avoided your eyes.

 “Snowman, you get your blanket back.”

 “You drive a hard bargain, Evans.” You walked off to your bedroom to get dressed ignoring anything that you may have thought you felt from moments ago.

 When the two of you walked outside you scrunched your nose and allowed Chris to lead you to his car.

 “I have the perfect spot.”

 He drove through the streets of downtown Boston you knew the route he was taking, it led to his mother’s house. Fifteen minutes later he parked in the driveway and led you to the orchard like area of the property. The snow was untouched.

 “See, it’s perfect.” He ran into it and dived into it and began making a snow angel.

 “How the hell do you like snow so much?”

 “What’s not to like. It’s the ultimate fine motor skill toy, better than Legos. You can make anything. Which brings us to our contest. Best snowman wins.”

 “Fine. Let’s get this over with you overgrown man child.”

 “Sticks and stones Y/N, sticks and stones.”

 Rolling your eyes, you began forming the bottom half of the snowman. You gathered a ball of snow and formed it perfectly then rolled it around the ground so it would pick up more as it needed. After a few rolls, it was difficult to maintain so you left it right there and piled snow on top of it. glancing over to Chris he was using muscle and brawn to get it down. Him and his big stupid muscles, what man needed all of that, you thought.

 Getting back to work you focused on your own snowman and not on what he was doing. It was difficult because as he built he sang every Disney song in the book and bounced you hoping to get you to sing along. It was not working. While his joy was infectious you refused to be infiltrated.

 Fifteen minutes later you were putting the finishing touches on your snowman who had turned out to not be half bad. You put your scarf around it and backed away to admire your handiwork.

 “Huh, not bad. Looks like the grinch can do something Christmasy after all,” Chris teased. You narrowed your eyes at him then looked to his snowman.

 “Jesus.” He’d turned it into a woman complete with big boobs and nipples too that were made from dark pebbles. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”

 “Why? Life is serious enough, gotta sprinkle some silliness in there sometime.” You smiled and shook your head. He had an uncanny way of making you smile, no one else could master the task.

 “Mine is the clear winner,” you announced.

 “Why?”

 “It is appropriate for children and looks like a classic snowman. Winner.”

 Suddenly you saw a huge snowball coming right at you. you ducked in the nick of time and gasped. “Really? That was close to my face!”

 Chris has a yikes look on and you looked back to where he looked and saw your snowman’s head on the ground smashed. “You killed snowy.” Chris laughed loudly and gripped his chest as he bent forward.

 “Snowy? That is so original of you Y/N.” He walked to it and began destroying it. you just stood there shocked.

 “Now Snowy’s destroyed.” you were shocked. Without thinking you bent down gathered a snowball and threw it at him, it hit him right in the forehead. You laughed loudly and staggered around trying to stay upright.

 “Snow fight!”

 Chris hurled snowball after snowball at you one after the other. Without having any time to react you ran and tried to hide from him and gather time to make your own. When you hid behind the garden trellis you formed six snowballs and decided on a sneak attack. You got onto your belly and slithered across the yard military style. You had no idea where he was. When you got to a tree you crouched behind it and spotted him across the yard hiding behind some bushes. Quickly you ran up to him and threw your snowballs making direct hits all over his upper torso.

 You didn’t see him rearing back with one of his own and it hit you right in your face sending you back into the snow. It hurt like hell.

 “Ow!” Chris was by your side in seconds.

 “Y/N, oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t aiming at your face. you’re just so short.”

 He pulled his gloves from his hands and wiped away the snow from your face and examined you to make sure you weren’t hurt. It was sweet but you took a handful of snow and smashed it in his face then rolled onto him and pushed snow on him. Chris did the same and soon the two of you were rolling and screaming as snow went everywhere. When you both stopped the two of you were laughing loudly, this time Chris was on top of you.

 “Oh my god, my face hurts,” you groaned.

 “Your face? my face hurts, so do my hands. they’re frozen. I was trying to make sure you were okay.”

 “You hit me in the face, Chris. Owwww.” You pouted and he smiled and brushed your face of the melting snow.

 “I’m sorry. It’s okay though. It’s still as beautiful as ever.” Your pout faded as you took him in. your belly again was doing somersaults and your heart was beating so quickly you were afraid it would beat out of your chest.

 “You said an hour of snowman and whatever I want,” you repeated.

 “I did. Consider your hour of snowman completed.” You smiled and bit your bottom lip.

 You’d imagined kissing him for years. All your friends teased you incessantly over how perfect you guys would be together and that you should get together but neither of you ever made the move. The time never seemed right. He was always off filming something or traveling here or there or in the middle of some fling with some actress or whoever. It never seemed like you were meant. Right now though, everything fell into line. He was single yet again, as were you, he was on an extended break from filming anything as he assessed his next moves in his career and right now seemed perfect.

 “So what is it that you want?”

 The moment stretched and slowly the two of you moved closer until your lips touched. When they did neither of you moved, you remained there feeling it out. You were the one to move your lips first and begin the most passionate kiss you’d ever had. Chris placed his hand over your forehead and kissed you back with an added fire that you were sure was melting the snow around you. soon your lips were wrestling through the dance of passion as you and he moaned and enjoyed the first action of moving your relationship further. Chris was the first to pull his lips from yours.

 “Wait, wait,” he whispered pressing his forehead and nose to yours. “Are we finally doing this?”

 You nodded and tipped your tongue out to lick his bottom lip. “We are.” His lips were on yours again as he moaned on you. you pulled back and looked at him. “Wait, finally?”

 “I’ve been waiting for the right time, but it never seemed right, you were always with someone or going through a lot, I had begun to lose hope.”

 You smiled and kissed him again and moaned while rolling on top of him. your hips began rocking against him and he groaned and gripped your thigh where it creased.

 “Let’s go.” You pushed yourself up and pulled him up into you. his body collided with yours and nearly had you fall over. Chris held you firm against him and kissed you again. You touched his cold cheek and moved it to the back of his head where your fingers sunk into his wet hair.

 “Come on.”

 You tore your lips from his and pulled him through the yard back where you came from and to the car. You climbed in the backseat and pulled him in beside you. Once he was there you kissed him again and began peeling off your jacket. Once you were free of the garment you climbed on top of him and helped him out of his.

 “Wait.” Chris dug into his pocket found the car keys and pressed “start” turning on the car and with it the heat. Then he tossed it away and wrapped his arms around you. “Mmm.” His moan was soft, and it made you smile. You then began peeling off his knit sweater. Once you took it off you realized he had on another layer, a thermal shirt.

 “Damn, so many layers.”

 He snorted and began wresting with your sweater. The two of you were so anxious that your sweaters entangled with your arms which had the two of you bursting out into a fit of laughter. Finally, when the two of you were bare from your upper halves Chris touched your skin. His hands were so cold it had you flinching.

 “Sorry.”

 He quickly rubbed them together and blew into them hoping to warm them a little. When he touched you again they weren’t as icy. His hands gripped your hips and squeezed. You wasted no time and began unbuttoning his wet jeans. As you did Chris helped you undo yours. You lifted up pressing your head onto the top of the car. Your neck bent trying to get enough room for Chris to pull your jeans off of you. thanks to the wet material they sucked onto you even more than they had when you first put them on.

 “Let me.” You took control of peeling off your jeans and Chris took control of getting his off. After much struggle and giggles, the two of you were finally naked. Chris pulled you back onto his lap. You could feel his erection pressing between the two of you. you peeked down and bit your bottom lip then looked to him. He was also biting his bottom lip and his eyes were filled with so much desire.

 “Are you sure about this? There’s no turning back once we do this,” Chris questioned.

 You kissed him and nibbled his bottom lip. his groan was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. “I’m so sure.” You lifted up onto your knees, Chris rubbed the tip of his cock through your wet folds and you shivered. This was a line you were really about to cross, a line that you knew there was no coming back from. As if realizing it as well Chris hesitated and locked eyes with you.

 You were the one to sink down onto his thick, swollen length. Each and every inch that slipped in you was like Christmas morning, it felt so incredible you had no control over your body. Your palm slammed into the rear windshield and produced a handprint into the fogged glass. Chris grunted loudly and held you tight. Once he was fully sheathed you sat there on him taking it all in. You couldn’t have prepared yourself for what you were feeling, it was indescribable.

 “Y/N,” Chris panted.

You began ricking your hips on him with every intention of going slow to savor every sensation, but with the first chill that ran through you, slow was not happening. You quickly rode him already dying for a release. You’d wanted this so long you’d dreamed about it, envisioned him as you used your toys, and none of it was enough. Right now, right here this was doing it for you. You felt Chris bucking up into you to match the pace of your rocks and it added a new sensation. Your moans and pants echoed in the car and soon the sound of wet skin slapping together could be heard.

 “Fuck, you feel incredible. I had no idea,” Chris began. His hand squeezed your backside and you nearly lost it when he slammed up into you. your screech told him he was doing something right.

 “You like that?”

 “Right there Chris don’t stop!”

 He did it again and again and again until your eyes were rolling back into your head and one hand was braced against the top of the car as he fucked you and showed you just why it was always him.

 “Uhhh, I’m gonna come Y/N.” he ground his hips and it nudged deep inside of you and without warning, you came.

 “Fuck, yes, aaaah!”

 Right on your heels, Chris came a second later. The two of you were panting and moaning as you slowly came down from the bliss you were in your body stuck to his. Chris held you close and trailed his fingers up and down your spine.

 “Mmm, god. It’s always been you Y/N.” you smiled and looked down at him and felt his face. He was gorgeous and you loved everything about his face, even the small wrinkles that decorated his face were perfect.

 “Took you long enough to realize it.” Chris snorted and laughed planting his face in your chest. Then he kissed your skin and moaned.

 “Merry Christmas Y/N.”

 “Merry Christmas Chris.” You kissed him again then the two of you got dressed. You had dinner to go to.

 “Will we talk later?”

 You looked at Chris as he climbed out the car in his wet clothes. He pulled you to him and held you against him.

 “Yeah, we’ll talk.” He smiled and softly kissed your nose.

 “We should build a snowman more often.”

 You laughed and walked ahead with him behind you. Maybe building snowmen wasn’t that bad, especially if it ended with you having an incredible orgasm like that.

~~~~~~~~~~

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[thebeethathums]

Home - 5

Pairings: John Watson x HolmesTwin!Reader

Warnings: The reader in this fic is a TWIN to Sherlock Holmes and as such shares some physical features to him.

A/N: Bolded text indicates John’s Blog Posts.

John found himself waiting for you to catch up with him for a change when you got to St. Bart’s and, watching you look up to the roof with a trembling lip, he knew the reason for your sudden hesitation. You shook your head and focused on the ground before striding forward and past him, either expecting him to follow or not caring if he did. You hated that place; it sent shivers down your spine- better to be out of there as quickly as possible.

You slowed when you reached the morgue, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping through with John following you. Molly’s head shot up from her work and you gave her an awkward little wave and a tiny smile, “Hey… I need to see the bodies and the tox reports for the mystery killer case.”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Lestrade called. I’ve got them all ready for you.”

You just nodded, following her to look at the bodies when she beckoned, trying to stifle a weary sigh. Talking to people was exhausting you decided and then hoped that the dead would be a little more agreeable… maybe Greg had been right to question if you were ready for this. The world seemed a lot bigger and far more difficult to navigate now that you were alone.

You pulled on a glove as she pulled out all four bodies for you and handed you a tox report before stepping back to let you work. Letting out a slight huff, you closed your eyes for a second to try and gather your focus and your mind accepted the offer of a distraction, quickly falling into what you called your mind castle as you looked over the information and prodded the bodies.

Once you were lost in your mind, Molly sighed and left you to step over to John, “How is she?”

His eyes flicked to you and then back to Molly and she shook her head, “Don’t worry. She can’t hear you- too busy thinking.”

John huffed and ran a hand through his hair, “Honestly I didn’t know her before, so I can’t say for sure… but by the looks of it, she’s not doing well. She hardly talks -this is the first time she’s been out of the flat since she got back and the first time in a week that I’ve seen her leave his room… not to mention the hair.”

Molly looked over at you a little worriedly, watching as you stick your finger in a dead man’s mouth with an arched eyebrow, “She would never cut her hair that short under normal circumstances… I can tell you that.”

John joined her in watching you as he hesitantly asked, “What were they like together… if you don’t mind me asking.”

Molly flashed him a smile, “Honestly? They were dynamic… always seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking. They balanced each other out… he was, as you know, insensitive and brusque where she was kind and patient. It was almost like they were two parts of the same person but somehow still so separately unique. Wonder twins would have been an understatement.”

You suddenly let out a soft hum, “All male, no wives or families, late twenties to late thirties… all killed by the same poison- probably the same killer. No puncture wounds- likely ingested it somehow… Sherly?”

You looked up and found the space in front of you empty before realizing your slip up, stumbling back slightly and covering your face as you took a deep breath to compose yourself. He was gone. You had been so focused you’d forgotten that. John took a step towards you just as you spun to face them, your brows furrowed and your eyes deeply sad, but your voice was scarily even, “I’m taking these reports. Call me if you find anything new.”  

Molly nodded a little stunned as you swept past her and out the door, exchanging a concerned glance with John before he jogged to catch up with you. When he did, he quickly asked, “They were poisoned with no puncture wounds… could they have taken a pill?”

You slowed slightly and huffed, “No. None of them took any medications or vitamins regularly or shared any acquaintances or friends. There was no opportunity for them to take it without knowing… It is a fast-acting poison administered by a stranger or someone they’d met only briefly before… the question is how would they get them to take the pill?”

“Maybe they were threatened.”

You stopped abruptly for a split second and then continued on again, “Possible… but then why them? What’s the motive? And what were they threatened with? They didn’t have any family… Levels of income varied from high to very low, so it wasn’t for money... what would you have to be threatened with to willingly take poison, John? Disregarding your sister of course.”

“How did you know I have a sister?” John huffed and you rolled your eyes, bringing a hand up to your temple as you grumbled, “Why must I explain everything to everyone? It’s so terribly tedious… and it’s not as though they understand anyway. Idiots.”

You glanced over at him as you sighed, “Would it be sufficient to say that it was obvious?”

John wasn’t oblivious; he could see you were coming to the end of what you could handle at the moment, so he simply offered, “Sure.”

You let out a relieved stream of air before picking up your pace again until you were outside, calling a cab and then staring out the window in thought, leaving John just to watch you as he considered what he’d learned and tried to ignore his own grief.

The Wide World   

We went out on a case… I don’t know what spurred the sudden change of attitude but she just slipped out of his room with all her hair chopped off to her jaw and announced she was going to the Yard. It was interesting, to say the least. She’s highly intelligent- at the same level that Sherlock was- and though she’s pretty cold now, it’s obvious it wasn’t always that way. If he was a sociopath and she was his opposite… does that make her an empath? I’ll have to look it up…  

She seemed to be on friendly terms with Anderson… a total surprise considering her brother’s attitude towards the man. I wonder if there is a story there. It turns out she’s also close with Lestrade or Lessy as she called him. I think she’s the only one who can get away with that- just like I’m sure she was the only one allowed to call Sherlock, Sherly. Both he and Molly tell me that they were amazing together and that they balanced each other’s flaws, but neither could offer me any advice on how to help her… apparently, it’s like her entire personality has changed. Not really surprising considering all that she’s going through.  

Our visit to the morgue threw her for a loop; it was where he… Well, let's just say it put her in a bad mood. She barely spoke a word to Molly and once she was focused on examining the evidence, she forgot he wasn’t there with us, absentmindedly asking for his opinion. It was a little heartbreaking to watch… ok, a lot heartbreaking.  

Now she’s working on the case. It was a good call for Mycroft to bring it to her as she’s been out of his room consistently for a few days now- even if it’s been mostly her pinning things on the wall above the couch and then sitting cross-legged on the coffee table to stare at them in thought. She hums when she thinks… it’s a change from the piercing silence that settled in when he was thinking. I wish she would play the piano. She hasn’t even touched it since we brought it up.  One thing at a time I guess- she talks to me regularly now, mostly bouncing her ideas about the case off me so she can hear them out loud. Better than nothing and it certainly is interesting… it feels good to do things like this again even if it brings up painful memories at times.  

[peraltasames]

mountains and valleys (and all that will come in between) - chapter two

Jake, Amy, and four distinct yet painfully similar times the universe pulled them apart and pushed them back together.

read on ao3

part two: florida

Jake doesn’t speak until somewhere around the border of Virginia and North Carolina.

He listens to Marshal Haas, located in the passenger seat, as she briefs them on their new identities. He glances over at Captain Holt, who is listening much more intently than himself and twisting his wedding ring around his finger, likely trying to memorize how it feels before he’s forced to part with it. He looks out the window at the many streets, houses and towns that they pass, dimly lit by the moon and streetlights. He thinks about Amy.

It isn’t until Holt grabs his shoulder and informs him that the marshal just asked if he has any questions that he finally opens his mouth to talk, his voice coming out a little hoarse from lack of recent use.

“How long did you say it’s gonna take to catch Figgis?”

“It’s impossible to say, but we’re predicting somewhere between four months and a year,” Haas says with the same no-nonsense, clear tone that she’s been using since picking Holt and Jake up at the precinct hours ago after a much too short goodbye with the squad.

It seems so far away already. It feels like it’s been years, not hours, since he wrapped Amy in a hug in the corner of the briefing room - all the privacy that they were allotted - and kissed her hair repeatedly while she tried to stifle her panicked cries.

“It’s crucial that you follow every one of these rules exactly as I instruct you to,” the marshal continues, “or he’ll find you before we find him.”

“I know.”

She’s only stated this a hundred times since they left New York - follow the rules, follow the rules, follow the rules. He understands that she’s doing her job and trying to keep him alive and he should really be grateful, but he does not think that she understands the complete and utter torture of being apart from Amy Santiago.

He’s done it for the past three weeks, a much shorter length of time than the one they’re facing now and with frequent texts and phone calls and reassurance that she was okay. Still, they were by far the worst three weeks Jake experienced since they started dating last summer.

To make matters so much worse, they had just agreed to move in together. They were just about to take the next step in their relationship, a step that he hoped would be the first of several ensuing advancements towards a lifetime together - because, god, there is no way he’s ever going to find anything better than this. She is absolutely, undeniably, the best thing that has ever and will ever happened to him.

And now that’s on hold - maybe for four months, maybe for a year, any amount of time being too long for him.

Nobody else sees it, but as he turns his head to resume staring out the window, his tired eyes might just shed a tear or two.

-

The first few months, he doesn’t cope well.

The first month consists of cases of cheap beer from the K-Mart around the corner, watching movies he doesn’t like in front of a crappy TV with all the lights turned off and sleeping until two in the afternoon.

The second month is still getting used to calling Holt “Greg” (which feels wrong for a multitude of reasons), eating burritos in the hot tub and rejecting Greg’s pleas that Jake - Larry - take better care of himself.

The third month is his birthday passing and Holt giving him a small nod and smile when they walk outside to retrieve the papers in the morning, not being able to say anything aloud because Larry’s birthday is in October.

The third day of the fourth month, Holt comes over for dinner. He’ll tell the neighbourhood walking group the next day that Larry simply cooked too many burgers and invited his closest neighbour in proximity over for a casual meal to eliminate food waste.

They play loud music - Larry’s favourite band is Nickelback, to Jake’s horror - to allow them to talk somewhat more freely than they do outside while in the confines of the kitchen, though Holt still insists on using their fake personas to help them “stay in character.”

“How are you doing?” Holt asks, taking a sip of his soda. Greg drinks soda. Holt does not.

“I’m fine.”

“I can tell that something’s bothering you, Larry,” he insists, looking Jake in the eye. “Is it…girl trouble?”

Jake deciphers his code immediately, understanding what he’s really trying to ask is do you miss Amy?

He nods. “Yeah. Girl trouble.”

There’s a pause, and he can feel Holt’s eyes on him, analyzing his pained expression.

“Perhaps I can offer some advice,” Holt says with a casual wave of his hand. “One heterosexual man to another.”

Jake turns up the dial on the speaker to drown out his words and speaks softly, barely loud enough for Holt to hear him.

“I miss her so much,” he admits. “And I can’t stand not being able to talk to her or the Nine-Nine or my mom and not - not know if she’s okay-“

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Holt pulls him into a firm hug, steadying him, and his laboured breathing slows marginally.

“She’s okay,” Holt murmurs. “She’ll be okay as long as you stay alive long enough to come home to her.”

They stay like that for a few moments until Holt releases him, finishes his beverage and excuses himself for the night.

Before he retires to his own bungalow next door, Holt pats him on the shoulder in the doorway and offers his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for dinner, Larry,” he says. “And if it’s any consolation, I also miss my…wife.”

It does help, barely, to know that they’re in this horrible situation together. That every night Jake lies awake drinking and fiddling with the thermostat - the house is always way too hot - and thinking about his girlfriend, Captain Holt is a few dozen yards away thinking of his husband.

Mostly, this realization fuels his burning desire to get the two of them home - to Brooklyn, to the precinct, to the people waiting for them.

-

Halfway through month five, he decides to stop waiting for the FBI to figure it out.

He knows they’re professionals and everything, but he’s a damn good detective and he thinks that what he lacks in resources, he may be able to make up for in motivation.

(His motivation, to be precise, is a picture of Amy that he printed at Staples on the wall of a storage unit he rents.)

He doesn’t tell Holt about it - he knows he won’t approve and he’s learned by now that it’s easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. He’s pretty sure the captain will forgive him with ease once Figgis is behind bars.

The late nights and early mornings spent drinking diluted iced coffee from 7-Eleven and combing through files on the internet are difficult, yet so, so much better than doing nothing. He feels like a cop again, he feels like Jake again, and he’s getting a little bit closer to all of that legally being true every single day.

There’s one night, or maybe two, where he hits a dead end and wants to give up, but he doesn’t.

There’s too much at stake.

-

Jimmy Figgis finds them before they find him.

It’s a plan of their own invention, a plan that they only have hours to assemble, and a plan that there is no reason they shouldn’t be able to execute perfectly.

It’s also, unfortunately, a plan that doesn’t account for Coral Palms PD showing up and foiling their operation.

Jake doesn’t realize how royally screwed he is until he feels Figgis’ gun pressed to his head and - at the exact same time - sees Amy.

He sees her in the literal sense that she’s standing right in front of him, gun drawn, her composure steady despite the evident fear in her eyes. For the fourth or fifth time today (and therefore the fourth or fifth time in six months) she is in front of him, in the flesh, and he’s still trying to process that she’s really here in Florida and not just a hallucination.

But, he also sees her in a different way, a way that only a man with a gun pressed to his temple could.

He sees her kissing him victoriously, wrapping her arms around his neck for the first time in half a year; her dark hair hanging down and the silhouette of her body over his as they remember how to move as one; her head against his chest while she drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

He sees them walking up the stairs to her apartment and collapsing on the couch in front of the TV; waking up at eight o’clock in the evening and ordering so much Chinese food that he feels a little sick afterwards; staying up until the early hours of the morning talking and catching up on every little detail of their lives.

He sees her across the desk at work, eyes glued to the computer screen, perfectly unaware of the fact that he’s gazing at her like she’s the sun, the stars, the entire damn universe.

He sees her in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him while their friends and family watch with wide smiles; her with a small bump under her shirt that isn’t part of an undercover disguise to infiltrate a prison; her with streaks of grey in her hair that match his.

He sees an entire future that could slip away if Figgis pulls the trigger.

So he nods at her, and hopes that she understands that it means he wants her to do whatever she has to do to ensure that they get that future.

The next few moments are a blur - the sound of a gunshot, unspeakable pain in his right leg, Amy running after Figgis, sirens in the distance. The minutes that follow are similarly hectic, between watching his worst enemy get cuffed and shoved into the back of a squad car and trying not to curse in pain as first responders treat his bullet wound.

Things don’t slow down at all, really, until Amy kisses him and says she loves him, effectively drowning out all of their surroundings.

-

Two hours, one brief surgery, dozens of stitches, a lot of drugs and too many cups of bad hospital coffee to count later, the Nine-Nine is once again reunited.

They’re all gathered around Jake’s hospital room, and his eyes scan the room like he’s doing a mental roll call:

Peralta, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a cup of blue Jell-O and the other on Amy’s back;

Santiago, curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing occasional kisses to his jaw and cheek;

Diaz, leaning up against the wall with a barely-restrained smile and crossed arms;

Boyle, hovering near Jake and searching for the best photos of his new son Nikolaj on his phone, shoving the screen in Jake’s face every time he finds a good one;

Jeffords, occupying one of the chairs next to his bed, eating a ham sandwich;

Holt, in the chair next to Terry with an ice pack on his injured limb and a new record for the biggest smile Jake’s ever seen on his face after a lengthy phone call with Kevin;

Hitchcock and Scully - well, they were there, but they left in search of the vending machines about fifteen minutes ago and have yet to return;

Finally, Gina, sitting at the foot of the bed and loudly catching him up on the details of her personal life, which Jake tries to follow.

“Wait, so Natasha said she would bring you to the Rihanna concert-”

“She promised.”

“But instead she took her new boyfriend Brad.”

“It’s Ben, Jake,” Gina sighs, shaking her head. “God, keep up, man.”

“Sorry,” Jake says with a small yawn, “it’s been a long day.”

It’s been a long six months, really, but the past few days on the run with Holt and the hours that followed of trying to catch Figgis once and for all haven’t been particularly restful. He’s also still a little lethargic from the anesthesia he was under while a surgeon quickly repaired his leg, and he’s only stayed awake this long because he missed this - all of them together, talking and bickering and laughing - so much.

“We should let Jake and Amy get some rest,” Terry suggests, getting to his feet and tossing the wrapper from his second sandwich of the hour (“post-adrenaline Terry is a hungry Terry!”) into the trash can.

Amy nods gratefully in Terry’s direction before returning her head to Jake’s shoulder. There are some whines of protest - they all come from Charles - but eventually all members of the squad bid the couple goodnight and filter out of the small room.

It’s finally just the two of them, in complete and total silence.

He puts down the Jell-O cup and shifts his body down on the bed to a much more reclined and comfortable position, pulling her along with him.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, rubbing his chest lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Uh, amazing,” he says with complete seriousness. “I’m in bed, on drugs, with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

He looks down just in time to see her cheeks begin to redden before she tucks her head into his neck to hide her face and reconnect her lips with his warm skin.

“I missed you so much,” she says, and her voice trembles, her composure wavering now that they’re alone.

“I know, babe,” he whispers, running a hand through her hair, “I missed you too.”

Jake tilts her chin up to kiss her - he hasn’t had a free moment to kiss her since the ambulance - and her lips respond impatiently. She deepens the kiss right away, and her hand swiftly moves from his chest to the back of his head, pulling him closer and stroking his hair simultaneously.

“Love you,” he mumbles against her lips. She only sighs - a high-pitched, dreamy sigh - in response before sliding her tongue back into his mouth and relaxing all of her weight onto his body.

“Can you believe not one vending machine in this entire hospital has Cheetos?”

Amy jerks away from him, her teeth catching on his lip and making him wince slightly, as Hitchcock and Scully come barging in with arms full of junk food.

“Where did everyone else go?” Scully asks cluelessly, munching on a bag of beef jerky.

Amy sighs with exasperation, and Jake would be a little more mad about the whole situation if she wasn’t so darn cute when she’s annoyed.

“They’re trying to boink, Scully,” Hitchcock chimes in with a smirk.

“I - we are not boinking in a hospital!” Amy exclaims. “I was just kissing my boyfriend who I haven’t seen in six freaking-“

“Oo-kay, Ames,” Jake says slowly in an attempt to calm her down, then turning his head to the two men in the doorway. “You two. Out. Now.”

They respond to Jake’s stern expression by hastily walking back out into the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

“Where were we?” Jake raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Jake,” she narrows her eyes. “You know we’re not boinking in the hospital, right?”

“I mean…one quick boink wouldn’t hurt-and it’s been six months, Ames, you know it’s gonna be quick-“

“As two adults who have had sex with each other many times, we should really stop using the word ‘boink’.”

“Fair point,” Jake concedes, patting her arm. “So should we…um, make love-“

“Oh my god, Jake, no.”

He frowns and settles back into the soft pillows, huffing dramatically.

“Your doctor said in a few days we’ll be able to engage in ‘light to moderate sexual activity’,” she states, sliding her arm around his torso. “But for now, you need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Burying his face in her hair and hugging her closer to himself with both arms, he finds it remarkably easy to fall into a deep, serene sleep.

-

Jake is discharged from the hospital at eight the next morning, and by nine-thirty they’re boarding the first plane back to New York. He doesn’t bother to get any of Larry’s belongings from the house - he really never wants to go back there again, nor does he want to return to Coral Palms or Florida in general. He’s much more concerned with getting back to Jake’s stuff - leather jackets and hoodies and his DVD collection and mixtapes full of Taylor Swift songs.

He sleeps through the flight, because seven hours really wasn’t enough to make up for all the sleep he lost, and wakes up to Amy kissing his forehead and a view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s perfect.

He figured they would go to her apartment - he hasn’t asked, but he assumes his is no longer his after six months away - but, once she hauls their bags into a taxi, helps him into the car with his crutches and slides in beside him, she gives the driver his address.

“Your mom paid your rent while you were gone,” Amy explains, reaching for his hand. She’s kept some form of physical contact with him since he woke up this morning. “I know we said we would move in together, but I thought you should adjust to being back before we worry about that.”

“Thanks, babe.” He squeezes her fingers and thinks about how incredibly lucky he is. “Is my mom-“

“She’s already there, and no, your dad isn’t coming. Karen and I agreed you wouldn’t want to see him quite yet.”

Jake nods and squeezes her hand twice more, interlocking their fingers.

When they pull up outside his apartment building, he takes a moment to breathe in the somewhat gross (Florida stunk too, but way worse) but gloriously familiar smell of his neighbourhood. It’s a hot day, but still cool enough for the airport sweatpants and t-shirt (they both read I Love Florida, which he absolutely does not) that he’s wearing. He’s had enough of shorts and tank tops for a long, long time.

His mom pulls him into a bone-crushing hug the moment they open the front door, making him drop his crutches, which Amy retrieves as she drags the bags past the threshold and begins organizing his stuff.

“Oh, it is so good to have you home, honey,” Karen says loudly, affectionately, as she continues to squeeze her son.

Jake looks over her shoulder at Amy as she moves through his studio apartment, which is decidedly much cleaner than he left it. It’s completely spotless, actually, except for a couple of stray hoodies of his - one on the couch, one on a chair in the kitchen. He wonders how much time she spent here - honestly, if he had the option to wallow in an entire room full of Amy’s belongings and clothes and things that smelled and felt and reminded him of her, he would’ve taken it every chance he got.

“Good to be home, Mom.”

As soon as his mother releases him and helps him hobble to the couch, Amy strides over to give Karen a quick hug and Jake a quick kiss before heading to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds and the pizza place around the corner to pick up an extra-large meat supreme and a salad, because he “really needs to start thinking about his health.”

Man, it is so good to be home.

-

In bed that night, after Karen is gone and Charles comes over to check on Jake again and they eat a lot of pizza, they finally catch up.

Jake tells her about everything - the WITSEC process, the hot tub burritos, his job at the ATV dealership - and, in turn, Amy fills him on everything he missed.

She talks about work, sparing no details from some of her juicier cases, and he listens with eager anticipation and tries to guess how she solved them before she finishes the story.

She tells him about how she got a lot closer with his mom and went over there for dinner a few times to check in on her, which Jake appreciates immensely.

While he holds her and strokes her hair gently, she talks about the nights she spent at Rosa’s watching Nancy Meyers films, eating ice cream and crying because she missed him so much. His heart breaks a little, but he makes a mental note to thank Rosa for taking care of her despite her policy regarding the discussion of feelings.

“Never again,” Jake mumbles against her hair sometime after midnight. “I’m never gonna leave you again.”

In the moment, he really believes it’s true.

[cold-hearted-mindset-story]

Cold Hearted Mindset - Chapter 4: Falling For Trouble

WARNING: This is a HORROR STORY that contains anxiety triggers, gore, psychological horror, panic attacks, hostage situation, blood, violence, injury, major injuries, permanent injuries, and more.

This is a story that explores the true darkness of darker Sans clones/alt universe peeps. NOT for the faint of heart. Don’t read if you’re squeamish or get sick from graphic depictions. You’ve been warned.

Ao3 link

Beginning | Previous | Next

Chapter 4: Falling For Trouble

Summary: Timing is the key to success. Unfortunately, you don't have any keys.

------

You awake from a poor sleep feeling drowsy and sore, likely caused by sleeping on the cold cement ground. You rub and blink your gummy eyelids until they're able to properly open, and then you sit up and look around the room. The first thing you notice is a surprising lack of a certain corner-dwelling skeleton. Your eyebrows raise at this and you decide to get to your feet to begin further inspection.

Your limbs are shaky and it's a little more difficult and slow to get up with one hand, partly because you have to avoid touching your throbbing severed wrist to anything, but you manage to stand eventually. However, once you're standing, a wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to lean against the wall behind you for support. With your body pressed heavily into the cold cement to support yourself, you turn and slowly shuffle your way along the wall. It takes a while to do so with the constant threat of falling caused by dizziness, but eventually you make it to the closest corner of the room. It's not hard to change directions aside from the dizziness that occurs with the direction change. As you walk along the second wall, you find that your feet are having some difficulties staying on one path, which forces you to take this very slowly.

Finally, after what seems like ten minutes despite the wall only being two yards long at most, you reach the room corner at the bottom of the stairs. You look down and then immediately regret this when your head suddenly feels like it weighs ten times more than usual. You tip forward and jerk to a stop as you brace with your good hand against the wall in front of you. A startled breath huffs past your lips as you stand there trying to get your balance under control, but nothing seems to be working. As the world spins and begins to feel muted, yu swallow back the phlegm that's accumulating in the back of your throat before deciding that sitting down would be a good idea. With that thought, you turn to brace your back against the wall before slowly sliding down into a seating position.

The room spins around you as you look forward at the circle of light in the center of your prison. Your eyesight skips like a broken record, twisting around before jerking back and twisting around again in quivk succession. You shut your eyes tight against the dizzying visuals, and then notice the rolling gross feeling in the pit of your stomach. You rub at your stomach in hopes it will help calm it down; you'd rather not throw up again. That thought then sparks anothersomewhat unrelated realization which in turn leaves you feeling confused about the absence of puke in the room. You distinctly remember throwing up in here… Did they actually clean that up? Huh… how strange to think they'd do that for your comfort. Or maybe not, considering they might usually use this room for other activities besides keeping living humans against their will down here. Then again, this could be their pass time.

You stay seated for a while until the dizzying sensation drifts away enough that you can open your eyes without the world swirling around like a whirlpool. Slightly blurred, tired eyes scan the room thoroughly and find nothing different aside from the absence of Dust. You also note the now missing food tray from before you'd fallen asleep, and you wonder for how long you slept and what went on while you were out. Did they poke at you? Mess with your hair? Sniff at you? Measure you up for their main course? Taste- ok, no more thoughts now. You take a deep breath, hold it, and then release it slowly to be rid of some tension held in your body. And then you realize something. You're all alone down here, with no one watching. You could try the door now.

Excitement blossoms in you, but then you remember how dizzy you'd become just walking alongside the wall. You sigh as you think about getting up again, but you do your best to motivate yourself with the idea that you might never have this chance again. So, with sluggish limbs, you get on your good hand, an elbow, and knees to crawl over to the stairs. Then you begin your ascension to the door. You take your time with each step, ensuring you don't fall off the side considering you're dizzy and there's no railing. For each step you start with your hand, then you hold your severed wrist out of the way and place the elbow down before stepping each knee up. As you climb, your thoughts drift slightly, thinking on the ways in which this could either be a stairway up to heaven… or hell, considering the company you could be running into up there. You continue crawling slowly up the stairs while your mind occasionally drifts before snapping back to make sure you don't fall.

Once you reach the top of the steps, you pause. The door in front of you is rugged and full of splinters as if the old wood had never been sanded or even treated. The image of a splinter in your eye has you cringing and pulling your face back a little. Your thoughts continue to move along. What are you going to do once you're out there? You don't even know what the place looks like at all, so you'd be going in blind. You stay crouched on your hand and knees as you begin to gather courage so you can open the door. With a few deep breaths, a firmed expression, and the idea of freedom dancing around in your head like sugarplum fairies, you feel a little less unprepared. So you stand on your knees, and grasp the doorknob. The metal underhand is cold and heavily dented in as if someone had grabbed it with super strength on more than one occasion. You shudder at the idea of being caught by whoever had done this, and then begin to slowly turn the doorknob. The knob mechanisms creak against each other, threatening to squeak and alert whoever might be on the other side. You're surprised it's not locked. You do your best to keep your breathing even as the knob finishes it's turning, and then everything stops. Holding your breath in anticipation, you lean back slightly to get your feet under you while using the door as support.

Suddenly, the floor creaks behind the door and there's a very clear grumble on the other side, and you momentarily freeze with horror. You don't even have time to react before the door shifts inward, and with it you fall backwards. A short scream escapes you before you drop like a rock onto the concrete stair and tumble over yourself in a rolling mess of limbs. You slam into a wall and let out an involuntary croaked howl of pain before a dizzying dimness clouds your mind. Feeling suddenly more detached, your eyes droop as you lay with your shoulders to the ground and back propped to the side against the wall you collided with. And then your stomach rolls over with nausea. With a cloudy panic, you use the tilted posture of your back to drop onto your side before gagging. Luckily, you manage to swallow back most of the regurgitation, which is important because you have no idea when you'll be eating next. A small amount of cloudy phlegm is all that comes out with an easy spit onto the floor. Gently, you roll onto your stomach and give a quiet groan before shutting your eyes.

What feels like only a second passes before you hear someone speak to you, “heh, you're lookin’ tenderized, there, morsel.”

Your eyes sluggishly blink open for a moment, and then your eyes move sluggishly to look up and see, of course, that it's Horror. He's standing directly over you with wide eye sockets, and his single eyelight is shrunken to a needle point, which really hits home on the sensation of picking you apart. You shudder and look down at his shorts as a middle ground, too tired and dizzy to handle this much. Then your already hurt arm starts to throb much more painfully than usual. Horror says something else, but you lose the meaning behind the waves of pain crashing harder and harder on to your mind. You start to tremble and grit your teeth against the pain.

Something jabs your stomach, making you gasp and jerk away with a pained yelp. Tears warp your vision as you look up at Horror with fear and a heavy cringe set into your face. He seems to stare down at you for a minute, his eyelight having grown to the side of a dollar coin. Through your warped and blurry vision, you can see the bloody eyelight flicking about as he scans your body over a few times. Then his face suddenly gets much closer with what seems like a mere ten inches of space between you two.

The sudden and much closer proximity startles you to jerk away slightly as a small whimper escapes your lungs. Horror's smile grows wider immediately after, and then he takes a spindly hand and places it heavily on your shoulder. You jolt at the impact of his hard sharp bones, and then cringe more when his pointed fingers press against your skin a little too hard.

“heh, the lil mouse got startled,” Horror speaks as his eyes squint at your face with a suspicion-filled knowing threat. You shake at the idea of him doing something more to you than he's already done.

Another voice, monotone and very familiar, replies, “it's not like she'd get very far.

Horror huffs and gives Dust a half-lidded side-eye. “It's the idea that i'm going for, psycho.”

“i might be a psycho, but at least I didn't eat my own species,” Dust quips back immediately.

“That's not-...” Horror sighs with irritation, “i already told you… I'm not sayin it again.”

“That's great, cause I've heard it enough times to want to dust you.” Dust smirks at him, and it's then that you understand his name. Dusting someone is probably akin to getting rid of someone, which probably means murder. So...this whoke time, you've been sharing a room with a murderer. You knew this already, but being reminded of it and finding out his name is basically what he does is even more concerning and frightening. You swallow thickly with nervousness, shoving some of the phelm down your throat in tandem. You decide you've had enough time laying there, so you move your weight onto your elbows and try to sit up.

Screaming pain immediately shoots up from your injured arm, though it comes from just below the elbow instead of your wrist. A strangles yelp escapes you and ou immediately fall back to avoid making the pain worse. Slowly, the searing pain begins to subside as you lay there with clenched teeth, trying to breathe hard enough to get through the pain. It's at this point ou notice the silence int he room, having been listening to the dull drone of conversation moments before. You peek your eyes open, and then feel your entire body chill over when three eyelights are seen staring down at you, the largest blood red one leaning in close to your form. Your breath hitches as you try to move away, but you accidentally hit your hurt elbow and make a gutteral yelp before jerking your arm up onto your stomach. Your eyes lurch back to Horror as he leans over your body, his face a mere foot above you. His eyelight narrows at your arm currently hammered with pain, and you instinctively cover it protectively with your other arm, a nervous brow furrowing on your face. A small whimper escapes you, and immediately Horror's eyelight locks with your eyes, looking wide and boring into you like an excited animal. You tremble and hold back another whimper, fearing that he might just tear into you right then and there. Instead, to your horror, he looks back at your arm with a more calculative gaze and grabs for it. You swiftly pull it away some, but it barely moves at all before Horror easily snatches it up just below our severed wrist. You yelp and try to pull it away, but his grip only tightens and he glares at you while doing so, seeming to threaten you silently. Another whine escapes against your will, and his smile hitches up as excitement sparks in his eyelight. Your own eyes widen and you stiffen up, not sure what to do in this situation.

Dust cuts the tension, “this is getting stupid. kill her or heal her.”

You heart leaps with adrenaline at the idea of being eaten alive and you pull at your arm again, but again Horror has too tight of a grip.

Trembling in terror, you stare up at Horror with pure fear as he blinks before responding, “ok.” And then proceeds to pull out a meat cleaver.

Your whining turns into shrieking.

------

[maggiesause-blog1]

Creative Problem Solving Interviews

Adriana Nova, SVP, Creative at LippeTaylor

How do you generate ideas?

How, when, and where are you inspired?

I’m inspired anytime something makes me look twice, lean closer, listen repeatedly, or just want to break it down. Curiosity is at the heart of my inspiration. Anything that makes me want to take it apart and understand why I’m attracted to it. I’m a strategy-driven creative. I accept that lots of brilliant work is just inexplicable but when I can unpack its elements, it’s very satisfying and inspiring in and of itself.

What inspires you?

I know this is a cliché creative answer but: everything. Truly. Sometimes it’s as straightforward as a painting, a song, an anecdote, a book, etc. Other times there’s no apparent connection between the spark and its outcome. I was an ACD on Dove during their Speak Beautiful campaign and I did my best writing for the brand whilst listening to DMX. So there you are.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

I worry over an idea being innovative enough. Will it get attention? Will it stand out? Will it exceed the client’s KPIs? I always want to build on whatever I did last and make it better. But it’s easy to get stunted when you imagine conclusions before you’ve even begun, to the point that just taking the first step can feel futile. I’ve gotten better about this in the past few years, though it’s an ongoing lesson. When you’re a commercial creative, you don’t get to chase - or blame - the muse for too long. Clunky work on the page is at least work on a page. Nothing comes out fully formed, and sometimes I have to force myself to live in that uncomfortable space. Also if you’re a perfectionist, sometimes the strongest solve really is the straight line between A and B. Don’t create for the sake of impressing yourself.

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

Two things: continue to revisit the brief/RFP, and accept the support of your team. I’m afraid I don’t have any recent examples that illustrate step-by-step process but I can explain how and why these two help me problem-solve.

I mentioned before that I’m a strategy-driven creative. Like any creative, though, I can get lost in the life of the mind. That’s where all kinds of ideas come out to play in your head, be they ones that answer the brief or not. When I think I’m veering off-track, I re-ground myself in the ask to remember that I’m there to solve a business problem, not write The Great American Novel. So, practicing self-awareness when I feel stuck is one of the ways I problem-solve.

Second, I collaborate with my team. At those times, I’m not a creative director or an executive. I’m one in a group, and we’re trying to arrive at a place together. It might seem like that’s straightforward but to do it well requires a deliberate shift in how you see and position yourself in the room. Drop the ego, open up room for others’ critique and solutions. Winning ideas will not always generate from you. Understand that by letting others shine, you don’t dull your own sheen. In fact, the mark of a good leader is that they foster environments to bring out the best in others.

When you can help cultivate tons of ideas as opposed to just your own, you’ve automatically installed a problem-solving system that both benefits others and strengthens the work. Also: call out and credit team members when someone else compliments a good idea. You’re in a leadership position already; you’ve proven yourself to the extent you’re in charge.

Tara Hart, Visual Merchandising, Founder HOTHOUSE NYC

How do you generate ideas?

How, when, and where are you inspired?

I find that inspiration comes on the fringes of ‘the process’ and outside of routine. So If I can be mindful while in those spaces something might stick or strike. If I cannot break from routine (jobs, responsibilities) I try and change the perspective or approach.

What inspires you?

What sticks for me are the stories and the people behind a particular object, place or body of work. For me, the journey and layers beneath how something comes to be is what ignites the spark and makes something special. To find this inspiration you have to be curious, ask questions and listen. So my job sometimes is just to be inquisitive, poke around and to sniff out what hasn’t been revealed before.

I have a strange relationship with memory. Mostly just not a very acute one. So memories can be a strong source of inspiration. Like suddenly remembering a particular garment of my mothers, a summer routine of packed lunch on the beach or a childhood toy. When the memories come they lead you down a new path of things forgotten that are suddenly new. These new found memories reveal how small objects or smells, or textures can trigger powerful emotions which can be very useful in the field of visual communication.

I am inspired by people who have that unwavering dedication to a particular craft or work. I am not a specialist. I have never felt that I have one particular talent or calling so when I meet people that have that relentless pursuit of something specific or a bit obscure I am delighted and fascinated - and a little jealous.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

Modern societies obsession with “productivity” can be a burden. Who gets to define what a “productive” afternoon looks like? How do you put a value on the ‘big idea’ you’ve had in the shower? So I try and apply a looser definition to productivity to leave some headspace for ideation.

I believe that modern corporate structures (as enforced by humans) do not cultivate or sustain creative thinking. So I try to remove myself from those constraints even if that’s a just a mindset (ie this is not a full time job, this a 12-month creative residency)

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

I never received formal creative or artistic education after 4th grade. Despite that I have wormed my way into a very creative field. As a result my problem solving approach is a little scrappy.

I am a big communicator. I want to get a group together and have a rounded conversation. I want to hear stories, feedback and different perspectives. So, whether it is for a project kick off or sudden issue, a verbal assessment is my first stop.

With the gathered insight I can create a brief or outline to really pinpoint the outcome I am seeking. I look at past experiences, problems or projects that may shed light on a possible approach or reveal what risks might be lurking.

Defining the desired outcome or goal, and making sure other stakeholders are in agreement at the beginning ensures the task at hand is set up for success.

Sometimes a break down is necessary to whittle the task down into a few stages. Make the problem feel more digestible. No one eats the whole sushi roll at once.

Once this outline is in place you have created the guardrails from within can happen the concepting and ideation. Research and references can be gathered and the seedlings of ideas are recorded. Lots of trial and testing. And of course conversations and feedback. This process can continue until something productive sticks and a resolution is revealed.

William Sause, PhD, Postdoctoral Fellow NYU Langone Medical Center

How do you generate ideas?

I am often inspired at times where I am struggling with my own work or ability to generate novel ideas. I find that after a period of being down on myself, I seek inspiration in order to rebound. These periods often provide the best ideas and motivation.

I am inspired by the brilliance and ingenuity of people I respect and admire. These moments of inspiration often come during discussions or seminars with these individuals. In my academic background, these moments come at the hands of professors. An example of this would be hearing a seminar that overlaps with my own work and interests, I often leave these settings feeling more motivated to finish and succeed with a project. This comes from inspiration and competitiveness.

The best ideas in my line of work are ones that require an individual to reexamine overlooked or neglected concepts to find gems. This is very difficult but can be paradigm shifting when it happens. An example of this in science would be the discovery that a pathway, which has a canonical and widely accepted function - turns out to have a much more dynamic and powerful role in biology...an unappreciated function.

What process(es) do you use to solve problems?

clearly state the problem

exhaustively research the literature and establish a comfort level with all preexisting knowledge

assess how your idea is innovative and how it distinguishes yourself from what exists

determine what you can accomplish on your own and what you will need your colleagues to help you with

set forth a linear path to your goal. in my case this involves laying out series of hypothetical figures that will make up a manuscript.

Donna Sause, Hemostasis Sales Consultant at Instrumentation Laboratory

How do you generate ideas?

What inspires you?

I’m often inspired when I don’t expect to be and mostly when I’m alone. Sometimes the idea is relevant to what I’m doing, for example if I’m doing chores around the yard an idea will pop into my head about landscaping. Other times it won’t be relevant to what I’m doing for example I may be walking the dog and I’ll think up a new recipe  idea or a new way to make a sales pitch to a customer.

I’m mostly inspired by nature. I’m more clear headed when I’m surrounded by trees or near water. I also take a lot of inspiration from books eg. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert and occasionally from podcasts particularly NPR “How I built this”.

What obstacles do you face in coming up with a new idea and how do you overcome those obstacles?

When I put pressure on myself to come up with something I will usually draw a blank (eg my MSc thesis), if I leave things to the last minute it is also difficult for me to generate ideas. It doesn’t happen often but if I get overwhelmed by things and start to compare myself negatively to colleagues or classmates I don’t find it easy to come up with new ideas.

I make a conscious effort not to do these things. If I know I have a deadline for a presentation I will prepare ahead of time so that I am in control of the situation. I try to think of the positive contributions that I can make to my company and customers instead of feeling inadequate by making comparisons.

For me inspiration happens when I’m happy. I am a happy person by nature but if I’m feeling down I will refer to my favourite book of poems by Mary Oliver or I will follow advice from author and speaker Catherine Sanderson on how to increase happiness.

Describe the steps of your problem-solving process. Explain your journey from inspiration to implementation.

I am a practical thinker, if I am faced with a problem I’ll try to tackle it with a level head. It is important to me that if I have a problem then I deal with it immediately and most often by myself. I never pass my problems on to others. If I’m having issues solving a problem I find writing things down beneficial, that gets things out of my head and puts them into perspective.

When I’m inspired I generally act fast, I don’t like to spend a long time teasing an idea out or over thinking it. I will jump straight in, make an attempt and if that fails I’ll figure out a way of looking at it from a different angle.

[contrivedcoincidences6]

The Bodyguard Ch. 19

Need to catch up? Here is chapter 18!

Written by @alittlemissfit and I! 

P.S. good luck. 

Scully drives the rented convertible, a rare indulgence, grinning at the feel of the wind in her hair and the promise of a week in solitude. Skinner asked her to get out of the city for a while, giving her keys to one of the company owned beach houses. Initially, she’d been irritated, questioning his motives, but after talking to Mulder she realized getting away for awhile was just what she needed.

Even now her cheeks burn remembering him bringing up Daniel. She’s replayed their conversation a hundred times in her head and each time she feels more and more unsettled. She can admit his concerns were valid, but having her past thrown in her face in a public setting had been humiliating, and his tone and attitude towards her had stung. She felt angry, raw, and knew that any chance they had at a relationship, even as friends was gone. She hadn’t even realized she wanted that until seeing him again. He’d been waiting for her at that restaurant looking so casually handsome, but his words and behavior had been enough to drive her away.

At night, visions of him still come to her that are difficult to drive away. She finds herself, guiltily, picturing his hands in place of hers when trying to relieve tension at the end of the day. The images come to her unbidden, make her come in minutes. Afterwards, she always feels empty, knowing his hands won’t touch her like that again.

Shaking her head, hoping to rid herself of all thoughts of him, she sighs. Turns up the radio. Moping is not going to change anything, and the last thing she wants to spend her vacation doing is wallowing. She thinks about going to a bar and picking up some hot random somebody for a one night stand, but the thought makes her feel queasy. Even still. She’d woken up feeling off and the fresh air hadn’t been enough to settle her stomach.

Reaching over to the passenger seat she rifles through her purse with one hand, tears open her roll of emergency Tums. Once they kick in and she gets closer, the road starting to neighbor the ocean, each whiff of sea air settles her down and makes her smile.

The beach house is a larger blue cottage, situated just a few yards from the water. She pulls into the driveway and sees not much had changed since her last visit.

Her first time here had been a work retreat. Volleyball games on the beach and surf and turf for dinner, all to act as bonding time once her class of recruits had finished training. When Daniel whisked her here for a weekend away a few months later, she hadn’t objected and hoped she could make some new memories. Little did she know that now they left her feeling queasy again.

Letting herself in with the key she drops her bags off in the guest bedroom, refusing to set foot in the master suite ever again. Opening her suitcase up on the bed, she glances out the window at the almost identical yellow cottage right next door and the van parked in the driveway. Carter’s nurse’s vehicle, if she had to guess.

Skinner had told her that her protege was recuperating in the main house. He had constant in-home care, and his mother had even come down for a week’s stay not too long ago. She knew she should stop in and see him. She owed him that much, but right now she was just too tired.

Exploring the rest of the house she sees it has been well kept since her last visit, though a little dusty. Seeing the small specks scattered and dancing in the light beams, she opens the windows to let out the stale air before she starts to unpack.

Once settled in for the night with a glass of wine, a good book and a fire in the fireplace, Scully falls asleep to the sound of waves. Promising herself she’ll visit Carter tomorrow.

Come tomorrow, however, she finds herself bent over the toilet. At the crack of dawn, she’d woken up the same way she had for the past four days. Feeling panic set in, she quickly gets up off the floor. Grabs her day planner from the desk in the spare room.

“Oh no...no,” she breathes, running her finger over the small dots she uses to mark her cycle.

“Son of a....fuck!”

Throwing her planner across the room, she sits on the edge of the bed. Closing her eyes and willing herself to calm down. They used a condom, she reminds herself. That part of the night she remembers clearly. Then she starts remembering all the reasons condoms can fail and feels herself spiraling all over again.

“Stop it, Dana. Damn it,” she scolds herself, knowing her stomach can’t take much more stress.

“It could mean anything. You can be late because of stress. You could be nauseous from food poisoning. It...it could be anything,” she says, hoping if she says it aloud she’ll start believing it.

When her hands stop shaking she gets dressed, gathers her things and drives into town to the store.

An hour later she is perched on the bathroom counter, looking down at three positive tests in her hands. Tossing them in the nearby trash can with a yell, she proceeds to cry her eyes out.

Standing in the parking garage, waiting by his former boss’ car, Skinner checks his watch impatiently, then looks up and glares hearing footsteps.

“What the-”

“Waterston!” he booms. At Daniel’s flinch, he fights the urge to smile.

“Oh, Walter. I thought you were someone else.”

“Who the hell did you think I was?” he scoffs.

Seeing Daniel’s lack of poker face, he clenches his jaw, knowing his suspicions about the man are at least partially true.

“Have you paid a visit to Teena Mulder by any chance?” he asks.

Swallowing hard, Daniel adjusts his tie.

“Teena Mulder? As in Mulder from the detail, Mulder?”

“Let me ask the questions here, alright? Have you met with Mrs. Mulder or not?”

“No, Walter. I haven’t,” Daniel snaps. “What reason would I have to go all the way to an estate that far from the city?”

“I don’t know, but you must’ve had one at some point. I’ve got an agent stationed outside her home who saw you speaking with her last week.”

Knowing his fib pays off at the fearful look on Daniel’s face, Skinner shakes his head.

“For Christ’s sake, Daniel.”

“At least let me explain myself,” the older man asks, getting a nod to continue.

“I kept quiet about the visit because I knew I’d get questions and a look like that from you. But she needed to know the truth about Dana. A truth that I assume you now know, considering you’ve taken the trouble to meet me like this.”

“Just because I found out the truth doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve your version of it. We’ve worked at Artemis together for how long, Daniel?” Skinner spits, as Daniel shakes his head in a condescending way.

“Long enough for me to know you’re a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Excuse me?” he bristles.

“You’re putty in the hands of Dana Scully, Walter. It’s not your fault. I know exactly how persuasive she can be. Add to that her looks. She’s had you wrapped around her finger since the day we recruited her.”

“Well, at least I had no problem keeping it in my goddamn pants. And you know why? Because unlike you I respect Dana. I just wish she hadn’t found out about you so late in the game.”

“Found out what about me?”

“Besides the fact that you’re a piece of shit who forces himself on women, you haven’t given a damn about Artemis for years.”

“I was perfectly content to keep my position until that slut got me suspended,” Daniel mutters as Skinner steps in, grabs him by the collar.

“You talk about her like that again and I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Get me expelled?” Daniel snorts, backing out of his hold and fixing his tie. Skinner holds his ground though, continues towering over him and staring him down.

“I can do a hell of a lot worse and you know it,” he says, smirking when Daniel gulps, takes a step back.

“Who’s the man with the cigarettes I keep seeing everywhere?”

“What man, I don’t know-”

“He was in the car with Fox Mulder,” Skinner growls, shoving Daniel into a support beam.

“The day of the accident, he barely had a scratch on him while our detail was stuck in the E.R overnight.”

“And you’re blaming me for this?”

“I’m asking you what you know about it,” he says crossly. “Here’s what I know so far. This smoking man works with Bill Mulder. I got my hands on his phone number and checked his call log. You two seem to chat a lot.”

“Well, this man. Mr. Spender and I...we go way back. We’re acquaintances. Old friends.”

“What’s your old friend’s part in all this?”

“Nothing,” Daniel shrugs. “He’s Fox’s godfather but aside from that-”

“I know he was at the hospital that night despite having been medically cleared by the EMT’s. I know too that he was skulking around Carter’s room after the car bomb went off.”

“He could’ve been there chatting with Fox. I know that he was injured in the blast.”

“You seem to know a lot of things. How about you fill me in. Tell me why after seeing me, your friend Spender couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough.”

“He probably was trying to avoid being interrogated by you the way I am right now,” Daniel snaps, trying to step around Skinner but failing when he’s backed into the beam again.

“I’m afraid this interrogation isn't finished yet. Where’d you send Carter?”

“I didn’t-”

“Where’d you send him, Daniel?!” Skinner growls, grabbing Daniel by the collar. When he doesn’t respond he slams him back into the support beam.

“You think this is a game? You think I won’t air out all your dirty laundry and make your life a goddamn misery while I do?”

“He’s at the beach house!” Daniel chokes out, wide-eyed.

“What beach house?”

“The cottages! I sent him to the cottages! Where we had the retreat. He...he’s with a nurse. He’s alive,” he sputters as Skinner releases, then shoves him away in disgust.

“He’s alive, Walter. I swear it.”

“That’s not my only concern,” Skinner mutters, pacing now as he runs a hand over his bald spot, realizing Carter is in the same spot he sent Scully to. Turning on his heel he stares Daniel down.

“Does Spender know what you did? That you sent Carter to recuperate there?”

Nodding, Daniel slumps back in defeat against the garage wall.

“He’s the one who suggested it.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“Because your junior agent knows something. Spender wants him out of the way.”

“Alive and out of the way?” Skinner asks roughly, feeling his stomach knot when Daniel goes pale.

“Daniel!”

“It started out that way. Until he learned some other facts that…changed his thinking.”

“Facts like what?”

“Facts that pertained to the disappearance of Samantha Mulder. Fox’s sister.”

The knot growing bigger now, Skinner leans back against Daniel’s car. Trying to come to grips with what he’s just heard.

“You say you know Spender. What do you think he’s going to do?”

“If I had to guess...if he thinks Carter knows anything about any of this, he’ll kill him.”

“What about Dana? Would he hurt her? Try and kill-”

“Why would you ask that?” Daniel asks, frowning.

“Because she’s in the same damn spot as her protege. Because I sent her there,” Skinner admits, filled now with fear, dread, and guilt that only grows at the look in Daniel’s eyes.

Shaking his head in disgust, with the weak man he just left and with himself, he quickly walks to his car. Wonders who the hell he can trust to help everyone out of this mess.

“I don’t know, Mulder. Sounds like she was playing you,” Langly shrugs, taking a swig of beer.

Mulder looks down at his longneck, his fifth of the night, picturing Scully’s face before she walked away. The look she’d given him was one of pure hurt like she’d been utterly betrayed. Even bordering on wasted, he can’t believe that she is part of any of this.

“She’s a looker, Mulder. But I think she’s a slippery one,” Frohike says, slapping him on the back.

Lurching forward on the couch, Mulder rubs his hand down his face, fending off dizziness.

“No. Not Scully. She...she didn’t know anything.”

He feels their pitying eyes on him but presses on.

“Guys, I could tell. I knew. She was embarrassed ‘bout what my mother told me, but she...she looked so hurt when I asked if she spied. Was a spy.”

“Of course she looked hurt. They trained her to look hurt! Look at you, doubting the obvious because of a big pair of baby blues,” Frohike scoffs, swigging down his remaining beer before letting out a moderately loud belch.

“No. You’re wrong. I….I have a feeling about her guys. Scully….she...she’s not one of them.”

“Mulder,” Byers sighs, fidgeting uncomfortably in the wing chair across the way.

“Look, we understand what you’re saying but we came here to fill you in on something else. It’s urgent.”

Looking up curiously, Mulder frowns. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Your other guard, Carter. He’s been moved from the hospital but we can’t find where he went.”

“We asked some of the nurses and doctors. It’s like the guy disappeared without a trace. Nobody knows,” Langly says as Mulder scoffs, peels the label from his beer bottle.

“Carter. That’s Scully’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Langly and Frohike say in unison.

“Yeah,” he snorts, glancing up with bleary and narrowed eyes.

“At the hospital, I caught her talking to him in his room. The way she sat with him there. She held his hand-”

“And that means they’re dating?”

“They’re together, guys. Why else was she so upset about us sleeping together?”

“Because she’s a good actress. Been playing you from the getgo…,” Langly mutters under his breath.

Rolling his eyes, ignoring him, Mulder opens another beer and takes a swig.

“So hang on a second, why do you think Carter disappearing has anything to do with me?” he asks.

“Well, we checked some of the security cameras,” Byers says.

“Saw an old friend of yours there. One who’s fond of cigarettes,” Frohike interjects. Langly goes to chime in but is cut off by the phone ringing.

“Mulder,” he answers, watching closely as the guard waiting outside his door peeks inside.

“Mr. Mulder, this is Walter Skinner.”

“Ah, Skinman! What’s going on?” he asks.

“Have you spoken to Agent Scully within the last week?” Skinner asks gruffly, the edge to his voice putting Mulder on edge. Sitting up on the couch he frowns, sets his beer on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I... I saw her yesterday,” he says, slurring slightly despite his efforts. “What’s going on, is she-”

“You and I need to talk.”

[dipulb3]

Crowds ignore warning and flood Tuscaloosa strip after Alabama crushes Ohio State for national football title

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/crowds-ignore-warning-and-flood-tuscaloosa-strip-after-alabama-crushes-ohio-state-for-national-football-title/

Crowds ignore warning and flood Tuscaloosa strip after Alabama crushes Ohio State for national football title

For the sixth time under head coach Nick Saban, the top-ranked Alabama Crimson Tide are national champions, pulling away to defeat No. 3 Ohio State 52-24 on Monday night at Hard Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens, Florida, in front of a crowd of 14,926.

Saban now has seven national titles, more than any other coach in history, surpassing the late legendary Crimson Tide coach Paul “Bear” Bryant, who had six.

“I’m just happy that we won tonight,” Saban said. “I really haven’t thought about that because you’re always looking forward. I just love this team so much and what they’ve been able to do. I can’t even put it into words.”

In addition to his six championships with Alabama, Saban won the national title when he was at the helm at LSU, with the Tigers winning the BCS title game in 2003.

After the game, hundreds of revelers packed several blocks of University Boulevard in Tuscaloosa — the University of Alabama’s home — celebrating the win on a strip known for its bars and restaurants near the western edge of campus.

The university and the city’s mayor had asked fans before the game to avoid large gatherings, keep 6 feet of distance between others and wear masks. Many of the postgame revelers were not wearing face coverings, images on social media show.

The state also is under a “safer at home” order, which generally requires people to wear masks when they’re in public and within 6 feet of others. The celebrations came as Alabama — like the country as a whole — was hovering at or near all-time highs for average daily new Covid-19 cases and deaths, Johns Hopkins University data show.

On the field, Alabama has won six national titles with Saban in the last 12 seasons, and it’s the 11th time in the last 15 seasons that a team from the Southeastern Conference has lifted the national crown.

When speaking to reporters, Saban, 69, said he didn’t think anyone compares to Bryant.

“His legacy lasted over a long, long period of time,” Saban said. “We all have to adjust with the times. Obviously things are a little different now. The challenges are a little bit different with the spread offense, the things that make it more difficult I think to play good defense in this day and age.

“I think Coach Bryant is sort of in a class of his own in terms of what he was able to accomplish, what his record is, the longevity that he had and the tradition he established. If it wasn’t for Coach Bryant, we would never be able to do what we did. I mean, he’s the one that made Alabama and the tradition at Alabama a place where lots of players wanted to come. We’ve been able to build on that with great support.”

Alabama quarterback Mac Jones was asked if Saban is the greatest college football coach of all time.

“Come on, man. Of course he is,” Jones said. “How could he not be? He does it the right way. He recruits well, but more importantly develops great players and young men. I’m just so blessed that he gave me a chance to come here along with all my teammates. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’s the greatest to ever do it. He’ll be the greatest for a long time.”

Tide players rack up records

At 13-0, Alabama ended a dominant season as the nation’s only undefeated team. The Crimson Tide also avenged their loss to the Buckeyes in the inaugural College Football Playoff semifinals in the 2014 season.

Jones, despite being hobbled in the second half with what he said was a bone bruise, set or tied multiple CFP title game records: His 36 completions (out of 45 attempts) tied Clemson’s Deshaun Watson. Jones’ 464 passing yards surpassed LSU’s Joe Burrow by one yard, and his five touchdown passes tied Burrow for the record.

Before leaving after suffering a dislocated finger, DeVonta Smith, the winner of this season’s Heisman Trophy and named the offensive MVP on Monday night, set the CFP title game record with 12 receptions (for 215 yards — a record for most receiving yards in a half of the national championship game) and three touchdowns. Najee Harris rushed for 79 yards and two touchdowns and also caught seven passes for 79 yards and one touchdown.

Heading into the fall, the initial outlook for these two teams were quite different. As throughout the US, the pandemic wasn’t handled in the same manner across the college football landscape.

The SEC didn’t waver, opting to play a conference-only schedule for the 2020 season. Though at times impacted by Covid-19 — including Saban having to miss his team’s game against Auburn after a positive test — Alabama had just one game postponed, which would eventually be played later in the season, against LSU.

“To me, this team accomplished more almost than any team,” Saban said. “No disrespect to any other teams that we had or any championship teams. But this team won 11 SEC games. No other team has done that. They won the SEC, went undefeated in the SEC, then they beat two great teams in the playoffs with no break in between.

“This is our fifth game in a row, from LSU to Arkansas to Florida to Notre Dame to here. Played 13 games, went undefeated with all the disruption that we had in this season. I think there’s quite a bit to write about when it comes to the legacy of the team.”

111 college football games canceled in 2020 season

For Ohio State (7-1), vying to become the first team to win a national championship with just an 8-0 record since Minnesota did it in 1941, it wasn’t so straightforward. In fact, it initially looked like Buckeyes wouldn’t get to play at all.

On August 11, the Big Ten Conference announced it was suspending fall sports, including football, because of health and safety concerns related to the pandemic. Just over a month later, on September 16, the conference reversed course, saying football season would resume in late October, which would include a specification that a team would need to play at least six games to be eligible for the conference championship game.

But Covid-19 wreaked havoc on the schedule, and Ohio State had to cancel its game against Illinois, while two other schools (Maryland and Michigan) canceled against the Buckeyes because of their own Covid-19 concerns. That left the Buckeyes, at 5-0, on the outside looking in for the Big Ten title game.

On December 9, officials from the Big Ten voted to amend its policy, which thereby extended Ohio State’s season. The Buckeyes would come back against Northwestern in the Big Ten title game, and then went on to crush Clemson in the Sugar Bowl College Football Playoff semifinal.

According to statistics provided by the College Football Playoff, Ohio State was one of 15 schools that had three games canceled and/or postponed without being made up. In all, according to the CFP, 111 games were canceled throughout the season because of the pandemic.

The Buckeyes were without some of their key players on defense and special teams heading into Monday’s game. Quarterback Justin Fields, banged up from the semifinal Sugar Bowl win against Clemson, wasn’t 100%. Running back Trey Sermon left the game after one carry with an upper-body injury, with ESPN reporting he was hospitalized.

After the game, Ohio State head coach Ryan Day said this loss would motivate his players that are returning next season and praised his team.

“I thought that the culture of our program, the leadership of our program, the way that our kids fought for a season and then came back, dealt with all the adversity along the way of games being canceled, guys being out … for us to continually work through all of that and get to this moment right here was an unbelievable success,” Day said.

“We wanted to win the game. The goal was not to get to here. The goal was to win the game. But all that being said, I couldn’t be prouder of our culture, what our kids are made of and where the program is headed.”

[geordiesaffer-blog]

What day is it again? If you're like me, the days seem to be simply running into each other--one day seems just like the one before to the point where I really have to stop and think, "Is this Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... ???" This seems to be our "new normal" for a while--quite a while, I think. This COVID-19 pandemic has me unable to settle--I flit from one thing to the next and I can't maintain my focus on anything. I haven't left my house in two weeks since self-quarantining after our plane flight on March 21st. I've walked out onto my patio a few times on the rare occasions when the sun was shining, but that's it. We are not supposed to be out at all in our area except for "life-sustaining" purposes (getting groceries, visiting the doctor, etc.). How are you all coping? Thank goodness I have my stitching and other hobbies to enjoy at home and keep my mind off the increasingly dire reports on the spread of the virus. I try not to look at the news, but, it's hard not to be drawn into it at the same time. As my youngest son said, this is probably one of the few times in history that the entire world is on the same side, fighting the same battle.I thought you might like to see a couple "pretties" today to give you a break from dwelling on that "thing" that has consumed our lives... I actually finished this piece in early March, before things got so worrisome. "Be Happy, Humble, & Kind" is a design by With Thy Needle and Thread stitched on 40 ct. vintage country mocha using a variety of overdyed threads from my stash.  The colors were what first drew me to this piece along with the sentiment. "Be Happy, Humble, and Kind" finishI changed the color of the man's face, hands and legs to DMC 950.A beautiful, big white house, but I'd hate to wash all those windows! Being "happy" may be a bit more difficult these days, but better days will come again!Be Kind:  one thing we can all practice--no matter what is going on around us!The latest issue (Spring 2020) of Punch Needle and Primitive Stitching" Magazine has so many adorable charts. I was immediately drawn to this robin sitting on his beautiful blue eggs. It is designed by Subrosa Designs and is called "Bless Our Nest." The original design contained the words "Bless Our Nest" below the basket, but I left them off.  One of my favorite linens, 40 ct. Woodland Newcastle was used--love the way the white shows up on it! I changed all the suggested colors except for the brown on the robin's body, which is Weeks Dye Works "Cocoa." The blue eggs are stitched with Dinky Dyes silk in "Aquamarine"--aren't they lovely? I so enjoyed stitching this one and see more robin stitching in my future!I changed the color of the flowers to white and added yellow Rhodes-stitched centers using Dinky Dyes "Aussie Gold." I also wrapped the vine around the basket handle rather than stitching it all behind as was charted. And here is my final finish--cording made of the same blue silk, a gauzy bow held together with a strip of the aqua blue gingham fabric that I backed it with. I stuck in a few berries in yellow and white, too.I just haven't been motivated to get out any of my stitched bunnies this year--hope I can make myself do so this week. This is ordinarily one of my favorite months to decorate with the pretty pastels of Easter and Springtime. I think if the weather warms up and the sun starts coming out, that will help immensely! We had horrid thunder/rain storms pass through on Saturday! Torrents of water coming down into our yard (which is on a low spot in the neighborhood) with overflow from our pond created this "river" in our side yard for a while and ruined some newly planted landscaping. Sigh... not what we needed right now!A big storm turned our normally grass-covered side yard into a raging "river" last week!Unfortunately, some of the new landscaping we had just put in last fall was damaged, too.How are you managing your grocery shopping? We've been ordering online and picking up in the parking lot of the grocery store, but that is getting increasingly difficult. And you know the one thing we've had the worst time finding (no, not toilet paper!)--flour! Simple baking flour! I guess everyone is engaged in comfort baking these days--I know I am... Cookies, granola, and a new recipe for banana-carrot muffins have been baked here recently. We do have baking flour for bread so I plan on making some in my bread machine this afternoon.  I've included links to the banana-carrot muffin recipe and our favorite chocolate pudding recipe that also made an appearance last week (just click on the name of the recipe below each photo). If this keeps up, I'll come out on the other side of the pandemic having gained 20 pounds!Easy Banana Carrot MuffinsQuick Creamy Chocolate PuddingIt was such fun reading your answers to my "Getting To Know You" questions last week. It appears that the great majority of cross stitchers are introverts (which didn't really surprise me!).  And it was nice to read how many of us take refuge in our other "hobbies" of listening to music, exercise, working puzzles, reading, and gardening when trying to de-stress. So, what question do I have for you today? As always this is just a fun way to get to know each other better--no pressure to participate. Right now, the last thing we need is more pressure, right? 1) What is your favorite comfort food?  Without question, mine is homemade bread with butter--more than chocolate, more than soup, more than macaroni and cheese casserole. I think part of the reason is that the thought (and that wonderful smell!) of just-baked bread takes me right back to my childhood. My Dad used to bake the most wonderful rye bread (two kinds, actually) as a form of stress-relief after long hours spent in the operating room (he was a surgeon). Simply imagining that bread brings instant comfort to me. (He eventually had to stop making it, though, as he was gaining way too much weight!). The days seem to be dragging on and on for me lately. Does anyone else feel that way? I hope that by the next time I post, we will be finding better ways to combat and contain the pandemic. I'm so sorry I haven't responded to your many emails and comments--just haven't felt quite like myself lately, as I'm sure you're feeling, too. I keep seeing scenes on fictional television shows and in movies of people doing "normal" things like eating in restaurants, going to movies and plays, and gathering with their extended families and I find myself feeling quite envious of the way life used to be! I know those days will come again sooner or later...  Take care now, my friends,  and thank you for your condolences and sweet comments in my previous post--they meant so very much to me. Bye for now...  https://www.patternspatch.com/blog/the-end-of-a-month-like-no-other-2/ https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-end-of-month-like-no-other.html

[gcnenineteen-blog]

     The trouble started with his hands, as it always seemed to. How will he shoot with these? If I saw such as that on a butcher’s block, I’d throw it to the dogs! And he did shoot slow. He did have to stay at practice long hours after the others, for his hands simply would not move with as much grace. That he hit his target every time mattered little, because it was never really about his hands at all. 

     The trouble was the word ‘bondsman’, shot between clipped teeth like a bullet, smug, knowing that this was an insult that he could not take away. The trouble was that he dared to train among Gilead’s elite, not just Surgeon’s Boy but Jilly-get. The trouble was that he was dying, and if a dying whoreson of impure breeding could best you at anything, one was all but obligated to take insult. The trouble, what pushed matters to the brink they reached, was that he, bastard child, mutie, runt, had been taken into the tet of the boy who would one day be Dinh-Gilead, and they had not. Ka had deemed him better, and there are always people in the world who feel they must avenge a slight when they perceive it. 

     Dirk Langley was the worst of them, dinh of his own fledgling ka-tet, though to Jamie the word ‘cronies’ rang more true. Well-bred, through and through, he would do nothing while his future monarch was present, and neither would any of those who shared his khef - but any moment he was alone was one to be worried about, and that was how he intended to be shed of the boy: alone. Because he petulantly wanted to prove their accusations of favoritism wrong, or to make a point? He flattered himself by thinking the latter, but the reality might have been a mix of the two. 

     If a man thinks he has the upper hand of you, my jaybird, break it. His mother, who braided her hair into a brass clasp that could just as easily be grasped in the hand, could become a set of brass claws to lay her Mark of Cain on any who dared take more than she offered freely. His mother, who now served men food where she had once provided for a baser hunger, but still carried arms even when bare of everything else, a gunslinger in her own way. A man is never more vulnerable than when he has you underneath him. Sly, shining black eyes, and a flash of teeth that always shot straight. He thinks himself your master, but he doesn’t think that his cock is the least of what he opens to you. He is all the more your slave for the fact that he doesn’t know it.

     He would put an end to this alone, but he spoke to Roland first, because even at fourteen he knew who his dinh was, and he wouldn’t make such a decision without informing him and receiving his approval. Informing him that he would make an example, and of how it would be done. 

     “Not Langley. His pard, O’Leary.” He pointed briefly from across the yard, to a truly massive boy with wild curls of red hair, a full head above his peers and fiercest in a fight where he was dullest in a lecture hall. 

     “He’s much bigger than you.” There was no criticism in Roland’s voice - it was only a statement.

     “Yes.” Again, just a statement.

     “Further in his training, too.”

     “Yes.” The slow, subtle twist of Roland’s face could almost have been interpreted as a smile. 

     “Langley will think it a sure thing.”

     “Yes.” And that was the end of it. More words were said regarding the particulars, on what he would need from his own tet to set the playing field as he wanted it, but they were few, and it was four days before the opportunity to act came to meet him. 

     No one in Gilead ever believed the war with the Good Man would come to its walls - never in life. They didn’t believe it, but fortifications were still built around the outward settlements, and there were days when the ‘pprentices were made to take part, both to see how such fortifications were built, and to toughen them with hard labor - this day, they dug trenches. O’Leary wasn’t difficult to find, wasn’t difficult to slip in next to in the line of young, bare backs turned skyward as each shoveled sod and wet dirt over his or her shoulder. For an hour he dug in silence, waiting for fatigue, for the heat of the day, for the irritation of such menial work to lay the embers of a temper in his mark, and when the sun had peaked above them he planted his shovel in the ground and stood up straight, as if to catch his breath. 

     He caught Roland’s eye over the backs of those between them. They looked past the lip of the trench, where Cort’s minders had each reached the farthest ends of the trench - the greatest possible time to stir up trouble before being interrupted. Their eyes met again, and Roland nodded. He elbowed Cuthbert working beside him, who had doubtless been informed of his own part - perhaps would not even have needed to be informed, given that all he needed to do in the coming moments was be himself. 

     Moments later, a hunk of wet sod smacked into O’Leary’s hip. When he shot up and looked around, Jamie was hard at work beside him - that could have been a smirk on his little mutie face, it could have been, but the larger boy couldn’t be sure, and with a grunt he returned to his own digging.

     A moment after that, his entire back was splattered with a soupy deluge of mud.

     “You dig like a dog!” He barked, rounding on the boy beside him, brandishing his shovel. Jamie paused in his digging, straightened, turned. He planted his shovel in the mud again, and his face when he spoke was implacable.

     “Did you just call me a dog?” Anyone who knew him well would have known that Jamie’s tone was far too loud, far too confrontational to be natural, but to an outsider he would have sounded almost mild. 

     “I said you dig like one!” O’Leary brandished his shovel again.

     “Now you’re saying that I’m deaf.” His voice rose even higher now - he wanted this to be heard. 

     “Mayhap you are!” His man was shouting now, and that was good, red in the face and clenching his fists with a temper that was never far from being let go. “What else did your whore mother give you? Mutie hands that can’t even turn a shovel!”

     “At least I know my mother’s face.” His tone was a flat slap to the face, the cool statement of a brutal fact. “My mother wasn’t driven to a convent by my father’s limp prick and stiff beating arm.”

     The final word had scarcely left him when O’Leary’s fist connected with his jaw. O’Leary was large, but slow, and if he had truly wanted to, that punch would have missed entirely, but he let it catch him, and pain exploded outward from the point of impact. He was dropped into the mud with a slimy thump, and for a moment he didn’t even have to pretend to let himself lie, truly disoriented by the blow. Laughter broke out - a brief, uncertain peal. O’Leary spat on him, grabbed his shovel, and turned to resume his work - only for Jamie’s foot to hook neatly around his ankle and pull. 

     On level ground, their size difference would have made this a fruitless effort, but in the slime and the muck O’Leary’s feet slid out from under him easily, and he dropped flat on his face into the refuse, his fall heralded by a splatting thud. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then;

     “So fell Lord Perth, and the earth did shake with that thunder!” Cuthbert, precisely on cue, and this time the general laughter was much louder. O’Leary surged to his feet, teeth bared through a layer of caked muck, but Cort’s minders had arrived, sliding down into the trench and separating them, liberally administering blows where they thought them necessary to cool tempers and motivate obedience. 

     Jamie was the one dragged along the trench to dig in a different spot, and as he passed Cuthbert, whose attempts to restrain a grin made him look very much as if he’d just eaten something sour, he dropped him a wink. Langley would hear of this, and would see an opportunity to lay him low without violating any rules: spars between apprentices to settle petty disputes were far from uncommon, and in a dispute of honor between O’Leary and someone so much smaller, accidents might well happen. He doubted Langley would tell O’Leary to kill him, but an injury that was severe enough could take a ‘pprentice out of training for some time, hobble their progress, and the worst O’Leary might receive  for it was a lash or two on the whipping post. 

     That was precisely the idea, but he doubted Langley knew exactly how. And that, as Roland had seen from the first, was exactly the point. This wasn’t about hurting Langley in retaliation: this was about laying low his pride, making him doubt his perceptions, and more than that, making his tet wary of his judgement. If all went as he suspected it would, he would never have to lay a finger on the boy at all to make his point.

     The challenge came with shocking swiftness. He had expected a lull of a few days, bug mayhap Frederick O’Leary’s temper was too hot to be contained, and Langley was indulging him. Fine. The very next time Cort gathered them together after morning drills and prepared to pair them off, O’Leary declared himself, declared his dispute, and pointed Jamie out in the crowd. Jamie rose from beside his pards, and while Cort had been known to shut these squabbles down without dignifying them with a bout if he thought the catalyst too petty - the single sticking point in this entire plan - all the Beast of the Barracks did was look him hard in the eye for a long moment, then provide his assent, barking them all into a rough ring. 

     “Jamie, no.” Thomas Whitman’s hand on his arm as the ‘pprentices rearranged themselves. Thomas, tet-fa, who cared for him, but who had only appearances to judge by, not khef, and could not know as the others knew how the day would actually turn out. “For Gan’s sake, look at him. I think he really means to hurt you.”

     “That’s possible.” And it was. He thought he could take him, when it came right down to it, but if he was wrong O’Leary truly would lay him low. It was the trust of his ka-mates as much as the cold, pragmatic resolve for which he would come to be known that convinced him it was worth the risk. Thomas shook his head, disbelieving - thinking, perhaps, that this wasn’t like him, but not yet realizing what that signified - but the circle of ‘pprentices was assembled in the hard-packed dirt, and O’Leary had already stripped himself to the waist across from him. He lay a scarlet hand over Thomas’s and squeezed, just once, then brushed past him, shucking off his own shirt. 

     The contrast between them truly was comical. His head came up to O’Leary’s clavicle, and while his body was already developing a hard, wiry strength, it couldn’t match the dense, brutish meat of his opponent, who nearly bore a man’s body beneath the lingering layer of puppy fat. Cuthbert really hadn’t been so far off in his comparison, but if O’Leary was Lord Perth, then he would simply have to be David. Not a thing to it.

     O’Leary came at him like a freight train, grappling, and the first few of his grabs Jamie did dodge, because he could see Langley watching from the crowd, dark eyes bright, and to throw the fight from the start would arouse his suspicion too soon, much cannier than his pard. Not that it would matter now: the bout could not be called until one yielded, and Jamie doubted very much that O’Leary would, even if his dinh could bear to order him to. Let him see how he had commanded his own man to ruin. Let him see that his actions had consequences, and let him carry their weight. O’Leary was slow, but he wasn’t truly a bad person - he hated what he planned to do to him for that reason, but nothing else would have conveyed his message so clearly. 

     O’Leary grappled for him again, and Jamie ducked and backed away from him, but let his heel catch, let himself stumble in an attempt to right himself. In that brief hesitation, his opponent surged into the opening, spinning him into the hard dirt with a blistering, jaw-cracking punch - the second in as many days. He had already swollen up from the first, and he felt this one actually break something inside of his mouth. His father would remove the cracked tooth days from now with a hard set to his face, but at this moment, Jamie fell, and O’Leary did not descend on him, gave him one opportunity to stay down - not a bad person by any means, no. 

     He rose, spat a wad of blood into the hardpack, and sallied in again. This time, there were blows of his own, for he was the swifter by far - hard blows, over the kidney, to the solar plexus, the only places a boy so much smaller could make any impact, and he didn’t bother to hold himself back, knew that even the full extent of the strength in his small body would only be enough to hurt O’Leary enough to enrage him. Trying to win in a contest of brute strength was fruitless - he knew it, and so did everyone around him. The trick was in when he chose to change his tactics. O’Leary hit him again, a monstrous haymaker that sent him staggering, then sprawling, and he scrambled first away, out of reach, and then turned back.

     “He’s like a bomber-ang!” One of Langley’s pards from the crowd, jeering. And then the last of the four;

     “Nay, such as that comes back where it’s wanted.” Laughter, but it had become uneasy again. Like Thomas, there were many in the crowd who saw only one way this could end, and suspected that O’Leary would go too far before he was stopped. Cort watched like a surly old mastiff, and Jamie honestly did not know if the man valued his place here enough to step in before O’Leary did him lasting harm. He had a sense, though, that of all the crowd, the old man had foxed him out from the start - he only hoped he hadn’t surmised yet just how far Jamie intended to go.

     O’Leary caught him hard in the stomach, and he doubled over. He socked a blow between his eyes, and he dropped onto his back - and in the haze of pain, as O’Leary slung a leg over him and dropped to kneel on top of him, Jamie De Curry remembered the face of his mother. He remembered it very well. 

     “Yield, bondsman.” O’Leary, leaning over him so close that Jamie could taste his breath, so the words could only be heard by they two - still spitting his cruelties, but he could simply have done as his dinh told him without offering him the chance, and for that, Jamie was sorry for him. Under other circumstances, he thought he might even had been able to like him - dull, perhaps, but obviously honorable. 

     “You can tell your dinh,” It hurt to speak through his fractured jaw, through the mouthful of blood it had earned him, but he did it anyway, gave Frederick O’Leary his words where so few were privileged with them. “-that his folly undid a fine man.”

     And then he whipped his head upward, mashing his forehead into O’Leary’s nose, feeling the septum snap with a cartilaginous crunch. O’Leary howled, and Jamie bucked their hips together as if in coitus, the buckle of his belt digging deep into his opponent’s unprotected crotch. The howl became a shriek, and O’Leary staggered off of him, clutching between his legs - only to fall again when Jamie regained his leverage, and, surgeon’s boy, brought the hard heel of his boot around in a sweeping kick high on the side of the elder boy’s thigh. His hamstring cramped immediately, and he went down on his stomach in the dust.

     This time it was Jamie who mounted O’Leary, and he did not demand surrender. This was the moment to do so, and the very second he failed to he knew Cort would know his intention; he had seconds to complete his task, and he wasted none of them. His father’s anatomical diagrams swam to the forefront of his mind, and he pulled O’Leary arm up into a chicken wing behind his back, twisted his hand back on the wrist, felt him groan - let them think he meant to place him in an armlock, to prevent himself from being dislodged as O’Leary himself had just been. He only needed them to believe it for a second.

     He laced his fingers together with O’Leary’s, like lovers, then bent them back on their stems, and simply dropped the whole weight of his body on top of them. He heard them snap, every one - the sound a boot makes when stepping on a pile of deadfall, a succession of dry, wooden cracks and pops, and this time O’Leary’s scream was primal, pierced the lizard brain, the sound of an animal in true pain. 

     The ring of ‘pprentices erupted into shouting - he had just broken the rules of the engagement, both refused to offer quarter and dealt a maiming injury, and when Cort’s enormous hand closed in his hair and yanked him away, his body was relaxed, both expectant and ready. He would take his punishment. That was to be part of it. 

     “Foul play! Foul play!” He didn’t know who was saying it, and didn’t care. He knew what he had done: to injure the hands was by far the worst thing one apprentice could do to another, second only to injuring the eyes, and Frederick O’Leary would not fire a gun with his right hand for many months, perhaps even years. He could still see Langley in the crowd, and his silverpence eyes had never looked wider.

     “You’ll walk yourself to the whipping post, maggot.” Cort, his breath rancid in his ear. “And you’ll count every stroke, if you want them so badly.” And he would. He walked, and much of the crowd followed, Cort’s minders cutting in on either side of O’Leary to pull him to his feet and off toward the infirmary. 

     The whipping post was a simple thing, just a rod of wood, with no place for a prisoner to be secured to it. The boys who earned punishment here were expected to take it, would not be offered the luxury of being bound to their fate, and Jamie leaned both hands against it, bowed his head so that the lash would not lick the back of his head, bared his slim back to Cort’s scourging.

     “Ten lashes! Count them, boy!” The first came with brutal rapidity, before he could anticipate it, and he sucked in a breath between his teeth as a red wheel of agony opened across his lower back, shouted ‘one!’ and thanked ka that he had been given a means to vocalize his pain without screaming. One lash wasn’t bad, even five was tolerable, but ten would be an agony that would seem almost endless, and though he had bought this punishment willingly, that would not make it easier to endure. 

     Cort established no rhythm, kept his strokes irregular - he was an old hand at this, knew that the anticipation could be just as agonizing as the pain if done right, and a dull, black hate pounded in Jamie’s temples as he counted. Two. Three. Four. He looked up, and Langley was there in the crowd, and as soon as he found those pale eyes he locked with them, refused to let them go, even as he was struck again, and again. Five. Six. Seven. He stared, and where his mouth said nothing, his eyes spoke for all: I could have chosen you. It could have been you, but I took your pard instead, the strongest among them, and until the moment I did it, you didn’t even know that I could. He’ll suffer because of you, and you’ll know that I castled you. You’ll know that a dying whoreson foxed you out, and suffered the Beast o’ the Barracks for it without uttering a cry. That’s what you’ll know, and now, now and forever, you’ll fear what you don’t. 

     Eight. Nine. Ten. 

     The final lash nearly buckled his quavering knees, and blood ran down his back to soak the hem of his trousers. Langley had vanished from the crowd, but when all the rest had gone, his tet would be there, and they would see Jamie De Curry smiling - the bitter, vicious flash of teeth that only came when he knew he had taken the world up at the game it had rigged against him.

     Taken it up, and won. 

[my-dark-words]

My Mistake...

The roads were dangerous. Storm water coated the asphalt, deep puddles that obscured the lane markings and rose in a spray under my car tyres. Heavy raindrops on the windscreen conspired with fog from my own breath to obscure my vision. The time was so late that it was practically early, so there were blessed few other cars on the road. This was a bad night to be driving. This was the sort of night where mistakes would be made and people would die. I arrived home in one piece, so to speak. Work had been both physically and mentally exhausting, and the drive home had used up the last of my concentration. I waited in the car for a moment, hoping in vain that the storm would let up briefly enough for my sprint to my front door, thoughts of the day crowding my exhausted brain. Faces of patients and their frightened or grieving families drifted though my mind. Crying, screaming or sometimes completely blank. The worst ones were the faces full of desperate hope, hope that my team and I might find a solution that I knew just didn’t exist. The storm refused to relent, and I resigned myself to getting wet. Gathering my belongings I dashed out of the car, but only ran a few steps before running out of energy and walking the rest of the path. I was already soaked, the extra few seconds would make little difference. The yard was a mess. I hadn’t weeded in months and badly needed to get someone to mow the tiny lawn, but it was not my priority at the time. The dead heads of the roses shed brown petals under the raindrops, and thorny branches scraped the windows. My home was cold. I hadn’t bothered to leave the heater on that morning, it seemed a waste to heat the whole place when nobody was in it. I didn’t bother to turn it on now either, knowing I’d be in bed soon. There was precious little time for me to sleep before tomorrow’s shift at the hospital. I found my way carefully to the kitchen, switching on the solitary light I needed to find my way around. Dinner was destined to be a frozen microwave meal for one. It wasn’t fancy, truthfully they didn’t taste very good, but they claimed to be healthy and it was one less thing my busy mind needed to think about. They tasted a little better if heated in the oven, but I had neither the patience nor the motivation for that. The hum of the microwave did little to warm my thoughts. There was always so much I needed to do, and so much I never quite managed to get done. All those tasks would have to wait though, I just needed to eat, sleep, and go back to work tomorrow. Life was always that way. The electronic ding jolted me from my thoughts. The plastic tray of the so-called honey soy chicken was hot to touch. Steam drifted upwards from the open packet. I opened a kitchen drawer to gather cutlery, a single knife and fork. All my others were waiting patiently in the sink to be cleaned. Sudden movement from the couch demanded my attention. Nothing should be moving in my house except me. “Good evening,” said a man in a suit, sitting far too casually on my couch. My shoulders tensed, and my fists clenched. “I highly doubt that,” I grumbled. A dozen questions raced through my mind, but it didn’t occur to me to be frightened.

I was only angry, insulted even, that someone had the nerve to bother me here, especially after the day I’d had. “How did you get in here?” I demanded. He stood up, rolling his shoulders and fixing his tie before walking towards me in the kitchen. I didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, only that his suit was completely dry, while I was still soaked from my sprint through the storm. “Is that really your most important question?” he mused, head tilting to one side as he advanced. I racked my brain, trying to recall if he was someone I recognised. It was no use, I’d seen so many people today, so many people every day, that I could barely keep track of who was who. I didn’t know what I must have done to anger someone so much that they break into my home. He must have come in the back door. I hadn’t seen any signs of an intruder at the front. “No, I suppose not,” I conceded, eyes fixed upon him, “The more important question is: How do I make you leave?” He paused and smiled. This was not reassuring in any way. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, but in my home, at this time of night, I couldn’t shake a profound sense of wrongness. But I was still not afraid. “Now, where’s the fun in answering that?” He practically purred. The voice was deep, and oddly familiar, even though I couldn’t quite place it. “Do you always answer every question with a question?” I snapped. I had no patience, or time, for a game of cat and mouse in my own house tonight. His reply was brief. “No.” He smiled menacingly, gesturing to the space between us as he advanced. “Since we’re here, I thought we’d take the opportunity to understand each other. Get to know each other.” I tensed, flush with rage, but didn’t move from beside the kitchen bench. “What do you want, exactly?” I demanded curtly. He feigned innocence. “Just to talk.” “There’s a telephone,” I said. I reached slowly into the kitchen drawer, taking care to keep my eyes fixed on his. He never blinked. He laughed, a deep, insincere chuckle that echoed through my house, and head. “That would be… Inadequate. We need to do more than talk. We need to… Understand each other. I want to help you, all you need to do is invite me in.” He stroked his tie absent mindedly. “Why would I do that? You found your way in here without an invitation.” Lightning flashed in the window, revealing the rest of the room for the briefest moment. In that flash, his smile flickered to a scowl. A creeping, nagging pain settled around my head like a band. I badly needed to rest. The last thing I needed was… whatever this was. He paused in his advance. Pale hands gestured around my home, cold and empty as it was. I was suddenly embarrassed by my own disorganisation. There were dishes in the sink, mostly cutlery to be fair, that had been waiting for days. A pile on unopened and unattended mail lay on my little dining table. Drying racks half full of laundry filled the open space of the lounge, lately I hadn’t been bothering to put my clothes away, I just washed what I needed and wore it straight off the rack. “You’ve been drowning in life, my dear,” he said, gesturing to one housekeeping failure after another. “You were better than this. You are better than this. I understand life can get difficult, but I can made everything easy again.” I silently scolded myself for letting my home get into such a state. He was at least partially right, I had let this state continue far too long. My home was in no condition to host a guest. Not a guest, I reminded myself, an intruder. “Work gets us all down at times,” he continued, “but you bear those burdens more than most. They don’t leave you, do they? You give so much of yourself that you don’t have anything left to be yourself. Always on the edge, always thinking. Decisions, decisions with the stakes so high. And so much simply unnecessary uncertainty.” He stopped scrutinising the room and slowly stepped towards me again, his back straight and arms open. “I can make everything so very easy. No fear. No worries. No doubts. No… difficult decisions.” He smiled in such a way that he probably thought was warmly, but to me with my aching head only served to make me feel uneasy. “Just certainty,” he offered. I sneered despite myself. “There’s exactly one certainty in life,” I said. He scowled, dropping the act for a moment. “And that is?” he said with a jerk of his head to one side. “Not you.” The smile returned. Collected. Calm. Predatory. He was only one step away now. I tensed, but did not move. “How curious,” he mused, his dark eyes searching my face, for what though I’m not sure. “You do seem to lack a certain…” He hesitated, hands drifting through the small space between us as though literally clutching at words, “A certain self preservation instinct.” “And why is that so curious?” His smile widened, baring more teeth than he probably intended to. “Because everyone else is wise enough to be afraid by now.” I smiled this time. Not the warm, understanding smile I wore most of the day at work, but the cold, angry smile I grew when I’d run out of patience. “Oh I’m so sorry,” I mocked, “but it’s rather difficult to be afraid of you, when you’re standing here is such a well fitting suit, and I’m standing here with a very sturdy kitchen knife and the knowledge about where every single vein runs in your body.” He raised one eyebrow in response. “Now, I believe you were leaving?” I continued. His expression went blank and he straightened his shoulders. “No,” he said softly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in the faintest hint of a grin, “I’m not leaving, and I doubt very much that you could shed a single drop of my blood, even if you had the will to do so, good doctor.” He chuckled to himself, bringing one hand to his lips to conceal a smirk. “Besides, your trusty blade appears to be inaccessible at present.” I frowned and stole a glance down at my hand. The knife under my palm was visible, but looked like three different versions of itself, all overlaid one on top of the other. They were all the same knife, but all wrong somehow. Too blue, too red, or devoid of colour at all. And my hand passed through all of them. Now I was worried. “Give it back,” I said. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he practically purred. The man turned away from me and stepped towards my little dining table. It was really only big enough for two, but cluttered with assorted mail and documents that I just hadn’t gotten around to dealing with. With one casual gesture the clutter glided off the table and thumped to the floor, and a chair slid out for me. “Come. You mustn’t let your dinner get cold on my behalf,” he said, standing behind the other chair. I stepped out of the kitchen, but hesitated before approaching the table. “I’m not really hungry,” I said softly. That was true, my headache was getting much worse and I swore I could hear a high pitched ringing. He chuckled again, the sound cutting through the ringing in my ears. “Of course not, your current dinner is quite pathetic. You deserve something much better than that.” He stroked his chin in contemplation. “Perhaps you would allow me to tempt you with something more worthy?” He gestured across the empty dining table like a magician. As I blinked a meal appeared, welcoming and extravagant. A pair of steaming hot steaks surrounded by vegetables, two glasses and a bottle of red wine. No, not quite red wine. The colour was off. It was grey, I realised, I’d only mistaken it for red. All the food was greyer than it should have been, as was the man himself now I bothered to notice. It was like looking through a migraine aura where all the colours of the world were different in one eye, and I couldn’t match them up. “Sit,” he said, opening the bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. I’d often wondered if demons were real, in an abstract or metaphorical sense. Medicine tended to expose you to the murky depths of human nature, and I had encountered more than my fair share of people I would have described as having broken souls. Many patients had their own demons, some knew them better than others. I’d often wondered idly about what it was that would tempt someone to fall, to lose their resolve. I used to wonder what would tempt me. It certainly wasn’t going to be dinner. “I’m vegetarian,” I quipped. Both wine glasses now full, he replaced the bottle on the table. “Sure you are, my dear, that’s why it’s chicken in that pathetic microwave meal beside you,” he sneered. He stared up at me, intense eyes shadowed by a lock of black hair. “Your attempt is adorable, but ill advised. Don’t lie to me, and I wont lie to you,” he warned. He stood up straight again, rolling his shoulders. For such a well fitting suit, it didn’t seem to be very comfortable. “I promise,” he added. “I don’t believe you,” I replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Your belief is irrelevant.” He gestured again to the waiting chair. He was easy on the eyes now, in a quite literal sense. His features were smoother, almost stylised, but still greyer than they should have been, even with the dim light from the kitchen. “What are you?” I wondered. “What do you hope I am?” he crooned through a charming smile. “Are you going to answer every question with a question again?” I quipped. My headache was getting difficult to bear. Could I risk turning my back to take some pain killers? Was there anything I could do to worsen the danger I was probably in? “No,” he said simply. I stayed silent. I didn’t know what game was going on, but doing what this guest, intruder, wanted me to do was unlikely to be for my advantage. After a few moments he rapped his fingers against the back of his chair and gestured again to mine. I still declined to sit. The room, previously so chilly, felt warmer now, the air heavy with humidity. The storm still raged outside, and my head pounded distractedly, but I refused to move. I didn’t know how to play his game, but I suspected if I played at all, then I would lose. Besides, I was really in no mood to even entertain the concept. I had work tomorrow. I needed to sleep. A growl escaped from the man in the suit. For a moment I thought I was seeing double, two echoes of the man stood in the same place, one calm and collected, the other roaring with rage. It lasted only a few seconds, enough to make me question my own sanity again. “Is this really what you want?” he snarled, turning to gesture around the room. “Is this the life you really want to have? Alone, overworked and under appreciated?” He stepped towards me, glowering at everything. He seemed bigger, and once again I thought I could see two, or maybe three, versions of the same man in the same place, but not quite identical. It was hard to focus on, like my kitchen knife had been. “You could be so much more!” he roared, pointing at me with one accusatory finger. “You’re wasting, withering away here in the shadows. You, the good doctor, are capable of much greater things. You deserve greater things.” He calmed a little, the three visions of him coalescing back into one, still tremoring with rage. “You could achieve so much more, be so much more, if you’d only dare to ask,” he continued, stepping towards me again. “I can help you get it, to have anything you desire.” Lightning flashed through the window, exaggerating his features for the briefest of moments. I suddenly felt like having a table between us was a wise idea. I stepped towards the waiting chair, and immediately his posture changed. He no longer loomed in the room, instead of gesturing around he calmly clasped his hands behind his back. He waited with new patience as I sat warily in the chair. I hesitated, but he didn’t move. He only stared, the calm facade betraying nothing. I pulled in my chair, and placed my hands on the table. “That’s a pretty strange offer from a home invader,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I looked. Why was it so hard to concentrate? He sat down gracefully in the other chair, smiling smugly. “I would prefer the term ‘surprise guest’ if you don’t mind,” he practically purred. He folded his hands in front of himself, resting his elbows on the table. The room felt abruptly cold again, I was unsure how it had ever felt warm. “What do you want?” I asked. Whatever game he was playing, I was so sick and tired of it. I was so unbelievably tired, yet underneath it all still angry that this person had dared come into my house. “You already asked me that,” he replied, one eyebrow lifting. His smug smile was getting irritating. “And you lied,” I said. “I did not,” he insisted, leaning back in his chair and drawing a cross over his heart with one finger. “I promise.” Unsure what to say, I managed only an angry glare. The wind howled outside and the rain never ceased, a real killer storm. The offered meal of steak had vanished from the table. He sighed, reaching across the table for my hand. “I want to help you, to know you.” I drew back quickly. I didn’t know what would happen if he touched me, I wasn’t even sure whether he could, like I had been unable to touch my kitchen knife. “I want you to leave so I can sleep,” I said, keeping my hands out of reach. His face flickered, scowling as my hands had been pulled away. The scowl was suddenly replaced by another smile, a new smile. This one was different, softer. For a moment I almost mistook it for kindness, before recognising it. It was a smile of pity. “It’s unlikely you’re going to get any sleep tonight, my dear,” he said. “Look around. Be a realist.” he placed one hand flat against the table in front of him again, and gestured around my home with the other. “Life is overrunning you, and you simply haven’t been able to keep up. There’s just so much to do, too much to think about. Trust me, I understand.” He made an attempt at a warm smile and offered a hand, palm up. I stared at it. There was not a single thing about this situation that I could trust. “I can fix this,” he continued, “I can help you get back on your feet, if that’s what you want.” “What’s the catch?” I asked coldly, making no move for the outstretched hand and refusing to break eye contact. “The catch?” he asked innocently, tilting his head to one side. “If I’m being offered a deal by the devil,” I explained tiredly, though I didn’t think I should have needed to, “I need to know what’s the catch.” The offered hand closed into a fist and withdrew. “Is that what you think I am?” he asked smoothly, straightening his suit jacket once again. “Am I right?” I asked. “Would it excite you if you are?” he said softly, leaning back with a smirk to comb his fingers through his black hair. “Are we seriously back on the endless cycle of questions again?” I snapped. He paused, sitting up straight once more. “No.” I waited. I really had nothing more to say in this situation and simply feeling too drained to come up with anything clever. If he was setting some kind of trap, then I figured the least he could do was throw me some bait. “Very well,” he said at last. “No catch. Just stay, talk. Simply get to know each other, come to understand each other.” The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I began to really wish I’d turned on more lights when I’d come home. “Why would you want to get to know me?” The smile shifted from pity to interest. His focus was intense and disconcerting. “That’s not the most important question,” he smirked, “The better question is what can you learn from me? If I am what you think I am.” They say curiosity is a more powerful motivator than fear. They’re not wrong. “Honestly?” I wondered. “Always,” he said, nodding slowly. Part of me had to admit, the smile was charming. Another part of me knew from experience that everyone could be charming when they wanted something. “You’ll answer every question with the truth?” I asked again. “Yes,” he replied, excitement rising in his voice, “Everything you’ve ever wondered, and my dear I know you’ve wondered.” He began to list things on his fingers. “Life. Death. Souls. Anything you’ve ever wondered about, I will answer with the truth.” This, at last, was tempting. I had wondered too often about factors beyond my control. Were souls real? What happened after death? Could we find peace after it? Is there justice in the afterlife? So much I wanted to know, for the sake of my patients past and present. Yet I hesitated still. I knew from experience that knowledge brought power, and while I wouldn’t give away all the knowledge I’d spent years studying to acquire, but it also changed your view of the world. It tainted you. Knowledge was truly a double edged sword. And this offer, this was knowledge that no human was supposed to have. Not this side of death, in any case. But it was so tempting. “I…” I stammered, “I’m afraid I must decline.” I knew, in my heart, that I couldn’t allow forbidden knowledge to change the way I practised medicine. I might get to know what happens after we die, but none of my patients were keen to find out for themselves if I could help it. He froze in place, almost. His visage flickered, but I could only catch a glimpse of the other emotions he struggled to keep under control. They weren’t good. “What?” he snarled. “I have to decline,” I said again, quickly this time. “I mustn’t learn these things.” I waited for a reaction, a knot forming in my stomach and expecting the worst. He said only one word. “Why?” I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. “I can’t ethically allow your answers to change my actions. It’s still my job to save lives, no matter what may or may not be waiting for those souls if I fail. I have to go to work tomorrow and try just as hard as I did today. Now I need to sleep. Perhaps we can talk some other time.” He slammed his hands down onto the table. I jumped to my feet. My chair tumbled behind me. “There is no other time,” he hissed at the table, “This is a one time offer.” He glared up at me, not moving. “Ask anything,” he urged. “Ask everything.” “But everything is so big,” I whispered, my mouth dry. “I’m not supposed to know those answers. I’m going to work tomorrow and I’m going to try to save lives, and there’s nothing you can tell me that can, or should, change that.” “Always with the work in the morning,” he grumbled, staring down at the table.”But what if you don’t have a morning to wake up to?” I thought of the storm, rain still pelting down outside. I knew it was a dangerous night to be driving. I knew there’d be terrible accidents on the road tonight. Was I already dead? I took a deep, slow breath. I could feel my panicked heart beating in my chest. I didn’t think I was deceased, but it struck me as unwise to ask. “I can give you everything you need,” he said, looking up at me, eyes as dark at the storm outside. “I can make all your struggles easy. Care and comfort. Removing all life’s tiresome details and difficult decisions.” He stood up, stepping rapidly around the little table. “Even knowledge beyond mortal comprehension isn’t enough to tempt the good doctor, it seems.” Slow, deliberate steps brought him closer to me, but there was nothing deliberate about his shape. Shimmering, twitching, slightly different versions all occupying the same space as he advanced, all but one screaming with rage, reaching for me. “I was going to make your life easy,” he said, the deep voice emanating from the version of himself not currently screaming, the one that seemed to be barely in control, “but I assure you my dear I can also make it very… difficult.” I stepped backwards, unwilling to tear my gaze away. My mind raced for any idea of escape, of defense, but it was too slow even in panic. I jumped as I backed into the wall behind me. He was so close, and I had nowhere to run. He reached towards me, one hand either side of my head, fingers extending like claws. His face was close enough to feel his breath, as hot as I’d imagined hell would be. His expression flickered, jolting between different versions of himself a mere breath away from me. I dared not move. I couldn’t actually move, only stared in wide eyed fear. His eyes were dark like the space between stars. They didn’t look like eyes at all, more like pits of nothingness as they drew me in.

He blinked.

He withdrew.

I dared to breathe again. “My mistake,” he murmured, taking a step back, fixing his suit. “Mistake?” I wondered out loud before thinking. The storm still roared outside, but I noticed my headache was suddenly gone. “Yes, I must apologise,” he said stiffly, as though the words were foreign to him. “It appears your soul is not here.” He combed his fingers through his ruffled hair, his visage converging into a single version of himself, once more looking human. “I will take my leave.” He gave a small nod and turned away, walking towards my front door. I slumped back against the wall as he left I was relieved, but unsure what had happened. Or rather, what had nearly happened. A sudden, burning concern gripped me as I heard the front door open. I raced to the entrance. “Wait!” I called out to the man in the dark. He hesitated by the garden gate. “You said my soul isn’t here. Where is it?” He straightened, a darker silhouette in the gloomy night and pelting rain. He said something, but the sound was drowned in the roar of the storm. “Come back inside!” I shouted, switching on the light. The man, or whatever he was, turned and walked back down the garden path towards me. He raised one had to his ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” “Then come back inside,” I shouted again as the wind picked up pace. “Tell me where my soul is.” He smiled on the threshold of my home. It was not a kind smile. I noticed, far too late, that he was still completely dry. A broad grin crept across his lips, and my stomach twisted with dread as he stepped back into my home. “I accept your… invitation.”

The Mistake Series

[oatmealaddiction]

Tips For Productivity With Depression

So I know we’re all sick of neurotypical folks giving us bad advice on how to deal with our illness that actually makes us more stressed, but we’re still all really having a tough time being productive, so I thought I’d post some of the things that work for me.

I set my alarm in the morning as some high energy music, like, super intense rock music, usually something about fighting. Eye of the Tiger is a fun one. I try to keep the music really upbeat when I’m working and stray from stuff that’s more mellow and down-beat. It’s a little thing, and it doesn’t always work but I do feel more confident and energetic with that music playing, especially if I imagine myself in like a music video. 

Make sure you’re eating. Eating is everything. If you’re putting something off, put it off a minute longer to go eat. Do not have an empty stomach, empty stomach’s make everything worse. I’d suggest foods with protein, but honestly just get something in your stomach, it doesn’t matter what. 

I know we all hate the “go outside more” line, but one of the things I do when I’m in the middle of a project and feeling bogged down, rather than go on youtube, which sucks me in for hours and leaves me feeling dead inside, I take five minutes to run outside and like, grab my mail or let my dog out, or on bad days just to stand deadly in the yard. I do feel a little more energy when I go back inside, and it’s easier to keep working. Taking walks also has been really cathartic for me. It’s like bare minimum exercise and it lets me just tune out to music and sort of gather myself. I usually prefer walking alone, but it’s okay to go with someone. 

Procrastination has a function and isn’t entirely bad. If your body is going “no, I do not want to do this now,” it’s okay to listen to it rather than try to force yourself. 

If you're stuck in bed, the best thing you can do is relocate. Usually I roll off and lie on the floor, and then transfer to sitting, and while it’s basically the worst part of my day, it doesn’t let me go back to sleep. Sometimes its okay to just take your bedding to the couch. It’s more gentle than jumping up and running for the cold shower, and the change in scenery does wake you up. 

If you don’t feel motivated to do your paper, but you do feel motivated to take out your garbage or make the bed, do the thing you feel motivated to do. More often than not it’ll spark the parts of your brain that want to work and you’ll feel more motivated once you’ve accomplished it. 

The hardest part of any project for me, next to writer’s block when I’m working, is starting the project. I tried a lot of stuff, like timers and breaks, but honestly what helps me begin a project is just setting up all the stuff I need to do it. Like, I have to write a paper right? So I decide I’m going to write on my couch, and I move my books in there and a blanket and my computer charger and get a snack all set up and put that right in my work space. The snack is really important because it’s a good motivator to get you into that space. Once the space is set up, it’s usually a little easier for me to think about the more complicated work stuff and get that done. 

When you just don’t have the energy to get what you need to get done, done, tell someone. I know I have a tendency to sit in silent shame, but if you tell someone, it’s easier to at the very least not get bogged down in guilt and self-hatred, and it is an activity to focus on that isn’t the dreaded “thing you need to do.” Make sure the person you tell is someone who will be emotionally supportive, and won’t call you names or berate you. Don’t start with “I can’t do anything,” but “Today is a difficult day and I’m having a hard time.” One suggests you want advice, which I’m guessing most of us probably don’t, while the other suggests you’re looking for a shoulder to lean on for a while.

Obviously most of this is subjective and what works for me might not work for you, but I wanted to share some of my tactics and the things I’ve noticed that really help. Hopefully this can help someone else too. 

[kusunogatari-a]

[ Twist of Fate ] [ @noharin ] [ Sarutobi Hiruzen, Namikaze Minato, Suigin Reika, Suigin Ryū, Nohara Rin, Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Blood mention, death mention ] [ Verse: What Could Have Been ]

“I sincerely appreciate you accepting our request, Suigin-san,” the Sandaime Hokage offers, a darkened tone of sincerity in his voice. “I know it must not have been an easy decision to make, especially given the state of your family.”

Toddler on her hip, Reika stares back at Hiruzen coolly, a measure of pride in her eyes and the lift of her chin. “I will manage, Sarutobi-sama.”

A slight pause. “...whatever you have need of, you will have at your disposal. The further we can carry this program, I'm sure the greater the reward. Any fewer lost lives we can manage, the better.”

The medic gives a small decline of her head. “I agree. Perhaps this will give Hi no Kuni the edge it needs to find an end to this war, and the bloodshed it brings.”

“I realize that forsaking your neutrality can't have been easy to do. But you're right – the sooner we end this war, the sooner our lives can return to normal, and the fewer casualties as well.” The man stands, and manages a tired smile. “If you would like, I'll have you shown first to your quarters. From there, you'll look over the allotted space for your clinic. Once I manage to get word to all current team leaders, we can begin organizing classes for you.”

Doing her best to lose her edge, Reika bows her head. “The sooner I can get started, the better.”

“Very good, very good...now, forgive me, but I must pass you on to a jōnin guide – I have many pressing matters at hand.”

“Of course.”

“...Minato!”

With a flicker, a sunshine-blond man appears, kneeling beside the woman. “Hokage-sama.”

“This is Suigin Reika – the woman I spoke to you of. Reika-san, Namikaze Minato. You are prepared?”

“Yes, Hokage-sama – I've gone over our briefing.”

“Excellent. Please, then – do not delay.”

Standing, Minato turns to face his charge. Blue eyes flicker to the child on her hip. “What would you like to do with your daughter during your active hours?”

“She will remain with me. I am quite capable of handling both.”

“As you wish.”

A thumb in her mouth, the tiny girl in Reika's arms watches the exchange in silence.

“I'm afraid your quarters here may not be quite what they were in Kusunokizan, from what Sarutobi-sama told me,” Minato admits as they walk. “But I hope you find them to your liking.”

“A roof over our heads is all I ask, Namikaze-san.”

“Please, Minato is fine.”

“Very well. Then I ask for my name, as well.”

“Konoha can be a bit difficult to navigate. If you ever find yourself lost, any obliging shinobi can point you in the right direction.”

Reika gives an amused laugh. “Minato-san, I've been here before.”

“...have you?”

“Yes, during my earlier years. I traveled all over the continent before having Ryū. Admittedly, it's been a while...but I'm sure I'll catch up quickly.”

The blond looks surprised, but nods. “Even so, you know where to find help if you need it.”

The house is small, tucked in the civilian residential district. A single story, but with a hint of a yard and garden. “As I said...it's nothing like your house back home.”

“It's just fine. Easier to keep organized, and less distracting.” Reika looks it over, seeming to memorize the layout as she goes. “...and the clinic?”

“We have a spare room in the Academy that's no longer in use. It's been cleaned and reorganized for you. Admittedly, it's not connected to the hospital, but if you need equipment brought over, you need only ask.”

“Most of my teachings won't need it. After all...it's field work we'll be focusing on.”

The blond pauses, and then manages a laugh. “...I suppose you have a point. My apologies.”

“No need.” Reika gives him a smile laced with good humor. “I realize this arrangement is rather short-notice. I don't blame you for being a bit...off your game. But we'll settle in as best we can. Try not to stress too greatly, Minato-san. Your people have enough on their plates as it is. Once I get going...you'll have one less thing to worry about. I'll handle it from there.”

“...it's appreciated, Reika-san.”

Her allotted space is basic, but usable. Already, plans begin to form in her mind as she looks it over. “...when would you have me meet you tomorrow?”

“I'll try to summon the other squad leaders by noon. The meeting will be brief – it's just a matter of how quickly they gather up volunteers from their squadrons.”

“Noon it is, then.”

Reika is given the rest of her day to settle in. The space is foreign, but hardly anything to dislike. “Well, little one,” she offers to her daughter, looking out a window. At the very least, the house has a decent view of the village. “...tomorrow...we get started.”

Ryū gives a quiet hum, watching the sun set beyond the pane

The medic rises early the next morning, as is her custom. By noon, she's more than ready, waiting just beyond the Hokage's tower. And within a few minutes, she sees the blond approach. “This way – the roof's the easiest place to meet. More open that way.”

Standing at ease beside Minato, Reika watches as shinobi make their way to the rooftop. None of them use the stairs. Only once all are apparently gathered does Minato begin.

“As you all know, Sarutobi-sama has been working the last few weeks to coordinate an effort to expand our medical program. After Tsunade-sama's...disappearance, he has found someone willing to fill her role.”

All eyes shift to the medic, and she returns their gazes coolly.

“As previously discussed, if you have any volunteers from your squadrons, have them report to the Academy as soon as possible for classes. Basic medical care will be covered to help manage injuries in the field. Reika-san will work out a schedule and course length after some basic evaluations. Any questions you have should be fielded to her.”

Murmuring breaks out among the squadron leaders, and Minato turns to the snow-haired woman. “I'll speak to them a bit more, if you'd like to make your way to your classroom.”

“Of course.”

“Also...there's a student of my own already beginning medical training. If you would...I'd like you to see about giving her an extended course.”

Reika's brow rises slightly. “Playing favorites, are we?”

“She already knows the basics – you might cover some of what she doesn't know, but otherwise she'll likely be a bit ahead of the curve, at least to start. I expect us to have difficult missions in the weeks to come. One of her teammates is looking likely to advance. That means we'll have to accept more responsibility. I would like her to be prepared.”

Quiet for a moment, she nods. “...very well. I'll see what I can do. Much of it will depend on how much time I've left after regular lessons...which depends on how many volunteers we end up with.”

“I'll leave that to you, then.”

The medic takes her leave, making her way to the classroom she expects to see more and more of. She's without much of a solid plan, gathering spare paper and a pencil as Ryū stands and looks out a window, clinging to the sill.

“Suigin-san?”

Looking up, Reika spots an umber-haired girl. “...you must be one of my new students?”

“Yes ma'am – Nohara Rin. Minato-Han.”

“Ah, you're Minato's medic...he told me about you.” Putting down her pencil, Reika looks her over. “So, you've already started medical ninjutsu training?”

“Yes ma'am! Several months back. I...recently lost my father. It motivated me to take up a medic role on my team.”

“As noble a reason as any.”

Rin shifts slightly. “...Minato-sensei didn't tell us much about you.”

“There's not much to know. I'm a sage of the medical arts, here to teach basic skills to Konoha shinobi to help prevent loss of life due to menial injuries. Far too many fall to simple blood loss and the like. Even just knowing how to patch an artery will give squadrons an additional edge. Iwa has very little medical training overall. Tsunade started work here, but...she's not available. Hence, my coming.”

The girl's eyes widen. “...a sage...?”

Amused at her one-track question, Reika manages a small smile. “Yes. From a rather small and...private clan.”

“Could...could someone else learn to be a medical sage?”

A hesitation. “...at this point, I'm not sure. Technically, I'm breaking many generations of neutrality by being here. And my clan is not one eager to share secrets. Few are.”

Rin wilts.

“...but, Minato-san asked me to ensure your...bolstered training. I may, in theory, have a few...additional things to each you. But they aren't easy.”

“Oh, anything you could teach me would be...be...amazing!” Rin clenches her fists, stars in her eyes as she presses them to her chest. “I'd do anything!”

“Well...for now, I have a class to start. But once it's over for the day...we can talk.”

From the window, Ryū gives a squeal, drawing their gazes.

“Ohhh...you have a child?”

“A daughter. Three years old. She had to come along with me.”

Focus immediately shifted, Rin approaches the toddler and rests down on the balls of her feet. “Hey there!”

“Her name is Ryū.”

“Ryū...?” Rin considers questioning it, but thinks better. “She's so cute! And she looks just like you!”

“Our clan has a rather...distinct look. Though, her father -”

Before the pair can exchange much else, other students begin to file into the room. Reika drops the subject, and instead addresses the new arrivals. Most turn out to be female, little to her surprise. Nearly two dozen are what she ends up with.

Going only on her gut, she begins.

Reika first covers the differences between medical ninjutsu and combative – the shift in chakra required to undo harm rather than cause it. Knowing most of the basics already, Rin none-too-discreetly keeps Ryū on her lap, keeping the toddler quiet as her mother speaks. The day is mostly spent on theories and questions.

“Tomorrow, I'll procure the means for practice. Until then, I suggest visiting Konoha's library and researching the core of the subject on your own.”

All but Rin file out, talk slowly fading to silence as the crowd disappears.

The elder medic approaches, arms loosely crossed. “You're good with kids.”

“She seems so well-behaved!”

“Yes, she tends to be rather quiet.” Shifting topics, Reika asks, “Anything we cover sound...new?”

“Not really, no.”

“Hm...well, I'd still like you to keep up the classes. As for anything else...”

Rin seems to tense, looking hopeful.

“...I suppose I can impart the basics of a few extra techniques.”

Brightening, Rin gives a smile. “Thank you so much!”

Ryū squeals at her exuberance, beaming from her perch on Rin's lap.

“It's not going to be easy. And without being able to achieve a sage state, a good deal of what I teach you will be even more difficult. They take a good deal of chakra – without the nature chakra you get while in sage mode, you won't be able to do them for long.”

“That's okay – you never know what might come in handy, even for just a few seconds!”

Reika smiles. “Indeed. Very well...we'll start with at the beginning.

“In general, having access to a sage state gives you several advantages. By connecting to nature chakra, your sensory skills enhance greatly. The more you train these senses, the greater your range. It's useful for enemies that cannot be seen – through smoke, in the dark, or under water. With enough practice, you can even detect their chakra natures, which can give you an edge in predicting their techniques.

“Another is, of course, a bolstered chakra pool. For most, you must gather this chakra before doing anything else. Maintaining the proper balance is difficult, and taking in more while distracted is nearly impossible. A cousin clan of mine takes in the energy full-time, and it causes imbalance that manifests in fits of rage that last until the extra chakra is expelled. My own line, however, has refined this ability to happen only once exposed to nature chakra through meditation. It allows us to slowly rebuild energy over time, elongating our time in a sage state.

“This extra chakra can be used in almost any manner. More chakra means more healing. But another major skill my line learns is defensive: barriers.”

“Barriers...?”

“Yes. Walls of raw energy that can reflect...or with enough power, incinerate.”

Rin's eyes widen.

“However, they have a major drawback. They consume massive amounts of energy, and every subsequent blow saps your strength to replenish the wall. Without a sage state, it's difficult to do so for more than a few minutes. And depending on the stress it encounters, perhaps little more than a few seconds.”

Reika allows several moments for that to sink in. “...obviously, sage training is something that takes a great deal of time for most. My clan trains for a minimum of five years to perfect it. For now...it would be a rather long-term goal. And Minato-san made it rather clear, time is not on your side.”

“No...”

“However...as you said, any advantage is still an advantage. So...I'll start with the most basic form of our barriers: Bōei no Kabe, or wall of defense. It's a solid wall of chakra, and the least draining. The chakra it takes depends on its size. Like any other kind of jutsu, it can be directed and shaped at will. The most common is a simple sphere over your target. Usually yourself and your patient.” Moving through a small set of hand signs, Reika lets her chakra take form, an a ethereal wall of white chakra blooms into being around her in a perfect sphere.

Gingerly, Rin reaches out and presses first a finger, and then her palm to the wall, finding it impassible. “Oh wow...!”

“The more you train, the greater and more precise your control will become. The barriers can be made in any shape, and can even be erected independently of you. However, your energy will deplete faster the further you reach. Useful for pushing people out of harm's way, for example. Also a bolster for hand-to-hand defense. Here...take a kunai, and try to attack me.”

“What?!”

“Just do it!”

Setting Ryū aside, Rin hesitates before drawing a blade from her supply pouch. With a leap, she executes several slashes.

Meeting the weapon with her palms, Reika guides it away, using Rin's momentum against her and seeming to give little effort. Upon her hands are small barriers, letting the steel glide against them without touching her skin.

With each strike, a strange bell-like tone echoes through the room.

“All right, enough. Should you find yourself without a weapon to counter, you can still do so with your own chakra. And should you need to attack...” She summons another disc of chakra, throwing it toward the door jam.

With a thwack, it sticks into the wood before disappearing.

“Its intensity depends on the energy you give it. With enough...you can cut straight through bone, or even steel. Of course...doing so usually goes against my teachings.” She closes her fist and considers it a moment. “...but one should never ignore possibilities.

“...now! I'll teach you the hand signs. Just remember, you have to guide the energy into your desired manifestation. Lose your focus, and so too will you lose your barrier. A true Suigin sage become so familiar with the action, they can do so without thought – protecting themselves while focusing on their patient!”

Rin remains for several hours after class, and by the time Reika insists she stop, she's exhausted. No joke these things take a lot of chakra...! No wonder it's considered senjutsu. It's almost impossible without it...!

But Rin is nothing if not determined. Her team is counting on her – she can't afford to waver. Any tiny edge her training might get her team is one worth the sweat and tears. Her first few weeks are easy – as the class plays catch up with her current level, she spends the time keeping the toddler busy, and therefore quiet. But soon Reika delves into procedures and shortcuts she's yet to know, and Ryū has to take a back seat in her focus.

Several weeks pass, and Rin finds herself still in Reika's classroom. Her arms are up over her head, sweat lining her brow as she holds a sphere around her person. Her own chakra, more blue than Reika's colorless white, is beginning to thin with her exhaustion. Her limbs shake with effort.

Reika walks around her, examining the shield. “The shape is excellent. It's just a matter of energy, now.”

With a gasp, Rin releases the jutsu, crumpling to her knees and begging for breath. “How...h-how long was that?”

“Forty-eight seconds. A new record.”

Disappointment sags the girl's shoulders. Not even a minute...?

“I know this may seem like less than you'd like, but in all honesty, you've exceeded my expectations,” Reika admits. “For your age, and the little training we've done, you've come a long way. Your chakra control has improved exponentially from when we started. That's the biggest battle. The rest is a matter of chakra. And for now...well, there's little to be done there without extensive training.”

Having been scribbling on the chalk board, Ryū abandons her post at the shift of feeling in the room. Climbing down from her stool, she dutifully brings a spare tissue to Rin for her brow.

“Ah...thank you.” The brunette still manages a smile, dabbing at her skin. “Though...I think a full bath is in order.”

“Now, Minato-san has asked me to give you the next three days off.”

“Huh? Why?”

“An upcoming mission. It sounded rather important, and I want you fully rested.”

“But -!”

“No buts,” Reika cuts in sternly. “You'll be of little use to your team if exhausted. Thus, I want you to promise me you'll do no training on your own. At the very least, no barriers. You need to save your energy.”

Still sat upon the floor, Rin gives a frustrated nod. “...I won't.” She works her way to her feet, and then gives a bow. “...thank you, for all of this. I know it will come in handy.”

“I pray you won't need it...but should the need arise, I instead pray you strength. We'll resume once you return, should your schedule allow.”

“Hai!”

With prior knowledge from Reika, Rin prepares in advance for her mission to Kusa.

The mission starts on a rather unsettled note, the boys seemingly even more agitated with one another than usual, and Rin feels worry in her gut. The enemy could be anywhere. She finds herself wishing Reika could have breached into more sage training – sensory skills in a foreign land would help immensely.

But when the enemy comes beneath a cloak of their own...she senses nothing.

“RIN!”

The illusion is like a waking dream. Every moment she thinks she finds a hold, it slips away, no longer remembered. Nothing is tangible, like trying to keep water in a broken glass. While battles rage around her, she sees nothing...hears nothing...can do nothing. Only when she is suddenly snapped awake does she remember she exists.

Kakashi stares at her, one eye held shut beneath a bleeding lid. Beside him is Obito, eyes a brilliant red. She recognizes nothing of her surroundings, but feels nothing but relief at their faces.

“Come on – we've got to get out of here and find sensei!”

“You're not going...anywhere.”

The trio spin to look to the cave entrance. Iwa shinobi glower from the light. One slaps a palm to the ground, and the earth trembles.

Just like her heart.

Around them, the stone and dirt begins to shake and crumble. “We've gotta go!” Hauling Rin to her feet, Kakashi leads the way toward the caved-in entrance. All around them, great boulders and shards of stone crash to the ground below.

Handicapped, Kakashi is struck, sense knocked out of him and crumpling like a string-cut puppet.

“Kakashi!”

Hearing Obito's voice, Rin skids to a stop, watching him go back. Above them, a monstrous sphere of rock begins to plummet.

She does not think. She merely acts.

Her body pushes to its limits, landing itself beside them. She stares with umber eyes wide, palms lifted.

“Rin! What are you -?!”

The cry cuts off as a resounding gong-like peal echoes through the air. Dust clogs their vision...but there is no impact.

Shaking, Rin stares as stone rests just above her palms, lungs quaking with tentative breath. The drain on her energy is sudden and severe, but she pushes through with gritted teeth.

There's a moment of silence as all three seem to realize that they are, indeed, still alive.

Both boys stare up in wonder.

“...w...we have to move!” the medic manages to gasp, her chakra wavering. “I...I can't hold this much longer!” Above them, light begins to filter through the murk of dust. “Obito...c-carry Kakashi out. I'll be right behind you!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Just hurry!”

Pulling up the dazed jōnin by the hand, Obito waits as Rin slowly brings one arm down to point to her side. A gap breaks in her barrier, and they cough as the air within fills with grit.

“Go!”

Shoving Kakashi out first, Obito follows, hopping from rock to rock. “Rin! Come on!”

Baring her teeth, Rin scours the dredges of her chakra pool, manipulating what's left to let her pass. As she climbs, the stone fills in behind her, and she reaches for Obito's hand.

With one last, final crash, the false cave collapses, and the trio rests on the pile of rubble.

Gasping for breath, they look to one another with awed faces. Flickers of relieved smiles bloom, but not for long.

All around them, Iwa shinobi leap into sight.

Both boys stand, weapons raised. In his hand, Kakashi holds Minato's gifted kunai.

There's a flash...and then it's over.

Correcting a test, Reika pauses, a sudden vague knowing in her spine. Ryū's babble fills the silence around her, and she looks to the setting sun beyond the window.

...hn...

“Minato-sensei...?”

Standing from his last kill, the blond glances to his students. “...sorry I'm late. Looks like you three had a hell of a time of it.”

Obito seems to suddenly explode. Explanations of eyes, blades and barriers are a jumbled mess pouring from his mouth, and Rin watches with an amused, albeit exhausted smile.

“Hey, uh...mind helping me with this?”

“Oh! Kakashi! Here, I'll stop the bleeding...I'm so sorry about your eye. I'll ask Reika-sensei about it when we get back.”

“...who?”

“Oh, well...it's a bit of a long story...”

With a bridge destroyed and a team intact, Minato returns the youths to Konoha, their first pit stop to Reika's.

A white-laden palm hovers over Kakashi's eye, her expression serious. “...it will take time, but I can repair it. He'll have to be off-duty for a while.”

“That's all right – whatever it takes,” Minato replies.

Still probing the wound, Reika looks to Rin. A small but proud smile pulls at her lips. “...you did well.”

Color flushes in the girl's cheeks. “...I...don't know if we would have made it without your training. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“True, but in the end, it was you who wielded the technique. I must admit...your potential astounds me. The effort it must have taken for a barrier not only that size, but under that much stress...you far exceed my expectations, Rin.”

The rest of the team smiles at her, Obito giving her a thumbs-up.

“...perhaps once this war is over,” Reika begins, “the pair of us can take a little journey together. I think my teacher would be eager to meet you. Regardless of blood, you have the heart to protect those precious to you. You stared death in the face, and resisted its grasp. And you escaped with two lives beyond your own in a feat even I did not expect. You may not be a Suigin, but...I think she would be eager to meet you, indeed.”

Umber eyes go wide. “...you...you mean...your sage teacher?!”

“There has never been a student beyond our bloodline...but times are changing for my clan. Never before we have we shown bias to Konoha. Perhaps in this, too...we may make an exception. Not all who attempt sage training complete it. And it is a not an easy road. Doing so would require you to leave home, for my teacher can meet you nowhere else.”

Rin stares, mind strangely empty with shock.

“But...she wouldn't be on our team anymore...” Obito murmurs.

“For a time. But I must consult my master first. In the end, it is her decision – I cannot speak for her.”

Minato flashes Rin a smile. “You know, I trained with the toad sages for a time.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Did you master it?” Obito demands.

“To a point. I can use it, at any rate. But it's something you can always keep learning and improving on.” He then looks back to Rin. “...I think, should this teacher agree...you should go. But in the end, it's your decision. Just know, it's a rare opportunity. At the very least, it's worth a shot.”

“I wanna be a sage! Sensei, take me to learn from toads!”

“I'd have to speak to Jiraiya-sensei about that.”

As the boys discuss toads, Reika laughs quietly. “Ah, but what is a toad,” she murmurs only to Rin's ears, “...to a dragon?”

HSKDJFHJFGHKJFDHGKGH THIS IDEA HAS BEEN IN THE BACK OF MY MIND FOR AAAAGES >:O And now it’s four am and tbh this probably sucks because I’m tired but I couldn’t NOT write it. Might have to just...MAJORLY edit it in the morning...er....later. SO YEAH. Have some timeline tomfoolery where Reika accidentally prevents the entire main conflict of Naruto by taking on Rin as her student, who then saves Obito’s life. Of course, this means no Sharingan for Kakashi, but might also prevent a lot more via butterfly effect, such as the Uchiha massacre given that Obito doesn’t take the Kyūbi. Which means no dead Kushina and Minato, and no jinchūriki Naruto. In other words...hardly anything would be the same lol Thanks Reika. Anyway...it’s four am, I gotta sleep, but eyyy I found this amusing and thought I’d give writing it out a shot. Tbh I kinda rushed it, so maybe I’ll expand on it some other time. I don’t even know if this is a good idea, but it exists now. No take-backsies. ...heck I’m tired.

[lauraramargosian]

COVID-19 depression pandemic, how to cope.

The COVID-19 depression pandemic, how to cope and beat this virus.

Under the circumstances of the COVID-19 pandemic, many have reached a level of sadness they have never felt before in their life.

With that in mind, the last couple of months have been dreadful for the world. Many have lost family to the virus. Most importantly and sadly, many are not allowed to say goodbye, or hold funeral services due to the limitations and self-distancing rules of each state.

Can you imagine, think of the person you love the most, imagine you couldn’t have a “proper,” goodbye and way to grieve, wouldn’t that feel awful?

In the hope that you feel alone, remember, we are feeling this with you.

We spoke to Bren who opened up about his internal depression since the hit of COVID-19.

“There’s no motivation, to do anything, the worst part about it is the fact, I don’t know feels like there is less meaning, you feel less fulfilled because you don’t feel like accomplishing as much or you don’t feel like.. Things blend together, you don’t have as many outside experiences, just becomes repetitive.”

Pandemic outbreaks can leave you anxious.

As a result of COVID-19, men, women, children, families, and friends could be feeling this in silence, so be aware to look for signs of depression and stress.

In fact, fear and anxiety are hitting the country, with zero discrimination.

What are some of the anxieties people are feeling (for those who feel fine)?

The fear and worry about your own health.

Being immunocompromised and anxiety create a perfect storm, it’s scary.

Sleeping more than usual, or a change in sleeping habits.

Those who are at high risk, face chronic health problems.

Worsening of anxiety and mental health.

Lack of productivity, and loss of interest in activities a person used to love.

Difficulty concentrating.

Fear of money and getting bills on time.

The coronavirus COVID-19 is affecting 209 countries and territories around the world and 2 international conveyances.

As a consequence, the world decided to collect everything they could, resulting in a lack of PPE and equipment to cope with the current 1,495,051 global cases, with 87,469 deaths.

Unfortunately, the United States of America now has 419,975 cases, with 14,262 total deaths. It’s a scary fact, and as mentioned, this virus does not discriminate.

Unfortunately, every death is a story, filled with pain. When a mother has to hold their 27-year-old child for the last time when husbands and wives pass away, it’s horrifying and children, those grieving are still likely in shock.

Channel your inner love and activism in the midst of COVID-19

So, are more tests needed in order to prevent more pain? According to the specialists, our new normal is, it’s not going to happen fast.

The Chief White House Jim Acosta opened up about the administration is considering opening up the country but top doctors are warning the U.S still has some tough days ahead.

Why are prevention and social distancing important?

Social distancing means you have to keep space between you and other people outside of your home.

Keep at the very minimum of 6 feet (2 meters) from other people. Gathering of groups is highly discouraged and fines could be instated. Avoid mass gatherings, yes this means church as well. Order from local fast-food restaurants to avoid contact at stores, it’s a great alternative. Most importantly, stay home, unless you are an essential worker.

Alright, it may feel really annoying to constantly be stuck in the house due to social distancing but as reported on CNN the lines are starting to curve, while we are about 2-weeks behind, it seems it will get worse before it gets better.

Especially because it was mentioned that COVID-19 has the ability to come back at a later time this year.

When it comes to those who are high-risk patients with underlying disease, it’s a nightmare.

Don’t forget, love yourself, shower, always get dressed every day, these routines will help your depression and creating a routine usually allows us to feel “fulfilled,” because humans have always loved to work, and to go out and celebrate birthdays and holidays.

“I feel absolutely depressed, turning 30-years-old today and suffering from Crohn’s disease is scary, especially during this pandemic. I’m a high-risk patient and controlling my symptoms without available specialty providers can be difficult. I mean, who wants to risk their provider’s health or their own? Truthfully, sometimes I lay at night and just hope I won’t wake up. But that’s just anxiety and depression kicking in, I know I’m not alone, yet feel alone because not many “healthy,” people understand the stress of being a high-risk potential future patient. Last, to me, it’s not about “if I get it,” it’s when I get it. In the hope that it comes when there is treatment or after an available vaccine.”

What’s trending on Reddit regarding COVID-19?

Reddit user DistractedScholar34 explained it in the easiest way to understand, sharing:

“Compared to the flu, COVID-19 is much more infectious and more deadly. The death rate for COVID-19 is about 3.4%, while the death rate for seasonal influenza is about 0.1%. The R0 value (The average number of people that each infected person spreads the disease to) of COVID-19 is 2-3.11, while the R0 value of the flu is 1.3. COVID-19 is deadly because it’s not deadly, which seems kind of counter-intuitive. SARS, for example, has a 15% death rate, which is about 5 times higher than COVID-19, but it only had a death toll of 774, whereas COVID-19’s death toll is 7,900 and counting. So, in the big picture, COVID-19 kills more people, because most of the people who get infected are still alive, with fairly mild symptoms, walking around, ready to infect more people, rather than dead, or crippled with symptoms so severe they are confined to a hospital bed. Stay safe. Stay home. Wash your hands. Don’t hoard supplies.”

Well, it was said perfectly, just a little bit of care and understanding how to properly prepare, and prevent.

The COVID-19 related depression is likely to continue, so it’s vital to check on your friends and family.

Most importantly, don’t argue and treat people with disrespect, people who have the virus may not be vocal about it, it can be that terrifying.

Knowing Symptoms of Coronavirus.

Reported illnesses have ranged from mild symptoms to severe illness and death for confirmed coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) cases.

These symptoms may appear 2-14 days after exposure (based on the incubation period of MERS-CoV viruses).

Fever

Cough

Shortness of breath

When to Seek Medical Attention

If you develop emergency warning signs for COVID-19 get medical attention immediately. Emergency warning signs include*:

Trouble breathing

Persistent pain or pressure in the chest

New confusion or inability to arouse

Bluish lips or face

*This list is not all-inclusive. Please consult your medical provider for any other symptoms that are severe or concerning.

The best action to beat COVID-19 related anxiety and depression.

Call your friends and family on video chat, play games on your tablets, exercise the mind with board games or coloring.

It’s okay to go into your back yard and get some sun (close your eyes and be present).

Play video games, connect with friends and force yourself to talk on a mic or go on video.

Talk to people about your concerns, just letting it out helps.

Cry if you need too, sometimes, we don’t why we feel like crying. Regardless of your gender, just let it out.

Last and most importantly, stay safe, stay positive, love yourself and under the circumstances, happy Passover, and any other holidays going on at this time.

It will be okay, check out the videos below, they were provided by Brendan Warkentin, who saw this on VOX, who has been studying this disease since the start, perfect way to watch its actions.

Blessed be.

How wildlife trade is linked to coronavirus

Coronavirus is not the flu. It’s worse.

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