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snippychicke · 4 years

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Aftermath--Three

Chapter Three is here! The last of the set up chapters, after this is mostly just...fluff.

No warnings, I think. A surprise waits inside, however.

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Otto had spent most of his adult life working for the commission. A few time jumps to different eras and decades, but mainly staying somewhere in the 1960s since it seemed the more precarious times. Nuclear war liked to develop at the drop of a pin, and even the most well-meaning change could spell Armageddon thanks to trigger-happy Americans and Russians.

(Though a few times it was the UK and France. And once China, which the rest of the world hadn't realized had nuclear weapons until it was too late.)

But no matter where or when he was, he was with his brothers. Oscar might have mingled with the civilian population once in a while, but he, like Axel, either had other responsibilities or would rather relax at their temporary home than deal with the locals.

He wasn't used to civilians and their quiet, dull lives. Granted, Lorelei often had her radio on to break the silence if she were home, and the grainy black and white TV was usually turned to the news. (She also had a habit of chattering while changing the dressings on his eye every morning and every night. Even if half the time her southern drawl made her words hard to understand, her tone and lit were pleasing to listen to.)

It was still dull, with nothing but the pain to distract him from his thoughts. Losing Oscar had been hard enough, the wound still fresh on his heart. Even now, he expected his younger brother to try and ambush him just to get a reaction out of him. Or hear him trying and failing to sing to the more upbeat music on the radio, stumbling over the English words.

Then he lost Axel; his last memory of his older brother being of his hands around his neck and Axel's face twisted in both rage and grief of not controlling his actions. Otto found himself praying to some unknown power that Axel was out there, somewhere, carrying on.

Otto feared if their position had been reversed, he wouldn't be strong enough. He struggled as it was, but the thought of finding Axel gave him strength. Believing his brother was out there gave him the motivation to keep trying to regain his strength.

And startling Lorelei was becoming decent amusement as well.

"Why are you doing pushups?! Shit, your eye is bleeding again!" (It often did at inconvenient times, leading to her fretting like a mother hen. She wouldn't rest until he allowed her to fuss to her heart's content. )

"Why are all my kitchen knives impaled in the garage wall?" (Relearning to aim with just one eye was becoming a chore. And he gave in to the need to take a break just as she returned from work. She quickly forgot about the knives as soon as she saw he was bleeding, again, and about five seconds from passing out.)

"Jesus Mary and Joesph, I swear Otto, you may not be a serial killer, but you definitely have a screw or two loose!" (He swore she hadn't dusted the cobwebs from her ceiling in decades, but considering how small she was compared to him, he couldn't wholly blame her. To his amusement, she tried to steal the feather duster he had found, jumping pathetically to try and reach it as he held it out of reach. It reminded him of Oscar, and then it wasn't quite as amusing.)

It wasn't that he was getting soft towards her; it was simply that he had a sense of honor. The reverse of an eye for an eye; she had been kind insane enough to help him. The lengths she went to and fussing over him as if she genuinely cared, made him feel indebted to her. He could tell Raymond didn't trust him, giving him a dark look when he visited every day.

But he couldn't harm her. He had no reason to (and it certianly wasn't because she tried so hard to show him kindness. Like when she tenderly brushed his hair away from his forehad when she feared a fever. Being so careful during dressing changes, her voice soft and soothing, her touch gentle. She quickly picked up on his body language and did her best to distract him when his thoughts got dark.)

It was nearly two weeks before he was feeling well enough to think about leaving seriously. Two weeks no sign of Axel. He kept an eye on the news for anything bearing his brother's mark, but there was nothing—no trail for him to follow, making him antsy.

The longer he stayed, the farther Axel was. (He refused to believe there was any other reason. Axel was out there. Somewhere.)

It felt a bit wrong to leave when Lorelei was at work with nothing more than a note saying thank you on the kitchen counter and assuring the small room was in perfect condition (or as best as could be, considering the old worn everything.)

It took him a while to find the small cat house, feeling like it was halfway across the suburb of south Dallas (or it could have been that he wasn't quite up to strength just yet.) The ragged curtains were still drawn shut; a few of the cats lounging in the windows enjoying the sun while others relaxed on the small steps thanks to the little cat door Oscar had crudely cut shortly after they had 'moved in.'

The cats welcomed him with plaintive meows, rubbing and threading through his legs. The fact the place smelled like an unclean catbox was enough to confirm Axel was no longer using it as a base. The large bag of dry cat food was spilled across the kitchen and living room, yet the cats were far more interested in him as he searched the small house for any sign of Axel.

But every trace of their residence had been cleaned away per protocol, with not even the vaguest of hints where Axel's next destination was.

Except, for some reason, his and Oscar's bags were still stuffed in the hallway closet, packed and ready for a quick retreat, just as they had left it. The ache in Otto's chest strengthened at seeing his little brother's pack buried beneath his, the white and black milkman hat sticking out from where Oscar had quickly stuffed it before that last mission.

Otto could still remember chastening him to take better care of it if he honestly wanted to keep it, and Oscar had groaned he would fold it correctly when they got back.

Except his little brother didn't return with them that day.

Only the cats were witness to him, pulling the hat out and falling to his knees as he clutched it to his chest, biting his tongue to trap the scream of agony from escaping.

--+--

Lorelei supposed she shouldn't be too surprised when she returned to an empty house. She had noticed a restless shift in Otto for the last few days. The kind she had seen before in others that had stayed with her to recuperate before they too moved on.

At least he was kind enough to tidy up after himself (was it embarrassing that he was a better housekeeper than her?) And he had even left a piece of paper saying thank you that she pinned to her fridge.

She knew Raymond would be relieved when he found out he had left. Even though Otto proved he wasn't about to hurt either of them, her soul brother was about as distrustful as could be when it came to him (granted it was somewhat earned.)

But she was going to miss him and his odd antics. Like how he had sat at the kitchen table, all of her knives laid out before him along with an old whetstone he had found somewhere in her junk drawer, and spend probably at least a few hours just sharpening the dulled blades. (Generally, after he used them for target practice.) His determination to find some odd house chore she had slacked on and finish it without so much as a word.

He had been silent, but it wasn't the oppressive silence like her father's had been, where she knew he was boiling about something (like her existence). Sure, once in a while, it would be broody or antagonistic when Raymond visited, or something reminded him of something dark in his frankly mysterious past. But otherwise, it had been amicable.

Even when she was chatty out of nerves or after a particularly stressful day, he hadn't seemed annoyed. Instead, she sometimes would catch a faint smile as she prattled on. Or even a light huff of laughter when she made a joke, and he shook his head slightly because her jokes were usually terrible puns.

"Oh, I'm an old biddy," she sighed to her comatose patient the next day, setting up another saline flush along with the IV antibiotics. "Here, I keep telling everyone that I'm fine being by myself, yet here I am getting attached to an absolute stranger. I should just get some cats, huh?"

The man was silent, which she expected. The doctors had just been in to check the healing stump of where his leg had been. Which meant the nurse had dosed him with plenty of pain meds just an hour before. Partially to help negate the pain from the procedure itself, but also so he wouldn't try to grab the nearest person as a hostage.

That encounter still left many of the other nurses hesitant to enter the room. It had been the day after the John Doe had been brought in the emergency room, found by a couple of hunters just outside of town with a traumatic amputation of his left lower leg.

One minute he had been asleep (or assumed) as the doctors discussed treatment plans, and the next, he had jumped up, grabbed one of the nurses, and had a ballpoint pen pressed against her throat while swearing something in an odd language as everyone scrambled.

What was with white-haired men and being violent? Granted, she had never seen Otto like she had the John Doe, his pale blue eyes wild with both rage and pain.

Which was why restraints were now strapped to the remaining three limbs. The straps rattled against the metal sidebars as John Doe stirred, making Lorelei pause. His young face was twisted into a grimace, and she moved to brush his forehead out of instinct.

"Bror?" He mumbled, making her stomach twist in guilt. She didn't think her rambling would wake him.

"Shh, it's okay, hun. Just get some rest," She smoothed his messy white hair, smiling as he relaxed back into sleep.

"Lorelei, you know you're crazy, right?" One of her fellow nurses asked as she slipped from the secured room and into the nearby nurses' station, "Going into that room by yourself. You saw what he did to Mary Lou!"

"Well, how would you feel waking up without a leg and a bunch of people hovering over you, talking in a different language," she shot back defensively as she grabbed John Doe's chart.

"Not homicidal," her coworker responded, working on her own chart notes. "I mean, I'd scream for sure, but I doubt I'd be able to move the way he did. Hell, I doubt I'd ever been that quick."

---+---

Lorelei supposed she shouldn't have been happy to see Otto sitting on the front steps of her home the next evening. She had a crappy day, her feet were killing her, and she was planning on just crashing in her bed. Yet seeing him on the cement step, two large backpacks sitting on the dilapidated porch, made the end of her day a little better.

He looked up, the bandage still wrapped around half of his face, but she was pleased not to notice any blood staining the gauze. She wasn't so happy to see the melancholy expression on his face.

She took a seat on the step next to him, feeling warmth radiate him to chase off the chilly December air. She wasn't brave enough to look at him, and instead plucked a piece of dead grass from the lawn. "Don't tell Ray, but you make a decent house guest. Not many men clean up after themselves, let alone fight me about dustin' or sweeping them cobwebs out."

She peeked a glance after a pause and felt relief to see a faint smile on his face as he focused on the dusk colored sky. "I won't ask what you've been up to, as long as it ain't gonna be bringing any police around here."

"No," he answered her joking comment gravely.

"Kay, good." She tore at the blade of grass some more. "So... Are you looking for a place to stay, or are you just here to say bye for good?"

This time he did meet her gaze. His dark eye looked haunted, and she could see the telltale marks of crying by the red rims and puffiness of his lids. Her fingers ached to reach out and try to soothe the crease around his good eye, to bring some sort of comfort, so she shifted to sit on her hand instead, hoping he would think her fingertips were cold. "Because like I said, you're a nice house guest. You do your own share of the chores, and you can stay as long as you like. Just no more using my good steak knives as darts, you got me?"

"Yes," he answered solemnly, making her heart jump. "...Do you like cats?"

His question surprised her for a moment before she smiled. "Yeah, I do. I was just telling my patient that I should get a few."

He nodded his head without elaborating further, though she swore there was a thoughtful expression on his face as he watched the last glimmer of the sun fade away.

The silence this time was broken by her stomach growling, earning an amused glance from Otto as she blushed. "Right. Well, I'm hungry,' she hurriedly jumped up and offered her hand to him. "Shall we?"

He accepted her hand, the callouses firm against her skin. It still surprised her how tall he towered over her. "Let's see; I have fish sticks or hot dogs. It's up to you…."

---+---

Lorelei woke the next morning to a blank and white angular-face cat kneading her pillow; its purr a deep growl. As soon as the cat realized she was awake, it butted its head against her as a greeting, its purr becoming louder.

"Where did you come from?" She asked as she sat up, allowing him to crawl into her lap. The cat, of course, didn't answer but continued to knead her lap. She picked up the cat and descended the stairs, following the smell of sausage and the quiet mewl of other cats. A group of them were sitting expectantly at Otto's feet, jumping when he would toss a piece of an egg at them. All of them boney and looking as if he had found them wandering the streets.

"Dare I ask?" She asked, shifting the cat to protect her modesty as he glanced over at her. She didn't miss the quick once-over before he shrugged and returned towards breakfast.

"You said you liked cats."

Living with him was going to be fun, Lorelei decided as she allowed the cat down to join its brethren at his feet and instead shuffled towards the fridge. "True. I did say that." She just didn't expect so many. They were all weaving around him, eager for a treat, which made it hard to count, but she swore there were at least a dozen. "So… do they have names?"

"Bebis."

She waited for him to elaborate and frowned when he didn't. "Are you saying they are babies, or that they are all named Bebis?"

"Both," he answered, shooting her a quick half-smile as he flicked another piece of an egg at them.

"Oh no, that isn't going to work. I mean, I fully agree they're babies, but they need their own names." She busied herself with setting up the kettle for coffee, trying not to think how easy it was moving around each other, or how much happier she felt compared to the last two days.

It was the cats; she decided as one jumped up on the counter to pester her. Definitely the cats. She blushed when she noticed Otto watching her out of the corner of her vision as she baby-talked to the small tabby that looked like it hadn't eaten in weeks.

Just the cats.

Next Chapter

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua swedes #tua otto #tua Oscar #tua Axel #otto x reader #the umbrella academy fanfic #jason bryden #fic: aftermath

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polyolefinprince · 4 years

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Hey! I'm currently struggling with school work, and am questioning whether I should even bother continuing further. Did/do you ever face similar struggles, and if so, what keeps you motivated? ❤️

Heyo, so this is a really serious problem that a lot of people face so I guarantee you that you are not alone there! I partially went into Chemical Engineering because I loved Math and Science even though they were actually my worst subject, and I occasionally scold myself for picking such a challenging major but if I had to go back and start over I don't think I would change anything.

The first thing I recommend is to look at your motivations. Why did you originally want to go into your field? This was a big help for me because I knew that I actually loved the hands-on experiences I'd had and I knew that I was motivated to find a career in my field. It turns out that being in the workforce isn't the same as being in college and you might not need a given class to do a great job! You can love a subject and still hate a particular class in it, you just need to pass it!

Next, try to figure out why are you struggling, which is a lot easier said than done, I know. If you are struggling because the material is really difficult for you to understand, you probably aren't alone! I know a lot of people recommend office hours, and I do too, but what's even more useful in my opinion is a network of friends that you can talk to about it. My Chemical Engineering class has a huge group chat with like half the class, plus several smaller chats. I literally messaged them a couple hours ago asking if anyone had clarification on a homework problem (that I'm now procrastinating lmao). This network will be invaluable for years and years to come, including after graduation.

It's also important to remember that it isn't a race! You can have a solid motivation to encourage you, go to office hours, and work with friends and there's still a chance that you'll fail the class. That's okay! If you keep your head up and still want to keep at it, retake the class next time it is offered! Running through it a second time can be extremely helpful! And it's not uncommon! Even if you fail several classes and have to take many again, it's totally normal and fine to take an extra year or an extra semester (or take summer classes). Go at your own pace and don't feel like if you fail once you will never get it.

Now this is all encouragement to keep at it because I assume that's what you want to do. However, there is also no shame whatsoever in changing your major. I would be careful of your motivations in doing that because I've heard of several friends who switch out of engineering and regret it later, but I've also heard from friends who are extremely glad they switched. If you aren't enjoying the field you're studying then maybe it isn't right for you!

One of my friends actually started in Chemical Engineering, switched to a different major entirely for a year, before coming back. They graduated in 5 years but that extra year was extremely helpful to them.

Finally, I cannot stress enough (pun intended) that mental health is extremely EXTREMELY important. A lot of STEM students especially take to unhealthy coping mechanisms because it's almost popularized. Drinking excessively, staying up all night, actively attending class when you are physically and mentally drained. It's all tempting but will largely hurt you overall. Exercise helped me a shit ton, start out with just some pushups or something once a week as you build up the habit. DON'T SKIP MEALS. That was a huge problem for me, but your body needs the energy. And get sleep. How much you need varies from person to person, but working until 3 AM is an emergency scenario, not something to do several nights a week. Please please please make friends. Student groups on campus are great places to do this if you are too shy to do much else because you'll already have some things in common with the people who attend (you don't even have to say anything, just show up for the first few meetings). Socialization is very important too!

I really hoped some aspect of this helped, and you are more than welcome to message me privately if you need more specific advice or pointers.

#asks #anon

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jupitermelichios · 4 years

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So I decided to rewatch Suicide Squad and I have some thoughts...

This isn’t really a review so much as it’s just a series of thoughts and impressions. I will say that while it’s still one of the worst made films I’ve ever seen, it’s never boring, which is by far the biggest sin a film can commit. It’s bullshit but it’s consistently interesting bullshit which makes it better than something like Fant4stic, which is as bad and incoherant but also just incredibly dull. I don’t think this could ever have been a good film, there was too much massively wrong with it before shooting even started to have been salvagable, but I do think it could have been a lot more coherant if it hadn’t been for the reshoots, re-edits, re-edits of re-edits and all the the other stuff that happened to it post production. Unlike something like BvS, I get why some people liked this one.

On that note, while I am going to end on a few possitives this basically a roast so if you don’t want to read about a film getting picked apart, this probably won’t be your jam. But if like me you find critiques of bad movies cathartic, read on. I’m not the first person to do this, but I’ve spotted some stuff I haven’t seen anyone else talk about so hopefully there’ll be something new for you.

All the dialogue is just slightly off in a way that’s hard to pin down, in the way that a lot of comprehensible stuff written by computers and neural networks is just slightly off. It’s got that phishing email or pornbot quality to it. Literally the fourth or fifth line in the film is Griggs saying about the prison rations, “...Everything a growing young man needs like you”, which isn’t nonsense, but is clearly wrong, and a lot of the lines have that quality to them.

In a similar vein, Deadshot’s daughter is written like she’s five or six, but the actress looks about twelve. I actually went and checked how old she was when this released, because I know white people are often wildly bad at judging the ages of black kids and I’m bad at judging ages in general, but no, she was 12 or 13 when this was shot, so why’s she written like a toddler? She doesn’t give a good performance (which is not the actresses fault, Will Smith barely gives a good performance in this and he can do this shit in his sleep, there’s no way a kid could have risen above the terrible script and direction) which makes it even worse, because you’ve got this pre-teen delivering dialogue written for a kindergardener in a way that feel like it’s maybe the first time she’s ever seen the script, and it makes what is otherwise one of the most competant scenes in the movie feel just as off as everything else.

The Joker. A lot of people have written a lot about Leto’s Joker but I want to add two things to the discussion I haven’t seen talked about much before. Firstly, before the electro-shock torture and acid bath, he and Harley have no romance. Like, explicitly, there is no romance, or even cammeraderie there. He’s her patient. She’s his jailer. He didn’t seduce her, he just tortured her until she gave in. That’s literally shown in the film. Even after the torture when she’s now on side he still really doesn’t like her, and not in a Paul Dini BTAS he doesn’t like her but he also wants her around kind of way. He doesn’t want her in his life. He orders her to leave him alone and she fucking stalks him. That’s not even subtext, she is specifically his stalker, because apparently the solution to the relationship being abusive was to retconn Harley into also being a creep as though that somehow solves something.

Secondly, Joker isn’t smart. Not only is he no longer emotionally intelligent (and comics Joker is many terrible things but he’s probably the most emotionally intelligent character in DC, that’s a lot of what makes him so dangerous because it’s how he manipulates people) he’s not intelligent full stop. His great plan for breaking out of Arkham? Some of his goons from the outside literally just shoot their way in to get to him. Even leaving aside the fact that Arkham apparently isn’t set up to deal with that kind of violence in this world despite Batman having been opperating for a decade, that’s not a clever plan, and it’s not Joker’s plan. 'Hope some of my dudes are loyal enough to come get me’ isn’t any kind of escape plan, and nothing we see after that point suggests that this was a moment of weakness. Joker just straight up isn’t very bright in this, which is weird because that’s one of the few genuinely consistent character traits he has. He’s no Riddler, sure, but he’s really smart and that makes him hard to contain.

Ayer made Harley functionally a sex worker in this, and it doesn’t actually matter that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with sex work or that sex work is real work, because David Ayer definitely thinks there is, and also really really hates women. David Ayer hates women so goddamn much. The only thing Slipknot does in the entire film apart from die is hit a woman just for being a woman.

When Waller arrives at Belle Reve, Croc is doing push ups. And that’s fine, it’s a classic movie shorthand for ‘bored prisoner is also fit and strong’, but the actor isn’t actually doing pushups. He’s got one knee tucked under his body to support his weight, and is clearly actually just sort of bobbing his head. What I suspect happened is that the prosthetics on his arms and chest were too heavy to allow that kind of movement, which would tie up with the stiff way he holds his arms throughout the film, but he’s not even bothering to pretend very hard and it adds to this pervading sense of off-kilter wrongness the film has.

Rick Flagg is supposed to be ‘the best special forces opperative this country has’, but he’s... really bad? He’s no use in any of the fights, he’s incapable of working with a team and has zero interpersonal skills, and when he’s assigned to be a bodyguard, he immediately starts fucking his client which is like, bodyguarding rule 1. He’s really bad at his job. (Which would be fine if the explanation was that he’s a fucking psychopath who’s 100% willing to just murder a civilian in the line of duty, but he’s meant to be Hannibal Smith more than Dirty Harry, and also if he is here because he’s a psychopath, why did Amanda Waller assume June Moon would be into that?!) He even has to be blackmailed into joining the opperation, so he’s incompetent, unprofessional, causes unecessary conflict, and isn’t even loyal to the project, so why him and not, I don’t know, literally any other character?

On the subject of June Moon, she goes (alone) on an archeological dig in a rainforest somewhere, finds a cave full of human remains and ancient artefacts, and literally her first action is to deliberately smash one of the artefacts, presumably just to see what would happen? IDK! We never get any explanation for that, but it’s definitely meant to be deliberate and not accidental when she smashes it! Why are archeologists in movies all so terrible?!

People have joked a lot about the fact that the movie changes the purpose of the squad from ‘plausibly deniable black ops, especially on American soil’, to ‘punching Superman’ but kept Captain Boomerang on the team, but there is actually an explanation given. A really really stupid explanation. Amanda Waller says that he’s there because ‘he faced down a metahuman and survived’, referring to him surviving being arrested. By the Flash. Who is famously non violent, and in fact in the next film in the series specifically says he’s never fought someone. So Boomer is on the team because he didn’t die when Flash picked him up and carried him to a police station, and Amanda Waller thinks that’s some kind of achievement. Like that isn’t the case for literally everyone the Flash has ever caught. And Flash is a street level hero, so that’s a whole lot of muggers and purse snatchers who are apparently capable of fist fighting Superman by Waller’s logic.

(On the same note as the Joker, Waller is also now incredibly stupid, but she’s mostly stupid for plot related reasons, so it sort of gets a pass? It gets more of a pass than the Joker at least, because making him comics-smart wouldn’t have necessatitated changing anything else about the film)

Re: Waller’s stupidity, her whole plan for recruiting El Diablo to the squad is... show him a video of him setting fire to some dudes. That’s it. She doesn’t even speak to him, she literally just holds up the video to the little window in his tank and seems surprised when that by itself isn’t enough.

And then when Flagg is like ‘hey let me try persuading him with actual arguments instead of just a weird video’, Diablo’s response is “You think you’re the first person to ask? I won’t do it. I’m a man not a weapon”, which gives us the amazing insight that in Ayer’s version of the DCU, there are apparently just... other Taskforce Xs running around. Other government agencies recruiting metahuman soldiers. So what exactly was the point of the half an hour or so of footage of her persuading the brass to go along with it? Because apparently they’re fine with this if every agency is doing it!

Tone? What even is tone. Griggs both has an antagonist but banter-y relationship with and brings cookies to the prisoners, but also he tortures them and is implied to be sexually abusing Harley, and like... you can’t have it both ways, Ayer. This is a one or the other situation. They can’t have a fun and jokey relationship with a man who is explicitly torturing and abusing them. Tone. You need to pick a fucking tone!

The decision to add a subplot about Deadshot being involved in a custody battle with his ex-wife was a fascinatingly terrible choice, and honestly tells you a lot about Ayer’s relationship to MRA talking points. Like, we know nothing about Deadshot’s wife except that she raised a cute well adjusted kid, so probably a pretty good parent, and that she doesn’t want her daughter to be spending time with a MASS MURDERER! So definitely a good parent! The comics just kind of handwave away Zoe’s mom most of the time, which was the right choice, because Ayer wants us to be on Deadshot’s side here, but it’s literally a choice between "a serial killer but you take credit cards” and a normal loving parent and somehow he thinks serial killer is the right answer? WTF happened in Ayer’s life that he thinks this is a choice where we side with Deadshot?! And it’s not even visitation rights or anything, Deadshot wants full custody. And the film thinks he’s in the right!

Not once, at any job I have ever had, one of which was a tourist attraction that required all visitors to wear a pass, have I ever seen someone wear a visitors pass on their sleeve. Not once. And it’s honestly such a good summary of the pervading wrongness of this film. This doesn’t feel like it was made by people. It feels like it was made by middlingly intelligent algorithms trying to pass as human.

Someone please tell me what the fuck any of this set is supposed to mean. The pose feels deliberate, but it’s not invoking anything I can see except the hanged man from the Ryder-Waite tarot deck, the halo of knives almost looks like it’s pseudo-religious imagery except that it’s not a full halo, the circle is incomplete on one side because of a broken piano, does the piano mean something? What about the babygrows, do they mean something? Does the Joker... want kids? Kill kids? Think Harley’s pregant? What the hell is any of this supposed to mean, and if, as I suspect, it was never supposed to mean anything why the fuck did they go to the trouble of making it?! What exactly does the hours this took to put together add to the movie?

David Ayer has a really weird relationship with both gang culture and latino gang culture specifically. He always feels the need to shoehorn them in somehow, and it’s this weird love-hate relationship where he apparently thinks latino gangs are so cool they have to be in everything, but is also so fucking racist he’s incapable of having a latino character who isn’t in a gang. Also in order to shoehorn them in here, he basically removed all of Joker’s henchmen (except for one scene which serves no narrative purpose) and replaced when with generic racist-stereotype LA gangs.

The fact that Griggs just hands Harley the phone in front of all the other guards and soliders was A Choice. Made even more so by the fact that Griggs never actually pay off. He gives Harley the phone, she tells him he’s “so screwed now”, and then... nothing. He’s just gone for the rest of the movie. He’s not even in the epilogue back in prison scenes.

I fucking love that the first thing Waller does is tell the world’s best assassin her real name. That is just... *chefs kiss* Everyone in this film is so fucking stupid.

I knew it was coming. I knew it was coming and I remembered the line perfectly, and I still had to stop the film because I was laughing too hard for “Ah would advise naht gettin’ killed by her, her sword traps the souls of its victims”. It’s the ‘that wizard came from the moon’ of film dialogue, and no one could have made it work, but the southern accent is really what makes that line delivery. I don’t know why, there’s just something about it in that drawl that it just endlessly hilarious.

It really is impressive how every character in this manages to be an offensive stereotype, sometimes multiple offensive stereotypes at once.

I love how Flagg’s right-hand woman is a samurai with a magical possessed sword that traps the souls of the damned who also isn’t military and refuses to speak English most of the time, but the squad are too weird for him. “You won’t believe it, this guy Boomerage, he’s got these bent stick things, and when he throws them they come back! I am freaking out, I can’t deal with this. Oh hi Katana, trap any damned souls lately?”

Harley is explicitly malicious in this in a way no other version of Harley has ever been, which is a Freudian nightmare when you combine it with her also being more sexualised than ever, and more infantalised than any version outside the Arkham games. Someone get Ayer a goddamn therapist. (Also in the vein of everyone being dumb in this, Harley is now an absolutely terrible psychiatrist and all her diagnoses are explicitly wrong, so that’s fun.)

The fucking pink unicorn-bundle of money switcheroo. There’s nothing to say on it that hasn’t already been said but holy shit. How do you fuck something up that bad? How? It’s like looking into Chekov’s nightmares and finding a pink stuffed unicorn staring back.

I love the way the soliders just come and go in this. Are they dead, are they alive, have they abandonned the cause? Why the fuck knows? Certainly not the editors!

I love how we’re supposed to be really sad about El Diablo being dead, but not care that Croc is seemingly directly underneath the explosion and definitely about to die, that’s fun.

I need to know if it was Ayer or Cara Delavigne’s choice to make Enchantress be just.. doing a little dance. Duing all the ‘tense’ moments. Because there are probably things which undercut tension more than the bad guy having a bit of boogy, but not many.

Enchantress gets so many costume changes, and I want to believe that they’re all from different versions of the film but I honestly think it was deliberate and I need someone on in the design department for this movie to tell me why because it add nothing.

I think the best thing about the stupidly on the nose liscenced soundtrack is that it just disappears once they arrive in Midway city. After spirit in the sky it’s original music all the way until the final scene. The great soundtrack DC stans insist this film has is literally only in the first 50 minutes and the last 2 of a 2hr+ movie.

The glorification of abuse in this is... seriously fucking something else. Twilight doesn’t have a patch on this. 50 Shades of Grey doesn’t have a patch on this. This shit is disgusting, and the fact that they pushed so hard to get it a child friendly rating is just morally bankrupt.

Possitive note to end on:

The dialogue is way too on the nose and exposition dump-y but the scene in the bar works pretty well. It fulfils its role in the story, and gives us a decent dose of team bonding.

Deadshot and Harley have great chemistry, and Boomer is perfectly cast, in a way that makes me really hopeful for James Gunn’s take on the team. A writer who knows how to write friendships could do a lot with the three of them, and they’ve been the core squad since 2011 so they’re the ones who matter. It probably helps that whatever Will Smith’s faults as an actor, you could cast him opposite a housebrick and they’d somehow have great chemistry.

#suicide squad #roasting suicide squad #bad movies #you could build whole academic careers just talking about all the things that went wrong in the production of this film #and some of it was studio interferance for sure #but a lot of it was ayer being incompetant #and trailerpark being incompetant #and kate hawley somehow being incompetant despite being fine on other movies #likewise john gilroy the creditted editor #lindsay graham and Mary Vernieu doing the worst jobs of their respective careers #i'm glad this movie didn't tank the careers of the creatives #and so upset it didn't tank the career of david ayer #how can you write this and fucking Bright and still have a job as a writer #how

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cricketrocker · 4 years

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Check Engine Light & the Conundrum of Hope

Last October, I woke up in the morning with a sore ankle. Just one of those things. Maybe I twisted it on something. Maybe I dropped something on it. Maybe old college/war injury acting up. Maybe maybe maybe. Annoyed by this failure of, well, somehow myself--albeit an extremity of myself, I pressed on with life and the many comfortable, predictable stressors that my culmination of years have earned.

Autumn turned to winter, winter turned to...well. I remember driving up to work at 6:30AM with a printout on my passenger seat stating that I was an “essential” employee of my workplace. I remember pulling up to an entirely empty parking lot and tying a bandana, bandito style, around my face--since it seemed better than nothing, and all the masks were still on backorder from China. I remember walking up the stairs to my office and noting that my ankle was sore. Some days worse than others. But let’s figure out how to get everyone moved immediately to remote instruction. Let’s do it together.

Sometime between this moment and when we last spoke, I read a funny Instagram meme. Funny or true. True or uh, real. Whatever. It said, “Do you ever feel like we start to ignore ourselves the same way that we tend to ignore our check engine lights?” I grinned at that, slightly limping my dog for a 2-mile daily walk. Some days. Some days, ankle feels fine.

Like much of the human race, I limped and limp forward. Fortunate to still be employed, healthy (except for the ankle) things were looking up as COVID seemed under control for 30 seconds and the walls came a tumbling down again and death cases and cases cases and well, summer pretty much sucked. I felt guilty and lame for not really doing much other than thinking maybe it would have been okay to take a vacation after all since everyone in the neighborhood seemed to still be Instagramming from beaches and such.

I was sure that sending my kid to Pine Cove during week 5 was a life and death decision, but he made it out okay and had some semblance of normalcy if but for a week. Hearing that the camp had to close for a few weeks just after was creepy, but hey, the luck (and ankle) still seemed to be holding out.

I was gloomy and still am gloomy that Top Gun: Maverick was been delayed until December, but yes, there are more important things than movies. Still. I’m not sure they’d be letting someone as old as Tom Cruise fly F-18′s, but I don’t care. I got older too. Older and probably fatter.

‘cause I used to walk about 12K-15K at-work steps a day. I mean, I’d assumed that was probably the cause. Long walks in those damn dress shoes. Since I’m probably down to around 200-500 at-work steps a day, that has been ruled out. Oh, but because of that, probably a little fatter.

When Donald Trump helped the United States win all the gold medals for COVID, I’d originally intended to “do an increasing number of pushups each day until COVID ended” as well as “not shave until COVID ended.” These efforts lasted approximately 2 and 1/2 months. Decent beard, actually, but then summer hit and forget it. Also, tiredness hit so forget the pushups. Yeah, a little fatter. Current combating ankle pain with daily Mountain Dew, coffee, water, and an occasional Big Red.

I’m honestly not sure where work and “not work” begin and end anymore. For whatever reason, my line of work interfaces with “technology and all that implies” and “academics” -- and in higher ed--that means all activities that intersect with teaching, research, work, communications, etc.--anything that help faculty and students be successful in higher education. The other day, one of my team members vented to me, “Is there anything on this campus which we are NOT responsible for, boss?” I wasn’t sure how to answer that, we’re there/here to help. Though I was too distracted to articulate a leaderful reply because my ankle was choosing that moment to throb.

Like many of you, I’m not at all certain if today was a good or a bad day. Much of this has to do with not knowing at all if tomorrow will be a good or a bad day. I received a gift recently of a desk plaque that reads LET ME OVERTHINK THAT. There might be a message some message there, I don’t know. I’m trying to save higher education and be sure that everyone is trained and everyone is supported and everyone has a plan for both Fully Online classes and for the Super Flex classes which are both online and in person and to get all of the people and the software and the websites and the training and the technology and the documentation and the backup plan and keep the people motivated and worry about the budget and, etc, etc. that sometimes I need to be more thankful for what I have. I’m just doing my best, and on some days my ankle hurts.

Some nights I prop up that leg on some pillows to elevate it because I probably saw on TV or heard in a podcast once that elevating sore ankles will cure them. I don’t know if helps or does anything unless I believe it does and sometimes I believe it does and sometimes I do not believe that it does it does it does.

I can tell you that my ankle doesn’t LOOK like it should hurt, it is just a kind of periodic inside-the-skin ache, or a needle now and then. It hasn’t really gotten any worse since last October, but I guess it hasn’t gotten any better. There’s a little “check engine light” on, I suppose, but perhaps it’ll just go away. We’ll see.

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sweetestlittledarling · 7 years

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A Night Changed Part 1

The power of ‘what if’ is very strong. Like what if three people missed a party where they were fated to die? What if a person who had spent his life denying his family’s gift decided to listen for once?

Read it on Ao3 Here

It was a relatively nice evening in the city. The sky is overcast, but it’s not too humid. You are dressed up for a party, although currently, you are not going to one. You were supposed to Mark’s estate but after that cryptic call from Damien, your dear friend, and the mayor, you find yourself instead in a cab heading towards Damien’s apartment. You feel worried as you remember the way Damien’s voice sounded on the phone. He sounded…off. In the time you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned to pick up on things, like when there is something going on underneath his words.

He said that he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be attending the party, the one he had seemed, up till tonight, happy to be attending. You still had no idea what had happened between the friends, but Damien had seemed hopeful that this would be a fresh start. Just a day ago you would have assumed that hell nor high water would have stopped him from going.

It’s not long before the car pulls up outside Damien’s building. You pay the cabbie before stepping out onto the sidewalk. You feel a bit overdressed, but in your worried state, you hadn’t thought about changing. The doorman greets you with a smile. He knows you quite well given how many times you have come to see Damien.

“Have you talked to the mayor today?”

“I did see him earlier,” he says, with a small nod.

“And, how was he?”

“Well, he seemed deep in thought. Nearly didn’t hear me when I told him that the dry cleaners had dropped off his best suit for the party tonight. He thanked me then hurried up to the penthouse. Haven’t seen nor heard from him since then.”

“I see,” you say, as he opens the door for you, “thank you.”

As you pass through the lobby you try to think of anything political that might have come up although you would think only a monster attacking the city would have stopped Damien from attending the party. There was some tabloid talk of the mayor being a demon, but that just makes you roll your eyes. Those sleazy reporters really were vultures, especially the ones that make up their stories. You hurry to the elevator.

“Mayor’s penthouse please,” you say to the man.

Just as the doors begin to close you hear a booming voice. “Wait! Hold that elevator!” The elevator operator stops the doors just in time for a very interesting fellow to slip in. He was dressed in what you could only describe as safari gear, complete with a pith helmet. He also has a very bristly mustache, which twitches as his nose wiggles a bit. You would have thought him a solider, not only from the stripes on his coat but the way he stands straight at attention beside you. “Penthouse please my good man,” he says.

Wait…He’s going to the penthouse? Is he going to see Damien as well? Suddenly it hits you.” A colonel…infantry division…” you say remembering what Damien had said.

“I beg your pardon?” the mustache man, turning to look at you through his spectacles.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, realizing that not only were you staring but speaking out loud. “I was just…your name wouldn’t happen to be Colonel William Pelt?”

“Why yes, it is,” he says tilting his head curiously, “but my friends call me the Colonel.” His nose twitches as does his mustache. “Now it would seem that you know quite a bit about me, but I don’t think I know anything about you.”

“Oh, again very sorry! I’m a friend of Damien’s- “

“Hmmm!” The Colonel’s suddenly loud humming and scratching of his chin make you pause. He is looking at you in a strange way which is making you feel somewhat uncomfortable. “Wait!” He says suddenly, smiling, “you’re the incredibly gorgeous district attorney that Damien is always raving about in his letters!”

You feel a sudden burst of heat hit your face. “Wait…what?” Before you have time to think over this the elevator dings and the door opens.

“Top floor,” the elevator operator announces.

“After you,” the Colonel says, bowing and sweeping his hand.

“Oh yes of course,” you say, trying to ignore the smirk on the elevator operator’s face. You’ve tried your best to ignore the building’s staff and their rumors about you’re spending so much time in the mayor’s apartment. The Colonel’s words, you are sure, will be the talk of the entire building. You feel a bit more heat rise to your cheeks, but you ignore it. It’s a short walk from the elevator to Damien’s door and the worry you had earlier comes back to you. “Colonel, did you get a call from Damien as well?”

“Yes, I did,” the Colonel says as you both come to a stop in front of Damien’s door. “He told me he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be making the party tonight. As an army man I couldn’t leave a man behind, so I figured I’d better stop by and check up on my old friend…why?”

“I was just curious if you thought he sounded upset when he called.”

“You picked up on that too, hmm?”

You are about to speak again when the door opens and there is Damien, perfect as always in what you recognize is his best suit. He doesn’t look very sick although you are pretty sure that Damien could look perfect even if he were dying. But there is something about the way he looks at you both, like he is relieved to see you. He instantly smiles, eyes brightening. “Dear friends- “He says, clearly meaning to say something else but is interrupted by the Colonel pulling him into a bear hug. You hear Damien let out an audible ‘omf’ as he hugged by the bear of a man.

“Damien! Man, it has been too long!” The Colonel says.

It is only a moment later that Damien gather’s his wits again and you see him hug the Colonel back. “Indeed Colonel,” he says, “far too long.” You give them their moment, glad to see two old friends together again. As they break apart, you catch Damien’s eye. “I am glad to see you as my friend. How is the move into the new office?”

“It’s going well,” you say. “But right now, I think we should be more concerned about you. How are you feeling?”

“I was having a bit of lightheadedness earlier,” Damien answers, “I think I might have come down a cold. I didn’t mean to worry.”

The Colonel places his big hand on Damien’s forehead. “Hmmm, no fever,” he says.

“I swear it’s just a cold, Colonel,” Damien says again, stepping away from the Colonel’s hand. “I will be fine with just some rest and maybe some tea.”

“And some of my grandmother Hilda’s chicken noodle soup!” the Colonel says as he boldly marches past Damien into the apartment. “Nothing better for the aches then the love of grandmother Hilda!”

“I don’t want you to have to be subject to my germs,” Damien stutters in his usual polite way.

“Oh, pish posh!” the Colonel says, with a wave of his hand as he makes his way into the living room beyond, “I have faced a hundred different terrors on the battlefield, a few germs are hardly that scary!”

Damien looks to you and you shrug. “You’ve taken care of me when I was ill,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips, “so I guess we can call this payback of sorts.” Again, you could swear you see a sort of relief cross Damien’s face, although he does his best to hide it. He steps aside allowing you to enter, closing the door behind both of you. The place has always screamed Damien, grand and well decorated. You’ve come to think of this place as a sort of second home in a way, especially after all the time that you’ve spent there.

As you all enter the living room the Colonel turns on his heel to face the both of you. “Now, if someone will direct me to the kitchen we can get started,” he says.

“It’s that way,” Damien says motioning to the door that leads to the kitchen, “but please Colonel, don’t go through any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble my dear man!” the Colonel says, a big smile crossing his face. “Besides your rest. You just sit down and relax. The district attorney and I will work together to make quick work of it!”

“Wait, what?” Did he just mention you in that sentence? “Oh no, Colonel, you don’t want my help!”

“Why not? Two hands would make the work much lighter!”

“Because I am a horrible cook! I never learned how to make anything!” And it’s not a lie, you are a terrible cook. You would burn water if that were possible. You spent many nights ordering food or eating out (or eating at Damien’s as he wasn’t much of a cook as well). There is a sudden gleam in the Colonel’s eye that makes you nervous. Without warning, the Colonel grabs you by the hand and drags you off towards the kitchen. “Woah! Hey, wait a minute!”

“Come on soldier! Time for someone to teach you some basic life skills!”

“Wait, I’m not a soldier!” You look pleadingly back at Damien, but he just returns your pleas with a look of apology, either not wanting to help or knowing that there was no way to help.

You are pulled into Damien’s kitchen which is pristine as the rest of his home. It also is well stocked with all sort of cooking things that you have never really seen before. For a man who isn’t much of a cook himself, Damien sure has plenty of things in his kitchen you realize. The Colonel marches to the fridge pulling out all manner of vegetables and tosses them onto the counter. “Okay, cadet, start cutting up those carrots,” he says looking to you.

“Colonel, I really got to tell you- “Your words die under the Colonel’s demanding eye. You suddenly feel like you’re in boot camp, and you feel like you are going to have to do pushups.

“Are you questioning me soldier?” he asks, and you feel a chill run down your back.

“No sir!” you say quickly jumping into action. You rush over to the counter and find yourself with carrots, a cutting board, and a big knife. You swallow as you lift the knife in your hand, wondering if you can manage to do this without losing too many fingers. The Colonel must have picked up on your fear as you hear him sigh.

“Okay, watch me,” he instructs taking the knife from you, “you take the carrot like this, cut off the top and then chop like this.” You watch carefully as he makes quick work of the orange veg. “Now you do the same.”

You nod, still a bit nervous as you take up the knife again. It’s a bit tricky at first but soon you are chopping with at least at the speed of a snail. You can’t help but glance over at the Colonel who is going at mock ten, chopping vegetables, filling a pot with water, and chopping chicken. While he is doing all these things, he has such a focus that you can only be in awe of his amazingness.

“Almost done with those carrots cadet?”

“Yes sir!” you say as you quickly get back to chopping. Surprisingly, you manage to chop all the carrots without losing any fingers. You count that as an achievement as the Colonel adds your carrots to the boiling pot. You have to say you feel rather good about the work you’ve done even if the Colonel did most of it. You watch as the Colonel sprinkles in some salt and pepper, stopping to take a little sip.

“Mmm, just like grandmother used to make,” he says approvingly. Suddenly there is a sound of a kettle going off and you realize that during the whole mess of cooking the Colonel managed to also heat some water for tea. He pours some into a mug and then places a tea bag inside. You can smell the gentle min and realize that it’s Damien’s favorite, peppermint. “Here,” the Colonel says handing the mug to you. “Take this to our friend in the other room…” He then leans in close to you and says softly: “…And maybe you can talk to him and see if you can’t get something out of him.”

You nod.

As you walk out of the kitchen you find Damien not sitting on the couch but instead sitting on the window ledge, looking out over the city. He at first doesn’t seem to realize that you are there, and you take a moment to just watch him. He seems to be deep in thought, his handsome brow knitted just a little with his mouth slightly downturned. If you didn’t know better, and you do, you’d say he looks worried.

“Some tea?” you finally say.

Damien looks up and smiles. “Thank you,” he says as he rises. “I hope the Colonel wasn’t too hard on you. He does have the habit of being a bit…eccentric.”

“He’s…a character,” you admit, as you hand him the mug. “but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m glad. I had always hoped that you would get to meet him. I am sure the more you get to know each other the more you will like each other.” Damien brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip, humming happily. “Delicious.”

You can’t take it anymore. “Okay, enough,” you say, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the nearby table. You know you should probably wait but… “You are going to talk to me, and tell me what is going on.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Damien, you are not sick. I know you, Damien. I’ve seen you sick and this is not it. So, what is going on?”

Damien’s smile disappears as you speak. You feel guilty for putting that worried look on his face but at the same time, it’s near killing you to think that there is something distressing him that you can’t help with. “Please, old friend, don’t- “

“Does it have something to do with the party? Mark? It’s the only thing I can think of that could possibly upset you like this. I thought you were feeling hopeful about tonight. Did something happen?” You keep trying to watch his face, trying to use your deduction skills to decipher answer. “Please talk to me, Damien! Whatever it is I just want to- “

“Stop!” The word is sharp. It makes you jump a little. You’ve never heard Damien use that tone, at least not with you. It sent a shot right through you and not in a good way. You stand there in shock unsure what to do for a moment. Suddenly he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently as he looks at you with sadness in his eyes. “Please forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I am very sorry old friend.”

Only once had you ever seen Damien truly angry. It had been a side you had never seen of the usually gentleman and it had been somewhat frightening. It was not a side Damien liked anyone to see and just like now, he had been extremely apologetic. You know it takes a lot for Damien to be pushed to that level and you now feel bad that you were the cause. You let out a breath and squeeze his hands back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

A faint smile returns to Damien’s face. “I know it was because you were worried about me, and I greatly appreciate it.”

“But at some point,” you say, being very serious again, “we are going to talk about whatever it is going on right?”

You can see the conflict in his eyes but thankfully he nods. “Yes, but not now. Later, I promise.”

“Ahem!”

You both jump as you turn your heads and find the Colonel standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with three bowls of soup. He is looking at the both of you with a very sly look on his face.

It is at that point that you realize that you are still holding Damien’s hands and you feel your face burn as you let go quickly. Damien must have realized the same thing as he too has gone from pale to very red. “Ah Colonel, when did you get here?” Damien asks, stumbling a little with the words.

“Oh, not long,” the Colonel says stepping into the room and closer to Damien. He gives his friend a small jab in the ribs with his elbow. “Seems you weren’t wrong, old chap, your dear district attorney is a looker.”

Damien, as his face grows ever redder. “Colonel…please!” he says, voice verging on begging.

You feel your own face burning as your head is spinning with the idea that Damien, a man you might have a small crush on, might have said those words about you of all people. You are pretty sure if you aren’t careful your heart might just beat out of your own chest.

The Colonel laughs, clearly enjoying the near heart attack he’s caused both of you. “Come on, the both of you, sit down and eat.”

So, you all settle down on the couch, the Colonel sitting suspiciously between the two of you, and start to eat. You put the first spoonful of soup into your mouth and your eyes grow wide. “Wow, this is really good,” you say, unable to believe that you kind of helped make something that tastes this good.

“You have outdone yourself once again Colonel,” Damien says in agreement.

“Yes, once again I am proven to be a brilliant star among men,” the Colonel says with a dramatic flourish. Then with a sly smile, he reaches into his coat. “And our meal will be made even better with this!” He pulls out what appears to be some of Damien’s most expensive alcohol.

“Ooo, I want some!” you say, almost drooling at the sight of the good stuff. You were almost thinking that you weren’t going to get to drink tonight, which was rather sad as you got dressed up and everything.

“I had nearly forgotten I had that,” Damien said, reaching out for the bottle, “here let me- “

“Oh, but you’re sick, Damien,” the Colonel says, pulling the bottle away. “Sick men shouldn’t abide alcohol, it’s not good for them.”

“Yeah, more for us,” you cheer with a little laugh.

“Indeed, my dear!” the Colonel agrees as you grin and share a triumphant high five.

“But- “Damien begins his face looking rather pitiful.

And the Colonel laughs as he wraps an arm around Damien’s shoulders pulling him in close. “Aww, poor man, can’t tell when your old friend is joking with you?”

Damien opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, and then lets out a little breath. “I have missed your humor Colonel,” he says with a small smile.

…

Drinks are poured and soon the night dissolves into eating, drinking, and telling stories. You and Damien share the story of college, while Damien and the Colonel share stories of childhood and the military. Some of it was embarrassing, even for you, and there is quite a lot of laughing at the past. You find yourself learning more about Damien, and in that the Colonel, then you ever thought you would. At some point, the cards come out, and suddenly you are forced to defend your title as the ruler of poker land. Sitting on the floor, you smile as you once again lay out your amazing hand, and collect your chips.

The Colonel, sitting next to you, gapes. “How?”

“You see but you do not observe,” you say, still smiling as you stack your chips into nice little piles.

“I told you, Colonel,” Damien chuckles, “our dear district attorney is a master at poker. We should probably be glad we aren’t playing for money or we both would be very poor.”

The Colonel humps as takes a sip of his drink before leveling you with a seething look. “Well, I demand one more game! I will beat you yet!”

“Oh, you aren’t ready to give up yet colonel?” you ask, your smile becoming only slightly evil.

“As a military man, I don’t know the meaning of giving up!”

“Well then, I will be back to once again to crush you,” you chuckle, as you get to your feet, taking a moment to stretch, “right after I use the restroom. If you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment.”

You have to say for a night that didn’t go the way you had expected, you certainly are enjoying yourself. Damien and the Colonel are truly great people to spend an evening in with. You do feel a little bit guilty not going to Mark’s party, but if you are honest with yourself, the only reason you were going to said party was to be with Damien.

You finish in the bathroom quickly and walk back towards the living room. As you approach you hear Damien and the Colonel talking. The topic of the conversation makes you stop just before the door, listening curiously.

“I think that you are right about that district attorney of yours,” the Colonel says, his voice booming, “they certainly are something else.”

“I’m am glad that you think so,” Damien says. “I knew the both of you would be good friends if you just were to meet.”

“And if I didn’t know better, old man, I would say that maybe you had a bit of a crush on your dear college pal!”

You feel your cheeks burn as you hear Damien sputter. “Colonel, please, stop!”

“What? With how you rave about them in your letters I would have assumed that you were dating them already! I mean what is stopping you? Take it from me, Damien, you have to jump on these things now or face the possibility of losing them forever…”

There is a moment of heavy silence. You can feel it even from your position by the door. You feel awful for listening in but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to just walk in. You carefully lean your head around the corner and see the Colonel and Damien sitting side by side on the couch, both looking solemn. “Have you heard from Celine?” Damien asks, breaking the silence but not the heaviness of the air.

The Colonel says nothing, just shakes his head.

Damien sighs, laying a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder. “I know my sister, and she will be found when she wants to be found. But she cares for you Colonel, she will come back when she is ready.”

The Colonel sighs deeply hands balled on his lap. “I wish I could believe you, Damien, truly I do. But after what happened I fear my dear cardinal has decided to disappear forever.”

Celine? Wait are they talking about Damien’s sister? You know very little about Celine, having only heard about her a hand full of times from Damien. You had noticed that it was hard for Damien to talk about his family, so you had left it alone, but it had always made you curious. What had happened to all of them. You knew at one point they had all been friends, but then something…

“I’m sorry, William,” Damien says, his tone regretful. “I had hoped when Mark had purposed that we all get together again that maybe…maybe we would finally be able to put all this behind us. That maybe we could find some forgiveness and try to become somewhat like we were.”

“I don’t think that is possible,” the Colonel says, suddenly.

“Colonel- “

“Damien, the words that were said that night…some of them can’t be taken back. The anger and the rage, it’s not easily forgotten. Which is why I was surprised when I got the invitation. Truly I thought that Mark would have been much happier if he had never seen my face again.” The Colonel looks down at his hands, still balled into fists on his lap. “I was afraid, truly afraid, to see him again. After what I’d down… after what WE had done, I didn’t think that I could look him in the eyes.” He barked out a bitter laugh as he continued. “I have faced many a foe on the battlefield but truly I have not faced a worse foe then this. When you called tonight and told me you weren’t going I realized that I couldn’t face him alone, not without you.” The Colonel raises his head to look at Damien, a small smile on his face. “I have missed you, Damien.”

Damien smiles gently as he wraps an arm around the Colonel’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “And I you William. It has been far too long.”

You feel a bit guilty now, listening in on this private conversation. You step around the doorway and into the room, making your presence known. “So, Colonel,” you say, acting like you hadn’t heard anything, “ready for me to beat you again?”

Damien chuckles as he stands. “While you two battle it out I am going to go grab us some more drink,” he says as he walks past you towards the kitchen. “I think I have some vintage wine given to me as a birthday. Seems like an appropriate time as any to dig it out.”

“Sounds good to me,” you say flashing him a smile before turning back to the Colonel. “As I said Colonel are you ready to lose to me again? We can even make this a little more interesting, since we are probably going to be staying here tonight how about the winner of the next game gets the couch for the night?”

There is a new gleam in the Colonel’s eye as he rises to meet your gaze. “You’re on.”

#who killed markiplier #wkm #mayor damien #the colonel #fanfiction #markiplier

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invaderhogtwopointohno · 8 years

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Doesn’t Sound So Bad to Me

A gift for @coppernailpolish for the RebelCaptain Secret Valentine’s Day Exchange

Summary: A RebelCaptain Boxer/Coach AU. Jyn Erso has been fighting since childhood, and won every title she can get her hands on. But when she suddenly goes through a major public incident, her coach and gym drops her and she has to figure out how to get back on the scene. She ends up at Alliance Gym, where the owner wants to put her together with infamous Cassian Andor, a coach known for only producing real winners.

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A/N: I hope I nailed what I would believe human Kay would sound like- I kept trying to be as dry and dead pan as I could possibly be.

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Chapter Three

Punching Bag

Jyn was in her apartment that night, punching at her bag in her living room, thinking about everything that had happened. She had called Han and he confirmed it- she was no longer under contract with the Empire, she was an Alliance fighter and Mon Momtha had taken her contract at almost a third of the cost. Apparently she was a really amazing negotiator. But that meant that Jyn got an advance that put her apartment rent up for at least another six months without worries.

She didn’t care about the money. She cared about fighting. She had heard stories about Momtha and she was not really the kind of person who walked around throwing her weight around for nothing. She was the kind of person who chose her battles carefully and investing in Jyn was clearly a long shot at best. But it put Jyn in a situation that was only to her advantage. If she fought for Alliance, she would be able to get back on scene, really working hard and not getting into as much trouble as before. And if it didn’t work out, she still got paid because of the renegotiation on her contract. She still had Han as an agent and still was getting at least something for her trouble.

And she was pretty sure that if she didn’t make it this time, she was going to have to quit for good and get a real job- not that she even knew what that was.

The biggest obstacle in her way?

Cassian Andor.

She knew nothing about him. He hadn’t ever been a professional fighter and she really knew fighters, not coaches. She had to go online and Google him to really learn something. His story was very similar to her own and she was surprised. But that didn’t make him any less of a dick in her eyes, no matter how handsome he was.

Yeah, she had noticed that he was incredibly well built and good looking but he had an attitude problem that she was not ready to deal with. Jyn was used to people looking down at her, but for some reason it didn’t feel like that’s what he’d been doing. He had been watching her. Seeing her weaknesses. She hated that somehow she had been so exposed to him in only a brief few moments. He had seen through her when she was so careful not to let anyone else do that.

He was going to be trouble.

She called her father after her afternoon workout. He was currently in Germany, working as a professor of nuclear physics at a university there and he had been letting her have her space recently, coming for Christmas but not bothering her as she attempted to piece her life back together. She was grateful because she didn’t know how she would have handled that situation.

He was pleased to hear that she was going to get real coaching from now on, not that Saw wasn’t a great coach but he could be intense and demanding. A new coach would be good for her. But she emphasized that she did not like Cassian in any way and wanted nothing to do with him.

“Stardust, I know that you are going to do fine. That promoter lady was smart to get such an amazing fighter like you,” he said, smiling through the phone.

“I don’t know when my next fight is, but I’ll call you,” she said. It was an unspoken understanding since she was small that even if her father didn’t understand her intense need to fight, he would watch every single one in support of her. Even the ones she was destroyed in, he watched every second, refusing his daughter the dishonor of looking away. If she was going to get beaten, she was going to get beaten with an audience present.

“Be safe out there, Stardust. I love you.”

“I love you too, Papa,” she said, and they hung up. That was the first time in almost a year and a half she actually smiled after one of their phone calls.

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The next morning Cassian was walking up to the gym about five in the morning, and saw Jyn standing next to her parked motorcycle, arms crossed and glaring at him. He guessed she didn’t want to seem like she wasn’t grateful for the opportunity by showing up late to her first session. Then again, it was hard to read her motives. Despite his intense desire not to- Cassian had spent the entire night thinking about Jyn.

He had gone home to his small apartment and watched every fight he could get his hands on, taking notes and watching her. Before her birthday incident, Jyn was amazing in the ring. She was intense and heartfelt and just exuded intense power. He could see why her opponents never underestimated her. She was a demon in the ring.

But her fights after that? They were less ferocious, like a person who was fighting just for the sake of money, the intense need to make sure they see their next meal. Something he knew a little of. But it was different from how she fought yesterday. She had been so intense, and wanted the win more than she wanted to eat or lie down and sleep. She had put everything into that fight yesterday. That’s what he needed to remind her of in the ring.

She straightened as he came walking up, “Good to see you know how to get to work on time.”

“Get your skinny ass inside,” he grumbled.

“Don’t look at my ass,” she glared and turned, going inside. Too late, he thought.

----

Kaytoo Esso was a decent fighter and was good at doing his homework. He stood in the gym’s corner, watching Jyn come out from the locker room, dressed for her morning workout and he took note that she was very still, no matter what she did. She seemed like a feral animal, not wanting to move unless it was to get ready to fight and she didn’t waste her time with a whole lot of words.

Cassian ushered her over, telling her to get started and he watched her as she began her workout.

“Your friend want to join,” she said, glaring in Kay’s direction.

“Kay, get to work,” Cassian said, Kay putting down his bag and getting to his reps. He watched Jyn though, and he watched Cassian watching Jyn. He had a bad feeling about all of this.

“Move it,” Cassian ordered, Jyn doing pushups now. “You have gone soft, Jyn Erso, look at these weak ass arms.”

That kind of talk was not something he would ever say to any of his other fighters but Cassian was certain that Jyn was the kind of person who succeeded out of spite, not out of coddling.

“Shut up,” she muttered and did another fifty just to give him a middle finger. She moved on and worked harder than usual. Cassian had assumed correctly that she had let herself go a little, not working as hard as she could have been. Not going that extra mile and now if she didn’t she had a feeling he would insult her more. She wouldn’t give that prick the satisfaction.

“Your first fight is going to be against Leia Organa. You think she won’t knock you on your ass easy? She has never lost a fight and I don’t think she is going to be pushed over easily.”

“Leia Organa?” she looked at him, doing her reps. He nodded, arms crossed as he casually leaned against the machine, watching her.

“The boss lady is serious, she wants you fighting ready. I have one month to get you that way.”

“I can fight,” she spat back and he looked her over. Doing that thing again. Looking through her. She wished she had the same ability but he was hard to read.

“I am not the one you gotta convince,” he said, quietly and she looked away. Leia Organa was her first fight after so many beat downs? That wasn’t her concern. Her concern was if she lost, would she be out of a coach and a gym again. She would never make it back to the ring if she didn’t have those.

“There is a 96.7% of failure,” Kay said, appearing behind Cassian.

“Meet Kay,” Cassian said, and she glared at the newcomer.

“Charming,” she said sarcastically and he looked at his other fighter.

“Go ahead and get gloved up. Spar with someone. Work on your jab.”

Kay looked like he wanted to say something and instead he walked off.

“Don’t mind Kay, he just kind of says whatever comes into his head. He doesn’t really have a filter.”

Neither did Jyn but she didn’t really talk so it didn’t matter. She finished her reps and sat up, and Cassian put out a hand as if to help her get up but thought better of it and pulled back. She looked at him, getting up herself. She stood up and realized that she was incredibly close to Cassian. She could smell Axe and leather and chalk. He looked down at her, almost a head taller and they just kind of stayed there for a moment, neither really sure what to do. She had never been this close to someone in a while. She didn’t know what to think.

“Andor!”

Cassian turned at the sound of his name and grateful for the distraction from the smell of Jyn’s lily shampoo, and he moved away first, hurrying over to a coach who had called him. Jyn needed a moment as well and then went on to her next set. She didn’t look anywhere but at the ground for a good few minutes, certain that her face was back to neutral before she attempted conversation with anyone again.

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Cassian watched Jyn as she gloved up, and for the first time he didn’t look at her face. He was looking at her body. It was his job, of course, to observe his fighters but this wasn’t a job related moment. He was taking her in. Her brown bangs hanging around her face, framing her sharp features, her intense hazel eyes. He looked down, finding her strong, tense shoulders and her strong arms, hands working the tape to prepare herself for her gloves. Each movement was precise and intense. There was not a single moment she was calm. He had never seen someone so on edge before in his life.

Cassian had now gone from observing to straight up staring when Kay came up to him, sighing.

“Can I fight her, please?”

Cassian was quickly recovered from his moment of weakness and turned to look at his tall friend.

“You want to fight Jyn?”

Cassian had a foot on her, Kay had a foot and a half.

“Let the idiot try,” Jyn said, turning and looking at them. She was gloved up and ready to go. “But I wouldn’t do it. For his sake.”

“I am so surprised that your concerned about my safety,” Kay said, glaring at her now and Cassian stepped between them, pretty sure that there was going to be a fight no matter what.

“I am not, but I don’t want anyone pulling me off of you as I am beating your ass and throwing me out of the ring, hurting me.”

“Get in the ring,” Cassian ordered, reaching out and hovering over Jyn but never touching her. She got into the ring and Kay muttered.

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

----

Jyn went home with a black eye and Kay went home with a bruised jaw. Cassian sighed as he saw Jyn heading out from the locker room.

“You need to learn how to control yourself!” he said, stepping in front of her and she glared at him. He wanted to scream and laugh at the same time. This woman was the hardest person to understand.

“He wanted a fight.”

“Yeah, and what would have happened if you had broken something? You want to come back, right? You can’t just go in there and hope that nothing goes wrong.” He would have thought that his concern was with her as a fighter but the pounding in his chest would suggest something else. Cassian ignored it and turned away.

“Get your act together, Jyn, if you are going to stay here.”

He left without another word and she went out to find his car, kicking his tire several times before she went home.

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A/N: I kind of see Cassian driving an old beat up Mustang, like it’s cool but its a piece of crap.

#copper nail polish #rcvalentine #rebelcaptain #rebelcaptainnetwork #jyn erso #cassian andor #star wars #rogue one

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goodfemalecharacters · 8 years

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12x08 Coda: The Worst Part

Or, the one where Sam and Dean are in a supermax and everybody’s sad about it. Light Destiel. Also available on ao3

This is nothing like the X-Files.

Angie yawns and slides forward on her hand, despite the fact that she had propped herself up against her keyboard in an attempt to stay awake. The worst part is that she always gets stuck with the early bird shift. And she doesn’t have a young, hot Gillian Anderson to distract her, either.

Sighing, Angie flicks on the cameras at exactly five o’clock. After thirty-five days of this, she has a pretty good idea of how the Winchesters operate. Both of them, despite the fact that it’s been thirty-five days since they’ve been in contact, wake up at the same time. The one time Angie had dared to sneak a peek at their file (her superiors think that only people who have fully gone through the limited supernatural-based training the US government provides should have access), she’d caught a glimpse of their father’s military record. When she got home that day, she’d looked up the Marine wakeup time. Sure enough, five o’clock.

They don’t go about their morning routines the same way. The younger one—Sam, she thinks, it’s not really her place to know their names, just if they appear to be planning an escape attempt—sits cross-legged on the too-small pallet that they call a bed and sinks into some sort of weird meditative state. Angie can’t really blame him. It’s got to be boring as hell in there.

The other brother, Dean, doesn’t waste any time with that. He heads right into a routine that puts Angie’s fitness-nut older sister to shame. Simple stuff like push-ups and sit-ups to start. One time, Angie witnessed him literally climbing the wall—strong fingers searching out cracks to dig into for purchase.

By the time someone delivers breakfast at exactly 6:30, both of the brothers are done with round one. Then it starts all over again. Sam does the sun salute yoga routine that Angie’s sister swears up and down will stop the backaches Angie gets from sitting here like this all day before getting into the same push-up setup as his brother. Dean takes the hour after breakfast to sit on the edge of the pallet, head in his hands. For the life of her, Angie can’t figure it out. It doesn’t look like it makes him feel any better, like the meditation does for Sam. Every time he emerges, he looks a little more wane.

Angie knows she’s probably supposed to be scared of these guys, but they don’t look like the kind of men that she would expect to see in a maximum security prison. Maybe because they’re good looking—even Angie, who had a poster of Dana Scully in her room instead of Mulder growing up can see that—or maybe because there’s a part of her that thinks that maybe it’s not so bad to have normal, ordinary people out there working against monsters. Less red tape than government.

When her shift ends, though, the Winchesters leave her mind until the next morning.

After a few weeks that Dean fails to play his round of Word with Friends, Mary starts to worry. It kind of feels like the first time he ever got a fever when he was a kid. Mary had run around the house, jiggling Dean on her hip as she tried to get him to stop crying, utterly panicked. She’d been a crying mess by the time John got home because she hadn’t been able to make him feel better when it was all she wanted in the world.

Mary decides, after the third missed call, that something is wrong.

The Impala isn’t sitting outside of the bunker when she arrives, which Mary takes as a bad sign. She supposes that Dean could have her in the garage, but it still feels ominous. Her worst fears are answered when Castiel opens the door instead of either of her sons.

“Is something—?”

His face tells her all she needs to know.

They head to the kitchen. Castiel starts the story before they’re even seated. Mary tugs her jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. It’s freezing. He explains about Lucifer being set free, about trying to return him to the Cage, about the president. Mary listens, setting aside any ideas she had about how the world works. Clearly, that’s all out the window.

“So who do you think has them?”

Castiel shakes his head miserably. “I have no idea. They were framed for serial murder several years ago, so it’s possible it’s the government and not the Men of Letters at all.”

Mary shakes her head. This is insane. Her life is insane.

“Well, we should get to work, then. How about you take the government angle while I work the MoL one? Two heads are better than one.”

Keeping her spirits up for the both of them is significantly more difficult than Mary had anticipated. Sure, she knows Castiel and the boys are friends. But she also knows that he’s an angel, and part of her had (maybe stupidly) thought that he would just sort of…bounce back. Apparently not.

She’s getting nothing on the Men of Letters. The American chapter, it seemed, had believed that it was the only one worth mentioning. Typical. Mary stumbles across the file of one Henry Winchester, which she decides not to look into. Maybe there will be time to ask the boys about it later.

Finally, she can’t take the despondent look on his face any longer. “All right, spill.”

Castiel scrubs a hand over his face. The electricity that Mary always feels on her skin when he’s around, like going outside right before a storm, dims somewhat.

“I can hear them.”

Despite herself, her heartrate leaps. “That’s—that’s great! What are they saying? Where are they? Are they okay?”

“They’re alive,” Castiel says with a nod. “Angry, but alive. I don’t believe they’ve been harmed yet, but the isolation is beginning to wear on them both.”

Mary remembers her Dean, who had been so excited to go play with all the other kids at kindergarten next year and swallows hard. The worst part is, she has to keep things together. That’s a mom’s job, right? The family glue? So instead of bursting into tears like she wants to, she gives Castiel’s hand a quick pat.

“It’s going to be fine. Keep digging.”

Dean is going to lose his mind in here.

He’d never call himself a people person, but the truth is that he’s lived very little of his life alone. Growing up, he’d never gotten a moment to himself. Back then, it had seemed like a curse, but he’d happily kill right now if it meant he got to spend an hour in a sleazy motel room at three A.M. with Sam and Dad snoring up a storm. Even after he and Dad split up for hunts, he still found himself surrounded by people—the occasional one night stand, thin motel walls, sleeping in the Impala on the side of the highway with the sound of traffic.

The worst part is the loneliness.

Even Hell hadn’t tortured him with solitude, even if he would have jumped off the rack and picked up a knife in a heartbeat for just two hours without hearing Alastair’s growl in his ear. Of course, this isn’t as bad as Hell, but at least then he’d known that Sammy was safe. In here? All he has are guesses.

For all he knows, they capped Sam the minute they got in here.

Shaking off the thought, Dean presses out one more pushup, his arms complaining loudly. Before his time in here, he’d been losing his touch. Now he’s bulking up again. Well. Not exactly bulking up. That would require actual food, not literal bread and water.

Speak of the devil. His breakfast comes through the slot on a tray that’s just as grey as the rest of the prison. He knows from experience that failure to return to tray means no lunch or dinner, so he doesn’t even bother checking it for anything he could possibly turn into a weapon.

He tries to savor the meal, such that it is, but it’s still gone in under ten minutes. Great. Dean pushes the tray and the plate back through the slot, not bothering, as he had in the first weeks, to see if he can get a glance of the outside hallway.

Hey, Cas. Got your ears on? He doesn’t even know if the angel can hear him, but it’s like writing in a diary. Something to keep him from going totally insane. I don’t have any updates. Still haven’t seen Sammy, still have no idea where I am. Except I think it’s likely underground, or we’re in the basement. I know. So original.

He pictures Cas sitting in the bunker, all alone. Maybe driving in that stupid truck of his, maybe convening with Crowley on how to fix this. Unexpectedly, the thought stings a little. Maybe Cas isn’t looking at all.

You…you are looking, right?

Anyway. Miss you.

The yoga helps.

Physical activity has always cleared his mind a little bit, and since he can’t run while stuck in this little grey cube, this is the next best thing. Sam lets out one last, long breath before opening his eyes.

Damn. Part of him hopes, every time, that he’s going to see something other than the cold stone staring back at him.

Sam’s trying to keep it together, but it’s starting to wear at him. Being alone like this, again—

The thing is, Lucifer had been fond of just leaving him places. Dumping him in the corner of the Cage and not coming back for what had felt like months. It had been worse than the torture, sometimes.

An important difference: Cas and Mom are out there somewhere, and Sam knows that they won’t give up until they find them. Another important difference: Dean is here, too. Somehow, thinking about the sarcastic remarks his brother must be yelling through the food slot every time a meal arrives makes him feel better.

He wishes he had a book. Sam’s better than most people at keeping himself occupied; a childhood spent entertaining himself in motel rooms equipped him well, but even he has a breaking point. Apparently, thirty-five days is that breaking point.

Well. One hundred and five meals. Sam assumes that they’re bringing them three times a day, but he has no real way of actually knowing if they’re doing that. For all he knows, they’ve been screwing with him.

Sam flops down on the bed, groaning. It’s not quite long enough for him, and it’s too narrow for him to properly curl up, so he’s been getting even worse sleep than he would have imagined from being locked up in a supermax.

The worst part—and yeah, it’s weird, but it’s the truth—is that he hasn’t gotten a shower in as long as he’s been in here. Which, for a fully grown man, does not have very nice-smelling results. Sam has always hated feeling grimy like this. If he had the choice, he’d chop all his carefully cultivated hair right now. He can’t stand it hanging, greasy, in his face anymore.

Despite himself, Sam’s unscarred hand wanders over to the scar on his palm. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but there’s some comfort to be found in tracing it over and over. The skin is unusually smooth compared to the rest of his palm.

It’s a reminder. They’ve faced down so much worse than the American government before. What’s a bunch of government stooges compared to Lucifer? Or any of the other crap that’s come their way? He rubs at the skin for a few more passes before letting it drop.

He tries not to hear Dad’s drill sergeant voice echoing in his ears when he drops down to do another round of pushups. The least he can do while he’s in here is make sure he’s ready to get out as soon as he possibly can.

Cas’s entire body hurts.

He told Claire once that a prayer doesn’t have to be a prayer—he can pick up on longing. And it’s never been truer than right now.

When Mary goes to get them a pot of tea, Cas lets himself slump forward slightly on to his palms. The worst part is that he doesn’t know whether Dean is longing for him, or longing for the rescue that Cas can provide.

Should be able to provide. He feels utterly useless sitting here like this. There was a day that he could have banged down the door and saved both of the Winchesters without a thought. Now all he can do is wait.

Having Mary around helps. She’s a relentless presence, at times reminding him of both of her sons. She has Sam’s cool head, Dean’s sheer determination. Sometimes, something she says, or a way she moves makes the constant lump in his throat even bigger.

The bunker feels enormous without the Winchesters. They’re always moving, always doing something. Sam in the library, reshelving or working on that card catalog of his, puttering around with a cart he’d found a while ago. Dean in the kitchen, microwaving pizza or putting something more elaborate together. It doesn’t feel like home without them.

Maybe they are the home.

Cas closes his eyes as Dean’s daily message floats in his head. At first they’d been soft, hesitant, but now it sounds like the stream of conversation he’d get if Dean were sitting next to him in the bunker right now. This one is different.

“You’ve told me six times already,” Cas says affectionately, as if Dean can respond to him. “You think you’re underground. Very astute.”

I know. So original.

He has to crack a smile at that. They’re on the same page, even apart.

You…you are looking, right?

The swell of indignation never comes. He’s let the Winchesters down before, what feels like hundreds of times. Of course Dean thinks that. He has a right to. Cas bows his head.

Anyway. Miss you.

Cas’s eyes snap open just as Mary hurries back into the room with two cups of tea, “extra strong, extra caffeine.” She smiles at him, but it looks forced. The smile she gets in return is just as fake.

“We’re going to get them back, Castiel,” she tells him.

Cas nods.

I miss you, too.

#spn #spn fic #spn coda #destiel #my fic #spn s12 #queue

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allmybadmemories-blog · 7 years

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What a day yesterday. I'm not even sure what to cover. Well. Husband had been having a bad week at work and we decided in advance that Friday night we would just get drunk together for fun. We used to be Mormon so we only started drinking in the past 6 months and i have never been drunk, he has gotten low- level drunk. So we just wanted to see what that was all about. Well i had been working on editing a video in all my limited spare time and it was rough trying to find a video editor for Linux that doesn't crash non-stop but i finally did and worked on this video for like 6 hours over a couple days. Then for the final time i opened it, the video clips were somehow all screwed up beyond repair, so i was pretty frustrated. Husband comes home and I'm like, "can you believe this? Ugh!" just venting. And he says (totally straight) "i guess the world doesn't want you to be a YouTuber." i just stared and said something like "why would you say that" and i don't remember his response because my emotional fog was getting too thick, i just know that he got defensive. I took it all as him saying my aspirations are shit. That i should give up. After a lifetime of the people who are supposed to support me always trying to stop me from trying new things or making any progress, i don't take it well. I cussed him out real bad. He of course got offended and felt like this was an overreaction and an unwarranted attack. I ran away to as far from him as i could get and just crouched down and sobbed and starting having a panic attack. Idk it sounds so stupid but what he said really hurt me. It was so personal. After a while he came out and asked if i was ok, if there was something else going on because this seemed like too much for what had just hastened from his perspective. I told him that it really hurt that he would say i shouldn't do the things I've been trying to do and then doubled down on it when it clearly upset me. He said that he meant it jokingly. since it was a situation where we were so helpless, he always tried to laugh it off when things are like that. Man it did NOT come off as a joke AT ALL. There was NO HINT that it was not serious. Oh well. I have to believe him and if it wasn't quite as joking as he is now claiming to save face, he at least knows i have a boundary around that subject. So i calm down and i think we're ok... But he's getting worse throughout the day. He starts acting like my ex when he was angry depressed. I'm getting terrified. He's not violent but it's that brooding demeanour, trying to be stoic but obviously incredible emotionally volatile underneath. I'm just like TRIGGERED TRIGGERED TRIGGERED and acting half the time like super trying to make it ok and half the time like equally broody and cut off. We took off kid to a park and at some point he (kid) went running off and i just stayed with him, and i looked back and husband's head is on the table, then we go where i lose sight, then we come back to the table and husband is gone. And as a matter of training I'm freaking out thinking about all the places and ways one could kill oneself right here, that fast. And I'm pissed at him for acting like this because i never wanted to be in this situation again. I logically know He's probably not suicidal but this situation is too strong of a replay of weekly occurrences in my fist marriage. Well he had just gone back to the car to be angry depressed in there where no one would see it. He says some vague things about stress and having to make some tough decisions and some of then only have one option. I'm just like wtf he's going to dump me for not being perfect today. Fuck. I'm just sill freaking out inside. I try to apologize for sweating at him. I try to act normal or extra good and caring. And I'm like, is our drunk couch date off? He's like really mad...i was hoping we could get back to normal.. We go home. I'm taking care of the kid. I go downstairs and see husband lifting weights and doing pushups and it seems like he's going hard. Then he goes upstairs and i see him outside a couple times. Eventually he comes back and said he just ran an 8min mile (this it's the 1st time He's gone running in like 6 months at least) and that now that he has physically destroyed his body he's done giving any fucks and can be honest with me. And basically it hurt HIM really badly when i swore at him. But he's a dude and "can't" process and express emotions properly or whatever. Idk basically we both said the exact worst thing possible to each other that day. We rarely fight seriously. Then he decided we should still get drunk so we picked up some liquor and stuf and put the kid to bed. Well we drank too much too fast with too little food so it worked and it was terrible. Absolutely terrible. But anyway while drunk he was telling me about his girlfriend before me that he had sex with (despite ring to bee a good Mormon boy otherwise) which doesn't bother me because i already knew and have no hangups about his part relationships. Or so i thought. But later (still drunk) he told me that while i had fallen asleep for a bit he was talking about this other girl (who he has only mentioned in passing before). He met her on his mission and apparently, they fell in love but were being good mormons, missionaries can't date of course or even pretend to have a life or interests beyond preaching and converting. They would sit by each other and try to hold hands without holding hands. He said "we really loved each other." and that they were REALLY compatible. at first i thought this was heartbreakingly cute and sad. At this point i felt mentally fine, like my brain was rejecting metabolizing any more alcohol and i wad only physically sick. So i was perfectly aware, or at least it seemed like it. It was so sad to me, this person i love so much, in love and couldn't do anything about it. I wanted past him to be happy. I mean I'm not seeing i wish he ended up with her instead of me (though he probably would have :\) but i just like... Really wanted him to have had some good experiences and happy memories further down that path than pretending to hold hands. He also said He would have sex with her note if he had a chance, but only if i gave permission first. (This doesn't really bother me.) But today it is bothering me more. I'm just obsessing over her. It's not jealousy and it wasn't insecurity at first although i think that has started to develop after all day thinking about it. It's just like... My brain is chewing on it nonstop because it's a big new development about someone i love but i don't know very much about it. It's this giant question mark. I know she's incredibly gorgeous (or was at the time) like she is his idea of physically perfect and i know that im not. He says he loves me and is crazy about me anyway but. This isn't negging, i think, though it comes off badly with limited context. Then we talked about it a tiny bit more today and he did that a thing i missed while asleep was his confessing that she is his 'one true love' like if i was gone he would go for her. So i guess that's bothering me without more context or i don't know... Assurance? I am not afraid he will cheat on me. And i know that he chose to marry ME and that doesn't mean nothing. And we got married at a time that we believed in marriage for eternity, so it's not like he was biding his time with me til something better came along. And he has told me a hundred times that i am who he wants forever. And it was fairly innocuous, i think we all have this "i love my spouse so i don't want this to happen, but if one day I'm alone again, if really like to have a chance with " kinda thing. It's just my brain is chewing on it nonstop because it's new info and it's incomplete info. This girl lived across the world but a few years ago we saw her at the grocery store. So i know she moved to here and even lives nearby. But she is married (to a dumpy guy, he says) and "her nose got weird with pregnancy" I'm not worried about her. I'm just having nonsensical stress about this new info i guess. And i really love him and sometimes i think he deserves better than me. I need to be better. I need to be perfect. I should get in better shape. I need better style. He's so gorgeous. I need to match and when people he used to know see me, they think 'that makes sense he would have a wife like that' not 'oh.. How did that happen' I need to show him more that i love him and show him and do more things for him and just be more perfect I guess I'm a little scared he'll one day realize I'm not good enough for him. This feeling has been around before. It wasnt caused by this event, but maybe just brought up again by it. And i hate that i hurt him. And i always assume bad intentions when he does not have them because im just so used to being used or stepped on or derided. He's not like that. I should be past assuming the worst by now. Sometimes he is a little callous or careless though and those scattered instances reaffirm the bad conditioning so much stronger than all the good things.

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topreview2016 · 8 years

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Full Body Licious Review – My Honest Review

I convinced myself into purchasing this workout system late last night while guild fed away on my nerves. So far, I havent tried out any of these workouts, but have watched some of the videos to know what the program is about. I tried to be as open as I could be about my experience and here you go with my review.

Overview

The package consists of five videos that consist of exercise demonstrations and tips and can be downloaded, five PDFs files that have printable guides for each workout, and one programme overview PDF. The plan usually consists of 5 one hour weight-focused workouts per week. Although the ab workout is known as High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT) element, no additional form of exercise is required once you complete this. The five activities are:

1) Tight and Trim Thighs– a programme focused on various exercises for the chest, back, biceps, triceps and abs.

2) Showoff Stomach a mix of traditional ab work, planks, and HIIT

3) Booty Booster– more like the thighs workout but includes a rigorous dose of exercise for the top body

4) Sleek and Shapely Shoulders– shoulder workout usually with some ab work and very light lower body work

5) Beautiful Backside– exercise for the upper body and how to make it look perfect

Likes

Flavia has a great personality and seems quite knowledgeable and educated in her field. She thoroughly practised at least one part of most of the movements and is encouraging, and neither chatty nor aggressive. I was worried this workout would be as rigorous and tedious as other programmes of the same type, but it was not condescending.

The exercise is fun to do as well as very effective and although it is not the best body building workout it does provide a solid headstart.

I am intrigued by the emphasis she puts on the lower body which I usually ignore when planning exercises for myself. My impression is that the intense lower body workout compared with some upper body workout makes the whole process very effective.

I also liked her attention to pairing horizontal push and pull exercises with vertical exercises. I think that for someone like me who spends most of her time sitting we also need a pull exercise along with push exercises to prevent our back from hunching. I think the balance in this programme is commendable

This application requires minimum equipment and is very easy to adopt because of the flexible exercises.

Dislikes

I liked this plan and am looking forward to trying it out, however, being a critique, its always easy for me to come up with things that could be improved. One significant criticism is that for some exercises Flavia should show more advanced or basic versions and also talk in detail about how to select the correct weight or when to increase your weight. She mostly assumes women using this programme already know this, but most women will use too light weights or not increase their weights unless encouraged.

While the program included an equal share of planks and stability work, I thought the emphasis was mostly on traditional ab work. Preferring mostly not to train my abs in isolation at all but engage throughout my workout I found this of little help. I would appreciate seeing a mix of mobility moves with HITT if she wanted to include an HIIT every day.

I also wish there had been a warm up exercise before every session of rigorous training. I guess she assumes most people know how to perform a warmup, but I think some guidance would make made it a complete program. With an amazing personality like hers, I think a warm up exercise would have made the whole thing perfect and given a professional look.

Her dumbbell swing can be added to the list of massive fitness professionals who have cruelly butchered derivatives of the kettlebell swing. This seemed more like a squat than a hinge, however, it was still a hip centric movement, and is a good flow pattern which is very helpful but I found it particularly difficult to attempt.

Personally, I only like doing cardio after weights because I usually get very sweaty and then I either want to keep moving quickly or be in the shower. I dont enjoy alternating between cardio and weights for this, however, I thing this problem is only limited to most people and I might not mind this at all hence it might not be such a big concern for many people and they might be just fine with it.

Who Is This For?

This is undoubtedly a high volume programme that relies on some initial strength. For instance, the pushup is frequently repeated as a chest move, and while I think modifications are possible, I would not recommend this to people who are not very strong or cannot take such strenuous exercises or those who do pushups with their toes.

I think this programme would serve women who are intermediate exercisers and want to ramp up the intensity to improve their conditioning and look better. I dont think its the ideal workout for building strength because of the volume, but I think if someone adhered to it while holding diet consistent they would get a lot leaner and make modest strength gains. It also depends on the person how many efforts he is putting in as an individual. Apart from the daily exercise special care should be taken about the diet as well and cheat meals should not be turned into cheat days.

While I think Flavia has a lovely body, I can imagine some women thinking she is too bulky or muscular. Although she says this programme is what she did to get in shape for the video, I guess she already had a pretty good base and is extremely lean, which makes her muscle definition look more extreme.

Also, she can do the most advanced progression of every exercise (pullups, one arm towel grip inverted rows) which will not be typical of most exercisers. I dont think this programme would make most women more muscular than they were comfortable with, although I do think the target look is more muscular than, say, a Valerie Waters programme is shooting for. Its also possible some women would want to skip the quad work; as I said earlier, the amount of ab work is not appropriate for my goals.

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