#note to self EDIT BEFORE POSTING SWEET CHEESE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

Best Meryl Streep Musical Performances (Including The Prom!)

https://ift.tt/2JMbiJl

Who would have thought 30 years ago Meryl Streep would become the musical diva of our age? Maybe those who watched her bashfully (and beautifully) sing “You Don’t Know Me” in 1990’s Postcards from the Edge. But largely she was associated with the serious dramas of the ‘70s and ‘80s that won her two Oscars (and saw her nominated for three more) by the time she was 35: Kramer vs. Kramer, The Deer Hunter, Sophie’s Choice. Sober-eyed tearjerkers all.

But an amazing thing happened in the 21st century, didn’t it? Streep, the First Lady of the Academy Awards stage, reinvented herself as the prima donna of the musical-comedy. Sometimes that includes performances so rich that they sing even without any lyrics, such as the imperious Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada. But often they come with music and verse too, be it ham-fisted kitsch like Mamma Mia! or something as ambitious as playing the Witch in an adaptation of Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods.

And today she’s back on the musical big screen—or at least the one in your living room—via Ryan Murphy and Netflix’s The Prom. It’s an all-out musical extravaganza where Streep transcends into her best self: a reigning diva of Broadway. So join us as we use the occasion to count down her greatest cinematic solos.

10. “Changing Lives” in The Prom

For whatever faults The Prom might contain, the Netflix film’s vicious satire of celebrity vanity and performative social action is not one of them. And rarely is that better felt than in Meryl and James Corden’s first big number “Changing Lives.” As a pair of tone-deaf Narcissuses, Streep’s Dee Dee Allen and Corden’s Barry Glickman put on a hell of a show, singing from the lights of 44th St. to the glitzy interiors of Sardis about how being a Broadway star is basically the same thing as Eleanor and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

Is it a great song? Not necessarily. Is it great to hear Streep exclaim she only wants to hear a review if it’s a rave or mixed-to-positive while downing champagne? Absolutely.

9. “Super Trouper” in Mamma Mia!

We know everyone has thoughts about Mammia Mia! and where its qualities (or sometimes lack thereof) lie. But Meryl Streep’s performance as Donna is inarguably one of its great strengths. Her matriarch of an idyllic little Greek island seems a far cry from the apparent free spirit and hellraiser she once was. Yet in “Super Trouper,” her young daughter (Amanda Seyfried) gets a glimpse of the dynamo Donna once was (and secretly still is) as she takes the disco stage alongside Julie Walters and Christine Baranski.

The trio still make the ‘70s excess of their outfits work, crooning about last nights in Glasgow and reawakening that magic for the next generation. Even Donna’s tuneless exes in the back get swept back in time. It’s sweet, and one of several Mamma Mia numbers to appear here.

8. “Goodbye to My Mama” in A Prairie Home Companion

One of the best films mentioned on this list, A Prairie Home Companion was director Robert Altman’s final film—and the movie appears aware of this. Nowhere is that more tangible in this heart-wringing ballad written in the tradition of early 20th century Country and Western music by Garrison Keillor. An ode to a childhood long gone, and both an aspiration and understated fear about seeing a lost mother again on the other side, the song is an elegy realized in soulful duet by Streep and Lily Tomlin. It harkens the Angel of Death backstage, but in isolation it’s still plenty heartbreaking.

7. “The Winner Takes It All” in Mamma Mia!

We said there’d be more ABBA. And here it is with “The Winner Takes It All,” Streep’s single actual solo. In this moment director Phyllida Lloyd knows exactly where to put the camera, capturing the postcard beauty of a Greek isle at sunset as Meryl sings her heart out, and smashes Pierce Brosnan’s for good measure. Appealingly melodramatic, and with perfect high notes for Streep’s range, the scene puts this Oscar winner in the movie equivalent of a romance novel cover. And who doesn’t want to open that?!

6. “It’s Not About Me” in The Prom

Again rarely does The Prom’s satire land better than in its opening number… but Streep’s big solo “It’s Not About Me” is that rare exception. Strutting into an Indiana PTA meeting in a red mink and extravagant mood, Streep’s Dee Dee introduces herself by belting that she’s here after reading three quarters of an article to ask, “You bigoted monsters, just who do you think you are?” And it’s all downhill from there for her argument, and uphill for our entertainment.

Hijacking a vulnerable teenager’s platform to whine about a New York Post notice and to demand soft lighting and a rainbow coalition of colorful streamers for her Insta-ready moment, Streep is given permission by The Prom to make everything about her. More, please.

5. “Stay with Me” in Into the Woods

Attempting to sing Sondheim is a challenge few take up lightly. With his typically complex lyrics, myriad key changes, and sharp musical bridges, Sondheim has thwarted many a movie star who’s tried. Streep is not one of them. As the villainous and somewhat misunderstood Witch of Into the Woods, Streep dominates the film as an antagonistic force who sees all the other fairy tale archetypes for the schmucks they are.

But that does not include her adopted daughter Rapunzel (Mackenzie Mauzy). As the daughter the Witch never had, Rapunzel is kept secluded away in the woods, but it’s for her own protection. Written years before Tangled, a mother’s fanged psychological warfare and pleas to “stay with me” from the danger in the world is as haunting as it is toxic. And it’s Streep’s best moment in Disney and Rob Marshall’s ambitious, yet bloated, movie adaptation.

4. “Dancing Queen” in Mamma Mia!

Yes, it’s that song and that scene: ABBA’s most overplayed earworm brought to treacly life with maximum cheese, including slow-motion shots of Meryl Streep jumping on a bed and skipping along a Greek coastline. Look over there! Why is that old fisherman playing a piano in the water?! And over here! Where did the hundreds of locals on this tiny, largely uninhabited island come from?!

Movies

Best Movie Musicals of the 21st Century

By David Crow

Movies

Hamilton Cast Reflect on Backlash and Criticism of Musical

By David Crow

It doesn’t matter! You know from the first time you heard Streep and company belt this that you sang along. You probably still do, joining in at the parade of empowered women, from ages two to 92, who’ve been liberated by the joy of their youth, now or remembered. As they dance badly across the world’s grooviest pier, it plays as loud; as camp; and as a goddamn delight.

3. “My Minnesota Home” in A Prairie Home Companion

Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin’s other major duet in A Prairie Home Companion, “My Minnesota Home” reworks Stephen Foster’s “My Old Kentucky Home” to give it a Lake Wobegon tenor. It is also the sweetest showcase for Streep and Tomlin’s chemistry, both as singers and human beings. The give and take between the pair, and then Streep’s rousing vibrato during the final chorus, has the air of genuine inspiration and real pleasure. Here are two performers finding harmony together on the stage and before our eyes. It’s big hearted and irresistible.

2. “I’m Checking Out” in Postcards from the Edge

Meryl’s first major musical moment came during the grand finale of director Mike Nichols and screenwriter Carrie Fisher’s wonderful little dramedy. Loosely and nakedly based on Fisher’s own relationship with her movie star mother Debbie Reynolds, Postcards from the Edge is a revealing and sometimes blunt exercise in getting things off a writer’s chest. And one thing Fisher really wanted to clear the air about was her mother’s desire to push her toward musical performance. While Fisher resisted in her own life, she allows the fictional Suzanne Vale (Streep) to give in to mother Doris Mann (Shirley MacLaine).

Movies

Best 11 Classic Movie Musicals

By David Crow

Movies

Hamilton: The Real History of the Burr-Hamilton Duel

By David Crow

In doing so, she also gives into herself and sings this full-hearted rendition of “I’m Checking Out.” A country hymn to the bitterness of living in the heartbreak hotel, the song allows Suzanne (and hopefully Carrie) to bury some pain, and for Streep to reveal her formidable stage and screen presence in front of a microphone. It is probably the rawest and most intelligent performance on this list.

1. “Mamma Mia” in Mamma Mia!

Among Meryl Streep’s many songs in Mamma Mia!—including a few we did not put on this list, believe it or not—it’s her rendition of the movie’s title song that works best. Imbuing the tune with an infectious playfulness, and leaning into the impatience that pours from ABBA’s lyrics, Streep pounces around the screen like a cat who’s just spotted a bird… or at least three turkeys in the shapes of her exes (Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, and Stellan Skarsgård).

Culture

How Disney Saved Musicals for a New Generation

By David Crow

Movies

Hamilton: Thomas Jefferson Controversy Explained

By David Crow

As she creeps and creaks around their goathouse (don’t ask), debating whether to sneak another peak, the film finally makes sharp use of a movie’s ability to edit together imagery: We cut between Streep, the exiled suitors, Donna’s daughter and friends, and even an honest to Zeus Greek chorus of extras sticking their heads into the frame to chastise Streep. Not that she can resist her curiosity, nor do we resist watching it. In fact, we want to egg it on as Streep rolls around in overalls and crosses herself before embracing the next crescendo.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Best Meryl Streep Musical Performances (Including The Prom!) appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3oPKQxj

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

1 note · View note

rosalind-of-arden · 5 years ago

Text

The Canon Wolfe Trauma Reference Post

Since it looks like there’s some interest in distinguishing between canon and fanon where Wolfe’s torture is concerned, these are my notes on what we have from canon. Where relevant, I’ve noted where we have details that we specifically know apply to Wolfe himself vs details we know about the prison he was held in but don’t know for sure apply to Wolfe. I hope this will be helpful for tagging and for inspiring fics to explore the large amount of ground available to cover. Short notes first, then long list of relevant quotes under the link.

Notes:

In theory, the point of Wolfe’s imprisonment was reeducation. He was also tortured for information on his printing press research. The Artifex wanted to hurt Wolfe just to hurt him, ordering the torture to continue long past the point of achieving any other goal.

Wolfe’s research and journals were taken and put in the Black Archives and/or destroyed.

Wolfe was arrested in his house at night, taken to the Archivist’s office for questioning, then kept in a cell in the Serapeum and questioned further before being taken to Rome. Bit of ambiguity, but torture is likely here.

In Rome, Wolfe was held in a dark stone cell. No other canon details given on Wolfe’s cell specifically, but based on what is shown of the prison, it was probably solitary confinement, and he may have been kept chained.

Physical torture methods: Wolfe specifically refers to cuts, burns, and blows, no other detail given. He has scars, no detail given on where, how many, or what they look like (assuming none on his face, since that would have been mentioned). Based on what we see of the prison, probably any historical torture method is possible. While I’d say it’s generally being used metaphorically, “broken” comes up often enough to justify broken bones, depending on your reading.

Psychological torture methods: Being lied to, being told loved ones are dead, being given comfort (specifically better food, baths, clean clothes) only to have it taken away. Other forms of manipulation are possible.

Wolfe was given some amount of treatment for injuries while in prison. At a bare minimum, Qualls cleaned wounds.

Qualls was personally involved with all questioning and frightened Wolfe greatly. He worked for the Artifex but was given little information beyond the instruction to continue the torture. For unspecified reasons, he decided both he and Wolfe had reached their limits and arranged Wolfe’s release and his own retirement. Does not like the Artifex and threatened retribution if the Artifex imprisoned Wolfe again.

By the end of his time in Rome, Wolfe was so severely traumatized that he barely spoke. This continued at least for the first night after his release.

Wolfe returned home injured. He was bleeding and had difficulty walking. Santi cared for him, specifically bathing, clothing, and holding him. We don’t know any more about his condition or recovery process, other than the fact that he came out of it with PTSD and scars (again, no specifics on those) but no physical disabilities.

After his release, Wolfe is banned from research and publication. The Artifex continues to threaten him and the people he cares about. The Artifex repeatedly tries to kill him. Santi is also threatened.

Wolfe’s PTSD is triggered by memories, feeling trapped, anything prison-like, smells, darkness, and lack of sleep. Symptoms include suicidal thoughts, self harm, psychosomatic itching and pain, nausea, tremors, anxiety, panic attacks, hallucinations, intrusive memories, repressed memories, and trouble distinguishing reality from imagination/memory.

Detailed notes with direct quotes:

All page numbers are from US editions, paperback for the first three books, hardcover for the last two.

On the purpose of Wolfe’s imprisonment and torture:

Keria, on what to do with Wolfe after he invented the press: “He should be taken to a place of questioning and there made to see the error of his beliefs.” (I&B, p. 127)

On Wolfe’s disappearance and the destruction of his work:

Santi: “They took his research. And then he was gone.” (I&B, 322)

Santi: “They destroyed his research, his personal journals, everything.” (I&B, 322)

The Archivist’s guard’s confession that Jess finds includes Wolfe being arrested and questioned, but no record of anything after that. It isn’t specified, but I’m assuming this is a record of what happened in Alexandria before Wolfe was taken to Rome, since it’s the Archivist’s guard. (P&F, p. 62)

Wolfe: “My device was destroyed, and I was charged with heresy. My work was erased. I was made to disappear, too.” (P&F, p. 63)

Wolfe was arrested in his house, taken to the Archivist’s office (he was questioned there, not specified whether torture was involved), then a cell below the Serapeum (implied he was tortured there, but not specifically stated), then to Rome. (P&F, p. 144-145)

Wolfe’s book on printing, at least, was not destroyed, but put in the Black Archives. Unclear what really happened to his journals and other work (P&F, p. 310)

Santi was in Belgium when Wolfe was arrested and would probably have been killed if he’d seen the press (A&Q, p. 134)

Wolfe on what his fellow Scholars ignored: “...he was dragged off in the night, when his work had been scrubbed from the shelves…” (S&P, 247)

On what happened in Rome:

Wolfe’s journal: “There are mornings when I wake and I am back in the cell, and I see nothing but the dark. Feel nothing but the pain. (P&F, p. 52)

Wolfe: “The pattern follows what they did to me: arrest, torture, prison, erasing me as if I never existed.” (P&F, p. 62)

Wolfe may have been drugged, specifically to keep him from remembering where he was held: “I don’t remember. Can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. I can see pieces, but not… not anything significant.” (P&F, p. 66) (this memory loss might be drug induced, as Dario speculates, but torture itself can cause memory problems..)

Wolfe: “I can’t recall any useful details. What they did to me was very effective.” (P&F, p. 139) (As above, this memory loss might be from either drugs or the torture itself.)

Wolfe, mentioning physical torture methods: “I will happily remember every cut, every burn, every blow if it helps set that boy free.” (P&F, 140)

Being taken out of his cell in Rome was always (or at least usually) bad - Wolfe can handle remembering everything up until the Mesmer asks about what happened when he was taken out of his cell in Rome (P&F, p. 145-146)

Psychological torture method: “They lie [...] It’s their favorite tactic - I know it well - to break your mind and your spirit.” Specifically, falsely claiming that loved ones are dead. (p. 218)

Toward the end of his imprisonment, he seems to have become withdrawn: “there is no variety in his responses to questioning, whatever the particular tools we chose to employ. He rarely speaks at all now.” (S&I, p. 82)

As described by Qualls as of the day of his release: “if your plan was to break him, he is long past broken” (S&I, p. 82). “There are limits, and he has reached them.” (S&I, p. 83).

Qualls (hallucination) on some of what he did: “I’ve been with you in your darkest moments. I’ve cleaned your wounds. I’ve listened to you weep.” (S&I, p. 221)

The “gentle” questioning: “That had only made it worse, the times when the questions had been kind and soft, and there had been a cup of tea and a sweet pastry and a bath. Fresh clothes.” (S&I, p. 221)

Qualls did all questioning: “the questions always came, and always, always, the gray, pale shadow was there to ask them” (S&I, p. 222)

“He’d spent months in a cell like this, huddled and broken” (S&I, p. 224)

“...his body broken in the cells in Rome…” (S&P, 247)

Prison details that may or may not apply to Wolfe’s experience in Rome:

Prisoners are rewarded for good behavior with paper and books (P&F, p. 1)

Psychological manipulation: one guard was ordered to be friendly to Thomas to get secrets out of him (P&F, p. 1)

Cells, at least the one Thomas was in, have barred doors, stone walls and floors, a metal ring in the wall that prisoners can be chained to (P&F, p. 217)

Starvation is a possibility: Jess observes that Thomas lost weight in Rome (P&F, p. 217)

Limited availability of personal grooming and clothing options: Thomas’s hair and beard are a mess, clothes are an “oatmeal-colored shirt and trousers that were much worse for wear” (P&F, p. 217)

Prisoners are kept with wrists and ankles shackled for long enough durations that skin looks “raw” when the shackles are removed. Both Thomas and the other prisoner that Jess sees were chained. (P&F, p. 218, 221)

Torture room equipment: “Mechanical devices” with “spikes, straps, wheels, gears” (P&F, p. 221), “a particularly large construction that looked like a bed, but with gears and ropes and straps stained with old blood” (P&F, p. 222) (either a rack or some kind of restraint table?), “machines built to cut, to tear, to pull, to cause suffering and anguish. There was no other use for them.” (P&F, p. 225)

Rations in the prison in Alexandria seem nutritionally adequate, though it doesn’t mention quantities or say how often they’re delivered: “Meat, bread, cheese, figs, a small portion of sour beer and a larger one of water.” (S&I, p. 91). Wolfe doesn’t find the taste appealing (S&I, p. 92)

The Artifex threatens to shoot another prisoner to coerce Wolfe’s compliance (S&I, p. 94)

Mind games from the Artifex: “I will protect Santi if you take your own life” “if you don’t accept this bargain, I will see that he suffers every torment you can possibly imagine in your place. I’ll even have you brought along” (S&I, p. 98-99)

Prison conditions Wolfe does not think of as torture: “deprivation and the boredom and routine of prison”. He does, however, consider the looming threat of horrible execution to be psychological torture (S&I, p. 227)

Qualls:

Thought they had learned as much as they could from questioning Wolfe six months before releasing him (S&I, p. 82)

Did not want Santi dead (S&I, p. 82)

Did not know why the Artifex hated Wolfe (S&I, p. 82)

Does not consider himself a good person: “I am, as you’re aware, not a merciful person, or a kind one; I would not last long in this job if I had even a shred of such fine qualities.” (S&I, p. 82)

Has limits, does not specify what they are: “I have had enough.” “There are limits, and he has reached them. So have I, surprisingly.” (S&I, p. 82-83)

Very thorough in his plan to release Wolfe, exact sequence of events unclear: “I have personally released Scholar Wolfe, and I have seen the Archivist in person [...] The Obscurist Magnus has also been told.” Archivist allowed the release in part because Qualls had information on other prisoners in Rome, in part because Keria was furious. (S&I, p. 83)

Feels strongly enough about Wolfe’s release to threaten to expose Library secrets if the Artifex ever has Wolfe imprisoned again (S&I, p. 83)

Speaks to Wolfe in a creepily pseudo-comforting tone, at least while Wolfe is hallucinating him: “We’re old friends, you and I. I’ve been with you in your darkest moments. I’ve cleaned your wounds. I’ve listened to you weep. Remember?” (S&I, p. 221)

Hallucination Qualls describes the times the questioning was gentle as “the good times.” (S&I, p. 221)

Appearance: “the gray, pale shadow”, Even in full light, the man had always been terrifying. Something about him was dead, and it showed in his eyes, his smile, the not-quite-human way he moved.” (S&I, p. 222)

On the aftermath:

Santi: “It was more than a year before he turned up again. Middle of the night. He looked like he’d crawled out of hell.” (I&B, 322)

Santi: “He’s a walking ghost. He’s been a ghost since the day they finally let him go.” (I&B, p. 323) (could be a reference to his status with the Library, but I read some indication of his mental/emotional state into this, too)

Santi: “I was there when Wolfe crawled bloody to this door. I’m the one who saw what was done to him.” (P&F, p. 138)

Wolfe doesn’t blame Santi for not wanting to see the Mesmer session because “he remembers how I was after” (P&F, p. 141)

Keria was there when Wolfe was released: “She brought me home. To you. She left before you found me.” (P&F, p. 291)

Released by Qualls personally (S&I, p. 83)

“He’d come back from Rome a broken, shaking shell of a man” (S&I, p. 226)

Wolfe’s own memories of his return home: “A broken bone heals twice as strong, he told himself. Santi had taught him that mantra the night he’d stumbled in the door of their house. [...] Santi had bathed him, dried him, clothed him, held him through the night to whisper it in a constant, bracing refrain, because Wolfe had been unable to speak or explain where he’d been” (S&I, p. 230)

Continuing threats and punishment after Rome:

Pretty much every ephemera from the Artifex involves a threat or attempt to kill Wolfe.

Wolfe, to the Artifex: “I’ve done all that you have asked of me since my release. I’ve stood silent when you threatened my friends, my lover, destroyed my life’s work. I’ve borne every punishment.” (I&B, p. 160)

Wolfe: “Saddling me with your class was a kind of punishment. To teach me obedience.” (I&B, p. 286)

Santi: “They wanted him to find your secrets and turn them over. But he found your secrets and he never betrayed them. […] Little rebellions. Wolfe was meant to die on the trip to Oxford. He’s an embarrassment and a risk. Living on borrowed time.” (I&B, p. 323)

Journal monitoring, at least as far as Wolfe knows, began after Wolfe’s arrest. He’s afraid they’re monitoring Santi’s especially closely: “I was afraid you’d change what you were writing. If you had, they’d have taken you.” (I&B, p. 326)

Wolfe: “I was finally released, under the condition that I never again publish or pursue any lines of research that the Library deems dangerous. I live on sufferance.” (P&F, p. 64)

Trauma symptoms:

Suicidal thoughts:

““Better safe than dead, sir” [Glain] said. “As you well know.” “Do I?” His face, Jess thought, looked more set and grim than ever, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes [...] He looked thin and haunted.” (P&F, p. 34)

Santi: “It’s keeping you alive. That’s what I care about.” Wolfe: “Then you care too much.” (P&F, p. 58)

Wolfe: “I’m not insane [...] I’m not on the verge of it. I may be stretched to my limits - my limits being admittedly lower than they should be [...]”

Wolfe, in response to Santi saying he’ll support him: “That’s what makes me live when the alternative seems so peaceful” (A&Q, p. 269)

““Promise me that tomorrow, there’s no prison. No Qualls. If it comes to that-” “If it does,” Santi said, “then it comes for us both.” [...] Odd, that the promise of death would sound so inviting when put that way” (S&I, p. 349)

Self harm:

“He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall, again and again until he felt the skin break and smelled hot blood” (S&I, p. 99)

In prison again: “His skin itched so fiercely that he rubbed scars until they bled” (S&I, p. 220)

Tremors and other psychosomatic symptoms:

“There was a tremor in his voice now, and in his hands, too” (P&F, p. 58)

In prison again: “His skin itched so fiercely that he rubbed scars until they bled” (S&I, p. 220)

When remembering the nicer questioning in Rome: “Wolfe remembered it so vividly every scar began to ache” (S&I, p. 221)

“His hands trembled” (S&I, p. 220)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

Being taken for questioning: “a wave of very real nausea and dizziness” (S&I, p. 230)

Trouble telling reality from hallucination:

Wolfe’s journal: “On those mornings, I am convinced I never escaped that place, and the life I have had since never existed at all, except as a fantastic illusion.” (P&F, p. 53)

Self-induced hallucination as coping strategy: imagining Santi to get himself to sleep while back in prison, he seems to lose touch with reality, and Saleh’s comments in S&P suggest he might have been talking out loud while doing this (S&I, p. 220)

Qualls hallucination (S&I, p. 220-222)

Cell door opening (S&I, p. 223)

Sphinx could also be a hallucination (I tend to see this one as real, with the automaton’s attention drawn by Wolfe’s one-sided conversation with Qualls and attempt to open the door, but ymmv. (S&I, p. 223-224)

In Rome, Wolfe hallucinated Santi with him and was sure it was real at the time (S&I, p. 224-225)

Hallucinates Santi comforting him when he’s in prison again (S&I, p. 225-226)

The morning after the Qualls hallucination, he thinks of it as “a vague dream” and hopes his conversation with Saleh was hallucinated as well (S&I, p. 227-228)

Saleh: “Wolfe spoke of him [...] well… not to me. I suppose better to say he spoke to him when Wolfe was… unwell [...] Prison was not good for the man” (S&P, p. 51)

Nightmares and intrusive memories:

Wolfe: “I see all this every night in dreams.” (P&F, p. 63)

In prison again: “A night when he wouldn’t close his eyes, for fear the past would smother him.” (S&I, p. 87)

In prison again: “relaxing brought the memories. He’d fought them every night, sometimes all night; lack of rest made them more vivid and compelling” (S&I, p. 220)

While hallucinating Qualls: “He remembered. And that was more frightening than the idea that this was a ghost, a phantom, a madness.” (S&I, p. 222) (could read this just as a statement on how traumatic the memories are, could read as repressed memories surfacing)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

Repressed memories:

Wolfe, on where he was held prisoner: “I don’t remember. Can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. I can see pieces, but not… not anything significant.” (P&F, p. 66) (this memory loss might be drug induced, as Dario speculates, but torture itself can cause memory problems..)

Wolfe: “I can’t recall any useful details. What they did to me was very effective.” (P&F, p. 139) (As above, this memory loss might be from either drugs or the torture itself.)

After the Qualls hallucination: “Wolfe held his head in his hands, shivering, sick, shaking from the onslaught of memory” (S&I, p. 222-223)

The morning after the Qualls hallucination: “He’d forgotten that he’d spoken to Saleh in the depths of his delusion. Or at least had hoped that the conversation had been imagined” (S&I, p. 228)

Seems like he’s already repressing the memory of the Qualls hallucination: “Something tugged at him, and for a second he felt a bubble of panic surface. Some memory clawing to the surface, something from the prison. Then he remembered, and a flinch ran through him.” (S&I, p. 348)

Not talking about Qualls more than once could be an effort to repress those memories, too (S&I, p. 2348)

Anxiety/Panic Attacks:

In the prison, Wolfe snaps at the kids, his voice breaks, and Jess observes trembling, sweat on his face even though the temperature is cool, and possible trouble breathing (“Wolfe dragged in a tormented breath”) (P&F, p. 220)

At the castle, Wolfe and Santi end up fighting because of Wolfe’s reaction to being trapped and fear of being captured “So we stay here, in this - overstuffed prison, waiting for the Archivist to turn the High Garda on us? I won’t. I can’t.” (A&Q, p. 267)

Wolfe, to Thomas: “You understand. Rooms grow small. Silence gets heavy.” (A&Q, p. 283)

When the Artifex ambushes the pack in the Iron Tower, Wolfe and Thomas both look “as if their souls had already left their bodies.” (P&F, p. 324)

Wolfe is oddly quiet when first locked up in Philadelphia (A&Q, no dialogue from p. 16-28, while others are discussing strategy)

When put in prison again: “A day of shuddering, flinching, imagining that every sound was a torturer coming for him again.” (S&I, p. 87)

When hallucinating Qualls: “He stopped breathing. Like a child, hiding in the dark from the monsters, that was all he could do.” (S&I, p. 221)

When the cell door “opens”: “something inside him twisted and screamed in terror at the thought. I won’t make it.” (S&I, p. 223)

Wolfe, learning he’s nominated for Archivist: “His eyes burned, and for a moment he thought it was with tears, but no, no, it was anger. He couldn’t speak. Could hardly breathe for the pressure of fury building in his chest.” (S&P, p. 246) (Dominant emotion here is anger, yes, but don’t these also sound like panic attack symptoms? And doesn’t Wolfe frequently get angry in response to feeling trapped?)

Triggers:

Memories, in general, trigger symptoms.

A list of triggers, smell being the worst: “He could ignore the darkness, the bars, the discomfort. But not the smell.” (S&I, p. 87)

Lack of sleep: “relaxing brought the memories. He’d fought them every night, sometimes all night; lack of rest made them more vivid and compelling” (S&I, p. 220)

#the great library #christopher wolfe #trauma #qualls #canon torture #really long post

15 notes · View notes

rwbyremnants · 5 years ago

Link

NOTES: Hey everybody. I'm truly sorry if any of you were worried about me being "gotten" by the Coronavirus; I swear I'm fine, and as far as I know so are the other members. Mostly I've just been doing my job (it's healthcare related so exempt from lockdowns), trying to wear masks and handwash and sanitize, social distancing and all that. Hope you're all doing the same. We can beat this scary ass virus if we all work together.And I promise I'll try to post more often. I just have had some pretty bad writer's block and lack of motivation with editing. See you soon!

=Chapter 15

A few minutes later, the fully-clothed couple emerged from the back room to thunderous applause. Weiss had been sad to have to put clothes back onto such a firm, alluring body, but there were certain standards of decency that must be observed.

Emerald, Coco, and Velvet were the most ecstatic, pumping their hands and pounding them on the back, laughing and making crude jokes that Weiss pretended to find offensive. They were offensive, but she was too thrilled with the day’s developments to truly care. She and Yang weren’t just dancing awkwardly around each other - they had been intimate. This changed everything!

Cinder, for her part, had prepared something a bit more formal.

“Congratulations,” she said as she nodded to Velvet, who turned back to the corner. “You have passed your test with flying colours.”

“You didn’t really have to go back there, though,” Emerald confessed with a small smirk. “It was more about how you reacted to the test than actually going through with it. If you just yelled at us that we were crazy and you weren’t going to ‘perform’ just for us and we should all sit on it, we would have respected that, too.”

“Like I said,” Yang sighed with her arms behind her head, lazy grin never wavering, “it was too late once you accepted. I was trying to help give you a way out.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re complaining,” Weiss grunted. Unbelievably cheesed off at Cinder for her machinations but grudgingly alright with the result.

“Of course not. I mean, hey, I got your sweet lips going down on mine. What’s to complain about?”

As the others laughed and Weiss tried not to feel any more self-conscious than she already did, Cinder cleared her throat. “Anyway. First you showed us you’re made of tougher stuff than the average paper shaker by taking the brand from Salem, and now that you’re not afraid to show a woman a good time. Two tests which mean you are a Dragon. Therefore…”

Coco began a drumroll on the table as Velvet came back from where she had been rummaging around in a bag. In her hands was a pristine, brand new, black leather jacket with yellow stripes up the sleeves. One of a fairly petite size. Even while Weiss was admiring the look of the garment, Velvet pushed it into her hands, eyes alight with excitement that the entire table seemed to be sharing.

“Wait… is this mine?” When she nodded, Weiss grinned and turned it this way and that, looking at the brilliantly-coloured dragon on the back. “Jeepers!”

With a little snort, Yang murmured, “Like Dragons say ‘jeepers’. We’ll have to teach you the lingo, how to bash ears with the best of us.”

“Wait, wait,” Coco said with a slight smile. “Hand that to Yang.” Weiss did, though she wasn’t sure what they were doing. “Now Yang, put it on her.” They both obeyed. It was nice having someone slide the cool leather over her arms for her, and she pulled it tight in the front, smiling at the scent of new leather and the warmth the insulation provided. “Good. Schnee, you’ve just been jacketed.”

“Yes, obviously.” After a moment, the other meaning caught up to her, and she turned to look up at Yang. “Oh… jacketed.”

Yang looked puzzled for an instant, as well, but then she rolled her eyes and looked back at Coco. “You mean like varsity boys ‘claim’ their girls by giving them their letterman jackets? I didn’t mean it like that. Besides, since we’re both girls, shouldn’t that mean we have to trade leather?”

“Mine probably wouldn’t fit you,” Weiss tittered. “You’re so strong and broad-shouldered.”

“And you love it,” she rumbled with a lopsided grin. Weiss felt very self-conscious about leaning up to kiss her cheek, but not enough to stop herself doing so.

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!” Emerald half-sang, and the others laughed.

Talk devolved from there. Now that she was truly a Dragon, the others were a lot less wary around the Schnee heiress. Ironically, they were a lot less lewd now; half their reason for bawdy banter seemed to have been seeing whether or not it would drive their white-bread intruder away. Now, the topics mostly hovered around girls they found cute in class, more emotional wavelengths of relationships, popular music on Billboard’s Top 100. The typical things Weiss expected girls her age to care about - other than the target gender for their romantic interests. It was both freeing and bizarre to hear so much open conversation about lesbianism, which she had scarcely thought about more than once in her entire life before Yang came along.

And then there was Yang. Being in Shopkeeper’s with a warm hand grasping her own was the most contented she had ever felt in her life. And though their brief kisses made the others giggle, and once in awhile they would make an exaggerated gagging noise, it was worth it. Yang was worth everything.

Eventually, however, she noticed someone was missing. “Hey… where did Blake go?”

“Dunno,” said Emerald while Coco was still laughing from some silly pun Yang had cracked. “Said she didn’t feel well. Did she cut out?”

“Beats me,” Cinder sighed with a swig of her beer.

Weiss fell silent for a few seconds. She could tell Yang was paying more attention to her, even though the conversation continued. After a minute, when she stood up, Yang asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Just going to check. I’ll be back, I promise.”

A quick survey of the ‘employee parking’ that now served as Dragons motorcycle storage told Weiss that all the same bikes were there as had been when she arrived; after missing her at the depot while they weren’t speaking, she had begun making it standard practice to check for Yang’s hog. That was both good and bad; if Blake was still there, where did she go? Shaking her head, she went back in through the kitchen entrance.

“Mrs. Belladonna?”

“Kali, please,” the woman insisted with an easy laugh. “You don’t have to be so formal - especially considering we now have equal standing. Looks good on you, sweetie.”

The unexpected praise made Weiss smile and nervously finger the collar of her jacket. “Th-thanks. Um… have you seen Blake? I lost track of her and she’s been gone for a while.”

“Hmm. No I haven’t, I’m sorry. But my daughter can take care of herself, so you shouldn't worry.”

“Oh. Alright, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a slight curtsy, still poking fun at how formally Weiss was behaving around her. The princess rolled her eyes before nipping back into the main area.

Where could she have gone? Weiss checked all the other tables, the few ladies sat at the bar, and she saw no sign of the long, luxurious raven locks. On a whim, she went back into the back room before Salem could return, just in case. Still no Blake. She finally gave up and took a break to powder her nose.

That was where she found the missing Belladonna. She was poised over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain as she stared deep into the mirror. A single glance was enough to tell Weiss that her eyes were bloodshot - and a lucky thing, too, because Blake looked away the instant their gaze connected through the reflection. Otherwise she would have missed that little clue.

“What?” she demanded.

“You've been gone for a while, that's all. I was worried.”

“So? That isn't my concern. I have no control over whether you do or don't feel worried.” After a brief silence, Blake sighed. “Sorry. I'm… forget it. I'll be fine.”

Taking a tentative step forward, Weiss laid a hand on Blake's arm. “Will you?”

“Yes. If you leave me alone, yes.”

“Me?” She had to work hard to keep from overreacting emotionally to such a small phrase. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Can… you talk to me about it?”

“Really rather not. And it's not a big deal, anyway. Just ancient history.”

By this point, it didn't seem like a particularly far-fetched guess. “Is it Yang?” No answer. “Is it more about something she did, or… something she didn't do?”

“Look, Schnee,” she began with a long sigh, finally turning to regard Weiss directly as she ran her fingertips through her bangs. “I'm pleased as punch that you passed your test, and you're one of us now. And I do mean that. I was as suspicious of you as the rest of us, but getting to know you these past weeks… you're actually pretty cool. But that doesn't make us best friends who have to share every bit of gossip. This is something I don’t want to talk about right now, at all. So please, don't think that just because I don't want to talk to you about this that it means we're not friends anymore, okay?”

“Just not best friends,” she repeated, earning her a little nod. “Okay. So if I were to, say, guess the reason you're in here, crying by yourself, would that mean we are closer friends now?”

Blake let out a harsh little laugh. “Sure. You think you're so smart. We both get about the same grades, do you know that?”

“Yes, I had noticed. Very uncommon for a Dragon. I suppose that makes us both uncommon, doesn't it?” Blake didn't bother to answer. Weiss turned and hopped up on the other sink, legs dangling and kicking back and forth slowly. “That's probably what makes it so frustrating.”

“What?”

“Yang… never noticing how you feel.” When Blake moved to bolt from the bathroom, Weiss flashed her leg up to stop her. “Wait!”

“Get out of my way, Schnee.” When the leg didn't lower again, Blake turned her amber eyes on her with mounting fury. “I'll break this thing to get out of here, I swear it.”

“I'm sorry. I should have noticed, I… you were always there, always supporting Yang. Supporting both of us. Why? Why would you want us to succeed if it meant… if you wanted her all to yourself?”

Blake merely stood there, taking quick, shallow breaths for a few seconds. Suppressing any more obvious outward display of her emotions. “You really are smarter. Too smart for your own good.”

“Don't be silly. If I were smart, I would have figured this out way before seeing your face after watching us-” She thought better of what she was about to say. “After watching the initiation. That must have been very hard for-”

“Princess, I'm warning you…”

Heaving a loud sigh, Weiss finally did lower her leg. “Fine. I was just trying to help.”

“You want to help? Go away. Or… or go try to pick up Cinder, or Emerald. Hell, take Ilia - she's been buzzing around me for weeks, and I can't stand it anymore. Or just…” Her hands reached up and fisted in her hair as she let out a noise of pure frustration. “No. Forget I said anything. I want you to be happy.”

“Blake…”

“I do, and I mean that. This is just… me being stupid.”

“You're not stupid!” she burst out, hopping down from the counter and approaching. The way Blake flinched kept her from touching her arm again. “You're incredible! A-and I'm sure Yang would tell you that it has nothing to do with you not being good enough, or stupid or- or anything like that!”

After a second or two of silence, Blake eased the door open just enough to look out over the restaurant. They both stood there for a long moment and simply watched their friends laughing and talking. By now, Ilia had joined them, and even though she seemed mostly quiet she also looked thrilled to death to be part of their inner circle.

“Always thought we were a natural fit,” she finally whispered, seemingly more to herself than to Weiss. Eyes only for the blonde guffawing and slapping her knee. “Both of us 'legacies’. Her mom and my mom go way back in this organization. Not that Raven wants anything to do with us anymore, but that never stopped Yang and I from being friends. And she's so strong, and funny, and… and I have no idea why I thought I deserved her. Probably more wishful thinking than realistic.”

By now, she had let the door fall shut again. To her credit, her eyes watered but her cheeks remained dry; the tears never spilled.

“I'm so sorry,” Weiss whispered, voice as fragile as spun glass.

“For what? Being too perfect? Being exactly what Yang needed?” Blake scoffed and kicked at the tile floor. “No, no. I'm just a pathetic idiot who could never work up the courage to just tell her what I wanted. Or… I did, and we had some fun, but… I tried to play it cool and missed my chance.”

Weiss found herself staring up at this heartbroken woman, her own heart following suit. “My God. You're really in love with her.”

“So?” This time, when she turned back to Weiss, her features were fierce, determined. “The better woman won. And I expect you to treat her right. You already do so much better at showing her how you feel than I ever could have, anyway. And you are pretty, and incredible, and all those things. Maybe I'm a little jealous, but I don't want you to think… well, alright, I do resent you a tiny bit. But I promise it's nothing. I'm a big girl and I know you're a really swell gal, Weiss. This is about what's best for you two, not my sour grapes.”

Weiss no longer knew what to say. So after nearly a minute of trying to come up with something, anything, she simply threw her arms around Blake and squeezed her tightly.

“Oh, enough! Can't you just let me be upset?! This isn't something you can fix with-”

“I'm sorry!” Weiss sniffled, trying to squeeze even tighter even though her arms weren't capable of it. “Blake!”

After a few seconds of trying to squirm away, Blake sighed and begin to pet over her hair. “So sensitive…”

They remained like that for a minute or two, and eventually, Blake joined her in crying. Minutes slipped by as they both tried to vent all their strong emotions in one go. Then she had enough of the pity party and began pushing Weiss an arm's length away.

“Hey.” When the princess didn't look up right away, she cupped her cheeks with both hands, wiping the tear tracks away with her thumbs. “I'm going to be fine. It's just… fresh. Seeing her like that churned up all those feelings again, when I should be over this by now. Sorry for dumping all this on you when this should be your big day. It's… I feel like a jerk.”

“B-but you… you're so sweet, and tough, and amazing, and you deserve someone just as amazing as you are! It's not fair!”

“So give up Yang.” When Weiss's eyes widened, stunned, Blake laughed a little. “I'm kidding. But you do see my point, don't you? If we did that, then it wouldn't be fair to you. So the most fair thing is for Yang to be with the one she wants to be with.”

Weiss nodded emphatically, still sniffling. “Y-yeah. Of course I want her to be happy the most. But that doesn't mean I don't care about your happiness! You're my friend, too!”

This seem to catch the taller dragon off her guard, and she had to blink a few times to truly process the words. Then a slow, shy smile spread across her face. “Really? I thought you mostly thought of me as a Dragons tour guide. Helping keep you from drowning.”

“Are you kidding? Of course you are! But that's… not all it is, right?”

“No,” she admitted with a slight chuckle. “I'm sorry; you're right, we're friends. I'm just… irritable right now.”

Weiss hugged her tightly again. “You should have made Velvet watch instead. If I'd known it would be hard for you…”

“I know,” she whispered into her hair, rubbing up and down her back. “It's okay. I'm… okay. Or I will be. But thank you for…” A helpless little shrug accompanied her next words. “How could I be miffed when you're so wonderful for her? Yang is happy, and you're happy, and I'm happy for you.”

“Really? You're not just saying that?”

“Cross my heart.” After a few more seconds, Blake sighed. “And it could be worse.”

With a semi-contented little hum, Weiss hugged her again. “How so?”

“You could have ended up as my mother-in-law. I mean, as much as my mom seems to have taken a shine to you?”

“Oh, stop! She's just teasing me, like all of you do constantly! I mean, you've both offered to ‘make me see stars’ and you weren't serious about that, either, right?”

Blake smirked slightly.

“Right?”

“Schnee, it's only sex. I'd even try with Ilia if I was bored enough. Most of us feel that way.” Seeing Weiss’s expression made her hastily add, “But if you and Yang want to go steady, that's great! I wish you all the best!”

A vague “uh-huh” floated out of Weiss as she swayed on the spot. It was bad enough when she thought she was being teased incessantly about something she thought was not a laughing matter. But if they were all serious… then there were not just one or two, but three women confessing earnest desires to be intimate with her - and the other Dragons had all expressed similar sentiments before. Maybe she had accepted that the average person thought she was “pretty”, but this was a whole other level that Weiss was not prepared for, and she found it both humbling and consternating.

“Aww,” Blake cooed while leading her back to the table. “New lesbians are so cute.”

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

Yang did apologize for snapping at their “witness” as soon as they returned to the table. Blake accepted the apology, even if her tone was a little frostier than Weiss would have hoped. It was unfortunate, but she understood; the Italian Dragon had been doing them a favour and Yang essentially thanked her by accusing her of being a Peeping Tom. That wasn’t easy to wave aside.

Not too long afterward, Kali brought out some celebratory burgers and a basket of french fries so huge that Weiss thought they would never finish them all off. Pools of ketchup started to decorate the table, and she could see Vernal rolling her eyes in disgust even from across the room.

Sadly, by the time she finished her food, it was time to leave. Pyrrha did come in to pick Weiss up, so at least she hadn’t found the last experience so harrowing that it scared her off forevermore. Her first glimpse of Weiss in the jacket had startled her, but afterward she was praising it and telling her that it flattered her frame. As purely sweet as Pyrrha was most of the time, that came as little surprise.

“Doesn’t she just look neato keen?” Emerald said, tone very slightly mocking as she laughed. “Maybe you could get one of those for yourself.”

“Me?!” she gasped with a hand pressed to her heart. “Oh, no, I couldn’t! My mother would have kittens!”

Laughing at her outrage, Cinder wrapped her arms tightly around the taller redhead’s waist. Somehow, she had convinced her to sit on her thigh the way Weiss was on Yang’s, and had on Blake’s before. That it had nothing to do with a healing burn in Pyrrha’s case seemed irrelevant to the brunette. “Maybe I could convince you.”

“I doubt that very much. But th-thank you for your interest!”

“Am I a Jehovah’s Witness? Thanking me and promising to read the Watchtower before you send me on my merry way?” But Cinder’s tone wasn’t as caustic as it could be; she was still pleased with her success in manipulating three of her fellow Dragons that day. Weiss was beginning to suspect that her passing interest in her friend wasn’t quite so passing as she would probably have everyone believe.

“N-no, you’re not,” Pyrrha sighed nervously.

Thinking she’d had enough teasing, Weiss said, “Maybe Pyrrha could come over here and sit on Yang’s other thigh. Keep me company.”

“Oh, that would be far too heavy! I… well, my muscle mass is dense from training; I weigh more than I look like I would.”

“I could handle it,” Yang laughed. “But you don’t have to if you’re comfortable there.”

“She’s comfortable.” Cinder’s hands began to smooth up and down Pyrrha’s stomach, and a blush began to creep into the tall woman’s cheeks. Weiss could tell it was pure shock with only a hint of shame; she simply had no response for this situation. “And so am I. Her firm rump is pretty warm, and it’s a little chilly in here.”

Even while Pyrrha was gulping, Blake reached over to swat her shoulder. “Do you always have to push so much? She’s practically flipping.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so chilly if you quit wearing those short little dresses,” Weiss remarked, which got the others laughing and pounding the table. Cinder, for part, merely sent a poisonous smile in her direction.

“Apparently, they’ve caught your attention, Schnee.”

If she was going to be one of the Dragons, she needed to learn how to play this game of theirs - the ‘Intolerable Flirt’ game. “But they haven’t caught me. Does that mean they need to be shorter, or what fills them to be better?”

The others all went “OOOOH” and whistled before bursting into laughter. Emerald was the only one who looked a little nervous about that, glancing anxiously at Cinder’s scowl.

“Alright, alright,” Yang chortled. “Both of you ease off your trigger fingers. This is a party!”

“Very well,” Cinder sighed, redoubling her grip on the resigned Pyrrha. “And I do already have my party favour.”

“I will get her out of there if I need a crowbar,” Weiss warned her playfully. “Unless she’s really fine with you pawing all over her like that.”

Waving a hand, Pyrrha smiled bashfully. “No, no, it’s fine! She hasn’t hurt me, o-or made me that uncomfortable.”

“But you are uncomfortable?” When she received no answer, Cinder impatiently pushed her off her lap. “Fine. Never mind then.”

“I… I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “Really, it wasn’t-”

“Forget it. I just thought we were having harmless fun, but there you are, waiting for it to be over, and I’m…” She picked up her bottle and let out a grunt of frustration when she discovered it was empty. “Be right back.”

Once she had stormed over to the bar, Pyrrha glanced at the empty seat. Yang quickly pulled her onto her own leg, and though she let out a squeak of surprise, it was followed by a quiet sigh. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. Sometimes Cindy comes on a little strong.”

“She knows I go with boys, doesn’t she? O-or at least, I want to, even if I haven’t yet. But to hear her talk, I’m already one of you and simply, um… pretending, or something.”

Coco shrugged, leaning forward on her elbows. “It’s not your fault she thinks you’re a Dolly, all for her to play with.” The double entendre made Emerald snicker. “But I agree with her that you’re very attractive. Just… ignore her advances for long enough and she’ll get the idea. You don’t owe her anything more than that.”

“And you don’t have to sit on my lap, either,” Yang told her quietly. “But the table’s pretty full, and there aren’t any more chairs.”

Pyrrha wiggled back and forth a little, still looking flushed but less nervous compared to before. “You make a comfortable chair. And I’m sitting with my best friend! This is fine with me.”

“Awwwww, best friend,” Yang cooed at Weiss, who rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “So cuuuuute!”

“Do you have room for one more?” Blake asked, waggling her eyebrows. It was a little gross, but at least it showed she was over her brief spell of heartsickness. Weiss counted that as a win.

“Sure, Belladonna. Pile on.”

All Weiss had time to do was yelp “What?!” before Blake was flopping across hers and Pyrrha’s laps. By hanging onto each other with one arm apiece, they were able to keep from falling to either side, but Blake had to wrap herself a little harder forward and nearly slipped onto the table. An errant kick resulted in Coco complaining about ketchup getting on her jacket, though everyone was laughing so hard that her complaint was barely audible.

“Oh, fine!” Cinder blustered when she returned. “So it’s just my lap!” Everyone laughed so hard she couldn’t even stay upset, instead grunting something and turning away to hide her own bemused smile.

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

“You really do have some interesting friends,” Pyrrha remarked as they drove back home.

“Yes. And one who couldn’t keep her meathooks off your body.”

Dipping her head, though not so much she couldn’t see the road ahead of them, she thought about her response for a moment as “Sweet Little Sixteen” played on the radio quietly. “The attention is nice. Though I don’t feel the same way about Cinder as she seems to feel about me.”

“Hmm.” As they rolled up to a stop sign, she glanced over and said, “You’re handling this remarkably well.”

“What do you mean? Her being a woman?” When Weiss nodded, she shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s still strange to me. But you and Yang seem happy.”

“And do you think you could be happy with a girl?”

“Golly, no! I just don’t have any interest in them that way!”

Leaning against the door, Weiss stared out the window as the trees flashed past. One or two leaves were beginning to turn here and there. “I used to think that, too. But then again, you’ve actually got one coming after you and still feel the same way. Maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe I always liked women and just didn’t know it. Does that sound kooky or what?”

Her friend thought about that for a little longer, as well. “I don’t think it’s that kooky. After all, we’ve always only seen husbands and wives together; boys going with girls. Why should we have ever thought about it at all before these Dragons started whistling at you?”

“True,” she sighed wearily. “I’m just sorry if… well, if it’s harder being my friend now.”

They had been at the next stop sign for a few minutes before Weiss realised they could have driven away a long time ago. When she looked over, she saw Pyrrha looked completely stricken, frown lines worrying her noble forehead.

“What is it?”

“I’ll always be your friend!” she told her urgently. “This is… I know it might be a sin, and certainly unusual, but I know you’re still a wonderful person! Why should I let that change anything?”

“Oh,” she half-laughed in relief. “Okay, you’re right. I didn’t mean to upset you; of course I have confidence in our friendship.”

“Good,” she said with a slight smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand briefly. Then she took the wheel again and steered them toward home. “Of course, it is a little worrying that their ‘club’ is in an abandoned building. But it looks like they’re taking good care of it.”

Snickering, Weiss leaned against the door to gaze out the window again. “Only you could have a friend tell you she’s started making whoopee with a woman, become part of a gang, and the only thing you care about is the municipal building code.”

“Well, safety is important!” Further giggling became contagious this time, and they both laughed the rest of the way home.

#princess and the dragons #freezerburn fanfic #1950s au #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants #nsfw-Text

5 notes · View notes

the-quiet-winds · 5 years ago

Text

Changing Like the Tides

a new oneshot by @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i! woo! this was originally a joke between us, and then we settled in to write it and it went a very different direction.

[12am edit: thank god for scheduled posts]

not much else to say but enjoy!

“girls night” sounded like a good idea to katherine until jane ordered her first cocktail, when she realized her mum hadn’t had a drink more than a glass of sweet wine in...how many years?

but she hasn’t realized that yet. “cheers, mum,” katherine says, raising her own drink.

“cheers, kat,” jane smiles, clinking their glasses together. “it’s so nice to get some us time, you know? we’re always so busy on tour these days.”

she takes a sip of her drink through the straw. the slight face of shock jane made at the strength of it really should have tipped katherine off to how the evening was going to go, but instead she brushed it off.

they talk as they sip their drinks, jane’s voice gradually rising in volume as she finishes. then asks for another drink. katherine probably should have stopped her, but she really didn’t think about it in the moment. it wasn’t until jane finished her second drink, already in a heavily tipsy haze, that katherine made the connection of the strength of the alcohol and her generally sober mother.

“shall i get us another one?” jane asks brightly, voice slurring just enough to worry katherine. she shakes her head.

“it’s okay, mum, I think I’ve had enough.” what she really meant was ‘I think you’ve had enough’, but katherine didn’t want to offend jane or anything like that.

“suit yourself!” jane says with a bubbly giggle, then orders herself another. by the end of her third, everything is more than hazy, but she can see her beautiful daughter’s face in front of her. “oh my darling kat,” she murmurs with a watery smile. “how much your mum loves you.” then, even in the dark of the bar, it’s obvious that there are tears on jane’s cheeks.

katherine shifts slightly uncomfortably, noticing the tear tracks on jane’s cheeks. “i love you too, mum.” she glances around once before looking back to jane. “um, do you think it might be time to head back? I mean, it’s getting late.”

that much was true, although they’d specifically chosen this night to be a girl’s night because they didn’t have a show the next day, so in theory they could stay out as long as they wanted. in practice, however, katherine would rather get jane back home considering the emotional state she was in.

“no not at all!” jane protests, wiping at her eyes. “your old mum is breaking up the fun. this night is for you.” jane puts a hand on katherine’s. “you, my lovely daughter.”

despite the situation, katherine can’t help but smile at jane’s words; even now, the reassurance that jane really did love her and considered her to be her daughter made katherine feel overwhelmed with love. she decides to drop it for the moment and just enjoy the moment with her mum.

“can we get some snacks or something?” she asks jane, who smiles.

“of course, darling.”

when katherine requested snacks, she didn’t expect nachos, pretzels, sliders, and a cheese plate to materialize before them. but they did. and, unfortunately, so did a fourth drink for jane. katherine is still incredibly sober, nights with the other queens made sure of that, but as jane finishes her fourth cocktail, the sad-drunk comes out again. she grabs kat’s hand and doesn’t let go. “have i ever told you,” jane starts, words slurred and eyes slightly lidded, “how proud i am of you? every night you just go onstage and and...” she makes a slow sort of punching movement. “i love watching you sing and dance...you make your ol’ mum so proud...” there are tears in jane’s eyes again, yet they stay there.

“mum, i know,” katherine says awkwardly. “i love watching you perform too.” she pauses for a second, before continuing. “mum, are you okay?”

“of course i am, kitty-kat,” jane laughs a little bit too hard. “i’m with you! how could I ever be anything less than okay when i’m with my wonderful, perfect girl?” she smiles, but a second later she’s sniffling and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“mum, maybe we should go,” katherine says, trying to ignore the rush of affection at jane’s words. “i think you’re a little drunk.”

“me? drunk? psh,” jane laughs again, but then the tears return. “i just can’t stop thinking about how much i love you, kat. how happy you make me every single day.” she leans over to the young couple next to them, two women, somewhere between kat and jane’s age. “this is my daughter,” she slurs. “she’s perfect in every way.”

“sorry,” katherine mouthes silently at the two slightly startled women. she takes jane’s arm and gently pulls until jane’s sitting upright again, but jane stands up on her unsteady legs with a broad smile.

“excuse me,” she says to an older woman who happens to be passing by. “have you met my sweet perfect angel daughter?”

“mum!” katherine says more insistently. “i really think it’s time for us to head home!”

jane, in her boozy delusional fog, thinks she realizes what’s going on and it makes her wants to cry again. she throws a fifty on the table, not even caring about change, and drags katherine out of the bar with an unsettling degree of toughness. “are you ashamed of your mum? is that it?” she hisses once they’re outside. “don’t want to be seen in public with my mum!” jane says in a mocking falsetto.

“no, of course not!” katherine gasps, half indignant and half upset by the accusation. “I love going places with you! i’m just worried about you, mum.”

jane clearly wasn’t listening, holding katherine’s hand tightly as she pulls her down the street. “fine, let’s find a taxi if you want to go home so badly. serves me right for trying to have a good night out with my daughter.” her voice cracks at the end of the sentence and before she knows it tears are streaming down her face.

luckily, the street is fairly quiet. jane stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk and cries, face in hands and shoulder shaking. “if you didn’t want to go out with me,” jane says with a cracked voice through her tears, “you should have just said so. i’m sure boleyn or parr would have been just as happy.” her voice lowers. “why would you ever want to go out with your mum?” it’s mean to be sarcastic, but it just sounds pathetic to the vey drunk jane.

“mum, no, that’s not it!” katherine practically pleads. “i wanted to go with you!” she tries to take jane’s hands in hers but jane doesn’t let her, pushing katherine’s hands away. “why don’t we go home and talk about it there?” katherine beseeches her, eyes wide.

that was evidently the wrong thing to say.

“you are embarrassed!” jane sobs. “what’s the matter, am I causing a scene?” the mocking tone she tries to put in her voice is almost completely covered by the upset and hurt in her voice. katherine catches hold of jane’s arm.

“mum, listen to me, please!” she begs desperately.

jane roughly pulls away from katherine. her tears and her anger just keep coming (katherine makes a note that jane never gets vodka again, ever.) “you are embarrassed of me!” jane wails. then her voice goes stone soft, nearly sending a chill down katherine’s spine. “do you even want me anymore?” she pulls her face out of her hands to look at katherine, cheeks red and eyes burning with tears and drunk foolery. “did you ever even want me?”

“what?” katherine says, wide eyed and shocked. “mum, of course i do! I always have!” she tries to swallow down the lump in her throat but tears start glistening in her eyes before she can stop them.

“I love you, mum,” she chokes out. “please, you have to believe me.”

still jane isn’t listening, her drunken tears and anger (but mostly alcohol) blurring her mind. “i’m so sorry for forcing my way into your life,” she cries, anger giving way to just despair and heartbreak.

it takes all of katherine’s self-control not to burst into tears. she wasn’t getting anywhere with trying to reason with jane, that was clear, and she desperately racked her brain trying to think of what to do. all she could think of was that she needed to get jane home and safe; as much as it hurt her, she’d have to let jane be angry and upset with her until they get home, and hopefully jane would be slightly more sober then. although how she’s going to get jane into a taxi in this state katherine has no idea. she thinks as hard as she can, trying not to let jane’s accusations hurt her and failing as each word sends a pain straight to her heart and makes her stomach twist.

she pushes down her emotions and hails a cab. “come on you,” she commands, pulling on jane’s hand to get her into the taxi. she gives the driver the address, and the short drive is full of jane’s tears and incomprehensible words. the car stops outside their house and katherine flips the driver a 20 on an £8 tab and drags her mother inside.

katherine manages to get jane inside and sitting down on the couch before jane rips her arm from katherine’s grip. “we’re home now,” she says, voice thick and words barely distinguishable. “you can just leave me here, go and do whatever you actually want to do.” She dissolves into tears again and even more than the harsh words it hurts katherine to see her mother so upset like this. she sits down next to jane on the couch, almost sideways so she can look at her mum.

jane looks up just enough to see katherine’s ashen face. katherine’s hands fidget in her lap, fingers clenching and unclenching. jane laughs mirthlessly. “well now you’re just mocking me.”

“i’m not,” Katherine says quietly. jane raises an eyebrow.

“then why are you still here?”

“because i want to.” katherine’s a little bit bolder and she turns to face jane properly. jane gives a humourless laugh.

“no you don’t. I should have known better to begin with.”

“mum,” katherine starts, hating how much she sounds like a broken child. “why are you saying these things?”

“isn’t it true?” jane demands.

“no, mum,” katherine answers. her voice is weak and whimpery. “why won’t you believe me?”

“because you’re you!” jane bursts out suddenly. “you’re bright and beautiful and young and perfect, why would you ever want to spend time with your mum?” she stops, clasping a hand over her mouth as the tears start to fall again. “why would you ever want to spend time with me?”

the words hang between them for an agonizingly long time. katherine can’t even formulate a response, she’s so struck by the statement. “you have so much life and light,” jane whimpers, “what could i possibly offer you?”

katherine stares, words failing her. she’d spent the whole time since first meeting being so worried that she wasn’t good enough for jane, that sweet, kind, maternal, perfect jane would get sick of trying to fix this broken little girl and not want to spend any time with her any more, and not for one second had she ever considered that jane didn’t think she was good enough for katherine. it was almost inconceivable to her, and her mind couldn’t make sense of jane ever thinking that she was the one who wasn’t good enough.

“you don’t even realise, do you?” katherine says softly, the words slipping out accidentally. jane frowns through her tears.

“realise what?”

jane could feel the alcohol pounding through her system, but something clears out when she hears katherine’s accidental middle of words.

“realize what?”

“mum...” katherine starts brokenly, “you’ve offered me the only thing i’ve ever wanted.” she sniffles. “a family, a protector, someone who loves me for me.” katherine wipes at her eyes without breaking her gaze. “you, mum, are the best thing about this rotten world.”

katherine’s words cut through jane’s alcohol-induced state. she pauses, looking at katherine, at her tearstained face and wide honest eyes, and something hits her.

“you... you really mean that?” she says hoarsely, words no louder than a whisper.

katherine’s tiny smile manages to reach her eyes. “of course, mum. that day you invited me over for dinner,” she reaches over and takes both of jane’s hands, “you changed my life. i couldn’t imagine it without you, mum.”

“kat,” jane says, voice trembling. “oh, kitty-kat.”

she pulls katherine into a hug, tears flowing again as she holds her daughter tightly. “oh, sweetheart,” she sobs. “i’m sorry, i don’t know what came over me.” the alcohol still in her system meant that her tears flow faster than ever, and she can’t bring herself to let go of katherine, not yet.

katherine smiles through her own tears as she snuggles into her mother’s arms. “it’s alright mum,” katherine whispers. “maybe it’s time for bed for you.”

jane begrudgingly agrees, allowing kat to lead her up the stairs. by the time kat goes to her room, changes, and comes back, jane is already passed out. katherine, unable to resist, crawls onto the mattress and curls into her mum’s side, wanting nothing more than to be close and let her mum know that she is the most important person in katherine’s life.

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians@thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy@justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie and jess write #changing like the tides

63 notes · View notes

secondscratch17 · 6 years ago

Text

weird asks that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? All of them. I drink tea in coffee mugs and teacups. I love drinking wine. I like that I can recycle soda cans

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? chocolate

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? bubblegum if the flavor lasts long

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? the stereotypical quiet, obedient, smart, goody-two-shoes kid

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? somehow I like the aesthetic from soda bottles

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? hONESTLY I can dO ALL OF THE ABOVE in the span of days. Went to work one day wearing beach-y clothes for spirit day. Returned to pick up a friend to go see a metal concert in VERY metal concert attire. I own short, sweet summery floral dresses and gothic dresses, too

7. earbuds or headphones? Earbuds, they allow me to be more mobile

8. movies or tv shows? movies

9. favorite smell in the summer? Fresh cut grass. The smell of the ocean. Churros at the fair

10. game you were best at in p.e.? Soccer, obvs. Somehow would always last until the end of the game in dodgeball tho because I was small and no one could hit me

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Cereal

12. name of your favorite playlist? Don’t have one.

13. lanyard or key ring? Key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? Smarties!

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? I remember re-reading Holes over and over just to make my book reports easier since I knew the boo so well. The Kite Runner was phenomenal and unforgettable

16. most comfortable position to sit in? idk?? I really can’t sit still in one position for too long

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? Currently my hiking/outdoorsy shoes. Also my black Nikes that I play pickup in and wear to the gym

18. ideal weather? Sunny and 65. Maybe one or two clouds. The tiniest of faint breezes to cool me down.

19. sleeping position? Any I can get into and fall asleep in quickly

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Laptop. I can edit easier.

21. obsession from childhood? Probably any cheesy show on Animal Planet. The Most Extreme, Meerkat Manor, Big Cat Diary, etc

22. role model? I have a lot of different ones. Role models for athletics, role models for career and ambition choices, artistic role models...can’t pick just one

23. strange habits? Spelling words with the tips of my fingers

24. favorite crystal? Aquamarine

25. first song you remember hearing? how in the FUCK am I supposed to remember that. I do remember my parents playing The Beatles for me when I was a toddler

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? Soccer! (futbol)

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? Sledding, making hot chocolate, or playing indoor soccer haha

28. five songs to describe you? Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been by Relient K, Proud by the Icarus Account, Land of the Dead by Voltaire, Always Leaving by Mayday Parade, Wavin’ Flag by K’naan

29. best way to bond with you? Listening to my favorite music with me or watching the US Women’s national soccer team with me

30. places that you find sacred? Belfast, Maine. Gold Camp Road. Newport Beach

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Tight jeans with holes in them, fishnets, and a crop top

32. top five favorite vines? Vines still exist?

33. most used phrase in your phone? “tbh”

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? O O O O REILLYYYYYY’S autoparts

35. average time you fall asleep? around 9

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? I don’t remember

37. suitcase or duffel bag? suitcase

38. lemonade or tea? Is it warm outside? Lemonade. Is it cold outside? tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? PIE!

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Zombie hunting or my professor cutting lab a half an hour short to go look at some Cedar waxwings

41. last person you texted? I think it was Robert

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? Pants pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? Jean jacket

44. favorite scent for soap? Anything fruity

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? Fantasy. It depends on how good the sci-fi movie is

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? as little as possible lmao

47. favorite type of cheese? Parmesan

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? A raspberry

49. what saying or quote do you live by? A great amount of good is always evened out by a great amount of bad

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? Honestly Daniel knew how to make me laugh better than anyone. There are a couple of memories with him that I don’t remember entirely but I know that I ended up cry-laughing so hard that my head hurt. There was a time during my orientation camping trip when a bunch of us were playing ultimate Frisbee, and Jesse went to catch the frisbee in the most perfectly lateral horizontal position and the expression of focus just frozen on his face had me laughing so hard that I couldn’t see

51. current stresses? Sam. Jobs that I can apply for starting in May of 2020. Sam. STUDENT LOANS. Bills. Car payments. Wondering how fucked up my car has gotten since I’ve lived here on this ranch. Sam.

52. favorite font? Anything that looks fancy and sarcastic

53. what is the current state of your hands? Need to be washed.

54. what did you learn from your first job? The world is cruel and bad things happen without warning

55. favorite fairy tale? Uh....the Pied Piper?

56. favorite tradition? when my family visits for Christmas, eating lots of traditional Chinese food with them

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? Heartbreak. Staggering rejection from the field I majored in. Probably a lot of body image struggles in there as well

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Writing, futbol, adaptability, flexibility. I think the last two are just traits but I don’t have a lot of talents I can invest in

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? Let’s make like a baby and head out

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? No idea

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Though we are far apart, our spirits share the same earth and the same sky

62. seven characters you relate to? Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit, Data from The Goonies, Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter, Eliza Thornberry from The Wild Thornberries, Raven from Teen Titans, Isaac from Teen Wolf

63. five songs that would play in your club? ANYTHING by Within Temptation. I wouldn’t be a good club owner. The catchy and pump-up songs from Hamilton.

64. favorite website from your childhood? Wasn’t allowed much computer time. I was allowed to visit educational sites and occasionally the Disney site

65. any permanent scars? some self-harm scars. Probably the one on my right leg that I got from CO parks and wildlife. I stepped on a barbed wire fence that had been plastered to the ground, but the metal sprang up when I stepped on it and ripped through my skin

66. favorite flower(s)? Plumerias

67. good luck charms? I’m not sure if I have any.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? earthworm flavor from Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? uh...Something about not being able to spray silly string on Halloween in Hollywood

70. left or right handed? Right handed

71. least favorite pattern? wtf

72. worst subject? anything math related, I really struggled in GIS.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? I...have no idea

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 2. I’m a baby

75. when did you lose your first tooth? I was 6

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? chips and fries

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? a succulent

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? sushi from a grocery store, the quality can surprise you

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? Both are terrible

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? I hate bugs

82. pc or console? PC

83. writing or drawing? Writing, I’m terrible at drawing

84. podcasts or talk radio? Not into either

84. barbie or polly pocket? I had both

85. fairy tales or mythology? God!!!! Like hearing about both but mythology I guess

86. cookies or cupcakes? Cookies

87. your greatest fear? Being forgotten. I also have a terrible, horrible fear of drowning

88. your greatest wish? In the times I’ve struggled I often find myself wishing for peace. Not only for myself, but for others to easily feel peace with everyone else

89. who would you put before everyone else? Sierra

90. luckiest mistake? Mistake? There’s been lucky accidents but I don’t think any of my mistakes have been lucky

91. boxes or bags? It depends on what I’m packing and where I’m going

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? Sunlight

93. nicknames? T, Tear, Tear-tear, T-Dog, Miss T..a few of my recent favorites from soccer: Ronaldinha and Thierry Chun

94. favorite season? Fall! Shit, especially in New England

95. favorite app on your phone? I don’t know

96. desktop background? A picture of a simple dock leading out to sea

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? My parents’ and brother’s

98. favorite historical era? Victorian era, for sure

2 notes · View notes

of-suns-and-guns · 6 years ago

Note

For the ask game for writers: 2, 8, 20, 30, 44, 53 and 54.

Shadow is Good, Shadow is Kind

I thank you, good lion

2. Favorite part of writing:

Playing. Building. Just the whole process of, like, I dunno, playing with words to build this thing, this story that I wanted to tell and just telling it the way I want it to be told.

Just everything about it, really.

(Also making people ache with it. That’s A+ too.)

8. Favorite trope to write:

I have three:

1) enemies to lovers (sometimes skipping the ‘friends’ bit in between, for the drama of it all.)

2) friends with benefits/accidental relationship

3) secret relationship/there’s some aspect people don’t know (for Kalex, this would either be people not knowing they’re together, or people knowing they’re together but not knowing they’re sisters)

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on:

Well, because I posed a snip of ‘just come home to me’ last night, so I’m gonna spin the wheel on what to post now.

(the rest of the Q’s and A’s under the cut)

Okay, this came about in response to the whole Kara-Doppleganger thing coming in Season 4. Her name is Red. She’s the product of that weird stone that splits Kryptonians in the last season. She has all of Kara’s memories, but stands, herself, as a slightly different personality from Kara. A bit rougher, more bite, more rakish humor, but she holds core pieces of Kara’s personality, including her love for Alex.

The context for this scene is the DEO is keeping Red in containment because they think she might be evil, and (unbeknownst to Alex) Red and Kara had a…let’s call it an emotional moment that ended with Kara freaking out and running away from Red. Kara and Alex later fought over something else.

This scene is Red breaking under the turmoil.

(Side note, Red is actually a character Jae and I created a LONG time ago and write about a LOT, which was the basis for Red’s characterization in this.)

- - -[scene]- - -

Alexdoesn’t come back to see her until nearly five pm, and when she does, hermovements are sharp, frustrated. Her tone stiff and professional. Colder thanshe was yesterday, to the point Red has to fight ever the well of self doubtthat makes her want to cower and beg forgiveness.

Karadoesn’t come back at all.

“Whatdo you remember?” Alex asks, making a note on her tablet, backstiff, legs crossed, facing Red’s containment head-on in her seat, brokering analmost suffocating power hold on the room that chafes up Red’s spine to have tosit on the receiving end of it.

“Snow,”Red answers, dull, wanting more breathing room to make a joke of it, to wrestleback that indifference she’d sold so well up til now. But her eyes keepbouncing to the closed door she’d begged to open all day, only to deliver her This Alex, and no Kara

ThisAlex makes her feel fourteen and trying in vain to behave in whatever way it’lltake to earn herself Alex’s softness. It’s that, mixed with Eliza’sdisappointment. It’s that, mixed with the harsh words she’d seen hovering at thetip of Jeremiah’s tongue.

It’sthat, mixed with the knowledge of just how good Alex’s softness feels, mixedwith the knowledge that she’d earned this, earned its loss. Had touched whenshe wasn’t allowed. Had taken things in the wrong way, the alien way, so farfrom human she’s no longer allowed to pretend she’s ever held human affection.

“Besidessnow,” Alex says, voice level, eyes cool and aloof. “What aboutbefore. Tell me what you remember between being Kara, and being this.”

This. This thing,this other, this bastardization of the person she was before she wasjust this. This person who doesn’t belong to Alex because Alex alreadyhas the Kara she loves, and this person who doesn’t belong to Kara becauseshe’s every discarded piece Kara never even wanted in the first place, letalone this person formed entirely of those pieces.

Itturns her ribs to splinters and depresses her sternum sharp and hard, brokenand jagged enough to tear at the soft tissue beneath.

Sheis bad. Even if she’s not evil, she is bad. And they all know it. Sheknows it.

AndAlex knows it.

“Therewas chaos,” she mutters with whatever gumption she can scrape together.“Fighting the worldkillers. Saving Sam. I remember pain. Screaming. And Iwas falling. And then…snow.”

“Whathappened after that? What’d you do? What did you feel?”

Redscoffs into a broken chuckle, chest too tight to take a full breath and rollsher head to look at Alex. “I was scared. And cold. My powers werebasically gone and it was dark, so I couldn’t see.”

“Sowhat’d you do?”

Redsighs and curls in on herself. “I started walking. A couple miles til Ifound an abandoned cabin, used the last dregs of my powers to light a fire andthen I started planning.”

“Planningwhat?” Alex voice goes impossibly darker, not a single benefit of thedoubt given, and why should she? She’s not talking to her Kara, she’s talkingto the loose, dangerous pieces of Kara nobody wanted.

“Howto get back here,” she says, dull, tired, watching her own finger tracethe plastic containment wall.

“Why?To do what? What was the plan once you got here?”

Shealmost feels too hopeless to cry, but the tears do burn, and she lets them,even if she can’t find the strength to either lean into them, or pull away fromthem.

Shesighs and drops her hand. “What else would I do? Where else would Igo?”

“Youtell me.”

Shelaughs but it sounds like crying, and she’s reminded, crazily, of Kara’s voicein her ear, murmuring the first and last sweetness she’d ever given Red.

“Iwas scared,” she rasps, wanting to roll her eyes toward Alex, but knows she’d likely throw up if she saw the expression that accompanies the tone inAlex’s voice. “I knew I wasn’t her, and I didn’t know what hadhappened to me, and I—”

Her throat tightens hard and she chokes on theemotions, trying to fight them back, sure that Alex will have no patience forthese emotions from someone who isn’t really her Kara, not as far as she’sconcerned, and definitely not after what Red’s done.

“Youwhat.”

Somethingbreaks in her at the tone. The firmness, the coldness, aware she’s not doing agood job of hiding her own upset and acknowledging how little Alex cares.

Sheisn’t the Kara Alex loves, and she isn’t the Kara who gets to seek home in anypart of Alex. Not anymore.

It’sover.

Itsnaps something in her. Cuts off her emotions with one sharp rip, detaches herfrom her own body and makes hopelessness feel like safety. A quiet void to tuckher heart and mind into and disappear from the world that hurts to exists in.

Thesharper edges of the word smooth over, become a fog out of reach and hardlyworth noticing. What’s the point? What’s even left to fight for?

“I’mtired,” her own voice says, a shopkeeper flipping the ‘Closed’ sign on thedoor.

It’sbetter in here. Inside. Away from the rest of it.

“I’mgoing to sleep.”

If Alex responds, Red’s ears have already tuned to a white-static frequency; unreachable.

It’sbetter here.

- - -[end scene]- - -

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written:

Listen, I love the fuck outta my own writing and cannot even begin TRYING to pick just one line.

That being said, and presented without an ounce of context: “Cheese danish, Donner! Goddamn cheese danish!”

53. What does writing mean to you:

There’s no way to answer this with out being super fuckin’ corny. So time for corn:

I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s my whole life. Every part of me feels like a result of it, and everything I do feels contingent on it. I’m confident it takes up a good 90% of my soul.

I’ve been doing it since I was 5~6 years old, and I literally do not know what life looks like without it.

It’s a compulsion at this point.

54. Any writing advice you want to share:

Go ape on your first draft; be as self-indulgent and technically insufficient as you want. Just do whatever you gotta do to keep yourself writing through the stalls, even if you know what your writing will have to be re-written before you post.

Do not edit it yet.

If you typed your first draft on a computer, print it out (unedited), pin it next to your monitor, open a new document

And then re-type it completely from scratch.

Do not copy and paste, do not just edit your first draft in it’s document.

Re-write it c o m p l e t e l y.

This is where you’ll edit, re-word, cut, replace, flesh-out, and build the depth of your story.

Just try it. Just once. You’ll immediately see the profound difference it makes on the final product. I promise.

I am in your debt, and I thank you kindly for the asks.

#shadows-of-the-night11

4 notes · View notes

pseudofaux · 7 years ago

Text

Meetings

EDIT 15 December: Peep This Part Two, Sweetbean! Who needs a bj? Masamuneitsuhide! Mitsuhide needs way more love in this fandom (and in the mouths that love him?) period. Someone on the SLBP Discord brought up this concept-- I believe in discussing a request that had been made, this is not meant to directly satisfy that request or horn in on anyone else’s efforts, I just could not get the office better-than-an-old-fashioned (#officenewfangled?) out of my head, and I bipped this up in less than 24 hours because that’s how my brain lets me address my to-write list. WTF PSEUDOBRAIN.

Please enjoy, gentle readers! Hope everyone is having a wonderful almost-winter. Here in the midwestern US I sit green and hella jelly that friends around the country have snow and I’ve got exactly bupkis except frozen ground. I am drinking ALL the hot chocolate in protest in a move I am CERTAIN my health care provider would give me a thumbs up on.

Tagging @dear-mrs-otome @cavern-of-bells @raventheempress @shikikira @wonky-glass-ornament @unicornthug4life @jemchew @suzunesays @yoolee @little-mini-me-world @sengokugenkigirl @quincette @rubyleeray @karalija @saizos-little-lady @catchthespade @ihavenotfallenyet @eth-real @han-pan @nightingaledarling @demonintheally @oh-my-otome ILU ALL 5EVER

Akechi Mitsuhide tried his best, always. Including making sure he was ready for work in the morning and had everything he needed.

But. If he was foolish or rushed enough to leave something he needed at home, his wife was always gracious enough to bring it to work with her later that morning. They’d have a sweet, teasing phone call and arrange to meet up on campus so he could get it. She worked for the university’s school of nursing and he was the dean of the college of letters and sciences. So it was easy to meet during the day. Walk one of the tiny garden paths between buildings, admire nature while holding hands. The two of them were respectable. Comfortable. Sweet on one another. His secretary and his wife adored each other. They certainly got to talk often enough.

There had been a day where he was so flustered from waking up to a thrice-snoozed alarm (she had worn that damned, blessed dress to a foundation dinner the night before, and they had been up correspondingly late) he ran out the door as soon as he possibly could to make the train just in time to catch his first meeting of the day.

Without a tie, or his satchel.

But she was waiting for him in his office when he arrived there after the meeting. She presented him with a bagel, too, toasted just as he preferred and with the right amount of cream cheese on it and still warm in the napkins she’d wrapped it in at home. She looped his tie around his neck with sure hands, smoothing it gently against his chest when she was done. She told him she loved him and to have a good day. And then she sauntered... because it could only be called a saunter, and if she could walk at all after the night before a saunter was certainly appropriate, out of his office to go about her own day.

And his whole heart, his whole body, sighed in happiness to love and be loved by her. Their partnership was so solid. They were really in a happy place.

Then there had been another morning when he hadn’t realized his laptop wasn’t in the satchel before leaving; somehow the weight of several folios in its place had comparable heft. When he got to his office after yet another first-thing-in-the-morning meeting with Provost Oda and learned of his mistake, he considered just operating from the desktop all day. As he turned to the monitor, he saw a post-it note with familiar writing.

Check under your desk, darling. Xoxo.

There was his laptop, with a granola bar and a bottle of coffee resting on top of it. His body got goosebumps and the most delicious warmth, knowing she had been here not long ago, knowing that his wife took the best care of him that she could. He needed to do better for both their sakes, but the comfort of knowing someone was always there for him was so very reassuring.

He sent her flowers. The florist was very familiar with him and what he liked to send his wife, and took his order with an obvious smile in her voice. That night at home Tsumime called for him to please bring her a robe, and when he opened the door, petals were floating on her bathwater.

The two of them made a terrible mess of the ensuite. God, he loved her so. And he felt relieved and reassured every day that he trusted she loved him, too; made it so obvious through the care she took of him and of them.

After that, she would hide presents under his desk from time to time, always leaving a post-it on his monitor or phone or a little doodle and smile on the date on his desk calendar. The presents would be things he had forgotten, or poems she had written for him, or an unexpected packed lunch of his favorite treats. Always wonderful, always very her, always very them.

Today’s meeting with all the other deans had been long and particularly hard to get through. The bunch usually worked well together, but this morning… something had been off. He was unsettled when he returned to his office. A tired smile for his secretary was all the greeting he could manage.

“Welcome back, Mr. Akechi. Can I get you anything?”

“Good morning, Hidemitsu. No, thank you."

He stopped halfway between Hide's desk and the door to his office.

"Er—actually, could you try to get Tsumime on the phone, please?”

“Ah…” His secretary’s face looked pained. Usually Mitsuhide would stop and make sure everything was alright, but this morning had just been too heavy. He waved off his own request with a casual “Don’t worry about it,” and opened the door to his office.

He hung up his coat on the rack and sat down on the firm sofa just inside the door. It took less than a minute to realize this was not a problem he could think through, he needed to work it through. He should email the holdouts from this morning’s meeting and see what assurances they needed to proceed confidently. So he got up, rolled his shoulders, and moved to his desk.

He glanced at the messages Hide had left in a neat pile on his desk before laying his thumb on the monitor’s sensor to turn it on. He sat down and had his fingers on the keys before he thought maybe, maybe, she might have stopped by with a present earlier. She always seemed to know. If not, it would be no disappointment—her gifts were always appreciated but unexpected—but… it had been a difficult morning, and he just... wanted to check. He felt foolish but decided to let himself peek.

So he pushed back his chair, enough to be able to peek under his desk.

A pair of sweet, dark eyes flashed back at him, above the smile he loved best in all the world. He was glad he had looked!

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my dear,” he said, meaning every word. Her smile grew.

“I love you,” she said. “Umeko told me the meeting didn’t go so well this morning. Are you okay?”

“I love you,” he said, thanking his lucky stars. “Sweetheart, won’t you come out from under th—hey!”

She came forward a bit, not entirely out from under the desk as he’d try to ask, but now her beautiful face was in the light and looking at him with an expression of complete care and radiant love. Her palms were on the tops of his thighs with a promise of a different kind of complete care. Not the flowery kind, but very intensely felt.

“No, my darling, I think I’ll stay right here for a few minutes.”

She had his trousers unzipped and unfastened, and his cock out in the air and then in her mouth and hands before his brain could quite catch up with her.

God, it was warm.

God, it was so comfortable and thrilling.

God, he wanted to wrap her perfectly curled ponytail around his wrist and hold her head and fuck. her. face.

NO!

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, voice a squeak, a rasp, unfamiliar to him. “Thi-this is so good. But you... d-don’t have to oh my god…”

She was doing some delicate thing with her teeth along the lower ridge of his shaft, something new and wonderful. Then her mouth was gone from him, and he, so proud of his self-control, actually whined.

“Mr. Akechi,” she said sweetly, all deference. His cock twitched when he heard her call him that, and the movement did not escape her notice, coquettish eyes drifting down to watch and then back up to his.

“I would never do anything I did not want to do. And I very much,”

She moved her mouth closer to the head of him. He held his breath.

“...want to do...”

The flat of her tongue went from the base of his cock to the tip. It was only the complete power of her eyes, locked with his, that kept him from throwing back his head.

“...this.”

She hissed the word but it was a sweet sound, and the little kiss she placed on his tip had his own mouth forming a grin—

Until she pushed her open mouth onto him, and he hit the back of her throat. Until she hummed around him, and he nearly died on a groan.

Mitsuhide murmured her name, breathing erratically. He brought a hand to her hair but just let it rest. It would not be safe to thread his fingers through her hair, wouldn’t do to mess it up—and he would—or lose control and push her down against his crotch.

She held him in her throat like she was keeping him safe. And in a way she was. Only his Tsumime could manage so earthy an act as a clear effort of love.

“Darling,” he said with extreme effort, “I’m—nnh—very, very grateful for this.”

She brought her head back.

“I know, Mitsuhide,” she said softly. She pressed a kiss to his length, and then kisses became long, slow licks before she took him back into her mouth and treated him with care he could never deserve.

It was the most careful (the sense of being full of care only. They were in his office!) blow job he had ever received. It could only be ranked evenly with all the other presents she would ever hide under his desk, because they were gifts of her regard for him, and there was no putting things that precious in order.

He stuttered her name as her magic brought him close. He knew he would wreck her beautiful hair if he didn’t move his hand right that minute, so he did, both hands now on the arms of his chair.

“Honey,” she said around him, “it’s alright. I love you, and I want to help you relax.”

God, this woman.

“I-I think I would get rough, and I don’t want to, here.”

Her eyes showed him her sweet smile when her mouth could not. “Okay.”

She went slower, and drew his orgasm from him with the gentle dedication of a dream. Before his mind went blank he resolved return this favor as soon as she would let him. And make her dinner. It was her night to make dinner, right? So he could do that. And buy tickets to that symphony. And take a day off the following month and ask her to do the same, so they could spend special time together.

Tsumime didn’t always swallow—he never expected her to—but this time she made a show of it, showing him the milkiness on her tongue before closing her mouth and swallowing. And fuck if she didn’t make even that look as elegant as ballet.

She used her mouth to clean him up and then nuzzled her cheek against the inside of one of his thighs as she tucked his manhood back into his clothes and refastened his trousers.

“Tsumime,” he breathed, feeling safe now to stroke her hair, “You are the best thing in my world.”

“As you are in mine,” she said, pushing up on her knees and reaching to pull him to her kiss. He rested his forehead against hers when they were done, and then helped her stand up.

“I love you,” he said when she was in his arms, stroking her back in their usual matched rhythm of the soothing gesture.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. I love you, too. I’m sorry it was a tough meeting.”

“…What?”

She pulled back from him with a silly expression. “Your meeting this morning?”

He could feel his own cheeks coloring. Mitsuhide had honestly forgotten, and confessed as much. She laughed with delight that made him want to fight dragons to give her anything, everything she ever desired.

“I’m going to go to my own office now. I hope your day gets better,” she said, cupping his cheek.

Laying his hand over hers, he replied, “I am honestly not sure how it could be improved at the moment.”

His wife glanced at the sofa in his office. “I have any idea,” she said, soft and arch and-- god, this woman, his wife-- “But I’ll save it for the next bad meeting. And may it be a long time in coming.”

He could not help pulling her to him by her waist, pushing his groin to her body.

“Not too long,” he said, a heavy, beautiful wish. Her smile widened.

“I love you, Mitsuhide.”

“I love you, Tsumime. Thank you.”

She parted from his body slowly, and gave him a little wave.

And then she was gone.

He returned to his desk chair, relaxed but already missing her.

There was a note on his monitor that had absolutely not been there before he found her.

A small gift under the desk for you. I love you always.

Mitsuhide pressed a kiss to the paper before tucking it in his shirt pocket, knowing himself to be the luckiest man on the planet.

A box was indeed leaning against the paneling that made up the deskfront. He got out of his chair to kneel and reach for it, breathing in deeply to try to catch wind of her perfume. No luck, sadly. As he fished the little box out he wondered what might be inside—she didn’t like to give gift cards, and that was the type of box she had left him.

The box, he realized, did smell very much like her, so much so that she had to have used her perfume on it. He breathed in deeply and then sat the box on the surface of his desk and sat himself down to open it with proper ceremony.

He shimmied the lid off and set it to the side. The fine tissue paper she’d folded over whatever little treasure she left for him made him smile. His wife had the best eye for these details. He moved the paper, curious.

He went pale as his pulse spiked. Skyrocketed, really. His mouth was drier than the day of their wedding and his pants were much too tight. Everything felt too tight.

The phone chirped and he nearly jumped, covering the box with his hands like a guilty child.

Hide's voice, back to his normal pleasant professionalism, was on the speaker: “Mr. Akechi, Mr. Toyotomi is calling. Are you available?”

#samurai love ballad party #slbp fanfic #akechi mitsuhide #loveity love love #Ao3 has better tags #the enemy is at honno-ji but yo wife is under yo DESK

179 notes · View notes

dustedmagazine · 7 years ago

Text

Dust Volume 4, Number 5

Hot Snakes

It’s time for another edition of Dust, our semi-regular short form exploration of music we might not otherwise get to. This time Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Marc Medwin, Justin Cober-Lake, Jennifer Kelly and Michael Rosenstein ponder basement jazz and large ensemble improvisation, French horror movie synths, Charlottesville-inspired protest and one much loved garage punk band returning to the fray after 14 years. Enjoy.

Aalberg / Kullhammar / Zetterberg / Santos—Basement Sessions Vol. 4 (The Bali Sessions) (Clean Feed)

youtube

This combo may have started out in a basement, but at this point the recording circumstances are a matter of have governmental support. Saxophonist Jonas Kullhammar, bassist Torbjörn Zetterberg and drummer/composer Espen Aalberg first convened to play their version of traditional jazz, which is to say music rooted in the examples of Sonny Rollins in the late 1950s and John Coltrane in the early 1960s. Those elements are still evident; “Pontiac,” for example, is built around a bass line that Jimmy Garrison could have fed Coltrane at the Village Vanguard in 1962. But it seems that Aalberg’s looking farther afield for inspiration these days. On that same tune, Kullhammar and guest trumpeter Susana Santos Silva play harmonies that have more to do with 1970s-vintage Ethiopian jazz. And the session took place not in a Scandinavian basement, but in an Indonesian garden, with full access to a Balian gamelan. Those resonant, metallic sonorities give the music a shimmering quality, as though you’re hearing it through a humid heat haze.

Bill Meyer

Carpenter Brut — Leather Teeth (No Quarter)

LEATHER TEETH by Carpenter Brut

French dark synth act Carpenter Brut announces a key influence in its name: the minimalist, evocative, synthesizer-driven soundtracks that John Carpenter scored for many of his films, including Assault on Precinct 13, Halloween, Escape from New York and They Live. As the “Brut” bit suggests, Franck Hueso, the creative force behind the project, amps up the volume and the pace of that source material. He endows the music with an intensity that reflects the affect and the themes of the films — a perverse joy in aestheticized violence, the gut-plunge one can feel when watching highly manipulated filmic experiences. And this digital LP further collapses the distinctions between media: Leather Teeth is offered as the soundtrack to an imaginary horror film, complete with plot synopsis, promo poster and the oddly spectral suggestion of the seamy, grainy, VHS-quality vibe of 1980s horror cinema. You can just about feel the voluptuous joy of the bright orange fake blood and the fluorescent glow of the final girl’s wardrobe, especially in the title track and in “Inferno Galore.” It’s a sort of feat, making music this processed and slick feel raw and dirty.

Jonathan Shaw

Thanos Chrysakis/Chris Cundy/Peer Schlechta/Ove Volquartz — Music for Two Organs and Two Bass Clarinets (Aural Terrains)

youtube

This is one for headphone listening. Organists Thanos Chrysakis and Peer Schlechta, in collaboration with clarinetists Chris Cundy and Ove Volquartz, have created an album of morphing space and shifting textural planes. The album’s opening and closing moments are magical, as a landscape haunted by nearly recognizable shades unfolds in reverb-drenched murk. The opening of the fifth section dwells in similar half-light; organ and clarinet tones almost match, floating around each other in rhythms too wet to grasp. The recording itself is a study in contrast pitting a dead-center clarinet against one off to the side, living in a semi-spectral world where pitch relations are as fluid as pulse and meter. Each instrument has a shadow self that headphone listening renders apparent. If the motivic material itself is slightly lacking in contrast, volume, register and timbre make up for that. Chamber organ and clarinet both add layers of percussion against the lines interwoven by the other two instruments. The music justifies the label’s name.

Marc Medwin

Elephant9 — Greatest Show on Earth (Rune Grammofon)

youtube

When your hired-gun psychedelic jazz guitarist goes missing, what do you do? In Elephant9’s case, the answer is — go maximal. There may be one fewer musicians and the tunes may be shorter, but there are a lot of notes packed into each of Greatest Show on Earth’s 36 minutes. There’s also a lot of chutzpah; what else can you call it when an organ-bass-drums trio cops an Emerson, Lake & Palmer line for the name of its record? Fortunately, they subscribe to a heavier but less bombastic lineage. If you plotted this record on graph paper, one axis would be Tony Williams’ Lifetime and the other would be late 1960s Soft Machine. The organ seethes, the mellotron freezes, the bass sprints and feints and the drums pummel hard but elaborate on themes that, if you excised the solos and added some brass, would be more than serviceable cop show tunes for the age of leaded gasoline.

Bill Meyer

Hot Snakes — Jericho Sirens (Sub Pop)

youtube

It’s been 14 years since the last Hot Snakes album, Audit in Progress, and eight since the convergence of two post-break-up outfits, Obits and Night Marches, spawned a one-song reunion at San Diego’s Casbah. Much has shifted since the early aughts rock revival that Hot Snakes always sat at the louder, rougher, closer-to-hardcore end of, and neither Obits nor Night Marchers, for all their positive attributes matched the fire-spitting intensity of their predecessor. You might, then, look askance on this latter day revival, coming conveniently just as Sub Pop reissues the entire Hot Snakes catalogue, and yet you could only do that before you hear the songs, which are just as raw, just as spittle flecked, just as full-throttle enraged as ever. The disc’s starts in flames, with the Wipers-slashing guitar attack of “Call the Doctor,” Rick Froberg’s yowl rising in rage over a hailstorm of crashing rock propulsion. Short, manic “Why Don’t It Sink In?” bangs the hardest at Hot Snakes’ hardcore punk beginnings, while “Six Wave Hold Down,” brings in an expansive So. Cal. surfiness into the mix. “Death Camp Fantasy” ramps up a whiplash punk garage assault, with a ragged group chorus to carry it home, while “Death of a Sportsman,” finishes things off in windmilling, power-chording style. Holds barred? I’d say none. Score one for the old(er) guys.

Jennifer Kelly

Joy Ike — Bigger Than Your Box (self-released)

youtube

The title Bigger Than Your Box makes a statement about pianist/singer Joy Ike's personality as well as her art. The artistic angle is clear: Ike hits that sweet spot between soul, jazz and pop, and if she doesn't fit cleanly into a genre, she's fine with that. These tracks — full of bouncy piano, a few lush arrangements, and a startling amount of verve — are also about self-definition. Ike refuses to be put into any box, and her music encourages listeners to step out of their own boxes, to “stand up and walk” as she says on “You Betta'.” Across these 11 tracks, Ike rallies anyone in need of rallying. The radio-ready anthem “Hold On” reiterates that “your hope is coming.” Ike walks close to the edge of cheese; when she sings, “You will find your song” or “You are not your fear,” it could tip into eye-rolling territory, but Ike's drive carries the sentiment. She knows there are people who need this sort of song right now, and she's going to make sure they get it. The tunes are infectious, but it's Ike's heart that resonates.

Justin Cober-Lake

Insub Meta Orchestra — Choices & Melodies (Insub)

Choices & Melodies by Insub Meta Orchestra

It’s impressive to keep a large ensemble with 50 permanent members going for eight years and running. It is particularly impressive when that ensemble focusses on the collective intersection of composition, improvisation and electro-acoustic practice. Founded by Swiss musicians Cyril Bondi and d’incise on the ideas the two describe as “experimentation, of immoderation, of exploring and pushing the limits,” somehow this group of international collaborators has not only managed to keep this project a going concern, they have managed to get together on a regular basis to perform and record. Choices & Melodies is their fifth release, recorded at the same session as their Another Timbre CD from last year (reviewed here by Justin Cober-Lake) and like that one, this LP/digital download is comprised of two pieces credited as “direction and compositions by Cyril Bondi and d'incise.” This iteration of the group is 32-strong, with eight woodwinds, five string players, three guitarists, six utilizing electronics, laptops, and synths, three percussionists, four vocalists, along with hurdy gurdy, viola da gamba and harmonium, forming a rich timbral depth.

First up is “two choices” using the simple instructions of producing two noises per person and the possibility of a change every five seconds. What transpires over the course of the 16-and-a-half-minute piece is a beguiling, dynamic mix of subtly shifting hiss, abrasions, quavers, crackles and low-end rumbles. Eschewing any sense of tonality, the immersive layers of frictive textures engulf the listener, with constantly evolving fields of subtle nuanced vacillations and densities. One gets the sense of listening in the midst of a giant engine or the groaning hull of a ship and the recording does a great job of capturing the spatial distribution of sounds across the ensemble. The second piece, “autonomous melodies,” takes a quite different tack, utilizing kernels of three or four note free melodies which are distributed across the orchestra. Over the course of 16 minutes, it relies on a relatively loud volume to let the various threads accrue in to mercurially morphing chords and drones. Here, the music benefits from the intrinsic underpinnings of woodwinds, strings, electronics, percussion and elusive scrims of vocalizations which commingle and fragment into changeable pulses and currents. In both pieces, the collective, considered intensity of the full ensemble comes through with gripping results.

Michael Rosenstein

Daniel Levin/Chris Pitsiokos/Brandon Seabrook — Stomiidae (Dark Tree)

Stomiidae by Stomiidae (Daniel Levin • Chris Pitsiokos • Brandon Seabrook)

Stomiidae is a family of deep-sea fish, and each of the CD’s seven tracks is named for a genus of that family. Perhaps cellist Daniel Levin, alto saxophonist Chris Pitsiokos and guitarist Brandon Seabrook want to assert that they go deep without being too obvious about it? With their needle teeth and trailing whiskers, Stomiidae look pretty terrifying in photographs, but since they’re usually about six inches long and they prefer to live half a mile under the surface, they pose no threat. But they can handle pressure, and there are moments when this music feels like it is busting out at the seams under the influence of some great internal force. Levin is his usual adroit self, and his confident, quicksilver responsiveness exerts a powerful influence on two other musicians whom I associate more with the delivery of knockout punches than the execution of gravity-defying footwork. But the toughness of their instrumental personalities is nonetheless boiled into their playing, as each note and flinty phrase exerts the persuasiveness of a winning argument.

Bill Meyer

Mien—Mien (Rocket Recordings)

MIEN by MIEN

Mien draws talent from an inter-continental assortment of garage psych players—Black Angels frontman Alex Maas, The Horrors’ keyboardist Tom Furse, Elephant Stone’s raga rock experimenter Rishi Dhir and The Earlies’ John-Mark Lapham — and this self-titled debut is similarly all over the map. “Earth Moon” starts with a drone-y reverie in Dhir’s sitar with sitar-psych droning (there’s more sitar on “Ropes” if that’s your thing), then picks up the kind of ramshackle propulsion and Velvet-y psych whisper that Primal Scream used to conjure. “You Dreamt” runs noisier and more electronic, layering metallic ping and clicks and rattles over abstract washes of hiss and static. “Odessey,” spelled the way the Zombies spelled it, is the sort of slanting, driving, dark-wave garage psych that you turn to Black Angels for, though leavened, a bit, by a come hither chorus. All these songs are drenched in about three coats of reverb, kludged with noise and generally smeared and obscured, so you know you’ve got a winner when “Tired of the Western Shouting” bursts through and makes a mark. Techno-ethnic Brian Jones Massacre may not sound like exactly what you were looking for, but you’d be surprised, once you get into it.

Jennifer Kelly

Keith Morris & the Crooked Numbers — Psychopaths & Sycophants: A Message from Charlottesville (self-released)

After the 2016 US presidential election, too much of the immediate response was, “At least we'll get some good protest music out of this.” That may be small consolation to much of the population, but Charlottesville Americana musician Keith Morris turned related feelings into protest album Psychopaths & Sycophants: A Message from Charlottesville, largely guided by the work of Leonard Cohen (covers of “The Future” and “In My Secret Life” book-end the album). The title track is a reworked version of a song from a few years ago, and the changes epitomize the album. Morris's gospel and country-rock influences still come through, but he pulls the rock sound back. For the most part, Morris gives speak-sing performances that harken back to Dylan. His rage comes through regardless of tone, though. On “67%” Morris and guest vocalist Devon Sproule mix that control with rowdier backing. Some of the tracks are a little on the nose to have legs — this is protest music after all — but the album captures a certain mood from “this shattered town” quite well. With a little Randy Newman in the mix, Morris and his band make emphatic points and offer useful catharsis.

Justin Cober-Lake

Mike Uva—Lights Coming Up (Collectible Escalator)

youtube

Everybody I knew at an online music publication that professed to “review everything” had a handful of favorites that emerged from the slush pile, artists so good and so consistently overlooked that it made made it worth while to wade, once again, into the bins of self-releases. (All the new writers complained vociferously about the taking-all-comers policy until they hit one of these; we called it the conversion experience.) One of mine was Mike Uva, a Cleveland-based songwriter, whose 2004 album Where Have You Been sits right alongside certain GBV, The Folk Implosion and the Capstan Shafts records for smart, tuneful, lo-fi pop excellence. That was a long time ago, but every so often I get a new recording from Uva, and it’s always unassumingly excellent, and this new one Lights Coming Up[JK1] is no exception. The clear highlight is “Waco,” a driving, slanting, amber-lit time-capsule that connects Uva’s late college years, the FBI stand-off and an acquaintance who disappeared off the grid forever (though whether to join a Waco-ish cult or farm organic vegetables is never clear). Like all of Uva’s best work, the song has an off-handed grace, as if it rhymes and scans by accident, as if he just happens to be telling you a story that fits the chords he’s playing. But of course, there’s a lot of skill behind that kind of nonchalance, a skill that shows up again in the sinuously ear-worm “Waiting to Return,” in the dreamily unhurried “Even the Highways.” Lights Coming Up is more indie-pop and less country than Lady, Tell Me Straight, the last Mike Uva album, which came out five years ago, but just as effortless. Here’s to the guys (and girls) who do it for love, and do it well and keep at it and get better anyway, even if no one is paying much attention.

Jennifer Kelly

2 notes · View notes

thumper-darling · 7 years ago

Note

all the writer asks? and can you use your current story for the blank ones?

1. Favorite place to write.

My most productive nights writing were spent in hotel rooms with cheap black coffee and terrible lighting. It sets a very motivating vibe.

2. Favorite part of writing.

Creating and developing characters. Character arcs?? are ?? my favorite??

3. Least favorite part of writing.

writing ™

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Yeah, procrastinating for months. :’)

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Patrick Ness and Stephen Chbosky are pretty big idols of mine

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Cadence, she’s my hero

7. Favorite author.

Rainbow Rowell or Patrick Ness

8. Favorite trope to write.

Coming of Age Angst ™ and realistic development for the main character

9. Least favorite trope to write.

Love triangles or over-dramatic and non-realistic romantic interests.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

I’d love to work with Chbosky and write a spin-off of Perks of Being a Wallflower, or like a potential sequel? That would make my actual dreams come true.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

In the beginning, I print off a million character questionnaires and fill out every detail about my main characters. It’s funny, because my characters always come first, and the story soon follows. After I know my characters inside and out, I think in their mindset for days and write down notes about things I for sure want to include in my story whether it be a plot twist or just a small piece of dialogue. Once I find the character’s voice, I feel ready to start writing the story.

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I’m still not great with this, because I have a LOT of self-doubt, but I know that writing is what I want to pursue. I just remember that I have talent and I shouldn’t worry about the first draft because the first draft is almost always awful.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

I read. A lot. Reading helps spark ideas and un-stick my story.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

OH MY GOD. I would look at maps and historic timelines. I filled nearly 4-5 pages of a journal just with a timeline of events and it was lit.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

Literally anything. That bench on the corner? INSPIRED. Pulling out of a driveway? INSPIRED. That sandwich looks tasty. INSPIRED. No, but in all seriousness I just observe my surroundings at all times and in an average day I can pull an idea out of something.

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

I just think of my future and what impact/ message I’d like to leave behind to anybody who reads my writing.

17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day?

None. Writing isn’t something I can do everyday. Some days I’m more inspired and motivated than others. If I try writing when I don’t have the energy, it turns out forced and choppy. I let the motivation come to me.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

I typically like to wait a week or two before re-reading and editing, that way I can have space from my writing. I do it gradually through out the story so I can draw potential ideas from what I have so far.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

Version 1: “The shop had been empty for a little over an hour, and Charlotte was beginning to grow restless.”

Version 2: “Charlotte had a look of determination set in the furrow of her eyebrows and curiosity in the gleam of her eyes.”

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

“Whenever Jordyn spoke, it was reminiscent of watching an old southern film. Her slight, hidden drawl was nothing less than soothing. Charlotte sometimes liked to picture her with obnoxiously tight ringlet curls and big, poofy southern belle dresses with frilly ribbons and lace. The thought brought a subtle snort from Charlotte.”

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

Version 1: “He just followed his feet, and they lead him to her.”

Version 2: “His only response was a smirk before he opened the door to the back alley.”

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

At least a million

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

Single, I feel like it leaves for more mystery. That way the reader can interpret different POV’s for themselves.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Prose, rhyming isn’t my forte

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

Depends on the story I’m trying to tell. Sometimes one way has more impact than another.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

Standalones are beautiful for some stories, but others simply must be more than just one book long. Some stories exceed one book.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

I share drafts with people I trust to edit or give me feedback.

28. And who do you share them with?

My friends that love stories.

29. Who do you write for?

Mainly for myself, but also for anybody that needs to hear the message my story can offer them.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

“So, as a sign of letting go, I introduced my lips to his cheek and the sound of my skin meeting his was a melody playing a sweet goodbye.”

“Kissing him was like kissing air or water, it was so sweet and slow that it was a natural instinct to flow with it. However, kissing her was like fire because it was warm, inviting, and compelling, but had all the potential to burn him. Their love was like melting into each other, neither would make it out alive.”

31. Hardest character to write.

Side characters or the main character’s family. Because those characters are always important and meaningful, but I don’t want to write them only as a means of helping the main character. I hate flat characters and everybody deserves to have a story, you know?

32. Easiest character to write.

The sidekick ™

The one who always knows just what to say and how to say it.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Only for specific scenes that music could really inspire me for. Like if I’m writing a sad scene and I’m not really in that head space, I listen to depressing ass music so I can understand the scene better.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

Both. Here, have some of my notes.

Just some random dialogue drabbles:

“So, can I find you here often?” “Jamie…I work here.” “Oh, yeah, right. Of course.”

“There’s nothing beautiful nor poetic about being an asshole, Jenny. Calm down.”

“Listen, you’ll always be a jalapeno bagel and strawberry cream cheese to me, but I sort of feel like I should know your name by now.”

“Emma, have you ever been in love?” “I might have been. Then again, girls are easy to love, I’m pretty sure Jamie is a different story. If you want my advice Charlotte, date a girl.”

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________.

The main character is named Charlotte Caroline Tillman. She’s named after the city and state(ish) that her parents met in. She has an older brother named Chance and a calico cat named Sally Mae. Charlotte goes to an Arts Magnet High School and she has a troubled history with her father, and a lot of the story is about her accepting things she cannot change. Her best friend, Emma, is v gay and v hot.

36. A spoiler for story _________.

Charlotte ends up leaving town and everyone she loves. All that’s left behind is a note and a phone number. She leaves her life behind. No closure and no goodbyes. She’s kind of a dick.

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Everybody has a story, and every one is worth being told.”

38. Have you shared your outline of your story ________ with someone? If so, what did they think of it?

Lol no, my outline isn’t even finished homeboy

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

I usually base my side characters off of people I know or have met, even if only for a brief moment. For example, today at work I saw somebody and instantly knew that I needed her in my story. She is now the inspiration for my character Jenny.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Both are equally fun and important. Fanfiction is an amazing starting point for beginners, and it helps them write. However, original fiction is so raw and new that it could inspire future writers.

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

Typically just one, but I always have other stories in the back of my head. I like to focus on one at a time though, that way I can keep characters and plot points straight.

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

Well, like I’ve said, my characters come first. So based on whatever kind of story I want to tell, my character has to portray that. So I pick and choose different tropes and arc ideas that could impact the story even further.

43. Are you an avid reader?

I heckin’ try to be. Sadly, I don’t always get into stories easily.

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I had an English teacher write a note on one of my writing pieces telling me that she knew I had talent and every teacher has one student where they think “That one…that one’s gonna be the one who makes it” I was that student for her. Oh, and my composition professor had my class read some of our writing pieces, and he told the next semester’s class about my writing. The next time I had him in class, he handed me a form for a writing contest.

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I honestly probably blocked it out. Idk, probably that I use too many commas? Or that one of my chapters was written in a passive voice.

46. What would your story _______ look like as a tv show or movie?

OH MAN! It would be great and I feel like a lot of the stories I write would be 100 times better on the big screen.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story?

Characters.

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Contemporary or science fiction

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

The middle

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

A coven of teenage witches that were randomly selected to be given magic. Some of them became corrupt with power, and the others found good use for them.

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words.

Self love, friendship, denial, heavy, heartbreaking

52. How did writing change you?

It opened my mind to endless ideas and helped me grow. I often didn’t know what I was feeling until I wrote about it.

53. What does writing mean to you?

It means creating a million versions of yourself and turning it into a lesson or inspiration for other.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Don’t stop. There are so many things you have to tell the world, so tell them.

#ask

5 notes · View notes

baskingintheinsanity · 8 years ago

Text

Who’s Gonna Pay For This?

A Karamel Drabble

A/n: I started this before the finale, but I’m editing it and posting it as fast as I can now because I think we could all use some humor and fluff after that heart-breaking goodbye scene. Message me or review with any suggestions or comments you want me to hear!...or Read. I’m not as proud of this as some of my other things. I think I could have made it better, but I hope you all enjoy anyway. I’m probably doing some real karamel smut next because I’m horny. Anybody have some good kink ideas?

Alex sat down at her desk that morning, taking a sip of coffee to blow away the cobwebs. J’onn had asked her to come in early and review the security tapes; he had been paranoid since the threat of a white Martian attack. Not that she could blame him. But getting to work at six a.m. to watch blank tapes wasn’t exactly her idea of a great morning, or anyone’s for that matter. She briefly glanced at her cell to see a sweet text from Maggie.

Kick ass at work today, Danvers. I’ll make up for the early morning tonight with your favourite ice cream.-Maggie

She smiled at the encouragement from her girlfriend. Just talking to Maggie always made her feel a little better, somehow a little more energetic and relaxed at the same time. She let a small smile lift her lips as she logged onto her DEO computer, finding the files of last night’s security tapes. Another agent had monitored all the security cam footage until everyone left last night at eight. That meant she had about ten hours of new footage to scan over. Yipee. She better be getting a bonus soon for this.

She started the first tape and inevitably stared at a blank screen, speeding up the video so that it wouldn’t take all day to get through. She switched her attention to the footage of the dorm rooms to see if any of their more civil alien residents had done anything interesting last night. See, the DEO agents would often run across alien refugees in the street, struggling in one way or another. They offered them a place to live at the DEO and gave them lessons in earth culture and how to keep themselves safe. They stayed there until they could safely acclimate to National City or wherever they wanted to go on their own. Maybe she’d get to see one of the Hellgrammites they’d brought in last week shapeshift. J’onn had told her that they do that sometimes when they’re bored.

Nope. Nada. Not one resident was doing anything remotely interes-….Alex Danvers cut off her thought process as she saw a naked blond woman throw her head back, seated on top of an equally naked DEO resident. Her eyes widened as she slowed the footage tor regular speed, trying to see more closely. The woman had her back turned to the camera, but something about the shape of the man’s face was familiar. She zoomed in the video just a little and her jaw dropped, recognizing the man as Mon-El…Oooh she shouldn’t be watching this. She paused the video and was just about to cancel out when she remembered that Kara seemed to have been showing signs of feelings for this Daxamite lately. And there he was….getting flat out RIDDEN by another woman. How did he even get a random woman into the DEO? Oh that jackass was in for it.

She reluctantly pressed play one more time-she planned to rewind the video to see how he got the woman into his dorms. But right before she could press the rewind button, the woman angled her face towards camera inadvertently as she moaned. Alex grimaced at the very personal sound until something horrible dawned on her. She was staring at her little sister’s face. The woman in the video, riding Mon El like a cowgirl, was….Kara???

She made an embarrassingly girly sound of terror and slammed the off button on her computer. But can you really blame her?

Alex sat in her chair for a few seconds, completely in shock, debating if J’onn would agree to mind wipe her if she asked…Deciding that it was unlikely, she closed her eyes and pressed her fist to her eyelids, trying to scrub the images out.

Well…she thought, after a few minutes of accepting the horror, At least he wasn’t with another woman…

Oh this is not how she wanted to spend her morning. Not at all. But being a good big sister meant looking out for Kara. And her logical agent mind was telling her that after…all of that, Kara would likely fall asleep and….Alex checked the live footage of Mon-El’s dorm room and yep-they were both asleep in Mon El’s bed. Butt naked. Joy.

She reluctantly got up from her standard, spinny office chair and left the room, heading down the hall to wake up Kara before J’onn and the others came in and the most embarrassing day of Kara’s life commenced. As uncomfortable as the whole thing made her, she didn’t want her sister to suffer through that.

So with the bravery of a true warrior, the very professional DEO agent and doctorate carrying woman knocked on the door of the dorms and waited for her naked sister to wake up and disentangle herself from her boyfriend’s arms…She couldn’t believe this was her life. It was so…normal. Seeing as how she was used to fighting psychopaths and alien monsters every week, this was almost a refreshing change of pace. Almost.

Kara’s first conscious thought was that she didn’t think she’d ever felt more comfortable. Except for, maybe, that time when there’d been some kind of solar eclipse and she managed to catch a cold. Eliza had made her tomato soup and grilled cheese, then tucked her into bed after she had watched cartoons all day. She felt so safe at the time, with her adoptive family watching over her. It was one of her first memories of feeling accepted and loved at the Danver’s home. It was the first time it truly felt like HER home.

It was a similar feeling now, except with a little more of a mature tinge to it. She kept her eyes closed, but she could feel one of Mon El’s arms wrapped around her waist and his other hand holding hers over her chest. She squeezed his fingers and sighed, taking a moment to just snooze and relax. As Supergirl, moments to herself where she had nothing at all to worry about was not something she received off.

Damn, Mon-El, why are you so hot? She thought. And no, she didn’t mean hot as in physically attractive, although…that was true. She meant his arms around her were so warm that she’d be sweating if she were human. She’d slept and snuggled in the same bed as Alex when they were kids and she was not this warm. Maybe it was a guy thing? Being toasty when they sleep? She’d have to ask Alex or Lena-someone with more experience sleeping in the same bed as a man.

But still, his weight by her back felt good, solid. He wasn’t holding her down like he was restricting her. Rather, feeling him beside her-behind her-anchored her in her own strength somehow. She knew she wasn’t alone now, in a way she had always been alone before. Sure, she had great friends and great family, but they weren’t…her perfect partner. They didn’t understand her pain at losing her people or the awkwardness that stems from living on a foreign planet. Their bodies didn’t fit hers the way his dad, like a puzzle, as corny as it sounds. He could go into battle by her side and watch her back, literally.

But he also challenged her; he told her when she was being self-righteous or arrogant, but in a way where she still knew that he thought the world of her. He didn’t make things easy for her all the time, but that’s not what a relationship is. You don’t always get along and agree on every little thing. You fight. You bicker. You listen to each other and make up. That pattern, the pattern of a normal relationship, made her feel….not human, but like she fitted in.

Her entire life, she’d had to struggle to fit in anywhere. She has the Danvers and she’s always considered them her family. She loves them more than she does herself. But even with them, at the very beginning, she had to work to get used to being in their family, to doing things the way they did. When she first started school, she had to hide parts of herself so the other children would accept her. When she applied for jobs, like at Catco, she had to earn her place. She never just…fell naturally into place somewhere. Until Mon-El.

Being with him was just…easy. They’ve already had rough patches and there are bound to be more in their future, but even the arguing feels natural. Like its her role. Like it’s her job to yell at him and smack his arm when he’s being selfish and egotistical. And in return for inspiring him to be better, he makes her feel like she’s priceless, like he could search the stars and never find someone more amazing.

She opened her eyes, just a little bit, to peak at him as he slept. She could hear his heart beating, steady and slow. His face was completely relaxed and he looked younger when he was like this, almost boyish. Like all his worries had slipped away. There was a small smile on his lips, like he was dreaming about getting everything he’d ever wanted. She made a mental note to ask what his dreams were about once he woke up.

Kara’s little glass bubble of happiness shattered when she heard a knock at the door. She was shocked at herself for not having heard the footsteps leading up to the knock. She shot up from bed, standing by Mon-El’s still sleeping form and looked down at herself-naked. Ok, can’t answer the door like that. She looked around frantically for something to throw on and found her tank top and jeans from the night before. Her blouse was ripped to pieces, but this would do. She quickly slipped on what clothes had survived her night and super-sped to the door.

Her face went as red as her cape when she carefully peaked the door open and saw her adoptive sister’s face, looking just a tad judgy.

“Oh,” she grinned, forcing a smile along with some uncomfortable laughter,” Hi Alex!…what are you doing here so early? Wait…it is early, isn’t it?” She had been very tired after last night’s activities and she wasn’t exactly sure how long she had slept.

“Oh nothing,” she tilted her head nonchalantly, “I just came to politely ask you to, next time, refrain from having sex in view of the security cameras.” Alex Danvers had to press her lips together firmly and bite her tongue to keep from breaking out in embarrassed laughter.

Kara’s face immediately scrunched in on itself, nose crinkled like a bunny as she peaked open one eye, “Gah, the cameras….shoot….so you…you saw…” she trailed off and made a vague gesture to up and down her body. Alex had lived with Kara long enough to translate her verbal diarahea and awkward nonsensical gestures.

The older woman smirked, “I’d forgotten you had that birthmark on your-“

“Ok! So you saw everything. Uhm…”

Alex only nodded, “I’ll delete the footage. Don’t worry.”

Kara let out a deeply relieved sigh and gave her sister a half smile, “Thank you. I owe you big time. Like chocolate ice cream and movie marathon. You are seriously the best.”

“Well, of course. But I expect to hear full details on your first time during that movie night.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kara looked over her shoulder and peeked back at the sleeping Mon-El behind her. She couldn’t help but smile, “I’m just gonna go back to bed and...enjoy this a little more,” she blushed, “…is anyone else here?”

“No-we’re not technically open yet. I came in earlier to review security footage. You’re safe.”

“Thank you!” Kara hugs her sister, eternally grateful and turns around to walk back to bed.

Before Alex closes the door though, she calls to Kara, “You might wanna put makeup on that hickey before you officially clock in this morning.”

Mon-El smiled as he started to wake up, remnants of his dream still playing through his mind. Him and Kara were in bed at her apartment, sunlight filtering through the blinds to land on her back. In his dream, he had been kissing at her neck, trying to wake her up.

In reality, they were barely fitting on his cot in the DEO, but she was in his arms as he woke up and that’s all he cared about. He tucked a piece of her wayward blond hair behind her ear, not knowing if she was awake or not. He heard her release a sigh and felt her press herself back against him.

“Good morning,” she mumbled into his arm, which she was using as a pillow.

As her backside pressed against him, he realized what effect his dream had had on his body. He groaned and wrapped his free arm around her waist from behind her, “Kara, please. Have mercy.”

The woman giggled and turned her face slightly to look at him, “What? I’m just enjoying waking up like this.”

He shook his head, amused at how innocent she was, “Yes, but you’re also causing a rather painful problem for me.”

“What?” her eyebrows crinkled in confusion until she felt the hardness pressing against her ass, “Oh…” she flushed, a flash of heat running through her body from head to toe, “But all I did was cuddle into you.”

He chuckled and looked away from her eyes as he admitted, “I may have been having an adult dream about you before I woke up.”

“Oh!” she grinned, strangely happy this morning, “I was going to ask you what you were dreaming about-you were smiling in your sleep earlier.”

He smirked wickedly and pushed his erection further into her back, “I was dreaming about kissing every inch of your skin, over and over, for the rest of my life.”

She turned over onto her other side, facing him and putting a hand on his cheek, “Pretty words, pretty boy.”

He smiled sweetly at her and leaned in to kiss her nose, “I just want you to know how grateful I am that you let me have you this way, that you chose me. I want you to know how long and how much I’ve wanted this. You are everything, Kara.”

Kara froze, completely unused to having someone pour their hearts out to her that way, to having someone appreciate her for her so genuinely. He made her feel so…precious. And so alive. But she didn’t know how to word it; she wasn’t ready to confess her full feelings to him yet. So instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and decided to just show him how she felt. She grinned at him as she pulled him in for a kiss, a little aggressively, tugging on his hair. He growled playfully from the back of his throat and started peppering kisses down her neck.

“Mm,” he smiled against her skin, “You smell like vanilla you know?”

She giggled, his nose tickling her throat, “I know. It’s my body lotion.”

He titled his head to look up into her eyes, crappy fluorescent lights of the dorms shining in the blue somehow, “I like it,” he grins and kisses her nose, “Don’t change it, please. It makes me think of you, makes me think of…”

“Home?” he breathed softly, stroking his cheek.

His smile widened by a thousand watts and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her tighter, “Yep.”

He leaned his body weight into her and started playfully nipping at her collarbone. Just being around her roused something in him, like something in his chest was swelling. He didn’t really know how to deal with the emotions. Fully realizing what Kara meant to him always left him feeling overwhelmed, nervous, and a little breathless. He just wanted to kiss her forever.

“Good,” she smiled cheesily, her nose crinkling in the way it does when she’s not faking anything.

She pushed him to his back and swung a leg over him, straddling his waist. She smirked at the taken aback look on his face. She leaned down and kissed him deeply, swiping her tongue past his lips and sliding her hands down his back. He moaned and pulled her hips down onto his, his need for her growing faster than he knew what to do with. He flicked his tongue, licking the roof of her mouth in the way that he learned last night made her sigh and relax her body into him.

She let out a quiet, adorably satisfied sound and gripped his shoulders a little too harshly, probably bruising him just a tad.

“Excuse me, kids,” Alex’s voice came on over the intercom, “I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from kissy face on camera. I already have enough footage to delete.”

Mon-El’s eyes went comically wide as he heard the voice come over the loud speakers, “…Your sister…can see us?”

Kara laughed nervously and itched behind her ear, “Um yeah-we never destroyed those cameras. Did I forget to mention that?”

His eyebrows shot up as he nodded slowly, trying not to be amused, “Uh…yes, you did.”

Kara let out a breath and bit her lip, sliding off of his lap, “Sorry. She came in earlier while you were asleep. She said she’d delete the security cam footage for us. So that’s one less thing to worry about.”

Mon-El let out a laugh of disbelief and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his face, “Yep. That’s great.”

Kara’s brows furrowed in concern, picking up on his agitation, rubbing his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Mon-El shook his head and raised his head to meet her eyes, “No, nothing, just…how do I put this delicately in English…male problem?” he subtly glanced down to his crotch then back up to her.

Kara would bet a hundred dollars Alex was watching from the security room and laughing. She would be right.

“Oh,” Kara grimaced sympathetically, seeing his issue, “I-uhm, sorry, I…caused that.”

Her cheeks were red. She was still sort of shy dealing with this stuff; she had never been in this type of situation. Waking up with a man, with man body parts doing…what they do in the morning.

Luckily for her, said man found her awkwardness very cute.

“Don’t ever be sorry, Kara,” he smiled at her, shaking his head like she was being silly. He pulled her close and gave her a sweet kiss, “It just means I care about you and love being close to you. I do wish there was something we could do about it, but…camera…” he pointed at the camera in the corner and waved, “Hey, Alex.”

The sound of Alex clearing her throat came on over the speaker, “Mon, El. Good morning. What’s up?”

Kara had never seen someone glare at a security camera before Mon-El did in that moment, “Not funny.”

Kara fought to contain her chuckles, “…it was a little funny?” she held up two fingers an inch apart and smiled at him.

“Mm,” he hummed in irritation and laid back down, “Not when you’re the one frustrated. Come here. Let me hold you some more.”

Kara couldn’t hold back the smile at his request. She laid back down beside him and let him pull her in so their bodies were pressed as close together as possible. She couldn’t help but teasingly rub her backside against his erection, loving the pained growly moan that erupted from his throat when she did.

“Kara,” he warned, stroking her arm softly, “Do that again and I will take you in full view of the camera and your sister.”

She flushed happily, heat rushing from her cheeks to her core to her toes. She nodded and sighed out a ‘sorry’ before she rolled over to look at him.

She looked up at his steely eyes and kissed his chin, “You’re getting stubble,” she noted before nuzzling her head down in his chest.

He chuckled and stroked her hair, closing his eyes, “I lost my razor.”

She said nothing as he ran his hands up and down her back soothingly.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he yawned, possibly more comfortable than he’d ever been, “Can you give me a haircut tomorrow with the laser vision?”

“Mhm, sure,” she mumbled and smiled right before she fell back to sleep.

From the security room, Alex was happy to see that her sister had finally found someone she could be disgustingly domestic with.

At promptly 10:02 a.m, director J’onn J’onzz was walking through the DEO main control room, checking for any updates. He got a brief summary from agent Schott, regarding the new upgrade to Mon-El’s suit he was working on. He was enabling it to be lead-proof, but it was still in the testing phase. He checked with Alex to make sure that all the security camera footage was free of possible signs of invaders. She had assured him that there was absolutely nothing of note on the footage, although she had a strange smile on her face as she said it.

“Call Supergirl to come in. I want her to train some new recruits,” he told Alex, “But tell her to be softer this time, please. I don’t need more broken trainees.”

“Yes sir,” Alex nodded.

The director looked back to the resident tech wiz and questioned, “Has Mon-El checked in yet this morning? We should go over the specs of his new gear with him.”

“No, not yet, sir. He should be in the dorms, though. He checked in last night at eight,” Winn noted as he scanned the records on his screen.

“That’s odd. He’s supposed to check in at 9…” J’onn frowned, a little suspicious. It might surprise several people, but the Daxamite was usually very punctual at work. He’d never checked in more than two minutes late before.

As J’onn was speaking, Winn had opened the security camera footage for the dorms, tuning in to Mon-El’s room. His eyes widened as he took in the chunks of concrete missing from the walls, the lockers half-way knocked over, and the…clothes strewn around the room? He finally focused on Mon-El’s bed and saw two figures curled up around each other….Oh shit. He sat there in shock for a minute, at catching two of his friends half-naked in bed, before he realized that he could under no circumstances let J’onn see that. He had to protect his best friend after all.

“What is-“ Winn quickly exited out of the camera feed as J’onn came over his shoulder.

“Nothing, sir! He’s just sleeping. Must have overslept.”

J’onn’s eyes narrowed in doubt before he started confidently striding towards the dorms. “I don’t know what you’re trying to hide, Mr. Schott, but I can just walk in there and check for myself.”

After making the short journey to the residents’ dorms, J’onn threw open the door to Mon-El’s room. He didn’t know what expected to be making Mon-El late, but he was most definitely not anticipating seeing a bare Supergirl laid on top of him. If that hadn’t been enough to shock his system, his eyes widened when he took in the damage they’d done to the room around him. Oh, he very much did not want to know how any of this happened.

Feeling the anger start to build up within him, J’on slammed the door closed. At the rather loud sound of the door closing, Kara quickly shot awake, sitting up in bed. Her eyes met J’onn’s and for once in her life, she was grateful that she wasn’t human. It meant she never had to have awkward moments like this with her father figure catching her in bed with a boy. Until today.

“J’onn…if we can just get-“

Mon-El started to stir at all the commotion; he was half awake as he groaned and he rolled over in bed, stuffing his face into his pillow. How helpful, Kara thought, unable to not find how deeply he sleeps a little bit endearing.

J’onn held up one hand as a sign for Kara to stop protesting and simply be quiet, “I am going to turn around and walk out of here. I will pretend this never happened. I will dock both you and Mon-El’s next paycheck in order to pay for these repairs. You will fix the damage to this room within the next two days and we will never speak of this again. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, Dana happened to walk by the open dorm door as J’onn scolded the two. She walked by, paused, then back-tracked. She tilted her head to see into the room subtly and noticed Mon-El’s shirtless self. She smirked to herself and looked at J’onn, “If this is a proposal for Mon-El’s super suit, I support.”

#karamel #smut #club soda fam #karamel family #drabble #fanfiction #kara danvers #mon el #ships-sailing-in-the-night #emarasmoak #olivertryst #somos-poeiraastelar #starcrossed-comets #thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain #karamelblobber

98 notes · View notes

noahfence1d · 8 years ago

Link

On a muggy May morning in a penthouse in Battersea, southwest London, the delectable self-styled “chef and food consultant” Tess Ward is slumped on an enormous grey sofa, cradling a cup of peppermint tea and musing on the downsides of social media.

“Snapchat I’ve deleted, Twitter — don’t really do it,” she says wearily, her home counties accent as sharp as mandolined celeriac. “I’m even a little bit out of love with Instagram. At the moment I’m getting a lot of direct messages there, but I respectfully choose not to reply to them, because they’re all, like, er . . . interesting. I want a break,” she wails, her tones turning mock-northern. “I just want a break.”

Why is Ward so disillusioned? She’s a key member of today’s cohort of gorgeous, uber-connected food writers/chefs/wellbeing gurus (think “Deliciously” Ella Mills of the Sainsbury dynasty and former models Jasmine and Melissa Hemsley), following the favoured career path for upper-crust pretty things, whom the satirical website the Daily Mash unkindly categorised under the headline “Sexy posh girls unveil bullshit fad diet”.

As in all their cases, Instagram has been key to building Ward’s brand: she has nearly 130,000 followers, mesmerised by her soft-focus lifestyley/foodie shots of toasted almonds and beetroot salad, Ward doing yoga on a Yucatan beach, sweet potato and avocado brunches, Ward sunbathing on the shores of Lake Como and looking foxy at the polo in a bright-red floral Gucci shirt . . .

This last shot, posted early last week, nearly broke social media, not to mention a million teenage hearts — and brought her an additional 50,000 followers. It was apparent confirmation that Ward was — as had been rumoured for days — going out with Harry Styles of the boyband One Direction. Only four days earlier he had been seen about town in an identical £530 shirt.

That same day Ward was papped in the passenger seat of an Audi being driven by Styles, whose first solo album was about to be released. Instantly, she became a 21st-century Yoko Ono, loathed by loyal Directioners who are notorious for making voodoo dolls and sending death threats to any woman with whom their idols are spotted socialising.

They started trolling Ward’s social media. An innocuous Instagram snap of her mango and honey ice cream (dairy-free, obvs) attracted more than 3,000 comments along the lines of “Go awaaay”, “Ew”, “This looks disgusting” and “social climber”.

On Amazon her cookbook The Naked Diet, which had so far received about a dozen four and five-star reviews, overnight attracted a tranche of one-star write-ups, along the lines of “boring” and “unoriginal”.

“It’s been so weird, the hate messages . . . very bizarre,” Ward sighs, her fragile frame hunched. “I’m not the kind of person who’s interested in fame and if you’re put in an environment which you don’t understand and you can’t control and you don’t want, it’s horrible.”

She bites her lip; her doll-like, tanned face bleak. “Reporters have turned up at my mum’s house several times, at my old house. I just want to do what I love and that’s cook, it really is.”

So what’s going on? Is Ward, 27, going out with Styles, 23?

“I literally don’t have anything to say about that,” she sighs, as her PR snaps: “My clients don’t talk about their personal lives.”

Many distraught Directioners are convinced there’s nothing to talk about because this is all a publicity stunt to flog cookbooks (although what’s in it for Styles is less clear). Last weekend, Ward attended his “secret” London gig until, according to one fan who claimed on Twitter to have been standing near by, she was told by Styles’s people: “That’s enough, you can leave now.” In other words, her presence had been noted, job done.

If this is all a ploy to boost Ward’s profile, I doubt she would be so visibly shaken. Shortly after we meet, Ward disables her Instagram messaging facility, posting: “For everyone following and messaging me, I am thankful but please be kind to me. All I want is to share beautiful food with you all.”

Assuming there is a relationship, then Styles, who is refusing to comment, is a lucky chap. Because, even compared to his arm-long list of exes (Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Caroline Flack, Pixie Geldof, Rod Stewart’s daughter and someone from Made in Chelsea), Ward is a catch, ridiculously pretty in frayed jeans and an embroidered denim jacket, bobbed fair hair, endearingly darker at the roots, framing an angelic face — a testament to the power of good genes and quinoa.

She’s also — when not brooding on her role as Britain’s most-hated woman — extremely likeable: voluble and friendly with a dry sense of humour.

“People can be so weird,” she continues on the social media theme. “You post a salad and they’re like, ‘That’s not nutritionally balanced.’ I like to be playful. There’s a slight puritanism about the way a lot of people post about food — they’ll be like, ‘I’m eating this salmon bowl and it’s got all these omegas, it’s perfect for getting your skin to glow.’ I’m like, ‘I don’t care! It’s a f***ing salmon salad!’ ” She frowns as she scrolls through comments on her Instagram feed. “Here’s this pasta recipe I’ve written. ‘Even if it’s not perfect it’s good when it’s made with love’ — that’s a bit too earnest. I was like, ‘Ew! God, far too nice for me.’ ”

Part of London’s It crowd (she is forever being snapped at parties with minor royals and the models Suki Waterhouse and Amber Le Bon and was, allegedly, introduced to Styles via “mutual friends”), Ward has walked here in Battersea from the house she shares in west London. “I used to live alone, but when you cook, you need people around to offload the food.” She’s looking to buy in hipper Stoke Newington, nearer the buzzing bars and restaurants.

Her parents — she has a brother, who’s a student — divorced when she was ten. Her father, who lives between west London and Oxfordshire, works for a multinational property company. “Dad’s a bit nuts; he wears tweed suits and bright purple shirts and odd socks always,” she says, smiling, scrolling through her phone to find a picture. “Look, here he is going to a fancy-dress party, dressed as bouillon, so in a chicken hat.”

Her mother, who lives in Oxford, is a yoga teacher. “She’s very spiritual, she sends me pictures of her in her crystal healing area. So cute. I have the best parents. They’re very progressive, bohemian, they’ve always been like, ‘Do whatever you like, it’s your body, it’s your life’, but everything has consequences and as a result I’ve always been very responsible.”

Ward was a tomboyish child, happiest helping her maternal grandfather, a farmer, to “pluck pheasants and gut fish’’. She attended a Quaker boarding school, then a small private day school for girls in Oxford. “I hated it. I was disruptive and got in so much trouble. I really didn’t feel the cookie-cutter school system was for me.”

However, she flourished at the local private sixth form college and ended up following a classic upper-middle-class path of reading history of art at the University of Leeds where, with a lot of free time, she held “a lot of dinner parties”.

On graduating, she did some modelling “but that didn’t sing for me”, so studied classical French cooking at Le Cordon Bleu, before working at various establishments including the Ritz and River Cottage.

“Cooking for people didn’t really do it for me. You’re always making the same stuff, and in a restaurant the hours are long and it’s hard physical labour. You’re on your feet for at least 14 hours a day and I’m not very big — my parents were like, ‘You’re quite pale and weathered.’ ”

She started reviewing restaurants for Grazia magazine, consulting brands such as Fortnum & Mason and Grey Goose. In the future she is hoping to open a restaurant and write a sequel to The Naked Diet, whose title reflects Ward’s “stripped back” approach to unprocessed food.

Like Ella Mills, Ward has been “mindful” of what she eats as a result of health issues — travelling alone around India on her gap year she picked up a parasite that was eventually cured by a clinical nutritionist (she has done an online course at the Institute of Integrative Nutrition). She’s allergic to soya and avoids wheat: “It gives me a stomach ache.” She doesn’t eat dessert much because “I don’t have a terribly sweet tooth” and dislikes melted cheese — “so pizza’s out”. She has just given up red meat “more for the planet than for dietary reasons. Other than that, I’m pretty relaxed.”

The #avotoast world is an increasingly crowded one and can be bitchy. Last year she had a skirmish with the Bake Off finalist Ruby Tandoh, after Ward tweeted: “Let’s all make baking books and wonder why the world has health and sugar addiction problems.” Tandoh lashed back calling her a “denizen of the weight loss industry” on Twitter, screenshotting a reference to a “Skinny Bitch” cooking class Ward had hosted.

“A lot of girls in food aren’t so nice,” Ward says. “Though the Hemsleys really are good girls. I went to their first book launch when I was submitting my first draft, looked around and thought, ‘This is the beginning of a thing, isn’t it?’

“Ella’s book was coming out, it became a wave and the media lumped us into one category. But I was very aware that these were girls telling people what they should eat. I’m not a qualified nutritionist, I’m a chef — my standpoint is food being delicious primarily and secondarily what’s good for you.

“Healthy living is a trend and that’s more my thing than clean eating, which is a fad and something I feel I was pulled into. The vegan and the clean can perpetuate a lot of other problems, which aren’t good.”

#tess ward #Harry Styles #some good PR person is managing this mess #I'm reserving judgment at this time

4 notes · View notes

stickthatinyourstraw · 6 years ago

Text

Beginnings

I’m going to start journaling here on my ole tumblr account. For anyone who still follows me, if this isn’t your thing, you’re welcome to go. I just need to find a new way to release some thoughts and energy on a regular basis. Who knows how often I’ll even get around to it. Ideally daily would be great, but considering how scatter-brained I really am, it’s unlikely. This’ll be a kinda stream of consciousness type thing, where I don’t go back and edit it, I just post what I’ve written.

So I guess I’ll start with what makes me want to do this in the first place; I don’t know how to deal with my own emotions or thoughts, and I feel like venting about it to no one on the internet might make me feel better. I went out with Wyatt tonight, and it all just stressed me out. To set the background, and so I’ll remember with context later; today was a chill day at work, I got to go in when I wanted for just education, so I slept in and grabbed Starbucks on my way in. Nothing particularly special happened, except for some sweet gossip that I love to hate; Jerenda is moving from her manager position to be a CCU nurse. I imagine that’s a pay cut, and I’m surprised Debbie is letting her go, but she must really be suffering like the rest of us were (and some still are). I asked Cassie to get with her old contacts in CCU and give me updates on how she does, more specifically if she fails, so I can report back to all my old buddies on the floor. She deserves every ounce of shit she gets up there. The rest of my work day was generally uneventful, but I ended up coming home to a paper towel confettied mess, because Wyatt hadn’t put the boys up this morning like he usually does. Not a huge deal, but I can’t find the damn broom, so I’m going to leave it for him to see and clean up, though it does stress me out every time I go out there. If I just ignore it, it doesn’t exist, right? Wyatt came home after with his car back out of the shop, he had some thing done to soften the ride and raise the suspension or whatever, but they ended up somehow fucking it up and lowering the damn thing even more. Now you can’t even fit a finger in the wheel well. I’ll admit that the ride was smoother, however even the slightest bumps sounded like the entire undercarriage of the car drug on the ground. So we rode out to the Habitat for Humanity food truck fest at the baseball stadium to meet Dad for some dinner. I got a giant redneck cup full of sweet tea, and Wyatt had a couple beers. He had Mahi tacos from Wrighteous Eats, I had a macaroni and pulled pork grilled cheese from Who Cut the Grilled Cheese? All in all, pretty good stuff. Dad wasn’t hungry, and Wyatt wanted to get to his buddy John’s car meet, so we left around 7. Now, I used to take a lot of issue with his driving style, because he tends to speed and take turns and corners too quickly for my liking, but since he put new tires on and stiffened the suspension in the Accord, it gripped a lot better and I felt I could trust it more. Well, it’s been raining for the last two days, so it’s damn wet outside, and I don’t care how much grip your tires have, if you go too fast on a turn, you’re putting not only us in danger, but other people as well. He flew down 110 at about 70, driving past a wreck with an overturned truck and a few state troopers. I felt it would’ve been smarter not to speed past the troopers, but whatever. We get to 29 and he has to do a fly by for the boys, so he hauls ass at like 70 down the 45 zone to get some good muffler noises, then does a U-turn and comes up to the shop. As soon as we get out of the car (whose door I’ve just locked), he and Rylan jump into a souped up Civic and go for a ride. I barely got an “I’ll be right back, love you babe!” before he hopped in and they took off in the little red fart can. 5 minutes go by and I’m getting antsy, standing in a mechanic’s parking lot with a bunch of strangers in the dark, waiting for my doofus boyfriend to get back. I text him and tell him, “I am not interested in hanging out here alone with strangers.” He replied with “I’ll be back in a sec, they needed me to buy beer.” Okay, fine. He’s gone almost another ten minutes, and needless to say, I hadn’t arrived in the greatest mood as it was. They get back, and I’m audibly irritated with him, and he asks if I’m mad at him for going, and I say that I kinda am for just immediately taking off and leaving me alone with strangers for 15 minutes. He tells me to “calm down”, which we all know how well that works out. He says “whatever dude”, my favorite pet peeve phrase out of his mouth, and walks off to put the beer away. He then goes to talk to this kid who’s bought himself a piece of shit Accord and proceeds to give him the old coilovers off his car that he’d had replaced today. The kid (19) is super excited, and proceeds to gush about his Accord to Wyatt, who’s just thrilled to have someone with the same car as him. Wyatt takes him for a ride in his car to show it off, and I stay behind because I have no interest in being complicit in his going 80 down Hwy 29. Two different groups of guys were making shitty remarks about Wyatt’s car, and though I couldn’t make out specific sentences, I could hear the snickering about how slow he was. They made fun of him. All I could think of was that I hoped no one knew I was his girlfriend. I didn’t want to be made fun of too, nor did I want to make anyone stop talking about it. I wanted to hear their unfiltered and unbiased opinions. Those opinions were not nice. Then they got back and Wyatt asked if he could go for a ride in the kid’s car, and though I gave him a dirty look, I wanted him to just do it and get it over with. He saw my face and told the kid “maybe another day” but I whispered “he has the mental maturity of a 4 year old, just go with him and make his fuckin day.” They left, the kid’s muffler dragging against the ground the whole way. Once again, all I could think of was “please for the love of God no one acknowledge that I know half of the brain power in that vehicle.” They made endless fun of that shit bucket car, even after they came back. Wyatt did get a semi-backhanded compliment from Rylan about his car from the ordeal, “This car is a piece of shit. Accords are not all pieces of shit, because your car isn’t a piece of shit, but this car is.” That made Wyatt happy, which is all I ask for. Now, note that this entire time we’ve been here, and I mean since we rolled up into the parking lot, I’ve had to pee. I’m on my period, so I’m already bloated, and I just finished about a quart of sweet tea and a giant grilled cheese and tots, so I’m busting at the seams here. He asks if I want him to take me home so I can pee, but I don’t necessarily want to abandon him and leave, I just want to go somewhere relatively clean, not the mechanic’s bathroom in the shop that I’ve just seen three kids running in and out of and playing in. No thanks. But eventually I just give in and let him take me home, and here we are. Writing to you, the void. It’s nice to just sit here on my computer, on the couch, in my own home, in the dark and the quiet, with three relatively calm dogs at my sides. Cali popped up out of a box and scared the shit out of Shep, so I’ve had something to laugh at.

I need to try and study a bit for the HESI and then sign up to take it next week so I can get my dumbass into school. I don’t really know what I want anymore. I want to help people, and I think I want to do it via emergency medicine, but I honestly don’t know if I’m equipped to handle that. Sure, I love the blood and guts in videos and shit, but what about in real life? I haven’t had a chance to see a real surgery yet, and with the way that I’ve handled things in the past, I’m nervous I’ll be too weak for it. Plus, going back to 3 12s every week and working those long and miserable hours on my feet with a bunch of grouchy ass patients. I really like the whole unconscious patients thing, they haven’t got much room to talk back. The other thing I’m worried about with nursing is being able to even get through school. Sure, if Glenn can get through it, I imagine I can too. But how do I learn all those medications? The abnormal heart rhythms? The various symptoms and variations of diseases and their processes? In just four semesters? How do I manage all that in such a limited time? I’ve never been particularly good in school, and I’m lazy as all hell, with my “if you don’t know it by now, there’s no point in studying any more” bullshit mentality. I know I shouldn’t be like that with schooling that determines my career, but I can’t help myself but not give a shit. It’s been almost a week since registration for the summer opened up and I still haven’t signed up for a class. I don’t know how I’ll be paying for it either, with the lack of Florida prepaid left over at this point. I’ve only got 37 hours left, but thankfully only need 42 hours for this AA. Beyond that, I’m shit outta luck.

I’m just not feeling the motivation for anything. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t feel motivation any more, or that I never felt it to begin with. I wasn’t motivated in middle school or high school, and certainly not the first time around in college classes. But I just don’t feel motivation to do things that I enjoy. It reminds me a lot of when I would come straight home from school and just sink into the couch to watch Netflix until late at night, without bothering to do much homework or any studying, much less any self care. I don’t have the motivation to shower every day, I don’t remember to brush my teeth every morning if I don’t go to work like normal, I never wear makeup and usually don’t brush my hair. I never eat breakfast or enjoy my coffee or wake up at the first alarm without snoozing. I don’t play videogames anymore, and I don’t have much interest in plants anymore. I don’t keep up with my part of house work and yet still get frustrated with Wyatt when he doesn’t do his part. I neglect my old passions and belongings. I don’t try. I don’t really care, even. I just feel so empty sometimes. I feel like I have a hole in my stomach, like I’ve tried to fill a void with hobbies and interests and food and friends, and nothing ever seems to work, or at least not for long. I’m not really depressed right now, but maybe it’s just that it’s grown into something different. Maybe this constant emptiness is my new form of deep sadness. I don’t cry a lot anymore, and I haven’t been suicidal in a couple months. Even when I have been sad lately, I’ve thought about the idea of suicide taking away the pain, but it just doesn’t feel like the right solution anymore. I guess that’s a good thing, not wanting to die, even if I don’t really feel like I am living. I’m just so upset about everything all the time. I’m worried I’m too handsy and mean with the dogs. It breaks my heart every time I raise my hand to Lillie and she cowers, and I know that I’m the one who’s done that to her. I don’t beat her, but I’ve used my hands to train, and I know it’s wrong. I guess that makes me one of the bad guys. I hate myself for it, because I can’t control myself in the moment, I just see this blind rage and I lash out at the object of my anger, and then afterwards realize I was wrong in handling it the way I did. Do I even deserve these dogs? Sheppy paces out of boredom, and I’m worried Lillie will end up doing the same. They’re just so high energy, and I’m so not, I can’t motivate myself to take care of them the way I know they deserve. I hate myself sometimes. This is one of those moments where I wish I could just die, but I know I don’t want to. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I think I’ll schedule another appointment with Dr. Kim and talk it out with her. I really need help with Wyatt most of all. I’m worried about him, and I’m worried about the way I treat him. He absolutely deserves better than I’m giving him, but I couldn’t stand to lose him. He really is my whole world, but like with Lillie, when he aggravates me, I just lose all sense of right and wrong and just go with an aggressive and hateful base instinct of doing what I want. I’m trying to be better, but I feel like since I’ve stopped therapy, I’ve slid back some. I haven’t been so kind, patient, and forgiving. He deserves that much from me, when I know he does the same for me.

Anyway, at this point, I’m just rambling thoughts of things that have come to mind lately, and I think this is sufficient for the first journal post. If you’re a follower and you’ve made it this far, I’m so sorry for you, it was not worth it bud. But for me when I come back and read this later, be more forgiving to him. He didn’t mean it that way, he didn’t intend to make you feel like that, he didn’t mean to upset or bother you. Sometimes he’s just oblivious, and he still can’t read your mind. Give him the patience he deserves, and the love and support and acceptance he needs. Give more of yourself to him, don’t be selfish, share a little.

Cheers

#journal #personal

0 notes

ongames · 8 years ago

Text

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

In January, my iPhone was confirmed dead by the Apple Store in Saint Laurent du Var. It had gone dark the day prior, unresponsive when I woke up to a New Year in France at my girlfriend’s cousin’s house. I could’ve accepted this as some Sign Apparent, taken a healthy break from connectedness and doubled down on using the rest of my vacation as I’d halfway intended - to decompress from a year of navigating my late twenties as a sober SWM on the periphery of some insular comedy/art scene in Brooklyn. Instead, I used my credit card to get a new iPhone that I’d return for a full refund before flying back to the States, where I had faith Verizon could bring me back to life at little cost. New year, same plan.

If this was one of those self-defining, fork-in-the-road moments, I had taken the beaten path. And if there’s shame in that, I’m too far gone to feel it. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my brain now processes sunsets better in the background of selfies than it does when they’re playing out in front of me. And let’s not forget that sunsets translate to production value. I’m a filmmaker of sorts, with a body of selfie-stick work that I’m always looking to supplement. As I ran my card in that Apple Store, it occurred to me that I may never have another opportunity to feel the cognitive benefits of a holiday off the grid, away from Timeline Culture. Was I making the right choice? Yes, I assured myself. Getting the iPhone was in line with my raison d’être - the one I assigned myself several years back: to make provocative content until something sticks. And if nothing sticks? Well, I tell myself not to think about that.

I’m a junkie with strong expressive needs, and without my iOS applications, I wouldn’t have been able to edit and post satirical videos from locations like the Pointe de la Parata in Ajaccio or the McDonald’s near the Prince’s Palace of Monaco. Projecting my brand from the field is my shtick right now, and Emilie (my girlfriend) supports that, so when I wasn’t sucking down the bread and cheese her family kept putting in front of me, she’d escort me to scenic spots that I’d feature in the background of my selfie-stick installments, behind an increasingly inflamed face. “No detox ‘til Brooklyn,” I kept saying. But I’ve been back in Brooklyn for a month now and still no detox.

The year isn’t so new anymore, and while the to-do lists I made are losing their gravity, my wayward ambition still wakes me up at night. My big 2017 resolution was something along the lines of “Stop comparing myself to others.” I hadn’t put it into words until now because there’s no way for it to avoid sounding like a cheap hook on a site appealing to Millennials riddled with the most basic strain of existential dread. But, let’s go ahead and face it ― I am basic. I’m a creature of Timeline Culture with little to no free will, being corralled into singularity, and here we are again, teetering near the event horizon of yet more phone talk. So be it. I’m back in my motherland, the US of A, with my Verizon upgrade, a 128 GB iPhone 7 galvanized by that sweet life force, Cellular Data. The Apple News notifications are constant and they keep my train of thought from straying too far from Trump, and now that the Internet is available in all 278 underground subway stations for users of the Big Four cell service carriers, I can check in on my contemporaries’ blossoming careers while I hit up soul crushing open mics.

Part Two of wikiHow to Stop Comparing Yourself to Others emphasizes the importance of appreciating what you have. I’m not going to keep a gratitude journal, but the luxury of “decompressing” from the year 2016 CE by traipsing around in the Mediterranean with my sweetheart, isn’t lost on me. Braving the twisted headlines as I skimmed papers in Williamsburg cafés last year was tough, sure, but the toughest part about 2016, for me, was my continuing to put a precarious amount of energy into pet projects without any assurance of recognition or profit. In one year, I’ll be 30, and that number means something. The meaning itself may escape me right now, but I’ll go ahead and assume it has something to do with money, or maybe focus.

Currently, I sustain myself by bartending weekend brunch shifts, substitute dog walking and not drinking booze. The rest of my time goes to working on my projects with a focus that is borderline autistic and trying to maintain interpersonal relationships. In other words, life is good, and any discomfort or impatience I feel as an “underappreciated” artist in Brooklyn is as basic as it gets. If I’m starting to sound complacent here, I should note that I get itchy around success stories. When I was at the National Museum of the Bonaparte Residence in Corsica, I lost myself in the “zero fucks given” expression on one of the replicas of Napolean’s death mask and caught myself brooding on the fact that by the time he was my age, the freak had won the War of the First Coalition and the Battle of the Pyramids. Before things could get too heavy, I pulled myself away from the display case only to get captivated by a lock of his hair in another. It radiated historical significance and reminded me that I only have 226 subscribers on my YouTube channel.

And enough of that. I have made the conscious decision to believe that feeling small from time to time builds character. A study called “Awe, the Small Self, and Prosocial Behavior” published by the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2015 suggests that feeling insignificant may make you a kinder person. It could certainly benefit our President, but, alas, I have a hard time believing Trump would be able to look up at the night sky long enough to have to start grappling with his own smallness. He’d sniffle a few times, look down at the encrypted phone his staffers gave him after they confiscated his Android, and then he’d scan his personal account for new Twitter wars to be fought. Somebody would do well to lace his nasal spray with psilocybe alkaloids, strap him down in an observatory somewhere with a cervical collar around his neck and maybe some specula to keep his eyelids peeled back, then let him confront the universe for a few hours. Assuming he survived the horror, he’d come out of it a better person. But if it turns out the ends don’t justify the means, then forget I suggested that. Jeff Sessions summed it up for us last year when he said “Good people don’t smoke marijuana.” If that’s the case, we can assume they don’t jet psychedelic mist up their noses either.

We could also just try sitting Trump down with Sandy Pearson from Chattanooga. Sandy, a 48-year-old woman studying to be a mortgage broker, is not too keen on Trump’s Twitter etiquette but says if she had just 10 minutes with him, she could get him “to straighten up and stop with this foolishness.” I don’t know her, so I can’t speak to her powers of persuasion, but I do envy Sandy’s ability to “focus on the good” if for no other reason than the science behind it suggests that positive thinking benefits your health and enhances your ability to develop new skills. I digress, but that’s customary these days. Trump has a way of bleeding into everything. And if you avoid the newsstands, he’ll get in through the screens, like that straight-haired girl from The Ring.

Shouldn’t I be using my energy to fight for the Resistance? Shouldn’t I find some way to make my art subversive and direct it against the new regime? In a lot of ways subversion relies on the medium, so shouldn’t I start working toward becoming a Fox News anchor just to break my cover down the line and bomb the airwaves with progressive rhetoric that’s profane enough to violate FCC regulations? I have to make it a point not to lose sleep over these questions. My new resolution is to reclaim that pillar of Health called A Good Night’s Sleep. I even bought myself an old-school alarm clock, and now my bedroom is an iPhone-free sanctuary where I abstain from blue light, electromagnetic radiation and news notifications. If I wake up with a get-viral-quick scheme, I’m committed to writing it down the old fashioned way - in a moleskine on the bedside table. Whatever projects I take on this year, they will have to contend with a well-rested me. Yes, new angle, same plan. I’m joining my fellow basic people, keeping calm and carrying on, and I’m enduring that underlying fear of failure that rides me wherever I go.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

New Year, New Phone, Same Me published first on http://ift.tt/2lnpciY

0 notes

yes-dal456 · 8 years ago

Text

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2lHWfSW from Blogger http://ift.tt/2lIrT2k

#http://www.topwaytohappy.tk/2017/02/new-year-new-phone-same-me.html

0 notes

mortbroker94124 · 8 years ago

Text

New Year, New Phone, Same Me

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mi6kT9

#DIYS

0 notes