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sinceileftyoublog · 1 year ago

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Augustus Muller Interview: Synth Stories

Photo by Jimmy Fontaine

BY JORDAN MAINZER

For Augustus Muller of Massachusetts-via-Georgia electropop duo Boy Harsher, feeling the pressure gets results. Not for the duo's studio albums, mind you, but for the impressive number of film scores that he and Boy Harsher have been releasing the past few years. "Soundtracks are cool because you have 2-3 weeks to write them. You have to be prolific in that amount of time," he told me over the phone last month. "A record is going to take a couple years to finish, for the same amount of music...you don't have a lot of time to make a mistake." Looking at Muller's history as a creative, from his early days to his recently released scores for Cellulosed Bodies and My Animal, his spontaneous mindset has paid off.

Before he made music, Muller was an aspiring filmmaker, creating short films as a teenager, and attending film school. As he started making music for his own films, he realized her liked that part, too, and his career shifted. Of course, his project with film school classmate, vocalist Jae Matthews, took off, starting as Teen Dreamz and eventually becoming Boy Harsher, as the combination of her spoken word and his beats became more dance-oriented. Films were on the backburner, and it wasn't until 2020, when he teamed up with progressive adult film producer collective Four Chambers, headed by experimental pornographer Vex Ashley, that Muller released his score debut. Machine Learning Experiments (Original Score), comprised of distinct scores to two films (Orgone Theory, tracks 1-5, and Hydra, tracks 6-10), was released via the band's imprint Nude Club Records. In combination with the film's subject matter and Boy Harsher's usual minimal synth wave, the music fittingly sounded like a sort of dystopian cousin to the works the late Patrick Cowley made for John Coletti in the 80's. And early last year, the band released The Runner, which started as a piece of music but sounded to them so suited for the screen that they simply directed an accompanying short horror film.

Now, Muller has given us two more scores. Cellulosed Bodies is another collaboration with Ashley, structured similarly to Machine Learning Experiments in that it features two scores for two films, Crash and Automaton. What makes Cellulosed Bodies a standout in Muller's oeuvre is that the two scores that make it up simultaneously provide a cohesive whole and exercises in textural contrast. Both films deal with the relationships between bodies and machines, the former an homage to David Cronenberg's erotic body horror film of the same name, the latter exploring pandemic-influenced digital isolation and dependency. Crash uses all analog instrumentation, sounding appropriately tactile on the pulsating synthesizers of "Fur And Metal" the crispy, synaptic drum machines of "Perverse Technology", and the booming bass of "Shattered Glass". Automaton, on the other hand, doesn't abide by as many patterns, using more FM synths for its droning vignettes and metallic harmonics, notably oblique strings and organ synthesis on "Observation" and "Who Is In Control" and vocal samples on "Subdue Yourself". But whether taking a more traditional or contemporary approach, Muller exudes the same visceral quality from his compositions.

On Friday, Muller released his score for Jacqueline Castel's My Animal, which, like Crash, uses mostly hardware but has the same abstractly filmic quality as The Runner. If you didn't know it was a film score, you'd think it was just a standalone piece of instrumental 80s synthwave, as effective in the club as it is soundtracking horror romance. "Sanctuary" borders on stadium rock, layered with drum fills and arpeggios, while the combination of wincing synthesizer and shuffling beats propels tracks like "Transformation #1", "The Slots", "Outside the Rock", and "Something's Building". More simply, many of the record's tracks are heavy on vibes, with the music evoking exactly what the titles suggest: "A Soft Howl", or "Winter Drone". At this point, Muller and Boy Harsher have amassed a solid following for their studio albums, but all signs point to Muller--still an aspiring filmmaker, after all--becoming an in-demand name for helping filmmakers bring their corporeal visions to life.

Below, read my conversation with Muller, edited for length and clarity.

Photo by Jimmy Fontaine

Since I Left You: Describe the process of working on Cellulosed Bodies with Vex Ashley. Was the music made in tandem with the visuals or in response to them?

Augustus Muller: She'd send me a rough cut of what she was working on, and I'd write something to that. It was pretty loose. She cut around stuff. I would send something back, she'd send me notes, and edit around what I'd written. Then she'd send another cut, and we'd work on transitions and put finishing touches on it.

SILY: What's unique about this soundtrack as compared to others you've done?

AM: Compared to writing a feature film, there's a lot more space for music. Crash has no dialogue at all. With porn, the music can lead. I felt like I had full freedom with that. I could write a full track. With other scores, for narrative, you have to hide it under dialogue, so it's a different sound palette.

SILY: Are you often given the whole film without the score, and then you work around it?

AM: Yeah. For Crash and Automaton, there wasn't even temp music. I started from scratch.

SILY: Why did you decide to release "Fur And Metal" and "Stretching / Invading" as the first tastes of Cellulosed Bodies?

AM: For this project, it's been difficult to explain to our fans and the world what it is. It's my solo music, but not an album, but an original score to porn films. People are blasting through social media, not really reading through the fine print. "Fur And Metal" was one of my favorite tracks from Crash, and I thought it was important to share something from Automaton, which is what "Stretching / Invading" is from. It's more of an ambient, droney track. It's good to show the range the album has.

SILY: It emphasizes the distinct textures and qualities of the scores, too. You used strings and organs on the latter.

AM: Yeah. It's two pretty different sounding scores. Similar subject matter--a techno dystopian future--but Crash was all analog gear and vintage hardware. It has that older sound. Automaton is a lot of FM synths to get these new sounds.

SILY: The final track, "Subdue Yourself", has vocal samples [from dominatrix Miss Marilyn]. Why did you choose to introduce voice at the very end?

AM: That track is not in the film. It's something I wrote and ultimately didn't use, but it's a song I really liked. I love Miss Marilyn's monologues, so I thought it was a cool thing to include in the soundtrack. Giving it context, like when original scores and soundtracks have clips from the movie in it.

SILY: Do you think this score holds up separately as its own piece of art? Can it be consumed and appreciated separately from the film?

AM: I think it really varies soundtrack to soundtrack. This one can definitely stand by itself. I'm really proud of the tracks. I think it's listenable. I was just listening to Vangelis' Blade Runner [soundtrack]. I had never actually listened to the LP before even though I've seen the movie a million times. There are a lot of instrumental tracks that must be so low in the mix in the film that when listening to the LP, it felt like I'd never heard them before. They're banging tracks!

SILY: Crash is a direct homage to Cronenberg's film of the same name. Have you ever called out an influence that directly in your music before, whether with Boy Harsher or your solo work?

AM: On tour, we're playing a "Wicked Game" cover. [laughs] But in terms of the Crash score, I watched [Cronenberg's film] and wanted to get Howard Shore's soundtrack channeled through me. I then realized, "I can't do this. Howard Shore's a genius. This is not my style." I just started playing some driving bass and went a totally new direction.

SILY: When I listened to your score for My Animal, I thought it was pretty banging itself. There are a lot of catchy tracks on there, like "Sanctuary" and "The Slots". These could be singles.

AM: I was writing with a lot of temp music. [Jacqueline Castel] was putting Boy Harsher songs in it as temp music. So I was channeling drum-driven material.

SILY: Do you think Boy Harsher songs work well within a film context?

AM: I think so. We've had some stuff licensed for films and TV shows. When I'm writing something, I know it's good when it feels visual, when it's evoking some imagery or takes me some place.

SILY: I feel like certain general aesthetics seem to fit films very well. What are some of your favorite film soundtracks or creative influences when making a soundtrack?

AM: Recently, that Jonathan Glazer movie Birth. Alexandre Desplat does that really tight chamber music. I like it because it's the opposite of what the scene is showing. It really changes the mood. That was really inspiring for me, to show what music can do for a film, to take a scene and transport it into a totally different vibe.

Abraham Marder and Nicolas Becker's [work on Sound of Metal]. I have to shout out Tangerine Dream's Sorcerer. That's such a powerful tool in the film. It really elevates all the emotions, but it's also an album I can listen to on its own.

SILY: Have you ever thought about curating a film's soundtrack, picking songs from other artists?

AM: Like Trent Reznor for Lost Highway? Yeah, I think I could do that.

SILY: It seems like you have that ear as a film and music fan.

AM: I just love putting music to visuals. That's how I got into music, making shitty short films as an 18-year-old. I was like, "Wow! This film got so much better with this music behind it." That's why I kept making music before making it on its own.

SILY: Are you going to make films again?

AM: I want to so bad. But it's such a privilege, and you need so much money. It's something I've been working towards for a while. I just need to find that opportunity for someone to trust me for a big chunk of change.

SILY: You could make the film and the music.

AM: That's what I dream about every day. Make the film, edit it, write the score.

SILY: Anything you've been listening to, watching, or reading that's caught your attention?

AM: I just saw Bottoms. It's really funny. A feel-good movie. I've been watching a lot of [Rainer Werner Fassbinder]. Somebody gave me a book on him, and I realized I hadn't watched a lot of his films. I watched Querelle, which was definitely a vibe. The Marriage of Maria Braun was really cool. I love genre films that are an allegory for something else. It's been fun digging into his movies.

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oursweetlife · 2 years ago

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The Great Food Excursion Part 1

Welcome back lovely Foodies!!!

I’m celebrating today!!! I‘ve passed my licence test and am driving us right into a food excursion!

That's right, we gonna eat our way through two of my favourite spots here in Durban! Next stop ....‘Lupper’ (lunch and supper) as my family likes to call it.

First up, the trendy Vapor Cafe. Reputed as the Godfather of Prawns, this cafe sells the theme of an easy, casual vibe. Their food takes it up a notch. Awesome flavours and today couldn’t have been better because my family was there to celebrate with me

This trendy, must-visit spot is home to multiple separate dining areas, each with its own identity and style. Today, my family and I visited the Chicago Underground. We traipsed through the diner, down the stairs. The walls were covered with bright and happy coloured graffiti. Its edgy and inviting at the same time.

We even sat under a sign that set the atmosphere for our meal!

For starters, we had potato samoosas. Honestly, we were mildly peckish at the time. These babies delivered!! They arrived piping hot ! Crispy with just the right amount of spiciness!

No diner visit is complete without a deep fried chicken wing. We couldnt decide on the bbq or the thunderbird sauce...so we took half of each. It was the perfect choice for both the kids and adults to indulge.

The kebaabs with roti were flavourful with the right amount of spice.

The diner-style setup and menu mean that all the food is going to be hearty and delicious. Vapor Cafe delivers hearty portions packed full of flavour. The presentation lends u to feast with your eyes before your taste buds.

Our mains included The Dons Choice sandwich (gloriously tender steak piled on top of masala chips and cheese, layers of crispy salad and then toasted to perfection.) This is comfort food done to perfection.

There were 2 sensational pizzas. My favourite was the creamy Mississippi. With its tender and juicy prawns, a big sprinkle of freshly sliced chillies and covered in their House Brand peri peri sauce and a good dollop of cheese..... I was in SLICE heaven! (it's easy to pick off the chillies for a milder slice of heaven)

The second pizza was the Michigan Pizza. Spicy chunks of spicy steak. Not gonna lie. This pizza isn't for the faint hearted!!

Earning the title of Godfather of Prawns...say hello to the juiciest prawns you’ve ever had! This Prawn and chicken platter is ramped up a notch with the to die for sauce that accompanies it! Hands down, this is my favourite item on their menu!! The prawns are cooked to perfection and (no lies) if this was a chicken only dish...that chicken would be standout perfection! Succulent and juicy. The portions are fit for Kings and the quality is above par.

Following through on the diner style ...take a look at this baby. The Godfathers choice. Mmmmhmmmm... Sink your teeth into that badboy and the flavours assault your senses! A patty topped with steak and cheese and decadent garlic polony. All layered over a crispy toasted bun with fresh lettuce, tomato and onions. Juicy yumminess in each bite.

Alright Foodies, that's not all from me yet! Hop on over to Part two to check out dessert!

Want to visit Vapour Cafe? These are their current details:

Address: 514 Lilian Ngoyi Rd, Morningside, Durban, 4001

Phone: 031 303 1515

Order: ubereats.com

Or check out their website here:

You can depend on me for great food and great vibes. I’m always serious about food. Lets Eat, Drink and Love.

Find me at the grub hub, and get a taste of Our Sweet Life.

Love,

Saaliha

#food #food blog #restaurant review #burgers #pizzas #sandwiches #kebaabs #prawns

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shereadsandwritesformelanin · 4 years ago

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The Baker And Her Actor: part III [The Beach Date!]

Paring: Chris Evans x Black Fem! Reader

Summary: You meet Chris while making a house delivery for the Evans. He can’t get you off his mind and to be honest, neither can you.

Warnings: profanity, sexual content, angst, but overall fluff.

Notes: I hope you guys enjoy! If you have any requests feel free to share those!!

Previous Part(s) → (1) (2)

“Baby it’s you!”

“You’re the one I love.”

“You’re the one I need!”

“You’re the only one I see!”

“Come in baby it’s you!”

You prance around your kitchen singing your heart out to Beyoncé’s love on top. The past few days you and Chris had been communicating frequently.

It made you feel some type of way and put you in a chipper mood.

Since you had a day off you decided to treat yourself to a nice warm stack of pancakes, fluffy scrambled eggs, and crispy (vegan) bacon.

A perfect way to start a weekend morning.

Flipping the last pancake and plating it you shuffled over to your living room, Haneli hot in persuit.

Today was a relaxation day, and you wanted to watch some quality movies.

Over the past few days of your texting spell with Chris he never much mentioned his work. I mean here and there he brought up but we barley discussed it as if he wasn’t proud.

So this morning you were gonna dedicate this to watching one of his many projects.

“Chris Evans.” You command into your remote.

Error.

“Chris Evans!” You shout

The screen showed many of his different films, all looked absolutely amazing but one stood out amoung them all.

The one where he held a little blonde girl on his shoulder and had a similar scruff on his face.

Gifted.

If the title didn’t grab you the plot definitely did.

“Play gifted.”

“Playing gifted.” Your smart television obeyed.

Just when you were going to trade it in.

You were just now finishing the movie and you were blown away.

You never thought about how much went into being an actor. Being able to convey those emotions onto the screen allowing the audience to feel them. Chris, he did just that.

Should you text him?

You decide to make the first move. Picking up your phone you click his contact, and begin typing.

Y/n: Goodmorning, I just saw one of your films. It was amazing :).

The Captain: Really, which one? Also goodmorning to you too!

Y/n: Gifted, and of course you’re amazing!

The Captain: Dont make me ink y/n. 💙

Another adorable Disney reference.

Before you could respond, your phone began to ring the contact image of Chris popping up on your screen.

Why was he calling you?!

I mean of course you all had text, but text can be motified unlike phone conversations.

Just answer dumb ass!

“Hello.” You sqeak

“Good morning.” Chris gumbles, it was obvious he’d just woken up by the rasp in his voice.

“H-how are you?” You stammer

“I’m okay just a bit tired.’ He yawns “better now that you’re on the phone.”

You were silence. Butting youre upper lip not sure what to say next.

His flirt game was strong and always caught you off gaurd.

“You there?” Chris questions

“Yes I’m here, sorry. I don’t want to keep you if your sleepy.”

“No it’s okay- I actually wanted to ask you something.” Chris reassures

“What is it?” You muse.

“Will you go on a date with me?’ Maybe tomorrow evening, if that works for you.” Chris queried.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat. This was the moment you’d been waiting for but was so terrified of its arrival.

When was the last time you even went on a date?

“Y/n, your making me nervous.”

“Sorry, i’d love to.” You trilled

“Great, pick your up at 7 tomorrow.!” Chris elated.

You could hear his pure excitement through the phone.

Youem were excited but nun the less nervous.

Shit what am I going to wear?

Saturday Evening - A.K.A “Date Night”

“Okay so you got this dress and I’m thinking we need to ensintuate your shoulders and colleebones as much as possible.” Kiara explains.

She rushes through Pinterest to find hair inspiration. Some your like some you aren’t quite fond of. You wanted to look your best for him.

“What about this one?” Kiara inquires showing you a beautiful and delicate up-do.

You take her phone to get a better look, zooming in on all the intricate details of the style. “I love it! It definitely screams first date vibes, should I even call it a date or a hang out.” You mumble.

“Girl gets some confidence.’ Kiara lectures. “He asked you on a date because you’re hot and his intrested take it with pride, he’ll love you, and if he doesn’t I do.” Planting a firm kiss on your temple.

“Thanks.” You coo.

Kiara begins to fumble in your hair, pinning it up and fluffing it’s often. “So where is he taking you?’ She quipped. “Somewhere nice I hope.”

“Well he hasn’t exactly told me.”

You feel her stop fiddling around in your hair. “So you don’t know?”

You nod your head.

“Hm, a man of mystery,That should be fun.” Kiara mused.

Shifting weight in your seat from the pressure of sitting for a while, your breath out. “I hope so.”

“Let’s find you something sexy to wear.” Kiara offered.

You both decide on a emerald green slip dress and a gold layered necklace, topping it off with a casual leather jacket.

“You look amazing girl, I need a picture.” Kiara praises.

You twirl around posing dramatically with various poses. Kiara snaps pictures hyping you up with each pose you perform.

“Come look at these.” Kiara hypes

Damn you do look good.

“Can you send these to me?”

Kiara nods her head.

Just when you were slipping on your shoes the doorbell rings. Your clock reads 7 o’clock.

Prompt.

You hurry toward the hallway mirror you had hanging on the wall, giving your hair one last fluff before opening the door.

The door swings open and there he was in all his glory.

He looked ravishing.

He wore a silver chain necklace, a black knitted sweater paired with heather grey saude pants and carmel shoes.

He held a bouquet of beautiful flower. Assortments of different pinks, red, and whites.

So he listens.

“Wow, you look stunning.” Chris praises

“You as well.’ I can take those, at least I hope they’re for me.” You giggle

“Oh yes, of course. Can I Uh set them up for you?” Chris ask rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yes.”

You open up the doorway even more allowing him in. Guiding him toward your kitchen. A short trip considering you live in a small loft.

“Vases are up top.” You instruct

Chris nods, reaching up to grab one of your many vases.

When he stretched up his shirt untucked revealing a lower back tattoo.

God this man has tattoos as well.

You couldn’t help but stare not only was it intresting but it was really hot as well.

Chris peaks his head over his shoulder catching your gaze in his peripheral.

Shit.

“See something you like?” Chris teases a cocky smirk painted on his face.

You drop your head biting your bottom lip. You’d been caught and the man sure knows how to make you nervous.

I was starting to believe he did that on purpose.

Suddenly you notice Kiara hiding behind the slight wall that separated the kitchen and the living space.

“What are you doing?!” You mouth.

She smirks. Then begins to suggestively dry hump the air and make satisfied faces. “Introduce me.” She mouths back

You roll you eyes giving in, motioning for her to come over.

She smiles in victory, brushing down her outfit quickly.

“So y/n before you leave- oh I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here.” Kiara lies

From anyone who didn’t know who the actors was in the room, they’d think it was Kiara how well she put on an act.

You stare at her hoping she didn’t go overboard.

“Oh erm, hello.” Chris greeted

“We were just living, Kiki I love you and I see you later!”

You hoped Chris got the message, luckily he did.

He quickly dried his hands, shooting a small smile and wave to Kiara then followed you out your home.

“Which one your?” You ponder.

Beep beep.“That one.”

You watched the interior light of a black mid size audi light up.

Sometime you forget he’s rich. He definitely didn’t like to show, one of the many things you like about him.

“Shall we?” Chris says his arm out for you to interlopp.

You smile up at him gripping his arm, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks.

The car ride was anything but queit. The two of you laughed and told embarrassing stories of your childhoods.

“Wait so you actually peed on a guy in your class in sixth grade?”

“True story, I couldn’t hold it!” You retort giggling

“Wow you beat me.’Chris says. “we are almost there it’s just up this way, one of my favorite things to do.”

“So I get to go to a special place?”

“Must mean something, right.” Chris stated, giving you those damn eyes again.

The way he stared at you with so much sencerity made you crave him even more. He was passionate you could tell.

“Okay no peaking.” Chris instructs pilling you out of the car shutting the door after you.

“Okay.” You obeyed.

Chris walked you through a seemingly long and tangled path. His big hands covering your ears the whole time.

Eventually he stopped guiding you and removed his hands.

“Is it safe to open?” You asked softly

“Yes you can open now, even though definitely saw you peaking.” Chris teased

“I was not!” You bicker like a child

Finally you allow your eyes to flutter open. Immediately your jaw drops at what you saw before you.

It was the Boston harborwalk, but lit up. The place looked so alive.

There was everything. Fun games, food, and even a Ferris wheel.

“Chris this is amazing.’ You gasp in excitement. “It’s- it’s beautiful I - can we go now!”

“I figured you’d love it, and yes let’s get going.” Chris spoke holding his hand out for your reach.

You comply shyly intertwining you tiny fingers with his. The heat rising to your cheeks, and the butterflies bubbling in your pit again.

You finally reach the boardwalk. Enamored by all the lights and fun that surrounds you can’t help but bounce from booth to booth like a young child on Christmas Day.

“Slow down dont wanna have to put a lease on you.” Chris pesteres

You playfully slap his chest with the back of your hand.

God he was muscular and firm.

Nope not going there y/n stop.

“Oh hush, this is fun!’ You piped. “What should we do next?”

“I was thinking the Ferris wheel?” Chris suggested.

Chris’s Point Of View:

The night wasn’t even close together and it was already going so well.

Y/n was perfect, practically an angel.

I could tell she was breaking out shell, showing more of her personality she’d been so afraid to show me.

It was great. I loved how excited she got about the smallest things, how she was a good sport and didn’t fuss over loosing games.

Through all my relationships I’ve craved to have someone like y/n and here she was and she was so great.

Gosh get a grip meatball can’t be falling in love on date one.

Finally we get up to the top of the Ferris wheel, stopping so we could get a great view of Boston.

I watched as you leaned over on the side just enough not to tip over but to get a good view.

How your y/c eyes lit up just like the city below us, the curls that rested on your forehead dancing in the wind.

Perfect.

I pull out my phone opening the camera settings.

I snap a quick photo of you. You just looked so peaceful.

Shit my flash!

My eyes go wide, embarrassed that I’d just been acting like a certified creep ten seconds ago.

She turns to face me comfusion readable on her face.

“Um y/n I’m sorry I- I just thought you looked beautiful.” I stammered.

She slips her tiny hand into mine giving me a small smile.

“Can I at least see it.” She asks

We leave the carnvial to go to another beautiful location I wanted to show y/n.

This could quite literally brighten her night.

“It’s just this way.” I instruct holding her hand helping her down the pathway to the beach.

“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me.” She jokes

“Sweetheart if I wanted to kill you, it would have already been done.”

I hear her let out small chuckle underneath her breath.

She trusted me.

“We’re here.” I announce

Her eyebrows raise as she looks around observing nothing but a bland beach.“We’re where?” She ponders

I pick up a small rock tossing it in my hand. “Okay now you’re scaring me.” She says slowly backing away.

“Don’t be.”

With that I threw the rock down on the sand allowing the bioluminescent plankton to give off their blue hue.

I hear the fimaliar gasp escape y/n’s lips as she’d done all night in excitement.

“Chris! What is this?”she quipped

“Bioluminescent planktons, I discovered these a while back when I was having a not good day and needed a walk. Cheered me up immediately.” I explain

Walking toward my side her eyes never leave the ground. “Wow this is astonishing.” She states

“You wanna see something else?” I ask a devient smirk planted on my face.

“You’re just full of surprises.”

“You have no idea.” I returned.

I grab her hand leading her over to the shoreline. “Take off your shoes.” I instruct

She does just that waiting for further instruction.

“You see this.” I say pointing down to the water.

“See what?”

“This!” I smirk lightly splashing her with water

Please be into it.

I watched as she stood there for a moment, mouth agape wiping the salt water off her face.

My heartbeat sped up hoping she wouldn’t curse me out and storm off.

“Oh really that’s what you wanna do?” She said smirking peeling her leather jacket off.

“Yeah that’s what I wanna do.” I mock rolling my arm and pants legs up.

“Fine but I was I raised off avatar and have a strong belief I’m a waterbender.” She jokes

Finally she splashes me immediately damping my sweater.

I’m impressed that she was able to get the much water on my with her small hands.

I attempt to return the favor but she runs away giggling.

I chase after her effortlessly catching up, scooping her in my arms bridle style.

“Stop, stop I’m sorry put me down.” She stammers laughing loudly.

“Nope only soaking you will do for forgiveness.” I say carrying her to the spot with our belongings.

“But Chris I just had wash day.” She pouts

“Wash day?” I question.

“You’re too cute, and caucasian.” She replied

“Cute huh?” I tease.

There she goes again hanging her head low and avoiding eye contact, she was so adorable.

“You know what I want.” I stays breaking the silence

“What’s that?”

“Ice cream.” I say

Finally we pull up at an ice cream parlor that looks like it was plucked straight out of the fifties.

I notice you began to shiver. It was late at night and the cool Boston breeze was now turning into a chilling freeze.

Should I do it? Will she be comfortable?

Making sure not to startle her, I cautiously wrap my arm around her shoulders pulling her into me, hopping to add some type of warmth to her body.

She just smiles up at me leaning her head into my shoulder. She fit into my side like a puzzle. I let the tropical sent of her hair infuse my lungs.

God she smelt great.

We get up to the glass display of ice cream. It was so colorful with so many different assortments of flavors I didn’t know which one to pick.

You were bent over peaking through the glass. Squinting trying to decide which ice cream flavor to choose from.

“Decided yet?” I ask

“I think so, can I have the chunky monkey suprise.” She asks the waitress.

The waitress nods grabbing a warm scooper for dig out your flavor. “What about you. what’s your take?” She asks me retrieving her ice cream.

“I think I’ll have what your having.”

“Good choice.” She playfully sasses

I watch her walk over to grab us a a few napkins and extra spoons.

Thoughtful.

“Sir.” The cashier says holding my ice cream for me. “Sorry, how much?” I ask.

“It’ll be $5.78.” The cashier resports.

I dig into my wallet pulling out one of my many cards handing it over to the cashier.

I felt your brown eyes burning into me, watching me.

I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that you were or a bad thing that you were.

“Let’s go, it late and im sure you work tomorrow.”

“Yes I do.” She mutters almost pouting.

We walk to my car. Reaching it I press the unlock butting watching the inside light up.

[CLICK FOR Part III CONTINUED HERE!]

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@toniilaney

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burned-to-the-void · 5 years ago

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Siegemas Day 17

My prompt: “Everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.”

A pre-Christmas team dinner for GIGN, basically. Or, a tiny step in the process of being accepted.

2.4K words, G rated, no content warnings apply.

Thank you again @dualrainbow for giving me the opportunity to participate!!💙 I hope you guys enjoy my contribution to this wonderful event, and please go check their blog to read more from other talented writers if you haven’t yet, you won’t regret!

🎄 Happy Holidays, everyone ;)

~*~

Twitch leans forward with her hands on the counter, inspecting the food for the umpteenth time despite the fact she knows that everything is up to her standard, which can be considered a synonym for perfection. She has pestered Rook, who volunteered to help her preparing the food, enough times to ensure that. The pâté lorrain smells wonderful, just as her grandma’s used to do, and the roasted turkey, stuffed with plump chestnuts, looks almost heaven-sent with its skin crispy and glistening with rich fat. The desserts are already set on the plates―except for the chocolate mousse that’s still being chilled in the fridge―dazzling in their various colors and shapes.

Really, there is no reason to feel this nervous, it’s just another dinner with her teammates, not a cooking competition. No one is going to point out even if there is something that’s less than perfect, not even Lion would be that blunt.

He's really coming, isn't he. Reminded of the real reason behind her worry, Twitch has to suppress the urge to bury her face in her palms and groan, a bit over-dramatic as she's prone to be.

Inviting him didn’t seem like a bad idea, in the beginning. It’s not Lion himself that she'd like to avoid, it’s the inevitable tension that charges the air like static electricity when him and Doc are in each other’s vicinity, one that she can't help but pick up like a overly sensitive radar, putting her on edge as well. When Doc isn’t involved she has a nice working relationship with Lion, although they rarely interact in more personal settings, making today an unlikely exception.

It was Montagne who suggested that she should invite one more person to the team dinner, which she had meticulously planned out so they can celebrate together before they part ways to spend the actual Christmas with their respective families. Sensing her hesitation, he assured her that he'd have a talk with both of them in advance and personally see to it that they remain civil during the dinner, and this earnest promise from the most reliable man she’s ever known had been enough to persuade her.

Had been, that is, until some assholes decided to celebrate their holiday by threatening the local community with a thrilling promise of random bomb attacks, causing mass panic in the area, and along with several other operators Montagne was picked out to go and intervene. He tried to apologize before he leave, to which Twitch only shook her head because it wasn't his fault terrorists didn't give a shit about other people's holiday plans. But now that the drama of the evening is about to unfold, without him to defuse the situation if the things get heated, she can’t help but lament his absence a little.

“It’s going to be okay,” says Rook, bumping his shoulder with hers lightly, and places a tray of newly baked plum jam cookies on the counter. His eyes linger on them a bit too longingly, and Twitch sighs.

“I envy your optimism. You can have one now if you want, we’re one man short anyway.”

“Well, if you say so,” he grins, and reaches directly for the one that's practically oozing with ruby-red jam, as if he was just waiting for the cue. Twitch is opening her mouth to comment on it but that is the exact moment when the doorbell starts to ring, so she just rolls her eyes and hurries past him to greet the guest.

Doc is standing by the door, the tips of his ears reddened by the cold air but otherwise immaculate from head to toe, with a toned down blue scarf that actually matches the color of his coat, a feat not many men can achieve. Once again Twitch is reminded that without the near perpetual look of bone-deep tiredness he makes a strikingly handsome figure, even to eyes that are uninterested by principle.

Also, surprisingly, he isn't alone.

"We're not too late, are we?" To his credit, Doc's smile doesn't even look that much strained, despite his company.

"You two came together?" Twitch has to ask, blinking up at the hunched form of Lion who is tailing behind Doc, and for the lack of better word, sulking. Doc shakes his head with a chuckle.

"God, no. I just caught him fidgeting in front of the door."

"I didn't fidget," Lion mutters a protest, clearly still fidgeting. Doc, his smile somehow both sympathetic and smug, doesn't bother a reply but Lion glares at him as if he's heard one anyway. Twitch hastily beckons them inside to break the tension before it has a chance to develop.

Doc gives Twitch a quick hug on his way in, careful not to press her against the cold surface of his coat, and brushes past her into the dining room. When it's Lion's turn they both stare at each other, unsure, until he shoves a bottle of wine into her hand, almost as an afterthought.

"Thought I'd bring a gift," Lion explains with a sheepish expression.

"Thanks," Twitch arches her eyebrow, caught by surprise, albeit a pleasant one. Lion nods, looking satisfied, and follows Doc before she can find any more words to add.

"Mmm, something smells wonderful in here," Doc comments, taking his gloves off and rubbing his cold hands together.

"Hey, guys," Rook sticks his head out from the kitchen, oblivious to the fact he's got some cookie crumbs on the corner of his mouth. "And no, everything smells wonderful in here, we really put a lot of effort into it this year. Especially the desserts."

"I can tell," Doc deadpans, but not without a hint of indulgent smile, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to help them with the last of the preparation. He's no stranger to her kitchen, after all. Lion hovering near the counter, on the other hand, definitely is, so Twitch ushers him to the table and points down at one of the chairs.

"Sit," she orders, which he follows without any complaint.

"He's only playing nice because it's you, you know," Doc grumbles to her, when they're left alone in the kitchen by chance. Twitch only snorts.

"So, it's a bad thing that he respects me enough to listen to me?"

"Well… no," he admits reluctantly, adding sauce over the plate of oven-baked trout fillet with a skilled flick of his wrist. Twitch steals a glance at the table, where Rook is trying to make a small talk with Lion, although it's impossible to tell about what, and more importantly how smoothly, from where she's standing. Lion is drumming his fingers against the table, feigning collected boredom, while his whole posture screams tension. Not used to saying yes to personal invitations, her brain provides. When he did, he must have had no idea that Montagne, his social bridge when it comes to team dynamic, would be missing from the scene.

"Try to give him a chance, Gus. Just for tonight."

Doc's fingers falter, in the middle of putting up the garnish, but only for a split second. When he answers his voice comes out soft and pensive.

“For tonight,” he agrees, and Twitch lets herself hope that maybe, just maybe this evening won't end as poorly as she had imagined.

~*~

In retrospect, hope rarely does anyone a favor.

With the help of warm, quality food and a few glasses of wine, Lion slowly loosens up, looking less out of place, his answers not so clipped anymore. He participates in the conversation without being pressed to, although his smiles are still rare and fleeting, and as the host Twitch could have counted it as a victory, was it not for the way―

"Your claim here is outrageous, Kateb," Lion blurts out, cutting her off from her thoughts, and at this point, she neither knows nor gives a fuck what their current argument is about, or who started it this time. No point in keeping the score when they're so determined to make it a tie.

"I have statistics to back me up, and I might have shared them with you if you weren't such a stubborn asshole," Doc replies, his enunciation precise, but Twitch knows it's just because he's putting extra effort not to slur. Lion growls, unfailingly rising to the bait.

"Statistics can be flawed, more so when they're taken from the field. Too many variables."

"Actually, they're from the lab. Admit you’re wrong, it really is more fatal than a heart attack. The survival rate is almost―"

Across the table, Rook shares a pained look with Twitch. This semi-drunk, almost childish bickering has been going for god-knows-how-long over several different subjects now, changing the topic only serving as a temporary solution, and while it's better than the full-scale war they usually wage against each other, it's still giving her a migraine. She drinks what's left in her glass nonstop and sets it down with more force than she has to. It's not like they would notice anyway. Her phone buzzes from her pocket, signalling an incoming call. Twitch fishes it out in a heartbeat, eager for anything to distract her from this.

"It's Gilles," she announces, which goes largely unheard amidst the raging debate. Calmly, she takes a deep breath and slams her fist on the table, hard, making all of the plates and glasses shudder and clatter in their places. Instantly three sets of eyes fly up to her, stunned, but finally no one is using their mouth for purposes other than gaping. Good.

“I said, it's Gilles on the phone, and I’m gonna pick up now, so everyone shut up and pretend to be happy.” Just before tapping on the receive button, she adds a belated please, which does nothing to soften the blow.

Lion is the first to recover from the shock, and he gets up from his seat to exit the dining room altogether, huffing out loud. Twitch directs her gaze toward Doc, who is adamantly not meeting her eyes, his face flushed with mild embarrassment. Rook, of all people, is the only one who looks vaguely apologetic.

"Gilles!" She answers, aiming for the bright tone and probably failing, and puts him on speaker. "Glad you called, I was planning to check up on you. The mission went pretty smooth, I heard?"

"Oh, better than smooth. Turned out they were just a bunch of amateurs. The bombs wouldn't have even detonated properly, Monika said. The actual hard part was dealing with the panicked citizens, wanting to know if the packages they've just got can be timebombs in gift wrappers."

Twitch hums sympathetically, the mental image of people swarming up to IQ demanding she should take a look at their present boxes with her detecting device―that may even contain questionable items, only that they’re not bombs―vivid in her head. Doc and Rook scoot closer to add their own hellos, and Montagne is quick to notice the absence.

“I take it Olivier couldn’t make it?” he asks, and at his troubled tone Rook jumps in hurriedly to correct him.

“No, he's here. He just went to kitchen to fetch, uh, something.”

“He is?” Montagne sounds surprised, but also genuinely pleased, probably seeing the fact he didn't bail out as a personal progress, and would be terribly disappointed to find out he is still, to some degree, trying to. Twitch feels she has no choice but to jump into the lion’s den herself.

“Yeah, I’ll go and see what’s taking him so long,” she mutters and picks herself up from her seat to follow him outside.

She's ready to drag him in by force if needed, nevermind the solid thirty kilograms he has on her, but she hasn’t expected him to be actually heading back in, and almost bumps into him in the doorway. Lion takes a step back, quick apology on his lips.

“Gilles wants to talk with you,” Twitch informs him, but it comes out as an accusation. Lion, having no problem recognizing it, just nods along.

"I just needed to get some fresh air, before I go back to pretending I'm enjoying this... new-found peace treaty with our doctor," he smiles darkly, earning himself an incredulous stare.

“You call that peace?”

“Compared to what we normally do? Yes. We’re talking and not hating each other’s guts for once,” he shrugs, as Twitch steps aside to let him in.

“Whatever you say, but keep it down a notch. I’m positive my ears are bleeding by now.”

He does have a point though, so Twitch is willing to let the conversation slip as it is, but the way he casts his glance down and frowns suggests he has more to say, so she chooses to wait, despite the chilly air.

“I want to… thank you, for inviting me. I know I’m not the most welcomed person in house parties.”

Considering the context, his following smile could be more bitter, but it remains neutral. Not really self-deprecating, just stating what he’s accepted as a fact. The attitude suits him, Twitch thinks. Sharp and precise assessment delivered in the bluntest way possible, applied even to himself.

“No problem. The more the merrier, isn’t it? And cooking for one more isn’t that much of inconvenience,” she replies, and smiles as a thought crosses her mind. “You’re not that bad, as a guest. See, you're the only one with who brought gift today."

Lion makes an noncommittal noise at that, looking skeptical, and yes, maybe that only means he is still a guest in this house, when rest of them is a family, but it's a starting point, one that now Twitch is determined to make the most of it. And the thing about acquired family is, they all started from ground zero.

“Let’s go back in, poor Gilles must be thinking either we lied to him, or that you ran away. And in case you’re considering it, you’re not going anywhere before you try the desserts.”

"I wouldn't dare," Lion chuckles, and opens the door to the dining room. After a short break, the air feels pleasantly warm, overflowing with the rich smell of butter, chocolate, and cinnamon. It seems like Rook has begun to set out all the desserts, ever the enthusiast, while Doc has been keeping Montagne's company. Twitch momentarily forgets to announce their return, in favor of soaking in every detail of the scene, from the way the soft, golden light makes everyone's face glow in the same hue, to the sound of their shared laughter, feeling so fiercely right in place―and hopes one day, if not today, it would be the same for Lion as well.

#rainbow six siege #r6s #r6s twitch #r6s rook #r6s doc #r6s lion #r6s montagne #fan fiction #siegemas 2019

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swarna5-blog · 4 years ago

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karunya7-blog · 4 years ago

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#Microwave oven service center

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monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 5 years ago

Text

What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 3: Shitty coffee, Schrodinger's door, and the joys of the American medical system

TW: description of seizure in this chapter. And finally some Cas POV!

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AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

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AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter List

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Chapter 3: Shitty coffee, Schrodinger's door, and the joys of the American medical system

Kelly almost never got sick when she and Cas were kids, maybe the occasional seasonal sniffles but never seriously sick, not even the flu.

It had made her eventual death when Jack was born even more of a shock.

Castiel remembered when he was nine and she was sixteen the rest of their family was down in bed with the flu and she was the one up perfectly healthy checking in on everyone and making them soup.

Jack had always been the same as his mother in that regard, Cas could count on one hand the grand total of sick days Jack had to take off school since kindergarten. He’d never so much as broken a bone up until this.

So why hadn’t he been able to pick up that something was really wrong sooner?

He should never have brought Jack back to Lawrence. When they got the call from Sam the week before Jack was so excited. It had almost been hidden under apprehensive disbelief and the way he’s anxiously couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes but Jack had been holding back an unsure smile.

His siblings wanted to include him in something...

Cas had a bad feeling about it from the start, neither brother had spared more than a passing glance at the boy since John Winchester’s death. People didn’t just drop back into your life after ten years as if they never left, there were always strings attached, always a catch, and he didn’t want to subject Jack to that.

He even had a ready-made excuse, Jack was already grounded for the nonsense he pulled during his last world history test.

But... Jack had been so excited, and these men were his family, part of his past he rarely if ever got to interact with; and it was the anniversary of John death, Jack’s father’s death.

Jack was almost seventeen, who was he to keep him away? What would it do to their relationship if he did?

It had been a mistake.

The cough Jack seemed to be getting over after a week crept back up on him during the eight-hour drive and was only exacerbated by their first night in the hotel. And then they went to the graveyard.

He knew before Dean opened his mouth that they should have stayed home. The panicked look of shock on Sam’s face was enough to tell him they hadn’t really expected them to show up.

Was it just out of courtesy that he’d even called?

And now Jack was hospitalized a good few hundred miles from their home with god knows what.

He wished the look of rejection on Jack’s face was something he’d never seen before, and maybe he hadn’t, at least… never like that, never that terrible.

The ride back to the hotel had been so quiet, only broken by the occasional soft cough. Jack just stared out the window biting his lip like he was trying desperately not to cry. Castiel was afraid to say anything because if he accidentally said the wrong thing and Jack lost the tenuous hold he had over his tears Cas couldn’t comfort him and drive at the same time.

He’d tried to talk to Jack as soon as they pulled into the hotel parking lot but by then the teenager’s eyes had dried up. Jack didn’t reply except to say his head hurt and…

“I just want to sleep,” his voice was so soft and hollow.

Castiel let the subject drop, buying some Advil from the small hotel commissary and leaving Jack to curl up in bed. He didn’t want to push him, not now.

“We should have never come…”

He kept repeating the words in his head over and over, more rapidly now with Jack propped up on his side in a hospital bed, Castiel holding the little pink plastic kidney dish a nurse had given him for Jack to spit the blood he kept coughing up into. A new doctor who’d introduced herself as Hannah listened to his breathing with a stethoscope through the open back of his gown.

It turned out doctors came a lot more readily when you weren’t tucked away in the corner of a busy emergency room.

Cas’s heart was beating almost as fast as Jack’s on the monitor as he puzzled over the symptoms of the past two days. None of it made any sense.

Even the doctor looked mildly perplexed as she meticulously worked Jack over, whispering gentle platitudes to try and keep the teenager calm.

Jack was too out of it to really care, too drugged up and exhausted to really process the world around him. His normally clear and inquisitive blue/hazel eyes dull and wrong, it was enough to make Castiel feel sick to his stomach.

Samuel Winchester was still perched in a chair by the door like a giant nervous pigeon ready to fly off at the first sign of trouble. Balancing on the edge of indecision just like the evening before.

“It’s your ridiculous dithering that got us stuck here.”

Part of Cas wanted to tell him to just leave, follow his brother out, but every time he worked up the energy to tell Sam off Jack started coughing again.

There were more important things to keep his attention.

The doctor gently asked Jack to roll back to lying on his back and she began looking in his mouth and throat with a penlight and tongue depressor. Jack watched eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. Castiel set aside the little bloody basin and gently squeezed his hand.

She paused after a moment sitting back eyebrows and mouth tightening thoughtfully before she spoke again.

“I need to hear the timeline of events again…”

It took Castiel a moment to realize she was addressing to him, her eyes fixed on him expectantly.

Castiel cleared his throat, “from where?”

He’d let Jack rest for several hours after they got back to the hotel, sleeping through the worst of the headache and letting the pain medicine take effect. He only woke Jack at around eight PM because he thought it was important for him to have something to eat before resting for the night, especially since they were supposed to leave early the next morning to drive back to Indiana.

Maybe he should have noticed how quiet he was after what happened at the graveyard. Jack was an emotional kid, usually, when he was really upset he was either sulked pointedly or cried, now instead… he just slept.

Maybe he should have noticed how listless Jack seemed when he’d woken him up, but he’d pinned it on not having eaten since their early lunch and the stress of the day.

“The seizure, I need to know what happened with the seizure and directly before…” The doctor was saying with the same soft comforting quality in her voice that she used with Jack.

“We um…” Cas took a shaky breath.

They’d stopped in a little mom and pop diner for a late dinner, a small place with worn red vinyl booths and Americana icons like vintage road signs and old coke bottles propped up on high shelves. It was a familiar place that Castiel had sometimes met John at to pick up Jack for the weekends when he was little.

It seemed more comforting after the rough day than an ordinary fast food joint and it felt oddly appropriate considering the anniversary of John’s death. He thought it might bring Jack’s spirits up.

But Jack had just been quiet leaning his head in his hand elbow resting on the table, mumbling that he wasn’t really hungry. He only ordered some french fries at Castiel’s insistence that he should have something .

Castiel felt a pang of anxiousness pressing on his chest as he watched Jack slowly stir a fry in ketchup and nibble at the end.

“He seemed okay… I thought…” Castiel paused and shot Sam a glance he didn’t feel like starting another argument in front of the doctor. “I thought he was getting over a cold and was upset because it had been a really stressful day. I asked him if he was okay…”

Jack had just shrugged not looking up, continuing to pick over his food, “I’m just not hungry.”

“I meant about what happened earlier…” Castiel insisted gently, feeling like a terrible role model having barely touched his own food.

“It’s fine,” Jack unrolled his silverware from its napkin and started to experimentally cut off the outer crispy layer of a fry, not looking up at his guardian.

“I shouldn’t be disappointed because I shouldn’t have expected anything in the first place,” he muttered harshly continuing to mangle his fries, “they don’t owe me anything, I should have stayed home and studied for finals.” He winced suddenly dropping the knife he was using and reaching up to rub his temple.

Worry rose in Castiel’s stomach, “Is your headache coming back…?”

“Can I have my phone back?” Jack deflected to the tabletop.

“No you’re still grounded,” Castiel batted the misdirection away concerned, “Jack please, talk to me.”

“I said I’m fine...!” Jack’s voice came out harsh and cracked halfway through his elbow slamming down on the table.

He blinked and jumped like he’d startled even himself, Castiel was about to chastise him for yelling when he realized just how white the boy had gone.

“Jack...:” Cas said uneasily. Hesitantly he started to rise from his side of the booth, worry growing by the moment.

“No! ...I’m sorry I…” Jack winced again squinting for a moment looking confused, “I didn’t mean…”

“I should have done something then…” Castiel muttered half to himself fiddling with the edge of the blanket the hospital lent him, he couldn’t even look Jack in the eye now.

“I… I’m going to the bathroom…” Jack muttered slowly getting to his feet.

Castiel teetered for a moment hand resting on the edge of the table considering following the teenager.

“I… I thought he had a stomachache or something I didn’t want to embarrass him…” Castiel tried to explain, feeling like he needed to justify his decision to the doctor and himself.

As the minutes passed though and Jack didn’t return Castiel’s worry grew to deep unease. Maybe whatever bug Jack had contracted was worse than he thought. He quickly pulled out the money for their food and went to find the men’s room near the back of the dinner.

He tried the handle and realized it was a single stall when it didn’t open, he heard no noise inside except a faucet running.

He knocked tentatively on the wooden “Gentlemen’s” pig attached to the door. “Jack?” he asked cautiously, “Are you alright?”

There was no sound for a long moment, then suddenly, violently, there was a hollow bang and a muffled thud.

Cas’s heart dropped into his stomach, eyes widening, “J-Jack!” he frantically knocked and getting no response began panickedly and uselessly twisting the handle trying to force it open.

“I ran to find someone,” his breath sped up at the memory.

He rushed away from the bathroom grabbing some poor waitress by the shoulder asking desperately for the bathroom key and frightening her in the process. She thankfully understood his hysterical ramblings and went to find the owner.

Then Castiel was repeating the story to the man, voice shaking in panicked exasperation and they went quickly to unlock the door.

“I should have followed Jack..” Castiel found himself repeating.

There had been a strange soft noise through the door when they made it back to the bathroom, but he hadn’t recognized it, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when the key turned and the door swung open.

Jack was on his back one arm crumpled beneath him, his entire body twitching and jerking violently against the tile floor the muscles in his face and neck painful tensed.

“Oh god, Jack…!” Castiel barely breathed rushing to his side, Jack’s eyes were rolled back and unseeing and blood was trickling down the side of his head.

He yelled to the shocked owner to call 911, frantically pulling off his trenchcoat and folding it to place under Jack’s head running over everything he learned in college and the high school’s recent classroom first aid seminar. His hands were shaking almost as violently as Jack’s body.

There was no sound except the strained harsh whimpering groan uttering from Jack’s mouth and the still running faucet. The last eighty-odd seconds of the seizure that Castiel managed to count before Jack fell limp felt like an hour.

After it ended Castiel mechanically checked Jack’s rapid pulse with shaking hands and pulled him onto his side into the recovery position.

It felt like days before the ambulance arrived.

The doctor’s next questions mirrored those of the paramedics, and he was just as helpless to answer them.

“How long did the seizure last?”

“I don’t know…”

Why wasn’t I with him when it happened?

“What caused the injury to the side of his face and head?”

“I-I don’t…”

Castiel took a shaky breath trying to center himself back in reality, it all felt like a nightmare, like it happened to someone else.

“I...I think he hit his head on the sink when he fell but I don’t know. As for the seizure, I… I was only there near the end of it, and that was eighty-three seconds but he was in the bathroom for longer than that.”

He could feel Sam Winchester watching, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to comment, maybe to try and say something reassuring, he didn’t really care just felt vaguely irritated. It made him feel exposed.

He felt a hand on his arm shaking with the force of more coughing.

“It’s… okay… I’m okay now,” Jack tried to comfort him smiling blearily up at him from his hospital issue pillow blood still on the corner of his lip.

Cas smiled shakily back wanting to scream.

The doctor looked thoughtful searching through Jack’s chart for information. “What happened after you arrived at the hospital…” she asked them carefully setting aside the clipboard looking disappointed with what she found.

Jack only regained consciousness after he was loaded onto a gurney to transport in the ambulance. Castiel didn’t get to speak to him as he only managed to mumble a few answers to the questions the paramedics used to judge consciousness before passing out again.

He’d thought everything would be easier after they got to the hospital but after the initial buzz of the arrival and a quick physical exam of the barely conscious teenager, there were only a few promises about scheduling an MRI before they were left alone in an ER bay.

The place was buzzing with activity and noise on a Saturday evening, an apparent drunken accident involving a bunch of partying Kansas University students shoved beyond capacity into the back of a Chevy taking priority.

This time it was actually hours before another doctor came. A nurse stopped by every once in a while to check on vitals and then help put Jack’s swollen wrist in a temporary sling. Jack’s only major response to being touched was to clench his teeth and groan against the discomfort moving caused. Castiel felt ill, with everything else going on he hadn’t even noticed the painful injury.

Jack didn’t seem to mind the wait, the seizure had completely drained the last of the little energy he had to begin with. He’d laid terrifyingly limp and small on that hospital bed.

Cas eventually took to standing outside the bed’s privacy curtain anxiously trying to get the attention of passing staff, most too busy to do anything but mutter vague platitudes about how the “doctor would be with them soon” before going about their way. He knew in hindsight it was probably rude and unhelpful but at the time he couldn’t think straight, he felt as if Jack was rapidly slipping away from him.

“How long was it before you were seen?” the doctor’s voice was soothing.

“It was…” he rubbed his forehead trying to concentrate, “just after midnight so… about three hours? There… there was a shift change, I think. A new doctor came on the ward…”

He remembered getting the attention of what felt like the hundredth person that night, a woman with curly hair in a doctor’s coat with a lanyard that read Doctor Amelia Richardson.

“Ma’am please, my son,” he always went with son in situations like this, not so much to usurp John’s position, - as Dean might have accused him of - but because he was too worried and harassed to go through the ‘nephew, uncle, legal guardian’ talk over and over.

She seemed irritated at first sighing slightly before opening her mouth to start the same speech every passing ER worker had given him.

“Please, we’ve been here since nine, he’s in pain, h-he…” she seemed to sense the anxious desperation in his tone and finally, finally listened to his babbling, alarm creeping into her expression when he got to the part of his speech about Jack having the seizure subsequent to him probably knocking his head into a bathroom sink.

“Apparently it was somehow confused on the initial report because I couldn’t confirm when the injury happened,” Castiel chastised himself.

“Shhh…” Jack mumbled tiredly patting his uncle’s arm eyes half-closed, clearly starting to drift off to sleep again.

Doctor Richardson had quickly and quietly gone through the curtain to look at Jack, his heart rate elevated from pain and whatever was happening in his body, coughing shallowly and barely responsive to her prompts.

If she had been worried when Castiel mentioned the possible head injury-induced seizure she was absolutely livid when he mentioned that Jack had had a headache all of that afternoon and flu-like symptoms for the entire day. She was suppressing fury through gritted teeth when she’d confronted the lead doctor in charge of the ER.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure those college kids will be happy they were treated promptly when they find out they have to come back in because they were sitting in the emergency room with a kid symptomatic of meningitis for several hours…”

To Castiel’s relief, things moved a lot faster for Jack after that.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for the inaccurate report, it was a traumatic confusing event,” Doctor Hannah said kindly. “And Jack’s MRI didn’t show signs of brain injury or meningeal swelling so it’s very unlikely what happened was caused by the fall or meningitis …”

Castiel nodded and sighed shakily. The information was bittersweet, he was glad Jack wasn’t brain-damaged but at least either issue would be an answer, something the hospital understood and could treat.

Now Jack was coughing up blood… and Castiel was even more lost than before…

“I… have a theory about what might be causing this new symptom…” the doctor told him carefully.

Castiel’s head shot up hopefully.

The doctor smiled kindly, before explaining, “the sides of Jack’s mouth and tongue, there is evidence of cuts caused by his teeth either from the fall or biting down during the seizure,” she hesitated, “there wasn’t bleeding visible around his mouth in the paramedics' report.”

Castiel was quickly beginning to question the competence of these specific paramedics, and the doctor’s next words did nothing to help him stop questioning his own competence as a parent.

“Because Jack was unattended during a good portion of the seizure there’s a good chance he swallowed blood… possibly aspirating… breathing it into his lungs.”

There was a long pause, the possibility was terrifying but…

“So… so will he be alright?” Sam Winchester said the words Castiel couldn’t bring himself to hope.

The doctor smiled sadly, “Aspiration can be dangerous, it can cause complications like pneumonia, and it doesn’t explain the seizure itself, his increased heart rate, or the pre-existing cough… but if I’m right we can treat it quickly and hopefully avoid any more problems”

Finally, Castiel let himself relax.

“We’re going to need to take him for a chest CT in a few minutes, and then a bron- … we’ll have to look in his lungs to confirm,” she explained gently.

Castiel looked back at Jack, his breathing was still labored but he had finally fallen back to sleep he hated that he’d probably have to be woken up again so soon for yet more poking and prodding.

“Can I… can I go with him?” Castiel asked quietly gently squeezing the boy’s arm.

“Of course…” she said with the same level of cautiousness as before, like she was afraid one more reminder of Castiel's inadequacy as a guardian would push him over the edge.

At this point though, Castiel was beginning to feel numb. Like all the horror and anxiety of the last twelve hours had reached a peak before plateauing into a high distant hum.

"I'm not going to leave you Jack…" Castiel whispered to the sleeping teenager, "not again…"

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Castiel followed Jack's gurney as a nurse came minutes later to wheel Jack off for scans and Sam was left alone standing awkwardly in the corridor.

He was a little vague on medical law having never practiced it but he was pretty certain they didn't let more than one family member stay with a minor for support during a medical procedure. And it wasn't as if he had the right or the gall to fight Castiel -the man who raised Jack- for the spot.

So instead he stood awkwardly in the corridor sheepishly juggling his phone between his hands and trying to make a decision on what to do next.

After his third strained smile to a passing nurse he decided coffee, coffee was a good idea, he set off in search of the machine he'd seen in a waiting area on their way in that morning.

'What the hell are you doing Sam ?'

He honestly wondered if he should be here at all, he felt like all he did was make things more strained. If he was going to insert himself back into Jack’s - and by extension Castiel’s - life like an unwanted splinter maybe he shouldn't do it when everything was already so tense and tender.

He sighed and let his self imposed mental abuse carry him all the way to the brightly lit waiting room.

He felt even more out of place amongst the anxious and tired huddles of various patients families. One exhausted woman was half asleep in one of the dull pink chairs as her two healthy children poked around scattered parenting and Better Homes and Gardens magazines.

The only person who stuck out worse than Sam was the man sitting beneath the food pyramid poster beside the vending machines, nursing his second cup of coffee that morning.

'Ah, so he didn’t leave... '

Sam pointedly ignored Dean slipping a dollar into the coffee vending machine.

"You have to grab a cup off the top, the part that drops them is broken…"

Sam just grunted vaguely refusing to look at his brother but following his advice.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore me now?" Dean said hollowly, with no real bite in his words.

"What do you want me to say Dean," Sam still didn't look at him.

There was a pause and Sam heard him shuffle uncomfortably.

"Did anything… happen after I left?" He asked carefully.

"Oh yeah," Sam said thornily, jabbing his order into the machine buttons, "Jack started coughing up blood."

Dean snorted, "Sam I'm being serious."

Sam gave him a pointed look around the side of the machine.

Dean's eyes widened and his mouth fell open, "fuck man…"

"They took him for a chest X-ray," Sam muttered picking up his coffee and starting to walk off without another word.

"Where are you headed?" Sam heard Dean get up and follow him.

"Radiation lab," he muttered, he couldn't stay in the waiting room with those parents, it felt wrong and they were starting to shoot them dirty looks because of Dean's foul language.

"You're pissed," Dean noted.

Sam grit his teeth, it wasn't a question, it didn't deem an answer. Dean knew what he did. Sam didn't fit in that hospital room, but did Dean even try?

"Why are you even still here Dean," he said bitterly not slowing his walk back to the elevator bank.

Dean was silent, brooding, probably remorseful when they got into the elevator. Sam didn't care.

He was just like John like that. He did something shitty that hurt the people around him without thinking and then 'felt bad about it' when confronted with the damage later. Sam was sick and tired of it.

"Well fuck Sam," Dean said louder than necessary arms crossed exasperated, "what am I supposed to do!"

Sam turned to glare at him, "you think I know? We're all flying blind here but how about to start with not whatever the hell that shit you pulled was!"

His brother glanced around the metal box like he was searching for answers in the floor directory.

"Castiel shouldn't have lied…" Dean tried.

Sam snorted, "no shit Dean, but you're not six…"

Dean fell silent again as elevator doors popped open, not arguing with him, either knowing Sam was right or else not willing to prove him right by screaming in an open hallway.

"Fine, sure I just…" Dean sighed shoulders dropping and rubbing at his face, "I barely know these fucking people, maybe you're right maybe I should just leave…"

Sam was surprised by how fast the fight went out of his brother's voice. Part of him wanted him to escalate, wanted him to give him a reason to take all his anxiety and frustration at just one of the sources.

"Don't…" he found himself saying, breathing deeply trying to calm himself down, wasn't he supposed to be the younger sibling?

"Why…?" Dean asked flatly.

The answers floated foggily in Sam's perception. "We should be here, I think we owe that to them."

Dean opened his mouth to argue with him but seemed to quell his need to go off on a tangent, "yeah well, I don't think they want me here."

"Well be here anyway," Sam said dryly.

"And do what Sam, sit in the corner and… and look sad?" Dean said frustration and exhaustion clear in his face.

"Just be here Dean…" Sam found himself saying not even sure when it became clear to him. "If they ask for something… If they need something, be there…"

They both fell quiet after that standing outside the radiology lab. Sam sipping his lukewarm coffee Dean with his arms crossed seeming lost in thought.

They didn't have much time to brood though as one of the doors open and out came a harassed looking Castiel talking quickly on his phone.

He began pacing the hall.

"I… I'm sorry please can this wait until later… yes I know it's nearly noon…" he glanced up just long enough to spot Sam and Dean before looking quickly away, embarrassed.

Sam looked determinedly at the far wall trying to tune the conversation out, it didn't really work.

"I can pay, of course, I can pay for the extra day, you have my card… I… fine can you please just give me a few hours…" the man was biting his lip face tightening with stress.

"Until two?" He sighed frustrated, "no no I can get there, I can get there… just, leave the luggage alone...”

"Yeah… thank you to…" Sam heard the snide irritation creep into Castiel's voice.

Sam heard Castiel end the call and finally looked innocently up. The man was looking at them, fiddling nervously with his phone and looking unsure.

"What's up?" Dean asked nonchalantly. Sam blinked he wasn't even aware he was listening.

Castiel drew back into himself straightening his tie and composing himself, "Is there any taxi or bus service in Lawrence…?" He asked.

"What happened to your car?" Dean asked.

Castiel gave him a suspicious look for a long moment before answering a little sheepishly. "Because I'm an idiot, I rode with Jack in the ambulance."

"What did that guy want?" Sam asked cautiously.

Castiel sighed fiddling embarrassed again, "The hotel, we missed the checkout time this morning, I completely forgot about it with um…"

The sentence hung heavy.

"Do you want a ride?"

Castiel and Sam both stared at Dean like he'd grown a third head.

Dean shrugged and shot Sam a thin smile, "what? I'm being here…"

#SPN #supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #Jack Kline #whump #TW seizure #illness #family drama

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bummerneverends · 5 years ago

Photo

Everything We Had

thought id put something on this empty blog and see if i can find something to talk about. ive done a few shitty streams on my twitch channel ( https://www.twitch.tv/vape__dad ) in which i talked a little bit about how i made some songs and how i made a music video but i havent yet talked about my cover art at all nor have i uploaded them in high resolution anywhere.

in june 2018 i met up with a friend to take some photos to possibly use as art for my music. i try to do as much as i can myself but all i had at the time to take pictures with was this shitty old nokia phone and, while i had used it to take the photos used for earlier projects, i wanted the visual quality to improve alongside the quality of my music. so we walked around and i was pointing out things that i thought would be cool to take photos of and giving some feedback on stuff like angle and framing, we did this for a few hours and took about 240 photos, i had a lot of fun and it was nice to be out in the sun for once.

the first image is the raw photo. we saw this little spot that was mostly secluded by fences and flora so there were a few little puddles of sunlight on the ground, one of them had this little red flower sitting in it so we’re like “ooh thats pretty *snap*”.

the second to fourth images are the other photos from that day of this specific object which i also considered using.

the fifth image is the art for the song. so i had made this song in march 2019 and i was like ok cool, what the heck am i gonna use for the track art, so i looked through all the possibilites i had on my hard drive and saw this photo and was like “perfect!”. i brought the image into photoshop and began working on it. ive used adobe photoshop cs2 since my early teens but havent really ever pushed my skills in it, barely looked anything up and figured out how to do a few things by just trying stuff out. my skillset with it is basic but its enough to get the results i want. anyway, i spent probably too long, not that it mattered since i had no deadline, cropping the image to have a 1:1 aspect ratio and carefully making sure i had exactly what i wanted exactly where i wanted. i then duplicated the base layer and added some chromatic aberration, the image immediately looked warmer because of all the shifted red but it didnt look like you needed to be wearing those old school 3D glasses or anything, it was a nice subtle touch. even though its like something thats “wrong” i think it can look nice, Grand Theft Auto V on PC is a visually beautiful game which has chromatic aberration that is noticable around the edges of the screen but it isnt intrusive and it doesnt result in an unsightly blurriness. the next layer i added was a -8 ° hue shift with 75% opacity. now the reds on the flowers were more red and less orange, and the yellow leaves became more orange, of course everything in the image had been changed but these were the most noticable differences. next layer was +25% color saturation at 43% opacity, the reds popped more and overall the image was less dull. next layer was selective color, which allows you to adjust cyan/red, magenta/green, yellow/blue, and black/white levels within indivudual color ranges. i was trying to make this look pleasant and dope rather than realistic or how a human eye would percieve it, so i went adjusting everything to be just how i wanted it and when i was done it no longer looked liked it was the middle of a summers day but more like an autumn sunset with orange leaves scattered on the ground and warm feel to the whole image. i really liked how it was looking but i still wanted to change a bit more, while i wanted the flower and spot of sunlight to be the main focus of the image i thought the contrast between that area and the shadowed parts was too high and that some detail was kinda getting lost. so what i did next was i merged the layers i had so far and just generated fake film grain which gave it some texture and brightened the image up but it looked a bit too like sharp and crispy so i resized the image to probably like 50% or something then sized it back up to the original size which made it blur together which gave it a kinda retro-aesthetic too. very simple thing but it really changed a lot, and i love how the final image turned out. judging by the date created/modified timestamps in the metadata of the PSD it took me about one and a half hours to edit the photo.

high resolution: https://imgur.com/a/004CtlA

i hate sounding like a pretentious wank but i dont wanna say what i think the art represents or how it links to the song because id like to not influence anyones interpretation.

you can check out the song here:

https://soundcloud.com/bummerneverends/everything-we-had

#art #photography #music

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quarterfromcanon · 6 years ago

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#afewofmyfavoritethings

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 17 - Cold [2,838 words]

“Um... guys? You might wanna come take a look at this.”

The cushion of the sofa dipped beside Heather when Valencia joined her at the window. Paula and Rebecca leaned over the armrests and pulled back the lace curtains. The group gazed through the frosted pane at the rolling hills that had transformed into a wintry world overnight.

Rebecca squealed. “It’s even better than I expected! I know the weather called for snow but look at all that!” Her nose bumped the glass as she craned to take everything in, and she pulled away from the frigid contact. “Oh, it’s so much prettier when there aren’t cabs driving through it and city grime isn’t turning the drifts all gray and gross. The view from my mom’s house was okay, but nothing like this.” She sighed. “Well, ladies, I think you know what this means.”

“Photo sesh?” Valencia shifted to access the phone in the pocket of her space onesie.

“Snowman contest?” Paula rubbed her hands together. She grinned in the dangerous way that told them all they were toast before construction even began.

“Sledding?” Heather suggested. She dropped to a seated position and leaned against Valencia’s biceps.

“Okay, yes to all of that,” Rebecca pointed at each of them in acknowledgement. “But for the grand finale...,” she paused for dramatic effect and shimmied, “... snowball fight!”

“Oh boy,” Heather murmured. She watched the competitive gleam ignite behind the eyes of the other three women. “This is gonna be a bloodbath.”

They broke off in separate directions. Paula wandered down the hall to wake Scott and Tommy; Rebecca went to the loft for the end of Nathaniel’s morning exercise routine, and Heather and Valencia headed back to their room to change clothes.

Scott cooked them all breakfast beforehand -- a task which, to be fair, was no small undertaking given conflicting dietary preferences. Paula sat perched on a stool nearby, ready to intervene in the event of a crisis. However, Scott made it through the endeavor with minimal profanity and only one fleeting incident involving his apron and an open flame. The end result was an admirable improvement over the quality of his culinary skills several years ago. Strategic seasoning masked any mildly crispy edges.

“He’s getting better,” Paula noted quietly to the girls. She crossed the floor and give him a peck on the cheek. “Good job, babe.”

Scott beamed.

Once everybody was fed, fully dressed in adequate layers, and equipped with tissues for runny noses, they trooped out of the rented cabin and into the frozen landscape. The photo session came first while the neatness of everyone’s ensemble remained intact. It was agreed that Nathaniel, Scott, and Tommy could be spared on-camera participation in exchange for behind-the-scenes help getting the perfect shots. This entailed holding back tree branches that cast unwanted shadows, standing side-by-side to block glaring sunlight, and tossing gloves full of flakes into the sky so the Gurl Group would appear to be caught in the middle of heavy snowfall. The edited results were approved by all parties featured, and Paula goaded their assistants into a single commemorative picture with their mitten thumbs raised and semi-forced cheerful faces.

Snow angels met with more unanimous enthusiasm. Rebecca and Heather stood beside one another, shared a glance and a nod, then dropped backward as if they were letting themselves fall into a pool. Scott and Tommy gave each other teasing kicks with their boots every time they slid their legs in a broad chevron. Paula observed the father-son bonding from a short distance away while she made her own outline of a spiritual being. Nathaniel’s and Valencia’s approach to the activity was significantly more tentative and involved a great deal more grimacing. Once they got settled, however, they began to embrace the fun. Nathaniel’s long limbs produced very impressive wings and a flowing skirt. Valencia’s angel gave the impression of a certain grace despite the fact that her main goal seemed to be brushing Heather’s gloves with her own on each upward stroke of her arms.

They divided into teams for the snowman contest. An hour was the chosen allotment for their creations to take shape. Additional materials were both allowed and encouraged, which caused the subsequent flurry of activity to be particularly chaotic. Their shouts echoed over the treetops. Friends narrowly escaped collisions while running and stumbling over the soft ground.

Rebecca and Nathaniel constructed a suitably scrawny Harry Potter. He was equipped with green M&M eyes, a red licorice lightning bolt scar, a broom from the kitchen pantry, and Rebecca’s scarlet and gold scarf. Surprising absolutely no one, building the beloved protagonist led to a steady stream of magic-related innuendo spoken in undertones, the extremity of which ultimately prompted Rebecca to cover the boy wizard’s nonexistent ears. “Oh my god, contain yourself. There’s a child present.”

Heather and Valencia rendered extra roly-poly versions of their cats, Shadow and Esperanza, with stick whiskers and playfully curled tails. Esperanza had her signature queenly bearing and expression, while Shadow’s gravel eyes were upturned in pure adoration. Heather tracked down a couple of decorative glue yarn balls and wedged them beneath their pets’ paws.

Team Proctor reached football-game-at-a-bar levels of raucousness as they worked on their entry. The Peeps for Peace t-shirt Paula slept in the night before got tugged onto their snowman’s body. They balanced a few thin logs of firewood on its shoulder and secured a hammer from Scott’s toolbox in its hand. Tommy drew a lackadaisical smirk on the snowman’s face and styled straw for the hair. When their efforts were complete, a Snow Brendan stood before them, built to scale and adorned with a heroic blanket cape.

“I wanna cry foul for emotional manipulation,” Rebecca confided to Valencia afterward, “but it’s just, like, so cute I can’t even get mad.” Valencia begrudgingly inclined her head in agreement.

To her credit, Paula managed to blink back her tears and genuinely smile for the photo they saved to send real-life Brendan later, informing him of his role in the family’s success.

The prospect of voting on hills for sledding was too daunting, so the group settled for the first drop-off they found. The guys were extended the offer to go first, due to the limited number of sleds in their possession, and they gladly accepted the chance. Nathaniel shifted from one foot to the other and brought his palms together in a muffled clap.

“This is a race, right? There’ll be a winner?”

Heather thumped her hand against his jacket with an indulgent shrug. “Sure, bud.”

Nathaniel pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!”

Scott and Tommy exchanged looks. Paula, Rebecca, Valencia, and Heather all clung to each other for support and made their way down the slope to help verify who reached the bottom first.

“Good luck, honey!” Paula called.

“Channel that Slytherin energy!” Rebecca paced like a coach.

Heather nudged Valencia’s arm and angled her head. Valencia’s brow furrowed but then, following the line of sight, she got the hint.

“C’mon, Tommy!” she whooped.

“Yeah, Tommy, you’ve got this!” Heather chimed in with her fist held high. Tommy’s chest puffed out and he readjusted his grip on the plastic toboggan.

Paula grabbed a fallen branch and dragged it through the snow to delineate the end of the path. The four judges shouted the starting cue in unison -- almost. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Scott’s style of descent was traditional but effective. Tommy barreled down the hillside on his stomach. Nathaniel’s technique reminded Heather of the luge participants from the Winter Olympics, unwavering serious features and all. Tommy and Nathaniel were neck and neck for at least three-fourths of the race but, in the home stretch, Tommy’s lean frame made him just enough faster to cross the finish line mere seconds before Nathaniel did so.

Nathaniel was clearly frustrated by the loss but, the minute he saw Tommy’s broad grin, the irritability visible in his brow and jaw smoothed into nonexistence. He lifted his chin and approached his competitor for a congratulatory shake. “Well done, Proctor. Excellent form.”

Tommy’s eyebrows quirked at the odd formality. He clasped Nathaniel’s hand and brought him in for a couple of genial slaps on the arm. “Thanks, man.”

The girls reluctantly ascended to the crest of the rise for their turns -- an arduous journey with an entire chorus of grumbling and winded breathing. The uppermost layer of snow caved beneath Valencia’s boot and she yelped, but Heather caught her elbow and prevented the fall.

“My hero.” Valencia secured her forearm over Heather’s to prevent a second slip.

“Full disclosure, I would’ve laughed my ass off if you slid back down the entire hill when we were this close to the top, but I also knew you’d be really pissed, so...”

“You’re not wrong.”

Heather chuckled and hip-checked Valencia, but not hard enough to throw off their matching stride.

They arrived at their destination with a collective relieved exhale. Paula and Heather set up their respective sleds. Rebecca clambered behind Paula and held onto her shoulder blades. “Take us home, Mama!”

Heather fronted the second toboggan while Valencia surrounded her in a tangle of limbs. “We’ve got this in the bag,” Valencia declared with confidence.

“I mean, totally, but what makes you so sure?” Heather asked.

“Because, if you get us there first, I’ll --” Valencia noticed Paula’s and Rebecca’s attention on her. She cupped Heather’s ear and whispered the rest of her incentive for so long that Paula pretended to check an invisible watch.

Heather’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her beanie. “Well, shit.”

“Ah, damn it,” Paula lamented.

“She promised her NC-17 stuff,” Rebecca seconded with a pout. “Now we’re really gonna have to pull out all the stops to beat them.”

Though it was not for lack of trying -- including an unsportsmanlike sideswipe midway down the incline (“Craterface ’em, Paula! It’s our only hope!”) -- they reached the bottom of the hill a heartbeat after Heather’s triumphant first place achievement. Valencia covered the side of Heather’s face in a barrage of kisses.

“Yeah, all right.” Paula fished out her camera. “Get over here so we can take a picture of our three winners, ya horny monsters.”

Valencia and Heather posed on either side of Tommy for the photo. Heather affectionately ruffled the boy’s hair and the pink in Tommy’s cheeks deepened to a bright red.

The only event that remained was the snowball fight, and its onset sparked an immediate change in atmosphere. Much like Heather predicted, no one showed any signs of restraint over their hunger for victory. They crafted forts in near silence, already coiled for the siege. Direct hits qualified as ‘out’ while a graze with a snowball meant a one minute pause behind the player’s designated barrier. Teams were the same as the divide during the building contest.

Tension rose while everyone hunkered down and waited for the first throw.

“We probably should’ve figured this part out before --” Heather remarked, but her words were drowned out by Rebecca’s battle cry.

“UNLEASH HELL!”

Heather crouched low. “Here we go...”

The cloudless sky was blurred by a torrent of tightly packed spheres.

“Trebuchet!” Tommy boomed.

Heather’s and Valencia’s fortress stood firm but the sound of multiple piffs of impact reached their ears even over all the yelling.

Things went eerily quiet after that. Heather peered over the wall. “The Proctors are entering No Man’s Land.”

Valencia peeked around the side. “Rebecca’s walking out to meet them. Nathaniel’s spotting her.”

What followed was a rather comedic standoff in which Rebecca lost her nerve after meeting Paula’s determined gaze and took off screaming. She zigzagged as per Nathaniel’s frantic advice and barely evaded being struck at least half a dozen times. Nathaniel’s tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth and he wiped out Tommy with a snowball square in the middle of his back. Tommy swore colorfully but accepted his fate.

Seeing an opportunity as the chase neared their station, Heather aimed a round of icy ammo at Scott’s chest and made a hit.

Rebecca’s panic became a single, loud “AAAAAAAAAH” before she lobbed a ball over her shoulder without warning and somehow pelted her best friend in the face.

Paula’s vocabulary surpassed even Tommy’s creativity - like mother, like son. Rebecca apologized profusely and supplied her scarf for a towel. When Paula wiped the snow away, she cast a glance around and realized which players remained. “Ohoho, it almost makes it worth it just to watch this,” she cackled darkly.

“Bring it on, Plimpton.” Valencia tensed with a murderous scowl. Nathaniel rose to his feet.

Their other opponent veered toward the encampment, and Heather planted herself between Rebecca and Valencia.

“You and me, Davis,” Rebecca challenged. “Moi et toi. I’m unstoppable now!”

Heather darted forward without hesitation. Rebecca had to swerve to avoid the attack. Valencia hurled a snowball with all her might and then ran full-tilt in search of a better location to strategize.

Rebecca and Heather wound up traversing uneven soil and tripped simultaneously. From that point on, they were both too busy giggling to pursue each other in earnest. They faked left and right and jogged in circles. When they found themselves face-to-face again, they reached the unspoken decision that enough was enough. Heather separated her snowball into two, one for each hand, and Rebecca held her arm at the ready. Rebecca’s fingers whacked against Heather’s side while Heather sandwiched Rebecca’s face between both palms. They erupted in uncontrollable laughter and hugged.

“Oh, come on!” Paula groused from her seat on the cabin steps. “Where’s the carnage?”

Scott tapped her knee and pointed to the far side of the clearing. “I think that might be coming up.”

Valencia wove through a copse of trees. She held her coat in a cup formation stuffed with snowballs that were perilously close to leaving the makeshift pouch. Her arm windmilled every so often with remarkable force, leaving her tracker to dodge the sudden breeze past his ears. Nathaniel paced himself with an armload of ready-made orbs condensed for swift delivery. Those he let loose tumbled to the earth or broke against bark on the trunks. Nothing found its mark.

“Make a stand and take your shot, V!” Heather projected the command to carry across the distance between them.

“Yeah, avenge your lady!” Tommy added from the porch railing.

The adversaries returned to the middle of the playing space and paused to catch their breath.

“Yoga and spinning are non-confrontational,” Valencia panted. “This is seriously not my area of expertise.”

“Follow your gut,” Paula recommended, although her tone and premature wince indicated that she was not optimistic about the outcome.

Nathaniel wound back his arm. Valencia did as her friend told her and took action on instinct. She launched herself at an angle, shoes-first, to glide past Nathaniel’s feet. He adjusted the throw and caught her on the clavicle. Her snowball flew back at a curve and nailed the small of his spine.

The assembled companions reacted as one with exclamations and applause. Nathaniel held out a hand for Valencia. She stood without assistance and shook the outstretched palm.

“Good game?” Nathaniel said cautiously.

Valencia bared her teeth in a terrifying smile. “Prepárate, gigante. Próxima vez, peleamos en mis términos.”

Nathaniel gave a respectful nod. “Comprendo.”

They returned to the warmth of the cabin, exhausted but happy. Rebecca helped Nathaniel remove his silver and green scarf and they commandeered the coziest couch in front of the fireplace. Paula went in search of extra towels and blankets while her husband and son retreated to the bathroom to drape their wet winter gear over the tub. Heather and Valencia walked to their bedroom and the waiting comfy clothes in their luggage.

“Oh my God, my thighs are like a fire engine,” Valencia announced as she sat on the bed. Heather knelt and rubbed the numb skin until the friction started to drive the discoloration away. She received thanks in the form of a grateful nuzzle before Valencia crossed the room to find the fluffiest pajamas available.

While Heather tugged on a sweater and sweatpants, Valencia rolled up an already used pair of leggings and crammed them against the crack below the door.

“What are you up to over there?” Heather inquired without facing her.

“Soundproofing.” Valencia twisted the lock with a click.

Heather climbed into bed and turned down the other side to make space for Valencia. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Mm, I figured the others might appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Valencia wriggled under the comforter and pulled Heather toward her. “We’ve got at least an hour before dinner’s ready.”

Heather inched Valencia’s shirt collar aside gradually and trailed kisses all the way to her shoulder. “Are you sure that’ll be enough time?”

“Maybe.” Valencia maneuvered by degrees until Heather was horizontal against the mattress. She tugged Heather’s earlobe with her teeth and wrapped one leg around her waist. “If we start right now.”

#H+V FF #CEG Writing by Me #Helencia #Heather x Valencia #Me? Jumping at the chance for a season-centric fluff fest? Pfft -- Yes. Yes every single time.#Admittedly this installment is more large group-focused and Helencia-lite until close to the end but *shrug*#I was enjoying tagging along for the fun too much to resist. :P

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not-a-statement · 6 years ago

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Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore.

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

#chasing ghosts #pinecest #not a statement at all

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academyguide · 2 years ago

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So here's the long-awaited post to prep for your upcoming CNY feasting! :D1. Go for the steamboatPhoto credits: shape.com.sgInstead of keeping quiet while your friends and family are thinking of whether to head for CNY meals, or suggesting heavy dining places, be the hero and suggest STEAMBOAT! By choosing steamboat, you will be able to control the amount of proteins and carbs (which I'll be covering in the next point). Pick the items with as little seasoning as possible and non-fried. Lastly, avoid drinking the soup! :D2. Proteins over carbsAlways always go for the proteins instead of carbs. Firstly, they don't bloat your stomach as much as carbs. Secondly, they are quality nutrients and helps your body to recover and build lean muscles when you fulfil the next point that I'll be covering. So, whack the proteins and of course, go for the leanest of the lot and avoid the fried ones!3. HIIT the 15!I remembered wanting to workout during the first day of CNY last year and we din have the time to head to the gym because we needed to help my mum prepare for the dinner. So I got Jason to head down to the void deck and do a workout with me (since it was drizzling). Well, all you need is 15 mins or even less for a quick HIIT workout. Ran out of ideas for your workout, you've got the best companion ever on your mobile phones, the Nike+ Training Club app!Go download it if you haven't and add me as friend (Limaran Agustina), let me know what workout you did during CNY! You can always search for workouts below 15mins so #noexcuses! :D4. Crispy M FTWMy close friends and family will already know that I don't like to eat Ba Kwa so I guess this isn't much of a concern for me. But if your favourite CNY goodie is the Ba Kwa, instead of reaching for them all the time, why not try the recently-launched Crispy M from Fragrance! I swear by it since the first time I tried it! Its not really Ba Kwa though there is some similar taste, but its a good replacement and less fattening and yummy (at least for me)! 5. Sharing is caringIf you love your friends and family, you will care and share the calories too right? Instead of finishing a serving at one time, share that piece of kueh lapis with your friends and/or family! Split the love and still enjoy the goodies! :PHave a blessed reunion and Lunar New Year everyone and I hope you will be able to stay in shape this year onwards! Huat ah! :D Source link

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seenashwrite · 6 years ago

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I feel inept (or worse) with everything I have ever created. How can writers get to the point of confidence and certainty with their works? Is it worth trying to please the masses when we can't please ourselves? Am I poking the bear? It just seems you are a voice of discernment and I am trying to ask the write questions.

This is a tricky kebab to de-skewer, it’s stacked. But not impossible to stomach. It is not, after all, an alt-world crispy lizard.

Cool your jets, Sammy.

Hopefully it’ll be of relief to know that I’m not going to tell you to write because it makes you happy, and write for you, and then the readers will come. Not because it’s not true, but (a) because you know that, and (b) because it’s a bit of a pat answer. Touching on the second part of your question briefly - the whole chumming the water scenario - hypothetically, were you to do this, I waffle in my speculations as to what degree it would be successful due to the doldrums.

Whether it’s cookbook fic or the quality stuff you’re aiming for, people will be able to tell if you’re going through the motions. Well, some won’t, because they aren’t, um, discerning, to borrow your word, and others are just reading for some time-killing fun, and there’s a subset of those folks with wicked senses of humor, so the worse the fic, the better. Having said that, I’m a big proponent of assuming all readers are witty and intelligent, and via the writing, I’m going to treat them as such, and so they’ll know if I’m not feeling it.

So. Back to that ineptitude feeling part. Spoiler alert: I can’t fix this…

Double spoiler alert: …but you totes can…

Triple spoiler alert: …and there’s some concrete steps you can take to do it vs. trying to Tinkerbell it away with thinking happy thoughts. Because, blerrrgh. Fairies. Nah. #Dean approved

Oh, and also? Since I picked this scab off-and-on over the course of 36 hours when things I wanted to say popped to mind, it mutated. We shall split this into two posts.

Part One: So Do I Just Blow At This Fanfic Stuff?

PS: Dunno if you “know” me, but FYI this should hopefully be an easy read with lotsa snark and gifs interspersed and, oh yeah, potty mouth.

C/P for convenience:

“I feel inept (or worse) with everything I have ever created. How can writers get to the point of confidence and certainty with their works?”

I’m gonna ask a rhetorical question that’s yours to answer, because no one else can:

Why is that?

I mean in an objective sense, not in a blanket sense of “Well, Nash, you dumb bitch, my self-confidence blows”; what I’m driving at are the non-emotional factors. If we go emotion, you’re gonna start subconsciously lumping things in with the writing part (i/e - putting blame on yourself for other areas of life where you perceive yourself as not being “good enough”), so we should go the other route. Make this as fact-based as possible.

What facts are you basing this on? Do you publish stuff, and not get a lot of hearts/notes/reblogs/followers/etc.? What’re your metrics? Put plainly: Is this you being hard on yourself, or is there something concrete to back it up?

(A person who can’t act, for instance, should probably find something else to do after 20 years of auditioning with no parts. An artist who hasn’t been featured in a show or sold one painting. A chef who can’t make it past the line to sous. You get what I’m saying. There’s undeniable evidence there, because after a lengthy period of time, the chances that no casting director, no curator, and no head chef have picked up on the prowess of these special snowflakes is virtually nil. They blow. Their confidence has morphed into delusion. They need to accept they should stop trying to make fetch happen.)

Now, based upon this—

“Is it worth trying to please the masses when we can’t please ourselves?”

—I’m assuming that’s the case, that part about you having something concrete driving at least part of your self-assessment. My interpretation of your statement (and correct me if I’m not tracking with you) is that you think your style isn’t appealing to majority of the readership ‘round here, ergo it’s feeding this feeling of ineptitude. I can’t offer advice on fixing what other life aspects could be acting as the base of that feeling, but the pile-on feeling from the writing aspect of it, that we can work with.

I’d have to have more information to make a detailed, precise call on whether this is a skill-based scenario, namely - assuming you trust my tastes to a degree - reading your stuff. Which isn’t likely to happen unless you’ve got a sneaky way of recommending it to me via a friend or something a good bit of time from now when this isn’t fresh on my mind*, because I can’t know who you are or connect it to this conversation, or we’re automatically injecting bias.

(*It would have to be a really, really, really long time from now; I have a pretty sharp memory; it’d need to be too far out to be helpful for you in the near future.)

What I can tell about you without reading any of your stories is that you are above average in intelligence and are well-educated, whether formally or self-taught, based upon the words you used and how they are used - and if you thesaurus'ed it, you’re smart enough not to pick glaringly extravagant words - and you were succinct and expressed the issue well, with sincere concern that didn’t go all sad-sack Eeyore.

You can write.

But can you tell a story? Can you capture the essence of known characters and present this with accuracy? Do you have original ideas, which you can distill into interesting plots? Etc.? Again, I can’t know for sure. Now, a way that you could get a taste of what I’d call you on were I acting as your editor?

There is a *plethora* of objective criteria over at The Nail’s HQ, and I’ve recently re-done the pages so they are mobile-friendly (bless octomoosey and his brilliant designs). Like, seriously - they look okay on my laptop and huge-ass desktop monitor, but baby do they shine on phones. #bless octomoosey part deux The foundation of all of it comes from advice from pros, and whether I/we personally like their stuff or not, they’ve all been highly successful and managed to appeal to the masses while keeping a high bar. They don’t cater to the lowest common denominator. And even though I personally may not love all the fics I put on The Nail in a given edition (‘ships, too shmoopy, too angsty, whatever), they’re solidly hitting, at minimum, at least three of those “guiding standards”.

Great, so, there’s Nash’s Edit Yourself At Home! kit… which brings me to a disclaimer.

I don’t have mass appeal.

What I do have is a solid, loyal reader base who gives me phenomenal feedback (a handful of them giving me fantastic constructive critique when needed) on the reg, and I couldn’t ask for more. And because I am human and I like knowing people dig what I make and because, as a grown-ass adult, I am capable of assigning value to and caring about two or more things at the same time, I would also totes ask for more - not of them, I mean I’d like more people to join in. I would love to have that lil’ bottom left hand corner sporting a number in the hundreds within the day of publish. That’s motivating. That’s telling me people are into what I make. That’s telling me I am super good at—–

Wait.

That last bit… Does it? Mean that I’m super-good at it? Does that metric alone paint a good picture of my talent? Hmmmm. Well. How to put.

Oh, but fuck no.

And if that “oh, but fuck no” didn’t serve as a tonal lead-in, let me be clear that this is the part where Nash Shoves Logic Into The Closet And Locks The Door For A Minute, And Vents Her Frustrations, With Which You And Others Reading This Could Perhaps Empathize And Are Giving Me Virtual High Fives And Yasss Gurrrrl-s Through The Screen At Completion Of Rant.

[clears throat]

Have you seen some of the absolute garbage that screams through the Tumblrsphere like a cat with a bell on its tail? Holy moses, is it shit. Same shit, different title. One example of the problems: I don’t recognize Sam or Dean more than half the time. Then I see a bazillionty notes on it, a bunch of feedback on folks’ reblogs, ask-kissing©℗™ talking about how the writer captured the guys so perfectly, and they seemed just like they are in the show and… and… and… and… and I’m all:

ARE WE WATCHING THE SAME SHOW?!?! The men in many of these stories are mannequins/Real Dolls with the faces of JA and JP slapped atop. They are what the writers want them to be, not what the characters are, and it’s lazy because we have 13-odd years of scripts and visuals to glean from, and it takes consideration and practice to pull it off.

Same goes for working a reader insert, making that person juuuuust vague enough so that readers can actually, um, picture themselves in the role. But what do we get instead? Most of the time there is zero depth to ol’ Y/N. Zip. Nada. She’s so tough, she’s nigh on invulnerable (until she’s not, so she can be saved, and the Mannequin can pine in the meantime), or she’s so fragile and mousy and immature I wanna cunt punt her, or she’s the perfect pussy with next to no flaws, and regardless she’s getting moved into the bunker with an engagement ring and/or Winchester fetus,and ermahgerd, total window-closers.

But they’re clearly doing something right, and they took the time to give us a story free of charge, and….and…. and yet….

(I am aware I am abusing those gifs of late, I’ll get through it, but today is not that day)

Okay, okay, okay, what does this have to do with you - the answer is that you can actually use these atomic farts as a handbook, as well (which ties into Pt.2 of the question, and we’ll get there. Eventually.), assuming you decide you don’t want to chum the waters, and want to do your thing.

(1) The Nail pages are gonna give you some objective things to work with and aim for;

(2) those truly inept, supposedly based-upon-SPN stories are gonna give you some objective things to avoid like the plague;

And that combo will hopefully….

(3) get a draft out of you that has you sitting back and going, “I’m not 100% that this is gold, but I’ve sure got something shiny, here.”

It’s a feeling of trepidation, it’s not your ultimate goal of “confidence and certainty with [my] works”, but we’ve stepped out of the feeling of ineptitude, and that’s the point. You didn’t arrive at feeling inept overnight, that kebab’s got about four or five veg before it gets to the meat (and several are onions, always with the onions, MORE RED PEPPERS, UNCLE HANK!), so you’re not gonna get to that nice thick sirloin in one sitting, either.

Say, are you a vegetarian? This non-tofu kebab metaphor may be falling flat if so. But transparency and all, I confess I’d rather have alt-world lizard kebab than tofu. Dean, what say you?

He feels me.

One way you’re going to start feeling certain in your works—-

and listen, you know this, but I’ll say it anyway: nobody’s ever 100% certain

—-is when people zero in on specific things you did right, and if they stood out to a reader, they likely stood out to you, so it’s gonna be all “YES!” in your head. When this starts happening, make two documents:

(1) Fic_Feedback_Yes- sort the (positive, praising, specific-things-noted) comments by story - copy them verbatim- read whenever ineptitude feels start creeping back whilst writing/editing story

(2) Fic_Feedback_No- sort the (constructive critique, helpful, specific-things-noted) comments by story - copy them verbatim- read whenever ineptitude feels start creeping back whilst writing/editing story

“Nash, that’s the same fucking thing,” you say.

Yeah, I know. We ain’t here for ego-feeding, we’re here for confidence, and we don’t get confidence without being aware of not just what we’re nailing, but also of our Achilles’ heels. I joke about “filling the ol’ ego tank”, but it’s legit not an ego thing. Ego things we’re going to touch on in Pt. 2, how it can blind us, and then we’re cranking out stuff that, when cut into, is a dried husk like that turkey in Christmas Vacation.

(WHY do I keep talking about meat)

So, here we are, back to the numbers. Assuming we get you to mild trepidation stage - normal for writers getting into their groove - how do we get you to the point where your stuff is yielding commentary for your docs, for your growth?

Well, that won’t happen right away, people have to get a feel of you beyond your stories (we’ll talk about that in Pt. 2, as well), so initially it’s going to manifest as hitting the heart, maybe some generic “This is awesome!”-s, maybe some reblogs without commentary, and that’s typical, and we’ll take it, it still goes into your “Mass Appeal” metrics, lets you know you’re getting closer to a broader readership, that you’ve done something/several somethings right….

….which is a nice place to stop Part One. 😉

PART TWO

#Dear Nash #NONNERS #Not Tyler Durden #I swear #Writing Stuff #Writing Advice #Writing Tips #I know I said #I was taking a vaca #from giving writing advice #but this is a big one #that a lot of peeps #can relate to #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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tyhunter895 · 3 years ago

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The Nisha Call

Almost every call to Nisha was in the evening or the weekend. But the 13th call was an exception because it was during the day. So it is unlikely that Adnan was the one making that call as it would cost money. The fact that Jay was not familiar with the phone actually increases the likelihood that it was a butt dial. I expect most butt dials. According call logs, someone phoned a girl named Nisha from Adnan Syed’s cell about an hour after Hae Lee was murdered, and the call lasted for two minutes. Adnan said Jay had Adnan’s car and phone at the time, and Adnan guessed Jay accidentally pocket-dialed Nisha and left her a voicemail.

The Nisha Call Serial Podcast

Adnan Syed The Nisha Call

Nisha Adnan Syed Picture

The Nisha Call Reddit

I think by now, if you read my blog on a regular basis, you will know that I like things. I love books, jewellery, music, food and notebooks. This post is a selection of the ten things that I am currently enjoying the most. Just to inject a little lightness back into our lives after last weeks post…I am going to talk about my frivolous spending habit.

Just before Christmas my father decided that we needed a Sonos speaker in our lives, so went out and bought the Play5 the same night. I cannot tell you how good this speaker is as well as receiving a years free subscription to Deezer when you buy any Sonos speaker. We have spent many a night since listening to music until the small hours with no sign of distortion, no matter how loud you play it. If you’re looking for a good quality wireless speaker and you are willing to spend a little more on it, I cant recommend the Sonos Play5 highly enough. (You must listen to Phil Collins – In the air tonight, they were made for each other).

Stampers. I love stationary and I’ve been looking for a decent alphabet stamp set that also comes with an ink pad for ages and then I found one. Tiger was the place that realised my dreams and had this awesome wooden stamp set with a black and red ink pad for a whole foursterlingpounds. Bargain! I love it and I’m finding it hard not to use it to write everything.

This year I have decided to learn more stuff. I like learning and I don’t do enough of it these days. So, why not give French a go. I was fairly good, (and in the top French class at school…although I have no idea how) so I thought I would give it a try once more. Thanks to the app Duolingo, my french has come on leaps and bounds in such a short period of time. With bite size chunks you can get stuck into and stutus bars that slowly go down over time so you have to go back and refresh yourself to keep the bars full. The app gets you to translate English into French and vise versa but it also works with your mobile microphone and gets you to practise speaking your chosen language too. There are so many languages you can choose from to learn from Spanish to Swedish, Ukranian to German. If you have been looking to take up another language, I would highly recommend you do it with Duolingo.

The Body Finder series by Kimberly Derting. This set of books follows Violet Ambrose, who has a rather morbid gift…she can find dead people. When Violet is near a dead person who has been murdered and not yet laid to rest, they give off an echo. This can be in the form of noise, smell or visionary, but once Violet has caught on, she cannot rest until the body has been found and buried. With a serial killer on the loose in the first book the story moves at a fast pace and its easy to get swept up in all the mystery and teenage drama over her best friend Jay. I am just finishing the second book, and whilst not as fast paced as the first book, it is still a good/easy read. I am hoping for a little more action in the third book though.

The Nisha Call Serial Podcast

I have a serious macaroon addiction. Yes, they should be covered in liquid gold for the price they want to charge, but you will understand if you have ever had one of these beautifully coloured, crispy fluffy clouds. Julien Plumart‘s are my absolute favourites with flavours such as rose, red berries and violet and salted caramel to name a few. The perfect decadent treat to transport you to Paris in the nineteentwenties…or maybe that’s just me.

Adnan Syed The Nisha Call

I got a two month free trial of Amazon Prime Instant, which is probably the last thing I needed, given my infatuation with Netflix. However, with Weeds having made the move across to Amazon a while back I never got to finish the saga or fill my Hunter Parish and Guillermo Diaz fix. The most exciting thing about the new year was that it brought the Pretty Little Liars to Netflix. I had to stop watching the girls a few seasons back now, but I was soon buried deep in the mysteries of A. Currently wading my way through House we are now on season six, and I love Hugh Laurie a little more each day. Considering the show works to the same format each episode, it never manages to get boring. A family friend has been telling me I should watch Hostages for ages, so when I saw it pop up on Amazon I took the plunge and I am completely caught up in all the conspiratorial mayhem and intertwining story lines. Go watch them all, now.

Nisha Adnan Syed Picture

I got this Q&A five year journal for Christmas and I love it. The premise is fairly obvious each day of the year has a different question and 5 opportunities to answer the same question on the same day each year for 5 years, whether consecutive or not. I think it may be really interesting when I am nearing my thirtieth birthday to see how much things have or haven’t changed from now.

Shameless selfie. No, its not my face that is my favourite but my necklace! I have long had a love affair with the very talented duo of Sugar and Vice and their much talent at making beautiful accessories. I am completely in love with this pentagram necklace and I have been living in it since it arrived. Perfect for coven chic and witchy wonderfulness. It is one of those necklaces that I am considering buying a backup of, just incase something terrible happens to it. I would really love a mirrored version of it too.

If you have not listened to the Serial podcast yet, why on earth not?! It will take over your life and soon enough you will be trying to figure out whether Adnan is innocent too or if anyone in this complex story telling the truth?! Told over 12 gripping episodes, we follow the story of Adnan Syed and the murder of his highschool girlfriend Hae Min Lee in 1999. You will hear police interviews and recent accounts of everyone surrounding the murder that winter. As well as phone conversations from Syed from the prison he was sentenced to fifteen years ago. This is a true story and all the accounts you hear are real too. I cannot tell you how good this is and how I need everyone I know to listen to it so we can discuss it in depth, all of the time! I have even gone as far as to download podcasts of other people discussing it to hear their opinions too.

The Nisha Call Reddit

And lastly, this gem of a song. You know how sometimes you can like an album and then all of a sudden you just become obsessed with one song, well that happened here. Intel r g33 g31 express chipset family graphics card. The melody and lyrics sung hauntingly by Dallas Green is just perfection. O’sister used to be my favourite until Little Hell usurped it. Have a listen and fall in love with the rawness of Dallas’ voice and beautiful lyrics.

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aleksandrakv · 7 years ago

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Social media in Adam Lambert’s life&career

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything longer than a tweet about Adam, but this stanning lethargy doesn’t reflect the level of my interest in the man. It may appear so, but can the lack of online presence automatically imply the lack of interest? In today’s state of affairs, when artists have carefully constructed and heavily monitored internet presence, when YouTube views are everything and the most powerful politicians seem to pay more attention to Twitter than their jobs, it would be understandable if it could. The www. has finally become literally that – a worldwide group chat, where presidents tweet, where actors, musicians and sportsmen keep vlogs on YouTube, writers publish their essays on Facebook, and everybody comments.

Adam Lambert has chosen not to do so. In an era when YouTube stars become singers who get Saturday Night Live slots where they whisper the lyrics into a microphone, and when the top trending video which garnered more than 30 million views in a day is one of a reality star announcing her pregnancy, Adam has taken a quiet step back in the past few years - and I together with him. I couldn’t help it. Twitter has lost its appeal to me ever since a constant possibility that Adam could see a particularly flaily or witty tweet was no longer an option – the magic of giddy anticipation was gone. For all intents and purposes, Adam has semi-abandoned Twitter and moved to Instagram; a Facebook affiliated app which I never took a liking to.

I was upset and a little resentful. I didn’t understand why. Not only did I have to suffer the cruel Atlantic Ocean between us, but now we were on different online apps, which is a fate way worse than living on different continents, according to cyber sense of geography. In my bitterness, I even had an occasional mean thought on the subject. Oh yeah, that’s because he can ogle hot guys there. What about MEEE? Or, even worse: it’s because of the filters. The man LOVES a good filter, the vain queen. Or, absolutely the worst: he wanted to escape the twitter crazies. It was the worst because I should have known that the crazies are everywhere. I was bitchy, mean, and so, so wrong. This essay is my redemption. The price I want to pay for my stupidity, because Adam does have a social media presence, albeit not as aggressive as I might like. There is a reason for that, which he has already given. I had read it before, but it flew right over me like a sparrow, equally tender and fragile, leaving my head unruffled and thoughtless as if nothing had happened.

Even on his preferred social network, Adam’s behavior is somewhat atypical, in a sense that he doesn’t hesitate to share less than perfect photos. Unfiltered, sweaty, in-your-face, flaking makeup photos of the realistic kind - a rare occurrence among the Hollywood hotties. But he is a geek like the rest of us. The anticipation of waiting for the first photos to appear when he has a concert is one of the best parts of being his fan. Adam is incredibly photogenic, but sometimes, those photos are low quality ones, taken by fans on their phones, from pretty unflattering angles. Adam somehow manages to look great in most of them, despite the low angles and the fact that great physical exertion makes everyone look awful. Being photographed in the middle of an adrenaline rush while singing from the top of your lungs for two hours is challenging. His facial features almost rearrange with strain, but Adam simply knows how to pose and is rarely caught off guard – a life’s tiny miracle. I love those candid pictures. And Adam posts only the best of them.

It’s the professional photos where he shines the most. Those are usually true works of art, crispy sharp and simply stunning in their quality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen less than perfect professional photo of Adam. They capture the moments that would otherwise be missed and allow you to fully appreciate the visual side the concert. In videos, the focus is primarily on the sound and the movement, but if I had to choose which medium reflects Adam’s emotional state and journey during concerts best, I would choose photography. It’s a strange thing to say about a singer, but Adam has a very expressive face and body. It’s like their muteness and stillness don’t subtract, but add to the experience of Adam’s process of creation.

In addition to music photography, Adam posts everything and anything that’s important to him, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. His Instagram page is a mess, a potpourri of professional photos, fan photos, album covers, photos of his family, friends, his dog, travelling photos, fashion photos, and all that in uneven levels of quality which most posters would never allow themselves. Adam has it all, from professional HD quality to grainy and blurry shots taken by a phone. It’s a far cry from carefully coordinated, handpicked and posted after a thousandth try stylish representation of other serious posters. He doesn’t juice for a week before taking selfies. He doesn’t always filter. He doesn’t always look pretty. He isn’t always all mysterious and artistic. He’s sometimes such a goofball. He is definitely an undisciplined Instagram user.

It’s a revealing fact. He deletes his posts sometimes, and I’m not sure if it’s the morning after self-filtering, or he gets the call. Social media can make or break a career nowadays. But on the other hand, you can be a successful artist without constant media presence – although it is a pretty rare occurrence. The only example coming to my mind is Frank Ocean. There are artists who have a modest number of followers and YouTube views, and yet they can and do fill up arenas, just as there are artists who have millions of followers and cannot have a decent tour.

In Adam’s case, I feel like he is past making or breaking his career online. At this point, he doesn’t need a heavily moderated Instagram page or a vlogging channel to achieve anything - other than making me happier, that is. The fact that I would love if Adam was more present, by engaging with his fans more, or, in best case scenario, vlogging about his life and career (I would sell my firstborn for that), doesn’t mean much in grander scheme of things. Adam has allowed himself the luxury of doing what he wants, and his Instagram page reflects that in the clearest of ways. I am not saying he wouldn’t benefit from having 50 million followers on Twitter or Instagram, but, he just doesn’t have that. If he can’t get it from doing his job and being who he is, he will never get it anyway. He refuses to participate in the social media race. So, unlike many a budding YouTube star trying to make it in other fields by creating an ideal, unrealistic impression of themselves, with their uniform, heavily filtered, grayscale artsy photos, Adam’s multifarious posts do reveal a lot simply by not being what one would expect. He’s a rebel just for kicks there.

Oh, there is some vanity there; he isn’t above it nor does he pretend to be. He smizes and pouts in many filtered photos and videos, enjoying his flawless skin provided by Instagram CEO Kevin Systrom’s filtering system, turning his head like this and like that like a Valley girl – but that’s just Adam playing with his toy. He has this proclivity for ridiculous behavior; that and the fact that he loves the ageless chibi art of Creative Sharka makes me sometimes think that he has entered a serious fear-of-getting-old phase. It would have been true if he posted such photos only, which he most definitely doesn’t.

Adam is a naturally beautiful man, why does he have to goof around like that? Well, because he is so much more than that. Because more than stunning good looks, he has a killer sense of humor. Because more than looking pretty and feeding his vanity, he loves having fun. He mocks himself, too. “I swear I didn't realize I was making full duck face” is his own comment on a truly astounding full duck face he made while trying to credit Valentino for a clothing item. He loves stand-up comedy. He’s watched the Amy Schumer Leather special, and the Ricky Gervais Humanity special, and posted about both shows. That’s how I know.

There’s a selfie which he took while Antinous was being tattooed on his torso – a particularly painful experience, according to him; hence the awkward facial expression. The photo is so ridiculous and unflattering that it immediately reminded me of the comical selfies which Ricky Gervais takes all the time, trying to look as ugly as possible in them, thus expressing his mockery on the worldwide mania of posting unrealistically perfect photos. Adam has a comedic streak a mile wide, and not only does it come out in concerts and movie roles such as his part of Eddie in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, but also in his Instagram page as well. Unlike Ricky, Adam just wants to laugh at himself. Yes, he sometimes looks ridiculous and weird - don’t we all? He’s no bullshitter, and never will be.

Now would be a great moment to mention his Grandma June alter ego. So, Adam has decided it would be great to make himself look forty years older, name the character Grandma June and rant throughout several videos on many a current topic. Who? What? Adam, the most eligible gay bachelor of several times? Adam, the Zeus in a thong sex symbol for many? Unbelievable. Waves of discomfort could be felt throughout the shallower waters of the fandom. Was he just having fun with it? Was he mocking himself for overusing de-aging filters? Was he helping himself get over his own fear of aging by laughing at his own expense? Was it some kind of reverse psychology/psychotherapy via Snapchat filters? Was it to shock his fans who come to his page for hotness and beauty galore, only to find Grandma June blinking owlishly at them? The list is endless. It’s like he was saying, ‘yeah, I’m hot, but I’m also ridiculous, funny and a little bit on the crazy side.’ Who knows. It’s certainly less ridiculous than me putting words in his mouth. It is also very non-Hollywood of Adam, where ageism is rampant and the anti-aging industry flourishes, where kids start injecting botox as soon as they’re twenty and where a lot of people take faces they’re born with as a slight suggestion. Interesting topic.

We’re now traipsing deeper and deeper into Adam’s more hidden depths. This makes it sound like scrolling through his Instagram page is a voyage into the heart of darkness, the Apocalypse Now style; but it does feel adventurous after you parse through the regular job-related stuff. Such aside interests tell us a lot about him and his fascinations, like his love and respect for other artists. He is a true fan at heart, expressing himself unabashedly and passionately – so many pictures of Freddie, Bowie and George Michael, but also Goldfrapp, Demi, Lady Gaga, and all his musician friends. Sometimes, he puts the flailers in his own fandom to shame. I like that about him. I feel like it’s a level we can relate on. And I love that he doesn’t have cheap, tit-for-tat, I’ll-do-you-and-you-do-me mentality. When he says that he likes something, you better fucking believe that he does.

He also loves nature. He posts sceneries – the beloved Runyon Canyon, the Ibiza cruise, Mexico, Bali, Mykonos in Greece, Argentina, you name it - but, he will also post a photo of a single olive tree. The fandom speculated for three days about what it could possibly mean. He posted a video of a single butterfly flapping its wings, and a colony of bats, and a lonely gecko crawling up the wall and a mother duck and her ducklings swimming in the lake. Endless photos of Pharaoh don’t even count. Details from around him capture his attention in a way that he expresses his emotive, intuitive side by showing us the impact they have on him. In his private moments, he is a far cry from a wild rocker living his wild rock’n’roll life. He’s so much more than that. He’s a tree watcher. A butterfly watcher. A bird watcher. Life and observing life clearly excites him.

He also loves architecture. He will post pictures of streets and buildings, sculptures and monuments, from everywhere he goes, and he travels a lot. Someone else would probably spend all pre- and post-concert time in hibernation accumulating energy, but not Adam. He loves the bas-reliefs, ancient facades, the Greco-Roman culture, supporting columns and carvings of Venetian houses; but every now and then he will also post some strange things, like tombstones. He’s a traveler with a twist. When he goes somewhere new, he sometimes visits cemeteries. He’s been to Boston Cemetery and Buenos Aires Cemetery. He posted a photo of the entrance to Jesus’ tomb from his visit to Jerusalem. No matter what B Hollywood horror movies are trying to tell us, cemeteries are never about being creepy or frightful -- they are like a library for the imagination. Wandering cemeteries around the globe, reading headstones, thinking about the lives of the people there, the mind wanders into a thousand stories. It can be therapeutic. But, who knows what Adam’s motives were. All I know is that he is more than just a traveler – he is also a spiritual explorer.

In everything he does, he rarely stays within the lines. This diversity tells us that Adam is a complex man before he is an artist, and even less than he is an artist, that he is a promoting artist. His self-promoting campaigns are there, but ever so subtle and discrete - nothing like the aggressive campaigning that has become obligatory nowadays. I’m not talking about the management or the label part in it, or whoever is in charge of his promotion; just Adam’s own role in it. A few tweets, a few Instagram posts, mostly just informative in nature, before a new release. Regarding concerts, a tweet before and after is a rarity. An occasional review. He will sometimes post great photos after concerts, though. I have no idea how to explain such behavior other than to say that he doesn’t want to do it, nor does he feel like he has to. Maybe he is of the ‘an artist should never reveal too much and keep a level of mystery’ persuasion. Maybe he believes the music will find its way to those who want to hear it. Or maybe he just finds it tacky, as I do, the ad nauseam self-promoting of certain artists. Who knows. I certainly wouldn’t find it tacky if Adam did it. We’ll see how Era 4 will roll out and if Adam will be more talkative then. The one explanation I personally find the most believable is that he is a well-mannered man who believes that you should let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips; but that’s because I tend to attribute Adam superhuman qualities. He can’t be that much of a gentleman, can he?

He is not very verbose in his Instagram captions either; most of them, that is. His posts are usually with very little or no comment from him. He tags the people in the photo, or he gives credit to the photographer – he is pretty diligent about it. On few unfortunate occasions when that didn’t happen, we had a mutiny among the photographers which ended with bruised egos on both sides.

So sparse are his comments, that when you do bump onto a few loquacious ones, you just know that it must be something of utter importance or that he feels strongly about. You don’t have to guess anything then, or draw unfortunate conclusions, which is a game his fans like to play and that Adam likes to engage us in by dropping random hints. No game here – his words are loud and crystal clear, concise and to the point, and apart from bringing my attention to the relevance of such particular posts, they serve to remind me what a great thinker and an amazing human being Adam is. Those words are always about love and equality.

One of such glimpses into his more private, passionate side is certainly his love and appreciation for Creative Sharka, a fan who makes digital paintings and chibi art of Adam and the moments in his career. He has posted her art several times and even met with her during his tour - such gratitude and appreciation of a fan really warms my heart. It tells me what I already knew: that he is such a fan himself, a great lover of everything that inspires him and open in his heart for the reciprocal love exchange between artists as the highest form of flattery. He’s had such situation in his career several times, on various levels, but this one with a fan feels truly rewarding.

Creative Sharka gives him her art, but it doesn’t have to be a tangible thing. One of the most revealing and emotional comments he wrote under a photo from one of his performances reveals so much. It is a photo whose focal point are the backs of two people, two guys, who are leaning against one another in a hug, their heads connected, and they are facing Adam singing on the stage in the background. They are in the forefront, their body language speaking of love; Adam is in the background, perhaps inspiring such connection. His comment says, “Really in luv w this photo. So sweet.” I’ve never read Adam saying that about any picture, and it’s one of the amateur, fan ones, too – and all the more precious for that.

But, does he always feel the love? Do we? Most of the times, I am sure that he does. But I have always imagined Adam as a highly emotional guy, which also means a great capacity for sadness, too, especially with so many reasons for it surrounding us. There is one, literally one sad comment that I have encountered during all these years. It’s under a photo of Frank the Robot’s head, taken before the show, with the top half of it waiting patiently to be connected with its bottom half by diligent Queen crew, so that Adam can ride it and spew obscenities into the audience from its shiny, metallic head. “Sad Clown,” is Adam’s caption. I don’t know if he felt bad for Frank at that moment, or the words are about Killer Queen, but there is a possibility that the words are about Frank’s rider later on. Sometimes, he does have to hide his sadness and paint his smile on. Who doesn’t.

He truly belongs to one of the rarest of species – a beautiful man who becomes even more beautiful when he opens his mouth and speaks. Or sings. In the pre-Trump, pre-Brexit, pre-Vučić era, I used to take his words for granted. I believed everybody thought so, or almost everybody. I was spectacularly wrong. The bout of sadness that gripped me then is still not easing up. How can it? This Weltschmerz has affected everyone with a soul - Adam, too. Will our physical reality ever satisfy the demands of our minds and souls ever again? I believe so, as long as there are people like Adam, like Emma Gonzalez, like many others who are fighting for it. That is what hope sounds like. With rising urgency, Adam speaks up.

“Black lives matter. For all of u who totally miss the point of this movement, the GOAL is for all lives to matter equally. But as it stands, racism is preventing us from that ideal. We must fix the reality so we can grow toward hope.”

We must fix the reality… We really do, Adam. Faced with such thoughts, don’t all previous words about promotion and lack of internet presence sound frivolous? I am glad that this is how Adam feels. I am so proud of him for sharing his thoughts.

When he posted a photo of Freddie, pointing out the hypocrisy of the ruling US political party using Freddie Mercury’s music, some people seemed to have an issue with that. This was Adam’s reply:

“I realize that there are many different schools of thought frequented by people following me on social media. EVERYONE is entitled to their opinions and beliefs. Including me. This is MY Instagram page where I share my experiences and feelings. If you don't agree with something, that's perfectly ok with me - but I'm not going to refrain from being me, and no one is forcing you to either.”

And refrained he has not.

He’s spoken against the gun violence.

He’s spoken about Orlando. About Paris. About all mass shootings.

He’s also spoken at the Los Angeles Pride Resist March last year. Here are some of his words:

“I typically avoid publicly speaking about politics because of its divisiveness. People get real sensitive, and I ain’t trying to piss anybody off. But, this year things have gone way too far.

So I’m not speaking today about being a democrat vs. a republican. Today is about right vs. wrong. The current presidential administration has manipulated the country using fear and hate to gain power to divide us. Our differences are being used against us. And the shockwaves of this dangerous rhetoric have rippled throughout our community and beyond. And it fucking hurts. We’ve come way too far to stand by and watch our social progress be yanked backwards. It’s almost as if they’re going, ‘Eh, you’re different. You can’t sit with us.’ What the fuck is that? It’s childish and it needs to end now.

Our pride parade is usually an all out shit show of a party where we all dress up like crazy unicorns and prance around through the streets. Yeah! It’s a celebration of the progress we have made – our liberation, our freedom, our glitter. But this year, we are facing such dark forces that pride has taken on a deeper purpose. Protest. So today, we stand together in order to support anyone whose human rights are at risk. We resist homophobia. We resist transphobia. We resist misogyny. Bi-invisibility. We resist racism. Xenophobia. And we resist extremism, and anything else that helps promote hate. We stand defiant and will not be brainwashed. We refuse to be sucked into that kind of negativity.

But, I ask you not to fight hate with hate. We don’t want to be hypocrites. So how can we resist? I’ll tell you what I think: with unity, with visibility, truth, inclusion, acceptance, and most importantly – love.”

Don’t his words boom loud? Read them and abide by them. Don’t scroll through or ignore them.

Shame on those who think that Adam should only do his job and stop voicing his opinions and views.

Shame on those who, blinded by his beauty, refer to him as a Ken doll.

Shame on those who say that he is back in the closet.

In his Love Letter to the LGBTQ community, which was published in Billboard magazine last year, he talks more about what his community means to him:

“Y'all are my true inspiration. You're life lines that have kept me grounded and thankful. All the LGBTQ musicians, dancers, drag queens, bar stars, club kids, DJ's, designers, actors, stylists, glam squads..... YOU are my circus family. It is because of all those years traipsing round our nocturnal playgrounds that I had any sense of how and why I wanted to stay the course; to rep for my queer family!

And now 8 years later, the LGBTQ community has come SO far. I see fellow artists AND civilians coming out with no apologies and no fucks given. Despite the current obstacles we face, I am blown away by our progress. We have come so far. My true fans share the same principles so we continue to welcome other alien weirdos into our family. Thank you ALL for inspiring and supporting my journey. I promise to keep doing the same for all of you.”

Should he speak more frequently? Adam has voiced his opinions time and again, but he won’t misuse the opportunity given to him. He has a sophisticated sense for not crossing the line between his art and his humanitarian fight. He never pushes anything under anyone’s nose; not his art; not his fight. He never uses just causes as a self-promoting opportunity.

This is all part of the reply to the question from the beginning about what the lack of social presence can mean. His social presence isn’t lacking, it is just of the unobtrusive kind. It’s all out there, only a few clicks away. Are we so used to the constant media shoveling content down our metaphorical throats that we can’t even register when something’s said only once?

Apparently, I am. Because I have already read Adam Lambert’s own explanation about deciding to moderate his social media presence and it hasn’t even made a blip on my radar at the time. I won’t tell you where his words are from, you can try to guess. It’s a direct quote. It says everything.

How pathetic now seems the discussion about flattering vs. less flattering photos? Don’t ask this man about the size of his gauges for a hundredth time and expect him to engage with his fans more. But Adam does, he does engage, for he isn’t a mean man and he answers the same trivial questions again and again. It’s perhaps a much better option than talking, I don’t know, about Weltschmerz. Sometimes, such discussions are better avoided, and not only that - he has already said what he wanted to say. It’s much more bearable to repeat the silly topics than the raw, emotional ones. The repetition hurts, and devalues the latter.

It really is a journey, from Grandma June, to cultivating self-love and True Individuality; only not to the heart of darkness, but to the one of lightness. It’s all him, the philosopher and the comedian, the Frank’s head rider and the march speaker. Read his words. Don’t forget them, like I did. Laugh with him, but also think with him and be sad with him.

“True Individuality seems daunting in our age of social media popularity contests. Sometimes it’s terrifying to face your true, whole self, stripped of any pretense. The good, the bad, the cracks, and the scars. I am no stranger to the feeling of not liking myself. Once I get past my own body image issues, I realize that I sometimes also neglect my own spirit. Living in a world filled with so much hatred sometimes makes cultivating self-love a very difficult task. I have always struggled with this as I’m sure many of you have. My path is a kind of paradox in that I get to share my craft with the world, but also be willing to throw myself to the wolves. To dare to be different, but still wanting to be accepted. There is vast beauty to be found in life’s contradictions. This non-binary reality allows us to lead happy, expressive lives, and yet this very freedom comes with great risks. I’m not alone in this limbo. Through my art, I pledge to bring empathy and courage to anyone who has been made to feel unworthy or ashamed while daring to be themselves.”

***

~The sources for everything mentioned in the essay are Adam Lambert’s social media pages. I’ve decided against posting any links because I feel like this one reference is enough.

~No photos either, since I mention too many of them and this bloody thing is too long already. Just this one.

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