#ran through a field during lightening storm

[dreaminae]

We All Need The One Friend

Chapter 8

Hours rolled by as sunlight shifted to moonlight. Friendly competition soon became dangerous as personal tensions rose within the group.

"Rise of Batman!" One person guessed of Jordan's pose.

"Transformers!" A friend playfully argued.

Jordan changes poses in hopes that it might be easier to guess.

With time up, Jordan cracked up as everyone failed to guess his term.

"Okay, what even was that?" Simone giggled.

"Back to the future." Jordan responded in a 'duh' tone as if everyone should've known. "Greatest movie of all time!"

"I've never watched that movie in my life." Simone chuckled, "Plus, the greatest movie of all time is Parasite. Hello!"

"Jordan doesn't do subtitles." J.J laughed. "Like have you met my man?"

Everyone joined in the laughter, but Simone couldn't help but feel like it was strange that she hasn't known a small detail like that.

The game went on as Vanessa took the reigns.

"One word." One person shouted.

"A place. No no, a person." Another one added to list of clues.

"Uh, a painting.... a movie." Layla interjected.

"No, a plane. Wait, what?" One of them fumbled over when Vanessa switched stances.

"You're on a plane."

Giggling, Vanessa changed gestures again.

"Bald. You're bald. A bald eagle." J.J guessed.

"No, not an animal." Vanessa choked up.

"Aye, no cheating." Jordan chuckled as Vanessa spoke.

"C'mon guys." Vanessa encouraged, ignoring Jordan's rules. "You had a poster of him in your room when your ten." She spat out in Asher's direction.

"Samuel L. Jackson!" Asher shouted, jumping up as if he won the lottery.

Liv glanced between the two of them as if they grew two heads. It was stupid how one small detail held a bigger picture.

"Well, you don't get a point for that one." Simone scrutinized, gaining a careless shrug from Vanessa.

The game rolled on, leading to Spencer's turn.

Galloping his feet and twirling his arm, Spencer caused everyone to gather into fits of laughter.

"A cowboy," Jordan shouted first.

"The rodeo." Asher chuckled.

"Wild, wild west." Layla joined in, holding back her laughs.

Adding to his performance, Spencer shook his foot hysterically, while twirling his arm like a madman.

Finally catching on to his charade, Olivia thought back to the night she made Spencer rewatch all her favorite childhood movies. Quoting one of her favorite lines, Spencer had her in hysterics for half an hour. She could still remember him using her belt as a rope, shouting 'There's a snake in my boot'.

"Woody," Olivia muttered with a small smile.

"What?" Her brother asked curiously, not completely hearing her response.

"It's woody!" Olivia laughed, which Spencer replied to with a smirk.

They met each other eyes, before bursting out, "There's a snake in my boot!"

The entire group fell out laughing, excluding Layla.

Spencer returned to his seat grinning like an idiot, but couldn't help but to notice his girlfriend's harsh mood.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Layla nodded lightly. "Guess I am just tired." She muttered, not bothering to look in his direction.

Sensing there was more to it, Spencer left it alone, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his friends.

"Alright, I have the perfect game to play next," Vanessa announced, as she returned from the house with her bottle of booze. "Anyone up for a game of Never Have I Ever. The more you've done the more you drink."

Her announcement soured the mood as Spencer immediately shut down her idea. "Sorry, Ma." Spencer asserted firmly. "Ain't bo drinking happening this weekend."

His eyes flew to Olivia, followed by everyone else's. She rolled her eyes at their dramatics.

"Oh, please. Don't stay sober on my account." Olivia dryly encouraged. After all, this was the first time in weeks she'd been completely sober. With all of her friends within proximity this weekend, drinking wasn't an option for her.

Noting Liv's bitter tone towards her, Vanessa tried to ease the tension. "Sorry, Liv. I forget that you don't drink. That was so insensitive of me." She apologized, placing the booze on the ground.

"It's okay. It's not something I'd expected you to know, so.." Liv shrugged it off, dismissing the subject all together.

"No, liquor. Got it." Vanessa summed up, ignoring Liv's clear implied diss of Vanessa's newness to their group.

Asher rubbed Olivia's thigh, silently asking her to lighten up. Cocking up a brow, she gave him her iconic 'I could careless' glare.

"No drinks doesn't mean no turn-up." J.J cheered. "Introducing the burns of all burns -- jalapeno-infused pickle juice."

"What don't you have in that box man?" Spencer questioned, seriously wondering where J.J randoms items came from.

"Let the burns begin."

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

"Alright, never have I ever walked in on my parents doing it." Simone started the game off.

First victim up, Asher gulped down his first dose of the throat burning juice.

"Oh, God. Asher. No!" Olivia cringed.

"I don't wanna talk it." Asher chuckled at the memory. "RV trip...'08....super weird."

"Oh, you're gonna talk about it." Spencer and Jordan laughed together.

"Not the one to up to Sanoma. How could you not to me?" Vanessa asked playfully, catching Olivia's attention yet again.

Liv couldn't help but wonder just how much did Vanessa know about Asher, that she didn't.

"Cause I was scarred for life," Asher replied, oblivious to the questionable expression of Liv's face.

"Alright, my turn. Never have I ever bought 300 dollars shoes for my one night in Vegas." Simone teased Olivia's bad spending habits.

Tensing up, Liv looked everywhere besides at Layla.

"No cheating. Drink up, Liv." Simone laugh, unaware of the big secret she just revealed.

Layla's eyes narrowed in Liv's direction, fed up with the secrets.

Spencer gawked at his girlffriend, realizing that he and Liv might have to come clean sooner than expected.

"Alright, never have I ever said I love you just to get someone to hook up with me." Vanessa added to game.

All the boys drank besides Spencer.

"Yikes, that was a test that you all failed." Vanessa taunted, "Besides Spencer."

"My bro is a real one. When he says it, he means it." J.J admired, increasing the growing tension between Spencer and his love interest.

In Liv's case, her heart clenched at the mentally, replayed memory of Spencer professing his love for her. She yearned to have a chance just to tell him how she felt, despite the chance he no longer felt the same.

However, in Layla's case, all the times that Spencer claimed to love her we're burning in a flame of betrayal. Because despite that fact she had no solid evidence, that conveyed her worse thought she knew Spencer wasn't being truthful with her.

"You're a lucky one, Layla."

Layla's sneer went unheard by the majority of the group besides the two people who knew the jig was up.

Unaware of the conflicts brewing, J.J continued the game. His hand already pointing at his aimed victim.

"Never have I ever ran naked through a football field."

Admitting the embarrassing memory, Jordan gulped back his shot of pickle juice.

"Jordan! Tell me you didn't!" Simone teased.

"Okay. Okay. I did it. I run through the field, butt naked." Jordan chuckled. "What was it? Freshmen year?"

He and J.J chuckled laughed over the recollection.

"Varsity team stole all of our clothes, thanks to Ash -- over here --- acting like he owned the place during tryouts" Jordan recalled funnily.

"Cause I did." Asher cockily popped his collar. "It's called confidence."

"Confidence. Okay." Jordan playfully mocked. "Whatever you want to call it. Your dumbass stays getting us in trouble."

Asher nodded with a knowing smile. But Vanessa saw nothing funny about it.

"Wow." She gasped seriously. "Okay. Never have I ever crapped all over folks that we're supposed to be my friends."

The laughter stopped, and the smiles dropped in reaction to Vanessa switch up.

"Uh, Vanessa it's alright." Asher tried to jump in before she took things too far.

"It's just jokes." Jordan defended himself, not seeing the harm in messing around.

Vanessa's scornful expression was enough for Jordan to see that she couldn't disagree more.

Maybe it was her role as a protective sister that came into play. Perhaps, it was the jealously towards Vanessa knowing things about Asher that Liv didn't. Or maybe it was simply that Liv didn't feel Vanessa had any right to make presumed assumptions on any of the dynamics within their group when Vanessa barely knew any of them beyond a first-name basis.

Whatever it was, Vanessa's attempt to trash talk her twin was Olivia's last straw. And with that, she felt it was only right to return the favor.

"Hmm, well, Never have I ever spent the summer getting to somebody else's boyfriend a little too much." Liv snapped at Vanessa.

"Liv! What the hell!" Asher choked up, unable to believe that she publically humiliated Vanessa in that manner.

"Yo, Ash. Relax. Let's just play the game." Jordan instructed, trying to ease the tension he caused.

"You wanna play? Fine." Asher groaned. "Never have I ever cheated a concussion protocol to play in a game." He added spitefully.

"What is he talking about?" Simone inquired seriously, over the entire game. "You cheated your concussion protocol? How could you not tell me something like that?"

"You mean like you told me about Princeton?" Jordan asked, trying to guilt trip her right back.

"Wow!" Simone gasped in awe, tossing her blanket aside before storming off.

"Ah, babe, wait! I didn't mean it like that!" Jordan quibbled, following behind Simone. "Baby, wait. Sweetie!"

With the fun atmosphere ruined, the remainder of the group broke off to deal with their own problems.

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

"Can you believe Liv?" Asher groaned, as he and Layla entered the kitchen.

"Not really. Find it hard to believe anyone with all the secrets that's been hidden." Layla replied harshly.

"What do you mean?" Asher asked, clueless.

"Simone's Never Have I Ever!" Layla responded in a duh tone. "When has Olivia ever gone to Vegas."

"Olivia wouldn't lie about going to Vegas. She has no reason to." Asher scoffed.

"You mean like she had no reason to lie about being in Mexico." Layla revealed.

"Liv came to Mexico? When?" Asher asked desperately. "She never told me."

"She went to Mexico to surprise her boyfriend." Layla groaned, annoyed that she had to be the one to tell him. "Only when she got there she saw you and random girl boo'd up." She gestured towards Vanessa as the brunette and J.J entered the room.

"Wait, you and Asher?" J.J asked heartbroken, catching the last part of Layla's statement. "Since when?"

"Where's Olivia now?" Asher requested to know, needing to hear all of this from her.

"I don't think that" Spencer began to suggest against going after Liv, but was interrupted by his girlfriend.

"She's down by bonfire," Layla interjected before her boyfriend could continue to shield his side piece from the mess they made.

Bypassing the other three teens, Asher went to find his girlfriend and demand some answers. Meanwhile, Vanessa and J.J left Spencer and Layla to handle their business in private.

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

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Underestimated  Butterfly(Natasha x Afro-Asian)

Summary: one thing you hate is being underestimated and you’re put to the test when your dead past comes back to life

Pairing: Natasha x Afro-Asian!Reader

Warnings: This is a slow burn, choppy ending, detailed fighting and injuries, mentions of death, blood, uuuh ANGST

A/N: I’m not fluent in Japanese yet so I’m sorry if the Romanization is really bad/ not absolutely accurate. 

A/N: y’all are killing it with being active and it honestly makes me happy! Please comment, reboot and like. Depending on how fast this gets to 100 the faster you guys get Myself pt.2!!!!!

——————-

“Go ahead and underestimate me. It’s okay. You’re not the first and you sure as hell won’t me the last. But you will be wrong”

———-

You went through your own version of the Red Room, but back home in Japan it was completely different. The process was much more extensive, the punishments were much more... gruesome. Everyone here underestimated you and stuck you in the quinjet as pilot in case they all needed a fast escape out of a messy situation. This is not what you signed up for.

You’ve caused an uproar to Steve about it, but he wasn’t listening. His excuse was, “the more people out in the field, the higher the risk for casualties,” what a crock of shit, you could hold your own, but they didn’t see that. 

You sat on your mat in a seiza posture in the gym listening to your kigaku instrumental music as you meditated. You knew they had an issue with how you trained it wasn’t like theirs. You meditated. You used your knowledge from Chō No Niwa. But they never saw what you could really do and it was a pity because you felt like all you’ve suffered from was for nothing. 

You heard the door to the fitness area creak open, you squinted one eye open to see Natasha, someone you adored from afar but could never really get with her closed off attitude. You knew she had a reason, but that’s not something you felt like you could handle while trying to pursue a relationship. Though you really wanted to, she just had a habit of pushing you away.

The music continued and you felt the notes of the koto run through you like a river. You stretched your legs out and reached now the middle humming along a with soft notes of the song. Natasha started playing her pumped up music on the other side of the gym and it completely threw you of kilter. 

“Could you maybe... put your headphones in or hold off for a few more minutes I’m almost done with my zazen. I just need to focus for a little bit longer,”

“This has always been my scheduled time and during that scheduled time I like to listen to music that pumps me up so I can get in the kick ass mood,” she sent a smirk your way and you wanted to wipe it right off her face.

“You know,” you just stared at her, “maybe if you guys had some faith in me, I could be out there kicking ass with you too,” 

She scoffed at your words, “We don’t know much about you Y/N. We’re just raiding the terrain. You have no backstory, no files. Almost as if you don’t exist and then Fury just brings you out of nowhere saying you’d be a perfect asset. Why is that?,” 

You hated that they didn’t trust you. You’ve been here for almost a year now and all you’ve done is steer that damn quinjet.

“Have you thought they maybe not everything is meant for you to know?,” you snatched up your mat, rolling it up and grabbing your radio.

You stormed out the gym and rushed to your room. You hated this. You didn’t spend years of your childhood into your early adulthood suffering to be treated like this. You threw your mat on the ground once you entered your room. 

You took a breath in, holding it so you didn’t lose your cool. You did Zazen so you could stay calm in situations like this, where people pissed you off.

You showered in peace. You music playing low in the background.

“Watashi wa kashō hyōka sareteimasuga, watashi wa yowaide wa arimasen” - I am underrated, but I am not weak, you mumbled to yourself over and over again until you believed in yourself enough.

You wiped over your face in the mirror. You stared dead into your own eyes, stoic as could be.

“Sore wa karera ga sugu ni mitsukeru toiu jijitsudesu,” - That is a fact that they will find soon. 

———————

Once again, sitting on your mat in the gym, you made sure you picked a slot that Natasha didn’t have scheduled. 

Raising your arms above your head you slowly exhaled bringing them back down. Humming along with your music once again as you find your center of gravity. The music flowing through you like a river.

It fuels you, when it flows through you, you know you’re adrenalized. Each pluck of the koto vibrating each cell within you, it awakened you, brought you to life and you had no way to release it. With no way to fight, no way to get it out, your abilities were useless. You couldn’t overcharge like this. You remember your instructor’s words.

“Ka jūden denshi wa sonshō o hikiokoshi, seinō o teika semasu” - An overcharged battery causes damage and reduces performance. 

No good could come out of you if you just sat here charging yourself up with no way to release and charge up again. It’s pointless to keep charging something that isn’t even being used, something that has a percentage that doesn’t decrease from usage.

“Takahashi.” Natasha called from the door, “Quinjet, lets go,”

You quietly groaned to yourself. You didn’t even pack your stuff up, you just turned your radio off and ran behind her carrying everything with you. Once you were on the quinjet you didn’t change into your suit. What was the point? You weren’t going out to fight anyway. You spoke to no one as you sat in your pilot seat. This thing had friggin’ autopilot, why were you even here? 

Tony told you to coordinates and you knew those coordinates from anywhere- from your years back in Japan.

“Why are we heading to Japan?,” a pit settled in your stomach.

“For vacation,” Sam’s facetious tone rang through your ears.

You snapped your head towards him and scowled, “Now is not the time,”

“We have word that there is a facility training some of the world’s top assassins. It’s known by the name-,”

“-Chō No Niwa,” the words rolled of your tongue in distaste.

Steve frowned at you, you hadn’t even read the file, how did you know?,”

“Exactly... H-how, how did you know?,” 

You just stared at him for a bit before putting in the coordinates, “Maybe read closer on my file next time and notice what my nationality is,”

You turned around and flicked on all the switches, “Sit down and buckle up,” 

~~~~~~~~~

You turned the quinjet on autopilot and listened as Steve briefed everyone on a video that leaked into the media of the assassins. 

“They are ruthless!,” Wanda commented.

Of course we are, you thought, we wouldn’t be who we are if we weren’t.

“Their instructor goes by the name E-Ein,” Tony stuggled with the name.

“Einosuke Gen’ichirō,” you corrected.

“It looks like they’re doing some type of dance as they fight, it’s amazing,” Bucky leaned in closer to the video.

“It’s called Yosakoi,” you stated, “It’s not so amazing if you’re on the receiving end of one of those fans or katanas,” you chuckled.

“How do you know so much about them? Have you dealt with them before?,” Clint questions.

You spun in your chair and just stared, questioning if you’ve said too much. You’ve done all you could to erase the past and what you’ve gone through. But they already don’t trust you, keeping quiet or spilling everything could result in them not trusting you even more. You can’t seem to win for losing.

“Takahashi, we asked you a question,” Nat waves her hand.

You were caught in a flashback

You were all kneeling on the floor, waiting for your turn to perform for the Puraimu No Mono. You watched as your sister’s arms gracefully waved in the air, legs swooping, fan waving. 

She was doing amazing until she caught sight of the second head Prime. She got nervous and tripped on herself. Instant tears flew to your eyes. You knew what that meant. There was no excuse for a mess up, especially not in front of the other Primes that come all this way to see our progress. The small drum rang and she knelt down beside you, her breathing was heavy but no tears came to her eyes, how can she not be crying in this moment?

The head Prime, our instructor, knelt before her with a katana in his hand, unsheathing it and handing it to her. She looked at you with the most saddening smirk before saying 

“Anata ga tatakaitsuzukeru yō ni watashiwa hokori ni naru. Hana wa futabi watashitachi no tame ni sakimasu.” - I will be proud that you keep on fighting. The flowers will bloom for us again.

Her yukata became stained instantly, but you couldn’t scream or cry out or else you’d suffer the same punishment. You’re here today because of her, because you kept fighting.

“Earth to Y/N Takahashi, helloooo,” Sam waved a hand in your face.

“They’ll kill me if they see me,” you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What? Why?,” Thor asks.

“We’re called Batafurai Samurai. Butterfly Samarai in translation,” You quickly blinked your eyes from spilling tears. You haven’t cried in years and you sure as hell wouldn’t now, not in front of a team that underestimated you so much, “Chō No Niwa is our home. The Butterfly Garden in English,” 

Everyone’s face was twisted in confusion or interest.

“Just know, they do not do well with trying to be stopped. What they do, you guys have never seen before. They can disarm and kill super soldiers like they’re centipedes,” you eyed Bucky and Steve.

“We’re so fast your arrows and bullets are nothing compared to us. We’ll injure you before even a spark of lightening can be struck. We’re so fast with the katanas that your thighs of death don’t stand a damn chance,” you spat out the words like poison and glared at Natasha.

“We’re contortionists, aerialists, marksman. We know every single form of fighting and defense there is from kenpo to fucking street fighting. We know how to hide in plain sight. We’re enhanced with the best biotechnology to keep us young, strong, fast. We know how to make it so we pretty much don’t exist. We know damn near every language under God’s blue sky. We’re worked day and night. That’s how we got so good. It’s so much more different than any other assassin facility you have come in contact with.” you tried to find your center of gravity so you didn’t get overwhelmed.

You pointed to the radio beside Sam and told him to hit the on and play button. Beautiful plucks of the koto rang through the speakers and you instantly calmed.

“You didn’t think to tell us this?,” Steve’s expression was unreadable.

“I never planned on going back home. Let alone be on a trip with you guys to shut it down,” your voice barely above a whisper, “With obviously being nothing more than your fucking pilot I didn’t think I had a say in anything but... this is my level of expertise so I guess I’d speak up,”  You turned back to the dash of the quinjet, you can feel their eyes burning holes through the chair.

“You’re going to face children out there,” you mention, “Don’t hold back, remember they’re trained assassins,” 

“You’re not just our pilot. We’re just trying to get a feel for you,” Bruce tried to lower the tension.

“By making me fly a metal boomerang for ten months?,” you looked over your shoulder. You caught sight of your suit trunk, in it was the very katana that killed your sister. As dark as it might sound it was your lucky charm when fighting or practicing alone in your own living area, it was like she was still there with you. 

“Our moves are hypnotizing, do not let them distract you,” you warned.

“Why don’t you come and fight with us?,” Steve asks.

You turn around your stare bores into his soul.

“Is that a joke?,” you clenched your jaw, “I’ve been on this team for ten months and now you want me to fight? Would you have asked me if this was just some normal facility you’re used to? It’s because you’re scared,” you hit the nail right on the head. No one else outside the team knows this but they do in fact get scared when they’re met with forces they’re unfamiliar with. Whether they admit it or not you always knew.

“I’m asking you to fight because you clearly know this territory better than anyone. I just want everyone to go back home safe and alive, Y/N,” 

You wondered if it was even worth it. What if you’re caught and that was the end of the line for you? You hadn’t fought another batafurai in years, what if you lost your touch? But then you remembered you had so much charge in you, you could be undefeated. This was your chance.

You stood up from your seat and got the key from your necklace to unlock the trunk. Your suit lied there, untouched and beautiful. You undressed right in front of them, not caring about their eyes on you. You wrapped your yukata around yourself, tying a tight knot in the back. Your sleeves big a flowy like wings, butterfly wings. The black and white floral yukata reached to right above your knee. You slicked your legs with oil and wrapped your feet and knees up in bandage before slipping on and strapping up your tabi boots. 

You tightened your katana sheath across your shoulders, swiftly taking the katana and placing it on your back. You do your best to tighten your hair up in a tight bun with the clips that were in the bottom of your trunk. Taking your fan of blades, you place it in your hair and you’re done. You take a deep breath in and you feel your heart beating, the rhythm like whooshing wings. 

Raising your hands above your head, you exhale and bring them down.

“Watashi ni tōshi shita chikara de, watashi no tsubasa noshita ni kaze ga nagareru yō no shitekudasai.” - Please let the wind blow under my wings with the power invested in me.

______________

You landed right out in the filed in front of the training facility. Not much has changed. They did however brighten the place up, it looked less dull.

“This is my old home. This is the place I ran away from,”

The gates opened and there you saw the head Prime standing there with his army of butterflies. When it’s put like that it doesn’t sound so vicious, but once they start moving it’s like Armageddon in a beautiful way. They were expecting you guys.

“Tabun watashitachi wa anata ga ikiru yo ni naru, ima sugu shuppatsu sureba.” Words fast, a child in the front said. 

“W-what was that?,” Rhodey questioned.

“They’ll spare us if we leave,”

“Not unless you stop what you’re doing here,” Steve said.

You rolled your eyes at him. You stepped forward 

“Kore o teishi shi, wareware wa nokoshimasu,”

The same child pointed at you, their face blank, “Niwa e no uragirimono,”

“What did she say that time?,” Tony’s voice echoes from his suit.

“I am a traitor to the garden,” 

“While I’d like stand here a little longer and gaze at the beautiful palace, we have a job to do,” Natasha sent a smirk to the team. 

“This is a dangerous game we’re about to play, Natalia,” you grimaced at her and she seemed taken aback that you used her real name.

“If we’re gonna run in there like a herd of cattle be smart,” you gritted your teeth.

“You don’t just fight them, you flow with them, you dance, you fly,” 

They didn’t seem to understand me.

“Stand back for a few and just watch me,”

“I’m sorry but I don’t think you can take on a whole court of samarais by yourself,” Bucky scoffed.

You stared straight ahead and removed your katana from your sheathe.

“Go ahead and underestimate me. It’s okay. You’re not the first and you sure as hell won’t me the last. But you will be wrong,”

You looked across the court, eyeing the different colors of everyone’s yukatas.

“The ones wearing yellow are the weakest ones but they’re still strong. Go for any pressure point in the neck. Those wearing purple are up in the tier, you’ll have to get close enough to get them right in the glabella. It’s weird but it’ll weaken them, it’s a weak spot, pressure point. Orange, they’re fast, too fast for any of you, even from up above,” You look at Tony and Rhodey.

“Those wearing black like me.. we’re the strongest. We’re almost unstoppable. You have to pull a move that’s hard to perfect. The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. You powerfully jab your fingertips into five different pressure points around their heart. They take five steps and their hearts explode. It’s a hard technique to perfect. Only the best of the best can properly execute it,”

“Are you the best of the best?,” Natasha taunts

Not for a second do you take your eyes off the butterflies.

“We’ll all have to wait and see,”

“We don’t want to kill anyone Y/N,” Steve shook his head warily.

“Then you don’t want to stop them,” You smirk at his words, “Once Einosuke gives them the go they don’t stop until we’re dead,”

The whole court had their eyes on you, they all wanted to get the chance to kill the traitor of the garden, they’d earn the most highest praise and would get the opportunity to become a Prime.

Gen’ichirō smiled at you and you knew you’d have to fight for your life. You always knew you’d have to once you were actually out in the field, though this is not the fight you’d expected.

He raised his hand and pointed to you speaking the simple words, “Watashi ni kanojo o motarasu,”  Bring her to me.

You spare your team a quick glance, “Stand down until you see how I move against them, no questions,”

An orange batafurai runs towards you screaming, “Niwa no tame ni!,” For the garden! 

You charge towards her and she swings her sword first which was a big mistake on her part. With her arm extended out, you jump up in the air, the wind flowing beneath the sleeves of your yukata. With pointed toes you stepped on her forearm sending your sword down and through her. Your feet gracefully land on the ground and you feel her blood running down your sword and onto your hand.

You look up at Gen’ichiro smirking, “Tobimashō.” Let’s fly.

The entire court starts to head for you, but he doesn’t send any black butterflies, he sends the younger ones. He’s preserving his prized possessions. 

The yellow batafurais attack first. Their legs swooping, wings flowing. To the others on the team it was mesmorizing. 

“Guys, Y/N said don’t get distracted,” Thor mentions. This snaps them out of their hypnosis and they get ready to fight on your go.

They hear all the whooshing and clank of your katanas but they could not tear their eyes off of you. You are as graceful as could be, and yet they kept you on the side lines for this long?

It was like you were dancing on air, the ground wasn’t even a thing to you. 

“Now!,” you called out to everyone.

You begin to hear the gun shots but they’re not coming in contact with anyone. You literally just told them bullets didn’t phase them.

You were doing aerials and tumbles all along the court. The others were pretty much just stalling, they could’ve stayed on the quinjet for all of this.

There were so many bodies lying around you. Bucky was still going at it with an orange batafurai, you just wanted this to end. You heard him grunting and trying his best to fight her off but he was cutting it close. Taking your fan, you ran towards them, sliding on your knees, you slice the batafurai’s Achilles and she called out screaming, dropping to her knees, you stand up and swiftly swipe your fan against her neck. She instantly fell over choking and that was that. 

You stood in front of the steps, staring and analyzing the girls that would have been your sisters had you stayed. There’s only four of them and they were wearing masks, meaning these were his strongest samurais. 

“Anata no gijutsu wa zusanna eteimasu,” Gen’ichirō laughs at you.

You turned to the others and shake your head with a shameful smirk, “Sore wa machigainai shikashi, kono chō wa shibaraku no ma, kēji ni tojikomerareta. Anata wa nani o kitai shimashita ka?,”

“What is being said right now?,” Steve asks.

“He said my skills are sloppy and I told him I’ve been cooped up in a cage for a while so what did he expect,” you shrugged your shoulders.

“Anata wa niwa no saikō no Takahashideshita. Dono yōna muda,” he shakes his head as he stepped back and let the four batafurai come forward, “Sore wa kazoku no naka ni nakerebanarimasen. Anatano imōto o mite,” 

“FRIDAY, what was that?,” you heard Tony asking the AI to finally translate,. 

“He told Y/N she was the best in the garden but she is now a waste. It must be in the family. Look at her sister for example,” you heard her voice.

“Don’t you ever mention Azumi again in your life,” you clenched your jaw. No one knew you had a sister and the very person who had her execute herself had the nerve to bring her up.

“Did I strike a nerve little butterfly?,” his laugh sickened you. 

Without thinking you sent your katana flying across the steps and right into his stomach.

He fell to the ground choking, holding the handle in pain.

“Hurts doesn’t it? The same one you had Azumi use. How poetic,” your voice trembled, “Go ahead then. Take it out!,”

Watching him was like watching your sister all over again.

“You can’t stop us,” Einosuke sputtered, blood coating his lips and teeth.

“Keep underestimating me,” You picked up one of the dead batafurai’s katanas and gripped it tight, this will do until you could get your other one back, “It only fuels me more. You of all people should know that,” 

His body fell over and the four batafurai took their masks off. You scanned them and once you got to the last one your soul left your body.

“Azumi,” you gasp.

“I no longer go by Azumi. You will address me as Sunako,” 

You watched her die. You fucking watched her die! How is she standing in front of you?

“I watched you die, Azumi,” 

She sent her fan flying toward you, the blades cutting your face. She caught the fan back in her head.

“Einosuke gave me another chance once the other Primes left that day. He saved me, made me reborn. I was healing but you were a coward and ran. You were weak. We don’t spare cowards, no matter the relations.”

“Az- Sunako you can end this!,” You pleaded.

“I have a job to finish, Y/N. As did you but unlike you, I’m strong enough to finish it,” 

Her voice was so monotone, robotic almost. 

“We don’t really have time for a family reunion, Y/N. If you don’t snap out of it she’s gonna kill us,”

“Natasha, for one got damn second!,” you snapped, “Just one fucking second will you SHUT UP!,”

There had to be a way for you to get to her.

“We would cry together,” You whispered, “We would cry together and talk about how we would get out of here because they were making us into monsters,”

“Those were childish plans, Y/N. They’re making us strong. They’re building us to survive, to be better. To be worth something!,” 

“And you’re worth something by killing people?,”

“You just slaughtered the whole school of batafurai, sister,” She tilted her head and smirked at you, “You can wear the mask of an Avenger but you still have the blood of a batafurai, you can’t unlearn all they’ve taught us. Without that, you’d be the one lying lifeless amongst us,” 

“Alright, I’ve had enough. I’m bored,” Tony sighs.

“Tony, No!-” 

He sent a blast to one of the other batafurai and with her katana, she countered his attack, sending the blast right back, sending Tony across the court.

“Oh my God,” you slapped your hand over your mouth.

“We’ve got incoming. We should be able to take them right? There’s only four,” Clint nervously chuckled.

Gripping the hand of the katana harder, your sister came towards you with the black wing katana. The most famous katana in the history of the Batafurai Samurai. 

“Azumi, stop!,” You brought your katana up, fighting against someone who you thought was dead. It’d been 11 years and you’d silently mourn her in flashbacks and nightmares.

Her katana cut through your yukata and got your arm pretty good

“Fuck!,” you screamed, the cut burning deep.

Everyone else was being tag teamed. You told them how good they were. There’s how many of you guys and you’re getting your asses handed to you by four samurais.

With each swing from you she dodge it perfectly, she was slicing you up like vegetables and you were finding it hard to keep fighting. 

“Azumi, it’s me, Y/N, your sister,” your yukata was becoming damp but you weren’t giving up, not yet.

“I only know you as a traitor to the garden,” she hissed.

You saw an opening and swooped your leg under her, knocking her down. You flipped over her to help take care of the others. 

“Steve!,” Him and Bucky were fighting against a batafurai that was kicking their ass with hair chopsticks from her buns, he took a second to look at you and you tossed him your fan.

He easily caught it and swung it, slicing the girls arm, she cried out and Bucky kicked her on her back as you came up through his legs driving the katana into her chest.

Hulk, Thor, Clint and Sam were somehow getting their asses kicked by a single person. She was a blur of color to them, too fast, too agile, too smart.

Running up and jumping on Hulk, you used his back as a ramp, running up and jumping in mid air, doing almost a full scorpion to avoid her katana, you used your position to decapitate her from behind and you fell to the ground, rolling to a stop. You see Natasha, Tony, Wanda and Rhodey trying to stop your sister and the last batafurai.

You join them and try to take on your sister again. She’s so much stronger, she’s right, it’s like she was reborn.

“You can’t beat me, Y/N,” she smiled, “I’m not who you knew,” 

She cut your hand and you cried out, the katana flying out of your hand. You had no form of defense, as the one other batafurai was taking on the rest of the team and wounding them pretty good. You dodged every swipe of the katana but that wasn’t enough. You weren’t tired but you sure were injured pretty badly and that slowed you down. You had an idea though.

You calculated the batafurai’s moves and backed your way to her while you tried to not have your sister kill you.

You counted to eight and right at eight the other batafurai landed in front of you, right when your sister swung her katana, cutting her in half right at the waist. 

Your sister stopped and stood wide eyed. Tears welled up in her eyes and she screamed out.

“My sisters!, you killed my sisters!,” She blamed you,

“I am your sister, Azumi! Please, the flowers were supposed to bloom for us again!,” you pleaded.

“Those flowered are dead, as are you,” 

Her katana swung and got you right on your inner thigh, you screamed out in pain, she definitely got the main artery. She stepped closer and the team ran after her but you stopped them.

“STOP!,” your bloodied hand up at them, their yelling didn’t phase you as you stared in her eyes. She had broken you down, she’s gotten you weak enough to take you out for good.

“Please, see me. See me,”

She swung her katana up but not before mumbling the words, “Anata wa idaina koto ni natteita. Anata wa hana no fīrudo no naka de utsukushī chōdatta. Kon go tsubasa wa haikyo tona soshite hana wa kareteiru. Anata wa sore o tsukuru no ni jūbun tsuyokunakatta,”

You were supposed to be great. You were a beautiful butterfly in the field of flowers. Now the wings are ruined and the flowers are wilting. You were not strong enough to make it.

 You mustered up all the strength you could. Once she was close enough, before should swing her katana down on you, you took your fingers, jabbing them into her chest and twisting, you looked at her pained (reference Wanda’s face when she had to kill Vision in IW), you didn’t want to do the final point, but she wasn’t gonna stop until you were dead. With a pained expression, you send the fifth and final jab right into her chest and she immediately coughs up blood. 

“I-I can’t even do that, h-how?,” she choked.

“Because I am strong enough,” you cried.

She took one step back, then two, the three, four... she didn’t take the fifth.

“Anata ga tatakaitsuzukeru yō ni watashi wa hokori ni naru,”

You choked out a sob at the fact she used the same words the first time she was supposed to have died. I will be proud that you keep fighting.

“I think you’re ready to go,” you sniffled, “You’re only prolonging it,”

She took her final step and her body fell out, you had no more strength within you to keep yourself up. You looked down and saw you were bleeding out.

“I’m going cold,” you muttered. Natasha ran over to you to add pressure to your inner thigh.

“Y/N, stay with me!,”

“Nat, I’m going cold. I can feel it,”

She added more pressure, “You’re not! Do not slip on me, I will kill you myself. Just hold on!,” 

Thor rushed to your side and started swinging his hammer, “I can get her there faster,” he mentioned. 

“Take me with you,” Natasha begged, she never begs.

“No, I’m going. Thor, lets go,”

Natasha tried to fight him on it but Steve shut her down and brought Bruce as well.

Everyone rushed to the quinjet and Tony notified whoever needed to be notified that the mission was done and there would need to be clean up but not before Nat grabbed your initial katana and the black wing katana.

Natasha sat with her head against the wall and her eyes closed.

“She’s gonna be okay, ya know,” Clint sat down beside her as they flew in the air.

“Everything that we thought she couldn’t do she showed us she could. She’s obviously a fighter. She’s gonna be okay,”

“Yeah, I hope so,”

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

Back at compound, doctors and nurses were rushing everywhere, they weren’t sure if they could fix this bad of an injury, especially to an artery. 

“What you used on Clint! Could that work?,” Steve asked Dr. Cho.

“Yes but it would take so much more time because it’s not just one area she’s bleeding out from,”

“If it’s possible then lets get to it,”

Meanwhile..

In your head you were flying, you weren’t human, you were a beautiful butterfly, your wings pumping faster than ever. The colors so vibrant as you smiled. The further you flew the slower your wings were beating. You heard it deep in your ear drum, your wings pumped to the beat of a pulse almost. You noticed the colors becoming more dull as the time went on until they were completely black and white and you weren’t flying anymore.

The team finally made it back and rushed inside. Steve and Bruce wouldn’t tell them how you were doing because they didn’t know themselves. They just played the waiting game as you lied comatose in the cradle.

-------

“She’s going to make it, she’s got to,” Natasha told herself. She paced and paced and paced in her room. It’d been days and still no news on you. She tried sneaking into see you but Cho’s nurses weren’t having it.

A knock came from her door and there stood Clint.

“Told you we underestimated her. She’s awake,”

Natasha never ran so fast in her life as she slid to a stop in front of the infirmary door, she swung it open and saw you eating a pudding cup, bandages all over your arms and face.

“Glad to see you’re awake,”

“Didn’t expect to see you in here,” you said cautiously. 

“Why wouldn’t I?,” 

“You’re raiding the terrain, you don’t know much about me. Figured you didn’t visit people you didn’t know,”

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just always looking over my shoulder and suspicious of people. It’s nothing against you,”

“Well I’m not dead. So you can go,” You sharp tone caught her off guard.

“I- I was thinking I could stay in here for a bit. W-we could talk and I brought your katana back and... hers-,”

“So what?,: you laughed bitterly, “I almost died and it sparked some feelings in you and now you want me to just accept that?,”

Natasha’s jaw was slack as she tried to find the words to say.

“My life shouldn’t be some wake up call for you. I don’t work like that,”

“It’s not a wake up call and you’re right I did come to lay my feelings out there. It’s just, I’m not used to admitting when I like someone and it’s stupid but yeah Y/N, I like you and I should’ve said so sooner,”

“It’s not that easy. You don’t get to be mean or treat someone badly just because you don’t know how to express your feelings!,”

“I know, I know,” she nodded.

She sat down with you and you felt overwhelmed with all you were feeling. 

“We were orphans,” you blurt out.

“What?,”

“You want to know a backstory.. well here it is,” you swirling the pudding with the spoon.

“Me and my sister were orphans. Our parents gave us up when she was 1 and I was a new born. They dropped us out front of the training facility and Einosuke took us in. From the day he took us in, well until I could walk, ‘til the day I left, we trained day and night. We danced, learned, fought and studied. Our brains were put in a blender,”  You set the cup of pudding down, now finding your bandages more interesting.

“They were merciless. We were starved so we could train to be perfect. We danced on hot coals, beds of razors, anything that taught us light and graceful, it was a messy experience. Every month we would perform in front of the other Prime ones so they could see our progress and see if we were ready to go out and be a real batafurai,” you rolled your eyes at the words.

Natasha sat there, listening to every syllable that came out of your mouth.

“One day my sister was performing. She passed the ‘Butterfly Trial’ which is a bunch of tests that ranged from differently styles of fighting with different weapons to having an extensive conversation with all the languages we learned, but now it was really time for her to perform. Time for her to fly. She looked so beautiful. She was floating on air, her dance resonated within everyone and you could tell just by looking around the room . But she made eye contact with the second head Prime and she got nervous which caused her to slip up and in the Cho No Niwa, there are no slip ups... We... they don’t take slip ups lightly,”

You cleared your throat and took a quick glance at Natasha, she stared at you with intensity, wrinkles in her forehead, “I immediately started to tear up but I couldn’t cry out or else I’d suffer too. Azumi didn’t cry at all, she just knelt down beside me as Einosuke handed her the katana. She placed the blade toward her and she told me that she’ll be proud that I keep fighting and the flowers will bloom for us again. Then.. then,” 

Your eyes became blurred, it was such a foreign feelings to cry, especially after almost eleven years, 

“Then she was forced to commit seppuku,” you swallowed thickly, “A suicide ritual by stabbing yourself in the abdomen. In recent years others were forced to complete the ritual by disemboweling themselves but our generation of batafurai changed that. Azumi’s name meant ‘safe space’ and she was that for me, she was all I had, she was my protector,”

You wiped your face and shook your head, “I watched her die, Nat. I don’t know how he did it but I watched my sister fucking die. Then I see her standing there alive, telling me she goes by the name Sunako which means ’dark side’, I saw her fucking die that day” you sobbed and sniffled your nose, you tasted the salt from your tears, “Then I had to watch it again... for good and I’m the one who did it,”

You were so upset at the universe. Natasha rested her hand on yours. 

“She died when I was thirteen and that same night I ran away. I was doing alI could to survive then Fury found me at 17. He had me in a safe house and had another agent train me until he thought I was ready to join you guys. I wasn’t ready until 6 years later and then I get here and you all stick me in a cage and underestimate me,”

“W-we didn’t mean to, Y/N. We’re just worried because of the influx of enhanced beings and-,”

“It’s okay,” you cut her off, “I think I’ve shown you guys enough to regret doing that,” you half smile.

“You are correct,”

“There’s no files on me because I have none. I literally don’t exist to the outside world. I’m legally here because of  my dual citizenship. But other than that I’m a ghost,”

“I’m sorry for everything, Y/N,”

You weren’t sure if she meant it, she says a lot of things.

“I mean it, I like you and I know it’s going to take a while to build some trust up but I’m willing to do that,”

“Don’t lie to me,”

“I’m not lying. We all know that we need to do better to make you feel safe and a part of the team and we’re all willing to work on that. I’m willing to work on that and us,”

“Who said there’s an us?,”

“No one. But I’m willing to be there for you in every way so we can build it into existence,”

*The End*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lmao that didn’t turn out how I wanted but I’m posting it anyway!

PLEASE leave feedback, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated (likes are too but I like y’alls encourage words.

Depending on how fast this gets to 100 notes the faster you guys get Myself part 2!!

Tags- @sideeffectsofyou @chonisberonica @majikmelanin​

[shenglingyuan]

title: the sword for which the world would kneel (1/2) (ao3) pairing: akashi seijuro/midorima shintaro summary: The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit, who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul. Its name was Shintaro.

a.k.a. sword boyfriend akamido au...happy akamido day!!!! i will post the second half on midoaka day ohoho (also i really just ran out of time to finish....;_;)

Legend has it that beneath the Akashi estate rests the legendary sword of the Hundred Years War. The sword, said to be wielded by the best swordsman in history, put an end to the long unrest between the human and non-human races. Its blade shines even without a source of light, so sharp that even the wind fears to sweep past by its side. The handful that survived a decisive swing from it have said that the sword seemed to have a mind of its own, passing judgment to its targets despite what its wielder thinks. But of course, this was true. The sword was no ordinary sword after all. It was forged with a sword spirit, who would appear in its human form whenever it went to battle, causing havoc and annihilation on the field, never missing a single soul.

  Its name was Shintaro.

  “Ever since its original owner died, Shintaro has never once woken up,” Seijuro’s father has told him once when he was only eight. He was only a curious boy then, finding himself in the presence of the sword, drawn to the basement where it was kept, pulled by some mysterious force. His father found him just before he was able to land his pudgy hands on the revered blade. “No one has ever been worthy. Not even the best of us.”

  It hasn’t seen the best of us , Akashi’s young but clear mind thought, It hasn’t seen me.

Seijuro was a boy who was raised to be the best and grew up believing so. A lifeless sword not recognizing him? What a dishonor.

His mother told him, owning a legendary sword should be like owning any vicious creature. If one wanted for the vicious creature to recognize them, then one should show that he was more than an ‘owner’. One should show this creature – this sword – care and concern. Treat it like you would treat a friend, and it’ll tame under your hand.

  Seijuro kept this advice to heart. Whenever he had time, he would visit the sword on the basement and talk to it as if he was talking to a person. Even though Seijuro was the son of the clan head, because of his skills and temperament, there really was no one he could call a friend . Talking to the sword was no big deal: it could listen to whatever he had to day, and there was no chance it would say something he would disagree on. In some sense, the sword did become his friend. Seijuro only wondered if the sword considered him as such, too.

  On one occasion, his mother weaved for him an ornament to hang on the hilt of the sword. During those days, her body has grown too weak that she could only accomplish little things.

  “Maybe the sword will appreciate a small token?” she smiled as she put it on Seijuro’s small, rough palms.

  Seijuro eagerly went to the basement and tied it around the hilt. The ornament was made from dark green rayon, and at the end was a white jade shaped like a crescent moon. It was the last thing his mother was able to create before she finally gave in to her illness.

His father told him, after his mother has passed, that the only way to tame a vicious creature was to show it who has the power. Vicious creatures have no sense of tenderness nor warmth, so would a legendary blade made for war. For years, Seijuro trained both his mind and his spirit. There were no trials he did not face, there were no enemies he did not pound in defeat. When he finally came of age, all of the land and all of the races knew to tremble at the sound of his name – Akashi Seijuro.

  As per family tradition, and to acknowledge his skills, his father granted him ownership of Shintaro.

  Yet, the cold blade that laid underneath his own home never seemed to recognize him.

“I place no hope in its awakening,” his father had told him, disappointment leaking from his tongue, “but it’s better to be exposed on the field than grow brittle in its sheath.”

  From then on, Seijuro carried it on his back, never once parting with it even a meter away. He never used it either, for pulling it out of its sheath without it awakening to recognize him first seemed like cheating. It was against Seijuro’s principle. He won more battles, having a mundane sword on his hand as a weapon and a legendary sword on his back as decoration. The sword almost became a part of his body, no one would see Seijuro without it. A part of him believed that if the sword became familiar with him, if it saw how undefeated he was on the battlefield, then maybe it’ll finally give in and awaken. Seijuro’s spirit couldn’t be shaken – I will make this sword mine.

But as heaven would have it, not one who always wins could guarantee he could never get defeated.

  Seijuro was confident he had turn over the plan in his head a hundred times. All the possibilities and impossibilities were accounted for. But they were still overpowered, their numbers diminished into nothingness. Only a quarter remained alive, and by the looks of things, it wouldn’t be for much long.

  As Seijuro looked at the unexpected trump card their enemies brought out, as time seemed to freeze to mock him in his arrogance, as his blood freely flowed from his wounds, his father’s words echoed back in his head: No one has ever been worthy, not even the best of us.

  Seijuro closed his eyes in silent surrender.

  It’s not yet over!

  A strange, deep voice suddenly sounded in his head. Just then, the wind seemed to whistle, as if it was sliced by a very sharp blade. The weight on his back lightened, and the surrounding suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

  Seijuro opened his eyes and got a vague vision of a tall man in flowing robes standing before him, his long dark hair tied up high on his head, swaying with the wind. The dark sky opened up, the crescent moon above shining a light on the sudden stranger that saved his life. He wielded a strangely familiar but unfamiliar sword before him, its blade even shining brighter than the moon. The name slipped off his tongue before his mind had the chance to work: “Shintaro.”

  He never knew if the sword – no, the man – heard him or not, for as soon as he said his name, he strode from the spot he was standing, moving as swiftly and as surely as a storm cloud, and suddenly, the enemies that have been overpowering them were all defeated in a flash. There wasn’t even any clashing of metal swords that rang in the night air, Shintaro moved too fast for them to counteract.

  When the wind had settled, the battlefield had been soaked in their enemies’ blood.

  Seijuro was already standing, quickly recovering from his initial shock. This was the moment he had been waiting for all his life. Finally, the legendary sword has awakened. Yet, he still felt unsatisfied. Seijuro knew exactly why – the sword awakened when he was on the brink of death, as if the sword never believed he could survive and took it in its own hands to finish the job he was supposed to do.

  It was a mockery.

  But his remaining men were still kneeling on the ground, praises pouring out of their mouths.

  Finally! The young master has awakened the sword! He saved us! They saved us!

  Shintaro turned to face him then, and only Seijuro could see the knowing glance he threw his way.

  Your men believe that you are their savior, that voice spoke again in his mind, do you really wish to be stubborn right now?

  His eyes widened. The sword could see through his thoughts!

  But he made sense, to his own surprise. If Seijuro questioned the grounds on which the sword was awakened, his own men would see him weak and unworthy. It would bring shame to himself, and if his father knew, even more disgrace would fall upon his head.

  I’m still not worthy of you , he thought.

  The man only made a gesture in response, placing the sword before him to indicate that the battle was over. Another gust of swift cold wind grazed past the field, and in the next moment, the sword flew back to its sheath behind Seijuro, the man nowhere to be seen.

  Seijuro gritted his teeth, a small smile lining his lips. His quest to win the legendary sword has still yet to end.

News of the legendary sword’s awakening spread through all of the races like a plague. In no time at all, the Akashi estate was brimming with guests inside, wanting to land a glance at the sword spirit; the outside hid several spies from the enemies who couldn’t even dream of stepping an inch inside the heavily guarded estate.

  The sword spirit was not a social creature. He secluded himself inside the sword, never appearing in his human form again. But since he had been awakened, naturally, his thoughts were alive once more. And for some reason, the sword’s thoughts and Akashi’s could be connected in some imaginary space.

  “Little boy, how are your wounds?” Shintaro’s voice sounded inside his head. Seijuro jolted in surprise. Having someone in his head would need time to get used to.

  “I am not a little boy,” he answered calmly in his mind.

  The sword didn't reply anymore. Feeling left hanging in the air, Seijuro continued on, “How come you only awaken now?”

  “You needed me, and so I appeared.”

  His words strike Seijuro by surprise. Why did it sound like a sword spirit harbored mortal emotions? A sword spirit was its master's weapon alone. Nothing but an animated object.

  “For someone who hasn't met a sword spirit before, you think you know everything.”

  Seijuro forces himself to calm, keeping negative emotions inside him was detrimental to his recovery. Besides, he remembered that he still had to make himself worthy. Going against this blade whom he wanted to be recognized by was probably not the best idea.

  “Little boy,” the sword spoke again uninvited, “You are my owner now. You can’t just shut me out of your mind.”

  “Then start by calling me by my name.”

  The sword fell into silence, keeping quiet for so long that Seijuro thought it finally went back to sleep once more.

  “It’s not my fault they named me after him ,” Seijuro added, knowing since then the significance of his name and the hope that the family had placed on him to awaken the legendary sword, “But rest assured, this name that I now carry, it wouldn’t be wasted on me.”

The first Akashi Seijuro was a man more known than the Emperor of the land in his time. He was so powerful, so brave, so renowned, that when the Imperial Court collapsed from the inside and he took the opportunity to overthrow the ruling monarch and rule instead, what remained of the country welcomed him with open arms. The victory he brought during the Hundred Years War was forever etched in the hearts of the people. For those that survived that era of great depression, he was a symbol of absolute victory. And alongside him was the legendary sword he had wielded.

  His rule was short, however. They said the power consumed him, made him lose himself. The legends have also said that it was because of this very reason that during a crucial time, the sword spirit that had been with him through thick and thin refused to heed his calls anymore. When the demon enemy raised its weapon against Akashi Seijuro, and when he called for his trusted sword, only silence was the reply that came back. Then came the blow that ended his years of lunacy.

  The present Akashi Seijuro was now leading the clan in his father’s stead, four years after the reawakening of Shintaro. Ever since the day that he appeared in the middle of the battlefield, not once did he show himself again. It didn’t mean, however, that Seijuro was free from him. His quiet mind became a home for two.

  Thankfully, this sword spirit would only speak up about important matters. Once, when one of Seijuro’s men suggested to feign an ambush on the insurgent fire wielder clan that threaten their allies near Aso, Shintaro couldn’t help but scoff, “The fire wielder clan will devour you even before you step an inch within their territory. Little boy, how come you have followers as air-headed as this? Is he truly a warrior of this clan?”

  But of course, Seijuro was the only one to hear this. He agreed though, the hapless plan sounded really foolish. Aso was a vast place lined by chains of active volcanoes. No human lived within a mile of its borders. Only the very few friendly members of the fire wielder clan dare even breathe the air in that place, for the their loyalty to their blood was stronger than any connection in the world. Even if one side were friendly with the humans, as long as they did no harm, the ‘insurgent’ groups would never touch them.

  The case for humans were different, however. One wrong move and their head would either roll on Aso’s slopes or their body would be thrown to the boiling magmas. It didn’t matter how great a fighter one was.

  Seijuro appeased the sword in his mind, then lectured the person before him. Shintaro seemed satisfied, keeping quiet again throughout the whole duration of the meeting, only occasionally making subtle sounds of approval or disapproval.

  The sword’s inputs weren’t useless anyway, and in fact, Seijuro would seriously consider them from time to time. Eventually, the sword ended up as some sort of adviser for him. The rest of the clan acknowledged this, feeling blessed to have a legendary sword guide their ways.

  As for Seijuro, he was still on the edge over the fact that the sword was still not calling him by his name.

  “Why do you insist on calling me ‘little boy’?” he asked the sword while he was meditating in the middle of the Spirit Hall. “I’m already twenty-five.”

  “To me, you would always be that little boy who came to the basement to tell me about your life, not even missing a single day,” the voice suddenly sounded soft and fond, immersed in reminiscing old memories, “You stopped coming after you gave me the jade ornament.”

  The calm that Seijuro had been able to muster from his meditation trembled at the distant memory of his youth. He had never been able to return after he tied the jade ornament around its hilt because on that evening, his mother collapsed. He chose to stay by her side all day and all night since then. She passed on not long after, then his father honed him to the path of greatness. The sleeping sword had once been abandoned until Seijuro came of age.

  “You were just a little boy then,” it continued to speak in his mind, “When I saw you again, I couldn’t recognize you anymore.”

  He knew the sword wasn’t talking about his physical growth. “Loss changes a person.”

  “I would know.”

  Seijuro opened his eyes, suddenly finding an opening to a topic he had never once brought up in these years. “Your original owner, the man whom I share names with, what really happened to him?”

  “Are the things you’ve heard not enough to create a general idea about it?”

  “Those that talk about him now, no one of them was around during his time. And even if they were, no one knew him...no one knew him as much as you did. You were his constant companion. You know about the stories, then. Is it true?”

  “You people put Seijuro on too high of a pedestal he himself wouldn’t dare step on.” Even though it was his own name that slipped out of Shintaro, it sounded very foreign, like a stranger whom he never had the chance to meet, “He’s just like everyone else. A little more intelligent, a little more skilled, yes, but he is still human. He has weaknesses. He could fail. But the world...they looked at him as if his every step was a path created by the gods, and that even a slight mistake was worthy to crush his reputation to pieces. Any human subjected to such tremendous pressure, no matter how great they are, was bound to fall.”

  “They said when he needed you most, you didn’t aide him. If you’re so devoted, how could you do that?”

  Shintaro let out a bitter laugh. “He didn’t bring me to battle on that day.”

  “On such an important battle?”

  Shintaro paused for a while, seemingly gathering his thoughts, then he spoke again, “Around that period, he had already shown signs of...not being himself. Though I had a physical form, I can only do so much. He has already pushed everyone else away, I tried not to oppose him further for fear that he’d be all alone.

  “But the battle with the demons shouldn’t have pushed through, it was an intricately laid trap all along. Seijuro knew of it, but he did not care. I tried to stop him but he did not listen. In his fury, he chained my blade and locked it in the palace. He went on to battle with a mundane sword. The next thing I knew, my spirit seemed to have been plucked with by something...as if my guts were pulled out by an invisible hand. There I knew...Seijuro had perished in the battle.”

  Seijuro recalled the tall figure of Shintaro standing before him that time. He couldn’t help but think, if right now, Shintaro was also in that form, sitting in front of him, those dignified shoulders would be drooping, his straight back would be bent from an invisible weight, and his cold sharp face would be painted with the most melancholic of gray. Absentmindedly, he reached for the sword hung on his back, giving it a tender, assuring pat.

  “There are many stories, they change from tongue to tongue. But it was written in the chronicles that the last words they heard from that man's mouth was the name of his sword. This is an established piece of history.” He had his own speculations too about how deeply their relationship went, but this Seijuro didn't bring it up anymore, “Even in his last breath, it was you he was thinking of. If you want to meet him again, then there’s reincarnation to hope for.”

  Seijuro felt the sword become colder, as if its sorrow manifested itself as ice.

  “With a soul as corrupted as his, there won’t be any chance for reincarnation.”

  And Shintaro was a sword spirit. Spirits such as him that did not undergo the cycle of life and death had no chance either to cross the river to the afterlife. Losing his original owner was one thing; being awakened with the knowledge that it could never return to his wielder was a different torture to an immortal soul like him.

  “Would you have rathered to not be awakened?”

  “I tried really hard,” a bitter laugh reverberated in Seijuro’s mind, “But on a winter’s day over two decades ago, I was stirred up from my slumber.”

  “Over two decades ago…”

  “Don’t overthink too much. You are not Seijuro’s reincarnation. I would recognize his soul no matter what form he takes.”

  “That’s good then,” Seijuro smiled to himself. It meant that when the time came that he’d be finally able to be worthy of the legendary sword, it would be because of who he was and what he had accomplished.

  The Akashi Seijuro of the past was no more than a bitter memory. He would make sure that he - the Akashi Seijuro of the present - would surpass whatever that person was able to accomplish.

During the past half century,  under the rule of a new imperial line, the warriors of the human clan that was led by the Akashis only had one goal: to achieve yet again the peace that the first Akashi Seijuro was able to obtain for the land when he ended the Hundred Years War. Humans dominate the land, but there were also minorities that they had to coexist peacefully with. Though many of the other clans were their allies, insurgents ran in abundance in the territories that weren’t under their jurisdiction yet: the mermaids in Karatsu who wished to have the sole jurisdiction of the Western Sea, the ice people of Sapporo who wished to bar humans from their island because of an incident from a thousand years ago, the mountain creatures of Hida who wanted to be left alone from the entire world, and the fire wielders of Aso who were the most assertive of their desire to dominate instead.

  These insurgent groups, though small, were able to scatter themselves. They were like weeds, sprouting wherever, needing to be controlled. As the Akashis were settled in Kumamoto, this was their area of jurisdiction. The mermaid and fire wielder clans thrive in this territory as well, and there were regular clashes.

  Most of the times, the humans would win. But then, there were times that they wouldn’t.

  Seijuro had to lead another mission: insurgent mermaids were reported to be present in some port towns that weren’t Karatsu.

  “If they have expanded this much, I’m afraid some alliances between the insurgent groups are forming,” Shintaro had said while Seijuro was planning. Not knowing anything else, they needed to get more information first.

  “I was thinking that, too. And it could only be the fire wielders who could be helping them.”

  “If it’s them you’re dealing with...be more cautious.”

  Seijuro waited for Shintaro to add more to his words, but nothing came to his mind. Thinking nothing more of it, he continued devising a main plan and a handful of back-up plans. When night fell, with a few of his elite fighters, they went to observe themselves.

  It was only supposed to be a reconnaissance. But somehow, the enemies got wind of their arrival. The moment they stepped on the borders of the port town, they were ambushed from all sides. It was like that moment in the field again. Despite all his planning, the heavens seemed to be failing Seijuro in purpose.

  For the second time around, Shintaro appeared to save his life and the few others that were able to survive. Seijuro ordered to retreat before anyone else got killed.

  Upon their return, Seijuro suffered humiliation from his own father.

  “You bring nothing but dishonor!” he said, completely disregarding all the victories Seijuro had won for him. He only sat in front of the hall, their people sat on the sides. Seijuro was bent on the center, his forehead touching the floor. “The Akashis have long been trusted with the survival of the human race. The original bearer of your name brought peace to this land. How come you yourself bring death instead?” He pointed at the sword on his back. “If it weren’t for this legendary sword, who knew if you would have come back alive? Are you really even worthy?”

  If this was the olden days, Seijuro would have been lashed in front of everyone, shamed until he had no spirit left. But his father was aging, the times had changed, and despite his words, there wasn’t really anyone else fit to lead them into this wars. The other human clans have already conceded to this fact. If Akashi Seijuro failed, then even more so would the others.

  “Go back to the Memorial Hall and reflect. Ask forgiveness from the souls you have failed. Make sure that when you step out of that place, you’ve carved into your soul what it means to get defeated and that you would know how not to experience it again.”

  Seijuro didn’t know how he was able to bring himself back to his room. The moment from the floor of the main hall to the floor of the Memorial Hall seemed like a quiet blur. When he came to the realization that he was already alone and that Shintaro was calling his attention in his mind, he started to laugh.

  Blood still stained his clothes, a mix of their enemies’ and his comrades’. He didn’t even have a wound, all because Shintaro saved him in time. Without him, would he have been able to escape at all? Without Shintaro, he actually would have been long dead.

  “I’m worthless,” he said quietly, his laughter fading in the empty hall, “I’m nothing without a legendary weapon. I’m nothing without a victory. I’m nothing without my name. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

  The weight on his back lightened, soft cold wind swirled around him. Suddenly, he was enveloped between two firm arms on his front, a warm body giving him assurance. Shintaro’s long hair fell over Seijuro’s back. Their faces were only inches apart.

  “You are wrong,” he said again. This time, his voice was low but clear, not anymore echoing inside his mind, stirring his heart anew, “Not everyone define you by your losses and your triumphs, as you should not be. You are Seijuro - the kid who kept a lonely sword company for days without fail, treating it like a human being, like a friend; the teenager determined to be the best version of himself, training both mind and body; the adult that leads his people with all his best, knowing when to pursue or to retreat, having the makings of the greatest fighter and leader in history. This is the Seijuro I know, and you must know him, too.”

  Seijuro started to calm his breath, Shintaro’s words acting like a healing salve to his wounded ego. He became more aware of the arms comforting him, of the fact that for the first time in many years, Shintaro had called him by his name.

  He pushed Shintaro a bit away from him then, yet he still held on to this arms, meeting his emerald eyes. By some inexplicable force, Seijuro reached up, cupping the sides of Shintaro’s face with his own surprisingly steady hands. For so long, he had been drowning in his life as the succeeding chief of the clan and for being a prestigious Akashi. The name Seijuro attached to him since birth became the heavy anchor from which he could not remove himself from. He didn’t know since when, but it felt like he had been holding his breath for far too long. He needed air.

  Seijuro moved forward, landing a hesitant lip over Shintaro’s. To his surprise, Shintaro responded right away, opening his own mouth further, giving his upper lip a light lick. At that point, Seijuro lost all his reservations. He pressed further, weaving his left hand along Shintaro’s hair, his right hand grabbing the back of Shintaro’s neck as he hungrily savored the moment.

  Yet Shintaro didn’t feel like overwhelming at all. His hands that held Seijuro by his waist were firm but gentle, touching him as if he was the most precious treasure in the whole world. His lips were as gentle as the lap of the waves against the shore, ferrying him from the bottom of the boundless ocean.

  Seijuro had never felt so content.

  So this was how it felt like to be saved.

Ever since that moment, Shintaro lived his days in his human form, much to everyone else’s surprise. He would always appear behind Seijuro, walking alongside him, seeming like an Emperor’s advisor. Even Seijuro’s father was speechless at this development and he never dared say a demeaning word again towards Seijuro.

  Shintaro had long harbored a soft affection towards Seijuro. After all, who in the past hundred of years actually took the time to visit a desolate sword in the basement and tell them of the most trivial things? Even when Seijuro grew up and started carrying him on his back, his motivation to train just to be worthy to wield him impressed Shintaro. Though he might be a sword spirit, he still had a heart that could be moved.

  When Shintaro saved him from certain death on that day he finally turned to his human form again, he has no other intention in mind. If Seijuro had died that day, he didn’t know if anyone else could wield him. Half of him wanted to remain dormant, but this other half was effectively convinced by Seijuro that he’s worth waking up for.

  Over the years, Seijuro had proven that he really was worth it.

  The duo that was Akashi Seijuro and the legendary sword Shintaro became a fearsome force in the battlefield in no time. Their names were soon equated with victory. No matter the force, no matter the ability, no matter the strategy, no matter how difficult things would appear to be, the two of them led the clan to win against them every single time. It was no question when they got the nickname “The Miracle Combination”.

“Can you please stop staring?” Seijuro broke through his reverie, a small smile lining his lips, “It is quite distracting.”

  They were holed up in Seijuro’s room, finalizing the troop redistribution they had conjured up together. After almost a decade of battles, Seijuro was almost near his goal of unifying the land under one rule. The mermaids have made a mutually beneficial deal about the jurisdiction on the Western Sea. The mountain creatures finally realized that they would have a higher chance to survive and thrive if they let others interact with them, and the ice people finally let go of their thousand year-old grudge. This was the same goal the previous Seijuro had, except that this present Seijuro addressed it with a much solid plan and a much clearer mind.

  After the complete defeat in the port town, Seijuro and Shintaro came to reorganize their whole strategy. It turned out to be highly effective. They were finally able to subdue the most violent mermaids, and they made peace with those that were willing to create it. Right now, only one clan was left, and then they could celebrate probably another hundred years of peace.

  “If my stare alone can already distract you, then you might have to reconsider fighting in the field,” Shintaro jested, knowing all too well that when it comes to the things that matter, Seijuro would be the last one to get himself shaken by the most trivial things.

  “Being brave now, are we?”

  Shintaro scooted closer to Seijuro and the map they were working on. The territory of the fire wielder clan remained the only one unmarked.

  “What’s wrong?” Seijuro asked, noticing something was off within the short period of silence. “Is there any matter about the fire wielders?”

  “Do you know how us sword spirits come to be?”

  Seijuro thought for a while, juggling in his mind the previous legends he had learned. Though he and Shintaro had been together for years, it was actually a wonder why the topic of the fire wielders never came in between them, nor was his creation.

  “From what I know, the metal is melted at a really high temperature, and once it's heated up enough, an animal sacrifice would be waiting to be slain by the slightly molten sword. There is a certain incantation that must be orated, and however strong the sword spirit is would depend on the intensity of sacrifice and the skill of the smith.”

  “Animal sacrifice, is that how they teach it these days?”

  “Is it more than that?”

  “So much more. The previous Seijuro was my wielder, but my sword smith was from the fire wielder clan. Seijuro was able to have me because of his connection with the fire wielders back then. Only the heat from their magma could create such a high quality sword.”

  “And the matter about the sacrifice?” Somehow, Seijuro already knew the answer even before Shintaro said it, a heavy weight dragging on his heart.

  “The fire wielders...they have a collection of humans especially living to be sacrifices in their life. They are well-cared for, knowing nothing of their eventual fate. When it's their time, they are separated from the other potential sacrifices, being made to believe that they are being sent out on an important mission. Little did they know, they will be melted with the steel in the boiling magma.”

  At this point, Seijuro's arms were already around Shintaro's waist, hugging him tightly in some semblance of comfort. It was a worthless action, he knew. He couldn't even begin to imagine the suffering Shintaro had gone through to be made into a sword spirit.

  “Did he know?”

  “He did. It was a long-standing thorn between us,” Shintaro let out a sigh, patting his head gently, “Anyway, it's not what I was trying to say. The fire wielders are masters of creating swords with spirits. When the old Seijuro fell from power, his alliance with them dissipated, too. They've cut off their connection from outside. Who knows how much they've developed this ancient technique? How much sword spirits would be there? You have to consider this in distributing your troops and where to lead the battle.”

  Seijuro kept his arm around Shintaro, nodding slightly. “You are the only sword spirit in our hand. Could you handle a situation like it when the time comes?”

  A gentle finger lands on Seijuro’s chin, tilting his head up. Eyes that were as green as the fields they fight on met eyes that were as red as the blood that soon soaked them. In this small distance connected by their breaths, a promise of a lifetime was made.

  “As long as I'm around, I will always give you victory.”

  But a god's plan was greater than that of either a human's or a sword spirit's.

[tateonnas-blog]

Flo’s in town and I dont mean Ryder

PMS, the unexpected, symptoms, pain relief, remedies

Periods… First and foremost WHY!? Why must we go through the same vicious cycle every 28ish days? Those average 3-5 days of hell where you feel the need to always stay close to a restroom because there’s a constant murder scene in your underpants. Or when the damn thing comes when you least expect it, like during a business meeting or while your driving somewhere other than your home, or how about simply waking up thinking you pissed your pants. Yup, the struggle is so real ladies. Now let’s not forget PMSing. Every month brings us a different symptom, lol. Breasts so tender that when your significant other is in the mood, they just so happen to go straight to them both, or lower back pain so annoying that you’re unhappy in any position you try and get comfortable in. What about that random muffin top you get because of bloating and possible constipation? I mean come on! My favorite part is when you start doing the happy dance thinking your period happens to be finito, yet when you least expect it comes back. Oh, how I love periods.

Does anyone remember their first period? How old you were, where you were, how your mom reacted, and just how you felt throughout that first cycle?

Well, let me enlighten ya a little. I started late in the game. It wasn’t until I hit the age of 14 and had barely graduated from Buena Park Jr High. In all honesty, I had always wondered why I hadn’t gotten my period yet. Especially since my mom had always told me stories of how old she and her sisters were when they became “young ladies”. I mean my mom started around 8! Holy hell! She talked about how quickly her breasts grew in and how she saw all these body changes. Oh but not me. On a regular summer day, I was hanging out in the living watching TV with my brothers. I had a sudden urge to pee, so I obviously ran to the restroom to empty out my bladder. But this wasn’t a normal trip to the restroom. This was the day I thought I was dying! I freaked the hell out. And it wasn’t like I was able to yell out for my mom because it was during her work hours. I also didn’t have any sisters who’d be able to tell me what the hell was going on. So, I did the best with what I had and quickly got on the phone to get ahold of my mom. This is how my conversation went…

Phone rings:

Mom: “O**** Protective Services, how can I help you?”

Me: Mom! Guess what!?

Mom: “You got your period!?”

Me: “What the… How’d you know?”

Mom: “Whaaaaaat! Really!? Dios miooooo, mi hija ya es una mujer!”

Translation: “Whaaaaaat! Really!? Omg, my daughter is now a woman!”

Me: “Mom stop. I…”

Mom: “Mami, let me call you right back.”

Me: “Um…OK.”

An hour passes and I’m here wondering what the hell to do. I was super naive to it all. It’s not like I was able to get on the computer we didn’t have and google “what to do when you start your period”. And if I mentioned it to my brothers, they’d take it upon themselves to let the jokes begin. They were assholes! LOL. As I’m trying to play it cool in front of my brothers, My mom calls back.

Me: “Hello…”

Mom: “Mami, I had to hang up with you to try and get ahold of gramma. She wasn’t home but I was able to get ahold of grandpa. I had to tell him that my one and only daughter became a woman today!”

Me: “Mom you didn’t have to do that. How embarrassing mom. Grandpa!? Really!? I’ve never even met the guy.”

I really wanted to say, “WTF mom! Was it that serious? You literally hung up with me to be a busybody, instead of telling me what to do to stop from bleeding out!” If I had actually said this, I would’ve been bleeding from another part of my body too. As I’m still not mentioning the whole period thing to my brothers, my mom comes storming in with some huge pads. Pads that probably would’ve helped soak up water during the great flood. Yet no rainbow in sight after. I mean these pads were about 3 ½ inches wide and like 22 inches long!!! Oh, man did I not hear the end of it from my brothers. Mind you, I was a huge tomboy. I wore their hand me downs more than the crap dresses my mom wanted me to wear. I’d go out and play any sport they had taught me and would be one of the firsts to be picked. I mean, I was pretty badass. But once I got my period they basically thought I was a huge sissy. The good thing is they also were the reason for me not taking what they said too seriously. Even after this horrible first period experience, I kicked butt on the field and in anything that they introduced me to. For about a year the darn thing lasted 8-11 days. I thought I’d never see the end of my cycles. But luckily after starting the high school softball team, I started noticing it would lighten up quicker.

This was my fun experience. What was yours like? And what have you done, as far as remedies to help alleviate the pain?

TIP: If you can’t find your heating pad, Grab a hand towel and soak it in water. Squeeze out as much of the water as possible and grab a huge Ziplock bag. Place the towel inside and while the bag is open, pop it into the microwave for about a minute, minute and a half. This was something that helped even at work too.

Ladies, know that we feel your pain BUT the best thing to do during this monthly struggle is stop by See’s candy, buy a whole box of your fave chocolates, head home, put on a Netflix movie and gorge.

YOU’RE WELCOME

[lezliefaithwade]

The F-word!

I was 19 years-old the first time I ever said the F-word. I remember it distinctly. I was sitting on the bleachers at the ball park not far from my home thinking about a boy who had kissed me, on that very spot a week earlier. I was writing in my journal when two guys, a bit younger than I, started harassing me. “Nice tits,” the slighty chubby one yelled. “Yeah,” his side-kick mimicked, “Nice tits.” I was and remain to this day a very modest person. I don’t enjoy being somewhat well endowed. I wanted to be flat chested my entire life drawing absolutely no attention to any part of my body whatsoever. My dream was always that people would like me for my sizable brain and witty banter. My breasts were the last thing I cared about. In fact, they betrayed me. Women with breasts were naturally thought of as stupid, whereas flat chested women were smart. But I had just graduated from high school with a 92% average. It had to be because I hid my breasts constantly behind sweaters, jumpers, blazers.

“Come suck my dick,” one boy yelled at me. I tried to ignore them, but they kept at it obviously enjoying their efforts to denigrate me.

“What’s the matter? Your tits too big for your brain?” one of them asked while the other one snickered. And that was when the f-word came out of my mouth. It came out without thought and without apology. It sounded like artillery in my mouth and it did the trick. They F-d off and I was once again left alone, stewing. The moment for writing was lost. My reverie had been completely destroyed. I was livid. Never in a million years would I or any of my girlfriends have tried to humiliate a boy the way I had just been humiliated. It simply wouldn’t happen. And the more I thought about it, the more I hated the way I looked, and the way they had made me feel.

A month later I was living in New York, attending theatre school in midtown Manhattan and enjoying my first taste of independence. I had a modest amount of money inherited from my mother’s insurance after her death four years earlier, and I parceled it out carefully for my studies. New Yorkers, I soon discovered, had no problem using the f-word as a noun, an adjective, a verb and an adverb. In a month’s time I heard it used often and to great effect. Cab drivers, cyclists, even men at food carts. In acting class, there was hardly an improv that didn’t end with a good F-you! By the time I returned home for Thanksgiving it was part of my regular vocabulary.  While happily enjoying the dinner, my father had lovingly prepared, I nonchalantly said, “Pass the f-ing turkey, please and thank you.” Thus, assuring my father that all his fears of my going to New York were completely founded. That was the first and last time I ever swore in front of my him, with the exception of possibly blurting out something when I’d hit my thumb accidentally with a hammer or burned myself while cooking.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that most men don’t like women who swear. In particular, older men feel as though a curse word coming from the mouth of a woman is demeaning. But even younger men, I’ve noticed, can get pretty pissy when women level the playing field by swearing. I recently re-read Terrence McNally’s play, Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune. When Frankie tells Johnny he’s full of shit after he professes his love during a one-night stand, he responds: “Hey, come on, don’t. One of the things I like about you, Frankie, is that you talk nice.”

She responds by using the F-word six times. I might have used it seven.

When I think of the times I’m most likely to swear, it’s usually around men. I feel like a junk yard dog warning anyone who crosses the line that I mean business. It’s not something I resort to naturally. It’s usually reserved for the guy on the subway whose legs are so wide he’s taking up two seats and rubbing his thigh up against me. The man on the bus who won’t take his eyes off my breasts. The one who says, “Smile. You look so much better when you smile.” I hate when I get driven to the point of expletive no return. I was raised to be polite. My parents grew up with the reasonable expectation that people would be mutually respectful of one and other. Sometimes when men cross the line they cover it up by saying things like, “Lighten up. I’m just joking,” or worse, accuse me of taking things too seriously. I once told an actor to F-off when he wouldn’t stop poking me in rehearsal. I asked politely. I asked again. And then I just didn’t care. No way was I going to perform that one scene for two months on the road with him poking me every F-ing day.

There have been times when I didn’t use the word and I wished I had. Once in New York on a lunch break I went to a park to learn lines and a wealthy older man sat down by me and thought it was perfectly okay to regale me on the virtues of wearing high heels instead of running shoes (which at the time was kind of my signature look.) He was creepy and his comments were intrusive. No one asked him. Men who think it’s perfectly okay to give unsolicited fashion advice to women deserve to be told off.

According to scientists, swearing appears to be a feature of language that an articulate speaker can use in order to communicate with maximum effectiveness. A collection of studies concluded that there is more to swearing than simply causing offence, or a lack of verbal hygiene. Language is a sophisticated toolkit, and swearing is a part of it. Once, it may well have saved my life.

I was still in New York enjoying my first real relationship with a guy who was a playwright at the Julliard School when, for some reason, a conversation about a play we had seen turned sour and the next thing I knew I was storming out of the apartment. On this particular occasion, I thought a walk along the beach at Coney Island would be just the thing to clear my head. I’d been there a few times to see the beloved Beluga’s and I always came back the better for having come in contact with nature. I boarded the F train at Washington Square and took it all the way to the 8th Street New York City Aquarium stop. It was late afternoon, and just beginning to get dark. I reasoned that I had at least an hour’s worth of light to walk around in before I’d need to return home. It didn’t faze me that I was the only person on the subway at that point.  And it didn’t bother me that I was alone as I passed through the turnstile and out onto walkway towards the beach. As I took in a deep breath of salty air I began to feel better. I was smiling to myself, thinking about the argument with my boyfriend and realizing how ridiculous I had been when I suddenly became aware of a man walking behind me. I was irritated. Here was a whole bridge for the two of us to share, and this jerk was crowding me. “Why doesn’t he pass,” I thought, “and leave me alone?”  I kept walking. He kept walking. I moved to the other side of the bridge. He moved to the other side of the bridge. Completely unaware of his intentions I muttered under my breath something about spatial awareness when I suddenly realized that he was getting closer. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. “That’s it,” I said to myself, “Enough is enough!”  I turned around to confront him and saw to my shock that he had his pants down.  Somewhere in the back of my mind two things became crystal clear. One was that I was probably seconds from being raped, and the other was that while his pants were around his ankles he wouldn’t be able to run. A voice somewhere in my head told me not to let him see that I was afraid and so, as he stood there about to move towards me I said, “F-off!” I said it like I belonged. I said it with as much power as I could muster. I said it with attitude and gumption. It was a bullet and it hit my target squarely between the eyes because for a moment, he stopped, stepped half an inch back and fell. It was just enough time for me to walk past him and return to the subway. Just enough time to get about a 20 ft. head start while he pulled his pants up and started in pursuit. I began to run. He began to run. I could see the subway entrance up ahead. I knew there was an attendant inside the toll booth. Just a few feet more. He was gaining on me and then, suddenly out of nowhere, a policeman showed up and the man turned around and ran away. I’m sure the officer meant well but the first thing he did was yell at me.  “What are you doing here?” He shouted. “You shouldn’t be here alone. What are you thinking? You’re lucky to be alive.” I felt ashamed, and relieved, and terrified all at the same time. He ushered me back to the station where he waited with me on the platform until the train arrived and I was safely shoved on board.

I sat on the subway car going over what had just happened and then I started to laugh hysterically for nearly ten minutes.  To this day I have no recollection of what the man on the bridge looked like except that he had long black hair, and was wearing blue jeans with gray underwear. I’ve never have been able to identify a single thing about him, except that.

For nearly a month afterwards I found myself completely at a loss whenever any man was within two inches of me. On subways I cowered in corners and was afraid to be alone in public. If a man startled me coming around a corner, my pulse raced, my breath quickened and I wanted to run. I never told anyone what had happened. The police officer had made me feel so ashamed at myself for being so stupid that I thought people would think less of me if I told them how careless I had been. I don’t know exactly when I stopped feeling fully responsible for the predicament I had found myself in, but somewhere in my late 30’s I started to shift my thinking. It’s true, there are places that aren’t safe for women to be at alone, and in hindsight, Coney Island at dusk was one of them, but at the same time a woman should be able to go for a walk a night without fear of being attacked. A woman should be able to walk home alone from a movie, a play, a concert. She shouldn’t be afraid in a parking lot, or worry about being followed from the subway station. People are always telling me to be safe as if I have any control over the matter. I don’t want men to be the hero or the villain of my story.  I want to be able to go out alone, travel by myself, stay up late and not have to spend money on a cab to get home. Freedom of movement is a right for all people, and being afraid that you will be attacked at night jogging or walking to your house from a library because you’re female is…well…fucked.

[lizzyboo22tattoo]

A Sermon I Wrote Fall 2018

Rainy Days

When I was in high school I was part of the marching band. I played oboe during the concert season, however my real love was the colorguard and winterguard which if you don’t know are the dancers that throw the flags, swords and guns up in the air during a marching performance. Now, I’m sure I don’t have to say to anyone whose ever marched that marching season is both the best and worst times of the year, especially in Texas. During the summer, temperatures on the concrete practice fields can reach 115 degrees, but during the fall, it’s the humidity and constant fear of rainfall that will get you every time.

One Saturday we were having an 8 hour practice in just those conditions. In true Texas fashion the sky was bright and sunny in front of us, but a giant line of dark storm clouds sat ominously behind us. I clearly remember our lead marching director, sitting on the tower above all of us and calming chewing his nicotine infused gum, scanning all of us below while the 200 plus teens on the field kept looking back at the impending storm that was going to reach us at any moment. I also clearly remember him getting on his loud speaker and saying “Ms.[my name]…please keep your eyes forward. The storm is, I assure you, not that interesting.” I promptly put my eyes forward and tried to get the storm out of my mind, but during one of the water breaks a giant clash of lighting and thunder appeared in the storm clouds only a few miles away. Whispers began circulating quickly and I remember my best friend, saying almost nonchalantly “You know…really we’re all just a bunch of lightening rods making patterns on the ground.” We all stopped and looked at her, looked back at the clouds that were now shimmering with lightening, and at the other 200 plus teens literally wrapped up in metal. Our colorguard instructor then shrugged and said simply “It’s just rain…you have rubber on the tips of your flags, it’ll be fine.” He then laughed and walked away. We did not see the situation quite as funny.

As the practice went on the clouds got closer, we could smell the rain, hear the thunder, and began seeing the lightening right behind us, until finally…we heard it. The deafening sound of falling rain on concrete. I’ll never forget all of us turning at the exact same time and seeing a curtain of rain moving towards us, about to swallow us whole and the strange sensation of looking down and seeing the dry ground get soaked one inch at a time before I got absolutely soaked. All at once we rushed towards the front when our director again went on the loud speaker and said, in the same monotone voice “Stop. All of you, walk CALMLY, to your bags, put your instruments up CAREFULLY, and I want you to WALK to the school…we will continue practice inside. We are not heathens, we are musicians with some decorum. Act like it.”  

I’m sure you could imagine why this story crossed my mind when reading Mark 4:35-41. No storm was calmed during that practice, but the fear was the same. We found ourselves in the middle of what we perceived as danger and like the disciples we felt panic and fear based in self-preservation.

Last week, I had a very similar experience to the one all those summers ago. I was sitting in my living room for 4 hours and I listened to Dr. Ford tell her story of her sexual assault. As I listened to her testimony, I began to hear a rain of voices all around me. I heard the voices of my clients, my friends, my family, myself. All of us telling our stories of when we were in her place. I felt the humidity, that overwhelming thick pressure of scrutiny that makes it hard to breath. It came from those watching us, questioning us, doubting us; just as she was being watched, questioned, and doubted. As she moved forward with such quiet resolve, with fear and determination to tell her story I couldn’t help but remember that split second between being dry and safe, then suddenly being soaked to the bone, wet and cold in the rain, confused and scared. Much like many survivors of assault remember that split second between never having been a victim and suddenly being very much aware that you’ll never be the same.

After hearing Dr.Ford speak, I then listened to Judge Kavanaugh for another 4 hours and again I heard the storm. But unlike the last group of voices that sounded like the pitter patter of rain, these voices were like thunder. This I thought was the danger that I remember feeling as I unthinkingly, with all the others, ran to the front of the field. The booming voices of the Republican senators, Kavanaugh and all the speakers defending him seemed to drown me out. Their defensiveness of a system that is meant to protect those in power overwhelmed my sensibilities; flashes of heated speech, meant to destroy credibility and create uncertainty felt like a personal attack to all those I knew who suffered a sexual assault. And again, I heard the rain, more desperate this time. I heard my clients begging for help during a particularly bad outburst fueled by their trauma, I heard my friends crying because no one believed them, I heard family members whispering about old wounds that needed to be kept quiet. And the storm felt like it would never end.  

At this point, my social worker brain kicked in and the statistics came pouring through my mind. Every 98 seconds, an American is sexually assaulted. Every 8 minutes, that victim is a child. 1 in 6 women are sexually assaulted in their lifetime, 1 in 33 men are sexually assaulted in their lifetime, 54% of assaults occur between the ages of 18-34, 94% of women who are raped experience symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, during the two weeks following the rape, approximately 70% of rape or sexual assault victims experience moderate to severe distress, a larger percentage than for any other violent crime, 82% of all victims under 18 are female…as I sat, for 8 hours and listened to that testimony, the sky looked a bit darker, the wind felt colder, and I felt a bit lost in all that rain.

I understand why the disciples were so panicked. When the storm came, and they only had a boat for protection, what else could they do, but cry out in fear? When a storm comes our rational falls away, because clearly, we humans in our mortal state are unable to do anything about natural phenomenon. And likewise, when we are confronted by an evil that is so ingrained into the very fabric of our society, that government officials make allowances for a crime that deeply effects such a large breadth of the citizenry, well we as individuals feel that we have no more control over that then the lightening overhead. But then again, something strange can happen during storms…

Now, lets for a moment go back to that rain filled band practice. On the way back to the school that day, my flag bag in hand, I looked back and I can say now that I was in awe. Because as the storm was washing over us, I took a moment to look up at the sky. There, just in my vision, was a patch of bright blue sky, that beautiful Texas fall day was still overhead. It just wasn’t quite within our reach at the moment. But it would come back, as I would later realize when we left at the end of the day.  

Our text says that when Jesus “…got up and gave orders to the wind, and he said to the lake, “Peace. be still.” The wind settled down and there was a great calm.” I can only imagine, that such a calm, would look like that patch of blue sky. That the peace Jesus felt, even within the rain, looked like a white clouds and felt like a cool breeze, the smell of wet ground and fresh water.

After the hearings were over and the commentators began, I turned off the television and let myself be in the rain for a bit. I have to say, I wasn’t feeling the peace that Jesus spoke of. I still felt dizzy and confused hearing both testimonies and feeling so deeply heartbroken for Dr.Ford, for both families, for every single person that this case was going to effect.

But then I realized some sun was there. During Dr.Fords speech she spoke in her language, one with a deep knowledge of psychology and a great understanding of people and trauma and their effects. She was teaching us, and taking some joy in it I think, even in the midst of her storm. Later in the days to come, I heard the stories of women who had suffered assault, but who had moved forward, who were safe and happy so many years later. I heard men coming forward and backing up women in their struggles without a need to take over the dialogue. Even with the voices of those stories I’ve heard over the years, even with the grandiose political performance I’d just observed on television; I heard a small voice whispering in the rain.  

Peace, be still.

I often think that when Jesus rebuked or ordered the sea to calm down, he did not yell or scream. I imagine him tired and maybe even a bit groggy. Leaning lazily on the side of the tipping boat and saying like a loving parent to a screaming infant “calm down, it’s alright.” And when Jesus turned to his disciples and said “Do you still not have faith?” I often like to think that he was not annoyed with them, but rather disappointed. Because like Dr.Ford during her testimony, before this whole episode with the storm, Jesus is telling parables, stories to teach, and the disciples have heard them all.

Jesus has called them sowers of seed in good soil, lamps to brighten the world, he’s said their faith is like mustard seeds with all the potential to grow and flourish, and maybe more importantly, he’s called them his brothers and sisters; he’s called them his family. Imagine that, family to Christ himself, children of the Divine Creator, stardust in the shape of humans. Perhaps, and let me rework the words of my old band director a bit, “if we are the children of the Divine, maybe we should act with some decorum.” Maybe we should not let the lightening and thunder overwhelm us and instead calmly walk through the rain together.

Now, if I can, let me indulge in another personal story. When I was younger, and I mean around the age of 4 or 5, before I could read from the giant monitor at church, I thought that when the choir sang anything about the “reign of God”, that they meant literal rain. Like the kind that falls from the sky instead of the reign of a political figure. And, as I was in a church of Christ at such an age, God did a lot of “raining” in people’s lives. One song that I remember very clearly that stoked my imagination as a child was “Lord Reign in Me”. One of my stanzas from this song go like this:

Over every thought, over every word May my life reflect the beauty of my Lord 'Cause You mean more to me than any earthly thing So won't You reign in me again

Lord, rain in me, rain in Your power Over all my dreams, in my darkest hour 'Cause You are the Lord of all I am So won't You rain in me again

Jesus wasn’t concerned about the storm before his disciples woke him up on that boat. He was peacefully sleeping, recharging from a long day of teaching and getting ready for the next round on the other side of that sea. And as I was thinking on this passage I couldn’t help but think he could do so because of a something that’s expressed in those lines. The Divine, whether we know it or not, is in the rain with us. The Divine, whether we know it or not, is in us. Working in us to be specific, giving us the skills we need to help each other in the storm. The Divine covers us just as our sadness, our grief, and our fear do. Even if we can’t hear the whispering voice to find peace and be still, it’s still there trying to comfort us even when all seems lost. And I deeply believe that the comfort that is there, isn’t just from a voice on high, I believe there is also a call to us brothers and sisters in Christ to find each other in the storm.

“Do you still not have faith?” Is a question that I don’t think is answered by the standard “Have faith in Jesus Christ.” At least, not in times like these. Not in storms like the one’s we find ourselves in when we watch what’s occurring on the national stage. I think we must stop and consider that Jesus has faith in us and so we must have faith in each other. Jesus trusted the Divine yes, but he also trusted the man-made boat and the crew to get him across. As humans we need that support to move forward, we need each other to find those sunny patches in our storms and work together to get there. I still hear the rain of all the women who saw themselves in Dr.Ford’s testimony. But I also see the sunny days to come, if only we continue to have faith.

[carp3n0c73m]

Frozen in Memory: People, Activities, Objects - Chapter 1

It was a gray, rainy late afternoon on the streets of Manhattan. Times Square lay half-obscured behind a misty haze of moisture, less crowded than was typical for early December, but still overrun with incorrigible tourists ensconced in human-sized plastic bags, waving skeletal frames of flimsy aluminum and cheap, multicolored canvas to-and-fro, oblivious and indifferent to the fate of strangers' eyes, determined not to let the weather rob them of their New York experience. The air smelled of wet asphalt, a glorious smell, evoking sense memories of splashing in puddles on the playground in grade school during recess while the more cautious of classmates huddled beneath the awning of the school, nervously attempting to remain dry, all the while looking on in vicarious fascination at those who braved the storm without boots or slickers, romping and stomping like wild things in celebration of their king in wolf skin. And though most assuredly nothing more than an olfactory placebo effect, it seemed that the rain cleansed the streets of the odors and leavings of humanity, bringing slick rejuvenation to the sidewalks and storefronts. 

I do not actually remember walking to the corner of 47th St. and Broadway, but I suppose there was nothing disconcerting about that being that New Amsterdam-That-Was is a city particularly well-suited to wandering and I would often find myself, absorbed in thought, setting out upon the bustling streets with no destination in particular and finding myself in one neighborhood or another, my prize being some new, untried restaurant or curio shop off the well-beaten path; I loved discovering my city. So the fact that my last concrete memory was of me soaking in the bath did not entirely disturb me, although I am usually at least peripherally aware of my spatial-self and my perambulations even while on walkabout. 

I decided to set out walking east, figuring that since it wasn't terribly cold or uncomfortable, I might wander over towards Rockefeller Center, perhaps with a view of stopping in at Arcade Coffee in the Diamond District, but out of the corner of my eye, standing as I was out in front of the ticket booth on the northeast corner of the square, I glimpsed something that arrested my attention. At first, I was uncertain if the contact lenses in my head which were providing me my 20/20 vision had simultaneously become blurred or conversely mayhap some other, less likely occurrence had transpired against the expected odds such as a small quantity of cheese cloth, perhaps carried on the (albeit nearly non-existent) breeze, had fallen over my face in such a fashion so as to confound the sharpness of my sight. Either way, I espied the marquee on the Palace Theatre and was stopped in my tracks for the fact that I could not read it.

There was most definitely writing, and graphics as well, both of which combined to proclaim the theatrical spectacle housed within and to all appearances it read, "The Illusionists: Turn of the Century". Yellow lightening rippled 'round the edges of the marquee, caressing the various magi while causing them no harm possessed as they were of magic beyond comprehension, but I was unable to accept this sight as I knew, unequivocally, that the advertised show before my eyes had closed some eleven months prior. Some of the letters were dim, not missing exactly, but rather shrouded and difficult to make out and some of them didn't look right, enough that it forced my brain to fill in the gaps. Looking away momentarily and then back at the façade of the theatre I saw that it actually read:

 "T|e  llu51on1 ts: T rn of the c ntu y". 

 I looked away again and then, in a cliché manner, rubbed my eyes as if I could alter reality by applying pressure to them. I glanced across the square to the ball that drops, ever the slave to midnight, ushering in the New Year, and it was then that I realized that everything was dim. There was gray light filtering through the clouds above such as I had seen numerous times before on New York rainy days, but it was a dark light, of the sort one might see during an eclipse just before full totality has been achieved. 

I turned back to the marquee just in time to see one of the magicians turn his gaze upon me. His whole head did not move, but rather it was a subtle movement of the eyes, as though he did not want anyone else to see what he was up to. He had a bowler hat on and a large cigar protruding from his lips, which were pinched around the stogie in a sardonic grimace, but his eyes pulled free of their straight-ahead focus and descended to the street. 

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote that, "... when a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey." So to my credit, I was not afraid or bewildered, only curious. And as my eyes made contact with his, I noticed that it was silent. New York is a city of many things, but silence is definitely not one of them. The symphony of the city reverberates around its streets at all hours, creating a constant background din, a quasi-metallic white noise filled with sirens and voices and rumbling. 

All of that was missing.

The magician's eyes widened slightly on the marquee as if to say, "Well, what do you think?", but before I could respond I became aware of a sense of emptiness all around me. It was as though I had awoken in the middle of a field all by myself, a vast feeling of openness abound. The mischievous eyes were spinning in their sockets up above, darting about, looking hither and thither, inviting me to take a look; daring me to take a look around. Dragging my gaze to the sidewalks and streets, I found that I was not entirely surprised to discover all of the people and all of the traffic that usually overrun Times Square were now all gone. Disappeared. Not frozen in time. No piles of discarded clothes. No abandoned vehicles. Just gone.

I chuckled at myself after pausing to look both ways before crossing the street and approached the misbehaving marquee. I was not surprised in the slightest to see that the magician's photograph wink at me as I arrived on the sidewalk in front of the theatre. The magician began to sweep his eyes to the right, repeatedly, I assumed to point me in the right direction to continue what was quickly becoming an adventure.

"You want me to go uptown on Broadway?" I asked aloud, not feeling silly in the slightest; like I said, I love discovering my city and this was a find of epic proportions, an entire side of New York that I had not even dreamed could exist. 

The eyes stopped sweeping to the right and got a sad look in them. Then they blinked twice. 

"No?"

The eyes blinked once. I had been exposed to enough literature to ascribe proper meaning to those blinks, so I forged ahead, quickly forgetting the damp and the slight chill. 

"Okay. So now what?" I enquired. 

The eyes started repeatedly sweeping to the right again. I pointed along 47th St. and the eyes stopped and then blinked once. I smiled and nodded my head. A single blink followed again. I raised my hand in thanks (because it is always important to be polite) and set off along 47th St. passing the abandoned hotdog cart on the corner. Part of me contemplated grabbing a pretzel, but I remembered reading something connected with the Arthurian legend once that said it was a bad idea to bring back an object from a different plane and I figured that if that's where I was, it was better to err on the side of caution; no sense in unleashing a legion of voracious, man-eating pretzels bent on vengeance if I could help it. I continued on my way.

The cracks in the darklit sidewalk stood out in stark relief in the illuminated gray haze and the stains and trash in the gutter seemed to fade in and out. Beyond the hotdog cart there were a series of tables set up selling scarves and hats and gloves and umbrellas. Another just beyond that was selling cheap watercolor prints of various New York scenes and, I found amusingly enough, Marvel characters. Actually, being that there was not another soul around, perhaps I should say that the tables were "displaying an array of wares", the act of selling requiring both a seller and a buyer. 

On the other side of the sidewalk, across from the tables, along the side of the theatre were a series of repeated show posters, all advertising variations of the marquee. I noted that while these looked similar to the one on the marquee, they seemed almost to glow or thrum with an inner light; it's hard to describe, but they seemed more alive. And more easily perceptible were that they were not quite right to a larger degree, some with jarring differences and not only in the letters: in the first one, the male magician with the top hat and green frock coat had the head of a duck, but in the next poster his regular head was back while both of the female magicians had grand, glorious mustaches. In the third poster, the bald, good-looking daredevil possessed the body of a centaur, but in the fourth he was in a dress with scary long, needle-like fingers. However, the one constant was the eccentric magician with the cigar. 

I proceeded along under his gaze when I noticed that his eyebrows were bouncing up and down as he kept vigil on my progress. Whether as a consequence of my senses being heightened due to the unfamiliar territory in which I now found myself or whether it was a mere fluke of attention to detail, I noticed that with each successive show poster, the magician's hand changed positions slightly. Seven posters in all ran along the side of the theatre. I found that if I stood in the center of that progression and moved my head rapidly back-and-forth, right, left, rightleftrightleftrightleft, it looked as though the magician was raising his hand to point at the stage door, located at the end of the show posters.

I approached the stage door, which was painted a nondescript black with the address of the theatre stenciled on it in faded white paint. There was a small security camera housing to the left of the door, at about chest height, with a button to ring the security office in order to gain entrance. I pulled on the door in the off chance that it would be unlocked, but it didn't budge. I turned my head back to look at the magician in the show poster and I was startled (and if I am being completely honest, a little freaked out) to see his head craning out of the frame to get a better view of me at the door. However, as soon as he saw that I had seen him, the head went right back into the poster and the entire progression of them, marching back to Broadway, grew dull. I can't explain how I knew that he was no longer in there, but he was gone and I was truly alone.

I turned back to the door and pondered for almost a minute before the obvious punched me in the face: press the button! I did so and a small, white LED light illuminated my face momentarily and then blinked out. I waited for the click of the unlocking mechanism, but it never came. I stood there, patiently waiting for the space of probably 60 heartbeats before turning back and taking a few steps towards the posters again as if an answer would present itself from that direction. I placed myself in front of the last show poster and though I knew it would do no good, I addressed it.

"What do I do now?" I exhaled. My question faded away into the mist and the now-dim magician with the cigar obstinately stood, unresponsive and stoic, disinterested and departed, once again nothing more than faded ink on dying paper. 

"You have never seen something like this, have you, my boy?" came a voice from over my shoulder. An explosion of slightly off clucking and bocking immediately followed the voice. 

I turned to ascertain the source of those slightly-out-of-context words and sounds and saw, what was up until that moment, the strangest sight of my life. Over the course of the next 20 minutes, however, it dropped to probably seventh or eighth place, though I mean no disrespect by that remark. There before me, just in front of the stage door to the Palace Theatre and set back a bit from the sidewalk, in a version of New York that thus far only contained me and a sometimes-there-and-sometimes-not, 2D/3D, ink and paper magician, sat... the dead man. 

[writingevil]

A Circle-Part One

by Evil

Part 2

This world is different from the one your reading this in. In this world everyone’s born with a shape tattooed on their body. This shape dictated where you were in society. Squares were at the top of it all. They lived lavish lives and worked little. Next were Rhombuses. If someone were a Rhombus they worked under the squares. They mostly handled taxes and management jobs. Triangles often worked in the enforcement careers. They were police officers and peace makers. Then their were rectangles who worked hard labor. Rectangles often worked construction and mining with a few lucky ones working in businesses and social working. At the very bottom of the hierarchy were those without shapes. If they weren’t killed when they were born they lived on the streets becoming barbarians and forced to steal to survive. 

Amelia was born to a family of squares. When she was born they checked her head to toe for markings. They checked in vain because the tiny baby didn’t have any. Amelia was dropped into the arms of an old rag-clad woman. The family hadn’t even bothered to wrap the baby in a blanket. The homeless woman carried the child in her arms back to where her people had set up a small encampment. Occasionally a Rhombus in pursuit of political favor with the people would donate some money to the group of people. These people raised Amelia alongside two boys. The elder of the two was named Opus and the younger was named Cal. The three were joined at the hip and they ran around making the most of their childhood. It was when Amelia turned eight that things began to change around their camp of misfits. 

A few men had joined their encampment and every day they would bring back enough food for everyone to eat. Before they were lucky to get more than salted water with weeds in it. The three children were overjoyed and tried to help out as much as they could. They learned to prepare the meat and cook it properly. Two years later the men brought Opus along with them. That night they all came back laughing and Opus had a bruised wrist but a grin on his face. Opus left their triad after that. He always spoke like he was more important than they were. 

Cal started studying with the medicine woman, Shira, after Opus left and Amelia was left on her own. Fed up, one day Amelia followed the group of men and Opus. They walked into the city and stopped before entering drawing rectangles on their arms. Amelia watched as the group slowly sneaked meat and bread into coat pockets and bags. Opus, himself, stole the change purse from a rhombus woman. As they walked out the group took a detour and stopped in a small field. The men began to eat and drink, feasting on whatever cakes and sweets they’d managed to acquire. The men brought back the meat and bread to the camp pretending to be generous. 

Amelia felt fury boil in her chest but kept her mouth shut. That night, at only sixteen years old, Amelia stole their pot of ink. She headed out to the city early and drew a delicate rectangle on her wrist. Throughout the day she sneaked sweats and cakes from vendors. She narrowly avoided both the group of men and Triangles. She made it back to camp and began to pass out the treats. Just seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces made Amelia’s heart leap. When the group of men came back they were shocked by the merry laughter and happy screaming children. When asked who caused this Amelia stepped forward. 

Several of the men stepped forward with harsh glares on their faces but Opus stepped in front of them all. The men laughed and pushed him forward. Opus dragged Amelia out of the camp.

“What did you do?” He shouted at her.

“What so only you men can have the sweets?” She retorted. “They’ve been here for four years and not once have the brought back cakes or sweets for anyone. I’m sorry. I said they didn’t I? Not once in two years have you brought treats back.”

“Why should I? They just sit around and do nothing all day.” 

Amelia steamed, “They raised you! They took you in when no one wanted you! They gave you clothes they made with their own calloused hands! They gave you shelter from storms! They gave you what ever food they could! Not once did they ask you to do more than be a child and be happy!”

“Well not all of us can be children forever, Amelia.”

Amelia slapped him hard. The sound echoed off the trees. “I chop down trees for you to have fire! I stitch your clothes when they’ve been torn. I help Lainet wash the clothes and Grey take care of his two babies! Cal works with Shira to patch you all up when you get a little to rough! You don’t do anything! You rob and steal not only from the rich but from your own people.”

“And what would you do without us?” Opus laughed humorlessly. “You’d be back drinking river water with leaves in it for dinner.”

“We’d be fine without you menacing apes!” 

“ENOUGH!” called a hoarse voice. It was Hilla, the old lady who commanded the camp. The same lady that had Amelia dropped in her arms twelve years ago. “I want the men out of my camp. Opus, if you chose to stay with them I want you gone, too. Amelia, come with me to my tent.”

Amelia took the elder by her arm and carefully led her to her tent leaving a stunned Opus behind. They passed through the camp where the men were packing their things. Hilla and Amelia walked into the tent at the back of the camp. Their was a small lanturn burning in the corner and just enough room for Hilla and Amelia to sit.

“Child. I expect you to take over getting food for the camp. While you were gone today three people showed up. A mother, swollen with child; her daughter, just a few months older than you; and a small son. I want you and the other girl to start taking over for the rotten barbarians. Take only what we need and nothing more, you never know what situations others may be in.” Hilla coughed harshly causing Amelia to rub her back with worry. “The girl resides in the tent next to yours. You are not to ask about the head covering she wears for it is not your place. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, go eat and talk with the girl.” 

Amelia nodded and exited the tent and looked around for the new people. The three were sitting alone off by themselves. The mother was severely pregnant and looked like she couldn’t even stand. Despite this she still looked quite young. The boy was thin and pale. The girl had a light cloth wrapped around her head so that all that could be seen of her face were her eyes. Amelia began to walk towards the family but was stopped by Opus. She was immediately on the defensive.

“What?” she snapped.

“The guards don’t question rectangles but don’t try to go higher withing the system. They’ll know.” He looked conflicted and then pulled her into a hug. “I never intended for this to happen. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. Take care of Cal, please.”

“I will. Stay safe,” Amelia said hugging him back.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Just don’t be stupid.”

“I was always the stupid one.”

“You were. Get going.”

Opus nodded and pulled away and walked over to the med tent where Cal slept and worked. Amelia turned back to the family and strolled over.

“Has anyone shown you where the med tent is, miss?” She asked crouching next to the group.

The woman nodded. “Are you the Amelia that Hilla spoke of?”

“Yes, I was rescued by Hilla as an infant when I was born with no marks into a square family.” Amelia may have imagined it but it seemed as though the girl looked down at the mention of marks.

“I was raised as a slave to a family of rectangles. Thya’s father was who eventually led to me being thrown out of the house when I was only a few months pregnant with her.” 

“Stories of the past are heavy burdens. May I be allowed to lighten your burden by listening?” Amelia asked, the saying was a respectful term used often in their world.

“I stayed in a camp much like this one. Everyone was very kind and welcoming. The women helped me during Thya’s birth and helped me raise her. I met Lance’s and this little one’s father there. A few months ago, when I was just starting to show, a group of angry triangles burned down our camp. My husband under nature was slaughtered and I barely made it away with my two children.” The woman was tired and her head hung. Her daughter wiped at the beautiful brown eyes that Amelia could now see up close. “Since then we have been traveling. Hilla offered us a place here. I hope we will be able to stay here long.”

“I am sorrowful you had to experience those things. I hope you will find the home you are seeking here.” Amelia lightly rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We have a few children here Lance’s age and our medicine woman, Shira, is well versed in delivering. I, of course, will be working with Thya often but if you have need of anything never feel that you are unable to ask me for help.”

Lance looked at Amelia, “You were the one who gave me the cake today!”

“Yes, I did.” 

“Thya and I have never had cake before. Thank you, sister!” 

“Lance!” The mother scolded. “He developed the habit at our first encampment, he calls people he respects brother and sister. I apologize.”

“Don’t, I’ve always wanted a little brother.” She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Thya, we have a pond down a ways if you would wish to accompany me. I’ve witnessed the struggles traveling does.”

Thya glanced nervously at her mother but her mother just nodded grimly. “Thya, this girl will not judge you. There must always be trust in a partnership.”

“I will accompany you.” 

“I might have some clothes that will fit you and I will have one of the women drop off some clean clothes for Lance come morning. Give me a few moments.” Amelia smiled at the family and went to her tent. 

Outside Amelia’s tent was a trunk of clothes and towels. She grabbed two changes of clothes, a towel, and a rag in case she or the girl was on their bloods. She walked back to the family and led Thya down to the pond. They walked in silence, Thya carefully following Amelia through the darkness. When they reached the pond the moon shown down on the murky water. Amelia began to undress and wade out to the water. Thya remained on shore nervously fidgeting.

“Is something wrong?” Amelia asked. She wasn’t used to people being modest about their bodies.

“Please don’t tell anyone what you’re about to see.” Thya nervously stuttered. 

Thya began to unravel the covering on her head revealing long dark hair and full lips. Eventually, the cloth fell away and Amelia gasped in awe. Thya was not shapeless, she couldn’t be. Right in stunning black was a perfect circle on her forehead. 

Part 2

[officergrimes-daddydixon]

The Walking Dead fanfic part eight

Note: this part is a little slow but it's all worth it at the end! Guys please send me requests for where this story should go, I wanna follow the tv show but I also want to add my own twist on it. Enjoy! Warning: mentions of rape, swearing

part one   part two   part three   part four   part five   part six   part seven -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awoke to the sound of voices outside. You opened your eyes and quickly looked over to where Ricks body once lay, but now it was gone. He probably left in the early hours of the morning, before anyone else was awake. You still couldn't believe what had happened last night. You quickly shook the memory from your head as you knew it would only happen once. He was drunk. You put your boots on and went outside to find Hershel and Patricia arguing with Shane, Rick and Lori. The rest of the group was watching from the campfire.

"What's going on?" You asked, sitting down next to Glenn.

"Otis got trapped by walkers last night when him and Shane went for the supplies" he replied. "But Hershel doesn't seem to believe it"

You looked over at the men fighting and you were shocked to see Shane had a buzz-cut, the type the army soldiers had. It made him look more scary. What the hell was that about? "What do you think?" You asked. He looked at you and then to the floor. "I don't buy it. Shane's crazy" he replied.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Sure" you replied, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Lori might be pregnant. She asked me to get her pregnancy tests when we went out on a run and..." he looked up at you.

"Is she?"

He nodded in response and you quickly looked over to where Lori was standing. She had her shoulder to you guys but you saw she glanced at you sideways, giving you a dirty look before turning away.

"I'm telling you man, he told me to go. He said to get the stuff back to the farm, even if it meant leaving him behind. He was a hero" Shane said, no emotion in his voice.

Hershel had finally given up the fight as Patricia pulled him back to the house. Rick and Shane were talking now as Lori walked over to help Carol hang the laundry. You looked over to Rick who kept glancing at you from over Shane's shoulder. You wondered if he would come and talk to you, or if things would be awkward. You told yourself to stop overthinking. It was just some silly hookup because he was hurting and pissed. Wow, you never thought you'd have a hook up during an apocalypse.

"Who's baby do you think it is?" Glenn stirred you from your thoughts and you pulled your eyes away from Ricks.

"Huh?" You turned to him.

"Shane's or Ricks?"

"Come on Glenn. Don't be like that" you laughed.

"Sorry, sorry. Just thought I'd lighten the mood round here"

You couldn't blame him. Daryl and T-dog were out again looking for Sofia, Carol was still sad about her daughter and barely spoke to anyone, and now all this with Otis, Shane, Rick and Lori? This was a breeding place for negative energy.

"Rick knows" you said suddenly.

Glenn looked at you in confusion.

"About Lori and Shane, he heard Lori and I arguing in the hallway and Lori blurted it out. He looked devastated" you finished.

"Shit" he murmured. "Buy the way, no one knows about Lori and the potential baby" he didn't have to finish for you to understand what he was trying to say. Keep your mouth shut.

                                                            ****

Later on that night you and Andrea were on watch. Both of you sat atop the RV in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't comfortable either. It was kind of like a "I don't like you, you don't like me so let's just not start an argument" silence. You allowed yourself to daydream about the day that just passed. You thought about how Rick was avoiding you for the whole day, not looking in your direction and leaving whenever you approached him. You knew a storm was coming, and this was only the calm period before it. You broke out of your daydream as Andrea slowly stood from her chair.

"What is it?" You questioned.

"Walker!" She shouted down at the group.

You rolled your eyes as she ignored your question and got ready to shoot.

“What are you doing? That'll attract more of them" you said, quickly pointing at her gun. She dismissed what you said and shot the bullet. The walker dropped to the ground and Rick and Glenn ran to the crippled body. You jumped down from the RV. Something wasn't right. Why was Rick and Glenn bringing the walker back to the farm? Wait, that's not a walker. It's Daryl. You ran towards the two men who helped walk Daryl to the farm. He was covered in dirt and grime and had a bullet hole in his shoulder that was oozing blood. T-dog was trailing behind them, shocked by how close the shot was.

"Daryl are you okay?" You said, now pacing next to Glenn.

"I'm fine, I'm fine" he said, trying to get out of Rick and Glenn's grip.

"Stop moving, you're hurt" Rick said firmly.

"I said I'm fine" Daryl growled. Rick and Glenn still held him despite his protests to be released.

"Hershel!" Rick shouted.

"Oh shit" Andrea said, coming down off the RV. You were pissed with her. Firstly you told her not to shoot and she ignored you, secondly she shot your brother and put everyone else's lives in danger by firing that thing off.

"What the fuck is wrong with you" you said walking up to Andrea.

"What?" She asked

"I told you not to fucking shoot but you did anyway. Not only did you hit my brother but you put the rest of the group in danger with the sound of the gun!" You shouted.

"I didn't know did I? I thought he was a walker" she shouted back.

"Stop being so god damn careless all the time. I mean, shit, I know you hate me but swallow your pride and put the group first" you felt the anger radiating off of you and you realised everyone was now looking at you. Andrea was looking at you in shock and you almost felt bad for her.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Hershel came out from the house, followed by Maggie.

"Daryl needs to get looked at, he's been shot" Rick spoke. Hershel nodded and motioned for the men to come inside. You turned back to find Andrea back on top of the RV, Carol looking at you in fear and T-dog giving you a cheeky smile.

"I didn't know there was a bitch hiding in there" he teased.

"She's careless" you said, walking to the campfire.

"That she is" T-dog said to himself.

"I'm gonna go in, see if Daryl's alright" you said.

"Alright (y/n), see you later".

You approached the house and bumped shoulders with Lori as you both squeezed through the door. You both looked back at each other for a moment before she turned and carried on walking to her tent. You couldn't believe she had a baby in there. What was she gonna do with it? When would she tell everyone? You shook the thoughts away as you head inside to check on your brother. Rick and Glenn are standing next to Hershel, looking down on Daryl who was now lying bare chested on the bed. You knew how uncomfortable he must have felt, his scars were exposed and he never showed those to anyone. You had them too, and you couldn't imagine lying there without something covering them, exposing your past life to them.

"What's the damage" Rick asked Hershel.

"The bullet went through, a clean shot. I just need to stitch it up and make sure it doesn't get infected. And you need to keep off your feet for a day or two" Hershel said to Daryl.

"But we need to find Sofia" Daryl argued.

"Ill go Daryl. So that you guys aren't one man down" you piped up.

Everyone turned around and finally noticed you standing at the door. Rick shifted uncomfortably in his place and looked to the floor. Glenn seemed to notice and gave you a curious glance.

"You sure you know what you're doing out there" Rick finally asked.

"Why would I offer if I didn't" you sassed.

Rick put his arms up in defence. "I'm just asking" he said.

You nodded and then let Hershel tend to Daryl's shoulder. You, Glenn and Rick all left the room and went off in different directions. Glenn to Maggie, Rick to the kitchen and you outside. The air had gotten a little chilly which caused you to pull your cardigan closer to your body. You were walking down the steps of the house when Shane blocked your path. He stood there, staring at you and not saying a word.

"Move" you said bluntly. You went too push past him but he stepped in front of you again.

"What's your deal?" You asked, getting pissed off.

"I gotta show you something round back. I overheard you saying you'd go out to help find Sofia. I mean, I know that little girl is as good as dead, but since you wanna try, I have something that might help you track her" he said.

"I'm good thanks" you said, you wanted to get away from this man and to your tent as quickly as possible.

"Come on (y/n), it'll be worth your while" You don't know what came over you but you rolled your eyes and decided to go with him. Maybe he would leave you alone after. You followed him through the field until you reached a small shed. Shane opened up the doors and you were met with emptiness.

"What the hell is this?" You asked, crossing your arms and looking at Shane. You were taken aback as Shane grabbed you and tried to throw you in the shed.

"Shane-get off me" you struggled against his body but you weren't strong enough. His arms were tight around you as he dragged you into the shed. You tried to think of the names of people who would be in ear shot of you, but you knew for sure that Andrea would think you're being stupid. Maybe T-dog?

"Help meee! T-dog, Andrea, help!" You shouted there names over and over but it was too late as Shane shut the shed door. But what scared you the most was he was in there with you. He switched a little light on and it illuminated your surroundings. There was nothing to see, just four walls trapping you in with a beast.

"Don't bother shouting. You think they can hear you this far out?" He spat.

"What the fuck Shane?" Your heart was pounding and you were trying so hard to not let your knees and hands shake.

"You know, you were pretty angry out there with Andrea when she shot your brother" he took a step towards you.

"What's your point?" You asked, calming down a bit. If he wanted to kill you, he would've done it by now.

"It turned me the fuck on" Oh fuck. You knew where this was going and your fear came back.

"So go fuck Lori or something, why did you need to bring me to a shed to say that?"

"You know what I want (y/n)." He was now dangerously close to you. You took a step back but your back hit the wall, you were trapped.

"Please don't make this hard (y/n), it doesn't have to be the way you think" he spoke in your face, and that's when the smell of alcohol hit your nose. Shane was drunk, are you serious? You pushed his chest back and walked past him.

"You're drunk Shane, just go to your tent and sleep" You were about to open up the shed door when Shane grabbed your wrist and yanked you back. You immediately clawed at his hand that was bound to leave a bruise on your arm.

"Shane-" you started but he cut you off by smashing his lips onto yours. You cringed and tried to push him back and move your face away, but he grabbed your face in between his hands to keep you still. Your hands were now free and you tried to push him back again, it wasn't working. Next thing you knew your knee had connected with his genitals and he was bending over, groaning. You ran for the door and pushed it open with all your strength. You weren't thinking as you ran through the field back to the farmhouse. You didn't even look behind you to see if Shane was chasing you, you just wanted to get back to the house. You heard your blood pumping through your veins, the adrenaline keeping your shaking legs from collapsing beneath you. Your chest and lungs burned as you took in deep breaths. You felt tears forming in your eyes and you quickly wiped them away. You only concentrated on getting back to the farm. Your body suddenly hit the floor and you lay on the ground for a couple seconds, staring up at the stars and wondering if anything was real. Were those stars real? Was the crescent moon real? Was Ricks face real? Wait, Rick?

You blinked a couple of times and started to sit up, but immediately regretted it. Blood rushes to your head and you felt light headed, your sight becoming fuzzy and blurry.

"(Y/n?)" Rick spoke out to you. He sounded distant. He shook your shoulders and said your name again. You ignored him and quickly looked behind you. You calmed down a bit when you didn't see Shane in sight.

"I need to get inside" you said quickly. You looked at Rick properly this time and saw he had a worried look in his eye.

"What? Are you okay? I mean you just came running out of the fields and didn't even see me". He said, putting a hand on your shoulder. You huffed and pushed Rick out of your way, you wanted to get inside and stay in the house. You started walking and tried to keep your composure.

"(Y/n)!" Rick shouted after you. He grabbed you in the same place Shane did and you pulled your arm back quickly. You tried to keep yourself from shouting out it pain but you couldn't. You wrist was still burning from when Shane had grabbed you.

"What the hell?" Rick looked down at your arm. He took your hand and held your wrist out for him to examine.

"Who did this?" He asked, anger filling his voice.

"Don't worry about it Rick" you huffed, trying to pull your arm back. You were still a little pissed with him for ignoring you the whole day. He paused for a minute, thinking about who would have done this to you.

"Who were you running from (y/n)?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. You were about to answer when your heart stopped at the sound of Shane's voice. You froze and yanked your hand back from Rick, hiding it from both men.

"Hey, what's going on?" Shane asked, acting confused. You looked to the floor and only wanted to go inside and not look at him.

"Nothing. I was just talking over tomorrow's search for Sofia" Rick defended you. Shane nodded his head and then excused himself to his tent, smiling at both you and Rick. Once Shane was out of ear shot Rick took a step towards you.

"Did he hurt you?" He asked.

"He wanted- he- he wanted to rape me" you finally let your tears run down your face. You stood there sobbing when Rick took you in his arms and hugged you. Your arms were tucked into his chest and his chin was leaning on your head, one arm on your back and the other on the back of your head.

"I'm sorry" Rick mumbled into your hair. Your tears finally stopped and you wiped the rest off your face. You looked up to Rick and apologised for bashing into him and he laughed.

"Don't apologise (y/n), don't ever be sorry" he said as he cupped your face. You wanted him to hold you forever and never let you go. You felt safe in his arms, but you knew that could never happen when he has a wife and a kid. You lightly grabbed his hand and put it down to his side.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow Rick" you whispered.

"Good night (y/n)" he said. You looked at him one last time before turning around and heading inside the house. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: Shane is on the brink of cracking now. He is so evil but I still miss him😭 next part we'll find Sofia in the barn and maybe some flashbacks of the readers background! Hope you enjoyed guys!!

[jenhikes]

Hot Chocolate 15K - Atlanta

I recently was able to travel to Atlanta to run my first ever Hot Chocolate Race - and also my first official 15K distance race.  Since I hadn't been to Atlanta since I was a freshman in high school, I was excited for the opportunity to not only run this sweet race series, I was also excited for the chance to see the city on foot - my favorite way to travel!  You'll find my race review for Hot Chocolate 15K below. 

This race was scheduled for the weekend of January 21-22.  While this would usually be a cold weekend to race, we had been experiencing quite the warm spell in this particular area for about a week and race day temperatures were going to be in the 60s by the finish of the race! I'm not one to complain about warm temperatures, but unfortunately in the south unseasonably warm weather also brings with it a chance of thunderstorms!  That's exactly what we dealt with on Saturday and Sunday in Atlanta.  Being nervous the race would be canceled, I went ahead and got in a half marathon distance run with a friend before deciding to travel down for the race expo.  Other events on Saturday had been canceled due to lightening.  After chatting with someone from the race on Twitter (@HotChocolate15K) I was more confident in the fact the race would be taking place as usual Sunday morning, so I packed up my stuff and headed down for my one-night racecation!

After getting to Atlanta I was so thankful I purchased the pre-race parking package offered on the website.  With all the events taking place in the city during this weekend (Women's March, Falcons in the playoffs, etc.) I was glad I had a place to go and didn't have to add time to driving around the city.  I was also excited to be able to meet up with two BibRave Pros - Samantha and Jessica!  We hit up an Atlanta Institution - The Vortex - for some pre-race grub.  After being up since 4 a.m. I was finally able to hit my hotel and get in bed about 10:30.  It had been a long day and I had an early wake up call for HC15K in the A.M. - race organizers recommended getting there before 6:30 a.m.!  I slept well until yet another absolutely wicked thunderstorm hit at 5 a.m.  Lightening so bright it woke me up with thunder so loud it shook the hotel (which was not easy to do being that I was near the airport!)

When I got up in the morning, thanks to Facebook and Twitter updates, it was easy to see race organizers had consulted with the NWS and there was no threat of storms during the race.  I really appreciated their profession and quick updates about the weather.  Being that I drove nearly 4 hours to get there and had to stay overnight, making sure I had the most up-to-date info was important to me.  Getting back downtown was super easy and I had no trouble getting to the assigned parking lot I registered for before the race.  Getting to the race venue, however, was a different story.  Thankfully, there were plenty of people who seemed to be familiar with downtown ATL because if I hadn't followed the crowd I would've been lost.  There was zero signage to let us know where anything was.  Granted, the maps were online, but if you're in a city you've never explored on foot you aren't going to find anything.  After wandering around and meeting up with Sam and Jess one more time for photos, I was also able to meet up with a fellow Spandits!/Altra ambassador Amanda!  After this, it was time to find my corral, which was thankfully much easier than finding the race location itself, and we were off!

The thing I loved about this race was the fact that you could use your times from previous races to get into "preferred corrals" and get ahead of the crowd early.  My qualifying times actually put me into the very first corral and it never felt crowded, especially because I took it easy from the beginning.  We left the Centennial Park area and ran straight toward the state capitol building.  The 5K runner split was only about 1 mile in, so the crowd thinned even more then!  After leaving the Capitol Building behind, we headed toward Turner Field.  Since I had run 13.1 miles the day before, I was in full on sightseeing mode and not at all concerned about time.  I stopped for photos and thank volunteers and spectators for coming out when we ran through the Phoenix Parks toward Grant Park.  There were a few gentle uphills and downhills during this part of the race.  We then ran toward Oakland Cemetery and skirted it for a few minutes.  

We took some turns on side roads and ran close to the MLK Jr. Historic site before running into the Old Fourth Ward and back towards Emory Medical Center.  More gentle hills, but they honestly weren't that bad.  This is the southeast after all!  We should know hills are part of the deal!  We were back into downtown and running past fraternity houses near Bobby Dodd Stadium before I knew it.  It was a short and quick downhill run into Centennial Park for the finish.  Thankfully, a race volunteer saw my cell phone drop out of my pocket and chased me down to return it!  I can't say enough great things about the volunteers in this race!  The finish line for the 5K and 15K was the same, but they kept it separated with a fence - something else I really appreciated to ease congestion at the finish line!  I received my finisher medal from some happy and enthusiastic volunteers before making my way through the crowd to get my finisher mug and snacks.  

The snacks in the finisher mug were phenomenal - the typical runner fare like bananas and pretzels, with the addition on a cup of hot chocolate, a giant marshmallow, some pirouette cookies, and a rice krispie treat - all of which were complimented by chocolate fondue!  I did some stretches with the thousands of others in Centennial Park and munched on my snacks, saving my hot chocolate for the walk back to my car.  Unfortunately, the signs back to the parking area were also non-existent and following the crowd didn't work well for me.  I had to use Google Maps to discover I had walked the wrong direction! On the way back, however, I saw a race photographer packing up his equipment and thanked him for being out this morning.  He took a great photo - the only one I have from the race - and I thanked him.  I was definitely happy to see all race photos are free from this race series, and I had notifications about photos emailed to me throughout the day. 

All in all, here's my list of pros and cons about Hot Chocolate 15K Atlanta: 

Cons:  -Expo is required. I hate expos. No offense. I get it though, you have to go because that many volunteers at 4 a.m. on a race day to hand out packets is hard to coordinate! -Parking is expensive.  I purchased parking ahead of time, which was $20 for both the expo and the race.  I'm glad I did this because Atlanta doesn't have a single free parking space in probably a 100-mile radius.  I even had to pay to park at my hotel for the 7 hours I was there.  -Signage was non-existent.  Great for locals, but not so great for out-of-towners.

Pros:  -Great finisher swag for the 15K.  You get a hoodie with thumbholes, free chocolate at the expo, and the tasty finisher mug!  Only the 15K runners get the cute chocolate bar medal.  -Fun for sightseeing.  Like I mentioned early on, I hadn't been to Atlanta in years. I got to see a lot of it on foot in only an hour and a half! -Easy course.  For the 15K there was only a 380-foot elevation gain.  There was actually more downhill than uphill.  This was a relaxing and easy run for me.   

I loved this race so much I signed up for the race in Nashville in two weeks!  I can't wait to share my experience with you guys from that race!  Have you ever run a "fun run" race series before? What about Hot Chocolate? Would YOU run for chocolate?!

 Disclaimer: I received a free entry to review Hot Chocolate 15K - Atlanta as part of being a BibRave Pro. Learn more about becoming a BibRave Pro (ambassador), and check out BibRave.com to review find and write race reviews!

[ecotone99]

[ SF ] Matilda and the Tila

[ XXVII ]

Matilda were pretty used to being disappointed in people on a whole, but she often wished everyone kind of just pretend each day was like Christmas: like she did. It made it so much more fun for her when she spent the day disappointed on the boring days that it weren’t Christmas: elated on the one day she could say it finally were. Such an odd Pagan custom for her to favor above the rest. Matilda would watch as they wasted their monies on consumer products and the latest tech, now looking like they had sperm coming out of their ears. She would be no better: as she had once gotten stuck wearing a cursed top hat. A metal hat made by an eccentric and racist man named only: Shockley, a true tribute to his love of human torture of those all forced to own the skin tone called “other”. Matilda had finally broken free from the golden cursed hat, but left a trail of golden tears wherever she went: finally broken free having ran through tunnels beneath the fields of Moffett. Such stories were the ones found only in the tribes of the Tolowa, Karuk, Hoopa and Yurok: attempting to make sense of their massive carbon storage units that still grew along the coast. Matilda no longer visited those dreams or memories, but would still have learned her ability to utilize tech with purpose: unlike the dead-eyed savages who watched their lives pass before their lives when they turned to stone. Matilda only now wished for a future filled with more opportunities for women in science: another boulder she felt she were always left pushing alone. Such tasks were those left for only those ready to talk equality: and by the state of affairs: the white men were unready. She watched as PhD. Clark: pulled scholars from the collapsing West coast as it eroded from the increased rise of the tides: another issue that were a direct impact of the parasites known as humans and their incessant need to ignore global warming. Assisting in whatever ways she could: as they prepared the youth for a world, and making hearty jokes to lighten the mood. Matilda had always found she were lucky: being able to have met such inspirational women on her travels, and for such reasons had she chosen to study computers, and the sciences: with the career interests of operating a false star.

Matilda would met such grand and supportive systems of women on her travels, and gladly came to their aid whenever she were needed. She had once been caught off guard when her Mentor: Adams had began introducing her as her protege, an honor since she were a Vet: a pilot with the strong moral able to rule command and inspire true change. She would be so concerned with her opinion, and it took her years to finally explain why she had avoided informing her of the lost pregnancy and her pubic beatings that had once been rumors around the University campus. Such sad silence were those meant to say sorry, and Matilda would always admire her ability to tell Matilda when to hold her tongue if it meant sacrificing her directive. Matilda simply worked on holding her own even as a mask: still managing to win a beauty pageant, work for free as a student athlete. She were this statue of success and culture, and she felt so alone even when she had given permission for everyone to form Pow-Wow directly lead by her. Such slow motion panning views felt like a circus as she only obsessed aboot whether she had been able to conceal her bruises having been punched in her sleep the nights before. Matilda would spend her victorious year being called a failure by her council, but refused to apologize: once again surrounded by a room of men who cared not for her “excuses”. Matilda would have an abortion in quiet and fall ill as she were left still being a punching bag, no longer a Princess, and now the gossip of campus for having lost her boyfriend to a young woman who claimed she were a Panther. Tis’ the true culture of women: yelling at a stranger who you walk up on as she brags aboot sleeping with the Princesses boyfriend: confused when she didn’t know her face was next to hers as she walked up. Matilda was left explaining such scandalous feuds to an “academic council” until she were left being the only one too bored to care. Instead Matilda told the girl the man beat the shit out of her: advising her that it hurt less when she were drunk. Such small petty arguments were how Matilda fucked up peoples day over and over again with her need to openly state she were a victim on the reoccurring occasion. She divulged her anger wishing the two lovebirds: many children. Finally leaving all she had known in a land of Stulls and Jayhawks: that were now cursed from Indigenous Warrior mass grave sites. She would occasionally miss the peaceful winds and the flat lands of waving wheat and corn. Matilda were always proud of how far she had come since her young adulthood, but knew she could always aspire to be a better man each day. She now only wished to provide a way to improve herself to herself and decided she would simply start by purchasing a star.

Coordinates read: RA 16.515 and Declination -26.52 lays a star named Tila: Federally recognized surviving Indigenous American #562-6146. A simple but true statement as to what firm truths she wished for her children, the heirs of the stars. Matilda couldn’t even imagine what all of that would feel like: since having left Kness and Viking yelling at one another in a room. Instead she just shrugged her shoulders wondering why she had such odd taste in men: figuring it were simply best to go get her calm and gentle friend Joel as to figure out what to do next. He had once broke her spell of sadness in the rain by holding good company as they walked across the University campus, and she occasionally missed his warm smile. She had met him and blushed instantly, knowing just as she had done with Kness: that men of such handsomeness and tallness never stand proudly by Matilda as her equal. She were a monster: cursed to know her disability made her too ugly for words. Joel had been the one and only true friends during these difficult days of doctor visits and juggling University: she still found it amusing that he were so kind, but had no issue informing her that the Viking were a “weird dude” when she asked his opinion. Such reassurance to a woman feeling as though she often sick with madness on the topic, his voice alone calmed her storm: that's how she continued on her naked way enjoying randoms until she had somehow met a pre-naked Kness and fell enamored with his kiss. Matilda hoped Joel could break whatever sleepy spell Dupree always be under, or sooth Eric from yelling at anyone and everyone: only mad at himself aboot his privilege. Matilda wanted: only to know that her fellow men were now safe: expecting nothing from either men in their futures. Glad she could inform the homie Joel that she knew how to break the tether Kness had cast to her in the past. She were tired of being the end of the jokes, or third priority to a slew of other random women. Specifically to weak and tired to deal with these two assholes: annoyed that they called themselves men. Matilda wished upon her own star for a time before Tino and his brutal cruelty: before the day that the Viking had openly admitted he missed her by yelling: before the fateful day when she opened her door and invited Kness in: a time before all of this mundane drama destroyed her life until everything seemed unreal to the touch. She now only worried aboot herself her ability to stand upright and not having seizures. Glad to know that she were crying because she were finally ready to let go: longing for a moment without pain in the dark abyss: finally free to be herself as a sparkling star.

submitted by /u/spacecaptainbrooks03 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2IyuyaK

[bluebrightly]

Yes, it’s word play, but seriously, the unseasonably cold weather here in the Pacific northwest seems thoroughly unreasonable, to me at least. (We could talk about the futility of pairing reason with weather, but that would be another conversation). Seattle’s airport, Sea-Tac, marked its snowiest February on record before we were even half way through the month. The airport might get its coldest February on record, too. We’ve been locked into a nasty pattern of snow and cold for most of the month now, with more snow possible this week.

Winter weather in this part of the world normally consists of a tedious parade of gray days with plenty of drizzly rain and temperatures hovering around the mid 40’s F (7 C). We don’t have a lot of below-freezing days, and when it snows, it usually melts away in a day or two. Usually. But “usually” is just a memory, now that we’re stuck in this unreasonably unseasonable February.

Combine at least six inches of snow on barely plowed roads, temperatures consistently at or below freezing, and a declared state of emergency and you’ve got the perfect storm of difficult winter weather for our area. Then there were the cancelled flights, schools closed for days, impassable highways…we just don’t do snow that well. In these conditions a lovely walk outdoors has become a rare treat. I hadn’t realized until now that I’ve become spoiled by the region’s normally mild weather and the easy access to extraordinary natural habitats.

Of course, what we’re experiencing is nothing compared to many places in the US, Canada, and other places where snow is serious business and cold lasts all winter long.  When I lived in New York I was used to shoveling out my car and slipping and sliding down the sidewalks. Since moving here though, I’ve acclimated to a different reality and I’m just not used to real winter anymore. Imagine my distress when for a week, my go-to coffee shop either didn’t open at all or closed early. During the worst of it, when Seattle suffered through its “Snopocalypse” I had my own crisis, i.e. “OMG where am I going to get my espresso?”

Lest I sound unreasonable, I don’t expect any sympathy, especially from my hardy friends in colder places. This is actually more about a sense of wonder that our blue, spinning earth continues to bring us so many surprises. May it always be so, and may nature always have the upper hand.

***

It all began innocently enough with a light, rather picturesque coating of snow on the third of February.  At home, perfect little bird tracks in the snow and tiny ice balls in the nets protecting the fruit trees were a delightful novelty. The roads weren’t bad that day. Even the dirt road to Cranberry Lake was navigable, so I set out on a cold, careful walk in the woods. The forest was enchanting that afternoon, but my fingers got numb very quickly. I was grateful I had a warm home to return to.

  1. A dusting of snow at Cranberry Lake.

  2. Sword fern plants bowed down under coats of mealy-looking, icy snow in a dark corner of the woods.

  3. The birds were busy, leaving a maze of tracks in the thin layer of snow under the feeders. I singled out one little hop for a black and white.

  4. An enclosure to protect young fruit trees against deer was dotted with balls of ice.

  The next day it was bitter cold and the roads were icy. I took pictures indoors, photographed a deer through the window, and caught up on things at home.

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  Soon the roads improved and the sun came out, but it was still very cold. I drove to a local park one day, hoping the road around it was passable. The boat dock sustained storm damage but – Yes! – the road was open. I drove happily through the woods at the proscribed 10 mph speed limit, stopping to photograph a twisted Maritime juniper tree. After 20 minutes in the cold I retreated back to the parking lot. Hearing the vibration of blasting music coming from a car, I muttered curses under my breath. Then I saw two young women sitting in their car, watching the sunset, and they seemed to be having a great time. Suddenly I realized the music was from the Bach Cello Suites! My frown turned to a smile. What prompted them to choose Bach instead of a hit from this week’s Top 100? I don’t know, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised by their choice. I gave them a thumbs up and a big smile. What a nice send-off to that icy-cold day.

  6. Looking up into the dead branches of a Maritime juniper tree. Imagine standing under this noble tree while listening to a Bach Cello Suite.

  7. The svelte mid-section of another maritime juniper tree.

  8. As the sun set that day it left an orange glow behind the Olympic Mountains, 60 miles away.

  A few days later there was another round of snow, this time in the form of big, wet flakes falling softly overnight, leaving clumps of the cottony stuff everywhere. It was still snowing that morning but I set out for the coffee shop anyway, creeping along on clean white roads. Hardly anyone was out. After getting coffee I drove around March Point and tried to photograph the snow falling but there was little light to work with, and once again my fingers numbed in minutes. Back at home, I noticed our little creek was an important source of fresh water for puffy little Dark-eyed Junco’s that were endlessly flitting back and forth between feeder and stream.

  9. This little creek is dry as a bone in summer.

  10. Cattails wore top hats of snow over their fluffy seed heads on March Point.

  11. Leaning stakes probably mark old shipping lanes at March Point, where oil refineries share space with herds of cattle and a Great blue heron rookery.

  12. The snow thickened over Fidalgo Bay, smudging the horizon.

  Three days later, more snow fell….is this getting repetitive? You bet it is! I prowled around the yard again….

  13. A Sword fern seems to shrivel and shiver in the cold. These hardy, evergreen ferns should be OK except for clumps damaged by the weight of wet snow. I believe those clumps will gradually recoup as new fronds emerge to replace the ones that broke under the snow.

  14. How long before these petite clumps of snow fall to the ground?

  After that  snowstorm, another bout of cabin fever hit me so I made my way to Deception Pass State Park at a snail’s pace. The parking lot hadn’t been plowed but since it’s on a busy inter-island thoroughfare (and maybe because there are restrooms there), vehicles had been driving into the lot, leaving deep tracks in the slushy snow. I steered my little car along the tracks, stopped, and got out. The staircase under the bridge had been trampled just enough – I could walk down the stairs while clutching the railing (and feeling thankful for waterproof boots). Under the bridge is a network of trails that traces the forested edges of Deception Pass. Only a dusting of snow had filtered down through the thick canopy of trees there. The path was easy to follow but it was dark and cold in the woods. Again, I didn’t last long but just being in the woods, gratefully breathing fresh air, was a treat. A tiny mouse raced past me, oblivious to my presence. He pawed at the snow, searching for food, and then ran off into the dark woods. I thought about my warm home….

  15. The forest is dark on a perimeter trail at Deception Pass State Park.

  16. Last year’s Ocean Spray flower (Holodiscus discolor) drips with melting ice and snow.

  17. The water racing through the pass that day was a cheerful turquoise color, and the view through the tall trees across to Pass Island was delightful.

  18. The leathery, evergreen leaves of Salal (Gaultheria shallon) cheer up the forest floor in winter. The orange leaves are dead Redcedar leaves from the drought we had last summer. All the snow we’re getting now will help prevent drought in the months ahead.

  19. The mouse. I enlarged and lightened the photo as much as I could, and it’s still hard to see him…that mouse was tiny!

  Steps away from the parking lot is the Deception Pass bridge, which has a pedestrian walkway. It’s usually a spectacular view from the bridge, high over the rushing water, but on that day the view was reduced by moisture still hanging in the air. Far out on the water I could barely make out some cormorants, gulls, a few seals, and one sea lion – all working hard for their living.

  20. Snow on the rocks below the bridge at Deception Pass.

  21. North Beach from the Deception Pass bridge. No one walks the beach on this snowy day.

  22. A phone photo taken on the road home that day.

  One day I ventured off the island to Mount Vernon, a small city with a good food cooperative where I like to shop. On the way I passed acres of fallow, snowy fields. The sun is bright out on Skagit Flats. The orderly rows of crops with their striped furrows converging on the horizon was pleasing to see.

  23. A bus for migrant workers sits in the field, waiting for Spring. It looks like this is one of Skagit Valley’s famous tulip fields – you can see them coming up. The snow won’t bother them a bit.

  24. Afternoon sun throws a maze of shadows on a farm building.

  The snow has melted a little now, but it’s still below freezing at night and not much above freezing during the day. Friday I took a walk at Bowman Bay, part of Deception Pass State Park.  I lingered on the trail until sunset. The tide was out and a lone Great blue heron was busy foraging in the quietly lapping waves. The sun felt good.

  25. A Great blue heron picks its way through the riches of low tide.

  ***

Unseasonable and Unreasonable Yes, it's word play, but seriously, the unseasonably cold weather here in the Pacific northwest seems thoroughly unreasonable, to me at least.

[taylorowelch]

8/11 - 8/14 Mile 2211.7 - 2292.4 - 80.7 miles

I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced, the moon shone off the mesh of my tent. When my alarm went off at six I was surprised I was asleep for it to wake me. I laid in my bag and looked at the cool sky, lightening slowly. Ever since entering Washington I felt different. I could sense the difference in the days as they grew shorter, as the weather patterns changed. I slowly got my things together, changed into my damp clothes, ate my oatmeal. I was excited to get to Trout Lake, to eat probably a burger, to drink the Diet Coke I had been lusting after for days. We climbed for the better part of the 15 miles to a road called “Road 23” where a list of trail angels was posted who gave rides to town. I took a picture of the list, and followed some instructions taped to a trash can that said to walk a mile down the road to get service to call for a ride. We had barely walked a tenth of a mile when a pickup pulled over and asked if we wanted to go to town. We jumped in the bed and basked in the glorious wind all 13 miles to town. The couple in the pickup even gave us each a beer. They dropped us off at the post office where I collected my packages; new shoes, insoles and food. I drank my beer in some grass that kind of looked like someone’s front yard but there were hikers all over it so I figured nobody cared. I unpacked my food box and sorted it out, got my shoes situated and then Dustin and I headed off to the cafe to eat lunch. I got a giant burger, fries, a Diet Coke and a Huckleberry milkshake. We gobbled down all of our food. Afterwards I sat at the table with my shoes off and stared at the ground a little ways away, obliterated by the feeling of being full. We didn’t stay in town long. We had originally planned to camp there and head out in the morning but I had a miles bug* and felt like getting out of town. We heard a trail angel was shuttling hikers to the trailhead so I hurried to get all my things together before he arrived. Gary pulled up just as I had my things all packed. He drove a big truck with a couch in the back. I walked over to the truck, threw my pack in the back and grabbed a seat on the sofa. There were probably 6 hikers in the truck bed and three in the cab. Every time we went over a big bump the couch’s springs caused me to lurch a little. Three of us were squeezed onto it, the outside two of us gripping the sofa’s arms as we looked at towering Mount Adams in the distance. When we got to the trailhead we thanked Gary for the ride and set off, walking six more miles, mostly through a burn, before it got dark. The sun was a fierce bright orange hole in the sky, occasionally peering through charred trees, casting a pastel glow over incoming clouds. As night opened up over a meadow, I set up my tent and stretched. Few gathered on the grass, the air was thick and damp, it felt like rain was coming. I got into my tent and ate a handful of fritos, a snickers bar, a couple of gummy worms and drank some water. As I laid down, lightning flickered across the sky. Because my rain fly was on, it felt like a light was flickering in the next room, if my tent was my bedroom and the rest of the meadow was that next room. A little thunder rumbled, but softly. I thought about the house I grew up in, about sitting on the porch swing during a summer storm. Memories surfaced of a cool, thick thunderstorm breeze blowing my hair off my sweaty neck on a summer evening, vicious wind tossing the branches of a nearby pine back and forth. I could almost hear the pitter-patter of the rain on the tin roof. Without warning a bolt of lightning shot down near the field where we and six other people camped, followed almost immediately by a loud crack of thunder. Raindrops began to fall on my fly, the sound soothing amid the loud thunder. The raindrops fell faster and faster, an ambush of liquid bullets on my tent. The temperature dropped. I felt like a child scared in a storm, only this time it felt more rational, the only thing between the storm and I were some layers of sil-nylon, some hope. In a couple of hours the rain let up, the lightning still flashing across the sky, thunder still rumbling. I thought again about the house I grew up in, a storm raging outside one summer. I stood in the hallway watching water pour down the wall, my mother frantically shoving towels into a window above the stairs. I don’t think the water came from the window, I couldn’t tell where it would have come from. It was just there, pooling along the baseboards. Rain slammed against the warped panes. My mother mopped at the wall with a rag, ran an exasperated hand across her forehead, eyes closed, she emitted a thin sigh. I still felt like a kid, I still felt like I didn’t know what I should be doing. It wasn’t like running to lower ground was going to help me. I listened for tent poles clattering. I decided if anyone else in the field left that I would leave too. Dustin and I talked between our tents, mine filled with the smell of rain clinging to grass and dirt. We were both scared. Conversations of the people in other tents carried across the field. Little animals (maybe pika?) made small noises from a pile of flat gray rock across the field. I read for a while and fell asleep. I was relieved to wake up and find that the storm had passed. I ate my oatmeal in my tent, got dressed and started packing up. I felt like I might be sick. My stomach was bloated and I just wanted to lie in the fetal position, but the ground was wet and cold and I had places to go today. Dustin gave me some instant coffee. I brushed my teeth squatting, which made my sick stomach feel a little better. As I walked I stopped periodically, burping up all the gas from my bloated stomach. I wished I could just be sick so the feeling would go away. Luckily it went away after a few hours. I never figured out what it was. The storm had ended the muggy heat wave, making the day cool and pleasant. I climbed up onto a ridge and marveled at beautiful undercloud, peaks just scratching its surface. I turned a corner and Mount Adams towered in the distance, perched on hills of volcanic rock. The sun peered through a cloud just above it. We crossed several streams, cloudy with sediment from the storm and melting snow. Some of them looked milky and enchantingly as the sun shone on patches of the murky water, their banks trimmed with lush moss. Purple lupine lined the trail for most of the morning. We hiked fifteen miles before lunch, stopping at a spring in the shade to eat and rest for a bit. We spread out our tents to dry on a large pile of rocks in the sun. Then we hiked ten more miles to camp for a 25 mile day, entering Goat Rocks wilderness, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful parts of Washington. When we got to camp I set up my tent, cooked cheesy rice and mixed Fritos into it. I thought it would be a good idea to mix tangerine flavored Emergen-C and a lemon-lime flavored electrolyte tab together but it was awful. It tasted like really watered down orange juice, but I probably needed the extra electrolytes anyway. The evening turned cold quickly, and I hurried to clean my pot and brush my teeth so I could get into my warm sleeping bag. The rain continued all night, droplets sporadically landed on my fly like a morse code designed to wake me every few hours. When my alarm went off at six, the rain persisted. It was chilly. I decided there was no time like the present, deflated my sleeping pad and packed up as quickly as I could. While I put my tent away I sang “Tomorrow” from Annie to try and make Dustin laugh. Today was going to be a type-two-fun kind of day, but I decided I would make it a good one. I knew the sooner I was walking the less time I would spend freezing. I wore just my raincoat over my normal clothes. Every time my legs brushed the copious shrubbery lining the trail, cold water splashed my goose-bumped skin. It felt like ice. My hands worked slowly every time I had to unwrap a bar or check the map on my phone. I listened to the news and podcasts to take my mind off the bad weather. I climbed for a few miles through wildflowers and grass doubled over onto the trail with the weight of the water. Spruce trees lined the meadows and disappeared into the dense fog. As I climbed higher, the fog moved across the valleys below in great patches, never clearing out but rising and falling. The rain was fairly steady all morning, spitting down from the dark gray sky, dripping off the brim of my hat, clinging to all foliage in sight, pooling in the middle of the trail, in my shoes. Around noon the rain let up and I approached Cispus Pass, a saddle leading toward the Goat Rocks. The views before Cispus were mostly covered by fog, but I could see a lush green medow, the end of a waterfall, and the base of a huge mountain. I headed towards the pass and walked over the saddle. Towering mountains circled around a huge green valley, the Cispus river cutting the whole thing in two. Winds moved clouds into the valley and swept them up and over the pass. It looked like a huge cauldron, steam rising off the top of some beautiful dish. The clouds broke a bit and patches of sun glinted over long grass and wildflowers swaying in the breeze. I took off my hat and felt the sun warm my damp hair. The wind dried my wet clothes. I watched other hikers round a corner and walk opposite me on the trail. They looked so small. I tried to take pictures and they all came out looking thin and unrealistic. No picture could ever capture that or anything else I saw today. The landscape was so dynamic, so sweeping, the trail just a tiny sliver of absent grass, of neatly arranged shale among nature’s great and wild beauty. I walked slowly around the bend to a waterfall on the Cispus River. I put my pack on a rock in the sun. I climbed onto a nearby pile of rocks and took off my shoes. I cooked ramen and felt the spray from the waterfall dust my raincoat. I felt warm and it felt good. After lunch we began the ascent to the Goat Rocks, through steep foothills that became trails mostly made of shale. We climbed for a few miles, the rock changed and fog swept over everything. The temperature dropped. We crossed sections of snow and soon found ourselves on Knife’s Edge, breathtaking ridge section of the PCT. It seemed to cut one valley into two separate ones. Winds howled over the trail, now incredibly steep on either side. We were up at about 7,500 feet. Snow laid in patches on all of the surrounding mountains. Valleys dotted with spruce trees and decorated with steep waterfalls lay below, the clouds still churning dramatically within them. The trail looked like a tiny piece of string laid on the back of an angular serpent in the distance, shooting up and darting down the thin ridge. We marveled at it for the couple of hours we spent up there. It was another thing that no picture or video could accurately capture. The descent off Knife’s Edge was steep and slow-going. We stopped at a stream to filter water that was icy cold. As I squeezed water from my bottle through the filter my hands ached from the cold. We hurried on to camp, our feet aching from the steep climbs and descents, from the cold rain in the morning. It felt like four days all crammed into one. By the time we got to our tentsite we both felt totally spent. It was about all we could do to make dinner and clean up. At least there were no mosquitoes today. I slept like a rock. The morning was cold but, thankfully, not rainy. I hiked in my raincoat, climbing one final pass in Goat Rocks wilderness and then descended to Highway 12. We walked to a little store half a mile down the road where we both had boxes to pick up. The store was a tiny gas station/coffee shop with a big glass case on top of the counter filled with slices of pizza on paper plates and little baskets of chicken wings. Dustin talked to a woman behind the counter while I stared absent-mindedly into the case, looking at the melted cheese on the pizza under the heat lamp. I picked up my resupply box and got a coffee. Dustin and I got a ride to the town of Packwood, 20 miles away. Our ride dropped us off at an inn. A shirtless child sat at the counter in the office doing something on a computer and drinking a Pepsi. He didn’t say anything to us. We decided to go to another hotel to see if there was a vacancy, which there wasn’t. We went to a restaurant and ate giant burgers, after which I stared at the floor, overwhelmed by feeling so full. We went back to the inn and the shirtless kid was still at the counter, but this time the door was locked, so we sat outside and waited. We eventually got a tiny room where we exploded our packs, did laundry in the bathtub and laid on the floor soaking up the internet for a few hours.

*miles bug: when one feels extremely motivated to hike big miles for no reason in particular.

[tateonnas-blog]

PMS, the unexpected, symptoms, pain relief, remedies

Periods… First and foremost WHY!? Why must we go through the same vicious cycle every 28ish days? Those average 3-5 days of hell where you feel the need to always stay close to a restroom because there’s a constant murder scene in your underpants. Or when the damn thing comes when you least expect it, like during a business meeting or while your driving somewhere other than your home, or how about simply waking up thinking you pissed your pants. Yup, the struggle is so real ladies. Now let’s not forget PMSing. Every month brings us a different symptom, lol. Breasts so tender that when your significant other is in the mood, they just so happen to go straight to them both, or lower back pain so annoying that you’re unhappy in any position you try and get comfortable in. What about that random muffin top you get because of bloating and possible constipation? I mean come on! My favorite part is when you start doing the happy dance thinking your period happens to be finito, yet when you least expect it comes back. Oh, how I love periods.

Does anyone remember their first period? How old you were, where you were, how your mom reacted, and just how you felt throughout that first cycle?

Well, let me enlighten ya a little. I started late in the game. It wasn’t until I hit the age of 14 and had barely graduated from Buena Park Jr High. In all honesty, I had always wondered why I hadn’t gotten my period yet. Especially since my mom had always told me stories of how old she and her sisters were when they became “young ladies”. I mean my mom started around 8! Holy hell! She talked about how quickly her breasts grew in and how she saw all these body changes. Oh but not me. On a regular summer day, I was hanging out in the living watching TV with my brothers. I had a sudden urge to pee, so I obviously ran to the restroom to empty out my bladder. But this wasn’t a normal trip to the restroom. This was the day I thought I was dying! I freaked the hell out. And it wasn’t like I was able to yell out for my mom because it was during her work hours. I also didn’t have any sisters who’d be able to tell me what the hell was going on. So, I did the best with what I had and quickly got on the phone to get ahold of my mom. This is how my conversation went…

Phone rings:

Mom: “O**** Protective Services, how can I help you?”

Me: Mom! Guess what!?

Mom: “You got your period!?”

Me: “What the… How’d you know?”

Mom: “Whaaaaaat! Really!? Dios miooooo, mi hija ya es una mujer!”

Translation: “Whaaaaaat! Really!? Omg, my daughter is now a woman!”

Me: “Mom stop. I…”

Mom: “Mami, let me call you right back.”

Me: “Um…OK.”

An hour passes and I’m here wondering what the hell to do. I was super naive to it all. It’s not like I was able to get on the computer we didn’t have and google “what to do when you start your period”. And if I mentioned it to my brothers, they’d take it upon themselves to let the jokes begin. They were assholes! LOL. As I’m trying to play it cool in front of my brothers, My mom calls back.

Me: “Hello…”

Mom: “Mami, I had to hang up with you to try and get ahold of gramma. She wasn’t home but I was able to get ahold of grandpa. I had to tell him that my one and only daughter became a woman today!”

Me: “Mom you didn’t have to do that. How embarrassing mom. Grandpa!? Really!? I’ve never even met the guy.”

I really wanted to say, “WTF mom! Was it that serious? You literally hung up with me to be a busybody, instead of telling me what to do to stop from bleeding out!” If I had actually said this, I would’ve been bleeding from another part of my body too. As I’m still not mentioning the whole period thing to my brothers, my mom comes storming in with some huge pads. Pads that probably would’ve helped soak up water during the great flood. Yet no rainbow in sight after. I mean these pads were about 3 ½ inches wide and like 22 inches long!!! Oh, man did I not hear the end of it from my brothers. Mind you, I was a huge tomboy. I wore their hand me downs more than the crap dresses my mom wanted me to wear. I’d go out and play any sport they had taught me and would be one of the firsts to be picked. I mean, I was pretty badass. But once I got my period they basically thought I was a huge sissy. The good thing is they also were the reason for me not taking what they said too seriously. Even after this horrible first period experience, I kicked butt on the field and in anything that they introduced me to. For about a year the darn thing lasted 8-11 days. I thought I’d never see the end of my cycles. But luckily after starting the high school softball team, I started noticing it would lighten up quicker.

This was my fun experience. What was yours like? And what have you done, as far as remedies to help alleviate the pain?

TIP: If you can’t find your heating pad, Grab a hand towel and soak it in water. Squeeze out as much of the water as possible and grab a huge Ziplock bag. Place the towel inside and while the bag is open, pop it into the microwave for about a minute, minute and a half. This was something that helped even at work too.

Ladies, know that we feel your pain BUT the best thing to do during this monthly struggle is stop by See’s candy, buy a whole box of your fave chocolates, head home, put on a Netflix movie and gorge.

YOU’RE WELCOME

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