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natromanxoff · 3 years ago

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25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #peter freestone #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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rocksandrobots · 4 years ago

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Of Rocks and Robots Ch.29 - Apologies

This is the last of the 'PSA' arc and the last chapter to discuss underage drinking

Varian awoke with his head pounding, his stomach rolling, and a bad taste in his mouth. He brought his hand to his eyes to try and rub the soreness away and to block out the sunlight peeking through his bedroom window. No doubt Hiro and Baymax had brought him home last night, not that he could remember it.

Varian had only experienced a hangover once before in his life. At thirteen, he had wanted to prove himself a man and so had tried to join in with older men of the village during the harvest festival while they made toasts to celebrate the end of a long hard season. His father had been too busy to notice. It had been a fruitless exercise that only brought him shame and sicknesses. As he had laid in bed the next morning, Quirin just gave a weary sigh and said,"I hope you've learned your lesson, son." and then turned away to attend to his duties.

If only he had. What was wrong with him? Oh, why didn't he ever learn?

Varian groaned and dragged himself out of bed, swallowing hard to keep his stomach down. There was no sense hiding away in his room; the sooner he got this over with the better.

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Hiro made his way down the stairs as Baymax hobbled along behind him. He entered the kitchen and then stopped in his tracks. Varian sat at the end of the table nursing his head in his hands as he brooded over a cup of coffee.

Hiro didn't know what to say or do. He didn't want to start another argument and he really didn't want Varian to run off again. So he just ignored the other teen as he went about fixing himself some breakfast.

Hiro felt like he was walking on eggshells as he scurried about. He kept casting wary glances back at the other boy as he poured himself a bowl of cereal, but Varian didn't move nor acknowledge that Hiro was even there.

"You are suffering from dehydration due to the consumption of alcohol." Baymax interrupted the silence. "This is sometimes known as a hangover."

Hiro's eyes widened as he feared another outburst from Varian, but the time displaced teen only gave Baymax annoyed glare but said nothing. So the robot continued, "A glass of water would be more helpful than coffee. Caffeine can increase blood pressure and worsen your headache."

Still the gloomy teen said nothing nor did he make any moves to replace his cup of joe with the more beneficial water. In fact the only indication that Varian had even heard Baymax, was that he looked the robot dead in the eye as he lifted the steaming cup to his lips and took a sip.

Hiro gave an exasperated sigh, sat his bowl of milk and cheerios down, and went to fill a glass of water himself; forcefully setting it down next to Varian, who raised an eyebrow, but still remained silent. Then Hiro recovered his morning meal and sat at the other end of the table to eat.

Several minutes passed while neither boy said anything, and Hiro began to wonder what was even the point in trying. Varian seemed determined to self destruct. No matter how often they tried to help, no matter how seemingly well things got for awhile, no matter how many times Varian would apologize for screwing up, it all came right back around to yet another mishap, another poor decision, another fight.

Hiro tried not to judge too harshly, honest he did, he was no saint himself after all, but the whole thing was becoming tiresome. Then there were the times where Varian wasn't even sorry.

The incident with Momasake's knife sprung to his mind unbidden, along with the ninja's warning words. "People like that don't ever change."

No. Hiro refused to believe that. He himself had changed for the better, so could other people, so too could Varian. He just needed someone to be there for him.

"You were right." Varian's voice broke through his thoughts, startling him.

Hiro looked at the other teen in surprise as Varian pressed on.

"I thought that I could handle things, but turns out I'm just a mess no matter what I do." Varian gave a pout and kept his eyes downcast.

Hiro didn't know what to say to that. He felt like he should give some sort of encouragement, some reassurance that Varian wasn't a mess, but that somehow felt hollow and Varian would know it.

Baymax however did have something to say. "Many adolescents struggle with low self-esteem. Positive reinforcement can help combat this. Try replacing negative thoughts about yourself with compliments instead."

Varian eyed the robot skeptically and even Hiro had to admit he couldn't see that helping all that much in this situation.

"Like what kind of compliments?" Varian asked.

"Recognise your strengths. Varian, you are very smart. You are talented. You are courageous and kind. You have many friends and loved ones who care about you and wish to see you get better."

"Friends?" Varian shot back bitterly and then with tears in his eyes, added, "Not after last night, I'm sure."

"No." Hiro firmly rebutted, "We're still your friends. It's just like Baymax said, we only want for you to get better. Alcohol's just not the right way to cope with what's happened to you."

Varian searched the other teen's eyes, debating on whether or not to believe Hiro's words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Aunt Cass walked into the kitchen ending the discussion.

She gave the boys a wide smile and kissed Hiro on top of his head. "Good morning! Excited for today?"

Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the counter and poured herself a cup of the coffee Varian had made. "I thought we could close up shop early today after the morning rush. That way we'd have more time for our family outing. We could go to the park and go bike riding before the movie." She took a sip and walked over to Varian and tenderly ran her fingers through his hair. "How does that sound?" She asked them.

The boys exchanged looks and Varian came to a decision. He swallowed hard, "Aunt Cass… I have something to tell you…about last night."

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Varian finished recounting the events of the past two days to Aunt Cass. Though he conveniently left out some details involving his arguments with Hiro and the rest of their friends; mainly anything to do with superheroing.

He knew Hiro would appreciate this. The other teen had been sent out of the room by Aunt Cass earlier, but they both knew he was most likely sitting at the bottom of the stairwell listening in anyways.

That didn't seem to matter so much in light of his confession though. Aunt Cass looked on shocked and horrified while Varian told her of the club and the drinking games, only interrupting to ask a clarifying question now and then. Once done with his tale, they sat in uncomfortable silence as Aunt Cass tried to process what was happening.

Suddenly she shouted; "Oh God, I'm an idiot!" startling Varian, as she got up to pace.

"Of course it was a college party! What was I thinking? "Painting party" Pff… And not just any college party, noooo, but a frat party. You were in college once, you know what those are like. And it never once occurred to you that your sixteen year old might want to crash one of those? Of course he would! You would! At sixteen you snuck into a rave!"

She paused in her rant to look out into the middle distance as she contemplated what she had just said.

"How did I wind up being the parent again!?" She yelled to no one in particular before slumping back down in her seat and cradling her head in her hands.

Varian was simply confused by this outburst. He didn't know what a 'rave' was, nor why Aunt Cass would be ashamed of going to one. Also it was his fault for lying and getting drunk, not hers.

Aunt Cass inhaled deeply and moved her hands to cup her mouth and then exhaled slowly as she folded them into fists to rest her chin upon.

"You said Baymax checked you over?" She asked. Varian nodded. "You're not hurt then?" He shook his head.

"Good," she said shakely, "That's good…. Then just what the heck were you thinking!?" She rounded on him.

He recoiled under her glare. Varian still hadn't gotten used to Aunt Cass's stressful mood swings anymore than her lectures. His lip quivered and fresh tears threatened to spill from his eyes but he couldn't formulate the words he needed to. He couldn't explain to her what it was like being the odd man out, a stranger in another world, an outcast from society with a shameful past; to never truly fit in no matter what you did.

"Don't you know you could have gotten hurt!?" She continued,"Didn't you stop to think even just a little that maybe sneaking into a nightclub and downing six shots of tequila might be dangerous?"

"I..I didn't know how strong tequila was." He protested in his defense. "I can normally down a couple beers no problem."

"Wait…This isn't your first time drinking?"

"Well no. Everyone drinks in Corona, it's just not a big deal there. It's like drinking a can of soda."

Aunt Cass eyes darted back and forth in confusion as she realized once again she had taken in a child from another country, another culture, and he wasn't just like Hiro or Tadashi. But she wasn't yet ready to concede the argument. She didn't want Varian thinking it was okay to do this a second time.

"And did you sneak into clubs there too!?" She asked incredulously.

"We don't have those." Varian exasperated. He was starting to become irritated once more. He got up from where he sat and leaned over the table at her. "Look, I get it! I screwed up! Just like always! I promise I won't do it again and I don't need you to remind me that I'm a failure, okay!?"

Varian paused mid-rant as he realized what he had just said. Both he and Aunt Cass exchanged surprised looks before he snapped his jaw shut and fell back into his seat, hugging himself as he was no longer able to hold back the tears.

"Varian…" Aunt Cass softly said as she reached her hand out to him, but he jerked away.

"I know.. that I'm...I'm all messed up." He heavied through sobs. "Okay? I know . And I know you're just trying to help. But..but I just … I just wanted to fit in for once, and not be the freak, or the villian, or the poor little orphan that nobody really wants…" He sniffled and wiped his runny nose. He no doubt looked every bit the mess that he felt he was, but at this point he no longer cared. "I'm the person that everyone either pitys, or hates... or even fears. I'm never allowed to be just normal, and no matter what I do, I just keep getting reminded over and over again that I don't belong! Not anywhere! Not here, not Corona, not with the Saporians...I...I…I just want my dad. That's all I want." he broke down crying again.

Aunt Cass was crying too.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

Varian blinked at her in confusion. Why was she sorry? What had she done wrong? He was the one who was broken, not her.

"I was so sure that things were getting better..." she went on,"No. I wanted things to be better, that I didn't pay enough attention to the warning signs. I should have known what kind of party you were going to, and I should have realized sooner that you weren't happy here. I let you down, and I'm sorry." She sighed, shook her head, and flung open her arms wide in a shrug. "I...I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do. Parenting is just playing things by ear and winging it half the time. Especially since, well, every child is different, and what worked for Hiro and Tadashi might not work for you. But I don't think you're a failure, or a mess; I think you're just a teenager, and you're not the only teenager in the world to crash a party and get drunk, believe me. Look, I don't care if you made a mistake, I care about you being safe and that you know not to do it again." She reached out to him again and cupped his face, and this time he didn't pull away as she wiped his tears. "Varian, I know it's difficult having your life uprooted and that you miss your dad, but I want you to know you are wanted. Okay? We all care about you. I care about you. You're my child and I'm never giving up on you, not ever ."

She was inches from his face as she said this. Her hazel eyes search his own, looking for a sign that she had gotten through to him. He screwed his eyes shut as he tried to hold back the fresh tears that came for a now completely different reason. He sobbed, leaned forward, and pressed his forehead against hers. She wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Aunt Cass?" Varian asked over her shoulder, once he felt he could talk again. "I'm sorry. I mean it. I won't drink again. I promise."

She broke their hug only to give him a smile. "I know."

"You..you do?"

"Varian, you're a good kid, and you care about people. I know you don't want to scare anybody and that you didn't mean any harm...and I don't want to make you feel like you ever have to hide that you're upset about something. Come and tell me if something's wrong, or if something is bothering you. I'll listen. I promise."

"P..promise?" He looked at her questionly, hesitant to trust another adult again.

"Promise."

"Then..then can I not get any more lectures?" He blurted out. "I know when I did something wrong, I don't need to hear it repeated back to me."

Aunt Cass frowned and tilted her head, "Then... what do you suggest?" She asked slowly.

"I...I don't know." He hung his head. "I just feel like I'm being put on trial all over again. That was the worst." He added under his breath.

Aunt Cass blinked as it dawned on her what the real problem was. "Oookaay… I'll try and keep that in mind in the future. How about for now… you're grounded for a week. How's that?"

"Grounded? That's when you don't leave the house, right?"

"Sort of, you'll still go to school, but no more parties. I would also add extra chores, but you tend to do those anyways without me even asking."

Varian smiled for the first time that day. "Does that mean no family outing?" He teased.

Aunt Cass laughed, "Yeah, you're not getting out that easily. You're a part of this family now, and don't ever forget it." She kissed his forehead and stood up."Now go shower and get ready for the day, and let Hiro know we'll be leaving soon. I think a day off will do everybody some good."

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Varian trudged up the steps of the sorority house. He made it to the front door and then cast a concerned glance back towards the car.

He had told Aunt Cass that he wanted to come clean to Carol about last night. His aunt agreed that that would be best and so had driven him out to the SFAI campus.

However that didn't stop his stomach from tying itself up in knots. The pretty girl probably wouldn't want anything to do with him once she knew the truth. Yet he took a deep breath and rang the doorbell anyways.

He heard footsteps barreling through the house and a familiar voice yelling "I'll get it!". The door flung open wide and there stood Carol, out of breath but with a huge grin on her face. She was clearly glad to see him, though for how long Varian didn't know.

"Oh hey, Varian! I didn't expect to see you today." She subconsciously patted the side of her head. She had her usual curls wrapped up in a scarf, and had been in the middle of some sort of hair care treatment that she dropped once he had arrived. "You..you wanna come in?" She offered.

"I'm afraid I can't." He declined. "I'm with my aunt right now and we're about to go on that 'family outing' I told you about." He pointed back to the car, and Carol's smile only became wider as she waved to its occupants.

"Is the other kid your little brother or cousin?" She asked in her usual friendly manner.

"Uuuuh… sort...of..." Varian didn't have an answer on hand that didn't require a long explanation, so he hurried onto the reason why he was here. "It's a long story, but that's not why I'm here. " He took another steading breath and looked her firmly in the eye. "Carol, I haven't been honest with you, and I'm sorry."

Her smile promptly fell away from her face. "You mean you lied to me? About what?"

"I shouldn't have been at that club. I'm only sixteen."

Carol blinked in confusion. "You mean you're still in high school?"

"Well no; I really am in college and I did just move here from Europe. That's all true, it's just, I got admitted into SFIT early."

Carol made a face as if disgusted by the truth. "You mean I've been hitting on a sixteen year old this whole time?"

Now it was Varian's turn to be confused. "You never struck me?"

"No, 'hitting on', it means flirting."

Varian's spirit picked up, "You mean you were flirting with me?"

"Well now I'm not." She said incredulously and Varian's face fell as his hopes were dashed.

"That..that's fair." He nodded his head and started to walk away. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't think it was a big deal at first, and by the time that it was, well, I just …. I'm sorry."

"Wait." Carol called out. He stopped and watched her as she struggled to find the words she was looking for. "Look...I can't get too mad at you. You ain't the only person that snuck in that club last night."

Varian began to regain hope and walked back over to her as she continued. "Mind you, I just turned nineteen so that's a bit different than being the same age as an eleventh grader, but it's... still not on the up and up. Also if I've gotten a chance at your age to crash a college party I would have, no questions asked, hands down."

She gave him a small sheepish smile and he returned it. Then he rubbed the back of his head as he steeled his courage to ask her another question.

"I.. I won't be able to go clubbing or attend another frat party again anytime soon, and I know you probably don't want to date after what just happened, but...would you still like to be friends?"

Carol tilted her head and studied him a moment thoughtfully. "Friends? You mean like the kind that you can call on for help or just to talk to sometimes?" She asked, recalling their conversation from last night.

"Yeah, and maybe hang out once in a while; just no alcohol this time. I made a promise to Aunt Cass." He gave an awkward laugh and Carol couldn't suppress her smile.

"Yeah, friends sound nice." She agreed and they shook hands before parting.

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Monday morning rolled around and Varian stood outside the communal lab waiting. His palms were sweaty and he couldn't stop himself from shaking nervously.

Hiro had gathered everyone together to hear Varian's apology, but Varian feared it wouldn't be enough. The sight of everyone walking away from him replayed in his mind over and over again. Why should they forgive him? He had made an ass out of himself once again and worse he had hurt Gogo. He hadn't meant to, but that didn't change the fact that he did. They had given him so many chances already and there was no reason for them to keep on giving him more.

He gulped as Hiro opened the door to let him in. The rest of the gang sat in a semi-circle waiting to hear what Varian had to say. Only he didn't have any words. He opened his mouth to say, 'I'm sorry,' but nothing came out. So he clamped his jaw shut and fought back his tears as he cast his eyes down to the ground.

"Hiro says you told Aunt Cass what happened." Wasabi said. His arms were crossed and his voice was serious but he didn't launch into an angry rant at least.

Varian nodded his head yes.

"And did you promise her not to go out drinking again?" Wasabi pressed.

Varian nodded again.

"Good." Came his reply and he walked over to Varian and pointed his finger in his face. "Cause if I catch my best friend doing something so stupid again, I'm going to have to have a nervous breakdown and your going to have to be the one to hold the paper bag that breath into, okay." He then flashed Varian a grin to show that he was only half way joking.

Varian gave him a half smile, half pout. "I'm sorry," he sobbed as Wasabi laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey we're just glad you're safe." Fred said as he made his way over to give Varian a hug.

Honey Lemon got up and did the same. "Promise us you won't do something so dangerous again."

If she had asked for the moon with such pleading eyes, Varian would have started building a rocket right then and there. Yet, he knew that he would never be able to keep such an oath; given what a disaster he was. He swallowed hard and tried to come up with an easier promise. "I promise; no more dance clubs, no more drinking, and no more lying about my age."

This seemed to placate her and everyone else in the room, save for Gogo. While everyone was gathered around he looked over their shoulders to see her still glaring at him. He gently pushed past Honey Lemon and stepped towards the other girl.

"Gogo..I'm…" He made to say sorry, but she interrupted him by holding her hand up. Gogo then stood up, gave him a shake of her head and another disapproving look, before walking out the door.

Varian felt his heart shatter on the floor as the door firmly slammed shut.

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Varian felt riddled with anxiety all day. He barely was able to concentrate on his calculus quiz and his class in applied computer science was a blur. He couldn't focus on his portal either. Guilt pricked his mind and he knew he wouldn't be able to get anything done until he tried to mend things with Gogo once more.

He found her in the welding workshop. She was busy soldering the joints of a bicycle together. He walked up to her, careful not to get in the way of sparks flying off the blow torch, and patiently waited for her to finish or come to a stopping point.

However, Gogo only seemed determined to ignore him. Once done with her welding, she flung up the flap of protective visor, turned on her heel, and deliberately walked over to the tool station to find another piece of equipment. She then made a show of her search, refusing to spare Varian even a glance.

Varian didn't blame her for being angry, nor did he believe she would forgive him at this point, but she deserved to hear a full apology from him and he was determined to give it.

"Gogo?" Failing to get her attention he pressed on anyways. "Gogo, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, and I'm sorry that I broke my promise; but most of all I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn't mean to. It was an accident, but I still did it and I.. I'll understand if sorry isn't enough...I just wanted to let you know that I am."

Gogo paused and in what she was doing but she still wouldn't turn around or look at him. He waited a few moments more for a response before tearing himself away. However he stopped at the door at the sound of Gogo's voice.

"You think that's why I'm mad?" She asked quietly.

"Well, isn't?" Varian was confused. He thought he had covered all that he did wrong in his apology. What had he missed?

Gogo tore off the visor she wore and threw on the table. She then gave a long frustrated sigh as she ran both her hands through her hair before cradling the nape of her neck in her hands and giving an exasperated look towards the ceiling. Then she dropped her arms and finally turned around to face him.

"First, there was the flood in the communal lab. Then you got arrested for 'bot fighting and ran away. Not to mention that you decided to just walk into the middle of the desert with no thought as to how that might not end well. Oh and let's talk about how you tried to fight a highly trained assassin with nothing but a frying pan!"

"B-baking pan." Varian nervously corrected and then he joked, "A frying pan may have stood a better change of workin-…."

The enraged look on Gogo's face put an end to his attempts at levity. He then cringed as she started in on him again.

"And there you were sneaking into a nightclub with a bunch of strangers and making yourself sick with alcohol. It's like you don't stop to think. You're so damn sure of yourself all the time that you never consider how things can go wrong, how you could get hurt." She blinked back tears. "I already lost someone once because they wouldn't stop. I.. I don't want to lose anybody else."

Varian's breath stilled as he realized who Gogo was really talking about. She hugged herself as the tears came unbidden.

"You..you don't know what it's like to get left behind, do you?" She asked. "It hurts to see someone you care about rush head first into something dangerous, okay, and you have people who care about you now. This isn't Corona, you're not alone any more, but that also means you need to think about them too before you go off and do something stupid!"

She sobbed and slumped to the ground to cry.

It was disconcerting to see the normally composed Gogo break down into tears. It was even more upsetting to know that he was the cause of them. Well, not just him, but him and Tadashi rather, and not for the first time Varian felt as if he was living under the deceased teen's shadow.

He sighed and walked over to the girl and sat down beside her. He didn't know what to say or do to make things better so he just remained by her side as she cried.

After a time she choked back her tears and said, "You're not ever going to stop, are you." It was a statement not a question.

"I don't know how to stop." He despaired.

She hugged herself once more and refused to look him in the eyes.

"Look you're right, I don't think about what may happen to me when I do things." He confessed, "But it's not because I don't care about everyone else; it's just… I guess… I'm just not used to having people looking out for me, and I don't know how to handle that sometimes. I was always either the one fighting on my own or the one looking out for others, and half the time I'm afraid everyone is going to figure out what a disaster I am and leave." It was now his turn to choke back sobs. "Leave me all alone just like before, just like everyone else has done.. I..."

Gogo finally looked at him and pouted. Then she sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Well, good thing we knew you were a disaster the moment you tried to smoke bomb the cops then." She gently teased.

Varian couldn't help but snicker while blinking back his tears and he too leaned his head against her own.

"Soooo...are we...are we still friends then?" He asked.

"Of course we are, you idiot." She replied in exasperation and snuggled closer. "And don't you ever forget it, cause next time you do something dumb like that I'm kicking your butt."

Varian nodded his head, "Yeah, sounds fair." And they both broke down laughing.

#varian #Hiro Hamada #GoGo #aunt cass #big hero 6 #BH6 the series #tangled #tanged the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #crossover

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grimoireofgreen · 5 years ago

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Basil

Common Correspondences - Healing , Protection, Strength, Wealth, Love, and Exorcism

Basil (Ocimum Basilicum) is an herb native to Africa and South East Asia. It’s scientific name translates to fragrant (ocimum) and kingly (basilicum). I also found that there is a myth that when the Greek warrior Ocimus fell to a gladiator basil sprung from the ground he died upon, leading to the first part of its name, but I couldn’t find extensive sourcing for this (I just found it interesting). I also found talk of basil getting its name from the mythical creature the basilisk, but that seems to be widely discredited. There is a lot of lore around basil, specifically in Europe and India. Let’s start with the Indian mythology.

In India, basil is referred to as Tulsi, a sacred plant used in worship of the God Vishnu. We’ll begin with Jalandhara. Jalandhara was born of Shiva’s rage and the ocean. He had a great strength and could defeat any challenger. When he came of a marriageable age, he sought out the hand of Vrinda (human incarnate of the goddess Lakshmi), a powerful woman and great devotee of the God Vishnu. Vrinda was greatly in love with her husband, and during her devotion and prayers to Vishnu, in petition of her husband, Jalandhara became invincible.

But things did not stay peaceful for long. In his invincibility, Jalandhara became arrogant and began to covet heaven. He sent attacks on heaven mercilessly. A petition was made to Lord Shiva. Since he was born of Shiva’s anger, surely he was the one who could defeat Jalandhara. But Jalandhara’s arrogance had overtaken him. When Shiva urged him to lay down his arms, Jalandhara began yelling at him. He dared Shiva to send his wife away to prove his power.

After this insult, Shiva gather his forces to attack, but in all of his power, Jalandhara trapped the troops in an illusion. At this point Vishnu was called upon. Vishnu was told that it was one of his greatest devotees that, through her prayers to him, was providing Jalandhara with his unending source of power. Vishnu decided to do the unthinkable; he would trick his devotee.

He disguised himself as Jalandhara. As Vrinda started her prayer ritual, Vishnu (looking like her husband) stopped her mid-prayer. He proclaimed that he had won against Shiva, and instructed her to start preparing for the celebration. At this time, with the prayer suspended, Shiva took his chance and killed Jalandhara. Vishnu dropped his illusion and revealed the death of Jalandhara to Vrinda. Her grief stopped her heart. The Gods reincarnated her as Tulsi.

Here I will note that Lakshmi (Vrinda) is the goddess of wealth, love and prosperity, thus why we have those correspondences for basil. You can read the myth in it’s entirety here. And I highly suggest you do!

The idea of holiness seemed to cling to basil as it spread to Europe, as it is also used in the Orthodox church where priests would use the plant to anoint parishioners with holy water (thus where we find the exorcism and healing in it’s correspondences).

Another interesting bit comes from Greece. When basil made its way to Greece, the people noticed that it would not grow around rue. Rue was used in medicine at the time to draw poison out from wounds. Logic led to the belief that since basil couldn’t grow around an anti-poison, it must itself be poisonous. This line of logic continued to that basil could only be grown in places of abuse, so whilst planting basil, one was supposed to curse and swear at the ground. Amusingly enough, this belief has bled to modern times. The French have a saying, “semer le basilic” which directly translates to “sowing basil” and colloquially means to rant and rave.

Along the same lines, its connection with poison seemed to lead to a more bizarre lore. It was believed that if you placed a basil leaf under a rock in a moist place, it would turn into a scorpion in two days time. There were also those who would tell you that if smelled basil a few too many times, you could grow a nest of scorpions in your brain. I’m a bit skeptical of this story, but to each their own.

In Crete this seemed to manifest in even another way! Basil came to be an emblem of the devil. Cretans would put basil in there windows and by their doors as a charm against his influence. So in a very round about way, we’ve come to why we associate it with protection!

So that’s it! I hope this sheds some light into how much history goes into a simple correspondence chart.

Until next time!

~The Herbal Grimoire~

Sources: wikipedia.org, gardeningknowhow.com, ourherbgarden.com, https://dictionary.reverso.net/french-english/, https://hindumythologyforgennext.blogspot.com/2012/05/jalandhara-and-vrinda-story-of-tulsi.html

#basil #grimoire #correspondence #herbs #tulsi #wakingwitchblr

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avatarnao · 4 years ago

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A Million Dreams CH. 4

Pairing: Zukka, Kataang

Soulmate AU, College AU, Roommate AU

First, Previous, Next

A03

******

Monday

“My own nephew! Can you believe it?”

“Iroh’s in rare form today,” Suki comments, leaning closer to Sokka so they can speak quietly. Sokka huffs out a laugh and he can’t help but agree. Their professor paces back and forth at the front of the lecture all, ranting and raving about his nephew’s latest antics. “What’s got him riled up today?”

“He said tea was just hot leaf water,” Sokka fills her in, because Suki is consistently fifteen minutes late every class. It probably has something to do with her insane schedule and a class before this that’s on the opposite end of campus. He knows she must sprint to get to this class as on time as possible.

To be fair, his nephew is technically right. Not that Sokka would ever voice that outloud and to their professor. He’s pretty sure he’d fail immediately and be kicked out of class for the rest of the semester.

This class is only an elective and he’s taking it pass/fail but still…

Suki has that look on her face saying she agrees with his nephew but is wisely choosing to remain silent.

“Um… Professor?” someone chimes in from the front row. Iroh stops mid rant and turns to the student with a patient smile. “Not that this isn’t a good story but… what does this have to do with different types of plants?”

Professor Iroh stares at the student for a painfully long moment before rocking back on his heels with a laugh. He smacks his forward and moves over to his laptop to change to the next slide.

“Not all tea is made from the leaves of a plant,” he explains. On the screen is an image of two flowers. “The white dragon bush is known for producing a tea so delicious it’s heartbreaking. It requires the use of the flower and the leaves. They grow all over the eastern part of the Earth Kingdom, but be careful not to mistake the white jade bush for the white dragon bush for it is highly poisonous.”

Iroh gestures to the images of nearly identical flowers. “The one on the left is the white dragon and the one on the right is the white jade…” He pauses, squinting at the slide, and humming thoughtfully. “Or perhaps it’s the other way around…”

Sokka groans, sinking into his seat with a frown. Of course their professor can’t even tell the difference on a subject he’s supposedly an expert in….

“We have a saying for those plants on Kyoshi Island,” Suki comments. Her pen taps against the desk in thought as Iroh mutters to himself. “Delicious and rare is ruby red, but eat the white flower and you’ll be dead.” Sokka snorts.

“ That’s what you guys came up with?” he teases, though he makes a note of the saying. Never know what it might come in handy.

“It was part of the warriors’ survival training,” she tells him.

“No matter!” Iroh suddenly declares. “The plant is exceptionally rare so it’s unlikely for you to encounter it out in nature. If you do, however, accidentally consume the poisonous one, the antidote lies within the bacui berry.” He pauses again, thinking. “Or was it the maka’ole berry?”

Sokka groans again, sinking back into his seat.

Maybe he should’ve signed up for a different class….

Tuesday

Sokka’s nursing what is guaranteed to be a migraine come morning as he steps up to Katara’s place and gives a firm knock.The door slides open and he’s greeted with the wide-eyed gaze of Aang’s pet lemur.

“Hi, Momo,” he greets, frowning a little in confusion. Why is Momo answering the door? When did Momo even figure out how to open the door? Isn’t going out the window easier for the creature? “Are Aang and Katara here?”

Momo just blinks at him, chitters something, then swoops further into the house. Sokka follows him inside. He can hear the very muffled but very distinct yelling that is his sister’s voice. Her words may be indecipherable but Sokka’s been on the receiving end of that tone, and he’s not about to disturb that rant.

Instead, Sokka makes himself comfortable on the couch and turns the TV, idly flipping through channels for something to watch. Eventually, the yelling dies down, and Toph shuffles out of her room to join him on the couch.

“Do I even want to know what’s going on?” he asks her and she shrugs.

“Her and Sparky got into an argument at practice today,” Toph replies.

“Sparky?” Sokka mutters before the rest of her response clicks. “Wait… you’re on the team too? Why am I just now finding out about this?”

“They just announced who the starting benders would be, and today was our first day practicing together.” Oh… he supposes that makes sense… though why didn’t Katara say anything about Toph being on the team? Then again, they haven’t had much time for sibling bonding lately. They’ve both been kind of busy....

A frustrated sigh comes from the hall, and Sokka twists around to find Katara and Aang stepping into the room. Katara levels Toph with a disappointed frown.

“I told you not to put your feet on the table, Toph,” she snaps coming to a stop beside the couch. Her hands fall to her waist. “You’re getting it dirty.”

Sokka groans, head falling into his hand as the girls begin arguing over how clean their home should be. He came here to spend time with his sister and friends, not to listen to them argue. A flash of orange slides into his peripheral and Aang leans into his line of sight.

“Hey, Sokka,” he greets. His grin falls as he takes his friend in. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache,” Sokka mutters, and Aang brightens.

“Oh! Do you want some medicine?”

There is nothing Sokka would love more than something to curb his headache. He eagerly follows Aang down the hall and away from the growing argument behind them.

“Have you been sleeping okay?” Aang asks as they enter an obscenely large bathroom. Sokka sits down on the toilet, taking in a space large enough to comfortably fit all four of them with room to spare.

“Midterms are coming up,” Sokka mumbles, shrugging. “So about as well as any student preparing for midterms.” Not to mention he’s been in the library every night until midnight trying to get a term paper done by Thursday. It’s mostly been Suki lecturing him for spending hours browsing the internet instead of researching or Zuko laughing at his horrible doodles. Sokka would be offended over the art student’s teasing but he’s just happy his roommate has decided to join their study sessions.

Logically, he knows he needs to start the paper, but the paper is nothing more than an in-depth analysis of Love Amongst the Dragons . He’s totally got that in the bag. There’s barely any research that needs to be done for it anyways, but Suki did spend a good forty-five minutes last night lecturing him on waiting until the last minute to get work done.

It’s not Sokka’s fault that he’s a master procrastinator… or that Zuko decided to join them and distract him with animal videos for hours on end.

Then there was that one night Zuko talked him into watching the mover based on the play and spent the whole time viciously tearing every detail apart. Sokka has no idea what the guy’s doing studying art when he should be a film critic. Zuko’s running commentary alone had Sokka in tears from laughing so hard. They’d had to pause at one point so Sokka could collect himself.

Okay... so maybe he’s been goofing off more than working but his paper is due on Thursday and that’s… two day away. He’s got plenty of time to work on it.

Sokka’s so lost in thought he doesn’t even realize Aang is speaking until pills are being put in front of his face. He blinks at Aang’s hand. Aang gives him a wide smile as he takes the medicine and downs it in one go.

“What was the question?” he asks.

“I was just wondering how your classes were going,” Aang says, not the least bit bothered over Sokka’s lack of attention. “Katara’s been spending a lot of time in her study lately, I guess for the same reason as you.” He shrugs. “Not that I really know what it’s like going to school.”

“Trust me,” Sokka tells him, rising from his seat. They begin making their way back to the girls. “I would take world adventures and experiences over reading about them in books.”

Unfortunately, Katara and Toph are far from ending their argument. If anything, Sokka notes, they seem to be winding up to really get into it. Top’s since moved off the couch, squaring up to Katara with a glare. She jabs a hard finger into Katara’s chest.

“It’s not his fault you moved right into his blindspot,” Toph snaps. Katara scoffs. Toph presses on before she can offer a rebuttal. “He was perfectly lined up to take the shot and you got in his way! Of course, he was going to hit you!”

“What,” Sokka snaps. Beside him, Aang sighs with the sort of resignation of one who’s heard this argument far too many times. He probably has, if Sokka’s being honest. This sounds like something Katara wouldn’t be able to let go of. Sokka frowns and glances at Aang, silently demanding an explanation.

“Nobody got hurt,” Aang says. “He managed to stop before Katara was actually hit but…” He frowns. “She’s still pretty upset about it.”

“He’s lucky we weren’t bending,” Katara snaps, rounding on Aang and Sokka with a frown of her own. “I could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“We’re bending , Katara,” Toph growls. “Any one of us could get hurt by accident.”

“Then someone with better control should be on the team,” Katara growls back.

“If he lacked control, he would’ve hit you,” Toph shouts, arms flying in the air. Aang groans as Katara turns back around and glares at Toph. He gives Sokka a pleading look and Sokka can’t help but feel bad. Sokka thought his headache was bad. He’s willing to bet money Aang has the mother of all migraines brewing.

Sokka misses whatever Katara says, too lost in excuses to get him and Aang out of the house for a few hours. Toph’s retort, however, he hears clear as day.

“Wow,” she says, voiced tinged with barely contained fury. “Maybe you forgot, Katara, but I’m blind too. Does that mean I shouldn’t be on the team?”

Katara recoils as if she’s been slapped. Silence descends over the group of friends. Sokka spares a glance at Aang who’s watching the girls with shocked disappointment. Well… this is not what he expected when he agreed to meet his friends for a night together. Sokka sucks in a breath and steps forward, prepared to play the role of reasonable older sibling.

“I don’t really know the whole story,” he begins. “But from what Toph told me, it sounds like you just started working together.” Katara levels him with a frown, looking as if she wants to argue but remaining quiet for the time being. Sokka will take it over her, interrupting him with some outrageous accusation. He presses on. “I think you just need to give it time and make an effort to work as a team.”

“Sokka’s right,” Aang says then, moving to stand next to his friend. “Nobody expects you guys to be perfect right away.”

Katara looks like she wants to argue but something in Aang’s gaze stops her. She huffs and stalks off towards her room. Toph drops back onto the couch with an angry scoff, bare feet slapping against the table.

“I’m sorry, Sokka…” Aang apologizes and why is Aang apologizing? None of this is his fault. “I know you just wanted to hang out and came over to all…” his hand gestures to where Katara once stood. “This…”

“Katara just needs some time to cool down,” Sokka replies. “Why don’t the three of us go pick up some dinner. Maybe she’ll be calmer when we get back.”

Toph leaps off the couch as Aang disappears to let Katara know they’re leaving. He comes back a few minutes later looking concerned but otherwise unbothered by his roommates’ argument.

They head off towards a local cafe.

Katara apologizes to Toph when they return.

They spend the rest of the night playing games and watching random shows on TV.

Sokka’s headache is long gone by the time he heads home for the night, and he finds himself more relaxed than he’s been in over a week. He grins at the thought as he makes his way back to campus, tired and ready to sleep.

Wednesday

“Before everyone goes for the day,” Iroh begins an actual minute before class is set to end. The class collectively groans but settles down for whatever he has to say next. From what Sokka can tell, the general consensus seems to be that Iroh’s a good guy. Strange teacher but good guy nonetheless.

Smiling to himself, Iroh begins handing out flyers to the front row, saying, “You may not know this, but I run a small tea shop just off campus. The Jasmine Dragon,” and his eyes positively sparkle with pride. “We’re having a special event for all my students this Saturday. Bring you friends for some free tea and a break from studying.”

“Well that’s convenient,” Suki mutters as a stack of flyers comes into her possession. She takes one and passes the rest back, studying the paper in her hand. A grin spreads across her face. “This is the tea shop I was telling you about.”

“I suppose it makes sense that the professor teaching tea history owns and runs the most popular tea shop in Ba Sing Se,” Sokka comments, handing off his own stack of flyers. He doesn’t take one. There’s no need if Suki has one herself.

“We should get the gang together and go,” she says as the class finally begins packing up to leave.

“I think Yue’s busy this weekend,” Sokka points out. She mentioned something the other day about preparing for a recital. Though maybe that was last week and he’s finally at that point in the semester where days blur together… “But Aang, Katara, and Toph might want to come?”

“And Zuko.”

“I can ask him…” he mutters, uncertain. Somehow Zuko strikes him as more of a coffee kind of person. He definitely gives off those ‘starving artist who’s been up for a week straight on a project due at midnight and in need of a caffeine fix’ vibes. Maybe he’d want to come and meet some more of Sokka’s friends though? Or is it too presumptuous that the guy doesn’t have friends of his own? In his defense, Sokka’s never seen him with anyone else or even mention knowing other people.

Sokka frowns at the thought, immediately feeling guilty. Just because the guy is quiet doesn’t mean he has no friends…. He really shouldn’t be making that sort of assumption…

Which… maybe he’s just busy hanging out with them or he has work or something.

“The answer will always be ‘no’ if you never ask,” Suki teases, and Sokka huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he replies. “I’ll ask him when I see him later.” They draw to a stop where the walkway diverges, both of them needing to go in opposite directions for their next classes. Something glints in Suki’s gaze as she turns towards him. Sokka has no idea what the look is meant to mean, but he can feel his defenses rising almost instantly.

“You know, Sokka,” she begins, tone hesitant. She glances in the direction of her class before continuing. “I think Zuko really likes spending time with you… and I think maybe you like his company too.”

“Well… yeah,” he replies, somewhat confused. “He’s my friend. We have fun together.” Suki’s brows furrow, mouth twisting as if frustrated he’s not getting what she’s trying to say. “What is this about?”

“You just…” she starts, actually hesitating now. Her gaze remains averted, looking everywhere but at him. It’s… a little uncomfortable seeing confident Suki suddenly becoming nervous. “You haven’t mentioned your soulmate lately is all…”

Oh… he… he supposes he hasn’t…. But that’s not because of Zuko. He’s been busy with classes and term papers and… and work! Sure, the dreams are still there but… life and classes have been holding his attention.

“I’ve just been busy,” he mutters, feeling no conviction behind the worlds but unsure as to why. Sokka finds himself looking in the direction of his next classes as he says, “I’m not sure what Zuko has to do with my soulmate… besides… I didn’t think you’d want to hear anymore about it. It’s not like anything has changed since the dreams started. I still don’t know who they are.”

“Yeah but… Zuko starts spending time with you and you suddenly stop talking about them all together,” she points out. “Don’t you think that might mean something?” Something akin to guilt twists uncomfortably in Sokka’s gut. He’s not… Zuko isn’t some sort of replacement… that’s not fair to him or his soulmate… besides, he and Zuko aren’t romantically involved.

There’s nothing going on between them other than friendship.

“I need to get to class,” he announces, suddenly unable or willing to continue this line of thought. Suki calls after him as he walks away to his next class. He ignores her, mind swimming with thoughts and implications of his growing friendship with Zuko.

The thoughts swirl through his mind for the rest of the day, digging into his mind and refusing to leave.

He’s not… Zuko’s just his friend .

There’s nothing more going on between them.

They hang out sure… study together when they have time. Get together for lunch if their schedules happen to line up.

Watch movers at the end of a long day…. Occasionally fall asleep on each other’s beds….

Sokka huffs, shaking his head of those thoughts. So what if they do all those things? It’s normal for friends to do that… and it’s normal for roommates to spend time together.

He has a soulmate for spirits’ sake! Zuko does too!

There’s nothing going on between them!

“Sokka?” He jumps, head whipping up from the book he’s been mindlessly staring at to find Zuko standing by the table. Zuko shifts where he’s standing, gaze concerned as he looks his friend over. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Sokka frowns and shuts his book. “Actually… Do you think we could head back to the dorm? I don’t want to study in the library today.”

“Um… sure,” he replies, and patiently waits while Sokka packs up.

Neither of them speak until they’re outside the library.

“Sorry…” Sokka says, sighing. “Suki just brought something up and it’s been on my mind all day…”

“Oh…” Zuko says, fingers playing with the strap of his bag. “Do you want to talk about it?” Sokka shrugs because he honestly doesn’t know. For all the time they’ve spent together, neither of them has so much as mentioned a soulmate. Would it be too personal for him to bring up? Come to think of it… what are the Fire Nation’s customs when it comes to soulmates? From what Sokka knows, they tend to be a bit more reserved about traditions compared to the other nations.

Would he be somehow crossing a line to talk about it to Zuko?

Would Zuko even care? He’s been living in the Earth Kingdom for awhile now. Surely, he’s been privy to conversations about soulmates at this point.

“It’s about my soulmate,” Sokka blurts before he can overthink this further. Beside him, Zuko tenses. Sokka immediately regrets saying anything. “Sorry… We don’t have to talk about this if you’re not comfortable.”

“No,” Zuko says almost as quickly as Sokka had. He clears his throat. “No, I… it’s okay, if you want to talk about them. I don’t mind.” Sokka sighs, grateful that Zuko’s willing to listen but reluctant because maybe he really doesn’t want to talk about it…

“You know… I’ve spent my whole life waiting for the day I would meet my soulmate,” Sokka begins, somewhat forlorn. He gazes up at what little of the stars he can see through the light pollution. “Did you know my sister’s soulmate is the avatar?” He laughs a little. “Yeah… they had an almost instant connection. No guesswork with them.”

Sokka spares a glance at Zuko to find him listening, though there’s a tightness to his gaze.

“I was a little jealous at first, you know?” he continues. “It wasn’t until this year that I made the connection with mine… only, this campus is huge and there’s so many students here…” He frowns, troubled. “I have no idea who they even are…”

His mouth snaps shut, annoyance flaring within him. If he’s being honest, being with Zuko has been a great distraction and that makes him feel guilty. Makes him feel like he’s somehow cheating on his own soulmate.

“Sorry…” Sokka apologizes when Zuko offers up no words of wisdom. “I just… feel like I’m being ungrateful. Everyone keeps telling me to be patient, but they’ve already met their soulmates, and today… Suki, she-” He turns to Zuko, eyes wide and heart racing. Zuko watches him back, patiently waiting for him to keep speaking. Unassuming. Not judging. Just… patiently listening to his complaints.

Would Zuko even care if Sokka told him what Suki said?

“You know,” Zuko begins, thoughtfully. “My uncle used to say ‘waiting is like tea, and when you put the time into waiting, the tea will be perfect’... wait, no…” Sokka sputters, hand clamping down on his mouth as his shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably. Zuko frowns, face turning pink. His arms cross, shoulders rising as he hunches in on himself.

“It sounds better coming from my uncle…” he grumbles.

“I’m sure it does,” Sokka replies, gaining control of his laughter. He sighs, feeling an odd mix of happy and sad. The frown returns. “Suki just made me feel bad because I hadn’t brought up my soulmate lately…”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know who mine is either.”

“Actually… it does,” he says, grinning. “Are you having the dreams?”

“Um… yeah… since move-in.” Oh wow…. What a strange coincidence that is. Sokka laughs a little.

“Yeah, same,” he replies. “But I saw so many different people that day and no way of really knowing who they might be.”

“This is my first year on campus,” Zuko tells him. “So everyone in the dorms was new to me.”

“We should take bets to see who finds their first,” Sokka jokes. Zuko tenses. His face goes carefully blank, closing himself off completely. It’s such a strange transformation, the way Zuko seems to build his walls up and shut people out.

The friendly atmosphere between them freezes.

“I…” Zuko frowns, the troubled look in his golden gaze the only indication of his inner turmoil. He sighs and brushes a hand through his hair. “I don’t….” Sokka sighs.

“No…” he says. “You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to.” Sokka’s honestly surprised by how much he means it. Zuko doesn’t have to tell him anything he’s not comfortable divulging. It’s not any of his business. Zuko can tell him when he’s ready if he chooses.

“I just don’t know if I’m ready to meet them yet,” he mumbles. He huffs out a wry sort of laugh and when he turns to meet Sokka’s gaze, his eyes are swimming with unshed tears. “Nobody wants a soulmate as broken as I am.”

Zuko angrily wipes at his face and picks up his pace. Sokka has to jog to catch up to him. His heart aches for his roommate. He might not know the whole story, and, really, it’s not any of his business whether he knows or not.

“Zuko, wait,” he says, grabbing onto his roommate’s shoulder. Zuko flinches, twisting out of his grasp as if he’s been burned. His hand slaps Sokka’s away. Sokka presses on, undeterred. “That’s not true!” Zuko opens his mouth to protest. “No, listen!” His mouth snaps shut, eyes wide in surprise.

“We may not know each other well,” Sokka says, determined to cheer his friend up. “But I’d hardly consider you broken. Sure… you might have a history and who doesn’t have some baggage, but you’re a nice guy. Kind. Thoughtful. Smart. You’re far more creative that any person I’ve ever known or met! Maybe you’re a little quiet, but there’s a gentleness underneath the sarcasm. Anyone would be lucky to have you for a soulmate.”

He wishes Zuko was his soulmate. Sokka blinks, feeling all his fight flee at the realization. Oh… is this what Suki meant earlier? What does that even mean for him and his soulmate?

Zuko scoffs, derailing any thoughts he might be having.

“Nobody wants to wake up to see such a hideous scar every day,” he says. His hand reaches up to brush against the marred flesh. Sokka watches the movement with a frown, wishing for the first time ever that it wouldn’t be rude to ask. He might not know what happened, but he has enough sense to know they aren’t close enough to ask about it.

“There’s nothing wrong with your face, Zuko,” Sokka tells him, looking away from his withering glare. He waves away whatever protest Zuko might have had. “No. Listen. I get that the scar is maybe a touchy subject, but you aren’t ugly, and I know your soulmate’s going to love waking up next to you every day. So… don’t count yourself so short. Don’t let that be the reason you don’t meet them.”

Zuko’s face is entirely red when Sokka dares look at him again. He can feel the heat in his own face and is thankful for his darker complexion. Zuko bites his lip and looks down the path they were walking on. At some point they both stopped, but Sokka can’t say for sure when that happened; both of them being too wrapped up in talk to notice.

“Thank you, Sokka,” he mumbles as they resume their trek back to the dorms. He glances at his friend out of the corner of his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I think anybody would be lucky to be your soulmate too.”

Yeah , Sokka thinks, grinning, I think so too.

Thursday

Sokka’s just about to hit ‘send’ on his paper when the power goes out.

The power goes out five minutes before Sokka’s supposed to submit his paper.

There’s no power on campus and Sokka can’t submit the paper he just finished minutes before the deadline.

He stares at his screen. At the wifi signal in the corner indicating there’s no connection.

There’s no connection because the power went out.

Behind him Zuko lets out a groan of anguish. It’s echoed throughout the suddenly dark dorm.

“That was my midterm ,” he says, dismayed, and Sokka cringes. It’s bad enough that he can’t submit his paper but that’s all on him. He’s the one who waited until the last minute to submit it.

“Do you want me to text my sister?” Sokka offers as the thought occurs to him. “She lives off campus so you might be able to finish it at her place.”

“I don’t know if it’ll let me back in…” Zuko mumbles, casting the room in darkness as he shuts his laptop. Sokka’s laptop is the only thing lighting their room now, the screen displaying a message of no internet connection. He frowns, glancing outside to find even the streetlights are out.

“What are we supposed to do now?” he asks, idly watching people mill about outside.

“We could make shadow puppets?” Zuko suggests, pulling a set of candles out of his desk drawer. Sokka stares at the candles wondering distantly why he has a whole drawer full of them. Also, is he being serious about the shadow puppets? Somehow, he imagines Zuko’s terrible at making shadow puppets. Then again… he is an art student. Maybe he can make something crazy with his hands.

“You just… keep a drawer full of candles, huh?” he notes instead.

“I use them for meditating.”

“Oh..” Sokka says as Zuko begins placing candles around the room. “So like… scented candles then?” It shouldn’t matter, really, what kind of candles they are or why Zuko has them. Once they’re lit he can shut his laptop down. It’s a good thing he has those candles because Sokka’s laptop has shit battery life after all these years and it won’t last much longer on its charge.

“Some of them are scented,” Zuko explains, placing the final candles in its spot. “But it’s more of a breathing exercise for firebenders.”

“Makes sense,” Sokka replies, watching as Zuko begins lighting the candles with his bare hands. He blinks, taking a moment to process what he’s seeing, and then his eyes go wide. “Wait… you’re a firebender?!” Zuko laughs a little, lighting the final candle and allowing Sokka to shut his laptop.

“I guess it just never came up,” he says, shrugging. “And it’s not like you ever asked… so….” He stands in the center of the room, watching Sokka helplessly.

“Fair point.” Sokka eyes the candle closest to him. “Can you do any cool tricks?” He’s always trying to get Katara to do something fun with her bending, like how Aang has his air scooter thing, but she always gets crabby about it. Then she lectures him about how sacred bending is and how it shouldn’t be used for childish things. Which… is funny considering she does probending….

“I know some,” Zuko says sheepishly, snapping him out of his train of thought. “But there’s not enough room here to show you.” Sokka frowns, excitement fleeing him as quickly as it came. Aang’s the only person he’s met so far capable of firebending only… he doesn’t know enough yet to show off, and Katara’s never been any help in that department either. Toph recreated a perfect replica of Ba Sing Se once, right down to the citizens, but she can only do so much with rocks.

Sokka would much prefer to see some firebending tricks. They sound far more interesting than anything he’s seen so far.

“Oh!” Zuko says, face lighting up as if he’s just had a thought. “I might know something we can do.” Sokka watches with interest as he returns to his desk. He pulls a bottle out of a drawer and asks, “Have you ever wished you could firebend?” Sokka’s immediately on board with whatever Zuko has planned.

“Yes!” In truth, he always wondered what waterbending was like. Mostly because waterbenders are far more common than firebenders in the Southern Water Tribe. He’ll take whatever he can get, though.

“Ok, so this was a really common, uh… game? Back in the Fire Nation,” Zuko explains, dragging his chair closer to Sokka. He holds up the bottle in his hand and Sokka squints at the label, trying to read it in their limited light. “It’s hand sanitizer.”

“What kind of game is this?” he asks, eyeing the bottle skeptically. What kind of games do they play in the Fire Nation that involves hand sanitizer of all things? He gingerly takes the bottle and snaps the cap off.

“I’m not really sure of all the rules. It was something more common with non-benders, but…” Zuko takes the bottle and squirts a liberal amount onto Sokka’s desk. He spreads it out evenly across the surface before lighting it on fire. Sokka sucks in a breath, eyeing the fire with alarm.

If Zuko wasn’t a firebender, he’d be concerned they were about to burn down their dorm. He’s fairly calm though for someone who just lit their roommate’s desk on fire . Zuko gestures to the flames, flaring blue from the combination of chemicals in the hand sanitizer.

“And then you just…. Swipe the flames up with your hand,” he finishes.

“ That’s your idea of fun in the Fire Nation?” Okay… Sokka knows, logically, that he agreed to whatever nonsense Zuko had in mind. He did not realize that meant possibly lighting himself on fire. Zuko visibly wilts at his statement, frowning as he puts the small fire out.

“Sorry…” he mumbles, and Sokka feels his heart break at how crestfallen he sounds.

“I’m not exactly immune to fire, Zuko,” he points out weakly.

“And you think I am ?” He’s glowering at Sokka now, golden gaze intense enough to make Sokka squirm. There’s something in those words that strike deep. A hidden meaning that has Sokka staring at the scar on his face, wondering once again what the story behind it is. He wants to ask. Wants so badly to know, but refrains because it’s rude to pry and Zuko should tell him whenever he’s ready to (if he’s ever ready to).

Zuko huffs, shifting in his seat and says, “I wouldn’t suggest something if I thought you would get hurt, you know.”

“So it’s safe then?” Zuko shrugs as if he has no idea how safe it really is. “That’s… not very encouraging…”

“Well I’ve never had a reason to do this,” Zuko comments, which… fair. “But it was really popular with non-benders growing up and I can put it out before anything bad happens.” And when Zuko puts it like that Sokka can’t see a reason not to try.

Which is precisely how Sokka ends up where he is approximately ten minutes later, nursing a nasty looking burn on the inside of his wrist. He pulls the compress away from the spot, hiss as it rubs against tender flesh. A washcloth is probably too rough for something like this but it’s all they had.

He frowns at the mark. Katara’s never going to stop lecturing him on this… especially when she finds out he got medical attention without telling her. What he wouldn’t give for her healing right about now…

Sadly, he can not and will not get her involved. The last thing he needs is her blaming Zuko for this and he’s not about to subject his roommate to her neverending grudges. Besides… Zuko’s a firebender. Surely he knows better than anyone how to treat burns.

The door clicks open and said roommate steps back into the room. Regret and guilt roll off him in waves as he steps over to Sokka to inspect the burn. He places an unlabelled bottle on the desk.

“Let this air dry for a bit,” Zuko mumbles, apology lacing his voice. He gestures to the bottle. “Then put some of that on. It’s a salve to help the burn. My uncle dropped it off for me.” Oh so that explains where he disappeared to for twenty minutes. He flashes Zuko a grin. Zuko gives him a sheepish look then turns away.

“Do I need to bandage it?” Sokka asks, trying to break the silence.

“Um…” Zuko spares the mark a glance but doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes. “You might want to before bed so it doesn’t rub all night.”

Sokka scowls. Zuko’s making that face of his again. The one Sokka has quickly realized means he feels bad and wants to apologize but also feels guilty because he’s been apologizing for the past hour.

“Stop beating yourself up over it,” he says and Zuko flinches, finally meeting his eye. “Accidents happen, you know? It’s not your fault.”

“Can I at least like… take you out for tea or something? To make up for it?”

“If that’ll make you feel better then sure,” Sokka responds with a grin, entirely touched by the offer. Oh… right… he and his friends had plans this weekend. “Actually…” he begins, feeling somewhat bad that he nearly forgot to invite Zuko. “We were going to go to this new place off campus on Saturday if you wanted to come with? You could always treat me to tea there?” And Zuko’s looking apologetic again.

“I have work on Saturday,” he confesses. Well… that’s…. disappointing…. His disappointment must be reading on his face because Zuko quickly adds, “I’ll be around Sunday, though, if you wanted?”

“Sure,” Sokka says, grin returning to his face. Excitement courses through him at the idea of just them going out for tea. Below that, is once more guilt, over being excited about spending the day with someone not his soulmate. They’re just going as friends though. Sokka knows this…. Zuko’s not interested in him like that anyways.

Sokka shakes himself of the thought and says, “Sunday sounds nice.”

Friday

Suki notices because of course she does. She stares pointedly at the bandage carefully wrapped around his wrist and says, “What happened there?”

“Uh…” he says, heat rising to his face. He still hasn’t figured out what to tell everyone else. The truth would be a good idea but he’s not sure how the others might feel knowing it was Zuko’s idea. Then again…. Sokka did go along with it… which just makes him feel stupid. Toph will absolutely laugh her ass off over it.

He’s never been very good at lying to Suki though….

“I… burned myself last night….” he admits. Around them the dining hall’s filled with conversation. Most of it seems to be about last night’s sudden power outage. So far all his professors have extended any deadlines affected by the outage. He hopes maybe Zuko’s professor put an extension on that exam. Would suck if he failed over something out of his control…

“And what exactly were you doing that involved fire?” she asks.

“Lighting candles?”

“You were lighting candles and burned yourself bad enough you needed to bandage it.”

“Did you know Zuko was a firebender?” he asks because he can’t help it, and keeping secrets from Suki is just downright impossible. Girl can sniff out a secret like a shirshu.

“You know…” she says thoughtfully. “That would make a lot of sense…” Suki laughs a little then, eyes glinting with a sense of sudden knowledge as she teasingly says, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with fire?”

“In my defense, I was told it would be safe.” And even that sounds weak in his ears. Suki just stares at him with that sort of disappointed look he just knows Katara would be giving him if she were to find out.

“Katara’s going to kill you,” she points out.

“ Katara won’t as long as you don’t tell her.” It’s not any of her business anyways. If he wants to bond with his roommate through stupid dangerous activities then that’s his prerogative.

“Oh, I don’t have to tell her anything. She’s going to find out when you show up tomorrow for tea with that bandage on your wrist.” Sokka stares with mounting horror. He… he really hadn’t considered that last night. She’s bound to notice and when she does she’s going to ask about it.

He groans, sliding down in his seat as he pokes at his food which has long since gone cold. They’ve been so wrapped up in the conversation that neither of them have finished lunch. Well… Suki seems to be mostly done so… he’s barely eaten and a quick glance at the clock has him sucking in a breath.

“ Shit, ” he hisses, hastily throwing his bag over his shoulder and collecting everything. “I need to get to class.”

He gives her a parting wave before fleeing to dump his food and get to class on time.

He grabs some fruit on his way out.

Saturday

Katara absolutely notices the mark on the wrist when Sokka and Suki go over to her place in the morning. He left it unwrapped hoping that it would just blend into his already dark skin to absolute failure.

“He and Zuko were playing with candles the other night,” Suki gleefully tells her. She thankfully leaves out the part where he’s a firebender. He’s not sure he can handle that revelation just yet.

“ Zuko? ” Katara snaps, giving him a curious look. Toph barks out a laugh as they make their way down the road to the Jasmine Dragon.

“My roommate?” Sokka offers, frowning at the girl.

“Oh this is going to be great,” Toph cheers, refusing to reveal whatever hidden knowledge she’s keeping secret.

“Why were you playing with candles?” Katara asks, choosing to ignore Toph’s laughter. Suki won’t stop shooting the earthbender looks like she’s trying to sort through clues.

“The power went out,” he tells her. “Didn’t you hear about it?” Aang sidles up to his side, gently taking his hand and inspecting the mark. He runs a finger over it and Sokka flinches. “It’s still sensitive…”

“That’s an odd spot for lighting candles,” Aang comments. Sokka stiffens and yanks his arm away with a frown. Katara’s giving him that disappointed mom look now. He hates that look.

“Sokka-”

“Oh look,” he says loud enough to cut her off. “Is that the Jasmine Dragon?” Sure enough the building comes into view and with it, the long line of students also looking to check the place out. He wilts a little at the prospect of being subjected to Katara’s torment while they wait.

Katara, thankfully, drops the subject with the unspoken promise of revisiting it later. Sokka just hopes he can escape before she’s able to corner him.

Fortunately, the line seems to move quickly and soon they find themselves stepping up to be seated.

Several things happen then as they’re led to an open table. Katara sucks in a breath, stopping short as she looks around the shop.

“ You, ” she hisses, face twisting with contempt. Everyone stops, turning back to follow her line of sight and…

“ Zuko? ” Sokka squawks because… this is the job he disappears off to? Zuko stands by a table, eyes wide like a fox antelope caught in its tracks as he stares at Katara. “Wait…” Sokka turns to his sister. “You know him?” He can feel the pieces beginning to connect but one piece remains just out of reach. Toph’s cackling is followed by Suki’s snort of laughter as she finally connects the dots.

“Zuko!” Aang greets, bouncing over to Sokka’s statue of a roommate. His approach seems to knock Zuko out of his shock. And how does Aang know Zuko?

“Hey, genius,” Toph says, suddenly at Sokka’s side. The slap on his back is hard enough to rock him forward. “I didn’t know your roommate was a firebender!”

A strange disconnect happens in Sokka’s brain then, as the two separate people are suddenly jammed together into one entity.

Sokka becomes painfully aware that Zuko, his roommate, is also the firebending teammate of Katara and Toph.

He groans, secretly wishing Toph could just open the earth and let it swallow him whole.

Today is going to be a long day…

#A Million Dreams #zukka #fanfic #fanfic up #atla #sokka #zuko

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joemuggs · 4 years ago

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Pirate Material: Still Original

Saw some discussion of The Streets’s early work, and went to see if this article was still online - it’s not because the Vice brand partnership vertical (I’m sorry) that it was originally written for is gone. So here you go again!

I don't hold with the insidious theory that making brilliant art is a young man's game – or, in the words of Sickboy in Trainspotting, that “you have it, then you lose it”. It's a trope that's been with us since the beginning of rock'n'roll, dammit since the romantic poets, that idea that inspiration is intrinsically tied up with the energy of youth, that great works come like a bolt from the blue and artists are best off dying young1 rather than chasing round in ever-decreasing circles trying to relight your creative fire the rest of your sorry life. But it's clearly rubbish, a denial of craft and labour, put about by fantasists and advertisers and used as justification by those with a vested interest in keeping us emotionally immature and by the worst kind of poseurs for their ghastly Peter Pan antics.

Every so often, though, something I see or hear will make me think again – will make me have a flickering moment of belief in the essential white light of youthful creativity. And 'Original Pirate Material' is one of those things. I mean, have you heard it recently? Really heard it? Played it loud from the beginning, given it your full attention, let that utterly insane opening salvo of 'Turn the Page', 'Has it Come to This' and 'Let's Push Things Forward' work their magic on you? It's arm-hair raising stuff, it really is. The false hierarchies and dreary consensus of best-ever lists is another of those things I don't hold with, but yeah this really, really deserved to be on all those best-of-the-2000s lists, and I will gladly fight its corner against the Arctic Monkeys, Dizzee, Radiohead, Outkast, whatever you care to bring in fact.

Like almost all the best music, I didn't really get it at first. It was tinny-sounding and clattery, where I was used to dance music's oomph; I couldn't work out what Skinner's roaming accent was getting at as he slipped and slid across the rhythms, in and out of ordinary conversational cadence, lurching from sublime to ridiculous within single phrases. It was intriguing right enough, but it was impossible to shake the idea that it was all a bit contrived, an indie-weakened version of soundsystem/MC culture, or even more naggingly the idea that it was a wind-up, that this music was taking the piss out of all of us. Lines nicked from 'Gladiator' and talk about his Reeboks? Be serious. And then I had the epiphany.

The scene couldn't have been set better, really. I was out in Amsterdam for eight days on my first ever magazine feature assignment – to cover a conference on Amazon shamanic practice AND a High Times convention. I'd been hanging out with psychonauts, ravers, witch doctors2 and Dutch farmers, and experienced the best that ancient cultures and modern science had to offer; I was in a terrific mood as I was finally doing the job I'd always wanted to, and had been able to utter the immortal phrase “can I claim my ritual on expenses3, please?” on the phone to the Face magazine office. So when someone mentioned “that new band The Streets are playing the Melkweg” I was pretty much up for it.

The DJ beforehand, a Dutchman called Big Head, was playing what was generally known as “breakstep”, a kind of funky uncle to dubstep, and I liked it so much I bought his mix CD4. The Streets were very late coming on, but the crowd were raving and so was I, so who cared? When they did crash onto the stage, though, Skinner immediately and repeatedly asking the crowd if anyone had any cocaine, it was a glorious disruption of the groove, their sound spiky and awkward, and from the beginning I loved it. I don't remember a lot about the band except there was an ex-member of the Senseless Things5 on bass, and that Skinner and his co-vocalist spent a lot of the set pushing, shoving and trying to trip one another up.

And that's when it clicked into place: yes, this was a piss-take, but it was a deadly serious piss-take. This child-like 24-year-old was not just meandering between voices, themes and levels of seriousness, he was embodying every single one of them. He was a shaman too6. What was chaos and what was control became impossible to discern7. The only time I could remember seeing elemental clowning like this before on a stage was the Happy Mondays back in 1990, but I also recognised the spirit of so many loony rave urchins I'd been bamboozled and bantered at and had lighters stolen by over the years8, the never-ending babble of these Shakespearean monkeys, possessed by the endless power of the English language to spin out shaggy dog stories, to make jokes of the most serious matters and suddenly turn jokes deathly serious. The films that were projected as back stories to each of the tracks matched the quotidian urban subject matter of those songs – but they, like the lyrics and the music, revealed something so much more primal beneath. And still you could dance, laugh, drink and carouse to it.

Which is why, when I listen to 'Original Pirate Material' now, I don't hear “bloke poetry” or grittiness or mundanity or social realism any of those other things that are inevitably reeled out. I hear constant windows in to the most profound and abstracted of human instincts and experiences: vertigo, jealousy, transition, glory, loss, innocence and so much more. Just listen to the sudden swerves from domestic detail to dizzying generality in 'It's Too Late' or the affirmation and melancholy in 'Weak Become Heroes': these are about so, so much more than losing a girl or doing a pill9. They're about being human. Only years later did I start realising that Skinner was writing in a great English language tradition going a millennium back to Beowulf and taking in Sterne, Carroll, Lear, Pound, Spike Milligan, Ivor Cutler, Mark E Smith and Roots Manuva10, gibbering gobshites and bullshit artists, holy fools who could skip wildly into parts of our psyches where angels fear to tread.

He could never top this, could he? None of this is to dismiss Skinner's later work – he has on occasion made some glorious music and told some great tales since, and especially on 'Computers and Blues' when he turned full circle back to some of his early themes and freeform lyricism he showed he was tapped into the same wellspring – but 'Original Pirate Material' had it all. Everything afterwards, whether it's his narratives of modern life and celebrity, or his more philosophical turns, couldn't help but be self-conscious, trying to impose more structure onto what he had already expressed so perfectly in its rants, sketches, jokes and asides. This isn't about drugs, it's not about “authenticity”11, and it's not really about youth as such – others have tapped into this very British, very mongrel method of accessing the ways of the human mind from very different places and perspectives – but for Skinner it was all tied into a particular openness to everything that comes with being a hungry young man with his eyes (very) wide open.

1 See the infamous “27 Club”, much discussed when Amy Winehouse carked it, and so called because it's the number of times anyone who takes it seriously deserves to have their face walloped with a cricket bat.

2 To be precise, a shaman from the Shuar tribe of Ecuador who played the Jew's harp.

3 Yes, bloggers, these were the days when journalists got paid expenses. They were decadent times, the early 00s.

4 In fact it is sitting on my desk right now, and it still sounds good.

5 You think nonsense genre names like “Post Dubstep” or indeed “Breakstep” are silly? Back in the 90s, The Senseless things were lumped, along with Mega City 4 and Silverfish into a genre called Fraggle Rock. Seriously.

6 No Jew's harp though, just a microphone.

7 You want to know how giddy with the brilliance of it all I was feeling at that moment? My brain flashed up the image of Stockard Channing going “chaos... control... chaos... control... you like?” to Will Smith as Donald Sutherland spun a double-sided Kandinsky in 'Six Degress of Separation'. And what? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjwiachXkjc

8 One routine about fake vs real Nike caps that managed to weave in and out of between-song patter for almost the entire set was such archetypal rave bollocks that you'd swear you'd heard it before from someone who was about to do you out of a tenner at some party on a hillside.

9 They're about those things too, though.

10 Peter Ackroyd's 'Albion: the Origins of the English Imagination' is the book you need on this topic, although admittedly he doesn't get right the way through to Roots Manuva.

11 There's no such thing.

#the streets #original pirate material #uk garage #breakstep #ukg #mike skinner #amsterdam #shamanism #dmt #ayahuasca #cannabis #visionaries #storytelling #poetry #rap #uk hip hop #melkweg

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homestuck-boyfriends · 5 years ago

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May I request a Valentine from Sollux?

Sollux has never been one for lovey-dovey stuff after helost his matesprit and his flush crush…. But after he met you, he was startingto warm up to the idea of Matesprit’s day and doing something for you, for fivesweeps you two have never celebrated it because of you losing Aradia and Feferileft a deep scar in his pusher. But he appreciated you not pushing it onto him but when ever he sees the ads onthe TV and his friends getting candy and other cute things. He finally decidedto give it a try. After doing some research on the candy he finally hadeverything he needed in his kitchen. “ok so… butter, sugar…” he was mumbling tohimself as he started to make the Milk Chocolate.as he did he was thinking about all the times you and him would make thingstogether, they could be small things like cookies or popcorn, but you twoalways did it together and he would follow you around as you cooked things and…after a week of dating he remembers asking you if he could help, and just…. Seeingthe smile spread across your face made his heartbeat faster.

Laughing a little he set the chocolate into the mold of acartoony heart and a bee. “you always believed in me” he said as he set themolds in the fridge for the chocolates to harden. As they cooled, he leanedback on the counter and thought… about you two, not just how someone amazinglike you could love a fuck up like him but how you two met and how at first, yourfriendship was rocky with his reactions to things and his tendencies to snap atthings.but you would be there sitting with him as he ranted and raved about stupidthings but one night you surprised him during your gaming sessions, yousurprised him by kissing his cheek when he lost the round. “Calm down sol, youcan get past this level” you told him. Hearing that made tears fall from hiseyes for the first time in forever.

He just let your voice ring in his head for a while till he realizedthat you were hugging him and gently rocking him, thinking he was still upset.

“heh… Seems like we were made for each other” he said tohimself only to be greeted by a giggle from his left. Looking he smiled at youas he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your head. “happy matesprit’sday” he said as he gave you another kiss, but this time he used his psionics tomake little floating hearts around you two.

#Homestuck #Hiveswap #Sollux Captor #Homestuck Sollux #thegrimkitten

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notgonnarememberthis · 5 years ago

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A Compromising Engagement - Chapter 4

Well at least quarantine is good for one thing. It’s really kicked me in the ass to focus on my creativity again rather than allowing academics to crush me all the time. Like I’ve been making major progress on an artwork that I started back in January, baked a cake from scratch, AND finished this update. I am also looking to maybe possibly update The Lying Angel at some point. It’s gonna be a long quarantine so buckle up lads.

Throughout the night she could feel two pairs of eyes on her the entire time. The first were Sherlock’s, of course. His eyes never strayed far, studying the crowd among them every once in a while as faces cycled in and out of her vision all sharing the same words. Too many she doesn’t recognize, the few she could pinpoint were associates of Morland. He knows her sentiment, he’d more than an earful on the way there.

It had started with an envelope lying on their doorstep, the neat script of an invitation. The words are vague but with Morland’s signature at the bottom they’re not all too surprised. It was her mother’s call, however, that cleared the air real quick.

“Is there a dress code for tonight?” Her mother’s words catch her off guard as soon as she answers the phone. A familiar ache of dread spreads through her, could she be having a bad episode or worse did Watson herself forget their plans.

“Tonight?” She echos, eyes meeting Sherlock’s as his head peaks up from the cold cases he was studying. He tilts his head in concern but she simply waves him off.

“Please tell me I didn’t get the dates mixed up. I basically forced your brother to cancel all his appointments tonight so that he could be there.”

“Mom what are you talking about?” She huffs a little impatient.

“Your engagement party of course.” Sherlock’s head snaps up this time, clearly listening in the entire time. He mouths a few words of panic which she returns in kind. “I know your step sister received one too because she gave me an earful over you not telling her about your engagement. Now I’ve never met Morland but your brother did look him up-” Her words drone off as the information clicks into place.

Morland has set up an engagement party for them, without their notice. Anger courses through her entirely before her mother’s rather cross words come back to her once again.

“Joan Watson, you are not missing out on your own engagement for a case do you hear me? The man or woman will still be dead tomorrow and I’m getting pictures.” She curses under her breath.

“No mom, there’s no case.” Sherlock drops his head into his hands rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I’ve got to go. Sherlock is calling.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Watson tilts her head back trying to summon every ounce of patience she has. It’s not her mother’s fault they’re in this situation. Well, not entirely.

“Wear your black dress that you wore to Oren’s wedding. Gotta go mom. Love you.”

It’s a test, that much they’d figured out together. Sherlock supplements the gestures of a happily engaged couple: kissing her on the top of her head, guiding her to and fro with a hand placed on her lower back, whisperings in her ear which were just nonsensical facts in order to get a laugh out of her.

None of which could distract her from the other set of eyes on her. Morland bounces from person to person using this moment as an excuse to further his own relationships with various shady figures.

“Joan!” A familiar voice brings a brief sense of relief. The faceless crowd parts for Lin to strut through arms wide for a hug. “This party is… wow. I mean I’ve been to some parties in my time but I’m pretty sure I just saw John O’Hara.”

“I’ll go get us some water.” Sherlock excuses himself. For a brief second she wants him to stay. While uneasy, his presence brought a sense of safety. A unity together in a crowd of unknown.

“This better not be some undercover stunt because I canceled a really high profile meeting just to be here. Not that this won’t look great on instagram but it was a lot of zeros.”

“No it’s real.” She feels a touch of guilt for lying to Lin, part of her thinks that’s why she tried to leave her out of this. The excitement in her eyes as she spots the ring is a little too much to bear as rapid fire excited words spill from her step sister’s mouth. A mix of talk about a dress, maids of honor, all of it too overwhelming and too fast.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Dark lined eyes pop into her vision. “Is your car the dark mercedes parked on the side of the road? I think you’re about to get towed.”

“What?” Lin screeches. “We’re not done.” She states before running off as fast as she can without plowing over ten people in the process.

Kitty throws her a glance, it’s enough to tell her Kitty knows everything. Whether it be that she’d deduced it or Sherlock told her everything she couldn’t tell. At that moment she didn’t quite care either. “Had to come in and save you. Looked like you were about to pass out.” She flashes a crooked smile scanning the crowd. “Where’s the lucky man? Do I have to go to his rescue too.”

“Thank you.” Watson sighs with a fond roll of her eyes. She can’t say much, not here, but she’s thankful for her presence nonetheless. “I take it you got the invite.”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss mom and dad’s engagement for anything.” Watson flashes her a warning glare but doesn’t correct her. “I’m not going dress shopping with you.” She warns.

“Hopefully I’m not either.” She keeps her voice low, Kitty probably didn’t even hear her over the crowd and the music but Sherlock taught them both enough about reading lips that she catches the meaning.

“Well you better get moving before Lin realizes she’s not being towed and uses the march back to plan your bachelorette party.” She nods, the words immediately kicking her into gear.

There are very few moments in life where Watson wished for a drink, she’d sworn off most when she became a sober companion. However, her patience is razor thin at the moment and it’s just waiting on a tipping of the scale.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand wraps around her arm pulling her towards the hallways and into an empty room. She doesn’t fight the movement, actually rather thankful for the few moments where she can drop the act.

It takes her a few more seconds than it should for her to connect that the face in front of her is no other than Hannah Gregson. She looks different out of her uniform, her hair curled over her shoulders and adorned in a red dress. Watson braces herself for yet another round of questioning.

“Do you want to explain why the hell my dad called me telling me to check on his two detectives on my one day off? Or why they’ve supposedly gotten engaged without telling my dad which I had to listen to him rant and rave about for an hour. Or the next call from Bell asking if I could take his place and stake out an engagement party tonight. Did I mention it’s my day off?”

It takes Watson only a few seconds to piece together a story. “We’re investigating Morland.”

“Sherlock’s dad?” Her spine straightens, the frustration sliding off her features and the professionalism of an aspiring detective taking over. “What are you two into?”

“He took over Moriarty’s empire after she stepped down. It was a method to protect us. Sherlock thinks he’s gotten in too deep. He didn’t trust his father before but now it’s worse than ever. He thinks he might be operating for bad people.”

“Do you trust him?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out. We set up the engagement story to get into his element. Let him think that we had no idea that he’d do all of this.” She gestures to the party just outside the doors. “Let him control the invites which is why Bell and Gregson got some. If it were up to me or Sherlock they’d be left out of this.”

“Kitty too?”

“Yes.” She casts a glance toward the door hoping with all of her power that he wasn’t standing right behind the door listening. She may have lost him in the crowd when she was trying to get lost herself. Just as the thought crosses her mind she watches a shadow approach and linger, blocking the tight beneath the doorway. “Tell Tommy and Marcus we’re both sorry. We wanted to tell them about the engagement sooner but everything’s been happening so fast. Sherlock wanted to keep it secret but now.” She gives off a half chuckle casting her eyes to the door so that Hannah can catch up to what she’s observed.

Morland? She mouths the name, not even giving Watson time to nod before she continues the conversation. “Fine but you’re getting me another day off. I’m not the consultant babysitting service.”

“Thank you Hannah.”

She lingers rocking on her feet for a second. “Am I supposed to say congratulations or?” Watson lets out a forced laugh shaking her head. A swift knock interrupts her response, Hannah’s face falls into the veneer of perfect calm.

“There you are Ms. Watson.” Morland greets with a smile.

“Congratulations Joan.” Hannah offers a smile before nodding to Morland excusing herself out of the conversation. She watches as the younger woman leaves closing the door behind herself with only a slight hesitation.

“How are you enjoying the party?” The question feels like a trap in itself. He knows exactly how she’s been faring. He’s had watch on her all night, be it himself or his lackies. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planned it all along to separate her and Sherlock so they could speak alone.

“What do you want?” The question comes off colder than intended but her patience has wasted away. All of this: the people, the chatter, the monotonous orchestral music constantly playing; she can see how Sherlock needed to get as far from it as possible.

“Is it not enough to try to make my son happy?” She rolls her eyes moving to step past him but he steps in her way instead. “We are celebrating, are we not?”

“This is not celebrating.” She counters with a raise of an eyebrow. “This is business.” While the crowd blended together she knew the types; wall streets, politicians, CEOs. All the types that send her and Sherlock’s skin crawling and the furthest from their choice of company.

“Nonsense, my son was engaged.”

“Is.” She corrects narrowing her eyes, “And Sherlock spoke with you before and made our wishes more than clear. We are not pawns to be used in your game. We wanted to keep this private and instead you announced it to our family without giving us time to do so ourselves.”

“I was under the impression that you already had told your mother.” He shakes his head with an ‘apologetic’ sigh. “I’m only trying to do what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him?” She scoffs. “He’s a recovering addict and you’ve filled this place with alcohol and at least 22 people who are high and that’s only the ones visibly so. How is that what’s best for him?” She stops taking a steadying breath. “We’re leaving. You can keep your money, keep your protection, hell, keep the Brownstone. I want you out of his life.”

“You cannot keep him from me, he is my son.” The threat sends a chill down her spine but it’s not enough to sway her.

“He may be your son but he is my partner. Now move.” Truth be told in her head she’s hoping he doesn’t, for a moment she lets her mind linger on the image. He steps to the side allowing her to walk past.

“Does he know he’s not my only son you’ve slept with?” His words stop her dead in place. She spins slowly taking in his self satisfied smile. Before she can think better of it the sound of the slap resonates through the small room. She turns to retreat again only to find herself face to face with Sherlock.

His eyes are darker than she saw after Michael Rowan attacked her in their home, holding a barely contained anger vibrating just beneath the surface of his skin. He takes a step toward his father but she places her hands on his chest.

“Please, take me home.” Her voice tremors, her actions settling in on her. His face softens as he looks down at her. His hand takes hers, the skin still stinging from the impact of the slap. Wordlessly he guides her out, shielding her from curious onlookers and concerned family alike. Later he would send a message to Mary and Lin both explaining what had happened, probably Kitty as well. For now, however, his main concern is the woman trembling in his arms.

It’s not until the cold winter air hits her face that the tears start sliding down her face. Guilt weighs heavily on her shoulders. They’d built up this story, this lie, to keep their home but she had to blow it all up. She gave Morland exactly what he wanted.

“Watson.” She doesn’t look up at him. She doesn’t ask how much of that he’d heard. Truth be told he’d probably been lingering since Hannah pulled her aside.

“He doesn’t know.” The words come out so raw that it hurts. “He can’t throw that in my face when he doesn’t know.” Sleeping with Mycroft was a mistake, yes. She came to terms with the fact that she couldn’t take it back long ago. However, he was kind to her. He felt like the first person other than Gregson and Bell united with her to protect Sherlock. Someone who’d do anything for him. When he died it- “He doesn’t know.”

“I do.” Sherlock whispers pulling her into an embrace. “Thank you Watson.” He places a kiss on the top of her head as her carefully pieced together front crumples.

As she mutters apologies into his jacket he only pulls her closer.

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

@tamarknott @averageinside

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#joanlock #sherlock holmes x joan watson #sherlock x joan #elementary #elementary cbs #elementary AU #joan watson #Sherlock Holmes #morland holmes #can you tell i don't like morland #maybe #fake engagement au #Fake marriage au #a compromising engagement #it's good to be back #yall ready to fuck shit up?

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rjzimmerman · 5 years ago

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I need no further evidence that we have a madman in the White House. This is enough. Here’s an excerpt from a New York Times story, which itself is an adaptation from a book entitled, “Border Wars: Inside Trump’s Assault on Immigration,” to be published on October 8. I’m doing a longer than usual post, because the story is so bizarre. The balance of the article I’m not excerpting describes his purge of the Department of Homeland Security following this series of rants and raves, all engineered by his Senior Advisor, Stephen Miller, who saw an opportunity to advance his own career.

The Oval Office meeting this past March began, as so many had, with President Trump fuming about migrants. But this time he had a solution. As White House advisers listened astonished, he ordered them to shut down the entire 2,000-mile border with Mexico — by noon the next day.

The advisers feared the president’s edict would trap American tourists in Mexico, strand children at schools on both sides of the border and create an economic meltdown in two countries. Yet they also knew how much the president’s zeal to stop immigration had sent him lurching for solutions, one more extreme than the next.

Privately, the president had often talked about fortifying a border wall with a water-filled trench, stocked with snakes or alligators, prompting aides to seek a cost estimate. He wanted the wall electrified, with spikes on top that could pierce human flesh. After publicly suggesting that soldiers shoot migrants if they threw rocks, the president backed off when his staff told him that was illegal. But later in a meeting, aides recalled, he suggested that they shoot migrants in the legs to slow them down. That’s not allowed either, they told him.

Mr. Trump’s order to close the border was a decision point that touched off a frenzied week of presidential rages, round-the-clock staff panic and far more White House turmoil than was known at the time. By the end of the week, the seat-of-the-pants president had backed off his threat but had retaliated with the beginning of a purge of the aides who had tried to contain him.

Today, as Mr. Trump is surrounded by advisers less willing to stand up to him, his threat to seal off the country from a flood of immigrants remains active. “I have absolute power to shut down the border,” he said in an interview this summer with The New York Times.

This article is based on interviews with more than a dozen White House and administration officials directly involved in the events of that week in March. They were granted anonymity to describe sensitive conversations with the president and top officials in the government.

In the Oval Office that March afternoon, a 30-minute meeting extended to more than two hours as Mr. Trump’s team tried desperately to placate him.

“You are making me look like an idiot!” Mr. Trump shouted, adding in a profanity, as multiple officials in the room described it. “I ran on this. It’s my issue.”

Among those in the room were Kirstjen Nielsen, the homeland security secretary at the time; Mike Pompeo, the secretary of state; Kevin K. McAleenan, the Customs and Border Protection chief at the time; and Stephen Miller, the White House aide who, more than anyone, had orchestrated Mr. Trump’s immigration agenda. Mick Mulvaney, the acting chief of staff was also there, along with Jared Kushner, the president’s son-in-law, and other senior staff.

Ms. Nielsen, a former aide to George W. Bush brought into the department by John F. Kelly, the president’s former chief of staff, was in a perilous position. She had always been viewed with suspicion by the president, who told aides she was “a Bushie,” and part of the “deep state” who once contributed to a group that supported Jeb Bush’s presidential campaign.

Mr. Trump had routinely berated Ms. Nielsen as ineffective and, worse — at least in his mind — not tough-looking enough. “Lou Dobbs hates you, Ann Coulter hates you, you’re making me look bad,” Mr. Trump would tell her, referring to the Fox Business Network host and the conservative commentator.

#border wars: inside trumps assault on immigration (book)#trump #immigration #US Mexico border #trump wall

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scribblesnblues · 5 years ago

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| PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER |

“Do you know why you are here?”

Francine had heard that question so many times, she was certain she could think up any answer and it could be correct. I let a flock of wild chickens loose inside the Kinder again. I stole Uncle Nikos’s hat and threw it into a gryphon's nest. I shoved Myron into the den of an owlbear. Okay, that last one might have actually happened. Her cousin had been acting strangely the past few days and Francine had no idea why. Maybe she did almost get him torn to shreds and didn’t remember it?

But the look on Father's face wasn’t its usual sternness. His thick, black brows weren’t furrowed together like a pair of upset caterpillars. His lips weren’t turned down inside of a deep frown, as if someone (probably her) had put salt instead of sugar inside of his lemonade again.

Not even the setting was as it normally would have been. Rather than meeting inside of his private study, where Francine could listen to his rants and raves behind the protection of his walls, they were outside and surrounded by her entire family. Her disgruntled Elders sat with their canes across their laps under the shade of the forest’s towering trees. Her uncles, suspended in disbelief, surrounded her in a giant circle on the green. Her cousins, both young and old, watched with wide eyes and eager attention at the feet of their fathers.

Then there was Father himself. Francine had to give him props, he did look spiffy. His hair was at least combed this time, styled back to show more of his pale, bare face and even paler blue eyes. But that was where the familiarities ended. Outside of the fact that she knew it was him, the man that stood in front of her could have been a complete and total stranger. There was no light behind his eyes. His lips were a thin, white line stretched across a blank face. What stared back at her was a man void of expression, with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and his shoulders resting squarely across his bare chest. He didn’t move and hardly blinked, save to glance down at the large burlap sack that lied at his feet.

Father tilted his head, awaiting her response. “Well?”

Francine rocked on the balls of her feet. She didn’t want to say that she was hesitant to speak, but could anyone blame her? It was as if she was on trial, with dozens of eyes eagerly waiting to see what she did next. Never in her life had that happened before. Excuse her if she was a little bit reluctant to give them something to witness.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Francine spoke, but she didn’t look at Father. Those eyes of his were freaking her out. Instead, she nodded toward the sack, where everyone else's line of sight immediately followed.

“I caught a mortal,” she replied.

A wave of gasps swept up from the crowd. Elders clutched their chests, children leaned closer. But Father stood steadfast, a boulder in the middle of a turbulent river.

“That is against our rules, daughter,” he said.

“I know,” Francine said.

“Yet you did it anyway?” Father asked, quirking his brow.

Francine shrugged. “He was sleeping in one of the Forbidden Zones. I had to teach him a lesson.”

“So you brought it into our camp?” someone shouted.

Francine looked toward the speaker and wasn’t really surprised to see that it was Elder Vasilis. With a small, bent body, wide-set eyes, and a face covered with bumps and wrinkles, he resembled more of an angry toad crossed with a salamander. Of course, someone like him was going to be a stick in the mud.

“He had crossed our border,” she argued. “I didn’t want him going back to wherever he came from, thinking that what he had done was okay. So, yes, I brought him here. What would you have liked for me to do instead? Invited him over for tea?”

Like ravens to carrion, a chorus of outrage attacked her from all sides.

“Blasphemy!”

“Heresy!”

“Throw them both out!”

Only Father could quell the rising bloodlust. With a simple raise of his hand, the audience fell into silence. “Enough with these games,” he said. “Reveal the mortal.”

Francine obliged eagerly. She had been itching to show them her prize like a cat returning after a successful hunt and wasted no time in grabbing the sack, flipping it over, and shaking her catch free. The boy, still dazed from the whole endeavor, tumbled out of the sack in a sputtering heap. His clothes, a wrinkly plaid shirt underneath a pair of mud-stained overalls, were disheveled, and his flat cap, now crushed, was stuck under his arm. His face was redder than a tomato, his nose twisted like a pretzel, and a sizeable welt had left a large part down the middle of his messy, clay-brown hair. Francine would have considered him cute if he wasn’t a smelly mortal.

Father’s grip tightened around his hands, but he kept himself cool. He circled the boy’s quivering body, inspecting him as a snake would study its prey. “And where did you find him?”

Francine turned to face the open clearing’s only entrance. A large hedge archway parted through the dense treeline, and down a path of smooth stones and yellowed leaves, the faint outline of a steady stream cut through the forest. “Just a little way past Gray Run,” she replied.

There were a few places where mortals were prohibited from entering, even for a quick rest. Many of them were banned because of their sacred hold to the Forestkind, both those that made up Francine’s family and a few other clans that weren’t. But others were simply because of the danger that they posed to those not familiar with it. Gray Run, the Wild Woods’ main river, was one such place. To those unfamiliar with it, it might have appeared as just a river that climbed down the forest’s mountain range and snaked its way south. But to the people who called the forest their home, it was a treacherous entity, capable of dragging down experienced swimmers and easily overpowering anyone that came too close. Not even Francine dared to go near its banks, but only because she didn’t want to get wet. She found it silly to fear a place of freshwater but wasn’t too much of a fool to say it out loud. Out of respect, or whatever.

For this, she felt a sense of pride when Father’s eyes softened in understanding. Even he had to acknowledge that what she had done was warranted. For all he or anyone else knew, Francine very well saved the mortal’s life. That was enough to make her chest swell and her lips peel back in a triumphant grin.

Father turned to address the crowd. “It appears that Francine did us a favor. The mortal’s life was threatened, so her moving him saved it. For that, her actions are pardoned.”

Groans and curse-filled grumbles passed through the crowd. Francine soaked them up with a twinkle in her eye, especially toward Elder Vasilis. His cheeks were so round and full of air, he looked as if he was on the verge of turning into a toad.

But Father wasn’t done yet. He stepped forward, taking Francine by her shoulder and leaning down low enough for her to hear.

“Do not think that I will forget this, daughter,” he hissed. “When you return, the two of us will have a nice, long talk about your recent behavior. Understand?”

His grip tightened. His thumb dug into her collar, taking away her breath for a split second and making her choke. Catching her breath, Francine faced his cold gaze with the heat of her own, but under the threat of suffocation, her defiance was weak and petty. Eventually, her need for air outweighed her show of pride, and she tore away from him, rubbing her sore throat.

Father stepped back. “Good. Now, take the mortal away. You know where to find me.”

With that, the court broke away. Children, now bored from the whole endeavor, leaped from their seats to go find another form of entertainment. The Elders, as usual, took to each other like a flock of squawking birds. Any stragglers parted Francine with either a scornful laugh or a sorrowful head shake. But Francine didn’t want their pity. She didn’t want to hear their consoles or listen to how Father meant well with his discipline. She didn’t take the mortal as a way to shame her father. He was always talking about how little the mortals respected their land and all she wanted was to show him that she agreed. The boy was supposed to be a prize for the two of them to revel in. Yet she was still punished and made a fool of for no reason.

There’s a reason, Francine thought as she watched Father disappear among the other departing satyrs. And for that reason alone, she took up her catch, slinking away with a fire stirring in her belly and a plan of redemption forming in her mind.

#ttc #chapter one #part one #web fiction #web serial #original fiction #writeblr #greek mythology #poc #lgbtq+

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years ago

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More Mute please? Happy holidays everyone!

Previous parts can be found: HERE.

Mute Part 8.i - Leaving Leoch:

Sliding his hand along the soft expanse of Claire’s leg, Jamie let the gentle sounds of the tweeting birds pull him awake. Still sleepy and half intoxicated he remembered the events of the night before.

Their wedding had been an incredible thing. It was supposed to have been small and intimate but the moment that Mrs Fitz took over things had gotten out of hand. Not that he minded of course, anything to show his love for Claire publically and without apology wasn’t something to be sniffed at but he’d seen the stress alight on Claire’s face as the day had worn on.

They had said their vows first thing, pledging themselves to one another with Murtagh translating Claire’s signs for the priest and from there on out most of the day was a blur of food, liquor, conversation and dancing. For the most part the inhabitants of Leoch had let their guards down in relation to Claire. Watching her dance, her head neatly lain on Jamie’s shoulder as the piper had played well into the night, his notes as flawless as the bards singing, each and everyone of them saw nothing but love emanating from the newlyweds.

Even Dougal had kept his hands to himself, thank goodness.

But Jamie got the feeling that their stay at Leoch was about to come to an end. With Dougals’ continued interest and Claire’s growing fatigue, Jamie sensed that it might be nearing the time to take Claire back to his home by birthright. There, at least, he could properly investigate gaining a pardon as well as surrounding Claire with a more familial warmth.

Slipping her legs apart, Claire gasped soundlessly as Jamie’s hands roamed freely. He was lost, she could tell, to the drunk haze that surrounded them both but she was hyper aware of him. Rolling her hips backwards, she thrust her naked behind against his groin using her foot to link through his calf - pulling him closer still.

Licking her lips she felt him slip between her thighs, his hard flesh suddenly anchored solidly between her legs. But she didn’t want it like this, not on the first morning of their marriage. She wanted to turn herself around, lie flat and pull him over her but the weight of him beside her, pushing her deeper into their homemade cot, stopped her from being able to. Unable to voice the words required to wake Jamie and have him move with her, Claire opted for rocking them to and fro, her hands keeping Jamie firmly against her as she tried to use the motion to pull him from his slumber.

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his fingers gripped her hips. It bordered painful, but just as the sensations began to drag Claire under, Jamie would magically calm loosening his hands as if compelled to do so.

Claire was on the brink. The maddening sensations of Jamie thrusting unconsciously between her legs leaving her desperate and wanting whilst *nearly* tipping her over the edge. Opening her mouth, she turned her head to the side, gripped him with as much force as she dared to use and silently cried out as she used his body to aid her own climax. Her heart was thrumming in her chest by the time she realised her release had -finally- pulled Jamie from sleep.

Gathering her up in his arms, Jamie gently turned Claire over, moving himself over her as she let her legs flop bonelessly against the thick straw bedding beneath them. “Morning, mo nighean donn,” Jamie whispered, no need to raise his voice in the dim morning light. “Good morning...my wife.”

Cracking her eyes open as much as she could, Claire read his lips as he rolled his groin against hers. She was sated, shattered from her own surprise orgasm but the sight of him above her, his eyes trained solely on her as she shook involuntarily beneath him, brought her round a little.

“Ye can rest longer,” Jamie sighed, nudging his nose against hers in a cute motion that made Claire smile softly.

She shook her head, her thighs keeping Jamie pinned in place as her skin prickled with goosebumps. ‘No.’ She mouthed, running one hand along the length of her supine body as the other brushed through the short stubble that had arisen on Jamie’s face through the night.

“Canna leave me wanting, lass?” He returned, adjusting himself so that he lay poised and ready.

Claire let her head tip to the side, her smile widening as she nudged him on with the base of her foot against the roundest part of his arse.

“Jamie!!” The mad knocking on the door made Jamie twist his head as he grasped the bedclothes tight, thinking that at any minute he might need to cover Claire.

“What is it Dougal, can I no’ have the morning wi’ my wife?”

Lying calmly beneath Jamie, Claire ran her hands over the length of his taut stomach, waiting patiently for him to shoo away whoever was disturbing them. She could feel the distinct rumble of irritation run through Jamie as he spoke with the invisible visitor but she wasn’t about to give up on their amorous morning joining just yet.

“I think ye’ve had enough time wi’ that one, aye? Collum has asked for us. Get yer lazy arse out of bed and up to his rooms...and fast lad!”

“Collum willna mind if I’m a wee bit late. Bugger off, Dougal. Leave us be. I’ll be wi’ ye in a few hours. Whatever is it, it can wait.” He cooed, turning and leaning in to kiss Claire, a long languid kiss that assured her that he wasn’t getting up to leave any time soon.

“Fine, laddie. But on yer head be it.” Dougal grumbled, leaving the pair alone once more.

As Jamie turned, Claire slid her hands down to rest on his arse and pulled him flat against her, not wishing for the moment to be interrupted again. It was quick; Jamie set a punishing rhythm as soon as he entered Claire, his hip bones hitting the inside of her thighs over and over as he lost himself to the joint sensations of lust and love racing through the blood in his veins. He wanted to go slow, to watch and feel as her whole lower half rose up to meet him but there was something primal about the way she’d brought him to and he couldn’t hold back.

With a short sharp cry, Jamie came apart, his hands almost tearing the thin sheets apart as he shook. Claire, still half-sated beneath him, wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her chest slowly, basking in the heat emanating from him. She knew that once he woke from his post-orgasmic haze he’d have to dress and go and find out what Collum wanted from him. But for now he was hers.

“I haveta go, mo nighean,” he panted, falling to the side as he peeled his left eye open and smiled softly.

Claire nodded, her hand coming up to rest gently against the slope of Jamie’s face.

| ‘Come back soon though, alright?’ | She signed with her free hand knowing that he probably couldn’t understand most of what she was trying to communicate.

But he had, at least, gotten the gist of it.

“I’ll be home soon, promise.” He whispered, forcing himself from their cot and dressing (purposefully) very slowly, giving Claire a very clear view of his bottom as he re-pleated his kilt.

Unwilling to brave Leoch on her own, Claire pottered around their self-made home above the stables, making sure everything was clean and tidy. She knew that there was always the surgery if she needed another task to keep her occupied but the space was sullied now by the various assaults on her person. Hopefully, though, now she was actually married to Jamie he would leave her alone but until she’d been assured of that, she would keep out of the way.

Making her way down into the stables themselves, Claire grabbed the broom and continued her housekeeping with the horses as company. She found some small pleasure in their musty smell and by the time Jamie marched back inside, Claire had cleaned out every stall and made sure each mare had been groomed thoroughly.

| ‘What’s the matter?’ | She signed, seeing Jamie’s distress the minute she looked up to take him in.

“Claire,” he began, taking hold of her hands and rubbing her warm fingers softly, “I have to leave for a wee while.”

Claire’s mouth gaped open, her pulse racing all of a sudden at the thought of Jamie not being by her side.

| ‘But we’ve only just been married? Did Collum say you *had* to go?’ |

“I have to, Claire. If there was any way out of it I’d have spoke up, ken?”

She nodded sadly, her eyes filling with moisture.

“Murtagh will stay here wi’ ye, alright? He’ll take good care of ye lass, him and Mrs Fitz. Ye can stay out here or go back to the castle for yer lodgings should ye wish no’ to be alone at night.” He continued, bringing her their joined hands to his lips and kissing them reverently. “The only blessing is that Dougal is leading the party, aye? It means he willna be left here to cause ye any distress.”

Feeling her stomach settle a little, Claire clenched her jaw. She wanted to pull her hands away and rant and rave at how unfair it was that Jamie was to be taken from her at such short notice, but it would do no good. That and she was enjoying the last close comforts she might have for a while.

| ‘How long?’ | She mouthed, unwilling to take her hands from his.

“Dinna ken,” Jamie returned, paying attention to her mouth and deciphering her soundless words, “hopefully no’ too long but it’s best to plan for at least a month.”

Claire shook her head violently and ripped her hands from his as she stormed wildly up and down the small aisle of the stables. She was furious, her hair flying about in the wee breeze that filtered in through the gaps in the slats. Stomping her feet and grinding her teeth she fought the urge to scream.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, twisting her around and surrounding her in warmth and Jamie tried to quash her irritation. Whispering directly into her ear he tried to speak clearly so that she might hear his voice. Sensing that she needed something more than physical contact to calm her ire.

“I’m always wi’ ye, Claire,” he sighed, “in yer heart. I ken what terrible timing this is, but I love you...so much.”

Pulling back a little, Claire looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes.

| ‘When do you have to leave?’ | She signed slowly.

“As soon as I’m ready.” He replied sadly.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire let the tears fall as her nose and cheeks begun to turn a sorrowful shade of maroon. The overwhelming urge to scream and shout had lessened but she still wanted to race to Collum’s quarters and plead with him not to send Jamie away though she got the distinct feeling that it was some sort of test of his metal. Collum hadn’t actually objected to her presence but nor had he castigated his brother or punished him for his wayward behaviour towards her. And aside from their one run in during the conflict resolutions in the grand hall he had barely acknowledged her at all. But she was still English and now she’d married his nephew.

| ‘Be safe, please?’ | She asked, hiccuping as she pulled herself fully from Jamie’s grasp and mouthed across at him. Wrapping her arms around herself now she rubbed her suddenly cool arms and ran her feet across the incredibly clean floor.

“I will, my Sassenach. Look after yerself, aye?”

Nodding, Claire waited until Jamie was safely away before falling to the floor and going thoroughly and completely to pieces.

#;Mod MBD #Mute #Mute Claire

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looselucy · 7 years ago

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November

One of the joys of studying English, was the absolute rants we all got into every Tuesday afternoon. They were the best lectures by far, where we would literally all sit down, a group of around 100, and simply talk about whatever came naturally. People would come in raving about books, about something they’d read online, about articles and art and text conversations and literally anything that involved the written word.

They were the lectures I lived for. They were the lectures that helped me to actually enjoy my course; the kind of thing I wanted when I decided to go to university. And for the past half an hour or so, we had been having the fun conversation about ‘sexting’ which, admittedly, was something I was a virgin to. But it didn’t make the conversation any less fun. One girl in particular, was having a real outburst. “Sexting is a one-sided affair.” She spat. “It’s always the boys who want it, but the girls put in all the effort. I’ve never once gotten off to sexting, because I put in all the effort and say everything he wants to hear, and he’ll just reply like ‘fuck’ or ‘what else’ and he wants me to get steamy over that? No. Boys put in zero effort. It’s all take take take.” “Well what about boys sexting?” A lad looked over his shoulder to see the girl. “What?” “Boys sexting boys. If they put in zero effort, how do you think that works? You can’t put all guys under one umbrella when a lot of boys... like other boys?” “Well obviously... I can’t really talk about that. Never experienced it, being a girl. Do you sext boys?” “No.” He acted as though he was defending himself, which puzzled me a little. “Of course I don’t. I’m straight. But not everyone is.” A girl raised her hand to grab the rooms attention, before she went straight in and made her comment. “I sext my girlfriend all the time. And it’s intense. We both go for it. I have heard straight boys can’t really commit, and I can’t say I’m surprised.” She shrugged. “That must be it! Maybe it’s a straight guy thing. A masculinity thing.” The original girl nodded in agreement. “I don’t think it’s fair to generalize.” The boy spoke again. “For the sake of the discussion, we have to. We can’t go up to every boy in the world to determine their sexuality and how good they are at sexting.” “This is stupid.” He scoffed. “You’re too protective of your masculinity!” I finally spoke up myself. “The second there was an insinuation of you being gay, you bit back. Like it’s a bad thing, something to be offended by. You want to sext, but even though it’s the lads who usually want it more, you can’t open up and just do it because you’re scared. And you beg for these texts. But then, if anything bad happens with the girl, you probably call her a slag to all your friends, and tell them she was sexting you. Have you done that before?” He quite literally, bit his tongue, really not wanting to admit that was something he most certainly had done, but it was coming to these moments in these lectures that made them so brilliant, and so interesting. He knew that. Reluctantly, he owned up. “I have. Yeah.” “Exactly.” I sighed. “But I feel bad for you.” “What?” A few people laughed, mainly girls. “It’s really drummed into lads from an early age, y’know? No emotions. No tears. Be a man. Grow a pair. Like any sign of vulnerability is a bad thing. Of course these idiots don’t know how to sext, it’s being completely naked to the girl, via words. It’s a lot more terrifying than actually being naked with someone.” ”I have to say, I think you might be onto something there.” Darren, our lecturer, nodded. It was only then that we all seemed to spot a group of people waiting outside the room, and then we realised we were running around ten minutes late, and the next lecture was due to start. Darren thanked us for another interesting week, as all those Tuesday lectures had been over our two months there, and we all raised to our feet, beginning to make our way out of the hall. Silently, I was beaming that I’d more or less gotten the last word. It had set my day off to a really good start, meaning that I exited with a little spring in my step. At the bottom of the stairs, I felt someone jog downwards to catch up with me, turning around to see Ed, who had rocked up late thanks to his hangover, and missed out on his chance of sitting next to me, which was obviously a massive shame for him. “I’m glad you feel sorry for me.” He mumbled giddily in my ear as we walked out together. “Sorry?” I chuckled. “This is a man’s world, and even the men aren’t good enough for it.” I laughed and nodded, unable to disagree because it was absolutely true. All that lecture had done was made me realise the whole world was full of high standards and expectations, and none of us were living up to them. I buttoned my coat up and snuggled into its warmth as we stepped outside. I’d made a few friends in my lectures, but none of them were sustainable outside of lessons together, apart from Ed, who was adorably cute and spectacularly ginger, and completely, through and through, my kind of person. “I love Tuesdays.” I smiled up to the sun. “I know how I can make your Tuesday even better.” I turned to hear his tale, but instead of saying anything he moved the grotty rucksack from his back and routed through it quickly, before pulling out a bright orange leaflet and handing it to me. “What’s this?” “I finally got a little acoustic gig. It’s at this bar in town.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh yeah, Jax, I know that place! Oh well done!” “Thanks! You gunna come?” “Yeah definitely. It’s an excuse to drink, but, early enough that I won’t miss my lecture tomorrow morning. Win win.” “Is that it?” “Oh, and to see you sing. Obviously.” He hit my shoulder relatively hard, the two of us laughing sweetly as I tucked the flier into my bag. In all honesty, I was worried, straight away. The number of friends I’d had over the years who formed bands with anyone who could even pick up a guitar was shocking, and for that reason I had seen an unfortunate amount of terrible bands, who I had to rave about to save face and feelings. I was hoping Ed would be different, praying, because it seemed with age I was just getting worse at lying. “Will you bring some people?” Ed asked coyly. “I’m a bit worried no one will come.” ”Yeah, definitely. I’ll bring the people from my flat. Don’t worry!” “Sound!” Ed hollowed his throat. “You’re the best.” “I know.” Ed began to skewer off in the direction of his accommodation, some of the grottiest ones that our university had to offer, but he loved them all the same. “See you tonight then, yeah?” He yelled to me. “Yep.” “BRING GIRLS!” He had to yell louder as we distanced. “OF COURSE!” “WEAR LITTLE TO NO CLOTHES TO BRING IN A CROWD.” “FUCK OFF, ED!” “LOVE YOU, PIPPA!” He laughed at himself yet again and jogged off down the correct path, unable to see I was chuckling and shaking my head, but I’m sure he predicted nothing less. I was thankful our campus was so small, at least compared to a lot of universities I’d visited on their open days. All the lectures halls, the library, shops and cafes and study areas, even a few student bars, were in the centre, and all the student halls surrounded them. It wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk to get to where you needed to be, and I was fortunate enough to be placed in halls where I could literally fall out of bed and be in my lecture. Apart from the times where I wanted to skip a lecture, because it then meant I was trapped in my flat all day, and maybe even the day after, in the hopes a lecturer wouldn’t see me, which they often had. Not that they said anything, I was sure they’d had students worse than me in their time. As I stumbled round the corner to get into our flat, Zayn and Harry were there, Zayn with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, Harry staring glumly onto him from the doorway. “Hey.” I mumbled uneasily. I hadn’t even spoke to Harry since our run in in the bathroom on Sunday evening, and it was a good thing. I hadn’t raised my voice the whole time and I hadn’t had a headache once, and it was beautiful, just like the olden days, before he moved in. He looked down to the floor as soon as I was there, not wanting to say much. Not wanting to say anything at all, really. “Pip, we need your help.” Zayn sighed. Harry rolled his eyes and took a step even further indoors, obviously not really wanting my help. But this was my perfect opportunity. If I offered my help, that would wind him up, but he couldn’t get mad at me or say anything, because I was actually being super nice and helping. The perfect scenario. “With what?” “This photography thing for Harry. They want to see something other than the topless pictures, today, in around forty-five minutes... and he has nothing.” ”Pretty ill-prepared.” I stuck my bottom lip out to him. There were real life daggers in his eyes, his bottom jaw clenched and tightened, but he just about held himself together. Just about. “Any ideas?” Zayn ignored my comment. “Is there like... a theme?” “No,” Harry eventually spoke. “Which kind of makes it even harder. No guidelines.” I genuinely did try to put my mind to it for a minute. For some reason, I wanted to think of something he could do and some way we could help him, but my head, as usual, was not coming up with anything even slightly creative. I felt awful because of it. I should have known. I should have been able to think of something, because I’d loved photography at college, and I had only gone a few months without it. I guess I’d been blocking it out as a way of coping with how much I missed being creative like that. We all stood in silence for a few minutes. I could tell Zayn felt really badly. But it wasn’t just a case of, let’s think of any idea, anything we could. It was his first assignment, we were at uni. I may not have liked Harry but I didn’t want to see him fuck up something like that. After our silence, Harry flipped. “FUCK!” He cursed, gripping at an invisible force in front of him. “Can you fucking believe this? I’m tearing my hair out over some tits? Tits were never made to make me feel this shit!” Zayn laughed loud, and I buried a smile, kind of liking that he was the type of person to crack a little joke even when he was furious. But everything else about him was pure chaos. “Oh god.” Zayn chuckled lowly, stomping out his cigarette. “I do seriously feel for you. Pip, I looked at the photos, they’re seriously good.” “It’s just nipples. That’s all it is.” Harry gawped. “I don’t understand.” Hearing him say that, made something click in my mind. Literally, it just clicked, and the photographer in me came out so quickly. It was also the little bitch inside me, who lived deep within my soul and was ready to kick off at any opportunity. My eyes widened, and I darted my gaze to Harry. “Can I see them?” “What?” He quizzed. “The pictures you took. Can I see them?” He shrugged as a way of saying yes, before turning inside and we followed. In the elevator going up, Zayn had asked what was going on, but I just brushed him off, too excited, too ready to bring my plan to life. Pretty soon after, I saw Harry’s room for the first time. It was pretty simplistic, minimalistic. There was a giant Fleetwood Mac poster on the wall above his bed, a couple of Polaroid camera shots of himself and predictably friends from home beside his TV, and a few items of clothing on the floor. I also spotted an array of different cameras upon his desk by the window, and honestly, I just wanted to pick them up and study them all. But it wasn’t really the time. Harry pulled out a file from one his drawers and found the pictures quite quickly, passing all ten of them to me. I wanted to hate them, to think they were sleazy and there was a good reason they had been rejected. But really, they were quite beautiful. I understood his rage a little more after seeing them, because they were so well done, so tasteful and mature. “Can I...” I awkwardly began. “Do you need these?” “What are you doing?” Harry seemed suspicious. “Do you need these? Do you need them to… stay like this?” I watched him glance over my shoulder to Zayn who was still in the doorway, and he just shrugged, still completely unaware of my plans. Harry looked back to me, and for once, he had to trust me. I wasn’t expecting us to ever have a moment like that again. “No.” He sighed eventually. “Do what you need to do.” I then scurried into Zayn’s room, which was completely different to Harry’s. The walls were as covered in pictures and posters as his right arm was in tattoos. Not a single bit of the wall was left unloved. The floor was covered in clothes, his desk was covered in art and pens and paper, and everything expected from an art student. “Just give me a second.” I requested. They stayed stood in the hall as the door automatically closed itself, and I found a black sharpie and did what I had imagined in my head. I drew thick black crosses over the nipples. As soon as they featured on every single one, I slowly, and certainly with fear, walked into the hall, handing Harry the pictures straight away. His face was hard to read as he skimmed through them, Zayn looking over his shoulder to study them too. Harry’s eyebrows were low, but nothing else gave me any sign or hint of emotion. Regardless of how much I hated him, I wanted him to be happy with what I’d done. “Pip,” Zayn spoke quietly. “These are-” “Genius.” Harry interrupted. “Yeah?” I waited on edge. “They’re a massive fuck you to my lecturer, and the fact he turned them down before. There’s literally nothing wrong with them now the nipples are covered, apparently, even though that whole concept makes no sense. But that’s why this works! The whole idea of it. Why are they okay now? Why weren’t they before? Why is it nipples are unacceptable? It’s created this… theme! Seriously, this is sick. I’m going to go and throw these onto his desk right now.” Zayn gave him a quick slap on the back as Harry literally ran out of our flat as quickly as he could, a new spring in his step. I was so glad he was happy with them, I was beaming. He was still a dickhead. Zayn gave me a soft smile. “That was really nice of you. Considering it was Harry.” “Yeah, well. He brings out the worst in me, and photography brings out the best in me. Combine the two, and you’ll find Harry handing in ten photos which basically give his lecturer the middle finger.” He stretched one arm around me and tucked me into his body, giving me a kiss on the forehead. As always, Zayn appreciated my efforts, no matter how little effort I had actually put in. And I appreciated Zayn. Everything about him. + + + I sat on the floor in front of my bedroom door, doing my makeup in the mirror, slowly preparing for the evening. I was hoping there would be a good number of people there to see Ed play, he deserved as much. For the two short months I had known him, all he had spoken about was how he was trying to get a gig, and how much he loved performing. I asked him why he hadn’t taken music as a degree, only to learn his love for poetry, how he couldn’t write a song without the novels and words he had read over the years. I thought that, in itself, was quite poetic. There was a small knock on my bedroom door, nervous. I think I knew it was Harry. “Come in!” The door opened gradually, but he didn’t come in. He remained stood in the small gap he had created, not looking me in the eye. He was pretty good at making situations uncomfortable. “Just wanted to say thanks.” He mumbled. “My lecturer looked like he was going to pass out when he first saw them. But then came up to me at the end of the lecture, saying they’re his favourite ones this year. So... Yeah. Thanks.” I was super proud of myself; probably too proud of myself. I kind of started taking credit for all of it. I started to ignore the fact it was Harry who had taken the amazing photos and I gave myself all the glory. “You’re welcome.” “Good move, Pip-Squeak.” He smirked arrogantly as he shut the door again, and I cursed loud to myself, knowing he just had to get that stupid name in, just to piss me off, just to make sure it hadn’t been an entirely positive interaction. I blew a raspberry again as I completed my look for the evening, shaking my head at him. I knew he was going to be tagging along with us that night, since he had actually started making an effort with everyone instead of predicting whatever we did wasn’t his scene, much to my dismay. But I figured after that afternoons blip, we could easily go back to staying out of one another’s way. At least that was the hope. I raised to my feet and tugged down on my Arctic Monkeys t-shirt, figuring the band T and denim shorts was a good look for a small gig. I tugged on my door handle, swinging it open to see someone stood with their fist clenched in the air, waiting to knock. Louis. “Hi.” I breathed uneasily. “Alright.” He greeted. “What-” “Zayn invited me to tag along tonight.” Reminder to hug Zayn and tell him how fantastic he is later. I couldn’t help but grin, which I hated because he could probably see how happy I was to have him there, and that was not good because my main aim with Louis was to learn how to flirt, and become slightly alluring. It was pretty hard to do that when the muscles in my face wanted to prove the pure glee I was feeling thanks to the fact I would be able to see his face all evening. “Good.” I lowered my face down to the floor so he couldn’t see. “You wanna go?” He asked kindly. “Yeah, I just need to ring a taxi.” “I’m gunna drive, it’s all good.” “Oh. I didn’t know you drove!” “You don’t know much about me. Yet.” Louis had probably taken some sort of masterclass in flirting at some point in his life because bloody hell, he was good at it. I steadily stepped out of my room, locking it behind me, only because I had been the victim of leaving it open before and the rest of those bellends throwing twelve packets of plastic forks all over the place. Idiots. “C’MON TROOPS, LETS GO!” Louis yelled. Pretty quickly, everyone retreated from their rooms, all being wise enough to lock up too. Tally looked beautiful, dressed for a night out rather than a gig, but she looked fantastic because of it. Mike looked... Tall. Harry’s outfit was simple, a white t-shirt and black jeans, but the black hat on his head seemed to complete the look. Zayn looked amazing, as always, the sleeves cut off his T, docs and skinny jeans. Louis was the best though. Never before has one person suited a denim jacket the way he did. “One sec.” I mumbled. I jogged up to Ringo’s door and knocked a few times, half expecting to be ignored, but happy when she popped her head out of the gap. “What’s up?” She asked shyly. “We’re going to a gig tonight. Do you wanna come?” She glanced down the hall and saw everyone waiting to hear her answer, giving her encouraging smiles. But I think it made it worse. “No, thank you.” “Okay, well if you change your-” Before I could even finish my sentence she’d shut the door in my face. I looked down to everyone, spotting Louis close to bursting straight away. ”Well she was rude!” He chortled. I shook my head, feeling disappointed, and nothing more was said about it. We all walked out, unfortunately opting for the stairs this time, hurrying downwards. We were all in pretty high spirits, because it was nice to be doing something a little different, rather than just going out and getting wasted. Even so, I was sure drinking would still be involved. Louis stayed close to me as walked over to the car-park, nudging me with his arm once so he could get my attention, but all he did was give me smile, with low eyes. I blushed down to the floor as soon as I could. Louis unlocked his car as we all neared it, and I was not the first to notice how tiny it was. “How the hell are we all going to get in there, Tommo?” Zayn huffed. “Well you either get a lift, or you walk. So, squish in.” Louis shrugged. “SHOTGUN!” Zayn yelled too quickly. “Fuck sake.” Mike mumbled. “Alright, guys, enjoy getting in the back with a six-foot-five guy.” All at once, we stopped outside the car, and shot Zayn a really dirty look, kind of saying, c’mon, let that giant get in the front. Zayn gave Mike a demon gaze, sad he was going to have to squish in the back with us, but he accepted it, nudging his head towards the front door. “YES!” Mike celebrated. “Have fun in the back, losers.” Louis and Mike clambered in the front as the rest of us stood debating the best way to go about getting in the back. Louis’ car was excruciatingly tiny; there probably wasn’t even enough room to cram three people in there, never mind four. “Who’s the smallest?” Zayn asked. “Pip-Squeak.” Harry answered instantly. ”Fuck off!” I spat. “Alright, you’re going on someone’s knee.” Zayn nodded. “Well it’s definitely going to be yours, Malik.” “For fuck sake. Okay.” We walked around to the other side of the car as Tally got in and Harry followed. Zayn got in on our side, and we quickly realised that we couldn’t even have Tally in the middle, there was no way it was going to happen. “Alright, Tally. On my knee you go.” Harry smirked. He was probably relatively happy about that, especially thanks to her short dress. All I can say is that he definitely didn’t seem distressed by the new state of affairs. So there we all were as the car pulled out; Louis and Mike snug in the front, Tally on Harry’s knee and me on Zayn’s, bending forward a little so our heads didn’t crash against the roof. Mike turned around and eyed us all up, smug as anything. “Well, don’t you guys look comfortable.” “Fuck off.” I seethed. “I’m actually loving it.” Harry twiddled his eyebrows. ”Harry!” Tally squealed, giggling and wriggling. I turned and gave Zayn and alarmed look, because they were definitely flirting. I was no expert, but nor was I blind. Zayn gave me the same look, spotting the same thing. I had no idea what Harry was like when it came to sleeping with girls, even though I could take a good guess, but I knew Tally was all for sleeping with anyone she wanted, and she did it often. I couldn’t help but predict how their night was going to end. “How come you have a car?” Mike asked Louis. “Isn’t it a waste of money, being a student?” “I drive home most weekends, so it’s handy. My mum chips to with petrol.” “What about your dad?” Harry asked. “Haven’t seen him since I was three, so it would be weird if he gave me petrol money.” Louis laughed it off. Harry glanced to me, which I knew he would, so I looked right back, my face incredibly low, waiting for his snotty comment. “Look at that, Pip-Squeak, another fucked up family to add to the list.” Before I even had the chance to argue back with him, which I was more than willing to do, especially since he was seeming to ignore the deal we had come up with, Louis took my chance away from me. “OI!” He yelled, glancing at Harry in the rear-view mirror. “Just ‘cause my dad isn’t around, doesn’t mean my family is fucked up, mate. She never needed a man to create a family for me and my brother. We’re a better family without him. So don’t say we’re fucked up. It would be more fucked up if he was around.” The more I saw of Louis, the more I liked him. I smirked to myself in the back of the car as Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. Even though Louis was more proof of the argument Harry put forward about families, it didn’t mean the family that Louis had wasn’t strong and brilliant in its own way. I felt happy for Louis, being able to acknowledge and embrace that. Conversation remained pretty low until we finally arrived at the venue, awkwardly climbing out of the tiny vehicle. I’d never been in Jax before, but I was excited to pay my first visit. I’d heard people speak about it, but it seemed more of a place where third year students went. I felt like we were all going to look pretty young in there. But it wasn’t the case. I was expecting turned up noses when we went in, but it wasn’t what we got. Everyone was kind and nice and it only got me more excited. It seemed like quite a mature joint, the perfect place for a gig. There were giant framed pictures of famous British singers on the walls, like Morrissey and Mick Jagger. It was sick. “You want a drink?” Louis asked me. “If you don’t mind.” I blushed, again. “My pleasure. Anything goes?” “Anything goes.” I confirmed. He scurried over to the bar as I turned to the stage, and saw Ed coming out from behind a thick black curtain. Just as I was about to excitedly jog over to him, in the hope of introducing him to everyone, I heard Harry say something which made my stomach drop. “Oh shit!” He cried, like he recognized him. “Oh shit!” Ed pointed, and I knew. “Oh shit.” I mumbled grumpily as the penny dropped. Before Ed even acknowledged me, he ran over and to Harry and the two of them hugged each other tight, like a proper embrace, both grinning and stupidly happy. “No way, man!” Ed beamed as he pulled out of the hug. “I thought you were going to London for uni?” “I had a change of heart. I completely forgot you said you were coming here!” I took a few steps closer, needing to find out what the hell was going on and why yet another one of my friends was fond of this total twat. “What’s going on here?” I interrupted their reunion. “Pip! You came!” “Do you two know each other?” I asked. “Yeah. Do you two know each other?” He lowered his brows. “Unfortunately, I have to live with him.” “NO WAY! Me and Harry met each other over summer in Ibiza!” I gave a fake smile and a nod, pretending this was great news and I was absolutely thrilled the two of them were mates, but that definitely wasn’t the case. It also just made me think that Harry was actually nice with other people, just not with me. I knew we weren’t exactly compatible, everything he did annoyed me and everything I did drove him mad, but I found myself confused how he got on with literally all my friends, but not me. Even bloody Ed. “Well. I’ll leave you both to it then...” They basically ignored me as I wandered over to the rest of the gang, spotting Tally eyeing Harry up from behind, and I rolled my eyes. It was the makings for an interesting evening. + + + Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones played, and Zayn, Ed and Louis were all in the middle, doing the greatest kind of Northern Soul dancing they possibly could. They were throwing all the shapes, and to be fair, they looked pretty cool. Especially Zayn. I had to roll my eyes at Tally pulling on Harry’s t-shirt and taking the hat off his head and putting it on her own. “Eww.” I grimaced to myself. They had been like that all evening. I doubted they even listened to Ed play. He was amazing, which had been a massive weight off my shoulders, because when I smothered him with compliments once the gig was over, not one of them was a lie. Everyone in the centre cheered as the song came to an epic close, to be quickly followed by Love Really Hurts Without You, and they all started going mad again. Zayn danced his way over to me, a cheeky look on his face. “Come dance, Pippa.” “Eurgh.” “What’s up with you?” He came to a standstill. “I can’t do Northern Soul dancing.” ”No one can, really. That’s the beauty of the dance.” “Suppose.” I murmured. “Is it ‘cause you’re scared ‘cause you know Louis is going to try and kiss you?” He asked, I cringed. “I KNEW IT!” “He’s well out of my league, Zayn. Like, twenty million miles out of my league.” “But he wants to kiss you. And you want to kiss him. So... like... I don’t know why you’re not over there just doing it?” It was a fair question. I glanced over Zayn’s shoulder to see Louis looking our way, and I had to wonder what the hell I was doing stood alone like a total pillock when he was over there literally waiting for me attach my lips to his. To be honest, I think it was the thought of kissing someone sober. It had been a long time, and even though I was a few drinks in, I definitely wasn’t drunk. But I decided to get over myself, and get over there. Honestly, I did the dad dance over to the dancefloor. It was awful. The mere memory makes me want to slap myself. I scooted on over, clicking my fingers, getting more and more into it as I got into the centre, and even though Zayn was behind me, I could feel that fact that he was cringing on my behalf. I tried to get my Northern Soul groove on, staying close to Louis. He grinned with his bottom lip trapped in his teeth, moving freely along to the music, grabbing hold of one of my hands so I could move with him. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he nodded behind me. I turned around to see Tally and Harry, finally after a long evenings work, with their tongues stuck down each other’s throats. I turned back to Louis. “Bloody hell.” I groaned. “Wanna give it a try?” My face dropped and I stood completely still, not saying or doing anything, just looking onto him with the most distressed look on my face. Thankfully, he didn’t cower away with fear, which he probably should have done, he just laughed, taking one calm step to close the gap before placing his hands on the back of my head, tangled in my hair, and kissing me, soft and lovely and just about enough to make me forgot that legs were even a thing. + + + I bent down as Louis wound down his window, the rest of the idiots already running back to our flat at the end of a good night. He remained in the front seat, giving me another quick peck to the lips. “You wanna come in?” I asked nervously. I hadn’t had sex with anyone since I started uni. There had been one guy, Finn, who had spent the night in my bed, and there had been kisses and wandering hands and maybe a little blowjob (which he praised me highly for) but that was it. Judging by how fantastic the kisses were, and how much I needed sex, this seemed like a smart move. But I soon realised, the embarrassment I should have felt asking the question, was about to hit me face first thanks to the rejection. “I’d love to but... it’s probably not the best idea. Another time, alright?” “Oh. Okay.” I was just about to run away and hide under a rock somewhere before he pulled me back in for another intense kiss, and I really wanted to pounce on him even though he had just slapped my offer of sex right in my face. I pulled away a little breathlessly, giggling when Louis tapped my nose with his finger. “See you soon.” I smiled. “Very soon.” I began jogging away, unable to ignore how cold the night was, before I realised I had another question I really wanted to ask him. “Shit!” I cried, before jogging back. “I forgot to ask. Y’know that guy? The one who Harry beat up? In your building?” “Yeah?” “How bad was it?” I could tell he was confused why I was asking about that, but he did eventually answer the question. “It was... bad. Really bad. I mean, I know the guy, he’s a prick... but, I heard he had a broken nose and a couple of teeth missing. I saw him a few weeks after and his face was a mess.” “When did it happen?” The more I was hearing, the more confused I was. “In like... the first week or so.” “How come Harry only moved into ours last week then?” “I know the guy wanted to take it to court. Apparently, Harry threatened him, so he dropped it. Did manage to get him kicked out though.” Louis informed me. I knew my impressions of Harry were right. It seemed I was the only one who could see it, but I knew in myself and that was enough. The guy was bad, through and through. I needed to do more than stay away from him, I needed to make sure he never got to the point where he could hurt one of my friends. “Alright.” I groaned. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” Our hands slipped from one another as I ran back to our flat, hating the thought of Harry with Tally but knowing I could hardly go in and break them up. I was just scared that Harry had this side where he could flip at people for no reason and hurt them. I had seen it once, and I didn’t want to see it again. I ran up the stairs, ignoring the elevator, feeling far too awake and fired up, and pushed through our door. “Oh god! Really?” I squealed as soon as I opened the door. Harry had Tally up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, both of them just about stopping as I stood trying not to throw up. Tally dropped to the floor and Harry unlocked his bedroom door, slapping her arse as she slipped inside. But for some reason, he stayed out in the hall with me. “Jealous?” He cocked his eyebrows. “Are you fucking kidding?” I spat, moving to unlock my door. “You’re horrific.” “I mean about the fact I’m gunna get laid. And your pal Louis is nowhere in sight.” “I thought we were going to leave each other alone?” “I was just asking.” ”Yeah well, don’t.” “You sure you don’t want a threesome?” He continued to wind me up. “You are literally the most disgusting person I know.” I stormed into my bedroom and locked the door behind myself, wanting to scream and yell and possibly hit him, so I just threw myself under the sheets and tucked them over my head and screamed into my pillow. And for around half an hour, I had to cope with the noises coming from the room next door. I squirmed myself to sleep.

#BB5 #okay #it's getting to the points of the story #I think #where things pick up #send thoughts and all that #thank you #1dff #Harry Styles

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chuckadams · 5 years ago

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The Fierce and Beautiful World: A Requiem for a Year

And now let us gather round the hearth—or whatever it is we consider a hearth in this day and age, be it a wood-stove (you lucky bums) or the soft glow of a smartphone screen—let us gather and dive into yet another of my long-winded rants and raves about the past year. For it has been a doozy. Is that the right word? Can a doozy capture both the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows? Is there a better word? I have already googled “best word to describe a year of ups and downs” and google cannot adequately give answers.

Because there are no answers.

Last year I wrote that there are only “arcs and circuits and feedback loops, and they are always bending and flowing. Gaining and losing. Seeking a balance, that will never be perfect or purely balanced.” 2019 was the year that proved it.

SRI LANKA NEW YEAR

On the first day of 2019 I woke up in Bucharest after a long sleep, interrupted briefly by midnight fireworks in the piazza down the street. I had just returned from a two-week trip to Sri Lanka, which, if nothing else, allowed me time to reflect and consider where I was going. I had just begun dating Ani, an Armenian-born Russian citizen, earlier that fall, and she was back home in Russia for the holidays.

One year later, I will read this, from a book gifted to me by my brother: “I will find my way into new country that beckons me to take unexpected risks, which turn out not to be risks at all, but the next step.” And I realize this was what 2019, and pretty much all of the past decade, has been about. Unexpected risks turning into next steps.

In Sri Lanka, I sat on a beach and watched a daughter excitedly frolic in the waves with her dad, and I thought, Wouldn’t that be nice, too? I took surf lessons (“I need to impress my surfing girlfriend,” I told my instructor). I sat on a flat wooden raft and was pushed across a lake by a silent boatman, while I spied elephants on the far shore with my binoculars, tuning in to the steady splashes of water against the hull. I leaned out from the open door on a jungle train as it chugged through tea fields in the highlands from Ella to Kandy to Colombo, listening to a soundtrack of indie rock music on my mp3 player.

I read, months later, about the terrorist attacks in Colombo and thought about the wonderful people I had met who would likely suffer from less income this year.

THE TROUBLE WITH ONLINE DATING

“Everything, even the weather, becomes a communication, or even a critical comment, on one’s relationship with things, phenomena, persons, etc.” I wrote that last year. It seems sad to admit, but the biggest comment about my newfound relationship with Ani came when I deleted all of my dating apps on my phone. Not days after I met her, nor even weeks. It took months. Months of internal conflict that culminated in what, for me, was a small victory for the soul.

Online dating apps have been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, they have allowed an introvert like me to actually have a dating life. I recall, back in 2007, when I was suddenly single after a long relationship, how difficult it was to date. I didn’t even have the Internet at my house in Eugene, Oregon; no Wi-Fi, and definitely no smartphone; I got 8 hours of screen-time per day at my job, and that was plenty for me, thank you. Dating in 2007 was like the Stone Ages compared to today, where you had to physically go out and “bump” into strangers, or just wait until strangers fell into your orbit.

I’m not really the kind of person who talks to strangers at bars (at least not in bars in my home country), so I let people drift into and out of my life like those deer who show up in your front yard, eating your clover, and then move on down the street. I was that kind of deer, too. A feral browser, moving to and fro, with no rhyme or reason.

And then, around mid-2016, voila! an endless scroll of possibilities with dating apps, whilst living in ever larger cities of Portland, and then Bucharest. But I noticed something: the “endless possibilities” became, for me, antithetical to actual committed relationships. I remember going on a few dates with women, who were, on balance, worth spending my time and energy with, but that energy was instead spent scrolling through the endless possibilities still out there. It was like I was living through some bizarro world version of my college art film, “Hunting Love.” I had become a hunter-gatherer, and yet I wanted to be a farmer. These apps had turned me into a hypocritical monster. With so much wild game at my fingertips, there really was no rational reason to switch to cultivating a sustainable life with another person. I had resigned myself to eternal bachelorhood, and I was becoming more and more okay with this.

Then I met Ani.

And isn’t this how it typically happens? Someone defies all of your expectations, catching you unaware?

With Ani, our courtship (and yes, I insist on using that old-fashioned term) developed over the course of months, not days. It was like a tree that needed to grow a few rings of thickness before it knew it was something of substance. In the past, I would have looked at the seed, imagining I saw a tree, prematurely. Often I would have planted anew before even giving it a chance to grow.

For me, the seed became a tree when we both took a weekend trip to the Black Sea coast in late January 2019, a full 2.5 months after we met. We got a deal on a room at one of the few seaside resorts still open in the dead of winter, one that had an indoor pool and a sauna. That evening, before dinner, we took a stroll along a desolate stretch of beach. It was dusky, cold, and a light rain fell, coating us in those fine white dots of spray. I remember thinking, “There are only so many people on this Earth who would actually enjoy what we are doing right now. I mean, it stinks like dying fish on this beach, and it’s bloody cold, and there is nobody else around here except us.” But we got closer, for warmth, and it was obvious I was not asking too much of her to be here with me.

Later, in the spring, we took a weekend road trip to the far western part of Romania to scout a location for a school trip. Then, for a week we road-tripped through Bulgaria, with the highlight being some wild camping on a beach near the border with Turkey. Again, I came back from these trips pinching myself.

ADDRESSING THE ISSUE OF CHILDREN IN WAR ZONES

In the midst of all this, I continued to teach at the American International School of Bucharest, surrounded by intrepid and exasperating students, as well as adventurous colleagues.

For example, there was that wonderful week in February spent in Sweden with colleagues. We walked around Stockholm, then spent a solid few days cross-country skiing and soaking in hot tubs in Funasdalen, in the central-west mountains near the border with Norway. Mmmhmmmm, just what was needed in the middle of winter.

I also took on a new challenge this year, namely that I coached the middle school’s Model United Nations (MUN) for the winter season. We had a group of 8 students, all quirky in their own ways, who got practice in debating, resolution writing, and the fine art of lobbying. I’ll admit that I probably would not have been interested in MUN when I was a middle schooler, nor as a high schooler. It does seem to favor those who like to hear themselves talk, though it certainly attracts those with a desperate need for social skills practice. However, I liked that this was a group that actually enjoyed discussing worldly topics, like the role of NGOs in developing countries, or the role that religion plays in national politics. I was most comfortable when I could just assume the Humanities teacher role and guide students to a well-written and researched resolution addressing the issue of children living in war zones. We had a local, on-campus MUN conference in March, and then traveled to a MUN conference in Budapest, Hungary. The big news I wish to share is that, for the first time in my life, I bought a suit. Apparently MUN participants must dress the part, and their coaches must follow suit, literally. So there’s that. A small but significant change. Ka-ching.

THE POETRY OF BONFIRES

After MUN season wrapped up in early April, I got ready to lead a group of 7th and 8th graders on a trip to Port Cetate, in the far southwestern part of Romania, for a week-long creative writing and photography retreat. At my school, the 7th through 10th graders go on week-long trip in mid-May tailored to their interests. The trips ran the gamut from creative pursuits (like writing and photography), to outdoor pursuits (like rock-climbing, mountain biking, or scuba diving), to service-learning pursuits. On the trip I led, I got to teach kids about writing short, descriptive vignettes, as well as how to take photos manually using a DSL film camera (using my old Canon AE-1). It blew their minds that they would have to wait 2-4 weeks to see the fruits of their photography, most of which turned out slightly out of focus. Above all, I won’t forget the last day we had with the students, when we had a bonfire on the banks of the Danube River, looking across to Bulgaria. We had an impromptu dance party, which is probably the most memorable poetry these kids will remember a few years from now.

When we returned from this trip, I headed straight to the airport, to fly to Portugal to meet Ani in Sagres, where we spent two days surfing, eating amazing meals, swinging in hammocks, and hanging with her surf camp friends. We spent one sunset overlooking what can only be described as “the end of the world.” And others describe it this way, too. Sagres is the extreme southwestern point of the European continent. (It is at this spot that we hope to perform a small but special ceremony in June 2020.) Later, we drove north to spend a day in Lisbon, a wonderful city well worth the time and energy spent exploring its nooks and crannies.

SUMMER OF HANG TIME

After that, time moved swiftly. The school year ended, and my summer break began. This summer I would not be charting something so adventurous as the previous summer’s month-long bike tour of the Balkans. No, this summer the theme was Hang Out with Friends and Family, and Renew Relationships. I think this summer epitomized what I wrote last year about optima:

“Optima means there is no single variable which should be maximized over any other single variable: period. This is the practice of stability, of optimization; an oscillation of gain and loss; the practice of diversity; the spirit of community.”

What this meant, in practical terms, is that my legs and lungs probably got less exercise this summer, but I was exercising something else, perhaps less physical, but no less important.

I spent quality time with friends and former professors in Laramie, Wyoming; a week with my brother Jonah and family in Colorado; a road trip across Hwy 50, the “loneliest road,” from Utah to Oregon, with my brother Phil; a family reunion in Astoria with my niece, Skye, and her fiancé, driving in from San Diego, as well as my sister, Elisha, and her boyfriend, Joe, flying in from Chicago, essentially to celebrate my return from abroad, as well as my niece’s recent engagement.

At first I anticipated this reunion with trepidation, as Elisha has a knack for returning to Astoria with hurricane force winds, knocking down everyone in her path of verbal volleys, usually snarky but occasionally biting. That being said, I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, for a variety of reasons, and I realized, after she arrived, in full hurricane mode, and saw her interactions with everyone, that I missed her. Her boyfriend, Joe, was sporting a mohawk and pounding down the local craft beers I was offering. Uh-oh, I thought. Maybe I should have mentioned these were 6% ABU? Somehow we all made it up to the Astoria Column for the sunset.

I remember waking up the next morning and seeing that nobody was taking action to make anything special for breakfast. Such lazy bums, I thought. Then I remembered that I was an adult now...it only took me 36 years to figure that out...and that if I wanted pancakes for breakfast, I had to make them myself. So I got out all the ingredients and I started churning out what we call “big pancakes” in my house, and which are called Swedish pancakes, or French crepes, elsewhere. Sure, there were arguments about whether my dad’s cherry jam would or would not cause food poisoning...arguments over the absurdity of my brother running out and buying three large jars of high fructose corn syrup jelly…but those arguments came from the parents. I remember that Elisha and Joe were grateful for my sweat over the stovetop.

This, I choose to remember.

RECONNECTIONS

Later, once my extended family came and went, I focused on hanging with my parents, and spending time with friends in Astoria and Portland. On this trip alone, I met at least nine brand new humans under the age of two, such is the state of mid-30s life. At some point, I remember briefly thinking, “I miss the freedom of my bike tour of the previous summer, where every day I packed up my panniers and cast off on another journey to another new town.” Then I remember thinking, “Well, but this is nice. To reconnect and restore relationships...moreover, to have the blessing of time off in the summer months to do such a thing, is priceless. There will always be time for adventures; there is not always time to just hang out, however brief, and catch up on life.”

Indeed, I even got to spend a few hours with Ngaoi, a friend I met back when I was volunteering on a farm in New Zealand in 2010. She was the best friend of our hosts, and would come over often to hang out and help us in the hydroponic lettuce greenhouses. My ex-girlfriend, Rachel, and I secretly wanted to adopt her as our daughter (we were in our late 20s; she was in her late teens). Zoom ahead a decade, and she was visiting her current boyfriend, an American she met in New Zealand, but who happened to live in Beaverton, Oregon. They both made a weekend trip to Astoria, and I introduced them to the Blue Scorcher’s coffee and we browsed a “flea market” at a local church.

The sun races around the galaxy; the Earth sprints to keep up with it in gravitational orbits; and we always make our returns back to our origins to begin again.

THE ORIGIN OF LOVE

When I flew back to Romania, Ani had moved into my apartment in downtown Bucharest. We had planned on it before I left, but still it was a bit of a shock to see all her belongings in place, the decor slightly personalized to her likings. I didn’t mind it at all. Moreover, it was an important milestone, a difference that made a difference.

When you are 22, you have your whole life ahead of you, and, even if you’re certain about a thing, can take your time to get around to ascertaining it. Well, when you’re 36, and you are certain about a thing, there is no practical use in waiting to ascertaining it. You take hold of it and don’t let it go.

Thus, by mid-October, while we Ani and I were on vacation in Greece, on the island of Crete, on a stretch of beach we had all to ourselves, as the sun hung low on the horizon, I proposed.

The engagement ring has the words “origo amare” engraved on the inside of the band, an allusion to our first meeting at a coffee shop named Origo. The Latin phrase means, “The origin of love.” It seems ironic, I know, that the origin of love could be instigated by a few messages sent back and forth on Internations, a social media site for expatriates, followed by a meeting for coffee. There was no love at first sight. In fact, it took a month before we exchanged our first kiss. But every slow burn needs its spark.

Our spark came when I asked if Ani would show me how to use her longboard, which she had in the trunk of her car parked a block away. As we walked to the concrete slab, she pushed me from behind to see which foot was more dominant. It was just a test, but later, she told me, “You felt so warm.” Perhaps the body knows things before the brain does. Life is a mystery, and I want to hold onto that mystery, because there is no reason we should have met each other, growing up on opposite sides of the world, to meet under such particular circumstances. That spark led to another meeting, and then another...

So it goes.

One year later we were engaged. Unlike most other times in my life, there is no inner conflict, no hesitation. Sure, there are “What if…?” lines of inquiry, as per usual. But the one line of inquiry that sets me straight is the one that goes, “What if I had never met Ani?” It sets me straight because I know the answer to that one: I would be writing this end-of-year review as per usual, likely on a tropical beach somewhere, likely alone, and happy enough, because I am perfectly fine enjoying my own company (and the company of books), and I would be describing some incredible moments from the past year.

But I would not be describing what I suppose I’m describing now: a change in trajectory, a revolution of priorities. Without Ani I would have been happy; with Ani I know I will be happier.

OF LOGISTICS AND A DOG BITE

So the year beat on. In November, I brought my cross country team to the championships in Kiev, Ukraine, and got bit by an unclaimed dog in the middle of the coaches race. Spent my November getting injections of rabies vaccine by a no-nonsense nurse at the Anti-Rabic Clinic here in the city.

We enjoyed a three-day weekend at the end of November in Milan, Italy, visiting with an old friend and taking engagement photos with an iPhone X. I celebrated my 37th birthday on a rare sunny day in Milan, eating turkey at a belated Thanksgiving Day feast.

Throughout the fall, Ani and I spent many an evening planning the logistics of when and where we would get married in Romania (in front of the legal authorities) and in Sagres, Portugal (in front of family), as well as the insane amount of bureaucratic paperwork needed to fulfill the requirements here in Romania.

Ani and I have no plans to return to the United States to “settle down.” We met as global citizens of the world, and we intend to stay that way, at least for the time being. As of today, I have spent a little over 5 years of my adult life living abroad, in places all over the world. I feel at home in the world now, and building a cross-cultural, multi-lingual family seems to be my ultimate fate, happily.

THE REBALANCING OF HIGH & LOW

Well, so much for the highs. Sometime in September, I thought, “I’ve been lucky so far, because I have only lost my grandparents, and that was long ago. But...it’s only a matter of time.” And that time came in early October, with the passing of my Uncle Remi. He was 76 years old. My parents flew to Chicago to attend his funeral, as well as take care of his final arrangements. He was living in his family home at the time, and now that house, which had been in my family’s possession for over 70 years, will be up for sale.

Then, on the evening of December 7th, I got a call from my brother. I was in the middle of my school’s holiday party, at the Marriott Hotel, when he told me our sister had passed away. She was 47 years old. At one point, he mentioned that we knew this moment would come eventually, and I knew what he meant. In 2011 she had nearly died as a result of a critical MRSA infection. At that time I was in a far remote corner of Ethiopia, and the power and Internet was cut. My family was rushing to the hospital in Chicago, and I was rushing to catch a bus to somewhere with a phone signal. She miraculously recovered from that scary episode, and so I like to think that she was blessed with eight more years of life. Eight more years to make memories with her daughter, and to see her daughter get married on a beach in Hawaii this past October, so happy and joyful.

After the news, I sucked it in as best as I could and went to work for three more days. Some colleagues wondered why I was at work. Where else would I be, I thought, on the couch moping? No, it was better to see the faces of my students, to let them know what happened, so they saw me as a frail human. And they were so kind about it. About seven students from my 6th grade English class even surprised me with kind notes attached to my door, reminding me of the spirit of giving and generosity in our darkest month of December.

I flew to Chicago on a Thursday, arriving late, hosted by my cousin Jeremy. Despite the circumstances, it was satisfying to catch up with some of my family still living in Chicago, such as my cousins Jeremy, Harmony, Mike, and uncles Steve, Ben, and John, and aunts Linda, Pam, and Kathy. As well, meeting my cousins’ tiny children for the first time was a diamond in the rough.

The night before the funeral, my brother Jonah, his wife LuAnne, and my brother Phil, all of whom just arrived by air, picked me up from my cousin’s house. We congregated at the Hampton Inn, in Lisle, Illinois, where several folks were staying for the weekend, to put together three large photo-collages that would be displayed at the funeral. Elisha’s step-sister, Melissa, had collected arts and crafts supplies from the daycare she runs, and we all got to work, including my niece Skye and her husband, David. Together, we all did our best to piece together Elisha’s life from images collected from several sources across the ages. It was hard not to dwell too long on this treasure trove of images, some of which we had never seen until now, and before too long it was nearly midnight.

What is there to say about funerals? Are they really for the deceased? Or are they for the living?

As family and friends came together at the funeral home for a two-hour moment in time, we paid our respects to Elisha, and we paid our respects to each other. I met people for the first time, and I reunited with people I had only met once, long ago. The photo-collages were beautiful, but it was the photo album that my Uncle Steve brought—ones that held Elisha’s baby photos, when she ran and frolicked on the farms and coastal beaches of Oregon—that choked me up the most.

Every time I got near my sister’s urn I choked back tears. Stupid as it sounds, because I didn’t have any tissue on hand, I stifled the tears. But when the funeral parlor director came out to ask everyone to take a seat, or take a knee, while he said a prayer, I found some tissues, and the tears burst forth.

Then he asked everyone except the immediate family to walk past the urn and pay their final respects. I did not, could not, look up. More tears.

Then he asked the immediate family to come forward. We made a half-circle in front of the urn, in all its rainbow-hued splendor, reflecting my sister’s colorful character, sitting there amidst the expensive floral arrangement paid for by my Uncle Steve (“For these types of things you call the professionals”). More tears from me—and the funeral director told what amounted to an anecdote about his own mother’s passing as a way to lighten the mood. Later, Jonah would ask, “You think he tells the same story at every funeral?”

He probably does tell the same story. Because it’s always the same story. Loss is loss. Grief is grief. He can tell us all about how it will only be “a little while—hopefully not too soon! (haha)” before we see our loved one again in the metaphysical afterlife, but, believers or non-believers, it does not take away the pain of the present moment.

Even so, the funeral was over, and it was time to pack up the cars full of flowers and photo albums and an urn, and head over to Q’s for the reception, where the menu was Italian-American to the max, including what my vegetarian brother described, accurately, as a “meat salad.”

The remainder of the days in Chicago were for hanging out. Being together. One-by-one, people flew home, and I stayed until Tuesday so that this “hanging out” would not be rushed. My cousin Jeremy took Friday and Monday off work, as far as I could tell, just to hang out with me. In many ways, this trip was an extension of my summer trip back to the U.S. No matter how far I fling myself out in the world, the Great Magnet always reels me in, back to Chicago, back to Oregon, back to the Rocky Mountain West, back to the Pacific Ocean, back to Doug fir trees, sand dunes, and the coastal river valleys, where campfire smoke always drifts downwind, and where an ageless youth laughs out loud, in a cackle, at the glee and sheer terror of catching a crawdad.

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

The final half of December I spent with Ani as we celebrated the Christmas spirit at three locations throughout Transylvania, in Romania, each place unique. The first place, Sinaia, is known for its mountain peaks on all sides. We intended to go skiing, but the snow report stunk, so we went hiking instead. Then we moved on to Cund, a small, quiet village in what is known as the Saxon part of Romania, a place with a strong German heritage, and fortified churches. We sat by a roasting wood-stove, watched movies, and went on a meandering ridge-line hike in the mist. Finally we moved on to Sibiu, a small city that resembles a storybook German village than anything you typically find in Romania. They have one of the largest Christmas Markets in Eastern Europe, and it is exquisitely framed by a picture-postcard square, with buildings that have droopy eyelid windows in the roof, so it looks like you are being watched.

And, who knows, maybe we are being watched over.

There is much to be thankful for in the year 2019. For me, a solid job I am passionate about, a fiancée who sticks by my side through thick and thin, and the good health to still run my legs through the forest at a fast speed, rabid dogs notwithstanding.

There is so much to look forward to in 2020, up to and including:

In February, travel to Ethiopia, with a group of five other colleagues

In March, Ani’s cousin’s wedding, in Togliatti, Russia

In April, travel to Armenia, to visit my newly adopted motherland

In June, our family wedding in Sagres, Portugal

In July, a possible bike tour :))

I welcome this new decade, like a new chapter, with open arms.

#2020 #letter #2019 #reflection on a year #requiem #longread

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