#runner up: how people act AFTER seizing
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me0wnz73r · 11 months ago
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All the people who actually do research on seizures and what to do if someone is having a seizure before putting it in their mh fanfics are going to heaven btw. Just because I said so.
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kateandthediamonds · 3 years ago
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Prince William writes a joint opinion article on UsaToday with Mike Bloomberg on climate change: “We're in a race to save Earth from climate change”
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President John F. Kennedy’s Moon Shot called upon Americans to meet "an hour of change and challenge" by putting a man on the moon by the end of the 1960s. His speech and the space program it launched united millions of people around a highly ambitious goal, and it inspired a generation of scientists and engineers, who accelerated our technological progress and helped propel us toward an era of extraterrestrial travel.
An hour of change and challenge is upon us again, but this time the question isn’t whether we can reach the moon. It’s whether we can save the Earth.
The environmental devastation we are witnessing – including record-breaking temperatures across the world; wildfires in the American West, Turkey and Greece; historic flooding in Western Europe, the East Coast of the United States and Central China; and the drought-driven famines in East Africa – is larger than what was feared possible even a year ago.
For so many, simply breathing air and drinking water is now a health hazard. Many others have seen their food supplies grow scarce and their livelihoods threatened by disruptions to the climate, including in the ocean.
The science tells us that this is the decade to act – and that waiting is not an option. Without bold and decisive action, future generations will look back and ask: How could they advance so far in space while leaving their own planet – and their own communities – so vulnerable?
We must meet this moment with the optimistic spirit of President Kennedy’s Moon Shot. To promote that goal, one of us (Prince William) established The Earthshot Prize, a global effort to find and celebrate solutions to the world's greatest environmental challenges over the next 10 years.
A great list of founding partners have signed on to help sustain and promote the prize, including the Bezos Earth Fund, Bloomberg Philanthropies, the Jack Ma Foundation and the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation.
It is a new call to action to the world: to unleash and support a new generation of invention, innovation and entrepreneurship propelled by a shared sense of urgency to address the crisis at hand and optimism that humanity can achieve seemingly insurmountable goals.
In November, The Earthshot Prize began a global search for 15 ground-breaking innovations aimed at achieving five goals: protecting and restoring nature, cleaning our air, reviving our oceans, building a waste-free world and fixing our climate.
Guided by experts around the world and an esteemed Prize Council, we have uncovered a wealth of immensely promising and inspiring work being done by individuals, governments, grassroots organizations and businesses.
Climate change is real. So are the solutions.
We see an incredible new global wave of innovators and entrepreneurs turning crises into opportunities, developing breakthrough solutions that can regenerate our planet while stimulating livelihoods. It’s an unseen movement that we are determined will become a powerful engine behind a new growth economy, and a new, better way of life for all.
The Earthshot Prize will award five, 1 million-pound ($1.37 million U.S. dollars) prizes each year for the next 10 years to these inspiring innovators and pioneers, providing at least 50 solutions to the world’s greatest environmental problems by 2030.
Next month, in London, we will announce the inaugural five winners. Alongside the runners-up, they will also receive support from a growing global alliance of investors and like-minded organizations in the public, private and nonprofit sectors who will look for and seize opportunities to increase the impact of each of the solutions. Every partner will add value. Working with urgent optimism, we will catalyze innovation and scale truly groundbreaking solutions.
The race to put a man on the moon created new jobs, launched new companies and spurred technological innovations that have spread and improved lives all over the planet – long after the Moon Shot mission had been completed.
The race to defeat climate change and protect the environment will be no different. The same steps that advance technology and cut carbon pollution also create jobs in new industries, while protecting public health and the natural resources we all depend on – changes that will benefit generations to come.
One of the most poignant moments of the Moon Shot program was when astronaut William Anders, onboard Apollo 8, captured the famous Earthrise image on Christmas Eve, 1968, allowing us to see Earth from space for the first time – and to see more clearly our responsibility for protecting it.
What President Kennedy said in 1962 to Americans about the race to the moon is true today about our work to regenerate the planet.
"We are behind," he said. “But we do not intend to stay behind, and in this decade, we shall make up and move ahead.”
President Kennedy’s generation made up and moved ahead. Now it’s our turn.
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lokidiabolus · 4 years ago
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Last Resort - Chapter 2
Fandom: The Maze Runner
Pairing: Thomas x Newt
Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU
Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.
Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)
Can be found on Ao3.
Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c
Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.
Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)
Unbetad!
EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.
***
Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.
The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).
In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.
The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.
And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?
Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.
Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.
Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.
Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.
***
“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.
It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.
Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.
(Lots of them.)
“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.
He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.
Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…
“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”
Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.
A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?
Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).
“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”
“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.
And some fucking horny prick just took it?
Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?
Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.
“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”
“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”
Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).
“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”
“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”
“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”
“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.
“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”
“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”
“Fuck off!”
Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.
Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.
Still angry and miserable.
Still… there.
***
The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.
Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.
But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).
Not Thomas’. Not anymore.
The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.
He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?
The guy who left the mark?
Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.
Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.
Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.
Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.
“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.
“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.
“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”
Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.
Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.
“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.
Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.
***
“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.
“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.
“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”
“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”
“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”
“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.
“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”
“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.
“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”
“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.
“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.
Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.
“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”
Why the fuck is she so perceptive?
“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”
“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”
There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.
I really need some sleep.
***
Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.
He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.
The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.
“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.
“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.
“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”
“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.
And Thomas wanted too much.
***
He never stopped wanting.
He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.
He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.
He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.
He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.
Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.
Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.
Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.
Maybe… it was simply impossible.
***
Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.
The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.
“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.
“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.
“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”
“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”
“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”
Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.
Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.
And bed.
“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”
“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”
“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.
“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.
“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.
“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”
He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.
***
“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”
The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.
“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”
“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”
“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”
That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.
“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”
“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”
“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”
“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”
“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”
Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.
He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.
“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”
Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.
“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”
“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.
“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”
“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”
And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.
“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”
Overnight…?
“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.
“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”
“But-,”
“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”
The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.
“I did this?!”
“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.
“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”
“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.
“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.
“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”
“I see.”
“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”
“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.
“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”
“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.
“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.
Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.
“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”
“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”
“Sorry you had to.”
It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.
He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.
“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”
“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”
“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.
“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”
“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”
“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”
“What.”
“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”
“Uh.”
“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.
Fuck.
“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”
Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.
“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”
Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.
“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.
“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.
“About?”
“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”
“Pfff.”
He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.
“Newt.”
“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.
“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.
“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”
A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.
“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.
“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”
“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.
Seriously testing me. That’s-
“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas�� heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.
He always did. Nothing had changed.
“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.
“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.
“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”
A colleague. And nothing else?
“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.
“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”
“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”
“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”
He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.
But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.
But…
“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”
The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.
“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”
“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.
We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.
He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.
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elemental-daddy-neos · 4 years ago
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YGO! Questionnaire
Tagged by @cipher-wise
Pleasantly surprised to be in one of these, so let’s go
Favorite series: *Gestures to icon* Is it any surprise I’ll be picking GX? I love GX with all my heart and soul. The story’s pacing is very good and never feels like it’s dragging its feet to get to where it’s going, most duels are over in less than a full episode with the longest one being three, there are so many good characters to get invested in, and this boy right here is your protagonist.
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Look at him blow kisses to the audience after beating Crowler, how could anyone not love Jaden Yuki? I care him so much. Even the filler episodes in GX are pretty fun to watch most of the time, and it’s the good kind of filler that may not advance the plot much or at all, but it’ll give you plenty of good memories to take with you. Who could possibly forget the eggwich thief? Not to mention the soundtrack fucking slaps.
Favorite protagonist: I mean...
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Yeah it’s Jaden. GX hooked me immediately when I started watching it because of how much I loved this boy. He’s that perfect mix of cocky and sweet when it comes to dueling because he’s confident in his own abilities, but he never stops having fun and being amazed at what his opponent can do, he cares about all of his friends and does his best to help them with their problems, he’s kind to strangers, and he has exactly half a brain cell. 
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I feel the gif speaks for itself, but Jaden’s dialogue when he turns around here is “I’m such a sucker for things like this! I’ll help you, ma’am!” Dorothy says “No, you’ll be late... Don’t you have a test today?” And Jaden replies with “Who cares if I’m late? I couldn’t leave a lady in trouble!” Jaden Yuki is my absolute favorite protagonist.
Favorite rival: Oh man is that a tough one. Am I allowed to pick two? It’s a hard call to make between this dumb edgy bitch-
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And this dumb gay bitch
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Honestly they’re tied for favorite rival in my book. I absolutely loved Chazz when I watched GX, and I thought his arc about breaking through his inferiority/superiority complex and learning to accept loss as a part of life without letting it define him was wonderfully written, and seeing him grow as a person throughout the show just made me feel happy for him. Shark... I really thought I wasn’t going to end up liking Shark at first, but god he just gets so much better as Zexal goes on, starting out as this mean spirited middle school bully in episode one, and slowly ending up as Yuma’s boyfriend closest friend. It’s incredible to look back at how Shark acts when he’s first introduced and compare it to... season 3, I think it was, where just hearing the words “Yuma’s in danger” is enough to send him running to his rival’s side. Chazz and Shark. They are my favorites.
Favorite BFF: Him
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Crow Hogan is an absolute treasure and he was my favorite part about watching 5Ds. This little bird man first gets introduced by stealing cards for his kids and clowning on Sector Security, and he’s a source of so much good throughout the show. Excellent best friend (technically brother but I’m counting him), wonderful father, 10/10 person all around. Plus the fact that the only thing stopping him from berating his bitchass brother even more was Yusei having to literally pick him up and pull him away is definitely extra points in my book. What a powerful little bird. His only weakness is people that are taller than him, which is unfortunately most people.
Favorite GFF:
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Yuzu. Have I actually watched Arc V yet? No, but I’m still picking Yuzu for my number one here. Tea and Tori are just awful characters, I’m neutral towards Alexis, and Akiza... Did have potential to be something interesting on her own, despite how uncomfortable she made me in seasons 1-2 of 5Ds, but her relevance is alllll downhill from there. I’ve seen one clip of Yuzu yelling at a man eating pie and calling him a 100th rate duelist, and that was all I needed to know she would be my favorite. (Clip here) 
Favorite villain: Oh boy
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The fuckin carrot is my favorite villain, and I say this as someone who fully believes he didn’t deserve to be in the last episode. Vector did some fucked up shit in his day, and he only continued to do fucked up shit in Yuma’s day, but I have to say he was pretty effective when it came down to his goals. He got things done and went right for what he wanted by taking direct action to seize Don Thousand’s power, and he manipulated Yuma perfectly by preying on his kind nature and love for Astral to use him to further his goals. 
...Plus I mean just look at his subbed dialogue God he’s such a slut. Evil slutty alien.
Tl;dr Vector was a horrible horrible person, but he was a good villain, and he was so entertaining whenever he was on screen that it was impossible not to like him. Still kinda wish he got what he deserved though, and what he deserved definitely wasn’t another chance.
Speaking of Don Thousand though, can we talk about how unfairly pretty he is? If I had to pick a runner up villain in terms of looks alone, it would definitely be him.
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God it was not fair how pretty the big bad of Zexal was. He’s fucking gorgeous, and in my opinion, the best looking villain at the very least.
Favorite card: *Sweats in Duel Links* Favorite? There’s so many cards out there to pick from, but since I’ve already broken the rules with my two favorite rivals, I’ll be picking two of each card type: Spells, traps, and monsters. One for the aesthetic, and one for how often I make use of it.
First up, the Aesthetics group
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What can I say, Vampiric Koala is such a cutie, Dwimmered Path has some really pretty card art, and Rainbow Life is an eternal flex on any heteros I may encounter while playing Duel Links. Nothing better than a gay trap card.
Now for usability
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Dragon Knight of Creation is suuuper helpful in any dragon themed deck and has a permanent slot in my decks for Mokuba and Kaiba, PoG is always a fun way to boost up weak monsters to ridiculous heights, and Dark Bribe just lets you block your opponent like “Okay I know you wanna hurt me but I will let you draw another card if you do not do that thing”, and they can’t refuse you.
Favorite episode: I’ll be copying cipher’s format here and picking one for each series, but this will still only total out to five for me since I’ve yet to watch past Zexal ^^; Soon I’ll get to Arc V! One day...
Season 0: Episode 16:  Turnabout by a Hair's Breadth - The White-Robed Crisis I’m a sucker for my son Joey, and this was a good Joey episode about him and his sister, plus it was nice seeing that doctor get what he deserved :) Duel Monsters: Season 5, episode 12-14:  The Deciding Match for Duel King - Yugi vs. Leon/Golden Castle of Stromberg/KC Grand Prix Ends  Probably a weird batch of episodes to pick, I know, but a lot of DM was kinda forgettable to me, and these are some of the few episodes I do recall. I just... really felt for Leon’s situation, and I wanted good things for that boy. I care him. GX: Season 3, episode 34: Dark Fusion! Inferno Wing!! Jim. Jim Jim Jimmmmm. This was the episode that finally made me understand why saviorshipping was a thing because it hits you with all these memories Jim has of Jaden and shows how they bonded before all this Dark World shit happened, and the whole thing was very emotional. 5Ds: Season 4, episode 2-3:  Recollections, Entrusted with a Friend's Dying Wish God Crow, my precious bird son. I really liked the backstory they gave him, despite how much it hurt. It was probably the best character development he got in the whole of 5Ds, and let you see a side to him you probably wouldn’t expect. I loved watching him get his justice. Zexal II: Season 2, episode 5-6:  Alito the Silent Fighter - Reunion of the Passionate Duelists!/ Be Revived! The Duelist Soul That Transcends Life!! I picked these episodes for Nistro and Nistro alone. He was one of my absolute favorites in Zexal, and seeing how well he and Dextra were doing was good for the soul. Just look at this good lion man right here.
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Look at him!!!
Favorite decks to use: Elemental Heroes, Aromages, Red Eyes, Six Samurai, and Crystal Beasts.
Fusion, Ritual, Synchro, Xyz, Pendulum, or Link: I’m a simple girl, I love fusion/tributes for how easy they are, but synchro can be pretty fun, too
Years in fandom: ??? Even I don’t know the answer to this one, friends. I used to be in the fandom when I was in middle school, wrote/read a few fanfics here and there, but then I fell out of it for... Well I’m 22 now and only got back into things 6 months ago? I started rewatching the abridged series of Duel Monsters in March, and from there I just wanted to consume actual Yugioh content and never went back.
Who am I tagging: @finding-fallen-petals @dizziedaikonn​ @chazzaroo​ Go wild y’all
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buckleyirondad · 5 years ago
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ii. explosion
Morgan is a runner. 
Peter learned that on the day they met. Well, he was warned. She’s fast on her feet and is gone in the blink of an eye. Whenever he came over to play, she’d wear him out, with all her constant moving, from corner to corner, room to room. She was antsy, unable to stay in one place too long, and there was no way to distract her with a game, or a movie. She’d be up on her feet within a minute, looking for something else to do. Peter was built to chase after Morgan, according to Tony and Pepper, he was born to run after her. He was the only one who could catch up with her, and understand what she wanted to do next. He didn’t care if she wanted to play one-thousand different games in a single afternoon, he was more than happy to follow her anywhere, he had almost five years to catch up on, after all. However, going out for the day? That was a whole new task. Tony had, spontaneously, decided to take Morgan and Peter out for breakfast, while Pepper and May spent some quality ‘Mum’ time together, whatever that meant. Peter, being the paranoid older brother he was destined to be, started drawing up plans and solutions for every possible situation Morgan could run into. “Five minutes, twenty-two seconds….” Tony laughed, as they watched Morgan run off, towards a Florist, “That’s gotta be a new record.” Peter chuckled under his breath, he nudged Tony’s shoulder as he skipped forward, “You get our Pretzels....” He sped ahead, “I’ll get her.” “On it!” Tony called after him, with no argument. Tony was playing this off with his usual nonchalant bravado, but Peter knew that inside it killed him to see his daughter run, and know he’s not fast enough to catch up with her, not like before. Tony was adapting to life with a prosthetic arm, and still recovering from the fallout of using the stones. Peter had seen what Spider-Man was doing to him. Tony was reluctantly off-duty - he had to wait another four months before he could even think of stepping foot in an Iron Man suit again.  If Peter got hurt on patrol, Tony had to rely on other people to help. Of course, they were the people Tony trusted the most; Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper. It didn’t matter who helped though, it tore Tony apart - not being able to help his kids. “Petey, look at these ones!” Morgan pointed up at a red and blue arrangement of flowers, “They’re Spider-Man flowers.” Peter’s eyebrows shot up, he pressed a finger to his lips, he shook his head as he knelt down in front of her.  He loved that Morgan knew, it made life easier for them, but sometimes, it was hard to ask a four-year-old to keep a secret, especially one that big. His shoulders deflated, when he noticed that she was right because next to the flowers, was a small plaque that read, 'The Spider-Man Bouquet.’ Peter caught Morgan’s frailing hand as he stood back up to study the bouquet, his wasn’t the only one. There were arrangements for every Avenger. “Do you like them?” Morgan asked as she swung back and forth, using his arm as a monkey bar. Peter hummed as he looked down at her, “I love them...maybe, we…” His words died in his throat as a sharp pain shot up his spine and the hairs on the back of his arms stood on end; a warning he was all-too-familiar with. His Spidey Sense - commonly referred to as his Peter Tingle, thanks to May - was not reliable, but Peter knew that something was about to happen. Something big. He hadn’t felt dread like this, not since the final battle, when Tony snapped his fingers and almost lost his life, saving the universe. Tony. Logically, in Peter’s confusion, that’s where his mind went first. He clutched onto Morgan’s hand as tightly as he could, not wanting to lose sight of her. He snapped his head back, searching for Tony, he was on the other side of the street, talking to the Pretzel stand worker, wearing his signature ear-to-ear grin. He was safe. Reality hit Peter when he didn’t have long left to react to the coming danger. Tony was safe. They were not. Peter’s first priority was Morgan. Now, and forever.
He didn’t have his web-shooters, and they had no time left to run. So, he hoisted her up into his arms. Morgan didn’t need an explanation as she tightened her arms around his back, it was almost second nature for her to be in her brother’s arms. She was understandably protective of Peter because, for the first four years of her life, he was a bedtime story. When they first met, she hated letting go; she was afraid that they would lose him again. Peter tangled his fingers in her hair, to cradle her head; he threw himself onto the ground and he pulled her as close as he possibly could, acting as her shield. Peter was blinded by an explosion, and he felt the ground underneath him slip away. He locked his arms around Morgan as they were thrown around. He didn’t remember passing out, but he woke to the sound of Morgan, sobbing. “Petey! Petey, wake up…” He smacked his lips together as he tried to answer her, but his throat seized, he turned his head to his side as his reflexes kicked in, and began to dry heave, when his stomach failed to bring anything up, he erupted in a series of violent coughs; he bit down on his lip to conceal his hurt. Morgan was already scared, he didn’t need to add to that. “Stop it, Petey…” Morgan hiccuped, “Stop it!” Peter’s coughs came to an end. He wanted to open his eyes and reassure her that everything was going to be alright, but he could feel the darkness, wrapping its cold fingers around his ankles, trying to drag him back down. His body was on fire. Something metal and heavy was pressing down on his leg. The entire right side of his body was numb; he couldn’t even move that arm, he didn’t know if it was because of how he landed or if it was an injury sustained during the blast. This wasn’t like when the Vulture trapped him. This time, he’d taken every possible precaution to protect Morgan, so he took the full force of the explosion. He wouldn’t take it back, he saved his sister, and that was the most important thing. All he regretted was the fact that he couldn’t help her get out. He weakly brushed his left hand against the ground, and Morgan grabbed hold of it, as she cried out his name. “It’s…It’s ok..ay.” “Petey…?” Peter deflated, as he rolled his head to the side. He was overwhelmed by a repetitive buzzing in his ears, every noise sounded like it was thousands of miles away. It felt like he was about to drown, but he was able to stay afloat because Morgan was holding his hand. “Morgan!” Tony? That sounded like Tony. “Daddy? Daddy!” “Hey, sweetheart... I’m over here.” “Daddy! Petey is sleeping!” No, Peter thought, I’m not sleeping...just...resting…He tried to move, but he was paralysed; he could only tighten his hand around Morgan’s. “Okay, okay, honey…” Tony breathed, “Can you be really grown up for me?” “Hm-hm.” “Can you see if Petey’s breathing? Is his chest going up and down?” I’m okay...just...just... “Yeah, it is!” “That’s good. I’m gonna get you both out, okay?” “Okay…” “Morguna...baby,  I need you to crawl to me…” “No.” “Honey, you can do it, I know you can.” “I can’t leave Petey!” She pulled on Peter’s hand. “I know it’s scary…” “No!” Peter fought against the looming darkness to open his eyes, he couldn’t let Morgan put her life on the line, and he knew that she’d listen to him, “Hey…” Morgan’s lower lip trembled as she looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks as she yanked on his arm, trying to get him to move, “Go…” She shook her head, “....Go.” “Morguna, I’m gonna get your brother out, I promise…” Tony coaxed, “Right, kid?” Peter couldn’t see Tony from where he was, but he could imagine the fear etched across his face, “Yeah...” Morgan looked back at Tony,  “You promise, three-thousand?” “….Yes…Yes, I do!” “Okay....” Morgan let her hand fall out of his, and she turned as she crawled over towards Tony. Morgan was Peter’s anchor, and she let go. So, he let himself sink to the ocean floor. Morgan was safe, and that’s all that mattered.
________________________
Peter knew where he was. He didn’t even need to open his eyes. The distance sound of Tony’s Alpaca enjoying his afternoon snack was the confirmation he needed. He was in his bed, at the Stark lakehouse.
Peter felt fingers brush against his hand,  “Kid, you with me?” 
“Hey…” He locked his fingers around Tony’s hand.
“Hey.”
The clogs turned slowly, and as soon as Peter caught up with what had happened, he bolted upright, screaming out Morgan’s name in a blind panic. The head rush made him regret sitting up so hastily but he needed to know where she was.
“Hey, hey...” Tony caught Peter’s arms and held them, “Look at me...” Tony knelt down on the mattress, “Morgan’s downstairs, she’s got a few scratches and bruises, but she’s going to be fine…”
Peter relaxed, and leaned his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, “...Yeah?”
Tony lay his chin on Peter’s head, “Yeah, I promise, bud. She’s okay.”
“That’s…Good.”
Tony leaned back, and cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand, “You... scared us, bud.” His throat cracked, as he pushed his hand back through Peter’s hair, “If you didn’t have your powers…”
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, “But...I do.” He’d passed out after Morgan got out. Meaning, he’d been unconscious when Tony got to him, he couldn’t imagine how fucking terrifying that must have been. Tony had only just got Peter back, so seeing him like that, couldn’t have been easy.
“Yeah.” Tony bent down, pressing a kiss against Peter’s temple, “Yeah, you do.” He gently nudged Peter’s chin up, and his mouth twitched into a smile, “You ready to be lovingly tackled by your sister?”
“Always.”
You can follow this month of scheduled Iron Dad Angst on AO3!
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boogiewrites · 4 years ago
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Never Break the Chain Pt. 4
Part 4 of 5
Characters: Javier Peña x OFC
Summary:  Esme is left with the harsh reality of her feelings with Javi and what loving him means. Lead by her heart and her gut she leaps into action to try to secure her hopes of having a future with him. But in their line of work, things can take a turn for the worse in a second.
Warnings/Tags: Injury. Canon Typical Violence. Life or Death. 
Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!
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To hold herself together in times of distress Esme had to fall apart from time to time when she was alone. Tonight was going to be one of those times. She secluded away in her small hideaway in the mountains. She had always enjoyed her own company, knowing the difference between being alone and being lonely, but the latter was heavy on her back as she sat red-eyed on the bed, looking out the plantation shuttered double doors in her bedroom.
Her mind couldn’t decide if talking to Javi had been a mistake or not. She felt every buried emotion in a rush that left her a sloppy, blotchy mess. There was no one around for kilometers to hear her, so she let it all out. The rosary she’d mentioned to Javi was occupying her hands as she bounced her legs, full of anxious energy.
Before, the consequences of knowing Javi were something she could deflect, although the coincidence of knowing a cop from over four thousand km away from her childhood would be a hard sell, she hadn’t worried drastically about it. The more intricate reality of how she felt about him was what she was wrestling with. The fact that she had seen him, touched him, talked to him were no longer what ifs’ or fantasies but hard facts. The fact she was struggling with most intensely was that she was still very much in love with him. Before he was a memory, a myth, a story to be told over drinks. He was now the man in the next town over, sharing her same sentiment in both love and life. They weren’t kids anymore, he’d been right about that. Which meant seeing their lives for what they were in the harsh light of day and not through rose-colored glasses. Where they had wanted to be was no longer a thing to strive for, it’d become a prison of their own making.
She didn’t know if it was her body getting worn or the years of repressed emotions that made her feel so damned exhausted. The thought of going back into the den of the same men that wanted her one love dead suddenly wasn’t as easy to sit with. There were real consequences now. For both of them.
Perhaps it was paranoia, but it’s kept her alive this long. She had her bug-out bag by the bed, rosary wrapped around her wrist, and slept with her shoes on. She rubbed the wooden beads like a worry stone; even though she hadn’t been sure what she believed in for many years. Especially not after the things she’d seen, or the things she’d done. There was a strange comfort knowing Javi had a similar sort of experience. Even if she wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he was just as tired as she was. Maybe… she had some hope for a future. She had to talk to him again. This time with a purpose, to ask him to leave with her instead of abandoning him again.
———
As she had following every breakdown, she’d dusted herself off and got back to it the next morning.
In a dress and heels that said, ‘Don't fucking question me.’ She walked into the stone-columned entryway in a powerful man's home. It was a nice morning, not a trace of her collapse the night before remained on her face. She sat poised, with understated jewels glinting in the sun. Yet, her favorite accessories were hidden in places the sun wouldn’t hit, those were her weapons.
She had been establishing herself to get to this client, networking, and performing feats to gain trust in a trust-less circle. Playing it cool, she kept her face set into a lovely neutral but curious. It was a grand promise of cash. She found herself in the right spot for the rule as old as time; supply and demand. If she could seize the articles that had been taken from their owners, she would be compensated with a bigger payday than she’d ever encountered. The sentimentality of the pieces, the danger in the retraction, and the previous failures of those that had come before her secured the pay to be something someone like her could not resist.
“They were in my family... generations ago… before their family decided to fuck over mine we were joined by marriage, then by blood. We have not been able to get them through legal or... other means. But you, Estelle, I believe you have a chance to be successful.”
It was flattering but she was already decided by her motives. Enough money to run. And far. Not to mention a comfortable life on the other side when she sold what she’d accumulated over the years and combined with her savings. She’d played it smart the last few years and pulled the plug on the extravagant lifestyle that had beckoned her to this sort of work in the first place. She saw it as a sign, a dazzling neon one directing her to do it. So with a smile and a handshake, she did.
These people she operated with were not the cartel, but that did not make them just as dangerous. They had their hands in every sort of money stream and political influence. They couldn’t go into this location she was to infiltrate guns blazing, they had to have more finesse and mystery. Which is why they hired out. No connections made for less chance of blowback and made it easier to deny the job was them. And by the time they had to worry about such things, she’d be long gone.
She was being personable, enjoying a cocktail by a sapphire-blue pool and eavesdropping on the conversations around her. While ignoring the guy trying to impress her that had perched next to her she was tuned in to the young man that had a two-way radio by the stone fence that enclosed the pool.
They spoke English from time to time which she found unusual. But if they were looking to not be understood it wasn’t the worst approach. The staff here wouldn’t be able to understand them. Most of the men presumably wouldn’t recognize it either. Esme however spoke fluent English. She was raised by a Mexican mother who pushed her to speak English to fit in in Texas. At home, she was one person, a fluent tongue, and outside she was the brown girl that was berated with “HABLA ENGLAISH?” By every white woman she ran into. It had saved her more than once; when she was younger and especially now.
“The pigs are out today.” A statement she knew wasn’t about the animal was caught.
“Pigs are out every day.”
“They think they’re up to something.”
Esme knew that the people that were being referred to were the drug runners. These mining types didn’t pay much mind to cops, they paid them off when they needed and they were mostly left alone. When you have the foresight to build a public image with legal means of income, it’s easier to hide the sketchy shit.
“The gringo is asking questions.”
One of the white boys must have been trying to gather intel in the force. It could be Javier's partner but she couldn’t know for sure.
“Boss? Do we need to let the boys in town know? Is there going to be anything we don’t want them getting mixed up in?”
He thinks for a moment, Esme seeing him out of the corner of her eye, a squint down the mountain and onto the sprawling city below. “Our boys are in the east today, yes?” a pause and a nod of acknowledgment. “Tell them to come home.”
With that order, her jaw tightens. Esme knew something was going to happen. These men might not be narco’s but they certainly knew them, and ordinarily, they would tip the other off to trouble. Business going as usual was best for all involved. Normally she’d head back to her hideaway, let it all play out. But she knew if there was some trap that Javi’s partner might be falling into, that meant trouble for Javi. She couldn’t stand by idly and wait with that knowledge.
She remained composed, finishing her drink before a schmoozy goodbye, a promise to catch up as soon as plans were made. She acted nonchalant until she was past all the checkpoints, she knew better than to act in any sort of rush. Her little cabana was tucked away out of sight from the road between the deeply nooked mountain homes of powerful men and the city. She tried calling into town, a risk she was willing to take while she scurried to change her clothes and add a gun to her ensemble. She asked for Pena first. When she was informed he was not there she asked for his partner, and the same answer found her. She hung up swiftly, heavily armed but light on information. She knew the east side of the city would be the smallest area she could narrow it down to. She hoped her mind didn’t fail her at calculating where to go.
On her motorbike she darted about the streets, eyes peeled, heading by Javi’s place and finding his car gone, and the oil spots now dry, in its wake. He hadn’t been home in a while. Was it the smartest idea to break into an officer’s apartment? No. But was she? Yes. Javi had always been a researcher, if they were going to be zeroing in on a place, he would’ve been to it already. He was an active learner, not passive. He’d never be satisfied with being told what to do, he had to get in and see, touch, taste, and smell for his own opinion to be formed. She took a quick loop around, finding nothing out of the ordinary and circling back to the front door. The place was nicer than she’d expected, it did smell like liquor and cigarettes but so did he off hours. A little mirror and a catch-all basket by the door on a small table was her target, and inside were matchbooks, places she’d watched him go before buried beneath but one she wasn’t as familiar with on top. A pool hall, which wasn’t Javier’s style, sat like a sore thumb. She took the hint, this must’ve been the place they were headed, or at least close to it. She pulled her hair back and looked at herself once in the mirror before a nod to reassure herself and once again she was back out among the busy streets.
She pulled up and parked by a small marketplace, a casual place to leave her bike while she set off on foot, eyes behind her glasses ready to pick up any little nuance. Sadly seeing a guy with an automatic rifle wasn’t automatically a tell for narco behavior, this part of town was rough, you had to defend yourself. The uptick in the number of guys sauntering in the streets with them did however raise a red flag. She took to the rooftops with light feet, sneaking about and hopping from ledge to tin roof, shimmying up pipes and broken walls to scan. Not many were out on their rooftops, making it easy for her to cover lots of space fast, but that was also a bad sign. Like before a natural disaster happens, the animals clear out. The sentiment was the same.
She found a nice place to camp out, shaded by the sun and out of sight of the street on a corner near the pool hall. She could hear the static of a two-way radio a few buildings over from time to time, each time it made her jolt and she was growing impatient. The only thing that kept her calm was that she hadn’t heard any gunshots, and even that was grasping at straws. She eyes a few streets down, higher-end vehicles in red and blue, one after another. This meant one of two things, narcos or cops. She leaves the safety of her cubbyhole and crawls about to find a way to move quickly. She wasn’t being the most stealthy, leaping from ledges, but she had to follow the cars. Her instincts had been right.
Men in and out of uniform pile out, talking quietly, moving swiftly. Now she had to worry about staying out of sight as she got closer. She saw men on the rooftops she hadn’t noticed before, with sights on their guns and she would bet itchy trigger fingers. The static of a distant radio blurts out, a hushed voice in Spanish says “They’re here. Moving into position.”
It was a trap. The situation made her stomach drop and her pulse quicken. She wanted to be close, to warn them… well, to warn Javi. She was about to insert herself into the narco’s game and that would put a huge target on her back. It would potentially ruin her chances of booking this career-ending job she’d landed. She pulls out her gun, switching the safety off, and lowering herself with burning thighs as she used all her slyness. She could get away with it if she was smart about it... and killed all the witnesses.
She knew between the choices of standing by and watching Javi die, or intervening and getting ousted, she could only live with herself in one of those situations. Better to go out fighting for someone she loved than to be a coward and die with regrets. She jumps ahead, closer to where they seemed to be funneling to, various bursts of static around her as she studies to keep a close eye on not coming across anyone lurking.
She sees that shiny, coiffed head of black hair she’d wanted to run her hands through just days before, the lean build and tight jeans wrapped up in a bulletproof vest. His head was on a swivel, she knew he could look after himself but wasn’t about to take chances. She finds a man on his stomach, gun through a small slot in the wall, and aimed in their direction. She takes her moment patiently, padding foot over foot closer and closer with her gun drawn and her knife at the ready in the other hand. He wore no identifying markings, he wasn’t one of them, he might’ve heard her if he was. He was too zeroed in, potentially coked up so she had to act discreetly. She paused until that coke nose of his itched, hand off the trigger for only a few seconds before she latched and covered his mouth, head back and stabbing in deep to keep him making any sounds. It’s not that she wanted to kill him, she just saw no other way for this interaction to go down.
From here she had a better vantage point and was trying hard to look away from Javi and keep her eyes on every alley and rooftop. She lines up her eye with the scope, seeing it was aimed right at the group, she notices a man across from her, just a slight bit of an angle, an accomplice she assumed. The group moved forward, inching closer to being in between the two guns' direct line of sight. There wasn’t even a need for the sights at this point, a spray could take most of them out in a few seconds. These were calculated kills.
“Dibs on the gringo.” a crackle over the radio in Spanish, then another, “Which? There’s so many.” a hiss of laughter and she hears it from the other side of a half wall. They must’ve had multiple men camped out, she knew they intended to kill as many as possible. She couldn’t scream out, she couldn’t shoot them, she had to find that millisecond between when they would shoot and let their position be known. “When they get to the cars. Wait. Then fire.”
“What if I don’t fuckin’ want to? I want to shoot this smug look off this mother fucker’s face.”
“We won’t get them all if you don’t wait.”
She had pieces of information and tried to see the whole picture. She believed in the car there was a remote bomb being held by one of these sicarios. It’d take a good piece of them out and render them blind. It was a plan that had worked many times, but this time she’d be happy to fuck up a well-laid plan.
“Get the white boy, he’s been snooping. I got the mustache. Asshole fucked my sister.” If this had been any other situation it would’ve made her laugh, or at least crack a smile. But now it gave her a target, a plan of action.
“Maybe if your sister wasn’t a whore.” one laughs then a hiss follows throughout the rooftops among the static.
“Fuck you, man. Shut up or I’ll make sure you get shot today too.”
She moved as quickly as she could, having to backtrack to not be seen and climb over the wall to sneak up on the boy who was claiming Javi as a prize. She hunched over him, taking a chance at being seen, but since she couldn’t make out the placements of any of the other voices, she took her chances. A tension-filled hush fell across the street, no one but the cops out now. She waited for the man to readjust his arm, a sure sign of pulling the trigger shortly. They were holding their breath for the bomb, and she was assuming it was the double-parked cars, waiting for the group to get between them and hit them from all angles.
He swallowed, then popped his neck, settling down, face away from the hole he aimed out of and she took only a second to make up her mind. She shot him in the head as he braced himself.
“TRAP!” she screamed with all the force she could manage, tasting blood as she hit the ground, the cops now on high alert to the rooftops, and the guns fired. She’d given them enough time to duck for cover, having to take out the gunfire from one side of the street herself. She heard the bullets whizzing by as she hunched and ran down to the street, an alleyway where Javi had huddled down a moment before she saw the men barrel down the stairs opposite them. They’d had the same idea. “JAVI!” she screams, gun out and trying to peak from behind a dumpster.
His eyes were wild for the second he met hers. Confusion is all that read on his face, unable to answer under the gunfire.
“FOLLOW ME!” she shouted, firing off rounds to cover him as she motioned him towards her.
“You wanna explain-?” He’s caught off by the bombs in the street going off, knocking him back.
“SHUT UP AND RUN!” she shouts, shoving him forward, “You’re surrounded. Head West!” it’s all they needed, him hitting the pavement as hard as he could and her grabbing him by the vest to jerk him the way she needed. She hoisted him up against walls, all while hearing the men shouting and the stray spray of bullets hitting the corners they’d just passed. She knew they weren’t concentrated west, the men would instinctively run east towards the station, towards the backup, but she knew better.
She raced ahead, a small blocked-off space high up is what she yanks him down into. They don’t speak for a moment, catching their breath and her pushing him down to look out to see if anyone had been able to keep up with them.
“Now can I ask a fucking question?!” he rasps out.
“I got wind of something going down in the east today. So I came. And you should be kissing my ass for saving yours!”
“We were about to-”
“About to get blown the fuck up. Whatever you thought that was, it was a trap.”
“How did you know?” his eyes narrowed at her accusingly.
“I know that look and no, I’m not working with the narcos. I overheard some cronies at my meeting this morning. I narrowed down the options, ran across town and scoped it out, took out two guys, and then...lit the keg and ran.”
He blinks rapidly in response, processing the information.
“Yeah, you’re welcome. They wanted to kill you and your partner pretty bad.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Apparently you fucked one of their sisters?”
"I stand by my response.”
She smiles at him, something he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t have time to react until a few stray bullets hit something near them causing them to hunker down again.
“You could’ve gotten killed you know.”
“I’ve done it before.”
“Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” she rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious.” he grabs her wrist. “I have to deal with you being with these other... assholes and not the ones I deal with. Don’t make me worry twice about you.”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I promise. I wasn’t about to let you walk into an ambush.” she states defensively.
“I’ve made it out before.” he huffs defensively.
“You will until one day you won’t.” when she meets his eyes again, after seeing his soot-covered knuckles wrapped around her wrist, she adds “If I can keep your ungrateful ass around long enough to make up for all the shit I put you through I’m gonna do it.”
He looks her up and down, but not how he had countless times with women, but biding his time to figure out what about that statement he wanted to ask her first. “What do you want me around for if you’re not gonna be there?” It was direct and hurtful, but also a fair point.
She stops looking out and meets his dark eyes to hers, she looked almost offended. “I want to be around,” she says softly. “I just wasn’t sure how.”
“Stay with me. Stop running. I’ll keep you safe.” he moves his hand from her wrist to interlock his fingers into hers.
“Over 20 years and you still haven’t come up with anything else?” she jokes and squeezes his hand. “I did want to talk to you about it. About… us...” she spoke softly and paused, ears perked up to the movement outside.
“What do y-”
“Shh.” a quick and low serious squeeze of his hand. “Someone’s close.”
“Where the fuck are you Javi?” blares out over his radio on his chest. Not a second later, bullets are coming through the back of their hiding spot, scrambling to get out, despite her fighting him, he covers her.
“Rooftop. West.” is grunted out as he and Esme wrestle to be the one to shoot the perpetrator.
She hits his chest and then right in the head, falling in a slump before she notices Javi is no longer hovering and trying to keep her down. A quick turn, intaking the rest of the space, knowing more would be on their way soon, and whether they were cops or sicarios she couldn’t let them find her. In her rush she hasn’t noticed Javi on the ground, she sees his face for only a second, slightly confused before looking at up her the moment she sees his side and hands covered in blood.
“Oh fuck, Javi... no.” She spits out and immediately ducks over him
“S’not... good news sweetheart.” He gives her a smirk, one she’d seen a thousand times on a younger version of his face. She knew with that expression alone it was indeed not good.
She doesn’t get time to react, to even breathe before more shots make her go into survival mode. She covers him, dragging him to a nearby brick wall to at least be safe from one side while she covered the others.
“Can you watch behind me while I look at this?”
“Yeah.” A pause while he holds his gun out. “I can try.”
“Was that your partner on the radio?”
“Yeah should be here soon.”
“Let’s hope so.” She grits her teeth and can’t tell if the shot went straight through, which meant he would probably be okay if it hit in and was now embedded in his stomach. Either way, this wasn’t ideal, to say the least.
“There’s-“
Before he gets it out she’s turned and shooting more men trying to get on the roof, none having the foreign blonde hair and pale skin of his partner.
“You should get out of here... y’know. They’ll ask questions.”
“I’m not leaving you.” She applies pressure to his side and he lets his head fall back to the wall with a heavy breath.
“Now is a hell of a time to start.”
She gives him a hard brow but would normally laugh because he had a point. “I never... ugh.” She grunts in frustration, shooting another man a few rooftops over. “I never wanted to leave you.” She continues trying to figure out the best way to slow the bleeding down. “It's the last thing I wanted to do. You know that right?” She asks to receive no response.
She sees he’s lost consciousness. Now it was proving to be worse than she had hoped. Cursing under her breathe, fighting back tears, the burning making a splitting headache form in her forehead, she uses the only thing in sight she can, taking her shirt off and ripping it tie a makeshift tourniquet around him.
She hears a bark from a man that sounds almost familiar and a dead giveaway as a cop. His partner was almost there. “You’ll be fine Javi.” She whispers, not knowing if she believed it or if he could even hear her. She kisses his cheek and holds his head close for a moment. A few seconds of kissing his hair, trying to forge a deep memory from a rushed moment. Just in case.
“JAVI?!” She hears shouted.
“UP HERE!” she shouts, knowing she had to get away but wasn’t going to leave him until she had to. She was soon not given a choice when orders were barked at her on sight.
She used her savvy, knowing how to get away, even if it was a stretch. “He’s shot.” She says backing away with her hands up to the edge of the roof. “Murphy, please don’t let him die.” She begs as the man’s face softens for a moment, she recognized he must have understood who she was.
The man coming up behind him however didn’t. He fires off a shot, hitting her and forcing her to make an abrupt jump from the rooftop.
“SHIT!” Murphy barks again and shoves the other man’s gun to aim down at the ground. “Don’t shoot HER!” He shouts in the man’s face. “She was helping him! Can’t you see that?!” He runs to the edge, looking down and seeing nothing but a dumpster and a few drops of blood on the pavement. Javi had been right. She was good.
@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ 
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runner5ive · 5 years ago
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Five and Sam
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Right. Y’all spoke and I heard you. This is heavily inspired by @littlelionmay​‘s posts about how she pictures her Five/Sam (which are adorable and you should def check them out: 1,2,3) 
I’ve also referenced certain scenes I’ve drawn so I’ve included links to them if anyone cares :’)
Background/head canon-y stuff on Sam and Five below the cut:
I've attempted to avoid spoilers but there may be a few references to certain missions throughout.
Five is a Hardened Grouchy Baby when they first meet Sam and they're not exactly expecting to stay in Abel for long so they don't really attempt to get to know him or anyone else for that matter.
Sam's the only one who can speak BSL in Abel (until he reaches everyone else) so that sort of forces them to become a little closer. Even if it's begrudgingly.
Five's always glad Sam can barely see their face on runs because they're always grinning at his stupid comments.
After a few missions, Five realised they're starting to warm to Sam, which doesn't sit right with them at all because they've always moved around and never had much of a chance for friends in the past.
(When they first meet the other runners, Five has a moment of thinking Simon was hella attractive until he opened his mouth and spoke and they were like 'lmao never mind'. Jody was never on the cards because she is a precious bean who needs protecting at all costs.)
The morning of zr season 1 mission 6 (no spoilers) Five finds themself sat with him at lunch, even laughing with him, and it unsettled them how friendly they're both becoming. They throw their defences back up suddenly and decide that it's enough, they'll avoid Sam unless they're on a mission together.
SPOILERS FOR ZR S1M7: because who can avoid writing about A Voice in the Dark? Sam is forced to report that Five is missing in action to Mullins. When he comes on the comms, the exact moment Five decides they're going to live and make it home is when he calls them their friend for the first time. As they stagger through the gates they race straight to him.
(Some spoilers for same episode ??) The next day, when they're released from quarantine, they sit and stare at the missing in action report for the longest time knowing that fixing it would mean they could be pulled back to Mullins at any point. Sam gently suggests that they don't amend it, and Five considers it for a long while. They shut off the computer without sending the report and signs 'Abel is my home' for the first time.
After S1M7, Sam organises for them to get their own bunk. He decorates it so it's all nice and homely for them.
Sam and Five only get closer after this. They're still a little Awkward around him and the other runners, not exactly used to being so friendly with others, but with a bit of encouragement their goofy goblin side starts to show.
Honestly Sam was such a bad influence on them much to Janine's dismay (she actually thought for a while thats she had a stoic, serious soldier working for her).
Five probably has a moment when Sam and Maxine sends them for board games when they think 'oh my god I love my dorks' and they mean it completely platonically but it's like fucking whiplash for them because they're Their dorks!
Five fondness for Sam keeps growing. He's talking to them one day about a game of Demons and Darkness and Five is just smittened by how dorky he is. They realise how nice it is just being there with him is the warmest and most comfortable they've felt... well, ever.
So they just stand up, grab his hoody, and yank him into a kiss.
There’s no romantic declaration of love. Hell, they don't even think they're in love with him at that point. But they make their affections shown.
It’s very much a moment of ‘This boy. I want him.’
Sam for the first time is speechless as he watches them walk away, smirk on their face.
They both sort of silently come to a decision not to mention that kiss to anyone or even each other.
But it's the start of something.
If Five gets back from a mission where Sam somehow saves their life, you can bet that they'll head straight to the comms shack after their decontamination shower to seize him into a kiss again.
Sam has no idea what's going on but he is not complaining. Heck, probably the best part of the missions.
Jody and Maxine catch them in the act one time and grab a photo for Simon.
When Jody asks how long they'd been in a relationship, Sam says something like "Five and I aren't in a relationship??? What kiss???" and somehow the photo has disappeared (and Five is just stood by as Jody searches wildly for it like 😏). Jody is FURIOUS about this.
This is why it's never mentioned in missions because they are 100% not in a relationship nope not at all they just really enjoy being around each other and put each other before anything else and get to kiss occasionally
It is Hot Gossip for one hot minute but neither of them are particularly into public displays of affection so after a while it's sort of forgotten by most of Abel. Especially without Jody's evidence.
Though the people they work with tease them for it becuase it’s clearn there’s SOMETHING but they also warn new people not to even consider pursuing one of them.
Maxine is the one who decides that this whole thing is Not Healthy and threatens to lock them in a room together until they discuss their feelings for each other.
Sam is the one who convinces her otherwise. He tells her that don't talk about it and have never needed to talk about it, but they are very much aware of how they feel for each other. 
Plus, keeping it as a 'non-relationship' takes the pressure off because they're both superstitious as heck and believe that making it 'official' will equal certain death for one or both of them because apocalypses have a tendency to tear away any happiness as soon as it appears so it's their way of sort of protecting each other.
Maxine is Sceptical but she guessed it makes sense. And if they're happy then who is she to complain.
Happy is definitely the right word. Both of them are the happiest they’ve been in ages. And the fact it’s a non-relationship means theres no awkward transition period. They’re the exact same, goofballs who get excited over D and D or dorky finds only with a few extra benefits. 
There's still slip ups though: "That's MY Runner Five!"
They don't do 'good luck kisses' at all because that feels very ominous. Like a goodbye.
Instead they do 'well done kisses' which they share after most missions because that means Five HAS to survive and get back home.
Basically their whole situation is based around superstitious nonsense but it makes sense to them even if no one else understands.
Five insists that Sam puts Abel before them every time. He begrudgingly agrees, but insists that when everyone else is safe, then he'll do what he can to save them too.
You can bet your ass that if bad guys threaten one of them then the other is ready to throw fists.
Some missions have to be kept secret from Five/Sam because as soon as they realise that the other is in danger then they rage.
“UM EXCUSE ME WHY IS MY OPERATOR OUTSIDE OF ABEL AND WHO THE HELL AUTHORISED IT I JUST WANT TO TALK"
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freezinginacozyfoxhole · 5 years ago
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Multifaceted
Female!Sniper reader X Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith
Synopsis: First time drinking can have serious consequences. You experience it on your skin when Hoosier has to put up with your shift of attitude.
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Disclaimers: This story is based strictly on the actor portrayals of the characters. I respect the real people and their heroic deeds. Also, English is not my native language and my English level is somewhere around B2 so I’m sorry in advance for my poor language choice. Enjoy!
 Melbourne during wartime was lovely, you thought as you downed another drink in the wild hollers of the boys. In fact, it was even better than home. You could have a proper hot bath in the house of a stranger who then pampered you like their own child. You could enter a shop and be assaulted with questions from young boys and discrete glances from their mothers. You could talk to your father after two months and found out that Lew's sister was having a baby boy and that she would have hoped to have you by her side at the christening. The number of things that were happening around you and to you was overwhelming.
You were living the time of your life; you told yourself, a broad smile spreading across your face. You had a bed with a proper mattress, the opportunity to eat out every evening, and to jog around the parks in the morning. It was not even at home that you felt so peaceful, so self-accomplished.
Although, there was still a war raging on and the fact that you were to be deployed back in the Pacific in two days was no sweet reminder. A bitter thought. But as you were waiting for a refill, you let your eyes wander around the crowded bar. Barely wincing at the heavy cigarette smoke which you've eventually grown accustomed to, you briefly saw Chuckler making out with some Australian girl, Runner trying to hit on one and then Sidney, sweet and reserved Sidney, in deep conversation with his Australian companion you knew as Gwen. She was exquisite, you stared at her, without realizing that you, in fact, were comparing yourself to her. A perfect little doll face with an elegant posture and a shiny blonde hair with curls that embraced her flower-patterned dress. Glancing down at your army-issued trousers, you couldn't help but shrug and remember how a dress used to feel from the time you used to wear them back home. As another pint of beer was passed by the barman, he flashed a smile at you and leaned closer:
'Ain't enjoying the night out, miss?'
You gave him a reluctant look, knowing that he was hitting on you. Everyone loved the uniform.
'I'm fine, thank you,' you smiled politely at him, declining the drink. 'Although some bourbon would be nice -do you happen to have some?'
He leaned even closer so that there were only a few inches between your face and his. Winking at you, he let out a low whistle:
'Missin' the American flavor, missie? 'Cause, you know, the Australian taste is also unforgettable -if you know what I mean!'
  Feeling a warm blush creeping in your cheeks, you stood up and did what seemed perfectly rational at that moment: you slapped him right across his freshly shaven cheek. With a shocked but amused expression, he looked up at you with a mischievous sneer that scared you a little. No one but the two of you seemed to notice the sudden interaction, which made you aware of how drunk everyone in the room was. Including yourself.
'Guess the missie likes it the hard way!' he kept on with his shit-eating grin as he began to seize you with a hungry glance that made you feel literally naked. 'How about I show you my-'
 With your breath fastening at each of his words, you got up on your legs and hurtled out of the room. Your father may have tried to prepare you for this kind of uncomfortable situations. Still, he failed to mention the cockiness or the sheer lust etched across their face -or your drunk mind was unable to remember everything with accuracy.
 You stumbled to the door, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. That's how always things went -everything was great for a while, something unexpected happened, and everything fell apart. And you were right in the middle of it, a fool and innocent girl in a world of men. You fought to be a part of it, had to prove yourself to remain in it, and now all you wanted was to get the heck out of everything and cuddle with your blanket in your bed.
'Hey, Y/N! Was actually looking for ya!'
 A joyous shout came from the other side of the street and you hastily turned your head in the sound's direction, trying to wipe the anxiety off your face. Hoosier stopped in his traces to wave at you, and you tried to wave back, but you unceremoniously broke down in tears. A rush of relief surged through your veins, and the next thing you knew was that you were clinging to Bill's body for dear life, with tears streaming down across your face.
'Slow down, slow down. What happened?' he asked with a worried voice, his hands slowly brushing the hair out of your face. 'Did someone do something to you?' his tone suddenly raised as you looked up to him.
'I want to get out of here' you blurted the words out, unaware of how drunk you were until you tried to take another step and ended up in Bill's arms. 'Some guy tried hitting on me, I asked him for some bourbon, and then he began saying something about the Australian flavor and -OH MY GOD, just get me out of here, please!' you pleaded as the words just kept coming out of your mouth.
'And just how much did you drink before asking for the bourbon?' he felt compelled to ask as he had also drunk a few shots beforehand.
'Just enough to end up like this,' you smiled bitterly contemplating your state. 'I'm miserable, Bill, that's what I am. And you know what?' you asked him as you felt a sudden pang of hope. 'I'm so miserable that I am going to embark on the ship right now and sleep until they force me to land on another God-forgotten island! Yes, that's it, no one is going to stop me from-'
'Yes, you drank enough.' he stated for himself as he was looking at you blabbering and making plans with that drunk determination on your face. 'Wait, is this your first time getting drunk?' he asked you on a slightly high-pitched tone that betrayed his sloppiness. 'You look rather cute, actually...'
'You think so?' You suddenly asked with a small smile on your face. 'You know Sid's girl, Gwen? I think she's gorgeous with her gleaming long hair and her flawless silhouette. You should go and find your Gwen too, Hoos!' you suddenly exclaimed, giving him a serious pat on the shoulder.
A corner of his mouth lifted while watching your forehead creasing from all the connections you wanted to make with your drunk mind. You were so innocent and unaware of the fact that he'd been looking for you so he could confess his feelings before being deployed once again. But considering the pretty shaken up state he'd found you into, he couldn't make any move on you -he cared too much for you to see you being overwhelmed by too many feelings.
'Go ahead, lover boy! I'll be waiting for you right here!' you promptly stated as you sat down on the ledge of the alley.
    You looked at him with your tired and naïve eyes, your reserved smile revealing your actual condition: a first-time drunk girl who was just sick of being among strangers and wanted to go home. But for the fact that home was an ocean away. His brows furrowed at the distressing sight, and he lowered down on his knees, bringing his face closer to yours.
'How about I take you somewhere quiet and cozy?' he asked you gently, taking your cold hands in this. 'I think I know just the place.'
Blinking slightly confused at his way too gentle attitude, you shot him a suspicious look. Ever since you came here, he either spent his time sleeping or hanging around with you- you got closer during Guadalcanal, but you'd expected him to act like all the other guys did and find himself a nice Australian gal to waste his time with. Yet there he was, enduring your drunk self who kept saying things that made no sense in your head -what was holding him back?
'Come on. Up on your feet!' He slid a hand around your waist, trying to get you back up despite your quiet protests.
Eventually, you stood up and tried again to take a few steps by yourself until it proved a little too difficult, and you crashed ungraciously against a wall and let out a muffled pain sound as Bill hurried to catch you.
'Well, fuck.' You plainly stated, unaware that you just said a terrible word. 'I'm giving up!' You eventually shouted as you rested your head against Bill's body.
   He had wrongly assessed your state until that point. Even then he did not understand what kind of drunk you were -because your actions seemed to be a mix-up between the sad drunk and the sleepy drunk, but then again you had moments when you were highly realistic-
 A faint snore interrupted his train of thoughts, and he glanced down to realize that you had fallen asleep, clinging on to his shirt. He laughed to himself as he gently stroked your ponytail, enthralled by the vague smell of roses that it still bore.
 The sudden sound of shattered glass came from across the street and made him rise his glance in that direction, deciding that it's time he took you to a quieter place. Moving as silent as he could, he managed to place you on his back so that your hands we're barely brushing his chest as your regular breath tickled his left cheek.
As the night moved around you two, he slowly carried you through the quiet streets of the Australian city, the stars and the moon quietly watching over you both.
 He may not have been able to tell you what he was feeling like, but as you lazily wrapped your arms around his chest, leaving out a content moan, he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his last evening in Melbourne.
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29th June >> Mass Readings (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)
Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles 
    or
Monday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time.
Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles
(Liturgical Colour: Red)
First Reading
Acts of the Apostles 12:1-11
'Now I know the Lord really did save me from Herod'
King Herod started persecuting certain members of the Church. He beheaded James the brother of John, and when he saw that this pleased the Jews he decided to arrest Peter as well. This was during the days of Unleavened Bread, and he put Peter in prison, assigning four squads of four soldiers each to guard him in turns. Herod meant to try Peter in public after the end of Passover week. All the time Peter was under guard the Church prayed to God for him unremittingly.
On the night before Herod was to try him, Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, fastened with double chains, while guards kept watch at the main entrance to the prison. Then suddenly the angel of the Lord stood there, and the cell was filled with light. He tapped Peter on the side and woke him. ‘Get up!’ he said ‘Hurry!’ – and the chains fell from his hands. The angel then said, ‘Put on your belt and sandals.’ After he had done this, the angel next said, ‘Wrap your cloak round you and follow me.’ Peter followed him, but had no idea that what the angel did was all happening in reality; he thought he was seeing a vision. They passed through two guard posts one after the other, and reached the iron gate leading to the city. This opened of its own accord; they went through it and had walked the whole length of one street when suddenly the angel left him. It was only then that Peter came to himself. ‘Now I know it is all true’ he said. ‘The Lord really did send his angel and has saved me from Herod and from all that the Jewish people were so certain would happen to me.’
The Word of the Lord
R/ Thanks be to God.
Responsorial Psalm
Psalm 33(34):2-9
R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.
or
R/ The angel of the Lord rescues those who revere him.
I will bless the Lord at all times,
his praise always on my lips;
in the Lord my soul shall make its boast.
The humble shall hear and be glad.
R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.
or
R/ The angel of the Lord rescues those who revere him.
Glorify the Lord with me.
Together let us praise his name.
I sought the Lord and he answered me;
from all my terrors he set me free.
R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.
or
R/ The angel of the Lord rescues those who revere him.
Look towards him and be radiant;
let your faces not be abashed.
This poor man called, the Lord heard him
and rescued him from all his distress.
R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.
or
R/ The angel of the Lord rescues those who revere him.
The angel of the Lord is encamped
around those who revere him, to rescue them.
Taste and see that the Lord is good.
He is happy who seeks refuge in him.
R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.
or
R/ The angel of the Lord rescues those who revere him.
Second Reading
2 Timothy 4:6-8,17-18
All there is to come now is the crown of righteousness reserved for me
My life is already being poured away as a libation, and the time has come for me to be gone. I have fought the good fight to the end; I have run the race to the finish; I have kept the faith; all there is to come now is the crown of righteousness reserved for me, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give to me on that Day; and not only to me but to all those who have longed for his Appearing.
The Lord stood by me and gave me power, so that through me the whole message might be proclaimed for all the pagans to hear; and so I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from all evil attempts on me, and bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
The Word of the Lord
R/ Thanks be to God.
Gospel Acclamation
Matthew 16:18
Alleluia, alleluia!
You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church.
And the gates of the underworld can never hold out against it.
Alleluia!
Gospel
Matthew 16:13-19
You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church
When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi he put this question to his disciples, ‘Who do people say the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say he is John the Baptist, some Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ‘But you,’ he said ‘who do you say I am?’ Then Simon Peter spoke up, ‘You are the Christ,’ he said ‘the Son of the living God.’ Jesus replied, ‘Simon son of Jonah, you are a happy man! Because it was not flesh and blood that revealed this to you but my Father in heaven. So I now say to you: You are Peter and on this rock I will build my Church. And the gates of the underworld can never hold out against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven: whatever you bind on earth shall be considered bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth shall be considered loosed in heaven.’
The Gospel of the Lord
R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
—————————-
Monday, Thirteenth Week in Ordinary Time 
(Liturgical Colour: Green)
First Reading
Amos 2:6-10,13-16
Because of your crimes I will crush you into the ground
The Lord says this:
For the three crimes, the four crimes, of Israel
I have made my decree and will not relent:
because they have sold the virtuous man for silver
and the poor man for a pair of sandals,
because they trample on the heads of ordinary people
and push the poor out of their path,
because father and son have both resorted to the same girl,
profaning my holy name,
because they stretch themselves out by the side of every altar
on clothes acquired as pledges,
and drink the wine of the people they have fined
in the house of their god...
Yet it was I who overthrew the Amorites when they attacked,
men tall as cedars and strong as oaks,
I who destroyed them,
both fruit above ground
and root below.
It was I who brought you out of the land of Egypt
and for forty years led you through the wilderness
to take possession of the Amorite’s country.
See then how I am going to crush you into the ground
as the threshing-sledge crushes when clogged by straw;
flight will not save even the swift,
the strong man will find his strength useless,
the mighty man will be powerless to save himself.
The bowman will not stand his ground,
the fast runner will not escape,
the horseman will not save himself,
the bravest warriors will run away naked that day.
It is the Lord who speaks.
The Word of the Lord
R/ Thanks be to God.
Responsorial Psalm
Psalm 49(50):16-23
R/ Mark this, you who never think of God.
‘How can you recite my commandments
and take my covenant on your lips,
you who despise my law
and throw my words to the winds?
R/ Mark this, you who never think of God.
‘You who see a thief and go with him;
who throw in your lot with adulterers,
who unbridle your mouth for evil
and whose tongue is plotting crime.
R/ Mark this, you who never think of God.
‘You who sit and malign your brother
and slander your own mother’s son.
You do this, and should I keep silence?
Do you think that I am like you?
R/ Mark this, you who never think of God.
‘Mark this, you who never think of God,
lest I seize you and you cannot escape;
a sacrifice of thanksgiving honours me
and I will show God’s salvation to the upright.’
R/ Mark this, you who never think of God.
Gospel Acclamation
John 8:12
Alleluia, alleluia!
I am the light of the world, says the Lord;
anyone who follows me will have the light of life.
Alleluia!
Or:
Psalm 94:8
Alleluia, alleluia!
Harden not your hearts today,
but listen to the voice of the Lord.
Alleluia!
Gospel
Matthew 8:18-22
The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head
When Jesus saw the great crowds all about him he gave orders to leave for the other side. One of the scribes then came up and said to him, ‘Master, I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’
Another man, one of his disciples, said to him, ‘Sir, let me go and bury my father first.’ But Jesus replied, ‘Follow me, and leave the dead to bury their dead.’
The Gospel of the Lord
R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
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pom-seedss · 5 years ago
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Ah ha ha.
Last night was fun. I have been having pain in my hips and because I am always uncertain of my own experiences I decided that “well maybe doing a small bit of slow exercise will help, as I have been told by so many doctors and layfolk alike”. I decided I was not strong enough to use the eliptical runner because it has an automatic 10 degree incline and I just wasn’t up for that. So I thought, the rowing machine! It was easy on the legs, but also gets them moving and my arms could handle the work.
Literally as soon as I sat down either my leg subluxed its way out of my hip or my muscles just decided to seize up so completely that the only reason I didn’t scream in pain loud enough to wake the neighbours is my lifelong training of surpressing my reaction to pain and other bad stuff.
I couldn’t move to get up without another spike in the pain, I couldn’t even roll off of the rower without feeling like I was rending my leg right off, which of course traveled up my spine and into my guts. Oh it was painful just sitting there on the rower, but if I balanced right and I held my breath I could control my body enough to not have the shocking all encompassing pain.
So there I sat for I don’t know how long until I gained enough composure to tear myself out of the spot.
I grabbed on to my punching bag because my hip wouldn’t hold me, and I had to painfully roll my leg and hips until I could move them enough to walk.
It is a toxic combination having grown up with folks who taught me to suppress and hide my pain to the point where my pain tolerance is staggering... and having pain management doctors berate me for not moving when I am in pain. I even try to tell them “well not all pain” because the quality of the pain matters almost more than the intensity of the pain in terms of what you can/should push through. 
But they only have one scale to rate it on. Does pain mean stop? Yes. No.
So I have been constantly told, by people who are supposed to help me manage my pain, that I am supposed to dissociate through it and do things anyway. That I shouldn’t listen to my body. That recovery hurts.
I try to tell them I know what good pain feels like. I have had the ache of healing, of growing stronger, that I have been doing sports my whole life and understand that workouts are hard but some pain doesn’t mean you stop immediately.
But electric pain means nerves, certain stabbing pains means the muscle is already taxed to its limit, nausea and wanting to throw up from the pain is the body forcing you to stop and lay still at least until the world stops spinning around you.
They never trust that I know what I am talking about, that I’ve lived in my body for thirty two years and know what signals it sends. They insist I push through the pain anyway.
So. I. Do.
Because they are the Doctors. They know best. And they don’t believe in anything but Advil, really, because most pain is just inflammation, don’t you know.
I can’t trust my own experiences, my own body.
And they wonder why my PTSD is acting up on top of everything else. Or they would if they hadn’t given up dealing with that side of things because it is too hard and probably the only source of my pain anyway.
So things like last night happen.
Because I have been taught that I can’t trust my own experiences. My own sensations. My own body.
Here is the biggest kicker. This *will* happen again.
Maybe not my hip, maybe my elbow, or my shoulder, or my ribs. But I will overexert myself despite my best efforts despite my better judgement because I have been conditioned not to trust my body. 
I will resist it, but because of the continued pressure and lack of support I know that I will periodically relapse into these behaviours. And I just.... I am so scared of how badly I may damage myself this time, next time, time after that. There is only so much a body can take and I am just scared. Anxiety amplifies it, of course it does, but the core is just looking at the possibilities and knowing they exist. And that is scary my friends.
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itsclydebitches · 6 years ago
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The Needs of the Many: A Garashir Reading of “Broken Link”
What’s the current definition of stupidity? It might be trying to write meta for a twenty-six year old show. But you know what? I’m doing it anyway. I make questionable fandom choices and regret mostly nothing.
So. I’m still watching Deep Space Nine—about halfway through season five, but with pretty much every spoiler under my belt considering I have no patience and dove straight into the fic—and I am, without a doubt, absolute garashir trash. Now this is important because as I watch I’ve been on the lookout for all the major scenes and episodes that the fans like to talk about, those that catch our attention for obvious reasons: “Past Prologue,” “The Wire,” “Our Man Bashir,” and the like. However, through my (admittedly cursory) browsing these last few months, I’ve been surprised to find no one talking about season four’s finale “Broken Link.”
On the surface it makes sense. Though Garak gets one of his all too rare episodes, we’ve past the point of no return with Berman’s homophobia and our two lovesick faves aren’t interacting as much as they once did. RIP. 
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Thus, it’s easy to pass over Garak doing another Bad Thing in the name of his Cardassian devotion, especially when the Bad Thing is circumvented thanks to Worf instead of Julian. However, what’s nagged at me since watching that scene is one simple, yet significant detail.
Julian was down on that planet.
Quick re-cap for those of us who haven’t watched in a while: the Defiant is taking Odo back to the Great Link in order to cure him of the disease they saddled him with in the first place (nice, huh?). Garak realizes that this may be the one and only time they have all the Founders together and potentially vulnerable. He tries to gain control of the Defiant’s weaponry, but is ultimately discovered and stopped by Worf. Sorry, Garak. You might be surprisingly fit for just a plain, simple tailor, but you’ve got nothing on a battle-obsessed Klingon.
All caught up? Fantastic. Now, all around it’s not a terrible plan. There are just two potential issues. The first is the whole, you know, genocide thing. Some of us tend to frown at that, no matter how much good eliminating the Founders might do moving forward. Beyond that pesky little moral issue, we have the problem that Odo, Sisko, and Julian are all down on the planet’s surface, their deaths a surety if Garak manages to succeed in his plan. This is acknowledged too, so we can’t live with the happy assumption that Garak just wasn’t informed about who was accompanying Odo on this particular mission:
Worf: And what about Odo, and Captain Sisko and Doctor Bashir?
Garak: They'll die. And once the Jem'Hadar ships realize what we're doing, so will we. But what are our lives compared to saving the entire Alpha Quadrant?
From a shipping perspective it doesn’t look too good. After all, how loving is your duo if one can so easily sacrifice the other, without a moment’s hesitation or—dare we imagine it—a single tear in sight? It’s a rather grim picture, the sort of scene that jars shippers out of their lovely little pockets, carefully crafted worlds where suspension of disbelief runs wild. The show-runners may not have had the balls to make anything canon until 2017 (good god), but provided the characters in question don’t actively sabotage the relationship, thereby leaving room for imagining something more, you’re good to go. No such luck with this scene.
At least, it appears that way at first glance. It occurs to me that there are a couple of potential readings if we feel inclined to reach for them. I find it notable that Garak is already thinking to the next logical consequence. That is, Jem’Hadar ships bearing down on them, him meeting his own demise soon after Julian. There’s admittedly something romantic in that. The willingness to let your loved one go, safe in the knowledge that you’ll be quick to join them. We could even argue that Garak isn’t thinking straight in this moment. We know he’s a proud man devoted to his people, exile aside, and right before this he has a rather gutting conversation with the primary Founder:
Founder: They're dead. You're dead. Cardassia is dead. Your people were doomed the moment they attacked us. I believe that answers your question.
So, as far as Garak knows, entire fleets of his people were killed in their last battle, including his father—quite the emotional blow, even if Tain was an absolute shit dad. He’s also received confirmation of what the Federation has long suspected, that the Dominion isn’t content to keep the Alpha Quadrant out of their business, but has every intention of seizing control and, given their history, eliminating rather than assimilating it, to quote the Borg. You’re dead. Your entire species is dead. Everyone else you associate with, even those insidious humans, are dead. It’s only a matter of time. As Garak has pointed out seasons earlier, he knows when to cut his losses and that was one hell of a “resistance if futile” speech. If the rest of the quadrant has any hope of survival, now is the time to cut those losses—including Julian. 
Which I actually really love. 
Because it’s true to Garak’s character. He’s a complicated, morally gray guy, just the sort to blow himself and his shop up in the hopes of saving his life. Or justify killing the entirety of one species to ensure the survival of many. As much as we (or at least I) would have loved a dramatic declaration of love, the realization that he can’t target the Founders no matter how necessary it may seem because his Julian would be caught in the crossfire… that’s just not Garak. Just as importantly, it’s not Julian either. See, I think this scene pairs rather well with “Our Man Bashir.” We can come up with the same sort of potential readings for why Julian was willing to shoot someone he—from the shipper’s perspective—is already head over heels in love with: he’s a doctor and had every confidence in his ability to keep Garak alive until they get out of the holosuite. He’s genetically enhanced and has superb aim, knowing he’ll only create a flesh wound. He was really trying to hit the wall and fucked that one up badly whoops, etc. Regardless of those headcanons though, canonically speaking Julian did shoot him and that’s all there is to it. More specifically, he shot Garak to make sure that Sisko, Kira, Worf, O’Brien, and Jadzia survived, a sacrificing the one to save the many situation, much like Garak’s plan. Or, to put it another way: 
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Spirk is the ultimate standard for all other Star Trek ships, if not, for many, shipping in general. Lots of fans have already pointed out the similarities between the sickbay hand clasp in Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Julian’s moment of forgiveness in “The Wire,” 
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but there’s another parallel between Spock’s iconic sacrifice and the choices made in DS9. “Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” to which Kirk answers, “Or the one.” This is the same logic that our new duo is abiding by. 
Though a notorious liar, we’re left with nothing else that challenges Garak’s words—he truly seems to believe that the Alpha Quadrant’s safety is worth sacrificing those on the Defiant for. Though a doctor through and through, we’re left with Julian’s steady hand and blood on Garak’s neck—he truly seems to believe that potentially losing one friend is worth assuredly saving five. Neither one is willing to compromise their morals for the other and I personally think that speaks to a healthy amount of respect, both for themselves and each other. In the same way that Garak embraces Julian’s Federation-style optimism and Julian comes to understand that lies are how Garak communicates, they simply and completely accept one another. That includes saying through actions if not words, “I love you, but I’m not going to let that love compromise my core beliefs.” Neither is the type to let love interfere with what they perceive as their duty, but that doesn’t mean the love doesn’t exist. 
Of course, if we follow the spirk parallel, that devotion to the many is later challenged. In The Search for Spock Kirk reverses the logic and justifies his journey with, “Because the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.” Anyone who reads any of my metas knows that Context Is a Thing and in this case the context for both films is personal sacrifice. Spock chooses to sacrifice himself to save the Enterprise. Kirk and the others choose to risk their lives and their careers to get Spock back. These are markedly different situations from what Julian and Garak shoulder: sacrificing one another for the many. If you love someone, then giving up your life for them is easy. Having that action save a whole bunch of other people along the way? Icing on the cake. You die knowing that you’ve done the heroic deed and your better half lives on. But can you harm your other half to uphold your oath as a doctor? Can you kill them to save millions of others? I’d argue that Julian and Garak have the far more difficult choice and both of them managed to answer, “Yes.” It’s a testament to their characterization and, given their strong ethics, precisely how well they fit together. They know where the other stands, what they mean to one another…and when they can’t afford to prioritize that love over everyone else. 
In the end, neither even knew that their sacrifice would pay off. If Garak had succeeded in gaining control of the Defiant’s weaponry he might have found that the Founders had another trick up their sleeve to ensure their survival, leaving him with a dead Julian and an unharmed foe. Julian doesn’t know if he and Garak will be able to survive the holosuite program—or what might happen to the others if they perish. He might end up losing everyone, himself included. Neither has any assurances when they make their decision and that to me makes it that much more meaningful. They’re both acts of determination and faith. And from a narrative standpoint (with help from a healthy dose of Plot Armor) they’re both rewarded for that faith. Garak isn’t forced to kill Julian. Julian’s shot harmlessly skims Garak’s neck. They made the hard call, lost little, and in the case of “Our Man Bashir,” gained a healthy dose of respect for what the other was capable of. 
I think that’s pretty damn neat. 
Right. Thank you for coming to my decades late TED Talk. Peace ✌️
Image Credit
#1: https://boldly-yo.tumblr.com/post/183708405938
GIF: http://kuma-la-la.tumblr.com/post/36694488334/the-needs-of-the-many-outweigh-the-needs-of
#2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk/Spock
#3: https://edosianorchids901.tumblr.com/post/181806580405/garak-and-julian-in-222-the-wire
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emblem-333 · 5 years ago
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William Jennings Bryan and American Socialism
No matter how many times we are confronted with the similarities of history we as human beings do the same exact things our predecessors did. We like to believe we are in uncharted territory, that there is something inherently special about the times we currently live in. Or, that we’re in the “end of history.” In reality, history never ends. Humanity never ceases evolving — or devolving. As the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the disgruntled electorate grow angrier at how they’ve become ignored largely by their representatives. The only time we’ve encountered such a scenario in our nation’s history is The Gilded Age when the oligarchs in the country amassed a substantial sum of wealth dwarfing the income of the average American by embarrassing margins. Unlike today where it’s mostly tech giants destroying the country, in the later half of the 1800’s post-Civil War it was the rail roads and Wall St. exercising their respective monopolies to crush the growing force of organized labor.
Laborers were harassed, threatened, beaten by their employer for the mere request of better wages, manageable hours and basic human rights. In the days predating socialism arriving on the shores of the U.S the laborers were labeled as unruly strikers self-centered and uncaring towards the betterment of the country. The elite had their allies in the press smear the name of the poor constantly and populists campaigns seeking to reform a clearly broken system ended up dead on arrival. Even the book ‘The Wizard of Oz’ took pot shots at the farmer, laborers and populism in general. Victor Fleming portrayed the fraudulent utopia of the Emerald City as commentary of the issuing of greenback currency in lieu of Americans using the gold standard. In the middle of the Gilded Age, farmers had taken out loans when greenbacks were accepted currency. When times got rough President Grover Cleveland made greenbacks virtually useless and forced farmers to pay their debts back via the gold standard. This devalued their currency whilst rising up the inflation of the loans they’ve taken out. Greenbacks only have value due to the country agreeing at the time that it is such. The third party known as the “Greenbacks” sought to undo what they deemed to be an injustice towards the agricultural class.
While the Democrats favored the south they hardly were open to drastic change being proposed by the populists. Collective bargaining and making illegal for the government to seize land under “intimate domain” to build more railroads was frowned upon, even something as human as child labor laws were seen as harmful to the stability of the American economy. Never mind the economy seemed to crash nearly every couple of years.
Like it or not, but class warfare usually brings about economic justice for the downtrodden. The idea it doesn’t is a farce perpetrated by those either woefully and genuinely ignorant or wishing to protect their own capital. When the poor and the middle class unite to battle the oppressive elites it’s far more productive than if we fight amongst ourselves. But the below classes need representatives to champion their respective causes and unite the wings. In the days predating effective activism in the United States the best you could hope for is a representative forging his path, climbing the ladder of D.C and acting as your voice. That voice turned out to be former Nebraskan representative William Jennings Bryan. Bolstered by populist James B. Weaver his party fused with the populist democrats and managed to overtake the Bourbon establishment at the convention. Curiously, Bryan’s running mate was a wealthy shipbuilder named Arthur Sewall of Maine. Sewall never served nor had any experience in government. He was picked to possibly finance the underfunded campaign. The propaganda machine of the Republicans working in consort with gold Democrats did more than damage the populist Bryan. Losing, albeit competitively. Thus began Bryan’s reign over the party even though himself wouldn’t be elected to the Oval Office in either of his three attempts.
Perhaps if Bryan had chosen a more experienced candidate as a running mate his chances would’ve been maximized. It’s not like Sewall’s money did anything to assist Bryan. If anything it damaged his standing amongst the populists who were so dissatisfied at his nomination they nominated their own Vice President for the Bryan ticket. Initially, Bryan wanted second-placer Richard Bland Missourian representative as his running mate. However, Bland wished to run for his old congressional seat. Publisher John R. McLean of Cincinnati also was in the running finishing runner-up to Sewall. McLean was a railroad merchant and like Sewall his nomination likely spurs the further left wing of the party as well. Other names tossed around are governor Claude Matthews of Indiana. A moderate populist who broke up some strikes during his brief term. Matthews was lockstep on Bryan on social issues like prohibition of alcohol. Maybe his nomination would work as a mea culpa to the Cleveland delegation? The best option for Bryan was Iowan Governor Horace Boies. A supporter of low tariffs (a forgotten hallmark of Bryan’s candidacy), pro-silver and generally a decent liberal.
Bryan was far and away the most progressive nominee the Democrats — or the Republicans have ever put up. A fiery preacher demanding the direct election of senators, an end to child labor and proponent of Women’s Suffrage. Bryan was no doubt ahead of his time and paid the dear price electorally for it. The public wasn’t willing to jettison the norms to such a degree Bryan was proposing and left him at the altar. Much of his populist ideas were adopted by Theodore Roosevelt forcing Bryan even further to the left. Calling for a Universal Basic Income and local ownership of utilities in future campaigns.
Hindsight is 20/20, but Bryan would’ve been likelier to win if he picked a representative from a crucial swing state to balance the ticket and compromised on some issues, except the free coinage of silver. Though outside of the agricultural states it posed little to no incentive to the industrial workers of Illinois, Ohio, and other states making up the Rust Belt. Bryan likely needed to be more of a hawk on issues such as American Imperialism. In real life he’d support and volunteer himself for service during the Spanish-American War. In his religious eyes Bryan saw his country as liberators to the Cubans from the dreaded imperial Spanish. Bryan could drawback troops after the war was won and leave Cuba to govern itself and our relations with them would have been drastically altered for the better.
After winning Iowa by 942 votes Bryan bested McKinley in the electoral college 225-222. Bryan sweeps the south, excluding West Virginia, and does surprisingly well in the Midwest and west. Losing just Illinois, Wyoming, Minnesota, Ohio, Wisconsin and Minnesota. I campaigned as a crusader against tariffs in the heartland and in the industrial areas I promised not to overturn any apple carts by reforming labor laws. I managed to sell myself in moderate states like Iowa by appealing to their needs beyond the issue of silver. For the industrial worker the coinage of silver meant very little to them. What they wanted was basic human rights in the workplace. Bryan was their ally only he couldn’t manage to sell himself to them in real life.
To be fair to Bryan it is unlikely for someone of his caliber to have won given the circumstances. The poor economy and its subsequent blame was placed at the feet of the outgoing Cleveland. Fortunate enough to dodge the recession of 1890 which cost his successor Benjamin Harrison a second term. The Panic of 1893 ensured Cleveland wouldn’t be popular to challenge for a third term. Perhaps if Cleveland won re-election in ‘88 and McKinley succeeded him, imposed the unpopular “McKinley Tariff” designed to protect American goods and encourage the purchase of said goods. In the 1890 midterms Republicans were routed and by ‘92 the House, Senate and Presidency were under Democratic control.
Say this happens in 1894. The McKinley Tariff is vetoed by Cleveland when it was initially proposed in ‘90. President McKinley institutes his plan once he enters the Oval Office. Our allies Great Britain institute retaliatory tariffs against the United States and the recession of ‘93 is McKinley and his party’s baby. This’ll make it easier for the challenger Bryan to win in ‘96.
Chances are, Bryan pushes hard to get the United States out of the darkness of capitalism and into the light of socialism-lite. Bryan believed in a workers' right to unionize. He wouldn’t have used military force to put down strikes. He’d work to end child labor laws, regulate the standard workday to eight hours, and regulate financial sectors and bust up monopolies. Basically, Bryan is a better, though less bombastic Teddy. While Bryan in his old age, no doubt increasingly bitter at his string of his defeats, clutched to his bible during the Monkey Scopes Trial and embraced the KKK, the younger Bryan was more idealistic, pacifist and less set in his ways. In no way could he be mistaken as crusader for the downtrodden non-white people. But neither were the Republicans. Anti-Lynching laws weren’t passed until Calvin Coolidge did so in the late 1920’s. The Republicans dominated the White House in those days losing just four presidential elections between 1860 and 1928.
Not only does the United States image in the long term benefit from Bryan’s pacifist foreign policy — I doubt Hawaii is annexed during his presidency — you also have the Progressive Era arrive sooner with the Democrats leading the charge, the typically conservative party migrates to the more liberal Republicans for solace. The republicans at this time were friendly to big business and were beginning a downward spiral into laissez-faire capitalism. It took the miraculous arrival of Roosevelt to prevent both parties becoming stooges of the railroads and standard oil. Though Wall Street enjoyed preferential treatment because of course.
The electorate would be subjected to a gigantic realignment. The Republicans benefiting from the states ran by financiers, the Democrats still holding the south due to their confederate ties and further west where silver was very popular.
No doubt Bryan was a novice, but he was an effective novice. Despite having no experience in foreign affairs Bryan negotiated 30 peace deals during his stint as Secretary of State and preached neutrality during the run-up to U.S involvement into World War 1.
Bryan changes the makeup of the entire country. His Jacksonian ideals reverse the trajectory of where we were heading, eventually becoming the global powerhouse we are right now. Bryan likely keeps his throne until his death in 1925. So how the United States interacts with the European powers, the rise of the Soviets, among other entanglements is drastically altered. Perhaps Eugene V. Debs stays a Democrat and is a powerful force in Bryan’s administration. Maybe he’s a Supreme Court Judge? The United States potentially could become a proto-Soviet state only without the gulags and constant string of mysteriously disappearing government officials speaking out against those in power.
At the end of Bryan’s life the country he leaves behind is less imperialist, more reliant on agriculture and the wealthiest don’t exercise such power. Perhaps the worst of the Great Depression are avoided even if the Republican Party instantly takes power back after Bryan’s death.
The socialist movement stalled right around 1920. The Progressive Era assuaged many Americans away from the more radical ideology. Instead of the Industrial Revolution you’d have the Proletariat Revolution and it simply never end during Bryan’s reign.
Going further down the pike term limits are introduced after Bryan winning seven of them. So this completely does away with Franklin Roosevelt and puts the New Deal in question. Though the country is still smelling the fumes of Bryan’s presidency somewhat so much of his more ambitious legislation such as government work programs. The National Recovery Administration designed to establish a code of fair competition, to eliminate the cut-throat methods of industry likely isn’t shot down in the case of Schechter Poultry Corp. v. United States. The NRA is basically the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau with shark teeth for choppers.
Americans missed out on Bryan, but I don’t blame them. Bryan simply couldn’t sell himself to people who weren’t farmers.
Bryan: 225, 7,035,243
McKinley: 222, 6,736,978
Palmer: 0, 132,629
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thesirenserenity · 6 years ago
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I Never Planned on You: Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Seize the Day
Musical Theater AU: Newsies
Lance is back from college for the summer and auditioning for Castle of the Lions Theater's (CLT) summer production of Newsies. It's his dream role and dream show, and he just can't wait! He never planned on finding someone who can read him so easily, who wants to know who he is. Keith is the newest (and best) Stage Manager for CLT's biggest community theater production yet. He got roped into this by his brother and found he had a knack and love for it. He never planned on finding a friend group or falling for the actor on stage who captures his heart.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIENDMATE!!!!! @thisismyfangirlface / @love-at-first-klance I hope you have a lovely day celebrating your birth and the BEST year yet! Thank you for being my other half and the bestest friendmate ever. I LOVE YOU.
For everyone else, enjoy a fluffy, cheesy, Musical Theater AU!
Lance took a deep breath, staring at the doors to the theater.
This was it.
This is what he has trained his whole life for.
All those dance lessons, gymnastics lessons, private singing lessons (coupled with belting show tunes in the car), and acting classes have lead to this moment.
His favorite show, his dream role!
The best theater company in the city, no, the state!
Working with the best actors, many who went on to get into the most amazing performing arts colleges, to Broadway even!
He could do this.
This was it.
-------
Keith rolled his eyes at all the people lining up in the lobby.
He knew that he was supposed to be helping organize the crowd but…
People. Ugh.
His clipboard dug into his side as he observed all the hopefuls sizing each other up, making weird-ass noises to keep their voices warm, being rude to all the volunteers organizing them.
What was with theater people and being petty assholes?
Shiro, his brother, was nothing but nice. Coran, the director, was even nicer! But everyone else?
Bitches. All of them.
Pretentious bitches, posturing and prideful. People like that bugged him.
They mixed up being confident and being a complete dick. Allura was confident! Shiro was confident! But being a good actor and knowing it does not mean you can mouth off to those running the show.
He rolled his eyes again and marked down another number of a person being a dickwad to one of the volunteers. If they were professional actors, they would know better than to assume that one of those running the show wasn’t watching; no one wants to cast a jerk.
Keith tore his eyes from the crowd and the line in front of him and peaked into the door to see if Coran, the choreographer, and the vocal director were ready. Coran gave him a large nod, grin, and thumbs up.
Here goes nothing.
Keith shook his head and threw open the doors of the auditorium.
He watched the throng of people stream in, audition papers and sheet music and phones with tracks clutched in their hands. They pushed and shoved, vying for the best seats for the open audition. The auditionees searched to find their number section, and all the parents, observers, and auditionees who were later in the day found an open seat.
Keith didn’t understand why open auditions were a thing for Castle of Lions Theater, but Alfor, the owner, insisted; something about CLT being a supporting program, whose goal was to provide quality entertainment through theater and foster a community of education and growth. If the actors didn’t learn to support and cheer for each other from the beginning, then they would never learn.
But it was a pain in the ass for the Stage Manager who had to run the auditions.
Coran, who was directing the show, hit the stage with a microphone in hand and gestured to Pidge, who was in the tech booth.
Keith wished he was hiding up there in the booth with them, but no. He had to go collect audition forms and sheet music and music tracks, giving them to the respective runners for the tech booth or director’s table, and then make sure the auditionees were in the right order to go on stage.
Ugh. People.
And this is why he was not an actor.
“Welcome to the auditions for Newsies!”
The director’s voice cut through Lance’s heart. He was here!
Well, kind of. He had his number and all the forms and such ready, but his audition wasn’t until later in the evening, after the break. And so he was hiding out in the tech booth with Pidge, who was currently running sound.
He leaned over and squeezed the hell out of Pidge’s arm. “So nervous,” he said through gritted teeth.
She slapped Lance’s hand away, “Hands off while I’m working! You know that.”
Lance flopped over in the spinny chair, leaning against Pidge’s shoulder. “This is my dream show! My dream role! You know that.”
“So dramatic,” Pidge rolled her eyes.
Lance looked up at her, flicking her glasses, “That’s my job, nerd!”
“Just pay attention to Coran’s instructions!”
Lance huffed, “He is just going to repeat them for everyone after the break. Besides I’ve been with CLT for a couple shows, I know how this works.”
Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, “But I thought this was your dream show, so you should soak up every minute!”
Lance went to snark back, but Pidge shoved a finger in front of his mouth. Lance had been in the box enough to know that meant that she was getting something over the head seat she always wore.
Pidge’s finger went to the button on her cargo shorts, “Copy that, Keith. I’ll look for the first batch of music tracks. Thanks for labeling them for me.” Then she took her finger away from Lance’s mouth.
“Keith?” Lance inquired.
Pidge’s attention was back on the stage in front of them, one hand on the laptop to her right and the other on the soundboard in front of her.
“Shiro’s younger brother? I’m sure you’ve seen him at shows. Plus, I’ve told you about him before.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed. Shiro was an acting god, the best of the best in CLT, and his hero. He was a Junior at the best acting college in the state: the Garrison Performing Arts Conservatory. Lance had auditioned for their musical theater program last year but hadn’t gotten in. The directors had invited him to get more experience and try out again as a transfer in a couple years, so Lance had gone to a different community conservatory in a town a couple hours away this past year with Hunk, his best friend, who was going to school for set design. Both of them would be returning as Sophomores at the end of this summer, but Lance was going to audition again for the Garrison this next year for a transfer.
Lance had heard little of Keith’s acting, only that he and Pidge had been hanging out. Did he take over the lead roles at CLT while Lance was away at college?
His eyes narrowed, and he turned to Pidge to inquire further about his new rival for the stage.
The door behind them creaked open and Hunk popped his head in with a handful of audition sheets for Pidge.
“Here ya go, bud!” Hunk cheered, handing the pile to Pidge, who had put her hand up over her chair to grab. Pidge immediately went through, confirming that the line-up in their playlist was the same with those on the audition sheets.
“Thank god our esteemed Stage Manager had the foresight to put people who need the live accompanist for the first couple slots,” Pidge mumbled.
“Hunk!” Lance whisper-shouted, throwing himself at his best friend. “Today is the day and I’m so nervous and there are so many people here and what if I don’t get my dream role and what if I completely screw up and what if my pants fall down on stage and what if….”
“Whoa, there buddy!” Hunk interrupted, pushing Lance back a bit so he can look in the boy’s worried face. “We had this conversation last month, and last week, and last night at like two A.M.! You’re going to get up on stage and do your best! And then let the directors take care of the rest. Even if you don’t get your dream role, just keep pushing forward and I’m sure there will be other opportunities. Newsies is a super popular show and will be produced many times in your acting career.”
“I know…” Lance whined, slipping into his friend’s offered embrace. “I just don’t want to botch this when I’m trying to get into the Garrison. You know how much they love CLT shows…”
Hunk scoffed, “We all know you are going to get into this show, and with the audition line-up, you know they are gonna make cuts. So even you being in the show will be enough!”
“But Hunk…”
“Shut it, fuckfaces. I’m trying to work!” Pidge interjected.
“Sorry, Pidge!” Hunk cried. He gave Lance one last quiet hug and pushed him back into the office chair, despite Lance’s protests. Winking at him, Hunk slipped quietly from the tech booth, going back to help run audition forms.
Lance huffed and turned back to the stage to scope out the competition.
------
When Coran announced the break, Keith thought he might fall over in relief. He put up a hand to the auditionees who were trying to talk to him and walked away to find quiet. They had all the instructions and information sent to them for auditions via email prior, as well as Coran’s announcement before auditions started. He was not going to deal with people who didn’t know how to listen to instructions during his break. He was good at putting up a friendly front when needed, but the incompetency of some of these auditionees were driving him up a wall.
No, he did not know how the directors selected people for callbacks. Yes, all your tracks were in order and taken care of if you sent them in ahead of time. No, he could not move you forward in an audition. Yes, just check your damn email.
Keith escaped out the back door and took the stairs two at a time to the sound booth. He pulled off his headset, set his phone to go off so he could give a warning before the break was over, and set down his supplies on the small side table before the door to the sound booth.
Running his hands through his hair to get rid of the knots that came from wearing a headset, he pulled open the door.
And came face-to-face with the prettiest dark blue eyes he has ever seen.
Keith gasped, almost running into the stranger, and then took a step back to avoid falling on his ass.
The stranger had less luck, tripping over the carpet change and stumbled into Keith’s chest. Naturally, Keith caught the boy; he wasn’t rude and it was a normal reaction. Those pretty blue eyes were staring into his own then, looking up at him. They were surrounded by long, dark lashes and tanned skin. Keith pulled back a little, taking in the boy’s whole face, a stunning face.
Keith froze up, having a bit of a mental breakdown.
Pretty boy! In his arms!
Then, the boy grinned widely, a smooth voice emerging from his mouth. “Well, it seems I’ve fallen for you!”
Keith felt his face heat up.
“I… what? You… what?” Keith stammered, flustered.
The boy stepped out of his arms and stood to his full height, smiling down at him.
Pidge’s face popped around the doorframe of the sound booth, “Ah, Lance. I see you’ve meet Keith.”
The (very attractive) boy, who Keith figured was Lance, seemed to stiffen up. “Keith? Shiro’s brother?”
Keith rolled his eyes. Of course, that is what he is known for here. “Yup. That’s me.”
Now the boy was glaring at him? That was a weird response. Flirting to glaring in no time flat.
This Lance person took two steps forward and jammed his finger into Keith’s chest. “Now listen here, bud. Just because you are the brother of one of the best actors here, doesn’t mean that you automatically get parts. I know I was gone for a year, but I’m still going to kick your ass!”
Keith’s eyes narrowed, “What the hell, man? What do you have against Shiro?”
Lance scoffed, “Shiro? That man is practically my hero!”
“Then what’s your problem!”
“What’s your problem!”
Keith crossed his arms over his chest, “I have no problem, you weirdo. You’re the one who is all up in my face.”
He made eye contact with a very amused Pidge who was watching, leaning against the doorway of the tech booth.
“Lance,” Pidge interjected, “You know that Keith is the Stage Manager, right? He isn’t auditioning, you dingbat.” A very large smirk was on her face.
Keith sighed, finally understanding. This dickwad thought he was auditioning and would be competition because he was Shiro’s younger brother. Of course.
He watched Pidge’s comment sink into Lance, his demeanor growing more flustered.
“No! What… Stage Manager?” The boy’s face grew red.
Keith rolled his eyes, “Yes, I’m your Stage Manager. Any other enlightening things to realize?”
Lance glared at him, “Yea, your hair is stupid, mullet.” And with that he brushed passed Keith, bumping shoulders with him and stormed down the stairs.
Keith threw his hands up in the air and looked at Pidge in exasperation, who was cracking up. Keith mimicked Lance and stormed passed Pidge into the sound booth, and sat down in the office chair, pouting.
Pidge was still cracking up and had sunk to the floor of the doorway.
Keith mumbled, “That was not part of my break plan.”
Pidge wiped a tear from her eye, finally standing up and leaning on the doorway for support. “That was so amazing. He got so defensive!”
“Yea, it was stupid.”
Pidge looked over at him, a smile on her lips, “You’re just mad cause he said your hair was stupid.”
“My hair is not stupid,” Keith grumbled.
Pidge walked back over to her seat, ruffling Keith’s hair along the way. Keith glared up at her as she sat down in the other chair.
Keith crossed his legs in the chair and huffed. “What the fuck was his deal? I literally caught him from falling flat on his face, and he insulted me for being Shiro’s brother.”
Pidge sighed, “You can’t blame Lance. He is just super nervous. He’s been away for a year at college and this is his dream show. He really just wants to get one of the leads and is super competitive. He thought you were a rival competitor because you’re Shiro’s brother.”
Keith rolled his eyes but understood. Shiro got super worked up before auditions too; just last night, Shiro was having a meltdown and his best friend/not-girlfriend, Allura, had to call to calm him down.
He sighed, “I get it. Shiro was the same way last night. I just don’t get why he was such a huge jerk to me.”
Pidge chuckled, “He was just intimidated. He fell into your arms, flirted, found out you were his hero’s younger brother, thought you were a threat, and then was embarrassed after finding out you were his Stage Manager.”
Keith blushed, “Well, he made me go through a range of emotions too.”
Pidge’s eyebrows were dancing, “I’m sure, ya gay fool.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
------
Keith was just a tiny bit interested in the weird, flirty, annoying boy who had literally fallen on top of him earlier.
Just a tiny bit.
So when he bounded onto the center of the stage and declared his name was Lance and started belting his heart out with sparkles in his eyes, Keith watched.
He couldn’t take his eyes away from this jerkface when he was filling the stage.
Keith’s right eyebrow raised a little bit. For how nervous Pidge said Lance was, he really couldn’t tell. He could feel the energy in the auditorium change; Lance had captured everyone’s attention. Keith could even argue that his talent and charisma on stage, while different, was on par with Shiro’s.
The (amateur) Stage Manager (and secret theater nerd) in him was very impressed.
Keith felt his heart clutching as Lance’s clear Tenor rose, filling the whole room with sound. There was so much passion in his words, so much energy behind every note.
The final note of the song rung throughout the room, captivating everyone. Silence followed though Keith could swear he could still hear the overtones ringing. His throat was dry and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy who had his arms and heart flung wide on the stage, panting.
Then, Lance relaxed and bowed, cueing a thunderous applause from the audience. A wide grin spread across his face, and he bowed again, winking at anyone who caught his eye.
Keith felt like he could breathe again.
After the audience quieted down, Coran reached for the microphone next to him to ask follow up questions.
Even though Keith should really be making sure the next auditionee was ready, he still couldn’t take his eyes off stage as Lance answered ‘Ya bet I can talk in a New Yorker accent,’ with a perfect New York accent.
The choreographer leaned over and took the mic from Coran, “It says that you have ballet, tap, and gymnastics experience. Can you expand?”
A common question from her, but everyone gasped as Lance smirked, prepped, and spun like five times in a tight circle on one foot. He landed it, leaped into the air and touched his toes in the splits, landed that and promptly threw himself backward into a back handspring, followed by a backflip. Lance then had the audacity to land and take another bow, with the same teasing smirk on his face.
Keith schooled his desire to gape into a blank face of indifference. That shit was hard! He, himself, was a trained gymnast and could execute that, but still!
His eyes snapped to the choreographer, who was most definitely impressed.
Fucking showoff.
------
Keith pulled his gross hair into a pony, flinching at how greasy it was. But that’s what you get when you have callbacks the day after auditions. When he didn’t get home until like two am because the directors were debating about callbacks forever. When things started at nine am in the morning, which means he had to be there to set up at eight am.
Keith really needed another huge cup of coffee.
He looked up from his clipboard to a huge cup of coffee in front of him, and his brother smiling down.
“I thought you could use this since you left the house in a hurry.”
Keith sighed, “Oh thank god. You have saved me!”
Shiro laughed, “And I thought I was the dramatic one!”
“Well, yea. But I had a serious need for caffeine and you simply knew.”
Shiro shrugged, “It’s your first big show, of course you need caffeine. Plus, you live off of coffee.”
Keith smirked up at him, “You know I do!” He grabbed the cup and took a large sip, moaning in pleasure. “Black, like my soul. You know how I like it.”
Shiro laughed, “Of course I do, dork.”
Keith observed the scared look in his eyes. “How are you doing, Shiro. Nervous?”
Shiro looked away, bashfully, “A little. It’s not every day you get called back for the lead role of an amazing show.”
Keith scoffed, “Okay, yea. But that shit happens to you like four times a year, and you knew this was going to happen. You’re an amazing actor.”
“You have to say that, you’re my brother.”
“I’m just stating a fact, you dingbat.”
Allura came up behind Shiro and threw an arm around him. Her sweet voice rang through the room, “I’m not your brother, and I say you’re an amazing actor.”
Shiro had the audacity to blush, but that was probably because his longtime crush had an arm around him.
Keith rolled his eyes. They were both so oblivious.
Shiro stuttered, “You’re… You’re my best friend, you also are biased.”
Allura’s arms encircled Shiro’s waist, her chin propped on his shoulder. “We have worked together in so many productions. I think I can say you are a good actor without being biased as your best friend.”
“And you are going to work together in another one, once again,” Keith stated. “Now go crowd around the callback list like normal hopeful actors!”
Allura grinned and fist-bumped Keith, “And get our dancing shoes on!”
“Break a leg, guys!” Keith added, to their retreating backs. He took another large sip of his coffee and muttered, “Oblivious idiots.”
He ran his hand over his face, set down his coffee, and picked back up his clipboard, turning to face the quickly filling room of hopefuls.
A loud noise drew Keith’s attention to the door. Pidge came bursting through the door, bounded around the table, and jumped onto Keith, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Keith bent his legs to accommodate the impact and just sighed.
“Good morning, motherfucker!” Pidge shouted.
“You’re lucky I put my coffee down before you jumped on top of me, ya little brat.”
“Pidge!”
Both of them looked up at the outburst, turning their heads to the two boys walking up to the table. Keith recognized Hunk, who was working on set design, from yesterday. Though he didn’t need to be present for much of his work, Keith figured that he really just enjoyed helping out around the theater and being with his friends. After all, he is the epitome of sunshine.
Lance, who had literally fallen on top of him yesterday and insulted his hair (and who’s eyes haunted his dreams), stormed up to Keith and his leech with a threatening finger out.
“There are children here!” he chided, “You can’t just shout ‘motherfucker’ in front of them.”
“I can name seven times when you said ‘fuck’ in front of your little siblings in the past year, and you weren’t even in town for the majority of it,” Pidge deadpanned.
“It doesn’t count when it’s after I stub a toe, you buttnugget!” Lance countered.
“Still got chewed out by your mother, fuckface.”
Keith sighed, figuring he should intervene. He ran his and down his shoulder, pushing Pidge’s face, trying (and failing) to dislodge her from his body.
“Pidge, as the stage manager, I really can’t condone you shouting curse words in front of children . . .”
“See!” Lance interrupted, “Even mullet agrees with me!”
Keith shot a glare at him and then continued, “But as your friend, I say, ‘Good fucking morning to you too’ Now get the fuck off me.”
“Language, mullet!” Lance gestured wildly at the children all the way across the room.
“I do not have a mullet! And my hair is up!”
Hunk sighed and intervened, “I see you’ve met Lance, Keith.”
Pidge, still clinging to Keith, interjected, “And he somehow managed to flirt and then piss off someone who sits in with the directors during casting, like an idiot.”
That shut Lance up.
Hunk nudged him, “Come on, bro. Try again.”
Lance sighed and then held out his hand, “Hello stage manager, who I’ve never met before. My name is Lance, it's fantastic to finally meet you.”
Hunk raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm, but let it go.
Keith was willing to play along. “Pidge, darling,” which earned him a scathing look, “I need my right arm.” He was hoping that Pidge would finally jump off, but instead, she just climbed around his back and latched herself onto his left side.
Keith just rolled his eyes and continued, offering his right hand to Lance. “It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard a lot about you and Hunk from this koala here.”
Keith ignored the tingle that shot up his arm when his hand touched the soft, warm hand of the other guy. Be still, gay heart.
“We’ve heard a lot about you too and are excited to get to know you this summer!” Hunk grinned at him. “We should hang out soon, outside of all this jazz.”
“And all that Jazz!” Lance shout-sang, accompanied with vigorous jazz hands.
Keith could feel Pidge huffing against his shoulder.
Hunk just grinned and gave his own little jazz hands.
And Keith hid his amusement behind a neutral face and an eyebrow raise.
“On that note, pun intended, I am going to go warm-up and check the callback list!” Lance shot finger guns. “Bye Pidgeon, bye bro-of-my-heart, bye mullet!”
“Break a leg, man!” Hunk called after his retreating back.
Keith just signed and turned to look at his leech. “Pidge, seriously. Get the fuck off me, I have to do my job.”
“Watch your fucking language,” Pidge mumbled into his shirt and just climbed to his back, clinging on by herself.
Keith rolled his eyes, and picked up his coffee and fallen clipboard, handing a pencil over his back for Pidge to hold. This was nothing new for him.
Hunk laughed at them, “I’m glad to see that I’ve been replaced as the human jungle gym while I was gone. Good to know your habits haven’t changed, Pidge. Though, I don’t know how long Keith can do his job with you as a backpack.”
“About as long as you can, Keith lifts and shit,” his ‘backpack’ answered.
Hunk nodded in approval, “Nice, man. I know how hard it is to be Pidge’s noble steed.”
Keith chuckled, “I’m more of her mysterious, dark steed than the noble steed you are.”
“Yeah, cause you’re emo as fuck,” Pidge piped in.
“Watch your fucking language,” Keith parroted back.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Hunk reached out and picked up the pile of papers on the table, “All swearing and steeds aside, what can I do to help?”
--------
About thirty minutes later, Pidge finally got off Keith’s back and climbed up to the tech booth to run sound for dance callbacks. Keith was still in the now-quiet atrium, sitting down for a moment.
Finally, some goddamn peace and quiet.
He could hear the choreographer teaching the dance for the callbacks over her mic and spurts of what he thought was “Seize the Day,” but he wasn’t positive.
Pulling his trusty clipboard over to him, he looked over the day’s schedule and his neatly-printed list of what he needed to do still as he drained the cold dregs of his coffee. He glared at the cup when it came back empty.
“Need me to make a coffee run?” Hunk asked, breaking the silence as he walked into the room.
“I’m sure the directors wouldn’t mind, they were debating callbacks and scheduling until like two A.M.”
Hunk’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s so late! And back here so early the next day. I will gladly make a coffee run now.”
Keith grinned at him, “You will save my dead soul if you do, though we should probably give them a bit longer and collect orders in the break after dance callbacks.”
Hunk smiled back, “That makes sense. Anything you need me to do right now?”
Keith sighed and glanced back down at his list, though he had already memorized it and was processing the best way to delegate. “Wanna keep me company while I copy down the tentative schedule in the holding room? There isn’t much to do until the general dance callbacks are over.”
“You got it, my man!”
They walked down the hall and through the backstage doors, to the large room that served as the secondary green room. Large sets from past productions, couches and tables, and a couple vending machines littered the room. Keith tried not to trip over some of the auditionee’s bags as he walked up to the whiteboard.
“Hey Hunk, would you please go fill up a couple water coolers in the kitchen? I forgot to grab those this morning.”
“I can imagine, running on less than six hours of sleep. I got you!” Hunk answered and walked out the door toward the kitchen.
Keith turned back to the board and uncapped a marker. Just as he was about to write, he heard murmurs down the hall, toward the stage. Which was really weird, because everyone should be on stage during the auditions.
He furrowed his brow and dropped the marker back on the holder, along with his clipboard, and went to investigate.
Part curiosity, part because it was his job to make sure people were where they needed, or didn’t need, to be.
He lightened his steps and snuck closer. Turning the corner, right in front of the doors that went to the back of the stage, he saw Lance kneeling in front of one of the little boys who was probably auditioning for the part of Les. He looked to be around twelve and was crying, from nerves Keith assumed.
Keith turned off into one of the bathrooms nearby and grabbed a couple of tissues, and then walked up to them with purposeful steps.
“You’re going to do great, Leo. I know you’re very talented and you are a natural on stage! It is totally normal to be nervous,” Lance encouraged, ducking his head down to meet the younger boy’s eyes.
Keith knelt down next to Lance, meeting his eyes and offering a small smile. The little boy, Leo, looked up at him with watery eyes.
“Hi bud, I’m Keith, the stage manager. Here,” he offered the tissues to him and then sat cross-legged next to him on the wall.
Lance smiled at him and turned back to the boy, “Leo, you were in Oliver with Shiro, right?”
Leo nodded, wiping at his eyes with a tissue.
“Well, Keith is Shiro’s younger brother. Tell us, Keith, does the amazing Shiro, who has been in many, many musicals, ever get nervous?” Lance’s blue eyes were smiling at him.
Keith chuckled, “You should have seen him two nights ago, before auditions. He had talked himself into a nervous wreck and almost threw up. I’ve actually seen him up-chuck before shows! Everyone gets nervous.” He hesitantly put a hand on Leo’s shoulder.
Lance nodded, “But what most actors learn to do is channel that nervous energy and let it fuel their acting. It helps put more energy and purpose into their words, actually.”
The boy scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and nodded. “How do I do that, Lance?”
Lance grinned, and grabbed Leo’s hand, pulling him to his feet. Keith stood on his own, using the wall as support.
“First of all,” Lance said, opening his arms, “give me a hug. You look like you need one!”
The kid giggled and launched himself into his arms. Lance squeezed him tight, even wrinkling up his face.
Cute.
“Now,” Lance continued, “Go splash your face with cold water and dry it off. Can’t have you going on stage with a red nose!”
Leo bounded down the hallway to the bathroom, and Lance turned to Keith.
“Thanks for helping me, man. He’s a good kid and honestly, a huge contender for Les from my humble point of view. Super sweet kid!”
Keith softened at Lance’s kind expression, his fond smile, and sparkling eyes.
Keith felt his lips quirk into a half-smile, “He seems like a good kid. You’re really good with him, I never would have been able to deal with that. Usually, I tell Shiro to man the fuck up and call Allura for backup.”
Lance laughed, the sound making Keith smile wider, “I’m pretty sure that would not be a good way to handle a kid being nervous, mullet.”
Keith’s smile folded into a glare and pout, “Stop calling me that!”
Lance shrugged, a smirk on his face, turning his attention back to Leo scampering down the hallway to them.
“Okay, Lance, what now?”
Lance bent over so to be on the same level as Leo. “I have a super-secret technique that helps me channel my nerves, but it is really important that while we do it, you are constantly thinking positively and about channeling the energy. You got that, my man?”
Leo nodded excitedly.
“Okay, join us Mullet-man. This is good for stress too!”
Keith scoffed, but let Lance continue to talk.
“Close your eyes and stand firm on your feet. Take a moment to center yourself on those positive thoughts. Now, tense your toes…”
Keith peeked an eye open and held back a giggle from the look of concentration on Leo’s face.
“Feet… ankles… calves… knees… thighs… booty…”
Leo giggled, like every normal twelve-year-old.
“Focus Leo, tense your abs… chest… shoulders… arms… fingers… neck… and your face. Hold it! Hold it!”
Keith was holding his breath too, his face super scrunched up.
“Now release!”
There was a huge burst of exhaling from all three of them as they entered back into a state of relaxation. Keith’s eyes snapped open, watching the relief and peace wash over Leo’s eyes.
The kid beamed up at Lance, “I don’t feel that nervous anymore!”
Lance beamed back, his eyes sparkling, “Good! It did its job then!” He offered his hand to the boy, who eagerly took it. “Let’s get back to dancing, little man. You have a call back to destroy!”
Leo tugged Lance toward the door to the stage excitedly. But Lance turned around, those pretty blue eyes smiling as softly as his lips, and mouthed ‘thank you, Keith.’
They disappeared out the door too fast. Keith was rooted to the floor, his brain floundering in the image.
His stomach was all fluttery, his heart beating fast.
Oh, no…
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Grim History
Michael Oliver, the Phoenix Foundation and Three Failed Attempts at Starting a New Nation
      National Public Radio once called The Phoenix Foundation a shadowy and sinister organization. It is not entirely clear if they are still active.  We do know that their founder, Michael Oliver, tried on three separate occaisions to start his own nation based on libertarian ideology. His methods involved stirring up troubles in small island nations with a potential for starting violent independence movements. Michael Oliver and the Phoenix Foundation were, at best, on a quixotic quest without any realistic chance of success.
    The sixties were a time when national independence movements were thriving. The post-colonial era was at its peak and anti-Soviet rebellions were breaking out in Eastern Europe. Some of that spirit spread to the first world and Michael Oliver, a real estate developer who had made it big in Las Vegas, caught a bit of that wind. Oliver was a Lithuanian immigrant, a far-right anarcho-libertarian in ideology, an anti-communist, anti-tax activist, and advocate of strict adherence to the gold standard. In 1971, he began pitching dreams of a libertarian utopia where no government would interfere with anybody and no taxes would be paid. He attracted a sleazy group of intelligence agents, laissez faire capitalist extremists, pimps, drug traffickers and mafiosi who poured $200.000 into his scheme to build his island paradise in the South Pacific.
    The Minerva Reefs, somewhat near Tonga, were uninhabited by anything other than sea creatures; this was due to their location underwater. Michael Oliver hired a team of barges to haul sand from Australia to the reef and dump it there to make an island rising above sea level. When the waves no longer covered the newly-made land, Oliver and his appointed president of the Republic of Minerva, Morris Davis, arrived with flags and freshly minted coins made of gold on one side and silver on the other. They built one tower on the island. The other governments of the region were suspicious, so they held a meeting and agreed that something needed to be done. The King of Tonga sent a small band of troops to occupy the island; they seized Minerva’s one tower, planted the Tongan flag in the sand, and chased Oliver and his goofy friends away. The island of Minerva has been a part of Tonga ever since.
    Never one to kknow when to quit, Oliver saw the Republic of Minerva as a learning experience rather than a defeat. His next venture into nation building involved ex-OSS intelligence agent Mitchell Werbell and a large supply of military-grade weaponry to be used for defense and armed rebellion. 1973 was the year when Great Britain decided to set the Bahamas free and end colonial rule in that Caribbean group of islands. The white inhabitants of Bahamian Abaco wanted to remain a part of the U.K. since they feared being a marginalized minority population under a government made up of Afro-Caribbean politicians. Oliver saw his opportunity. He made contact with the people of Abaco and offered them financial and military aid in exchange for letting him build his libertarian fantasy on their land. He soon brought Werbell in a helicopter with a large collection of heavy weaponry and a newly-penned constitution guaranteeing extremely limited government and establishing Abaco as a tax-haven nation.
    Mitchell Werbell attempted to build a militia by training the residents of Abaco in warfare techniques. Initially, the machine guns and hand grenades looked like fun but soon the peoples’ interest waned. They had little interest in being a utopian country where rich people could hide their money in banks to avoid taxation; they did not want their island to turn into a seedy enclave of drug runners and whorehouses. Ultimately they wanted to remain a part of the U.K. but that dream died when the British officials flat-out told them they were not interested in keeping Abaco as a British possession. Oliver began to look like a meddler and a crank. The Bahamian government easily put down the rebellion; Michael Oliver got deported and Werbell got arrested for illegal weapons trafficking. They sentenced him to prison in the United States.
    The Phoenix Foundation officially started in 1975. The three trustees of the group were Michael Oliver, his friend James McKeever, and Harry Schulz, the world’s highest paid investment banker at the time. Their aim was to turn their anarcho-capitalist, laissez faire ideology into a tax-free banking nation ; their motivation was that something had to be done soon since America was losing the Cold War and the age-old right wing trope that a communist totalitarian dictatorship would soon engulf the freest nation in the world was imminent. Either that or society was about to collapse because the government makes people pay taxes. After scheming in secret for five years, the Phoenix Foundation moved its headquarters to Amsterdam to escape the prying eyes of the IRS and other government snoops. In 1980 they put their plans into action.
         The New Hebrides were never officially a colony. The French and British governments came to a unique agreement to jointly administer the South Pacific island chain without actually claiming possession of it. The colonial era was winding down and both countries agreed to allow the New Hebrides to become an independent nation, soon to be named Vanuatu. The transition was to be a peaceful one and a cause for the Melanesian inhabitants to celebrate. The biggest obstacle came from a remote island called Espiritu Santo. Jimmy Stevens, a half-caucasian and half-Melanesian leader of a cargo cult called Nagriamel, had campaigned in Vanuatu’s first presidential election and lost by a landslide. Disgruntled, he returned to Espiritu Santo and declared the island to be a separate nation named Vemerana. The people in his cult rose up in rebellion, armed only with fists and bows and arrows. They seized all government property and the radio station, rioted, burned and looted buildings and blockaded the air strip to prevent any planes from landing.
    Soon after that, a boat full of Vietnamese refugees got intercepted by the military. Upon inspection, they uncovered a large cache of guns and radio equipment. The boat was headed for Espiritu Santo and the ownership was registered as the Phoenix Foundation. The Vietnamese boat-people were being brought along to bulk-up the population of Espiritu Santo, although what they would do once they got there has never been fully explained.
    For the Phoenix Foundation, this proved to be a minor deterrence. They flew Jimmy Stevens to the United States to petition the United Nations for statehood recognition. He returned with boxes of Vemerana flags, passports, and freshly minted coins. The Phoenix Foundation clandestinely brought in a new supply of war materiel from Fiji. Spies alerted the government in the capital of Vanuatu. The conflict known as the Coconut War had begun. Three years after the murder-suicides of the People’s Temple cult in Jonestown, Guyana, a group of white men supplying natives of a remote jungle island with rifles made the Phoenix Foundation look scary and suspicious. The Vanuatuans asked Britain and France for help. The British thought it was more trouble than it was worth but France still had troops in New Caledonia. They were transported to Espiritu Santo, albeit with no mandate to engage in any military action. When the followers of Nagriamel saw the unwillingness of the soldiers to fight, they  went on a rampage and destroyed all the stores and buildings on the island. In an act of desperation, Papua New Guinea sent in a band of soldiers to quell the violence. In the end, the Papuans were welcomed as guests and fellow Melanesians; they quickly made friends with the Nagriamel fighters and the Coconut War ended without any combat.
    Jimmy Stevens was arrested and imprisoned. During the trial, it became obvious that the Phoenix Foundation was manipulating him and trying to orchestrate the uprising behing the scenes. Michael Oliver and his gang of loony libertarians were deported and permanently banned from Vanuatu.
    Despite being a successful businessman, Michael Oliver was a three-time loser nonetheless, and the Phoenix Foundation turned out to be nothing more than a clique of dopey rich kids who could not see farther then they could reach. This is sad because they obviously could not see very far. Maybe this is what millionaires do when they have too much time on their hands, too much imagination, too little purpose in life and only a tenuous connection to life in the real world. Wealth does not automatically breed wisdom. A nation can not be built with an excess of ideology and no pragmatic or practical plan of action.
Strauss, Erwin S. How to Start Your Own Country. Paladin Press, 1999.
https://grimhistory.blogspot.com/
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dubaibrillmindz · 2 years ago
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How to Develop App Like Instagram
How to Develop App Like Instagram
These days taking selfies and prints and posting them on social media platforms has come a natural miracle. In this ultramodern script, photography has been a advance and people are viewing it as a coercion rather than as a hobbyhorse. Having remarkable features and acting as a great platform for simply participating prints has made this Instagram gain immense fashionability among all the social networking spots. It's no wonder that Instagram has seized the print- participating request and the adoration of the online druggies. 
With the eventual increase in the druggies marking their online presence, it has paved a way for numerous businesses to Develop Apps Like Instagram. also, these type of platforms has come the major growth motorists for numerous businesses. Everyone can simply partake their prints with an eye- catching caption. Being unique from other social networks Instagram has established its own place in the app request. 
How to Develop an App like Instagram? 
Who would anticipate similar a huge success? It all began with a clear yet exceptional point that's keeping an image in a square with some different pollutants. This is regarded as the MVP of Instagram, which enabled its parent company to earn advanced investments and make a comprehensive design that could serve efficiently on all the significant mobile platforms. When Instagram was launched on the app store, the print- sharing and editing operations dwelled collectively. The union of both these factors has set the stage for the success of this operation. 
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To develop an app like Instagram, you have to produce a three- league operation that can serve as a print- editing app, print- participating app, and runner app. 
Features of an App Like Instagram 
Account Authorization 
Then the stoner is needed to produce a profile and they can produce a new account either by lately entering all the details or by subscribing up using their dispatch id or any social media account. also, you can give a new word in case you forget your old word of those accounts. Another important perspective that has to be noted is you have to save the information of the druggies in the backend safely. So, it necessitates a robust database to fulfill this task.
Edit Profile 
Now concentrate on designing an option of editing the profile so that if the druggies want to change anything in their profile this point really helps. Your druggies can change the profile print, their particular details, and memoir. So, that they can start posting filmland and vids after all those variations. For this, you need to set a channel for the commerce between the client and the garçon of the app. 
 Uploading the print and videotape 
This point is the most important and the foundation of this operation. Then your stoner will upload an image or videotape from their gallery, drive or from their SD card. also, they can also partake these images or vids to other social media platforms. When coming to backend development you should use different approaches for both Android and iOS platforms. 
Creating the Messaging point
By taking the current scripts into consideration it's always obligatory to include this real- time runner point to your druggies to add further worth to your operation. This, in turn, helps to succeed in your business. You should also independently design a announcement which enables the stoner to be alert of those incoming dispatches from other druggies. When talking about the backend you should make sure that you always help the redundant lading time of the waiters. 
Integrating the Geo- position point 
It's one of the necessary features for not only this type of operation but for nearly all apps. It facilitates the stoner to simply find their current position when they're posting an image or videotape in their profile. So to apply this trait you need to integrate those API's of charts and locales independently as for Android and iOS as they're fully different.
Search Option 
This point enables the stoner to find other druggies, their musketeers, groups, etc by codifying their stoner names. also, they can also search for the rearmost trending news and current hot motifs that are running on social media. Then the backend waiters need to respond incontinently when the stoner quests for anything in the hunt bar. 
Connecting multiple social media platforms 
As druggies these days are connecting through colorful social media platforms it's necessary for you to allow them to partake the information, prints, vids on several social media spots at a time. Enable your druggies to post the links of their other social media accounts. 
Cost to Develop an App Like Instagram 
Before agitating the cost constraints you need to you should have a clear idea on all the factors that drive your budget 
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To develop an app like Instagram it always demands some huge gobbets of price. 
App platforms 
React or Native 
An app like this requires an intuitive UI/ UX designs to give a flawless experience to the druggies 
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The mobile app development company in Bangalore
The overall introductory cost for developing an app like Instagram is$ 6000 to$,000 for a single platform. 
Benefits of Developing an App like Instagram 
Generates huge profit to your business 
Figure client fidelity 
Brand Character 
belting Up 
This period is now swamped with a variety of social networking operations, so it would be really salutary to develop an app like Instagram. It provides a fast and large compass for reaching out to wider parts of people across the world. That will help boost your request and optimize ROI. If you really achieve in furnishing great features and stoner interfaces also you'll surely stand on the top.
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runner5ive · 4 years ago
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😠!!! Grumpy apocalypse mom and our gremlin child, pretty please! 🥺
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Janine and Five!
If you'd like to request something please go here to see who’s who! I've had a few requests so far and I'm starting to work through them, but there's still plenty of characters available 💕
Apologies this ones longer than I expected 😅 I just have a lot of love for Janine.
The moment Five arrives in Abel, Janine is delighted at the thought of having an actual military trained recruit in her township.
And for a while, it's exactly as she'd hoped it'd be. Five stands and salutes her whenever she walks by (even if no one else does), they do whatever tasks are given to them without argument. Hell, her name sign is 'Boss' and she is thrilled.
She thinks, for a moment, that perhaps This new soldier would be good for Abel. Maybe they'll help... reign in the other runners a little. Bring a level of seriousness to the township.
But then she starts to see Five change. Five becomes sillier, bouncier, less like a soldier and more like... like someone their own age.
And at first Janine's put down. She blames Sam and Simon for corrupting her perfect little soldier. Uncertain what she's doing wrong, she asks Five what Mullins was like, hoping for an idea of how to reign in her own runners. And so Five tells her, and Janine realises just how broken and miserable Five actually was when they arrived.
So, she figures, she might not have the perfect little soldier, but at least she has herself a happy, loyal runner.
And Five is loyal.
They don't leap to their feet every time she walks by anymore, but they always, without fail, salute her. They still call her Boss. They still do everything she asks without question. They're just... happier.
When Five thinks they'll be going back to Mullins at some point, they mostly crash on Janine's couch in the farmhouse, refusing any permenant lodgings incase they get too cosy. The minute Five decides they're staying - they move out and get their own corner of a housing tent and the farmhouse seems a lot... emptier without them there every morning and night.
Janine refuses to admit she misses them. She carries on, business as usual, certain that Five wouldn't be too bothered about seeing her other than during missions. But Five surprises her. She'll be sat in her office, pouring over documents and trying to figure out how to fairly share out rations, or planning missions. And she won't even notice anyone come in until she notices the mug of coffee and a biscuit beside her.
When she falls asleep during her work, Five will usually be the one waking her gentle, smiling warmly and giving her a friendly salute before suggesting she went to bed.
Janine is a strong, but somewhat socially awkward too. Listening to her on runs always makes them smile.
Spoilers from S1M6 below the cut:
Season 1
S1M6 Janine feels awful after leading Five into an ambush. She almost can't believe it. She was so sure they could trust New Canton, and she was wrong. She's frustrated with herself and her own poor judgement, taking it out on Sam before storming off to bed.
S1M7 When Five returns that night, dehydrated, exhausted and a little battered, Janine goes to visit them in the quarantine hospital rooms. Five is asleep, unaware she's there, but Janine is comforted at that moment just by watching them breathe.
After that, Janine shows more concern for Five in her own subtle ways. Checking they have all their supplies for long missions, making sure they have enough warm clothes in winter. She always asks Maxine for updates on their health if they ever need to go to the infirmary. She pretends not to care... but Five knows. And Five cares too.
Season 2
S2M1 Whilst Five is staying at New Canton, their cat Simon Pawchlan Feline De Luca ends ups living with Janine. She pretends to hate it, but honestly he’s good company. Plus, he’s a good mouse catcher. Though she cant help but think that the combination of hers and Simon’s names is a not so subtle hint from Five. 
S2M4 The attack on Abel practically destroyed Five's bunk. Their friends were able to salvage most of their stuff, but the broken bed and the influx of those needing housing means that Five doesn't really have anywhere to stay when they return home from New Canton. Janine act frustrated that Sam had brought them back without checking with her first, especially since there's nowhere for them to stay, but she's secretly glad they're crashing on her couch again.
With the Major back at Abel, Janine can't help but notice the same stiffness return to Five when they take orders from this stranger, and it surprises her. Because this was the Major, the one in charge, and although Five had never met her before they must know she's trustworthy.
But Five warms slowly to this new person in charge. Not many others notice because they're all treading on eggshells now the Major is back, but for Five it's different. Janine is the one to realise that perhaps she reminds them of Mullins a little too much.
Janine is also surprised to see that any orders the Major gives them, Five's eyes would dart to Janine for confirmation. Five is a loyal runner, but only to those they know, and at that point they're loyal to Janine, not the Major.
Janine doesn't mention it to them, but she keeps an eye on Five, watching over the weeks as they gradually warm up to the Major. Still, there's not the same level of trust for the Major as there is for her.
S2M40 But then it turns out there's a traitor in Abel. And there's only so many people it can be. And Janine can't help but suspect Five. Because, let's be honest, Five hadn't really been there that long. Five arrived through rather suspicious circumstances. And Five still hadn't admitted who exactly they were before the apocalypse. Not even a name.
Five is hurt that Janine suspects them. It leaves them uneasy around her. But they still refuse to give her their name. When Janine demands an explanation why not, Five struggles to sign coherently. They're upset, but they manage to get the message across: they don't like who they were before and they're trying to forget. They're trying to be better. This of course only builds more suspicion.
S2M43 The day Simon is revealed to be the traitor, Janine is devestated. Because it can't be Simon. Not Simon. Not her stupid Simon. She listens as Jamie attacks him with the bat, stunned and horrified, but also hating herself for how she suspected Five more than anyone.
When Five gets back, they run straight up to Janine and throw their arms around her, stunning Janine, who is not a hugger. She's not sure if Five is trying to comfort her or looking for comfort themself. She awkwardly pats them on the back.
That day, Five gives Janine their birthname. It's hard to do, but they do it. They tell her that if she wants to look them up, she can. They're tired of secrets. Janine waits for them to leave before searching that name, and then deleting everything she can find on them, without reading a single thing. As far as the world is concerned, Five's life started at Abel.
Season 3
S3M5 The day Five accepts to become the Head of the Runners, Janine decides to make the role official. With the promotion, Five works a lot closer with her, planning mission and training regimes, and earning an official 'Head of Runners' bedroom in Janine's house. It was a downstairs pantry, but it's a decent size and already has lots of shelves and a nice view from the window. Everyone helps to do it up so it's nice and cosy, and Five can finally move off the couch and into their own space.
Five has no idea what to do with a bedroom of their own and is very overwhelmed. More hugs for Janine, even if she's more of a handshake kind of gal.
Five has an entire shelf dedicated to the people they've lost. Sara's sunglasses, photos of Simon.
Five is a lot more cautious about Janine's wellbeing than they've ever been. There are more instances than not where Five will physically drag Janine's in her chair from her desk, seizing her work and refusing to give it back until she went and had some food.
Janine's raised, frustrated voice can usually be heard from outside, and people ask Five how they cope, since all Janine seems to do is shout at them.
Five doesn't care. Because they know Janine cares too. With their additional duties, Five's often working late, and Janine is somewhat surprised by how seriously they're taking this role. Five just wants to do her proud, which is weird because they've never really done anything to make anyone proud before. When Five falls asleep in their work, they'll wake with a blanket over them.
Mornings are cosy. They both usually get up at a similar time. Whoever gets to the kitchen first usually makes the other a hot drink, and they usually sit in silence, reading the mornings memos together.
Five knows Janine's missing Simon, but neither of them can bare to talk about him. Still, on days Janine's feeling particularly low, Five can usually tell. They give her extra buscuits these days.
Season 4
S4M22 Five is a wreck after Sam gets bit. Like, a complete mess. Everyone tries to consolidate them when they get back to Abel, but they are in self-destructive mode. They run off, and hours later Jody finds them having raided one of Simon's old whisky stashes. They're rotten drunk and barely able to stand.
They DEMAND to be taken to Tom. Their shotgun is in their hands, and there is rage on their face. Everyone's panicking, but Janine doesn't say a word. She just marches up to five, punches them in the gut so hard they drop to their knees, and yank their shotgun from their hands.
Janine refuses to take them to the infirmary, saying they just needed to sleep it off, and drags them into the farmhouse to look after them herself. It's very much tough love. This includes forcing her fingers down their throat to get them to puke up as much booze as they can, forcing them into the shower so she can hose them down, and getting them ready for bed. Five asks if she misses him, and for a moment Janine thinks they mean Sam, until she realises she'd tossed Five one of Simon's old shirts to wear as pjs. That night they sit on Janine's bed talk properly about Simon, not really speaking just quietly signing between each other, and Five ends up falling into a drunken sleep against her shoulder. Janine has no idea what to do, so she doesn't disturb them and lets them sleep. Besides, at least this way she can make sure they don't choke on their own vomit in the night.
Thankfully, Five doesn't puke on her in their sleep. They do drool a lot though.
Five knows Janine is going through some stuff when they capture Tom, and although they want to help, she refuses. Still, they're there for her. They don't even care when she threatens to court marshal them again. They just keep telling her: whatever you need, I'm there.
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