#she’s the world’s slowest walker

[theminecraftbee]

i think your dog thinks the leash is for you

sometimes when we’re on walks I can’t get her poop bags open and she turns back to look at me and pulls and whines like “why are you STOPPED come on”. this is fair play, because I too turn back to look at her and go “why are you STOPPED come on” frequently on strolls,

[the-name-is-z]

SKELETONS | ch. 58

daryl dixon x f!oc

masterlist

a03 link

Summary: After much discussion with and without Aaron, Rick makes a decision about where the group will go. Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; arguments; negotiation; separating from each other; walker-induced injuries

Chapter 58 - Resources

Rick shook his head as he backed away from Aaron, who scoffed.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” He murmured. “If it’s not words, if it’s not pictures, what would it take to convince you that this is for real?” No one replied, Maggie and Michonne standing from where they had knelt beside him. “What if I drove you to the community? All of you. We leave now, we’ll get there by lunch.”

“I’m not sure how the sixteen of us are going to fit in the car you and your one friend drove down here in.” Rick stated, pointing accusingly. 

“We drove separately.” Aaron explained quickly. “If we found a group, we wanted to be able to bring them all home. There’s enough room for all of us.”

“And you’re parked just a couple miles away, right?” Carol asked.

“East on Ridge Road, just after you hit Route 16.” Aaron replied. “We wanted to get them closer, but then the storm came, blocked the road. We couldn’t clear it.”

“Yeah, you’ve really thought this through.” Rick murmured. 

“Rick, if I wanted to ambush you, I’d do it here.” Aaron pleaded. “You know, light the barn on fire while you slept, pick you off as you ran out the only exit. You can trust me.” Iris raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. That was not how to convince Rick. He’d probably only get angrier, assume it was one of the ways Aaron was supposedly dreaming of slaughtering them all. There was a long, heavy beat of silence. “I’ll check out the cars.” Michonne offered.

“There aren’t any cars.” Rick insisted, still staring Aaron down. Iris sighed aloud, catching Daryl’s attention. She leaned much of her weight on one of the beams holding up the barn roof. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” Michonne tried.

“We don’t need to find out.”

“We do.” She insisted. “You know what you know, and you’re sure of it, but I’m not.”

“Me neither.” Maggie agreed.

“Agreed.” Iris added, nodding. Rick blinked, shaking his head. He swallowed thickly, still shaking his head when he looked back up.

“Your way is dangerous. Mine isn’t.” He argued.

“Well, that all depends which way you’re looking. Define ‘dangerous,’ Rick. It’s dangerous to threaten someone you don’t know. It’s dangerous to disregard the ideas and opinions of your friends and family. It’s dangerous to lose who you were and who you are in a world that wants to kill you. It’s dangerous to starve and die of dehydration. And it’s dangerous to wander in the woods. But what have we been doing so far?” Iris countered, narrowing her eyes. He huffed at her. “Passing up somewhere we can all safely live, alive, healthy, somewhere you can watch your daughter grow up? That’s pretty dangerous.”

“We need to find out what this is.” Michonne agreed. “We can handle ourselves. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Then I will too. I’ll go.” Glenn offered, nodding. Rick sighed again, looking around the room. He turned.

“Abraham.”

“Yeah, I’ll walk with ‘em.” He agreed, cocking his rifle.

“Rosita?” Rick continued. She nodded. He turned to Glenn. “If there’s trouble, you got enough firepower?”

“We got what we got.” Glenn replied. Rick handed him Aaron’s small pistol. Daryl picked Aaron up from the floor as the others geared up, moving him aside.

“The walkies are out of juice.” Rick explained. “If you’re not back in sixty minutes, we’ll come.” Michonne nodded. “Which might be just what they want.” She said nothing, looking him up and down before ducking out the barn door. The others followed quickly. Rick turned to the rest, looking around. “If we’re all in here, we’re a target.”

“I’ve got the area covered.” Daryl assured, making a circular motion with his finger. He jerked his chin to Iris and she nodded, following as he stepped outside. 

Her eyes blew wide as she absorbed the chaos and destruction the storm had caused. It was a damn miracle they weren’t all speared through by flying trees and debris. The forest seemed like it had paths torn through it, fallen trees and brush laying in great swathes across the landscape.

-

It wasn’t long after they swept around the perimeter that Judith’s cries split through the air. It took Rick a few minutes to quiet her, but she started up again. She was hungry, they all were. Iris cursed it every day. Her pants were beginning to come loose and her belt would not go any tighter. 

“You think they really got a place?” Daryl asked. Iris hummed.

“Dunno.” She replied. “Worth it to check, though, isn’t it?”

“Sounds too good to be true.” He grunted. She hummed again, nodding her agreement.

“Wouldn’t be the first occurrence of dumb luck.” She countered. She turned to glance at him and he nodded, sighing softly.

Iris kept an eye on her watch, planning her next movements if the hour was up before the others returned. Yet, it was unnecessary, since the five of them returned with a car and an RV in tow. It appeared they found a way to clear the roads.

They unloaded the RV, stripping it of all its supplies. And god, was it carrying a lot. Well, a lot compared to what they’d been eating recently. Cans upon cans upon cans of food. Fruit, spaghetti rings, beans, vegetables. Bottles of flat soda. Rick inspected each can carefully, clearly pondering. 

There was an uneasy feeling simmering in Iris’ gut. It was the same feeling she’d had when Rick went off the deep end back at the prison, screaming at ghosts and murmuring into empty hallways. He seemed to be “all there” now, but with something missing. He seemed tunnel-visioned. Iris brushed it off initially, focusing on the ‘here and now’ that came with starving in the woods and outrunning a pack of walkers. But they had a real opportunity here, and while Rick’s concerns were obviously valid, there was a tight feeling in Iris’ chest that prevented her from releasing full breaths. 

“This…” Rick murmured, standing up and facing Aaron with a can in his hand. “This is ours now.” Aaron sighed through his nose.

“There’s more than enough.” He nodded. 

“It’s ours.” He repeated. “Whether or not we go to your camp.”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we go?” Carl asked suddenly, his face falling.

“If he were lying.” Michonne answered, looking pointedly from Carl to his father. “If he wanted to hurt us. But he isn’t. And he doesn’t. We need this. So we’re going, all of us.” Her tone of voice had such authority that Iris stood straighter. She looked each of them in the eyes, asserting dominance. Judging by the look on their faces in response, no one would speak up against her. They all had to be feeling the same way about Rick. “Somebody say something if they feel differently.” She urged.

Rick glanced down, looking at Judith and then Carl. He glanced over to Daryl, who was sitting on a crate and balancing his elbows on his knees. 

“I don’t know man.” Daryl admitted. There almost seemed to be a sense of guilt for disagreeing with Rick. “This barn smells like horse shit.” Iris smiled softly, looking to Carl, who was watching nervously. She offered him a wink, his shoulders falling as he relaxed a bit. Rick sighed through his nose.

“Yeah.” He agreed. “We’re going.” Michonne nodded again, her satisfaction hidden well behind a stony expression. Rick spun on his heel, facing Aaron again, who was still tied to a post on the floor. “So where are we going? Where’s your camp?”

“Well, every time I’ve done this, I’ve been behind the wheel driving recruits back.” Aaron admitted nervously. Rick raised a brow and he started shaking his head. “I believe you’re good people. I’ve bet my life on it.” He stammered. “I’m just not ready to bet my friends’ lives just yet.”

“You’re not driving.” Michonne snapped. “So if you want to get home, you’ll have to tell us how.” Aaron looked to each of them pleadingly, gulping.

“Go North on Route Sixteen.” He explained, his face falling. 

“And then?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.” He assured.

“We’ll take twenty-three north, you’ll give us directions from there.” Rick replied. Aaron’s eyes blew wide.

“That’s— I don’t know how else to say it, that— that’s a bad idea.” He stammered. “We’ve cleared sixteen. It’ll be faster.”

“We’ll take twenty-three.” Rick repeated. “We leave at sundown.”

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ve handled our fair share of the dead.” Iris assured Aaron with a shit-eating grin, flipping a knife in her hand. She refused to hide her excitement and satisfaction at their decision. Whether they had to audition or not, she knew what they could bring to the table. Aaron huffed, blinking as he turned to stare into the ground near his feet. 

“We’re gonna do this at night?” Sasha asked, her concern evident on her face.

“Look, I know it’s dangerous.” Rick agreed. “But it’s better than riding up to the gates during the day. If it isn’t safe, we need to get gone before they know we’re there.”

“No one is going to hurt you.” Aaron said firmly. “You’re trying to protect your group but you’re putting them in danger.”

“Tell me where the camp is, we’ll leave right now.” Rick countered. Aaron shook his head, turning back to the ground. Rick stood, stretching his back. “It’s going to be a long night. Eat. Get some rest if you can.” He turned, storming out of the barn with Michonne on his heels. Iris pursed her lips before grabbing a can of pineapple and prying it open with her knife. 

-

"Can we practice again?” Carl asked quietly, coming up behind Iris as she put down her third can of food. She nodded, wiping her hands on her jeans before pulling her roll of throwing knives from her belt. Daryl had since carved a target into one of the barn posts and they had free reign. 

“You sure you’re ready to get your ass kicked again, cowboy?” Iris challenged. Carl replied with a blank stare, just narrowing his eyes as he pulled a knife from the roll. Iris grinned.

“Talk is cheap, punk.” Carl replied as he turned, zeroing in on the target.

“Punk? Oh, you’re in for it now, kid.” Iris laughed as he threw the knife, a few inches off of the centre. “Getting better though.” Iris threw three knives quickly in succession, the three of them triangulating a small space at the very centre. She turned around, grabbing another knife and tossed it over her shoulder, smiling at the soft thunk as it slid home.

“You’re just showing off.” Carl grumbled, walking over and pulling the knives from the wood. Iris shrugged with a cock of the head and a smile. He shook his head while taking up his position, and the two of them continued to practice until the sun set and Rick returned ominously. 

They loaded up into the RV, Iris driving with Abraham at the passenger seat. Rick, Michonne, Glenn and Aaron were in the other car ahead of them, getting directions with the intention of keeping Carl and Judith out of further harm. 

They drove for a few miles before Iris began to get that uneasy feeling again. They breezed past a few walkers emerging from the woods around them but they were getting more and more frequent.

“Iris?” Abraham murmured. She nodded, slowing down slowly. Glenn slammed on the breaks ahead of them as they smacked right into a group of walkers. “Fuck me sideways. They came up faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.”

“Sounds about right.” Iris replied, watching as Glenn blazed ahead, leaving a trail of carnage behind them. She stopped the RV after losing sight of the car. The walkers began to slam against the RV, surrounding them quickly.

“Get us out of here!” Daryl called, grabbing his crossbow and running up from the back. Abraham ripped open the glove compartment and pulled out a map.

“Pick a fucking direction!” Abraham yelled. Iris grunted as the spun the wheel, turning the RV almost completely around and turning down the nearest road.

“Fuck. We lost them.” She grit her teeth. 

“They’ll find us again. We gotta get out.” Maggie assured, checking to make sure everyone was still doing alright. Iris floored it, thanking whoever was listening for the clear road. She could see a water tower in the distance, which meant a town, however small. 

“Good landmark.” Daryl grunted.

“We don’t know what, or who is there.” Iris called, feeling the anxiety creep higher in her throat.

“Wait!” Daryl called over her shoulder. “Do you see that?” She leaned forward, peering through the windshield to see a bright red flare shoot up into the sky. There were soft pops in the distance, the sound of gunshots. 

“Oh god.” Iris murmured, closing her eyes. “Was that them?”

“No way to know.” Abraham shook his head. 

“There is one way.” Maggie offered, tilting her head.

“I can’t put everyone in here in danger.” Iris said, shaking her head as she rested it against the steering wheel. 

“What other choice to we have?” Maggie replied, putting a hand on Carol’s shoulder. 

“We could go to sixteen. Aaron said that road was clear.” Iris proposed.

“What if the flare was them?” Abraham asked.

“Could they really have gotten that far?” Maggie asked, biting her lip. Iris banged her head on the steering wheel. 

“Aaron’s people have flares. We know that anyways. Maybe they use them for signalling.” Iris murmured. “Whatever it means.”

“Risky.” Daryl grunted.

“But if it isn’t them, they would have seen it regardless. And known that we saw it too.” She replied. Abraham huffed in frustration.

“I say we go.” Maggie nodded. Everyone gave mild murmurs of agreement or disagreement, but the majority favoured the former.

“Seatbelts, everyone.” Iris concluded, turning back to the road. She turned again, making their way toward the water tower.

-

“Please! Help me! Anyone, please!” A voice called in the distance. Iris slowed the vehicle as they got closer into the small town. They spotted a light source when they passed the water tower, following it carefully. There were a few walkers milling about but most flooded toward the light and the sound of that person screaming.

“Doesn’t sound like one of ours.” Iris pointed out, driving closer. She pulled into an alleyway in the small industrial town, keeping out of the way of any light sources, though it was all dark. 

“You’re a damn good driver.” Abraham muttered as Iris put the RV in park.

“Thanks.” Iris replied, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. Daryl reached over, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance.

There was a small oil drum fire up ahead that illuminated the walkers swarming the area. In the corner of the alley, standing on top of a dumpster, was a man holding an orange flare gun. He seemed to have no other weapons and was kicking away the walkers grabbing at his feet. It reminded Iris of when they had saved Gabriel. 

“Help! Please!” He cried, waving his arms in their direction. 

“Do we go?” Abraham asked, his voice low.

“Aaron mentioned he was with someone else. They go out in pairs.” Maggie murmured as they stared out at him. Iris pursed her lips. He didn’t post much of a threat by himself. The man cried out in pain as he shifted, and Iris realized he was keeping his weight off of one foot. He was injured. 

“We can’t stay in here anyways. Let’s clear it.” Iris stated. Daryl, Abraham and Sasha agreed, and the four of them pushed out of the RV, keeping it carefully shut behind them. They worked quickly and quietly, a well-oiled machine. They cleared the way toward the dumpster, the man panting and trembling in fear as he slumped down against the brick wall of a building. 

“Thank you. Thank you.” He murmured, clutching his ankle. He looked up, examining their faces. “Iris. Daryl. Abraham. Sasha. My name is Eric, I was with—“

“Aaron. We met him.” Iris nodded. “You have somewhere safe to hole up?”

“I-in there.” Eric pointed, gesturing to a closed door, light pooling out from the small windows above. 

“Anyone else with you?” Daryl asked. Eric swallowed thickly, shaking his head. Abraham helped him stand while Sasha had the others file out from the RV. Daryl quickly cleared the room before ushering everyone inside.

-

TAGLIST:

@heidiland05

@ryoujoking

@catlalice

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@lowkeyhottho

@fadingpalacebonkpsychic

@hayley1998

@negansbestie

@lizey-thornberry

[prettyoddfever]

more about the Pretty. Odd. songs (part 2)

(the main post)

I HAVE FRIENDS IN HOLY SPACES

Brendon told Kerrang that this song was “about this old friend that I knew when I was 16. I thought she was cool for, like, a month, and then it turned out she was all about name-dropping. That was my first experience with that type of person.” Pretty sure there were some more recent people in Bden’s life who fit that mold and could’ve influenced the song too haha.

The early name was Famous Friends and that’s what fans were told at the start of January 2008.

Ryan said that Brendon couldn’t concentrate long enough to write a song over a minute & a half.

they used a super old microphone while recording this.

NORTHERN DOWNPOUR

Spencer told The Toronto Sun that “It’s probably the slowest tempo song that we’ve ever written. To the average person, that would be the most standout song to add strings to, this epic ballad. But that was the thing we tried to stray away from. We never want to take our songs into that cheesy side of things. For that song we tried to keep it as bare as possible. It was about finding a good balance, I think.”

The rest of this section got long, so I put it in this post.

WHEN THE DAY MET THE NIGHT

there were a couple songs about the weather that felt like nursery rhymes and were written in Ryan’s backyard in July 2007... this is one. 

Jon said “We had this idea that the day and the night met each other… it’s basically a fairytale story about two times a day falling in love with each other and the world being day & night at the same time consecutively somehow.”

Ryan said this was like a kid’s story about the sun & moon falling in love and it was the only actual love song on the album (although other songs were about love).

Brendon told Rolling Stone that “We actually had a lot of fun with this record… You’re doing ten, eleven takes, so you’re gonna probably do some different things through that, and ended up having some really cool things happen. The whole outro on ‘When the Day Met the Night’ was written while we were tracking the song. It was just like, bang, this guitar thing and then I was looking at Spencer and I was like, ‘Just go,’ and everybody kept playing.”

This song changed a lot (they cut out the bridge, which was the best part in any song they ever wrote nbd).

fans called this Middle of Summer when we first heard it on August 5, 2007 and that name stuck around until mid-January 2008 (actually, a couple journalists were still calling it that in early spring so whatever). The Kerrang article at the start of 2008 even had Jon saying that the song was tentatively titled “Middle of Summer.” A few journalists called it some different phrases, though, so this song’s name was kind of confusing for like half a year... I still call it “Middle of Summer” sometimes tbh.

PAS DE CHEVAL

This song sounded like a gallop. Pas de cheval is a ballet term that translates to “step of the horse” (and looks like this). Keltie was a dancer, so we figured she probably had something to do with that name.

at one point the working title was “Sing It For Them.”

THE PIANO KNOWS SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW

Spencer did a lot with this song – both in terms of melody & lyrics. 

Ryan told InRock that he & Jon wrote the guitar part and Spencer wrote the melody.

from the band’s Las Vegas Weekly cover article: “Jon Walker had an idea for a vocal he wanted to do on ‘The Piano Knows Something I Don’t Know,’ putting a microphone in a metal trash can and having the vocals coming through this little tiny amp.”

Ryan said this was one of the most creative & interesting songs on the album and one of his favorites. 

[the-lean-buddha]

(part 1/?)

McVries’ wry attitude and whimsical charm make him a very likable character from the start, but his scar hints that he is damaged in some way. And, in a sad moment that shows us just how flawed everyone is, we learn how his face was slashed open when a girl thought he was trying to rape her. Now, McVries is bitter and cynical and regretful. And with the possible exception of Baker, he’s the most suicidal Walker.

There are many on the Long Walk who don’t know what they’re getting into. McVries is not one of them. He brings a knapsack, a toothbrush, a spare shirt, raw hamburger, he considers his weight against the others’, and he’s the earliest Walker besides Stebbins to take on a cynical and disillusioned attitude.

His preparation initially suggests that McVries fully intends on winning. This is not the case. McVries fully intends on dying. And the Walk will give him the longest, slowest, most painful death, and will give him an opportunity to reflect and repent. Because McVries is alone, his closest confidant is four years old, he can’t move on, he can only be haunted by his mistakes and the twisted world he lives in, every hour, every day.

“Almost two hundred and fifty miles,” Pearson groaned. “My feet are like lead with poison inside them. My back’s burning. And that screwed-up McVries doesn’t have enough yet. He’s like a starving man gobbling up laxatives.”

“He wants to be hurt, do you think?”

“Jesus, what do you think? He ought to be wearing a BEAT ME HARD sign. I wonder what he’s trying to make up for.”

McVries says that only Katrina understood what he was trying to achieve on the Walk when she said “Petie’s going on an adventure”. That’s what this was for him. He apparently wasn’t in good shape at the factory, and through blood, sweat and tears he’s prepared, month after month, so he can finally get enough of the pain he craves, can finally suffer as much as he thinks he has to.

McVries is going on an adventure to kill himself so he can experience a moment where he can live with himself.

[midas-or-khaos]

Wrong place, Wrong time. Part 1

God of war x borrower oc story

“-And remember, DON’T touch anything! Reavers aren’t exactly a clean bunch,” a gurgling followed. “Ugh, really bad at keeping anything clean in fact.” The poor man really could be a worry wart at times (and a clean freak as always).

“Sindri, I’ll be fine. I promise! Cross my heart and everything. The whetstone will probably be kept somewhere safe if it’s precious enough to be stolen, so it’ll hopefully be clean when I find it.”

“Oh. Well, I hadn’t thought of that. Just...stay safe ok? And don’t get caught!”

“I won’t, I never do. See you soon!”

Reluctantly the dwarf answered,“See you soon jojo.” But the poor dwarf’s knee couldn’t stop shaking, thinking about worst case scenarios. Jojo knew he’d just have to prove poor Sindri wrong once again. Maybe one of these days he’d actually learn there was no use worrying himself into a frenzy. Taking off, the 5 inch figure wasn’t stopped as he scurried along natural ledges in walls, and began his descent into the heart of the earth.

Jojo didn’t see what all the worry was for. One of the few perks of being a borrower was often big folk like Reavers or monsters were always too busy looking ahead for bean sized people, that they never looked far enough down to see him. He knew the dwarf didn’t like asking him for help, even though the boy often came to Sindri’s shop outside ‘Fafnir’s storeroom’ (or whatever he called it) asking for challenges and new borrowing spots.

Most borrowers would call it suicide to be talking to beans and other big folk, ESPECIALLY with all the new monsters that have started popping up recently. Hel walkers they’re called apparently. But Jojo wasn’t most. He’d sought out his favourite Dwarf and brother when his parents died drowning in the lake of nine when the waters suddenly flooded, leaving their 8 year old son to fend for himself. Not immediately, obviously. No, at that point he was still a weedy little scaredy cat himself, not able to be even in the same area when footstep started to shake the earth. It could only last so long though. He hadn’t been old enough to be taken out borrowing before being left alone, and supplies ran low quickly. So, spurt of the desperate, when he saw the two set up shop outside his home in the foothills, the child decided to stride right out into the open and ask for food.

4 years later and he still never regretted that decision. Still scrawny, “the side effect of being young” said Brok, but definitely more confident. Brok taught him a lot of that confidence (and a whole lot of swear words too, despite Sindri’s attempts to undo his brother’s work) and Sindri taught him kindness and generosity. The generosity was only spent on the brothers, because who else was he going to see? No borrower would trust another that hung around beans, and Sindri wouldn’t let him be found by anyone if he had anything to say about it, but kindness he tried to show all IF he could without getting sliced in half.

Gathering focus for the change in environment, the world became darker. White, natural light was flittering out, slowly being replaced by the ethereal glow of blue crystals bouncing off liquid smooth stone corridors leading into a fatal drop. An underground ravine. Nothing had shown its face yet, though the odd grunt of some undead beastie would make itself known now and then. Being so small meant there was no need to cross the water below, or find ways to get the chain ropes down so as to climb across. All he had to do was stick close to the roof where stalactites could be leapt between till he reached some valley in the wall to rest. Nothing too hard. Looking for the fist place to jump, a low hanging spine was just a couple of feet away (to Jojo); taking a leap of faith, the boy managed to snag the tail end. Right, next one. Leaping like a lemur the drop was easily avoided, and soon something came into view. Sunlight yellow was beginning to mix with the unnatural blue, and Jojo knew there was an opening into the outside world around the corner. Good, finally he would be able to see, though he would be easier to spot in the illumination of day.

Sindri

How had Brok convinced him to let Jojo go treasure hunting alone? So many traps, monsters, ancients even! “He’ll be fine” said Brok when the two had discussed it together during one of their rare ‘chats for important matters’. So nonchalantly Brok threw out, “Kid’s never been seen before, he ain’t gonna be now!” We’ll that was just testing fate wasn’t it! The rhythmic thumping of hammer to metal was doing nothing to take his mind off the matter, and a few too many near misses to his thumb told Sindri he wasn’t going to get any real work done at this rate. Perhaps he should have a break and go visit Ivaldi’s workshop?

“Hey Sindri!”

“Agh!!!!” Both hammer and work went flying overhead, just missing the flat of his skull. The lithe boy in question at least had the gall to go red, abashed as he walked over to the Dwarf’s workbench, scratching at the buzzed fuzz across the side his head.

“Sorry.”

“Well you should be! That could’ve hurt you OR me, and all the infections that could get in-”

“Boy, be careful.”

The source of the voice sat further back up the slate corridor, hidden in shadow, hawkish gold glowed beneath a heavy brow.

“Sorry father.” Atreus called back to the hidden figure.

With meaningful strides, the figure came into the light of day, bleach white skin, jet black beard and a crimson tattoo striped across an eye setting the figure apart as none other than his worst fear. Kratos. Why? Why were these two here?

“What brings you two to my place of work to scare me?”

Leaning on the edge of his (freshly cleaned) work bench, the spritely youth explained with excitement, “We’re gonna get that whetstone you wanted!”

Shit! He’d mentioned that to them, hadn’t he? Why had they come to fulfill that promise now, when they seemed so disinterest in before?

“O-o-ooooohhhhh yeahhhhhhh, THAT whetstone. Well...”

Atreus leaned in with a head tilt and a brow lifted, “...well? What’s wrong, did you find it already?”

“No-“

“-No? Then what’s the problem?”

“Speak clearly, we have come for the promise of improvements.” Straight to the point, both father and son were on edge now.

Damn it, he was digging a hole for himself again. Stupid mouth. Obviously, if the two of them went in those mines, there was a chance his kid would get spotted and wearing that rat skin outfit, either of the pair could mistake Jojo for an actual rat and hit him with something. Oooooo, that’s horrifying, don’t think about that! Ughhhh don’t vomit! Don’t-...But On the other hand, there was a chance that the father/son duo could clear the way and make it safer for his boy to get back. And more searching eyes makes for less work. Sindri would just have to encourage them not to be too... liberal with their killing.

“Yes the offer is still there, but you must heed this warning.”

“You mentioned no warning before, why?” The irritation lacing the bestial man’s tone didn’t keep itself hidden, growls billowing out that barrel chest. The dwarf didn’t shirk away like a turtle. Not at all.

“O-oh-well-I didn’t know before. Bbbbut I got new information...from Brok. He said not tooooooo... kill the ratssssss?”

The growls took a higher pitch.

“Errrrr, ok? Are the rats protected are something?” Quizzed Atreus, bringing the blacksmith off the subject of the terrifying god before him. A perfect excuse.

“YES! Yes, sorry, the rats are the protected subjects of Freya. Wouldn’t want to upset her right?!”

“Oh! Well, she never mentioned that when we met her.” These two met FREYA! Of course they had, who was he kidding, they’d met everyone and probably started a fight with them too.

“Must’ve slipped her mind, now hurry up! Don’t want any drauger or wolves to get their disgusting hands all over it! Otherwise it’ll be so dirty even I won’t be able to clean it!”

The excuse was enough. The two turned (but not before the kid’s enthusiastic good bye) and disappeared below the cramped passage into the inky black mines, their footsteps echoing out.

“Please let this be the right idea.” Huffed out Sindri with stale, held breath, shaking his head at his own recklessness.

Jojo

Making the last of his descent down the sheer cliff walls, vibrant green broke the dead stone and made life at the edge of the darkness. The sweet ache from overworked tendons and muscles began the slow process of slipping away, fresh air and bird song rejuvenating the boy’s ambition to find his prize, a grin pulling at bubbly cheeks. He was halfway now! Strolling through the ivy, form barely making a rustle, sunlight illuminated the boy’s way through the thickets. Brok mentioned that before he reached the main chamber where the actual traps and treasure was kept, there was a ‘small’ field for him to cross with bits of precious metals along the way. Jojo knew he’d need to make height soon in order to know where he was going, but this time it’d have to be calculated; all black stood out in all this greenery. Now where to go? Rocks. He could use the rocks as an outpost to look out: dark coloured, easy to climb and easy to blend into. Just a matter of reaching it. Strolling through the ivy, the speckled light beaming on the crumbled earth was just enough to guide the way forward, boots barely making a sound.

Squawk

Stopping dead, a cold trail prickled along his back. The boy made the slowest tilt back possible to peak throught the canopy, trying to avoid detection. Too late, looking with a ghostly green eye, a monsterous raven was stalking with keen interest, perched almost serenely upon it’s watch point. Ravens weren’t notorious borrower hunters, seeing people like him often as a chore to catch and consume. But rats...rats were their favourite.

And he was dressed as one.

Atreus

“Father, what do you think had Sindri so shook?”

“Anything, boy. The dwarf has a talent for fear.” No denying that, agreed the doe eyed boy. Sindri did fear just about everything.

Crouching did nothing for the chalk giant, disgruntled grunts sounding out amongst the overhead drips of droplets every time his bald head scraped the sandpaper rough ceiling. It’s one of the few examples in life that made Atreus happy to be short. Yowls were coming from further into the mineshaft, but drauger were a minor setback, easily dispatched.

“Be on your guard boy, we are nearing danger.”

Jojo

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-“ How could one bird be more persistent then all the drauger in the world?

SSSSSQQQQUUUUUAAAAAARRRRRRRKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!

Too close! Every attack was only wearing the borrower down more; the saving grace from this endless stream of dive bombs was that in the bird’s haste, it made enough flapping to give its location away at all times, making it easier to dodge. But now Jojo was lost, lost and close to just falling down if his quaking limbs were anything to go by.

Atreus

“Well that was easy.”

A sagely look was drawn toward Atreus, not angry, but not impressed, “Easy because there are two of us, boy, but don’t let your guard down because you perceive an enemy as ��easy’.”

Always one to lecture. “Yes sir.”

The cave entrance as coming into sight, stoic father and brash son walking side by side. With electrical arrows at the ready and frosty axe drawn the odd pair walked into daylight, sun illuminating the thick blood staining their skin and wares. Both were ready for any kind of battle ahead, be it fierce or simple.

Well, except for the kind of battle that they stumbled onto.

“Father? What’s wrong with that bird?” Quizzed Atreus, looking up, but Kratos was busy scanning the wooded field

“It hunts for prey boy, pay it no mind.” No beating around the bush.

“But it looks like one of Odin’s crows.”

The barely there expression of strained, chalk temples and widening, heavy set eyes might as well have been a scream.“Shoot it down.”

This rarity was not lost on the boy, heart pounding in response. If his ever-stoic dad was frightened, this was more of a danger than he had anticipated. Wasting no time, Atreus locked on as the bird went for another dive, and let loose a wizzing arrow. It fired true puncturing the breast and punching through to the other side with a resounding crack of the rib cage. The creature never hit its mark, breaking apart in a surprising burst of green flame, but never actually setting anything on fire. The witchcraft of Odin was strange indeed.

The boy couldn’t feel pleasure out of his elegant kill, still too shaken by what he’d seen. Atreus knew better than to ask his father what was wrong, the man would switch on him like a rabid dog driven mad by rabies if any fear was ever acknowledged.

“We go on, boy.”

Kratos took the lead, heading further uphill into the tree trunk horizon, sun spilling over the crest and illuminating some of the lower valley where the boy stood. Atreus made no move to follow. If he was to get answers, it would have to be now whilst his father charged on unaware. Tip toeing over to where the bird would have fallen, eyes trained on his father, the archer found his arrow wedged fast into the soft earth with wandering hands. Turning his gaze for just a moment to inspect his find, there were signs of burns, suggesting that the animal must’ve been made of pure magic; probably a spy of some kind if Odin had anything to do with it, the man was notoriously suspicious and crafty (even all seeing as his mother had mentioned) so would want to know at all times what was going on in midguard. Hold on... pulling the tip of the spear out, a rat skin sat pierced at the end. Weird thing was though, it was clean, even looking tanned on the inside like some kind of weird miniature hooded tunic! This wasn’t an animal the crow had caught and killed, but clearly was worn by the thing that the bird was after on the ground. Wait... Sindri mentioned not killing any rats, but this one was allowed to die and be made into clothes, meaning Freya wasn’t protecting the rats at all. Sindri was lying, he was protecting whoever wore this tunic-

“BOY! COME!”

Oops. He’d zoned out too long.

“Father, I think Sindri was lying!”

Footstep were coming down behind him in a charge. Curiosity wouldn’t let him leave, but flight was making his feet flitter and shake, ready to take off from the raging bull behind him.

“Did I just not tell you to follow?! The dwarf is of no concern-“ Fighting curiosity won over.

“DAD! Just. Look.”

Turning back and presenting the tunic to the man who’d finally reached him, the golden hue burned brightly with hatful embers down at the find. Just as quickly the gaze focused back on the child. He neither cared nor understood.

“It’s a tunic, made from the skin of a rat. Sindri said the rats here were under the protection of Freya, but if that were true, this one wouldn’t be dead and Odin’s ravens wouldn’t dare go after it. Sindri’s hiding something.”

[ramblingsrantsreviews]

13 Reasons Why: Season 3 - Character Thoughts

The third season of the controversial Netflix show 13 Reasons Why dropped on August 23rd. Since I am the world’s slowest binge-watcher, I recently finished the season and damn do I have some thoughts and opinions.

This isn’t the first time I’ve talked about this show here. I did a review for the very first season back in 2017 when it first aired. Two years later and here I am again trying to wrap my head around everything that occurred over the 13 episodes.

Since there’s a lot I want to stay and I am still processing the entire season, I figured I’d make a couple of different posts regarding the show. This one is going to be all about the characters and what I thought of them this time around.

So sit back, this might take a while.

Let’s start with our main character, the person of interest, and our hero Clay Jenson. I’ll be honest with you, Clay Jenson was never a favorite of mine.

His biggest flaw to me has been his need to place his crushes on a pedestal. He did it with Hannah, he did it with Skye, and he did it with Ani in this season. You’d think he’d learn his lesson but nope! The boy just keeps on putting unrealistic expectations on his crushes. He projects an imaginative version of his crush onto the real thing and it never turns out well for him. They’re never as pure as he thinks they are. They’re never as good-hearted as he thinks they are. They’re never truly who he thinks they are. And that’s his own damn fault. Yes, Ani shouldn’t have been lying about her friendship with Bryce but at the same time, Clay shouldn’t have thought that she never said two words to him.

Clay has a heart of gold. He will do anything and everything for his friends -- even if it means going down for a murder he didn’t commit. And he feels deeply. As Justin said, “He’s a good person. If he acts out of emotion, it’s because he fucking cares.” 

Clay, by definition, is a nurturer. He takes care of the people he cares about and he sees the best in them even when they don’t. He gave Tyler hope and courage, Justin a second chance on life, and Tony a friend he could rely on. What’s interesting, and not all that surprising is that Clay saw potential for greatness in almost everyone he met except two people -- Bryce Walker and Montgomery De La Cruz. That’s not a coincidence.

Going forward, I’d like to see Clay grow as a person without a romantic interested because the boy has real potential. And I’d really love to see him go to therapy. This is my plea to the writing staff -- GET CLAY A THERAPIST!

- - -

And then we have our new narrator and new character Ani Achola. Oh, Ani you had such big shoes to fill and you didn’t even come close to filling them.

One of the biggest issues I had with Ani’s character is that she came out of nowhere and suddenly she’s BFFs with these kids who barely like each other. I find it so hard to believe that she would be so quickly accepted within the tape squad -- especially when they’re harboring a giant ass secret about a foiled school shooting!

And it’s not only that she accepted, but it’s also the fact that they trust her. Never once does anyone ask Ani to leave when they’re talking to Clay about what really happened after Homecoming. NO ONE! It took Clay an entire season to get people to trust him and here comes Ani worming her way into everyone's business. I just don’t get it.

As if that’s not bad enough, she fucking lives with Bryce! Okay, she lives in Bryce’s guest house but still, she lives on the Walker’s property. You’re telling me the writers want me to believe that this group of teenagers who loath Bryce Walker are suddenly BFFs with a girl who lives on his property? Give me a fucking break.

The nonsense doesn’t even end there. This girl, this dumb new girl who hangs out with a group of people who loath Bryce and who were put through hell because of him decides that she knows him better than they do. That Bryce Walker has changed and suddenly he’s a good person. And then she has the audacity to fucking sleep with him! But she’s fearful of Clay — fucking Clay Jenson would couldn’t hurt a fly even if it landed on his dinner. The amount of hypocrisy that spews from Ani’s mouth is astonishing.

But don’t worry cause by the end Ani has come to her senses and spearheads the entire idea of placing the blame of Bryce’s death on Monty. Are we expected to applaud her a hero? I certainly don’t.

Ani Achola is nothing more than a talented manipulator. It’s no surprise she got along so well with Bryce who also has mastered the art of manipulation. Ani goes around telling everyone that she knows and sees things in people that they don’t see in themselves. She builds them up, learns all their secrets, and then slowly uses those secrets against them.

She did it with Jess — telling her she saw a badass girl inside her, learning she was raped by Bryce, and then fucking sleeping with said rapist. Not to mention she comes up with the ridiculous idea that Jess slept with Bryce to regain her power. COME ON! 

She did it with Clay — befriending him and earning his trust and love, knowing he had feelings for her and stringing him along, using his anger towards Bryce after what he did to Hannah against him to justify him being the murderer.

She manipulated every one of the core characters into trusting her so that they would spill their darkest secrets to them. And she made them believe that they needed to speak up so that they could protect Clay, but really, I think she was trying to figure out who killed her beloved Bryce Walker.

I don’t trust Ani. I hated how things ended with her telling her mother that she was seeing Clay — she didn’t even ask Clay first, she just assumed that he wanted the same thing. I’m skeptical and I will remain skeptical.

Also, if it isn’t clear enough, I don’t think she should have been the narrator of the season. This season could have followed a similar narrator pattern as season 2 did with each character narrating their own interrogation.

- - -

This season tried really hard to give redemption arcs to two irredeemable characters when it wasn’t necessary. The season already had its redemption story -- Tyler Down.

I was really hard on Tyler in the first season because let’s face it, he crossed a lot of boundaries. Lurking around the school and taking candids pictures of students for the yearbook is one thing. It’s an entirely different situation when stalked Hannah and took those pictures of her and Courtney. It was an invasion of privacy and at the time his crimes against Hannah ranked him extremely high on my list of hated characters.

Then, season two happened. Just like all sexual assault victims, Tyler did not deserve to be sexually assaulted. To this day, that is one of the most disturbing and jarring scenes of media I have ever consumed. I still get sick to my stomach thinking about it. Tyler was so affected it by it that it lead him to nearly become a school shooter -- thankfully, Clay stopped him.

Season 3 Tyler is the Tyler that the world deserved. We got to see Tyler deal with his trauma and the ups and downs with being a sexual assault survivor. In the end, Tyler becomes a happier and healthier version of himself. Yes, Clay and everyone who kept Tyler’s secret helped but it was really Tyler who did all the heavy lifting. Tyler was the one who had to want to get better and, though it took a while, he realized that he did want to get better.

Tyler went from a misunderstood, bullied teenager who felt so much hatred and fear that he was willing to kill to a happy teenager with a group of friends who truly care about him -- not because they have to but because they want to.

Tyler’s relationships with the other characters are really interesting because you can tell he’s very skeptical of them at first. He knows they’re just being friendly to him to ensure that he doesn’t do anything bad again. He feels like he’s being babysat and yet, he follows them around when he’s scheduled to because he knows they’re helping him. As the season progresses, we see these relationships develop into real friendships.

Tyler’s actions are redeemable not because of his past trauma but because he understood he was in the wrong. He understand he was making a poor choice because of the trauma he was facing. And he wanted to change -- he didn’t want to die. He realized he didn’t want people to hurt the way he hurt.

Not only was he a redeemable character, but his character is so important in the larger discussion of sexual assault and male victims. Tyler didn’t have to tell Clay or Jess or the entire school or anybody that he was a sexual assault victim. But he did and in doing so he allowed the world to see that, yes, men can be sexual assault victims too. When he stood up at the assembly and uttered the words “My name is Tyler Down and I am a survivor” he opened the door for his fellow male classmates, like Justin Foley, to stand up and live their truth. Not only that, but it made the other members of Hands Off realize that Tyler was more than an ally, he was a survivor.

I never thought I’d say this but Tyler is one of my favorite characters now. I hope we get to see him continue to thrive and maybe even help Jess run the Hands Off organization.

- - -

Justin Foley. I don’t know what it is about that boy, but I have loved him since day one -- I think it’s the puppy eyes. Don’t get me wrong, Justin has his flaws. He started the shit storm that leads to Hannah’s suicide by taking that picture of her at the park. And he played a part in the rape of his girlfriend, Jessica Davis by not doing more to stop it.

Now some might say, how could you forgive a character who let their girlfriend get raped? How could Jess forgive the boy who let her get raped? Unlike Bryce, Justin showed remorse instantly -- at least on the inside.

Like Tyler, Justin has a redemption arc, though his arc is still a work in progress. I absolutely loved how ride or die Justin was when it came to Clay. Justin couldn’t stand Clay in the first season and now the two are living together and on the road to being brothers. He was willing to lie to the police about his whereabouts that night to give Clay a solid alibi. He pulled Clay away from the Homecoming fight to protect him from getting hurt. And he was willing to lie to the Jensons, even after all they’ve done for him, to make sure that Clay wouldn’t go to jail.

Justin may have thought he found a brother in Bryce, but he never knew brotherhood until Clay took him in.

My biggest issue with Justin is his constant drug use. I knew the moment he went searching through his bag when Clay left the room that he was still using. How could he not have been? The second season literally ended with us seeing him inject himself with heroin. A person doesn’t just stop heroin - they need professional help to do it. In fact, Justin may be in even more trouble now that he has added prescription drugs to the mix. I’m so glad he spoke up about needing help in the final episode. I sincerely hope we get to see his journey to sobriety in the final season.

Justin standing up at the assembly and telling everyone that he too was a survivor was such an important and impactful scene. Jess’s face says it all, she had no idea. In hindsight, it’s really not a surprise. Justin’s mom was constantly strung out and bringing home men who were not only bad for her but bad for her son. What shocked me more was his admission that he sold himself for sex when he was on the streets and sometimes things went south. That small little line is so important because it points out that sex workers can be survivors of sexual assault to. They can be taken advantage of. Their trust can be broken. And their willingness to sell themselves can be misconstrued as consent for any and all actions.

Also, the fact that Justin told Jess he didn’t come out sooner because he didn’t want to distract Jess from her own journey -- SOBS! I love you Justin Foley -- you incredibly dumb, yet incredibly kind boy.

But please, get him away from drugs and drug dealers. I want to see a happy, healthy, and SOBER Justin Foley next season.

- - -

The queen of survival, the inspiration for change, and the girl who is done with everyone’s bullshit Miss Jessica Davis.

For the past two seasons, we’ve seen Jess as a victim and for the first time, we got to see her as a survivor. Seeing her as student body president fighting for change and spearheading the Hands Off club was the right move for Jess. I liked seeing her come into her own and understand that she is not her past.

I think it’s important that even though Jess is getting better, she still struggles with what has happened to her. We see her in a flashback tell Bryce that even though she’s healing, sometimes she still feels like he’s on top of her. That feeling is never going to go away, but that doesn’t mean it needs to define her.

Though I’m not keen on the idea of showing teenagers having sex so freely, Jess reclaiming her sexuality was an important milestone for her and for survivors everywhere. I found it interesting and not all that shocking that this time around Jess wanted to be the one in control when it came to sex. It was a way for her to feel safe and enjoy herself because she knew she was the one calling the shots. And even though she was in charge, she still made sure Justin was comfortable as well. Consent is key!

Jess has a lot going on this season. As I said, she’s student body president and the president of the Hands Off club. She’s trying to change the school and how sexual assault victims are viewed. She’s harboring secrets like Tyler’s foiled school shooting and her involvement in Bryce’s death. She’s trying to have a relationship with Justin which leads to backlash from the HO group. And, on top of all that, she’s dealing with her feelings surrounding the death of her rapist.

One thing I found really interesting about Jess this season is her feelings towards Bryce’s death. Her reaction is even more interesting and shocking when we find out her involvement in the murder. When the news hits that Bryce’s dead everyone has a reaction. After Justin opens up to Jess about his complex feelings around the death, Jess comforts him and reassures him that Bryce didn’t deserve to die. And yet, we find out that she watched Bryce die! I kind of wish we got a sense of what her true feelings were regarding Bryce’s death.

Jess is on the right track and I hope we get to see her continue to grow as a person. I hope she finds comfort in herself and continues helping others work through their trauma and understand that they are survivors.

- - -

Alex Standall is another character I’ve been a fan of from the very beginning. His near suicide in the finale of the first season crushed me. So it should come as no surprise that I was extremely disappointed in Alex this season.

I found it extremely out of character for Alex to willingly interact with Bryce — whom he’s hated even before Hannah’s tapes were passed to him. One could blame his interactions with Bryce on his need for steroids but that’s a copout. Alex could have found someone else to buy the drugs from. He could have not done the drugs at all and instead worked harder with Zach. There is no excuse for him turning to Bryce for drugs.

What’s even more alarming is his interactions with Bryce didn’t stop there. He hung out with him on other occasions including helping Bryce break into his alleged father’s new home. Now, yes, Alex came to his sentences shortly after this interaction but he should have already known to stay away from Bryce.

It’s clear that Alex was hurting. Jess dumped him yet again for Justin and he felt vulnerable. But his vulnerability doesn’t excuse him going to his ex-girlfriend and best friend’s rapist to purchase drugs.

And then there’s the small fact that Alex Standall is the one who killed Bryce. There’s certainly a lot to unpack when it comes to his involvement with Bryce. The fact of the matter is, Alex didn’t go to the pier with Jess to kill Bryce. He went to support Jess. In fact, he even tried to help Bryce but in those final moments, Bryce sealed his fate by acting out and accusing Jess of setting him up — how I’m not sure.

I’d imagine the final season will explore Alex’s involvement and his feelings about it even more. And I’m sure his complex relationship with Jess will be involved in his journey.

So, is Alex redeemable? Well, that’s a discussion for another day.

- - -

Once again, Zach Dempsey got the short end of the stick — or so we thought.

The season started out with him being isolated from the rest of the tape squad. Though he didn’t sell Tyler out he certainly thought about it. He definitely wasn’t going to waste his time babysitting Tyler who may or may not act again. And yet, he still showed up at every meeting and played a part in covering up who really killed Bryce.

Zach actually had a lot of great moments this season. His relationship with Chloe was interesting and complex. There’s no denying that Zach hated Bryce and yet, he still offered to help Chloe raise Bryce’s child if she wanted to keep it. And he never once tried to pressure Chloe into getting an abortion even though she was carrying a rapists baby. I found myself applauding when Zach went along with whatever Chloe said regarding the pregnancy. If she kept it that was fine. If she wanted an abortion that was fine too. Zach definitely gets a gold star for that one — isn’t sad I have to praise common human decency?

I also enjoyed Zach’s brotherhood moments with both Justin and Alex. Zach needed friends just like everyone else did and I’m glad he found people he could rely on. His relationship with Alex seems esepcially special and I hope they keep their promise to be the kind of friends that tell each other everything.

Zach’s story becomes even more complicated when it comes to the Homecoming game and his altercation with Bryce. Bryce’s reaction to finding out that Chloe is friends (or maybe more) with Zach is alarming since he’s claimed and shown how into Ani he is. If he was so in love with Ani, why did he need to go after Zach like that?

Thanks to Bryce’s irrational anger, Zach lost his entire future that night. In fact, softie Zach was so pissed off he found Bryce and beat the shit out of him with a broken leg nonetheless! I was a bit confused as to how Zach found Bryce though. From what we saw, Jess was the only one who knew where Bryce was going to be after the game. And it’s not like Zach could have followed him there because he had to go to the hospital to get his leg check out. PLOT HOLES!

Honestly, I’m not really sure what to think of Zach. I will say I’m glad he acknowledged that he had no right being on Tyler’s picture wall at Monet’s. And yet, Tyler put him there for a reason.

Frankly, I think Zach needs some therapy too so hopefully he gets some help in season 4 too.

- - - 

I can’t believe the internet is romanticizing Monty and his sexuality when actual angel Tony Padilla exists.

I honestly can’t understand why Monty and Winston are getting all the attention when Tony and Caleb exist — but then again, I do understand. Why would the world idolize an interracial gay couple when two white (or white-passing boys) are hooking up. Tony and Caleb deserve better from the world and from this fandom. They are the true icons.

Tony had a rough go this season. I certainly wasn’t expecting him to have to deal with his family’s deportation but the minute he walked into his home and they weren’t there I knew. What’s a little confusing about this plot, is the fact that his dad owned a legitimate business. The plot definitely felt like more of an afterthought but I do think it was important. It gave the show an opportunity to comment on a very real thing happening in our country and showed how it affects everyone. I’m sad Tony didn’t confide in Clay earlier and that it took Clay’s interrogation and digging for him to tell him. I really hope these characters learn to trust each other next season — they’ve all proved to  be extremely good at keeping secrets.

Tony seemed to be the only character who adamantly did not want Bryce’s help this season. He was hesitant to take the money from Bryce for the Mustang especially after learning that Bryce’s father was the one who sold out his family to ICE. The only reason Tony is seen with Bryce again is because he made a promise to Hannah to see that everyone on the tapes listened to them. I found it just as shocking as Tony did that Bryce never listened to them, even when they were spread around the internet. That says a lot about his character. 

Tony choosing to sit in the car with Bryce and listen with him says a lot about Tony’s character. I think Tony stayed with Bryce because a) he wanted to make sure he listened to all the tapes and b) he wanted to make sure Bryce wouldn’t destroy the tapes. I don’t think it had anything to do with making sure Bryce was going to be okay while listening. Also, Tony telling Bryce that all of Hannah’s tapes are his tapes was a serious mic drop moment.

Tony, like Clay, is so ride or die for his friends. The minute that Hillcrest moron grabbed Jess at the Homecoming game Tony was ready to fight. If it wasn’t for Caleb reminding him that he could go to jail Tony would have been down there throwing punches.

To me, Tony’s biggest flaw is his necessity to be the tough boy. He doesn’t allow himself to be vulnerable or open up to those he cares about. I hope this changes in the final season.

- - -

Bryce Walker was and will always be a rapist.

This season tried really hard to humanize Bryce, to show that he was capable of change but I wasn’t buying it. I don’t think he was ever remorseful for his actions, I think he only showed remorse when things started to affect his own life. I’ll talk more about that in a different post though.

Bryce is nothing more than a massive manipulator and a rapist.

However, I don’t think he deserved to die. Oddly enough, I think his death benefitted him because he no longer had to live with the fact that he would always be the rapist kid. Bryce deserved to live so that he would have to wake up every morning knowing he was a rapist. He deserved to live with the knowledge that he fucks up everything around him. Death was easy for him, living is where he truly would have suffered.

- - -

Montgomery De La Cruz was and will always be a rapist.

Monty was not a good person. He didn’t even attempt to change like Bryce tried to. He was simply a terrible human being. Giving him a troubled home life and having him suffer from internalized homophobia when he was gay does not excuse his behavior.

Monty’s relationship with Winston was a ploy to earn him sympathy and from the looks of it, it worked on some viewers. I’m sorry, thousands of gay individuals have troubled pasts and live with people who don’t accept them but they don’t go sexually assaulting people or beating up those they’ve slept with.

Monty is no better than Bryce; in fact, he might even be worse because he never even acknowledged that what he did was wrong.

If television has taught me anything, it’s never believe someone is dead unless you see a body. Not only did we not see a body, we never saw Monty get into an altercation in the jail. And there are never any hints that he could end his own life. The only source we have that Monty is dead is from some shady drug dealer. It’ll be interesting to the truth next season.

- - - 

Now for the honorable mentions.

Mrs. Walker had a really interesting journey this season. The complexity of her character was astonishing. I liked that she didn’t make excuses for her son and that she understands that he was (and is) a bad person.

The scene with Chloe where Mrs. Walker tells her that Bryce should never be a father was so powerful. Look, Bryce is Mrs. Walker’s only chance at being a grandmother and she’d sacrifice that experience to save her grandchild and daughter-in-law a life of hell like the one she’s been leading.

When it comes to motherly love everyone always talks about how it’s unconditional. Mrs. Walker’s love wasn’t unconditional. In fact, it took her a long time to look at Bryce and not see the monster that she helped create. I did find her speech at his funeral about sometimes seeing him as a 9-year-old boy moving. I empathize with Mrs. Walker because no mother should have to bury her son. And in the same breath, I almost wonder if Mrs. Walker is relieved that she can finally be free now that all three of the abusive men in her life are gone.

I’m interested to see if she’ll make an appearance in the final season. What is her reaction to the news that Monty is the alleged killer?

- - - 

If Mrs. Walker is interesting and complex, Mrs. Baker is a damn badass.

Her speech to the Sheriff about how much trouble they're going through to find Bryce’s murder was amazing. I literally stood up and applauded. Mrs. Baker isn’t taking any shit any longer. And she’s certainly going to take any chance she can to point out the injustices in the justice system

And she isn’t going to let Bryce Walker off the hook for what he did to her daughter and dozens of other girls. Mrs. Baker said it best “I wish you a lifetime of learning what sorry is.”

I really enjoyed the scene between Mrs. Baker and Jess. A part of me felt like Mrs. Baker was talking to Hannah through Jess. I think Mrs. Baker sees what Hannah could have been in Jess. I also enjoyed her scene with Clay. It was almost as if she was telling him to tell the police about her so that they would leave Clay alone. Mrs. Baker couldn’t protect Hannah, but she’ll do anything to protect Hannah’s friends.

- - - 


Finally, I want to talk briefly about Alex’s dad, Deputy Standall. 

There’s no denying that he loves Alex. He would literally do anything for Alex — including jeopardizing his job as a deputy.

In the final episode he tells Alex that when he found him [Alex] after he tried to kill himself, he wished the bullet was in his head. That was a literal and figurative speech. Deputy Standall was admitting that he would take a bullet to protect his son — and he did just that.

Deputy Standall knows the truth. He is a good detective who followed the clues even when the Sheriff was convinced Clay was the murderer. In fact, Deputy Standall even goes off record to ask Ani where his own son was that night. Now, maybe this is a test to see if Ani is telling the truth (since he knows the answer) or maybe it’s a test to see how far she’s willing to go in lying. Either way, Deputy Standall knows the truth.

He knows his son killed or played a part in the murder of Bryce Walker. And yet, he’s willing to risk his career and livelihood, to protect his son from going to prison for the rest of his life.

It will be interesting to see what happens in the final season. Will the truth come out?

- - -

That concludes this long-ass character thoughts post. I do plan on making another post where I talk about what characters are worthy of redemption and why (I’ve teased it a bit here). I also want to make a post about my top 13 scenes from this season. We’ll see how that goes.

For now, let me know what you think of these characters. Do you agree with me? Disagree? Why?

Season 3 of Thirteen Reasons Why is streaming now on Netflix. Due to the shows graphic nature viewer discretion is advised. If you find the material uncomfortable please do not watch or find a trusted family member or friend to watch with you.

If you or someone you know is struggling please reach out for help.

[twdeadfanfic]

I only want you (one-shot)

I’m sorry people, I’m reposting it because for some reason I deleted the original post :( Please if you liked it, could you share this new one? :(

Summary:

Prision-era, Daryl and the reader are together, but now that there’s more people at the prison and the reader spends more time with a new friend, Daryl can’t help but feel insecure and jealous.

Request by @friendly-black-cat I hope this is close to what you have in mind.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Masterlist

---

You walked to the watchtower, ready for your shift, smiling and waving at the people you found on your way there. You’d thought you would never make any more friends in this crazy world, besides the people who had become your family, and so you were still surprised in the best way at all those friendly faces.

They were people who Rick had taken from Woodbury or people found outside and who were taken into the shelter of your growing home. At first it had been strange and you hadn’t been sure if you were on board with having so many people around after months and months only with the same few people, sharing a deep bond with them, but now you loved it. Some of those people had become good friends, and although your relationship and feelings for them weren’t the same than for your family, you liked them. They had made the prison feel lived in, you all helped each other to make it a home, with cells that now looked like rooms, decorated walls, gardens, pots of plants everywhere, and lots and lots of things you’d never thought you’d get the chance to have.

Your smile widened when you saw Frank up in the watchtower already. Among all the new people, he had become one of your best friends, and you loved it when you got to share your shift with him. Funny enough, you both had gone to the same secondary school,  so so many years ago, and although you hadn’t known each other back them you both spent hours talking about the school, gossiping about old teachers and classmates. Some things never get old. It seemed you never run out of things to talk with him and you always had a nice, fun time whenever you shared a shift or went on a run. It was more than welcome after all the shit you’d gone through.

“It seems we have to be up here until late.” You half complained once you reached the top of the tower.

“I rather have late shifts than early.” By now you knew Frank wasn’t an early bird at all, whereas you were a morning person who usually woke up with the sun, though you weren’t sure if you’d always been like that. Maybe Daryl Dixon had rubbed it on you. “Look what Carol gave us to eat while we’re here.” Frank passed you a bag with some of the raspberries that Maggie had collected from a bush near the prison and you grinned, those tiny fruits were your favorites.

“Perfect shift.”

At some point during your shift, when the sun was starting to go down, you saw Daryl walking to the prison after he’d gone out hunting before your shift started. You stopped midsentence to grin and wave at him, glad when he spotted you, though he didn’t smile, just nodded at both Frank and you, and walked into the prison. You let out a sigh, sometimes it took a lot to make Daryl smile a real one, and though he’d loosened up quite a lot in the time you knew him, you wished he’d let himself smile more. A snicker next to you took you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“Whenever you see him is like the rest of the world fazes, I bet you could be fighting walkers and if Daryl Dixon passed by you’d get distracted and eaten by walkers.” Frank teased you and you blushed in embarrassment. “I mean it’s cute, but you always do that no matter if the last time you saw him was an hour ago.”

“Shut up.” You grumbled though you couldn’t help but let out an embarrassed chuckle.

It wasn’t your fault you still couldn’t believe you had gotten Daryl to act on his feelings for you, and you two had been together for a few months now. If back when you met him someone had said you both would end up together, you’d have laughed, but slowly you’d gotten to know the real him, had learned that there was more to him than what you could see at first, the kind golden-hearted man he was, and you’d fallen for him.

You weren’t very sure of when Daryl had developed feels for you too, but as you both grew closer during all those hard, cold months after you lost the Greene’s farm, it was harder for you to hide your feelings. And so one cold night, as you shifted closer to him during your watch shift, trying to steal some of his warmth, you had ended up confessing.

It hadn’t gone too well. He had snapped at you and distanced himself from you, trying not to share shifts or runs with you, and you were sure you’d lost him until another night he’d come to share your shift and after hours of awkward silence he’d surprised you by apologizing, and not much later he’d surprised you even more by telling you, in the slowest, most awkward and flustered yet adorable way, that he may also have feelings for you. Since then, you relationship had slowly developed in to what you had now.

It was late and dark when you finished your shift and walked through the corridors of the prison to your room, though now that there were so many stuff and people in it, the place wasn’t as creepy at night as it had been once. You saw candlelight coming from your cell and you knew Daryl was there. He was sitting down on the bed, reading a book, and he didn’t look up when you walked in.

“Hi there.” You sat down next to him, smiling, but Daryl still didn’t look up at you and he just hummed a greeting. You frowned, wondering if something was wrong. You didn’t know if it’d be better to ask him or not, but you decided to wait and see if he told you himself when he felt like talking.

You took off your boots and lied down on the bed, curling up under the covers next to Daryl. Still silent, he leaned over you to leave the book on the nightstand and blow the candles before lying down under the covers too, his back to you. You wrapped an arm around his waist, snuggling against his back and pressing a kiss to his shoulder, frowning when you felt him stiff.

“How was your hunt?” You asked quietly since it didn’t seem he was going to speak at all.

“Was okay.”

“There’s something wrong?” Daryl shook his head and you gave up, not wanting to push him. Whatever was what had him upset, it was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he’d tell you in the morning.

“Okay…goodnight, darling.”

*

Daryl frowned as he looked at Y/N and Frank talking and laughing as they got ready for a quick run to a nearby place. He couldn’t have gone with them even if he wanted, Rick had asked him to help reinforcing the fences, since more and more walkers pushed at them each day. Whatever, Frank and Y/N would have been all the time talking and laughing with each other, and he’d have had nothing to say, not that they’d have wanted him to go with them and ruin their fun. Whatever. Like he cared. Daryl clenched his fists and resisted the urge to punch the fence.

Before leaving, Y/N made his way to him, smiling, but Daryl couldn’t smile back.

“It won’t take us long, I’ll be back before you’re done with that fence, darling.” She leaned up to kiss him but Daryl stepped back, shrugging and turning his back to her, focusing on the fence. Y/N said nothing else but he heard her walking away.

It seemed Carol had been watching the whole thing, Daryl felt her finger pocking him between the shoulder blades and then her voice chiding him.

“Rude. Damn rude. If I were her I’d give you the silent treatment for a week.”

“Why would she want to speak to me anyway, she has that idiot to talk to.” He grumbled without turning to face Carol until she heard her chuckling. “What?” He glared at her though he couldn’t meet her amused eyes and he averted his gaze again.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes, pookie.” Carol kept laughing and Daryl blushed in embarrassment.

“Leave me alone.”

“I can’t believe you are this jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous!” Daryl snapped, kicking the fence in frustration, which just made Carol roll her eyes at him, murmuring a ‘sure’. “She can go with him everywhere, laughing all the time, she can move to his cell for all I care.” Daryl clenched his fists again, hating how his voice wavered and the lump that tightened his throat. How had he gotten so weak.

“You are jealous, and you are an idiot, and you ought to apologize to her and stop this bullshit before you push her away.” Carol’s laughter was gone and Daryl scoffed. “She loves you, Daryl. And fight me all you want,   but you love her.”

“She doesn’t love me.” Daryl tried to stay it like he didn’t care, but he didn’t succeed, his voice tight with emotion. “She just wanted someone and there was none else to pick, but now there is.”

It had taken Daryl a long time to believe that Y/N’s feelings were real, that she really loved him and wanted him, and now he felt silly for having let himself believe it. Y/N had just wanted to have someone to be with and he’d been the only one available in their group. But now the prison was full of people and she could choose whoever she wanted, she didn’t need Daryl anymore.

It seemed she had chosen Frank. They were always taking watch together and it wasn’t the first time they’d paired up on a run. They were always talking and laughing together. They had lived in the same neighborhood as kids, gone to the same high school and all that, had gone to different colleges but studied similar stuff, and they had a lot of things to talk about, things Daryl wasn’t part of. Frank and Y/N had more things in common than Daryl knew he’d ever had with Y/N.

It was normal that now Y/N wanted to be with Frank and not with him. Why would she love someone like him anyway, when she had someone more like her to be with, who made her laugh and who hadn’t been a redneck good for nothing like him before the world went to shit. It was normal, sure, Daryl should have seen it coming, shouldn’t have let himself get involved with her, shouldn’t have let himself fall for her, but now it was too late. His eyes burn and he felt like kicking down the fence and going to face the walkers alone with his knife.

“Daryl, stop talking like that.” Carol kept chiding him softly. “It’s not true, Frank and Y/N are only friends. Do you see her pouting every time you and I talk, share shifts or go on a run? No.”

“Ain’t the same…”

“Why?”

Daryl just shrugged, looking down and swallowing hard. Carol let out a sigh and reached out to wrap his arms around Daryl. He wanted to lash out, to push her away, but he found himself burying his face on the crook of her neck.

“Y/N loves you, Daryl.”

Daryl shook his head at that, pulling away from Carol and rubbing his eyes furiously, embarrassed. “Why would she want to be with me when she can be with someone better.”

“And how’s Frank better than you?” Carol asked and Daryl just shrugged. She should know, she knew him good enough, knew what he had been…in another context Y/N would have never lost her time with him, she’d have always gone for a guy like Frank. “He’s a good guy, sure, but you are the best man I’ve ever known, Daryl.” He couldn’t help but blush at her words, always turning flustered when Carol told him things like that, things he wasn’t sure he would ever believe no matter Carol and Y/N told him. “And you are who Y/N’s loves. Have you not seen her grin whenever you are near? I swear I can see her eyes going heart shaped and all. But you can’t keep pushing her away like this.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say to all that, and so he said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he believed Carol, but oh how much he wanted to believe her, to think that no matter that now Y/N could choose whoever he wanted she’d still choose him. But it was hard to believe. Carol just patted his arm reassuringly and left him alone with his thoughts.

As hours passed while he worked on the fence, Daryl still wasn’t sure if he believed Carol’s words but he knew she was right when she said he couldn’t keep pushing Y/N away from him. He knew he’d been an ass to her and he hated himself for having hurt her. Part of him had really thought she wouldn’t really care if he stopped talking to her, though. But now he feared that if Y/N hadn’t already decided she didn’t want him anymore, now she’d be angry and would leave him.

He could say that he didn’t care, but he did. The idea of Y/N coming back angry and telling him he didn’t want to see him anymore made his heart ache. He’d been scared at the idea of Y/N realizing he wasn’t good enough for her and deciding she’d be better with someone else since their group began to grow with the new people, and thinking that it had maybe really happened and maybe Y/N didn’t want him anymore made him sick to his stomach.

Daryl didn’t know how to fix it, though. But he knew he had to do something, he couldn’t just lose her girl and let her go without doing anything.

When he saw she was back at the prison, right after he finished with the fence, it took him a while to gather the courage to go and face her. Y/N ignored him, though, walking purposely without looking at him. It took all of Daryl’s courage to walk around her and stop in front of her. Y/N finally looked at him, lips pursed, and Daryl knew she was upset with him. She arched her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak, but Daryl found himself at loss of words.

“I’m gonna go out hunting.” He finally said. Y/N just nodded and made to walk away so Daryl forced himself to speak again. “Wanna come with me?” He wanted to be with her, alone, for as long as he could, even if she was mad. He needed to talk to her, to explain everything to her, though he didn’t know how.

“You won’t talk to me but you want me to go hunting with you? Sure.” Y/N snapped and Daryl flinched. Y/N seemed to notice, her face softening ever so slightly, though she still seemed upset.

“I’m sorry about that…just…come?” Daryl muttered, looking down, and Y/N let out a sigh.

“Come on, we don’t have that many sun hours left.” With that, Y/N began walking back toward the prison gates. Daryl walked beside her, wondering about reaching out and taking her hand, but finally he didn’t.

For a long while, Daryl walked in silence through the woods, Y/N following him, his mind full of things that had nothing to do with hunting. He didn’t know what to say to Y/N. He didn’t know how to explain to her everything that was going on through his mind. He still was afraid that at any moment she was going to tell him she was tired and done with him. Or that she had found someone she actually wanted and was going to leave him.

He didn’t know if he could change her mind and how, but he knew he should at least try to let her know his feelings, no matter she might leave him anyway. He wasn’t sure he could do it, though.

“What are we doing here, Daryl, you aren’t even trying to track or hunt anything.” Y/N complained, startling him out of his thoughts.

“I’m trying.” He grumbled, blushing.

They kept walking in silence until Y/N stopped. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or not?”

Daryl stopped too, turning to face her though he dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to meet her eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to make himself speak, trying to gather his thoughts. He took a deep breath but still nothing came out, he was still at loss of words.

“I love you.” He finally blurted out, surprising himself. It hadn’t been what he had planned to say but it was true.

“So you’re ignoring me because you love me?” Y/N was blinking at him, seeming confused and Daryl didn’t know what to say, so he just shook his head no and shrugged, blushing in embarrassment, eyes trained on the ground.

“Hey, look at me.” Y/N told him softly and Daryl felt her hand taking his and lacing their fingers, helping him relax a bit, and he looked at her nervously. “I love you too.” Her voice was soft but genuine, a smile playing on her lips.

“You do?” Daryl frowned, his insecurity reflecting on his voice.

“Of course I do, Daryl…” Y/N shook her head at him in disbelieve and Daryl couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maybe she did love him… “Have you really been like this these days because you love me?” She was smiling softly but she still seemed confused.

Daryl shrugged, uncomfortable. He knew he had to tell her but he really didn’t want to, afraid of what she might think, of how she might react. Would she be upset? She said she loved him, but Daryl felt all his insecurities still creeping back anyway. He felt Y/N tugging at his hand but couldn’t look at her.

“Daryl, talk to me. Please.”

Daryl swallowed hard, trying to find his voice, and forced himself to speak. “Thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore now that you found someone better.”

“What?” Y/N frowned, confused.

“Thought that you were with me cos there wasn’t anyone else around…” Daryl forced himself to confess, looking down so as not to see her reaction. He still wasn’t sure if it wasn’t true, but he knew that knowing he thought like that would upset her. “But now we have all those people…so you could find someone better…dunno…”

“What you mean? I want to be with you, not with anybody else.” Y/N still sounded confused and Daryl glanced at her for a split of a second to try to see if she was angry or not.  “I love you, okay? I know I hadn’t told you but I thought you knew…I thought I had shown you.”

Daryl looked at her, hating the hint of sadness that he noticed in her voice, but her words, even though in any other occasion would have had his heart beating fast, now weren’t enough to shut his fears. “But you’re always with Frank, you both are all day laughing together…thought you’d rather be with him…” Daryl let go of Y/N’s hand to chew at his thumbnail, eyes trained down…maybe Y/N had thought she loved him but that didn’t mean now she wouldn’t rather be with someone else or couldn’t see she could have someone better for her.

“Because we’re friends, Daryl!” Y/N sounded frustrated. “I have fun with him, he’s a good friend, but you’re the one I love, haven’t you seen it by now?”

“But you and him have all that stuff in common.” Daryl couldn’t help but feel insecure no matter her words. “You wouldn’t have looked at me twice if we had met before the world ended and there weren’t much to choose…”

“Daryl, stop it.” Y/N warned but he ignored her.

“It’s true, I know what I was.” He was nobody, just a redneck who followed his brother everywhere getting in any trouble Merle decided to get involved in. Y/N’s life had been the opposite to his, and he couldn’t change that. “You’re more like him, he’d be better for you, I know it…so I thought you thought it too…” He still was selfish enough to want Y/N for him even though he knew she’d be better off with someone more like her.

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said?” Y/N let out a sigh. “Frank and I are just friends. I don’t care what you were or weren’t before I met you, I don’t want anyone else, there’s none else who is best for me and anyway I don’t care, I want you.” She ranted, frustrated, and Daryl looked at her without saying anything, processing her words. “Okay, I’ll say once again, I love you. What do I have to do for you to believe it?”

Daryl still didn’t say anything. He wanted to believe her, he wanted to believe her so bad. Her fingers were back at lacing with his and she gave him a soft, sad smile. Did she really love him and only wanted him, no matter nows he had better people to choose? Could he really trust it? The thought had Daryl’s heart beating fast but it was still hard to believe.

“Come here.” Y/N lifted her other hand to brush her knuckles over his cheek before cupping his face and pulling him closer for a sweet kiss that almost made his mind go numb. “I want you and nobody else.” She whispered against his lips before kissing him again, and somehow her kisses seemed to almost have the power to push his fears away as if it were magic. “Are we clear?”

Daryl nodded, leaning for another kiss, taking in her words. Maybe he could believe her, maybe he could trust her. Maybe she really loved him and wouldn’t leave him no matter he still thought there were better people for her to be with. Daryl wanted to be selfish, if Y/N wanted him then he wasn’t going to tell her not to. He wanted her, loved her too, he couldn’t help it.

“Good.” Y/N smiled softly. “But you have to talk to me when something’s wrong instead of just pushing me away and ignoring me…”

“I know…I’m sorry…” Daryl couldn’t help it, though, but he’d try to make it up to her. Y/N squeezed his hand reassuringly and Daryl lifted her hand to kiss his knuckles, loving how it made her smile and blush.

“Come on, let’s go back to the prison, I knew you weren’t trying to hunt anything.” Y/N laughed softly, tugging at his hand as she tried to start walking, but Daryl stopped her.

“Can we stay here for a little longer?” Daryl asked. “Just want to be with you out of there without all those people around…” He explained when she looked at him confused.  Daryl blushed, embarrassed, his own words making him feel a bit silly, but Y/N grinned at him and Daryl’s heart skipped a beat, that must be the smile Carol had been speaking about.

“Sure. I’d love to.” Y/N wrapped his arms around his neck and Daryl let her pull him closer until their bodies were flush. “So you love me, uh?” She whispered, her lips ghosting hers.

“I love you.”

It made his cheeks blush to say it, but Daryl knew she wanted to hear it again. He captured her lips with hers and heard himself whining when Y/N pulled back. She giggled softly at that, pulling further away but only to sit down on the ground, pulling at his hand so he’d sit down with her too. As soon as he lowered himself onto the ground, Y/N climbed onto his lap, her arms around his neck again and her lips back to his. “Well, that’s good cos I love you too, you know.”

Daryl didn’t think his insecurities would totally disappear one day, but at that moment he couldn’t recall any of them, all them seemed to vanish away as he lost himself in her, in her lips, her touch, the sweet words she whispered to him and that he wasn’t sure he would ever totally believe, but at that time it didn’t matter. She loved him, somehow she really did it, and that was all that mattered for Daryl.

---

Thank you all for reading! If you have time, please drop me a comment and let me know your thoughts about this! I’m nervous about writing jealous Daryl, I think I’m not good at it, and I’m not as happy about this fic as I am about others, I feel it’s a bit lacking, but I hope I did the request good enough.

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

Once again, sorry I’m tagging you in this again people, I’m so clumsy :( Please, could you share it again if you liked it?

@momc95  @jodiereedus22 @osweetdevilo @sapphire1727@coffeebooksandfandom @the-destielr @checkintoreality@daddys-little-princess67 @sesshomaru-lover @crossbowking@coltcas @feartheendlesssummer @izumi37 @gruffle1@cutiepiemimi13  @drina365 @kuolematkorjaavat @daeshaunex2 @twdeadlysins   @stressed-lasagna   @teenyforestfairy @yenne-yen-illustrations @mychemicalimagines  @nikkipea@crazycatladyalustriel  @miniprz @wolfkg @paybackbarnes@haleypearce @nikki082489 @dotslabyrinth@mtngirlforever @superflannel @blckbuttler @deanervs   @linktheloveabledork @sourwolf-sterek32 @wamp–wamp @iminlokisarmysofi @traveleraroundsworld@deliciousassafrasssandwich @angelontheinside @friendly-black-cat @firehoopinmama @d0ntfitin @ivars-snowflake

[ryik-the-writer]

Rumbelle Fic: Marinara on Main (6/?)

A03

Has it really been a year since I updated this? Damn I suck XD

-,-,-,-,-,-

The one week of mandatory recovery and therapy had to be the slowest and most boring time of Belle’s life.

Sure there were some interesting moments, like when Jefferson brought his daughter Grace over to paint her toenails (sparkly and messy but still appreciated) and she cried from being able to feel the tickling of the brush. Or when Will snuck a bag of plastic stars from the children’s ward and glued them to the ceiling above her bed. It was a much better site than the blasé roof, even if she did get a few curious looks from the nurses.

Merlin did his best to stop by between his breaks, but he helping Moe carry the business while she was out of commission. She swore if she ever came across a hefty inheritance from a distant mysterious relative, she’d sign it away to him. Well, maybe two thirds of it. Girl had to pay her bills after all.

Her most consistent visits were from her father, who had reluctantly come around to Belle temporarily moving in with Mr. Gold, and Mr. Gold himself.

Moe French would spend roughly an hour at Belle’s bedside, usually texting Merlin with status updates on the business or what things to pack up for Belle. It was quiet and Belle saw his eyes maybe twice, but it wasn’t as tense as it could have been and he always kissed her goodbye.

Mr. Gold’s visits were much more pleasant. He would roll into the room as soon as Moe left, carrying with him some kind of treat his right-hand man Dove would smuggle in to share. Sometimes, if his medicine didn’t have him too lightheaded, and if she wasn’t too exhausted from physical therapy, he’d read whatever magazines the waiting room had on hand. She particularly liked the cooking magazines.

“Okay, read the strawberry tart recipe again.” Belle requested, slowing jotting down the ingredients. She had begun to regain movement in her limbs on her second day, and with a little help from the nurses, she could sit up in bed. Walking was still a challenge, but Dr. Whale was lending her a walker to assist her until she was healed enough to walk on her own.

Mr. Gold chuckled at her enthusiasm, flipping the page back. “You do know I can just rip them out, right?”

“Don’t you dare!” Belle gasped.

Mr. Gold shook his head in amusement. “1¼ cups of flour…”

Belle watched him in appreciation. He was able to open his black eye now, and most of his stitches had been removed. The only noticeable proof of last week’s catastrophe was the scabbed indention above his eye that would soon become a scar. Despite the horrible way he had received it, Belle couldn’t help but thing he’d look rather handsome with a few rustic scars.

A knock on the door cut Mr. Gold off from his reading. He and Belle turned to see Dr. Whale smiling at them.

“Yes?” Gold growled.

The doctor stiffened and flipped through his clipboard. “You and Miss French will be ready to check out this afternoon.”

“Bloody brilliant!” Mr. Gold exclaimed as he rolled closer to the doctor. “I’ll take the release forms now.”

“In a moment. I have to read you a few check-out policies, procedure you know.”

“Oh for the love of…” Mr. Gold held his tongue, not wanting to stress Belle or lose his temper in front of her.

“Could I at least start filling them out? I promise I won’t let him leave.” Belle negotiated, amused.

The doctor looked back and forth between the couple before sighing and handing Mr. Gold the forms.

“Please don’t make me lose my license.”

“I never make promises, only deals.” Mr. Gold replied, rolling backwards to Belle’s bedside. He was becoming too skilled in a wheelchair and needed to leave as soon as possible.

“Don’t be cruel, he’s only doing his job.” Belle chastised Mr. Gold as soon as the doctor left.

Gold leveled the clipboard and started filling out the papers with a mutter of irritation.

Belle only laughed. If she was going to be living with him for an unspecific amount of time, she’d have to get used to his bouts of playful pouting. It was amazing to think that they hadn’t been dating long at all, and unofficially moving in together would undoubtedly bring out some of their more unappealing traits.

Within the hour, Belle and Mr. Gold were being rolled out the hospital. Mr. Gold was swearing at the tight-lipped, stern nurse that he could “bloody well walk with his cane”.

“Hospital policy.” The nurse barked, all but dumping him in the drop-off zone. Mr. Gold jumped from the chair, growling as he steadied himself on his cane and limped to Belle’s side.

“The nerve.” He huffed, hiding a grin when Belle laughed into her hand.

“Are you sure you should be walking?” Belle inquired, nodding to his heavily bandaged leg underneath his expensive pants leg. Dr. Whale had insisted they dress comfortably until their injuries healed, yet Mr. Gold was dressed to the t’s in his nice clothes why Belle had swung for a gently worn sundress.

“I’m fine, really.” Mr. Gold assured, though he leaned more heavily on his cane. “I sprained it more than anything. None of the screws were bent in anyway. I won’t even need therapy.”

Belle nodded and looked down guiltily. She felt Gold tuck her hair back and kiss the edge of her ear, the effort causing him to shake.

“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”

Belle smiled, picking up the hand resting on the back of the wheelchair and giving it kiss. “My hero. But, you really should sit down.”

Mr. Gold pulled his discarded wheelchair closer to Belle and sat down with a relieved grumble.

Conversation seized between them and in no time, they watched in surprise as Mr. Gold’s Cadillac pulled around the drop-off zone.

“How…” Belle gasped when it rolled in more closely. Other than the slightly discolored grill, it looked exactly as it had before the accident.

“Billy the mechanic owed me a favor.” Mr. Gold shrugged. “He did a lot better than I thought he would.”

Belle nodded as a tall man, presumably Dove, stepped from the driver’s seat. Belle had only seen him a few times during her deliveries but had never had the opportunity to speak to him more personally.

“Mr. Gold,” he nodded professionally, turning a light smile down to Belle. “Miss French.”

“Hello.” Belle smiled back, his tall height along with her wheelchair sitting causing her head to spin.

Mr. Gold stood from the chair and stepped over to the car, intending to be a gentleman and open the back door. However, he found the back seat occupied by none other than his son.

“Baelfire.” Gold greeted sternly. “Is there an early release day I forgot about or are you skipping school?”

“Let’s go with the first one.” Bae smirked as he slid from the back. “You look good for a guy who nearly got wrapped around a tree.”

“Not funny.” He growled, motioning him to stand aside so that Belle could slide in.

She took Gold’s hand as Dove released her into Gold’s grip. She felt stiff from the effort, but more embarrassed that it took three people to get her into a car. She hoped she could be more independent during her stay at Gold’s. She refused to be a burden to anyone, especially her somewhat-boyfriend and his son.

“I should probably sit in the back with Miss Belle.” Bae whispered. “Wouldn’t want you two to get too excited while you’re in recovery.”

Belle bit back a giggled while Mr. Gold’s face erupted in flame.

“One more crack like that and I’m going to un-overlook you playing hooky today.” He warned, not meeting Belle’s eyes as he crawled into the front seat.

The ride was quiet and slow, and Belle was thankful to see the outside world. Her stomach flopped a bit when they eased into the driveway of the salmon mansion. Before her and Mr. Gold’s relationship—or what any rational person would call it—began, she used to be so excited and giddy at the thought of a few stolen seconds with him. As soon as the pizza was out of her hands, they were just Belle and Mr. Gold, not pizza delivery girl and customer.

Now they were going to be temporary roommates, and while some women would see that scenario as an erotic fantasy come to life, Belle couldn’t help but feel sickeningly nervous.

“It feels strange pulling up without a pizza in my hands.” Belle smirked, hoping humor would lift her mood.

Luckily, Mr. Gold chuckled and sent her a gentle smile through the rearview mirror.

“Speaking of pizza, do you think we could still order one tonight?” Baelfire inquired. “It is Friday after all.”

A tense air filled the car, and Mr. Gold could see Belle’s nails digging into the leather seating. Belle’s father nor Merlin had told her what they were doing about deliveries, but judging by how stressed they both were (yes, Belle could tell no matter how much they tried to hide it), probably not very good.

“Miss French.”

Belle looked up to find Dove standing over her, offering his hand with a gentle smile.

Dove helped her sit on the edge of the seat while he grabbed her walker from the trunk. Belle felt so embarrassed to have to use it but noted to herself to count her blessings that she hadn’t been paralyzed in the crash. She’d only have to use it for a few weeks, and would be back to rolling pizza dough in a month, give or take. She hoped to move the process up a bit, hoped she could push herself to make a miraculous recovery.

“Mr. Knight dropped a bag off this morning.” Dove stated as he helped her get a grip on her walker.

“Yes, my father mentioned he would yesterday.” Belle said with a hiss.

Mr. Gold seethed as he tried to get out of the car by himself, his leg screaming in protest. It was time for more of his pain meds and that would mean an early night, the last thing he wanted with Belle’s first night in his home.

Baelfire stood beside his father and watched Dove escort Belle into the house, her bag in his opposite hand.

“What’s with the frown?” Baelfire smirked. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Gold glared at his son. “Of course not. Don’t you have homework?”

“It’s Friday.” Bae reminded him as he swayed to the house. “And I’m ordering pizza.”

“Fine.” Gold agreed with a sigh. He was so tired he would probably sign over the deed to the house if Bae asked for it. “I’ll send Dove to pick it up.”

Bae turned, confused. “Why can’t we have it delivered?”

“Just…I don’t know about their delivery status right now.” Gold sighed as he limped into the house. “Just go with Dove, alright?”

Bae sighed, sensing that there was more to the story decided to push for details on an empty stomach. “Fine.”

Gold looked around the corner, nodding in approval at how the furniture had been moved. The room he had Belle set up in was more of a small parlor connected to the downstairs bathroom. He had been meaning to take out the wall that separated the room and the living room but was not glad he had put it off.

He stepped into the room to find down waiting by the bathroom door.

“She’s changing.” Dove stated simply.

Gold nodded. “I owe you a great debt for all you’ve done.”

Dove shrugged. “I’ll remember that the next time my nephew’s soccer team sells chocolate bars.”

Mr. Gold chuckled, his breath stilling when the bathroom door opened and Belle stepped out. She wore a loose pair of men’s pajamas, the little pocket on the shirt ripped in the middle. Her feet were bare and her hair mused, and she had forgone the walker to take on the short space.

She looked absolutely stunning.

“Comfortable?” he teased.

“My limbs feel like noodles. I feel great.” she laughed, using Dove’s offered hand to help her sit on the bed.

“Bae wanted to pick up pizza for dinner, is that okay with you?”

Belle smiled sheepishly, tucking her curls behind her ear. “I just took a pain pill…”

“Say no more.” Gold smiled.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all, I think I may follow suit.”

Belle nodded, the pill kicking in faster than she thought it would.

“I’ll…check on you later?” Gold suggested.

“I’d like that.” Belle said drowsily, carefully curling her legs onto the bed.

He didn’t take his eyes off of her until Dove closed the door.

“This is going to be an interesting few weeks.” Dove said, the teasing nature of his voice a earning him a glare from his employer.

“I’m going to take a pill.” Gold growled.

-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-,-

When Belle opened her eyes again, it was dark outside and her head was swimming. She groggily felt on the nightstand for her phone. She blinked the itchy tears away until her eyes adjusted to the light. 2:11 a.m. Damn, she had slept the whole day!

Belle groaned, wishing she would fall right back to sleep. However, she was wide awake now, and her back was cramping. She needed to walk around, maybe get a snack from the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten since her barely passable breakfast at the hospital.

Her muscles cramped as she sat up, her lungs feeling smaller. She took several deep breaths before she reached for her walker.

She did her best to enter the kitchen quietly, which was hard to do with a clunky walker loudly tapping on the hardwood. After some hassling she found the light switch and was immediately floored with awe at the site of Gold’s antique kitchen.

A large, stainless steel refrigerator purred near the back door while several cooking tools awaited silently to be used. Her kitchen apartment above French Bread could probably fit in this kitchen, and she bet all the eyes on the stove worked as well.

With renewed excitement she limped to the pantry and searched its contents. She hummed, noting a packet of yeast on the top. Gripping the walker with one hand, she stretched on her toes to reach the things she needed, hissing as her back cramped from the effort.

“Need a hand with that?”

Belle twisted around, grabbing her walker before she could fall.

Baelfire hissed. “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine.” Belle gasped, stepping aside. He was just about her height, maybe a few inches shorter than his father, but he reached the yeast packet with less effort than she had.

“Thanks.” Belle smiled. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” Bae assured, leaning on the counter. “My sleep cycle’s been off this week with Dad in the hospital.”

Belle looked at the teen, his curly hair disrupted from restless sleep, the color under his eyes too dark for a boy his age.

“So whatcha making?” Bae inquired, smiling brightly despite the later hour.

“Don’t laugh, but I was going to make pizza. But if you want something else…”

“No, pizza sounds great. The one I ordered earlier was…I don’t know, bland?”

Belle chuckled. “Dad must have made the sauce. It’s his recipe but he never makes it right.”

Bae chuckled. “Is everything you guys make your dad’s creation?”

Belle shrugged as she scooped flour out of the properly labeled container on the counter. “Technically yes, but Merlin and I add our own flair to each thing we cook. The recipe’s always different each time, but there’s always a few ingredients that never change.” She said with a wink.

Bae nodded. “Anything I can do to help?”

Belle hummed. “Do you have a food processor?”

Bae nodded and opened one of the cabinets, pulling the processor out with ease.

“Great. Get out what you want on the pizza. Do we have enough cheese?”

Bae pulled a pile of things from the refrigerator, including a nearly empty bag of shredded mozzarella.

Belle surveyed what else he had brought out and nodded as she put a recipe together in her head.

“How fresh is that cream?”

Bae bravely opened the carton and smelled the dairy substance, sighing with relief when he didn’t smell anything sour.

“Great, find me a pan and some butter and we can make alfredo pizza.”

“Sweet!” Bae cheered, obeying Belle’s instructions.

Soon enough the teen was helping her chop chicken and kneed pizza dough, chuckling when she flicked flour in his curls.

“This is great.” Bae said as Belle sprinkled oregano on the pizza. “I’ve been living off diner food and cereal all week. I never though I’d miss home cooking so much.”

Belle paused in her pizza-making, her eyes looking over his lanky frame.

“Baelfire I’m…I’m sorry about all of this.”

Bae looked around the kitchen, confused. “The flour will come off the counters.”

Belle scoffed. “No, I mean for the accident. For borrowing your dad’s car. For his injury. Everything.”

Bae stared at her, unsure what he could say to make her feel better. Whenever he and Emma fought she would just punch him in the arm and everything would be fine afterwards. Hitting her, even playfully, did not look like a good idea in her condition.

“Really, Belle, it’s fine.” Bae assured awkwardly. “It’s not like you’re a crazy girlfriend who crashed my dad’s car to keep him to yourself.”

Belle laughed at the idea, turning to put the pizza in the oven.  

“I mean, I guess I was a little mad at first, but I got over it. My dad really likes you, and spending these last few weeks with you has made him happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. I’m sure there was no lost love being in the hospital with you, even if you were doped up half the time.”

Belle chuckled. “A third of the time, actually. Between you and me though, your dad’s a real lightweight.”

Bae snorted. “I bet. And while we’re dropping secrets, that bit about me living off of diner food was a white lie. Emma brought me some of her mom’s cooking to keep me going.”

“Ah, and I bet she made you dessert afterwards.” Belle teased.

Bae’s blush was as read as pizza sauce. “Well…”

“Unless you want to be grounded until you graduate, I suggest you not answer that.”

Belle and Baelfire both turned around to find Gold leaning against the doorframe, eyeing the messy countertops and his flour-dusted son with amusement.

“Bit late for a midnight snack, isn’t it?” he teased, limping in.

“More like too early.” Belle said. “It’s just after three.”

“Indeed. Smells good whatever it is.”

“Chicken alfredo pizza, enough for three.” Belle blushed as he took the seat beside her. This was the first time she had seen him wearing anything but a three-piece suit. It was almost an honor, seeing a piece of him that no one but his son had seen.

“Excellent.” he smiled, turning to his son, dusting some of the flour out of his hair. “Glad to see you’re taking up a trade, m’boy.”

“Yep,” Belle teased. “I’ll have him trained as a sous chef in no time.

Bae rolled his eyes as he went to check on the pizza. Adults were so weird.

In no time the pizza was sliced and passed around, conversation and napkins flowing easily. It was domestic if not unique scene considering the late hour. Unbeknownst to each participant, there was a mutual want to make the event—both the living arrangements and late-night pizza-making, mind you—much more permanent.

[greentrickster]

All our poke-people’s vision is impacted by their transformation, too - not enough to make it hard to move around, but the colours they see and how they see those colours is definitely impacted. This actually works out great for Larry, because he finds the new perspective a super interesting, inspiring experience, and it has a huge impact on his art once they all return to being human, giving him a very unique, distinctive colour palette in his future works.

There’s a definitely learning curve for everyone, though - their pokemon instincts only trigger if they try to use them, and no one really knows how to do that at first - Miles gets lucky in regards to the ‘base’ psychic powers he uses, and Phoenix also gets... technically lucky in that Miles gets panicked by a wild pokemon (like a kangaskhan or nidoqueen or something big and terrifying), uses psychic, mis-aims, hits Phoenix with it instead, and Phoenix manages to use sketch and gain the move himself. There’s definitely some walking practice for everyone before they go anywhere, Kay has to learn how to fly, Gumshoe has to learn how to be a quadruped, three of the remainders have tails, and the last one is Sebastian, who is a sphere. (Spoilers, even after learning how to move properly, Sebastian still gets carried a lot of places, because he’s slow. He gets faster as a wiggleytuff, but he’s still the slowest walker on the team.)

Also, Trucy has a corresponding pokeball for each of her family-team, including Miles. This is one of those “Well huh” experiences for everyone involved. (Learning how to get out of their pokeballs without being called out is one of the things that comes naturally to everyone, fortunately, and they don’t stay in them much anyway.)

Important question: do they use Kay to spy on people once she learns to fly? Important answer: ya dang skippy they do, gotta gather data somehow and, as the person who knows the most about the poke-world anyway and a self-proclaimed great thief who steals the truth, Kay’s pretty good at this, both in finding out what local humans know and getting information from other pokemon.

Okay, absolutely ridiculous AU time!

Trucy gets transported to the pokemon world somehow, along with a chunk of her found family… who get transformed into pokemon somewhere between dimensions and form her team.

Because it would be funny.

Who’s what based on that greatest of all logics: gut instinct!

Phoenix is a smeargle with blue paint and still wearing his red tie, because they have the same energy, and sketch sounds like exactly the sort of move he would have as a pokemon.

‘Uncle’ Larry is a raichu with a spikey tuft of fur on his head, because orange and (again) same energy.

Adoptive brother Sebastian is a jigglypuff, because music and just… picture a jigglypuff with Sebastian’s expression and tell me I had any other choice in the matter. Also he still has his baton.

Kay comes with Sebastian, and she’s a murkrow now, because of course the crow-inspired thief is a murkrow, this is logic. She still has her scarf.

Gumshoe gets to come because I wanted him to and he’s a yamper now, once again because same energy, only even moreso this time. He is a Good Boy.

And as for Edgeworth… Edgeworth is a godsdamn mewtwo, because they have the same resting >:( face and that’s what inspired the whole idea for this in the first place! He’s got his jabot on his primary neck and is the only one of the transformed family that can use English (thanks to telepathy), meaning he’s basically invaluable in this situation as a translator for the rest of the poke-people, and also currently the tallest member of the group at 4′11″ because Trucy’s maybe twelve at the moment and hasn’t hit her growth spurt yet.

Cue antics. Trucy’s never played Pokemon before, neither have Miles, Gumshoe, or Sebastian, and Phoenix and Larry have only played the first four generations. Luckily they have Kay, who’s played every pokemon game to date, but unfortunately she’s also a pretty casual player, so while her general knowledge is pretty good, she’s not some poke-pro with stats and moves memorized.

None of them know how they got here.

None of them know how to get home.

Most of them don’t fully understand their own anatomy anymore and can no longer speak human language.

It is way too easy to forget that Gumshoe isn’t a real poke-doggo and not remember until you realize that you’re giving a thirty-five-year-old man scratchies, and no one, human or pokemon, is safe from this mistake.

Also, people keep telling Trucy her team balance is way off and it’s starting to get really annoying.

I make no apologies.

[awkwardshanandagins]

Costco+Lupron=One Very Stabby Shanda

You read that right, STABBY. As in I'm on the brink of stabbing someone or something.  Anyone else ever feel this way? Oh..no?  Are you telling me it's not normal to feel like stabbing someone?  Well, shit, I've been feeling stabby so hard since about 5:00 p.m. yesterday, just in time for my husband to get home.  Lucky him!  I got my sixth and final Lupron injection yesterday and this one stays in my system for three months as opposed to the one month injections I've been getting.  I don't know if you're supposed to feel much of a difference between the two but dear Lord this one has been a doozy!  I have had to try way harder than one should ever have to try to not elbow someone in the face today.  That should just be easy, right?  We don't elbow people in the face, it's not socially acceptable, therefore we do not have to consciously make an effort not to do so, we just don't do it.  Not me.  Not today.  I've had to make a very conscious decision not to elbow several stupid faces.  They're lucky I have some self-control.

At this point, you may be thinking I am a very violent person. As much as I talk about it (and yes, sometimes daydream about it), I would NEVER actually do anything to hurt anyone.  I'm a big ol' pussy and I "care" too much about my fellow man or whatever.  But, if there was ever something strong enough to make me actually throat chop someone, it would be this damn Lupron.  This shit is not for the weak!  I know better than to go out in public the first couple days after my injection but I ignored my better judgement, something I do too often.

I decided to run by Costco on my way home from work.  Going to Costco while practically roid-raging on Lupron is a terrible idea.  Going to Costco in general is usually a terrible idea.  I have such a strong love-hate relationship with Costco.  It is literally my favorite store while also being the place I hate most in this world.  It's not so much the store I despise, but the people inside of it.  There seems to be a common theme with me lately, I just really can't stand people.  Anyways, after spending almost a full week laid up on the couch I figured running some errands would be good for me.  I have to do things while I feel most human and today was one of those days, or so I thought.  Hormonally, I don't think it was my wisest decision.

Parking was the first red flag.  This dickhead woman stole my spot and I about had a total meltdown.  A screaming, crying, ramming my car into the back of hers kind of meltdown.  I think she knew how annoyed I was, one because I stared her down real hard and two because she did not get out of the car until I exited mine and walked inside.  Another spot opened up two spots away and at this point a normal person would have let it go but Lupron said "NO! YOU WILL HATE THIS WOMAN FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.  SHOW HER YOUR HATRED!" I glared through her window as I got out of my car.  I went as slow as possible so I could see how long she'd stay in there.  Part of me was hoping she'd get out but the other part of me, the more rational part of me, was like "why? what would you do if she did get out?"  I'd give her a good ol' fashion scream cry in the face, that's what I'd do!  I always seem to think if I stare at someone long and hard enough, they'll feel my rage burning into the side of their face and they'll know they did something stupid.  Man, I sure showed her!  In reality, she probably had no idea any of this was even happening.

While walking in, I somehow got behind the slowest couple that has ever existed.  They were barely moving but did an excellent job of taking up the entire entry way so there was no way for me to go around.  They continued their slow, sprawled out moseying the whole way in, pointing and stopping at every single item; again making it nearly impossible to pass them.  My hormone fueled rage did not let me give up however.  I got way too close for comfort, did a few NFL approved spin moves and somehow slipped by.  What I don't understand is how at the end of my shopping trip in hell, I ended up behind them again!  They had to have walked in and straight to the check-out lane.  There is no way, with their speed, that they could have made it anywhere else in the store and still ended up in front of me in the short amount of time it took me to sprint around the place.  Damn them.  Damn them real hard.  Slow walkers are literally the worst.

Next, I ended up right in front of a real fun older gentleman.  He turned out to be a super douchebag, but by the end of our interaction I made sure to really give him the look of hate and shame so he knew how annoyed I was.  To start, he about ran me over with his cart.  I was eating a sample as most of us do during our shopping trips to Costco.  Let's be real, it's pretty much a given that at least 75% of us are there during lunch time to indulge on these samples instead of eating a normal lunch.  Anyways, I do what I do best and accidentally dropped it down the front of me.  It had ranch on it and it spilled all over me and splatted on the floor.  Trying to be a decent human being, I bent over to pick it up and this mother-effer was so close behind me that he had to abruptly pull his cart backwards or he would have knocked me straight onto my face.  I let him go around, loudly said "jeeeeeeeeez," picked up my stuff and walked slowly behind him so he could get way ahead.  I was trying to spare his life.  About three aisles down, all of a sudden I can feel a cart right behind me but before I could turn around, someone threw a giant heavy box of something into it making a huge crash which about made me wet myself.  I turned around and it was the same toolbag who nearly booty bumped me onto my damn face.  At this point, I was beyond annoyed, almost to a place of murder, so I decided to follow very closely behind him so he could feel my wrath glaring a hole into the back of his head.  He walked comically fast, which I take as a compliment because I obviously scared him enough for him to practically run away.

I decided to skip the rest of the samples and leave before I lashed out and hurt someone, or most likely myself.  It was obvious I was in no state of mind to be around other human beings so I made a straight shot for the aisle I needed which luckily was right by the check-out.

You know what people drive me the most crazy?  The ones who act like they take precedence over everyone else on this earth.  Luckily, one of them was right in the main aisle trying samples with her child while her cart sat in the middle of the busiest aisle there is.  It was obvious it was in the way as people were lined up to get around it and were taking turns to pass her.  The polite thing would be to move your cart but no, she just stood there shoving her stupid face with quinoa not giving one shit that she was making it difficult for literally every other person there to get around her.  If anyone were to get a punch to the throat today, it would have been her.  I wanted to slap her quinoa out of her hand and high-kick her cart.  Move your shit, lady!

Whoever is in charge of deciding what items go on which shelves is either incredibly smart or terribly evil, or both I guess.  All I wanted was the protein powder I use for my morning shakes.  It is usually always by the vitamins but you know where they moved it?  On the fucking candy aisle!  Good God, why?  I AM A WEAK PERSON, COSTCO!  They know.  They know we are all weak and if they put the healthy crap by the delicious and unhealthy crap, we will buy both.  What a bunch of assholes.  Smart assholes though.

By the time I got up to the checkout lane, my arms were so full of stuff I did not go there for in the first place, that I was walking with an awkward limp, attempting to use one of my legs as a weird third arm to try to keep it all from falling.  I was hot and super sweaty at this point, which I'm sure made me look incredibly sane, and the rage had hit an all-time high.  What's worse than a menopausal woman?  A HOT menopausal woman!  A nice man came to my rescue as he clearly saw they had a liability on their hands with me.  I left as quickly as possible and tried not to look at anyone for fear if they gave me the wrong face, I might throw my box of items right at their head.

This was not even one of my worst trips to Costco.  I usually take Paul with me which honestly just makes it all worse.  He is not good in crowds and has a quick temper at times.  We are quite the pair right now!  One of us usually tries to remain level headed to keep the other one from completely losing their mind and rampaging through the store.  He absolutely loathes Costco so I tend to be the one remaining level headed.  Hard to imagine, I know.  The sample areas are breeding grounds for assholes.  It never fails, every time either he or I walk up to grab one, some jerkoff steps in front of us and grabs the last one.  I will wait patiently but Paul will boil over and have to walk away while cursing quietly.  Actually it's not quiet at all.  He does it so loud it usually draws attention.  I try to quickly corral him out of there while telling him to talk quieter which usually leads to us bickering until one of us walks ahead of the other one and remains five steps in front for the rest of the excursion.  It's obvious there is a marital spat taking place at this point.  Any time you see a woman walking five steps in front of a man, you can guarantee a fight just took place.  I really should just leave him at home.  It never turns out well.  Paul can't help but have an angry scowl on his face the entire time.  My family now calls Paul's angry face his "Costco face."

My next stop was PetSmart.  I should have just gone home but why stop there?  Maybe for the safety of myself and others?  Probably, but I live life dangerously.  There was this bird, or possibly baby pterodactyl, inside PetSmart that screeched non-stop the entire time I was there.  Normally, I would be able to block that out but my Lupron brain would not allow me to and instead made it sound like it was inside my skull.  I asked the cashier if the bird did this all the time and he said yes while looking like he had been seriously considering murder.  I would lose my mind working there with that bird.  That damn thing would "mysteriously" disappear one day.  Whoa, calm down, I wouldn't kill it, I'd obviously just let it go.  Right as I walked out of the parking lot, a car alarm continued the screeching's of that fucking bird.  Again, it usually wouldn't bother me but since it was happening inside my skull, I seriously considered running inside and screaming similar sounds until someone shut the stupid thing off.  Instead, I got in my car and drove my ass home.  I will hide out here until the effects of Satan's saliva wears off and I am a more normal, functioning person.

I cannot even begin to tell you how excited I am that this will be my last shot!  This stuff is no joke.  It honestly has been both a blessing and a curse.  I truly do think it's made me feel better in many aspects but it has also made me into a complete lunatic.  Seriously, if my marriage can withstand this, it can withstand anything!

To those who are considering this medication, please do not let my stories turn you away from it.  The side effects I've had really have not been anything compared to the constant pain and bleeding us girls/women with endometriosis suffer from.  I've heard people have both amazing and terrible experiences with it.  I really urge you to think for yourself on this one and not take others' experiences into account since each one of us reacts so differently to this drug.  If you do decide to take it, good luck and God speed!  I joke.  Seriously though, I am here to listen to you throughout your own Lupron journey if you just need someone to vent to.  It helps having someone to talk to who completely gets it.  If you decide to give Lupron a try, just a word of advice...DON'T GO TO COSTCO!

[melkico-draws]

Finally! Klaw’s reference. As you can see I’ve had this done for a while now but I just recently typed up his profile so oopsie!

More info under the cut!

Name: Klaw

Nickname(s): Walker (Disguise)

Gender identity: Male (He/Him)

Height: 6 ft // 182 cm

Weight: 130 lbs

Race/species: Half Human Half Non-Human Entity Age: ???? How old they appear: 22 Mental age: 25+ Orientation: Pansexual

Special ability: Shadow Manipulation (Including but not limited to, travelling through shadows, creating weapons/becoming a weapon himself, camouflage in the darkness.)

Birth Date: February 14

About: He is a normal human from Earth who has the unfortunate fate of stumbling upon Melk when she was first forming. The two became fast friends, and after a series of catastrophes Klaw soon finds himself with abilities that can balance the separate parallel universes just like his partner. With these powers, he takes it upon himself to help his best friend in keeping the worlds in check.

Likes: fantasy novels, magical girl animes, drawing, high fashion, beef, Melk, sex, cuddles, hugging, ice skating, pole dancing, stuffed toys, dogs, blue, bad puns and memes.

Dislikes: bugs, conflict, physical fights, bullies, tea, winter, and snow.

Fun Facts and Other things:

Most charismatic of the group

Not the best at fighting, prefers to work in groups (Ex: he’s partnered with Melk in most fights.)

The main decoy/distraction, he can and will be the one     to sneak into enemy lines to gather information

Very patient

Is often impulsive and over emotional, which causes problems.

Has a hero complex

Chaotic good

Easily moved by sob stories

Looks to Melk as his primary support and will break easily if separated from her

Holds hands with Melk as a way to cope and support

Is aware that Melk is easily persuaded by him and will sometimes abuse it

Partakes in sex frequently and is quite kinky

Really good at pole dancing and ice skating.

Overthinks constantly but is the slowest to react

[sinceileftyoublog]

Rick Holmstrom Interview: How The Hell Did I Get Here?

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The 13-year bandleader for Mavis Staples finally got a little time for himself--just not how he envisioned it. As the COVID-19 pandemic put a pause on Staples’ “never-ending tour,” as Rick Holmstrom told me over the phone earlier this year, he took advantage of his restlessness and recorded a new album, masked up, with other Staples bandmates Steve Mugalian and Gregory Boaz. See That Light, co-produced with Mugalian, was released in February and consists of many songs whose initial stages of writing occurred on the road with Staples, in hotels or on flights. “You listen to some music, you read the newspaper, you take a nap, and you still have two and a half hours of flight,” Holmstrom said, referring to the downtime that often spurred bouts of creativity. And Holmstrom’s open about how much what he’s listening to leaks into what he writes. “It’s part affliction and part blessing that my brain keeps replaying the last song I’ve heard,” he said. “If I’m in a Lightnin’ Hopkins or Mose Allison mode, it’s still playing an hour later in my head. I start jotting down something that’s like a twisted version of that, which morphs into a more twisted thing and doesn’t end up even sounding like the thing it’s inspired by.”

If you asked Holmstrom, he’d break down the exact process and many influences on each song on See That Light; he did so for many songs during our conversation, writing how he’s careful to make original music, often ditching voice memos after playing them for his band because they sound too much like something else. That said, the band often fiddled around in the studio to give it a twist, and especially Mugalian, who’s worked with Holmstrom for a long time and was in touring bands with him throughout the 90′s and 2000′s, listening to music over long distances, was sought as a source of feedback. Overall, though, as much as Holmstrom’s aware of the history behind each song--what he was listening to, what he was experiencing in life or referencing--he doesn’t expect the listener to do the same, taking into account the sequencing of the song tempos and grooves just as much if not more than the narrative. The album opens with empathetic funky strut “Take My Hand”, which he describes as a Snooks Eaglin groove combined with T-Bone Walker’s “The Hustle Is On” with a little MGs and Creedence in the solo. (“All of that stuff kind of came in piecemeal, and that’s a typical example of how this works for me,” he said.) Following it is upbeat rock chugger “Look Me In The Eye”, distorted “Losing My Shit”, and blues romp “Got To Go”, before the blue-eyed soul of “Don’t Wake Me” and slow-rolling “Lonesome Sound”. He once again changes tempo patterns with “I”d Rather Be A Loser”, and other songs like “Come Along” bounce around within their runtime. See That Light rewards if you dig in, but it’s a satisfying listen under any circumstance.

Read my conversation with Holmstrom below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: What about “Take My Hand”, “Losing My Shit”, and “Lonesome Sound” made you want to highlight them as early tastes of the record?

Rick Holmstrom: That’s a good question, because I’m terrible at that. I asked friends, “Which ones of these songs do you think are unique or have something going on that other people might like?” I have the tendency to get attached to all of them and lose perspective on which ones sound timely. I asked about 5 or 6 friends, and those seemed to be the ones that came up the most.

That’s the crazy thing, when you realize the record’s coming out in late February, it’s somewhere in October or November you’re deciding this stuff. It has to be put on Bandcamp or Spotify or Apple, and I wanted to have a video for each of them so I wanted to contact some friends of mine to help me with the videos. In the last couple of weeks, I was thinking, “Man I really screwed this up, I should have come out with ‘Losing My Shit’ first, and then ‘Lonesome Sound’, and then ‘Take My Hand’, since ‘Take My Hand’ is more of an upbeat song, and it felt like we got a new administration and we were getting past these last terrible four years. I was beating myself up for a couple weeks.

SILY: How did you approach the sequencing of the record?

RH: That’s interesting you asked that. I don’t think I’ve had an interviewer ask that question.

SILY: Really?!? That surprises me.

RH: Are you a musician yourself?

SILY: No, just an appreciator.

RH: That’s cool. I labored over it this time. I’ve made a bunch of records and produced a bunch of records, and in the past, I’d just say, “Here’s the order I think it should be,” and somebody at the record label would say, “That’s pretty good, maybe we should change this a bit here,” and I’d go, “Yeah, that’s cool.” Which is funny, because now it’s more of a singles world, yet I was laboring over this like it was the mid-70s and I was making some sort of concept record. The first sequence I had for a long time had the slowest, quietest song, “Don’t Wake Me”, as the opening song. I did that because it’s my favorite song on the record, and I had never done anything like it before, and it would open with a, “Wow, that’s different!” I sequenced the record, mastered it, and played it for my wife for the first time. She listens to the first song, turns to me in the car and asks, “That’s your first song?” I said, “Yeah, that’s it!” She said, “Okay, I like the song, but that’s the first one?” The more I started to think about it, the more I thought maybe that would be self-indulgent. Not to take it all too seriously here, but I felt like there was a little story of the characters here, messed up people who are struggling. There still should be an arc here, but you also have to think of the grooves and listening experience of those who aren’t tuned into stories right away.

SILY: I mostly asked because I thought the record was well-paced with song tempos, but it’s interesting to hear how you balanced a narrative with the desire to engage people from the basic sense of feeling a groove.

RH: I felt like there was a bit of a story where “Take My Hand” brings you in, somebody saying, “I’m having a tough time here, will you help me up?” And then you hear more detail, these people falling down these holes, struggling to get out. By the end, it’s like I’ve been such a jerk, asshole, and loser, and [then] at the very end it’s a hopeful thing. In a time when all of our work disappeared, and we were looking around wondering how we’d make ourselves useful, while we were making the record, the sequencing became important to me.

SILY: Another good choice would have been “Look Me In The Eye” because you sing, “These days I feel like screaming.” Is that referring to the last four years?

RH: That was actually originally way back in the record, and it’s an older song. When my wife heard that, she turned to me and said, “I know this is an older one because I’ve heard it before, but it feels like it could have been written yesterday.” I said, “Yeah, we included it because it somehow felt right.” The crazy thing about that one is that the inspiration for that song was Hank Williams. I was on a big Hank Williams kick. If you take that one back from the surf beat rock and roll groove we put to it, it’s a country song, which I hadn’t done before. I like country music, but I don’t really consider myself any kind of country artist or anything. I just like the songs.

SILY: “Got To Go” is a pretty funny song because of all the name-dropping. What’s your relationship with Chuck Prophet?

RH: [laughs] I’m glad you picked up on that. I sent the record to Chuck, and I said, “Even if you don’t like this, check out song number 4.” He wrote back, “Man, I feel like some kind of gangster rapper. I’m name dropped in a song!” Chuck heard a record I made years ago called Hydraulic Groove, around the time he was making “Summertime Thing”. We were both making records where we were using hip hop recording techniques, taking breakbeats, making loops, sampling, but I was really into rhythm & blues and soul music, and he was doing it with singer-songwritery Beck/Dylan type of stuff. He contacted me and we got to be friends. I played on a song of his called “Monkey in the Middle” on one of his records. Every time I go down to San Francisco for Hardly Strictly [Bluegrass], he invites me down to a club and I end up sitting in. I’m crazy about him as an artist and a personality. He’s one of the most interesting people I know.

That song is a Hank Thompson type of song. A story song. Basically a blues groove with slightly different changes, and I was just trying to have fun with it. The ludicrousness of some idiot who picks up a hotel clerk and takes her to see the bright lights in Fresno. It also has a little joke that we used to always be on the road and would always see a Denny’s right next to the La Quinta.

SILY: Is the song “I’m An Asshole” directed towards anyone or anything?

RH: Nah. It’s kind of a composite person. Just a few people I’ve known. We all run into them. That’s basically all it is. Having some fun with memories of people I’ve worked with I don’t have to work with again.

At the same time, many of these songs were written from the viewpoint of characters. They’re not strictly autobiographical. They’re partially from my own experience but mostly about folks who are struggling (much more than I am) with the world today, trying to figure out where they fit in, how they cope and move ahead. I was also having fun saying the word “asshole" in a song. In fact, I made a point of calling my mom before she heard the record, to tell her how I was inhabiting characters in many of these songs. I called Mavis too, just to let her know that a couple of these songs were, well, potty-mouthed, which she got a kick out of and understood. I mean, everyone’s been affected this past year. I think we forget sometimes how close we are to being in the same position as folks who are sleeping in tents under the freeway or rummaging through the trash bins in our alleys. So I think I was saying things they might say, like, “How the hell did I get here?”

SILY: The tempo changes within the song “Come Along” definitely stand out. How did that song come to be from start to finish?

RH: Because I come from the blues world, when I first started playing, I just fell in love with old blues music. I lucked out and was on the road with some touring blues acts, like William Clarke of Alligator Records. We toured like crazy. I was in vans that sometimes didn’t have seats in the back. We’d bring beanbags or lawn chairs. Just crazy stuff. Doing it just because I loved it. I come from the traditional world. Upright basses and old amplifiers. Now, what I’m more interested in is trying to find ways to subvert that but keep it intact at the same time. Blues, most people think of twelve bars, three chords. I’ll do things like try to not have a song have twelve bars. That arpeggio, soft beginning originally started as an idea for another song. One night--we used to play this club called Liquid Kitty in LA, every Sunday night when off the road with Mavis--it was 10 minutes from all of our houses. It was kind of like a residency: When we were home, we could play there, and it was a really nice place to try things out. There’s no pressure. Maybe you’d play a song twice in the same night, once in [each] set. Only the bartender’s gonna know. So these things got pieced together that way.

Just trying to find ways to take it somewhere else so it doesn’t become sports bar blues. You get a theater gig opening for somebody, or playing a rock club, you have songs that have little quirks like that, but a minute later, you’re playing this [Clarence] “Gatemouth” Brown, early 50′s, New Orleans or Houston shuffle, and people are like, “What the hell is this? This is cool!” And the next thing you know you’re going back to the weird quirky intro, and the song’s over. I don’t think what I’m doing is that great--it’s what I’m attempting to do. [laughs]

SILY: Ending a record with a slower track is definitely a good move a lot of the time. Is there something about “Joyful Eye” as opposed to some of the other slow songs on here that made you want to end with it?

RH: I think [it] was more the message of the song. There was a night when I was getting ready to go to one of those gigs at the Liquid Kitty. My youngest daughter was probably 2 years old. I’m bringing my guitars out into the garage, grabbing my amp, and you’re running a couple minutes late and trying to hurry to get your stuff in the car to go to the gig. Little Ellie looks up and said, “Daddy, see that light? What is that?” She’s pointing at a star or something, and I pick her up, and I’m looking at it with her, and I’m like, “I don’t know. It could be a star, satellite, plane?” “Well how do you know?” “I don’t know honey. There are a lot of things in life that just because I’m your dad I don’t know. I’m not sure.” Just trying to be honest with her. As I’m driving to the gig, I start humming something in relation to that, and at the end of the night, I just started playing this two-chord vamp and started singing part of that song. It was like a gig where at the end of the night, there might be five people in the bar. It was a vodka type of bar--I might have had a vodka. The bass player at the end of the night asked, “What was that thing you did, that was cool?” I told him the story, came up with a verse, and maybe the vodka helped me come up with a singalong thing, and we just jammed on that for a while. It was definitely one of those things that floated in and out of our sets and slowly accumulated more verses and became a song. At the beginning, it was a loopy, little dreamy, “What the hell was that?” kind of song. As far as putting it as the last song, it seemed like a more hopeful message, and we took it out of this Neil Young-era jam. I felt it was a good way to drift off.

SILY: Your daughter did the album art, too, right?

RH: Ellie, who is 14 now, our youngest, a couple years ago went to Italy with her aunt. She likes to paint in her room. Not long after she got back, she painted that for herself. I’ve had it sitting in my bedroom dresser drawer ever since. It’s the first thing I see when I wake up, and it makes me smile. A kid doing art for art’s sake. Just for fun. Wasn’t created for anything other than her to remember what Venice looked like to her. When we were thinking of how to do the artwork, I kept looking at the painting, took a photo of it, and sent it to the person helping me make the CDs. We just decided to go with that.

It’s not like anything where some art historian is gonna look at it. It just seemed like it fit in a weird kind of way. I hope people like it! My other daughter Lusa helped make the logo for the “record company” that this is coming out on.

SILY: What else is next for you?

RH: I’m working on some instrumentals right now. My first record came out in ‘96 on a label in New Orleans called Black Top Records. It was all instrumentals and has been 25 years. Once this record was done and in the pipeline and on its way, the singles being released, during the whole election and insurrection craziness, I started to get antsy and feel weird. The record gave me and the guys a sense of something to do and purpose. We were doing something creative. It felt good. I started to lose that around the holidays, so I’ve been working on a lot of guitar instrumentals. I’m hoping that’ll turn into a record sometimes soon. I think it probably will. We did record one instrumental during the See That Light sessions, and it’s a good one, but I decided to hold it back. It’s a part of what I do live. A lot of times we’ll start off with an instrumental or two, then I’ll sing three or four songs, then we’ll do another instrumental. They’re short, kind of quirky, and palate cleansers in the show. Because we’re a trio, it gives you a chance to break the show up and make it more dynamic.

It’s a challenge for me. I like doing both of those things. I like writing songs with words and stories, but also writing with my guitar with a band to make a three-minute instrumental song that captures imaginations and have it be a fun little ride.

SILY: What have you been listening to, watching, and reading lately?

RH: I’ve really been on a big Hi Records kick lately. I’ve got Apple Music so that my kids can get whatever they want, and I’ve been getting Ann Peebles, O.V. Wright, Al Green, and all that stuff. I just read this book called Sapiens that was really interesting. I’ve been reading Rachel Maddow’s book Bag Man about Spiro Agnew. It was so Trump, so many decades ahead of Trump. I don’t watch a whole lot. I’d like to be able to watch more movies and be a movie buff, but I find myself, especially with kids, not having the time right now.

[theattainer]

What Are Your Rules for Life? These 11 Expressions (from Ancient History) Might Help

http://theattainer.com/what-are-your-rules-for-life-these-11-expressions-from-ancient-history-might-help/

What Are Your Rules for Life? These 11 Expressions (from Ancient History) Might Help

In one of my favorite novels, The Moviegoer by Walker Percy, Aunt Emily is famous for asking a question. It’s a simple one, but I think an eye-opening one. Aunt Emily, the wisest character in the book, likes to ask,

What do you live by?

As in, what are your principles? What are the Ten Commandments that rule your life? Who’s the animating force behind what you do and why you do it?

You’d think most people would know the answer to this question, but of course they don’t. Seattle Seahawks Coach Pete Carroll likes to tell a story about how long he managed to coach football without actually knowing what he believed in as a coach. It was only after another disappointing season with the New England Patriots—some 15 years into his career—that it struck Carroll that he had no real coaching philosophy, no real belief system. Inspired by John Wood, Carroll got to work, “writing notes and filling binders”—on nailing down his core values, his philosophy, what exactly he believes in. It was a transformative decision: He would go on to win two National Championships and win a Super Bowl with the Seattle Seahawks.

Now when he gives talks, he likes to open with that question: What’s your philosophy?What do you live by? He told me once, when I asked him about it, how shocked he is, on a regular basis, how many CEOs and generals and investors and coaches at the highest levels reveal, accidentally, that they have just been winging it.

That’s crazy!

In light of that fact, I thought I would look backwards to history, when the idea of a code—the Romans called it mas morium—was more common. The “old ways” come down to us in the form of some wonderful Latin expressions that remain, thousands of years later, very much worth living by.

Festina Lente (Make Haste Slowly)

From the Roman historian Suetonius, we learn that festina lente was the motto of Rome’s first emperor, Augustus. “He thought nothing less becoming in a well-trained leader than haste and rashness,” Suetonius writes, “And, accordingly, favourite sayings of his were: ‘More haste, less speed’; ‘Better a safe commander than a bold’; and ‘That is done quickly enough which is done well enough.’”

Faster is not always better. In fact, it’s often the slowest way to accomplish anything. Great leaders throughout history have known this. There is a quote ascribed to Lincoln about how the way to chop down a tree is to first spend several hours sharpening your axe. Kennedy used to talk about using time as a tool, not as a couch.

It’s easy to rush in. It feels good to start doing. But if you don’t know what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, and how to do it? Well, it’s not going to go well. If you’re going quickly for the sake of speed, you’re going to make costly mistakes. You’re going to miss opportunities. You’re going to miss critical warnings.

Each of us needs more clear thinking, wisdom, patience, and a keen eye for the root of problems. “Slowly,” Juan Ramon Jimenezas put it, “you will do everything quickly.”

Festina Lente.

Carpe Diem (Seize The Day)

Locked in prison by Henry Bolingbroke (Henry IV) in Shakespeare’s Richard II, Richard II gives a haunting speech about his hopeless fate. One line stands out, as it captures perfectly the reality of nearly every human being—indeed, it sounds like it was cribbed from Seneca’s On The Shortness of Life.

“I wasted time,” Richard II says, “and now doth time waste me.”

Isn’t that beautiful? And terribly sad? It was some 1500 years before Shakespeare that the poet Horace wrote in book 1 of Odes, “carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero” (seize the day, trust tomorrow e’en as little as you may).

We think that time is ours to waste. We even say, “We have two hours to kill” or speak of dead time between projects. The irony! Because time is the one that’s killing us. Each minute that passes is not just dead to us, it brings us closer to being dead.

That’s what Richard II realizes in that prison cell. He had wasted time and now, by a stroke of bad luck and evil, he is now wasting away. Only now is he realizing that each second that ticks by is a beat of his heart that he won’t get back, each ringing bell that marks the hour falls upon him like a blow.

Seneca writes that we think life is short, when in reality we just waste it. Marcus admonishes himself to not put off until tomorrow what he can do today, because today was the only thing he controlled (and to get out of bed and get moving for the same reason). The Stoics knew that fate was unpredictable and that death could come at any moment. Therefore, it was a sin (and stupidity) to take time for granted.

Today is the most valuable thing you own. It is the only thing you have. Don’t waste it. Seize it.

Carpe Diem. 

Fac, si facis (Do It If You’re Going To Do It)

The painter Edgar Degas, though best known for his beautiful Impressionist paintings of dancers, toyed briefly with poetry. As a brilliant and creative mind, the potential for great poems was all there—he could see beauty, he could find inspiration. Yet there are no great Degas poems. There is one famous conversation that might explain why. One day, Degas complained to his friend, the poet Stéphane Mallarmé, about his trouble writing. “I can’t manage to say what I want, and yet I’m full of ideas.” Mallarmé’s response cuts to the bone. “It’s not with ideas, my dear Degas, that one makes verse. It’s with words.”

So yes, deliberation and patience are key. You don’t want to rush into things. That’s what festina lente is about. But at some point the rubber has to meet the road.

“I should start a company.” “I have a great idea for a movie.” “I would love to write that book one day.” “If I tried hard enough, I could be ______.” How many of those people actually go through with building the company, releasing the movie, publishing the book, or becoming whatever it is they claim they could become? Sadly, almost none.

“Lots of people,” as Austin Kleon puts it, “want to be the noun without doing the verb.” It doesn’t matter where we are; to get to wherever we want to go, to implement all 11 of these expressions to live by, it is works, not words, that are required. “You must build up your life action by action,” Marcus Aurelius said. You must get started.

Fac, si facis.

Quidvis recte factum quamvis humile praeclarum (Whatever Is Rightly Done, However Humble, Is Noble)

The youngest of five children, Sir Henry Royce’s father died when he was just 9 years old. He went to work to alleviate his family’s financial burdens, so if his dreams of being an engineer were to be realized, it’d be without any formal education. Royce took jobs selling newspapers, delivering telegrams, making tools, and fixing street lights. At the age of twenty-one he started his own company making electric fittings. At twenty-six his interests shifted to the emerging automobile industry, and soon thereafter, he created Rolls-Royce Motor Cars.

It might seem like there is an enormous difference between those professions but in fact, they are related. It was his experiences doing that manual labor, doing those seemingly insignificant tasks that cultivated Royce’s commitment to and understanding of excellence. In fact, he later had a version of it inscribed on the mantle over his fireplace: Quidvis recte factum quamvis humble praeclarum.

Whatever you do well, however lowly, is noble.

There is no such thing as a job or a task that is beneath us. How we do anything is how we do everything. And if we can truly internalize and believe that, it will help us do the important things better. That’s why we love luxury items and pay so much for them, isn’t it? Because of their insane attention to detail, because how they refused to settle, how they did everything right?

Quidvis recte factum quamvis humile praeclarum.

Semper Fidelis (Always Faithful)

Otto Frank was late coming home from the First World War. No, it wasn’t because he was injured. Nor was he detained by a girl he’d fallen in love with or waylaid by traveling he decided to do. He was delayed for weeks because during the war his unit had commandeered some horses from a small farm in Pomerania and, after the hostilities had ended, he felt duty bound to return them.

When the war ended, nearly every soldier wanted nothing more than to rush home and see their families. Otto Frank did too. But he had borrowed something that wasn’t his and he was determined to honor his obligation, even if that meant delaying the homecoming he craved so much. The farmer, for his part, was shocked to see the horses again. Otto Frank’s mother, who assumed the worst of his absence, was so angry when she heard why he was late that she hurled a coffee pot across the room. She couldn’t understand the selflessness of his actions because in her case, since it had deprived her of her son a little longer, almost felt like selfishness.

“Cold or warm. Tired or well-rested. Despised or honored,” Marcus Aurelius wrote. “Just that you do the right thing. The rest doesn’t matter.” It isn’t easy. It can mean adding on top of already considerable burdens. Other people won’t always understand or take notice. They may be exasperated with you. They might be driven into a rage which you can neither control nor assuage. But none of that matters, and that’s why Semper Fi is the motto of the US Marine Corps. “It is not negotiable,” one Marine puts it. “It is not relative, but absolute…Marines pride themselves on their mission and steadfast dedication to accomplish it.” Not just to the mission, but to each other, and to their country.

You do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. It is the ultimate tautology, but that’s the point. Doing the right thing is all that matters. It is its own reward.

Semper Fidelis.

Per Angusta Ad Augusta (Through Difficulties To Honors)

Look, nobody wants to go through hard times. We’d prefer that things go according to plan, that what could go wrong doesn’t, so that we might enjoy our lives without being challenged or tested beyond our limits.

Unfortunately, that’s unlikely to happen. Which leaves us with the question of what good there is in such difficulty and how we might—either in the moment or after the fact—come to understand what it is that we’re going through…today, tomorrow, and always.

This passage from Sonia Purnell’s wonderful biography of Clementine Churchill, wife of Winston Churchill, is worth thinking about:

“Clementine was not cut out from birth for the part history handed her. Adversity, combined with sheer willpower, burnished a timorous, self-doubting bundle of nerves and emotion into a wartime consort of unparalleled composure, wisdom, and courage. The flames of many hardships in early life forged the inner core of steel she needed for her biggest test of all. By the Second World War the young child terrified of her father…had transmogrified into a woman cowed by no one.”

The Stoics believed that adversity was inevitable. They knew that Fortune was capricious and that it often subjected us to things we were not remotely prepared to handle. And this is not necessarily a bad thing. Because it teaches us. It strengthens us. It gives us a chance to prove ourselves. “Disaster,” Seneca wrote, “is Virtue’s opportunity.” The obstacle is the way, was Marcus Aurelius’s expression.

And so the same can be true for you and whatever it is that you’re going through right now.

Per Angusta Ad Augusta.

Amor fati (Love Of Fate)

The writer Jorge Luis Borges said:

A writer — and, I believe, generally all persons — must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art.

Everything is material. We have to learn to find joy in every single thing that happens. We have to understand that certain things—particularly bad things—are outside our control. But we can use it all—if we learn to love whatever happens to us and face it with unfailing cheerfulness. And again, not just artists. Issues we had with our parents become lessons that we teach our children. An injury that lays us up in bed becomes a reason to reflect on where our life is going. A problem at work inspires us to invent a new product and strike out on our own. These obstacles become opportunities.

The line from Marcus Aurelius about this was that a blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it. That’s how we want to be. We want to be the artist that turns pain and frustration and even humiliation into beauty. We want to be the entrepreneur that turns a sticking point into a money maker. We want to be the person who takes their own experiences and turns them into wisdom that can be learned from and passed on to others.

Nietzsche said, “My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it…but love it.” Use it all. Find purpose in all of it. Find opportunity in everything. Love it.

You love everything that happens. Because you make use of it.

Amor Fati

Fatum Ingenium Est (Character Is Fate)

When he was in college and struggling to live up to the expectations of his illustrious family, Walker Percy wrote a letter to his uncle and adopted father, Will Percy. He probably expected to receive a lecture about his grades in reply. Or be admonished for letting the family down. Or perhaps to be sent money for a tutor.

But the reply surprised him. Because there wasn’t any of that. Instead, Will waved those concerns off. “My whole theory about life,” Will told his beloved nephew and son, “is that glory and accomplishment are of far less importance than the creation of character and the individual good life.”

It was Heraclitus who said that character is fate. Or character is destiny, depending on the translation. What he meant was: Character decides everything. It determines who we are/what we do. Develop good character and all will be well. Fail to, and nothing will.

It can be easy to lose sight of this. Because we know how competitive the world is. Because things aren’t exactly going our way. Because we want to reach our full potential. But ultimately, we only need to care about our character. The rest is fated from it.  “Life is short,” Marcus Aurelius said, and “the fruit of this life is a good character.”

It’s true in reverse too: A good life is the fruit of good character.

Fatum Ingenium Est.

Semper Anticus (Always Forward)

The wisdom of the ancient world comes down pretty hard and pretty universally against looking back. No one, Jesus said, who looks backwards as they plot is fit for the kingdom of God. Even before Jesus, Cato the Elder—the great-grandfather of the Stoic Cato the Younger—wrote in his only work, On Agriculture, “The forehead is better than the hindhead.” Meaning: Don’t look back. Look forward.

It’s easy to want to look back at the past. To reflect on what’s happened. To blame. To indulge in nostalgia. To wistfully think of what might have been. To inspect and admire what you’ve done. But this is pointless. Because the past is dead. It’s lost. We had our shot with it. Now, all that remains before us is the present—and if we are lucky, the future.

The name of Lance Armstrong’s podcast is called what? The Forward. Because he can’t go back and change what happened, just like in a race, you can’t go backwards and you can’t stop either. All you can do is keep going. All you can do is keep trying to get better.

We must seize this opportunity while we still can. We must give it everything we have. No matter what has happened before—whose fault it was, how much pain it caused us, what regrets we have, or even how triumphant it was—all we can do is move forward. All we can do is act now, with the virtues we hold dear: courage, temperance, wisdom, justice.

Semper Anticus. 

Vivere Militare Est (To Live Is To Fight)

Odysseus leaves Troy after ten long years of war destined for Ithaca, for home. If only he knew what was ahead of him: ten more years of travel. That he’d come so close to the shores of his homeland, his queen and young son, only to be blown back again. That he’d face storms, temptation, a Cyclops, deadly whirlpools, and a six-headed monster. Or that he’d be held captive for seven years and suffer the wrath of Poseidon. And, of course, that back in Ithaca his rivals were circling, trying to take his kingdom and his wife.

He fought his way home. Marcus Aurelius once described life as warfare and a journey far from home. That was Odysseus’s experience certainly. To the Stoics, one had to go through life as a boxer or a wrestler, dug in and ready for sudden assaults.

That’s life. It kicks us around. The stuff we expected to be simple turns out to be tough. The people we thought were friends let us down. A couple storms or unexpected weather patterns just add a whole bunch of difficulty on top of whatever we’ve been doing. Seneca wrote that only the fighter who has been bloodied and bruised—in training and in previous matches—can go into the ring confident of his chances of winning. The one who has never been touched before, never had a hard fight? That’s a fighter who is scared. And if they aren’t, they should be. Because they have no actual idea how they’re going to hold up.

We have to have a true and accurate sense of the rhythms of the fight and what winning is going to require us to do. We have to be ready for the fighting life. We have to be able to get knocked around without letting it knock us out. We have to be in touch with ourselves and the fight we’re in.

Vivere Militare Est.

Memento Mori (Remember Death)

A person who wraps up each day as if it were the end of their life, who meditates on their mortality in the evening, Seneca believed, has a super power when they wake up.

“When a man has said, ‘I have lived!’” Seneca wrote, then “every morning he arises is a bonus.”

Think back: to that one time you were playing with house money, if not literally then metaphorically. Or when your vacation got extended. Or that appointment you were dreading canceled at the last moment.

Do you remember how you felt? Probably, in a word—better. You feel lighter. Nicer. You appreciate everything. You are present. All the trivial concerns and short term anxieties go away—because for a second, you realize how little they matter.

Well, that’s how one ought to live. Go to bed, having lived a full day, appreciating that you may not get the privilege of waking up tomorrow. And if you do wake up, it will be impossible not to see every second of the next twenty-four hours as a bonus. As a vacation extended. An appointment with death put off one more day. As playing with house money.

”You could leave life right now,” Marcus Aurelius wrote, “let that determine what you do and say and think.”

Is there better advice than this? If so, it has yet to be written. Keep it close.

Memento Mori.

— 

The power of an epigram or one of these expressions is that they say a lot with a little. They help guide us through the complexity of life with their unswerving directness. Each person must, as the retired USMC general and former Secretary of Defense Jim Mattis, has said, “Know what you will stand for and, more important, what you won’t stand for.” “State your flat-ass rules and stick to them. They shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”

Least of all to you.

So borrow these eleven, or dig into history or religion or philosophy to find some more.

And then turn those words…into works.

What do you think?

[dulwichdiverter]

Born to run

Words: Elizabeth Rust; Photo: Orlando Gili

It’s 9am on a Saturday morning in Dulwich Park. It’s cold. The ground is damp from last night’s rain. There’s a group of women squatting at their buggyfit class. A “drill sergeant” yells at his military fitness class as he pressures them to do just one more push-up.

Young kids are warming up in anticipation of the day’s football match. And in among all this, a sea of runners are manoeuvring their way around the perimeter of the park as they chase their personal bests in this week’s Dulwich parkrun.

Andrew Morley is one of those runners. His goal is to finish in under 24 minutes. His personal best is 21:11, which he did three years ago. “I’ve had an injury and it’s taken me a while to get back into the swing of things,” he says. He’s running with his son Nicholas.

When his dad isn’t listening, Nicholas says, “Yes, he’s got a goal, and his goal is to do better than the last week, but he’s had a couple of heavy nights on the beers, so today was a top-up for him rather than a proper effort.”

Nicholas has completed 150 runs. He started running in parkruns in 2009 while at university. He participates in the runs for general fitness. “Today I was slower than average. I haven’t been running for three or four months. I’ve done a few parkruns, but I haven’t done any midweek runs, and I’ve missed the last two parkruns,” he says.

Andrew and Nicholas are part of a group of 300 to 400 runners who have just completed the five-kilometre Dulwich parkrun. In addition to Dulwich parkrun, there are parkruns all over the world, and in our area there are runs at Peckham Rye park, Burgess park and Brockwell park. Parkrun is often described as the world’s biggest sporting event in the world.    

Parkrun is free and starts at 9am no matter how dreadful the weather might be. Parkruns are entirely organised by volunteers who safely guide the runners around the five-kilometre course.

To date there have been 353 runs at Dulwich parkrun where 12,936 people have run with an average run time of 25:31. Katie Snowden has the fastest Dulwich female time at 16:17 and Alexander Amos Yee the fastest male time at 14:05.

Dulwich runners have run a distance of 368,905 kilometres in a total time of three years 21 days one hour eight minutes and 17 seconds.

So how does it all work? At the beginning of the run, a volunteer scans each runner’s barcode. This barcode is printed off at home by the runner after they register once on the parkrun website.

At the end of the run, each runner receives a token with a finish position. This finish position corresponds to when the timekeeper clicks the stopwatch and records the time and finish position. The run data is then uploaded onto the parkrun website so that runners can later see how well they ran on the morning.

But Parkrun isn’t about how fast you run. Parkrun isn’t a race. It’s a run to be enjoyed at one of London’s most beautiful parks. People who participate in parkrun are encouraged to run, walk or jog, according to Dulwich volunteer parkrun event director Lucy Ferman-Moore. “Parkrun is a free community event designed to make the world a fitter and happier place,” she says.

Lucy started running in parkrun in 2012 after she saw an advertisement. She registered online, went along for the run, and has been hooked ever since. “No one ever finishes last,” she says.

There’s a tail runner at the back who always takes the last position. It doesn’t matter how slow the slowest runner is, the tail runner will stay with them until the very end. Whenever someone’s upset about being the last person, she says, “You’re faster than the people who stayed in bed!”

The tail runner at today’s run is Soo Yau. She likes being a tail runner because it means she can still participate even if she’s slightly injured. She says that parkrun encourages walkers, runners, wheelchair athletes and people who haven’t exercised in years. In fact, the average finish time for parkrun, being just over 30 minutes, has increased over time meaning that more and more people who may not be natural runners are taking part.

Soo has completed 260 runs. She started parkrun in 2011 after looking for an organisation she could run with. Then her closest parkrun was at Wimbledon, but has since become invested in the Dulwich parkrun.

“It really doesn’t matter how fast you go. I’ve been at parkruns where it’s taken an hour and half for the last runner. It’s for everyone. You will have fast runners who can do it in 16 minutes, but the course is wide enough that everyone can do it safely,” she says.

One of those fast runners is Andrea Barber. She trains with Kent Athletic Club. She’s done 175 parkruns and today finished 21:57. She likes parkrun because it’s a way of getting fresh air in an enjoyable way. “Parkrun is for everybody. People who are racing are respectful of joggers and walkers, and vice versa,” she says.

Greg Price has finished the run while pushing his daughter Mabel in her “racing buggy”, as she likes to call it. He’s done nearly 100 parkruns and finished today in about 25 minutes, but claims he’s not the fastest buggy pusher. “It’s hard work pushing,” he says.

Then there’s Marilyn Cook. Marilyn is a retired psychiatrist who says she wants to stay fit for her nine-month-old grandson. She’s completed 242 runs. “This isn’t just physical health, it’s mental health. If I go on holiday and can’t run, I start to feel tense. I used to attribute it to work stress, but now realise it’s because I haven’t run.”

She does the runs with her husband Mark, who she says is fitter than her, but he always joins Marilyn for the last lap and encourages her to sprint the last bit.

Marilyn and Mark disagree about how competitive the run is. Marilyn says it’s humiliating to be last on the board. She would encourage someone to build up to the run or do the BBC’s couch to 5k challenge. “I thought I got myself out of the last dozen, but when I looked at the computer I was last because people after me didn’t hand their tokens in,” she says.

But Vanessa Hales says it’s just good fun. She alternates between Dulwich parkrun and Hilly Fields parkrun depending on which parkrun her husband does. “He does it in half my time, and says you should have seen your running style, it was awful! I say to him: ‘I get around in my own style, thank you!’.”

Every week she tries to go a second faster, and attributes parkrun to getting her through the winter last year. “It also makes you not drink on a Friday knowing you have to get up on Saturday,” she says.

Philip Lawrence is a volunteer who is the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award coordinator. He says you see the same faces every week. “Some people will have a chat with you during the run, then they’ll overtake you!”. Parkrun is a habit for him. “If you get put off by rain, you’ll never do it,” he says.

Hayden Judd is also volunteer. He’s taken part in parkruns all over the UK and Europe. He’s been the run director of the day. His job is to answer any questions about the course and keep all the runners safe. His mantra is ‘this is a run not a race’. “This is about the community coming together, having fun and running together,” he says.

After the run Hayden guides the runners who are still stretching and catching their breath to the Dulwich park café. Every week they regroup at the café to organise the tokens, chat, and no doubt have what must feel like a much-deserved cuppa after an invigorating run.

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To find out more about Dulwich parkrun and to get involved, visit parkrun.org.uk/dulwich