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solomon-revisited · 7 months ago

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my copy has finally arrived... sixteen old songs from my earnest friends

THE CORONER'S GAMBIT LINER NOTES

TRANSCRIPT:

HE was a guy from California who'd fallen in love with a woman from Iowa. She was working at a water testing lab. They lived in a very small house whose pipes froze every winter. The landlord would come by and put space heaters under the sink. Years later, they retained the memory of the water coming back on - the sudden sound of the shower, the rush from the sink. They slept on a foam mattress in the bedroom in the summer, and on the couch in the living room in the winter, since the house did not have central heating, rendering the bedroom essentially uninhabitable from December through March.

They were not really the kind of people to plan things: they had fun when and where they could on an austere budget. The ice skates they bought used from Play It Again Sports made for fun Christmas mornings on West Indian Creek in Nevada, one town over from where they lived. He learned to cook, and to bake: they didn't go out to eat, because there really wasn't any place to go out and eat, though on occasion they would get a pizza from Casey's, because their town had a Casey's. Under the right circumstances a gas station pizza can be just the thing, and they sometimes found themselves in those circumstances.

He made music which was slowly reaching a wider audience. If he played in New York or Chicago as many as a hundred people might show up. He was idly entertaining the idea of becoming ambitious about it: as a child, he'd been pretty pretentious, and although he was working hard to shake most of that off, a little pretension isn't a bad thing in an artist. Just as a seasoning, as a little extra flavor here or there.

One summer he took a job as a harvest help at the Farmers Cooperative Exchange down the street from the very small house where the pipes froze in winter: getting the corn and soybeans into the grain elevator and into a big Morton building where the beans formed giant mountains, which he sometimes had to climb to knock down the peaks. If you don't knock down the peaks the beans get too hot and might rot. The job didn't pay much, and he wasn't good at it, but during slow stretches he would write song lyrics on scraps of paper or in a small notebook, and when he got home from work and washed off the crop dust, he'd set the lyrics to music. "Elijah" was written like this. So was "The Alphonse Mambo."

He took a Greyhound bus to Omaha to record some of the songs, so that the album would have a nice varied feel to it, but he got very sick, which is not an uncommon thing to have happen after a Greyhound ride, and only a few songs came out the way he wanted. He kept those, and then they got married and moved to Ames because the City of Colo had purchased their home from that landlord and intended to knock it down, which they did do, he affirmed years later: and in Ames he put the album together, and then later they moved to North Carolina and a whole lot of other things happened, too, but the main thing is that this album is a document of a time when two young people in love hadn't yet located the spot on the current that would carry them to their destination, twenty-five years later, parents of two beautiful children, worlds away from Colo, the place where, for better or worse, as the saying goes, all this really began.

Dedicated to my wife, Lalitree, and to the City of Colo, Iowa.

This is the original text of the paper bag that housed the first edition of this album. I am leaving it intact rather than revising it. Stage Bidet's moment comes ever closer: let the people tremble in fear.

Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half and hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at FBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks. I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz: I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the thought of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things and I don't imagine that the anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago, stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.

Album cover design by Tom Hart

#described #transcribed #tmg #the mountain goats #someone has probably already made this post. but i found it therapeutic to write out.

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luxaria-nocturne · 1 year ago

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Can’t Let Go

Adult Katsuki Bakugo x fem!OC (didn't feel like changing it to reader)

Tags: Heavy angst, infidelity, death

Word Count: 3,900

Notes: Found this in my old, old drafts. Figured it should see the light of day.

Heartless.

That must be the word used to describe him in the agency nowadays. Absolutely heartless. Awkward as he may appear in social situations, Bakugo is far from blind. He saw the looks that his coworkers gave him when he came back to work, still with that ever present scowl on his face like nothing had changed… like his wife, Anka, hadn't just died one week before his return. Most didn't even try to hide their disgust. He could only guess what they would all whisper to each other in the break room,

“What’s he still doing here…?”

“Shouldn’t he look sad or something?”

“Didn't he care about her at all?”

They had searched his face for days for any sign of grief and, sure, he was a little colder than usual but it wasn’t like he was friendly to begin with. Apparently that's not good enough for people to think you're upset. Just when did his feelings become their business, anyway? It’s like when you lose someone the whole goddamn planet expects you to follow a script... Act weepy all day while talking about your feelings endlessly, that's it right? But who actually cares about any of that? So what if he didn’t follow their script? So what if he kept living his life? The world doesn’t stop when you're feeling a little blue... His actions didn’t mean he was totally fine…

He's far from heartless...

Alone now in bed he stares up at his ceiling with a dull, vacant expression. He didn’t sleep last night, nor did he sleep the night before. He hasn’t slept well in months, really, but tonight feels like a special exception.

There are an awful lot of things that could have him in a bad mood right now. There's the vicious chill in the air of his apartment, the vibrant street lights practically in his eyes, the constant smell of mildew, and, of course, the stiff, uneven piece of plywood he has the misfortune to call a mattress. Hell, if his place were any crummier, he'd have considered swallowing his pride and crashing on Kirishima's couch. But of the great many things could make Bakugo absolutely miserable, only one springs to his mind before all the others.

‘It’s been a year… A whole goddamn year…’ His eyes drill holes in the cheap tile above his head as that bitter thought creeps in. He’s laying with one leg slung haphazardly out over the edge and a hand clenched tightly on his extra pillow. The red hue of his alarm clock registers out of the corner of his eye, but he hasn’t dared to look at it in hours. He'd much rather live in ignorance of whatever time it says. In fact, he’d be quite happy to curse all of time to go to hell because today marks his first year without Anka in his life.

Nobody could have predicted the accident that took her away. She was just out shopping. One of the shops had some recent storm damage and though it was only supposed to receive minor repairs, there was a sudden structural failure... Some jackass had used shit materials during the building process and the support beams gave way. Anka was inside when everything… fell... The coroner would later assure him that she didn’t suffer for very long...

But it still left him angry.

He was angry before he could even process she was gone and he remained that way for weeks. He was angry in the hospital when the doctors told him no more that could be done. He was still angry when his friends tried to comfort him in the days following, snapping and snarling at every condolence like an insult, no matter who it came from. Nothing compared to how pissed he was at her funeral, though, when he found out he couldn’t even comfort himself… He didn’t know who he was mad at or why, he just was. How else was he supposed to react? And when the anger finally subsided, he felt nothing. Sure, he’d go work like normal. He’d see his friends all the time but on the inside he’d be numb and distant. Anyone who tried to talk to him about it would get a harsh warning. He’d even hear his friends whisper, “Shouldn't have pressed the Anka-button,” whenever he’d storm out whatever room they were in…

Not that he had a problem with that, really. He didn’t want to talk about Anka then and he still doesn’t now. He can't even hear her name without flying off the handle. One by one, people got the message. Even Kirishima gave up on healing that wound long ago... Too many broken glasses, too many singed couches, and too many bars that still won’t let them in on sight… As harsh as it sounds if he could wipe Anka's name from his memory completely, he probably would.

'Maybe they're right… Maybe I am heartless…'

That thought just doesn't sit right with him. Heartless people wouldn't care at all, right? He's not sure if he really fits that description…

He feels a lump growing in his throat as he sits up in bed to try and find a distraction. Glancing around his just-a-hair-too-bright room while still avoiding the clock. The last thing he needed was another thing to gripe about in his head... As his eyes wander aimlessly, he knows he doesn’t have to worry about seeing any unfriendly reminders of Anka in his bedroom. After about a month he couldn’t stand to look at her things anymore. He gave most of them back to her family, other keepsakes he put in storage, but even their wedding ring became too much to handle… People must have thought he sold it when he came in one day no longer wearing the thing... In truth, he keeps it in his nightstand, right next to her part of the pair in the same box they came in. But he still hasn’t opened that box since he took it off his finger...

He had to sell the house too. Not for money, since his agency was doing well even before the accident. They had a home to match his success. He moved just to get farther away from the memories… He couldn’t focus in that house, he always felt on edge or irritated. Walking around the places she used to walk, seeing her side of the bathroom empty, or her side of the closet stripped… He needed his own space. When his friends asked why he chose a place with such low value all he ever said was, “It’s cheap,” and that was that.

Sure he could afford better, but he probably didn’t deserve it.

Even the brief thought about his wedding ring is enough to cue his ring finger to rub uncomfortably between his middle and pinkie. It isn’t the first time it’s felt oddly naked to him, but it’s been a long time since it bothered him this much. It might be the sleep deprivation, it might be the significance of the date, but he finds his gaze land on the rarely touched drawer to his nightstand. He knows that within are all the small keepsakes he couldn’t let go of, even after the move. Though he had every intention of never opening that drawer again, something in the back of his mind convinced him that he at least had to keep them close at hand. Nearby, even if out of sight…

For once, a different sort of thought crosses his mind,

‘Today would have been special for her…’

It would have marked their third year. Not exactly a milestone, but add on the two years of dating before and that makes five all together. In a way, this would have been their fifth… The acknowledgement sparks a small tightness in his chest that he has to bite his lip to ignore. Only four years with Anka... It sounds so short in his mind but he’s sure it felt much longer somehow. The two of them had just worked so well together, they understood each other enough to cut past the other’s bullshit. She used to joke that she could tell how his day went by how many times he swore in five minutes…

He feels his lips form a soft smile in spite of himself. The memory of her curled up on their old couch while telling him that flashes by briefly in his mind. There are things about the scene he’s certain of: her chunky white sweater, the blanket over her bare legs, and her messy hair from staying in for the day and just letting her bedhead be, but other things feel a little hazy... How long has it been since he'd seen a picture of her? All of his favorites were out in storage and he even took off every one he could find on his phone. It had only been a few months, but has he already forgotten her face…?

That realization alone feels like someone kneed him in the gut, then stood back to laugh… But why? Wasn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t this what he’s been trying to do for a whole year now? Forget…?

Another flash memory goes by and he recalls something else. He had always treated Anka like she was Quirkless but she actually wasn’t. She told him a few times, she had a family quirk… Something about memories...

Spurred on by his new train of thought, Bakugo grasps the handle of the drawer with just a slight hesitation and pulls it open. It takes only a brief glance inside for it all to start flooding back to him. Next to the velvet box that held the wedding rings was a bigger, more ornate wooden box with a floral engraving on the outside. A box she would have picked out when she was young… The box that would hold her memories.

All at once he feels his mouth go dry. The day after she was pronounced dead, the coroner brought him this very same box. Inside were the last remnants of his wife… Back then, as is right now, he reaches out for it with trembling hands. He was still so fucking mad on that day he was sure he didn’t listen to a word that the coroner said. Anka, Linger, and the chance to revisit memories... He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it at the time. He tried to give the box back to her parents, even attempted to force it on them at one point, but her mother kept refusing to take it. Her words were always, “You’ll need her with you.” Of course, that would only serve to make him madder. He never understood why those old geezers wouldn’t just take the damn box… What good would a bunch of memories do him?

They wouldn't bring her back...

With the small wooden box in hand, he brings it to rest on his lap before staring at it. Had he really been sleeping next to something like this all this time? Had he just blocked it all out, like he did with everything else that reminded him of Anka...? Should he even open it?

He sits in silence for what feels like a long time. There’s a twisting feeling in his gut and a nervous pounding in his chest. ...Was he scared right now? Of what? It wasn’t a damn bomb, it was Anka! On today of all days, he could let himself think about her for a while... couldn’t he?

It could just be his sleep-addled mind but for some reason he just really wants to see Anka... Maybe on that day last winter, on the couch dressed in her favorite sweater… smiling at him while trying to get him to say “fuck” ten times fast…

When he opens the box he’s met with a little gold orb about the size of a marble perched in the middle of velvety soft cushions like a precious gem. The orb radiates an inviting warm glow, rising and falling in intensity like a steady heartbeat. He can’t recall ever really seeing it before and he wouldn’t say it’s what he expected. Was Anka really in something so small now? Something about that feels wrong, though he can’t quite place why...

Of course, it's only when looking at the little piece of Anka does he realize that he doesn’t really know how it works. In all that time spent blocking out her memory, it seems he blocked out her instructions too… Without many other options, he takes the orb between his fingers and brings it up to his eyeline. It's smooth and slightly warm to the touch, as if it had been cradled in an unseen hand even while out of sight. However, Bakugo doesn't get long to inspect it before it begins to dissolve into gold dust before his horrified eyes. He lurches forward in panic, his honed reflexes taking over before his mind can fully catch up to try and grasp the flowing dust as it floats around him in a stream. It wisps through his fingers elsively like a plume of smoke before traveling away from him, slipping intangibly through his bedroom door and out into the silent hallway.

Bakugo flings himself to his feet, tossing his blankets away so roughly that they sail over the bed and crumple on the ground. Once upright he goes to rip his door open and his gaze catches the stream exit the hallway into his living room. He follows it at a brisk pace, heart pounding like mad in his chest, until he turns the corner and feels everything stop. Standing in the middle of his living room is Anka... or a near replica of her. Her body is made from the sand-like dust, gold just like the orb, removing all of her other colors but her form is spot on… The curves of her body, the tresses of her hair, right down to the deep furrowing of her brow as she glares off into the space just past him. Anka is standing in his living room, golden and goddamn beautiful, but she also looks absolutely furious.

"Just what the hell were you thinking, Katsuki?"

A pang of guilt goes through him so strong that it nearly knocks the wind out of his chest. This is the first time he's seen her in months and there she is looking pissed? What did he do?? Was she mad that he hadn't called on her earlier?... Was she mad that he had been trying to forget…?

"Don't pretend like you don't know! I saw you!! You were feeling up that girl like you didn't give a shit! For God's sake, Katsuki, I was right there! There were cameras!!"

No. He remembers this night. Bakugo has to take a step back as he tries to catch up to his reeling thoughts. The month before her death, their relationship was already getting rocky… It wasn't really one thing, they were just so busy with work and other problems... That night had been a cocktail party thrown in honor of the city's heroes. He… maybe had one too many drinks supplied to him by a cute waitress. His mind is still fuzzy on the details but he does remember that Anka was furious.

Rightly so.

"Oh sure, deflect and defend because nothing is ever your fucking fault!!"

He watches the memory's hand scoop up something unseen and throw it his direction. It takes a moment for him to remember. A pillow. They had this argument in their old bedroom.

"Do you know how humiliating it is to see your husband fooling around at the same party you're at?? I can see it in the headlines! 'Dynamite's Wife Not Good Enough to Reign Him In, Does He Have a New Sidepiece??' Let the tabloids run with that, hell, I'll write the article myself!"

"Of course you're good enough…!" His voice croaks out before he can question what good it is to argue with a memory. The guilt from before has only gotten worse, feeling like a block of cement pressing down on his chest… Because he knows that's not what he said that night. It's what he should have said, it's what he really meant, but his damn pride wouldn't let him back down…

His words of affirmation, of course, fall on deaf ears. The memory of Anka can only hear the words of the past, no matter how nasty they were. He watches as her face, still gorgeous despite the tears staining her makeup, twists up in horror, disgust… and pain. In the present, Bakugo bites down hard on his lip to try and keep himself together but he can sense the pinpricks of his own tears forming in his eyes. Why was he such an idiot…?

The memory's next words are deathly quiet compared to the shouting from before. Deflated. Defeated.

"If… if that's how you really feel… then fine. Go."

Anka's golden form turns away from him now to face sideways, sitting down in midair. She sat on their bed that night… trying to collect herself and think about how to proceed… His view of her gets blurred by his now overflowing tears and he sinks to his knees, grasping his chest in the cold silence. He feels so stupid now, so beyond stupid, why did he ever let it get that bad? Of all the memories to pull out, it's this one?? Maybe this was payback after all…

It takes the soft hum of Anka's voice breaking the silence to pull his head up from the floor. The memory has her hand resting in the air, making a soothing petting motion to the blank space… where his head would have been.

When he would fuck up in their relationship, like majorly screw up, sometimes he would hug her legs and lay his head on her lap… He couldn’t ever trust his mouth to say the right things, but this was their shorthand, their signal: "I fucked up and I'm sorry… I wouldn't do this for anyone but you…"

"You're a selfish, hot-blooded dumbass, you know that…? But I told you on our wedding day that you're stuck with me. I meant it. Through all your bad days and stupid mistakes… I know you can be better than this, Katsuki, so fucking prove it to me… Please..."

That's what she had posed to him… a challenge to be a better man. Though that was the first time she ever said it out loud, Bakugo took being with her as that same challenge ever since she said, "I do." No more letting his temper run wild or ignoring the people around him. For once he had actually signed up to be a part of a team and he was going to be the best teammate, the best husband, there ever was… When did he forget that promise?

But something is unfair. No, everything is unfair. Anka's death, the way people treated him, the crappy place he found himself in, and even the fact that of all their memories her Quirk pulled out, it had to be his absolute lowest. Nothing. Was. Fair.

He gets back to his feet, a new surge of anger pumping through his veins and marches over to the quiet memory.

"Yeah? Well. You're not here, Anka!! You’re not! You said you'd never leave but here I am, alone!! Why, huh!? Do you know how shit my life has been without you?? Do you?!?"

His mind is too blinded by rage to remember that she's only a memory so he waits for a response, glaring with watery eyes down at the form before him. Anka doesn't move, nor react, for several moments.

"I love you, Katsuki…"

He feels his heart stop. What was he doing? Why was he shouting at a memory…? Why was he shouting at Anka...? Hadn't he learned anything at all...??

Bakugo's shoulders begin to tremble as the urge to cry, no wail, washes over him. His throat aches as he fails to hold back the sobs... Because really, he hadn’t learned anything. He never got the chance to prove it to Anka that he could truly be better, she was taken from him too quickly... When she died he was still her unfaithful husband… but she loved him anyway.

Again, Bakugo sinks to the ground but this time he carefully places his head above the knees of the memory before him. Though he could tell the ghostly form wasn't solid, he could still feel warmth coming off of its surface and radiating against his cheek… Anka's golden hands must be gliding through his hair, but he can't feel a thing.

"I… I'm sorry, Anka.... I love you too…" His hoarse voice comes out with a choke, sorrow catching in his throat. Thoughtlessly, he tries to hug her legs as he always would but, of course, there’s no one there. His strong arms cut right through her form and the golden glow dissipates, the dust that formed her collapsing back into a marble that hits the floor with a tink. Bakugo's eyes fly open and he stares at the orb, arms coiled around his own chest instead of the woman he loved.

Again. He was alone...

Bakugo reaches out and carefully picks the marble back up between anxious fingers. Its glow was duller, but not extinguished, as if it was on a cool down. As he stares at the little piece of memory in his hands, the guilt inside reaches an all time high. He had been trying to forget Anka... to run from his failures - to run from his feelings... But he wasn't getting any better for it… He was miserable dodging her memory and what good was it doing him? She wouldn't want him to live like this…

"I know you can be better than this, Katsuki…"

It's too late to be a better husband to Anka... He'd never get that chance again. But he could still become better for Anka… Starting with...

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

The phone rings in his hand as he sits patiently on the couch. Though it's long past the time any normal person would consider taking a call, he knows he can count on the man on the other line. Sure enough, it takes a few rings, but he hears Kirishima's groggy voice when he picks up the phone.

"Bakugo…? Dude, it's like 3am… You need something?"

Bakugo's other hand is gripped against his knee so tightly his knuckles ache. His teeth chew on his lip while the seconds pass in silence.

"Bakugo? Are you there?"

The concern is evident in his friend's voice, but he can still feel a pit growing in his stomach. He hated asking for help… He hated being this vulnerable… even if it's with a friend...

The first words out of his mouth are quiet and hoarse from crying, but still recognizably his.

"I miss Anka, Kiri…"

He can hear frantic rustling on the other end as Kiri probably bolts up in his bed. He ought to. Bakugo hadn't mentioned Anka to him in ages…

"I just miss her… so much…"

"... We know, Bakugo. We all know."

#boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo x oc #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #tw: death #tw: angst #tw: grief #tw angst #tw death #tw grief

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rezcowgirl · 2 months ago

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Trying to keep up. Up feels very far away. This is why I was saying I need stilts. See? SEE?

cw: suicide, drug use, death

I get through an increasing amount my working day-to-day by disassociating and it’s probably Not Great. It isn’t that I don’t want to be present for it - I obviously care about our stated Mission & Values, our projects, our outcomes. I care deeply about my coworkers, too. And look, I know how fortunate I am to have a position working on something that is close to my heart and pays a living wage.

But I think it’s the close-to-the-heart thing that is eating me alive. And it doesn't even have the mercy to do it quickly. It's a slow bleed out, spread out over nearly a decade.

Today, tomorrow, next week, I scan in and talk shit with my coworker for 20 minutes (they’re getting a kitten). I play my voicemails. I read the latest coroner’s report (180 deaths/month). I read more (Indigenous community has 13 fatal overdoses and 6 suicides). I signal boost another GoFundMe (for another devastated family, for more kids left behind). Occasionally, I get to do a walkabout with a street nurse (uneventful so far). I say nice things to our partners in government (or else they will be mad). I dig success stories out from this massive pile of shit and my endlessly broken and increasingly boarded up heart.

I coordinate these monthly meetings with politicians & co. across the province. You can believe me or not, it doesn’t matter, but I think they’re good people. Or they’re at least actively trying to be if they aren’t already. They show up to these voluntary Friday afternoon things because they care about the overdose/drug poisoning crisis, even though we’re inching up on a decade of “crisis”, and the vast majority of people have stopped caring outside of any opportunity to moralize (And can you tell me: when does a “crisis” stop being a “crisis”? When do you admit it’s just business as usual?). They’re people I genuinely think are trying to do the right thing. (Let me have this. Please.)

I’ve seen a few of them cry and be horribly embarrassed and apologetic about it. And I always think: stop apologizing. Let me meet you as a human here. We’re both here feeling hopeless and hopeful, that’s why we show up. I can meet their eyes as someone who has cried at my desk more times than I can count.

You don’t have to tell me that’s not healthy. I know it isn’t.

Here’s the other biting/drowning bit. All these extra hits in the teeth, just for me, when I read “13 fatal overdoses/6 suicides”.

I’m out in the middle of the ocean. Floating through land acknowledgements and “decolonizing” workshops and lofty “Indigenizing” ideas. Now that I’m mostly working on the (settler) political side, I’m the only Indigenous person in the vast majority of rooms I am in, other than the few times I get to attend a meeting at the Friendship Centre. I am well aware that I sit in these rooms because I am “likeable”, relatively “well spoken” (let’s not talk about speech therapy, a childhood getting yelled at for talking in a rez accent, always hearing “you don’t sound native” and thinking that was compliment until I understood it wasn’t).

This month’s topic was involuntary treatment and there was actually a presenter that was both brown and had lived experience with involuntary treatment

I clung to him like a life raft.

Our HR person referred to me as a “ray of sunshine” after one of our tandem interviews earlier this month. She said “I feel like I just knew you from the moment we first met”. I snorted, but I was happy about that. The Christmas card from my boss reads “You bring lightness and care to all of us,” and I’m happy about that, too.

I am going on eight years in January, and here are some things I know about myself from swimming/sinking through it: I know I am really weird in a funny, friendly way that puts people at ease. I know people get excited when they get to work with me on a project because I am kind and I will pull my weight. I know that I’m good at reading when someone is overwhelmed and I can walk people off their ledges. I know that I am respected. I know that I spent more than half a year with nearly every idle moment lying on my back thinking “I should probably kill myself”, mumbling through compulsory psych check-ins (show up or the cops will show up), and somehow not missing more than three days of work.

Some years have been better than others. This year was not the worst, but definitely not the best.

Years ago, I was offered another job at a related org, but one that was less focused on overdose and more on the mental health side of the sector. I am always wondering and second guessing my decision.

This past Friday - the politician meeting day, wasn’t even a particularly awful day. When I’m not feeling crushing existential dread, I am feeling okay. This morning I was informed that the person I REALLY WANT to be my new supervisor accepted the position, so I’ll have a new supervisor in the new year. This will also put distance between me and the one person I do have an issue with. So if anything, my job will be better soon.

Except, you know, that whole thing about of thousands of people dying from something 100% preventable and it overwhelmingly feeling like nobody cares anymore.

RAAAAAAAUUUGH -grabs your face- Ok ok ok, listen, I KNOW it won’t always be like this. I am premensing and grieving, stressed as hell and I haven’t seen my best friends in a month. This is making it very difficult for me to focus on anything other than work because work is everything right now.

But I’ll stop now. I'll have two weeks off soon. I’m having a party this weekend, then I’m Depeche Mode/The Cure-ing and Saturnalia debauching the next, then it’s my birthday and I’m getting an earl grey lemon cake and then it’s a New Year.

I’m going to focus on something that WILL go into my gratitude journal because it makes me laugh:

We were settling in, about to begin our union meeting, and my coworker said “wait, there are fewer of us today - why don’t we go get coffee?” and I, having just finished steeping my Tourist-Trap-Hell holy grail tea cried “NO!!!” while everybody said “YES!!!” and I basically looked exactly like this fucker: 🥺

They were like “Jesus calm down, just bring it” (I immediately thought of the “No Outside Food Or Drink” sign lmao). We went to raid the kitchen for a rogue to-go cup. We found none. So I was walking around downtown with my open mug of tea, which I then smuggled into the coffee shop. I say “smuggled”, but the reality is the workers aren’t paid enough to give a shit. So I drank cold tea (because it obviously got cold on the walk over) while everyone enjoyed their fresh coffee and made fun of me.

I complained, but I was secretly happy.

I am also going to be our new union steward in 2025. Yay. (I am actually very interested - labour stuff is one of my major knowledge gaps)

Also, this lyrics page made me laugh a lot. The "annotations" are the best.

Also, @ahasiw-okitowin re: Nu Trendz. ❤ You made me laugh out loud. That's some ndn deep cuts there. The fucking light blue one in particular. Pretty sure I melted a hole in my mom's Nu Trendz around a camp fire once.

#personal #December more like I'mAMessember

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kylobith · 1 year ago

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LotR Week - Day 4 (14th Dec)

friendship | family | loyalty

Word count: 3,668

Flutes, fiddles and harps enlivened the streets of Minas Tirith on the day that the silver crown graced King Elessar’s head. Chants, clamours and cheers resounded from the gate to the citadel in celebration of the rebirth of Gondor. Fairy lights and colourful banners hung between the houses and the royal colours were hoisted high from the roofs, if not from the facades and the ramparts. As the people raised their pints and cried out their elation from windows and doors alike, giddy of heart and red of face, it seemed that the promise of a bright future had reached them at last. All looked up to the White Tree, now certain that it shall flourish and blossom anew. Hope had returned.

At the citadel, a banquet was thrown in honour of the new monarch and his company. In the Hall of the Kings and onto the terrace where the coronation had occurred, distinguished guests walked out and about, goblet in hand and lavishly clad. They mingled and met, talked and shared, bowed and laughed. In the crowd stood Men and Hobbits alike, Elves and Dwarves equal. Hearts were lighter, as were their shoulders now rid of armour, with the exception of military leaders. Common soldiers had been permitted to shed them for the festivities, facilitating movement and dancing.

Aragorn moved from group to group with his beloved Arwen at his arm, in order to thank them warmly for their presence and for their loyal service to Gondor and the greater good. By the end of the feast, he would have met about everyone, now that he had paraded the streets of his new seat, meeting with the people he swore to serve and protect until he last drew breath. His arrival and ascension were met with unanimous enthusiasm by the population, who had long suffered the decline of their realm and the tarnishing of the glory their land had once known. He intended to restore all of it and more. This time, Gondor would never falter again; it would stand tall and proud, strong and loud until any evil-wisher would be vanquished. All the while, he could not help but think to himself how much he wished that Boromir were there to see his cherished city come to life again.

Farther away on the terrace, the remaining members of the Fellowship gathered organically, clinking their glasses and exchanging smiles. Towering over them, Gandalf looked ahead to watch the king, his chin raised and his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

‘It is a new era begun,’ he announced in peaceful solemnity. ‘It should not be long until the White Tree burgeons again.’

‘It is indeed,’ Legolas acquiesced, sipping at wine. ‘I, for one, am honoured to witness this change.’

‘Change will be an onerous task still, whether in Gondor or in Rohan,’ the wizard continued with a nod of his head towards the Elf. ‘Nothing will ever be the same again. And I can only imagine that it also rings true to any of you. Tell me, my friends, what will you endeavour to do next?’

There was a momentary pause as his companions thought about what their future entailed. Their perilous journey, only just completed had left no room for contemplation about what they would do once peace was restored and the enemy defeated. Starved and strained, sore and struggling, the mere idea of home was nothing but a fantasy, a faraway illusion whose existence they so often doubted. At times, it had felt as though their fight had occupied their whole lives. As though they had been born right in the middle of combat and left to fend for themselves, or grown up climbing mountainsides and venturing through cursed marshes. When they were finally given the luxury to ponder about it, ideas and inspiration eluded them.

To nobody’s surprise, it was Legolas who answered first, running his fingertip along the rim of his cup.

‘I will return to Taur-nu-Fuin and report to my father. Then, I suppose we can finally clear our beloved woods of its evils and see it reborn.’

‘I remember the days when Mirkwood was a most inviting forest,’ Gandalf responded, rubbing his bearded chin pensively. ‘When birds and butterflies flew by each other’s side and deer and boars feasted on the plentiful grass. It was nearly as green as the meadows in the Shire!’

The Elf nodded knowingly, his thin lips curving into a joyful grin at the recollection. Yes, there used to be a time when Mirkwood was not so… mirky. His kin had witnessed it, but none of the living Men, Hobbits and Dwarves had been graced with its fulfilling sight.

Gandalf eyed his other companions, wondering whether they had plans once they returned home. The Hobbits shrugged and shook their heads, exchanging innocent glances.

‘We will return to the Shire, yes, but what we are going to do there, we don’t know,’ Merry said.

‘There is this book that Uncle Bilbo started to write,’ Frodo spoke up, his gaze lost ahead of him, as though seeing something that none other could behold. ‘He left blank pages for me to write my own adventure. Perhaps I should do just that.’

‘Yes, that is a wonderful idea, Frodo,’ the wizard chimed. ‘If you do, none of the fallen will have truly disappeared. They will live in your tale.’

Frodo bit the inside of his cheek, the tips of his eyebrows pointing upwards and creasing his forehead as he considered Gandalf for a second. Whether the old man was right or not, he could not tell. Maybe it depended on one’s belief. Or, perhaps, it was another way for the wizard to protect the young Hobbit’s feelings. It was something that had irritated him as of late, although he never showed his annoyance at it. Everyone walked on eggshells around him, weighing their words and smiling more than usual. Why would they do it to him, and not to the others?

As he distracted himself from his frustration by tasting the bitter pale ale of Gondor, it was Sam’s turn to express his enthusiasm.

‘I believe I will return to gardening and add flowers from the various lands we crossed on our adventure to my beds,’ he beamed. ‘But I will also make time to tend to Mr Frodo as he heals.’

‘And we just don’t know,’ Merry and Pippin said in unison, before the latter added: ‘Perhaps I will pester Sam from time to time to keep things fun.’

‘You do that, and I’ll make sure that Farmer Maggot gets his hands on you for stealing his crops!’

All of it was in good fun, of course. As soon as the words had left Sam’s mouth, they were followed by a hearty laugh as he wrapped an arm around the younger Hobbit’s shoulders, squeezing him against his side and clinking their pints together.

‘Well, it seems that there will be much merriness in the Shire after all, and I should worry about neither of you,’ Gandalf chuckled, before bringing his attention to the Dwarf smoking his pipe with a foaming mug of ale in his other hand. ‘What about you, Gimli?’

‘Aye, I would set out to recapture Moria if I weren’t on my own,’ he announced in his husky voice. ‘I’d much like to see my cousin’s hall restored to its former glory. If Minas Tirith can, Khazad-Dûm should know the same fate!’

‘I see. Perhaps you should seek the help of Ironfoot. Now that the Balrog is gone, I am certain that he would be willing to send troops to rid the Misty Mountains of its goblins.’

Gimli blew out the smoke from his lungs and swigged the ale, leaving foam bubbling on the copper hairs of his moustache and the tip of his large nose.

‘Dáin will never agree to it. He lost too many men in the mines already.’

‘He would be foolish to refuse. Besides, the fallen Dwarves deserve a proper resting place, not a forsaken mass grave.’

‘Aye, they do.’

Before he could take another sip of his beverage, a group of children emerged from behind him and jumped on his back. Taken by surprise, Gimli let go of the mug — narrowly saved by Legolas’ sharp reflexes — and his pipe, eyes wide and arms waving around to try and rid him of his assailants. The children held on, roaring with laughter as they laid their hands on the Dwarf’s head. Swinging from side to side, trying not to tumble down, Gimli shouted and protested, cursing his mates for watching the scene in amusement and laughing along with the little ones. Once their cheeky deed was done, the four boys fled, and the little girl accompanying them pecked his cheek before hitching her skirts up and following them.

‘Ah, children,’ Gandalf exclaimed, his shoulders still shaking from his laughter. ‘I believe that two of them are the offsprings of the Lady of Lossarnach.’

‘Noble or not, they are little rascals all the same,’ Gimli grumbled, patting off his sleeves and his tunic. His motion was interrupted, however, when the stifled chuckles of the Hobbits reached his ears. ‘What?’

‘Don’t you think that Gimli smells better all of a sudden?’ Pippin asked Merry, eyes watering as he restrained himself to keep his composure.

‘He sure does, Pip! Like the loveliest lady!’

‘What are ye two blabbering abo—’

As the Dwarf’s eyes lowered to his tunic, he caught sight of daisies adorning his beard. He patted the top of his head and felt flowers in his hair as well, dropping his hand by his side as the pair of Hobbit finally allowed themselves to give in to a fit of hilarity. Gimli snatched his pipe from the ground and proceeded to wipe the mouthpiece from dust and gravel, before retrieving his mug from Legolas.

‘Oh yes, make fun of the Dwarf! I was attacked, I’m telling you! Attacked!’

Gimli’s remark did not quieten his peers’ amusement. Rather the opposite. Merry and Pippin scampered off as he grumbled in their direction, and Gandalf seized the opportunity to talk to Frodo and Sam alone. Left with Legolas, the Dwarf sighed and thanked him for saving his pint. They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Gimli shook his head again.

‘Bairns…’

‘Well, they certainly made you look rather elegant,’ Legolas teased with an eyebrow raised. ‘They managed what I could not.’

‘Nobody can change this Dwarf,’ Gimli scoffed and puffed his pipe.

‘Certainly not.’

The Dwarf peeled one of the daisies from his beard and instantly heard the gasps from the children a few feet away. He met their gazes and took notice of the flowers they had gathered in the palms of their hands. They loomed over him as a threat, ominous and menacing.

‘Ah, well,’ he said loud enough for the children to hear, sliding the daisy back in the coarse red hairs of his beard, ‘I might as well leave them in.’

‘Good choice,’ the Elf acquiesced. ‘Children are not too bad, are they? They have seen their share of suffering here. They should embrace their childhood now.’

‘Aye, aye, they should. Perhaps they should even make me a flower crown. And one for you too, Elf.’

Legolas laughed and finished his wine, watching the little humans tiptoeing through the crowd of nobles in search of their next victim to embellish. There had been a time when he had wished for children of his own. He had longed to hold his flesh and blood in his arms, to look after and coddle until the bairn would have been old enough to train in archery with him. Often, he pictured himself braiding his child’s hair to keep it out of their youthful face until they were able to do it themselves. And such a day he would have fervently dreaded, for it would have meant that his help and love in such simple gestures would no longer be needed.

But after all that he had seen and lived, the idea of producing offspring sounded much less attractive to him than it used to. For once, he found himself yearning to care for the living more than for the unborn. He felt no sorrow at such thoughts; if anything, there was peace in his decision. He would gladly tend to the children of his dearest friends, but having his own would be out of the question.

Lost in thought, it was the unexpected pressure against the side of his neck that dragged him out of his reverie. Blinking in confusion, he caught a glimpse of Gimli folding his arm back against him and looked down at his pale blond locks, among which one daisy was nestled. Legolas chuckled and took it out, tucking it above his ear instead with a smirk.

‘Much better,’ he commented, flipping his hair over his shoulder. ‘See? You are not that much of a grouch after all. You do have a heart underneath that tough shell of yours.’

‘Of course, I do, pointy-eared lad!’

‘You do indeed. You have a lot of it, I must say. It is one of the reasons why I like you.’

Gimli flinched and furrowed his bushy brows as he stared up at the Elf. His heart seemed to have stopped as all colours drained from his face. His mouth opened and closed, yet no sound escaped it. Not a peep. Out of panic, he snapped his head around and called out.

‘What is it, lad? I’m comin’, I’m comin’! Sorry, Pippin is calling me.’

With this said Gimli hurried away, cursing under his breath, leaving a dumbfounded Legolas behind. The latter shrugged it off and approached one of the tables to find something to nibble on.

The celebration continued until late in the night. Dancing was now the main preoccupation, and many were the pairs twirling and pressing their hands together in the lofty hall. Aragorn and Arwen engaged in the most elegant choreography, once taught to them in Rivendell. Sam danced with one of the few children still awake, complimenting her on her steps and spinning her around to trigger a laugh from her. Merry and Pippin leapt around the place, inebriated and their mouths full of food — it was a wonder that they had not yet choked on any of it. Farther towards the thrones, one could see the tall, dark-haired beauty from the coastal lands of Gondor bowing and circling around the unusually bashful, yet pleased king of Rohan in a traditional dance of the realm. Under the arches, resting their weary feet on a bench, Faramir placed his head on Éowyn’s shoulder as she weaved her fingers through his hair, spying on her flustered brother with a bemused stare.

Gimli did not partake in any of that. He leant against one of the columns, drinking more ale and stealing fleeting glances at Legolas. The Elf seemed deep in conversation with Prince Imrahil, unaware of the Dwarf’s scrutiny and scowl.

What did Legolas mean by what he said? Gimli could not wrap his head around it. Was there something on the Elf’s mind that eluded him or that he was too blind to see? Had he done anything to warrant such words?

When Legolas bowed to Imrahil and excused himself, Gimli instantly looked away, focusing instead on Sam and Frodo sharing a pastry while sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the hall. The Elf approached Aragorn and Arwen and whispered something in their ears, which he could not discern with the music and the clamour of the guests cluttering his hearing. The king pulled Legolas into a warm embrace and patted his back, smiling and speaking words that did not reach the Dwarf either. Arwen did the same, and smiled sweetly at the Wood Elf, squeezing his arm before waving at him as he left the festivities.

Yes, he might as well go, Gimli thought while grumbling, lighting up the weed he had shoved into his pipe while observing the scene. If Legolas was in the mood to pronounce such silly words, then he could not be helped.

Blowing out a cloud of smoke, the Dwarf pressed the back of his head to the pillar behind him. Despite everything that was happening around him, he could not get the damned Elf’s words out of his head. He had tried to follow conversations, but it took less than two sentences for him to find his mind wandering back to his embarrassment earlier. Gimli scrunched up his face and grunted. He needed to know.

Once in his quarters, Legolas stretched his back and sighed in relief, his head buzzing after leaving the constant hubbub of the coronation feast. He delicately removed his belt and unbuttoned his silken tunic, lifting the intricate circlet from his brow and placing it back on its velvet cushion on the nightstand. Disrobing and carefully folding or hanging the pieces of his garment, he entered the bathroom and picked up the satin robe he had left there in the morning, covering his bare body with it.

Before he was even done tying it around his waist, there was a soft knock upon the door.

‘Ent—’

A loud bang thundered across the room as a furious Gimli kicked the door in and entered without letting him finish his invitation. The Elf shrieked and nearly tore the robe off himself in a start. Not giving him a chance to protest this violent entrance, the Dwarf pointed his finger at him and stomped over to him.

‘What did you mean earlier? I’ve thought about it over and over again and it makes no sense to me!’ he roared.

‘What are you talking about?!’

‘You said that you liked me! Now, what was that about?!’

Legolas stared at Gimli for a few seconds, before erupting in a fit of laughter. He squeezed the Dwarf’s shoulder as he passed him by to close the door, relieved to see that it was not damaged despite the forceful kick it received. His friend watched him in confusion, an eyebrow raised as the Elf went to sit on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him.

As Gimli joined him, maintaining some distance between the two of them, Legolas grinned and tilted his head.

‘What I meant by that,’ he started, his voice quiet, ‘is that I like you. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘I don’t understand, lad.’

The Elf snorted and rubbed his bare heel against the wooden floor.

‘Is it so difficult to conceive that I might consider you as my friend?’

‘Well, it’s odd comin’ from an Elf.’

‘Ah, that is what worries you.’

‘Mh. Not really.’

Gimli sighed and relaxed his shoulders, dropping his hands onto his lap. Now that he knew for sure that there had been no hidden meaning behind any of it, he felt rather foolish. The heat rising to his cheeks reddened them into a similar hue to that of his hair and beard.

‘You know,’ Legolas intoned, tucking his hair behind his pointed ear, ‘now that the Fellowship is dissolved, I fear that I will lose most of what I hold dear. And you are part of it. I sincerely hope that the end of our journey does not mean that we must sever our ties.’

‘Nah, laddie, don’t worry ‘bout that,’ Gimli guffawed, patting him sharply in the back and sliding a little closer to his mate. ‘We’ve been brothers in arms through the worst our world has seen. There’s no way that I’ll let this happen.’

Silence settled in as Legolas gave him a nod of gratitude. He noticed that Gimli’s hair was still full of drying flowers, and he could not help the grin from forming on his lips. Indeed, the Dwarf had much more heart than he had originally given him credit for when they met in Rivendell at the start of their saga. And even after the horrors they had encountered, he would not trade it for anything in the whole world. Neither would Gimli, although he did not express it openly.

What Gimli did express, however, was his desire to see Legolas again once the celebrations ended.

‘Will ya visit me in Erebor?’ he asked bashfully.

‘I would love nothing more. And you are welcome anytime in Mirkwood. After all, we do not live so far from each other, do we?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

Another moment of contemplation lingered as they gazed at each other. An idea bubbled in the Elf’s head, but he hesitated to voice it at first. When the Dwarf raised his eyebrows, taking notice of his conflicted expression, Legolas yielded.

‘You spoke of retaking Moria,’ he intoned. ‘I can try to speak to my father about it so he can send some of his men to accompany you. It will take some convincing, but I am sure that we can find a compromise with him. And even if he refuses, I will gladly help you reconquer your cousin’s hall if you accept me.’

Gimli grinned and bowed his head.

‘Aye. There’ll always be a place for you in my company. It’s about time that Elves and Dwarves bury the hatchet. It’s caused more harm than good to our kin, and your deeds likely earned the sympathy of my kind.’

Legolas placed his hand over his friend’s and squeezed it gently, smiling from ear to ear. The twinkle in his eye pushed the Dwarf to say something else.

‘Besides, counting dead Orcs is only fun when it’s you I’m competing against, lad.’

‘You stand no chance against me, Gimli.’

‘We’ll see about that!’

They shared a hearty laugh and Legolas cupped the back of Gimli’s head, tilting it closer to his until their foreheads touched. Understanding it as a gesture of affection and acceptance from the Elf, the Dwarf held Legolas’ head in turn and grinned.

‘I’m glad that I know you, brother.’

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bright-tatters · 1 month ago

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Tatters #59

A grumble rose from the street. Audrey looked out the window and saw an automobile pulling up outside her living room window.

She screamed. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and cried a little. Her eyes sought Fortune’s and Fortune just looked at her, calm, probably calculating. Probably. She didn’t know.

All automobiles looked the same, only this one didn’t have her parents pasted to the front of it.

“Of course,” Fortune said in his dispassionate voice. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t wise. Walk with me. Let me take your bag.”

“No,” she said, not caring which part he thought she was talking about. But she did want to go. She wanted to go away from this place because it was supposed to have her parents and it didn’t.

And Fortune had, so far, been kind. Not kind enough to save them, but kind to a girl.

Was he taking her to the workhouse? The possibility stunned her. Her parents hadn’t been rich, she had no inheritance to fall back on. Was he going to send her to the mills? Nobody pretended the workhouse was anything other than a punishment for being poor even by Tatters standards. Was she poor now?

“Audrey?” Fortune said, almost gently. That collected voice didn’t seem to belong to the face where another tear was sliding to its jaw. “Take your bag. Come with me. We’re going to get you settled someplace safe.”

Audrey followed Fortune through the maze of Quarts without crossing major streets. She just trailed. A huge man with a broken nose offered to take her valise and she clutched it close; after that he just started jogging down the street, sometimes stopping to redirect automobiles. They reached the foot of the mountain, the relative splendor of Vines.

Audrey stared now. She was approaching a high black wrought-iron fence. The big man opened the gates. Beyond…

The gravel drive arced symmetrically around a little field of wildflowers. The house was wide, it seemed low but that was only through scale – Audrey saw a second story of windows. The big white-and-brass doors brought her into a huge entry hall with weird patterns in its white and black tiles. Symmetrical curving staircases stopped on two little landings and proceeded up around a sculpture of crimson shards to the upper level. Fortune brought her down the second-story hallway.

“Here we are,” he said. He opened the double doors into a new room.

Audrey stepped past him into…a wonderland.

A bedroom. The bed could comfortably sleep four on its gray satin sheets. A bathtub with obvious heating pipes took up one corner; a lily-painted screen hid who knew what in another. The ridges and drops of the cream-colored, mirror- spangled ceiling confused the source of the bright off-white light.

Audrey squeaked, then cleared her throat and tried again. “Get out!”

“It hasn't been used since I bought the place,” and Fortune’s quiet calm sounded ridiculous. “It's yours, if you want it. You can redecorate once things are a little less unsettled.”

“Re…decorate? It’s like ten people decorated it the first time!”

“You don’t like it.” He gave off a tiny whiff of regret. “I’ll get you a guest room, it just won’t have its own—”

“No,” she said hurriedly. She walked in, turning in a circle, gawping. “I don’t believe this.”

“Then it’s yours,” he said. “Everyone knows my rules, so I don’t have a briefing ready…respect locked doors. And listen to me. Sometimes it is merely polite and sometimes it is life and death, and in the moment you don’t know, nor do you need to know, which.” Right. Scary crime lord. Right. She was trapped here. Right. Her parents were dead. Right. It all fell apart.

Fortune watched her when she scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve. “Audrey, as soon as Marguerite finishes with the coroners she’ll be in house where you can call on her. Any one of my people can relay messages to me.”

“Where will you be?”

“Finding a missing driver.” His eyes were blue, a terribly pale blue, like the sky in Central on her field trip. “If you want them to hear something while they’re still alive, tell me now.”

“You’re not. You’re not going to kill them, are you?”

“That depends on how sober and intentional they were. You know driving drunk is an offense in this Ward.”

“Right. The Fortune Bylaws.”

“Despite what you may have heard, they’re both simple and obvious. Break my people, face consequences.”

“I just….” She had to scrub again. “They shouldn’t have gotten broken at all. I don’t know why. I don’t know why.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She brushed her eyes defensively. “I, uh. I’m pretty tired. My bag was heavy.”

“This place is yours. Rita should be here by morning. We can sort out school after that. Do schools require a note? I’ll get you a note.”

“Yeah,” she said, staring at him. “Yeah, just sign a note and I can fill it out for you.”

Had there been any humor in his manner? If there was, it was gone now. “Young lady, I’m ignorant, not stupid.”

“Oof. Got it, Fortune. Fortch? Big F? F-bomb?” She giggled, a little hysterically.

“You can call me anything you want, but I answer to Fortune. Now get ready for bed. Your bathroom’s to the right, mind the aquarium.”

“You’re kidding me.” He grinned. “You’re. You’re kidding, right? There’s not?”

“Goodnight, Audrey. It’s going to be okay. In some new way, sometime. Maybe not tonight, but it will be.”

#this tatterdemalion #oc: fortune #oc: audrey la rose

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hotchners-wifey · 11 months ago

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Save her

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Platonic!BAU x Reader, Morgan!Sister Reader

Summary: Y/N has a past she's never told anyone about, she was involved in some heavy things when she lived in England with her Aunt and Uncle. Things she thought were murdered along with her best friend, things she thought went missing with her boyfriend. Things that followed her to Quantico, Virginia. Previous Chapter~ Next Chapter Chapter Warnings: talking of dead bodies, blood, guns A/N: this chapter is gonna be shorter than the others because tumblr was acting up, and the reason these are late is because tumblr logged me out and I couldn't get back in, enjoy.

________________________________________

Emily and I pulled up to the crime scene and we greeted the deputies on scene, they walked us through the details and showed us where the bodies were found. We walked around for a while, I spotted an old looking shed across the street. "Prentiss!" She looked over at me and I pointed to the shed and she nodded, we walked over and I placed my hand on my gun that rested at my hip. We grabbed the doorknobs and opened the door. The inside of the shed was bare except for a couple drops of blood on the dirt covered ground, "Our victims hands were covered in dirt, we should get the coroner down here to run a DNA test and see if it matches any of our victims." Emily nodded and pulled out her phone to call Derek, she turned to walk back outside. I grabbed my flashlight to see if I could find anything else, on the ground in the far side of the room was what looked like a keychain. I grabbed a glove from my pocket and put it on the grab the keychain, Emily walked back into the shed ad I turned to her with the keychain in my hands, she walked back outside and grabbed a evidence bag. "Let's give this to the coroner and see if he can grab some fingerprints off it." She spoke when she came back, I put the keychain inside the bag and she closed it. Behind us the coroner pulled up to the scene with a SUV following behind. "Hi, Gavin Edgar." He said when he walked up to us and sticking his hand out, "They said you found something?" He asked, I nodded. "This is Emily Prentiss and I'm Y/N Y/L/N. It's right over here." We shook his hand and walked him into the shed. "So, did you guys find anything at the morgue?" I heard Emily ask as I walked back out the shed leaving Gavin to his work. "Yeah, we're gonna talk about it with the rest of the team back at the station." Derek responds and we nod as Gavin exits the shed, "Alright that should be enough to get a solid DNA test and see if it belongs to either victim. I'll also run the keychain for fingerprints." He speaks softly, "Thanks so much Mr. Edgar and again you have our numbers if you find anything, don't hesitate to give us a call." Rossi responds and we walk towards our SUVs, "Let's go share with the rest of the class." Rossi joke. ________________________________________ Taglist~ @sebastiansstanswhore, @itsleilabxtch

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years ago

Note

⭐Our Great Glory⭐ for the 'fanfic writer director's cut' as it is absolutely one of my favorite fics of yours!

oh my god this took me too long (to all the requests in my inbox - guys i'm trying i promise) sorry about that. that being said, here's my directors cut for our great glory:

@ilikeitbetterangsty i hope you enjoy!

first of all, since the reader is commonborn, i wanted to highlight the circumstances of that life in King's Landing, especially during Aegon II's coronation. it ended up being around 50% of the chapter, but i really enjoyed delving into that aspect of the world of asoiaf...

also, this is really long, but i enjoyed the chance to talk about my writing a bit.

okay let's get into the writing:

There was always something disgusting or disturbing in each room that you had to clean, and you felt for the whores that had to endure through these things in the first place. All you wanted was to finish your job and then go out in search for a bowl of brown.

Your cleaning was interrupted by the madam standing in the doorway.

“What is it?” you asked.

“There’s people at the door. Go take care of them, I need to look after Janei for a bit, she had a rough night.”

Okay, so starting off with something pretty rough - asoiaf doesn't have good circumstances for any woman, especially not in KL, and even though the reader isn't a sex worker, her proximity to them makes it impossible to escape that world, and the disgusting customers that come with it. i did this to kind of make the relationship betweent he reader and criston more ~complex~

Criston is literally a white knight, in shining armor. he's supposed to be a beacon of purity - something which already stands in contrast to the regular expectations towards men in the world of hotd and got. but then he drops that facade with the reader, someone who is constantly in the thick of other people's perversions. it makes their relationship even more complicated, bc he's not pure towards her, and just reinforces her expectations towards men, and yet, he really wants to be.

An older woman stood next to you, her demeanor and stance completely out of place. She walked with the other common folk as if she owned the stones she touched, but you pretended not to notice her nobility.

So, the reader is walking next to Princess Rhaenys without knowing it, but she does understand that they're in different... tax brackets ig. i kind of stole this line from game of thrones, where varys tells tyrion that everyone knows he's nobility bc he walks like he owns the ground he walks on. the reader ignores that this other person is noble for a good reason - this other woman definitely has power over her, so if the reader calls her out, she could be in deep shit. at the same time, she kind of sets the events in the dragonpit in motion. had the reader called her out, rhaenys possibly never would have made it there.

You’d barely been more than a child when Prince Daemon had pulled the criminals into the streets, watching with wide eyes as carts of heads, limbs and eyes rolled past.

I think people love to forget a) how far these events apart and b) how this was probably extremely traumatizing to a whole generation of children in Flea Bottom. Yes, the ppl living there are horrible, but a horrible place breeds horrible people. those criminals were definitely parents/siblings/caretakers/etc. it's well within the possible that the reader lost someone that day, either via execution or due to the consequences of such violent punishments. also wanted to call daemon out on being a medieval cop.

Had they brought you here to burn you all?

again, a small throwback to game of thrones + targaryen madness. this fear is, later in the fic, proven as not that unreasonable.

King Viserys was dead, and if this was a coronation, war was on the horizon.

commoners are not stupid!!!! this is what i wanted to highlight here!! why do people always portray the nobles in asoiaf as smart and commoners as stupid? girl be fr most of us would be commoners if we went back in time. but idt that the commoners witnessing aegon's coronation were ignorant to the fact that war was on the horizon. they all knew what was coming - F&B SPOILERS COMING UP!! maybe this was a part of what heated up agressions leading up to the bread riots.

OKAY SPOILERS OVER

You knew that if you stood closer to him, you would be able to see the white of his knuckles, his thumb moving over the grip of his sword impatiently.

This is a reference to rhae rhae's wedding, where mans was grabbing his sword so tightly that it's a wonder his hand didn't explode.

Immediately, people began pushing towards the exit, trying to get away from the beast. Mere meters away from you, a man thudded against a pillar, before landing on the ground motionless.

okay, so this is the typical violence we know from asoiaf. since the focus was on the commoners in the dragon pit here, i wanted to highllight that, in a situation like this a crowd panic/crushes/collapses are bound to happen. they're in an enclosed space with a dragon. i can't believe that this wasn't highlighted in hotd, even though the show itself isn't about the commoners. in general, i'm just kinda sad that their (commoners) perspective is never really highlighted/sympathized with.

“What is your name?” you asked him, still out of breath.

“Gaemon.” The boy said faintly, and you wondered briefly if you had accidentally taken a Targaryen prince with you.

of course, there won't be some random targ kid in the bottom of the dragonpit. the reader rescues this child because it's a split second decision, and the right thing to do. it's a wonder she makes it out with a child on her shoulders, but she does make it. now, if she'd accidentally taken a real targ child with her, i think the reader would have been in deep shit, even if she'd returned him to the red keep. nobility can accuse her of whatever, so gaemon being a bastard was a massive relief for her.

Turmoil was still in the air, but already, whores were flaunting their figures.

the grind never stops in the street of silk ig... jk. or well, not really. istg if i was in flea bottom, i don't think i could take it mentally. there's a constant 180 between violence and everyday business (sex work) which is also deeply connected with violence.

The boy buried his face in your leg, and you picked him up, allowing him to look away as you walked further into the establishment.

okay, here's the thing. gaemon is a child. children don't understand things like this, but instinctually, they deeply dislike surroundings that promote violence. this can be seen in surroundings with high drug consumption/extreme poverty/etc etc while still being likely to become a perpetrator of them when they grow up. and while gaemon hates the surroundings - so does the reader, so it's again instinctual from her to make such a futile attempt at protecting him from this world he's stuck in anyway.

Essie turned to you, Gaemon on her hip. “Thank you.” She said sincerely.

“Of course.”

“Take care. And thank you for saving my son again. I cannot repay you, ever. I’ll ask the madam if there’s still a job for you here. You could make as much money as a merchant’s daughter.”

“I’m only a cleaner.” You explained.

“Still, it’ll pay better than at any other place in the Street of Silk.” She promised, giving you a small hug. You nodded, patting Gaemon on the shoulder before you made to leave again.

Essie doesn't have any money, or much other means to pay the reader back. I think in Flea Bottom and KL in general, there's a mentality of each for their own, but saving someone's child - there is bound to be gratitude, and this is what Essie can offer. a better shot at this whole each for their own thing.

You almost let out a scream as you saw the hooded figure across from you, but the man had already crossed the room, hand over your mouth.

honestly this is just criston being a hoe for drama.

“I know. I’m poor, not an idiot.” You said.

this was inspired by vikings. ivar says something along the lines of 'i'm a cripple, not an idiot' - which doesn't make that much sense since his brothers know he's smart. it does make sense in this situation, i think. it's another reference of nobility looking down on commoners, despite criston being born barely above those commoners.

“Don’t run away when this doesn’t go to plan, or I’ll gut you like my mother did to my father.” You threatened. He nodded, grabbing your hand in his own and pulling you after him.

okay, this is brutal. it's a brutal thing to do to your partner/husband. i didn't flesh out a clear backstory for the reader, but i did want to include this. it may or may not be true, but it's a desperate attempt to appear strong. that she's a person that can stand on her own two feet. if it is true, her mother prolly killed her father while he was drunk/intoxicated in some other way. realistically, the reader wouldn't stand a chance in a fight with criston, and she knows that.

“I love this side of you. I’ve never seen it, and I want more of it.” You replied.

this is another reference to just that. she doesn't quite love criston yet. he's been unkind to her. it's not a simple relationship, but she can see that there's a possibility of happiness. so, instead of lying to ser criston and saying i love you, she chooses that route.

You won’t believe how cheap everything here is.

this is just bc criston hasn't been to a grocery store in like. ten years.

“This is a manse, not a house.” You laughed, staring at the garden that bloomed around you. Terracotta tiles lined the path in front of you, leading to the house that was apparently yours.

the house is deeply inspired by mediterranean, and especially, italian houses. i'm not sure what they're called, but it's those houses in the countryside that my family would go to for the holidays. the time i spent in those houses was always some of the happiests weeks in my life. i guess it's also an ode to italy and spain, and the experiences i've made there. ofc, i've only ever been on holiday, but in general, people are more friendly and welcoming than in my homecountry germany, and many big cities in southeast asia, where i grew up in. not to mention the absolutely mouthwatering cuisine. ig that's what i wanted for the reader. she's been through enough lol.

“You will. Leaving that place saved you.”

with that place, the reader means the red keep specifically. no one there is happy. sansa is obviously not okay due to the abuse she had to endure. jaime connects most of his trauma to the red keep. cersei sits in the red keep, dreaming of home, of casterly rock (this is in the books, mostly). and why shouldn't they? literally not one character enjoys living there. same thing goes for hotd. rhaenyra leaves it due to rumors catching up to her, and the constant harassment about her sons. alicent's life is just... pretty shit. it's also due to the red keep. had she stayed in oldtown, she never would have been forced to marry viserys, abandoned by her own father and surrounded by people that were out to get something from her. daeron, who is literally alicent's only somewhat normal child, is also the only one that grew up outside the red keep. viserys is killed by living in the red keep and sitting on the iron throne (not that i have much sympathy for him).

now, there's this theme in asoiaf with the corruption through power, and how the iron throne embodies that, but i think that that also extends to the characters in the red keep. either, they're victims of people that seek power (helaena, sansa, tommen, etc) or, they're people made miserable BECAUSE they seek that power (cersei, daemon, kevan, etc).

okay that was A LOT. but yeah, these were kind of my thoughts on the fic and the lines behind it. i hope you enjoyed :)))

#ask #ask reply #criston cole x reader #hotd #house of the dragon

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apprenticestanheight · 1 year ago

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A Start - Shotgunshipping

alllll right!! After having meant to since I initially watched Saw III and started this account, I am FINALLY writing for shotgunshipping. I wanted to put it off until I'd given the movie a rewatch but an idea came up while I was listening to boygenius and I couldn't resist. My requests are open to shotgunshipping reqs as well so if anyone wants me to write for these two more (I love them as much as I love chainshipping I am just TERRIFIED of writing for Amanda and mischaracterizing her and so I've put it off) send something in!

Fic type- this has elements of everything but angst and hurt/comfort are the biggest genres.

Warnings- a couple of mentions of weed, references to saw canon-typical violence, and despite the fact that I think I at least halfway nailed it, characters might still be slightly ooc

Amanda has spent most of her time within Johns orbit fearing the end of his life, what it means for her own and what the hell she's meant to do in the aftermath of his death. She's refused to think about it because it can send her into a spiral faster than any one of Marks individual threats, can make her so erratic that she loses touch with herself and dissociates with wide-eyes and a mind that is far less calm than she appears externally.

But, seeing John dead in front of her? Her mind is running wild and her gaze is unmoving. She has no clue where she's meant to go from here, what she's meant to do.

Marks letter comes to mind for a split second, and in that split second she realizes it doesn't matter anymore. John is dead because Jeff Denlon has killed him, and when an autopsy is preformed Johns cause of death will be determined as decapitation and slightly premeditated murder.

Another part of her itches to call someone, and as she flees out of the warehouse and down the street, running until she's jamming the key into the door of the apartment she shares with Adam, she fumbles around with the idea. Who, exactly, could Amanda call? Outside of John and a very limited friendship with Adam that has only blossomed out of necessity, she has exactly nobody.

Her parents don't talk to her, haven't since she was a college student in her early 20s. She has no siblings to speak of, no extended family that's willing to talk to her.

When she steps into the apartment, she's admittedly more than a little surprised to see Adam sitting on the couch in their living room.

"Didn't you and Lawrence have a date tonight?"

"Our date will begin after Lawrence fixes whatever chaos you managed to harbor and after I've taken photos of the aftermath," Adam grins. "You look spooked beyond the capability of any 90s era slasher, though. What happened?"

"Nothing much," Amanda pairs it with a grin, internally scoffs at herself because she can tell, right off the bat, that Adam sees it and is entirely unconvinced. "Uh--Chinese food?"

"C'mon, rockstar," Adam laughs. "We've lived together for two years, been friends most of that time. What happened? Did the trap not go as expected?"

"Something like that," Amanda nods. "John died and I didn't hear Lynns trap go off so she might've survived somehow but I don't think the cops know I'm one of his apprentices--or, if they think they know, that they can verify it--and everything just feels messy. Everything is unsure and messy and I fuckin' hate it."

"Try to relax, first and foremost," Adam nods. "If they do know, they have no feasible reason to care. Johns death is all that the cops or the coroners will care about for the next few days at least, and if Lynn is still alive she'll probably be too spooked to go to the police. I remember I was scared, and that deterred me for half a week after I was let go from the hospital."

"Johns dead," Amanda whispers. "You should be jumping for joy right now."

"Despite the anger issues and the sarcasm, I am in fact decent enough to keep my joyous jumping out of your line of sight," Adam says. "He was like a surrogate dad to you, Ames. You're allowed to grieve him."

Amanda tries to smile at Adam, fails miserably. He gives her the decency of a pity laugh, gives her shoulder a squeeze in lieu of a hug and makes no attempt to stop her when she heads for her room.

Amanda gets high, goes to sleep in the outfit she'd been wearing since she'd gotten dressed that morning.

Amanda wakes up the next day to find Lawrence making breakfast while Adam takes a shower, nods at him in greeting as she sets the coffeemaker up to make coffee as strong as the maker can handle.

"News outlets have begun reporting on it," Lawrence says quietly. "Lynn escaped alive-- the trap malfunctioned and bomb squad disabled it and took it off her, although her husband was shot by an officer and didn't make it out alive-- and I had Mark do a bit of snooping and you've not come up at the NJPD precinct. Their records are clear of you thanks to a bit of blackmail and the knowledge of the fact that John is dead. If Mark does anything to Jill, I will have to respond accordingly but all things considered, our regular lives may resume as they were before we were tested."

Amanda was tested somewhere close to her 27th birthday, and in the two years since she became one of his apprentices, John has been the earth where she is the moon, always within his orbit. Unendingly watching him, looking after him, making sure his plans are executed as he intends.

Now, Amanda feels like there is nothing left for her. Nothing exists--nothing she deserves, anyhow--within her grasp. She has yet to determine how she feels about that, but she knows it's there.

"Thank you," Amanda whispers, grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet she and Adam keep them in.

"You'll need to find proper work," Lawrence says. "Adam mentioned that he's just recently quit the full-time receptionist job he worked to get a vet degree. They might take you in."

"You shouldn't gun for that," Adam says as he comes into their already small kitchen. Two people in that kitchen is a breeze and a half, but three? Three and it starts feeling squishy. "And because Lawrence made it sound like I wouldn't be able to cover rent, I do still work, just not at the receptionist job. I worked as a dog groomer on the weekends to keep my mind away from the bathroom for a while, and they just hired me back on full time in a way that accommodates my studying schedule. I can put in a good word for you with Amara? She's currently banging the hiring manager if you decide to apply."

Amanda gives an ungraceful snort, nods slightly. "I'd appreciate that, thank you."

"You need more than a shitty part time job," Adam shrugs. "You get the gig as a receptionist, its forty hour weeks, double minimum wage plus six bucks and decent people."

Amanda nods, pours the coffee and adds three sugars and a splash of milk so that it's to her preference for the hot rendition of the drink.

Adam takes some from the pot she made, laughs a little as he drinks it straight out. "You made this strong. Are you okay?"

Amanda nods in a way that she hopes is believable. "Just need to be awake for a while is all," she says. "Need to go for a walk, I think? Stay out of the apartment a little while and get my head straight."

"Do whatever you need," Adam nods. "However, if my wandering fingers happen upon your weed stash..."

"You're only allowed to touch the weed I have if you aim to get Lawrence stoned," Amanda laughs a little at the idea. "Or if you're too anxious to sleep."

Being one of Jigsaws apprentices practically guarantees nightmares because being one of his apprentices practically guarantees being tested.

Amanda was tested before she worked with him. Adam and Lawrence were tested before they worked with him. All three of them deal with nightmares night in and out.

It was too common of an occurrence for Amanda to wake up at four in the morning, grab her box of joints, go outside and have smoked three when she'd hear Adam, ambling about the kitchen to grab his bowl--which he clean after each use and thus leave to the right of the kitchen sink--and some weed to smoke to ease his anxiety after he'd woken up from three separate nightmares in one stream of unconsciousness.

"I'll grab a bit more from my dealer," Adam says. "You're gonna need it, rockstar."

Amanda moves to leave the kitchen, coffee mug in hand as she goes. "Yeah, yeah," she says. "Might get lucky and stop dealing with the nightmares now he's gone."

"Might not," Lawrence says.

"Probably won't," Adam tacks onto the end of the sentence. Amanda heads for her room, finishes her coffee while she grabs a towel and the outfitting for the day before she showers and leaves the apartment.

The walks, it turns out, help a decent amount. The games continue because of Mark but Amanda has absolutely no part in them, and when Amara Lewinsky calls and tells her she's gotten the receptionist job that Adam had quit in the name of eventually getting his degree as a vet, Amanda actually sighs in relief.

Weeks have passed since Johns death. Jill Tuck is nowhere to be seen or heard of, but the games have continued which means Mark is still running rampant.

It's late December when she sees Lynn again, clutching her daughters hand as they wait in line at a cafe near the heart of the city. It's a short walk across from the hotel and Amandas favorite place to go on her half hour break because the line is never long and the coffee is unendingly decent. Adam had told her to try their carrot muffins and, even though it creates something of a divergence in her usual routine, Amanda intends to do that that day.

Lynn turns around, eyes widening when she sees Amanda. Amanda tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace, and Amanda shoves her hands into the pockets of the jacket she wears, yearns for one of the edibles she'll take during the break she'll get closer to four.

"Hi," Lynn greets. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," Amanda nods. "It has been. I think I owe you an apology."

"If you want to give me your number, we can organize something more cohesive? I--I assume you've got better things to do and I have to make sure that Corbett is back at school by one."

Amanda nods. Lynn ends up giving Amanda her card--one with her personal cell written on the back--and then she turns around and the two stop interacting.

Amanda gets herself a carrot muffin and an iced black coffee to-go that day, eats the muffin in the break room while she gives Amara a watered-down version of the interaction with Lynn and why it had shaken her up so much, tries not to think of Lynn or her silky and gorgeous black hair despite it.

She calls Lynn in the early oughts of January 2004. It's eight-thirty and she has thirty minutes until she has to be at work, which is a fifteen minute drive away, but the card with her number on it has practically burnt a mark into it's place on her night stand.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Amanda hates how feeble her voice sounds. "I just--I wanted to call and apologize for trying to kill you and threatening you with a gun and everything that happened in the warehouse. I am notoriously terrible at this kind of thing, and if you're angry at me I deserve it and am fine with that."

"I've been trying to figure out how I want to look at that," Lynn says. "The way I see it, you were manipulated by him. His death clearly devastated you and you have a lot of work to do in terms of undoing the ways he warped your psyche, but all things considered, you're forgiven. Are you free for coffee anytime soon?"

"I have work," Amanda felt a small piece of the guilt she had been dealing with lift itself off her shoulders. "But I'm free after! We can meet at the cafe across the road--Maries? I can meet you there for six."

"Perfect! They really know their way around a drip coffee and I'll need the caffeine anyway," Amanda hears some shuffling on Lynns end, pops a mint and moves to the kitchen, stealing a donut from the dozen Adam had likely bought in place of munchies on one of his rarer days off. "See you then!"

"Yeah," Amanda nods, and the call ends.

She grabs her car keys and the over-the-shoulder bag she uses in place of a purse and leaves the apartment without another word.

Lynn looks well. It's the first thing Amanda notices about her, the way that her hair has been let down from the bun she wears to work and the neutral expression on her face. She looks tired but that doesn't come as a shock and in the general sense, she looks really peaceful.

Amanda sits down across from her at the booth she's chosen. Lynns face spreads out into a grin when Amanda sits across her and Amanda has the decency to give her the same.

"How was work?" Lynn asks, voice even and sure and everything that Amanda is not.

"It was good," Amanda says. "I like the coworkers and the environment. Very easy to get used to."

It doesn't feel like small talk is the kind of thing either of them are really built for or meant to do, but there has to be a leeway into the deeper stuff so Amanda is fine to keep going with it, to go along with the small talk for as long as Lynn chooses to make her.

"Thats good," she says. "I ordered you an iced black coffee. Noticed you walked out with it the first time we met here. Also grabbed blueberry muffins--they're the best kind."

"I'm partial to a strawberry muffin from time to time," Amanda says. "But I can't argue. Blueberry muffins are pretty good."

Lynn nods. "So you work across the road?"

"As a full time receptionist," Amanda nods in turn. "Not really what I'd like to be doing but it's a start."

"Starts are good," Lynn says. Amanda kind of wants to go home, regrets agreeing to it at all, but at the same time, she knows that she needs it and that Lynn needs it for the sake of peace of mind.

"And you're not--the stuff that--the recent Jigsaw killings. That's not you?"

"No," Amanda says, voice earnest and a little desperate. "It's not me. I have no part in any of it anymore--that part of me died when John did."

Lynn nods like she believes Amanda. Amanda hopes that she does so sincerely.

"Okay," Lynn says. "Then thats a start, at least."

Amanda grins. A waitress brings their coffee and food, and Amandas gaze moves to her coffee as it's set in front of her.

She thanks the waitress absentmindedly, thanks Lynn for paying for the coffee and the muffins.

She knows it's not the greatest day, and she knows that it's unfair to expect their first--technically second--meeting to land on even footing.

But she also takes it exactly as it is. It's a start, and that's all that matters.

#amanda young x lynn denlon #amanda young #lynn denlon #shotgunshipping #saw franchise #saw posting

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murdochautismmoments · 2 years ago

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Just establishing my own timeline here

Murdoch had an alcoholic & (not physically) abusive father. (Who was still alive as of season 1.) (They had lost touch until partway thru season 1.)

Born in Nova Scotia. Grew up there & liked spruce beer.

Father was a fisherman.

Mom passed away when he was a little kid (I'd say 5-7 years old?)

Murdoch was taken away by nuns. Dad wanted to write but didn't know where.

Murdoch kids lived with their aunt.

fr keegan. William burned down his shed at 12 & rebuilt it in the month all by himself. Youth was a daydreamer.

Um when he was an altar server there was a shipwreck & then started taking notes for fr keegan. Also a birth in the room next door. tf dude. He know how to pray in some latin. Witnessed a woman dying & telling her confession?? Also there was a bunch of money in the hem of the coat. Taught him deduction.

Yo shik he’s solving his first murder investigation at 12 years old!

Keegan left nova scotia right after murdoch

He left home at 17 to go to a logging camp.

18yo murdoch’s friend (didn’t) kill someone on a night he was drunk. Later, he held someone down while his leg was being amputated (from getting it caught in a log jammer). Still has nightmares 30y later

(between 62 & 65 this guy was killed. It was 35 years ago. Present day is 1897-1900 as of season 4)

He also had a job as a ranch hand at some point.

He has a sister who joined a convent at 14 & joined cloistered nuns in Montreal.

He is roman catholic in a city of protestants.

He went to college at some point where he met Eddy Cullen & were they both planning on joining the seminary? -- “So u’r a detective now?” ‘beats logging. I tried to write you at the seminary after jesuit school.’ “nah I got married.” -- so they went to jesuit school together, will went logging, eddy went to the seminary, then they lost touch. right? -- “still do any boxing?” ‘no I see enough of that in my career (on the streets).’ “I thought fr obrien beat it out of you.” ‘did a week ever go by that we didn’t see the inside of his office?’ “no” -- so he was a boxer & he got in trouble often. -- “fancy a pint?” ‘i’m on duty, maybe another time /lie’ “body is still the lord’s temple eh will?” -- ‘I haven’t spoken to him in 20 years’

Or he learned from the Jesuits

He was a boxer at some point.

Lumber camp "up north" from Montreal, stayed two winters, & then a logger mentioned being a constable so Murdoch applied.

Joined police force 10 years before S1.

5 years as Constable, "acting detective" at station 4 for a bit (2y), full detective 3 years before show began.

Bachelor in s1, engaged to Liza but she passed 1y before show began. Gave her a silver horse. She gave him his watch on his bday.

S1: 2 years ago come March 12th Julia & William started working together

S1 "I only attend once or twice a week," & "confession as often as possible" but later:

"every Sunday?" 'yes!' *lie detector* '...kidney stones'

Hadn't seen his dad in long enough that dad barely recognized him.

s5e8 turn of the century soon (also faked anna fulford’s death)

S5 is 1899

murdoch weighs about 160lbs bmi abt 23

s7e12 1901 8 years ago 1893 they did a murder; year julia & william met; year she became the coroner; one of the first murders they worked together

Murdoch season eight (8) was there in the constabulary for 12 years WITH brackenreid

Ok so S10 we know Murdoch's sister is dead

Just getting my history in order, ignore me

Julia Ogden

Mentor was dr osler

#mm background #mm lore

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nokingsonlyfooles · 2 years ago

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youtube

Brigitte Empire is on her way out of the UK, hopefully on to a better place with bluer skies and less genocidal rhetoric, but good real estate is hard to find! If you'd like to support her with a click, or some money, or some other form of social currency, that would certainly be appreciated right now!

And while I have your attention, how 'bout a brief, Vicky Day dive on how scared people are prone to shooting themselves in the foot?

You know, if life is a zero-sum game and you may have what little you need to live and be happy snatched away from you at any time, you're not wrong to feel a bit nervous. Like this good boy here:

But, uh, I don't know if you can tell... There seems to have been a bit of a miscommunication between the front end of the doggo and the back end of the doggo. The back paw seems to be doing nothing more sus than straining to scratch an itch, but the eyes detect something stalking them from the peripheral vision, so the dog snarls, bites, grabs the bone, and twists away. It happens so fast, he has no idea he's being menaced by his own ass, and he's all set to bite again when the GIF resets.

So watch the doggy, and picture the front end with King Charlie's head on it, and the back end with the face of that poor, dumb monarchist who got arrested for attending the coronation. Or with Nintendo's logo on the front end, and "video game streamers providing free advertising" on the back. Or "Christian University" and "cis, het Christians willing to work for a Christian university." Ha-ha, sometimes a metaphor is worth a thousand words!

Yeah. Ha-ha. Dry your eyes, blow your nose, and unfreeze your schadenfreude, because you're not immune to biting your own ass, my fellow progressives.

This cat knows about chasing your own tail, I guarantee it. All kidding aside, getting you so scared that you'll do anything to feel a little bit safer is the essence of propaganda.

Is someone else being used as a wedge issue, getting killed, and getting hit with legislation designed to make it as hard as possible for them to live? Someone who doesn't look like you, or belong to what you consider your family? What are you and your finite amount of human empathy doing for them? Beyond that, do you kinda resent them for taking up the oxygen in the room and talking about their thing when you need people to focus and direct their attention to your thing?

This is just among the trans community, let alone the queer community in general! And what about Black folks, immigrants, poor folks, mentally-ill folks, or any other type of marginalization?

You do not have enough attention, energy, or empathy for everyone who is being murdered by the State right now. The transitive property is true, and they don't always have enough attention, empathy, or energy for you either. So do we kinda wave hi from across the street and go, "Hope you win! But I can't help you myself!" "That's okay! Hope you win too!"? Nope!

Somehow, we find the strength to reach out and harm a perceived threat that we can reach. Even if actually catching it and biting it would hurt like hell. It's just so damn temping, and it's right there.

We are not operating from a position of power like Nintendo, a King, or even a jerk HR department at a podunk religious school. It isn't cute or funny when we do it, it's just a waste.

But it's super hard to comply with a negative, so let me give you some magic words to hold in your head when you see your back end creeping up on you: "You are valid. You have value. You deserve to live and be safe as much as I do. Harming you will use up energy I need to protect myself. As long as you are not trying to harm me or others, your struggle is my struggle. I'm sorry there's so little I can do, but I hope you'll be okay." If you have the energy, say it or type it out. If you don't, just walk on by and focus on your own shit for a while. Y'all need a stable place to stand before you can help lift anything, that's just how gravity works.

We are all out there making trolley problem decisions in realtime. Most of us are not willing to hip-check a stranger onto the tracks to save our friends. But if we can pull a lever...

...or just sit back and allow it to happen, a lot more of us are willing to be complicit in a few murders. As long as it's not the folks who really matter.

It's not my right to demand you get out there and throw a brick at a cop. It's not my right to demand you risk your life trying to fix something that was broken before you were even born. It's also not my right to demand you hand a mandate to a politician who says, "Maaaybe you can have abortion rights or healthcare, but you have to let us kill a few more Black and brown folks. It's a zero-sum game! Somebody has to die!"

...But you can't stop me from vomiting text on the internet in vague hope that you'll wake up, realize how bad it is, and put your nervous energy towards getting safe.

Leave your back foot alone. It's just trying to scratch where it itches.

#brigitte empire #crab bucket mentality #you are not immune to propaganda #deep dive on a real simple concept #the simple things are the hardest to understand #i'm not above shooting myself in the foot either and sometimes i ain't even KNOW #brigitte is doing what she can to get safe now how bout you?#Youtube

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24newsblogpress · 2 years ago

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UK cops probing death of SA businesswoman whose body was found in upmarket London hotel room

The London Metropolitan Police in the UK are investigating the death of a South African woman whose body was found in an upmarket London hotel room.

The body of Thandeka Hlongwa, 40, was found at the five-star establishment, The May Fair Hotel, in the exclusive suburb of Mayfair. It's not yet known what led to Hlongwa's death.

The London Metropolitan Police told 24newsblogpress that officers were called to the scene on 6 August, after a woman was found unresponsive at a hotel on Stratton Street, Westminster.

"The woman, aged in her 40s, was pronounced dead at the scene. This was treated as an unexpected death, which has been investigated and is not suspicious," the police said.

It said a file had been passed to the coroner for further investigation.

The Sunday Times reported that Hlongwa, a chartered accountant, was the director of 30 businesses ranging from financial consulting and investment firms, to engineering and mining companies.

She was on a weekend trip to the British capital during a holiday in Europe.

The paper further reported that Hlongwa took her children on a break during the private school holidays. The children stayed behind with friends in Germany when she went to London.

She was buried on 17 September, after her family struggled to get her body repatriated to South Africa for burial.

Hlongwa's sister, Linda, declined to speak to 24newsblogpress on Sunday.

She said: In the live stream of her funeral at the Covenant Fellowship Church International in Richards Bay, KwaZulu-Natal, on 17 September, the family shared happy memories of Hlongwa.

Hlongwa's son, overcome by emotion, said he was grateful for every second he had spent with his mom, who taught him the gift of time and how to value it.

"Every time I spent with her, I knew I was loved unconditionally. No one fought for us the way she did; no one believed in us the way she did; no one praised us the way she did. She protected us," he said.

Linda described her sister as "committed, loving, a person of good aura, intentional, assertive and a forgiving person".

Meanwhile, her brother, Sfiso, said he was angry and struggled to understand that his sister had died.

"When I found out late that my sister lived a painful life, I felt so bad that I didn't protect my sister. Thandeka was such a loving child. She knew she was safe in my hands and father's hands," Sfiso said.

"We don't know what they want with Thandeka's body. I am angry, and I know they are watching because this is live-streamed," he said.

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qnewsau · 10 months ago

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Joanna Lumley set to tour Australia for the very first time

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/joanna-lumley-set-to-tour-australia-for-the-very-first-time/

Joanna Lumley set to tour Australia for the very first time

The legendary Joanna Lumley will embark on her first ever live tour of Australia in October 2024.

Joanna will take to the road for the 5-city tour on October 9 at the Concert Hall, QPAC in Brisbane and will then perform at major venues around the country throughout October.

Joanna’s new show Me & My Travels, will take audiences through her hilarious and interesting adventures from her incredible career spanning more than four decades, recounting some never heard before stories.

Later in the show, she will be joined on stage by friend and producer Clive Tulloh, who will put to Joanna the questions that you’ve always wanted to ask – submitted by the audience – making the show a unique and hilarious night to remember.

On announcing Me & My Travels, Joanna said: “The thought of this tour in October, travelling across Australia, has completely taken over my waking hours.

“It’s utterly thrilling to start planning the stories I can tell, and the rapture (and gratitude, to be fair) with which I shall greet the audiences.

“Nothing like this has come my way before, and I may have to be dragged off with a hook at the end of each show. Oh people! This is especially for you from me, with masses of love. I think it will be fabulous.”

Joanna Lumley’s extraordinary career

Joanna Lumley appears to have been a permanent fixture in our sitting rooms since she burst onto our screens as Purdey in the New Avengers in 1976. Now in a nationwide Australian tour she will take us through the random journey that started in London in the swinging 60’s.

Beginning as Jean Muir’s house model and muse, progressing to becoming a full-blown photographic model, featuring in knitting patterns, mini-skirts, toothpaste commercials and the occasional front cover.

From there Joanna will share her stories of her acting career that includes Coronation Street, On the Buses, Dracula and as a brainwashed Bond Girl in Blofeld’s lair in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Joanna’s breakthrough role was as Purdey, a part for which over 800 girls auditioned. Purdey propelled her to instant fame and created one of the “must have” hairstyles of the 1970s – the Purdey bob.

Alongside iconic hairstyles Joanna started to develop a nice side line as adventurer and activist; popping up all over the globe she was often seen gasping at the Northern Lights, turning her bra into espadrilles and finding the source of the Nile.

Then as Patsy Stone in Absolutely Fabulous she became a degenerate role-model for a generation. Winning two BAFTAs, Joanna emerged as one of the best comedy actresses of her generation.

For 25 years the adventures of Patsy and Eddie have sporadically lurched across our screens culminating in AbFab The Movie in 2016.

This intimate night with Joanna tells some of these tales and more as we gallop through almost 50 years in this business we call show.

Joanna Lumley Me & My Travels Australian Tour Dates 2024

Wednesday 9 October – Concert Hall, QPAC, Brisbane

Friday 11 October – Hamer Hall, Arts Centre Melbourne

Wednesday 16 October – Festival Theatre, Adelaide

Saturday 19 October – Riverside Theatre, Perth

Tuesday 22 October – Sydney Opera House

A Telstra Plus member pre-sale commences at 10am (local time) on Monday, May 6. Go to telstra.com/tickets for details.

Tickets to the general public go on sale at 11am (local time) on Thursday, May 9. Visit tegdainty.com

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

#ab fab

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miracleweaponhunt · 11 months ago

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Miracle Weapon Hunt Chapter 36: Our New Ruler

Luminita looked out from her window. She and anyone else with major involvement with the Lux was quickly put inside here for her own coronation. She was in the top floor with all the other rulers, instead of one floor below where the children of rulers stayed. The people her own age, like Willow and Javier. She wondered what they were even up to. Willow was probably worrying about her and panicking openly on her behalf. Javier was…probably the same, only more subtle about it. She gave herself one more look in the mirror. She looked paler than usual, she couldn't bring herself to stop with everything that was happening. Her hair was brushed and cleaned, but not styled yet. She glanced over her dress one more time. Black in the bust area but pure white everywhere else, with pure dainty gloves squeezing her hands.

She stepped out of her room into the glass area attached to each bedroom on the first floor. Glass floors and walls, with a white roof to prevent the sunlight making it too hot. The view of Sangaria was perfect. The castle stood as a tiny speck on the centre of the airship, with the grand surrounded by a wall stopping anyone from falling off it's edge. The humble streets and shops, entirely out of view. She glanced at the two ships to each side. Gurut to the left, and ShiShi to the right. Sylvestro and Fen Hou would hopefully be good at guiding her on what being a ruler actually meant. Because she was hopelessly out of her depth here. Marcel already had his detractors, and all of them would be looking for her to change, but his supporters would be thinking about how someone as young as her could live up to his legacy. She was already pacing around the room, trying not to buckle at the pressure before she even stepped on that stupid stage.

There was a knock on the door. She looked at the clock in her room, and the coronation was half an hour away. She opened it, and Zach was in front of her, holding a small box in his hands.

"I interrupting anything?" He asked, glancing around the room.

"You aren't." She assured. "What's in the box?"

"Now, don't hate me, but I got some of your staff to help me get something you might want."

Zach handed her the cardboard box. Luminita removed the single layer of tape, and inside was a crimson cape with fur along the ends. She recognised it from somewhere, but she couldn't tell where. Suddenly, all the pieces sprang together in her mind.

"My…mother." She said quietly, trying not to let the tears burst out of her.

"Figured she'd give it to you if she could." Zach nodded slowly to himself. "Look, if you have any issues, anything at all, just let me know, okay?"

There was another knock at the door, followed by Mia casually letting herself in.

"Zach." She announced flatly. "Mind explaining what you're doing in here?"

"Just dropping something in for the queen." He replied, smiling to himself as he finished the sentence. "I'll let you get to what you're here for."

Zach closed the door behind him, and Mia locked eyes with Luminita. Mia's green eyes weren't stern as she was so accustomed to seeing them. They were more relaxed, sympathetic.

"Your hair's a mess." She said. "Sit down and I'll take care of it."

Luminita sat down in front of her mirror, and Luminita began styling her hair. She was styling with near surgical precision, quickly giving her hair a wavy quality near the end.

"You're really good at this."

"Good to know I still have it." Mia nodded, quickly letting the illusion of a smile leave her lips before her mouth returned to it's neutral expression.

"You used to do this?"

"Went to school for styling. Actually managed to work with a couple celebrities before I was called to lead the Lux."

"Celebrities?"

"Did you know I was the first stylist for Miles Parker on some soap advertisement?"

"No way."

"Indeed. But, my parents both succumb to illness at the same time, and suddenly I was called to rule."

"Well, you seemed to handle it, at least."

"Oh please, they'd all rather follow that brute than me."

"Zach?"

"That one, yes. I'm assuming he said you could confide in him."

"He did, yes."

"Well, the same applies for me."

Mia let Luminita's hair down, and she felt it for a few seconds. She almost instantly turned her hair into something more full of life. She had more confidence now. She almost felt ready to take the charge towards her country.

"You're on in ten minutes." Mia said softly as she passed through the door. "Good luck."

Willow was putting a band-aid over a bloody pinky finger on her left hand, while Javier looked over at her in mild confusion.

"Did you fall on something?" He asked, looking around for anything dangerous in the area.

"Look, I was biting my nails and ripped a hangnail off. I'm fine." Willow said nervously, moving on to biting what was left of the nails on her right hand.

"Hey, you guys."

Javier and Willow looked up at who was beside them. A man taller then them with shaggy brown hair and a white polo shirt and jeans, wearing two leather gloves. Zach's son, Arden. Four years older.

"Been a while, how you guys doing?"

"We're doing alright." Javier replied, glancing at the wall in the hopes Arden would as well. He would, giving Willow the time to patch her finger up. "Just a little nervous."

"Makes sense, considering it's Luminita. Remember when I had to babysit the fo…bunch of you during meetings?"

"Yeah, I do." Javier chuckled slightly.

"You know, Willow? People think the scar on my hand is from some horrific incident with a criminal and not a nine year old's hero game involving a comical amount of knives." He said, removing the glove on his left hand, showing the bright red scar going horizontally across it.

"I said I was sorry." Willow sighed.

"After you called me a weakling several times." Arden said. "No hard feelings, obviously. Actually, Nuria wants to know if you guys were okay with spending some time in Mar-Luminita's castle for a while to help her adjust.

"Yeah, I could do that." Javier nodded.

"Well, I have plans to help your dad back in Fightston, but I'm down once that's done."

"Cool, cool." Arden nodded. "She doesn't want to seem weak right now, but she could really use the support from close friends."

"Close friends? I mean…I guess?" Javier said while looking at the floor.

"What, did you guys have a fight or something?"

"No, it's just…we never really hang out anymore. Don't even think I have her number. Not that I hate her, we just grew kind of distant."

"Distant? What, since…"

Javier put his hand over Arden's mouth.

"Look, things are already stressful enough, we do not need to be reminded of that."

Arden took a step back and looked at Javier with a blank expression, then a quick nod.

"Yeah, actually. Makes sense. Well, I'll see you at the ceremony."

Javier couldn't help but let out an agitated sigh when Arden left. He never even thought about things like news coverage until now, but that was probably going to be everywhere after the ceremony. A decade ago, him alongside the three others were the 'future four pillars' Javier, Willow, Luminita, and Levin, next in line for Lux itself. But Levin died. Suicide after a series of Legion attacks left him feel helpless under the pressure. Luckily, the news media left the three of them alone and never really went back to them. Whether out of respect for grieving pre-teens or parental pressure, he never found out. But the whole incident was bound to come up again. He knew Luminita wouldn't like it, but having to hear about it would destroy Willow. She reacted the worst out of it, and he wouldn't be suprised if he never fully recovered.

"Uh, Javier?" Willow asked, shaking him out of his worries. "Ceremonies ready."

The two of them entered the circular room, with three rows of circular wooden pews laying before a set of white marble steps leading to the platform Luminita was supposed to step out of. The first row was made up of the rulers, and the next two were the partners and children. Despite this, Javier and Willow took a free space next to Rory in the front row, who didn't say anything. Freyja looked from the other end, but Rory leaned forward to cough a little until her gaze was back towards the platform.

Mia stepped out of the two doors at the back. She didn't make a sound as she approached the small podium.

"Thank you all for coming." She announced as she approached the podium. "I know this is on very short notice due to the tragic events that Sangaria has experienced. But, she, Willow, and Javier were always considered the future three pillars, and I have nothing but good faith that she will lead Sangaria into newfound prosperity. And without further ado, the newest ruler in the Lux Congregation."

There was an intense applause as Luminita stepped out. Luminita herself was trying her best to look confident and ready as she approached the podium.

"Esteemed members of the Lux Congregation." She started. "I thank you for having me join your noble cause. My only hope is that I can be of service not only to you, but of all members of the Skyspace."

The speech was short. She clearly wasn't prepared, but nobody cared as the crowd leapt into applause. Willow was the most enthusiastic about it, screaming at the top of her lungs for her. Luminita did her best attempt to look proud on that stage until the others died down. She then bowed before them and retreated back.

"Javier, go follow her." Nuria whispered.

Javier gave a thumbs up and went into the door, with Willow following.

Inside the white room, Luminita was shaking slightly as she filled a cup with orange juice and brought it to her lips.

"Hey there, queen Luminita." Willow said quietly as she closed the door, bowing to her afterwards, which Javier copied.

"You…you guys." Luminita looked towards them, her voice starting to waver. She ran up towards them, embracing them just a few seconds before she started crying behind them. The sobbing lasted a while, but it didn't really matter to either of them. They began to embrace her back, and she eventually pried herself off her friends.

"Hey, so my parents got the idea to help you run your place for the first few days. They say it'll be a good idea to teach us all how to rule eventually. You down?" Javier asked.

Luminita nodded silently, trying to bring herself to speak.

"I'll be there too, but Zach needs me in Fightston for a couple days. But hey, save a place for me!"

The three of them walked out of the room together, talking about plans for the future. Once Willow passed her room, she waved them goodbye and ducked into it. Once inside, she checked underneath her bed for her suitcase and opened it. The spear was still inside, and nobody was called. And if anything was found out, she left a helpful note that the Legion had nothing to do with the weapon borrowing process. She took out her phone and called Zach.

"Okay, when are we leaving?"

#my writing #writeblr #writing #creative writing #fantasy #webnovel #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

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