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countessofbiscuit · 4 years

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The Captain & the Resident’s Daughter: Secret

. . . . . . . .

Rexsoka Week - Wednesday - Secret

“Let me see your face.”

. . . . . . . .

Part the First

Part the Second

Part the Third

Part the Fourth

(This is Part the Fifth)

Part the Sixth

Part the Seventh

In which the author is very late and attempts to atone with a kiss.

N.B. this story is two-thousand words in length and contains period-typical (1800) attitudes and language.

. . . . . . . .

Dona Olga’s largely Portuguese blood beneath her lovely portly frame did not answer to the swell of the sea — nor did her mind, stomach, or complexion. Despite the surgeon’s professional opinion that she did not have one foot in the locker, she remained in a frightful way — and, he intimated in confidence to Miss Tanough, in the family way as well; it brought Ahsoka to wonder, if the woman should perish before they reached Rodrigues, whether she would be obliged to run the final stitch through her nose as Mr Bonterry had hinted, and whether her elementary needlework would answer to the solemnity such an occasion would require.

With such morose thoughts had Ahsoka been oft lying in her cot, eternally closeted round by mirth, with the gunroom below, the great cabin above, and the coaches of General Skywalker and Captain Rex abutting her quarters; for the Gloriana’s timbers and cabin-bulkheads were not so solidy oaken as to insulate her from the merrymaking of military gentlemen. To be sure, the officers (Skywalker lately included) had been all politeness, encouraging her to remain after the last remove; to delight them by playing upon Lieutenant Waxer’s Spanish guitar; or — when Colonel Kesting was of the party — to read their horoscopes. But Ahsoka had a dread of making herself unpopular by delaying their port and knew well when to excuse herself.

This state of affairs would not have been intolerable but for the impossibility of walking upon deck for the thick rains. A week had Ahsoka been staring out the stern windows, privately praying for any sign of Admiral Trénche that she might bear witness to a great thumping by Commodore Ferris (and perhaps even see action herself); she could not even fish from the stern chasers, so great was the swell that the gunports must remain closed; and there were only so many turns about the great cabin one could take before the exercise produced a dizzying sickness of its own.

One evening, unable to bear the confinement a moment longer, eager for the total ablution of body and mind offered by a monsoon storm, hardly carrying if she lived or died if she might go ten minutes without hearing Dona Olga groan, Ahsoka gathered herself in a twill pelisse and opened the cabin’s starboard door.

In the dim passage, she found another door also open: that of Captain Rex’s coach, having apparently spurned its latch and swung free in a loll. Warm lantern light spoke to its being occupied, though she had not heard the Captain’s boots beyond her door, nor his movement behind the bulkhead.

With even greater surprise did Ahsoka immediately discover Captain Rex himself within, completely bared to the waist as he engaged in his toilette, washing himself methodically with the luxury of fresh water — and, with his broad back to the door, full oblivious to his exposure.

What sensations coursed through her agitated frame to espy him thus!

To say Miss Tanough was fond of the Captain would be to understate the matter. From the first moment of their acquaintance, she had esteemed him greater than any of General Kenobey’s society. He had been all selfless kindness — had stood up with her without diffidence and then with evident pleasure; had comforted her by exposing his own fears and troubles; had shielded her from the worst of the General’s initial churlishness; had even brokered the agreement which saw Commodore Ferris share the history of his scar for her account of the tiger’s demise.

And there were other considerations which ensured her high opinion — namely, the sum of his attractive features, in which there was no deficiency; and how the whole was crowned by his kingly bearing, at once commanding yet eager to oblige.

Indeed, in that moment, Rex’s physical recommendations perhaps weighed disproportionately in her regard; for the sight of his warm flesh and well-formed back was not only pleasing to behold, but she had also a moment to admire his expansive tattoo; the dampened fabric of his thin shirt after the excitement with the shark had first betrayed its presence, if not its particulars, and Ahsoka had been wild to see it ever since.

It full engulfed his right shoulder, formed by generous, swirling spirals of alternating bare and darkly pigmented skin; it was extremely detailed without any discordant parts, but had the appearance of being somewhat stretched — of having once been more mathematically correct, though nothing about it could be called geometrical. The design would have been alien to Ahsoka but for illustrations in her father’s books, for he was an avid collector of narratives of sea exploration and histories of foreign peoples; she recognized it to be Pacific in origin, and it looked neither fresh, nor perfect, nor degraded by exposure — a matured stamp of origin preserved under Rex’s woolen Company coat, known perhaps only to a few; certainly, he was not in the habit of removing his shirt, even when he did not have Miss Tanough’s sensibilities to consider.

Since first confirming her suspicion that he was not wholly English, Rex had touched but sparingly on his personal history. But so open and established was their acquaintance, any long omission of his parentage from their conversation would have created more romantic conjecture than the plain truth could merit: his father had been carried as a boy from his native New Zealand on an English whaling vessel; of his mother, Rex knew even less — which is to say, he never knew her at all.

While Ahsoka reconsidered the Captain’s ambivalence at the prospect of reuniting with his father — who might yet be living or long since dead, for Rex had never a line from him in ten years — the impropriety of her present occupation forced itself upon her mind suddenly, as Rex’s cloth splashed into the washbasin and he reached for his towel.

She could not tarry here — but neither did she wish to return to her melancholy cabin or socialize with any soul but him.

If Ahsoka walked on, the sentry would surely acknowledge her, or question her movements in a voice that might be overheard. Might Rex himself be drawn out, curious about her reasons for going about in a squall? These motivations would be difficult for Ahsoka to recall; for the need to be anywhere else had given way to a strong desire to remain only here, in this spot, where an encounter of the most absurd but interesting nature might occur. Might she cough? Would a ‘good evening’ be too impertinent? How conscious of self was he, truly, that he might resent her having seen him intimately?

Ahsoka might also have asked herself why the prospect of Rex’s bare chest set her heart beating so, when she had never before been missish about the male form — indeed, she had lately been surrounded by every conceivable example of it, she might have supposed her feelings to be neutral, tending even toward apathy.

For once in her life, Ahsoka was not quick-witted enough to prevent the evil which she anticipated; the tiger had not found her standing agog, but Captain Rex did when finally he turned from his washstand. He became fixed in astonishment.

To run would be cowardly; Ahsoka had simply to address him as if indifferent to the novelty of their situation. “Your door, sir — it appears the latch needs mending,” observed she, feeling foolish. But heroines did not linger in passageways under mortification when they might charge forth and obtain their prize. Ahsoka hurried into his coach — the dimensions of which seemed to decrease exponentially with the slight addition of herself — and closed the door with as much studious deliberation as if she were the carpenter’s mate.

To her relief, the mechanism did not answer; the latch had failed, not her stratagem; she said a few insipid words more on the subject, but quite lost her theme when Rex stepped forward, his brow contracted.

“You were not going above?” asked he, more concerned by her attire than the door which her body now secured.

“I could not sleep and was desperate for air.”

Rex had to advise against it — the weather was very bad, she would be soaked through, would the cabin’s windows not answer? — but Ahsoka did not attend. She was overpowered by the essence of him, which, magnified by his nearness, his recent washing, and this confined space with few draughts, crowded her senses most deliciously; and in her effort to keep her eyes at decent latitudes, Ahsoka found herself staring at a string of shark’s teeth he wore around his neck.

He twigged her distraction with a hand on his collar. “Ah — I have spoiled my surprise, Miss Tanough. I well remember your passion for fanged jewelery.” Still heedless of his half-nakedness, Rex produced a small pouch from his dressing chest, drew forth a necklace similar to his own, and, taking her hand, draped it across her palm. “This had been meant for when you crossed the line. I bespoke more than my fair share from your shark, I confess, but jack tars will barter their mother for hasheesh, so I had no need of any dubashi tricks; and when I learned the sailmaker’s mate was an artist and a reputable cove, I engaged his services directly.”

Each tooth had been cleaned and polished into pearly beauty; and on the reverse of each Ahsoka found an finely etched letter, which together formed the words, ‘Gloriana’s Empress’.

“He was careful to pierce the crudest part of the tooth, so the holes might not offend if you have them mounted in London. My own attempt at engraving would have ruined them,” — here Rex’s mode of address became less certain — his speech, already quiet, became almost hushed — “and although not my hand, I hope you understand my … — I hope the sentiment is still felt.”

Ahsoka felt too much to speak; for a moment she could only admire the smooth bones between her fingers, before smiling broadly and saying, “Indeed, I feel it so keenly, I cannot conceive parting from it for a moment, least of all to have it spoilt by ormolu or gold — no, I shall wear it exactly as it is, strung with true sail thread from my floating empire. But pray, if I am empress, where does that leave Commodore Ferris?”

“Codry remains God.”

“Omniscient?”

“Let us pray not,” replied he, throwing out an arm against the door to steady himself against the mounting swell.

Situated so beneath a cavalryman whose entire being seemed to marry the brilliance of gold and the warmth of honey, it is little wonder Ahsoka began to lose much presence of mind; but still could she count, and she observed the teeth of his own necklace, equally buffed and perfected, numbered six. Her imagination, though active, was not wild or predisposed to invent self-flattery, yet Ahsoka felt emboldened to finger his own strand and ask innocently, “And what is spelt on yours?”

The dim light would not betray any flush of cheek or twinkling of eye, but the manner in which Rex dropped his head spoke to a desire to conceal — the answer could not be nothing. “That is a secret.”

“If you tell me and chase it with a kiss, it is sure to remain so.”

An embrace between two young people, unrelated and unmarried, can never be really chaste, and this couple did not even attempt to colour it so. The author will be discreet where they were not, and say only that the chief effect of their misconduct tended somewhat to the good; for if Miss Ahsoka Tanough could ever to be prevailed upon to consider marriage — outside odds still, to be sure — Captain Rex was fast becoming the only man in the world with a chance of success.

#rexsoka #rexsokaweek #age of sail #star wars au

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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The Grind-Chapter 28

The eve of fight night fell, and Colton was exhibiting extremely peculiar behavior. Not a bad type of peculiar necessarily, but the man just wasn’t his usual self. When I woke up to head for a swim at Temple, the bed was empty on his side and he hadn’t left a note, or word with my parents as to where he disappeared off to. In fact, according to mom, he must’ve left the house before 6 a.m. when she and dad left for their walk. It was a routine they had with the dog back home, and they had been continuing the morning exercise while on their visit to the city.

When I got to my locker at the gym, there was a single Peony taped to the handle, and a square yellow note tied to it’s stem. The easily identified chicken scratch belonged to the missing man in question, so I tore it open jaggedly to gather some answers.

Livvy,

Enjoy your swim, & don’t you dare think of doing anything in the weight room. I told Cal to watch you. You have a noon appointment with that girl who does your hair, & a 10 a.m. massage too. I have some stuff to take care of today but be at home and dressed by 6 tonight. Wear that white dress I like. The one from that party at the Pilot a couple months ago. And don’t eat. I’ll check in later. I LOVE YOU

Colton had been a lot of things the last year, but romantic was a new side. He rendered me speechless from heartbreak, pleasure, and laughter on a fair amount of occasions, but this was unfamiliar lands. Never did I believe such a cynical, wild, tormented soul like his could conjure up the cleverness or the desire to throw together whatever plan he had in the works. But I’d obey the orders, and call mom to steam the crisp white, ankle-length, summer gown he referred to from the office gala event he suffered through as my plus-one, and it’s also the first instance he suckered me into bathroom sex in the family stall. The thin, flesh-hugging stretch of the drapery curved into me, and the low-cut of the back allowed him a subtle peep-show during the owners speech, which had him nearly feverish for a taste of me before the main course was served. I was chatting with Ryan who was seated at our dinner table, when Colton told me I looked a bit peaked and needed a few minutes of good ol’ fresh air. Thoroughly confused, I followed his lead as he took my hand guiding me through the bar area into the public pavilion of the venue. The details are a bit foggy, but I can’t forget the memory of his thirsty tongue licking a bead of summertime sweat from the valley between my breasts.

I concluded on returning to my natural blonde look at the salon, and sang the praises of the on-staff masseuse at SJS Salon on my way out the door. The unwind of my slow laps in the therapy pool, and the exceptional massage had me exuding peaceful relaxation. After the continual sessions’ day & night at the gym, in the cage, in the weight room, at the Pilot, some self-love and spa time was the perfect prescription for a Zen Liv. And I wanted all my tensions free and clear before I met up with Colton for this mysterious evening ahead, so I could fully enjoy the company of my perfectly imperfect companion. Wherever the pathway of our evening led, I knew I’d retire home once it was said and done feeling cherished, and probably horny.

I was puckering to smooth out a plentiful layer of rose-shaded smudge proof lipstick at my lighted vanity when I saw my mother peep around the unlatched door. I looked away from my own reflection to see hers smiling back at me from over my shoulder, as she brushed my hair back curious to discover my earring choice. This overly-feminine, lady-like and sophisticated side of her only child was a glimpse of the daughter she wanted 10 years ago when I was wearing sweats to school every day, and only wore heels for prom or homecoming dances. Mom stayed dressed to the nines every day of the week whether it be a run to the post-office or even a check of the mailbox, so seeing the vision of herself even more so in me now with sleek hair, and a posh taste in stilettos was probably the proudest she had been in a decade.

“Honey, you look excellent! Your little nose healed up just perfectly too, I see.”

Of course, mother. That’s what most important, ay’?

“Yep. It feels fine now. Thanks, mom.” I pursed my mouth, tucking both lips in a stark line and misted a lavish amount of Colton’s favorite perfume onto the exposure of my neck.

“Do you have any ideas what Colton has planned for you? You’re dressed awfully formal.” My mother asked turning her head to survey the final touches of accessory to my ensemble.

“He told me what to wear, and when to be ready to go, so that’s about the most I’m aware of. He’s been pretty shady today. And we both know he’s developed a keen talent for lying lately, seeing as how he managed to get you and daddy here.”

The last text I received from him at 2 o’clock that afternoon was a strange selfie of he and Andrew at the forefront of an impressive Styrofoam cup pyramid they’d apparently built on the display counter at The Grind. Those two had become quite the odd pairing lately, but I was happy Colton jived so well with at least one of my friends. I assumed he just went by the shop for his usual black coffee to-go, and Drew simply asked his assistance on a new merchandise display, which turned into the two of them goofing.

Mom checked her waterproof, step counting watch for the time as she followed be into the bedroom I shared with Colton. “It’s 5 minutes to 6 right now, Livvy. Have you talked to him?”

My heels clacked when transitioning from the carpet, to the tile down the hall. I clicked the unlock button of my cell to place a call to the very man sitting on an arm of the couch in an open stance, with those hefty forearms pushing in his knees. He stood upon hearing the soft tick of my heels step over the rug under the coffee table, and I was able to get a much desired, exploratory look at the very, very surprising dapper two-piece suit he sported. It was an oxford blue, atop a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt that he left casually, and very appealingly gaping open just enough to taunt me with his pecks. He was explicitly, lethal and delicious in the foreign dress of any sort of formal attire. Maybe more so even than those perfectly snug gray sweats I pulled off him on many an ‘afternoon delight’ occasion. That is, assuming I have to have him clothed at all.

“Well hello there, Mr. Ritter. Someone is looking exceptionally handsome tonight, I see. I must say you wear this look well, babe.” I admired, pulling on the lapels of his jacket to situate the wrinkle of his shirt. I tenderly grazed a manicured nail over the freshly shaved goosebumps of his neck, and smiled romantically looking up to him under extended lashes.

“You two enjoy yourselves! Tony and I are going to grab some dinner, and we’ll lock up when we get back. I’m sure it’ll be a late night for you guys,” mom spoke up, still standing behind me undetected. Colton tilted around me to smile appreciatively at her before she turned in pursuit of the spare room where dad was napping.

“Will you ever walk into a room ‘n not instantly have me wantin’ to rip off whatever you wearin’, baby? You look…you look fuckin’ perfect, Liv. I mean that.” He fiddled with the every-day, dainty, gold letter pendant I wore as he spoke, then touched his pointer finger to the heart-shaped opening at the center of my satiny lips.

I wondered reasonably if we’d ever even make it passed the 4 walls of our bedroom seeing the adamant, alluding examinations we were trading in the silence of our family room.

“As long as you promise to replace whatever it is you just have to rip off, then be my guest by all means.” I popped one shoe-covered foot into the air, and boosted up on the other desperate to touch myself to his mouth.

“Get. The hell. Out. That. Door. Now. With ya’ teasin’ little ass.” Colton palmed the front of my dress to clutch over the warmness of my womanly center.

We altered his plan a bit, and decided my car would be the most practical option for transportation considering the height of my designer heels. Once we exited the driveway, I couldn’t help but blast him with pestering questions, and chatting.

“Just sit tight, ‘ight. We ain’t far. You can hold out a few minutes, Livvy. A surprise here ‘n there ain’t gonna kill ya’.”

I unhappily sat tight as advised and waited a drawn out 10-minute car ride that steered us to a parking meter on the street near The Grinds’ entrance on the sidewalk. The white light of the ‘open’ sign that would’ve typically been plugged in the window was powered off, along with the appearance of any other lights, or evidence of business behind the door.

“Colt? What are w-“

“No more questions, okay? Hold on.”

I watched him shove my keys from the ignition inside the pocket lining of his coat, to jog around and assist me from the passenger seat onto the concrete walkway. I smelled something fishy, but I couldn’t place a sure finger on it just yet. With one arm clinging around my average size waist and the other holding my hand, we waited for the street sign to change then scurried along the crosswalk. Colton confirmed the time on his watch just as he gestured me to enter the strange darkness of the generally busy coffee shop.

I couldn’t move much passed the entry mat laying in front of the doorway due to the pitch darkness of the room, so I waited intriguingly for my next instructions. Colton moved in behind me and stepped straight for the location of the light switch he was apparently familiar with. Rather than the hardwired overhead lights of the café igniting with the flipping on of electricity, twinkling, warm garden decorations on green strands taking their place. The dusky glow hanging over our heads bared a table for two waiting empty in the middle of the open floor, and some sort of urbane, bubbly beverage sweating inside a tin bucket of ice. Calm, lazy melodious music struck up, and I finally escaped my confusion to scan for Colton.

“These a’ for you, baby. The best, for the best.”

He offered me a familiar a pink, fluffy bouquet which had become his apparent staple over the last year, and I could smell the odorous fog from gift laying in my arms. Taking a closer look over his face, I noticed he’d groomed up exceptionally precise, and his beard had been combed and trimmed. Colton Ritter may have even been wearing hair product, Ladies and Gentlemen. His matured facial lines, and the barely detectable softening sag around his eyes added a story-telling detail to his aging mug, but I admired every frown line, and ghosting scar.

I rested my arms over his shoulders, dangling the hefty bouquet in my hand behind his back to settle in for a lengthy embrace when a begging, muffled reverberation of hunger grumbled from my empty stomach.

“Well, you did tell me not to eat, silly!” I patted over my angry insides to stifle its interruption.

“I got just the thing to fix ya’ right up. Here. Let’s get you in a seat and I’ll be back.” He took my hand, and I took the seat he offered up, placing the flowers in a waiting vase at the center of his table spread.

Colton lit four small tea-light candles with a zippo frim his pants pocket, and kissed the crown of my freshly washed hair.

“I like the blonde, by the way,” he winked dragging his feet backwards to disappear into the back kitchen.

A few clanging plates and some ruffling feet could be heard as I sat legs crossed, and chin rested on my elbows. Mother Liz always cut my arms with a slap when I would prop my elbows up onto the tables, chastising my etiquette or lack thereof. I repeatedly listed off a careful list of the ‘important dates’ to mark the many milestones of our relationship to assure I hadn’t forgotten some crucial event on this day. There had to be some reason Colton had gone to such odd, starry-eyed measures, and my nosey, sharp-witted journalistic side was beating me to death to get to the real story hidden under wraps.

STOP IT! Let the man have this. Don’t ruin it because you’re a meddlesome pest who can’t just enjoy a surprise.

Just then, a smell so aromatic and reeking of garlic wafted like a puffy cloud of deliciousness into my nose. I inhaled deeply through my nostrils to trace the yummy culprit, and found the man exiting a revolving door that hid the kitchen. He had two enormous, blotchy, grease-stained pizza boxes marked from my very favorite deep-dish joint stacked in one arm, and a covered Dutch oven dish cradled in the left arm. Colt’s tongue peeped like the head of a snake from the corner of his mouth, walking strategically careful so not to drop the hot contents of his clutches.

“So, since you trained so hard, and it nearly killed ya’ cuttin’ out all those carbs, I figured you’d maybe want some’n downright filthy ‘n covered in cheese to hit the spot. Drew tried to tell me I should get some fancy takeout from that place you two are always goin’ to, but I knew this would suit ya’.”

He opened one of the boxes to reveal a cheese deep-dish smothered in sliced, tender black olives.

“You want me to eat the whole thing?” I chuckled with a large goading laugh, and quarter-sized eyes.

“One fa’ you,” he answered sitting himself to open the other cardboard box in his place setting. “’and one fa’ me.” Colton rubbed his hands together anxiously, like a giddy boy about to dive into an ankle-deep mud puddle.

“But you may wanna save a lil’ room for this too, baby.”

I watched as he pulled the sturdy lid from top the black dish, and fluffy, warm steam rolled from the inside. Peeping over the edge in anticipation, I discovered a dark chocolate, gooey treat, topped with whole praline pecans and stringy caramel drizzles.

“Colt, you made that? All by yourself?!” I smiled adoringly when the look of utter pride beamed from his coy face.

It was a turtle dessert my mom taught me to make, and my absolute favorite. Colton had stayed been at my old apartment one night, back before the fight, and said he needed a ‘sugar fix’. The city was covered in powdery snow and muck, with temperatures reaching their lowest degree all winter. Neither of us could stand the thought of leaving the warm solace of my couch, so I whipped up that same dessert for him. We demolished the entire contents straight from the dish, sharing a spoon for vanilla bean ice cream on the side.

“Liz wrote the ingredients down for me, but I remembered pretty well how you made it that night. Don’t be gettin’ all wound up before ya’ even taste it now,” he tittered taking his first bite of pizza.

We ate majority of each cheesy pie, (him asking for a slice of mine) then hysterically cackled for a good half hour after he sampled (and gagged on) a swig of my favorite merlot from a local winery. When our favorite Bob Dylan tune struck up on his iPod, I asked him to dance, and he obliged hugging me tightly with one arm, and gnawing on the last piece of pizza he clutched to in the other. The raw, real-life imperfections of the moment that would’ve had most females curling a lip in disgust, and trouncing far, far away from a man with such qualities as Colton Ritter, only had me needing his presence in my life more so.

“How’d you pull this off Ritter? I must say, I didn’t know you had it in ya’, babe.” I muffled with a full mouth of his well-made chocolate cake as I dabbed the corners of my mouth.

“Just called in a favor to my pal Andrew, no biggie. The bastard only made me pay him 200 bucks to make up for his ‘lost profit.’” Colton used his most sardonic air quotes to underline Andrew’s no doubt tantrum for his role.

“You been workin’ so damn hard, Livvy. And I just wanted to do somethin’ to make you feel special. Help ya’ relax and take the edge off of a lil’ about tomorrow night. ‘N judging by those sexy, heavy little wine eyes you been givin’ me, I’d say I did a fine job.”

The excellence of the entire evening, hand-in-hand with now a present buzz of red wine after so many months, made the air around me feel as if it touched my skin like expensive cashmere. My insides felt as if they were humming with muggy decadence, and no unkind thought weighed on my mind.

“Oh God, stop it!” I covered my face, ashamed of his insinuating light-weight insult.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Liv. I ain’t just sayin’ shit right now. I mean that. You’re perfect now, jus’ like this. And ya’ perfect on the couch with your face painted in one of those goopy masks you put on before you check your work email at night.” He leaned over the round table, mazing through the empty boxes, and melting candle wax staining the tablecloth to encase my fingers. Any fool could see there was nothing but earnest passion in his eyes, and a blatantly truthful, sureness in his voice.

“I love you. And don’t sell yourself so short! You are the perfect one. Even with all those demons, and whatever else is hiding in that head of yours.” I wanted to caress and pet his always warm cheek, but the distance between us caused me to settle for a tight squeeze of his hand, and a kiss to his scarred fingers.

“A perfect man wouldn’ta let somebody like you get away, baby.”

“Stop with that! We’re here now. Together. And we’re happy. Plus, there are more important things going on right now we should be worryin’ about.”

I knew I could back out of my fight right now, even the night before, and Colton would support my decision without hesitation, and anyone else who didn’t, would suffer at the hand of his consequence. The reality of what I knew I’d be doing only a few short hours from now, was a frightening one. But, one that I had agreed to for myself at the hands of no ones’ force. I wanted to make Colton proud of me for something more than just having my nose shoved in front of a computer screen 10+ hours a day. I had to prove to him, the world, my parents, and mainly myself that I was capable of greatness. That I had the potential to step out in faith, and achieve something like this with some courage like the old Liv.

“We’ve done everything in the gym we possibly coulda, baby. You’ve done everything. You need t’ believe in yourself like you were always tellin’ me. I’ll be there standin’ in that corner for you, I promise. And if ever you wanna cut it, just say the world ‘n we’ll walk outta there first round. You can do this, 2-1. Clear eyes, remember?”

“Thank you, Colton. For being the man that you are, and sticking with me through this even though we both know you hated the idea. And for all this God, it’s incredible, really. I’ve desperately needed some alone time with my guy.” I scooted to the front ledge of my chair, resting on the table to wink suggestively at the tantalizing specimen opposite my gazes.

“Calm ya’self, you dirty girl. I know wha’s goin’ on up in the head o’ yours. I got one more place I need to take you. Then, I can assure you…. I can really fuckin’ assure you, that I’m gonna get real good and close to every piece of your creamy skin under that dress.”

tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardyfanfiction #elizabeth olsen #tommy conlon #thegrind

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newstfionline · 6 years

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From moms to medical doctors, burnout is everywhere these days

By Jenny Rough, Washington Post, March 30, 2019

A common ailment is going around, and you probably know someone plagued by it. Caused in part by social media, the 24-hour news cycle and the pressure to check work email outside of office hours, it could hit you, too--especially if you don’t know how to nip it in the bud.

Burnout is everywhere.

Books are being published about it, high-powered medical groups are raising alarms and ordinary people are feeling it. A recent report from Harvard and Massachusetts medical organizations declared physician burnout a public health crisis. It pointed out the problem not only harms doctors but also patients.

“Burnout is associated with increasing medical errors,” the paper said.

Ninety-five percent of human resource leaders say burnout is sabotaging workplace retention, often because of overly heavy workloads, one survey found. Poor management contributes to the burnout epidemic.

“Organizations typically reward employees who are putting in longer hours and replace workers who aren’t taking on an increased workload, which is a systematic problem that causes burnout in the first place,” says Dan Schawbel, research director of Future Workplace, the firm that conducted the survey along with Kronos.

“Mommy Burnout,” a book published last year by psychologist Sheryl Ziegler, resonated with women who had run themselves into the ground trying to be super mom (and dads made it clear they were burned out, too).

A new book, “Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle,” by sisters Emily Nagoski (a health educator) and Amelia Nagoski (a choral conductor who was hospitalized for burnout) aims to help women, in particular, live a more balanced life.

Burnout is a term easily tossed around, the way somebody might claim to be starving when they’re simply hungry, or freezing when cold. That’s harmless if a person is describing a tired day or week. But somebody who is actually burned out should be prepared to take serious action because it’s a condition that needs attention.

Amelia Nagoski was juggling the demands of a doctoral program when she experienced such severe abdominal pain she was hospitalized. Doctors concluded it was “just stress” and told her to relax. Turns out, she had stress-induced inflammation from burnout.

Ziegler defines burnout as “chronic stress gone awry.” The big three symptoms are emotional exhaustion, cynicism and feeling ineffective, according to the Maslach Burnout Inventory (MBI), a survey designed to measure employee burnout in the workforce. Other symptoms can include frequent colds or sicknesses, insomnia and a tendency to alleviate stress in unhealthy ways, such as with too much alcohol or online shopping.

Part of the difficulty of pinpointing true burnout may be because burnout is a nonmedical term--at least in the United States. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders doesn’t list it as an illness. But other countries including France, Denmark and Sweden, do recognize burnout syndrome and consider it to be a legitimate reason to take a sick day from work.

“Everybody intuitively recognizes what burnout feels like in their bodies and their feelings and their thoughts,” Emily Nagoski says. “It’s like art: You know it when you see it.”

Even without an official diagnosis--or agreed upon definition--American researchers have studied burnout for decades. Psychologist Herbert Freudenberger popularized the term in the 1970s, basing it on his work with drug addicts where he witnessed their veins burn out from needle injections and their cigarettes burn down. Soon after, psychologist Christina Maslach developed the MBI.

Burnout is caused by chronic stress, not stressors, the Nagoskis say in their book. It’s important to differentiate the two. Stressors are external: to-do lists, financial problems or anxiety about the future. Stress, on the other hand, “is the neurological and physiological shift that happens in your body when you encounter [stressors],” the Nagoskis write.

To fix burnout, people need to address the stress itself. They must allow their body to complete its stress response cycle. Instead, people tend to focus on stressors. “They assume their stress will go away if they’re on top of things, if they’re accomplishing things and constantly checking things off their to-do list,” Emily Nagoski says.

That’s a lesson Paula Davis-Laack learned the hard way.

Davis-Laack practiced commercial real estate law before the Great Recession of the late 2000s. The fast-paced environment gave her a constant adrenaline high as she closed deals and kept so busy that she barely left time to grab a handful of peanuts for lunch. Her frequent headaches, stomach aches and colds threatened to drag her down, but no doctor could give her a diagnosis.

One day, drafting a document in her office, she says she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She bolted out of her chair and raced to a nearby health clinic. “Help me!” she gasped. She was having a panic attack. After two more medical crises landed her in the emergency room, she feared a mental or physical collapse if she kept going. She decided to walk away from the law.

“It was like a 50,000-pound weight lifted off my shoulders,” she says.

Still unsure of what was wrong, she poked around the Internet doing research of her own when she came across information on burnout. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, this is exactly what happened to me!’ “

Davis-Laack traces the beginning of her burnout back to her teenage years.

“There were a lot of messages to be a high achiever,” she says. “Those check-the-box matrix measurements were important to me. I internalized them.”

The messages took an even stronger hold once she started working.

She returned to graduate school to study well-being, the effects of stress and their effect on the workplace. In 2013, she opened the Davis Laack Stress & Resilience Institute in Wisconsin. She now teaches workshops on burnout.

For those who suspect they might be on the road to burnout, there are practical tools to mitigate it. Among others: physical exercise, sleep and positive social connection (the real kind, not the Facebook kind). The importance of balance and self-care to prevent burnout likely isn’t surprising to most.

“There’s nothing fancy about what it would take to turn things around,” says Ziegler, the “Mommy Burnout” author. “But it’s a huge shift in the cultural mind-set. That’s the challenge.”

Plus, fixing burnout can feel like adding more stressors. An employee who takes a lunch break in a park (time in nature reduces stress) might feel pressured to stay late at the end of the day. A yoga class or walk is another item to squeeze into the calendar. A mom can’t quit her parenting job. To address time-management issues, the Nagoskis provide work sheets in their book to help readers reprioritize activities. Ziegler suggests setting boundaries with social media. Use the Internet for help, such as ordering groceries, but limit scrolling to 10 minutes a day. Also, it’s okay to remove activities from the calendar (or quit them completely) so you can exercise.

Gender might play a role in burnout, too.

Researchers from the University of Montreal questioned 2,026 people, half women, in 63 different workplaces. Their work, published in the Annals of Work Exposure and Health, found that women reported higher levels of burnout.

One reason was because women have more work-and-family conflicts. The women’s rights movement was “supposed to give women choices,” Ziegler says. “Sounds awesome, but it became you need to do it all. You need to run your house and be the perfect wife and mom and work. The stress on women got higher.”

Other studies have shown that rates of burnout are more or less equal among genders, although males and females experience it differently. A study published in BMC Public Health showed that female physicians are susceptible to burnout from emotional exhaustion while male physicians to burnout because of cynicism.

Steven Manning remembers the night he realized he had become pessimistic about practicing medicine. One Wednesday at his family care practice in Williamston, N.C., he worked on electronic medical records well past 9 p.m. His wife and kids waited for him at home. He had seen about 30 patients that day but felt he hadn’t given a single one the highest level of care because the appointment times were too short. Yet the hospital and insurance companies kept pressuring him to see more patients a day, not fewer.

“I began to think, ‘I’m burned out. How did I get to this point? I don’t enjoy coming into work.’” It wasn’t too late to make a change. Within a year, Manning started a direct primary care practice, a model where patients pay a membership fee, negating the need for insurance billing. Without mounds of paperwork, he had time to do what he truly wanted: help patients.

“It brought back the joy of medicine I felt I was missing,” he says. “Before, I barely had time to address my patients’ diabetes, hypertension and heart failure, let alone spend time taking a mental and spiritual inventory.”

Now, he talks with patients about depression, anxiety and stress and notices many patients are burned out, especially mothers of young kids.

Lawyer and mom Anna Swain knows the feeling.

She poured her heart and soul into fixing the troubled lives of criminals who had messed up with drugs and violence only to wind up devastated when her hard work seemed pointless.

“I’d call my mom every day on my way home from the office crying,” she says. “I was either sad over a client who was having her third meth-addicted baby or crying over a shockingly rude email by opposing counsel.” When she added motherhood to the mix, her feelings of failure increased. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Nobody does with a first child.”

Burned out on “doing the next thing I was supposed to do to be a good girl and get ahead,” she knew she needed downtime, but she was afraid to take a step back from the hamster wheel. “Boredom goes against everything we’re told to do to succeed, achieve and be proactive,” Swain says. “Even when I clean the house, I think, ‘Well, I should take the opportunity to listen to a podcast. Maybe I can grow as a person.’ Honestly, I’d grow more if I chose to be in silence and let my mind wander.”

She tried it. Rocking her baby to sleep, she wanted to watch the TV series “Game of Thrones” or scroll through her phone. But she couldn’t. One wrong move--or the glow of a screen--would wake her baby up. At first, Swain felt angry and resentful at the lack of distractions, but the stillness gave her an opportunity to daydream. That opened the door to creativity.

“I started creating little poems and rhymes in my head. I felt exhilarated,” she says. Eventually, Swain wrote a children’s book. “I felt a sense of purpose again,” she says.

The Nagoskis agree that daydreaming during low-demand tasks, having a creative outlet and engaging with something larger are three more keys to preventing burnout. They suggest writing your own obituary to find out what is meaningful to you.

“It sounds dark,” Amelia Nagoski says. “But it makes you think about who you are and what’s important to you.”

Making space in our lives so we’re not so hurried and harried isn’t easy, especially in a culture that shames slow living, Amelia Nagoski says. Preventing burnout requires hard decisions. Everyone has the same amount of time in a day: 24 hours. To rest--whether with a walk, an extra hour of sleep or a talk with a friend--means something else drops off the schedule.

At first, you might panic that you’re not “accomplishing” something. But before long, you may notice you’ve moved farther away from a breaking point. Your downward spiral will change directions.

#burnout #stress

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devils-gatemedia · 6 years

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Stone Broken / Those Damn Crows Exeter Phoenix Tuesday 26th Feb 2019

“On a Tuesday”

Attracting bands to the far South West is never easy. A lack of venues, and the travelling distance, can make it challenging for promoters, so to find a week where three quality tours added Devon to their itineraries is unusual, but hugely gratifying. Early concerns that this might saturate the market proved unfounded when the doors opened and the Phoenix Theatre quickly filled… even the posh seats up in the balcony.

Unfortunately, the three band bill was reduced to two even before those doors opened as “Everyday Heroes” had to pull out at the (very) last minute. Patience was a virtue, as the fast-growing crowd simply refilled on more beer and took their places for Those Damn Crows, who would have the bigger than usual challenge on this tour, playing to a cold audience. Well, that process took about three notes! They simply launched into a blistering set with immense energy (and no small amount of humour and camaraderie), and the crowd were in the palms of their hands. Opening with “Don’t Give A Damn” on an odd stage layout (Ian “Shiner” Thomas ended up as “Billy No Mates”, hidden from the rest of the band by Ronnie Huxford’s drums), they absolutely blitzed through their set. At the end of that first number, I looked back from the pit at my partner, who simply mouthed “Wow!”

“Long Time Dead”, “Someone Someday” (with a glorious segue into Pinball Wizard”), “Fear Of The Broken”, and “Behind These Walls” made up the core attack. Twin guitarists Thomas and Winchurch don’t hog the limelight visually, just providing a huge soundscape, but to be honest, their chances of displacing Lloyd Wood on bass and the effervescent Shane Greenhall on vocals from the spotlight would be non-existent. Shane is everywhere. His voice is note perfect and powerful, and the twinkle in his eye constant, whilst Wood is usually in the vicinity with hair flying and a ready pose for the camera. The final third of the set shows just how far the Welshmen can go. “Blink Of An Eye” is genuinely one of the best songs produced by ANY New Wave of Classic Rock band playing. In fact, it is one of my favourite songs, full stop. Lyrically, it is thought-provoking. Played acoustically, it can stir all the feels. Tonight, played loud and to a crowd that were being totally won over, it is an anthem that I found myself singing at the top of my voice along with just about every other soul present. It is followed by “Breakaway”, another cracking crowd-pleaser and then, not allowing time to draw breath, they close with another anthem, “Rock And Roll Ain’t Dead”. Before the gig, I had Those Damn Crows marked as a band to watch, who were capable of something special. After it? The sky really is the limit with the right nurturing and exposure.

Stone Broken are on the trajectory that TDC could achieve. A headline appearance at last year’s Steelhouse Festival allowed them to develop a full set and start to incorporate changes in pace and emotion. Tours in the States and Europe have allowed them to sharpen the act even further, and tonight the sheer professionalism of the show is a step up from most of their peers. The stage is bare. Amps are hidden behind branding banners which sandwich the drums. There are no monitors either. Two ego risers continue the branding, as does a huge banner at the back of the stage.

“Stay all Night” opens the set. You know what you are going to get musically from Stone Broken, and they don’t disappoint. Rich; centre stage, diminutive in stature, but huge in presence. Chris and Kieron flanking him; Chris pulling off every pose in the playbook whilst making the art of lead guitar look effortless, and Kieron slightly more subdued, but providing the freedom for Chris and Rich to enjoy as he holds the sound together with punchy bass. Behind them, the sheer joy on the face of Robyn Haycock, as she appears to be living out every kid’s childhood fantasy when they ask their parents for drums for Christmas, is infectious. “Doesn’t Matter”, “Heartbeat Away”, “Better”, and “Let Me Go” comprise the early part of the set, before Rich takes some time to chat to the crowd.

Thanking them for coming out midweek, someone shouts out, “On A Tuesday!”, and it becomes a running joke throughout the whole set. If I had one (very minor) criticism of Stone Broken, it would be that the professionalism of the show is so tight that, at times, they seem to forget to have fun. The moments that Rich spends with the crowd show the band as they are, and I would like to see a little more of that creep back in. Post chat, we fly through “Home” and “The Only Thing I Need” before Rich brings out one of those changes in emotion to perform “Anyone” on the piano. In another moment of humour, he finishes the intro and steps back, taking a breath to sing, and the audience take the moment of silence to give a rousing cheer as comment to his keyboard skills. It visibly takes him by surprise, and his reaction is delightfully human and humble.

“I Believe” leads into a drum solo, and whilst I normally find them exercises in ego, Robyn gets it just right, both in terms of timing (keeping it brief but VERY engaging) and skill (boy, can she play that kit!). “Let Me See It All” and “Just A Memory” take us into my (and most of the crowd’s, it would appear) favourite Stone Broken song; “Worth Fighting For”.

There is a brief break before Rich returns alone for another of those “light and shade” changes in pace and emotion. Accompanying himself on acoustic guitar for “Wait For You”, his voice is probably at its most raw and soulful, and you can hear a pin drop before he invites the crowd to join him. The rest of the band join him and bring a crashing end to the song before they ramp the pace and energy up one last time for “Not Your Enemy”.

As always, the fans are at the centre of both bands thoughts, and it is almost impossible to leave the auditorium due to the scrum already forming to meet the guys and get various souvenirs and mementos signed. Something always good to see, and something I hope that both bands, as they continue their rise to the top, never leave behind.

Review and Photos: Rob Wilkins

Live Review: Stone Broken/Those Damn Crows – Exeter Stone Broken / Those Damn Crows Exeter Phoenix Tuesday 26th Feb 2019 “On a Tuesday” Attracting bands to the far South West is never easy.

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