#those you’ve known plays on loop in my head 24/7

[oatmite]

you’re in their dms but they’ll walk on my arm through the distant night and i won’t let them stray from my heart through the wind through the dark through the winter light i will read all their dreams to the stars

[caltropspress]

FEEDBACK LOOP #14: Voodoo Macbeth: Armand Hammer's "Windbreaker"

…Each new morn / New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows / Strike heaven on the face…

—Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Macbeth (1623)

They use me wrong, so I sing this song to this day.

—Nas, “I Gave You Power” (1996)

1.

Once upon a time, woods “had a gun once.” “Windbreaker” is woods’ adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedie Macbeth. Stories retold and resold—twice the first time, like Saul Williams once said. Not until you’ve listened to Rakim on a rocky mountaintop have you heard hip-hop. And not until you’ve staged Shakespeare in a sludge-slicked 150th Street Harlem sewer have you heard hip-hop either. A young Orson Welles directed what became known as Voodoo Macbeth on behalf of the WPA’s Federal Theatre Project in 1936. Featuring a full African-American cast, the play took place in a quasi-Haitian setting complete with tropical-cum-skeletal stage design—palm fronds and bone altars. We live in Storyville where the population density reaches hypersensitive levels and the murder police can’t keep up with the homicides. (Meanwhile, the Second Witch busies herself with “Killing swine” [1.3.2] in Macbeth.) We’ve been here before, before. Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story” (1988) told us to bite our tongues, that this ain’t funny so don’t you dare laugh, it’s just another case about the wrong path. He warned, in a playful and pajamaed manner: “Straight and narrow or your soul gets cast.”

2.

“Windbreaker” is a [re]mixture in the witches/bitches brew of Nas’s “I Gave You Power” (1996), too. The power, you could guess, is a wily one capable of possession. “Possession” in a legal sense—nine-tenths of the law and so forth; possession of a firearm [see: S. Carter, B. Sigel, Shyne, et al.]—but also the possession the gun holds over its owner. Those finding themselves possessed by the gun—a weapon which “made you buckwild,” in Nas’s terms—should brace for berserk behavior modifications. We can splice together epileptic seizures and Santería and call it spirit possession just the same. The possession is pervasive—everywhere. The ubiquity of guns in the collective imagination takes up serious real estate—we’re talkin’ eminent domain land grabs—and Nas’s psyche is no exception:

I was around a lot of guns then. Guns were in my sleep, in my car, in my home. Guns were on my person, guns were on my friends. That’s how much they were around. There was so much around me that I rapped about it. It’s crazy to think about that today, but it was my reality. It was in my head 24/7.

“Windbreaker” functions as an exorcism of that exact sentiment.

3.  RECKLESS WHAT

Blow wind! Come wrack!

—Shakespeare, Macbeth (5.5.58)

The wind forebodes. woods gets handed the gun “late night, right on the porch,” and it must be windbreaker weather. woods’ jacket rustles in the gusts. “I’ll give thee a wind” (1.3.12), the Second Witch says to the First, and the “wind” she refers to is what the witches bestow upon each other to exact revenge. woods, though, breaks their wind (true to the song’s title and his heroic epithet, likely). He’s not susceptible to their marshy shufflings, their murky hells. He “speak[s] things strange” (1.2.52-53), as Lennox says of the worthy Thane of Ross.

But the winds are everywhere (like guns)—they be blowin’ like Maceo Parker in a buhloone mindstate. They blow the horrid deed in every eye and “tears shall drown the wind” (1.7.24-25). Word to the RZA and Wendy Rene: after the laughter comes the tearz. But the winds swirl and cyclone and gyre skyward. woods, “like a naked newborn babe,” survives by “Striding the blast” (1.7.21-22) as a cherubim might, riding the breeze. He’s Kong learning to stop worrying and love da bomb. He straddles and hoots and hollers from the hydrogen missile. A hard acid reign’s a-gonna fall [RIP to Gajah].

Of Macbeth’s poor murderers, the second says: “I am one… / Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world / Hath so incensed that I am reckless what / I do to spite the world” (3.1.121-124). Shakespeare knows the sway of poverty over moral decisions, like the Apothecary in Romeo and Juliet whose “poverty, but not [his] will consents” to selling illegal, poisonous drugs to Romeo. woods gets beat back by the gale-force winds, but he bests those “buffets of the world.” Everything’s for sale except for the Beaufort scale.

4.  YO-HO-HO

The gun, in the case of “Windbreaker,” is equivalent to Robert Louis Stevenson’s Black Spot. That is to say, the song isn’t so much a billy woods metanarrative as a twice-told tale of Billy Bones in Treasure Island (1883). Passed from pirate to pirate, the Black Spot is a black-sided death sentencing, a Last Judgment on a scrap of paper. Biblical bad luck. A Book of Revelation back-page pressed into a fist. Maritime connotations aside, the Black Spot signals that it’s marring time, so make yourself scarce or knuckle up.

woods claims to have only had the gun “for about a month,” and he was none too keen on keeping it. The gun, we assume, had traveled many travails and trials, tribulations too; that it had “been in the hands of mad thugs,” as Nas puts it. Mad meaning “many” but also “crazed” and “deranged.” Mad like diaries maintained by gravediggaz. Pick, sickle, and shovel-wielding men. The gun, the “brandished steel, / Which smoked with bloody execution” (1.2.19-20) is bequeathed to woods as it was to so many others. Less a gift than a curse. “Sick of the blood,” Nas-as-gun raps, “Sick of wrath of the next man’s grudge.” This gun—like any gun, perhaps—is one that harbors a self-consciousness. Maybe it is the guns that kill people, personified with malevolence [male violence].

Unlike countless others, woods doesn’t choose to use the gun to cement his masculinity. As Macbeth tells his wife, woods is already man enough, and “who dares do more is none” (1.7.52)—a negation of that manhood. Overkill, let’s call it. Mac daddies and MAC-10s: Nas is like the phallocentric Asian, half-man, half-guns blazing. “The barrel’s my dick,” he explains, “Uncircumcised, pull my skin back and cock me.” Macbeth, meanwhile, questions his hallucinating senses, “Is this a dagger which I see before me, / The handle toward my hand?” (2.2.44-45). The blade is bloody, possibly with menses, yet he still grapples for control: “Come, let me clutch / thee” (2.2.45-46). In doing so, he’s giving mics menstrual cycles. “The game is so irresistible to touch,” LL Cool J once said of the mic phallus, “You should see me when fiendin’ for microphones that I can clutch.” 

In a letter to his wife, Macbeth writes that he “stood rapt in wonder” (1.5.6), explaining what he witnessed held him in thrall. On the porch, billy woods is likewise “rapt withal” (1.3.60). Banquo knows “instruments of darkness tell us truths” (1.3.136). But woods is “too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness” (1.5.17) to use the gun; he doesn’t have “slaughterous thoughts” (5.5.16). And even if he does, his ignorance and mystification prevent him from reaching for the strap.

5.

A dagger of the mind, a false creation…

—Macbeth (2.2.50) 

The story told in “Windbreaker” raises questions of realities and false narratives, actual fears and imagined ones, authenticity and authorship—in short, the friction that exists between fiction and figment. woods mixes up the simulacra of hyperreality like the guy Quelle Chris knew on “PSA Drugfest 2003” that “mix[ed] up a spliff like witches with newt eye.” We’re pulled in by woods’ first-person point-of-view (“I had a gun once,” followed by a proliferation of Is) but put off by his reluctance to divulge the details. He bleep censors the name of who he “got it from.” By doing so, he protects the innocent, the guilty, and every gradation of conscience in between. The unidentified person who gives him the gun could be a peer, an elder, a mentor, a bad influence, or some combination thereof. Regardless, the nameless and faceless figure—a mysterious character, if we choose to lean into the fictitious realm—“showed [woods] how to load it” in the “same place [he] showed [woods] how to roll a blunt,” linking two illicit activities, both requiring punctilious attention to detail. Of gats and ganja; of heat and hemp. 

woods demonstrates the blurry border between fact and fiction in the scene details. The gun is handed off clandestinely under the cover of “late night,” yet the location (“right on the porch”) is indiscreet. This doubling (call it down-low and out-front) plays out anadiplotically when woods says, “[They] was speaking soft, / Soft pack of ’ports.” The sibilance of “speaking soft” suggests secrecy (if worse come to worse keep this on the hush, Lil’ Cease might say), but the point-blank alliteration of “pack of ’ports” sounds like when your guns go pow-pow (word to Big L). Furthermore, the soft pack of stoges—though its connotation implies silence—has a plastic wrapping that crinkles like a windbreaker, attracting unwanted attention.

6.

The gun given to woods is far from perfect, in fact, the weapon is “scratched and marred where the numbers was filed.” Like the bleep censors, the redaction of the serial number safeguards against snitching. But, as the pattern of the one-verse song shows, that which is criminal is liminal. Those defaced numbers, well, “you could still see ’em.” One thinks of Macbeth’s dagger cloaked in hemoglobin: “...on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood” (2.1.58). One remembers Nas’s encounter with “a wrecked-up TEC with numbers on his chest that say: / 5-2-O-9-3-8-5 and zero.” The TEC yearns to confess, “hoping one day police would place where he came from, / A name or some sort of person to claim him.” But with his “serial defaced,” the TEC shares the same fate as Lady Macbeth: beyond saving. Just as doctors can’t “raze out the written troubles of [Lady Macbeth’s] brain” (5.3.52), so too can’t you resurface a scratched-off serial number. 

To include bleeped names and scratched-off serial numbers is to engage in a sort of scriptorium subterfuge. Historically, we’ve seen this in novels, as John Barth explained in “Lost in the Funhouse” (1967): “Initials, blanks, or both were often substituted for proper names in nineteenth-century fiction to enhance the illusion of reality. It is as if the author felt it necessary to delete the names for reasons of tact or legal liability. Interestingly, as with other aspects of realism, it is an illusion that is being enhanced, by purely artificial means.”

Uncertainty abounds. woods can’t even accurately identify the weapon he’s handed: “.38, .22—I’m not even sure.” It could just as well be Nas’s Desert Eagle, a “semi-auto with lead.” These redactions, this unknowingness, inevitably leads to confusion. One must forgo epistemic approaches and settle for feels. Nas’s aforementioned Desert Eagle, as an example, measures at “seven inches” and weighs “four pounds.”

7.

Emotional liftin’—please use the proper form: / Bend at the knee.

—“spongebob” (2019)

But little and heavy as a dead child. The game is the game, but the gravity of the situation increases with woods’ somber simile. That uzi, or .38, or .22— weighs a ton. But it’s the emotional weight that’s so exhausting. “Windbreaker” opens with a bevy of words with short-u sounds—words with heft, words that carry bend-at-the-knee weight: gun | once | month | blunt. A significant weight, like Biggie’s ubiquitous uh adlibs. woods throws haymakers, heaves shots. By all accounts, he’s acting “wild truculent” (as Breeze Brewin once said on “Weight” by the Indelible MC’s). woods holds the gun with “Macbeth hands,” a phrase he drops on Armand Hammer’s “Duppy.” Macbeth speaks of “dread exploits” (4.1.164), and woods works in dread[ed] talk (s/o to Velma Pollard), that Iyaric, a protest language and flexi lexicon, to ward off the weight of what violence he might have the capacity to engage in.

You show loyalty; they learn loyalty. But Macbeth disregards the value of his commander Banquo even after leading Duncan’s army alongside him. He keeps the plot to murder Banquo “from the common eye” for “sundry weighty reasons” (3.1.141-142), most of which are purely practical. The Thane of Cawdor doesn’t consider the guilty conscience he’ll have to carry. He doesn’t contemplate “that perilous stuff / Which weighs upon the heart” (5.3.54-55). woods does.

On “Heavy Water” (emphasis on the heavy—we’re talking some brine pool shit), woods told us “the play-within-the-play was G. Dep as Macbeth,” and thus hands us a key. G. Dep, who confessed to killing an innocent man seventeen years after the fact, couldn’t function under the weight of what he’d done. “I didn’t feel free and clear,” he said from prison where he’s serving 15-to-life. “Everyday I was faced with this memory, with this heinous act, that didn’t really have to happen….I had to do what I had to do to get that burden off my chest.” That burden off his chest. “Burden” from the Old English byrðen, meaning “load, weight” but also “a child.” (But little and heavy as a dead child.)

G. Dep endeavored to lift the weight off his chest, but woods prefers to hide the weight in a chest. woods secretes the gun—and his shame at even accepting it—in various places, all of which prove porous. He “had it hid under bed”—those deadweight d’s burying any misdeed deeply—but he “couldn’t sleep” like some Princess and the Piece. He’s a sensitive soul, feeling it penetrate his back leaving him black and blue all over his body. Mattress upon mattress upon mattress, and he still felt its presence. No quitter, woods seeks other unseen spots—ahem, hiding places—like “in the shed, somewhere Moms couldn’t reach.” I was made to kill, Nas rapped, and “that’s why they keep [the gun] concealed.” Nas tried to squeeze “under car seats” and sneak into clubs. By verse three of “I Gave You Power,” he’s “still stuck in the shelf with all the things that an outlaw hides.” As we see, any attempts at avoidance are mostly ineffective.

8.  THE WEÏRD TURN PRO

woods is unsettled. Who can make sense of machine gun etiquette? The man feels damned. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” he raps, noticing “both shoulders had demons.” Can’t brush ’em off. As Macbeth says, “Cannot be ill, cannot be good” (1.3.144). Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. (5.1.37). But the spot is blown, and Lady Macbeth can’t do a damn thing about it. She can try to sound like Biz Markie as much as she wants (“...a one-two, a one-two…”); she can make like Special Ed and fetch the Cascade, but there’s no getting those red stains off her hands.

“I was scared,” woods tells us, “’cause [redacted] heard [redacted] was tryna rob me.” But even self-defense shuffles closer to self-destruction. “I was more scared,” he explains, “when I took the gun, to be honest.” He fears both the threat on his person and the weapon intended to ward off any such maneuvers. He feels stuck: “By then, too late to say I didn’t want it.” We can assume his “dome was aching” like the man in Nas’s song who reaches for the gun, finally. woods “walked home in the darkness,” in his frantic thoughts. Somewhere along his route he was detained by “three witches on the marshes.” 

Rewind back to the beginning of the song. “And I know it better than before,” Fielded sings, “they want me to notice—even out the score.” Fielded becomes all three Weïrd Sisters in one: she turns to they. For weïrd read “fateful.” Depending on which Shakespeare folio you’re flipping through, the word is also spelled weyward and weyard. They all come from the Scottish form of wyrd, though—the Old English word for fate. The Weïrd Sisters, or witches, are tied up in some real Hussein Fatal/Fatal Hussein business. I’m pretty sure that I won’t be ready when they come through that door, Fielded sings with “the syllable of dolor” (4.3.9), evoking the lurking evil, the looming dread, that woods experiences. Fielded—whose stage-name is near-synonymous with the marshes and heaths on which the witches appear—sings of seething vengeance (“even out the score”) and simmering nervousness (“I got somebody coming for me in the night”).

Fielded, in their role as the Weïrd Sisters, is warmer to woods than Macbeth’s encounter with the witches. Fielded warns him, it sounds like, not to cross them. In an evasive move, woods goes metaphorical. He feels like a “dinosaur in the tar pit.” He marks sharks as “all cartilage.” (The witches include “maw and gulf / Of the ravaged salt-sea shark” [4.1.24-25] in their cauldron ingredients, by the way.) Sharks for woods; scorpions for Shakes. “O, full of scorpions is my mind” (3.2.41), Macbeth moans. woods feels his “blood cold as the water is,” while Macbeth looks to the “multitudinous seas incarnadine” (2.2.80), meaning the ocean turns blood-red. The arrival of Banquo’s ghost at dinner is likened to the approach of “the rugged Russian bear, / The armed rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger (3.4.122-123). Bears, rhinos, sharks, scorpions, and tigers…oh my!

9.  SLUMB’RY AGITATION

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, / And yet I would not sleep…

—Banquo, Macbeth (2.1.8-9)

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair” (1.1.12-13), the witches say in unison. woods hovers through the fog and filthy air thinking, Fuck a fair one—I get mine the fast way, like Biggie on the “Flava in Ya Ear” remix from ’94. On “Halloween Fell on a Weekend,” woods was talkin’ witchy: “Fair is foul, / Awkward smile.” Nas, for the record, noted how the intrusive gun thoughts were “making every ghetto foul.”

But what’s really foul and utterly unfair—a flagrant foul, a Flagrant 2—is the sleep troubles. “I slept with no dreams,” woods raps. But his dreamless sleep is more of an insomnia. “Methought I heard a voice cry, ‘Sleep no more!” Macbeth says, turning over in the sheets to speak to himself in the third-person, “‘Macbeth does murder sleep’” (2.2.47-48). woods looks a ghost now, a somnolent wanderer: “Asleep on my feet, / Awake when niggas sleep.” The repetition of sleep at the start of one clause and at the end of the next signals the circularity of the story being told. 

We can’t help but summon Nas’s “cousin of death.” And Macduff refers to “downy sleep” as “death’s counterfeit” (2.3.88). woods is restless, “tempest-tossed” (1.3.26), enduring the night where “wicked dreams abuse / The curtained sleep (2.1.62-63). “Headlights splashed the curtains,” woods raps, and instead of sheep he’s “counting every car passin’ in the street.” He may as well be midnight marauding like Lady Macbeth with a taper. When the Doctor notes that Lady Macbeth’s “eyes are open,” the Gentlewoman clarifies that “their sense are shut” (5.1.26-27). Nas, Queensbridge-bred, opens his penthouse lids to “see some cold nights and bloody days.” If only Lady Macbeth had been as alert as Nasir Jones or billy woods.

10.  BLACK MACBETH WILL SEEM AS PURE AS SNOW

The gun, which was described as “little and heavy as a dead child” (G. Dep’s debut was called Child of the Ghetto, as fate would have it), returns to haunt us at the end of “Windbreaker.” The baby image, in Shakespeare’s terms, becomes “doubly redoubled” (1.2.42). When the hurly-burly’s done, it’s the kids who suffer. A generational pain that folds back in on itself. An inheritance of the horrific. Look around: dead babies are everywhere.

Ross speaks of Macduff’s murdered household where he discovered “babes / Savagely slaughtered” (4.3.240-241). Nas delivers a choral ode about how he, as gun, “might have took your first child.” Slick Rick rapped of “a little boy who was misled.” That boy found himself in a woods-like dilemma, calculating the consequences: I’ll do years if I pull this trigger. If not a corporeal death, a death of the spirit. 

The Weïrd Sisters promise Banquo that he’ll father kings—bank on it, they say. And so Macbeth fears Banquo’s children will be the future kings of Scotland, usurping his throne. Macbeth decides: Banquo’s gotta go. Not only his brethren-in-arms, but Banquo’s son Fleance, too. Fleance “must embrace the fate / Of that dark hour” (3.1.156-157), Macbeth determines, all in order to assure his place on the throne. When Macbeth ambushes Banquo in Act 3, Scene 3, Banquo implores his son to “fly, fly, fly” (3.3.25)—he tells him to supa fly, to supa dupa fly. To be fresh, wild, and bold, too—like the Cold Crush would advise.

woods, as Banquo, is drawn into a terminal life, a posthumous life, when he is given the gun. That hand-off arranges his end. “Banquo when I think of my kids,” he raps. “Banquo when I kiss my son in his crib.” This is the Fleance farewell. But woods is unwilling to go the way of Banquo. He doesn’t only want to save his son—he wants to save himself. “Stunningly,” Nas says, “tears fall down the eyes of these so-called tough guys.” woods rebuffs the “heavy as a dead child” gun. The only weight he wishes to feel is his son asleep in his arms.

11.  THE WOOD[S] OF BIRNAM

It felt wrong knowing niggas is waiting in Hell for him.

—Nas, “I Gave You Power”

“Here’s a knocking indeed!” remarks the Porter in Act 3, Scene 1. He considers the vocation of “porter of hell gate” and mocks the incessant knocking: “Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, i’ / th’ name of Beelzebub?” (3.1.1-4). Careful what you ask for and be wary of the knocks you answer to. woods can knock the hustle. He’s none-too-anxious to join the mobb of “murd’ring ministers” (1.5.55) we hear about in the Scottish play or Track 4 on It Was Written. Still woods, eventually, commits to composing a kind of murda muzik—equally bloodletting and bloodshedding in its emotional registers and range. “[T]he blood-boltered Banquo smiles” (4.1.138) knowing he’s secured futures for his kids. He rests easy. It’s presupposed that the gun gives power, but on “Windbreaker” we learn that the weapon deprives us of power, leaving us with nothing to pass on but the curse.

Images:

Photograph of the Nat Karson design used to create the backdrop for the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem, 1936 (detail) | Opening of the Federal Theater Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem (1936) | Winslow Homer, Hurricane, Bahamas (1898) | Andy Warhol, Gun, black, white, and red on pink (c. 1981-82) | Ravi Zupa, Mightier Than Guns sculpture series, disassembled typewriter, stapler, and scrap metal (c. 2016) | G. Dep, Child of the Ghetto album cover, 2001 (detail) | “Macbeth visits the Weird Sisters (Three Witches) on the blasted heath,” title page by John Gilbert for an edition of Shakespeare’s works (1858–60) | Canada Lee as Banquo in the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem (1936) | Photograph of the Nat Karson design used to create the backdrop for the Federal Theatre Project production of Macbeth at the Lafayette Theatre, Harlem, 1936 (detail)

[sorrelchestnut]

EVERYBODY’S PICKIN’ UP ON THAT FELINE BEAT, PART 37

holy shit I finished a scene.  We’re really close to the end now, y’all.  That being said: this definitely ends on a cliffhanger.  Fair warning.

Part 1.  Part 2.  Part 3.  Part 4.  Part 5.  Part 6.  Part 7.  Part 8.  Part 9.  Part 10.  Part 11. Part 12.  Part 13.  Part 14.  Part 15.  Part 16.  Part 17.  Part 18.  Part 19. Part 20.  Part 21.  Part 22. Part 23. Part 24. Part 25. Part 26.  Part 27. Part 28. Part 29. Part 30. Part 31. Part 32. Part 33.  Part 34. Part 35. Part 36.

Title: everybody’s picking up on that feline beat Author: Sorrel Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: None Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor Series: Part 3 of everybody wants to be a cat

Coffee helps; fresh air and sunshine helps more.  For someone who spends a significant majority of her life inside, underground, nocturnal, and/or just generally skulking around in the shadows, Whisper can be surprisingly solar-powered at times.  By the time they're over the river she's in almost obnoxiously high spirits, singing "Anything Goes" in a squeaky falsetto that makes him think longingly of the roll of duct tape in his pack.

"The world has gone mad today, and good's bad today, and black's white today, and day's night today-"

"Whisper, I swear to God-"

"And that gent today you gave a cent today once had sev-er-al chateaus!"

"Alright, Cole Porter, that's enough."  She grins wider and opens her mouth, and he hastily slaps a hand over it before she can start the next verse.  "No."

Her lips tickle against his palm as she grumbles, "You're no fun."

"What, because I like living?  You're going to bring down every raider in the greater Boston area, the way you're caterwaul- ow!  Fuck!"

She tucks her thumbs in the straps of her pack and gives him a cheerful, empty-headed smile, showing off the pearly white teeth she just sunk into the base of his thumb.  "Talk shit, get hit."

"Jesus, you're aggressive."  He studies his hand but doesn't find any sign of bleeding, just a neat row of stark white tooth marks rapidly flushing back pink.  "Whatever happened to licking my hand to gross me out?"

"Sometimes I can really tell you were an only child," she informs him, shaking her head faux-mournfully.  "You gotta go big or go home, that's my motto."

"Good thing we're going home, isn't it?"  When she squints at him, he smiles sunnily and holds his injured hand a couple inches above her head.  "I mean, 'big' isn't exactly your strong suit, so..."

She launches herself at him with a war cry.

Bickering aside, they straighten up when they come into sight of Diamond City, falling into character as a pair of road-weary mercenaries coming off an all-night hike and desperate for a shower and some sleep.  (Which, to be fair, isn't that far off from the truth, all things considered.)  They're both in costume already, not that that took long.  All Whisper had to do was slick back her hair and throw on a pair of sunglasses and hey presto: Olivia Bailey, ruins-rover extraordinaire.  Next to her all Deacon has to do is look suitably grizzled and road-weary, so he pretty much just tossed the least-disgusting raider's jacket on over his travel clothes and smeared some dust artistically through his stubble and called it a goddamn day.

It certainly works well enough on the second-shift gate guard, a pockmarked woman with nicotine stains on her fingers.  She waves them through with a disinterested nod, already going back to her book before they even clear the gate.  Deacon squashes down the contrary impulse to make some kind of scene and just nods back, professional and cool, as he wraps an arm around Whisper's shoulder.  She gives him a little sideways look that says I know what you're doing but doesn't bother to pull away until they're in the tunnel.

Deacon looks around and then back to her, pointedly.  Whisper huffs a laugh.

"What now?"

"Nothing," he says, and waggles his eyebrows.  "It's just… here we are again.  Where it all started.  Back to the site of our fateful first meeting."

Her eyes narrow.  "Weren't you the one who said-"

"Mm, yeah, but I've had time to think about it, and I think you made a compelling point.  First contact is definitely the first one that counts."

"You just don't want to 'fess up on just how long you were following me around."

"Why, partner, I'm hurt that you would think of such a thing," he says, and moves swiftly on before she can call him on the obvious evasion.  "You know, you keep bringing me back here, I'm going to start thinking you've got a secret romantic streak."  She gives him a look.  "Very secret."

"That's me, all hearts and flowers," says quite the most ruthlessly practical woman Deacon's ever met.  "Besides, if I was going to start up with romantical remembrances at this late date, that wouldn't be the one I'd pick.  I was so sleep-deprived I'm lucky I remembered my own name."

"Couldn't tell to look at you," Deacon says, in massive understatement.  She was all easy swagger and magazine-cover grin, on her way to bigger and better things.  She sure as shit didn't look like she was running on the ragged edge of her endurance - but then, he knows better than most just how well she can lie with a smile.

She glances over at him as they break out of the tunnel, her gaze shrewd over the rim of her shades.  "You remember it pretty well, huh?"

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there.  "Your hair was longer," Deacon says, tweaking the end of one of her curls in a transparent bid for distraction.  "I remember that for sure."

"Well, yeah," she says, ducking neatly around a kid that seems really intent on wherever she's running.  "You told me to cut it."

"I did?"  He definitely doesn't remember that.  "When?"

"When we were prepping for the Covenant op.  You said blonde, I said I had to grab some bleach, and you gave me that 'oh honey' look you do when people are being particularly stupid and told me to just cut it off, you had a spare wig lying around someplace."

That does sound like him.  "And you just did it?" he says, because Whisper is a lot of things, but 'obedient' sure as shit isn't one of them.

"You were brandishing a knife when you said it," she admits.  "It seemed easier to give in than argue."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like him.  Especially then: that must've been, what, their first week together?  Back then everything was one long haze of exhaustion, staggering from one crisis to the next with barely enough time to take a shit.  Hauling her into the Covenant op was a desperation play, pure and simple: he needed backup, and anyone had to be better than Glory.  He hadn't known, then, what she could do with nothing more than a smile and a little room to work.

Though he figured it out pretty damn quick.

"I'd say it worked out," he says, and tweaks her dark hair again.  "You do make a fetching blonde."

She gives him a look over the tops of her shades, knowing and a bit amused.  "They do have more fun."

Aaaand now he's thinking about their first time, that silver dress pushed up around her thighs, blonde wig spilling across the mattress above her and blue eyes begging him in the dark.  He clears his throat.  "You want to go talk to Valentine?"

"In a bit," she says, and wraps her arm around his waist.  He automatically puts his arm around her in turn, and she leans her head on his shoulder, a picture-perfect image of a lovesick spouse.  "Need to make the rounds, hit up a few of the merchants first.  It'd be weird if I didn't."

"God forbid we look weird," he agrees, and laughs at her elbow in his stomach.

~*~

She does break off eventually, slips away to discuss things with Valentine and leaves him with a key and strict instructions to take care of dinner.  Deacon makes a quick loop of his own, touching base with the runners they placed last time and offloading some of their scav while he's at it.  Myrna's girl has been promoted to working the afternoon shift solo, and is more than happy to take a few extra minutes dickering in order to fill him in on the local gossip.  He rounds it off with a visit to the Dugout where the cocky one is still serving drinks - Deacon makes a note to collect the ten caps from Whisper later - and picks up some dinner to go on his way out.  Never let it be said he can't follow orders when it suits him.

He's setting out the plates when Whisper follows him in just a few minutes later with a slammed door and a cheerful, "Hallo the house!" from the far end of her little warehouse.

"Kitchen!" he calls back, and a moment later she appears, weaving her way through the stacked boxes and dropping a noticeably emptier pack on the floor by the stove.

"Need a hand?"

The food's pretty much done, so he tilts his head to the table with a hopeful, "Something to drink?"

"I've got just the thing," and she grabs her pack again, fishing around inside until she comes up with a couple bottles of Bobrov's homebrew.  "I tried to catch you at the Dugout but Vadim said you just left.  Good enough?"

"We-ell, everyone knows a dry white pairs best with seafood, but for day-old mirelurk I suppose it will just have to do."

"You're trying to ruin my appetite but it's not working," she informs him, nose in the air.  "I'm so hungry I'd eat a mirelurk raw."

He laughs and nudges in behind her as she turns to grab a bottle opener.  "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that.  You know it's only the best for my girl."

"Flatterer," she says, nothing in her voice now but laughter.  "You talk any sweeter, I'm gonna be forced to check those lips for honey."

"Aw, babe.  You say the - ha ha - sweetest things."  He buries his nose in the back of her neck and inhales.  "I get the cigarettes, but why do you smell like one of Tom's experiments?  Hot metal and burnt wiring," he clarifies, when she gives him a truly weird look.

"Oh, I stopped by Piper's after I talked to Nick," she says, all offhand as if she's not talking about the biggest gossip in the Commonwealth.

Deacon unpeels himself from her back and takes her by the shoulders.  "Whisper," he says, seriously.  "Do we need to have a conversation about operational security?  Because I feel like you may have been out that day."

"Oh, so you want her to come by and harangue me in person?  Because that is one hundred percent what she'd do if she heard I was in town and didn't go see her first."

Okay, so maybe she has a point.  The thought of Piper fucking Wright showing up at his door - well, Whisper's door, whatever - demanding to know his intentions toward her friend… Yeah, no.  That's gonna be a haaaard pass.

Whisper grins at him, the devil in her eyes.  He knows that look.  "Whisper-"

"Ohhhh, I see what this is about."

"Fear," he assures her, trying to head whatever this is off at the pass, "this is a very healthy and reasonable level of fear," but she's on her way to a punchline and won't be deterred.

"You're a fan!" she declares, over his groan of protest.  "Aww, sweetheart, why didn't you say something earlier?  I could totally arrange an introduction for you."

"Ahhh, no thanks," Deacon manages, through the bolt of terror that thought inspires.  "Little-known fact, spies are in fact allergic to reporters?  Like, clinically.  The hives are brutal."

She takes pity on him and gives way with a laugh, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.  "Don't worry, babe, I'll protect you."

"You're the best."

"And don't you forget it."  She pops open one of the bottles one-handed, handing it off to him with a cheery flourish.  "Besides, you don't wanna bitch too much about my girl Piper.  Her caps bought you this booze."

"I take it back, she's my new favorite person.  After your radiant self, of course."  He takes a swig and passes it back, enjoying the flush of boozy heat down through his chest as he turns back to the stove.  After a moment's consideration, he adds a couple extra tatos to the pan.  If they're drinking Bobrov's then he definitely wants to lay down a hearty base.  "Something interesting afoot?"

"Mhm?"

"Your payout from Wright.  Anything I should know about?"

She wobbles her flat hand side-to-side, a wordless eh.  "Not really.  Just a side project I've been working on."

Interesting.  It's not as if they tell each other everything they get up to - he certainly has any number of moving parts at any given moment she's not read in on, and this business with Hancock gave him a good idea about how much he doesn't know about her adventures - but the fun stuff, yeah, that's usually share and share alike.  Then again, maybe it's a leftover from her little enforced vacation back in August.  He's mostly kept his nose out of whatever she was up to those weeks in hopes she'll do him the same courtesy, so there's a gap in his intel.

"Very mysterious," he teases, nudging a little.  "C'mon, not even a hint for your faithful partner?"

She refuses to be nudged, only smiles faintly and hunches one shoulder into a lopsided shrug.  "You can read it in the paper tomorrow like everyone else."

"Way harsh."

"That's me, cruel and unusual."  She passes him back a plate with an absent kiss to his scruffy cheek.  "C'mon, quit fondling that pot holder and get me some supper.  I'm starving."

~*~

It's a good night, maybe the best he's had in a while.  Deacon sort of figured she'd be distracted, mind on her mission tomorrow, but instead it's the opposite: for the first time in what seems like weeks, he has her full and undivided attention, and he basks in it like winter sunshine.  They trade stories and quips, mostly things they've told each other a dozen times over but still fresh, still funny, still so much fun to watch her trying out a new spin, a new angle.  She's so fucking good at that, always has been.  Yet another thing Deacon never needed to teach her, but damn does he never get tired of watching her reinvent herself on the fly.

Deacon, for his part, finds himself mugging shamelessly for her attention, chasing her approval as fervently as any junkie he's ever pretended to be.  And unlike a junkie Deacon gets what he's craving in spades, because she's as generous with her smiles as she is with her stories, lounging back in her chair with her glass in her hand, thighs sprawled wide and her voice gone syrup-slow with that insinuating smirk that only ever spurs him on.

Later, he doesn't entirely remember how they end up in bed.  The booze turns everything smeary and soft-focus, like light coming in through a stained-glass window, and his memory preserves only a series of snapshots: pulling Whisper into his lap, her startled yelp of laughter muffled with his mouth.  Making out on the landing, one foot braced a step down to put him closer to her height, his fingers busy on her shirt buttons and hers on his belt buckle.  Tumbling into bed in a snarl of limbs, laughingly disentangling them until Whisper tugs him up over her in the dark.  Burying his face in the sweat-slicked curve of her neck as he works his cock inside of her, her blunt nails scoring lines down the length of his back and her heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him on.  The flicker of the candlelight playing across her lush mouth and her dark, shadowed eyes, her damp hair clinging to her forehead as she tosses her head back against the pillows.  The low breathy rasp of her voice, "Deacon," murmured against his ear, "Deacon, Deacon, please-"

And then when he wakes up, he's alone.

The radio downstairs is playing “The Wanderer,” and Deacon lies there for a moment, listening to the clatter of the rain against the windows, experiencing an overwhelming surge of deja vu.

Then he hauls himself out of bed, picks up his boots, and goes in search of his wayward accomplice.

Unlike last time, there's no pint-sized partner clattering around in the kitchen, cooking breakfast and dancing around like temptation on two legs.  The room is cool and dim, only the faint mid-morning sunshine straggling in through an upper window to light the way, and the only sign of habitation is the soft strains of the radio.  Deacon does a quick check in the warehouse section just in case - have the boxes been breeding back there? - but the only sign of life in here is him.  Most damningly of all, Whisper's pack is gone from the hook beside the door, leaving his looking lopsided next to the empty space where its partner used to be.

Do not project onto an inanimate object, Deacon my lad, he tells himself, and checks the counter next to the radio, where he previously saw a pad and a pencil half-buried under a precarious stack of ammo boxes.  Sure enough, there's a note there, torn loose from the pad and folded into thirds with John scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting that must belong to Liv.

She's just keeping cover, not stupid enough to write anything else out here in the open where anyone could walk in and see it, but Deacon still stares at it for a long moment, that single syllable knocking around somewhere at the bottom of his ribs.  Then he shakes his head at himself, reaches out, and unfolds the note.

hey handsome, you looked so peaceful i couldn't bring myself to wake you.  at least one of us should get to sleep in, and nick had me up with the sun.  (you know what he's like when he's on a case!)  shouldn't take long though, just a quick run down to goodneighbor and fingers crossed we'll be back by supper.  take care of my best guy while i'm gone.  xoxo, liv

The radio changes to “One More Tomorrow,” and Deacon glares at it as he folds up the note.  Reading between the breezy, heavily fictionalized lines, it's clear enough she decided to handle this Kellogg business solo.  Which is… fair enough, he supposes, but something about it doesn't sit square.  Did she think he would have told her no, if she asked him to stay put?  He thought he made it pretty clear the whole thing was hers to handle or not as she saw fit.  Or maybe she just thought it'd be too awkward, having him up in her business like that?  Maybe after their last op, she's about had her fill of personal.  He couldn't blame her if that's the case, but he hopes she knows the last thing he'd ever want to do is make things harder for her.

Well, there's not much he can do about it either way, not with her at least a few hours ahead of him, judging by the sun, and definitely not with her clear instruction to sit tight.  Waiting isn't much his favorite part and he didn't really plan to be hanging out in Diamond City all day, but Deacon's an adaptable fellow; he'll find a way to keep himself occupied.

The market is bustling at this hour of the morning, and Deacon lets the crowd carry him along, thinking vaguely about picking up some noodles for breakfast and then maybe having a wander around.  It's not great for his cover to spend so much time out and about on his own, but with the right sidelong look most people will probably assume she's sleeping off a wild night, which would be great for his ego, at least.  Besides, there's really no substitute for market gossip when it comes to keeping a pulse on the goings-on in the Commonwealth, which is what he plans to tell Dez if she gives him shit for the wasted day.  Not that she will, because if Deacon has his way she'll never hear about any of this, but he likes having a contingency plan in place.  Makes him feel all nice and comfy.

It's when he's looping around the counter in search of an open stool that he catches the familiar sound of Piper Junior hawking her wares at full volume.  Which is funny, 'cause by his calculation they're not due for another issue for at least a week.  Normally Piper's pretty regular with the print, except-

Deacon gets a sinking sensation in his chest.

-except when she has something too juicy to wait and damn it, Whisper, what the hell are you up to?

Normally the last place he wants to be is anywhere near someone named Wright, but since his partner has been up to shenanigans without bothering to inform him first, he figures that in this case 'better safe than sorry' means getting out ahead of whatever nonsense Whisper's been cooking up rather than running the other way.  He makes sure to pull his cap low over his eyes, hitches his pack higher on his shoulders, and sidles over towards the Public Occurrences like he just doesn't have anything better to do.

"Extra, extra, read all about it!  Minutemen General has the tell-all of the century!"

Oh, it's Minutemen business.  Geez, why didn't she just say so?  If she's running some propaganda job for Garvey, the last thing he'd want to do is get in her way.  It was obvious they needed something after the trip to the Slog the other week, and throwing Piper at the problem is probably the most efficient way to get the word out.  Half the damn Commonwealth reads her paper at some point or another, even if it's just so they can tell themselves how wrong she is.

Still, Whisper did tell him he'd find out today, so she probably expects him to read up on whatever it is.  He snatches a paper off the top of the stack and flips it over, scanning for the headline.

Woman out of Time: Savior of the Minutemen Tells All About Life Before the Bomb!

"-not the current General," Little Wright's saying, when Deacon manages to stop staring at the paper and drag his attention back to the real world.  "The first one, the one that retook the Cast- hey!"

Deacon finds the paper snatched right from his hands, a pint-sized version of a familiar glare beaming up at him.  "You gotta pay before you read," Little Wright informs him.  "We're not running a charity here!"

"Uh, right," says Deacon, who still feels like he's hearing everything underwater, slow-motion and echoing strangely.  "What's the deal with this General, then?"

"Didn'tcha see the headline?  She's from before the War!  Vault froze her in cryo, right here in the Commonwealth!"

Vault 111.  Oh, fuck.   Ohhhh fuck.

"So you gonna buy or just stand there and stare?"  Little Wright brandished the paper at him.  "Hot off the presses!  Only ten caps, and you can be the first to know!"

[tiffdawg]

50 Questions Tag

thank you for the tag @leo-moon !! this was really fun ☺️

1.) What color is your hairbrush?

teal but it’s basically defunct since quarantine.

2.) Name a food you never eat

i’m a big foodie but i’m also vegan so no animal products for me.

3.) Are you usually too warm or too cold?

I’m basically cold blooded so too cold.

4.) What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

taking a shower.

5.) What’s your favorite candy bar?

unreal pb cups (aka vegan resee’s).

6.) Have you ever been to a professional sports game?

all kinds. but the only sport i really enjoy watching is baseball.

7.) What’s the last thing you said out loud?

just me cooing nonsense at my dog about how cute she is. typical.

8.) What’s your favorite ice cream?

@ home: so delicious chocolate cookies n cream or the coconut milk chocolate ice cream from trader joe’s!

@ an ice cream shop in the real world: van leeuwen’s chocolate cookie dough crunch.

9.) What was the last thing you had to drink?

$5 chardonnay.

10.) Do you like your wallet?

yessss it’s a really cute bifold with black and white galaxies on it bc i am a space nerd. i’ve had it for at least 7 years now.

11.) What’s the last thing you ate?

lentil soup.

12.) Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

i haven’t been shopping for clothes in... months. i’m not leaving the house anytime soon so don’t need to lol.

13.) What’s the last sporting event you watched?

there are reruns of old baseball games on constant loop in my house.

14.) What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

movie theater butter — fun fact: the butter at theaters like regal and amc is actually vegan! which makes me so happy bc popcorn is my favorite snack.

15.) Who’s the last person you sent a text to?

my bff.

16.) Ever go camping?

no. end of discussion.

17.) Do you take vitamins?

no like multivitamins but i take iron bc i’ve been anemic basically sense birth.

18.) Do you go to church every Sunday?

no. never.

19.) Do you have a tan?

no. i don’t spend enough time outside. yikes.

20.) Do you prefer Chinese or pizza?

hmmm damn, idk... pizza?

21.) Do you drink soda through a straw?

i very rarely drink soda but i don’t think i usually use a straw.

22.) What color socks do you usually wear?

white, black, grey.

23.) Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

i’m from socal... it’s generally expected that if there’s no traffic ya gotta enjoy it. 😅 65 means 78 baby!

24.) What terrifies you?

besides the world ending? a general and persistent fear of not being good enough for others.

25.) Look to your left, what to you see?

a pile of laundry that’s been sitting there for a week. double yikes.

26.) What chore do you hate the most?

d u s t i n g. 🤬

27.) What do you think when you hear an Australian accent?

le hemsworth bros.

28.) What’s your favorite soda?

diet ginger ale.

29.) Do you go in fast food or in the drive through?

tbh i don’t eat a lot of fast food. if it’s something like that quick service then go in.

30.) What’s your favorite number?

4!

31.) Who’s the last person you talked to?

my dog. and before that my mom.

32.) Favorite cut of beef?

umm? none.

33.) Last song you listened to?

nina cried power by hozier ft. mavis staples.

34.) Last book you read?

dreaming in cuban by cristina garcía.

35.) Can you say the alphabet backwards?

why would i want to? next question.

36.) Favorite day of the week?

friday.

37.) How do you like your coffee?

if i drink a cup of coffee i won’t sleep and i’ll have anxiety for three days. 😂 catch me with a nice cup of earl grey or green tea only.

38.) Favorite pair of shoes?

i always have three shoes in rotation despite owning many more than that — black boots, black nikes, black sandals. and i’m good.

39.) Time you normally wake up?

usually around 9 if i’m lucky.

40.) Sunrise or sunsets?

sunset.

41.) How many blankets on your bed?

none. just a bedsheet and a light comforter so i don’t get heatstroke in my sleep.

42.) Describe your kitchen plates?

white... round... that’s it?

43.) Describe your kitchen at the moment?

well it’s my mom’s kitchen atm so it’s very clean and looks like a mom kitchen.

44.) Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?

wine: something dry like chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, or merlot.

beer: something like an ipa.

liquor: whiskey and ginger ale.

45.) Do you play cards?

no. no. no.

46.) What color is your car?

a very bright, shiny blue.

47.) Can you change a tire?

nope. and let’s hope i don’t have to.

48.) Your favorite state, province, country, etc.?

well, i’ve been fortunate enough to visit a lot of beautiful places in the world. i love california with whole heart and nothing will ever change that. i also adore england, northern ireland, and ireland — hence my geographical research focus as a little historian in training! not only do i love to study those places but i’m always ridiculously happy when i’m there.

49.) Favorite job you’ve had?

i worked as a researcher in a national archive for a bit. i basically got to dig through boxes and boxes of documents for months and then write whatever i felt like based on what i found with very little supervision. ideal work environment for me!

50.) How did you get your biggest scar?

you can’t see it bc it’s on my head but when I was in second grade my brother threw a palm-sized, plastic hit clips boombox (if you remember those you’re a real 90s kid jfc) and i had to get a couple of stitches. I can still feel it tho. tbh we should’ve known my brother was going to become a pitcher then...

no pressure tags! @b0n-chann @auty-ren @unstoppableforcce @poesdxmerons @cryptkeepersoul @damndamer0n 💕

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 1

I am kind of Loki trash. I take pleasure in attempting to write some of the cheesiest/most cliched fanfiction around. Honestly, my policy is that if it makes me “awww” or giggle to myself, it goes in. So enjoy this WIP and let me know what you think!

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Loki x OC 

==

The air was still and silent, as it had been for the last several hours. The guards had not been around for a few hours to check on him– why would they? He was trapped in a gilded cage with little to no chance of escape. Not with those wretched manacles that stopped even the lightest whiff of his seidr to come alive. It was very early morning, if the light streaming in from the windows was to be believed– he didn't. Not that it mattered. Not that he was anything more than a sitting duck at the mercy of these annoying, useless mortals and his buffoon of a brother. Briefly, he wondered if they were ever going to attempt to torture him for information. Maybe that would liven up his current situation. 

Bright, fool-hardy whistling echoed down the concrete halls and made his ears ring uncomfortably. The blessed, unmarred silence that seemed to be soaking up all of his self-pity was now gone, which meant that the hare-brained Midgardians would be back with questions. A single human appeared within the doorway, headphones in their ears, and hands laden with a box of what seemed to be colorful ornaments. 

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes much like a petulant child. "What are you, then? Psychic? Super-strength? Power to boil me from the inside? Therapist?"

The sudden noise seemed to startle the newcomer, and they placed the box on a nearby table before turning towards the source. Behind the cardboard box was a woman. Her chocolate brown hair was cropped short, though the messy fringe fell into her eyes as she moved. It made her look messy in a very purposeful manner, like she wanted to look approachable and kind, but also didn't want you to think she didn't put effort into her appearance. The green eyes turned his direction sparkled nearly as bright and excited as the grin perched on her lips as she pulled the buds from her ears and shoved them into her jeans pocket. Loki frowned. This was… different. 

"Sorry, didn't hear you. What was that, sir?" Her head tilted sideways like a curious pup at a weird noise, though twice as enthusiastic. 

"Are they sending children in to question me now? What, not enough ice-thawed super soldiers to do the job? And Stark? What of him? It's odd he hasn't come to gloat, yet." Loki scoffed, throwing himself into the only chair available in his cell, growing more impatient with every passing moment. 

The woman's face fell, if only slightly. "Oh. You don't know, do you?" Green orbs snapped up to her saddened expression, curious. "Mister Stark died with the Titan and Captain Rogers… well, you wouldn't recognize him if you saw him."

"Who are you, then?"

"I manage the Compound. I was just putting up the Christmas ornaments." She gestured over her shoulder at the box with the trinkets, as if it were an obvious response. 

Loki frowned further, trying to process the information as it was received. A moment later, he stared back, deadpan. "You realize this is a prison, yes?"

The woman's cheeks darkened as she fidgeted with her jumper sleeves. "To be honest, I couldn't really see over the box, so–"

He rolled his eyes, opting rather to pinch at the bridge of his nose with a groan. "Norns, I am surrounded by idiots. Why am I still here?"

"Well, Sam and Valkyrie have been trying to find your brother for the lon–"

"It was a rhetorical question!" He seethed, and the woman snapped her jaw shut at once. 

She awkwardly looked around the room before her eyes stopped on a holographic chess board that was sitting just outside the cell. Clearly, this was some of Tony's sense of humor showing through the AI he left behind, FRIDAY. He would have probably summoned up the board with a how about you think about what you've done, and if not, just play with yourself. She had encountered more than a fair share of these ghosts inside the code in her time, like the nervous Is that a trick question? whenever she asked the smart mirror in her apartment if she looked OK. 

There was a single knight in play on the white side of the board. "Are you a chess enthusiast?" There was no response. "Stalking the knight out first is a powerful move." This sentence was accompanied by a huff, but no verbal retort. "FRIDAY, favorite pawn forward." The second to last pawn zoomed gracefully into place a square further and settle there. She looked up at their captive demigod, sneer locked into his lips and eyes staring dead into the wall. She waited several minutes for a move, any move, but came up empty. 

"Lilah, there you are!" Sam strode into the prison floor, still clad in his black flightsuit and more than a little on edge. "FRIDAY, tell Valkyrie Lilah's fine." The AI acknowledged the command, immediately. "What are you– are you putting up Christmas ornaments in the prison deck?"

"Just checking in with our guest," she lied, smiling. 

Sam turned on his heel to face Loki's cell. A shiver ran past him as if simply gazing upon the Liesmith gave him the heebie jeebies. "How is he, then?"

Lilah shrugged, disinterestedly. "No worse than last time."

"No, not like last time. Last-time-Loki helped save the world and his whole realm from his psycho sister. This Loki just came off trying to enslave New York."

"Tomato, tomahto. Same dude, different day, Sam." With an amused smile, she turned the glaring superhero and nudged him out ahead of her. "Someone should be down with your dinner in a bit, OK?" She assured, as if that cleared up the rest of the questions brewing in Loki's head. 

Loki knew was out of sync with the time. He could feel it in the air and with every pulse of his veins. The agents who brought him into the basement gave him a barebones recollection of what had happened– how the Titan known as Thanos, how half the population died, how time had to be altered to change the course of history. Dangerous games played by children who didn't know any better. Once the Stone had been pulled from his timeline, he had jumped, as well. 

It took an impressively short amount of time to apprehend him, as they had the benefit of time to adapt to his wily nature. He had found it odd that he was not immediately chained and scrapped for every bit of information he could give, that they didn't bother monitoring him 24/7, that there seemed to be only a handful people employed in the facility. Midgard was different: older, wiser, a little jaded. It had lost many of its heroes in a short time, it seemed. The corner of his eye caught the subtle glow of the chess board, effectively interrupting his internal monologue. 

Lilah walked cautiously across the threshold of the prison floor. In her hands she balanced a tray with covered food and a large pitcher of sweet tea. Funnily enough, none of the staff found it a great opportunity to bring their prisoner his dinner, despite the fact that he had been doing nothing but bellyaching at the walls and pout for the week he had been there. That meant it was up to her to slow walk some food and drink over to the prison desk and hope she didn't spill. Lilah wasn't particularly clumsy, but she also never had the need to carry a tray full of food and drinks across a couple of floors before. 

"I don't know what you wanted to eat, so I made you a plate with some of everything. Then, I brought sweet tea and then remembered that almost no one outside of the South likes sweet tea, so I brought you some water, but you're free to have some tea if you can tolerate it," Lilah rambled, passing a plate through the hatch on the door along with a bottle of water and a glass of sweet iced tea. Though he tried to seem disinterested, the smell of food made Loki abandon his in-bed lounging and cautiously approach the cell door. He first took the glass of tea and took a tentative sip. His face screwed up unpleasantly a moment after. "Yeah, it's an acquired taste– like watered down cane molasses."

His face turned hard as he swallowed down a few gulps of water to wash out the taste. "Is your intent to poison me?"

"I don't know. Do Asgardians get diabetes?"

"What?"

"That's a no." Glancing over her shoulder, Lilah glanced at a chair by the empty sentry desk. "Mind if I join you?" She gestured the remaining plate on the tray. 

For a long moment, he did not reply, instead glaring into her as if his eyes could become lasers and explode her from the inside out (though they probably could if he tried hard enough). "If you wish." A satisfied grin perched itself on her lips as she placed the tray on the floor and jogged over to collect the chair. She carried it right to the cell's side and collected her tray before sinking into it cross-legged. 

Loki had not moved from his place in front of the food hatch, quietly watching the mortal woman dig into a plate of vegetables, chicken and rice as if it were the most exquisite of treats. The weight of his gaze pulled her attention, and she glanced upwards. "Eat. I don't want Thor griping about you getting thin. God knows he already has enough going on in his brain. If Valkyrie even finds him."

"You must be mistaken. The Valkyries are dead," Loki says, simply, an observation. 

Lilah stopped chewing, putting down her fork back on her plate, speared carrot and all. "I suppose they still are, for you."

"Where is my brother?" Lilah hesitated. "You also said earlier that I saved my people from my sister. I don't have a sister."

"Fuck, Thor. Where the hell are you when I need you?" She muttered to herself. "FRIDAY, can you pull up the records on Asgard and Hela, please?"

"Are you sure you want to show him this, Delilah?"

The woman rolled her eyes at the AI's sass. "Do you know where Thor is?"

"King Brunnhilde has yet to find him, as of ten minutes ago."

"You know the answer, then." The glass of the prison cell lit up with pictorials of Asgard. "Some time ago Odin Allfather disappeared." An image of Odin faded into the ether on the screen. "You, in true Loki fashion, had taken up the throne dressed as his clone. Thor found out and forced you both to find him. Odin died shortly after." The images of Thor, Loki and Odin faded and Hela was left in their wake. "His death caused the release of Hela, Odin's eldest child and death-bringer to all realms. You tried to fight her off, ended up on a trash planet called Sakaar." The images on the screen turned to the bright, metal and pastels of Sakaar, complete with Hulk and Thor fighting while Loki stood in a corner laughing. 

"On Sakaar you met Brunnhilde, the last Valkyrie. Thor, Banner, and Valkyrie escaped the planet to rescue Asgard. Surprisingly, so did you." The images of Loki graciously arriving in the giant cruiser ship with Korg and Miek flashed before them, and Loki could not but feel fascinated by this stranger who wore his face. The people of Asgard smiled and thanked him as he ushered them into the ship and jumped into the fray of battle below. "Eventually Hela was defeated and you fled with your people from Asgard. They've made a new colony in Iceland called New Asgard."

"They, not you?" He asked, perceptively, brow furrowed. "I did not survive the trip," he added, matter-of-factly. 

"Thanos happened," she quipped with a sigh. She leant a small smile to him knowing full well it was not to be returned. "You died protecting your people."

Loki seemed as surprised as anyone who heard the tale from Thor, afterwards. "I died a hero?"

Lilah now smiled in earnest. "It seems you are capable of amazing things when you want to. You rose to the challenge," she finished, watching the holographic Loki sink his dagger into an undead sentinel and toss another over his shoulder with dangerous precision. 

Despite himself, Loki smirked, staring somewhat proudly at the ferocious warrior hopping around the scene. He took his plate to the small desk in his cell and tucked into his meal, seemingly satisfied with her answers thus far. Lilah followed his lead, eating her dinner in silence before picking up the remainder of her dinnerware and preparing to leave Loki, once more. Before she did, she noticed the chess board hds moved. Smiling, she glanced shortly at Loki, who had taken up a book and was quite immersed in it, though she swore she saw him briefly gaze at her while she thought of her next play. With a quick jolt of her fingers, her bishop conquered his knight. She then swore she saw him frown. 

"By the way, you can ask FRIDAY for more books, access to the archives, or movies or something. You're not meant to be here to rot in your boredom." She gave a friendly wave. "Good night, Loki."

[bizarre-dollhouse]

My Top 10 Favourite Anime (And Why You Should Watch Them)

This is normally something I would put on my main blog, but I wanted to celebrate a follower milestone and also I know this will reach a significantly wider audience on this blog.

Consider this both a list of recommendations and a *get to know me* thing, I guess.

Honourable Mentions:

Bakemonogatari: A really stylized show about a semi vampire helping people with their supernatural afflictions born from emotional issues. The subsequent seasons get a little questionable, but this is definitely a standalone story with great dialogue and visuals. (15 eps)

Shiki: Creepy story about a small town infested with vampires. Really brutal and sick, but it has fascinating themes. The pacing is a bit slow and it has a kind of bad scene towards the end, but the show is 100% worth it. (24 eps)

Cardcaptor Sakura: Because this is mostly aimed at younger viewers, I would only really recommend this show for either magical girl fans, or people who watched the extremely altered dub as a kid. That being said, its a cute, fun show about magic with a likeable cast and surprisingly creative and original ideas, especially towards the latter half. (70 eps)

Jojos Bizarre Adventure 4: Diamond is Unbreakable: Full disclosure, I have not seen the first 3 jojo series, but its not necessary to enjoy this show. This is a super creative and really fun series about superpowered badasses in a strange city fighting each other and trying to solve a murder mystery in the background. Weird, but in the best way. (39 eps)

Kuroshitsuji: Book of Circus: This should be higher on the list, but in truth I would recommend the manga way over the show. But, if you want to watch a supernatural horror/comedy without reading a 138+ chapter manga, OR you were a fan of the original Black Butler seasons and want to see something way better, give this a watch. (10 eps)

*drumroll*

10. Trigun

So Trigun takes place is this old west, yet mysterious science fiction-y world where, through a bunch of complicated scenarios, a pacifist is the most wanted criminal known to man. Due to his status as a “natural disaster,” two insurance workers are tasked with reining him in to save their business. It’s an incredibly charming series, and the protagonist is really likeable. It’s extremely creative, funny, and emotional near the end. I do have some problems with the ending because it almost seems like the final conflict just...solves itself, but that’s a nitpick. The first episode is basically a short film, so give that a watch and see how you feel. (26 eps)

9. Paranoia Agent

This was directed by the late and great Satoshi Kon and has his usual themes about the blurring between fiction, dreams, and reality. It’s about a string of mysterious assaults committed by a kid with a baseball bat, and how these assaults seem to solve the problems of the victims. It’s very arthouse and has a twist that makes me ball my eyes out even though it’s not sad it’s just...odd and overwhelming. It drags a bit near the middle, but if you like kind of surreal stuff that’s also just really good, you have to watch this show. (13 eps)

8. Baby Steps

The amazing thing about this show is that its premise is specifically designed to make me hate it. It’s about a nerdy teenager who starts to play a sport for the sole sake of getting fit and having a more well rounded life style, and also he has a crush on this really popular girl. That sounds fucking awful, but the main character is actually really likeable (he reminds me a lot of Deku from BNHA) and I swear to fucking god every time I thought this show was going to do something awful and cliched with its romantic comedy plot, it doesn’t. The beauty and the geek trope is still there, but all of the bullshit that comes with it is omitted in a way I feel was kind of self-aware. The sports aspect is really good too: it’s well paced and there’s lots of tension even though the show as a whole is really upbeat and pleasant. I had a blast watching it, and if you can make it past the fact that is has god awful animation, give it a watch.

7. Higurashi: When They Cry

Yet another great show with absolute garbage animation. Anyways, this show is about a group of teenagers in a small town who are unknowingly trapped in a time loop. In each loop there’s a bunch of new mysteries, as well as some extremely brutal murders and tortures experienced my the main cast. I’ve seen a number of Western shows (Orphan Black, BBC Sherlock, Lost, Supernatural, etc.) fall apart because the writers want a really clever and intricate mystery to play out, but they don’t want to actually put the time into crafting one, so it’s just a bunch of cliffhangers with no answers or pay off. THIS SHOW SUCCEEDS AT WHAT ALL OF THOSE OTHER SHOWS FAIL AT. While not all of the answers are great (the second season isn’t as good) the original author somehow made the world’s most ludicrously complicated mystery story work, with a lot of it relying on the audience to put all of the pieces together even when the characters can’t. Its very clever in doing that: it makes its audience feel smart. It also has themes that don’t really show up in other horror stories, even though they’re incredibly relevant to fear and violence. Great show, go watch it. (50 eps)

6. Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Everyone knows about this show, everyone says it’s great, and everyone’s right. If you’ve been living under a rock for ten years: the show is about two brothers who break an alchemy taboo, which destroys their bodies, They’re on the hunt for something to restore them to normal and along the way they meet like 8990354578579 characters with interesting stories. It’s tightly written and really gripping. It’s fun, but also really dramatic and emotional when it needs to be. My only problems with it are that the ending is reaaaallllly convoluted, and there’s a minor plot point earlier on that gets weirdly dropped, but everyone kinda forgets about those things because the show’s so good. Also the brotherly bond makes me cry. (64 eps)

5. FLCL

I honestly don’t even know where to start with this show because it has the unique property of being the only show I have ever seen that I have literally no problems with. Not even nitpicks. There is nothing wrong with this show; it’s perfect. The only reason it’s not number 1 is because some other shows have more ideas or more fleshed out characters. So this arthouse spastic comedy is about a boy who is disappointed with all of the adults in his life, then some chick hits him in the face with a guitar and giant robots from a secret facility start coming out of his head. It’s fucking wild and has like 30 different aesthetics and I love all of them. It’s the best looking show I’ve ever seen and one of the best directed. It feels like someone read a really weird poem and turned it into a 6 episode show. It’s funny, it’s emotional, it’s cartoony, it’s beautiful, it’s raunchy, it’s poetic, it’s silly, it’s creative, and it’s got strong themes. The wtf visuals, the nonsensical plot, and the amazing soundtrack make an aesthetic experience more than anything. (6 eps)

4. Princess Tutu

I already made a post about this show and why it’s good, which you can check out here, but the gist is it’s a meta fairytale about a duck that turns into a girl to help a storybook prince find his emotions. I used to love stories that were “twists on fairytales” or whatever, but after watching this show I realized that the genre is pretty derivative. This show is so amazing it honestly made me reevaluate an entire genre and come to the conclusion that this is the only member of that genre worth watching. It’s truly creative and well crafted with fantastic characters. (26 eps)

3. Hunter x Hunter (2011)

This show is basically a bunch of creative ideas, unique set pieces, and interesting characters stacked on top of each other in a trench coat disguised as a narrative. It’s about a perky shonen protagonist and a child assassin becoming friends while also trying to become hunters (a position involving vast wealth and adventure). It’s in a modern fantasy setting so literally anything can happen. In one arc they have to play life-or-death dodgeball against robots, and another is an insanely epic tale about the intense evil that people are capable of (feat. a 25 episode climax). I can’t even talk about all of the themes or ideas because there are just too many. Because of it’s wild, sprawling story, it has a lot of ass pulls and retcons, but in the grand scheme of things they don’t really matter. It’s long, but super easy to watch in huge chunks. (148 eps)

2. Neon Genesis Evangelion and The End of Evangelion

The most efficient way to describe this show is to say that it’s the most interesting show ever made. It’s about an apocalyptic future in which emotionally disturbed teenagers must pilot giant bio-machines to fight monsters which are referred to as angels. It’s got deep characters, a creative story, and is probably the most well directed show I’ve ever seen. The ending infamously fell apart due to production problems, so there’s a movie called The End of Evangelion to conclude the story. It’s a very disturbing arthouse movie, so watch out for that, but the show as a whole is moooosssstly more straightforward and fascinating, This is an absolute must watch. (26 eps and 1 movie)

1. Baccano!

Baccano! takes place in 1930s New York, and is about thieves, gangsters, criminals, terrorists, alchemists, and immortals interacting in this nonlinear comedy/action thrill ride. I felt like I was on a rollercoaster while watching this show. It’s the perfect blend of action, comedy, romance, drama, horror, and creative storytelling. It’s fantastic to rewatch since the first episodes barely make any sense without context (but are still an absolute joy to watch). It’s got great characters and it’s a great story. Go watch it. And then watch it again. (13 eps and 3 OVAs)

That’s it for this list! Check out my MAL page for more recommendations if you’re interested and have a great night! 

[xtruss]

MINDSET

4 Ways to Break Your Addiction to Negative Thinking! Did you know that you can be chemically addicted to your negative thoughts?

— Daniel St. Joseph | August 17, 2020

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

“Your thoughts carry you wherever you want to go. Weak thoughts don’t have the energy to carry you far!”

It was found that the average person has about 12,000 to 60,000 thoughts per day. Surprisingly, 80% Were Negative, and 95% were exactly the same thoughts as the day before.

Our tendency to overly concern bad things and ignore good things is likely a result of evolution. Earlier in human history, being alert of dangerous, and negative threats in the world was truly a matter of life and death.

Those who were more adapted to danger and aware of the bad things around them were more likely to survive.

This psychological phenomenon explains why bad first impressions can be so difficult to overcome and why past traumas can have such long lingering effects.

Robert W. Schrauf, Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at Penn State, conducted a study showing how words provide evidence to how people think and process emotions. In this study, the researchers asked people to list the names of as many emotions unconsciously. These words were then categorized as negative, positive, or neutral.

They discovered that people know significantly more words to describe negative emotions than words to describe positive or neutral emotions. Of all the words participants listed, 50 percent were negative, 30 percent positive, and 20 percent were neutral. And this observation held true across age groups and cultures, suggesting that this a human tendency shared cross-culturally.

Dr. Schrauf also suggests that not only are we all inclined to think negatively, we also involve more profoundly with these emotions. That’s because positive emotions tell us that everything is fine, so there is no need to think about them.

However, negative emotions indicate something is wrong, so we need to pay more attention, time, and energy dealing with these feelings. As Schrauf explains it, “Negative emotions require more detailed thinking, more subtle distinctions. So they require more names.”

Your thoughts are behaviors as well

Choosing thoughts contributes to your experiences because of the consequences associated with those thoughts.

If you choose thoughts that demean and depreciate you, then you choose to become low self-esteem. If you choose thoughts contaminated with anger and bitterness, then you will create an experience of alienation, isolation, and hostility.

When you choose your thoughts, you also choose the physiological events that linked to those thoughts due to the body-mind connection.

For example, imagine biting into a crisp, salty, and crunchy chicken tender. Smell the ketchup and seasoning. Hear the snap of the first bite, taste the explosion of those flavors in your mouth. What happens? I doubt that you begin to salivate, that is, you experience a physiological change in your mouth.

There’s a very powerful connection at work here. Your physiology determines your energy and activity level. If your internal dialogue is negative, then the action will be negative. Your depressed thoughts suppress energy and action. Your body will conform to that central nervous system. You are mentally, behaviorally, and physiologically programming yourself to go through life in a vicious cycle.

You may be with ten different people in a day but you’re with yourself all day, 24/7. You talk and program yourself more than everybody else in your life combined. Some people have tapes that just play over and over in their heads like a continuous loop.

In their famous work, Nobel Prize-winning researchers Kahneman and Tversky found that when making decisions, people consistently place greater weight on negative aspects of an event than they do on positive ones, even when the two possibilities are equivalent.

For instance, people have a stronger negative reaction to losing $20 than the positive feelings they have from gaining $20.

Photo by Chris Liverani on Unsplash

If your internal conversation is full of negative self-talk, it is no wonder why your performance is poor and your life is miserable. Some typical negative statements include:

I’m not smart enough

I’m not attractive enough

I am a loser and can never succeed

I’m so dumb, people will laugh at me

Nobody will listen to a stupid person like me

I’m not from a rich family, there’s no way I can be rich

Negative thoughts can be addicted

Obviously, you may get addicted to drugs, food, and alcohol, but you may also get addicted to your negative thoughts or feelings.

A lot of people want to be positive but it’s so hard, isn’t it?

Maybe you have been negative for so long that your brain just automatically goes towards the negative side. You want to be positive, you want to be happy but for some reason, most days you just find yourself in mystery, slipping into negativity.

It’s due to the fact that you are chemically addicted to your negative thoughts.

You may wonder how am I chemically addicted to a thought?

Here’s the reason:

Once you have a thought that sends an electrical signal from one place to another in your brain at its simplest form. That’s neural signals send something called a neuropetide ( compounds which act as neurotransmitters) down to your body which induces hormone release.

When you think about a really stressful thing, your brain receives that signal, your neuropeptide sends signals down to the adrenal glands — triangle-shaped organs at the top of your kidneys to create the hormones cortisol, aka the stress hormones.

Recently, cortisol has been pained as the evil villain when it comes to stress

If you have thoughts every single day that causes your body to release stress hormones all year long. Guess what? You’re going to become chemically addicted to cortisol which means that your body is going to force the brain to think negatively so that they can get that hit.

Cortisol is a chemical in your brain that tends to flow more freely and spurs negative thoughts. Your brain loves cortisol. Known as an alarm system, your brain releases the chemical cortisol as a way to warn you about imminent danger, and, let’s be honest, that’s pretty helpful at times.

The day I found out I was addicted to negative self-talk

Have you been thinking negatively for 2, 3, 5, 10 years? And now you’re trying to break this thought pattern but you can’t stop going down that route of negativity. Why? Because your body wants you to actually do it as it’s used to those chemicals.

I can tell you that I learned this the hard way. Two years ago, I was listening to a podcast. The guy in the podcast was talking to a psychologist and he said he felt like he was addicted to stress and he started explaining it.

And I talked to myself “Am I addicted to stress?” I worked really well under pressure. I started realizing sometimes I stressed myself out to meet expectations.

Photo by Elijah O'Donnell on Unsplash

I had to consciously calm myself down in the middle of the day knowing that I have created thought patterns stressing me out.

Unconsciously, I continuously searched for opportunities to stress me out because that’s what my body has been used to for a long time.

Positive thoughts can’t save you

How to flip that and become unaddicted to negative thinking? It’s actually simple, but it’s easier said than done.

It’s really hard to become self-aware of negative thoughts. You need to be extremely intentional every single day from the start of your morning.

I once watched a video on youtube called “why positive thinking doesn’t work?”. Imagine I have a bowl in front of me which is filled with water. Then, I put some scoops of dirt into the water. Then, I take a big glass of water and pour it into the bowl. The water is still dirty. I pour another 4–5 glass of water into the bowl. However, this bowl of water is still dirty.

The dirty water represents the negative thoughts you say to yourselves: I’m fat, I’m not good enough to be hanging out with people, you fail a test and think you’re stupid you. There’s tons of dirt in your mind.

When I pour a big huge glass of clean water into the bowl and said “okay I’m going to think positive”. The water is still dirty which explains why positive thinking doesn’t work.

The key thing is negative thoughts should be removed out of your mind

How to become a positive person?

If you don’t feel good, you can’t create the life that you want.

1. Stop Negative Self-Talk

You need to be extremely intentional. As you wake up every day, think about how do you force yourself to think positively. You’re going to look yourself in the mirror and say “I love you, you are amazing” for 10 minutes straight to brainwash yourself into feeling good.

Instead of fixating on past mistakes that cannot be changed, consider what you have learned and how you might apply that in the future.

2. Reframe the Situation

Saying some affirmations that program you for feeling the way you want to feel, thinking the way you want to think because you have been thinking in this freaking negative way for a long time.

Just because you are positive in the morning doesn’t mean it lasts all day long so you’ve got to catch the negative thoughts as soon as possible. You need to become very self-aware of when you start to go down that negative spiral.

The quicker you stop the negative thought, the easier is it for you. If you try to catch the negative thought at the bottom of the spiral, then you lose as you’re already in the negative place

3. Establish New Patterns

Three minutes down the road, you’ve gone through this massive storm of just thinking negative to yourself and now you just feel like you’ve been covered in crap and you don’t feel good. You don’t want to do anything. It all starts with a negative thought and things begin to spiral down.

When you find yourself ruminating on things, look for an uplifting activity to pull yourself out of this negative mindset. You should consciously redirect your attention elsewhere and engage in an activity that brings you joy.

Listening to upbeat music, going for a walk, or reading a good book are all ways to get your mind off negative thoughts.

4. Appreciate Joyful Moments

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

As negative things might be quickly shifted and stored in your long-term memory, you need to make more effort to get the same result from happy moments.

So when something great happens, take a moment to really concentrate on it. Replay the moment several times in your memory and enjoy the wonderful feelings the memory evokes.

Over time, your memory will store more happy moments than sorrow.

Final Thoughts

The key is to become extremely self-aware as negativity starts. Analyze the causes of that negativity: maybe it’s from somebody in your life, maybe it’s a phone call from your boss, maybe it’s a spouse that you need to get a divorce.

You should notice what send you off that path of negativity and get rid of it as soon as possible and replace that one negative thought with three positive thoughts.

If you tend to have a negative vision, don’t expect to become an optimist overnight. But with practice, eventually, your self-talk will contain less self-criticism and more self-acceptance. You may also become less critical of the world around you.

When your state of mind is generally optimistic, you’re better able to handle everyday stress in a more constructive way. That ability may contribute to the widely observed health benefits of positive thinking.

“Don’t ever stop believing in your own transformation. It is still happening even on days you may not realize it or feel like it.” ― Lalah Delia

[ruleandruinrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, JEM!

You have been accepted for the role of LUKA MRAVINSKY with a faceclaim change to Francisco Lachowski. I’m screaming because our bratva group is nearly complete! Jem, you breathed aching life into Luka. Your application was a culmination of highs and lows -- of crescendos of joy and sorrows. It was a beautiful thing, to watch you deconstruct Luka then put him back together again -- pulling him apart while making him whole. You captured his voice, his motivations, his contradictions, and his commonalities. There was a depth there that I was hoping would be captured, and you did it in one fell swoop. You’ve killed us with Luka’s tragedy, his sorrow, his potential for redemption or damnation. All in this singular application. How you managed to fit the whole of (arguably) Ravka’s most tragic pyro, I’m not entirely sure. And for that, I thank you. I can’t wait to see him unfold on the dash! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Jem!

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her.

AGE: 23.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I live in EST, and I’d say I’m about a 6 or 7 in terms of activity! I’m always able to plot and respond to messages a few times a day, and I try to crank out replies every day or every other day.

TRIGGERS: OMITTED

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: Y’all already know: alexanderrallis (active), cygnusblck (inactive), and thesaintofsin (inactive).

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Luka Alexei Mravinsky.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? Luka, Luka, Luka!!!!!!!!!! Oh, Luka. To be frank, Luka sort of snuck up on me, and I bounced around between a bunch of different characters before finally settling on this sweet, sweet Sankt. When I first began writing Luka’s app, I was a little stuck, and I didn’t quite knowwhat to do with him, how to interpret him. And it was a bit frustrating, to be honest—trying to solve Luka, who, at the time, seemed so unsolvable to me. But I couldn’t let him go, I really couldn’t, and so I kept studying him and learning him, and here I am, utterly in love with Luka Mravinsky. I think I initially struggled so much with understanding Luka’s composition because his composition is incredibly complex. In many ways, Luka is an anomaly—a haphazard bundle of contradictions that shouldn’t be, but is. He’s soft and gentle and kind, but he’s also damaged and tortured and miserable, and for all his altruism, he has a tremendous capacity for destruction—and that was all a little difficult to navigate at first. How do you decode a character who aches for tenderness but was bred for cruelty? A character who wants desperately to be a Sankt but whose curse has damned him? I don’t think you can decode a character like that—I really don’t. I was searching for some Luka-esque inspiration material and discovered this little gem, and it all sort of just clicked for me—Luka can’t be known, not really; he can be learned, but never fully known, never truly mastered, because he hides—from others, from himself—and I think Luka was written in such a way that he can never be definitively decoded. Like a sad, lovely Frankenstein, Luka is a monster of creation, not a monster of origin—he is a product, a result. Half of his parts are missing, and the ones that aren’t missing are foreign—unfamiliar limbs and organs that do not belong to the sweet-natured boy who played in the trees and picked wildflowers for his mama and stole scraps of food from the dinner table for the horses and sat on his papa’s soldiers like a boy-king. The sum of Luka Mravinsky is this: no heart, no smile, wrong hands, wrong head. He left his heart in his village, buried it between the corpses of his mama and papa and left it to rot in the dead soil of the graveyard he’d erected—a shrine to his monstrosity. He left his smile in a chasm of memories stowed away somewhere between his ribs—an endless loop of crisp spring mornings spent in the garden with his mother and cold winter nights spent reading the Istorii Sankt'ya near the hearth with his father. His hands are all wrong—they ache in perpetual want of blood, of sin; they were made to destroy, and Luka was made to restore. His head is all wrong, too—it urges him to do things he ought not to, to indulge in the embers that smolder between the lines of his hungry palms, to stop fighting his nature and bow to the inferno he’s neglected to stoke for so long. So much of Luka is lost, and so much of Luka is not Luka, and so much of Luka is dead. It’s no wonder, then, that the boy knows so little of himself (angel, Sankt, darling); it’s no wonder, then, that the boy hides what little he does know of himself (monster, killer, demon). In short, I’m not certain Luka knows who he really is anymore, and if Luka doesn’t know who he is, how can anyone else? Once I was struck with that idea, everything else just sort of fell into place beautifully, and I became enamored with the prospect of exploring all of the parts (present and absent, belonging and foreign) of Luka Mravinsky. And maybe he’ll recover some of his old parts, and maybe he’ll discover some new parts, and maybe he’ll reconcile with some of his wrong parts. And isn’t that such an incredible creative adventure—to be able to take a character and learn and unlearn and relearn of the parts of their makeup until you find the right combination? He’s so stunningly complex, Luka, and so heart-achingly tragic. A benevolent destroyer, an otkazat’sya-loving otkazat’sya-killer, a lamb in wolf’s clothing, a beautiful boy steeped in tragedy, a tragedy steeped in beauty. He, a Grisha, a god, envies the mediocrity of humanity, aches in want of death, in want of relief from the curse of the Small Science. A lovely, frightening boy capable of lovely, frightening things. Feared by those who know of the monster that razed an entire village to ash; pitied by those who know of the sad almost-Sankt who tirelessly fights his nature, growing paler and hungrier and more tired each day; scorned by those who know of the fair-weathered Grisha who moons over otkazat’sya like they’re something to be admired, to be treasured. Nothing makes my muse sing like navigating a character that’s full of contradiction and complexity, and I think it would be an incredible creative journey to try to put Ravka’s very own Humpty Dumpty back together again (if such a thing is possible, of course—poor Luka had an awfully great fall).

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND? SAD SOLDIER BOY: A CAUTIONARY TALE  Like calls to like, and the damned call to the damned, and Valerian Petrov calls to Luka Mravinsky. Luka’s heart beats in threes: once for Shona, once for Arsen, and once for Valerian. He doesn’t think he remembers how to love, not anymore (he was very young when he last loved, a spritely boy whose mother kissed him often and whose father praised him well)—but he remembers (only just) how to be tender, and so he shares his tenderness with his brothers. Arsen has never been a particularly amenable recipient of soft things (he’s sharp-tongued and sharp-toothed, and he has too much blood in his mouth to know the taste of tenderness) and matters of sentimentality don’t seem to appeal to Shona, not much and not often. Valerian, though—Valerian isn’t tender, not really; he never was, not even before he was robbed of his Juliya. But he’s tender with Luka, as tender as men like Valerian can be. Arsen prods Luka tirelessly, always eager to provoke him, to summon flame, and while Shona tolerates Luka’s gentle disposition, it’s clear that he’s not too terribly keen on it. But Valerian—brightly-burning, jagged-edged, wildfire Valerian—has expressed to Luka on more than one occasion how very fond he is of the sad soldier boy’s stark oddities—of his quietness and his tenderheartedness. He’s always been tender with Luka, Valerian, but Luka fears that his pseudo-brother has razed his own capacity for tender things. Passion has given way to lifelessness, love has given way to grief, tolerance to impatience, and tenderness to cruelty. Grief—it’s a death Luka knows well. The hero of Ravka has fallen, baptized by atrophy, stricken from legend to tragedy, from god to broken-hearted boy. Luka has been treading the brutal current of grief for years now, and so he’s learned well how to navigate these waters. But Valerian is drowning, and Luka fears that his lungs are filling too quickly with too much water, too much grief. He needs a lifesaver, Valerian—not an anchor, but abuoy; someone to keep him afloat, to teach him how to swim in waters as treacherous as the Unsea—and who better to school Valerian in the ways of wading than the sad soldier boy who’s been swimming in the channel of grief for a lifetime? Luka has never saved someone before. He’s well-acquainted with the ways of damnation, but redemption? Salvation? Foreign concepts. Alas, Luka cannot and will not stand idly by and watch grief make a pretty tragedy out of Valerian Petrov the same way it made a pretty tragedy out of Luka Mravinsky. If anything good is to come of Luka’s tragedy, let it be this: the cautionary tale of the sad soldier boy. Woe to all who follow in his steps.

FORGIVE ME NOT Luka is a creature of passivity, a being of indifference whose once-bright passion and once-brighter heart atrophied from lack of use a long, long time ago. But Aarvas Rai summons passion from Luka as easily as the Tidemaker summons waves. Of course, the sort of passion Aarvas invokes is certainly not the kind of passion anyone with a will to live to wants to be on the receiving end of. With Aarvas, gentle Luka is not so gentle, and kind Luka is not so kind; he is hotheaded, and cruel, and brash, and bitter-tongued. Arsen practically dances with glee whenever Aarvas sidles up to Luka, for the Tidemaker has a knack for inciting the ugliness in Luka that Arsen has been trying to pry from the tenderhearted boy for years now. A sinner forged in fire and a Sankt forged in water were never meant to be fast friends, surely, but the blind, consuming animosity that buzzes between the two Grisha goes beyond elemental polarity.��Who does this righteous pseudo-Sankt think he is? Preaching redemption, promising salvation. Sanctimoniously hailing the Small Science as a holy relic when he should be condemning the pitiable curse. The road to hell is paved with odinakovost and etovost, and the only fate that awaits Grisha is perdition. That Aarvas Rai has crowned himself savior of all damned Grisha is laughable. They share the same curse, he and Aarvas, abominations of water and fire, and to glorify the Small Science, to laud Grisha as heroes of the new world—it’s blasphemy. Luka is irredeemable, and he seeks no salvation, no decree of absolution from the Sankts. He wants Death’s kiss, and he wishes to wait for smert in solitude (misery doesn’t love company, it seems). But Aarvas is persistent, and stubborn, and mad, and even sad soldier boys have their limits. Tread carefully, Sankt Aarvas—do you know what happens when you push an already-broken boy to his breaking point? Do you want to find out?

GLUTTONY, THY NAME IS GRISHA He’s a glutton, Luka—all Grisha are. It’s easy to forget that sweet, soft-spoken Luka once turned an entire village to ash; it’s easy to forget that gentle, quiet Luka was once so gluttonous, so eager to taste flame and soot, that he ignored his parents’ warnings like Adam ignored God’s warnings and danced with fire like Adam danced with Eve. It’s easy for you to forget, maybe, but it’s easy for Luka to remember. He remembers every day what he did all those years ago, how he surrendered to gluttony, how he fell prey to temptation; how the fire bewitched him, enchanted him, spellbound him. He’s an inferno, Luka, always burning, burning, burning, and he tries—oh, he tries—to smother, smother, smother, to quell the flames that lick at the barren wasteland of his ribcage and gnaw at his ash-laden palms. He fights this battle from dawn until dusk, each day, each night, always trying to temper himself, to douse the fire that refuses to die. He’s always rigid, always clenching his fists to keep those damnable hands of his from playing with matchsticks, always disengaging and dissociating from those around him to eliminate the catalyst of emotion. He’s a glutton, an addict, and try as he might to rehabilitate his nature, a wildfire is a wildfire is a wildfire—they must consume, or die; there is no happy medium for wildfires—no ending but death. Luka’s regimen of restraint is uncharacteristic of an Inferni, and his rather un-Grisha-like behavior is bound to draw someone’s attention, be it the Darkling’s disapproval, his peers’ judgment, or the Ravkan court’s suspicion. After all, what use is a boy of fire who refuses to play with fire? What use is a gun with a broken trigger? Wildfires must eitherconsume or die, and so, too, must Luka. Fair-weathered Grisha don’t fair well in Ravka, I’m afraid, and It’s only a matter of time before someone forces Luka’s hand in the matter. Soon, he will have to make a choice: surrender to his gluttony and reconcile with fire and flame, or perish. What’ll it be, Mravinsky? Live a sinner or die a Sankt?

HUNTED Luka’s loyalty to his bratvas is true and steadfast, but he is not truly beholden to anyone. He is too much a monster to owe fealty to otkazat’sya, and he is too full of self-loathing to owe fealty to the Darkling, soverennyi of Grisha and champion of abominations. As it stands, he is exclusively loyal to Valerian, Arsen, and Shona, but there are, unquestionably, Grisha and Ravkans alike who have their sights set on Luka Mravinsky—namely, Luka Mravinsky’s knack for razing villages. If wielded properly, he’d make for an extraordinary weapon, no? His brothers would never use him as such, but others certainly would. Rhea hunts him, and while the she-wolf is certainly the most transparent of all of Luka’s suitors, he suspects she’s not the only one waiting in line to have a go at making a proper weapon out of the Inferni. Best wishes to the fools who seek to wield Luka Mravinsky—you can’t break what’s already broken, you can’t tame what can’t be controlled, and you certainly can’t win over the heart of a brokenhearted boy.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE? Likely not, but if you admins felt strongly about using Luka’s death as a plot device, I’d certainly be open to it! (Do it for the Angst™.)

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE:  “Luka.” His mothers warnings were always gentle, never stern, and even in her admonition, her maternal love shone—a bright, dazzling thing full of honeysuckle and sun. A small flame leapt from his thumb to his forefinger, dancing about like a riotous storm. He was good-natured, Luka, and obedient, too, for the most part, and so he yielded to his mother’s call, a soft “mama?” springing from his upturned lips. “Dostatochno, moya lyubov.” Enough, my love. The flame flickered once, twice.

“Luka.” Like a lark, Arsen always sings, even when they’re being cruel, but their song is rougher today, a little more exasperated than the sweet, lilting serenade Luka has grown accustomed to. A faint breeze sweeps across the Summoners’ Pavilion, and Luka is grateful, for the chill smothers the heat in his palms some, and he feels anchored once more. Arsen makes a sound of impatience, and he reaches into the bag of flint hooked onto the belt of his kefta, crooning, “Bolshe, bratva.” More, brother.

Instinct bade him to play a little more, burn a little more, destroy a little more, but his mother bade him to stop, and so he stopped. Or he’d meant to—he really had—but some wildfires cannot be quelled, and some hungers cannot be sated. It began with a single wildflower. His mother loved wildflowers, and she would’ve been sad to see her sweetling lay waste to a thing so lovely if she’d lived to bear witness to her would-be-Sankt’s mighty fall from grace. He willed the flame to jump from pink petal to pink petal, from corolla to stem, and he watched with morbid, Icarus-like fascination as fauna fell and turned to ash. It was the first lovely thing he’d ever destroyed, but it would not be the last.

Instinct bids him to bend to Arsen’s will, to indulge in his true nature, to stoke the fire he’s too long neglected. But to trust one’s instincts is to trust oneself, and Luka pities anyfool who deigns to trust Grisha. His instincts betrayed him all those years ago, and he’s since abandoned reliance on intuition, instead favoring the instruments of restraint and control, suppression and solitude. It’s safer this way. But it’s also agonizing this way, and his body aches and groans in protest, angry at being denied nourishment time and again. Hunger gnaws at his stomach, and his hooded eyes are so eclipsed by shadow that he’s beginning to resemble the Unsea. Such is the price to pay for monstrosity; such is the price to pay for penance.

The first lovely thing he destroyed was a flower; the second was a freckled girl named Irina. She was sweet-natured and sweet-toothed, and she was always cold. Her home was near the meadow of wildflowers Luka often played in, and what first consumed one wildflower next consumed a dozen of them, and then hundreds of them, and then the homes surrounding them. Like dominos, lovely flowers and lovely girls and lovely homes fell victim to the ravenous monster forged in the embers of Luka’s palms, and he watched with anguished, Atlas-like horror as home and hearth fell and turned to ash—a blazing pyre of one man’s sins, a monument to one monster’s savagery, a graveyard for one boy’s ghosts.

Arsen sighs, and it’s a mean sound, but Valerian, from across the Pavilion, pins them with narrowed eyes of daggers, and Arsen is almost immediately tempered. To Luka’s left, he sees Iskra, who’s dancing so intimately with flame that you’d think the girl and the element were age-old lovers. She speaks the archaic language of inferno, takes to flame like the stars take to shine, and she’s effortless in her art, a master of that which cannot be mastered. He isn’t sure if envies her or admires her or hates her. To his right, he sees a small crowd of Tidemakers and Squallers alike, and they watch him with a peculiar mix of pity and contempt. Sad soldier boy, they lament. Broken Grisha, they sneer. Pitiable Sankt, they sigh. His traitorous hands ache in want of liberation, but Luka is captive to the ghosts who haunt his barren ribcage, and he will never permit himself the privilege of freedom, not ever again, not even in small doses. He looks to Arsen, and then to Valerian and Shona, and he marvels at how lovely they are. The first lovely thing he destroyed was a flower; the second was a freckled girl; the last was his his family. He will destroy no more lovely things. And so he smiles, faintly and apologetically, and exits, leaving Iskra to her fire and his fellow Grisha to their judgment and his lovely brothers to their loveliness.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

Of the four bratvas, Luka is the least troublesome, but certainly not the least capable of trouble. Kinder than Arsen and gentler than Valerian and quieter than Shona, he’s often mistaken for a wingless seraph, a pitiable, impressionable boy who falls victim time and again to the whims of his bandit brothers. And although Luka is kind, and although Luka is gentle, and although Luka is quiet, he’s also wicked, and whip-smart, and dangerous. He’s less inclined than Valerian and Arsen to incite trouble, surely, but he makes a fine bratva nonetheless—always using his pretty eyes of melancholy to deflect suspicion; always using his sad birdsong to cajole victims of Arsen’s tongue and Valerian’s fists (sometimes—at Arsen’s insistent bidding—using his sad birdsong to lure prey for Arsen’s tongue and Valerian’s fists); always using his intellect to talk his brothers out of trouble. He’s lovely-looking, Luka, and no one ever expects lovely-looking things to be capable of anything but loveliness. And lovely he is, and kind he is, and gentle he is, and quiet he is. But boys of fire always burn—it’s all they know how to do; they burn, and burn, and burn. Lucky for Ravka that Luka Mravinsky drowns in misery each dawn and each dusk—pain makes for a handy leash.

Misery burgeons in darkness, and so, too, does Luka. It’s only fitting, then, that what’s outside matches what’s inside: shadows. He’s always swathed in shadows, Luka, bathed in the dreary dusk of tragedy and the moonlight of melancholy. His eyes are always rimmed with dark crescent moons—a result of his negligence, surely, for he does not stoke the inferno stowed in his palms as often as he ought to, and it shows. Rawboned, dark-eyed boy of shadows, hide your fires; let not light see your black and deep desire.

Luka is relatively neutral in matters of politics and prejudice. He holds no particular grudge against the Ravkan court, and he doesn’t subscribe to the overarching Grisha axiom of human inferiority—and why would he? Luka is a well of self-loathing, and he aches to be ordinary, to be human. He thinks himself cursed, thinks otkazat’sya lucky, and so the only ill will he feels for humans is this: envy. He remains neutral in all areas regarding the disparity between otkazat’sya and Grisha, and he has no stake in the game of politics. Because of the brotherhood he shares with Shona, he’s also quite accepting of those who hail from lands outside of Ravka.

Ravka is a treasure trove of secrets, a shrine of gossip and hearsay. Among the well of rumors that spill from lips to ears in Ravka is the great tragedy of Luka Mravinsky. He was a mystery to them at first—a sad, soot-covered orphan boy plucked from the bedlam of war. But mysteries never remain so for long, and soon, tongues were wagging about the pyro who started the great fire, wiped an entire village. “Angel smerti,” they hissed. Angel of death. “Smert kosoy,” they whispered. Reaper. And he’d been certain—so certain—that the three boys he’d learned to love as well as any monster could would hiss the same, whisper the same; leave him to perish in the hearth of his own flame. And he’d been wrong. Every cruel whisper aimed at Luka was met with a crueler barb from Arsen’s crueler tongue, and every mean hiss at Luka’s expense was met with Valerian’s meaner fists. Shona followed in suit, and soon, residents of the Little Palace (and the Grand one, too) learned not to whisper or hiss about Luka Mravinsky, for to do so was to incite the wrath of fire and storm. To this day, most who live in the Little and Grand Palaces know of Luka’s story, but few discuss it plainly for fear of the three hellhounds that follow the sad soldier boy around like guard dogs.

Because of his consuming fear of losing control again, Luka has learned to depend less on his powers than other Grisha, and he has, in turn, committed himself to the study of hand-to-hand combat. His fellow Inferni wield flame with much more precision and ease than Luka, to be sure, but there are few Grisha who can best Luka in the training room, where the use of Small Science is forbidden and Grisha must rely on fists and reflex. To maintain constant restraint, Luka trains and meditates religiously, for he finds that exercising the most human and most base parts of himself keeps him grounded (and keeps the monster in him at bay).

Much in the same way that Luka has learned to depend on hand-to-hand combat so as to relieve his dependence on flame and fire, he’s also taken to academia. Every hour spent avoiding the Summoners’ Pavillions was, in turn, spent in the Grand Palace’s library, where Luka read voraciously and studied even more so. Because of this, he’s certainly one of the more intellectual Grisha. He’s well-versed in Grisha theory and militant strategy and is able to speak Kerch, Suli, Shu, and Fjerdan as fluently as he speaks his own mother tongue.

Of course, his excellence in academia and combat training have yielded an obvious deficit in his ability to summon and wield fire. Despite his great capacity to wield flame (as is evidenced by his burning of an entire village), his obsessive need to retain control and his reluctance to call to the fire that betrayed him all those years ago make for a poor Inferni. He can’t summon nearly as well as Arsen can, and he can’t wield half as gracefully as Valerian can. Many other Etherealki sneer, call him weak-willed and bare-boned, a broken Grisha who’s about as useless as otkazat’sya. They’re wrong, of course—Luka Mravinsky might yet be one of the greatest Inferni Ravka has ever known if only he’d embrace his nature. But he’s got no qualms about the sneers and whispers, really. Better a broken Grisha than a monster.

Luka has a tattoo on his left bicep that reads: XCIII. It’s the population of his mother village; the number of people he killed, the number of ghosts that have taken up residence in his hollow body.

Luka has crossed the Unsea many times, perhaps more than any Inferni of his age. Those who don’t know him might call it a grab for glory, but those who do know Luka know that he cares nothing for glory. He has nothing to prove, and his dreams of earning the title of ‘Sankt’ have long since perished. Those who don’t know him might call it a quest for redemption, a voyage to do enough good to make up for all the bad he’s done, but Luka thinks himself irredeemable; to try to pay penance for the 92 lives he stole is, he thinks, a fruitless quest. Why, then, does the almost-Sankt so readily volunteer to travel the Unsea? Why not? Men who have nothing to lose are dangerous creatures, beings of fearlessness who know not the confines of survival or self-preservation. They call him fearless, courageous, bold—but he doesn’t care what they call him. He’s not fearless, or courageous, or bold—he’s dead, a ghost among the living. Perhaps it’s luck that he’s not yet been made a victim of the Unsea; perhaps it’s penance, a sentence of purgatory that manifests in the flush of his cheeks and the stubborn beat of his heart. Or perhaps he’s escaped the clutches of the volcra because the ghastly beasts feed only on the living, and Luka is only half-alive, too hollow to feast on.  *All headcanons are, of course, subject to player discretion!

EXTRAS: You can find a mockblog for Luka here! MBTI: ISFJ. ASTROLOGY: Pisces (February 24th).  HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff. MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good.

ANYTHING ELSE? OMITTED

[voxvociscruorawriting]

Online Dating For Pathetic Fruitloops: Chapter 2

(Read on FF.net, Read on Ao3)

-o-oOo-o-

The Count of Monte Cristo. That's the show she chose. He'd never heard of it before, nor did he bother to look anything up about it—why ruin the experience?

The tickets had been particularly tricky to get his hands on. The show only had a few weeks left in the theater and had been sold out for months. A small part of him suspected that Marilynn might have known that when she made the decision. Perhaps she didn't think he'd be able to obtain them and would thus have an excuse out of date. The idea was ridiculous and he understood it was only the blossoming anxiety talking, but still. Fortunately, he learned that it was quite easy to bribe two admissions into his possession, without the use of any ghostly “persuasion”. Turns out people liked an extra ten thousand in their pocket than seeing a musical.

When he told Marilynn he'd gotten tickets, she hadn't believed him at first. So he sent her pics.

Her response of “ahhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHH??!!” amused him to no end.

Three days later, he flew in his unmarked private jet to New York during the middle of the night. He'd admit, he was fond of media attention and the paparazzi (to an extent; they were fun to play tricks on), but he did not want it known he was in New York. People knowing meant they'd been looking for him, and he needed to keep his fame under wraps from Marilynn, at least for now. She did not seem to know who he was, if her messages were anything to go by.

His full name being Vladimir had been one of his best kept secrets. The public always knew him as Vlad Masters. Even Daniel had expressed surprised when he discovered it.

He did not want to trap Marilynn in the public eye. Her being seen with him could ruin her life irreparably, the harassment was horrible for those who didn't want, or couldn't handle, it. If he played things carefully, neither of them would be bothered tonight.

Currently, he was standing outside the theater at 7:24 pm, the pavement bustling with people entering and exiting. He scanned the sea of heads, the lights of the street casting shadows on heads. He couldn't stop digging his nails into the palm of his hand, a nervous tick from his childhood. When he noticed, he tried to rub away the angry red marks. To say he was anxious was an understatement.

Over the past few days, he'd been having....second thoughts. Sure, he still wanted to meet Marilynn, but he still wanted Maddie too. Daniel's words had dulled with time, lost their edge. The boy was wrong, and now he wanted nothing more than to prove it.

This bit of him was worried, because what....what if he started falling for Marilynn? What would he do then; he couldn't chase both of them. He'd have to choose.

His nail bit deeper into his skin. New York City seemed to be filled to the brim with black haired women tonight.

A blur of color from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned. His breath absconded.

She stood out from the hoard of people around her. The bright pink dress she wore seemed to catch and toss light like a thousand stars. Her hair seemed longer than in her picture, but he couldn't tell for sure since it was tied up into a messy, yet oddly elegant, bun. In her hands she clasped a small handheld pocket purse, matching her dress. She was checking her watch and looking into the crowd, searching, obviously, for him. For a moment, it felt like his heart has stopped functioning.

'That's concerning. I don't want to die tonight.' a monotone thought slipped into his head, and left just as quickly.

Vlad inhaled a breath, and approached.

“Pardon. Marilynn?”

She jumped, swirling around. Her eyes were angry until she saw him, and recognition flashed across her face. Her expression softened and she smiled, placing a hand on her chest, “Yes, that's me. You startled me.”

Vlad offered his hand, “My deepest apologies; it wasn't intentional. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Marilynn's smile grew, “Indeed it is, it's a pleasure to meet you too.” she replied, taking his hand. Her fingers were so small, but her grip was strong. And cold; it sent shivers right to his core. “I'm quite impressed that you managed to get tickets to a Broadway production so quickly. Normally you have to reserve months in advance.”

Vlad chuckled. “It wasn't any trouble at all. You just need to know which strings to pull.” He waved a hand nonchalantly, and Marilynn raised an eyebrow. He raised his arm to her, gesturing to the building, “Shall we, my dear??”

“We shall.” she shrugged and nodded, looping her arm through his.

Vlad led the way into the theater. After a brief exchange of trying to figure out just where they needed to go, they proceeded deeper into the theater. Marilynn's black stilettos made soft noises on the carpet, her free hand resting on his bicep. The contact felt odd, as he wasn't used to being touched. He was amused, mostly, because he had to take shorter steps than normal, due to Marilynn's small legs.

As they walked, he said, “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, if I may say so.”

It was the truth. He felt like he couldn't take his eyes off her. Seeing her in person, he saw more subtle differences between her and Maddie: her cheeks were higher and her jaw was a different shape, more supple. Her eyes too, oh god those eyes. So many different hues of blue. They almost glittered, like the waters of the Caribbean if you wanted cliche metaphors. Magenta eye shadow and black eyeliner sharpened them, giving her an almost avian look. If he believed in angels, he'd be certain one was standing in front of him.

Then again, he thought the same of Madeline.

“Quick to the flattery, aren't you?” she questioned, but her lips pulled up into an amused smile.

“Simply making observations.” Her smile grew.

“Have you ever seen The Count of Monte Crisco before?”

He shook his head, “No, I fear I haven't. The title sounds familiar, though..... Was it a book?”

Marilynn hummed, “It was. Written by the same author of The Three Musketeers.”

“Well you learn something new every day.” Vlad mused. He looked down at her, curious, “Is there any particular reason you chose this production?”

She flashed a toothy smile, “It's been one of the ones I've always wanted to see live. It's one of my favorites.” She was quiet for a beat, before adding, “I think you'll enjoy it.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Hmm, I dunno. You've just got a way of speaking that gives off that impression. It's quite pompous.” Marilynn said, shrugging. He chuckled, holding the door to the seating area for her. She murmured her thanks.

“Well, I've heard less flattering ways of it being put. I just like to be proper.”

“Oh trust me, it's a welcome change from the guys who drag their pants at their knees.”

His eyes snapped to her, “What kind of men have you been dating? Petulant teenage gangster wannabes?”

She snorted, her eyes rolling. “It sometimes feels that way.”

“I admit that I can sometimes be a little....childish. Although not quite to that extent.” he admitted.

She chuckled. “Well at least you’re honest about it.”

They were seated by the usher near the isle, and not too many from their section had taken their seats yet. They waited until almost everyone else had arrived, and during this time, Marilynn had pointed out her favorite songs in the playwright they'd been given. When they did finally sit down, Vlad realized the seats were closer together than he had expected, both horizontally and vertically. RIP his long legs.

Marilynn touched his arm and told him to turn his phone off if he hadn't already and he noticed she was the doing the same. When doing so, Vlad noticed he had a missed call from Daniel. He ignored it and powered down the device, returning it to his pocket. He smiled at Marilynn and she returned it. Several minutes later, the curtains rose.

-o-oOo-o-

The Count of Monte Cristo, based on the book by Alexandre Dumas, follows the tale of Edmond Dantes, a young and innocent shipmate and fiance of the woman Mercedes. After being forced to land on the isle of Elba the isle on which Napoleon Bonaparte had been exiled to, because of his dying captain, Dantes returned home and been elevated to captain of his own ship—his dream. Most unfortunately, beings of greed locked their eyes upon him.

Danglars, the first mate of the ship and the person whom had attempted to rat out Dantes for the decision to land at Elba. His plan backfired, resulting in Dantes' new position, and his anger rose. He was supposed to be Captain, not Dantes. Whilst on Elba, Dantes had been given a letter from Napoleon, an act that was considered treason. Danglars knew this. He began to plot.

Mondego, whom Dantes believed to be a friend and cousin to Mercedes. Most unfortunately, Dantes did not realize his feelings of friendship were one-sided, nor did he know that Mondego had also set his eyes on Mercedes. Hate and contempt for Dantes brewed in Mondego.

The two spiteful men conspired, and Dantes, amiss his own wedding, was arrested.

Believing himself to be innocent, and sure that his arrest is a mere mistake, he goes willingly, to the chief magistrate, Gerard de Villefort. Interrogated, Dates claims his innocence, and Villefort believes him—until Dantes, oblivious, reveals the recipient of the letter to be Villefort's own father. Fear for the destruction of his reputation blooms within Villefort; he cannot let this information be known. He makes a choice. He sentences Dantes to life imprisonment in the Chateau d'If, an island prison.

Three selfish men, each responsible for locking an innocent man behind bars for life, to get what they wanted.

Years pass and Dantes remains locked away, slowly losing hope that he will ever return home. Mercedes, ever strong, awaits his return. Mondego, after so long attempting to win her over, realizes that she would never turn her gaze to him while she believed Dantes still lived. Thus he tells her that Dantes has died. She falls into heartbreak.

One day, Dantes encounters another prisoner whom had been attempted to tunnel to freedom, Abbe Faria. The two join each other, Faria offering to teach Dantes, whom is illiterate and unschooled, everything he knows in exchange for help digging. They become quick friends. Faria tells about who he was before being imprisoned, a priest and academic who served a wealthy Count. He was granted the knowledge of where the Count's wealth had been hidden away, on the remote isle of Monte Cristo. The two agree to share the treasure once they are free. Fate has other plans, and Faria is fatally wounded during a tunnel collapse. Dantes is granted the entire fortune, and despite Faria asking him to forget and forgive his desire for revenge, Dantes cannot bring himself to. He joins Faria's body by playing dead, and is thrown into the sea, escaping the prison.

Dantes made his way to Monte Cristo, discovering the treasure was indeed real. He rechristens himself as the wealthy Count of Monte Cristo, and returns to France with revenge burning in his heart.

Upon buying a huge mansion, Dantes attempts to settle into a lavish lifestyle while he gathers information about the three devils whom ruined him. Danglars has become a Baron, Villefort the chief prosecutor for Paris. He then discovers that Mondego and Mercedes had wed, and borne a son, Albert. Overcome with rage, Dantes vows to bring Hell upon all of them, Mercedes included for her betrayal.

-o-oOo-o-

By the time 'Hell to your Doorstep' faded away and Intermission began, Vlad had dug his fingernails into his skin hard enough to bleed.

He jumped when the lights turned back on, illuminating the theater. He tried to swallow, but his throat was tied into a knot and refused to budge. It felt like he was suffocating. Like every word of the show had kicked him in the chest. All of his muscles felt wound too tight and were about to snap at the slightest--

he flinched, eyes snapping to the soft fingers touching his arm. He looked back up at Marilynn. She was frowning, brows knitted together.

“Are you alright? You look a little pale.” she asked, her voice quiet. Vlad forced his throat to unlock, but it did little for the queasy feeling in his stomach. Made it feel worse, actually.

He smiled, and hoped—prayed—it looked convincing, “My apologies, I'm fine. I just need to use the restroom. Please excuse me.”

She nodded silently as he stood up and excused himself. He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck until he went through the doors. He slipped and wove between the handfuls of other people, can came across a men's bathroom. He pushed himself inside and practically collapsed onto a sink. His carefully woven control fell away in tatters. His hands gripped the porcelain so tight it hurt, and he welcomed the feeling. Anything to distract himself. He struggled for breath, his lungs heaving but his throat not permitting. All that squeezed out were shallow inhales. His arms shook, threatening to give out just as much as his legs were. His core felt like it was twisting, pressing against his heart and stabbing itself. His blood pounded in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut.

Daniel's argument returned like a tsunami and devastated his mind.

Marilynn just had to pick the one musical production in the world that constantly felt like a parade of his own life.

He had been Dantes. The idiotic fool who trusted too easily. Whom put his trust into the wrong people, and gotten stabbed in the back for it. Gotten locked away in isolation for it. Died a little each day because of it. The moron who hadn't had the gut to tell the woman he loved how he felt about her, and thus lost her forever. 'I love you, Madeline; please take care of her while I'm gone, Jack.' 'Sure, I'll take care of her very nicely, I'll marry her and have two goddamn children with her, one of whom will be the bane of your existence AT. THIS. VERY. MOMENT!'

He was the wealthy Count, using his money and power for reaping revenge, forever stuck shackled by the past. So blinded by what he thought was true, what he wanted to be true, that he was incapable to see what really was true. The one who hid behind 'an eye for an eye'. 'You hurt me, so now I will make you hurt just the same.'

the pathetic fool willing to destroy himself while trying to ruin everything else.

His hands tightened, the porcelain heating from the ectoplasm throbbing beneath his fingertips. His fangs were too big for his mouth, stabbing into his gums as his jaw remained clenched shut. 'And yet...'

He wasn't Dantes. His Mercedes never loved him. His accident hadn't be intentional, hadn't been a ploy or plot or murder attempt. He did not have any right to justice for his so called 'injustices'. He was just a man who couldn't move on, who fixated on his pain because it was easier to be angry and think himself right then it was to admit that it hadn't been anyone's fault; things went wrong, and he'd made mistakes.

Daniel was right. He had always been right. Annoying and insufferable about it, yes, but he knew what he was talking about.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. How the world loved to kick him in the face.

A knock sounded from the door, startling him.

“Vladimir?” Marilynn. Of course. She knocked again, “Are you in there? Are you okay?”

He smelt the tangy sweetness of ectoplasm and opened his eyes. Magenta energy faded from his palms, leaving a seared palm mark on the white sink. Thick lines of blood dribbled from his knuckles down his fingers. He exhaled, the tension slowly uncurling from within him. His muscles felt very sore as his senses came back to him. Why did existential crises have to be so exhausting? 

“I'm fine. Please, forgive me.” he called.

He turned on the tap, fully cold, and washed the red from his hands. The crescent moon cuts stung and began to throb, but they'd be gone in an hour so he payed them no mind. He splashed his face, the water soothing his heated skin. He ran his hands over his hair, pressing down the small flyaway strands that had come loose. Looking back at himself in the mirror, he winced. He still looked quite haggard. The deep bags under his eyes from insomnia and stress, dull eyes, several small round scars that his doctor had been unable to fix due to the sensitive area they were located. Hands marked with nebulae from years of trying and failing and trying again to force ghostly powers to bend to his will, his control, despite his fleshy human body.

'My mom is not the same person she was in college! No one is! Not her, not Dad, and certainly not you!' his chest tightened.

This is who he'd become. This....stupid fool, who would be a complete stranger to the bright-eyed, clumsy, social reclusive 20 year old he had been. He distantly wished he could do things over again. But he couldn't. There was no returning to 1981.

He almost snorted. 43 was a hell of a time to try to start anew.

'But not too late. And not impossible.' The voice pointed out. He growled at his own thoughts, 'Shut up, Daniel.'

He stepped out of the bathroom. Marilynn was standing beside it, waiting for him. He offered her a smile, and apologized again. Her frown deepened. He started to walk back to the theater, assuming she'd come with him, but she stepped in front of him. Her hand pressed against his chest, just enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He blinked down at her, surprised.

“Vladimir? Talk to me, please, I'm worried. I can see that you're unsettled by something. Is something wrong?” Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him, her eyes searching him. All he could do was stare at her, shocked.

“It's....” he tried to speak, but he couldn't think of the right words. Something had been wrong, and still technically was, but he didn't really know how to explain. Marilynn seemed to become more concerned by this, and he cleared this throat, “I....admit, that the, ah, story is hitting....a little close to home.”

Marilynn nodded slowly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-”

“Hush. It's fine. Don't blame yourself.” Vlad said. He placed a hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before lifting it away. She looked unconvinced, but allowed him to put an arm around her. He motioned down the hall “Come, we should go back before intermission ends.”

-o-oOo-o-

Act II begins with Albert attending a carnival, and being quickly drawn away from it and captured. Dantes, pretending to be captured as well, helps Albert free himself and protects him from bandits after they are attacked. This was done intentionally, to gain the boys trust and to get closer to Mondego and Mercedes. Introducing himself as the Count of Monte Cristo, Dantes invites Albert to a ball being held at his mansion.

Gossip is rife among the attendees before Dantes arrives, dazzling everyone with his charm and wealth. One after another, Danglars, Villefort and Mondego are presented and promised rewards for being noble and just. None of them recognize the Count for Dantes, until Mercedes. She does, becoming shocked her deceased lover still lives. Dantes does not give her a chance to speak; he has nothing to say to her.

Dantes sets a trap for the three men. He uses an informant to give the three instructions to invest their  money into a company, Llerrom International, which, unknown to them, Dantes owns. The men, none the wiser, fallow the suggestion, and profit substantially as a result, becoming quite rich themselves. Danglars plans to become the richest man in Paris, Villefort to bribe voters for his election campaign, and Mondego wants to bask in endless wine, women and gambling.

Upon having the three's livelihoods dangling from his fingertips, Dantes liquidates the company. The trio loose everything as it all comes crashing back down. Danglars shoots himself, unable to bear it. Villefort is exposed, and sent to Chateau d'If. Mondego, the last, reads the name Llerrom backwards; Morrell being the shipping company Dantes used to work for. Mondego, realizing the Count's true identity, is enraged.

Albert, however, is not pleased with the shame the Count has wrought upon his family. He challenges Dantes to a duel, despite Mercedes' attempts to talk him out of it. Valentine, Albert's fiancee and lover, attempts to change his mind, but fails to stop him as well.

Mercedes begs the Count to spare Albert's life, but Dantes has not forgive her. Mercedes accuses him of heartlessness, but he does not listen.

The duel between the Count and Albert is pathetic. Albert draws first, and misses, leaving Dantes the victor. As Dantes readies his gun to kill Albert, Valentine jumps between them, begging the Count to spare her love's life. She is pulled away, still begging and crying, and Albert prepares himself to die.

The Count shoots into the air, sparing him. The young lovers are reunited, like a reflection of the younger Dantes and Mercedes all those years ago. Shaken from his anger and spite by Valentines display of love, Dantes questions where his old self had gone, contemplating all of the agony and loss he suffered before finally, letting if fall away. His revenge completed, his ire extinguishes. He returns to Mercedes, and they forgive each other. Mondego, however, is not so keen to let Mercedes go. He engages Dantes in a sword fight, but is easily defeated. Yet Dantes cannot bring himself to kill Mondego.

Despite the offer to live and be free, Mondego is too angry, blinded by his own desire for revenge. He attempts to stab Dantes in the back, and Dantes is forced to kill Mondego to save himself. Dantes and Mercedes rekindle their love, and vow to never leave each other again.

-o-oOo-o-

Vlad attempted to not think about the ending. He downright ignored it. He pushed away the unsettling weight in his stomach, refusing to participate in the song and dance for a second time.

He stood, stretching, his back and legs popping from sitting so long. Beside him, Marilynn rolled her shoulders and neck, sharing his stiffness. She allowed him to take her arm again, staying close to him as they exit the theater back into the night, away from the suffocation of other people. The cool air of night bites their faces, feeling quite nice after being inside for nearly three hours. People still crowded around the outside, and they squeezed a way through until they get to an area of sidewalk that was fairly barren of others.

They walked down the street a bit, Vlad watching Marilynn's struggle to pluck away strands of hair that plastered themselves to her lipstick out of the corner of his eye.

“That was quite the enjoyable, all things considered. I hope I didn't ruin your experience.” he states eventually, casting a curious glance at her.

Her eyes go wide, “Oh no, I absolutely loved it! I can't thank you enough. I haven't had such a good first date in forever, I almost don't want it to end.” she said. Vlad raised a brow, humming.

“Well it doesn't have to.” he replied, the corner of his lip pulling up, “Anything else you'd be interesting in doing?”

Marilynn is surprised, but rolls with it, her head tilted as she thought. It was past ten at night, but that meant little in the City That Never Slept.

“Hmmm I'm feeling kinda hungry. Could you go for some pizza?” she said. He grinned.

“I'd love some. Pizza it is, then!”

Marilynn lead to way to a small, family owned pizzeria several blocks away, which was a good thing since Vlad got completely turned around the first right they made. He'd never been one for such huge cities; he liked living in the outskirts of both Madison and Amity. They'd decided to order a single pizza, half pepperoni and half ham and pineapple. This brought about his first true discovery about her; she liked fruit on her pizza. Blasphemy!

She also attempted to pay, which he intercepted. He had promised that everything tonight was on him, after all.

There were only three other people inside at such a late hour, but they decided to sit in the back anyway, away from them. While they ate, they made small talk, which turned into a short argument about pineapple on pizza and then about certain other dubious food combinations. Like mint and chocolate; she refused to believe he would ruin perfectly good chocolate like that.

Vlad could feel it, though. She wanted to say something, but she wouldn't. Eventually, she did.

Marilynn put her drink down after taking a sip, “May I ask you a question?”

Vlad waved a hand, “Shoot, my dear.”

She hesitated. She bit her lip, which had been stripped of her blood red lipstick before she started eating. “I'm...sorry if I'm overstepping, but....why was the play hitting close to home for you?”

Vlad opened his mouth, then closed it immediately after. He'd been expecting this, of course, but he still didn't know what to tell her. He'd never told anyone before. He sighed, “It's a long story.”

“I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon.” Marilynn said. He didn't respond, and she tilted her head, her scowl deep, “Did someone betray you?”

'Observant and logical. Impressive.' he thought. Reluctantly, he gave a nod. Sighing, he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I had...a crush on one of my friends, in college. I loved her, quite a lot. I never got to tell her. She and another friend, they believed in this....bizarre idea, about the existence of....another realm, of sorts.” Vlad began, motioning with his hands. Marilynn nodded, listening, “It was ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous. But, she was dedicated to it, and I went where she went, so I got dragged into things. Theories and experiments. And then they started working on a machine to open a sort of door to this alternate realm. They were so convinced that it would work, didn't listen to me or any kind of common sense.”

“One day, about halfway through my second year, this machine was completed and they decided to test it out. That was how it was, jump in with both feet, who cares about repercussions if it works. My best friend at the time didn't listen when he was told that some things weren't right, and it—” Vlad bobbed his head, searching for the words, “Malfunctioned right into my face.”

“I was rushed to the hospital. It was a rather....unpleasant experience. Five years later, I come out penniless, kicked out of college, drowning in debt and.....they're both happily married in a quaint little home. It was all quite....painful, to say in the least.”

His fingers itched towards several faint marks on his hands, some circles, other pinpoint dots. It felt like they throbbed at the memory of pain from years passed. The phantom feeling of rupturing blisters tingled across patches of his skin. He shuddered.

“Well that certainly explains things....” Marilynn said after a while. He didn't raise his eyes, and she looked away as well, “You still have feelings for this woman, don't you?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn't know what to say. Say 'yes, I do, I'd still love to pine after her but a teenager won't let me'? He's pretty sure that'd be the most surefire way to both end the night and earn a 'please never get within thirty feet of me ever again.' restraining order. But if he lied, he'd have to keep up the lie, which would be hard since he still couldn't completely let go. Madeline was part of his obsession, and obsessions weren't easily denied. He swallowed.

“I....I won't lie, I do. But I have begun to come to terms with the realization that I could never have her.” he said, deciding that it was best to be honest. The best way to not be caught in a tangled web of lies later was to not weave them, right? Despite this, it was still quite hard to actually say it himself, to hear it in his own voice. “I don't want to spend another twenty years chasing ghosts. I...need to try to move on.”

Marilynn nodded, a sad smile on her lips. Recognition and understanding flashed across her eyes. Vlad blinked, confused. Noticing this, she looked away again and began to pick at her nails. “I know how you feel. Well, sort of. I don't mean to say my pain's the same as yours, but....I know what it's like to feel betrayed. To feel forgotten. To feel worthless.”

His confusion deepened.“Who would be so cruel as to hurt someone like you?”

Marilynn snorted, “I met this guy in my AP class. He was tall, handsome and oh lord, was he sweet. To say I fell head over heels is an understatement. We started dating, and I felt like I'd found my soulmate. I wanted to marry him, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. He didn't particularly agree with my degree choice, he thought that 'pretty girls don't know anything about computers'. He tried to get me to drop out. And...” she heaved a sigh, “For him, I did.”

“I spent a year living with him. Got engaged and everything, but......my mother was ill. She'd always been rather frail, but it was still...still hard, to finally lose her. I'd rushed home, stayed for a couple of days for her funeral. When I went back to Penn State, everything was gone. The apartment was up for rent and he,” Her hands curled into white-knuckled fists, “He, the man of my dreams, the man I'd die for, the man I derailed my life for, had decided that he liked the swimmer he'd been dating behind my back better and that he belonged in Miami.”

“It turns out he'd been waiting for when I was out of the apartment to get up and leave, because he didn't like how 'dependent' I'd gotten. He took everything from me.”

Vlad could only stare, “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged, smiling. “It was a long time ago.”

He could tell it was a fake smile, the 'It's fine' smile. It was familiar.

He scoffed, “Don't I know those words well. 'It was a long time ago, I'm fine. No, I'm not still angry. Yes, I've forgiven you.' Such tiresome lying, when you just want to say to opposite but can't. You just have to smile and pretend.”

Her face lit up, “Exactly. You have to dance the dance because everyone else will judge you if they know it still hurts you. 'C'mon, it was so long ago. How come you haven't let it go yet?' Like bitch, Brittney, it ain't that easy!”

He nodded, picking up his glass and swirling the water inside, “It appears that we are both quite similar. The broken and the betrayed. It's almost sickeningly Avant Garde.”

Marilynn snorted, but flashed a smile. “It's comforting, to know someone who can understand what it's like. I'm glad to have met you.”

“I would like to say the same about you, my dear.” he replied, then cocked his head, “Y'know, it's funny, I've never told anyone about my accident before, and yet I've told you tonight.”

She lifted her piece of pizza, but paused before taking a bite, “I'm glad that we both feel we can trust each other with our baggage, that's a good thing.” she said. “Don't worry, it's safe with me, I wouldn't dream of telling anyone. I trust you'd do the same for me?”

“I wouldn't ever dream of hurting you, my dear.”

She hummed her thanks, her mouth full. She finished chewing, then said,“You like to do that, don't you?”

He blinked “Do what?”

“Call people 'my dear' or 'my darling'. You've done it quite a few times now,” she said, stirring her drink with the straw and taking a sip. Realization hit him.

“Ahh, it's a bit of a habit. I often use it around some of the other women I know, so sometimes it just slips out. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, if that's the case.” he explained. It was true. He called Maddie and Haley by simple pet names all the time. He recalled even doing it with Jazz once, much the young lady's disgust. Marilynn waved her hand, dismissive.

“Oh, no, I don't mind. It's just something I noticed. I think it's quite sweet, actually.”

“Do you? I haven't heard that before.”

“How come? I would expect that a man like you,” she gestured him up and down, though he didn't know if she meant his suit or the body in it, “wouldn't have any trouble at all dating. And yet here you are.”

He chuckled, leaning back on the seat, ignoring the noise the old thing made, “Ah, looks can be deceiving, Marilynn.” he admitted, “I'm fairly....romantically inept, so to speak. Lack of experience.”

“So that's why you chose online dating? You're too shy to go bar hopping?”

“I am not shy!” Vlad decided to ignore the little 'Mmhm' and the smug smile on pink lips, “But as to the reason why, that's a rather funny story, actually. Well, one part funny, two parts annoying.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Marilynn laced her fingers together, resting her chin on her knuckles.

“I didn't register myself. A bratty teenager who can't keep his nose out of my business took it upon himself to try to get me in a relationship. He signed me up on the site, and I caught him not too long before I first messaged you.” Vlad explained, “That's why my profile was blank, by the by.”

Marilynn laughed, trying to hide it behind her hands, “Okay that's the best thing I've ever heard. You needed a teenage wing man.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Vlad muttered, and she laughed harder. He pouted, but found that he wasn't really all that angry or embarrassed about it. “As annoying as it was, I can't be too angry with the boy. After all, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.”

Marilynn wiped a tear away from her eye with her pinky, “Good point. You should thank him.”

Vlad snorted, picking up his glass, “He probably wouldn't believe me if I told him I actually went on a date already. He'd think I was making you up, and then he'd start to pity me.” he downed the rest of his water.

“Well at least he wouldn't be right. I'm real and I'm here. Somehow.”

“Sometimes crazy works, you know.” Vlad stated, raising his chin proudly. Marilynn rolled her eyes, and finished off her pizza, the faintest smile visible behind the crust.

“And if I may be so bold, I'd love for you to tell me more about yourself, since you are here.”

She rested a cheek in her hand, “What do you want to know?”

“A lot of things.” Vlad replied, a sly gleam creeping into his eyes, “All of your favorites. Your best stories and memories. Your hopes and dreams. Your laugh when you just can't stop. How you look when you're doing the things you love. How you look in the summer sun, and bundled in ugly Holiday sweaters, and when you wake up every morning. What your hair smells like. If you lips are as soft as they-”

“Okaaay, slow it down there, eager beaver. It's only the first date.” she waved her hand, cutting him off. He smirked, leaning back and observing the pink blush spreading across her cheeks to her ear tips, “There'll be other opportunities.”

His smirk grew wider, a brow raised, “Ahhh, so I have snared your interest then?

She hummed, “I wouldn't say that just yet. But I do like you.”

“I'll consider that a small victory.”

“How about this, I'll answer three questions every date.” Marilynn said, holding three fingers up, “But I get to ask three of my own back and we both have to be honest. Deal?”

Vlad shrugged once, nonchalant, “Deal.”

Marilynn gestured for him to go first. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, “Let's see.....You said that The Count was one of your favorite musicals. What's your absolute favorite?”

Her head fell back, “Ohhh, that's such a hard question right off the bat! I have so many that I love! Wicked, RENT, The Scarlet Pimpernel! But I'm gonna have to saaay....Chicago. It's got a special place in my heart.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“It's the first one I discovered, the one that started my love for musicals and theater. When I was younger, I actually wanted to be an actress because I liked it so much.” she explained, flashing an innocent smile, “That counted as two, by the way.”

He frowned, “I hadn't even thought before I asked, but fair is fair. What do you want to know?”

Marilynn tapped her bottom lip with her finger, humming. He could almost see the ways the gears turned in her skull, in the way her thin brows crinkled and her eyes wandered. For a moment, her eyes lingered on the white stripe parting his silver hair and he could practically feel her mind questioning it.. But she didn't voice any aloud, instead moving on and looking elsewhere.

Eventually, she made vague motions with her hand, “You know I'm learning German, right? But what about you, do you speak a second language or learning anything?”

Vlad hummed, “Ahhh, interesting. I speak a couple, actually. My first language is actually Romanian, English is my second. I'm fairly fluent in French as well.” her brows raised.

“Romanian? That's one you don't hear about any day. That's neat.” she leaned forward, table creaking lightly under her weight, “Can you say something in it? For me?”

Vlad chuckled, “Sigur. Cred că am îndrăgostit de tine.”

“That's awesome. What did you say?”

“Ahhh, but you've already asked your three questions tonight, my dear.” Vlad smirked, amused at her dumbfounded expression, which he found absolutely adorable, “I guess you'rer going to have to wait until next time to figure it out.”

“That's just mean.” Marilynn muttered, and he chuckled again.

“Go ahead, ask another; I won't count them, since one was technically a request.”

For a moment, she looked like she was going to protest. Instead, she asked, “Why me?”

Vlad frowned, “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, “Why did you decide to message me? What made you interested?”

Vlad stared at her. After a moment, he looked away, towards the tile of the wall, thinking. What, exactly, had made him interested in her? More interested than the other five? Her interests? Her profession? Her looks? He couldn't pinpoint it. Well, he could, but he attempted to ignore that particular reason right now. She was certainly beautiful, yes, and he did feel attracted to her, but there had been something else, something he couldn't figure out. Something he knew he saw, but couldn't identify. Or was he overthinking it? Thinking there was something else when all that was there was the physical attraction, and the similarities of Maddie? He...honestly, he didn't know. He was dumbfounded for a second time.

“Vladimir?” he looked back to Marilynn, broken from his musings.

“My apologies, I just hadn't thought about why you stood out to me before. It's a good question. I guess I....well, I don't want to paint myself as being shallow, but a substantial factor was your beauty. The other part was that I was reading your profile and I couldn't stop thinking that this was a woman I wanted know more about. I felt more magnetized the more I read, But I haven't any idea why.” he said.

Marilynn's face softened, her smile brightening, “I've asked every single previous guy that same question, and most of them tried to come up with some superficial vague crap; not one of them admitted it might have been because they thought I was attractive. Thank you for being honest.”

His face contorted in confusion, “You're quite welcome? I don't understand, why does that please you?”

In an instant, her face hardened. Eyes narrow, jaw tight, smile gone.

“I hate being lied to. I can't stand it. I don't appreciate when people, particularly men whom I go on dates with, attempt to pull wool over my eyes with fluffy words and a sickeningly sweet disposition. It's a game to them, they're focused on a goal rather than who I am. I'm not a possession, nor a trophy, to be won. I don't play the game.” she explained, and Vlad could only stare at the dull, nearly irritable tone, “They only get one chance. Either be honest with me or get out; I haven't time for the bullshit.”

'Seems like I'm not the only bitter one here still compensating for past grievances.' he thought, nodding. 'Daniel's goth friend would like this attitude.'

“Makes sense, but, still...Why?” he questioned, thought to be honest, he didn't really know how else to respond.

“I've been lied to enough in my life. I refuse to have my time wasted. Never again.” she replied, adding, “It's also easy for me, because I'm very well aware that I'm beautiful; there's no denying that.”

His brows shot up, “I wouldn't dare, I quite agree.” she laughed, and he relaxed a little.

“Since I've most likely used my third question, and fourth and fifth probably, it’s still your turn, my dear.”

“I've lost track, honestly.” she admitted and he chuckled, “Let's go with something easy since it's getting a little late. Any fears?”

'Too many.' he mentally kicked the thought in its nonexistent ass.

“Death.” he replied, “Hospitals. Being alone. Bees. A few superstitions, as well, thought not as badly. Your typical sorts of things. What time even is it?”

Marilynn checked her phone, “12:22. I think I should head home.”

Vlad nodded, his spirit deflating. He didn't realize they'd been here for so long; it was a good thing the pizzeria was a 24-hour one. He was quite sad that he'd have to say goodbye soon, and a tad surprised by that. It'd been a very enjoyable evening, one he didn't quite want to end yet. But it needed to, as he assumed she had work to do later and he himself needed to get back to Amity by 8 am for a meeting. Most likely because of Daniel's destructive heroics, the brat went out on a limb to make his work even harder.

They split the remaining few pieces of pizza into to-go boxes, and left together, a handsome tip left on the table while Marilynn's back was turned. Outside, she hailed a taxi, and he caught her hand before she got in.

“Allow me to pay for your cab. It's the least I can do-”

She shook her head, “You've paid for enough tonight. I appreciate it, though. I'll be fine.”

He nodded, and released her arm. “Very well, Marilynn, if you insist.”

she smiled up at him, “Thank you again for tonight. I couldn't have asked for a better night.”

“It was my pleasure, I'm glad that you enjoyed yourself. I'd love to take you out again sometime, if that's alright with you?” her sculpted brow raised.

“You're just full of surprises, aren't you?” she said, but her smile told him she didn't really mind. She pulled out a post-it pad from her purse and scribbled something down. He tried to look at it, but she hid it, and tucked it into his breast pocket with a playful pat. “Call me.”

Vlad was stunned, jaw slack for a second before he closed it, “I most certainly will. Have a goodnight, my darling.”

She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. She took one quick step towards him, and placed her lips on his cheek, then stepped back again, “Goodnight, Vladimir.”

Vlad didn't respond, stunned. She chuckled as she entered the cab and waved as it pulled away. Dumbly, Vlad waved back, watching the vehicle disappear among the hundreds of others. His brain felt like a rug had been ripped out from under it, and it couldn't figure out how to get back up. He barely recalled calling his own chauffeur to come pick him up until he was actually in the back seat and on his way back to the airport. He raised his hand to his cheek, fingers brushing over the place where her lips had been for just a fraction of a second. It seemed to tingle a little at the memory, and he snapped from his daze. He hid his face in his hands, his cheeks burning.

'Oh my god!'

-O-

AN: Oh Vladdy. Getting all flustered at a cheek kiss.

[gethealthy18-blog]

30 Edgy Braided Mohawks You Need To Check Out

New Post has been published on http://healingawerness.com/getting-healthy/getting-healthy-women/30-edgy-braided-mohawks-you-need-to-check-out/

30 Edgy Braided Mohawks You Need To Check Out

Anjali Sayee January 22, 2019

If there’s one thing better than a mohawk, it’s a braided mohawk!

Don’t believe me? Then, check out these 30 incredibly edgy braided mohawk hairdos! Not only do they look great, but they also help maintain your hair more easily. Braided protective hairstyles protect your hair from the daily damage caused by weather changes and pollution. When done right, a braided mohawk can keep your braids in place for as long as two weeks.

If you have an edgy sense of style, scroll down to check out my top picks for braided mohawks. Think they look too risky? Well, what’s life without a few risks?

30 Edgy Braided Mohawks You Need To Check Out Right Now

1. Twisted Mohawk

Twists are one of the biggest fashion statements of our time. The only thing that can take them to the next level is the twisted mohawk. I love how the sides are aligned close to the scalp, but the mohawk is left loose on top of her head.

2. Ponytail Mohawk

Multiple twisted dreads come together to give us this super cool hairstyle. The dreads start off thin and get thicker as they move toward the mohawk. Thin dreads are easier to play with to create the design at the front. If you’re not sure about getting a full mohawk, opt for this look.

3. Braided Mohawk Updo

African women have always been known for styling their hair in stunning protective hairstyles. This is one of them. Can you believe that the purpose of these hairstyles was not solely to look good but to keep their hair away from their faces?

4. Intricately Looped Mohawk

Just when you thought the mohawk was simply a tuft of hair standing on top of your head, it’s taken up a few notches. This hairstyle is not only chic and intricate but also elegant. It is perfect for a formal event.

5. Aligned Mohawk

If you are all about clean lines when it comes to your hairstyles, I’m sure you will find this one particularly pleasing. It’s truly stunning how creative hairstylists are getting these days. This mohawk begins with thin cornrow braids that are perfectly aligned. Also, take note of the three different line patterns.

6. Curled Mohawk

This curled mohawk is beautiful and very easy to achieve. Braid your hair at the sides and the back in medium-sized cornrows. Braid them until you reach the top of your head. Instead of braiding the rest of the way down, curl the ends of your hair. Join the curls to create the mohawk.

7. Long Curls

Mohawks are a great way to flaunt your naturally kinky locks. Braid curved cornrows to cover your head and leave the lower half of your hair loose. Gather all your loose hair to create a mohawk. Apply curl defining cream and wrap your curls in a scarf every night to add definition to your kinky curls.

8. Close Braided Mohawk

The best things about protective styles are hair extensions. They make your hair look thicker and longer. You don’t even have to color your natural locks! This cool braided mohawk uses them to its advantage. The loose curls at the top that fall to the side add a nice touch to this look.

9. Big Braided Mohawk

Big braided mohawks are all the rage right. They look super cool yet elegant. You can flaunt one at any event, be it formal or casual. Partying all night with your girls? Sport the big braided mohawk and slay the style game!

10. Sewn Braids Mohawk

Black women truly know the power of hair accessories. The aim of a hair accessory is never to upstage the hairstyle but to accentuate it. Check out how the silver threads and beads accentuate this braided mohawk. Looks brilliant, right?

11. Front-To-Back Mohawk

This is a full-on punk rock version of a mohawk. Whoever said long hair can’t be flaunted in a mohawk? It protects your hair and flaunts it at the same time.

12. Attached Braided Mohawk

Braid your hair in any protective style. Weave the braids up and close to the scalp, until you reach the top. Once at the top, weave the braids normally. Divide the braids into horizontal sections. Twist each section to form bantu knots that align to create a mohawk. Join the bantu knots together using bobby pins or U-pins.

13. Patterned Braided Mohawk

Patterns look interesting and intriguing. It’s no wonder we’ve combined them with hairstyles to make them look cool. Take your braided mohawk up a few notches with some surreal patterns. It’s time to get creative!

14. Feed-In Braided Mohawk

Mohawks don’t have to be big and high. A subtle mohawk can make all the difference you need to jazz up your regular protective hairstyle. It will certainly make your hairdo look different!

15. Colored Braided Mohawks

There is unity in diversity – I have never seen a hairstyle prove that more! In this gorgeous look, big crochet braids form a mohawk while surrounded by thin cornrows. Throw in some colored extensions, and you’ve got a killer hairdo!

16. Tied-In Braided Mohawk

This low mohawk braid is perfect for women who have to follow a formal dress code at work. You can show off your edgy style without looking too over the top. It’s the best blend of sophistication and style.

17. Single Braided Mohawk

This mohawk is super easy to achieve. Apply some strong-hold hair gel and comb your hair upwards. Weave the raised hair in a braid. You can take this style up a notch by doing a couple of cornrows on the sides.

18. Stretched Mohawk

Black braids meet grungy rock ‘n roll in this hair look. This is one hairstyle that will let your stretched hair shine. This hairstyle is also commonly known as frohawk. Pretty cool, right?

19. Double Braided Mohawk

If you think a braided mohawk requires cornrows or other thin black braids, check this style out. A braid on top of a braid have been joined at the nape to form a single braid. The sides have been shaved off to finish off this awesome look. This just goes to show how versatile a braided mohawk can be.

20. Folded Braided Mohawk

Let your inner spirit queen shine through with this stunning folded braided mohawk. It is amazing what some black braids, hair extensions, accessories, and a creative mind can do. Floored!

21. Stretched Braided Mohawk

If you don’t already own an afro hair pick, run out and get one immediately! This hairstyle uses the pick to pull the hair out the hair from the mohawk just a bit. It gives the mohawk a messy yet put together look.

22. Three-Layered Braided Mohawk

Yes, that’s right! This braided mohawk is comprised of three layers of braids. Each braid is woven with hair extensions. Pick natural hair extensions over synthetic ones. They’ll give your hairstyle a more natural look.

23. Twisted Cornrows Braided Mohawk

If you’re looking for something cool and edgy, you’ve come to the right place. This braided mohawk is super modern and stylish. Weave your cornrows in a curved pattern to add a chic touch to this look.

24. Kinky Braided Mohawk

This braided mohawk is a brilliant hairstyle to show off your natural ‘fro locks. Its blonde tips only add oodles of oomph to the entire hairstyle. Go for this look if you want to show off your natural locks while keeping them off your face.

25. Jumbo Braided Mohawk

The jumbo braided mohawk seems to be an all-time favorite hairstyle, and rightly so! It looks incredibly stylish and has a contemporary edge to it. Don’t worry if you have short hair – you can get this look with hair extensions.

26. Colored Braided Mohawk

Gather the braids at the front of your head and pull them back. Use pins to hold the braids in place. Form a fishtail braid that covers the pulled-back hair with the side braids. This hairstyle looks especially stunning when done with colored extensions.

27. Bantu Knots And Braided Mohawk

Braids and bantu knots are intricately woven into African heritage. I love that they’ve been combined to form this lovely braided mohawk hairstyle. This one’s a perfect hundred in my opinion.

28. Thin Curled Mohawk

Thin curls give the appearance of gelled or wet curls. They’ve been around for ages and look very cool. The side braids in this hairstyle really enhance the gelled effect of thin curls. It looks wonderful!

29. Curled Ends Braided Mohawk

African women are unparalleled when it comes to creativity in hairstyles. They embrace their heritage and flaunt it with style. I love how they’ve jazzed up this regular mohawk with those curled ends and colorful threads.

30. Big Bun Braided Mohawk

This bun is an unconventional version of the braided mohawk. This hairstyle is graceful and perfect for any red carpet event. Imagine it paired with some red lipstick, minimal makeup, and a long flowing gown. A perfect ten!

If you want to look a total badass, you need to style your hair in a braided mohawk right away. Which one of these styles are you going to try? Do you have any more styling ideas for braided mohawks? Comment below and let us know.

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Source: https://www.stylecraze.com/articles/braided-mohawk-hairstyles/

[rayybaby14]

Just a little bit about me 🍂🍁🌻

1. What is your full name? I would rather not put my full name for security reasons, but my new married name is Ray Davidson.

2. Are you named after anyone? No, but I am named after the poem ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Alan Poe.

3. What does your name mean? I’m not really sure.

4. Where are you from? A small town in nowhere, Texas.

5. Where do you live? West Texas currently.

6. Where were you born? In the great state of TX.

7. Which of your parents are you closest to? My mother. My “father” isn’t much of a father. I don’t really know him.

8. Which of your parents are you more like? Definitely my mom. Very hard headed and stubborn.

9. What is your favorite drink? Vanilla root beer for non alcoholic, and Bloody Mary for adult beverages. 😋

10. What is your favorite food? Anything with shrimp. Haha. But my mother’s chicken spaghetti is my absolute favorite.

11. What is your favorite holiday destination? At home snuggled up with my family. 🍁

12. What is your favorite childhood memory? I don’t have a lot of great childhood memories, but my 16th Birthday was probably my favorite.

13. What is your favorite way to pass time? Netflix or napping.

14. What is your favorite snack? Cereal. Specifically, fruit loops.

15. What is your favorite sport? To play: softball. To watch: college football. Alabama fan all the way.

16. What is your biggest regret? Not letting my brother know I loved him before he died. We didn’t get along well. And sometimes I regret my decision as far as my son goes...but I know it was the right one in my heart.

17. Are you a fan of any sports team? Huge Alabama crimson tide fan, and a lover of the Green Bay Packers

18. Are you a dog person or cat person? Dog, no doubt. I have a Great Dane named Titan and a little Blue Lacy named Masyn. My babies.

19. Are you scared of heights? Not really.

20. At what age did you go on your first date? 16 or so.

21. What is an ideal first date for you? Anything that’s not awkward vibes. I want to feel comfortable.

22. What is at the top of your bucket list? Raise my daughter with the man of my dreams until I see my son again.

23. What is something you are gifted at? Making people laugh.

24. What is something you look for in a partner? Humor. Romance. A free soul. Someone like me. Someone like my beautiful husband.

25. What is something you wish you were gifted at doing? Neonatal nursing. Those with that gift are so special to my heart.

26. What is the one item you can’t leave home without? My chapstick. Lol.

27. What is the best compliment you have ever received? “You are the best mother your babies could have ever asked for.”

28. What is the first book you remember reading? The Junie B. Jones books.

29. What is the first movie you remember seeing? The Little Mermaid or some Disney movie.

30. What is the last book you read? Currently reading ‘Everything, Everything.’

31. Do you like pets? Of course. I want more animals some day.

32. Do you have any pets? A Great Dane who warms my heart and a little Blue Lacy who heals my soul.

33. What is the name of your first pet? A little Blue Beta fish named Nemo.

34. What is your best physical feature? My eyes.

35. What is your biggest accomplishment? Becoming a mother.

36. What is your eye color? Blue.

37. What is your favorite color? Blue 💙

38. What is your favorite fairytale? Cinderella.

39. What is your favorite ice-cream flavor? Strawberry cheesecake.

40. What is your favorite music genre? Texas country, forever.

41. What is your favorite nickname? “Ray”.

42. What is your favorite quote? “And she loved a little boy very, very much. Even more than she loved herself.”

43. What is your favorite type of clothing? Sweaters and hoodies.

44. What is your most commonly used swear word? “Fuck” as much as I hate it.

45. What is your star sign? Virgo ♍️

46. Do you have a best friend, if so, then who? My husband.

47. Do you have a tattoo? 8 of them.

48. Do you have any allergies? Chocolate 🍫

49. Do you have any birthmarks? If so, where? No birthmarks.

50. Do you hold any convictions that you would be willing to die for? A few.

51. Do you prefer kissing or cuddling? A little of both.

52. What piece of technology can you not live without? Netflix.

53. What was the first concert you ever attended? Gary Allan.

54. What was your favorite subject in High School? English, band, or softball.

55. What was your first job? Babysitting. But my first “real” job was a sonic carhop.

56. What was your least favorite subject in High School? Math.

57. What is the furthest you’ve ever been from home? Alaska or Florida.

58. What is your biggest fear? Clowns.

59. When did you suffer your first heartbreak? When I was around 14. But it was for the best.

60. When was the first time you were on a plane? Probably 2007, to Alaska.

61. When was the last time you cried? Today. Every day.

62. When was the last time you got in a fist fight? Freshman year of high school. So roughly 8 years lol

63. Who has left the most impact on your life? My little boy.

64. Who is the best teacher you ever had? My senior year English teacher. She will forever be special to me.

65. Who is the first person you call when something exciting happens? My mom or my husband.

66. Who is the first person you call when something horrible happens? See number 63.

67. Who is your favorite musician? Luke Combs

68. Who is your role model? My sweet meme.

69. Who was your first Boyfriend/Girlfriend? JR Enriquez. What a train wreck that was.

70. Who was your first Celebrity crush? Robert Pattinson.

71. Who is your favorite actor? Seth Rogen.

72. Who is your favorite actress? Kristen Bell.

73. Describe yourself in a single sentence? Humble and very broken.

74. Have you ever dated two people at the same time? Sadly yes.

75. Have you ever suffered a fracture? A few times.

76. Have you ever visited a country outside your continent? not yet. Someday.

77. How many Boyfriends/Girlfriends have you had? Hard to say. Probably more than I should.

78. How many relationships have you been in? Only one that really matters. My sweet husband.

79. If you could give your younger self any advice what would it be? Don’t grow up too fast. Slow down and enjoy your life while you can. You think it’s hard now, but you have no idea.

80. Last time you swam in a pool? Summer 2016.

81. What is your most embarrassing moment? Slipping on ice in front of my high school boyfriend.

82. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest, rate your fashion sense? Probably a 7.

83. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest, rate your driving skills? Probably..a 7. 😂

84. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest, rate your cooking skills? Right in the middle of being good and awful. I’ll say a 6.

85. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest and 1 being the lowest, how good a kisser are you? I’m married so I guess a 10 😋

86. One thing you know now that you wish you had known as a kid? The heartbreak you think will kill you as a kid is nothing compared to the heartbreak you feel in the “real world.”

87. The first app you check when you wake up in the morning? Usually Facebook.

88. What app do you use most? Facebook, Twitter, instagram, Netflix, Snapchat, tumblr.

89. What are some of your bad habits? Cursing too much, eating too much junk food. Not brushing my hair often enough.

90. What are your favorite things about yourself? I’m compassionate. I’m helpful. I can make people laugh.

91. What are your hobbies? Netflix 😂

92. What countries have you visited? None other than my home country.

93. What countries would you like to visit? Ireland, Scotland, Greece.

94. What do you consider unforgivable? That’s a tough one to answer..

95. What do you do for a living? I work in correctional health. I am a dental assistant in a max security prison.

[thetravelingmama]

45 Random Moments that I always remember.

Darling Mia;

Tomorrow is my birthday, and today I have been thinking of all I have learned and experienced during my 45 years on Earth. It’s such a funny number, but so important in a way, because it’s sort of a milestone... midway through the forties, which have been incredible and so life changing in many ways. But, as in any big moment you experience in your life, you need to take a look back at what you have lived in order to get here. I thought it would be fun for me and, well, sort of helpful to you if I could randomly list the memories that are always in repeat in my head. In life, there are some memories that, for no reason sometimes, you keep remembering them from time to time. 45 is the magic number tomorrow, so let’s see if I can list as much memories as the number. Some are good, some are bad, some are sad, some are just there.

First of all, the most important memories of all...

1) The day you were born.

2) The thursday afternoon that I kissed your father for the very first time.

3) The day your Dad and I got married

4) The first time your Dad and I traveled together to Paris

5) The day we decided to make our relationship known to others

And now, just random memories I keep on a loop in my head. In no particular order...

6) My Mom windsurfing in some random beach while I’m hanging on to her board, happy as ever

7) The years that I lived with my Mom while she was single.

8) Going to Venice Italy with my Grandma and Grandpa. I remember things like getting lost and finding Papa using our family style whistling, pledging eternal love at Mama while our gondola was under the bridge of sighs and the bells were ringing.

9) Waking up so early at “El Campo” that I could literally touch and smell the clouds. My grandparents house is really up high in the mountains!

10) Riding my bike from my grandma’s house to my high school.

11) Falling in love for the very first time in kindergarden. Funny, I loved that man all the way through high school. We actually started dating at 8th grade!

12) Enjoying my saturday painting classes at la Liga de Arte. I hated waking up early but I loved my classes with passion.

13) My first and only photography exhibit at college. I was so proud of myself for never quitting on that huge project!

15) Gazing at the stars at Culebra at night from the beach with my college friends, the first time we went camping there. The water was so clear that night and it was a full moon, I could see everything. It was magical.

16) Going to buy my first wedding dress with Karen. She made it so much fun and I felt I went with the right person. What a great kid, I miss her dearly.

17) One night we had to work at Sajo for a huge presentation until the wee hours of the morning. That night, we got extremely wasted and even though we were exhausted, we ended up having a blast while working. We used to be a great team.

18) Every single minute I spent cuddling with Diego, specially for a couple of years where I felt really lonely and sad.

19) The first day at my job at Sajo. I was trembling with fear. Little did I know how life changing it would be.

20) The many times some of the men I dated when I was younger broke my heart.

21) The day your Dad took me to see The Eagles, one of my favorite bands of all time.

22) The day we opened up our own company.

23) I can remember almost all the times your Dad and I have spent at Manhattan. It’s our favorite city in the world.

24) Celebrating my 40th birthday, extremely drunk and happy at Cancún. I spent the weekend exactly as I wanted.

25) The moment I put on my wedding dress. I knew instantly that it was the dress I had to wear to marry your Dad.

26) Playing in the rain after school.

27) The day I realized that, without me noticing, your Dad had sort of moved in to my apartment. I was washing clothes and noticed that I had a place to put it all. I smiled and went on with my day.

28) Drifting off to sleep at my Mom’s sailboat, Icacos or Palomino nearby.

29) All the awesome Sundays that Mara, Juan, Omi, Gino and more great friends spent with me at the beach. We laughed, we gossiped, we played with Brandy, we slept, read books, drank, drank a little bit more. Those were the best years of my life, spent with my dear friends.

30) The night that some of my male college friends sang “You’ve lost that loving feeling” to me at a bar. They made me feel very special.

31) Your Dad and I, driving all over the Island, listening to great music and talking.

32) The night I drunkenly admitted to your Dad that I would only have children with him - and we were barely dating by then.

33) The day that I was driving and talking to your Dad and I said “I love you” for the very first time to him. Yep, I said it first.

34) The first night I spent at my small apartment near college, out on my own at maybe 20 years old.

35) The night I realized that I was enjoying my last days as a couple with your Dad, just before you were born. I cried like an idiot because I knew life as we knew it was going to change. Your Dad told me, with the sweetest voice in the world, that we had a great run as a couple, that it was going to be ok.

36) Hanging at Mara’s place until the wee hours of the morning, drinking wine and enjoying the view.

37) Great conversations until the sun came up at Wendy and Tommy’s house.

38) The day your Dad told me that the Con was making so much money that I could retire from advertising if I wanted to. We were hiking El Yunque and I stopped walking, looked at him and decided right there and then that I had had enough. We quit months after that.

39) Every single New Years Eve I had the pleasure of celebrating with your Dad

40) The day your Dad woke me up to tell me that Diego had died.

41) The last day of work at Sajo’s. My heart wanted to break into a million pieces but I knew that in order for me to grow and evolve, I had to move on.

42) The few times that the people that have broken my heart have actually apologized and gave me closure.

43) Every single moment of all my tv film days. I loved that part of my job.

44) The day that your Dad and I bought our first home together. At that time, marriage was not in our plans, but that house was a sign of great things to come.

45) The day that your Dad proposed at Central Park.

[beingmad2017-blog]

10 Loose Android Apps An excellent manner to Honestly Make You Cash At the same time as Shopping!

New Post has been published on https://beingmad.org/10-loose-android-apps-an-excellent-manner-to-honestly-make-you-cash-at-the-same-time-as-shopping/

10 Loose Android Apps An excellent manner to Honestly Make You Cash At the same time as Shopping!

Shopping is each natural bliss or torture depending on who you ask. Irrespective of which give up cutting-edge the spectrum, you are on, Android best loose apps will let you hold Coins and can help you become a greater green shopper (which I’m sure appeals to latest you). So what does that entail? It’s going to supply the shopaholics extra bang for his or her dollar, this is in no manner a horrific issue. Probably even extra importantly, these free android apps pleasant free apps will provide homophobes what they actually crave- a great deal much less time in the shops!

The natural energy and functionality of these Android first-rate loose apps can truely make Buying, in reality, an all new revel in. Irrespective of if those apps feature as a Shopping for a list, database, storefront or a supplemental deliver, they may be all squarely aimed present day one issue: if you use them, they will save you Coins!

Shopping

You are becoming a feeling like Android  app Shopping first-rate loose apps, in large, might Possibly just assist you, right? Properly right here are 10free android apps  As a manner to prevent Money At the identical time as they help you satisfy all of your Purchasing desires and goals. Oh, and did I point out that everybody these ten is absolutely Loose to download?

SnapTell

Need to realize more approximately an item you observed At the music? just use SnapTell to test the barcode cutting-edge any CD, DVD, or online game and you’ll be successful contemporary all the statistics you could probably Need. What trendy information? Nicely, if you definitely Want a few more cursory information, that’ll work. maximum notably, in case you Want to look information the rate stacks as lots as other vendors, it can do that for you in seconds. This best free app might be a massive time Coins-saver for you if you take some time to apply it earlier than you are making that next media buy!

Key Ring Reward Playing cards

This is totally accessible excellent free apps to consolidate all of your litter for your handbag/wallet While making sure that you do now not lose valuable Praise/loyalty Gambling playing cards. How does it artwork? All you do is take a photograph state-of-the-art the barcode state-of-the-art your Reward card (quite a whole lot any super-sized enterprise with a rewards software program is in the database- over 650 applications) and enter some simple records about the shop. It is it; You’re now prepared to use your phone as your Praise card at that maintain inside the destiny via the usage of pulling up your Reward statistics from that keep in this Android app. It is Probably not for non-techies or individuals who crave severe simplicity. It is expertise, an outstanding idea, and generation So that it will no doubt get crisper inside the future.

if you do no longer thoughts sporting all of your Praise playing cards and potentially losing one or two alongside the way (and having to undergo thru the wait to update the card), this Unfastened Android excellent loose apps appears like a waste trendy time. know-how, if the extra inch cutting-edge no longer-so-soft plastic padding to your rump (or the misuse contemporary flawlessly suitable purse region- no longer to mention the capacity lack of ability to apply your stylish tiny purse out Buying) isn’t idyllic, this app is truly really worth the couple of minutes to download and get the whole lot set up Nicely.

OurGroceries

this is the right app for the happy, busy modern-day trendy free android apps

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        cellphone clients. It lets in the children to for ever and ever upload all their vital meals. Even as the items are offered, they will be eliminated from the list (on all the Android telephones It’s registered to) and then, four hours later, they’re able to with out issues be brought lower back onto the listing! Joking apart, This is a top notch app to have for the brand new-age hyper busy, hyper tech households that Want to turn out to be greater green.

Hiya, it charges plenty today’s Money to maintain Shopping for that more loaf state-of-the-art bread that your husband/partner (or perhaps you- thanks to that unsure hmmm, do not we Need bread 2nd notwithstanding the truth which you genuinely offered loaves the previous day- positive You’re not on my own!) simply picked up and could end up turning green earlier than state-of-the-art has a hazard to make a sandwich with it.

OI Purchasing list

To me, this app genuinely named the OpenIntents Buying list, is just like the OurGroceries for the unmarried folks out there. now not to mention a contemporary could now not gain from this app, it really has greater abilities and It is not a fantastic in shape similar to the distinct app is for households that Want a smooth technique to maintain up on their Purchasing desires. That being stated, this app is an effective workhorse and may actually end up saving you infinite hours and some cash at 365 days end.

US Phone-book Search

apps

this is one of the extra beneficial Unfastened free android apps Android apps available and that I can be sincere, it would no longer 100% in shape with the challenge state-of-the-art supporting you to save Cash Whilst Shopping. I must argue that it does, But for simplicity, I can simply use an antique click on: Time is Cash! Saving some time is just as top as saving Coins on those busy days out and approximately. Having this app on your free android apps smartphone is like having three hundred -thick Yellowbook from all over the US filled into your returned pocket. no longer a bad issue in case you journey a respectable quantity or enjoy living out of doors brand new your private home. It’s far just a great resource to have handy for the only’s times when you Need to discover an enterprise’s quantity fast.

eBay

This legitimate app brings eBay to your Android phone. It is the form present day loopy, expertise, I assume I simply like this UI higher than the actual internet website on my laptop. I do not know if It’s far an exceptional factor or a terrible. expertise, it gives you an idea that this Android app became superior correctly and sincerely hits the mark. That is if you’re an eBay fan; if you’re now not, sorry!

Craigslist

The ultimate brand new the Huge resellers’ Android apps on this listing, I promise. Well, cutting-edge: in case you do not consist of Groupon to your list present day “resellers”, I have now not lied to you. So, in case you’ve ever used Craigslist, you understand information entirely essential It is to test out a capacity “killer item” within five mins trendy it being posted and subsequently be the primary handful modern human beings to contact the vendor to have any hopes modern day finishing up with it for your possession.

That being said, in case you use Craigslist and you have an Android mobile phone, YOU Need THIS APP NOW! Haha, sorry to scream, But if you’re going to use this portal modern day goodness with the hopes today’s, in the end, purchasing for something you Need/Want, you Need to have immediately get right of entry to newly posted devices. The most effective manner to do that (I’m taking liberties assuming you are not a recluse and on your home computer 24/7) is to have to get right to entry to “on-the-cross” to immediately notifications for your set latest devices that hobby you and additionally a manner to view them. This app plays each of those critical actions and does them Nicely.

*Please, for your sake, if you Need to be the man (gal) bragging approximately the terrific deal you got At the “coolest issue inside the worldwide” in place of the not-so-happy version modern day you, unfortunately, telling the story approximately “the only that became given away” to honestly ultra-modern who will listen, download this app!*

Groupon

that is the official app from the immensely well-known and unexpectedly growing Groupon internet site. This internet page has a “cult-like” following (now not in an awful way!) which In reality benefits its clients. Essentially, the extra human beings that use their offerings, the extra offers are supplied to the customers and that facilitates state-of-the-art maintain An excellent latest! This unfastened free android apps  ensures which you’re never out contemporary the “Groupon loop” and you will have the opportunity to take advantage today’s the appealing offers wherever you’ll be.

The Coupons App

Another Money-saving coupon app? yes! This is all I’m in a position to mention- the opportunities brand new saving a greenback in this economy is a powerful strain it seems. I’m almost a chunk amazed at myself that I failed to genuinely inundate this “Purchasing listing” with coupon apps (putting myself on the shoulder for spreading out the affection). If simplest I may additionally Need to head again in time to 1989 and use this app in preference to clipping 500-plus coupons from the Sunday paper (for my mom). Nicely those were acceptable times- minus the paper cuts.

What’s this free android apps  going to do for you? some thing and the whole thing coupon related; it brings the coupons with you to your smartphone and allows you to locate new ones even Even as you’re at the store! That is quite superb for the ones people not commanding “top CEO” salaries…

Honorable point out:

Android

There may be great one Unfastened Android app that I’d keep in mind placing on this list. The cause is as it’s likely the maximum crucial app for everybody to down load these days. I undergo in thoughts it a greater present day an “obligatory app” than an Android Shopping app and that’s why It is right here.

The app I am talking modern-day is the Barcode Scanner. Amongst different subjects, it allows you to browse the internet to your PC and take an image latest the QR Code latest an app You are inquisitive about downloading. As quickly because the code is processed (which takes little or no time- speaking seconds), the corresponding Android app’s download web page seems within the Google Marketplace! It is that easy and works like an attraction while you get beyond the short “operator errors” degree that plague most of us.