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ollieofthebeholder · 2 years ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] || Also on AO3.

Chapter 10: March 2011

“Found one!” The kitchen door slams into the wall behind it as Melanie bursts in, holding a book aloft over her head and smirking.

Martin drops the knife he’s holding; it skitters across the counter from him. Gerard almost reaches out to catch it, then stops himself—he’s still got a scar from the last time he tried that. Instead, he turns to Melanie. “What’ve you got there, Neens?”

Melanie pushes the door shut and throws the bolt, then drops the book triumphantly onto the table. “Haunted bookstore. The ghost threw every book in the section onto the floor except this one, so I took a look at it while the others weren’t paying attention.”

Now that it’s stopped moving, Gerard takes the knife by the handle and prods the book lightly with the tip. Thankfully, it neither starts bleeding nor attacks him back. “Does it have a label?”

“No, so I don’t think it was one of his, but the ghost wouldn’t touch it. And when I asked the owners, they’d never seen it before.”

“Yeah, all right, that tracks.” Gerard picks up the book and turns it over. It’s pretty typical of the sorts of books they deal with all the time—well-worn but not battered, slight foxing at the bottom right corners of both covers, a few loose threads dangling from the spine. The edges of the pages are tinted; probably at one time they were a vivid red, but it’s faded over the years to a sort of maroonish-rose. He definitely can feel the power emanating from it, but he can’t tell what power. Carefully, he opens the cover—they all know not to read past the title page if they can help it—but the title doesn’t mean anything to him. “The Transvaal From Within?”

“That’ll be a Slaughter one, then,” Martin murmurs. He hasn’t looked in the book’s direction, focusing instead on packing up the beginnings of the meal he was working on before Melanie’s unexpected entrance.

Melanie hitches herself up to sit next to him. “How do you know?”

“Get your ass off the counter,” Martin says automatically. Melanie, in the true manner of baby sisters since time immemorial despite their age gap only being a matter of weeks, crosses her arms over her chest and sticks her tongue out at him. “Uh, that one’s about the Boer War, I think. War’s usually the Slaughter.”

Gerard closes the book and runs a finger over the cover, instantly regretting it. “Oh, ugh. It’s bound in human skin.”

Melanie makes a face. “Great. Just great. I hope it’s not the ghost’s skin. Oh, maybe that’s why it couldn’t touch it—or wouldn’t. Because it didn’t want to damage its own body?”

“Melanie, if you were dealing with a ghost that’s bound to something like this—” Gerard waves the book in Melanie’s direction, scowling to try and hide the unease and genuine fear twisting in his gut.

“I’m kidding, Gerry. Jeez. Anyway, I got some good footage from this thing, so…doubt it.” Melanie snatches the book from Gerard’s gesticulating hand and holds it out to Martin. “Here, is it the Slaughter?”

Martin sighs heavily and slides his glasses off his face. His eyes go unfocused, and Gerard feels every single one of his joints ache—a neat little side effect of the protective charms etched onto his skin that he’s conveniently failed to mention to the others—as he draws on the Eye’s power. It fades quickly enough, though, and Martin swears in Polish as he puts his glasses back on. At least, Gerard assumes he’s swearing. It sounds profane, but since he’s never picked up any phrases in Polish beyond how much is that book and don’t mind my brother, he’s just lonely, Martin could be saying anything.

“What is it?” he asks, reaching for the book again.

“Slaughter.” Martin pulls it out of Gerard’s reach and tosses it onto the table. “And the Flesh.”

Gerard blinks. “Fuck.”

“It’s a twofer?” Melanie whistles and actually slides off the counter. “Shit. Lucky thing I didn’t read it. Guess that explains how I could feel it, though.”

“You underestimate yourself.” Martin nudges her gently, then reaches into the cupboard over the stove and pulls out what’s ostensibly a stockpot, which he sets on the table next to the book. “Anyway. We should be able to handle it the usual way.”

Gerard reaches for his coat, which he’s casually tossed over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and fishes out the brass lighter with the eye design Melanie gave him for his birthday a few years back. Presenting it to her, he says, “I believe the honor of starting goes to you, Ms. King.”

“Hmm.” Melanie takes the lighter and flicks it a couple times, making sure it’s filled, Gerard guesses. She looks at the book, then back and forth from Martin to Gerard. Finally, she starts singing “The Golden Vanity”—not one of their usual, but it’ll work. Gerard and Martin join in when she reaches the chorus, and Melanie smoothly hands the lighter off to Martin.

Martin sings the second verse, then passes the lighter to Gerard for the third. As they all sing the last line of the third verse, he gives the lighter back to Melanie, who’s ready with The Transvaal From Within; she flicks the lighter on again and touches it to the corner. The book catches easily, and Melanie holds it over the pot as she continues singing.

It’s an odd ritual, but it works, so none of them question it; the only times Gerard has ever been hurt burning a Leitner has been when he does it on his own and doesn’t give himself the time to at least do part of it properly. It’s best when it’s all of them, of course, but he can do it on his own in a pinch. They each take turns singing a verse of a shanty or some other song of the sea—it works best when it’s something with a chorus they can all sing at the end, but as long as they all join with the last line of each verse it’s usually all right—and set the book on fire after the last one of them has sung. Strangely, no matter how long or short the shanty is, the books always seem to burn exactly as long it lasts, then finally crumble to ash when they hit the last note (they experimented once with a book, little more than a chapbook really, that belonged to the Lonely, and a rousing rendition of “Drunken Sailor”; despite the fact that they got progressively sillier with potential fates for the eponymous sailor, they managed to keep it going for half an hour and the book burnt the entire time).

Gerard doesn’t understand how it works, or why, but it’s kept them safe this long.

They hit the final note, and Melanie opens her fingers to allow the last corner of the book to drop towards the stockpot. It crumbles into ash as it falls, and then there’s nothing but silence.

Gerard peers into the pot at the fine layer of powder at the bottom. “Have you ever considered straining that and making soap out of it?”

“Looked into it. It’s got to be hardwood ash.” Martin gives him an exasperated look. “And do you want to scrub the dishes with the remains of the Flesh?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melanie says flippantly. “Gerry’s never washed a dish in his life.”

“I’ll get you for that,” Gerard promises.

Martin rolls his eyes and puts the stockpot in the sink, then sets the water running. Over his shoulder, he says, “Go wash your hands. I’ll have food ready in a bit.”

Melanie and Gerard both know what that really means, but Melanie waits until they’re in the bathroom to say quietly, “Is it just me, or is he getting bad again?”

“It’s not just you,” Gerard replies in an undertone. “Think you can spend the night?”

“Was already planning to figure out how to convince him it’s his idea for me to stick around so I don’t do something stupid like go back and see if there are more books of power in other sections of the bookstore. Not that I would, but if I can make him believe I might and he thinks it’s too dangerous for me to be alone, maybe I can at least con him into a manicure. You?”

“Like I have so many other options.” Gerard cuts off the water and reaches for the towel. “Come on. Let’s go take care of our brother.”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #melanie king #gerard keay #martin blackwood #fire #implied self harm

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Terms of Engagement ch.8

Summary: Rus is still a kid himself and with his life turned upside-down, he has no idea how he’s going to take care of his baby brother. Having other kid skeletons appear in his world wasn’t exactly the help he was looking for.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Undertale Sans, Undertale Papyrus, Babybones, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Possible Past Child Abuse, Skellie Daycare, Growing Up Together, Big Brothers Caring For Their Little Bros, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

~~*~~

Read Chapter Eight on AO3

Read It Here!

~~*~~

~~ Sixteen Years Ago ~~

The lab didn’t have what could be called a kitchen, exactly. The only thing that could be considered close was the old vending machine and Rus cleared that out years ago, back when the scientist went…well…wherever he went. That along with a broken coffee machine was about the only gear they’d been left with at the beginning.

Over the years, Rus jerry-rigged a sort of cooking nook in one of the lab rooms. He hated in there, the almost-memories that lurked in the corners, the large glass tubes that he still sometimes dreamed about, of looking out through the blur of liquid at a distorted face that looked back.

The tubes were empty now, one of them broken and the glass carefully cleaned away so curious little baby bones couldn’t hurt themselves, but they were still there, skulking like unwanted sentries.

These days Rus could mostly ignore them, and it wasn’t as if he had a lot of choice over where to set up. His little kitchen area had to be in this room because it was the only one with a gas hookup for the Bunsen burners. Two of which were on, the flames carefully lowered to a steady medium height.

Over one was a battered old pot with canned tomato soup simmering away. On another was a genuine cast iron pan that Rus found in the dump, rusty and discarded. Took him a long time to scrape in clean and season it, but it was worth the effort. The surface was smooth as glass, glossy black and Rus might be a shit cook but one thing he knew was the value of good equipment.

He was slicing the bread when he heard it. Close to the doorway there was a scuffling sound, one he knew pretty well by now. That was the sound of a little skeleton trying, and failing, to be quiet and he didn’t have to look to guess at who was trying to play ninja warrior behind his back.

“you were supposed to stay with the others,” Rus said without turning around. All the better to cement the idea that big bros had eyes on the backs of their skulls.

A small, stifled gasp, yep, someone knew the jig was up and from the corner of his socket, Rus could see Edge shuffling miserably inside, ready to be sent back to the playroom where Blue and Papyrus were probably still making use of the box of crayons Rus spoiled them with a few weeks ago. If nothing else, the lab had plenty of paper lying around, most of it covered with weird symbols, formulas that the kids all gleefully scribbled over.

Edge had been less enthused than the others when Rus plunked him down with his own papers and that was tough titty, kitty. Trial and error was a good teacher and Rus learned one lesson pretty damn quick; corral the kids before trying to cook anything. Without the trouble trio, he at least had a chance of making something reasonably edible.

That left him with a solo act and Edge came over to stand beside him, his little skull still a good few inches too short to let him look over the countertop.

“I wanted to be with you, Russy,” Edge said mournfully. From the depths of sorrow in the kid’s voice, you’d think Rus stepped away for a decade or two instead of fifteen minutes.

“yeah? that so?” Rus said, still not looking down. Letting that sweet, sweet guilt keep piling on. “what’s the rule?”

He could hear Edge squirming, as if he were weighing the odds of waiting to see if Rus somehow forgot the question. When the hoped-for reprieve didn’t come, a meek, almost inaudible whisper floated up, “To stay in the playroom.”

“uh huh. and where are you?”

Another long moment of painful hoping, then, even softer, “Not in the playroom.”

“yep,” Rus agreed, “that’s what it looks like to me, too. what do you think we should do about that, kid?”

No answer, only a miserable, hitched breath trying to add that guilt trip back onto Rus’s itinerary, only it wasn’t gonna work this time.

What he needed to do was frogmarch his little escape artist right back to the playroom, for reasons of: A. before the other two came looking for him and B. to show him he couldn’t just disobey the rules whenever he wanted.

Rus glanced down at Edge sternly, all ready to order him right back where he came from…and ended up looking right into his huge, pleading sockets, tears already standing out and ready to brim over to trail down his pudgy little cheek bones to his quivering little chin.

Rus sighed. Really, how was he supposed to say no to that?

“c’mere, kiddo.” He reached down to pick Edge up and the way his expression brightened with delight was enough to make it worth the pile of trouble this was probably gonna cause.

He hoped.

He set Edge down on the counter-top a safe distance away from the burners. The kid looked at the setup with interest, his wide eye lights drinking it all in eagerly.

“wanna help me make grilled cheese?” Rus offered, resigned to his fate.

“Yes!” Edge shouted in a fair attempt at deafening them both. Rus twisted a knuckle against his audial canal and shook his head, reaching for the butter.

“okay, first, we have to put butter on the bread.”

“Why?” Edge asked promptly, ‘cause Angel knew that Edge always had two questions for every statement.

“toasts better, taste better, take your pick. see?” Rus scraped the butter knife over the bread and left a mostly even smear behind. Then he held out the knife, handle first, “okay, kiddo, your turn.”

From the reverent way Edge took the knife, you would’ve thought Rus handed over Excalibur. He carefully mimicked what Rus showed him, his little red tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he slowly spread the butter. He held it up proudly when he was finished, nicely coated and ready for toasting. “There!”

“good job!” Rus said and he really hoped his disgruntlement that the little brat was a hell of a lot better at that than he was didn’t show in his voice. He set Edge’s in the pan to toast, handing over his slightly mangled piece. “see if you can fix that one while i prep the cheese.”

‘Cheese’ was probably a pretty loose term for it. Yeah, it was orange, and yeah, it was in slices, but that was about as close as it got. Gerson didn’t even keep it refrigerated and there was always plenty on her dusty shelves when Rus made the trip to Waterfall for supplies on days someone else had the kids, because he could hit up the dump on the way and make it a twofer, especially if he could find something to sell. The DVD of ‘Jerry Maguire’ he dug out that paid for the crayons was a good case in point.

Rus unwrapped a slice of the pseudo-cheese and plopped it on the bread. Even the noise it made was undairy-like and it was a good thing that shit tasted so good or Rus wouldn’t scrape up the G for it it all the time. By then, Edge had smoothed over the buttery lumps on the other slice of bread and Rus added it to the pile, sealing its cheesy fate. The rich, toasty smell that rose up as it sizzled away was enough to make Rus’s mouth water. He hadn’t eaten yet today, supplies were a little low and his soul was crying out for food. Rus ignored it. The kids came first, once they were full, he’d make his own.

“You should flip it,” Edge said suddenly.

“huh?” Rus frowned at him, “no, it’s not cooked yet.”

“Yes, it is,” Edge said, insistently. He picked up the spatula from the counter and held it out as he added ominously, “it’ll burn.”

“it will no��fine,” Rus sighed. Worst that could happen was an ‘I told you’ so and another flip. He carefully slid the spatula beneath the sandwich and managed to turn it over without accidentally hurling it across the room and if anyone asked, that stain on the wall had always been there. Rus stared down in disbelief. The bread was a perfect golden-brown, cheese slowly starting to glisten and ooze at the edges. He turned to Edge and demanded, “how did you know that, squirt?”

Edge only looked at him and said matter-of-factly. “’cause when you leave it on as long as you think it needs, it burns.”

Ouch. Called out by a kid half his height, yeesh, that was gonna leave a mark.

It stung unexpectedly, making Rus blink hard against the sudden prickle of tears. He was trying, okay, it wasn’t his fault he was shitty at cooking and even shittier at budgeting enough for food, it wasn’t his fault that he’d already left off wearing stripes to keep anyone seeing him from asking too many question even if he and Red and Sans went through the calculations once out of a spiteful sort of curiosity and figured they were all maybe, maybe, fifteen, if you counted leap years, it wasn’t his fucking fault and—

“Russy? Are you okay?”

Rus startled and nearly dropped the sandwich. Hastily, he slid it onto a plate, slapping the spatula down to scrub at his sockets with his sleeve. Edge was looking at him, all wide-socketed worry and Rus managed to scrape up a wobbly smile.

“yep, just fine,” Rus said, a little roughly, and when Edge only looked at him doubtfully Rus scooped him up and tickled him until the kid was squealing laughter, “yeah, that’s right, you so smart, but i’m still bigger!”

“Stop, stop,” Edge begged, giggling frantically. Rus tickled him a fraction of a minute longer, then made to set him down on the countertop. Only for Edge to cling to him, hugging him hard. “I love you, Russy.”

Yeah, keep this up and he was gonna have to mop in here ‘cause his soul was gonna be a puddle on the floor. “love you, too, brat.” He set Edge back down and tapped the little nodule of his nasal cavity with a fingertip, “now let’s get cooking before papyrus try to eat the crayons again.” Edge gave him a guilty look and Rus groaned, “he didn’t.”

“I told him the purple one wasn’t grape!”

Welp, so much for the crayons. Rus only shook his head and handed Edge more bread to butter. They had sandwiches to make and if Papyrus’s teeth were more rainbow than not when they got there, at least he left room for lunch.

~~*~~

~~ Now ~~

Despite this place leaving Rus feeling off-kilter, there was at least one thing both their universes had in common; Snowdin was fucking cold. Rus watched Edge head on after the kids until he disappeared around a corner and then took his own shivering butt back inside. Should’ve grabbed his hoodie too instead of just his smokes, too rattled by losing his shortcuts to even consider he was inviting a little bonus frostbite.

Red was sprawled on the sofa, picking idly at his teeth for any breakfast leftovers with a toothpick. He flicked it idly in the direction of the trash while Rus closed the door and missed, left it dangling precariously on the lip of the can.

“not sure if that should be worth anything but negative points.” Rus kicked off his shoes and tried not to notice that the snow helped wash away some of the marrow spattering his shoes, leaving behind dingy rust-colored streaks.

“nah, worth at least two points for pissing off my bro,” Red said. He sat up, one foot on the sofa cushion and the other dangling as he asked bluntly, “got your head on straight?”

No. “yeah, i think so.” Rus sank down on the other side of the sofa, propping his stocking feet on the coffee table. “so, now what?”

“welp, now that we’ve got our stories straight, let’s talk about the problem.”

Rus tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, studying it. There was a discoloration in one corner, maybe from an old leak. “problem being how to get me back home.”

“yeah, that’s the one and it might be a little harder than ya think.” Red exhaled long and slow. “the machine ain’t here.”

Of all things, that was the last Rus expected. For a long minute, Rus kept looking at the ceiling, idly wondering if the stain on it looked more like a cat in a tuxedo or a bird sitting in a teacup, it didn’t quite register, because that? That made no sense, not at all, not when laid next to Red’s reasons for not coming to live Underswap all those years ago. Rus sat up straight and turned to look at Red. Who was doing his own ceiling survey, maybe trying to decide himself on that stain, could even be a dinosaur learning how to tap dance if you looked at it right and none of that fucking matter because what Red was saying couldn’t be right, it was unthinkable, inconceivable.

“but—” The word stuck in his throat and Rus swallowed hard, trying to unstick it, managed to stumble out, “but…you said…you stayed so no one could use it!”

“did,” Red agreed, grimly. His eye lights flicked from the cat/bird/dinosaur to Rus, meeting his horrified gaze. “only, i didn’t have your little travel pass to move it and we didn’t have time to figure anything else out, so had to go with the next best thing.”

That tone was not at all what Rus wanted to hear, far too grim and there was only one reason he could even conceive of for it, the one thing he hadn’t even wanted to consider, not even once while he was sitting here in a house that was not, quite, a mirror image of his own and his brother was a universe away, all alone with no idea what happened to him.

“you destroyed it?” Rus whispered. His voice broke, cracked right in the middle like a plate dropped on a hard floor.

“almost did,” Red said bluntly. Rus pulled in a long, slow breath. “prolly should’ve, but edge didn’t want me to. cause’a you, you know.”

“me?” Rus said, surprised.

“you,” Red repeated, a touch mockingly, “always shoving all that hope shit in their heads, helpin’ others to help themselves, all that piss and hokum. if things got better here, he was figurin’ we could go back someday. he’s been workin’ on that ‘better’ part ever since we walked out of the lab.”

Better, a better world. Rus thought about the wall around this Snowdin, the protective spells woven into it. About XP hunters lurking in the woods and the difference between Monsters and monsters. “how’s that going?”

Red shrugged, “can’t save the world, but he’s not doing too shabby in his corner of it.” The words were flippant, but his eye lights were fond. Then Red gave himself a little shake and pointed at the coffee table. By Rus’s propped-up feet was a plain cardboard box and he leaned forward, cautiously lifting the lid as Red said, “didn’t wreck it but i did take all these.”

Inside the box was a pile of little bundles wrapped in what looked like scraps of an old t-shirt. Cautiously, Rus opened one, holding up the contents to get a better look. A component, a card of green fiberglass with winding lanes of copper and bristling with transistors. He wrapped it back up hastily and put it back in the box with the other parts. Tucked into the side was a folded piece of paper and Rus plucked it out and opened it, studying what looked like a rough schematic.

“you numbered all the parts,” Rus murmured, studying it.

“yeah, well, didn’t want to try guessin’ which tab a fit into what slot b when the time came,” Red snorted. “rus, i ain’t gonna butter your bread ‘bout this. the machine’s still at the lab, the new royal scientist’s been there for years now, and she ain’t one to mess with. we pulled a drop cloth over it ‘fore we took off, but for all i know, she’s gutted it for parts. it’s a long shot for sure, but that’s our best bet so that’s what we’re goin’ with.”

Rus nodded slowly. “so we go to the lab.”

“fuck, no!” Red sputtered, sitting up stock-straight as he glared at Rus, “didn’t ya hear me? alphys is nuts and even if she wasn’t, she ain’t about to let us prance in and start tinkering.”

That was certainly news, especially with the name tucked in there.

“alphys?” Rus blurted out, astonished, “seriously? the head of the royal guard?” Alphys was a tough ol’ bird but Rus was pretty sure any experiments she did involved punching out the results.

“heh, really?” Red shook his head, “we need to sit down sometime and compare notes, see if we can figure out the difference ‘tween our worlds.” Red shifted, all amusement fading, “here she’s the royal scientist and fucking around with her is a good way to spend the rest of your time taking in dinner through a straw, and that’s only if you don’t end up on a metal table.” A barely perceptible shiver when through Red, “think we’ve all had enough of that.”

Understatement. “so how are we going to get to the machine?” Rus asked.

“simple,” Red leaned forward, his eye lights determined. “you can’t do your shortcuts, but maybe i can. so you’re gonna teach me your little parlor trick and i’m gonna teleport in.”

Before Rus could ‘what the fuck’ that little plan, Edge came back in. A sharp look from Red warned him to keep his trap shut and Rus obeyed it, for now, trying to look completely innocent and not as if he and Red were busily making what was probably an upgraded version of a suicide pact.

“did you catch up to the kids?” Rus asked.

Edge smiled. It lifted the corners of his sockets, and again Rus was struck at the sight, the sweet kid he knew so long ago peeking out from beneath that scarred exterior. “I did. I hope you weren’t expecting your G back, I let them keep it as a souvenir.”

“do i wanna ask?” Red sighed out.

“Probably not. I’m going on patrol,” Edge announced and started to suit up, “I’ll come back for lunch, was there anything specific you’d like?”

“nah, i’m easy,” Rus said. He ignored Red’s sudden snort, “i’ll eat anything, even take a grilled cheese, if you’ve got it.”

“I can manage that,” Edge paused with his chest plate above his head, sending Rus a sharp smile and Rus wondered abruptly if he was remembering the same thing, that long ago day in the kitchen nook together, confirmed it with a sly, “I promise not to burn it.”

“hey!” Rus sputtered. Not much defense against the truth, so instead he sulked and watched Edge finish suiting up. The armor made him look so much more imposing, more than any scar possibly could and yet, when he headed for the door, Rus couldn’t help blurting out, “be careful out there.”

Edge paused. He walked over to the sofa on strangely silent feet and reached over. Rus sat frozen as he lightly touched Rus’s cheekbone, his gloved fingertips rough, the stiff material unforgiving and yet, the touch itself was soft, as gentle as his words, “I will, Russy.”

The nickname snapped Rus out of his little trance. “seriously, you can just call me rus,” he grumbled.

“I really couldn’t,” Edge said. He turned away and strode off in a clank of armor. The door closed behind him with a decisive click and Rus huffed out an aggravated sigh.

“your brother is a pain in the ass.” The expected agreement didn’t come, and Rus turned to see Red looking at him strangely, “what?”

A long moment of silence. “nothin’, bean pole,” Red said, finally, “he’s somethin’, all right. how about you go take a nap, get off that leg for a little bit and we’ll head out later and start workin’ on upgrading my stats.”

Rus opened his mouth, ready to protest that they needed to get the hell started if this was the plan, he needed to get home. Only to close it again, words unspoken, because he wasn’t gonna teach Red to shortcut in a day or a week or whatever, it took him ages to be able to shortcut reliably without it snapping back like an invisible rubber band, knocking him ass over teakettle while Sans laughed his ass off.

This wasn’t gonna be a fast fix and there wasn’t thing one he could do about it. Rus nodded and headed upstairs, let himself into Edge’s room to curl up on the bed that wasn’t his while he tried to stifle tears into the blankets

Eventually, he gave up and just cried, let it all come out of him in one long, miserable burst, until he was a snotty mess. When it was done, he felt mostly better, a little worse, and he settled down to sleep. The blankets smelled kinda like cookies, Rus decided sleepily, cookies when they were still spicy warm, and it was his last thought before he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #baby bones #terms of engagement

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thehikingviking · 4 years ago

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Tunnabora Peak (13,563 ft) via Cleaver Col & Mt Carillon (13,553 ft) via Russell-Carillon Col

After some light autumn storms, we had an unseasonably warm stretch of weather across late November. The daily satellite views showed very little lingering snow in the southern portion of the High Sierra, which gave me an opportunity to complete my goal of climbing 20 SPS peaks in the 2020 calendar year. I was two peaks short of this goal, so I hoped to find a twofer. After some research I learned that Tunnabora Peak and Mt Carillon can be climbed together in a manageable 20 mile day. Asaka gave me her blessing, knowing that I had been keenly focused on this goal for several months, so I drove down to Lone Pine by myself where I spent the night at Trails Motel. The next morning, I drove up Whitney Portal Road feeling lonely and wondering what I had gotten myself into. I parked right in front of the Mt Whitney Trail sign around 5am and began my hike up the main trail shortly after. I felt a sense of calm seeing the line of headlamps up the canyon ahead of me. I wasn’t the only psychopath on the mountain that frigid morning. I took a right up the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek, which was much steeper than the Whitney Trail. It had been a few years since I had been up this route, but my memory served me well and I had no route finding challenges, even in the dark. The town of Lone Pine twinkled in the predawn light.

As it got brighter, I could spot people ahead of me and behind me. I would see multiple parties throughout the day, but I never crossed path with anyone else. After about an hour and a half of climbing, I reached Lower Boy Scout Lake. The morning alpenglow was just touching the tip of Mt Whitney.

From here I split off form the Mt Whitney Mountaineer’s Route and climbed north out of the canyon towards Cleaver Col. There is a use trail which I didn’t find at the start, but it didn’t matter because the terrain was very easy.

At around 10,800 ft, the route becomes more gradual and follows a creek. I considered filling up water here, but I decided to wait until a little higher up.

When I was finally ready to top off my water, I couldn’t find any that was accessible. Most of it was underground, and I didn’t feel like climbing back down. I thought there would be a tarn beneath the cleaver, but I struck out. I didn’t expect to find any accessible water until my way back down, since I fully expected Lake Tulainyo to be frozen over. Spoiler alert; I was right.

I would have enough water if I rationed what I had a little. I aimed for the weakness in the granite walls which led to Cleaver Col.

I found my pace severely slowing at this point. The elevation combined with general fatigue was making itself known.

I cut back left, finding some class 3 options that took me higher to easier terrain.

Gambler's Special stood behind me. The Inyo Mountains stood further back across Owens Valley. Mt Inyo and Keynot Peak were easily identified.

I made it to the top of Cleaver Col 4.5 hours after starting off. My pace was acceptable, however I hoped to have been faster. Tunnabora Peak stood across the frozen Lake Tulainyo.

To my immediate right was The Cleaver. When climbing over Cleaver Col, you don’t climb over the lowest point, but slightly to the southwest of the saddle.

I descended directly down to the shore of Lake Tulainyo. Mt Russell stood to my southwest.

-Table Mountain

I considered walking across the top of the ice, but I felt it was safer to just walk around.

Sections of the shoreline walk were tedious. There was steep sidehilling and loose rock in certain sections. As I walked along, I tried throwing several large rocks onto the ice to see if I could break through to get some water, but it was thick and solid. There was no chance that I could break through.

Once at the northern shore of the lake, I began climbing back up towards the ridge. I encountered some terrible loose sand. It was extremely difficult to get any reliable footing, and I quickly regretted my route. I had ignored my preloaded track which accessed the ridge further east. After a miserable slog, I made it to the top of the ridge. While I still had several hundred feet to climb, I at least could avoid the sand for the rest of the way.

I began to really feel the effects of being over 13,000 ft. I wasn’t acclimatized like I was in the summer, so I focused on deep breaths and finding a methodical hiking pace. I felt very dizzy at times and I was slow, but it was the best I could manage.

After a false summit, the true summit came into view.

I made it to the summit just after 11am, 6 hours after starting off.

To the north were Mt Barnard, Mt Tyndall, Trojan Peak and Mt Williamson.

To the northeast were White Mountain Peak and Waucoba Mountain.

To the east were Mt Inyo, Keynot Peak and New York Butte.

To the southeast were Telescope Peak, Lone Pine Peak and Mt Langley.

To the south were Mt McAdie, Mt Whitney and Mt Russell.

To the west were Mt Kaweah, Red Kaweah, Black Kaweah, Kern Point, Milestone Mountain, Midway Mountain, Table Mountain and Thunder Mountain.

That was 19 SPS peaks for the year. I was on the cusp of achieving my goal of 20. I descended the southern slopes, hoping for easy passage along the western shore of Lake Tulainyo towards the Russell-Carillon Col.

-Kaweah Peaks Ridge

I passed by what were most likely bighorn sheep tracks.

-The Cleaver and Mt Carillon

-Mt Russell

The traverse over to the base of the col was fairly easy, with some minor ups and downs over talus fields at the end. There was still no accessible water anywhere, but by this time I felt I would make it to the end without any serious trouble.

And so began the final push. In the week leading up to the hike I had worried about snow and ice on this north facing slope making my climb more difficult, but there were no extra challenges to be had.

-Tunnabora Peak

I heard some voices and spotted a couple climbers making their way along Mt Russell’s East Ridge.

The final bit of class 3 to reach the col was very straightforward.

I took a break here, drained, but knowing there was only about 200 feet of climbing remaining.

I picked a route just to the right of the top of the ridge. I again started to feel the effects of altitude, and I resumed my pressure breathing.

-Mt Whitney

There was a short scramble to reach the high point. For some reason I had expected a walk up. I reached the summit at 12:40pm, about 1.5 hours after leaving the summit of Tunnabora Peak. Down below me to the east was Gambler’s Special. Beyond that were the Inyo Mountains.

To the northeast was The Cleaver.

To the north were Lake Tulainyo and Tunnabora Peak.

To the northwest was the Great Western Divide.

To the west was Mt Russell.

To the southwest were Mt Muir and Mt Whitney.

To the south were Lone Pine Peak and Mt Irvine.

I tried to sign the summit register but it was wet and a complete mess. Rather than sign the register to prove my ascent, I decided instead to snap a photo of the register.

-Lake Tulainyo

I could just make out people still making their way up along the East Ridge Route. I was already done with my second peak of the day, but they still hadn’t reached their first.

Once back at the saddle, I crossed gradual sandy slopes down the standard route of Mt Russell. It had been many years since I last did Mt Russell, so I didn’t have a clear memory of what exactly to expect. There were a lot of footprints in the sand and multiple cairns. Then came the big drop down to Upper Boy Scout Lake.

This was a long loose descent. My memory was slowly coming back to me, and I had a lot of “oh yeah” moments.

I laid down in the soft sand near Upper Boy Scout Lake, taking a well deserved break. I looked at Lone Pine Peak above, which I had considered as a possible bonus peak, but I had had enough.

I felt the most dangerous part of the day was crossing the iced over North Fork of Lone Pine Creek. I put on my MICROspikes for the crossing, but I still felt vulnerable on these slippery sections. A fall here would spell disaster.

I lost the use trail for a short time and thrashed around in some brush. Lower Boy Scout Lake was visible down below.

Once at the outlet of the lake, I spotted the use trail leading towards Cleaver Col, officially closing my loop.

The rest of the hike down was steeper than I recalled. There was a lot of pressure exerted on my feet and knees. I took it slowly.

-Ebersbacher Ledges

I felt a big sense of relief once I made it to the Whitney Trail. I enjoyed the gradual trail the rest of the way.

I started to develop a big headache from my lack of water, but this would go away after rehydrating in the car over the next several hours.

It felt really good to complete my goal of 20 SPS peaks in the 2020 calendar year, especially with all the challenges this year had put in front of me. Maybe next year I will go for 21 peaks.

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sigritandtheelves · 7 years ago

Text

Drown

Rating: Teen/Mature Tags: Angst, Emily Arc, Per Manum

Stare into the void of season 5’s reproduction arc with me. Brought to you by cramps and seasonal depression in this miserable heatwave. This is for @kateyes224 who wanted me to share the pain. CW for all the reproductive traumas associated w/this arc (child death, miscarriage, infertility, etc.). Yikes.

_+_

There had only been the briefest of windows, and he had missed his chance, of that he was sure. At first there were waves of relief so strong he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet: she’ll live, she’ll live, she’ll live pulsing in his veins with each beat of his heart. It was enough; it would be enough; it should be enough, he told himself, and then he sobbed into a bloody photograph of the long-gone happiness of his childhood and realized that it wasn’t. There was always more more more he had to do, and now that she wouldn’t die, he’d have the strength to do it.

He watches her open to him. He watches her fill back up with life, with a joy he hasn’t seen since their early days, and he feels her press closer to him with that openness. Here is Life, and she is going to live it. Here is Scully’s love, and he turns away.

She brings him wine and cheese.

He runs.

She makes a sex joke and sings him to sleep, and the next day they drive home as if nothing has happened.

Later, he dreams about dancing with her at a Cher concert—in a bar, of all places. In the dream he pulls her body flush against his and he smiles at her with a depth of knowing and with the absurdity of their circumstances and most of all with love, while they hold hands to hearts in the smoky room. But when he wakes, he is sweating as if it were a nightmare. He is hard as a rock in his pajama bottoms.

She senses his rejection, after a while, and starts to pull back. Her feet touch the ground again, as his did too soon, and she remembers that although life is a gift, it is terribly, terribly hard.

They work; they smile; he flirts, but she stops flirting back. And then she goes to visit her family for Christmas and the window slams shut.

_+_

“I think I’d like to be alone,” she whispered, and he felt it happen, the snick of the door to her heart as it closed to him. She heard him step away and sighed in relief when he was gone. She would let herself have this, and nothing else. She would kiss the sweaty forehead of her dying daughter, hold the chubby hand that was the weight of everything she would never have, and send this baby, with all her others, into the darkness of unlife alone. Dana Scully felt rebuked for opening herself to even the merest possibility of motherhood, and to the possibility of love as well. She’d regained a chance at life: how dare she ask for more?

Just an hour after Emily slipped away, she got a call from her mother: Tara was in labor. Death for life, she supposed. Scully signed some papers, dialed Mulder’s number, and wandered to meet him with too-dry, salt-crusted eyes. She felt like the cold hand of the undead, brought back from the edge of the grave, but scooped empty of life, reeking of sterility and gunmetal and blood.

Mulder touched her arm, but she barely felt it.

“Will you take me back?” Her voice: flat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Scully, I—“

But he was stopped by the sharp look in her eyes: she would take no comfort now. He dropped her at her brother’s house and returned to his motel where he cried for her, the first time in this new year. Inside Bill’s living room, alone again, she stared at the Christmas tree lights until they blurred and became a white wall of fire. She wanted it to burn her, but instead she fell into cold sleep. When she woke she was an aunt, but no longer a mother.

---

He brought flowers and kind words to the funeral that Scully felt was something of a burden on her family. Perhaps they thought she was selfish for arranging it when they had so much to celebrate. Who was she, who had barely known this child and had given away her heart so quickly, to demand this ritual? They planned a christening; she planned a funeral. But Mulder, who mourned all lost little girls so fully and selflessly, understood. He may never forgive her for being so ready to leave him, but he understood her need to grieve. Scully wondered if this might be what a miscarriage felt like—to grasp so briefly, so fiercely, to a hope for the future, and then to have it ripped away. She would never have the chance to know, she thought, to confirm the comparison.

Back at her brother’s house, there were casseroles, brownies, a Jell-O mold. Scully thought, morbidly, that they should have had the christening on the same day and made it a twofer. She ate nothing, but knocked back enough of Bill’s good scotch that her stomach burned and she finally felt warm. Mulder hovered in the corner looking constipated. She sat on the couch getting drunker and accepting half-hearted declarations of sympathy until she couldn’t take it any more.

She stood too fast and the room spun, but Mulder was at her elbow in a second.

“I wanna go home, Mulder,” she said into his bicep, where her face had landed.

Into her ear, quietly, “Do you need to go up and lie down?”

She shook her head, red hair rubbing, static-clinging to the front of his suit. “No,” she said. “I want to go all the way home.”

“Can you pack your bags?”

“Already packed.”

“Okay. I’ll get them. Will you be okay here?”

She shrugged and tried to get ahold of herself. She combed fingers through her hair and watched the room dip and sway around her. Maggie’s eyes found hers across the room, and Scully looked away in half-shame.

“Dana, are you alright?” Her mother had somehow appeared at her side, looking concerned.

“I’m fine, mom. I just… I need to go.” Mulder descended the stairs with her bags and tucked them in the entryway before walking over to the two women.

“You’re not going to say goodbye to Bill and Tara?” Maggie asked.

As if remembering them suddenly, Scully looked around the room. But then the thought of their new-parent-tired faces and the soft skin of their perfect infant made her dizzy, slightly nauseated. “I can’t right now.”

She was spinning again, and Mulder reached out to hold her steady. Maggie glared at him. “You take care of her, Fox.”

He nodded. “I will.”

In the car, her head lolled and tears ran down her cheeks. He’d never seen her drunk before: not the stoic inebriation of her brother’s house, and certainly not this weepy version that spoke of her own fears and crushed his heart like glass under a boot-heel.

“It’s not me, Mulder. I’m not like them. It’s not for me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t do it. I’m all wrong for it. My hands are for dead things, not for babies.”

“Scully…”

“You were right. You were right. It’s not mean to be. I can’t go to brunch and laugh at empty jokes and buy onesies and pretend I don’t know what a corpse smells like. I felt like a fucking monster in that house, Mulder. Like the goddamned angel of death,” and a sob slipped out after her last words.

His jaw clenched and unclenched as he drove. He had no idea what to say, so he let his hand rest on her black-clad knee. She was all the light he knew, but he had still tainted her with darkness like a bottle of spilled ink.

“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” she said, almost under her breath. He felt his stomach muscles clench, as if he’d been punched, and a rage flow through him at the world, at himself for the part he played, for making Dana Scully ever ever doubt herself. But he said nothing, just drove them back to the motel.

---

Scully threw up into a trashcan and then collapsed onto his motel bed. Mulder took the bin away and came back with a glass of water and a wet washcloth. He sat in the nook created by her bent knees and ran a hand over her back. She sat, dabbed her face and lips with cool terrycloth that felt rough and good. She drank all of the water, knowing how much she’d need it. After a minute, when the room had slowed its spin, she tucked herself up against the pillows again. Mulder pulled her shoes off and draped the bed’s throw blanket over her.

“Would you have quit?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, and for a moment, he thought she’d already fallen asleep.

But then she said, “If it meant I could get even one thing back that they’d taken from me? Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

He opened his mouth to agree, but then bit it back—it would have been a lie. He wasn’t sure there was much of anything that could make him quit.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. They never would have let me have her.” Her voice was tired, too exhausted for hope and for pointless speculation. Mulder took his things to the bathroom and changed out of his suit. He eyed the empty space on the bed, but took the armchair instead to work. Her voice startled him.

“You should have told me.”

“What?”

“You knew something. You knew what they’d done and why.”

The ova. The Crawford clones with red hair. Bodies in green tanks. They’re our mothers. Shame gripped at his guts. “No, not why. Not really,” he said.

“You said you knew there were children. My children. It’s my body they violated, Mulder. My future. My life they ruined.” He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the tears in her words. And the quiet rage. “You didn’t have the right to keep that from me.”

He had that same terrible impulse he’d had after the Jerse case, to tell her that it was his life too, but he knew he’d lost any right to that claim. So he just said, “I know,” and waited for her to fall asleep. He swallowed back his further omission: the little vial in a Fairfax cold storage facility marked Scully, Dana Katherine. When her breathing slowed, he dialed the airline and booked their flight back to Washington.

_+_

Two weeks later, after they’ve rescued a pair of teenagers from the Michigan mud, he confesses everything into the basement elevator while she stares on, incredulous. She takes a vacation, and he’s sure it’s a dry-run for leaving him. He can’t help his desperate flirting, his selfish need to throw everything he can at the possibility of making her stay. But for her, each joke is like a swallowed needle, a stab wound from the inside. Two weeks after that, she invites him to lunch where he’s sure she’ll break the terrible news of her departure, but instead she does something different, but which amounts to roughly the same thing: she asks him to father her child. Her fingers tremble over a Cesar salad and she pretends there are other options, other possible donors, so she can swallow any bites at all. If she can’t have him, perhaps she can have his child. If she can’t have his child, she’ll have no child at all.

He’s so fucking selfish that he wants to say no. He wants to hold her to him like the deflating life raft of a drowning man; the harder he squeezes the more she slips away. But he remembers the tears in his rental car, her mumbled Maybe I don’t deserve it, and he hates himself into saying yes. A baby will split them apart, he thinks, but he jerks off into a plastic cup while remembering the sound of her “Oh God”s as she watched a genocidal inferno unfold in her stolen memory—and he hates himself more.

She listens to another woman call him Fox while she waits to learn if she’s carrying his child. Then she loses her last chance in a wash of blood, and the X-files burn.

They stand in dripping ruin, in the fumes of hot metal and sodium bicarbonate where her uterine walls clench violently in disgrace, and they are both of them suddenly futureless.

-end-

All I can say is… sorry? It feels like there could be more to this, though, so maybe I’ll make it better in a follow-up. Playing with tense shifts a little bit here—hope it worked out.

#a thing I wrote #angst #fanfic #x-files #season 5 #Emily arc #per manum

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shipaholic · 3 years ago

Text

another Campaign Star Wars transcript: Tryst and Rendezvous

From episode 73, after Tryst stuns Vous-Vous and uses her ship to blow up The Wild Kardde. He makes her tea and waits until she comes to.

Previous transcripts:

Lyn and Zara (ep18)

Tryst and Angel (ep32)

Tryst and Aava (ep50)

---

R: (heaves huge sigh) You got me.

T: Hey, I mean, thank you for bringing me those torpedoes.

R: Yeah… should have seen that coming.

T: Yeah. Hey, it’s ok. I’m sure in a matter of days you’re going to do something way worse to me. And I won’t see it coming at all.

R: I feel like an idiot.

T: Well, drink your tea.

R: Did you put something in it? Oh, I am so mad at you right now.

T: I know. Drink your tea, it’ll make you feel better.

She takes it. Sips it.

T: You wanna shoot me?

R: No.

T: You sure?

R: Yeah. Maybe later.

T: I would deserve it.

R: Yeah, yeah. Well.

T: Did Car’das really call Fling?

R: Yeah. Yeah, he really called Fling.

T: Wow. Did not think he would do that. She really mad?

R: She’s concerned.

T: Yeah. You know, we might be in over our heads. How much did he pay you for the job, by the way?

R: You don’t need to know.

T: You gonna keep it?

R: Yes.

T: Can I have it?

R: Mm-mm. Mm-mm. Nope. That’s mine.

T: I mean, technically he paid you to bring me back, and I was the one who brought me back. All right, we’re not going to quibble over the money. But you could split it with me. We’re not going to quibble over the money, you keep the money. You’re right. You deserve it. What are you going to do?

R: You don’t need to worry about it. You should probably be worried about your little family, though.

T: Oh, I’m definitely worried about my little family. I can tell that something’s not right. When I left them, I could tell something’s not right.

R: Who?

T: My little family?

R: Yeah.

T: What little family are you talking about? You?

R: No!

T: Oh. ‘Cause I consider you family.

R: I meant the kids on the - the Mynock kids. The - like -

T: Pliff and Jane?

R: Leenik Geelo, and…

T: Oh. No, yeah, I’m definitely worried about them.

R: With Car’das. This whole thing that you’ve -

T: Oh, no. I’m not worried about Car’das. Look, we’re safe on BHIKKE, at least.

R: You’re safe on BHIKKE?

T: I mean at BHIKKE.

She laughs at him.

R: Yeah, you’re safe on BHIKKE, OK.

T: Well, I mean, Bacta is. He’s a bounty hunter. And Leenik’s safe, ‘cause he’s a bounty hunter.

R: Speaking of, uh, are you getting out of here before Thursday?

T: I mean probably, yeah. We’ll probably get out of here as soon as possible. We only needed to stay here to take some of Sneak and Tubaik’s money, and we kinda already did that. So yeah, we’re definitely not staying for that meetup on Thursday. You don’t have to worry, that’s - ship has sailed. D’you think that, uh, Sneak and Tubaik are coming after you?

R: Probably?

T: Well, uh, I wouldn’t be too worried. They’re kind of incompetent.

R: I don’t think you’re worried about me.

T: No, you always seem to land on your feet. Except when you land on your back, you know what I’m saying? Oh, and ‘cause you slept with my friend! Yeah, s’a twofer!

R: You’re real mad about that, huh?

T: Ah, no. I forgave him, I forgive you.

R: Yeah, you brought it back twice though.

T: Yeah, it’s more because I feel like it still chafes him.

R: OK, but you brought it up to me. So you’re pretty upset about it, like…

T: Knocked you off your guard, though!

R: Look at your dumb little face!

T: Did it mean anything?

R: No, I was drunk!

T: OK. That makes sense. Probably meant something to him, though. Just so you know, there are other people involved.

R: Do you care?

T: For him? Yeah! He’s not like us.

R: How would I know that?

T: Most people aren’t.

R: OK? Are you trying to moralise at me?

T: No, no, I’m just saying that -

R: ‘Cause that’s pointless! You know that!

T: This is true. I’m just - OK fine. I would never sleep with one of your friends.

R: Uh, ‘cause you couldn’t!

T: ‘Cause you don’t have friends!

R: I have plenty of friends.

T: Oh yeah?

R: Yeah!

T: Name one friend of yours.

R: I am at BHIKKE right now. With all of my friends.

T: Bounty hunters are like stand-ups. They’re not actually friends, they’re all just in the same room together. They don’t even like each other! You think any one of these bounty hunters wouldn’t take a bounty for your life?

R: That’s - whatever, like -

T: Money’s your friend. And that’s fine! That’s the way you’ve always been. That is ok with me. OK? You have your goals, your life is black and white. I like that.

R: That’s fine, Tryst. Let’s just get you back to your little family that you care about so much that you’ve pissed off Jorj Car’das.

T: Will you tell Fling not to worry? She’s got enough on her plate.

R: Fling doesn’t like talking to me.

T: I guess she doesn’t like talking to me either.

R: How would you know? You haven’t talked to her in five years!

T: Well, I didn’t know it was easy as just giving her a call! Should I call her?

R: (stutters for several seconds) You’re asking me if you should call your family? I don’t…

T: Yeah, should I call her?

R: Maybe?

T: I thought she was my enemy?

R: Why would you think Fling’s your enemy? Why, why would you think that?

T: Because I didn’t come home!

R: Yeah, she’s your older sister.

T: Yeah. She had to deal with a lot. While I was not there. And I never checked in.

R: I don’t care. I do not care about this.

T: Yeah, you got a lot of friends. OK, fine. Here’s the deal. When I get off the ship, you’re gonna be very tempted to shoot me in the back.

R: You already gave me permission to shoot you.

T: Yeah, I said in the front! You can shoot me now -

R: You didn’t say that. I’m gonna shoot you whenever I want, wherever I want.

T: OK, but. And I mean this, seriously. Please don’t. Now, you never said please don’t! If you had said please don’t shoot me, you think I would have shot you? No.

R: (laughing) I would never say ‘please don’t shoot me’.

T: Ah, that’s the difference between you and me. I said it!

R: Yeah, that you’re a little coward?

T: Yes! Yeah I’m a coward!

(Rendezvous laughs at him.)

T: Plus, I feel like I’m gonna get shot a lot in the next coming, you know, days, weeks, hours. So maybe lay off me until I kinda get my balance. And I made you tea! OK? And you have a horrible selection of tea, by the way. And I hope that is tea.

R: Who drinks tea?

T: Nice people. Not star warlords. With trophies hanging over their gaudy ship.

R: You take that back right now.

T: OK the ship is not gaudy it’s very cool and -

R: Thank you.

T: - I like the decor and -

R: It’s lovely.

T: And I also thought that you would take ‘space warlord’ as a compliment.

R: I did.

T: Oh good.

R: It was a very nice thing of you to say.

T: Normal people drink tea.

Tryst gets up, starts to walk to the cockpit, wheels around. She’s just drinking her tea. He backward walks to the cockpit as they approach Phindar station.

#tryst valentine #rendezvous valentine #campaign star wars #campaign: star wars #campaign podcast #ah sibs #I go nuts every time Fling is mentioned #most mysterious of valentines!

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tamiddyinyourcity · 4 years ago

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Does anyone in my real life still read this blog? I don't think so. Patrick the PussyAssBitch/Danny Defeato probably stopped awhile back, and I don't hold too much interest in that. Bush Whore also probably quit.... or did she? Is seeing her best friend's ex girlfriend having a mental breakdown online amusing for her?

It must've been before, since the bitch kept doing it. (Then complaining to Patrick that I write about her.... No shit dumbass, I owe no sweet nothings to a bitch that was eager to make me the bad guy in her own story, even when before the first breakup happened, it was still "im worried about him having a girl best friend, but then again thats probably due to so many cheating dynamics and more ive witnessed growing up as well as usually banging or having guy friends who hope to bang me, so shes probably not a bad person and i just need to be less anxious; i should meet her or something and feel a vibe for myself."

And then post-breakup, when we got back together but he wanted me to apologize, i was totally fine doing so. (That's a half truth; i hated the idea, but eventually grew into a 'saving my energy' sort of mindset, and figured..... might as well clear the air. Plus, i believe most people are redeemable for their actions. Except for Marco, who officially loses the train metaphor and would be tripped onto some train tracks with ease.)

Buuuut nope, Azalea continued being a stank hoe.

Then even post breakup number two, kept stalking my blog???? Like hoe me and him are not together and dont plan to date again????? Let a bitch vent?

She's a bird. :)

Anyway.

I'll admit it was flattering, but jesus. I hate people who overcomplicate things, so much.

And I guess as I woke up today, I reflected on things.

I feel pretty... good these days.

I'm dating someone who communicates with me. And actually treats me to things simply because they want to. He cooks for me, and with me. He's a real sweet guy, and I'm glad we ended up seeing eachother.

I guess it just feels nice, being in an actual healthy relationship.

And if I'm sure no exes or weirdos see this....

It feels fantastic finding someone that really showed me Patrick #2 wasn't jack shit.

He did good things during our relationship, but in hindsight, always could have done more.

A guy with a girl he clearly likes, works a full time job and only ever spends his money on gas or lunch, still not bothering to buy his clearly poor girlfriend a plate of food? He paid no rent whatsoever either, so it really wasn't gonna dent him anyway.

The same dumbass that made a double/triple decker sandwich next to me as I complained about starving. He was such a dumbass, for fuck's sake...

He did eventually learn it sorta peeved me off, and did offer to treat me every once and awhile.

And still have mixed feelings about last Christmas. DEFINITELY STILL PISSED AT HIS RUDE ASS REACTION TO MY GIFT WITH HIS UNGRATEFUL ASS, that fuckass bitch, thats exactly why I took that shit back a week later. (Better to have it lost in my bedroom, than lost in his. Don't need his dumbass to fucking mock me to whatever naive person he goes with next. "Oh yeah, I got her freshwater pearl earrings, ahd she got me this painting and a fuckton of pins! Hurhurhur how fucking hilarious!" God, he pisses me off in so many damn ways.

His gift was..... eh.

Sweet, but like, it was a pre-bought twofer gift he got at a gift shop. With the abalone earrings, at least THAT was "Oh my godddddd, I love them!" Were they my type of style? Other than the iridescence, not really. I don't really wear dangly earrings. Loved em as a kid, but, they make me self conscious. Just.... feels like they could get stuck on something with too wrong a swing.

But anyway, I already owned pearl earrings.

I came to his house that night.... wearing pearl earrings.

So opening a box, and seeing at what looks like, at first glance, cheap pearl earrings, that I could buy a 20 pack of for 1.99 at the Beauty Supply store.... had made me upset.

I could've laughed it off and still found it nice, if he didn't rag on my sentimental gift so hard.

Girls do not like when you treat their handmade painting, letter about being happy to give things a 2nd try, and your gifted pins about your interests as disposable, as you.... give them cheap earrings that they already owned, that were PRE BOUGHT, and lacked a card.

.....

Outside of him being stingy as fuck while I blew mad money buying more shit for him and his (really sweet) mother, when I already knew I was gonna probably be broke trying to find a sublet to move into....

A great example of *why men deserve less*

..... He was also a massive coward. Was he honest to me about why Azalea didn't like me before we broke up? No. Was he honest about how Azalea was annoyed at having me at the party when I deadass gave him a several day period to tell me, so that if i was told not to come, I could plan something else, and not be hurt trying to put away my outfit or unpack card games? Nope. Was he honest at any point? No.

Hell, even the night I broke up with him.

He had a chance to be fucking real.

He was given a chance to kiss me. I knew if he turned it down, it was a sign he didn't like me enough and to leave. If he did, then I would've never gave him the breakup letter. We could've talked things out, because sometimes we flourished when honest conversations happened.

.....

He turned me down. I accepted that calmly, gave him the letter, and a nice hug.

Only once I got home, suddenly he's vagueposting sad Pepe memes to twitter, and suddenly texting me how much he liked the letter; how sad he was to see me go. All that. Even said he wished he did kiss me.

.......

Guess what he did when given one last chance to talk?

Lied.

And then another after that?

Lied.

......

He always lies. God forbid anyone else deals with him.

Never communicated until worst case scenarios already happened.

And a twat.

Always so condescending.

.......

At some point, I thought he was the best relationship ever.

Until I met another depressed white twitter Marxist, and he was six feet tall with an even bigger dick that PROBABLY took longer than 4 seconds to come.

And he had a personality too, which had me like.... Oh, nice.

Then Cam, then I think two others. I forgot the others.

Cam..... And then Kieran, but that was more one sided, still a chill person.... Ah, then JC.

Juan Carlos is a fucking dumbass, ive noticed. Not much to say about him, other than he was definitely the official transitioner to make me forget Patrick had existed.

Wow, all it took was someone else to be good at oral, and being the first time of someone else. Who wouldve guessed?

Aaaaand then JC totally ruining my self esteem made me feel content.

Why keep settling?

Why settle?

I just knew there were people out there who would value me and treat me with genuine respect.

I set standards and ended up finding someone great.

It feels nice.

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florafaunaravenna · 6 years ago

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Lichens and Fungi

at 6:00 PM on May 1st, with the sun shining above me and the temperature marked at a balmy 65 degrees Fahrenheit, I walked to Ravenna Park once more to take my weekly stock of all that had changed and developed since I had been there last. I had an additional task: to catalog and identify some fungi and lichens, six at the very least.

Something that struck me as I went about taking pictures and notes on the plants and the trees was the preponderance and sudden abundance of living things all around me. I could see midges lit up by rays of light; eastern gray squirrels running up and down the trees; plump song sparrows flying from branch to branch; the trilling song of the american robin; and a pileated woodpecker’s percussive remonstrations. Walking up to my spot and out, and I saw a good deal more animal life than I had seen up until this point, and wondered whether or not some or all of them hibernated or went elsewhere during the winter. Research told me that the eastern gray squirrels don’t but instead rely on stores of fat. Likewise, song sparrows and pileated woodpeckers roost and are able to get by during the winter without flying south. I was surprised to find this, because it seemed today as though they had all come out of the woodwork, so to speak.

I walked to my spot and perhaps due to the increase in temperature, the forest floor was somewhat drier. The last time I clambered down to my spot I stepped on what I thought was solid ground and sank ankle deep into squidgy mud. I tried it again this time and the ground was more substantial, though I was still too squeamish to walk out into the thick of my area. Note to self to wear boots or galoshes next week.

The foliage was thicker. I measured the giant horsetails, western lady ferns, and the skunk cabbage around me and found that on average most of these had grown between 1 and 2 inches, which was not an insignificant amount of growth for a week. Looking closer at some of the skunk cabbages, I could see that in their center some of them seemed to have something that looked like a bud emerging. A quick search suggests that skunk cabbages bloom, but I’m not sure if that’s before or after the thick leaves have grown out. I hope to see the white flower blossom before the quarter ends--it’s about all I have to look forward to in my 50 square foot plot.

Also, I identified the small white flowers that were blooming around. They are, I’m pretty sure, Nipplewort.

I wandered a little further afield than I intended while looking for lichens and fungi. There was quite a bit to see, though I felt somewhat disappointed not to see anything like a traditional mushroom. I saw what I thought perhaps might have been an extremely tiny example of a mower’s mushroom, but it was so pitifully small that I decided not to take a picture of it. It was underneath a log and about four of them could fit on a dime if there were four.

I began to look more closely at the lichens and mosses and found that though I wasn’t able to name them, there was clearly a larger variety than I had first perceived while walking through the forest unaware. Most grew on tree bark, either dead or still living; some seemed to favor branches, and others trunks. Some grew on stones and rocks. The fungi that I saw for the most part all favored dead trees, either stumps, fallen logs, or in tree hollows. There was one hollow in particular, which I took a good number of pictures of, that had at least three different fungi growing on it. I read that fungi tend to like dead trees because they act as decomposers, harvesting the tree for nutrients and rendering it basically into fertilizer. When they appear on a living tree, “it’s usually a sign of the end”. The most common lichen was the one I wasn’t able to identify. I could find the delicate fern moss and the oakmoss hanging from branches, I even found a little bit of pelt moss, but I don’t have a name for the most common moss that I saw on most rocks and trees, a basic nondescript moss that was like a carpet with a very small pile, had something like the tooth of a microfiber cloth. Probably the coolest fungi that I saw (I think this is what it was, but I’m not 100%) was an orange slightly translucent fungus that was clumped together and had the appearance of hard candy in its jelly like sheen but round solidity. I found it by peeling open a fallen log which had decayed and rotted into a pliable husk. The bark disintegrated before my prying fingers and within was contained maybe 5 or six of these strange looking fungus specimens.

There was a fungus that I didn’t take a picture of, that I realized later to be witch moss that I mistook for dying branches.

50 sqft. picture of my site. Things are blooming along nicely, the floor is almost covered, and there are definitely some little things growing out of the mud. Seems also that the nipplewort might bloom fully soon.

My close up shot. Um, yeah. There’s some growth, but not a great amount.

OK, not the best picture, but you can see inside of this peeled back fallen log the beginnings maybe of crystal brain fungus! It seems that way anway. There are all these weird clear seed things enclosed in a jelly looking substance. But when I touched the substance it didn’t give like a softer thing would... It was quite solid.

This seems like a good example of Oak moss. Also on the branch there are a few specimens of I think delicate fern moss.

gnarly! I don’t really know what this thing is but it looks freaky. My guess is some kind of polypore maybe, but there was a lumpy protrusion inside of it that either looked like it was part of it or another fungus. I couldn’t tell, but if it was part of it it probably wasn’t a polypore but something else entirely.

This one’s a twofer--or maybe a threefer if you include the delicate fern moss. There’s what seems to me to be some turkey tail, and in the center, that strange lumpy black thing that sort of looks like dried excrement seemed like it would be a fungus i could identify, but I couldn’t find a match.

Some standard run of the mill delicate fern moss, but I had to get a picture of it by itself.

A bonus picture (extremely blurry) of a pileated woodpecker I saw boring through a trunk for some tasty ants.

also very blurry, but I saw this interesting moldy growth at the base of a trunk and took a quick snap. I don’t know what this is... Maybe the beginning of a lumpy bracket, but it was lying flat against the tree. It looked maybe even like pelt lichens, because it was flat and almost peeling up from where it had been stuck to the tree, almost like one of those flyers for local bands you see hastily stapled onto power poles downtown and in capitol hill.

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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago

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Bea & Fraze

Bea: Hey Fraze: What do you want, red? Bea: Talk Fraze: Didn't gloat enough last night, yeah? Fraze: Go on then Bea: That wasn't even what I intended then, even though I was obviously shitfaced, so yeah Bea: Christ Bea: I'm sorry, alright? Fraze: Fuck sorry Fraze: I was shitfaced last night too, I didn't stick my tongue down anyone's throat Bea: Well, you could've Fraze: Cheers for the written permission Fraze: I'll go make a friend, gimme a sec Bea: I'm just saying, not the point, is it Fraze: Your point is, it ain't fun unless you can throw it in my face, like Bea: It wasn't actually about you, sorry to disappoint Fraze: Funny way of showing it Fraze: Should've kept your hands busy, babe Fraze: It would've avoided this Bea: Don't be disgusting Bea: it was bad enough what I did Fraze: You came to the wrong place for sympathy Bea: I'm not after it, I'm just trying to tell you I've sorted it, alright? Fraze: Now you've said it. Run along and pat yourself on the back Bea: Yeah got it, you hate me Bea: but I don't love him, hear that Fraze: What do you expect me to do? Like I could cast my mind back to how it feels pining for someone but I was only a kid Fraze: Fuck off Bea: That isn't close to what this is Bea: How do you manage to still be so arrogant whilst being totally fucking wrong? Bea: A real talent Fraze: Better mine than yours Bea: Obviously Bea: Hope its good company, like Fraze: We done or is there more sob story to come? Bea: Fuck it Bea: You've heard it all before and if you're incapable of connecting the dots by now, you never will Bea: why waste any more time Fraze: Wouldn't want you keep from walking the fuck away again Fraze: Off you go Bea: Again? Seriously? Bea: Where have I gone that you haven't Fraze: You tell me Fraze: The distance ain't being measured in miles, is it, babe Bea: Exactly Bea: Don't act like it was all my idea Fraze: Likewise Fraze: Not for one second was your hand being forced Bea: Didn't say it was Bea: Doesn't mean I had it under control, all cold and calculated, so fuck you Fraze: Hurts doesn't it, when people reckon you're that cunt Bea: I haven't accused you of fucking anything Bea: That's all you Fraze: Bullshit Fraze: Ever since uni started it's like I masterminded this whole fucking plan to fuck you over Bea: You're the one bringing that up Bea: What, you want me to say I'm perfectly capable of that all on my own? Bea: Got the proof, now who's fucking gloating Fraze: Fucking hell Fraze: If the cap fits though, babe Fraze: Go ahead and gloat about how you picked someone who was off limits and broke what few rules there were, on your way out Fraze: Proud of you, like Bea: Fuck off Bea: You don't get to be faux angry on his behalf Bea: You don't even think he's legit or like him and now you're his defender? Don't make me laugh Fraze: You fuck off Fraze: I'm angry on my own behalf Fraze: I don't get attached, deliberately, but you just had to one-up me and go harder, yeah? Congrats Bea: I'm not attached! You aren't listening Fraze: I could give less of a fuck what you're TRYING to say Fraze: You didn't pick him up at the club, no names Fraze: And you knew how I'd react Fraze: You fucking love this Bea: You don't get to listen last night and not now Bea: not how it works Bea: also no Bea: I know it's hard when you're so self-involved but consider for a second that it was actually about HIM and not YOU Bea: pushing HIM away Fraze: Shut up Fraze: I know how important he is to you, no need to shove that down my throat after you've tongued his Fraze: I can think, do and say what I fucking like Fraze: That's how it works Bea: Then do Bea: if this is the hill you wanna live and die on Bea: but you're being ridiculous Bea: frankly Fraze: And that's only for you to be, yeah? I forgot Fraze: You're a fucking farce Fraze: And still judging me Bea: Least I'm owning it Bea: what the fuck are you doing? Fraze: I'm not the one shitting on everything from a great height last I checked Bea: You're complicit, you said as much Bea: but nah, all me Bea: wouldn't that be helpful for your complex Fraze: You're wasted not studying psychology, babe Fraze: Truly Bea: Whatever Bea: I know I'm right and so do you Fraze: Feel good, does it? Fraze: I hope so 'cause it's all you've got to show for this Bea: Yeah, great Bea: Can't you tell? Fraze: Yeah Fraze: Doesn't take a genius Bea: Thank fuck Bea: 'cos you're a total moron Fraze: Fuck you Bea: No, you Fraze: That's the best you've got? Fraze: We ain't 7 any more Bea: Stop sulking then Fraze: Stop messing me about then Bea: I ain't Bea: it was just drunk texts, we've all been there Fraze: Still fucked me up Bea: I said sorry Bea: I am sorry Bea: what can I do? Fraze: Say it like you mean it Fraze: Say it to my face Bea: Really? In the middle of a School week? Bea: You are high maintenance Fraze: Fuck it Fraze: I can own how much I miss you Fraze: How shit this is Bea: Still? Fraze: Do you want me to come or don't you Fraze: Simple enough Bea: Yes Bea: obviously Fraze: Shut up then Fraze: Always fighting me Bea: Yeah, like I'm letting that one slide when I've got at least a solid day before you get here and can make me Fraze: We both know when I get there you'll only be making more noise Fraze: That's why I need you to give in now and let it happen Bea: I'm not stopping you Bea: student loans might have something to say about how you utilize your funds; your profs, your time Fraze: That shit's the least of my worries Bea: Cheers, I ain't THAT bad.. Fraze: Don't get it twisted, babe Bea: Well what else would be giving your grief? Fraze: It's the lack of you Fraze: You're not the problem like, it's that bullshit getting in my way Bea: Yeah Bea: I get it Bea: Got to be done Fraze: Yeah, but I've got to see you first Bea: Come Fraze: No pretty please? Bea: Pushing it, boy Fraze: Would you rather I didn't? I don't reckon Bea: You know what I'd rather Fraze: As a total moron, might need it spelled out, like Bea: Aww babe, you need your ego stroked after that one? Bea: Gone soft on me, like Fraze: It ain't my ego Fraze: And not unless you've lost your touch, babe Bea: Doubting my talent after lauding it only seconds ago? Bea: Hot and cold you are Fraze: Making sure you're listening and keeping you interested Fraze: Bit of multitasking and that Bea: Hmm Bea: Bit tryhard but appreciated Fraze: What else do you reckon I'm learning at college? Fraze: Might as well be an arse kissing degree this Fraze: They call it business but Christ Bea: Whatever gets you the deal, babe Bea: 😂 Bea: Love to see that in action Fraze: You and all these other cunts Bea: You don't like your course? Fraze: What gave it away? Bea: You could change Bea: Not too late Fraze: Not technically but we ain't all loving dealing with superhuman workloads, babe Fraze: Fuck starting over Bea: Alright Bea: It'll still be worth it in the end Fraze: Yeah Fraze: I'll get it done, it ain't that bad Bea: Good Bea: Not just saying it, yeah? Fraze: I'm not a pussy I've done this much, I can handle the rest Bea: I know you aren't Fraze: Don't treat me like one then Fraze: Take my word for it, like Bea: Alright Bea: Calm down Bea: Only asking Fraze: Only saying Bea: Yeah Bea: well I'm sick of not knowing how you're doing Fraze: You are losing your touch if you ain't keeping decent tabs Bea: Fuck off Bea: I've got a life, thanks Fraze: Did have, before you fucked it, like Bea: Shut up Bea: Not funny Fraze: Not laughing Bea: Not what it sounds like from here Fraze: Well, you've got it wrong Bea: What else is knew Fraze: Your turn to sulk now then, yeah? Bea: thought you was being nice Fraze: Now who's gone soft? Bea: Fuck you then, gonna go back to icing you out, like Fraze: You reckon Bea: Yep Fraze: Gonna slam the door in my face, like Bea: Bold of you to assume I'm answering the door Fraze: Come on Fraze: You didn't want me to laugh a second ago, make your mind up Bea: Joking Bea: Keep up Fraze: Hilarious, of course Bea: Yeah, now you've got not nothing, not even a pity laugh Bea: Rude, tbh Fraze joined the chat 14 hours ago Fraze: Like you said, what else is new Bea: could pretend to be nice 'til you leave Bea: not asking for much Fraze: Could do, yeah Bea: Promising Fraze: Not tryhard, like? Fraze: Changing the rules to suit yourself again, babe Bea: You're so bloody awkward Fraze: Cheers Bea: Are you still moody or what? Bea: I've not got a clear enough head for this Fraze: Hanging too hard? Bea: Big time Bea: you reckon I was fucking up my life sober? Bea: little more credit Fraze: I thought you could handle the morning after, but that's too much credit clearly Bea: What can I say? Not an old pro like you Bea: not that this was your finest hour Fraze: Being away from the homeland is making you weak Bea: you reckon Bea: i should come to you then Fraze: You'll have to work harder than that to keep me away from your former bestie Bea: Yeah right Bea: as if that's happening regardless Fraze: Yeah right Bea: You've not been arsed to meet him so you aren't showing up now for a scrap Bea: I'm going back to Cambs so Bea: enjoy your reunion with Joe if you show up there, like Fraze: Fuck off Fraze: You're not funny, babe Bea: Who's joking Bea: Pure facts Fraze: Whatever Bea: ain't getting you nothing from the shops then Fraze: Don't act like you were gonna Bea: might've Bea: got a twofer in the perfume bit but I'll just treat myself x2 now Bea: 'cos I'm such a bitch, obvs Fraze: Again, if the cap fits like Fraze: Think on and buy your friend back Bea: Way ahead of you Bea: Not out for my health, am I Fraze: As per Fraze: I know, priorities Bea: talking to you, ain't i? reckon if i was really into him wouldn't be looking at my phone, yeah? Fraze: Not when you gotta play your cards closer to your chest after last night's fuck up Bea: Oh yeah Bea: playing it cool, like Fraze: Better late than never Bea: What's my master plan here then, like? Bea: be his beard for life Bea: not exactly what I had in mind Fraze: 'Cause he rejected you, he's gotta be gay, yeah? Bea: Duh Fraze joined the chat 2 hours ago Fraze: Whatever you say, babe Bea joined the chat 2 hours ago Bea: Not me who needs reassuring Fraze: First time for everything Bea: If its SUCH a struggle for you Bea: don't bother Fraze: Don't start that shit again Fraze: Christ Bea: Just saying Bea: If you're gonna be this moany Fraze: Don't Fraze: Trying to give me a headache to match yours like Bea: You ain't already? Fraze: It wasn't a challenge Fraze: No, I ain't Fraze: It's all woe's you Bea: Ook. Fraze: Get some hair of the dog on your date you'll be grand Bea: I dunno if the tea room in John Lewis is gonna be up to the challenge Fraze: Unlucky then Bea: as far as dates go Fraze: No shit Bea: good thing i'm just running errands really Fraze: Fair enough, gotta stay sober round that lad now you can't trust yourself like Fraze: Wouldn't wanna fuck up the making up with another kiss Bea: Yeah right, just can't help myself Bea: Is that actually what you think? Fraze: Fuck off Bea: Seriously? Bea: I thought you were joking Bea: you actually think I fancy him Fraze: Don't be an idiot Bea: You first, babe Fraze: What the fuck do you want from me, right now? Fraze: This ain't how I aspire to kick off my mornings Fraze: You got your bestie back. I'm thrilled for you Bea: To hear me! Bea: and yeah, to maybe give a shit Bea: I've never fancied anyone but you Fraze: Act like it then Bea: What else can I do? Fraze: Tell me what the fuck you need him for? Fraze: You've got me Bea: It's completely different Bea: it's just good to have someone a little more Bea: I don't know, impartial? Less...involved Bea: You know, you have friends Bea: That's all it is Fraze: Forget it Bea: No Bea: Don't Bea: when we're finally getting somewhere Fraze: To you making me look a cunt Fraze: Cheers Bea: No I ain't Bea: How is that what you take from that Fraze: What can I say, must be that thick, don't you reckon? Fraze: No worries. It is what it is Bea: Nah Bea: I'm not saying I don't want you to be those things Bea: but that's just you Bea: I'm saying, he ain't Fraze: And I'm saying, you never needed mates before Fraze: So what's different, him or me? Bea: Not like I had much say in the matter, was it? Fraze: I've just never been good enough from day one then, yeah? Fraze: You already spend all your time with those dossers. Fuck's sake Bea: Shut up, no! Bea: What do you want me to do, commute back every day? Bea: If it was feasible, I would Fraze: Jesus Fraze: You want me to have all the answers, but newsflash, red, I ain't Bea: Well, me neither Fraze: Nah Bea: So, what? 'Cos you ain't, you're just giving up, yeah? Fraze: Fuck you Fraze: I'm not a quitter Fraze: I'm still fucking here, ain't I? Bea: Are you? Bea: Prove it Fraze: I'm already getting a flight, what more do you want? Bea: Say you still love me Fraze: Of course I fucking do Bea: Not what you said last night Fraze: Last night I was drunk and angry Fraze: End of Bea: Alright Fraze: You're not the only one who gets to fuck up, you know Fraze: I still love you, Bea Bea: I know Bea: I love you Fraze: Prove it. Leave that twat to his own devices for a sec and call me Bea: [Calls] Fraze: I change my mind, you are funny Fraze: What's not to love, like Bea: It was you trying to make me laugh amongst other things in the middle a busy shop Fraze: You love it Bea: Yeah Bea: didn't need to change my mind there Fraze: Good. Enough of a battle getting here Bea: Shh Bea: Enough of that for one day Fraze: Yeah

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weekendwarriorblog · 5 years ago

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It’s Oscar night and I’m writing something...

I hope you appreciate that amazing anti-clickbait title that doesn’t even remotely take SEO into account. In fact, this is one of the few and very rare blog posts for this Tumblr blog that I’m writing directly into Tumblr rather than writing in Microsoft Word offline before copying/pasting it here. The reason? I decided I’m going to spend exactly 30 minutes writing something as we’re roughly seven hours before the start of the 2020 Academy Awards ceremony, and I’m going to try to write something far more freeform than usual. It’s an experiment that may or may not work, but we’ll see how it goes.

Of course, there are some pretty big races tonight, including Best Picture and what the winner might say about the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences as it enters a new decade (or ends the decade, depending on your point of view). The big story will be whether Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite can finally break the 92-year streak of no foreign language film ever winning Best Picture after many valiant tries like Alfonso Cuaron’s Roma last year. That had ten Oscar nominations to Parasite’s six, and it ended up winning three, including Best Director, Cinematography and Foreign Language Film. It’s already assumed that two of those will go to 1917 (partially since Parasite wasn’t nominated for cinematography, oddly). On the other hand, Parasite was nominated for Film Editing where as 1917 wasn’t. That’s what happens when you make a “one-take” movie as Allejandro Inarritu learned when Birdman won him Director and Best Picture six years ago but wasn’t nominated for its editing.

A win for Parasite would also be a big boost for the fledgling distributor NEON, who has its first Best Picture nomination, and its strongest contender in other categories, including Foreign Language and Doc where it landed Honeyland in a very rare twofer. I really liked NEON’s output in 2019 i.e. Year Three, and if you’re an awards voter and received NEON’s screener package, it’s hard not to be impressed. The fact that two of my favorite docs of the year, Apollo 13 and The Biggest Little Farm, were distributed by NEON and did quite well box office wise and yet, STILL did not receive Oscar nominations in the doc category (let alone editing or cinematography, which every year, aren’t even consideration for docs), is a fucking crime.

But let’s get back to Parasite and its Best Picture battle against 1917. If you’ve been reading everything I wrote in 2019 and in the first month of 2020, you know that 1917 is by far my favorite of the nine Best Picture nominees. It’s a movie I’ve watched three times in theaters despite having a screener sitting right next to my bed that I can watch whenever I want. You also hopefully read my piece about my odd quandary in seeing two of my long-time directing faves finally getting national and industry recognition. If Parasite wins Best Picture tonight, it would not just be a huge victory for Bong Joon-ho and NEON but it will be a victory for the entire country of South Korea, who has gotten used to being absolutely spurned and ignored by Hollywood and the Oscars. It may or may not happen but it might end up being the most joyous Best Picture victory since that crazy La La Land/Moonlight switcheroo a few years back. And again, if you know me or have read any of my writing, you know how I felt about those two movies and what happened. So yeah, Parasite is essentially Moonlight all over again, but in this case, it’s a far better movie by a far better director... so win/win? While the acting and directing and maybe even screenplay wins seem to be in the bag already, there are so many other interesting races to keep an eye on, maybe not to the general public but definitely to cinephiles and awards prognosticators. Let’s look at Sound Mixing and Sound Editing, for example. There’s already been talk of them being combined into one category, which would mean less time/speeches at the awards ceremony for an incredibly important and underrated role in the moviemaking business. If both those awards go to the same movie (as has been the case for roughly seven of the past ten years), then it will add fuel to that fire, that the two categories should be combined. But there are two really amazing movies that deliver so much in terms of their sound, 1917 and Ford v Ferrari. While I think the latter will win for overall Film Editing, if it wins for Sound Editing as well but 1917 gets Sound Mixing, it will warrant separate categories. It may or may not happen.

Production Design is an equally interesting category since you have a movie that is almost directly catering to Oscar voters in Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood, which recreated Hollywood in 1969... to something like Parasite, an amazing visual film that brings to the forefront one of Korea’s most formidable filmmakers and his crew. Then you have 1917, which is another amazing achievement at creating the environment of WWI, both in the locations/sets used for filming and the Visual FX used to create them. Personally, I think it stands a better chance at being recognized for its visual FX and cinematography, but as I mentioned earlier, these three categories often go hand-in-hand. (Remember when Pan’s Labyrinth won two of those categories but failed to win Foreign Language Film? In some ways, The Shape of Water’s wins helped make up for that oversight. )

Even though there are “frontrunners” in both Screenplay categories, those have also become increasingly interesting categories, especially when you see Parasite being favored over previous winner Quentin Tarantino and his equally distinct (and genuinely loved) screenplay. For a while, Greta Gerwig’s Little Women was thought to be a strong contender to win for Adapted Screenplay since it was such a unique take on a frequently-adapted book. The USC Scripter seemed to confirm this, but then Taika Waititi’s Jojo Rabbit beat it both at the WGA Awards and BAFTA, just as Academy members were casting their votes. They’re both going up against previous winner Steven Zallian and his exceptional screenplay for Scorsese’s The Irishman, a movie that might have to settle for an Oscar for Brad Pitt just like Little Women might have to settle for the consolation prize of Costume Design. Again, those kinds of things make tonight’s Oscar ceremony far more interesting than past years. If Parasite wins Screenplay and Production Design and beats Ford v Ferrari for Film Editing, does that mean it’s guaranteed to win for Best Picture? No, but it gives it a much better chance. The other thing I want to discuss is the Netflix in the room, because the company went so far above and beyond any other studio to get its many nominations but it just doesn’t seem likely to win in many of its categories... except two: Documentary and Animated Feature. In the first category, Netflix has American Factory by two multiple Oscar nominees, but it’s going against two strong docs from distributors who are probably on equal playing fields as Netflix: NEON’s Honeyland and National Geographic’s The Cave by the director of the recent nominee, Last Men in Aleppo. Frankly, I’ll be thrilled if The Cave wins, as it was in my top 3, and NatGeo proved last year with Free Solo that they have what it takes to win. You just have to wonder if the semi-America-centric Academy will go for an American story (it says the word right there in the title!) over foreign ones, even with the support for Parasite.

Animated Feature is even more interesting, because so many Oscar prognosticators are going with Disney/Pixar’s Toy Story 4, because Disney has always been a powerhouse in this category. I’m sure there are more Disney animators and execs. in the Academy than Netflix, but that movie Klaus and even I Lost My Body has gotten so much support, the former winning Annies and even the BAFTA for Best Animated Film. (LAIKA’s Missing Link won the Golden Globe in a rare bit of support for the stalwart stop-motion studio.) Again, a win by Klaus (a movie I cared for as little as I did Missing Link) would be a huge coup for Netflix... but there are very few Oscar voters who will be voting in that regard. It’s all about whether they liked or didn’t like the movie... or maybe even about whether they even watched the two Netflix offerings over the fourth movie in a previous Oscar-winning franchise.

Well, that’s thirty minutes and my time is up. In ten hours, we’ll know all of the answers to all these questions before we can finally put the 2019-20 Oscar season to rest and start thinking about next year. Who knows if I’ll even be writing about movies a year from now, as this has proven to not be the greatest career decision vs. a job that will actually allow me to live a comfortable life where i can eat a proper meal at least once a day (let alone once a week), so we’ll just have to see where things go from here. The movie business (and the Oscars) will survive just fine without me, I’m sure.

#Oscars TheWeekendWarrior Parasite 1917 Movies OnceU #OnceUponATimeInHollywood

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thehollywood360 · 8 years ago

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North Hollywood, CA (TheHollywood360.com) 03/26/2017 – Panic! Productions in conjunction with Theater68 located at 5112 Lankershim Blvd, North Hollywood presents John Patrick Shanley’s twofer – the world premiere of Shanley’s 15-minute play “Poison” and “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.” Set design for Poison and Danny and the Deep Blue Sea by Danny Cistone, with lightening designed by Jenny Nwene.

Artistic Director of the 68 Cent Crew Theaters and Director Ronnie Marmo shared this about his own decision to play Danny 8 years ago in L.A during the 13 by Shanley Festival. “I walked around with the “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea” script in my back pocket for 10 years before I felt remotely qualified enough to play Danny; the material is so dense, not something to mess around with” … “I am extremely excited to revisit Danny and the Deep Blue Sea as director…Seeing the material from this point of view had made me fall in love with the play even more. Our production is extremely powerful and affecting- these are authentic characters and Renee and Bailey will be leaving it all on the stage at every performance.”

Tonight, Marmo takes on the task of bringing John Patrick Shanley’s dark, psychologically disturbing play to North Hollywood, and bring it he did. Marmo’s casting of Renee Marino and J. Bailey Burcham as Roberta and Danny respectively is spot on. The two play the whacked out, train wrecked souls to perfection. Marino and Burcham find themselves unwittingly starring in a modern, twisted “Beauty and the Beast” set in a seedy bar instead of an enchanted castle. The tremendous acting chops it takes for these two attractive, charismatic, easy going actors to turn themselves into people so raw and ugly is exceptional. The sheer amount of energy it takes night after night is draining. They give 110% wringing themselves out on the stage for their audience in the way only great actors can. Marino had this to say about playing Roberta in her first professional play; “I’ve done plays before, but in college, never professionally. Danny and the Deep Blue Sea is my first professional play. Playing Roberta is one of the most rewarding experiences I ever had. It’s been so satisfying. I leave feeling emotionally exhausted, but I love every minute of it. “

It is gut wrenchingly emotional within 10 minutes of the play’s opening scene. You’re looking around the audience for a psychiatrist in the hopes that they’ll call a 5150-psychiatric hold on these two. The first scene opens on a sparsely furnished bar set, clearly a dive. Roberta is sitting legs apart, sprawled in one of the chairs, beer in hand, eating pretzels with the scariest resting bitch face imaginable that screams, “Don’t mess with me.” Danny, keeping it classy in his dirty wife beater, greasy hair, blackened eye, bloodied hands and carrying a pitcher of beer and a mug enters a few minutes later and sits at the table across from Roberta. Already my thoughts run to how I’d never want to meet either of these two loose screws in a dark alley.

Couple that thought with the intimacy of Theater68 whose stage is less than 3 feet from the theater’s front row, and the audience has an “in your face” view of quite possibly the most damaged people you will ever come across. The theater’s intimate design invites the audience to step into the character’s deepest despair. Occupying that space between madness and redemption causes one to feel as if they have over stepped boundaries right into Roberta and Danny’s circle of pain, hopelessness, venomous anger and ultimate redemption. It is uncomfortable, almost too personal, and too raw of an experience to digest in such a small space and span of time.

Marmo no stranger to Danny and the Deep Blue Sea directs Marino and Burcham’s broken and battered Roberta and Danny with the skill of someone who has walked the dark side of this play; beginning by setting us up with Shanley’s self-destructive characters that collide with each other with the intensity of a perfect storm. The excellent direction and acting guarantees turning away is not an option, though one may at times desire to do so!

These are truly broken and nasty characters, raw, bitter, and filled with hatred, anger and rage at the circumstances in their lives. Roberta a 31 yr old divorced, single mother with a jacked up 13 yr old son both live with her parents and she loathes it. She heads to the local dive bar in her neighborhood seeking some peace of mind from her own screaming thoughts. Burcham when asked to describe Danny had this to say “He’s a gorilla, he’s a brute, and he’s dangerous, he’s a poet …. And he’s vulnerable.” 29 yr old Danny who looks older than his years is fresh from a street brawl arrives at the bar, bruised, bloodied and weary from the turmoil in his life hoping to find solace from the rage for just one night.

J. Bailey Burcham and Renee Marino as Danny and Roberta.

From there on a ping – pong match of words laced in deep pain and rejection lead these two perfect strangers to unburden themselves on one another in the hopes of receiving forgiveness, acceptance, and redemption from their painful pasts.

Burcham (Damn Yankees, The Producers) and Marino (Jersey Boys the film, Damn Yankees) are fiery, repulsive and endearing as Danny and Roberta. These two play off each other with such intensity that the audience is left gasping, and then holding its breath, unable to jump in to help, unable to look away from the chaos in front of them. In one terrifying scene, so close is the audience to the stage that they can see the sweat on Danny’s brow and hear Roberta whisper “harder,” as she stares death in the face.

A sob is heard from the audience as the reality of being thrust into the very vortex of these two desperate, shredded people is too much to grasp. Roberta begins to crack open, a desire to ease Danny’s pain and not just her own emerges. She begins to veer toward a more temporary release wielding the only weapon she has against a man who towers over her; her beauty, her body. In desperation, she begs Danny to come home with her and to “pretend” for just one night that they see the light in each other, rather than the darkness.

Alone in Roberta’s room they begin to settle into the idea that they can have what others have. Roberta telling Danny that he’s not a beast and “Why can’t we have one night? I need to step away from myself just for one night.” Danny grabs Roberta’s bride doll off the shelf and begins to question her about it. He tells her that he went to a wedding once. “I wanted to be the bride, all dressed in white, flowers, and people talking nice, special. Yeah special. I wanted to be the bride.” Not because he was conflicted, but because for once he wanted others to look on him as special, attractive. Danny’s vulnerability begins to come through and Roberta begins to open up to him. Slowly at first than like a flower, petal by delicate petal opens as she tells Danny,

“Let’s be romantic with each other Danny.” Danny resists at first, but then with these simple ineloquent words, “You got a nice nose…it’s like, it looks at ya, your nose, and says “hello”. And you got a nice chin too. It goes up when you smile. Like a balloon. No better, like a bird! Yeah, like some kind of bird.”

His words flow over her soul like a healing balm, telling her he loves her “friendly ears” and her nose that says “HELLO!” They become vulnerable with each other in a sweet halting way. Roberta becoming endearing as we see her through Danny’s eyes. Danny becomes more like a teddy bear than a beast with his silly words and his adorable grin, “sexy hair,” and “beautiful eyes” as we begin to see him through Roberta’s eye. Danny proposes and she accepts. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to the sound of birds outside of Roberta’s window.

Having been given a taste of the beauty, peace and normalcy he has always craved, Danny has now found something worth fighting for. In a desperate attempt to help Roberta forgive herself, he offers her the very thing she needs for her stained and tattered soul…forgiveness. Roberta is offered the ultimate gift by Danny. All she has to do is receive it. Will she? Can she? Come see the play and find out! Bring the Kleenex! Lastly, this production is not for the faint of heart, and absolutely not for a younger audience. Keep the kiddies at home unless you want them to end up in therapy! It is that disturbing.

POISON

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Flynn and Katie Zeiner

Kelsey Flynn and Nicola Tombacco

John Patrick Shanley’s 15-minute play Poison makes its world premier under the direction of Kay Cole at Theater68. This one act play stars Italian actor Nicola Tombacco as (Kenny), Kelsey Flynn as his desperate girlfriend (Kelly,) and Katie Zeiner as a con artist, gypsy fortune teller. Zeiner is out to make a buck at Kelly’s expense. Kelly is obsessed with getting Kenny her ex boyfriend back, and she’s willing to spare no expense at insuring that she regains his love. Zeiner’s hilariously played gypsy fortune teller is more than happy to assist Kelly by selling her a poison that should do the trick! Emphasis on trick here! Shanley’s Poison presents before Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.

Extended Two Weeks!

Ticket Information:

www.plays411.com/danny

Or call 323-960-4429

Theater68

5112 Lankershim Blvd. North Hollywood, Ca 91601

panicproductions.org

John Patrick Shanley’s Twofer “Danny And The Deep Blue Sea,” And “Poison” Make For An Intense Night Of Theater At @Theater68 In NoHo! North Hollywood, CA (TheHollywood360.com) 03/26/2017 – Panic! Productions in conjunction with Theater68 located at 5112 Lankershim Blvd, North Hollywood presents John Patrick Shanley’s twofer - the world premiere of Shanley’s 15-minute play “Poison” and “Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.” Set design for Poison and Danny and the Deep Blue Sea by Danny Cistone, with lightening designed by Jenny Nwene.

#dannyandthedeepbluesea #jbaileyburcham #jerseyBoys #JohnLloydYoung #johnpatrickshanley #Katiezeiner #kaycole #kelseyflynn #MicheleBlack #nicolatombacco #panicproductions #poison #reneemarino #ronniemarmo #theater68

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bomberqueen17 · 3 years ago

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Ahem. I saw you say that you should write a ficlet in response to hitting a follower milestone. May I suggest: Geralt/Roche fucking for the first time, because Geralt was around early enough to pick up on Roche/Foltest and I’m desperately curious to know Geralt’s impressions of that mess and the impression it left on Roche, sexually.

heh I screencapped this and stuck it into a doc with co-conspirator @akilah12902 and said

The followup ask made me think more about not their first time ever-ever but their first time post-ex-foltest which is far juicier

A answered: Oh definitely. I mean. To be fair, their first time was probably Geralt getting raped, even if nobody involved quite thought of it that way.

(Of course, I answered stele3's follow up ask privately so as not to spoil this uhhhh eventual surprise, and thus have no record of it, because that's how Tumblr rolls, so who knows, but I do have this record that the conversation occurred, for what it's worth. LOL.)

So anyway we wound up writing the first time Geralt and Roche fuck after Foltest gets assassinated, and it did turn out juicy, and what's more, it's the first of a pair of what accidentally became Witcher 2 Service Top Geralt: The Duology, just to tease at what else is forthcoming. @bittylildragon did the beta-reading on this one, but has done the bulk of the writing of the sequel, which deals with An Related Topic but not this exact thing, and in fact I'm not even sure I merit a coauthor credit at this point. But we shall see how that develops, it's still under steam. The immediate thing today is this one:

A Wake, on AO3

“I know you want me to hurt you,” Geralt said, “but I don’t want to do that.”

Roche’s eyes were so deep-set, his habitual expression so narrow-gazed, that it was always almost a shock when he went wide-eyed, which he tended to do in bed. He gazed up at Geralt, eyes dark as velvet, and said, “Why wouldn’t you?”

Geralt leaned his forehead down against Roche’s, letting the hand that was in his hair slide down to the base of the man’s skull, cradling his head. “Vernon,” he murmured. “Me hurting you won’t fix anything, it’ll only make me feel like shit.”

“You should feel like—” Roche started, but his voice cracked in the middle of the word.

“Will that fix anything?” Geralt said dryly.

“Nothing will fix anything,” was the answer, a little desperate and choked.

“No,” Geralt said, and bent to kiss him, steadfastly keeping it gentle.

(the bestworst part, if you want to think about it too hard, is that as you play Witcher 2, if you choose Iorveth's path, as we are for the purposes of this story continuity, then that means that like literally a couple of days after this Geralt throws Iorveth his sword and goes and defects from Roche's side to help the Scoia'tael, so just like-- really imagine that, as you're reading this, for extra flavor, and then going forward as you read the later encounters-- *chefkiss*.)

#my writing #fic update #new work #yeah this week's a twofer i hope #this blistering pace brought to you by having slogged unproductively for so long LOL #you got to have friends tho #meet death sitting #peace-tied

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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago

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Ali & Tess

A nice pre-Christmas argument

Tess joined the chat 2 hours ago Ali: Mamacita! How's tricks? Did you manage to get the gum out of Rocky's hair in the end or is he rocking a no.1 rn? Tess: It's hat season he'll be fine. It's your da you need to worry about if he doesn't get those bloody Christmas decs out Ali: At least you'll be saved the toxic fumes of the nit shampoo, like. I'll make him some earmuffs, ears like that, he'll get frostbite. Ali: Aww, leave off, he's got a bad back, like 😜 Ali: Caleb can come help with the heavy shit, he's like an ox, I'll be creative director, obvs, I've got the eye, he's got the body Ali: 😉 Tess: I hope you've got plenty of wool 'cause the dog got to ours and its a bloody state. He'll have a bad head to go with it in a minute. Nah you're alright bab Tommy's offered and Drew might as well make himself useful now he's sniffing round again. Ali: Well, there goes your classic jumper presents! Have to brave dem crowds, fight a bitch for the last...idk, what do kids even want these days? Last I heard from Rock mutant turtles and power rangers were back in vogue but they're probably out again, its been a week or so 😏 Contrary fuckers, eh? I was NEVER that bad, was I? Bet you wish you could relieve those easy years raising me, the dream child 😇 Ali: Alright then, though I wouldn't recommend confining Tommo and Drew to a space as small as the loft, T is gunning for him Ali: aren't we all? but hey 🤷 see if those muscles are just for show ay Tess: He's still on about that slime bollocks. Supposedly this stuff blows bubbles and expands or whatever. All I'm bothered about is that it says it ain't sticky. Better sodding not be. Ha! If you weren't being a little demon you were trying to raise them. Easy ain't the word love! Tess: I'll put Drew at the bottom of the ladder. Maybe some of the boxes'll land on his head. Knock some sense into the lad. Ro too seeing as she's never far. Ali: That shit is such a rip-off though, I could make him some dead cheap, tell him he can have it whatever colour, whatever random shit he wants in it, and no one else will have the same at School Ali: Save your money for the feast 💃'cos I won't be absolutely stuffed from my first xmas dinner, like, nah Ali: and demons need love too, ma, just ask Ro Ali: will he be joining us for meal numero dos? cos i don't think i can stomach 2 helpings of him in one day tbh Tess: Tell him yourself. I tried to make some with him in the summer and the ungrateful little sod wouldn't even come sit up the table. His loss. They loved it at work. Tess: Don't. That girl'll do me in one of these days . I'm surviving on spite by now 'cause he'll be eating with us over my dead body. Caleb's lot are welcome to keep him. Ali: I'm tellin ya get the kid some prescription speed, it'll do him wonders 😂 Well, that's another idea fucked...tis the season! Ali: I know, it ain't even funny at this point. Ali: You know she's gonna wanna go see him, yeah? You'll never get her to sit through games and shit telly once she's picked at her veg Ali: Its like kid swap up in here Tess: If I can get some what's on her plate into her instead of just the dog I'll be laughing. Fuck's sake. Kids who'd celebrate 'em? Grandkids on the other hand. Mary'd have been proper buzzing for that. Ali: Oi, woman! I'm right here Ali: and the giver of majority grandkids, so, think on, love Tess: You're even stevens kiddo. Keep it that way 'til you're done with uni yeah? Call that the xmas gift that keeps giving. Ali: yeah but a twofer ain't the same, is it? 😜 don't make promises i can't keep, ma Ali: engineering students are so fit, how will i resist? Tess: Tell that to Bea. I'm sure she'd have plenty to say back. Ali Mckenna don't test me there's plenty of room in the car when we go for Tommo's new specs I can get you in too. Ali: Yeah, yeah, she can lord it over me with her efficient vagina, getting it done in one, I'll be many bucks fizzes deep by then, give a shizzle Ali: Gurl, my vision is 20/20, in my third eye too, ooOOoOoOOOo Ali: Maybe Beatrice will prove again why she's your favourite daughter by distracting Ro so much with this London visit she won't have time to pine over Drew at all, happy days Tess: That's the spirit. Save your dad's back. He still thinks he's a brawler. Tess: Shh I don't have favorites I'm not one of your teachers. Tess: I'm sure Drew'll stay one text away throughout. Never off her phone now is she. Ali: Ahh, old man could still take him, Drew's a pussy Ali: I'll get Marlene round again lmao Ali: Suuuuuuuuuuuure ya don't 😏 Ali: We can only assume texting is a medium in which he really shines, 'cos seeing them IRL, doesn't make sense, so... Tess: Now that girl is a fave, thinking 'bout it. Yeah I like her. Tess: He must know his selfie angles or some shit. Tess: You tell me I'll never see the appeal. Ali: oh, sweet mama, if only you'd voiced your preference sooner, maybe i'd of married her and had lots of gaybies instead Ali: alas 🤣 Ali: you sound 100, do you feel it? 😉 Ali: he's a vessel for her hopes and dreams, init, but he ain't, he just needs to man up and move the fuck on so she can too Tess: Like you've ever listened to your ma. Double it and you ain't close, bab. I'm in those vampiric numbers here. Tess: Yeah. Maybe try telling her that. Ali: You wish you were a vampire. Which, tbh, is telling of how old you is. Ain't nothing cool about being a basement dwelling weirdo who can't sample the wonder and joy of garlic bread. Ali: Why don't you? Oh wait, cos it ain't for either of us to say it so we'll just sit here like bitter old lemons Ali: You're a bad influence, lady Tess: If that's what you think about vampire lore then I ain't gonna even waste my breath young'un. Tess: I have, cheers. I ain't sitting on my arse doing fuck all for you lot even if that's what you reckon. Tess: Exactly. Learn a lesson. Ali: Mhmm, go tell it to the lost boys 'cos I don't give a damn, I'm getting doughballs baby Ali: Pshhh, well fat lot of good its done, why you setting me up to fail then?! Ali: I know when to bow out gracefully Tess: I don't need to 'cause we'll all be snacking. If you'd watched that movie when I offered you'd know garlic don't work in that verse. Tess: There's nothing graceful about tapping out with a fight left to finish. I thought you'd been set up to go 'til the final bell but do what you've gotta do. Or don't. Tess: There's plenty of other shit stuck to the fridge singing your praises like Ali: No thank you, there's watching some lame for jokes, then there's forcing yourself to endure kiefer sutherland and co Ali: That's sadism. Ali: Well, there's nothing graceful about kicking a girl when she's down Ali: going blow for blow ain't always the right approach, is it? not with someone like Ro so don't start alright Tess: Lame? And you wonder why you ain't my fave. Tess: Helping your sister up is always the right approach if you don't want her to stay down. Tess: I'm not starting anything. I've said my piece. End of. Ali: C'mon, I know even Joe couldn't pretend to like it, like Ali: That's my point, she ain't fell yet, she's on a Drew-related high so pardon me from not trying take the rug from up under her Ali: not that I could if I tried, like I said, what good has you 'saying your piece' done? Ali: sometimes all you can do is be there to pick up the pieces after, that's just facts Tess: You all take after your da is why. No taste none of ya. Tess: It's done me a lot of good being able to get it on the record each time, cheers. Tess: sometimes that's a cop out 'cause you want a easy life Tess: Fact is there's plenty that could have been done before he did his reappearing act. Ali: Oh, yeah? Like what? Changing her entire worldview in time for tea? Ali: If it was that easy, you would've managed it by now Ali: Don't be so hard on yourself, your not doing her, or any of us, a favour with this shit Tess: He's a dealer it is that easy. It ain't my job to manage it though. You all wanna be treated like adults and have me wipe your arses for you at the same time I think not. Do yourself and her, a favor and use that big brain of yours. Ali: You think she doesn't know? Now who's being thick Ali: She doesn't care, so unless you're planning to cop shop him that means sweet fuck all doesn't it Tess: It ain't about what she knows. Last I checked he's not the only dealer in Dublin. There's still some honor among scumbags and more than one way to get caught out. Ali: Aww, such a softie at heart, ain't ya? Tess: Takes one to know one. Ali: That is one small step above 'I know you are but what am I?' Ali: No one wants Drew to get kneecapped or Ro to be collateral but he wants to be treated like an adult, so we can't wipe his arse, can we? Tess: Speak for yourself I'd spend my reddies to see that. However bad he thinks he is there's always someone worse and the sooner he learns it the better for all of us having to watch him play silly beggars Tess: Ro's worth a million of him maybe when she's grown up she'll know it. Ali: Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're such a hard bitch. Maybe if he'd got proper help from people like you he woulda turned out better when he was grown too. Ali: It ain't too late for either of them. Tess: I'm what I've had to be. I can't save 'em all. Not even close. You'd be well to stay away from him if you've still got the sense you were born with. Ali: Yeah but you still try, don't you? Read back your previous wisdom for your answer there. Ali: Bit hard when we live in the same gaff isn't it but I can assure you I'm not going out of my way to be his bestie, mother Tess: I ain't about to flog a dead dog. He ain't a stupid kid anymore and what happened when he was a little 'un ain't an excuse either Tess: Nobody's got it easy. Tess: It's up to him to work out if his turning point's come and gone or if he even reckons he needs one. Ali: You don't have to but you can see the pretense Ro is working under, yeah? She doesn't think she's doing anything wrong and, arguably, she ain't. But sometimes all you get for your efforts is a kick in the teeth. Ali: Nobody's got it easy. Ali: It's up to HER to call time, not us. Tess: Who says? I've been there. Thinkin I had it all and knew even more about my future with my dream boy. Nobody came to clue me in but even now I wish they fucking had done. Ali: Like you'd have listened. Tess: If I had someone who gave a shit maybe Tess: She'd listen to you. Ali: Say you had, would you have done anything differently? Even if you knew how it'd go, if you didn't have Ronnie, you might still be with Josh now Ali: It changes everything about you Ali: I don't think she would. There's no reasoning because there is no reason, or rhyme for that matter Tess: Of course I would. I'd do everything differently. I'm not trying to romanticise who I was. Or am. Tess: Change ain't no bad thing when it comes to this. Or me Tess: Because you don't wanna think that she would and deal with all the shit that comes with her doing that. I don't blame ya but that don't make it right Tess: it's still a cop out. Ali: Well, I hope it soothes YOUR soul villainizing yourself because as someone who's half you, it's not something that is helpful, at all. Ali: Who's been there for her after every break-up? Who has to listen to every fucking detail? It ain't been you. And I can assure you I didn't spend those times when he was out of the picture singing his fucking praises. I HAVE told her. Everyone has. It just pisses you off that you can't fix this, or her. Tess: You're all you. Your own person. End of. Tess: And it should help you to know the truth. I was a bad person Ali and I ain't exactly sainted now. I do my best that's all any of us've got. Deal with it. Tess: I'm sorry you want a gold star or pat on the head for doing what you're supposed to for who you love. You're not getting it from me. Try your luck with your da maybe. Tess: And yeah it does piss me off so what? Ali: That isn't close to being true. There's no such thing as an individual, sorry to burst your bubble. Ali: And no one is one or the other. Christ, you're so fucking old testament. Ali: If your going in for all that shite, you should look at how revered a knocked-up teenage girl is whilst you're at it Ali: No one gives a shit about your war stories, they don't help anyone but you so you keep all that anger and hold it tight 'cos none of us are here for it any more Ali: Good luck trying to get Rocky to sit still so you can tell him all about damnation to scare him straight, good fucking luck Tess: You're not gonna change my mind. If you were anything close to being half of me we wouldn't be having this conversation. Tess: Life's black and white for me. That's what happens when you don't have choices. Call it what you like. Tess: And there's nothing to be preached to me about being a knocked up teen by you or anyone else. I ain't trying to either you just think it's that onesided 'cause you never listen Tess: There you go again speaking for everyone else when you mean yourself. But whatever. Tess: Get your own stories and leave mine out of it. Tess: Grow up, Ali. Ali: Now there's a copout if I ever heard one. Ali: Listen to what? What are you spouting but hot air? Ali: Oh, yeah? What one of your sainted children has benefitted? Ronnie hates you, Joe's a junkie, me and Fraze did exactly what you did. Ali: Tommy is passable but he's unhappy as fuck so, well done there. You've only got one left. Ali: What's the point? No one can ever match up to your infinite wisdom, I'd rather stay young so I knew what the hell I was talking about instead of making myself look like an old fool

#fabby fun

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