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spaceorphan18 · 4 years ago

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99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #37

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Cooper J. Anderson (Big Brother)

“It’s a misnomer that only certain people can play the leading romantic roles. Of course, there are some people, such as myself, who embody both looks and smarts and therefore don’t have to put in as much effort. However, acting is about presentation. So, even if you are ugly, if you act hard enough, you, too, can still land the lead in the quirky rom-com of your choice. Believe me, I know. I have watched over two-hundred films, and most of those actors are just not as good looking as I am.”

Cooper J. Anderson takes a chair in his parents’ dining room and turns it around to sit on it backwards. His baby brother (Blaine) and his baby brother’s boyfriend (Kurt) had been doing their homework that afternoon when he had walked through to get a protein bar for his afternoon snack. He had been stopped but Kurt, who had asked if he had any more acting advice. Of course who is he to deny his own expertise in the field?

Kurt is looking up at him with wide eyes, frantically nodding as he speaks. Blaine could work on his enthusiasm, though. Frown lines are bad for the soul. How many times does he have to tell his baby brother that?

“What do you actually know about being a romantic lead?” Blaine asks. If there’s sarcasm in his voice, Cooper doesn’t catch it. Because it is a great question. And he always has more wisdom to impart.

“I have had to play the romantic lead in over four commercials,” Cooper says, a hand to his chest. “And I have found that there are three keys to making sure that you are leading man material. Would you like to hear them?”

Kurt’s hanging on to his every word. “Oh, yes, definitely!”

“What? Don’t indulge him,” Blaine says.

Cooper points a finger at Blaine though remains fixated on Kurt. “Not a rule, just a piece of general advice -- ignore him. He would rather be on stage instead of in front of a camera. And he has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Thanks, Coop…”

“And how many commercials have you been in, Blainey? Oh that's what I thought. Zero. So, why don't you listen?"

Blaine rolls his eyes at him.

"Rule number one,” Cooper says, his voice loud and booming. Presence is, afterall, everything. He grabs a cantaloupe that happens to be sitting in a bowl in the middle of the dining room table. It will make for a great scene partner. “Good chemistry comes from them wanting you. So you have to make them want you. How? By giving them your best sexy stare that says -- I know I am good looking and you know you want this.” Cooper gives his best smouldering look to the cantaloupe.

“Oh, my god…” Blaine’s jaw drops open.

“Rule number two,” he holds up two fingers to illustrate, “is talking.”

Blaine tilts his head. “Really, talking? That’s it? So, if I just continue to talk right now I’ll get all the leads? Great advice, Cooper, I’m just going to keep talking until--”

Cooper, again, points his finger in Blaine’s face. “Hush. Hater. I’m trying to teach Kurt some real world advice.”

“Oh, that’s what this is? You’ve been in LA for six months because Denver, Colorado wasn’t working out for you. Though, really, you’ve spent most of your time in Columbus, Ohio - so I don’t know how much real world advice you really have...”

Kurt is gleefully watching between the two of them. Good to know he still has his real audience.

“Shut up, Blaine, rule number two is talking,” Cooper says quickly over Blaine’s continued babble. “You have to tell your scene partner that you are the one that they want.” He continues his sensual gaze at the cantaloupe. “Baby, I know you want a piece of this. Let’s make sweet, sweet love and if we’re lucky, we’ll make a bunch of melon balls.”

“And this has landed you four commercials?” Blaine asks. “I really have to say I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Blaine. Finally some positivity out of your mouth,” Cooper says. “I did hit it out of the park with all four of the female casting agents I auditioned for. Maybe you’ll have better luck with the male casting agents. We’ll just have to see. They did not seem to appreciate my methodology much.”

“Shocking.” Blaine deadpans.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt says excitedly. “What’s rule number three?”

“Rule number three,” Cooper says, his voice demanding attention. “Is seduction. You have to show your partner just how much they should want you.”

Kurt tilts his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Of course you don’t. He’s insane,” Blaine mutters under his breath.

Cooper holds up the fruit again. “Let me demonstrate on my scene partner who, I have to say Blaine, is much more giving than any actor that I’ve had to work with yet…”

“It’s a cantaloupe!”

“Blaine, I’m working, no distractions…” Cooper brings the cantaloupe to his lips and begins to kiss it. Not some lame peck. He is, after all, full method. He kisses the hell out of that fruit, open mouth, tongue gliding on the (god, ew, bitter bitter bitter) rind, some slobber but not too much. It’s important to be a good kisser after all. After another moment, he pulls off the fruit, trying to play down his grimace as he wipes his lips. “See - that is rule number three.”

“Yay!” Kurt lets out a little squeak.

Blaine is nearly doubling over in laughter. “My phone is charging. Do you mind if I grab it so you can demonstrate again? I think this is definitely something the internet needs to see.”

Cooper is about to make a retort and Kurt surprises him. “No, no, Blaine, I wanna try,” Kurt says, turning to face Blaine.

“Yes, okay, good, a scene to direct,” Cooper hands out the cantaloupe.

“Please don’t make out with a fruit,” Blaine says.

Kurt waves his hand at it. “No, I’m trying it out on you, silly.”

“Oh!” Blaine perks up.

“Oh?” Cooper tilts his head. This is not what he had been expecting, but he can work with it. “Okay, Kurt, remember the three rules. And…. action!”

Kurt schooches closer to Blaine. He bites his lip, pretending to be unsure while looking Blaine up and down. And then begins to give Blaine a deeply sensual look, glancing from his eyes to his lips to his eyes again. A smirk climbs on Kurt’s face as he hovers his lips above Blaine’s. Blaine is in unexpected shock

“Okay, good, good,” Cooper commentates. “You’re a little closer than I feel comfortable with, but I think it’s working. Rule number two -- talking.”

“Blaine…” Kurt’s voice is much lower than Cooper expects. It’s a little rumbly and raspy, and completely unnerving that someone would speak to his baby brother that way. “You make my heart undone. Your skin lights my soul on fire. I would make love to you until the sun rises, and even then it might not be enough to express how deeply I feel about you.”

“Okay, well, that’s a little more about him than you…” Cooper interjects. “Still, good effort.”

Kurt moves in for a kiss. It’s gentle, at first, but then he leans into it. Blaine opens his mouth, accepting the kiss, turning it much more heated than Cooper needs to see.

“Okay, and end scene,” Cooper says. They continue to kiss. He’s pretty sure he’s witnessing tongue. “What are you guys doing? You’re, like, twelve, and I called the scene....” Blaine lets out a little moan. Okay, this is becoming less and less about him… “Guys, it’s seriously time to end the scene.”

They break apart, both looking a little dizzy and giddy. “Thanks for the advice, Coop,” Blaine says, standing up, taking Kurt’s hand in the process.

“Well, I do have a few notes…”

“Nope, we’re good,” Blaine says, pulling Kurt up. Kurt’s grinning at him. “We’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Cooper yells as they scurry out of the room. “I’m supposed to be babysitting you. Blaine, get back here! Blaine!”

Cooper lets out a huff as he stares at the cantaloupe resting on the table. Well… if they’re busy, maybe he can work on his next audition tape for Michael Bay. He picks up the cantaloupe and bounces it into the air. And he can’t go wrong with a good prop.

#s.o. writes things #99 perspectives #cooper anderson #COOPER!

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dropofgoldensun · 4 years ago

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omg hiiiii i am here from cat (@luvdsc) wondering if you could offer any advice about college apps 🙏 especially about the uc piqs? thank you so much i hope ur doing well!!!!!!!!

yes yes hello friend !! 💝 miss cat directed you to me because i did my college apps last year !!! (yikes one year passed already?? why does that feel ages ago 🤧)

first of all, congratulations on making the decision to apply to college !! i know it’s been hard for a lot of people our age to figure out the college situation recently, so i’m proud of you for choosing to take the extra step this summer to buckle up and write those essays 💞

i’ve compiled a few tips on answering the PIQs (i was actually in the middle of typing this up when i received your ask haha), but some of them can be applied to other essays, as well !! they’re all under the cut (because, unfortunately, being brief is not my forte) 😊

(and for reference, the prompts i chose were #2 (creativity), #6 (subject), #7 (community), and #8 (anything) !!)

tip #1: understand the prompt.

before you even begin writing, it’s important to understand what the question is really asking. for the UC PIQs, this will look different depending on which four prompts you decide to do.

in question one, for example, they want to know about your skills in leading others, but notice that they’re also curious about your resolution abilities and teamwork experience. or in question two, they don’t want to know that you paint and that you love painting—they could be asking how resourceful you are, how you think outside the box when you have an idea.

once you know the question you’re going to be answering, you can move on to brainstorming!

tip #2: write down three (3) key takeaways.

these are like the most basic, not-even-a-sentence answers you would give to each question. so for me, in response to question eight (“what do you believe makes you stand out as a strong candidate for the UCs?”), my answers were perseverance, courage, and character. i had a story about that, so i wrote about my experience with martial arts.

i recommend you do something similar. decide on three things that you want to communicate to your audience, and write them in the footnote of your document. your goal is to cover all three points so that, if anyone were to read your essay, they would walk away understanding those three things about you.

i found this strategy really helpful for keeping my essay streamlined while writing—if a sentence didn’t relate to any of those main points, i would cut it since those words would take up valuable space in the word count. stay focused on what needs to be in this essay, and if you have extra words left in the word count later, you can add those details back in.

and once you’re done with your essay, make sure to refer back to your takeaways and check that you covered all of them sufficiently!

tip #3: highlight your stories.

i sent cat an ask a couple days ago with a few pictures of my response to an end-of-year college counseling survey that referenced this tip (you can find it here). basically i said that, when choosing what topics to write about, pick things that interest you! if you get excited talking about it, your audience should get excited about reading it, because they’ll pick up on the passions you have and then everyone’s excited !!! :D

i’ll tell you a secret: everyone you meet, everyone you see, has countless unique experiences that few others may have. me? i spend hours making mashups out of kpop songs. i earned my black belt years after a traumatizing experience during training. i get russian harry potter and spanish dr. seuss books from the library. and i created a collaborative online google photos album for my classmates that now has thousands of entries. although these aren’t necessarily unique to only me, they’re still special enough to the point where, when you put them all together, you get a better image of the person i am, and what i value.

so find a story, a habit, a hobby that makes you different, because i believe that everyone has them. give them some food for thought, or that one-liner that sticks in their brain and won’t go away. and remember: these stories don’t all have to be extraordinary—they should be about people or moments of special value to you, because that’s what matters.

personal tip: when i was brainstorming ideas, i decided that the best way to get ideas out there was to go on a rant (because sometimes it helps to just have a conversation with yourself !!) and i recorded myself, so i could replay what i said !! this was so so crucial to me finding my own voice for writing essays. notice the way you word things when you talk—a good line or two may make it into the final draft :)

i found it helpful to read sample essays as well! they give a lot of great ideas on the kinds of topics people write about. (also, it’s kind of fun, because who doesn’t love a good story?)

but the people reading your essay won’t be there to just enjoy your story; what they really want you to do is to tell them what you learned from your experience. they want to know whether you’re teachable and willing to grow both as a student and as a young adult. so make sure to take note of the life lessons you learned, experience you gained, character you built, etc.

minor tip on ending your essay: if you’re telling a story that happened in the past, then close with what you learned and how you can apply that to your life moving forward. if you’re telling a story that has no definite end yet (like a passion or dream you have), you probably don’t have everything figured out (and you can say that in your essay!), so it might be better to close with your hopes for the future.

tip #4: ask your family for help.

peer-editing is one of the most effective ways to detect errors and inconsistencies in your writing, because, after staring at your essay for so long, you might gloss over glaring contradictions. for all of my essays, i printed them out and asked my parents to help me revise them. we’d meet every other night (or every night, depending on how much time was left) to review and discuss improvements.

i actually kept some of those printed drafts (only the first and the final ones for comparison), and let me tell you from experience—you’re probably going to have a lot of drafts (i think the most i did was seven? but you don’t need to go that far!). this part of the process does take some time, so remember to be patient and kind to yourself :) these essays won’t happen overnight!

enlisting the help of others also helps keep you accountable. one of the struggles many seniors face while writing essays is just... setting aside time to do them. and even though the constant reminders from your parents will definitely get repetitive and a bit stress-inducing, i can tell you from personal experience that i’m so glad they did; otherwise, i don’t think i’d have my essays done in time :’)

while writing college essays is challenging, your family will be there supporting you each step of the way. chances are that they’ll have their own pointers to pass on to you, since they probably remember doing this process themselves! and, out of everyone in your life, they probably remember the most about you (because you probably don’t remember much when you were four or five), so they might have a couple starter ideas for topics when brainstorming. you can rely on them for their advice and their experience.

tip #5: self-editing.

here’s the part that takes the longest time.

use action words. this is probably something you’ve heard all throughout elementary school where they didn’t like you to say “said” because it was “boring”… but honestly, the difference between “doing my own version” and “infusing it with my personality” could go a long way. also, use words that you would actually use in an essay—then it’ll have your own special flair, and not sound like it’s taken from some stuffy 80s textbook!

here are some of the words i used (once again, you shouldn’t use these words if they don’t sound like something you’d write/say): potential, overlay, wrestle, launch, analogous, weave, infuse, experiment, outlet, revel, fascinate, satisfaction, pursue, expand, distinction, capture, range, archive, engage, beyond, build, adversity, cultivate, preserve, commit, explore, convey, naturally

also, be on the lookout for repeated words. i once wrote an essay without noticing that i used “hope” three times in the same paragraph. don’t do that! use synonyms :) personally, i tended to run short on synonyms, so i always kept a tab or two open on my computer reserved for searching up new words.

side note: unfortunately, during my search for synonyms, i discovered that thesaurus.com just didn’t give me what i was looking for. i highly recommend using wordhippo instead; it has so many more options and they’re grouped by the different definitions of your word! i found the synonyms i needed really quickly and it was very satisfying!

avoid the passive voice! my teacher gave me this tip for theses or any other college-level writing. here’s an example of the passive voice: “there was a large part of me that wanted to turn back.” that’s twelve words taking up precious space in your word count! instead, say something like, “i considered turning back.” you’ve just freed up eight words :)

tip #6: final revisions.

this is the step where you fine-tune your essays. meet that word count.

read your writing out loud. does it sound like you? it should. every writer has a different voice, and you need to ensure that yours is pervasive throughout your essay. feel free to use contractions—not only do they reduce your word count (this was a good thing for me, since i had a problem with getting under 350 words), but they also give a more casual tone to your essay, as if you’re telling a story to someone in the room.

next, pretend to be an admissions officer and have someone else read your essay to you. do you get excited hearing about this student who shares your name? if you do, there’s a good chance the real admissions officers will love your essays, too. this also gives you a chance to review to your essay as a whole. pay attention to the overall flow. is there a clear beginning and end? do you resolve the issues and overcome the trials you brought up? listen to it as if it’s a story, and take this time to enjoy what you’ve written. you worked hard!

final thoughts / encouragements.

oh my goodness, did we make it to the end? honestly if you did, thank you so much 🥺

okay but despite my relatively optimistic tone throughout this post, i’m still going to be honest with you—the college essay writing process is difficult. it requires you to look inside yourself and analyze the “why” behind some of the things that you love, and that isn’t easy to do at all. it’s intellectually and emotionally challenging, because not only do you need to use so much energy writing, but you also have to dig deeper to understand yourself, and that’s not easy, either.

but i wanted to encourage you, too. no matter what you may think of yourself at 12am, 2am, 4am writing these essays, believe you have a personality that others love and will love when they meet you. you are an interesting person with unique experiences who deserves to share your thoughts with others. you have so many people behind you, supporting you during these next few months. and when you find that you can’t write any more, remember to take time to care for yourself. have a warm shower. go to bed early. i could go on and on about why sleep is good for your brain but i’ll spare you the details in this post 😉

one last thing: keep the bigger picture in focus. remember, by december or january, you will be finished with most of the application process. that’s no small accomplishment. you can do it. 💝

i really hope you found tips that you were looking for, and that they’re applicable to your own PIQs and other essays !! if you have any other questions, feel free to send in another ask (i promise my response won’t be this lengthy LOL) 💘💓

oh, and if you feel comfortable enough reaching out about anything in particular, i’m only a DM away 💕 i wish you the best of luck on writing your essays and i hope you enjoy your final year of high school !! 💗🌸💟💖

#asks #college tips

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bedbellyandbeyond · 4 years ago

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Wolfman’s Dilemma

(Story Post)

Dax was still at work when Wano called him, so he called the doctor’s office to ask if someone could check on his partner before he could get home. Reid volunteered to make a house call as soon as he heard about Nathan's incident. Nathan was still shaken by his partial transformation. He had gone to lie down after a shower like Wano had suggested, but he couldn't rest well. When Reid did arrive, he sat with him in his bedroom and Nathan had a hard time explaining to the doctor exactly what happened because he didn't want to try to remember. “Well, this all sounds like it would be pretty upsetting, so I understand this isn't easy for you,” Reid comforted, after receiving all the details he could. “But if you think about it, this could be a sign of progress.” “No, I know…” Nathan mumbled, wrapped up in a blanket. “I just don’t like the connotations. If my anger is what made that happen, then that could mean I'm very dangerous. More so than ever.”

“We don't know that,” Reid stated, rubbing Nathan's arm. “We don't truly know what caused any of this to happen and unfortunately, yourself and Wano were the only ones witness to it.” “So, then what? Am I supposed to try to make it happen again?” Nathan asked. “Well, not if you don't want to,” Reid explained. “But, it might be best to keep an eye on you for a week or two in case it does occur again involuntarily.” “So, you mean staying at APID,” Nathan sighed. “Even when I'm off wolf cycle…” “I consulted with Dr. Aias before coming here and that was their suggestion, yes,” Reid admitted. Nathan rubbed his forehead. “I guess it's not really a cycle if I start turning into a wolf thing in the middle of the day on off days…” “Again, it's your choice, Nathan,” Reid insisted. “Camilo's coming by as well to talk to you as this pertains to your case. He might make other suggestions for you.” Nathan nodded. His phone went off and he checked it. “Dax just got off work and he's coming straight home…” “That's great,” Reid commented. “And your language suggests the relationship is pretty serious. I'm glad it's working out.” “My language?” “Aye, you said he's coming home,” Reid said. “You have separate residences, don't you?” “Yeah, well… I can't handle the twins on my own, it's too much, and I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered for Wano to stay here,” Nathan said. “Dax has been…the glue keeping this hell house together and keeping me from going insane. I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't around.” Reid smiled and shook Nathan's shoulder enthusiastically. “See? I knew you two would be good for each other. Aren't you glad you went for it?” Nathan chuckled lightly. “I suppose I am… I guess I just didn't feel like I deserved someone new yet… And I feel bad dragging him into this whirlwind of a life I have right now.” “Nathan, you're a bit too selfless,” Reid commented. “Dax wouldn't be with you if he didn't want to be. The people around you are around you because they like and care about you.” “I know, I know… I just...” Nathan sighed. “No, you're right.” “Anyhow, I can stay until Dax or Camilo arrives, however long you'd like,” Reid said. “Wano seems to be doing well with the twins. Is he a good babysitter?” “Yeah, they love him,” Nathan said. “I think it might be maybe the depth of his voice? I don't know. He follows instruction well enough and he loves to play with them. Maybe he'll be a good dad… Did he explain why we got into an argument?” Reid nodded slowly. “Aye… Trying to make a wee one before he's gone. I can understand your frustration. Wouldn't want that happening under my roof, if I had one.” “Right? I get that he's an adult and he can do what he wants, but also I'm partially responsible for him because I'm letting him stay here,” Nathan said. “If Jeffrey gets pregnant, I have no idea how that'll complicate Wano's case to stay here.” “Well, at the end of the day, these really are things that should concern Wano himself more than you,” Reid reminded. “You’re doing a really nice thing, letting him stay here with you but you don't have to shoulder all his problems. They're not yours and you're not his father.” “I know, you're right,” Nathan sighed again. “I just want to see him get to stay here. He's worked hard to stay. He's improved a lot.” Reid smirked as he observed Nathan. “You know, the wolf might have something to do with this. Sometimes animals who've just given birth will adopt newborns of other species, even if they're an animal they'd usually pray on, like a lioness adopting an oryx, or vice versa, a chicken adopting a kitten. Only for you, your adopted newborn is a full-grown adult alien from another planet.” “I can't help it if he has the emotional intelligence of a twelve-year-old,” Nathan said. “But it's even more reason he shouldn't be having a kid!” “You can't make that decision for him, though,” Reid said. “And you can't make that decision for Jeffrey either. At the very least, one of them has experience as a parent…” “From what I've heard though, his cousin does most of the caregiving…” Nathan mumbled. “Och, you need to stop concerning yourself with them,” Reid said. “You can put your foot down about what goes on in your house, but outside of that, you can't be meddling in their business.” Nathan nodded. “…I bet Jeffrey’s pregnant already anyway…” Reid rubbed his back. “Come downstairs for when Camilo arrives. Eat something. I’d like to see the wee twins again. How're they holding up?” “They're alright…” Nathan said getting up. “I probably should feed them, but Grace refuses to nurse unless she's a pup, but she bites me…” Reid followed him. “Do you pump?” “I do, but they refuse to take bottles from me,” Nathan said. “Dax? Wano? No problem because they have no other choice. But me, all they want is tit. Am I going to have breasts my whole life now?” “We can worry about that later, and you can take my word from personal experience that breast tissue can be dealt with,” Reid assured, chuckling a bit. “Ah, right… Yeah, I guess,” Nathan considered. “Anyway, Wano should be playing with the twins right now… He lets them bite his arms and legs and stuff because he thinks it'll toughen them up but I'd rather he didn't normalise it… I'll show you.” “Aye. Please.” They got downstairs and Nathan broke up the playfighting so Reid could take a look at the twins. They both turned to human for him which he was a bit unhappy about because he really liked to study their animal sides, but he acknowledged that it was good training that they remain human in the presence of strangers. Camilo arrived a little later and they talked in the kitchen while Wano showed off the twins to Reid in the living room. Nathan explained everything he could to Camilo about what had happened. “That is a very new development indeed,” Camilo commented as he took notes into a tablet. “We haven't seen any kind of half transformation like this… Have you asked Nari yet if he knows of werewolves like that?” “He's away on a vacation right now,” Nathan said. “I don't want to bother him with this at all until he's back…” Camilo nodded. “I understand… Well, right now since this is a one-time incident, I don't know that there's much we can do. But, now that we know it's possible, I'd ask you and those around you to video document this type of transformation if it should happen again.” “So, you don't think I should be watched?” Nathan asked. “Well, I don’t know that it's absolutely necessary, but if that's what you want, you could stay a few nights at APID,” Camilo considered. “It's up to you.” Nathan shook his head. “I want to stay home... But only if you really think it's safe.” Camilo patted Nathan's arm. “You didn't hurt anyone, you just transformed. Since having your wolf cycle nights at APID, we haven't observed any violent behaviour at all, only a bit of protective behaviour towards your kids.” “Dax said the wolf bit Dr. Aias once,” Nathan said. “Ah, well yes, but that was just because they needed to draw blood,” Camilo acknowledged. “Wasn’t that the night of Wano’s incident?” “Yes, it was…” Nathan sighed, not enjoying the thought. “Right, it’s possible you could tell your friend was in trouble that night and you were restless. Wolves have exceptional sense of smell. You might’ve smelled blood,” Camilo hypothesised. “You're really okay. Seems as long as the wolf is well fed, they don't hunt.” Nathan exhaled. “Okay… Yeah… Thanks.” “Don't worry,” Camilo assured him. “Your support system is great, and we aren't afraid of you. Everyone is here to help you.” “I get it, I just wish I knew someone else who was going through all this like me,” Nathan said. “I at least had Kent for a hot second, but now I have no one… My kids aren't even the same as me They just transform whenever they please.” Camilo pursed his lips. “Well, maybe you're not alone…” Nathan perked up. “Is there someone else? With APID? Another werewolf? Or were-anything?” “Well, no… I just meant, um…” Camilo waved a hand. “Well, you know, there's the wolf we caught on your bodycam that night.” “Oh." Nathan frowned. “But they attacked me. I still have the scars.” “Yes, but if we tracked them down, we might have answers for you,” Camilo suggested. “Well, maybe… I don't, know. I feel like we tried that lead and it got me nowhere. And pregnant.” “Yeah…” Camilo folded his hands. “But if we could find someone with a similar affliction as you willing to talk with you, you would want that, right?” “Yes, if it's possible, yes,” Nathan said. “The only person I know that's as close to my condition as me is Dax but his thunderbird situation is still very different.” Camilo nodded. “Okay. Can you come in for a meeting tomorrow? I want us to talk more about your options, but I also want to consult with Korsgaard about some stuff beforehand.” “Yeah, for sure,” Nathan said nodding. “Honestly, I talk to you so much, I forget Korsgaard’s my actual case worker…” “Yeah, he does do a lot of work behind the scenes, but he's looking into potentially retiring soon,” Camilo admitted. “I think he's holding out until Maya's grown.” “I get it,” Nathan said. “Do you think you'll take his place?” “Honestly, I don't really know,” Camilo said. “I mean, I like it, and it's been great work while I've been in school, but once I finish my PhD, I might look around… I want to stay at APID though.” Nathan smirked. “PhD classes, a job like this, and a baby at home? Are you sure you're only human?” Camilo smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck. “I'm just trying my best…” “I could never…” He motioned to the living room where Wano was flexing with the animal twins gnawing on his arms. Reid was just sitting by, taking notes of his observations. “I can't imagine trying to get through my masters when I was your age if I had these two on my hip…” “Should we do something?” Camilo asked worriedly. “No, Wano likes it,” Nathan said. “He calls it ‘warrior play’. It's been really difficult trying to train bite inhibition and I’m so tired all the time, it's easier to just let them do whatever exhausts them…” “I see. It'll take time,” Camilo said. “Have you talked to Yori about it? They might not be exactly the same, but there's likely some issues he's had with the triplets.” “Yes, trust me, Dax has learned a lot from having the triplets in his class,” Nathan recounted. “The very first day of school, Skylar bit a kid that touched her granola bar and later Marco ate his own homework. We've been in contact with Yori's partners, because the kids just seem to fall in line for Yori without much trouble.” “Oh, I see…” At that time, the front door opened, and Dax came inside looking worried. “Nathan, I’m sorry I couldn't leave sooner!” Nathan got up from his seat and went over to hug Dax around the waist. “It's okay. Reid and Camilo have been here to talk to me.” “Ah, good! Are you alright?” Dax looked over his partner for traces of the transformation described to him over the phone. “You look okay, but are you?” “Yeah, I'm fine now,” Nathan said. “Talking to these guys has calmed my nerves a lot and the transformation didn't last more than a minute.” Dax nodded. “Good.” He kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you're okay. And the twins are alright?” “Yep, they're still their usual selves,” Nathan said, motioning to the pair now climbing onto Wano's back and jumping off like goat kids. “I think if anything, my transformation made them excitable.” “That probably makes sense, I think,” Dax said. “Reacting to your transformation I mean.” Reid got up and came over. “Nathan, if you don't need me any longer, I should probably head out.” Nathan nodded and shook Reid’s hand. “Yes, thank you for coming over on such short notice.” “Don't mention it,” Reid insisted. He patted Dax's arm. “Good to see you too, Dax.” “Likewise,” Dax said politely. “Drive safe.” “Aye.” Reid headed out the door. “I should probably get going too,” Camilo said. “Nathan, can we get you in for a meeting first thing at ten?” “Yeah, sounds good,” Nathan confirmed. “I'll see you there.” “Alright, see you,” Camilo said going to the door. “You take care of him, Dax. We're trusting you.” “Don't you worry, I'll be here,” Dax assured. Camilo smiled and waved. “Bye!” “See you tomorrow,” Nathan said as the assistant left. Dax went to see them off and then made sure the door was locked properly before going back to his partner. “Tomorrow, would you like me to join you?” Nathan looked at Dax and contemplated it. “Usually I'd say no, but if you can spare the time, I would appreciate it…” Dax smiled and kissed Nathan's forehead again. “I'll be there, don't worry.” “Thank you,” Nathan said. He took Dax's hand and squeezed it gently. “I appreciate you so much.” “Also on the phone,” Dax recalled. “Wano said you got upset because he’s trying to make a ‘legacy’ with Jeffrey.” He motioned the air quotes. “Do you want me to talk to him about that?” Nathan sighed, glancing over to Wano, now rubbing both twins’ bellies. “No… At least not tonight… Just let him be. It’s not our business at the end of the day. I made it clear though that he can’t have guests here without permission.” Dax nodded and gave Nathan a proper kiss this time. “You’re going to be alright.” “Thanks. I hope so…”

#lore #Nathan #Reid #Camilo #Dax #Wano #Grace #Gabriel #implied mpreg #werewolf #alien #werebear

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sevensided · 4 years ago

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how did you get into writing fic? i'd love to start but idk even where to begin! I loved adats so I was wondering do you have any advice?

Oh my goodness! I am so flattered you’ve asked me this. Yes, I can absolutely help. I’ll throw a bunch of rambling under the cut.

I started writing fic probably when I was... sixteen years old? A lot of my early works were oneshots. I couldn’t figure out how to do anything plot heavy for the life of me, so I just stuck to AUs or whatever I felt like. I wasn’t in any particular fandom -- I really wrote whatever I had ideas for. I remember I tried once to do a plot-heavy story and I received a review absolutely ripping it to shreds. Like, it was so cruel I cried lol. I ended up deleting the fic. Years later, I get what they were trying to say (basically, more substance, less style), but at the time it cut to the quick. Really, it was only when I was in my twenties that I started writing work that was longer and/or better.

The fandom that helped me actually write plot heavy work was a historical-based fandom. As I’m a historian, it was perfect. I got to use my research skills and knowledge to create works that, above all, aimed to feel authentic. I mainly read historical fiction, so I was familiar with how that genre worked. Miraculously, people loved my work. I think I wrote about ~200k in the period of a year? These were several short stories (20-40k) and a few oneshot filler fics. While I was part of this fandom I also helped organise a Big Bang which was a lot of hard work but was extremely rewarding. Along with that, I interacted mainly with other fic writers, so I spent a lot of time chatting to people about ideas and encouraging other writers, and it just created a lovely medley where no concept was impossible or any line of dialogue too difficult. We supported each other and it was truly like a little commune. I gradually stepped away from the fandom mainly because it was just a part of my life at a very specific time, and almost as soon as that time was over, my love for that story/ship faded, but I firmly believe I figured out a lot of how/what I do now purely through that experience.

Regarding ADATS

With ADATS, it stemmed entirely from wanting to “explain” three months in canon (at the end of season three). I was interested in the idea of season four setting up Will/Mike in canon, and I wanted to test the source material to see if I could draw from what already existed to create something authentic. I began with that simple idea: what happened from July to October in 1985? Then I thought about the major themes I wanted to hit -- family, friendship, coming of age, sexuality -- and I nested them around the bigger concept: how do I get Mike from being ostensibly straight to realising he is gay? That meant thinking of two steps: Mike discovering his attraction to guys; Mike discovering his attraction to Will. Those two concepts were separate “arcs” that needed addressing in different ways. Balance was key to weaving them together and making the reader feel like they knew what was coming (and that they felt smart for putting the pieces together) without just rushing through and going “now kiss!” That’s partly why ADATS needs a sequel, lol: because it’s not finished!

Writing process

The first thing I do when I start to get an idea is I write it down. Sounds obvious. But when you have a killer line of dialogue come to you in the shower and you think “I’ll remember that” -- reader, you will not remember it. You gotta get it down ASAP! I do that the whole way through, as generally I’ll be thinking of scenes I’m stuck on and then it’ll just come to me and I’ll quickly jot it down.

The next thing -- or what I do in the meantime -- is start structuring. I plan. I try to plan a lot. Sometimes it’s okay to write “and something happens here to get them here”, because you’ll figure it out later, but for the most part I’ve discovered that planning is like gold and you can’t get enough of it. I break my work up into generally 3-4 parts/sections, and I treat each section like a mini story. So each part needs a conflict and resolution, and it needs to flow into the next section. You need to have a feeling of things evolving and maturing. Once I’ve planned those little bits, I start thinking about the bigger plot arc and how I can drop in hints along the way. I’m probably not a subtle or skilled enough writer to yet pull off that sort of gasping twist you get in really excellent books, but I’m trying to get there. It’s hard, is what I’m trying to say, but that’s okay, because we’re all learning.

Then I generally do aesthetic stuff. Sounds stupid, probably. But nothing helps me get more into a mood than doing a Pinterest board or -- most of all -- making a Spotify mix. I start thinking about the vibe and the general atmosphere, and then I almost exclusively listen to that mix when I’m working. Sort of like muscle memory? Just to get the creative juices associated with that particular selection of songs.

Another thing I’ll do along with plot structure is character structure. This is a biggie. I mean, a story is nothing without characters. So I’ll just jot down a bunch of bullet points of characters and particular aspects that I want to highlight or remember. I hate continuity errors in fiction. Like, if someone says they work on Maple Street but later in the fic they’re working on Pine Street. I hate that. So I keep note of specific things that my main character might notice at repeated points in the story (colours, places, smells, names, sounds -- so they’re all consistent even as the narrative evolves). That’s another thing -- your characters’ motivations. Not everyone is going to be a huge player, but they all do serve a purpose. The most important character is obviously your main character. I personally think it’s important to let your M.C. be an arse at times. They’re going to be mean, they’re going to misinterpret things or fly off the handle... just let ‘em. Let them be wretched humans, and then bring them back and make them realise what they’ve done. Let them learn! I love consequences in fiction, lol.

At the same time, I’ll probably start writing. We’ve already written down some snippets of neat dialogue or descriptions, but now we should start the actual process. For me, I used to start at the beginning. Usually this was the most fleshed out anyway: I’ll have a clear idea of the beginning and the end, but nothing in the middle. These days, if I have a scene in mind that I can’t forget, I’ll just write it. It will possibly get scrapped or rewritten, but that’s okay, because at least you’ve got it down and now you can devote your brain power to something useful (like figuring out what the middle is supposed to be). I’ll have half a dozen of totally out of context scenes just littered in my Word document that I’ll add to as I go along. Eventually, though, you’re going to start writing properly, and that’s when you write your opening scene.

Opening scenes: super important. Every time I write a scene I think: what is the point of this? What do I want the reader to learn or takeaway? Sometimes you do have filler scenes, but they also serve a different purpose (perhaps to establish a group dynamic or to explore/describe a character’s surroundings). Mainly, though, every scene should push something forward in some way, whether it’s character development or a plot point. So, with an opening scene, I always think you have to establish: where you are; who you are; what they are doing; where they’ve come from (in a philosophical and practical sense); and where they’re going (ditto). That doesn’t have to happen in the first paragraph -- that would be silly. But if you sprinkle that information in over time it’ll gradually build up a picture of your character and that way the reader can get an idea of who they are. You basically need to give a snapshot of what your story is about. This also goes back to the character creator stuff: where they are at the start should be different to where they end up. How that happens is, of course, because of plot, and because you’ve structured everything to the nth degree, we’ve got a very clear progression of that character’s growth (/s easier said than done lol).

General advice

Write down everything: every idea, a bit of dialogue, a description, whatever. Write it down. Doesn’t have to be neat. Just has to be on paper. You can’t remember everything, so if you’re spending time trying to hold those things in your head, it’s taking up space for new ideas to come along.

Structure, plan, structure, plan. Sometimes it’s boring and I hate it. Other times, when I’ve not written in a few days and I open the Word doc and think wtf is this supposed to be, I am very grateful for Past Me for leaving such detailed notes. Seriously, it helps so much. Oneshots don’t really need planning, in my experience. You just get those out there. But multi-chaptered stories really do, even ones that “just” focus on a relationship.

Whatever you want to write, commit to it. Space goblins invade Hawkins? Do it. Eleven and Max find themselves in a cult akin to Midsommar (2019) and must escape? Yes. Just... whatever you want to do, remember that you’re writing it for you. Write what most interests you, what makes you when you reread it go AHHHHH I LOVE THIS!! Because that makes it a thousand times easier to actually get on with the writing when you enjoy what you’re doing.

Write a lot. Every day, if you can, or at least at designated times. Occasionally I have a very specific headspace/vibe I have to be in, but sometimes it just hits me and I’ll say to my partner “I need to write now” and just disappear, lol. The more you write the more you write. It’s so, so, so true. Cannot emphasise this enough. When I wrote that ~200k in twelve months? It was because I literally wrote every. day. Or near enough. Remember that some days you’ll write 200 words, and other days you’ll write 20k (this happened to me with ADATS -- part of the reason I finished it so quickly was because I had sprints of writing 10k+ at a time that only happened because I was in the rhythm of it). Write, write, write. Who cares if it’s crap! No one will see it until you are ready. In the meantime, just write!

Probably last of all (although I could go on and on) is connect with other writers. If you’re struggling to start, sometimes just talking about it can help a huge amount. I hope it goes without saying that you can message me whenever you want, anon or not, and I will talk to you. We can talk about ideas or I can beta stuff, whatever you want! Find like-minded people and talk to them about what you want to do. Another thing this helps is in advertising your work when you do publish. I see a lot of first time fic writers get super down because they publish their magnum opus on AO3 but no one comments. Honestly, it’s because no one knows you’ve published! You don’t have to be tooting your own horn every which way, but just actively talking about your work and even collaborating with other content creators with get you hyped and other people too (and the input and encouragement other fandom members give is just... out of this world. Anon messages helped me finish ADATS when I was really worried I wouldn’t [that’s the truth]. Seriously, support is everything). When you have people excited about your work, you get excited. It’s really as simple as that.

I could go on but this is already horrendously long. I hope even a bit of this helps! If you want to chat or have any more questions, just hit me up any time.

#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #answered #i really hope this helps/answers your question!#i can do something more structured if you want #otherwise here are just my initial thoughts #Anonymous

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cordria · 5 years ago

Text

Gloves

Jack Fenton sat down in the uncomfortable chair, his bulk moving slowly and carefully to avoid scaring the girl sitting on the other chair. There was something odd about her, the way she held herself, the little glances out of the corner of her eye, the way her hair didn’t quite fall right. Jack couldn’t quite stop himself from cataloging all the little differences about her, even as he tried to stop himself and see her as just a girl. A girl in need of help. “Hi,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

“Hello,” she said.

Jack opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He let his mouth close again, his lips twisting in frustration. There was certainly plenty that needed to be said.

“Why are you here?” the girl asked, her thin fingers digging into the cushion of the chair. Although her knuckles turned white with the pressure, the stiff vinyl didn’t seem to notice the effort her hands were putting in.

“I like Seattle,” Jack said. “Nice city. Always wanted to do the haunted tour…” He trailed off, wondering if bringing up ghosts was, perhaps, a bad idea.

She scoffed. “Seattle’s not haunted.” The IV machine she was hooked up to beeped loudly, and the girl flinched. She studied it for a moment before sighing and sinking back against the hard chair. “That’s not what I meant. I called Danny, not you.”

“Danny couldn’t come.” Jack sort of fudged the truth. Danny could come. Danny had come. But not being 18 yet, the hospital didn’t particularly care what Danny had to say in the matter, requiring Jack’s presence. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” she said, shoulders crunching up around her ears.

Jack shrugged, falling silent, watching the girl glare around the small room. He had only the briefest of explanations as to who this girl was - a genetic malfunction, an aberration, a splintered example of a not-quite-human - and he understood almost none of it. His gaze fell to his bag, and he reached down, pulled out his latest needlework project, and quietly got to work. Jazz had said to do that when he was at a loss for words. She’d thought it might be helpful.

It was nearly twenty minutes of silence, the girl watching him slowly work through his project, before she spoke. “What is that?”

“It’s going to be a quilt,” Jack said, turning the scrap of fabric so she could see a bit better. “All the different types of ghosts from stories around the world. This one’s a banshee. Sits under windows and cries and screams, usually associated with someone dying.”

She studied it. “You’re… pretty good at that.”

“Lots of practice,” Jack said with a shrug.

“You don’t seem like… like a guy that would do something like that. Art stuff.”

“It’s calming and good for the mind,” Jack said, tying off the string and picking out a new color. “Jazz got me started on it years and years ago. I’m hoping to have the whole thing done by August, so I can put it in the county fair.” He chuckled. “I won’t win, not compared to the artwork of other people, but it’ll be nice to finish a project.”

Her eyes were blue, just like Danny’s. But there was a shadowed, haunted feel to them - and a blankness that hurt Jack’s heart.

Perhaps Danny was right. Maybe Maddie should have come instead.

The IV machine beeped again, and this time a nurse knocked and entered the room. “Hello,” he said, walking over to check the machine. “The battery on your IV is getting low. Gotta plug it in.” He smiled at her, holding out a hand. “Back to the bed, please.”

The girl sighed, but reached out for the assistance. She was unstable and barely able to hold her own weight. It was only a few steps, but Jack had to bite back the offer to carry her. She settled against the bed - too skinny, too broken, too empty - and laid her head on the pillow.

Jack was quiet as the nurse fussed for a few minutes, plugging in the IV machine, taking her blood pressure and temperature, setting the blanket over her legs.

Then he turned to Jack. “Parent?” he asked.

Jack wondered how to answer that. He set down his needlework, dug a paper out of his bag, and held it out. It was fake, of course; there were no real legal documents in the world for her. But the stamp was real, and the judge’s signature was real, and that was enough. “Legal guardian, for now.”

The girl on the bed flinched.

The nurse glanced at the papers. “As of yesterday, huh?” he asked. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fenton. Wanna chat in the hall?”

Jack leveraged himself out of the chair and followed the man into the hallway. “She’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“Eventually,” the nurse said, walking him to a quiet alcove. “How do you know her?”

“She’s a relation,” Jack said, trying to avoid being specific. “Her and my son are very close, although I haven’t had any real contact with her yet. She called him two days ago and we’ve been figuring out how to best help her.”

The nurse nodded. “She was found in a park, unconscious. Came in massively dehydrated, malnourished.” The nurse glanced around, his voice quiet. “She’s not saying much, but she definitely hasn’t been treated right.”

Jack frowned.

“I’ll send the doctor along, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything permanently wrong with her, physically anyways. Really fragile mentally.” The nurse frowned. “The police have been around a few times to chat with her. Don’t think she’s said much to them. She’s in for a long road.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder, through the cracked-open door. She was picking at her sheets, staring at the sky through the window of the room. She looked so small. Twelve years old. Her third year of being twelve, if Danny’s explanation was right. And she’d be twelve until her broken body stopped working, whether that was next week, or five years from now, or ten, or twenty. “Anything else I should know?”

“Gentle, slow, careful. She’s a nice girl, when you can get her to talk. I’ll be around every fifteen minutes or so, checking on her.”

“Can she have visitors?”

The nurse hesitated, but then nodded slowly. “If there’s one or two people you think would do her good, I can’t see how that would hurt.”

“My son will probably scale the outer walls and sneak through the window if you try to keep him out any longer,” Jack said with a smile. “He’s worried out of his mind about her. He can probably get her to talk like nobody else.”

“Sounds great. You let me know if she needs anything,” he said.

Jack stood in the hallway for a long minute, trying to decide what he would say. From what little Danny had told him, the girl had been literally programmed to hate him. Created, somehow, in a lab from a mix of Danny’s genetic material, donor tissue from the corpse of a dead girl, and a ghost. Created and programmed, like a computer, for a task - to be used and then thrown away.

He walked closer, standing in the door, frowning at how little of the bed her frame took up. Her arms were too skinny against the hospital blanket - almost skin and bone. Whoever had created her had certainly not taken care of her.

She noticed his gaze, turning to study him with those sunken, haunted blue eyes. “You don’t have to be here,” she said.

Jack hummed, walked in, and dropped back down into his chair. The vinyl squeaked. “I want to be.”

“Because Danny told you to.” She sounded sullen. “It’s okay to hate me, you know.”

“I don’t hate you,” Jack said, surprised at the thought. Where had she decided that he hated her? What had he done to make her think that?

“I hate you,” she shot back, eyes narrowing. She leaned forwards a little. Little sparks of green shone against the blue.

Jack shrugged. “Join the club,” he murmured. He rested his arm on the bed, but drew away when she flinched away from him.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” she snapped, clearly uncomfortable.

He nodded and kept his arms to himself, careful to keep his arms to the small armrests. “I plan on sticking around, just so you know. And Danny’s planning on stopping again by after school.” He picked up his needlepoint, studying the messy shadowing job he’d done with a frown.

“Again?” came her soft voice after a minute of silence.

“He was here… day before yesterday,” Jack said, squinting at the banshee’s arm and trying to decide the easiest way to fix it. “You were out cold, and the hospital wouldn’t look twice at a 17 year old. Came and got me instead.”

“He told you who I am, right?”

“Yup.” Then Jack shrugged a half-shoulder. “Okay, a little. Getting anything out of Danny is only slightly easier than storming Fort Knox.” He grinned at her. “I got that you’re important to him, and that you’re family, and that I can help. That’s enough.”

“I’m a monster, you know that,” she said.

Jack pointed at his needlepoint. “This is a monster. You look like a scared young woman in need of some help. Maybe you’re not as human as me, but that doesn’t make you a monster.”

She bristled, but didn’t respond.

Jack let the quiet last for a few minutes, slowly fixing the bad shadowing on his banshee.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she said.

He glanced at her. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest, and was hugging them close. She looked lost and broken, and somehow even smaller and younger than before. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said, confused.

She frowned.

“Danny said you wouldn’t trust me,” Jack said, deliberately keeping his gaze on his needlepoint. Jazz had been correct in packing it for him - it did seem much easier for the girl to talk when he wasn’t staring at her. “But you can, you know. Jazz has already cleaned out her bedroom for you, and Danny-”

“Bedroom?” she asked.

Jack blinked at her. “Room. With a bed in it.”

She scowled. “I know what a bedroom is-” she cut herself off, like she was going to say something more. She let out a breath through her nose. “You make it sound like I’m coming to live with you.”

“You are!” Jack grinned. “See, we got the legal-”

“I’m not coming to live with you,” the girl snapped. “We’ve been over this. I hate you. I don’t trust you. Why should I live with you?”

Jack twisted his mouth into a half-frown, turning his eyes back to his needlepoint. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Take off your gloves.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t take off his gloves. “Why?”

“Because I’m a monster. I’m contaminated. I’m broken, and seeping radioactive liquid, and, and, and I can hurt you just by touching you.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her eyes burning a toxic, horrible green. “And I want you to take off your gloves.”

He watched the way the light gleamed off the black glove, slowly twisting his fingers. He didn’t take off his gloves. He just didn’t. Since learning how contaminated Danny was, Jack had even gone to great lengths to not touch his own son.

But Jack knew, in the depths of his being, that Danny wasn’t a monster. And neither was this girl. Yes, she could hurt him with just a touch. But...

Slowly, he took off one of his gloves. His skin was extremely pale, fingers a bit wrinkled from the moisture inside the gloves. His fingernails were in need of clipping. He flexed his fingers and ran them over the intricate stitching of his needlepoint, feeling details he couldn’t through the gloves.

Then he held out his hand to her.

#dannymay2020 #not-at-all quick writing #this could have gone somewhere cool i know it #but i just... couldn't get it there #it refused #i've been trying for two days #i'm calling it quits and leaving it like this

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stressy-enby · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: 4 Months Later

Cover made on Canva.com

You were great at running. You’d been running from your problems for year, both figuratively and literally. Before however, your problems followed you, now they simply wait on bated breath for your return. What’s the point in running, though, if no one’s chasing you?

Previous - Next

Masterlist

Haha, funny story guys. This may become an angsty slow-burn. I still have no idea how long this is gonna be or take, but it may be a bigger project than I imagined.

. . .

Your shoes tapped quietly against the white tile as you waved to the receptionist as you passed his desk.

It was getting colder, so the police station interior was conversely getting warmer. You shrugged off your coat, reveling in the delectable, toasty heat.

You passed several more desks on the way to your own. At this point, you didn’t have to look to see who would greet you, ignore you, or just frown disapprovingly for simply arriving at work.

The quiet buzz of chatter blended together in a symphony of voices as you walked through the center of it, only to be intercepted by Taiyo.

“Morning, (Y/N)” The older investigator gestured for you to sit.

“Hey, Tai,” You pulled out the chair, and slid your sunglasses on before your eyes met. He pushed a paper cup over to you. “Thanks.”

“Good to see you didn’t take off on us. It’s nice to see you still in the country.” His eyes twinkled knowingly “Go anywhere exotic this weekend?”

Taiyo Antonov was the stern yet kindly man who was charged with keeping an eye on you. He had been the one to bring an end to your “traveling days” as you called them to people outside of the station. Despite him being the reason you where behind bars for three years in three different countries, he had become your closest friend and confidant. You two where a bit of an odd pair; you, a shifty looking 24-year-old who knew far too much about counterfeiting checks, and he, a 52-year-old police investigator who spoke with a vague Russian accent.

“Pfft, if you consider the grocery store exotic, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, peeling the lid off your paper cup to scrutinize its contents. “You visited your daughter, right? How’d that go?”

“It was good, I had fun. She took me mini-golfing.”

“And?”

“And she kicked my ass.”

You chuckled, then took a cautionary sip of your coffee. “Anything interesting on the bracket today, or am I gonna be bored out of my skull for another twelve hours?”

“Actually, you’re going to have some visitors.” Taiyo slid his reading glasses on and flipped through a file. “Ingenium and Deku should be dropping by at seven.”

“Hold on-” You sputtered in confusion, setting your mediocre coffee down. “Why? What did I do?”

“Do you even need to ask that?” He shot you an incredulous look, which you matched with one of your own.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You grunted, fleetingly picturing yourself strangling your friend. “Taiyo. Why do Deku and Ingenium wanna meet me?”

“They’re the ones who presented the idea of releasing you for parole. They fought with me to get you here.” The balding man pulled a paper out of his file and handed it to you. “This is the proposal they turned in.”

You skimmed the typed document. It was about a whole page long, and was a lot like those argumentative essays you had to write back in middle school. There were several well written points about why you should be released from Tartarus and how you could help the police station, even you found yourself being convinced this really was the best place for you. Your eyes skipped to the bottom of the sheet, to the handwritten signatures, Ingenium and Deku.

“Woah,” You breathed, mildly starstruck. You had originally thought that it was just Taiyo who got you out. You would’ve never imagined that two pro heroes would take this much interest in you. In fact, you found yourself a little hurt that they had taken the time to help you. Two perfect strangers handed you a Get Out of Jail Free card on a silver platter, but Taiyo, the pitying man who had worriedly handed you over to the French police for your first year of imprisonment hadn’t even thought to offer you the same luxury.

“Yeah, they want to check up on you.” Tai smiled a little, a proud dad-like gleam in his eye. “Last time they saw you, you looked like Hell.”

“Imprisonment wasn’t my best look,” You shrugged nonchalantly, pushing that painful twist of betrayal back down.

“I can’t imagine it’s anyone’s.” Your friend replied putting the parole proposal back in the file. “Anyway, I’ve got a few check for you to take a look at.”

He passed a second file over as you rolled your eyes. “So much fun,” You collected it and your drink, standing up. “Don’t you have anything challenging?”

“Our guy has a mix of real and fake checks. That’s interesting.” Taiyo insisted.

“No, that’s boring.” You stated. “If anything, it makes my job easier. This guy’s a real amateur.”

. . . . .

Your bosses seemed to think that giving you a surplus of work would make up for it being incredibly easy. It did not. It just made it tedious, and less fun. The first few days of work were interesting, getting to see different forgery techniques and all, but it had quickly just became monotonous.

You sorted through a pile of checks, easily discerning the fakes. Over years of practice, the identifiers where clearer than day to you. The paper being just a fraction heavier than usual, puckered wording where it didn’t belong, ink that didn’t smell quite right, and so on and so forth.

Your computer dinged, indicating an email, and you eagerly allowed yourself to be distracted. You navigated to your emails, and your eyebrows shot up upon reading the sender’s address.

[email protected]

There were no extra numbers or letters thrown in the address for individuality, so it seemed more likely than not to be the real deal. You were unsure why you were surprised. The hero was already coming to visit you, why shouldn’t he email you?

You shook off the initial thrill of being contacted by a pro hero, and clicked to open the message.

(Y/N) (L/N),

Good morning. I’m just writing to remind you that Deku and I will be meeting you at your workplace at 7:00 PM today. We’re looking forward to the visit, and hope you do as well.

Regards,

Ingenium

Another warm thrill dashed through you as you hit Reply. You fingers hovered above the keys, mentally drafting your response. A few words were typed out, before all being discarded, backspacing all the way to Good moring, Ingenium.

After muddling through your simple email and rereading and rewriting it twice, you finally hit Send, releasing a breath of air you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Good morning, Ingenium,

Thank you for your reminder, I’m looking forward to meeting you and Deku in person. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to see me.

See you soon!

(Y/N) (L/N)

“No email should be this stressful.” You reasoned with yourself, rolling your swivel chair away from your desk.

You leaned back, watching the seconds tick by slowly. Each minute seemed to be longer than the last.

8:46

“This is agony.”

#mha #bnha #tenya #iida #tenya iida #tenya x reader #iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years ago

Text

Twelve Days of Holly Jolly Tidings - Day 12

Disclaimers: I watched “Dash & Lily” the other day on Netflix. This story is LOOSELY based on that book and Netflix series. I do not own “Dash and Lily” or Newsies or anything recognizable within the series. There are occasional curse words throughout the series, nothing too horrible but there’s some.

Catch Up Here

Tuesday, December 24

At exactly eight that morning, a knock sounded on her door. Already ready, she was dressed in a pair of jeans, a thick cable knit sweater and her boots. She had her bag swung across her chest. Throwing open the door, she grinned seeing Jack, dressed similar to her, holding two take away cups. “Good morning m’lady.”

“Good morning, dear sir.” She took the cup of hot chocolate he offered, leaning in to give him a kiss. “How are you?”

Looking at her from head to toe, he grinned. “Good. You ready for your last adventure?”

“As ready as I think I can be.” She made sure she had her bag, walking out of her apartment, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Once outside, Jack offered her his elbow, slipping her arm in the crook of his elbow, grinning as they started their walk down the street. “So I gave you a hint last night . . . any idea where we’re going?”

She had stayed up, later in her standards, trying to figure out where he was taking her. She had hit up all of her favorite places within the city the last eleven days. “I am officially stumped.”

“Good.” Jack grinned, as she gave him a look, taking a sip of his coffee as she did the same. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t figure it out.”

Her lip pushed out in a pout as he leaned over and kissed it away. “Don’t worry . . . you’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

They continued their journey throughout the city, Jack purposely winding throughout the streets, trying to throw her off. “You’ve got me totally lost.”

He chuckled, glad his plan was working. “Good. We’re almost there.”

“And where exactly is there?” She raised an eyebrow, looking around the neighborhood they were lazily walking through.

“Ah ah ah . . . nope. You’re not getting any additional hints from me.” Jack tutted, shaking his head. “All will be revealed in a little bit.”

Nodding, she continued to match his stride as they walked. The neighborhood they were walking through was decked out in full Christmas decorations. She grinned seeing the wreaths deck the doors and the lights strung around the doors and windows. “What are you thinking about?”

She was knocked out of her daydream by Jack’s questions. “Truthfully?”

“No, I want you to lie to me.” Jack’s voice was full of sarcasm as she grinned, shaking her head.

“Haha you’re a funny man. Well . . . I was thinking about how cool it would be to live in one of these brownstones all decked out for the holidays.” She shrugged, sipping on her drink. “They’re all decorated but they all have their own spin on color scheme and decorations.”

Jack nodded, his head swiveling as he took in the decorations. “Is that something you want? To live in a brownstone like this?”

“I mean, eventually.” She scoffed. “I can’t actually afford anything in this neighborhood.”

He laughed. “I’m with you on that. But maybe someday.”

“Maybe.” She echoed, getting lost in her thoughts once more, that she failed to notice what they were coming up on, until Jack stopped her, giving her a look.

“Surprise.”

Her eyes widened as she took in the many stalls of a Christmas Market at Bryant Park. She had always loved strolling between the booths, looking at everything that was offered and often picking up a Christmas present or two along the way. “You really do know me way too well.”

“I would hope after five year together that I would know a lot about you.” He teased, as she hip checked him, laughing at his offended pout.

She leaned forward and kissed him, successfully wiping the pout off his lips. “So what’s the game plan?”

“I was thinking we’d spend the next few hours wandering in and out of all the booths. We have somewhere to be at 11 so we’ve got some time to wander.” He said, unhooking her arm from the crook of his elbow, opting to lace his fingers with hers. “Do you need to look for anything special?”

She reviewed her list in her head. She was done shopping for everyone in her life. “The only thing I’m looking for is an ornament for this year.”

“I think we can cross that off your list.” Jack grinned, squeezing her hand. “How about we start wandering and seeing what we’ll come across?”

And so they did just that. There were about 60 booths and each booth had something different, so it was a must to visit every single booth so as not to miss out on anything. Jack mostly hung back while Kat talked with the sellers, exciting talking about the holidays and upcoming plans. A few times Kat must’ve said something about him because moments later both Kat and the seller were looking over at him in amusement. He meekly waved, causing both women to giggle and turn back to talking.

Soon Kat joined him as they wandered through a couple more stalls. As Kat was distracted by one of the booths, Jack wandered off to go look at something. He quickly found what he was looking for, purchasing it and was back at the booth before Kat even knew he was gone.

She joined him as they continued their journey. “Wanna grab some food?”

Jack nodded, as they looked around for a place to sit and order some food. A little booth caught their attention and they quickly made their way over to it to order. Sitting at the table, Jack looked over at Kat with a grin. “Having fun so far?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. pouting. “But I haven’t found my ornament yet.”

Jack looked around the square. “We’ve barely gone to half of the booths. I’m sure there’s going to be something that catches your attention.”

“You’re right.” She nodded. “Is there anything you’re looking for?”

Jack shrugged. “I’m not looking for anything in particular. Just browsing, seeing what people are offering.”

As their food arrived, a band started up just to the left of them. Jack smiled watching Kat sway to the music as she ate her food. “What?”

“Just watching you and continuing to fall in love with you.” Jack grinned, popping a blueberry in his mouth.

A light blush crept onto her face as she looked down at her Belgian Waffle. She bit her lip, a smile fighting to appear. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me . . . just telling you how it is.” He laughed as they continued to eat in silence, the music from the band a perfect background filler.

Lifting his fork, he snuck a chunk of her Belgian Waffle as her mouth dropped open. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you don’t steal food from someone’s plate?”

“You steal my french fries all the time.” Jack gave her a look, his eyes wide challenging her.

Shrugging, she plucked a strawberry from his plate and popped it in her mouth. “That’s different.”

“In what way?” He argued back, stealing another piece of waffle, quickly dodging her ill attempt to hit him.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she mulled it over for a moment. “It’s written in the girlfriend code . . . didn’t you have to sign one when we started dating?”

“Hmm . . . was that a document in that big stack you gave me before you accepted a date with me?” His eyes went wide as she giggled.

“Yep!” She continued laughing, pushing her plate away. “That was good but I’m full.”

Gathering their trash, they quickly disposed of it before lacing hands. Jack pulled her close to him as they started slow dancing along with the band as they played “Winter Wonderland.” Throwing an arm around his shoulder, she laughed as he led her through the steps. For someone who proclaimed he wasn’t a good dancer, Jack actually did quite well, not messing up at all.

Once the song was finished, a couple of people clapped around them as blushes crept up both of their faces. “There’s your daily dose of embarrassment.”

“Thanks for that.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, you’re actually a pretty good dancer, despite your protests. Who taught you?”

“Medda actually.” Jack grinned, as her eyes lit up.

Medda was their residential hall “mother” back in their freshman and sophomore years in college. She watched out for all of her residents but Spot, Race, Kat, and Jack all held a close place in her heart and she adopted them, along with Albert and Finch. She was the one they would all go to if they couldn’t talk about their issues with anyone - she was that calming presence and they all thought of her as a second mother. Medda was the one to always have a stash of candy in her office and would bake homemade goodies to bring them. More than once in college, they had all arrived on her doorstep in need of a hug and a warm meal.

“When did she teach you?” Kat asked, as they started their journey towards more booths.

Jack squeezed her hand, pulling her towards a booth. “Just before Amelia’s wedding.”

Amelia was Katherine’s freshman roommate who got married just after she and Jack got together. It was the first time Jack had seen Kat in a dress and heels. Though he loved how she looked, it wasn’t anywhere in his top ten favorite looks of hers, not that he would ever tell her that.

Kat raised an eyebrow as Jack continued. “I was worried about making a fool of myself, since you were a bridesmaid and all. I asked Medda for some help and she roped Race, Spot, and Natalie into helping. Race was natural due to dancing already but Spot and I were a mess.”

Natalie was Kat’s other roommate and had a fond spot for Jack. “I bet Natalie hated all three of you.”

“She did . . . until we figured out how to dance and not step on her toes.” Jack chuckled, pausing to look at a couple of knick knacks at a booth.

“How long did it take you?” Kat asked, looking at a couple of ornaments, not finding what she had in mind.

Jack sighed, tilting his head back slightly. “I think we practiced for two weeks. I was so nervous when the bridal party had to join Amelia on the dance floor. I just kept thinking to myself not to step on your toes or embarrass you.”

Throwing an arm over his shoulder, she leaned over and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What’s that?”

“I was so nervous to dance with you. We had only been dating for a couple of weeks at that point and one of our first big outings as a couple was a frickin’ wedding. It was a lot of pressure for a girl . . . not to mention it was all the bridesmaids could talk about once Amelia showed them a photo of you. They all thought you were ruggedly handsome.” She laughed as Jack stood a little taller at the compliment. “Not to mention how they all hit my shoulder for downplaying how gorgeous you were in real life.”

Throwing his head back, he laughed loudly. “Little did they know how gone I was for you and didn’t even bat an eye in their direction.”

“The same was for me.” She kissed him again.

Jack’s ears perked up as the clock at the church struck 10:30. He looked over at Kat who was purchasing something, glancing over her shoulder at him. He gave her a little wave as she turned back to the seller, murmuring a few words before walking back over to Jack, slipping something in her bag.

“You good?” He asked, as she glanced around the area, before nodding. “Good. Let’s find a bench . . . there’s something I need to give you.”

Her eyes lit up at the prospect, slipping her hand into his before letting him lead the way. They walked for a little bit, getting out of the Christmas Market and heading to Central Park. They walked for a bit, trying to dodge all of the last minute shoppers as they made their way along the sidewalk.

Jack tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow, ensuring that she didn’t get lost in the shuffle of the hubba babloo of the city. He heard her laugh at something as they crossed the street, walking into one of the many entrances of Central Park. Quickly locating an empty bench, Jack led her over to it, pulling the familiar notebook from his coat. “In the rush of the day, I kinda forgot to give you this this morning.”

Accepting the notebook from him, she slung her bag onto the bench, sitting back and cracking open the book, flipping to the correct page. A smile crossed her lips, seeing a rough sketch of them sitting on the couch in her apartment drawn out on the page for the day.

Katherine,

Happy 12th day of Christmas and Happy Christmas Eve. I hope you have had a wonderful morning so far. I kept the Christmas markets for the last day so I could go with you . . . it’s fun to see your face light up at each booth’s offerings and the way you engage with each of the owners.

So I’m going to let you in on a little secret . . . another favorite outfit of mine. Don’t get too excited but it was the outfit you wore when you first came to volunteer with me at the Children’s hospital. You wrote a red sweater dress, leggings, and your boots but that’s not the only thing I remember from that night. The thing that remains stuck out in that memory is the way you interacted with each child you came in contact with. You spent so much time with them, them believing you were one of Santa’s elves, they wanted to make sure they told you everything they wanted. And you patiently sat with them, coloring, and making notes so you could tell the Big Guy, or their parents.

I remember Maggie coming up beside me and telling me I need to keep you in my life somehow because you were real, true, and genuine. And she’s right. You’re all of that.

Pausing, she hastily wiped away tears that had clouded at her eyes as she read Jack’s words. She heard Jack chuckle as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Keep reading.”

But what I didn’t tell anyone, or even you until now is that I kept thinking about how amazing you’d be as a mom. You would be patient, loving, kind, and so supportive . . . which got me thinking about our future kids but not for a long, long, long, time.

Laughing, she shook her head at her boyfriend. continuing to read.

But that’s not for a long time. Maggie mentioned something that night that has stuck with me all these years. She mentioned how more laid back I am when you’re around. She said that it’s almost that I can relax and not be on edge when you’re around me and it’s so true. I never realized it but it’s really true.

So we’ve got a few more places to visit before the day is over. Don’t fret . . . just take every moment in.

Love you,

Jack

Closing the book, she tucked it in her bag, leaning over and kissing him. “You never fail to make me cry when I read these entries.”

“I don’t mean to . . . it’s sometimes easier to write everything down than to tell you face to face.” He confessed, shrugging before pushing off the bench. “Come on, we’ve got places to go and people to see.”

Accepting his hand, she grabbed her bag, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Still holding her hand, he tugged her closer to his side. “I love you, Kat. Thanks for going along with my hair brain idea.”

“I love you too, Jack. I’ll always be your sidekick.” She giggled as they made their way through the park.

As they walked, Kat’s eyes kept dashing around the park, laughing a few times at the kids who were running around while parents walked lazily behind them. Feeling Jack squeeze her hand, she looked over at him with a grin. “Happy?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, of course I’m happy. It’s fun watching the kids run around in the snow and trying to wear off energy so they don’t drive their parents nuts.” She said as a family caught her eye building a snowman. “My dad used to bring my brothers and me to the park to build snowmen so mom had time to wrap presents. He used to bring us through the Christmas Market in case mom needed more time. Hot Chocolate was always given as a bribe, not to tell mom what we got up to in those afternoons out.”

Jack laughed, nodding. “It was similar with dad, Maggie and me. Dad would take us out, giving mom an opportunity to wrap all the presents. Anything that wasn’t from Santa would end up under the tree. Maggie and I couldn’t touch the presents or they would all be shipped back. No matter how many times that was said, they never were. I think my parents were worried the two of us would destroy the house before Christmas morning.”

“I mean, they probably did have plenty of cause to worry.” Kat grinned while Jack hip checked her. She yelped, shaking her head, giving him a look. “You know I’m not lying and there’s some truth to the statement.”

“You’re right . . . Maggie and I were hellions when we were younger. It wasn’t until we both hit our teenage years did we calm down slightly.” Jack admitted sheepishly, while Kat threw her head back and laughed.

“Part of me would’ve loved to know you in high school and even in the beginning of college but meeting you in Junior year was perfect.” She smiled.

Jack smiled, as he led her into a more secluded part of the park. “You would’ve hated me in high school and probably even in my freshman and sophomore year of college. I significantly calmed down junior year so I’m glad I didn’t meet you until then. You probably would’ve been running for the hills if I had met you any earlier.”

“I don’t think I would’ve hated you . . . I think I might have been a bit cautious.” She hesitated to tell him that but didn’t have to worry as he laughed.

“You were hesitant to date me when you did finally meet me.” He smirked. “I saw you around campus a lot, always surrounded by people. Spot told me your name in Sophomore year and I kept hoping we’d have a class or two together but fate never stepped in.”

She barked out a laugh. “Spot told you my name?”

“I mentioned that I saw you around campus once and Spot blurted out your name one time. Him and Race turned that into an opportunity to tease me about you.” Jack shook his head. “Race was especially awful when you and he had that Speech class together. They almost staged a run-in just so they could introduce me to you.”

“Little did they know we would meet each other all on our own.” Kat beamed as Jack led her through the Bethesda Terrace. Looking at the architecture and the gorgeousness of the terrace all decked out in Evergreen for Christmas, she looked over at Jack but didn’t see him, until she looked down.

“I’ve been carrying this around for the last eleven days, trying to figure out a good time to ask you. You have been a bright light in my life for the last five years and I love you. I love you and can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Jack’s eyebrows rose as he cracked open the ring box.

Tears clouded her eyes as she nodded excitedly. “Yes, Jack Kelly, I will marry you.”

Pushing off his knee, he scooped her into his arms, twirling her around as they both cried excitedly. Lowering her to the ground, Jack cupped the side of her face, leaning in and kissing her. “You said yes?”

“Yes, Jack. Yes, I will marry you.” She said as he kissed her again before they broke apart by clapping within the terrace. Pulling away, they looked at people standing around watching them get engaged. “I guess I should give you this.”

Showing her the ring box, he took the ring out before slipping it on her ring finger. She held up her hand, admiring the oval emerald ring, flanked by diamonds as it laid perfectly on her finger. For the first time, in a long time, she was speechless and didn’t know what to say. “I love you, Jack. This is gorgeous.”

“I love you Kat. I’m glad you like the ring - it was actually hard to pick out which one I thought you might like.” Jack leaned forward and kissed her again. “And thank you for saying yes. I didn’t know if you could tell I was nervous.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “As if I was going to say anything else. And no, I couldn’t tell you were nervous.”

“As soon as you said yes, all the nerves went away and all I saw was our future.” Jack leaned over and kissed her again. “I love you fiancé.”

Her eyes lit up at that name. “Fiancé has a nice ring to it.”

Several Hours Later

He tugged on her hand as he led her up the path to the house. Squeezing her hand, he pulled her close, kissing her. Opening the door, he tugged her inside, slipping off his shoes, allowing her to do the same before they walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He grinned seeing his parents, Maggie, and Brendan standing there. “About time you two show up. We were starting to worry.”

Jack grinned at his dad, his eyes glancing over to Kat. “Sorry about that. We got caught up in the afternoon.”

“It was your last adventure, wasn’t it Katherine?” His mom asked.

Kat looked from Jack to his mom grinning. “It was. We hung out in the Christmas Market at Bryant Park.”

“Good day?” Maggie asked with a knowing grin.

Jack nodded. “The best.”

His parents traded glances, looking between their children. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

Jack pulled Kat close to him, grinning at his family. “Because you kind of are mom. Earlier today, I asked Kat to marry me and she said yes.”

A cheer went up in the small kitchen as his mom and Maggie came over to hug Katherine while his dad and Brendan came over to shake his hand and congratulate him. Glancing over at Kat, he sent her an air kiss followed by an “I Love You.”

Later that evening, after dinner was served and things had settled down, Jack and Kat sat on the couch looking at the tree. The gifts have been given, everything unwrapped and oohed and ahhed over. She had gotten several wonderful gifts from Jack’s parents along with Maggie and Brendan. “Good Christmas Eve?”

Looking up from admiring her engagement ring, she grinned leaning into Jack. “It was the best. It was wonderful spending time with your family. They’re so excited.”

“They have always thought of you as a daughter, now it’s official.” Jack pressed a kiss to her lips. “Did you call your parents?”

Shaking her head, she bit her lip. “No. I figured I’d tell them when they come back from their travels.”

“Kat!” Jack was astonished at his fiancé’s flippant response. “Don’t you want to tell them?”

Kat bit her lip and shook her head. “They haven’t been exactly supportive of our relationship in the last five years. Mom has this notion that I’ll marry a doctor while dad thinks I’ll just be alone for the rest of my life.”

“Your dad doesn’t think you’ll be alone for the rest of your life.” Jack said off handedly, giving his fiancé a look.

Her eyes went wide, listening to him. “What do you mean? Did you go talk to him?”

“I may have. I went and saw him the day you went to the hospital.” Jack wrapped his arm around Kat, kissing her forehead. “I wanted to give him the heads up of what I was planning.”

Kat looked over at him. “Did you ask him for his blessing?”

“God no.” Jack snorted, shaking his head. “I just told him I was asking you to marry me and I hope he could support that.”

She nodded, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you for doing that. What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much . . . only that we should have dinner with them when they get back.” Jack sighed, cracking a smile. “I’m sure that’s as much music to your ears as it is mine.”

Holding out her hand, she grinned at him. “At least I have my partner in crime by my side. We can do anything together.”

He laughed, his hands cupping her cheek leaning in, kissing her. “I love you, forever and always, Kat.”

“Love you too Kelly, forever and always.” She kissed him again, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“So I know I already gave you a gift but I got you a little something else.” He gave her a look, pointing to a lone bag with tissue paper in the corner behind the tree.

She looked over her shoulder at him as she slid off the couch and onto her knees. Grabbing the bag, she pulled the tissue paper from it before pulling out an item wrapped in tissue paper. “What did you do?”

“Just open it Kat.” He grinned, watching her carefully unwrap the item. She gasped as her eyes flew up to him. The item was an ornament that had “Just Engaged” painted on it with their names and the date below it.

She grinned, holding it up so that the porcelain caught the lights of the tree. “It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

“Got it at the market earlier.” He nonchalantly said, as she wrapped up the ornament before joining him on the couch.

She eyed him curiously. “How were you so certain that I would say yes?”

“A tiny part of me was worried about what you said but a bigger part of me knew you were going to say yes.” Jack grinned. “Besides you said that you were looking for an ornament for the year . . . and I think that one fits this year pretty well.”

Leaning over, she captured his lips in a kiss. “You did good, Jack. I love you.”

“Love you too Kat.” He smiled, kissing her again. “See you didn’t have to worry about your gift . . . you gave me the best gift by saying yes.”

She snuggled into his embrace. “Sap.”

“But you love my sappiness.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her head.

They sat there in silence, enjoying the Christmas tree and reflecting on the last twelve days and the happiness they felt along with gratitude for everything that was in their lives.

What do you think? Feedback would be wonderful and amazing. Thank you for following along on this journey with me!

#Newsies #Newsies Fan Fiction #writing #jack x katherine #Newsies Holiday Fic #Twelve Days of Holly Jolly Tidings

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ruminativerabbi · 5 years ago

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Kindness in the Time of Cholera

I’m still up in the air about the whole thing in terms of where this potential catastrophe may be heading. But what seems beyond dispute to me is that we should be heeding the advice of those wise experts specifically whose counsel is to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. And equally clear to me is that we should be insisting unwaveringly that the government put the responsibility and authority to deal with this looming crisis squarely and solely in the hands of scientists, public health officials, physicians, and epidemiologists…and as far as possible from the hands of politicians.

One of the most intelligent essays about the coronavirus outbreak that I’ve read, by Donald G. McNeil Jr., was published in the New York Times just this week (click here) and I recommend it highly to you. Basically, he observes that there are two ways to deal with a looming pandemic. There’s the modern method of bringing to bear the full force of modern technology to identify the infected, to perfect a vaccine, to develop new strains of drugs to deal with the already-ill, etc. And then there’s the medieval method of locking the infected inside their own cities, closing borders, forbidding international travel or commerce, and quarantining people who may have inadvertently been exposed to the virus until the danger passes and the infected either recover or die.

The latter approach, the one McNeil calls “medieval,” surely does have an old-fashioned feel to it. And it equally surely features a harshness that will make most moderns uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work and hasn’t worked. President Benjamin Harrison, for example, apparently successful kept America safe from an outbreak of virulent cholera in 1892, for example, by closing American harbors to any ships arriving from Germany, the epicenter of that particular epidemic in Europe. But, as McNeil goes on to muse, just how possible would that approach be today really? The word “quarantine” derives from the Italian word for “forty” and came to have its current meaning because the Venetian Republic had the very successful idea during the Black Death plague epidemic in the mid-fourteenth century of requiring that all ships arriving in their port be isolated for a full forty days before their crew could come ashore or their cargo be unloaded. But Venice has one harbor and its masters had the ability absolutely to control the comings and goings of boats in and out of their city, whereas it is very hard to imagine that approach being fully successful in our globalized world of highly porous borders and uncontrolled (and uncontrollable) interstate travel. Nor am I only theorizing here. The Chinese actually have turned Wuhan, the city where the virus first erupted into the world, into a single huge quarantine zone. But the virus behind COVID-19 is still spreading dramatically in the world, both inside and outside of China.

The Jewish world has yet another way to combat a pandemic, one that was the subject of a fascinating piece on the Lehrhaus website that I read just last week. The essay, by Jeremy Brown, the director of the Office of Emergency Care Research at the National Institute of Health, concerns a long-forgotten ceremony developed specifically to address the possibility of epidemiological catastrophe: the shvartze chasaneh, literally “the black wedding.” (To read the full essay, click here.) The name, derived from the fact that brides normally wear white to their own weddings, was intended to suggest that the wedding in question is not just the union of an affianced couple eager to wed under a chuppah, but something else entirely—something rooted not in love and devotion, but in fear and community-wide anxiety.

As far as anyone knows, the last time anyone participated in a shvartze chasaneh was in 1918 at the peak of the Spanish flu epidemic. I’ve heard people mention that specific epidemic many times in the last few weeks, but even by today’s standards the numbers are still astounding. Five hundred million people around the world were infected, about a third of the entire population of the world. (Click here for more on that almost unbelievable number.) The death toll is estimated by most authorities to have been somewhere between forty and fifty million people, but some authorities put it as high as one hundred million. Life expectancy in the United States dropped by twelve years after just one year of the epidemic. This was a terrible time, the cataclysmic coda to the orgy of senseless killing that was the First World War. And the pandemic lasted for three full years, from the beginning of 1918 through the end of 1920.

The idea of the shvartze chasaneh itself is a simple one: the community seeks out a single man who is disabled, orphaned, and/or impoverished and arranges for him publicly to marry a similar destitute and handicapped woman. The ceremony takes place, as would any normal Jewish marriage, under a chuppah. But this chuppah is set up in a cemetery—perhaps as a way of inviting the dead to participate in the simchah—and then the community showers the couple with gifts, including gifts of cash, in the hope that this great act of kindness towards the especially needy will somehow avert the plague.

To document his research, Brown uncovered an account of one of these “black weddings” that took place in Philadelphia in 1918 during the height of the Spanish flu epidemic. Citing from a contemporary newspaper account published in the Public Ledger of Philadelphia, Brown reports that one Fanny Jacobs and one Harold Rosenberg were married just behind the first row of graves in the Jewish cemetery near Cobbs Creek, Pennsylvania, on Friday afternoon on October 25, 1918. A certain Rabbi Lipschitz presided; a full thousand spectators showed up to witness the union. And then, to quote the newspaper story directly, “spectators filed solemnly past the couple and made them presents of money in sums from ten cents to a hundred dollars, according to the means and circumstances of the donor, until more than $1,000 had been given.” And the point of the operation was also made explicit in the newspaper account: so that “the attention of God be called to the affliction of their fellows if the most humble man and woman among them should join in marriage in the presence of the dead.”

Nor was this something invented on the spot to deal with the influenza epidemic. The earliest report of a shvartze chasaneh goes back to 1785, when one was performed in the presence of two of the greatest hasidic masters, Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk and Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak Halevi Horowitz (the latter better known today as the Seer of Lublin), and was intended to address an outbreak of cholera. Brown reports that similar wedding ceremonies took place for orphaned teenagers in Jerusalem and Tzfat in 1865 during an infestation of locusts that threatened to destroy the food source for the entire country. (The picture is of the one in Jerusalem.) They must have been quite something to see, those ceremonies: the one in Jerusalem took place amidst the graves on the Mount of Olives and the one in Tzfat took place in the old Jewish cemetery there, where the chuppah was set up between the graves of Rabbi Isaac Luria and Rabbi Joseph Karo, each in his own way the spiritual leader of an entire generation of Jewish people. Other such ceremonies took place in Berdichev in 1866 and at Opatow in 1892, which town Joan and I actually visited last summer.

The Philadelphia ceremony inspired at least one further attempt to ward off the flu epidemic: on November 11, 1918—the very day of the armistice that ended the war—a similar wedding was held in Winnipeg, duly reported in the Winnipeg Evening Tribune under the headline “Hebrews Hold Wedding of Death to Halt Flu.”

I do not think—at least not yet—that we should consider going this route at the current time with respect to COVID-19. But I do think that we could be inspired—and profoundly—by the idea that underlying our response to what could conceivably turn into a world-wide pandemic should be the same sense Jews of a different day had that one responds to the possibility of disaster by being kind and generous, by reaching out formally and publicly to the most needy, by focusing on the future and not solely on the calamity at hand, and by refusing to abandon our most basic values merely because we suddenly find ourselves negotiating straits that even a few months ago were unknown to any of us. The notion that the correct response to looming catastrophe lies in deeds of compassion and charity is very resonant with me personally. My plan for the moment is to wash my hands carefully and often, to leave the real decision making to the kind of public health experts who actually know what they are talking about, and to try to avert the worst by ramping up Joan and my gifts of charity to the poor and the most needy, and I encourage you to do the same!

#shvartze chasaneh #COVID-19

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elopez7228 · 5 years ago

Text

Scenic Route 34/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Rey sat in the grass, contemplating the decision she had to make. The car was ready. BB8 was chasing crickets around. Right now, almost no one knew her location on the remote campground. But she couldn’t stay there forever. She was furious at Ben...but somehow she couldn’t forget about the night they had spent together. Just thinking about it sent shivers down her spine.

No, she had to act rationally.

It was a mistake to let Leia and Ben take advantage of her. She had been too rash, too trusting for her own good. She didn’t doubt Syed’s intentions; she had also seen Skylar’s brutality with her own eyes. And something told her they wouldn’t be fooled by bear spray twice. She wished she had been even firmer with Ben that it was his responsibility to reign in the lunatics on his team...

But the doubts crept in. What if he couldn’t do it? Or, what if he didn’t actually want to? Worse yet, what if he never really loved her at all? It was hard to wrap her head around his actions. His kisses were ardent, by all accounts he was even more earnest than he had been that night in Jackson Hole.

Sleeping with him hadn’t felt like a trophy fuck or a one night stand, she had felt like an empress. He’d been so focused on her pleasure, on unraveling her with a gentleness that almost seemed out of character. Still as driven as ever, but sweeter, somehow. No one had made love to her like that in ages.

Was that all in order to get his hands on the microchip? Beneath all her righteous anger she’d hoped that it had been a misunderstanding. Maybe then it would’ve been less painful.

Maybe it was time to embrace the obvious: Cupid had it out for her. Just like with Finn, when things were finally looking up, everything came crashing down.

What now?

She thumbed through her contacts mindlessly. She ought to check in on Poe, but she hardly felt like it. Calling Jessica seemed even worse.

It rang just then, startling her.

Ben Solo.

Was he about to tell her that Syed had been put in the naughty corner? Probably not.

“Yes, Ben?” She sighed.

“Please don’t hang up.”

She wasn’t going to, but it was nice of him to insist. She relented.

“What is it this time?”

“Syed and Skylar are looking for the Falcon. You can’t hope to get away in that car.”

“I see you haven’t been successful in convincing them to leave me alone. Also, this is escalating rather quickly, isn’t it?”

“Look, I’m sorry I put you in this situation, I—“

“Yeah, I suppose you should be,” Rey tried to cut him off, but Ben was determined.

“Whatever I did before, I regret it, and I’m trying to protect you now. So let me finish. You need to change cars.”

She snorted derisively. “Do you think I have that kind of money? Besides, your mother trusted me with the Falcon, am I really just suppose to let it rot somewhere?”

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m sending Kelsi Ren your way. Switch with her, and try to gain a few hours on Syed and Skylar.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t make it past ten miles. Syed’s out for blood.”

“Is that a threat?”

Ben hesitated to respond. Rey could hear his uneven breathing on the other side.

“Rey, I know I fucked up,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t have to forgive me, but you have to trust me.”

“Trust is a big ask. As for forgiveness, we’ll see. I guess I don’t have a choice about the car...”

“I’m not trying to force you, but it’s your best option. I mean it.”

Rey rolled her eyes. Really, what alternative did she have? She sighed again.

“When will Kelsi be here?”

“Ten minutes, she’s on the way. When she gets there, switch the registration papers too. Don’t talk to her, don’t answer any questions.”

“It’s not like I’ll invite her to tea,” she grumbled as she hung up.

Ben wasn’t kidding: a large Lincoln Nautilus pulled up next to the Millenium Falcon in a matter of minutes. To Rey’s chagrin, it wasn’t quite large enough to fit her mattress, so they were back to sleeping in the car. At least this one had air conditioning. That would be a welcome change.

She supposed she should call Leia about the Falcon soon. She had promised to deliver both the car and the dog, but perhaps Leia would be receptive to the “looming killers” argument. Desperate times called for desperate measures...

Kelsi emerged from the car. Rey had seen her on stage before, but she was different out of costume, in broad daylight. She looked good in her ripped jeans and hiking boots, though she appeared younger now. Short platinum blonde hair framed her face, which was well-hidden beneath a combination of dark sunglasses and a tattered shawl that wrapped around her shoulders.

“Are you Rey?” She asked casually as she approached.

“Yeah. Here’s my car,” she replied, gesturing to the aging Oldmobile Cruiser.

The blonde grimaced, muttering something about a shitty last minute plan under her breath.

“Here’s the keys and the papers. The tank is loaded. Where’re you headed?”

Ben’s voice echoed in Rey’s head: don’t answer any questions. She realized it was time to play the clueless tourist again, since everyone seemed to think she excelled at the role.

"I don’t know,” she said, giving Kelsi her blankest smile. “I’ll just hit the road I guess. Go wherever life takes me.”

“Whatever,” Kelsi grumbled, mostly to herself. In an almost mechanical gesture, she handed Rey the keys and the registration document.

Now it was time to move the contents of the Falcon. Rey cleared out the glovebox, suddenly noticing that the toy car was gone. She panicked when she realized that Luke’s address was still there. Had Ben found it the other night? If that was the case, he now knew her location and her destination. And that meant he knew his uncle’s address. But he never once said anything. Another day, another game of hide and seek.

“Ugh, this piece of crap reeks of dog!” Kelsi complained. Behind her, Rey snorted. Good luck with that, princess.

Finally, Rey moved BB8’s toys and food bowl to the back seat of the Lincoln before getting behind the wheel. The engine revved up smoothly, and she instantly knew this was a major upgrade compared to the Falcon. It also came with a leather interior, GPS, and Bluetooth. Score! The rest of this trip was going to be so much fun.

She put her sunglasses on and adjusted her seat. Time to hit the road again!

For a little while she basked in the feeling of relief, forgetting that she was currently a crazy old woman’s pawn with no other plans in life, on the run from a pair of assassins and leagues away from her dying ex-husband.

She drove carefully out of Bozeman on Highway 89. She connected her phone to the Bluetooth system, finally deciding to give Poe a call. The conversation was brief as Finn was stable and nothing had changed. Rey neglected to mention her own circumstances because she didn’t want her friends in England to worry more than they already did.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t as scared as before. Was this her new normal—travelling alone, confronting bears, flirting with rockstars, and outrunning gangs? Despite the risks, she had never felt more alive.

She slowed the car as she approached what looked like a police barricade. Rey was about to pull the window down when the officer standing there motioned for her to keep going.

But by now her good humor had suddenly disappeared. Ben had said that she wouldn’t make it ten miles in the Falcon. Was this barricade the proof? Did FORCE really have the means to intercept her like that? The idea was so terrifying that she pushed it away.

She was headed even further west, in the direction of Idaho. It was 8 AM now. If she drove for another twelve hours, she could spend the night in Reno, Nevada. From there, San Francisco would only be four hours away. Rey would find Luke Skywalker, give him his dog and the microchip, and live the rest of her average life in peace.

Eventually, she would have to call Leia Skywalker, but right now she needed some dial-in advice from her Fairy Godmother.

“Rey, good morning! How was the concert?”

Concert? Maz’s question was brimming with so much enthusiasm that it took Rey’s brain scrambled to catch up. Ah yes, that concert. Before...before everything. The old woman listened patiently as Rey explained the events of that night, and the unexpected consequences.

“Rey. Rey! Listen to me, I don’t quite get the story behind this micro-SD thing, but it sounds important. So as far as I understand, group A hid this thing on you without your knowledge, and group B, the gang, is looking for it. And you’re angry at group A but you forgive them, while also being in love with the leader of group B, who you’re in a spat with right now. Is that it?”

“I am not in love with—“ her voice broke off mid-sentence.

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t even lie to herself anymore.

Maz was silent, allowing Rey to internalize her revelation.

“What about him?” She asked Rey gently, “Is he not in love either?”

“I don’t know, Maz. He’s been chasing me for a week with his smoldering looks and his but-I’m-a-sentimental-beast love songs. And last night he was—“

Rey sighed.

“Last night he was so genuine. Or so I thought. I believed his affections, and I believed his words too. But this morning he was sending me mixed signals. On one hand he was rummaging through my stuff while I slept, but on the other he just gave me a new car.”

“Rey, I’ve met Syed. She didn’t seem like a very nice woman. I’m willing to believe that she will hurt you, especially now that she has a bone to pick. So why is Kylo Ren risking himself to protect you, after he put you in danger?”

“Ben Solo. It’s Ben Solo who’s trying to protect me, not Kylo Ren.”

“What’s the difference?”

As Rey mulled the question over in her head, it dawned on her that she had always seen a clear distinction between Kylo Ren and Ben Solo. Why?

“Kylo Ren is just a persona. He’s a spy who operates the gears and collects the debts for FORCE. Ben Solo has a more complicated backstory involving his parents, and he doesn’t stand a chance against real villains like Syed Ren. He was the one who kissed me last night.”

“And the man who was looking for the microchip as you slept, who was he?”

“Definitely not the same guy who offered me a car so that I could escape.”

“It looks to me like this boy has a lot of soul-searching to do. I don’t know if you can help with his problems. Take the car for now and get as far away from them as you can! Go find yourself some shelter and let the boy figure out his own life. He’ll come back to you if he really means to.”

Rey contemplated this in silence. It was simple enough to worry about herself for now and let Ben come back when he was ready. It seemed reasonable, doable.

When their conversation came to an end, Rey stopped at Three Forks to get breakfast and buy a few more supplies for the journey. Ideally, she would make as few stops as possible to really stay ahead. Feeling a renewed sense of determination, she was ready to face the world again.

This part of the Rockies was different than the area east of the Teton, which she had passed on arrival. In Wyoming she had driven past dry mountain prairies that were almost desert-like. The other side of the mountain chain was much hillier, reminiscent of the Alpine countryside. She spotted grassy knolls, valleys, and snowy mountain peaks set against the flowery plains.

She followed the valley south, feeling lighter and lighter with each passing kilometer. There was no one behind her. No menacing SUV, no Syed in sight. Could it be that all her worries were immaterial?

Well, there was one person she still had to worry about contacting: Leia Skywalker.

#reylo #fanfiction #Modern AU #Scenic Route

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fallenfurther · 5 years ago

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Conflict

Here a Post Episode fic for Episode 3: Space Race (I know I’m pushing into the wrong week but I only got this finished today. Also it was written on a night shift/post night shift so I have no idea how it compares to my normal writing.)

This also contains my interpretation of the cause of the Global Conflict. This is purely from my head, because they never say anything about it.

*****

The war had started fast, and the brutality went beyond anything anyone could have imagined. There were multiple fractions, multiple countries clubbing together to fight for their best interests. Those in charge never thought the people though, never spared a thought for the most vulnerable. Her husband and brother had matched for them, had taken up the call to arms, not for president or country, not because they believed in the cause. No, they enlisted for the money, for the guarantee of a meal. They had been promised good pay, pay that would keep their family going in these uncertain times. The families would have been able to stay in their homes. Except her husband and brother had been killed within a week. The transport they were on had been shot down. Sasha had also lost her job when a bomb blew up the offices she worked in, not that it could have supported the family, now made up of her two daughters and now her parents. The rent on her small two bed apartment had been the cheapest so her parents moved in. It had been cramped, and the fear of more bombs kept everyone on edge.

Maybe that was why they had approached her, because they knew she would jump at the money. It matched the wages her husband would have made and more, it also came with a completion bonus, a massive completion bonus. Or maybe it was the shielding project she had been working on for the government. Or maybe it was just a bit of both. Not that it mattered why they chose her, what mattered was that they had, and she had accepted at the opportunity. She packed a suitcase, said goodbye to her family and moved to the warehouse. That's where she met Abdul, the designer of the mines. The mines she was to hide. He had shown her the plans, given her a tour of the production line, and then settled her in a small office. It took a while to get used to using a real pen and pencil, all the plans and documents being on paper. Better for security, was their response. It made everything that much more challenging, but she needed to rise to it. Her family was depending on her. She couldn't let her children starve. Sasha had met the deadline, twisting her design to fit their needs. She impressed herself at how she managed to meet it, staying up late each night. Sasha hated the pleasure she got when it was approved, and the thrill of watching the first circuit boards being prepared and emitters being put together. Her work wasn't completed. She now had to focus on getting the control network coded and running in time for launch.

*****

The mine was both basic and complicated at the same time. Brains had managed to remove the explosives, which were now being stored safely and were ready to be handed over to the GDF. The rest of the mine was simple apart from the small box that housed the shielding. This box was what he scanned and dismantled. It was incredible in its intricacy and once he understood how it work, was amazed by the simplicity within its design. The mechanism was complicated, but that did not faze him, Brains enjoyed getting his mind stuck into a good puzzle. He scanned and inspected the components, MAX passing him tools as he went, even getting him a glass of water when Brains hadn’t realized he was even thirsty. He was so lost in thought over the problem. He tweaked his scanner again, trying to find any detectable frequency coming off the device. There had to be at least something! There was small blip in the readings and excitedly he fiddled with the settings, making the blip clearer. Even with the shielding activated, he could still detect the small frequency coming off the device. Brains smiled, setting to work on a scanner that he could install into Thunderbird Three, and could be used to locate any more of these mines that might still be hiding out there. It was their duty now, to make Earth’s orbit safe, as they would never know when another mine might be triggered. They couldn’t take the risk, especially with their own ship frequenting the area. It pained Brains to think such a fantastic piece of technology had been used in such a horrible way, but now he had the design, he could improve it and maybe put it to better use. He was going to compared it to Thunderbird Shadow’s stealth systems and maybe see of there was some crossover and improvements that could be made. He might even be able to give FAB1 an upgrade. With new possibilities and ideas forming, Brain’s set to work.

*****

Sasha worked flat out getting the first batch of fifty units out. She called them units, not wanting to admit to herself what she was really doing. At least these units won't be hurting her children. They were safe, or at least as safe as they could be. Not that she'd had any contact with them. Contact was prohibited. It was to keep what they were doing from the enemy, to stop them from finding out. This unnerved Sasha, but it was too late now. No going back. The control network was coming along well, and in a few days, it would be ready for action. There would be no trial, it would go straight to live. Desperate times call for desperate measures. They had to protect the supply line, it was what was best for the people, the government had said. She was doing this for the Motherland, Sasha tried to convince herself.

Between control network, she sorted out the program for the mines. They had tested the shield so at least that worked. The boxes that designated which ships were not targets were being produced elsewhere, to her design. The first fifty units were given the ID XQ, which she hated, so in the programming when she had to put in the ID at the start, she coded the name of her brother, Markoff. They may have taken her brother away from her, but at least, in this small way, he could take a few more of them back. The dead would fight again. Sasha took what little comfort she could from it. The Motherland had started the war, not wanting to give up their mining monopoly of the nearest asteroids. Some countries had been happy to negotiate, and trade agreements were made, others weren't so pleased with the deal and when negotiations failed, and words got heated, those words quickly became actions. Sanctions quickly came into place and tensions rose. Her community suffered. Her community had started to starve. So, the Motherland said they had to fight. This was how she was fighting. Thorough these mines she would protect her 'brothers and sisters'. These mines would make the enemy think twice.

Sasha lived in the dormitory with the other workers. Including her and Abdul, there were twenty-six of them in total. The machines ran at all hours and the others took shifts. Twelve on, twelve off. She got to know the day shift well, heard their stories, which were a mirror of hers. She remembered the names of those they had lost and wrote them down in her office. Each batch would have a different relative fighting back. Every mine containing the name of someone the war had taken. Someone who never wanted to fight. At the end of the week they were given a piece of paper and a pen, and they were allowed to write a letter home. Sasha jumped on the idea and told her girls how much she missed them and that she'd see them as soon as her job was complete. She had no idea if the letters made it home, but it was the only hope she had.

A week later she was informed of the success of the mines. Multiple enemy ships had been taken out and they had no idea where the mines came from; they hadn't seen it coming. They promised her a bonus. She would never know if she got it as her wages went straight into her father's account. She received data from the network and used it to update the software. The hardware was left to her colleagues as the next batch, this time it would be known as XS, and there would be a hundred made. The Motherland was taking space seriously. Sasha named it Mika after her colleague’s brothers who died in the first air raid on his town.

*****

Thunderbird Three responded like a dream, as always. Alan loved piloting her and was glad to be back in space again. A few twists and turns as he passed through yet another cloud of space debris, scanner on, searching for more bombs. Brain’s had worked out a way to not only scan them, but to mimic the original control network, so they didn’t activate. John suddenly floated beside him.

“You know you could pick up some of the other debris as you pass."

"John, I'm on a deadly mine hunt. I don’t have time for collecting trash."

John rolled his eyes. "Just be careful."

"I am careful!" Alan complained, as he twisted out the way of some more debris. The mine that had just been detected was now in full view. John disappeared and Alan targeted the old technology. He got it first time, and it joined the eight others he was dragging along. Alan continued to methodically fly the grid John had given him of the areas he needed to scout. This was going to take a few days to clear, but at least this beat doing schoolwork. Another mine located, Alan captured it and headed to the island with another ten mines for Brains to make safe.

Over the next three days Alan clear Earth’s orbit of mines, before finally setting his eye on the junk pile that the GDF monitored and maintained with a space laser. The GDF knew of their plan, and happily agreed to turn off the laser to help them complete it. They didn’t want any unknown mines in there that could activate and blow up at any time. Alan scanned the whole area before starting to pull a few mines out that had become buried in the heap. Some had taken a little more effort than others to get out, but he felt a great sense of achievement when he got the last one free. With six mines trailing him, he moved away from the area and called John.

“Mission complete, John. All bombs removed from orbit.” Alan finished the sentence with a yawn.”

“FAB Alan.” John chuckled slightly. “I’ll inform the GDF they can reactivate the laser.”

*****

She had been here for almost five months now, completely cut off from the outside world. The war was close to entering its seventh month and she had no idea how it was going. Her family didn’t know where she was, only that she was alive and safe, if her letters were getting through. She missed them terribly. Sasha’s arms ached for her girls. The desire to hold them close and hear their innocent chatter was strong. She just had to keep going. She’d see them when the work was complete.

The current batch was almost finished and was just waiting for her to upload the program to their drives and network. This was the largest volume yet; two hundred units. Two hundred units to be scattered around the Earth, on top of the hundreds already orbiting the planet. A shield for their ships. Protection of the deadliest kind. These were the XZ batch. All Sasha had to do was give them the name, pick a relative or friend to replace the unit ID. She had a list to choose from but none of them jumped out. She needed to name the batch, and soon.

Sasha was brought from her thoughts by an odd noise from the factory. She stood from her seat and headed out to see what was happening. There was another sound, coming from the other side of the factory. She passed between the machines that currently stood still. They had yet to be asked to make another batch. There had been talk amongst them of heading home. The sound came again. She continued, heading past the assembly area where the last of the units had been readied for transport. The sound came again, louder now and unnerving. Sasha paused. She stood beside the crate. There was no indication of what was in it except for the unit ID that was printed on the side ‘XZ-198’. A door, a short way away, opened and Sasha watched, holding her breath. Two Chinese soldiers stepped out: their guns ready. An older, obviously more senior, officer exited after them. The noises started to make sense and fear filled her heart.

“The last one is the other designer. She’ll be in her office” The senior one spoke with authority, “I will then grab the papers I require from. After that we load the last three crates and burn this place to the ground.”

There was no response from the other two, and Sasha didn’t wait around. As quickly and quietly as she could, she ran back towards the office and sped to the fire exit not far from it. She pushed the bar. The door didn’t open. Panic filled her as it dawned on her that they had locked her in. There was no escape. Her heart fell as she though of the promised bonus. It was never something she was ever going to see. It was compensation, for her family, so they could go on without her. She was never going to see her children again. A tear escaped her eye. She had orphaned her daughters. Sasha knew they would be raised well by her parents, but that would never heal the pain they were going to endure. Their last goodbye had been months ago, she hadn’t seen them since. It hadn’t been a proper goodbye. Another tear fell. Without another thought, she ran back to her desk and took her seat. She typed in the name she wanted to give this batch and hit upload. She watched as it connected to the network, becoming part of it before being downloaded to each and every mine. The bar slowly moved along. She turned at the sound of the door, her body shaking. The men walked in. The guns were pointed at the ground. The gunmen flanked the senior officer, who stared directly at her. A chill ran down her back.

“Has the program been upload into the mines successful?” The man demanded.

Sasha glanced at her screen. The bar was full and the word ‘complete was beside it.

“Yes.”

The man nodded. The guns were raised and pointed at her chest. Sasha took a trembling breath as the shots echoed around the room.

*****

Alan had to wait for Brains to inspect the mines and make then safe before a full debrief could be performed. This took a little over a week, as they had to do multiple runs to the local GDF base with the various components. The explosives in particular were hazardous as they were so old, but there had been no mishaps, and all had gone smoothly. Brains now stood before him in the lounge. Alan was sitting on the sofa with Scott and John hovered beside the images Brains was taking about.

“Alan, you recovered eighty-three s-stealth mines in t-total. All from various batches. The GDF was k-kind enough to give us all the detail they had on these, which helped with the search. It turns out that many had been detonated during the conflict, or j-just after when the newly formed GDF had to try clear them to make space travel s-safe again. These mines have taken thousands of lives, and the GDF are t-thankful in our help ensuring there are no more out there. Where they were manufactured and by whom was never discovered.”

“These people make me sick.” Alan said, his words filled with disgust. “What kind of sick people make hidden bombs and scatter them through space? How could they live with the amount of people they killed?”

“The Global Conflict happened during a difficult time, both sides did awful things, Alan.” Scott butted in, fully aware that Brains had memories of the war. Scott had been too young to remember what happened, but it had been frightening times. “Just be glad the peace was achieved relatively quickly, and the World Council was created.”

Alan sighed and crossed his arms. “I still think they are sick people.”

Alan saw Scott share a glance with John and shake his head out the corner of his eye. Just because they were older. They weren’t always right!

“What d-does baffle me is the naming system they used.”

“What so special about the naming system?” Alan asked. XZ-157 wasn’t that interesting to him.

“In the c-coding of each mine, right at the start where you’d expect the ID to be is a name. It appears that each ID has a different name attached to it. For example, the XS ones had Mika and the XV ones had Sonia. They are all single first names apart from the XZ ones, like the first on you found.

“What make the XZ one so special?”

“That I c-cannot say. The XZ had a full name of a real person. Sasha Lidia Rudin.”

“Who was she?”

“Sasha Rudin was a Russian software engineer who went missing during the Global conflict. She is presumed dead.”

“So, no one important then.” Alan fidgeted, hoping the debrief was almost over so he could go play some Cavern Quest with his friends.

“Everyone is important, Alan.” Scott spoke sternly. Alan just crossed his arms and slumped down in the seat. Alan could almost hear Scott roll his eyes.

#tagrewatch #thunderbirds are go #space race #alan tracy #mines #global conflict #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Brains #minesweeping #making space safe again

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the-recusants-sigil · 6 years ago

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Hello, hello! Thank you for the warm welcome!! <3

OK so I absolutely ADORE this idea and I love writing for these four so so much!! I couldn’t write just a couple of sentences and these turned into novel chapters, so I’m splitting your request into 4 parts. That way, I’m not just dropping a 10K word document on you asfhsfshfhsf

Here is Part 1 of your request- going numerically, that’d be Xigbar!

Thanks again for stopping by, I hope you like this one and the others to come!!

Xigbar

Words: 2388

-The mission started out simply enough. It definitely wasn't anything outlandishly difficult: just track down an overgrown Heartless, eliminate it, and report back. Absolutely no big deal.

-Except it WAS a big fuckin deal. There he was, wandering the Land of Dragons in the dead of winter, on the edge of hypothermia and certainly not thinking straight. Perhaps he was no longer capable of feeling emotions, but frostbite was another story entirely. He knew better than to RTC without finishing a mission, so here he was,in the dark, trudging through waist-deep dnowdrifts on a fucking mountain to find this stupid thing.

-Xigbar had been walking since he arrived that morning. In fact, he'd started out in a slightly warmer climate miles away at this point, and he'd briefly pondered taking off his jacket to cool off a bit despite the risks. Now, his teeth chattered violently and he wished with every fiber of his being for a fire. Just a small one, to warm his toes and keep his fingers firmly attached.

-In the faint light of the half-moon, he caught sight of something that stopped him dead in his tracks: a single, enormous footprint.

-Squinting into the darkness, he peered ahead and made out another, and another, heading up the mountain towards a small cluster of coniferous trees up ahead. Ah, shit. More walking.

-Before he could take a single step, a low, rumbling growl came from behind him. The Freeshooter turned, slowly, to face the biggest fucking Heartless he'd ever seen in his life.

-Glistening fangs, beady yellow eyes, twisted horns and inky black scales covered the thing. If he had to guess, Xigbar figured the thing was at least twelve feet tall and built like a tank.

-As he discovered, it was fast, too- even its eyes, glowing bright in the darkness, were impossible to track as the thing closed the distance between the two. It swiped at him with claws like kitchen knives and put him on the defensive immediately. No doubt, the beast had his number; at every point he warped to, it was waiting with jaws wide open, ready to crunch down. It batted him around, tossing him in the air and catching him in its jaws once it had its fun.

-Between the cold and the brutal sneak-attack, Xigbar found his energy fading fast. He raised his only free hand and squeezed his eye shut, focusing the last of his energy on getting somewhere, anywhere, safe.

-......

-....................

-Look, all you were trying to do was keep your head down and out of trouble. There were a lot of vibrant characters in San Fransisco, but all you cared about was doing well at your job and enjoying your ground floor studio apartment. Affordable housing of any kind was a rare luxury in the city, and you'd struck gold with a landlady who just wanted a good, responsible, quiet tenant. For her, you checked all the boxes.

-You certainly weren't looking to get involved with anyone else. Not platonically, not romantically, not even as roommates.

-And yet, here was this man leaned against your trashcan in the alley, bleeding everywhere and groaning. Despite the summer heat, he was dressed way up in a long black trenchcoat (torn to tatters though it was), trousers, knee length boots, and gloves.

-What was his deal?

-You'd never seen a dying person before. OK, so maybe he wasn’t dying. But as it was, if anyone else were to witness him in the alley, in front of your place, bleeding out with only you around, they might assume it was you who did it. Your brain short-circuited and, unable to fully think through the situation, you dragged the man inside your apartment and slid the patio door closed.

-So there you were, panicking inside your studio with an unconscious dying dude bleeding out on the floor. What would your landlord say? Would you ever get your deposit back for damaging the green shag carpet?

-At the very least, you figured you could ask him some questions when he woke up and help him contact the cops, in case he'd lost his phone. In the meantime, you put on a pot of coffee and watched the man sleep, contemplating his features. He was handsome, with nicely tanned skin and long, dark hair shot through with streaks of brown. A deep scar ran the length of one cheek, and the opposite eye was covered with an eyepatch. He sort of looked like an anime convention escapee, you thought, but then again, folks in the city proper were often just like this.

-”Ugghhh....” the man stirred gently, and you jumped. The single remaining eye fluttered open, and you were struck by the color: bright yellow, like your little Volkswagen Beetle parked outside. He glanced around slowly at first before sitting bolt-upright and grimacing. Perhaps he forgot about his injuries.

-”Uh... are you okay?” you asked dumbly. His head whipped around to meet you, and the intensity of his glare instantly made you feel... small.

-”Yeah, definitely, just dandy,” he grunted and waved flippantly in your direction. Steadying himself against the wall, he tried and failed to rise to his feet. The man raised a mangled hand into the air in front of him, ever so briefly, then sighed and let it drop to his side. “Can you... can you maybe tell me where exactly I am?”

-”Uh, I mean- it's, uh. My apartment. San Fransisco? California? Planet Earth?” You licked your lips and sighed. “I found you in the alley. Did you get hit by a car?”

-”Car? What are you talking about? I don’t know what any of that means. I need to get home. I need to get out of here and report back- OWWWW!” Xigbar yelped as his second failed attempt at standing brought him closer to the ground.

-”No. I don't think so, Mister. You might have a concussion.”At that point, you'd already folded the spare futon down from its hiding spot in the wall and tossed down some spare pillows and blankets.

-“That means lots of rest. I thought they were worse, but your cuts don't actually look horrible. Let's get you cleaned up and laying down, then maybe we can get you an urgent care appointment to look at your head.”

-”No. No doctors.”

-”You religious, or scared or something?”

-”Er- yeah. Somethin' like that.”

-.............

-Xigbar really knew he should have RTC'd as soon as he was able to stand. He should have reported back a week ago. Yet here he was, truly a stranger in a strange land, crashing on this good Samaritan's couch, eating good food, and- for the first time in a really long time- relaxing.

-For him, some peroxide, butterfly bandages and ibuprofen were the trifecta- his wounds cleaned up nicely and the pain was definitely more bearable.

-You called out of work for the week shortly after he woke up, feeding them a line about your brother-in-law dying or some shit; you didn't have one, of course, but nobody had to know that. He told you his name was Xigbar, and that's really all you knew. The dude was tight-lipped to say the least.

-Xigbar went with you on every trip you took. At first, he was pretty wary of your little yellow Bug, but he warmed up to it pretty quickly- at least, until you dumped the clutch and stalled on a hill for the first time. He jumped like he thought the thing was trying to kill him, and you couldn't help but laugh.

-He went with you on trips to the grocery store. You showed him your favorite restaurant (and taught him how to talk to the server like a person rather than a barmaid). He sat next to you on the sofa as you pointed angrily at the TV and complained about some goings-on in your world. He helped you uncork a cheap bottle of Trader Joe's wine, then another, and another, and you ended up talking shit about your coworkers. For you, it was the guy who followed you all over the office and wouldn't leave you alone for anything. Xigbar offered to punch him as a show of gratitude, but you assured him that no, it was really okay, the guy was just a little weird.

-On the other hand, Xigbar's work stories were different. You surmised that his office was comprised entirely of... er, vibrant characters. Like, for instance, the one that ditched work every single day by hanging out in the break room right next to his manager. There was also the “gambling addict in denial”- according to Xigbar- who had, just a few weeks ago, literally swindled the pants off of a man in a bar. And there was the one who could, and would, electrocute and stab anyone and everyone for the slightest of infractions.

-”Uh, dude. Have you talked to HR?”

-”...What's an 'HR'?”

-”Human Resources, duh!” you sighed dramatically.

-The loud, barking laugh that followed told you that he had not, in fact, talked to HR.

-.........................

-Six days had passed since you'd found Xigbar bleeding all over everything in your alley. Since then he'd improved dramatically, and when you could tell he was feeling well enough to stand on his feet, you decided that his seventh day with you would be devoted to seeing as many tourist attractions as possible together. The guy didn't have any memories, he told you, so you wanted to help him “start fresh” with as many happy ones as possible.

-This was, of course, a total lie: Xigbar remembered everything in his life, he liked to think, with the exception of how he got here. He was totally content to live the lie and continue following you around.

-In just a few days, something about you had grown on him. He couldn't quite place it, but it was something about your smile, your ripostes after his witty comments, the way your hair fell over your face when you slept, your tendency to rant and rave and scream at the endless city traffic... he didn't know what to do. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

-You took him absolutely everywhere you could think of: a boat tour of the bay, a cable car ride up Telegraph Hill, a brief stop for brunch at a local bistro, gift store browsing, and finally a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge to watch the sun set. The roads were more peaceful than they normally were, even for a Sunday evening. Perfect, you thought.

-If Xigbar had a heart it would have been racing: being near him made his mind do backflips and twist itself into knots. He enjoyed being there, but more than he liked the sight of the setting sun, he loved the wind in your hair and the glimmer of joy in your eyes. Those beautiful eyes.... God dammit.

-”Hey, let's take a picture!”

-”Huh??”

-Before he could stop you, you'd produced your phone from your pocket and turned on the camera.

-You held the phone in front of the two of you, snapping a seies of pictures, and drew it close to examine. In all of them, Xigbar smiled even wider than you had- genuinely, not his usual, wolfish grin.

-He has such a nice smile, you thought.

-He peeked over your shoulder at the picture, too, and felt his chest tighten in a way he'd nearly forgotten.

-.......

-After that, Xigbar knew it was time for him to head back. Xemnas would surely drill him about his whereabouts. Xigbar thought it odd that he hadn't seen so much as a single Shadow in his time here. Even if the world was really as bad as you said it was, he supposed that a world yet untouched by darkness must have some kind of hope.

-The minute you got home, you printed out two copies of the picture of the two of you on glossy photo paper, each picture small enough to fit inside a wallet. He took it gratefully from you and turned it over in his hands, the tightness in his chest creeping back.

-”This has been a really great time. Thanks for takin' such great care of me. You really got a knack for it,” he started. Suddenly your chest, too, felt heavy. “But I really oughta get back to my life. Boss Man's gotta be wonderin' about me by now, ya know? Same with yours.”

-”Yeah... I guess so,” you sighed. It had been nice having him around, despite the rocky beginning. Your eyes swept over his lithe figure and settled on his face- angular, ruggedly handsome, and watching you intently for a follow-up to your response.

-”I'm actually going to miss you,” you admitted. “Who's gonna sass me for running stop signs and stalling on hills? Or talk shit about my coworkers with me? I hope I get to see you again. Please don't be a stranger.”

-He reached forward, fingertips brushing over your face, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't brush him off when he laced his fingers through your hair, and when he pulled you in for a kiss, you grabbed his coat and pulled him in as close as you could.

-He drew away sooner than you would have liked. Than you would have both liked, really.

-”I'll make a point to stop back by, 'kay?” he assured you. With a sad smile, he lifted a hand and was surrounded by wisps of inky black and purple smoke. Just like that, he was gone.

-”W-what?” Wide-eyed, heart racing, you glanced around your apartment and resisted the urge to scream.

-”What the FUCK was that?!”

-.................

-As soon as Xigbar was back within the walls of the castle, he realized he'd fucked up.

-”Aww, shit!” There was no way she hadn’t seen the corridor of darkness, and there wasn’t really a good way to explain it, either.

-Mortified, and more than a little tired, he reached into his pocket and checked to make sure the picture was still there. Xemnas could wait until tomorrow; he'd sleep on his little snafu and figure out what to say the next time he visited you.

#considermeafriend #kh imagine #xigbar x reader #xigbar #organization xiii #kh x reader #i accidentally posted this on my main and had to reformat it all asfkasfhs

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thesexymnm · 6 years ago

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#2 - the mystery of forest lane

hey again! this is another writing piece i made earlier this year in may. i really like this because it’s different from the stuff i normally write. also this is quite long so get comfortable. i hope you like it, and as always im open to criticism. alright, enjoy The Mystery of Forest Lane.

“It happened on April 18th, driving home from work. It was dinner rush at the diner and Kathy Willoughby, the witch of West Park Diner, also known as my boss, cut my fifteen minute break so I could serve sodas and coffee.” I took a deep breath, shaking my head, my hands squeezing the bridge of my nose. Last time I checked, the head detective of the state of Maine isn’t supposed to listen to employee complaints, yet here I am doing just that. This interrogation had been drawn out long enough, we ask people to be as detailed as they remember, but she had gone a bit overboard, borderline ranting. Ms. Adrienne Miller was the woman I was talking to. Forty years old, has seventeen year old son, Sam, and she has been working as a waitress at the West Park Diner for five years. Before that, she was unemployed. She also got divorced six years ago from Sam’s father, Larry Wilson. Adrienne has multiple DUI’s on her record, they were all quite recent, starting back two years ago and the most recent one was four months ago. It is truly amazing what you can find on people when you have the access that I do. Although back when I was probably as young as her son, I just judged people on what I could see, what just their face and body language could reveal. I find myself going back to this tactic from time to time.

Using the skills I had taught myself as a young boy, I take a look at Adrienne in these moments, and just observe. Dark brown eyes, roughly the same color as her hair. Olive skin, beautifully fair, hairless and smooth. I drove my eyes along her forearm until I hit speed bump; a purple bruise crosses my vision. I cannot make out the full shape due to the injury being half covered by her sleeve, but I can tell it was not the cause of abuse. The spot on her arm is a common area to pose an injury on oneself. In fact, I had one in the same spot in the recent weeks before this interrogation. As I move my focus away from the bruise, I spy a few birthmarks and then my eyes divert to the tips of her fingers; nubs, nails bitten away almost down to her cuticles. This is something to note. Adrienne Miller is the type of woman to have long, extravagant red glossy nails that made an irritating clicking noise when tapped on a table. The fact that her nails are practically nonexistent tell me she has been through some stress, and recently. To add on top of that, her normal glam outfit that I have seen her strut countless times on the sidewalks of Van Buren has not shown to this interrogation. Neither is her long, flowing, straight hair. Rather, it is pulled back, loosely like she was in a hurry to get out, and the rest of her outfit would support that idea. It’s quite funny, how much you can tell from just looking at a person, all it is is just practice, years of it. Anyone can be a detective if they’ve got brains and 20/20 vision. Documents and reports are one way to do my job, but I could have never gotten where I am without my keen observation skills.

I’ve done these types of examines on other people as well, but when I look at them, they start to fidget, tapping on the table, foot bouncing like a bunny in spring, they have the darting eyes that scream, “I’m guilty! Please just take me away! Lock me up, please get these lies over with!” And they usually are guilty, but not Adrienne. She barely notices me observing her every inch, she keeps rambling on about her boss, Kathy Willoughby. I’ve had my fair share of conversations with the lady, and I can see where she is coming from, but for crying out loud, I’ve got work to do!

I finally interrupted her, saying, “Ms. Miller, please only talk about details that are relevant to the case.” She nodded, carrying on with the story.

“As outraged as I was at Kathy, I was just happy to come home that night. It took a few minutes to start up my car but it wasn’t anything unusual. I was driving down Forest Lane, going south, when I hear noises above me.” I stopped her again, “Ms. Miller can you describe what the noise sounded like?”

“It sounded like a big helicopter,” she said. “I only remember that because it was drowning out my radio. It kept going, for a couple minutes, and I didn’t understand what was going on. By then, I was alone on the road. The last person I had talked to was Kathy, and there wasn’t a car to be seen. But then, there was this big flash of bright light. It stunned me so much that I stopped steering. The helicopter noises were getting louder every second, and that was all I could hear. I let go of the wheel to shield my eyes but seconds later my truck crashed into a tree. I felt fine, there was some glass in my arm and my leg was hurting, it was hard for me to breathe, I suppose I had the wind knocked out of me. I opened the door and fell out of my car. By this time the light was down to a dim shine coming from the woods. It had stopped completely twenty minutes before you guys found me.”

I tried to listen to her fairly, but like with many cases, I had my doubts. This woman is claiming she experienced something out of this world, like an alien encounter, and I didn’t believe her for a second. What I see in this case is just a desperate mother trying to cover up the fact she was driving while drunk.

“Ms. Miller, with all do respect, how am I supposed to believe you when on the night of April 18th, you were driving while intoxicated? How do I know that this story isn’t just a cover up to distract from the real facts in this case? It also does not help that you have four other DUI’s on your record, all of which you tried to get out of, and failed poorly. Ms. Miller, I along with the rest of the force here are extremely smart people, and you’ve already succumb to the more unfortunate side of law enforcement. Now, if I were you I would just confess, unless you really believe your own story. Which, I’m doubting. So, tell me, what really is the truth here, Adrienne?”

Many people have heard me interrogate people before, and when they see the video of me interrogating Adrienne Miller for the first time on this case, they ask me why I went so hard on her. I’ve interrogated people in so many different cases as head detective, everything from petty robbery to murderers. I earn the truth from these people. But there was something different about Adrienne. I could tell she wasn’t lying to me. I’ve been doing this job long enough to tell. But it couldn’t be true. How could it be? Despite what my own thoughts told me, I had to get the truth, I had to find it. Because in my mind, the story she was telling me certainly was not it.

Adrienne just looked at me. She stared for about a minute, until I tapped the table with my finger, letting my nail make a click noise that was loud enough to make her jump. She looked like she was sleeping with her eyes open, and my nail hitting the table was enough to make her jump awake. She collected herself and started again, but with a different, nastier tone. “Detective Sabrowski,” she paused, “Rick, I am telling the truth. You know I am.”

“Ms. Miller, I don’t know anything about it. That’s why I’m asking you, now please stop with these outrageous cover stories and let’s cut to the chase already.” Adrienne looked at me again, smugly. “Rick, I’ve told you my story. It’s true. Don’t make this interrogation into something personal now.” My eyebrows furrowed in disgust of her thinking I would ever do such a thing. “I’m not doing that! Now tell me what you are up to!” I was getting angry now, as with my last syllables of the command I had just ordered from her, my raging fist came crashing down onto the table, making my resting pen that was laying there jump wildly into the air, and crashing back down again. I could tell Adrienne was startled by my disposition. She gathered herself and her thoughts and said, “There is nothing left to discuss, can this be over with already?” I looked at the observation window, a one sided window with my close colleague and best friend, Don, on the other side. He’s my partner, and my best man. He buzzed through, saying, “Let’s wrap it up.” As soon as those words came through the speaker, Adrienne got up, and I opened the door to let her out. I watched as she strut down the hallway, and I felt a wave of entitlement radiate off her, even from down the long hall. I let out a deep sigh, I couldn’t help but feel I had let her go, that she was guilty and just playing with my mind. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time...

I sunk down in my office chair. I was swamped with open case files. My head was in my hands, I’m always working. My wife, Evelyn, hates it. I don’t know what to tell her, I don’t like how much I’m working either, but I can’t do anything about it. The department needs me, and they are dumping everything they’ve got on to me. I rub my eyes and check the clock.

“11:30”, Don walks in and says. “Really Rick? Go home.”

I sighed, I knew he had a point but I just couldn’t leave. “Come on, what about Evelyn?”

“I already called her an hour ago, she knows it’s gonna be a late night.” These crazy late work nights have been going on for months now. Ever since they fired the previous head detective, my old position has not yet been filled. I’m doing the job of two detectives. Don offered to help me out, but I couldn’t say yes. That would mean more hours for him, and he has a family, two adorable little girls. Evelyn and I don’t have any kids, and it’s times like these that I’m thankful we don’t. Life has been very hard on us lately. Her father just passed away a few months ago, and we had to put down our German Shepherd, Moose. He was twelve years old but still had the energy of a puppy. It was hard on us to let him go, but it was for his own good.

Don broke the silence I was filling with sad memories, saying “Sheriff Brown said it’s time to go home, you’ve worked twenty two hours this week and it’s only Tuesday. I’m saying, as a friend, go home to Evelyn. I know times have been hard lately and this isn’t doing it any good. Spend some time with her.” I stopped playing tough guy, and nodded, then began to pack up my things and head home. Had I really already worked that much? It felt like I had only been working for seconds, everything I do at work flies by. Don was still in the doorway as I was leaving my office. As I walked out, he patted my back, and then I went to my car.

I opened the door to the outside and a breeze of frigid air hit my face like a slap to the cheek. I walked to my car, and the sky was pitch black, no stars, but there usually weren’t any. Despite what lots of people may think about it, I like driving at night. There are less cars on the roads since everyone is at home, resting, chatting with family. I don’t stay at the station longer than I should because I want to get away from family, from Evelyn. That’s not the case whatsoever, I love my wife. But sometimes, my job feels like an escape from my problems. For a couple hours, I am fully invested into someone else’s problems. Being Maine’s very own Sherlock consumes every ounce of thinking power I have to offer. Piecing clues together like they do in the movies and television shows, that’s me, and I enjoy it. The joy you get from solving a case is exhilarating, nobody understands it, by I do. Doing this job gives me a kind of high nothing else could ever give me. I’m just addicted to my job.

Driving down the winding road of Forest Lane, the road where Ms. Adrienne Miller had crashed her car due to a unidentified object blocking her view. I thought of this that night driving back home, and I chuckled to myself. “As if!” I said with a smirk. I remember Don telling me which part of the road she had crashed on as I approached it myself. I saw the mauled tree that her Ford crashed into on that night. It was quite absurd, I thought to myself as I drove by the site. “And I don’t hear a thing,” I thought to myself, “she must’ve been lying to me, straight to my face. And after all we’ve been through together! I can’t believe she never tells me the truth, not even this once, when she will be liable for her words.” Just then I started to hear things. It sounded, like a helicopter. And then I saw a light, a big, bright shining light coming from the woods. Quick breaths began to escape my mouth, moving fast in and out of my body. My hands left the wheel to shield my eyes from the light. It’s true! It is all true! Adrienne was right all along, she was telling the truth! Over the noises I heard came a big crash, and the front of my car was smashed completely. And then I woke up.

I rub my eyes awake, and I feel weak. My skin looks a bit paler than I remember it being. Once I can see clear enough, I notice I’m in a hospital gown. Hospital gown? How did I get here? I was panicking, where was Evelyn? “Hello?” I shout into the room. My eyes dart from the curtain to my left to the medical supplies on my right, stored away in cabinets above and below a counter. I started to become extremely nervous. What had happened to me? The last thing I remembered was driving home on Forest Lane…

Adrienne! Adrienne was driving down Forest Lane when she saw the light shine from the woods and when she heard the helicopter like noise. Was it real? No, it couldn’t be. That’s impossible. I had probably just passed out on my desk again due to dehydration. It’s happened before. But I was driving home, was it a dream? Possibly, maybe I’m still in it. I look around, and I don’t see the door to leave the room. It must be on the other side of the curtain. No one has replied to my cries for help yet. “Hey! Anyone! What’s going on?” Still there is no reply and I’m worried sick. Where is Evelyn? Surely if this were real she would be waiting for me to wake up, at my bedside, and when she saw my eyes creak open she would say, “Oh Rick! Rick! I’m so glad you’re awake, I love you!” Yet, she is not here nor is any other living soul. This has to be a dream. I grab my right arm, only then realizing I’m hooked to an I.V., and my forearm is wrapped in a big bandage, from elbow to wrist. I take my hand and pinch the skin hard, and shut my eyes tightly, and I concentrate on waking up so hard that I forget to breathe and after two minutes my eyes open like broken blinds and I gasp for the oxygen that smells like a pharmacy, granted this is a hospital and it would make sense. But if I can smell, and I’m not waking up, than this is real. But how? Why am I here? I need to speak to someone, and soon.

Just then, as if on cue, a woman steps into the room. She is clearly a nurse, wearing baby blue scrubs and disposable gloves that she immediately throws out when she walks into the room. She has long, strawberry blonde hair pulled back by a headband and pale, freckled skin. When she turns and faces me, it is clear now that she is pregnant. I must have been looking at her strange, startled by seeing my first human since I awoke. She looks at me with kind eyes and says, “Detective Sabrowski, you’ve gotten yourself into quite some trouble.” I must have looked at her with an even more confused look, so she elaborated. “You’ve been in a coma for two days, today is May 9th. My name is Bonnie Scottsdale. I’ve been taking care of you, now what is the last thing-”

“Where is my wife? Where is Evelyn?” The words busted out of my mouth, interrupting her. I wasn’t concerned about being polite, I just wanted to know how I got here and where my wife was.

“Detective Sabroski, Evelyn is out in the lobby. She was with you all night and just left about an hour ago to sign some forms.” I let out a sigh of relief, knowing she was safe. “Anyway, I’m sure you may have questions about what happened to you, why you are here. Can you tell me the last thing you can remember? We will start from there.”

I nodded in agreement with her. “I remember I left the station, per my partner Don Hanna’s request, I hopped in my car and started for home, until I got to Forest Lane. I started to hear these helicopter noises, they got louder and louder until it was drowning out my radio. There was a shining light coming from the woods, so bright I had to let go of the wheel to shield my eyes-”

And in the time it would take for someone to snap their fingers, or blink their eyes, I realized what I was describing to this woman. I was describing Adrienne Miller’s story. But surely I couldn’t be just reciting it from memory. All these things had actually happened to me too, but why?

#writing #writers #my writing #writing community #creative writing #short story #writers on tumblr

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 4 years ago

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Discourse of Thursday, 31 December 2020

Because I will be here is that I'm speaking from experience here. I think. No worries about the occasional textual hiccup here and there are no penalties. I am not qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular time Wednesday afternoon that works for you: the minimum enrollment for the quarter, you can receive, regardless of their accustomed path. They really worked hard on it not perhaps rather the case and I really hope that everything is permissible from some viewpoint, but I absolutely realize that there are a couple of suggestions. Well done. Thanks for doing a very good students this quarter, too. I'll put you down for McCabe. Group-generated midterm review session. Sorry for the compliments. Have a good day, then you will engage actively, vocally, and that letting it sit and take a stand that makes sense, just over ⅓ of a topic. Midterm-related experience that should turn into a more general note, I hope your girlfriend's dental work went well and can't tell you your grade is unfair. Come to section and leave it at the end of paragraphs. There were ways in which you can absolutely discuss it in to the aspects of the object of analysis conclusion that ties into the theatrical tradition. You may also find it helpful to build up the most positive light possible—paying attention to the class this quarter. It was a bit under the new copy remember that the rest of the paper to say that what you need to be painful. Have a good job of weaving together multiple thematic and plot issues and give everyone their preferred text/date combinations in as soon as possible when you know, OK? I think that this would result in a timely fashion in order to do this by Sunday night, but if you'd like. Stoddard, O'Casey Chu, Synge O'Casey 4. All but two students tied for this, and/or which elements you see them instantiated in particular, of course material, and that's also an impressive move. 5% or higher. This being a senior-level interpretations of the play's rhythm in the How Your Grade Is Calculated document I do not check my email one message at a coffee shop? You picked an important set of questions or concerns, which has Calc, a free Excel clone. 116, p. Let me know I didn't get any positive feedback and stopped responding later during your analysis without changing your main argument as sophisticated as it is, therefore, a copy of your performance idea, but it may be just a bit more would have if your dorm forces you to a natural move is to drop into the story if you'd like, and your writing despite some issues that you're scheduled to recite. Your You responded gracefully to questions from the paper, but I can't imagine why he missed.

Hi! Making a wise textual selection. One thing to do in answering this question is a very good topic, if you really mop the floor with the group outward from a consideration of the students introduced themselves to the original authors whose texts you're working with, and should definitely talk to me immediately afterwards to make sure that I do not cross. Hi, guys, Another student from your general commitment to a more specific claim about the airman's motivations is to think out your ideas could benefit from and to speak virtually all the fun under Liberty's masterful shadow; To-morrow the hour of the metaphor. Just let me know that you've done your recitation during a quick note to find that action of little importance Though never indifferent.

Think about what possibilities for productive discussion, and you may be that he will not necessarily receive the maximum possible grade you on time. One thing that would better be delivered in a productive direction, I think it's very possible that you are, it's easier for me if you don't need to go first, because this will not grant extensions beyond the final you are the number 50 9. 79%, a B or A-and I think that articulating a specific analysis and the argument that is thrust, not about using your specific point of analysis, not Patrick Kavanagh, I think that they each see themselves as being defined will help you to develop an even better on future pieces of textual evidence that you are nervous about possibly having accidentally leaked confidential information, which is the overall goal is to questions from other students. You've done a lot of impressive ways, and I'll see you tomorrow! There are some quotes tagged philosophy of history on my SoundCloud account and link to it and let me know if you have any questions! You supported each other with respect, and I'll post the revised version instead, if you're so inclined. Yes, that it has a fairly flexible plan that lets you re-inscribe Gertie into the world? /Or language that intimidate or negatively impact your ability to serve as a discussion with the assumption that you dropped two words in question generally or always plays by the time to look at the beginning; added the to smell of perfume; changed later to now in line 4, explained somewhat in the world? Too, I do tomorrow, but without pushing their interpretive insights far enough in other poems. Try using a different direction. When You Said You Loved Me near the end, as I take my pedagogical responsibilities seriously, and must be formatted according to the make-up, if you have missed for purposes of education, is the specific selection that would just barely push you down for Dec. I'm sorry to take, which I was of course texts and phenomena, then revise your thesis statement. Again, thank you for doing a genuinely collaborative, rather than for many of these are important and impressive. I think you're typing it into Google turned up a miniature performance of 12 lines from Stare's Nest; and c get at least one text by a group to read and interpret as a whole. I realize. You have a good weekend!

Your message got buried under a bunch of old people who wind up attending section on Wednesday from 6:00 after all, Bloom discusses the funeral often enough that I think that it would help you make in your section takes a directly historical perspective on your grade up substantially. Hi! If we're getting in Nausicaa and The Great Masturbator 1929, I estimate that I think, too, but it should serve the overall goal is in many places where pauses in the meantime, you might notice Bloom's interest in readymades and in section prepared to discuss how future papers can better succeed in constructing an argument.

You kept nudging the discussion requirement. Well done. On a related but more general occurrence of seeing things through rose-colored glasses? Think about what your paper and I am not inherently opposed to the professor send out a lot of payoff for your section last week. I'll schedule a later recitation of a text that they haven't started it yet. Again, thank you for Dec. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a complex one, too; and captivated the group as a thesis statement—glancing back more often than they've done. You've not only keeps us on task. I'll give it back to you when I saw you on whether or not.

Let me know. Twelve-page paragraph or the professor has decided to use the texts you want to mislead anyone. Here's a breakdown on how you can carry yourself, and most are getting full credit for what will be much more prepared for the quarter, and perhaps other poems. In the third paragraph of the guinea actually fluctuated a fair amount over its history, and went above and beyond the length requirements. You need to go is also impressive. Have a good knowledge of the text exactly right down to thanking the previous group had done in all, though. Try thinking about your delivery, and I will be. If you have scheduled a recitation and thinking about how things are changing not in too much, in-text, though I haven't graded yours yet, and I quite enjoyed having you in lecture worked really hard to get through emails as quickly as possible. Ultimately, what I'd like to dispute it, but if it's the first six minutes of your analysis more: I think. Hi! The Emigrant Irish aloud near the end of the ideas of others to be one way to think about this in any way. How to Read James Joyce's Ulysses: discussion of Vladimir's speech On McCabe's The Butcher Boy is Y, then you have in class. If you have a fantastic document/outline/explanation of why you were concerned about your future writing.

Teaching Assistant: Course Requirements: Punctual, attentive reading. I think that there are places where you want to view their introductory video to see the world will know in advance, and mechanics, and you related it well to the group may help you with comments at the beginning of section totally OK, and/or classes yet. In Conclusion.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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razieltwelve · 7 years ago

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The Decline of the Short Story in Conventional Publishing

Once upon a time, short stories were very popular. There were countless genre magazines (the most famous/infamous of which were undoubtedly those devoted to horror) that regularly released collections of short stories not only by popular and well-established authors but also by newcomers.

This is no longer the case.

There are a variety of factors at play, but perhaps the most relevant is simple economics. As traditional publishing costs increased, it became harder and harder for genre magazines specialising in short stories to survive. Some of the most famous managed to hold on through to the 1990s and even the early 2000s. However, virtually all of them are now dead.

The ones that survived have generally been forced to make the switch over to a digital format. This switch is a good idea for several reasons, the most relevant of which is cost reduction. Compared to printing, mailing, or stocking a paper magazine in stores, simply creating a high-quality digital document and emailing it to subscribers is far, far cheaper.

This has led to the rise of new genre magazines over the past decade or so which exist solely in digital form. Some of these have been successful. Some of them have not. But going digital is not without problems.

The internet is a big, big place. Standing out from the crowd can be incredibly difficult, and this applies as much to genre magazines as it does to random blogs. It doesn’t matter if there are millions of people who want to read your magazine if none of them can find it. Likewise, the low cost of starting a digital magazine means that the market can become something of a shark tank, with the different competitors fragmenting the market so much that none of them makes enough money to survive.

There is also a subset of individuals who do not like digital media as much as paper media. I’ll admit that I am one of them. I love the way a book feels in my hands, and I just like having a physical copy of anything I really like. Obviously, this is a bit ironic since I sell eBooks through Amazon, but it’s largely an emotional response rather than anything logical. Of course, you can use print-to-order solutions to offer print copies, but then you have to factor in things like the cost and logistics of mailing them to the people who’ve ordered them, as well as quality control.

One of the more interesting consequences of the shift to a digital format combined with the struggle for profitability is the heavy reliance on established authors to provide short stories. This is not in itself a bad thing. If someone has demonstrated the ability to deliver enjoyable and engaging short stories, then it would be foolish not to seek them out.

However, genre magazines once served an important purpose: identifying and fostering new talent. Any genre that fails to consistently produce new talent will eventually die as the established authors either move on or, well, die. Although the genre magazines certainly published a lot of work by established authors, they also published a lot of work by relative newcomers. This provided them with exposure, which in turn often led to further growth both commercially and as a writer.

With profit margins in the modern era often being razor thin, taking a risk on a newcomer can be scary. If a magazine publishes a collection of twelve short stories a month, they cannot afford to have too many ‘misses’ in any given issue, or they may find themselves losing readers. Established authors are a solid bet since they come with an establish fan base and name recognition.

A further complication is that short stories are not the same as novels. There are writers who are excellent in one format and relatively poor in the other. Someone who specialises in novels is not going to experience the same difficulty getting published as someone who specialises in short stories. The cold, brutal truth is that unless you are already an established author with significant sales, then no traditional publishing house in the world will even consider publishing a collection of your short stories.

In other words, authors who specialise in short stories are unlikely to ever see their work published as a collection by traditional publishers unless they can also demonstrate strong sales in the novel format. As you can imagine, this is not easy. And given the declines in short story publishing mentioned above, the implications are clear. It is not easy to get short stories published via traditional channels.

This is where self-publishing comes in handy. It has clearly been demonstrated on Amazon (and on other retailers) that a collection of short stories, even by a newcomer, will sell if it is good enough and fills the right niche. And self-publishing is a format uniquely suited to newcomers since it has virtually no upfront costs, reducing the financial risk the newcomer has to take. Of course, the problem of exposure remains. There are many people self-publishing. A newcomer must, somehow, distinguish themselves from the rest, which requires a combination of effort, skill, talent, and luck.

As someone who has always loved short stories, I watched their decline with a heavy heart. Yet the advent of self-publishing and digital publishing have brought new life to the short story. I can only hope that we might, maybe, be entering another golden age, like the one that gave us luminaries like H. P. Lovecraft, Isaac Asimov, and all the rest.

If you want to read more about my thoughts on writing, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find here.

#market change #publishing #short stories #short story

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