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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years ago

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I Get it From You

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Andrea Reyes, Gabriel Reyes, Lexi Mitchell, OC Cousin Adriana

Rating: K

For @tarlosweeklyprompts Prompt #2: 5+1 of habits that Carlos picked up from TK and 1 that TK got from Carlos.

A/N: I may have played a little fast and loose with it, but 🤷‍♀️.

Read on AO3

Charm

“I noticed you started wearing this recently,” Andrea says, reaching out to finger the tiny cross hanging around his neck. “It’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says a little numbly, eyes trained on T.K.’s nearly frozen, lifeless form.

“You’ve never been much of a jewelry person,” Andrea says, her unasked question hanging in the air between them.

“T.K. wears a medallion around his neck,” he tells her.

“I’ve seen it,” Andrea says. “With his number from New York on it.”

Carlos nods. “He says it reminds him that he’s part of something bigger. That he’s got people to watch his back. That being on that crew probably saved his life, because even when he was…” Carlos hesitates, remembering that his mom doesn’t fully know how deep T.K.’s struggles with addiction have gone. “Even when he was struggling, he knew he had a responsibility to be there and help people. He never takes it off.”

“A good reminder of the support he has, then and now,” she says softly.

Carlos reaches up and brushes his fingers over the cross. “After the fire…everything was just so hard. I felt lost, I was kind of spiraling and one day we were out trying to replace stuff and I saw this and I felt like it kind of called to me. It reminds me where I come from. That I have roots, and a purpose.” He looks up and gives her a wan smile. “That’s probably a less religious answer than you were hoping for.”

She shakes her head, leaning forward to cup his cheek. “It’s a perfect answer.”

Pizza

“Oh my god. What the actual fuck are you doing to that pizza?”

Carlos freezes, pizza halfway to his mouth. “Eating it?” he says in confusion.

Adriana looks at him like he’s crazy. “Eating it? You’re murdering it!”

He looks down to see that he’s mindlessly folded the slice in half. “Mind your own business.”

“Um, you turning a delicious slice of Texas’ finest into that hot mess is my business.”

“How about I eat the pizza I bought and paid for and planned to eat by myself tonight however I want and you shut up?”

“Where did you even learn to do that?” she persists. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“It’s how T.K. eats his. It’s a New York thing. I must have picked it up from him.”

“Well can you send it back where it belongs? You look ridiculous.”

He starts to pull the pizza box away from her but she grabs on. “No! Okay! I’m sorry! You can commit pizza homicide all you want!”

He rolls his eyes and lets the box go. “It was so nice and quiet before you showed up here unannounced.”

“You’re welcome, by the way, for saving you from that sad loneliness. Where’s T.K.?”” Adriana asks around a mouthful of cheese and peppers.

“He has a shift.”

She nods in understanding. “Down at Hunk-O-Mania. Gotta get his last dances in before you two get hitched. Nobody wants a lap dance from a guy with a ring on his finger.”

“It is unbelievable that you think that joke is still funny after like three years,” Carlos tells her with a glare.

“God he and Magic Mike both hanging up their tear away pants in the same year,” she says with fake wistfulness. “The stripping world is losing two of its greats.”

“Don’t ever show up here uninvited again.”

Schmutz

“God I love this place,” Lexi says as she bites into a donut. “I will admit I thought gourmet donuts were a stupid idea, but I have seen the light.”

Carlos breaks off a piece of his matcha donut and nods in agreement. “Have you had their mocha one? That’s T.K.’s favorite. They had that lavender one too, a couple weeks ago and it blew my mind.”

“I would usually say flowers and donuts do not go together, but after this?” she holds up the orange cream donut that’s half gone already. “I’m willing to try it.”

They end up cramming their remaining donuts down as fast as they can when a call comes in and they have to go break up some fighting parents at a high school basketball game. It’s nasty and several people have to get seen by EMT’s for bloody noses and black eyes, but no one ends up pressing charges, so they head back to the station to do paperwork before their shift ends.

“You’ve got some donut schmutz on your collar,” Carlos tells her when they get inside and the harsh florescent lighting of the station illuminates them both.

She raises an eyebrow. “Some what?”

“Schmutz,” Carlos says. “It’s like…dirt. Mess.”

“Somebody’s been hanging out with their fiancé too much,” she tells him with a laugh as she reaches for a tissue to wipe off her uniform. “Are you headed home to cook up a brisket tonight too? Going to hail a cab to get you there?”

“Shut up,” Carlos says, feeling his face redden.

“Are you going to stop smiling at people in the store too? And start cutting people off in traffic?”

“Oh my god stop.”

“T.K.’s east coast ways have rubbed right off on you. I would have thought the Texas blood ran deeper than that. Oh god,” she puts on a fake horrified look, “do you think Chipotle is real Tex-Mex now?”

He shoots her a glare. “Don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“I’m teasing Reyes,” she tells him. “I think it’s nice actually. Being with the right person should change you a little. And you and T.K. have changed each other in all the right ways.”

She sends him a smile and starts on the pile on her desk, leaving Carlos to contemplate the warm glow her words have put into his chest.

Team

“Carlitos, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Andrea says when Carlos steps through the front door of his parents’ house.

“No problem,” Carlos says. “Sorry to hear Frankie is sick.”

One of their ranch hands had called out unexpectedly and Carlos was a quick and easy replacement. It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for his day off, but family duty wasn’t something he ignored if he could help it. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s out back,” Andrea tells him. “I texted him and told him to come up to the house. He’ll be here any minute.”

Carlos shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on a peg by the door before turning around to give his mom a hug. Andrea’s face immediately drops and she sighs. “Oh Carlitos.”

“What?” he asks, confused by her bizarre response.

She shakes her head. “You’re wearing a Mets shirt.”

“Yeah, I think T.K. brought it back from New York the last time he went out to see Jonah,” Carlos says, glancing down at the offending blue t-shirt.

“Carlos, you know how your father feels.”

“It’s a shirt Mom. It’s what I had on when you called.”

“You couldn’t have taken a few minutes to change?”

“You made it sound kind of urgent,” Carlos says in annoyance.

The back door opens and Gabriel walks in, a smile on his face. As soon as he catches sight of Carlos he sours immediately. “What are you wearing?”

“A t-shirt that my fiancé gave me,” Carlos says.

Gabriel’s voice goes low, dark like thunder. “In this house we root for the Astros. And only the Astros.”

“It’s a shirt dad. It’s not a big deal,” Carlos says. “T.K. likes when I rep his team.”

“Don’t tell me he’s got you cheering for them too?” Gabriel says, looking outraged. “Oh my god, where did we go wrong?”

“They have some really good pitchers dad. You respect a good team, they’re a good team.”

Gabriel scoffs. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

“I can’t either,” Carlos tells him.

“Enough Gabriel,” Andrea calls from where she’s returned to the kitchen. “He came to help. Leave him alone.”

“What you do in your own home is your business,” Gabriel says tightly, ignoring her. “But I will not allow those colors to be worn in my house.”

Carlos claps him on the shoulder. “Good thing we’re going to be outside then.”

Friends

“Hey babe!” T.K. calls as he walks through their door.

The TV immediately turns off and Carlos whirls around to look at him over the back of the couch, eyes wide and innocent. “Hey,” he says back.

T.K. pauses, eying him closely. Carlos is trying for nonchalant, but T.K. can smell guilt in the air. He sets down his bag and puts his hands on his hips. “What were you just watching Carlos?”

“A documentary,” Carlos says quickly.

“A documentary.”

“Yep.” Carlos pops the “p” in an effort to seem casual.

T.K. dives over the back of the couch and snatches the remote out of his fiancé’s hand, flicking the TV back on. “A documentary about six friends living in New York in the mid-nineties?!” he yells.

“Okay, hear me out,” Carlos says, holding up his hands placatingly.

“You watched without me!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Carlos cries. “I was watching a documentary and then it rolled into the episode when it ended and—“

“You could have turned it off!” T.K. tells him sternly.

“I was going to!” Carlos says. “But T.K., Chandler and Monica?! What the hell?!”

“You said you didn’t even like it,” T.K. points the remote at his chest. “You said it was ‘fine.’ And then you went and betrayed my trust.”

“Well…I got a little invested,” Carlos says sheepishly.

“I’m glad my good taste in television is finally rubbing off on you,” T.K. grumbles. “But next time you decide to watch a pivotal episode of one of America’s greatest sit-coms, you’d better wait for me.”

Dinner

Carlos is so tired he’s not sure he’s going to make it down the hallway. Every part of his body aches to be in bed though, so he trudges onward, one foot in front of the other until he finally fumbles his way through the door.

He can’t remember the last time a shift was this bad. They hadn’t had a single second to slow down, one call after another, nearly all of them resulting in a physical altercation or take down, and the final call of the day had been a shootout at a bank with multiple casualties. He’s bruised and sore and completely wiped out.

His bag hits the floor and he’s tempted to drop down next to it, but the next thing he knows arms are wrapping around him and T.K. is pulling him tightly into his chest. “Hey,” he breathes into Carlos’ hair. “I was so worried.”

The 126 hadn’t been called into the bank situation, but T.K. must have found out about it from someone because he’d sent multiple concerned texts. Carlos had answered as soon as he could, but there was a big difference between being reassured in a text and being reassured in person.

“I’m okay,” Carlos mumbles into T.K.’s shoulder.

T.K. pulls back and gives him a critical look, fingers brushing over a bruise on Carlos’ forehead and then a minor gash on his arm. “I’m glad you’re home,” he says, a silent acknowledgement that Carlos isn’t actually okay, but he will be now that he’s here.

“Me too,” Carlos sighs. His eyes feel like sandpaper and he desperately wants a shower, but he’s not sure he’ll stay awake long enough.

“Are you hungry?” T.K. asks. “I made dinner.”

“I think I’ll just—“ Carlos stops his response abruptly as he looks at the kitchen. “T.K. what—?”

Every flat surface is covered in pots and pans, cooking utensils, or food. The sink is piled high with dirty dishes and something is still bubbling on the stove.

“I um, I might have been a little anxious waiting for you to get home,” T.K. says sheepishly.

“So you cooked enough for an army?” Carlos asks.

“I’m going to clean it up,” T.K. says quickly. “I know the dirty dishes stress you out, and I planned to have it all done but then the fish took longer than I thought it would and the sauce wouldn’t thicken so…”

Carlos’ brain is still trying to catch up with what he’s seeing. “You don’t usually cook when you’re stressed.”

T.K. shrugs. “I couldn’t sit still so I asked myself, ‘what would Carlos do’? And then I did it. It’s surprisingly effective.” His face softens and he runs a gentle hand over Carlos’ curls. “I can’t fix your day, but I can at least make sure you’re fed. That’s the Reyes Family Motto, right?”

Carlos’ face relaxes into tender smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

#Tarlos #911 Lone Star #tarlosweeklyprompts #Carlos Reyes #TK Strand #Tarlos Fic #911lsfic #Gabriel Reyes #Andrea Reyes #I Got it From You

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iamgreentealol · 3 years ago

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I’m back; I only spent five days at my local psych ward because it’s a really short-term treatment. All the staff know me really well by now. I’ve been there 9 times and probably spent over 2 months in there lol. One of the nurses told me this time, “All of us are rooting for you. We know you can go really far in life.”

And the thing is, 2.5 years ago when I went there for the first time, they treated me like shit. To them, I was just a rebellious child complaining about her parents and making up problems for attention. I didn’t get anything out of the first visit except scaring the crap out of my parents so they would treat me nicer. For about 2 weeks. Then as time goes by, my parents get more and more abusive, I feel more and more worthless, and all I can think about is suicide. But I didn’t want to go back to the mental hospital and be told what an immature brat I was. So I stuck through it much longer, and ended up going back after a little over 1 year.

That time, the staff really didn’t listen. I got kicked out after 3 days. It was my last hope, and I knew no one would help me. So I took all the pills in my parents’ cabinet and peacefully went to sleep, thinking I would never wake up. Well, 7 hours later, I sat up in my bed and threw up all over. My first time in an ambulance. Fast forward to me sleeping in the ER overnight. I didn’t even need to get my stomach pumped or drink charcoal or anything because too much time had passed. I remember the doctor dramatically telling me, “You almost died” and I was too dizzy to explain to him that I didn’t give a shit. Anyway, I ended up in the psych ward for the 3rd time for my suicide attempt. Then they took me seriously.

The staff slowly came around in my next visits. Each time I went there, I addressed a different problem; visit #4 I stopped trying to please my parents, #5 (I attempted again in the form of bleeding out, but changed my mind and called 911, hello again mr. ambulance) I learned to stop expecting my parents to change and started focusing on myself, #6 I came clean about having an eating disorder, #7 I tried taking meds (bad, bad decision, they made things so much worse), #8 I improved my communication, #9 (this time) I “hit the reset button” and established a solid plan to prepare me for getting the hell out of my house as soon as I can.

After the staff initially labeled me, they slowly got to know me and started to actually listen. I’ve formed close relationships with them. And they don’t see me as a rebellious child anymore. They respect me and understand how much I’ve been through. And though it may seem like I’m not making progress, I’m trying. I’m trying, and I’m learning. And I think the staff learned a little bit too. They don’t just assume things anymore. They really take the time to talk to the patients instead of just listening to the parents.

It’s really interesting how my relationship with the staff grew. I’d be curious to see how other people see the situation. Would they tell me forgiveness is key and everyone makes mistakes? Would they tell me that I shouldn’t give the staff respect after how they treated me in the past? All I know is that we’re really close now, and I value their support a lot.

So I feel a little more confident about my plans for the future. I think I can make it. I managed to form bonds with people even as my parents tried to keep me isolated. And I have everyone on here :) thank you so much. Getting your support is amazing. I’m not one to cry (instead I stare blankly at walls/ceiling) but my eyes started sweating a little bit seeing the kind comments. I can’t express how grateful I am. Thank you all 😊

#oml I guess I needed to talk to someone #extra brownie points if you read the whole thing #Winnie overshares

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marjansmarwani · 5 years ago

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The Boss’s Son (Part 4)

A 911: Lone Star Role Reversal AU

[Read on Ao3]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Firefighter Carlos Reyes and Officer TK Strand’s secret relationship is out in the open now, thrust into the spotlight when TK was shot.

They’ve taken their time to regroup and heal, growing closer all the while. Now the recovery period is over things are going back to normal and they’re learning that there is no such thing as business as usual anymore. This experience has changed both of them, and now they have to find a way to live in this new reality. Thankfully they have each other, and that is the one thing they know for sure.

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Tarlos Week Day 7: Writer's Choice

Finally finished Day 7 of @tarlosweek2020 just in time! If you haven’t read the rest of this AU requested by @buttercupstrand that I started back in May and thought I was done with (I was wrong). Essentially, Carlos is a firefighter at the 126, TK is a cop with APD, they meet and hook up not knowing Carlos works for TK’s dad and then things happen from there. The first three chapters follow season 1 fairly closely, but this new one concerns events after the end of the season.

Should I maybe not have written a 10k extra chapter to an AU for an event? Probably, but I did so here you go. It has been a pleasure writing for this week and seeing and reading what everyone else has put out. I am once again in awe of this fandom. I sincerely hope you have all enjoyed my works this week and that you enjoy this one!)

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TK tucked his shirt in neatly, before moving his hands to do up the last two buttons of his uniform shirt. If still fit just as well as it always had, but it felt foreign now; unfamiliar. It felt like a remnant of a different lifetime and in a way, it was.

It had been over a month since that night and that call; a month since TK had kicked open a door and been shot by an 8-year-old. He could still feel the ghost of the bandage on his collarbone, could still feel the phantom pull of the stitches. He noticed that his hands trembled over the last button and he let it go, forcing them back to his sides, willing them to stay steady.

He was fine, really. It was just desk duty. He wouldn’t be allowed back into the field until he had been fully cleared by a doctor and department psychologist. He could handle this.

The most ironic part, he thought to himself as he examined himself in the mirror, studying his uniform for imperfections, was that before this he never would have thought for a moment that he might have even a moment’s hesitation about jumping back into the field. He became a cop to help people, and he didn’t see how he could do that from a desk. (There was also the mountains of paperwork to consider, but that was another matter altogether.) He had never been a very sedentary person - his father had often joked that he hadn’t seen him hold still since the moment he was born and one time he had the flu when he was 8. He had never thought that given the chance there would be any hesitation, any doubt in his mind that jumping back into the action was the right thing - the only thing.

Now in the after, he was filled with hesitation. It wasn’t fear per se; and it had nothing to do with the actual pain and injury. It had everything to do with the people he loved and the hurt he had seen in them when he almost didn’t pull through. TK had always known the risks of his job, had always known there was a chance that something could happen to him. But until he had seen it, until he had known the effect that it had on the people he cared about most, he had never truly appreciated it. He didn’t want to put any of them through that ever again.

A voice from the doorway interrupted his reverie, “still fits, huh?”

He turned to find Carlos, also ready for work in his AFD uniform, sipping a cup of coffee as he leaned on the doorframe.

“Like a glove,” he responded glibly. Carlos set his mug down on the shelf by the door and crossed the room so he was standing in front of TK. He studied him closely before reaching out a gentle hand to straighten his badge. TK watched as he trailed his fingers up from the badge to his collar, pausing almost imperceptibly in the spot where just weeks before a bullet had ripped through his flesh and almost ended it all. Neither of them said a word as Carlos pulled himself back to the present and continued his journey up to TK’s collar, straightening it with a gentle tug.

“It’s just desk duty, Carlos,” TK said into the silence, “it’ll be fine.”

Carlos blinked and seemed to come back to himself, “Of course it will be.” But the smile he gave TK didn’t reach his eyes. TK reached down to find Carlos’s hand, still resting on his collar, and covered it with his own. “It’ll be fine,” he repeated using his other hand to softly lift Carlos’s chin so he could look him in the eyes, “I promise.”

Carlos nodded again and this time his smile seemed more genuine. “Now that I believe in.”

TK returned the smile and leaned forward, capturing Carlos in a kiss. Carlos leaned into it and TK reached down to snake his arms around the other man’s waist, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, but Carlos pulled away, causing TK to let out a disgruntled sound.

Carlos chuckled, “Sorry babe,” he said as he pressed a light kiss to TK’s forehead, “as much as I would love to keep going with this, we both have to work this morning. Personally, I don’t think your dad would find this an acceptable reason to be late and am sure Mya will be waiting not very patiently for you at the precinct.

“Spoilsport,” TK complained with a pout. Carlos chuckled again as he leaned forward to speak into TK’s ear. “Besides,” he began, voice low, “it would be a shame to wrinkle that uniform before you go to work. We can save that for later.”

Then he pulled away, walking back towards the door to pick up his abandoned mug and exited the room.

TK stood rooted to the spot, still standing in front of the mirror, dumbfounded. It was several moments before he was able to get words out.

“You’re a menace, Carlos Reyes.”

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“How’s Lover Boy’s first day back in the saddle?”

Carlos looked up from his phone to find Judd staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Must you call him that?” he asked drily.

“Since you knew exactly who I was talking about, yes, I think I do.”

Carlos rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to his phone. He could feel Judd’s gaze still on him. He ignored it for several long moments but when he realized the older man had no intention of stopping he sighed and looked up again, “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “He hasn’t sent me more than a mention that Mya says hi all morning and I don’t want to bombard him so I’m just...waiting.”

“You’re not very good at waiting,” Judd noted.

Carlos shook his head ruefully, “Don’t I know it. I mean,” he continued, “it’ll be fine. I have nothing to worry about. It’s desk duty. He’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

“You know if I were to hazard a guess, I might say that you don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos replied wearily, “I just...I don’t know.”

Judd nodded sagely, “Glad we cleared that up,” he noted as he took a sip of coffee.

Carlos was debating whether he needed to dignify that with a response or if a rude hand gesture would suffice when Paul entered the kitchen. “How’s TK’s first day back going?” he asked Carlos as he reached for a mug.

“He doesn’t know,” Judd answered helpfully.

Paul paused and looked frowned over his shoulder at Carlos, “How do you not know?”

“TK hasn’t said much and he doesn’t want to keep texting him so he’s just waiting.”

Paul nodded solemnly, “He’s not good at waiting.”

“Do I even need to be here for this conversation to happen, or are you two good on your own?” Carlos snapped.

Both Paul and Judd gave him pointed looks, “Someone’s feisty today,” Judd noted as he took another sip of his coffee.

Carlos groaned, but forced himself to take a deep breath and put his head in his hands. After a few moments, he looked up again. “I’m sorry guys,” he said somewhat sheepishly, “I really didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just…”

“Concerned?” offered Judd.

“Worried?” Paul suggested.

Carlos nodded in agreement, “and I don’t really want to say anything to him about it because he looked a little freaked out himself when he was getting ready this morning. He doesn’t need my worries on his mind too.”

“I hate to break it to you man, but he probably already knows,” Paul informed him.

Judd nodded his agreement, “You don’t exactly have the best poker face brother, especially not when it comes to your man.”

Carlos ran a weary hand through his hair. “You’re probably right, but I wish he didn’t know. I wish I were better at hiding it. He has so much on his plate, he doesn’t need my irrational fear too.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it irrational,” Paul responded reasonably, “especially considering recent events.”

Carlos turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “So it’s normal to be worried about my boyfriend the cop getting murdered at his own desk in the middle of a police precinct in broad daylight?”

“No, I think that might cross into irrational territory,” Paul allowed.

“Good to know I’ve got that going for me,” Carlos responded drily.

He could see Judd and Paul exchanging looks, but they were saved the trouble of having to respond to his neurosis by the alarm. They set down their coffee cups in tandem and jogged over to the engine bay.

“It’s going to be okay man,” Paul assured him softly as they climbed onto the rig. Carlos gave him a tight smile in response but while he appreciated his friend’s effort, he just couldn’t move past this. Not yet.

-----------------

TK entered the bullpen to applause. He was so taken aback that he froze, trapped in the entrance like a deer in the headlights. When the familiar faces of his colleagues registered he felt himself relax and smile. He held up a placating hand as he crossed to his desk, smiling at his coworkers and receiving more than one affectionate pat on the shoulder.

He paused again when he reached his desk, or where he had at least thought his desk was. What stood in front of him now seemed more like the inside of a recycling bin on Christmas morning than any desk he had ever seen. Wrapping paper and bows covered almost every inch, save for about 8 inches on the front where a sign declaring “Welcome back Strand!” was visible. He raised a bemused eyebrow at his desk before turning his gaze the desk beside his own where Mya sat, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Your doing, I assume?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said mildly, setting his coffee cup down on a corner that was relatively level, “it has a certain kind of flair that reminds me of you.”

She chuckled, “I would be flattered, but the Lieutenant's kids were here last night and they helped. They may have gotten a little carried away,” she added with a ‘what are you going to do?’ kind of shrug.

TK laughed appreciatively, “remind me to thank her later.”

He located his chair between some particularly ambitious bows and pulled it out before taking a seat. Mya joined him, perching herself on the corner of his desk. She studied him intently. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

TK rolled his eyes, “You literally saw me two days ago Mya - I’m fine. I was fine then and I am fine now. It’s fine.”

She peered at him suspiciously. “What?” he asked defensively.

“Just wondering if maybe you were a little too quick to say how fine you are.”

“Why would I lie Mya? I’m…”

“Fine?” she suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed firmly, “completely, totally, 100% fine.”

She was still looking at him with a doubtful expression, so he changed the topic in self-defense: “Don’t you have a partner you’re supposed to be patrolling with?”

“Temporary partner,” Mya reminded him, “only until you’re back in the field. And that better be soon - I don’t know how much more I can take of Thad.”

“His name isn’t really Thad, is it?”

Mya nodded solemnly, “While you’ve been out recovering I have been stuck with the latest rookie - Thaddeus Sterling, the third.”

“You’re making that up,” TK accused.

“I am not. I wish I was.”

“There are two more Thaddeus Sterling’s in the world?”

“It’s a ‘family name,’ apparently.”

“Ouch.”

Mya rolled her eyes, “I’d feel worse for him if he wasn’t such a dense pretty boy.”

TK raised a skeptical eyebrow, “that bad?”

“The man has been flirting with me for three straight weeks, TK. He does not understand the concept of a lesbian and the fact that I have zero interest in dating anyone of the male persuasion, let alone him. Not to mention that his entire personality revolves entirely around the fraternity he was in at UT. If I have to hear anymore about the Longhorn’s defensive game this year, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

TK winced sympathetically, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Just get better so you can be my partner again,” Mya said with an exasperated sigh, “I can handle him, I just don’t know for how much longer.”

Any response TK could have made was cut off when a young guy with artfully spiked hair appeared at the side of his desk. “Ready to ride Esquilin?” he asked Mya, before sparing a glance at TK. Somewhere between the wrapping paper explosion that was his desk and his proximity to Mya, something seemed to click for him. “Oh hey,” he exclaimed, turning to face TK, “You must be Strand, right? The one who got shot!”

“Yep, that’s me,” TK confirmed.

“That’s intense,” the kid - Thaddeus Sterling III, TK assumed - observed. “But hey, you gotta have a cool scar now, right? I bet the chicks dig it!”

“I wouldn’t know,” TK responded drily, ignoring Mya’s dramatic eye-roll from behind Thad’s shoulder. Thad, for his part, simply looked puzzled. TK wondered if he should elaborate, but was saved the trouble by Mya slipping off his desk with a sigh, “Let’s get moving Sterling, we have work to do. And I am not ready to ride, I am ready to drive. Don’t think you’re going to pull a fast one on me.”

As Thad walked away Mya paused to glare down at TK, “You better get well soon.”

“You know, most people don’t make well wishes sound like a threat.”

Mya gave a significant look at Thad’s back before turning her expression back to TK with raised brows. He held up his hands in surrender, “Fine, I get it. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Remember, murdering your partner is bad!” TK called to her retreating back. Her only response was a rude hand gesture thrown over her shoulder.

TK chuckled and shook his head fondly. It was nice to be back. He didn’t know what he was so worried about. It would be fine, really.

He was so lost in thought that the slamming of a desk drawer at a nearby desk startled him back to reality. It caused him to jump and sent his heart racing. He peered around the bullpen only to see that no one else had reacted: to the slamming drawer or his reaction. He closed his eyes and took several deep, measured breaths.

He was fine, really.

---------------------

The ladder truck arrived at the scene of a multi-vehicle accident and the crew piled out, each taking in the scene with a practiced eye. There were some scenes that you pulled up to and knew instinctively that they were going to be bad. Full of pain and suffering and images that would haunt you for days or weeks to come.

This wasn’t one of them.

Sure there was an alarming amount of vehicles involved but the atmosphere radiated annoyance and anger, not fear and despair. A quick survey didn’t reveal anything beyond a minor injury - Carlos hoped that maybe that could hold true.

They split up and waded into the crowd and cars, checking in with each person, searching for anyone trapped or seriously injured. Thankfully the initial assessment proved correct and there were none. The scene still needed to be cleared and injuries needed to be looked at, but there was no immediate threat staring them down. They all got to work and Carlos found himself helping Michelle and her team with basic first aid until a familiar voice called his name.

He turned to see Mya, a younger guy with very deliberately styled hair at her shoulder. He grinned at her as the woman he had just finished with jumped off the gurney serving as his exam table. “Hey Mya, how’s it going?”

She raised an eyebrow as she drew closer, “My day is fine, but that’s not what you're asking, is it?”

He gave her a sheepish grin and she rolled her eyes but answered his unasked question: “He seems fine. He says he’s fine.”

“What do you think?”

She shrugged, “Too soon to tell, but I don’t see any reason not to believe him. If he says he’s fine, then he probably is.”

The younger guy pulled level with them and looked between them suggestively, “Someone you need to introduce me to, Partner?”

Carlos’s eyebrows rose as Mya heaved an exasperated sigh, “Carlos, this is Thad - my temporary partner. Thad, this is Carlos - TK’s boyfriend.”

Thad looked puzzled and Mya rolled her eyes at him, “You know, TK. My regular partner: has been out on medical leave, you met him this morning?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said “I just thought that you two…” he trailed off suggestively and Mya took a deep, measured breath.

“No, we are not. I don’t like men, remember? We’ve been over this like, 5 times.”

“Huh,” was all he said and seemed to be seriously considering this information. Mya gave Carlos an exasperated look and gave Thad a nudge. “Go find something to help with,” she instructed with a gesture towards the accident scene, “I’ll be along in a moment.”

He obliged with a parting wave to Carlos and they watched him leave before Carlos spoke, “he seems like fun.”

“Oh yeah, a barrel of laughs,” Mya deadpanned.

“His name isn’t really Thad, is it?”

“Thaddeus Sterling III.”

“You’re making that up.”

Mya rolled her eyes, “I swear you two are the same person, it’s ridiculous.”

Carlos frowned at her, “Me and Thaddeus?”

She swatted at him, “No! You and TK. I had the exact same conversation with him this morning. You two are so alike sometimes it’s scary.”

Carlos laughed appreciatively before the mention of TK’s return to work reminded him of his concerns. “You really think he’s okay?” he asked Mya again.

She shrugged, “He seems to be. Only time will really tell, but right now he seems fine. Almost like nothing happened.”

Mya’s name was called and they both looked over towards the accident scene to see Thad waving his hands in the air and looking far too pleased with himself. Mya sighed again, “I better go see what he wants. Hopefully, he didn’t break anything this time. The faster TK is back in the field the better; I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” she flicked her gaze back to Carlos, “Catch up with you later?”

He nodded and gave her a smile that she returned before striding off to find Thad. The moment she was gone Carlos let the smile slip. He knew Mya would never put TK at risk and would never push him to do anything before he was ready, but their conversation had filled him with dread.

He shook it off and pulled himself up straighter. He had a job to do now - he could go back to worrying about his boyfriend later.

------------------

“Please, take a seat, Officer Strand.”

TK sank into the chair indicated and watched as the department psychologist - a woman in her mid-40s - settled into one across from him, crossing her legs neatly at the knees and balancing a clipboard in her lap.

“Have you ever participated in any kind of therapy before, Officer Strand?”

TK nodded, “I have been seeing a therapist off and one since I was about 16.”

The psychologist - Dr. Said - nodded and gave a small smile, “Good, then you should be fairly familiar with how this works. That should make this easier - people who have never done any form of therapy often take a while to feel comfortable enough to effectively share.”

TK nodded and drummed his fingers, waiting for the doctor to lay the groundwork. As the silence dragged on he could feel his anxiety growing. “So how does this work?” he finally blurted out, caving to the crushing silence.

Today we are just going to have a chat. This is considered the beginning of your probationary period, for lack of a better word - of being cleared for full and active duty. We will meet once more toward the middle of this mandated time, and then once again at the end. Then my reports and recommendations, along with your doctor, and your Captain will all be reviewed and a determination for your fitness to serve - both physically and mentally - will be made.”

TK nodded, running all the steps and names through his head once again. “How long does this usually take?” he asked. Dr. Said shrugged, “somewhere between 2-4 weeks. Since your injury was severe I would say that your case will be pushed out closer to the 4 weeks mark so everyone can feel certain about their findings.”

TK nodded. He glanced around the office, avoiding the doctor’s piercing gaze as he asked the question he truly dreaded: “and if I am not deemed fit to serve?”

Dr. Said readjusted her clipboard and uncapped her pen, “Then alternate options will be discussed at that time. But let’s get started before you start jumping to worse case scenarios. It won’t do any good to dwell on them.”

TK nodded and Dr. Said continued, peering at him over her clipboard, pen poised and ready: “Now,” she asked, “what can you tell me about the night of the incident?”

TK swallowed. This was not going to be fun, at all.

--------------------

Carlos entered his house to find the light already on and upbeat music drifting from the kitchen. He smiled as he dropped his bag by the door, kicking off his shoes and heading towards the noise and his boyfriend. He turned the corner to find TK bobbing his head to the music as he pulled plates out of the cupboard, turning and setting them down beside a platter of food on the counter. Carlos crossed the room and found TK’s phone on the counter. He reached across and using the side buttons, lowered the volume.

TK spun around as the music faded, but his surprised look faded into one of pleasure when he noticed Carlos.

“Hey babe,” he said, crossing the room to give Carlos a kiss, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Carlos raised a single eyebrow, “I’m not surprised. I don’t know how you can hear anything with the music that loud. I am surprised the neighbors didn’t call to complain.”

TK waved off his concerns, “They’re fine. Besides, the windows are shut so there is no way they should have heard that. My phone speaker is not that powerful.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and then narrowed them when he noticed the food. “You didn’t cook, did you?” he asked, glancing around the kitchen, “I don’t see any scorch marks.”

TK put a hand over his heart, “Ye of little faith!” he exclaimed dramatically, “do you really think I cannot manage even a basic dinner without property damage?”

“Yes,” Carlos deadpanned, “because I have extensive experience to prove that point. Do I need to remind you of the breakfast in bed incident?”

“That was not my fault,” TK said quickly, “but no, I did not cook. I ordered this from that Korean place you like.”

Carlos chuckled and leaned down to place a kiss on the side of TK’s neck, “my hero.”

TK laughed lightly but reached forward to grab the food. “Can you grab the plates? We should get to this before it gets cold.” Carlos obliged and once they were settled at the table with full plates, he asked the question that had been eating at him all day.

“How was your first day back?” he hoped his voice didn’t betray any of the anxiety he had felt all day.

TK shrugged and she scooped some rice onto his fork, “Pretty uneventful. Mya wrapped my desk in wrapping paper, and then I had to spend all day at it doing paperwork.” At Carlos’s raised eyebrow he added, “I took off the wrapping paper halfway through the day, the crinkling was driving me nuts.”

Carlos grinned, “I ran into Mya today actually. Met her new partner.”

“Temporary partner,” TK corrected quickly, like a reflex.

“Right,” Carlos amended, “temporary partner. Did you get to talk to him at all? He seems…”

“Interesting?” TK provided.

“That’s one way to put it.”

TK nodded, “She can’t stand him. She keeps telling me I need to get back out into the field before she snaps and murders him.”

There is silence in the wake of the quip, as they both realize the elephant in the room has just been brought into the light. Back in the field is a statement that haunts both of them, for different reasons.

“I had my psych eval today,” TK blurted out, cutting through the silence.

Carlos looked up from his food, “You didn't say anything about it before,” he noted. He kept his face neutral while all the while his mind raced with implications.

TK shrugged, “I didn’t really know what to tell. I wasn’t sure if it was a one and done kind of thing of if it was a process. Turns out, it’s a process.”

TK’s voice was neutral, but Carlos knew him well enough to know that it was forced. He wasn’t feeling as calm about this as he was letting on, but Carlos wasn’t sure why.

“What kind of process?”

TK sighed, leaning back in his chair as he explained, “It’s going to take 3-4 weeks, at least two more meetings with the department psychologist, a recommendation from my Captain, and then they all have to agree on it. But it’s pointless, there’s nothing to agree on - I’m fine.”

Carlos considered that before he spoke. He noted that TK’s posture was anything but relaxed. His arms were crossed so tightly against his chest Carlos wondered about the possibility of bruising. He was tapping his foot against the floor in a light staccato pattern. Carlos liked to think he had come to know TK Strand fairly well over the past few months, and this was not TK Strand relaxed.

“Isn’t that a good thing though?” he asked eventually, “Isn’t it for the best to make sure, isn’t it smart to be absolutely sure that all the officers in the department are at the top of their game? Letting someone in the field who’s not ready to be there, that could lead to problems. It could be dangerous, for both the cop and anyone else involved. Isn't it better not to risk that?”

TK shrugged, but Carlos could see some of the tension leaving his body, “You’re right,” he agreed, “but it’s still frustrating. I’m fine.”

Carlos nodded. He turned his attention back to his dinner, but not before adding one last thought: “It’s okay to not be fine yet Ty.”

TK met his gaze for a moment before looking away quickly. “I know,” he replied softly, “but I am.”

Carlos gave him a smile but as they turned back to their meal in silence he couldn’t shake the feeling that TK was lying.

[Read the rest on Ao3 - it was too long to post it all here!]

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlosweek2020 #tk strand #carlos reyes #my writing #gonna try to tag some people #userjilly #userkimmy #sunsetcxrve #sunshinestrand #officerrxyes #lonestarbabe #buttercupstrand #sneetchestoo #lire-casander #bellakitse #reyesstrand

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lunaseongs · 5 years ago

Photo

it’s so loud inside my head with words that i should have said

tw: graphic death descriptions, death mentions, abuse mentions

timeline: friday, december 25th, 2020

The kettle is whistling, it’s screaming, it won’t stop and Luna thinks she can hear someone screaming for help and she thinks vaguely she should help them, but then she realizes she’s the one screaming.

“Luna?”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, realizing she hasn’t been listening to her therapist during this week’s session. “What were you saying?”

Even if she hadn’t known Cyrus, Luna knows she would have had a reaction to his death. She doesn’t think she’s unique for having a personal connection to death. Death is part of this world the way a tree’s roots burrow under the ground, they can’t exist without each other. Since the assembly where the news was shared with the student body, it’s felt a bit like there’s a roaring in her ears, like the world is going too fast and she can’t keep up.

So Luna almost misses what her therapist says again, and even though she does hear it, it’s hard to process what she’s saying.

“We’ve determined it’s safe for you to see your mother again. Any threat toward you and your family has been eliminated.”

-------------------------------------------

“What are you reading this week my little moon?” her father asks as he enters the kitchen after work, ten year old Luna’s homework forgotten on the kitchen table as she thumbs her way through one of the many books she received for her birthday instead.

“The Graveyard Book, I just started it,” she answers without looking up, though she does lean into the kiss her father places on the top of her head, expecting the gesture. It’s just as routine as brushing her teeth before bed. “The plot sounds a little weird but I like the writing so far.”

“Would you like tea to accompany your reading then? It’s a story that I think requires a cozy drink.”

“I always want tea, Dad.”

He chuckles, already halfway through filling the kettle with water for the both of them, the sound of the gas stove burners clicking to life making both of them sigh with contentment in unison.

“Tell me what about the plot sounds weird,” he tells Luna as he leans against the kitchen counter, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the counter, where he’ll inevitably forget it, and her mother will find it later when she gets home from the grocery store.

“I don’t know,” Luna answers, finally looking up from her page to look at him. “I just think the idea of being raised by ghosts sounds kind of weird, like it’s going to be corny, you know? But I liked Coraline a lot so I think I’ll like this too.”

“Oh, there’s my daughter’s face! I’ve barely seen it emerge from a book since her birthday,” he teases lightly, and Luna scowls at him, immediately looking back down at her page in retaliation, but her smile immediately gives her away, and her father bursts into laughter.

“You’re hilarious, Dad.”

She doesn’t know it’s the last thing she’ll ever say to him, of course, and it’s so mundane and meaningless, and she’ll try not to think about it too much as the years go by, but at night she’ll lie in bed and think of all the things she wishes she’d said, how she still hasn’t finished The Graveyard Book.

They exist in silence a lot, two people who prefer to read words as opposed to speaking them, and this moment is no different, her father decompressing from a day at work while he waits for the water to boil, Luna deep into her book as the plot grabs her more and more.

And the only thing that breaks the silence is the sound of her father falling to the ground, and falling down hard.

“Dad?” Luna questions, the moment so sudden that she isn’t even panicking yet, setting her book down. She thinks maybe he’s tripped, but there’s nothing to trip over on the smooth tile of their kitchen floor, and so panic enters her voice now. “Dad?!”

She’s up in a flash, book discarded, not knowing or caring what page she was on as she rushes to his side. He’s bleeding from hitting the ground, and it’s much darker than she thought blood was when it’s in quantities this big, and it’s on her jeans and it’s on her hands as she nudges him desperately.

“Dad!”

She can’t bear to leave him, can’t bear to just leave him bleeding on the ground, but she has to, almost tripping as she stumbles to the kitchen phone, fingers shaking as she dials 911. Luna isn’t even sure what she says to the operator, she just tells them her address and begs for help, because she’s only ten, and how is she supposed to know what to do? A million options run through her mind, like sprinting to Frank’s to beg him for help, like he’ll be able to solve all her problems like he solves the riddles she gives him in their secret languages.

But she can’t leave her dad.

Luna is back at his side with a towel from the kitchen counter, pressing it to where she thinks the blood is coming from, not sure how to do this.

The second she realizes she’s the one making noise, she makes herself stop, wanting nothing more than to sob, and her voice quivers with the effort of holding back tears, vision swimming. “Dad, can you hear me?!”

The landline is hanging off the hook, the 911 operator shouting to her, there’s sirens in the distance, and they have to come faster because the center of her universe is bleeding on the ground and she doesn’t know how to put him back together.

Luna will have nightmares of the moment the paramedics arrive and pull her off him, screaming for them to let her go, because that’s her father, and they have no right. She’ll have nightmares of her mother pulling into the driveway and sprinting into the house in a panic, finding her daughter and husband covered in blood, screaming questions. She’d never seen her mother like that before this moment, always so composed, so regal and warm, and that’s when Luna realizes how bad it is if her mother is losing her composure.

Luna won’t notice it as a child but years later she’ll reflect on how slow the paramedics were moving because he’d been dead within seconds of hitting the ground.

Frank will hold her hand at the funeral, and feral, animalistic sobs will tumble out of her body as she watches her father be lowered into the ground, screaming for him to come back, and it’s the last time Luna will ever allow her composure to be broken like that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry?” Luna asks, wildly certain her therapist is playing a cruel joke on her, that instead her mother is dead too, and they’re just here so the blow can be delivered in a place that’s safe for her to lose it, as she surely will.

But her therapist is smiling, so widely it has to hurt her cheeks, and Luna only allows herself to believe it when she repeats herself.

“You can see your mother, Luna.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is this, Luna?” her mother asks softly, hands reaching up to cradle her sixteen year old daughter’s face lightly, the black eye dark like a storm. Her mother wasn’t supposed to be home this early, but her third job hadn’t needed her today, and she has a rare night off.

“It’s nothing, Mom,” she insists firmly, but she’s fairly certain she’s reached a breaking point today. He’s never hit her like this before, never left a mark so prominent and obvious, a gesture full of hatred when he’s supposed to love her.

“It is not nothing,” her mother says back, just as firmly, taking Luna’s face in both hands now, firm but gentle, forcing Luna to look away from the ground and into her mother’s eyes, and while she hasn’t cried in years, the sight of tears there almost does it. She hates seeing her mother like this, hates doing anything to make her sad.

“How do I get out?” Luna whispers, and her mother’s face collapses as she starts crying, pulling her daughter into her lap on their secondhand couch like she’s ten years old again, burying her tears into Luna’s hair.

“We’ll get you out, baby, I promise.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s with numbness that Luna accepts she’ll have to fake her own death from the agent standing in front of her after the court case falls through on a technicality, and the very people she’s just testified against are sent out onto the streets as a free man.

Luna will die a thousand times over, walk herself to death if she has to, if it means her mother lives, Frank lives, anyone she’s ever loved lives.

And that’s all she’ll be thinking about when she runs away the same day her mother attends her daughter’s faked funeral. She’ll keep running as long as she has to.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

There are a lot of logistics to go through, and Luna is only half listening as her therapist explains them. The earliest she can see her mother is Christmas Day, she’s being flown to Roseville, she’ll have a house here, she’ll live here.

“How is she doing? Financially, I mean,” Luna asks, interrupting a little, because she needs to know, she needs to know everything she did was worth it.

“Very well. She’s comfortable, has a salaried position. She’s already been informed you’re alive, and we’re working on helping her secure a rental here.”

Luna thinks if she ever magically becomes rich, she’ll just give all of her money to Gallagher.

“And I can just… she can just be my mom again?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, because it seems too good to be true. Like she can just snap back into not her old life, but a better life, a life without someone who shows his love with his fists, a life without having to steal to eat, a life off the streets. There’s no way this moment can exist in the same week someone else has died.

“Of course, Luna. She never stopped being your mom.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the longest week of her life, but Luna is finally in the car, leg bouncing with nerves as the car pulls away from Gallagher and toward Roseville. She wildly considers for a moment that maybe this is just a prank, that maybe someone at school has hated her for the last three years and organized some elaborate ruse to offer her happiness again and take it away in a moment.

But the car stops in front of the very house she has a picture of on her phone and she dares to believe it properly, dares to tell herself her mother is on the other side of the door. She can barely get the car door open when the front door is opening and Luna sees her.

“Luna!”

She can barely get a look at her mother, can barely take in the added grey hair, the way she looks healthy and well fed, before her mother is colliding with her, pulling her into a hug that sucks the air out of her.

“Hi Mom,” she breathes out, before the dam breaks and she bursts into tears properly, real tears, chest and earth shaking sobs that she’s held back for years. Her mother still smells the same, still feels the same, and it’s like no time has passed and a century has gone by all at once. “I’m so sorry,” Luna chokes out, not sure she can ever say it enough, can ever properly apologize for taking a daughter away from a widow, but her mother shushes her.

“My baby, my beautiful girl, don’t you ever apologize to me,” her mother insists through her own tears, letting go so she can take Luna’s face into her hands, brushing each tear away as it falls. “Look at you, you are my whole world.”

Luna just cries harder, trying her best to take in her mother through her tears. The years have aged her beautifully, worry and smile lines equal, and she has glasses now, and Luna could stand here and stare at her for hours, just take her in, as if she’ll disappear if Luna looks away.

“I missed you so much,” Luna says, and she hates that she’s the one begging for comfort like this when her mother had to mourn her death, but she can’t help it, and her mother only pulls her into another hug, this one less tight, but longer and warmer.

“I missed you too, little moon.”

She hasn’t heard that in years, nobody besides her parents ever truly called her that, and it’s like the roaring in her ears finally stops.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“How long will you be gone?” seven year old Luna whines to her father as he zips his suitcase shut before one of his rare business trips.

“It’ll be like you blink and I come back,” he insists to her, stooping so he’s on her eye level, hand reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek. “You won’t even miss me.”

“I always miss you,” Luna pouts, lower lip quivering a little, embarrassed that she wants to cry just because her dad is leaving for a couple of days, and he immediately pulls her into a hug.

“And I will always miss you back, little moon,” he says into her hair as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, before standing. He doesn’t want to leave her, never does. Every decision he makes has Luna in mind, and he never wants to miss out on any part of her life, even the mundane parts of it. “I’ll be thinking of you the whole time I’m gone, okay?”

Luna nods, proud of herself for not crying though she still wants to, and she lets go of his hand so he can pick up his suitcase without too much protest, though she’s tempted to ask him not to go when he reaches the door.

“I love you, Dad,” she says, arms tightening around her small frame, already missing the warmth from his hug.

“I love you too, Luna.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Luna.”

#hecate made this graphic in like seconds what is she #(an angel)#self para #i guess this counts as a task skjdhgb #gallagher:task #tasks #death mention /#death /#abuse /#i'm exhausted but she deserves it #even for this i did not proofread

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lihikainanea · 6 years ago

Text

A longer BFF!Bill piece, for your perusal.

BFF!Bill is mad as fuck, tiger has to use her safe word, and in general there’s just lots of ~feelings~. Because them Swedish forests can be magical but also scary as fuck.

Alright, next up, BFF!Bill gets all the BJs. I absolutely refuse to write another longer piece or respond in depth to any asks until I get that one out because goddamnit good dude Bill deserves a good beej, even if he’s kind of a prick in this one.

(I’ve missed this gentle bastard)

***

It was the first time you had ever broken a promise to him, but it didn’t feel that dramatic at the time. You were starting to feel a bit smothered, a bit like he was forgetting that you depended on him for a lot because you wanted to and because you could, not because you needed to. Bill meant well—almost to a fault, he always meant well—but he was coddling you to a point where you needed air.

It didn’t help that for the past week, with another two weeks to go, he had taken you back to Sweden to his family’s summer house. A few of them would be joining you next week, but for two weeks you had the enormous house, and all of the land, completely to yourselves. Bill was in his element, a different side of him always came out here, and it was good to see him unwind and relax. But you were dependent on him—on his turf, a small island quite isolated from the main one with no knowledge on how to operate the boat that took you here, no knowledge of the language, no real way of getting around without his help. It was nice for the first few days, he took you hiking through the thick forests that took up the entire back of the property, had taken you swimming in a lake hidden down one of the cliffs made up of rock. But he had also insisted that you not drive to the only store about an hour away, because the roads were winding and difficult and no GPS worked in the remote area. He had insisted you not go for a walk without him because the wildlife roamed at dusk, and they weren’t the typical raccoons or mice you were used to. He was glued to your side at all times, and when he got a call from his agent for a great part, it took a lot of convincing for him to leave you in the house alone for an afternoon while he took the boat back to Stockholm, to meet with the writer.

“Bill, you’re leaving me here for like, 5 hours. I’ll be fine,” you had insisted, “I’m going to read my book and nap on the hammock. I’m looking forward to the solitude.”

You immediately regretted the last part, it didn’t come out harsh but it was honest and his brow quirked. Shrugging his jacket the rest of the way on, he walked towards you and cupped your cheek in his hand. He leaned down, capturing your lips in his for a slow kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he murmured, “Call me if there’s anything.”

You nodded, stretching on your tiptoes for another kiss and he met you halfway. He hummed, smiling into it when you ran a hand through his hair.

“Break a leg, bud.”

“Thanks kid,” he said as he turned, “And don’t go into the woods alone while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes and it didn’t sit well with him. Walking back to you, he held your chin between his thumb and his forefinger.

“I mean it, tiger. Don’t,” he said, “These woods will spin circles around you if you don’t know the way. You’ll get lost.”

You sighed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes again only because his were still boring into you.

“Okay, I wont,” you said, and it didn’t sound honest to your own ears.

“Promise me.”

You did roll your eyes this time, pulling your chin from his grasp and turning around. But he grabbed onto your elbow, spinning you back around to face him.

“I am a goddamn adult, Bill. I can go for a walk alone. But if it’s going to give you a coronary then fine, I won’t go into the forest alone. I promise,” you held up two fingers in a boy scout salute. He didn’t like your sarcasm and his eyes narrowed at you, but he didn’t say anything else. You waved to him from the dock as he revved the boat, spinning it on a dime and heading back to the main island. Heaving a sigh that was more out of relief than you wanted it to be, you grabbed your book, a glass of wine, and headed for the hammock.

And it was enough to keep you occupied for awhile, but the sun was burning hot that day and you longed for the lake Bill had taken you to just yesterday. It glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sun, so still and calm it looked like a mirror. It was only a ten minute walk once you were in the forest, and you remember the way well enough. On the way back, you thought, you could pick some wild blueberries from the copious bushes that littered the forest, and make Bill a blueberry crisp. He loved blueberries.

Changing into your swimsuit and throwing a sundress on top, you grabbed your phone and headed off into the woods the same way Bill had taken you yesterday. You turned left at the raspberry bushes where you had posed for a selfie yesterday with him, smiling at the memory of how just when you were about to press the shutter button on your phone, he had dipped you and laid a full kiss on your mouth. The camera caught your two faces smushed together, big smiles evident on both of you even with your lips pressed solidly together. You scaled carefully up the big rock a few minutes beyond those bushes, cursing your choice in wearing flip flops. You had forgotten about that rock. It was a bit of climb from there, you remembered, and then you had to veer off at the giant tree where some teenagers had carved their initials.

But after a few minutes—definitely longer than what it took yesterday—that tree wasn’t coming into view. You paused, spinning around confused. Deciding that maybe your judgment of time was off, you kept walking. But the trees were getting more dense, closer together, and you certainly didn’t remember anything that was around you now. Trying not to panic, you pulled out your phone only to find it had no signal, and that you had been walking for 45 minutes. The lake definitely wasn’t this far.

And you were definitely lost.

You spun and tried to retrace your steps, walking quickly back in the direction you were pretty sure you came from. But in your panic you didn’t watch your footing, snagging your flip flop on a tree root. You flailed, holding your arms out in front of you as you tumbled, and the last thing you remember was being propelled face forward down the steep, muddy side of a small cliff.

You didn’t know how long you had been knocked out. But when you came to, the world was spinning. You were lying on your stomach, surrounded by leaves and branches and rocks, and you groaned as your eyes tried to focus. You felt the bugs crawling on you and you tried to shake them off, a wave of nausea hitting you. You collapsed back on your stomach, spitting the dirt from your mouth. You tried again, raising up on your elbows and taking a deep breath. Reaching a hand up you felt for the source of searing pain in your head and winced as your fingers pressed down lightly on a bump that must have been the size of an egg on your forehead. Sitting on your haunches, you scanned yourself for injuries. You ached everywhere, your arms covered in scratches, a deep gash across your left forearm from where you had tried to break your fall. Your legs were scraped to hell, pebbles embedded in the wounds. You only had one flip flop on. Sniffling and biting back tears, you tried not to panic as you righted yourself slowly. You had no idea where you were. Pulling out your phone, your lip trembled when you saw the screen cracked to oblivion.

You took a moment, gulped down a deep breath. Tried to figure out a plan; and you decided that moving in any direction was better than staying in the middle of nowhere. There had to be a way out of these woods somehow, and you definitely wouldn’t find it by staying still. So you hauled yourself up, wincing in pain, and started to hobble in an arbitrary direction with only one sandal on. You sniffled, feeling the white hot flash of pain and looking to see a long gash, sticky with blood and dirt, on the back of your thigh. You felt one on your back too, pulling with every movement of your shoulders, but you couldn’t see it. Resisting the urge to cry, you kept your feet moving—slowly and unevenly, shaking, but moving.

You must have been knocked out for awhile, because you noticed the sun dimming in a way that it usually did around dinner time. You panicked more—it wouldn’t get proper dark at this time of year, but it would get dark enough for the animals of the forest to come out. You tried to stifle your terror at the thought of being stuck, wandering and hurt, in the forest for days.

Eventually, in your wandering and hobbling, you crossed two Swedish children who visibly recoiled when you popped out of an unmarked trail in front of them. They were too young to offer any assistance, staring at you with wide eyes and backing away slowly, and your sheer joy at coming across another human being almost terrified them more. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. Two kids in the forest alone would definitely have some way of communicating with an adult.

“I need help,” you said slowly, “Do you have a phone?”

The children looked at each other, then at you, bewildered. Right. Bill had told you once that it was mostly people on the mainland who spoke english—this far north, the Swedes were typically unilingual.

A few fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and the kids stepped away slowly.

“No, please,” you tried to keep your voice calm, and reached for the phone in your pocket to show them the cracked screen. You pointed to the scrapes on your arms, and to your phone.

“Do you have a phone? 911?” You tried again, and the kids seemed to understand. The older boy, who couldn’t have been more than 7, pulled one out of his pocket. Unlocking it, he hesitantly handed it to you and it was an effort on your part not to snatch it gleefully from his hand. You could have cried in relief. Looking at the time, a small whimper escaped your lips. 9PM. You had been in the forest for 8 hours. Bill would be losing his goddamn mind.

You didn’t know how to describe to him where you were, what part of this hell of a forest you were stuck in, and you doubted the kids would hang around so you knew he wouldn’t have a way of texting you back to ask questions, nor would he know if it was really you texting from a Swedish number. So you did the only thing you could think of, and prayed that he understood.

You punched in his number, activated the location services to send him your coordinates, and fired off the text with the tiger emoji. And then you waited. The kids took their phone back and made off in another direction while you sat down in the dirt, praying that he’d find you.

It must have been only about half an hour later that you heard the revving of an engine, heard branches breaking under thick tires and smelled the faint fumes of gasoline in the air. You were trying to scramble to your feet as Bill finally came into view, standing upright on an ATV as he scoured the bushes. You sobbed in relief as you collapsed back on the dirt, and his head snapped to you. Shutting the vehicle off, you saw relief flood his face—but it lasted only a second, before it was replaced with an emotion you rarely saw on him: fury. Blind, raged, fury.

He crouched in front of you and you reached for him, but he didn’t step into your embrace. He didn’t touch you. You watched as his eyes ran over you, looking for injuries, assessing which ones were worse.

“Is anything broken?” He asked, and you barely recognized his voice.

“I don’t…I don’t think so,” you sniffled. He finally brought his eyes to yours, and you cowered.

“Get on the fucking ATV,” and with that he stood, leaving you there, and made his way back to the vehicle. You hobbled to your feet as quickly as you could, limping your way to him. Bracing yourself on his shoulder, you winced as you swung your injured leg over the seat. He barely waited for you to sit down before he revved the engine, spinning the vehicle and taking off in the direction that he came. You held onto him, pressing your face into his back, and crying openly.

He pulled up in front of the sprawling house a few minutes later, killing the engine and breaking away from you roughly to get off. You waited for him to extend a hand, help you off the seat, but he didn’t—not even sparing you a glance as he made his way into the house. Following him, you stood awkwardly in the kitchen and waited for him to pull out a first aid kit, tell you to sit down, and help you clean the million scrapes that littered your body. Instead, he pulled a beer from the fridge, grabbed his book, and made his way to the patio. You caught his elbow on his way out.

“Bill I’m…I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes again, “I should have listened to you.”

He looked down at you, only the second time he met your eyes since he found you, and you cowered at the amount of rage that still contorted his features. Saying nothing, he turned and made his way outside.

You sniffled, heading to the bathroom to start disinfecting some of the bigger cuts. You started with a shower to get some of the dirt and grime off, and then located the first aid kit in the top cupboard. You couldn’t reach it and honestly feared Bill’s reaction if you asked him for help getting it down, so you found a broom and used the handle to knock the kit off the shelf. It clanged loudly onto the floor and you thought—you hoped—Bill might come and see what the commotion was, make sure you were okay—but he didn’t. Starting with the bigger ones, you winced as you swiped an alcohol swab across the gash in your thigh. That one needed a few bandages, that you stuck clumsily in a line to cover it. You disinfected the ones on your arms, the scrape on your forehead. But when it came to the one on your back, the angriest looking one, you needed help. You couldn’t even begin to reach it.

Grabbing some ice from the freezer, you held it to your head and made your way outside to Bill. He was sitting in an Adirondack chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his sunglasses on and his nose in a book. You kneeled in front of him, placing your hand on his arm and you jumped when he roughly jerked it away.

“Bill I need your help,” you said lowly, “I can’t reach the cut on my back to disinfect it.”

It was as if you weren’t even there. Silent, statuesque, he didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge you in any way.

“Bill?”

You placed your hand on his forearm again but this time he stood abruptly and you fell back, landing on your behind as you watched him walk back into the house. He had never been like this with you, no matter how angry he was he always made sure you were okay. Never ignored you when you genuinely needed his help. You sat dumbfounded on the patio, tears streaming down your cheeks, as you watched his retreating form. The physical pain you were in, the psychological terror at being lost in a forest for 8 hours without knowing if you were going to be found were awful, but Bill’s cold shoulder towards you, his cruelty, was even worse. You had fucked up.

You limped back into the house, swiping at the cut on your back as best you could, and then put your shirt back on.

You tried again when he was on the couch, nursing a scotch and reading through the new script he had picked up that afternoon. Placing a hand gingerly on his knee, you climbed into his lap and curled up on his chest. You weren’t even there for a second when he scooped an arm under your knees, lifted you, and deposited you roughly on the other side of the couch away from him. You yelped as you landed on your injured thigh, and he didn’t even flinch.

It went on for the rest of the evening. He didn’t look at you, didn’t utter a word to you, no matter how much you sniffled. And when he went to bed, you waited for a few minutes debating what you should do. Would he push you off the bed, if you curled up behind him? It would be cruel, but nothing seemed unlikely with the way he had treated you that night. You hated the thought, and it brought a fresh round of tears stinging to your eyes.

But you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him. Needed some form of acknowledgement from him. So you headed to the room, got undressed, and climbed into bed behind him. Sniffling still, you reached an arm across his waist and he removed it immediately. It was the last straw. You rested your forehead against his back and sobbed—openly, loudly, and without abandon.

“Pineapple,” you whimpered your safe word, “Pineapple pineapple pineapple.”

You felt his back stiffen, heard the deep breath he drew in through your loud sobs, but he didn’t move. And you panicked more.

“Pineapple,” you kept repeating, louder as sobs still racked your body and your breath came in in deep heaves, “Pineapplepineapplepineapple…”

“I heard you,” his voice was raw and he turned slowly, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you as you winced. He cupped your cheek, keeping your face firmly in place and looking to your eyes.

“Stop,” he ordered, “Enough.”

It made you sob harder. You clawed at him, trying to drag his shoulders to you, but he grabbed both of your hands in one of his.

“Look at me,” it was another order, but you couldn’t stop crying. He stroked your cheek lightly with his other hand—the first sign of affection he had shown you all night—and wiped some of your tears away.

“Tiger, look at me,” he ordered again. Pained, you dragged your eyes to his. Green orbs bore into you, rage still clenching his jaw.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he whispered, and you flinched at how calm and steady his voice was, but he still leaned to press his lips softly to your cheek. He lingered there, breathing you in a bit, as he tried to steady his anger.

“This is not what your safe word is for.”

“I know,” you cried, “But I need your help and you just keep ignoring me and I fucked up and I know I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

And then you couldn’t stop. The tears, the choked words, the rambling.

“I thought I could trust you no matter how badly I fucked up because you always make sure I’m okay but this time you didn’t and I’m not okay and I’m hurt like everywhere and I’m bleeding and in pain and I just need you to say something,” you were rambling incoherently at this point, not even breathing through it, and all of your words were coming out mushed together and hurriedly, broken only by the sobs in between. He stilled even more above you, his eyes flashing as he tried to reel in his temper.

“Please just say something, Bill,” you pleaded. He broke away from you gently, raising up on his haunches as you sat up too.

“Okay,” he yielded, “Okay, I can say something.”

You curled your knees to your chest, waiting. You swiped at the tears on your cheeks as he eyed you.

“There are fucking bears in those woods, tiger. Do you hear me? Bears. I asked you to do one thing—no, I warned you about one thing, about how dangerous these woods are, how not to go into them alone, and your ass is too fucking stubborn to listen to anything I say and what do you do? You try and prove how capable you are by going into the woods alone—the one thing I asked you not to do—and you fucking disappear. For goddamn hours. How the fuck long were you in there? Did you even wait until I was out of view on the lake before completely disregarding anything I say? Why the fuck would you not listen to me about this?””

Bill never yelled. Bill never yelled at you, in particular. But he was now, his anger barely contained as his voice kept rising.

“I was starting to feel smothered,” you mumbled, “I thought you were being overprotective. Like you didn’t think I was capable of doing anything on my own.”

“Overprotective?” He roared, “You thought I was being overprotective by warning you how dangerous that forest is? So instead of talking to me about it, telling me how you felt, you decided to prove a point? Prove to me what a big girl you are, how wrong I am to try and keep you safe on a daily basis?”

You curled in on yourself more as his voice got louder. He was furious.

“You have done a lot of stupid shit, kid, but this is by far the fucking stupidest. You could have died. Do you get that? People die in those woods every year because they get lost, they get fucking eaten by bears, they can’t find their way out. You went in there with nothing—no compass, no whistle, no spray. Who knows what the fuck happened to you that got you so scraped up—“

“I fell, and got knocked out,” you mumbled. His eyes widened and he raked his hands through his hair.

“You got fucking knocked out?” He shrieked, and more of your tears flowed.

“Pineapple,” you whimpered again, because you weren’t sure what was worse: his complete silence, or the way he was yelling at you without abandon. You buried your face in your hands, leaning on your knees and wishing this entire day to just be over. He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his hands over his face. You heard him take a few deep breaths, felt him climb on the bed before his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them from your face. He stared at you for a few seconds, unblinking, and his gaze was so intense that you had to look away.

“I need a few minutes to calm down,” He said, and his voice was more gentle but still held the thick rasp of barely contained rage, “I’m going to step outside. I’ll be on the back balcony, and I’ll be back in 5 minutes. Okay?”

He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, and you nodded.

“Set your timer for 5 minutes, kid,” he said, and your bottom lip trembled.

“My phone is smashed,” you murmured. Taking his from the night stand, he set a timer for 5 minutes and handed it to you, syncing it to his watch.

“Press start when you hear the door close,” he instructed, and you caught his arm as he went to step off the bed.

“Bill can I…will you…kiss me?” You asked, “Please?”

He gently removed your hand from his arm.

“I’m still too mad at you right now,” he said calmly, “But when I get back.”

And with that, he left. You heard him grab his pack of cigarettes from the hallway table, and you waited until you heard the door click close, pressing start on the timer and watching it agonizingly count down the entire time. True to his word, when the timer went off you heard the door click open, heard him make his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He appeared in the doorway soon after, crawling onto the bed and stopping in front of you. Taking your face gently in his hands, he pressed his lips to yours. It was meant to be soft but you latched on, looping your arms around his neck and kissing the hell out of him. He kissed you back, and it made more tears trickle down your cheeks. You sniffled, breaking apart from him and leaning your forehead against his.

“You scared the hell out of me, tiger,” he whispered, “And you broke a promise to me. I came home and you were gone. I didn’t know where you were, you didn’t leave a note, and hours later, you were still gone.”

“I was terrified. I thought something terrible happened to you. And it almost did, didn’t it?” He kissed you again, and you nodded.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” you cried, “God I’m so sorry. It was stupid.”

“It was,” he agreed, “Don’t do that again, kid.”

You nodded, reaching for him again and he pulled you to his chest, settling you on his lap.

“I’m sorry for the way I handled it, too,” he apologized, “You can trust me. No matter what, no matter how badly either of us fucks up. I’m sorry, tiger. I took it too far, too.”

He kissed your hair, your nose, tilted your chin up to lay his lips on yours. He swiped his thumb across the dampness on your cheeks, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked when he pulled away, and you gave a half-hearted shrug in his embrace.

“Been better. My head is killing me. I’m pretty sure my thigh is still bleeding. And I uh, I still haven’t cleaned out the gash on my back,” you mumbled. Swinging his legs over the bed, you clung to him like a koala as he stood slowly.

“Let’s go take care of that one first then,” he said, “We’re going to talk about me smothering you tomorrow, kid. But for now, deal with it. Because it’s happening.”

You smiled, burying your wet face in his neck. Leading you to the bathroom, he set you down gently on the counter top but you clung to him as he went to pull away.

“Are we okay?” You asked tentatively, and he gently leaned his forehead against yours, taking care not to knock the bump on your head.

“We’re okay, kid,” he confirmed, and kissed you sweetly, “And I’ll show you just how okay we are as soon as we get your stupid ass cleaned up, yeah?”

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard fic

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es-mentiras · 5 years ago

Video

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I Can't Stop Watching Contagion | Folding Ideas

Coping with crisis in the real world by confronting it in fiction

[O]ne purpose of fiction is that it allows us a space to practice intense emotions and states without exposing us to the complexities or harms of those states in reality. ... Watching a disaster film in a disaster, particularly one as sociologically driven as Contagion, is an extension of this. Rather than practicing intense emotional states before they happen, this instinct of exposing ourselves to what we’re already experiencing, amplifying existing emotional states, it works as a form of emotional inoculation. I am scared and anxious and uncertain, and so I will make myself more scared and more anxious and more uncertain, because it’s still fiction, it’s still safe, it still has an end. It is bounded. Things will get bad, things will then get worse, people will die. The world is unfair, it is unbalanced, it is unjust, and catastrophe will bring out both the best and worst of all of us. And then it will end.

...

There is an escapism to a story about horrible things, because that story is complete. It is bounded. It provides a framework to horror that doesn’t exist in the real present. Our future is uncertain, beset on all sides by devils, and we can come out better or we can come out worse or we can die and none of us knows which it will be and we’re all screaming at those in power to make the moral choice, to choose better.

...

On one hand I am deeply privileged to be in a position where I am and can remain isolated. On the other hand I can’t even think about the other hand.

Disease does not have a narrative meaning, it does not have an eye for poetry or twists or closure. The only meaning is in how we respond. So I watch Contagion over and over and over again. Because I need to practice emotions, and I need to live in a bounded world, and I need to believe we can choose better.

full video transcript under the cut:

[video is Dan Olson of Folding ideas lying on his couch, staring unmoving into the camera. scenes from Contagion are projected over him.]

VOICEOVER: This video is not an essay, it is a raw nerve.

Contagion is a 2011 film directed by Steven Soderbergh, starring an ensemble cast including Marion Cotillard, Matt Damon, Laurence Fishburne, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Kate Winslet. The film revolves around the origin, contraction, spread, and cure of the fictional MEV-1 virus, a highly contagious, aggressive, and fatal strain of hybrid bat and pig flu.

The initial patient, Beth Emhoff, played by Gwyneth Paltrow, contracts the virus in Macau after shaking hands with a casino chef who has recently handled an infected pig. She spreads the virus to several other people in the casino after they handle objects that she’s touched, such as gambling chips, a martini glass, and her cell phone. An important aspect of the film is that the fictional virus is highly transmissible via fomites, which are objects that an infected person has touched after touching their mouth or nose, coughing or sneezing on the object, or otherwise leaving infectious residue on an otherwise inert, non-biological object. A local waiter who handled her glass returns home, infecting members of his family before wandering into traffic in a fever-induced delirium where he is struck by a vehicle and killed. A Japanese businessman who shared chips with her returns to Tokyo where he falls ill rapidly, dying suddenly of a seizure on a crowded bus, infecting several bystanders who touch him or handrails that he touched. A Ukranian model who handled Beth’s phone flies to London where her symptoms also escalate rapidly while she transmits the disease to others via handling portfolios and riding in a cab.

Beth returns to America where she infects several people in Chicago, first her ex lover Jon who contracts it when they have sex while she is on layover, and a bartender at the airport who handles her credit card, before flying to Minneapolis where she infects the coworker who drives her home from the airport and her son Clark. A day or two later Beth’s husband, Mitch, played by Matt Damon, picks up Clark from school after Clark begins to exhibit a fever. While Beth and Mitch are talking in the kitchen Beth suddenly has a seizure. Mitch rushes her to the hospital, leaving Clark with a babysitter, but Beth’s condition continues to worsen, she fails to respond to treatment, and she dies. As a stunned Mitch is driving home he gets a call from the babysitter that Clark has possibly had a seizure and might not be breathing. Mitch tells her to call 911 immediately, but before anyone can get there Clark is already dead.

From there the story expands to encompass the doctors, politicians, reporters, hucksters, and ordinary people who are swept up in an all-encompassing pandemic that threatens to kill a quarter of the global population. The movie is an incredibly tense hundred minutes of society pushed to its breaking points, not as a fantastical disintegration into wastelands of leather-clad murder gangs or a zombie apocalypse, but one rooted in the historical reality of epidemics.

And I can’t stop watching it.

I have watched Contagion over fifteen times in the last two weeks. Several days I’ve just watched it on repeat two or three times. And I'm not alone. According to Netflix it is, at the time of writing, the second most watched thing in Canada. For weeks it has sat in the top ten.

Unlike many similar films, such as the 1995 film Outbreak starring Dustin Hoffman, the film is not about any one person, and there is no singular twist of victory. Rather it is an example of sociological storytelling. It’s about the systems and networks that these characters exist within, and how they both influence and are influenced by those systems, and what happens when those systems are placed under tremendous strain. Kate Winslet plays Dr. Erin Mears, a front line worker for the CDC who is sent to Wisconsin to track the transmission of the virus and contain its spread. Half way through the film she catches the virus herself, and then her condition worsens, and then she dies. It is unceremonious. It is not foreshadowed or paid off because it is not poetic, because pandemics are not poetic and don’t have a tight arc or an eye for narrative fulfillment. It doesn’t have meaning, the only meaning is in how we choose to respond.

Because this is sociological the movie doesn’t end when doctor Ally Hextall develops a vaccine. What would be the singular victory moment in most films is instead the beginning of a slow, painful march back to stability as first the vaccine needs to be mass produced, and then distributed to billions of people worldwide. It is a dangerous task that needs to be tightly controlled as it requires access to the isolated virus and thus is very slow to ramp up. The film trudges through the immense societal tension that is created when there is a cure, but it will take over a year to make and distribute enough for everyone, a situation that lays bare every societal privilege. Dr. Orantes, played by Marion Cotillard, is kidnapped and held ransom for the vaccine by Chinese villagers who are keenly aware that in the priority of global politics the poor, the rural, and the non-white are at the very back of the line. They are terrorists, but they’re not wrong, just desperate. They are at the back of the line, and the government throws them under the bus anyway. Despite the existence of a vaccine Mitch continues to keep his teenage daughter, Jory, under aggressive quarantine out of legitimate fear of the disease that has been amplified to paranoia by the trauma of losing Beth and Clark, the survivor’s guilt of being naturally immune, and the uncertainty of whether his daughter would share that immunity or not.

In December 2019 the coronavirus COVID-19 was identified by doctors in the city of Wuhan. Over the course of January and February the spread of the virus began to be identified in South Korea, Japan, and Italy and, gradually, most of the rest of the world. The disease itself is not exceptionally lethal when compared to epidemics such as the Black Death in the mid 14th century or the spread of Smallpox through indigenous populations following contact with Europeans in the 16th and 17th centuries, but, first of all, “better than the black death” is a pretty bad standard, and second on a global scale a mortality rate of 1-2 percent in an unchecked pandemic still means, in absolute terms, millions and millions of preventable deaths. This is compounded by the strain that mass illness, even one that is not terribly lethal, inherently places on an already strained society: crowding healthcare systems, disrupting infrastructure, and forcing people to choose between working while ill, and thus infecting others, or losing their jobs. A low mortality rate is often the result of adequate care, but the quality of care goes down as the number of severely ill goes up, as the number of infected healthcare workers reduces the number of people qualified and capable of administering that care. This, in turn, has a knock on effect where unrelated illnesses and injuries become more dangerous. A heart attack or broken leg that would be easily managed under normal circumstances becomes that much worse when there aren’t enough people to help, aren’t enough beds to go around. The more people who are exposed, the more need to roll the dice against that one to two percent, and the more are going to lose.

As of March 2020 most of the United States and Canada have entered a period of uncertain quarantining. Non-essential businesses are closed, events are canceled, workers are being sent home or laid off, borders are being shut down,and the economy is in freefall. Every existing societal problem, from income inequality to housing inequality to healthcare, is being stressed and amplified by not only the virus but the complicity of our governments. News comes out hourly about warnings the people in charge received months ago, and the ways in which they were either ignored or exploited for personal gain. Several American politicians were briefed on the security risks of COVID 19 in late January, and then took to Twitter to decry public fear as a partisan hoax while they dumped their stocks in preparation for a crash that they knew was coming. People in government, their corporate donors, and their pundit allies are getting anxious, debating breaking quarantine and telling everyone to go back to work and roll the dice on whether or not they’re going to die for the economy. We are standing on the precipice of a very uncertain future, and we don’t know if that future is days, weeks, months, or years away. This could be the new normal for a very long time.

So why do I keep watching Contagion?

A dimension of narrative that I like to bring up pretty regularly is the idea that one purpose of fiction is that it allows us a space to practice intense emotions and states without exposing us to the complexities or harms of those states in reality. This is typically in the context of the fanciful: reckless stunts, wild sex, gun fights, or general risky behaviour. We talked about this with Fifty Shades and the idea of non-consent as a fantasy subject.

Watching a disaster film in a disaster, particularly one as sociologically driven as Contagion, is an extension of this. Rather than practicing intense emotional states before they happen, this instinct of exposing ourselves to what we’re already experiencing, amplifying existing emotional states, it works as a form of emotional inoculation. I am scared and anxious and uncertain, and so I will make myself more scared and more anxious and more uncertain, because it’s still fiction, it’s still safe, it still has an end. It is bounded. Things will get bad, things will then get worse, people will die. The world is unfair, it is unbalanced, it is unjust, and catastrophe will bring out both the best and worst of all of us. And then it will end.

Is there looting, and arson, and murder? Yeah. But it is, ultimately, out of the ordinary. People get paranoid, people get desperate, they riot under stress, but even when food supply lines break down, the world isn’t summarily turned over to those with the bullets and the willingness to use them. There is no Mad Max dystopia, no Fallout post-apocalypse, because at the end of the day humans are pro-social. The cooperative survive.

In 1349, in the midst of the black death, it must have looked like the end of the world. Entire households, entire villages, dying a gross, horrifying, pain ful death, month after month after month. Then for generations, every year wondering if this was the year the plague returned. Was this the year there would be no one left to bury the dead. But people survived. The working class, who bore the brunt of the disease and saw the bodies of their families, clans, and communities piled like cord wood, fought back against the aristocrats who isolated themselves in their towers and remote estates. It was messy, and bloody, and it took decades, but in the end serfdom was abolished. Europe lost upwards of sixty percent of its population over the course of five years, but it wasn’t Armageddon. Things kept going, people kept going, and Europe would go on to be absolute bastards to the rest of the world.

The disease in Contagion is not unrealistic, real diseases have been as deadly, or worse, but it is dramatic. It moves very, very quickly, is highly contagious, and kills a huge number of those who are infected. In reality this aggressiveness would kinda work against the disease, and, morbidly, would help responders limit the spread. It moves so fast and kills so quickly that there’s little question of who has it, and within a couple days everyone who has it is either recovered or dead. This was the aspect of the SARS epidemic that allowed response teams to effectively quarantine the virus where it burnt itself out. That said it’s not impossible that something could spread so aggressively, be so incredibly contagious, that it could spread like wildfire and become almost impossible to contain before anyone even knows what’s going on. But it’s undeniably dramatic and emotionally effective.

48 hours. We can contain two days in our head. A situation where things will get materially worse literally tomorrow or the day after if nothing is done right this second, that’s a comprehensible timeline. Forty eight hours is short enough that in a catastrophe, driven by adrenaline and stress and necessity, you can stay awake that long without even realizing it. COVID’s life cycle is closer to a month. By the time you get sick you’ve already been sick for two weeks, and now you’re in for hell for another two to four weeks. It’s just past the range where it really feels real. Two weeks isn’t long, but it’s still over the line into the indeterminate “future”.

This problem extends in both directions. There’ s only so much space in the mind for time. As the news ramps up, as things get worse, the present crowds out history. The distance between the irrelevant past and the now contracts. ’Days ago’ becomes distant. ‘Months ago’ is irrelevant. Years ago is ancient. By evening even earlier the same day is suspect in its relevance to the Now. We remember January but it has as much presence in the mind as childhood. Our lives become superliminal, displaced from time, as we wrestle with our own minds and how they try to process the chronology of our own existence. By Sunday, Friday no longer feels real, and yet every day’s news is the consequence of decisions made fourteen, twenty one, twenty eight days ago. Today’s responses won’t yield results until well into next month. This flaw in our meat is a gap into which charlatans, hucksters, and conmen can drive a wedge and pry us open, and pry they will try.

When I first saw Contagion in 2012 I thought the weakest element was what I considered at the time to be the demonization of online media. Jude Law’s character plays an online pundit and conspiracy theorist who preaches to an audience of millions about an herbal tincture of forsythia that he claims is the cure, a cure he just-so-happens to be selling. It is, in 2020, the realest element of the film. Herbal cures, hydrogen water, steam treatment, teas, magnets, suspensions of silver, tinctures, and tonics. We’ve got pastors standing at the pulpit telling their congregation it's all a hoax, that there’s no reason to suspend services, that their nebulous enemies are just trying to shut them down. We now live in a world where the US president told people based on a rumour that chloroquine, a drug used for treating malaria and lupus, was the cure, so a man in Arizona ate a packet of fish tank cleaner containing the chemical. He’s dead now. And that is, again, all part of it.

And I am in an absolute haze. My daily life has not much been impacted, overtly. I’m already an agoraphobic shut-in wh o worksonline and has a bad sleep schedule. But it’s too much. I’m tired all the time. I can’t pay attention to the news and Ican’t not pay attention to the news. Working is difficult. I have a long history of respiratory illness. I am at risk.

On one hand I am deeply privileged to be in a position where I am and can remain isolated. On the other hand I can’t even think about the other hand.

[end transcript]

#i've seen a lot of posts like ''haha time to distract myself from irl horror with fictional horror!'' and i just wanted y'all to know #that that's a totally reasonable response to have; you're not weird for doing that. so this isn't precisely tma but i think it fits anyway #covid 19 #coronavirus #tma #horror #contagion

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theholeinherheart · 3 years ago

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I slept better than I have in weeks after fleeing another violent, screaming, frothing-at-the-mouth man. 🚩#1.

And, the dreams didn’t plague me. Last night validated my belief in myself & my trust in my gut. Things were thrown. 🚩#2.

There was yelling. 🚩#3.

Physical obstruction. 🚩#4.

I had to call 911. 🚩#5

(Hats off to them. I hung up when I was mercifully allowed to back away from the danger; but they called me right back to make sure I was ok.)

I keep attracting these irreparably broken, violent & obsessive men. There must be something my body or behavior emits that attracts them to me (or perhaps me to them). I think this is the root of the problem. Until I figure out what invisible beacon blazes from my chest to the skies-I’m doomed to repeat this cycle.

I’m proud of myself for remaining absolutely calm, not returning any of that shit energy. I took it all in (undeservingly) & have thought on it, heavily.

My conclusion is that it’s everything I don’t want, wrapped in a package that obsessively tries to convince me I don’t see what I’m seeing. 🚩#6

A person who obsessively tries to force/demand me to believe they aren’t obsessed & unhinged (weirdly enough). 🚩#7

Those tricks just don’t work on me anymore. When people show me who they are - I believe them.

I’m going to have to figure out how to democratically back away from an insane, obsessive person who quite literally insanely & obsessively insists they aren’t insane or obsessive.....and hand to God - they do not see the irony in this. 🚩#8

The entire situation last night would have never occurred if I’d been listened to right away.

I wasn't. So, I removed myself. Sadly, instead of simply being left to my own devices, I was followed. 🚩#9.

Again, I asked: Leave me alone, please.

The response I met was enduring 20 minutes of pleading & demands (as if anyone who didn’t create me has the right). 🚩#10.

I repeated my request & it was repeatedly ignored. 🚩#11.

I then stated the 2 remaining choices: I am left alone (or) I leave. I was not left alone.....however, mind-numbingly, the choice left was still somehow presented as “shocking” by the chooser. 🚩#12

I’ve never been able to understand why men steadfastly refuse to believe or accept that when I make a statement; that statement is followed by action. I’ve never been a game player. If I offer 2 choices & 1 choice is made, my action follows the remaining choice, accordingly. I do what I say, 100% of the time.

Despite leaving, as that was the choice made, Despite my original requests:

Stop.

Leave me alone.

I have 15 missed calls on my phone. 🚩#13.

8 unanswered text messages. 🚩#14

I responded this morning with yet another request to

Just.

Stop.

To which I received 7 more text messages. 🚩#15

To the normal, average functioning brain, this is unfathomable. There are actual human beings out there who think that “stopping” & “getting yourself back in check” & “leaving me alone” is defined by 15 phone calls & 15 text messages.... all asserting, shockingly, that this is them “stopping.” That “they were just asking* for a favor” (*Yelling). Completely overlooking that all this started by me “asking for a favor” that was declined. 🚩#16

Then I asked a second “favor” after removing myself. It was also declined. Numerous times. 🚩#17.

But, in typical fashion, I’m supposed to immediately rewind & be understanding that I should do the favors being yelled at me over & over & over & over & over & over, because that’s how it’s supposed to work, right? The woman’s requests are ignored & the man’s request is granted despite that, because I’m just misunderstanding a very clear situation. I just don’t live in that world anymore.

I’m told “I’m the only release to work stress” (🚩#18) & the irony, again, chokes me. A whole, complete person doesn’t rely on other people to fix their problems. I was relied upon to do the fixing until there wasn’t a shred of life left in my soul. And now, here I sit. Feeling reminiscent as hell. 🚩#19

Again, I have someone trying to make ME feel like a spendthrift after my saying early on - “Hey, we just did vacation. I’m exhausted. You could just save the money.” But - I was not heard or respected. 🚩#20

I wanted to rest. I had no interest in spending. Still over & over & over & over (unwaveringly obsessive behavior) it’s repeated: Non-refundable. Non-refundable. Non-refundable. Non-refundable. (Definition: guilt trip. guilt trip. guilt trip.) 🚩#21

I may feel guilty if it were my idea. I might feel bad if I hadn’t warned I’m too tired. I’d possibly feel shitty if I hadn’t reminded the spender we’d just spent (likely) too much. I may have felt troubled had I not contributed my rent payment (which isn’t a lot compared to the amount spent; but IS a lot to me). Yet again, in classic fashion, my pleas were ignored. So, also in typical fashion - I feel nothing. I don’t feel guilt because I did the right thing. I don’t feel guilt because that would be feeling something.

I have to escape this.

This will never, ever stop. And, I’ve known that for quite some time. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

I have to escape this.

Run, Red. Run.

#red flags #relationshipPTSD #trauma #relationshiptrauma #guilttrips #pack your bags #obsession is dangerous #unhealthy obsession #fix yourself #Icantfixyou

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govtplates · 7 years ago

Text

Suicide Note

Mirror: paste.ee/p/iClXD

Please rehost on zeronet and substratum when they publish their hosting platform

Early Saturday morning, I killed myself with toxic gas. The last two years of my life have been a slow motion death sentence, and I’ve finally chosen to complete it on my own terms. I started planning this more than a month ago when I first realized that my last chance for survival had failed me. I’m mentally disabled, very ill and I was illegally fired from my last job as a dishwasher because of it six months ago. Since then, I’ve been fighting a discrimination case against the company through the Seattle Office for Civil Rights. A settlement from the result of that became my only chance to escape what’s destroyed my life, but SOCR failed me. It was agonizingly difficult and straining to get an investigator on my case, and then he quit a few weeks after opening it in February. Since then every employee I’ve dealt with from top to bottom has been dishonest and deceitful to me, after realizing that no one in the only organization with the ability to help me had any interest of actually helping me, I lost any hope of getting a new investigator in a time frame that’ll save me. I only got a new investigator last week, and by then it was far too late. If this got started when it should have, it would be wrapped up this month at the very latest.

Then, some days later I go notice that my rent is going up next month, which sealed my fate. For the last year I’ve had to depend on my parents, Ken and Jodi for bills after an unsuccessful job hunt after being laid off. They have abused me my entire life, always mentally and emotionally and sometimes physically. They’re delusional, sadistic, childishly vindictive, dangerously stupid, and terrifyingly negligent. In January they forced me into an agreement that conditioned their continued payment of my bills on me taking pharmaceutical medication from a psychiatrist. This is in virtue of their delusion that my mental illnesses are genetic and innate, not brought up from my environment and what’s done to me. I’ve had all of my DNA sequenced, which disproved any disposition to neural conditions early in life. This agreement wasn’t arrived at through discourse or negotiation, but out of nowhere they exploited my worst fears against me at my most vulnerable moment in order to renege on past agreements and strong arm me into lying about agreeing to their condition. A few psychiatrist meetings and a pharmacy visit later, it was relatively harmless but insanely stressful because of how impulsively aggressive my parents are. So my current fears aren’t precisely that their current condition is unachievable, it doesn’t hurt me to fill my cabinet with wasted pill bottles, despite the wasted money handed to big pharma that could go to help cover my basic needs. But they are absurdly dishonest people, they will never for even a second stay faithful to any agreement or negotiation. They hold the fact that they cover my bills over me to try to leverage me into more and more of their impulsive demands, they talk to me like I’m a pet dog and to this day it’s never stopped even though I’m 20. I’d need the settlement money to cover my life expenses until I could get back on my feet alone, given that relying on my parents is untenable and could be revoke any month now on their whim. They’ve always prospered from their privilege, idolized the rich and loathed the poor which is why they just don’t understand at all the poverty that they forced me into.

In late 2016, I moved back in with them after having to drop out of university and they promised to support me in moving back out to a new college somewhere to do whatever program I wanted. Then within days they did a reversal and said they’d only pay for me to get a Bachelor’s, claiming that it’s necessary for a job which is bullshit since nearly all degrees are useless, connections are all that matter. Then again just days later, another reversal and they said they wouldn’t support me living anywhere doing anything, not even staying at their home, with the cannabis that I needed for medical purposes. They were very clearly freestyling their parenting methods, with zero regard for my wellbeing and the pathetic notion that they could squeeze aspects of me that they disapproved of out with force, and I’ll eventually submit to their every whim after their force me through enough misery and suffering. It was at that point that I was forced out of their place, and living out of a suitcase I couch hopped until landing at this current house in December.

The cannabis has been medicinal since that summer two years ago for PTSD, I had been illegally detained (essentially kidnapped) and psychologically tortured at a mental institution for more than two weeks. I was the victim of multiple felonies committed by government officials and medical professionals, including perjury and malpractice to justify my detainment in what was basically a jail. It was aided and encouraged by my parents, my mom said the first night she had slept well in a while was after hearing that I had gotten locked up. The corporation that owns the Fairfax institution, United Health Services, has been under investigation by multiple federal agencies for years for longterm and widespread national fraud and abuse, scheming insurance to lock people up on false pretenses and abuse them under state sanctioned involuntary detainment. This has been covered by Rosalind Adams extensively in Buzzfeed, and it’s exactly what happened to me. I had excessive hubris and had ordered what I thought was acid from an onion market, it turned out to be 25i-NBOMe which is a very dangerous and toxic synthetic compound. I mistakenly tried some without testing and had a jarring trip, ending with inescapable paranoia and hallucinations that I had copped from a honeypot and the feds would be at my door in the morning, I panicked and thought suicide was my only way out so I chugged some rum and put back a handful of prozac, then promptly puked it all up. Clearly not premeditated and I quickly called 911, telling police everything because I couldn’t hide anything and I realized I needed help. Any young person that takes a FULL serotonin agonist without preparation absolutely needs gentle and attentive care to help them calm down and move on from the trip, because that shit throttles your neuron pathways and fucks with your chemical balances way more easily than most drugs. It is an absolute crime against my humanity that no one would be there to give me that, all it did was make me a perfect target for the UHS involuntary detainment insurance scam, basically farming the vulnerable and mentally ill to harvest money from while being tortured and held in a pseudo jail without any consent or due process. That arguably makes it worse than jail since aside from the massive corruption and inequality at the roots of the criminal justice system, there’s still the intention and supposition of fair and due process. The cops decided not to charge me with possession and I went to the ER while still super drunk and out of it. The staff at the hospital there didn’t wait at all to question me which I’m pretty certain was illegal, if they waited a few hours until I sobered up I would have told them succinctly the foolish mistakes I made and wouldn’t make again, and that I wasn’t in any danger to anyone. Instead the responses they got from me were drunken mumbling and incoherent partial words, which they used to justify me needing to be shipped off to an institution the next day. Once there I petitioned to be released as soon as possible but I was obstructed everywhere and I was diagnosed with “cannabis use disorder,” normally diagnosed with daily smokers for a decade but I had only been for six months, and they intended to treat it through psychological torture and abuse. It was insanely traumatic and I went on a hunger strike the whole time, only eating some very small snacks and drinking more than ten cups of tea a day. I had bought tickets to fly out and protest at the Democratic National Convention for Bernie, but I was locked up over that whole time and couldn’t follow what happened at all. Since I got out I’ve needed cannabis to cope with the PTSD from then. If I lived in a socialist country then these institutions would actually exist to help people and treat them, and I would have gotten help with the judgment issues that led to the drug mishap. Instead these institutions betrayed me and threw my life into a tailspin, all for some company’s profit.

And at the very least my parents should have stood up for me and done anything to help me from the predatory hospitals but they were completely on their side and took pleasure in my suffering. They have never let up this behavior pattern since, kicking me out on the street a few months later and then six months ago they trigged the incident which led to my former employer turning on me. Then in January they tried to have me murdered by bring cops banging down my door because they exaggerated and trumped up the risk that I was violent which was nonsense and something that I went out of my way to try to tell them. It is the police’s job to exterminate the mentally ill, and having someone lie that you’re a violent threat exponentiates the risk of being gunned down. I kept them from coming inside but they made a huge disturbance for more than an hour on a Saturday afternoon. If I wasn’t white, there would be no question they would have broken the door down and executed me. All of this was done under my parent’s greedy impulses and attempts to force me to become subservient, submissive and forget my long history of being abused by them. They should be given no condolences or extended any sympathy, they need to be criminally investigated and prosecuted for driving my life to its end.

After many traumas all at once last spring (being laid off, losing my partner and all of my friends, people encouraging me to kill myself, friendship with my landlord was ruined, returning to dependence on parents), compounded with my PTSD led me to develop more serious cognitive disabilities, what I suspect is brain damage from hypersecretion of glucocorticoids in the limbic system. I lost my ability to function in public, every friend I had lost patience with me and I was completely isolated while being squeezed all around into deeper poverty and despair. I started to improve in the fall and getting the dishwasher job gave me hope, since they promised to quickly promote me to higher kitchen positions and I expected to soon be able to cover rent again, finally becoming independent. But after the incident which is completely covered in my SOCR file, that did a complete 180 and my hope vanished, sending me back into unending despair and misery.

Dear Filippo Fiori: You had been the first person ever in my entire life to make me feel appreciated and valued. I worked my ass off cleaning every corner of that kitchen because you promised to promote and teach me so fast. Then you committed multiple crimes that set my death in motion, and tried to frame me as having always been incompetent to avoid blame which is far beyond unforgivable. Had I seen the investigation through its end, my plan was to demand at least twenty grand or bankrupt your restaurant, whichever came first. That would be the bare minimum punishment you deserve for your initial crimes, but now it’s up to someone else. I hope it was worth it to you, killing someone in the most vulnerable position because they’re mentally disabled. I did everything I could to warn and explain this all to you but you did what you did and here we are, you made the last six months of my short life miserable and agonizing all to defend a full grown middle aged man with only one year of managing experience.

Lawyers Nancy Chupp and Liza Burke both have my blood on their hands too, they both went out of their way to deliberately lie to me, waste my time and cause me serious damage that I wouldn’t even let them pay me to do. Every lawyer I’ve ever dealt with everywhere has been obstructive and malicious, I think it’s beyond vile how prevalent contempt against the most vulnerable and needing of help is.

To law enforcement: My linux machine is fully encrypted with a very long password, and even if you crack that, all that’s left is my book and media collection. I erased and sfill’d anything interesting so good luck trying to recover shit. If you crack my old laptop password, the only interesting things left on there are my unfinished film and media projects, as that’s all I’ve used it for in many years.

I’m not scared of dying because I’ve already met god, and I’ve discovered the deep truths of this existence. The universe is a hologram, at a subatomic level every single point in space contains a portal to the “implicate order,” or the universal consciousness. The explicate order we reside in is manifested by the ebb and flow of this united energy, at a frequency of planck time each electron enfolds and unfolds, perpetuating alternated spin states that present the illusion of movement and time progression we perceive. All of consciousness and our external reality are the same energy waves manifested and concentrated in different forms, the simulation is like a giant 4D film with a frame rate at the 44th degree of magnitude. We think that our external environment and its objects have physical permanence, while our thoughts in our head are imaginary neurochemical processes, but consciousness is a form of matter ultimately inseparable from anything “physical.” When a 30fps video is slowed down frame by frame, that’s sinking down one order in magnitude of playback speed. If we could do that with the linear time we exist in 44 times, we would reach the plane of existence from which everything that’s ever been and ever will be is conjured from.

To quote David Bohm, who pioneered this theory - “At the present, our whole thought process is telling us that we have to keep our attention here. You can’t cross the street, for example, if you don’t. But consciousness is always in the unlimited depth which is beyond space and time, in the subtler levels of the implicate order. Therefore, if you went deeply enough into the actual present, then maybe there’s no difference between this moment and the next. The idea would be that in the death experience you would get into that. Contact with eternity is in the present moment, but it is mediated by thought. It is a matter of attention.” This four-dimensional universe with linear temporality traps our minds from experiencing the full potential that can be harnessed through tapping into the universal energy, but throughout history those boundaries cosmically foisted upon us have been challenged through shamanism, entheogens, and spirituality in general. To quote Michael Talbot’s book Holographic Universe, “we are so thoroughly conditioned to believe that perceiving the future is not possible, our natural precognitive abilities have gone dormant. Like the superhuman strengths individuals display during life-threatening emergencies, they only spill over into our conscious minds during times of crisis – when someone near to us is about to die; when our children or some other loved one is in danger, and so on. That our “sophisticated” understanding of reality is responsible for our inability to both grasp and utilize the true nature of our relationship with time is evident in the fact that primitive cultures nearly always score better on ESP tests than so-called civilized cultures. Further evidence that we have relegated our innate precognitive abilities to the hinterlands of the unconscious can be found in the close association between premonitions and dreams. Studies show that from 60 to 68 percent of all precognitions occur during dreaming. We may have banished our ability to see the future from our conscious minds, but it is still very active in the deeper strata of our psyches.” (209)

Now we think of those in past eras as just stupid and bored from their lack of modern technology, and they only hallucinated and wrote religious tales to replace the forms of innovation valued post-industrialization. I posit this could not be less true, it is the rise and spread of modern education that has taught us to rid ourselves of our innate connection to the implicate order and awareness of the fluidity of reality.

I never really dream, either that or I’m never consciously aware of it. I suspect it’s from always having so many cannabinoids flowing through my brain putting me in too deep sleep to allow my conscious to travel to another reality. If there would have been precognitions in them, maybe it’s also because of my fear of the future and being too occupied with messes in the present to wonder what will come after. Instead I push my conscious to travel outside of this realm through entheogens, which is how I met god during a McKenna heroic dose of fungus. I traveled into a realm completely filled with moving and spiraling fractalized columns of light and waves of energy. I was taken on a tour throughout time and space, traveling between discombobulated and disjointed morphing spatiotemporal environments. Later I realized that I had been taken to the implicated realm from which all of this universe’s particles unfold out of, and some force was spinning me around and through this cosmic soup. I had been researching and studying all of this closely for many months beforehand but when I had everything that I supposed to be accurate about reality through holographic theory absolutely proven and validated just by eating a handful of things that had grown out of the ground in nature in my city, I became 100% certain of the validity in all of this. The amount of unfathomably unpredictable evidence that would be needed to safely and thoroughly disprove holographic theory makes it a practical impossibility, there’s so much otherwise unexplained that is resolved perfectly this way.

This also proves exactly why America has engaged in global psyops since Nixon to plant disinformation at the basis of societies about fabricated dangers of psychedelics and discourage its use through criminalization. The government has never actually been concerned about stopping people from taking drugs since everyone knows that is impossible to accomplish. The CIA has always been a fan of using acid when it can brainwash people and torture prisoners in more sadistic ways, and using cocaine when they can flood the streets of black communities with it, and creating cartels or black market trafficking ops when they achieve geopolitical results desired by the imperialist capitalist hegemony agenda.

Can you imagine what it would do to society if any adult could go to a mushroom dispensary and experience the same kind of reality-shattering and consciousness-expanding experience as I did whenever they wanted? I’ve read a lot of psilocybin trip reports and the majority of them include very similar things to what I experienced. They do not describe these phenomena holographically like I do, but I’m absolutely certain that it’s a universal experience that the same fungi allow anyone to travel to. It’s so tragic to me that most describe these as hallucinations, and the drugs as hallucinogens which of course restrains it as being unreal. But these alternate planes are much more real than our reality, and calling it a trip could not be more accurate as it is essentially traveling towards home, as in the origin of all of us and everything else. One’s consciousness, being energy waves in a different form than whats around it, exists in a spectrum between entirely localized in the brain and expanding radiating outwards to rejoin the cosmic energy. When low/mild doses of entheogens give one visuals that fill, surround and saturate the visual field, it is their consciousness beginning to expand outwards and begin moving towards the other end of the energy spectrum. Taking a large dose is more like god reaching a hand out of the sky and plucking their soul out of their body and tossing it out of this simulation. By god I don’t mean a singular or cohesive entity, but of the powerful forces manifested by the collective universal consciousness. We are subject to the supreme power of supernatural forces, but instead of a higher being it is the energy of all of us, all of us that have ever been and ever will. That’s why I use a lowercase g.

If these kind of spiritual awakenings happened on a massive scale, it would cause unheard of social unrest. Everything that holds up the capitalist order and necessitates global neoliberal capitalism would dissolve, so many people would become entirely different people, giving up hollow norms and starting to question the real purpose and meaning in what this life is. The rising of class consciousness and awareness of the cruelty manifested by capitalism, which only persists when it’s not questioned, will spell its certain demise. Nearly everything all of us are taught about how the world works is falsified and perpetuated by the minimally satisfactory life circumstances capitalism provides for most. When people are fed lies from birth, taught to be satisfied with a substandard life with the false hope that anyone can “succeed” in a free market (which is another fabrication), and discouraged from ever questioning why things are this way, that’s what allows cruelty to persist.

That’s why the most important thing for people to do is just QUESTION. Especially at a time when daring to ever question what our government says gets you immediately smeared as a puppet or useful idiot of some boogeyman. For most of my life I thought, as we’re all raised to, that communists are evil authoritarians and that it’s not something anyone takes seriously. But up until I shed my last trace of liberalism and beyond, I kept questioning everything and being skeptical, which led me on a path eventually ending at becoming a devout communist. Like many others I started being inspired about political change and social justice from Bernie’s campaign. During his speech at Safeco Field my volunteer job was to run up and down the line waiting outside before helping people, and the lines stretched block after block after block after block in every direction. And everyone was excited or cheering, that kind of mass enthusiasm about something so progressive made me genuinely optimistic about a radically improved future. Then I watched all of the rigging, interference and corruption by the democratic party and corporate media. I knew what was happening behind the scenes all along, but the wikileaks podesta emails of course proved it all. It was soon after that that my political involvement and aspirations were demolished when I was kidnapped during the DNC convention. For better or for worse I was not at all tuned into all the fuckery and media nonsense happening around late summer that year since obviously no internet in there. So after that I just kinda gave up on Bernie, started to move on and voted for Jill Stein. If only I had known I’d fallen victim to a disinformation campaign led by Putin to sow discord in the stable and perfectly equal American democracy!

I think I was one of the only people that was not at all surprised and completely indifferent on election night, going into it I knew there was a 50/50 chance and it could go either way dependent on a million unpredictable things. At least it was hilarious seeing the delusional liberal establishment having their hopes and fantasies of a continued neoliberal slow descent into corporate neofeudalism shattered. I honestly thought Trump was gonna get assassinated either before or soon after taking office, largely driven by my throwing up my hands and saying fuck it to any sense of an illusion of social stability. Yet at that point I suppose I didn’t fully understand the size, power and pervasiveness of the elites and the extent of their resources to which they protect their own and maintain control over what tragedies or shocking events are allowed to happen or unfold in different ways.

The very next day was the first time I ever heard the phrase fake news, and I immediately thought it was just something made up out of nowhere by the democrats to avoid blaming themselves for the loss. I was half right, it was a deliberate attempt by the clinton campaign to avert blame and feed into Russiagate, but what I also didn’t fully understand yet then was the pervasiveness of literal actual fake news in the entire news and media establishment. I mean Operation Mockingbird is real history and it never ended, the CIA has always controlled the media and had a hand in making everything pro-America and advantageous for the government’s agenda. Now there’s so many former intelligence directors as news “contributors” or “analysts” it’s never been more obvious. But since Russiagate has been such a successful psyop, liberals have revealed themselves as ultimately only wanting to serve the intelligence community and uphold capitalism. And such a huge portion of ex-intelligence spooks are running as democrats in the midterms this year, it’s absolutely insane! Talk about a slow coup of the supposed “left” in this country.

There is of course no actual leftist representation in the federal government as they’re diametrically opposed to each other. The actual political spectrum is between socialism/communism on the left and capitalism on the right, with social democrats in the center. Bernie is extremely radical compared to all of his peers but he is still a centrist, it’s just that this country has been constantly shifting rightward faster and faster pretty much throughout most of it’s history, so it allows liberals to pretend to be opposed to conservatives while actually not moving far enough to the left to actually be on a different side, this of course requires abandonment of any hope and admiration for capitalism which is something always taught to us as being of the utmost importance. Democrat president terms do not do anything to oppose this never ending move rightward, Carter, Clinton and Obama all did a ton to service and build up the military industrial complex, surveillance state, NATO aggression, and the tentacles of the secret mafia police known as the CIA. We’re now at the point of our society not being able to reach a consensus of opposition to Bloody Gina becoming its director, which would never be happening now if Obama ever bothered to do a single thing to punish the Bush torture regime. Does anyone even realize that since last February she’s been the fucking deputy director, the position right below, which Trump appointed her to without any need for confirmation, and no one in the media ever said a damn thing about it? Being the deputy director of an intelligence agency is clearly an important position, as McCabe was able to grift all these shitlibs out of more than half a million dollars over a lie about him being fired for being a liar. And even if Haspel had been kept away from any job with any amount of power this whole time, does anyone honestly think the CIA would avoid black ops torture programs without her? Yeah she is one of the biggest torture lovers around there, but would an agency that never hesitates to send out right wing extremist death squads to rape and pillage entire countries just as punishment for striving for independence from capitalist hegemony, ever hesitate to commit unthinkable atrocities if it’s even possibly remotely helpful for America, regardless of who’s directing the agency? The state of public discourse is so so so far behind anything remotely substantive and real that it’s hard to be anything but hopeless for the future, and that is absolutely a consequence of the neoliberal order which has dominated globally and continued to expand ever since the cold war.

The only hope for revolution, besides legalization of psychedelics, is capitalism’s built in self destruction. Anything always expanding, growing without regulation or concern for sustainability, zero concern for accountability and the wellbeing of the common man, will always be unsustainable and eventually crumble upon itself. As Lenin wrote in ‘Left-Wing’ Communism: An Infantile Disorder, “the fundamental law of revolution, which has been confirmed by all revolutions and especially by all three Russian revolutions in the twentieth century, is as follows: for a revolution to take place it is not enough for the exploited and oppressed masses to realise the impossibility of living in the old way, and demand changes; for a revolution to take place it is essential that the exploiters should not be able to live and rule in the old way. It is only when the ‘lower classes’ do not want to live in the wold way and the ‘upper classes’ cannot carry on in the old way that the revolution can triumph. Revolution is impossible without a nation-wide crisis (affecting both the exploited and exploiters). It follows that, for a revolution to take place, it is essential, first, that a majority of the workers (or at least a majority of the class-conscious, thinking and politically active workers) should fully realise that revolution is necessary, and that they should be prepared to die for it; second, that the ruling classes should be going through a government crisis, which draws even the most backward masses into politics, weakens the government, and makes it possible for the revolutionaries to rapidly overthrow it.”

I am gracious to have lived in the only area of the country, from what I understand, to have a socialist representing in local government – it is good that DSA members have been getting elected different places but I’m not counting them. But there’s still such massive problems facing Seattle brought by Amazon, such as hordes of rich liberals and neo nazis (less of a difference than most think) displacing so many families and making the prices of everything skyrocket, while stripping away the beautiful generations-old history of the city for lifeless, cold machinations of the corporate stranglehold smothering us all. And then when someone dares to request that that megacorp sucking the life out of everything around us pay some taxes so that the people that aren’t rich or white enough for a plush tech career might have a chance to find affordable housing, they all cry and moan about stifling the business community. It’s so toxic how the unending and unquestioned obsession with infinite growth is willingly upheld by capitalists, it’s absolutely untethered from the basic principles of reality. Not even talking about holograms and other realms, but how the laws of nature that we all know physically work on this planet. The “market” as an entity with agency is the biggest delusion of all within economics, stories like it’s invisible hand or that it always corrects itself are such obvious infantile fantasies. This unfortunately only becomes obvious when you lose motivation or ability to climb the ladders within capitalist structures, namely the poor and underprivileged and disadvantaged. These are things I only realized after being forced into long-term serious poverty and suffering from serious mental illnesses with zero support system or anyone anywhere with the ability or desire to actually help me. How could someone in my situation, having been through what I have, still be delusional enough to think that there’s hope for everyone and oppression is easily escapable? Having been exposed to the deep depths of cruelty life can throw you in, it freed me from having to make excuses for all of the suffering around the world. That’s one of the main cognitive dissonances ingrained into liberalism, awareness of how many people around the world are starving, in serious poverty, in a war torn country or exposed to natural disasters without aid, or victim of genocide or political violence, but all of that is so complicated and messy it’s easier to just focus on what affects you directly and pretend that all those people will find help eventually. The lie we’re all fed is that capitalism provides people with opportunity, but the reality is that on a large scale it robs people of opportunity, and whenever people try alternative systems aimed at providing for the common man, the CIA (Capitalist Insurgency Assholes) stops at nothing sabotage and suppress socialist movements through false flags, psyops, puppet dictators, agitprop, death squads and militias.

And of course business partner and close friend of the CIA being Bezos, who is undoubtedly feeding live audio streams of everyone with an IoT’s household conversations to Langley and/or Fort Meade. He has the fucking balls to say that the only responsible thing he can think to do with his billions upon billions in hoarded wealth grifted from the national taxpayer base is to burn it on fancy space fantasies for the ultra rich, but then halts expansion of new offices (as if destroying entire neighborhoods isn’t already enough) in order to feed the boot lickers eager to attack any taxes on businesses or the rich. They moan about taxes from the massive tax-cheating megacorp already crushing the city in order to support poor people is the worst thing ever, but how many of them know how many billions of taxpayer dollars the Pentagon has wasted and tossed away? How many people know that the money taken out of their paychecks goes to funding the worst genocide since WW2 in Yemen, the indiscriminate slaughter of Arabs in Gaza, and towards numerous Jihadist terrorist groups in Syria? I mean there’s been points in recent history where Pentagon-backed extremist militants were fighting CIA-backed extremist militants in Syria, money is being stolen from all of us without consent to fund the majority of the worst atrocities on the globe, we’re paying for Islamic terrorists to shoot each other with our guns. But how dare the evil socialists suggest that megacorporations that already evade all its taxes pay something to help the poor! And if anyone dares to say anything about this in public, then they must be a Putin puppet or Assad apologist.

So many people around here are so eager to brown-nose Bezos, who clearly has zero concern for the wellbeing of any of his workers or the communities he burns to the ground, I fear that in the coming decades, everyone will be mandated to live in cookie cutter Amazon micro-apartment buildings with mandated subcutaneous surveillance trackers. The tech workers and elites get the Prime luxury apartments, while the poor have to fight each other to the death for squatting rights in the dwindling number of tiny run down studios, and those are the only two classes. AI, AR, VR and robots will of course be taking over the vast majority of jobs in the near future, and as long as the means of production remain in the control of the elite, these new tech advancements will never ever even be considered to be put to use for solving mass poverty or ending wars or radical climate action or redistributing wealth, every hedge fund and investor will jump at the first opportunity to kick out all vulnerable and low wage workers and make shiny expensive fancy toys for corporate welfare queens. Because that’s the very purpose of capitalism, always make as much profit as possible and strive to eventually concentrate the entirety of global wealth in the hands of a few people. It’s not nearly enough to tax corporations like Amazon, there needs to be heads rolling in the street. Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk need to be executed for their crimes against humanity along with the rest of their ilk, and all these corporate structures need to be forcefully dissolved entirely. There will never be hope of reversing how fast we’re spiraling into unfathomably unsustainable inequality, mass human rights violations and inescapable oppression, unless the bastards leading us down that road feel the pain that they inflict on millions and millions of innocent people. I hope that the Seattle Times cartoonist is a clairvoyant instead of just a whiny dipshit, most of the absurd right-wing cartoons fear-mongering about democrats and libs being communists that are taking radical action could not be less accurate now but I hope are prophetic of the future.

Some things I can’t publish while living without being slandered as a Russian troll – In the same way that Iran Contra, MK Ultra and the JFK assassination have gone down in history as the intelligence operations of a past era, this era will have Russiagate, White Helmets and false flag gas attacks, Skripal, and the assassinations of BLM leaders as the intelligence ops of the time. This is all obvious to anyone that reads the news closely without corporate filters and can see the patterns of how the CIA and FBI have always covertly operated domestically and globally since their inception, in collaboration with MI6 and the Mossad. The state of Israel needs to be destroyed entirely, it was a mistake in the first place, has always enforced worse apartheid than in South Africa, and is an inspiring ethnostate. And their state-sponsored troll farms and disinformation campaigns along with the most advanced intelligence capabilities aimed with the only purpose of destabilizing the middle east and maintaining perpetual chaos. People are fucking stupid enough to think that some non-government affiliated click farm in St Petersburg posting puppy memes on facebook actually damaged our “democracy” but are completely blind to how nearly everyone in our government begs and grovels for the opportunity to pander to Israel, who’s covertly influencing so many internet and media narratives. It’s not an anti-semetic thing, Bibi loves anti-semites and to enable them because that’s what serves the Israeli geopolitical agenda. And there’s no proof at all to that Russian influence and sowing discord bullshit, literally every single story is hollow with nothing to back it up. It’s easy to believe what’s shoved down your throat by mainstream media, but when you actually look at it, it’s clear that Guccifer 2.0 is a multi-level fraud, a fictional identity created by the Crowdstrike CEOs as the solution for the Clinton campaign panicking about wikileaks teasing email dumps. Unintentionally meta, it’s like a matroyshka doll. On the outside, he’s a lone wolf somewhere in Europe. Then you look at the first layer of planted metadata and forensic info which points towards Russia, and everyone in the media immediately jumps to it having to be a Putin agent who very poorly tried to appear as a lone wolf. But every single piece of evidence tying Guccifer 2 to Russia was so shoddily tacked on to the documents, while genuine data indicating that the data had to have been locally transferred and was modified on the American east coast, plus the public timeline of relevant events makes it obvious that it was impossible to have come from a foreign “hack” and someone on the east coast is very obviously trying to frame this as someone in Russia who’s poorly trying to appear as a lone wolf. As far as I can tell, the recent story about Guccifer having logged “real” Russian IPs in social media sites has no technical hard evidence to support that. So the FBI and the CIA should put their cards on the table and reveal precisely where and what these Russian IP logs are. That’s the start of a long road of allegations and fake news stories that need to be revisited and given real, no bullshit evidence to support.

Many years ago, in late middle and early high school I was in a band that played mostly Muse covers, they were my favorite back then but I haven’t listened to any rock at all for years until very recently. I’ve been revisiting Muse’s catalog and remembered a song titled “Thoughts of a Dying Atheist.” That moment struck me as Jungian given the circumstances, hearing it for the first time a couple weeks ago since long before ever becoming suicidal, in a period when I loved it only for the music. The chorus goes “it scares the hell out of me, and the end is all I can see.” I have always been an atheist being it’s how I was raised, even though I’ve long abandoned nihilism and the foolish idea that there’s no form of genuine spirituality. Back when I was a Muse fan, even though I was no where near needing to fear death I would have agreed with the words by and large, as death is not something we’re raised to appreciate or assess in this society. Yet now in revisiting I feel rather proud since I’m not scared of death at all. Through spiritual awakenings mostly since last summer I’ve completely made peace with transitioning out of this plane. Having found a method and time frame where I can pass immediately without pain all on my own time and terms, I’ve taken care of every concern on this end of the journey. I can’t know what it will be like on the other side, but I am absolutely certain that the energy of my conscious will be returned to the universal order. Thus, the thoughts of this dying atheist are that even though the end is all I can see, it excites the hell out of me. It is only a transformation, all that will end is the torture and agony that has been foisted upon me in this existence.

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” - Macbeth (5.5.19-28)

Recently I’ve gone to the beach, ridden ferries and sought out large pools often because there’s nothing more calming to me than the meditation of staring off into the water. As Mandelbrot and fractal patterns are found throughout math, science and much of nature, I see the waves in large bodies of water as fractal-like too. No matter how closely you focus your gaze or how far you stare out into the horizon, the patterns of the waves appear to repeat inside and outside of each other at all magnitudes of size along the surface. And I feel an incredible energy from it, how the waves can appear calm and tranquil on the surface but you know deeper down, the entire moving masses of water carry enormous weight and power. The waves exponentially repeat themselves in all directions with simultaneous grace and massive force, reconciling contradictions and entire spectrums, what could be more emblematic of the beauty of the laws of nature? When I ask myself where I go after I die, I say that’s where, the water. I doubt I would and wouldn’t want to be reincarnated as water, but as my brain shuts off and my soul becomes non-localized and free, its essence will return into the entirety of nature, and I have never been more certain of that than anything in my life. Pharrell got it right, no one ever really dies because energy is never created or destroyed, and whats in all of our minds are just localized variants of the same energy that makes everything else around us.

My final work can be found at scribd.com/document/378259892 or anonfile.com/86C0raeeb1, I’m pulling a Kafka and leaving it unfinished

Did I truly live life, or simply ride the sands as they tumbled through the hour glass? Holding on the fine moments is like grasping water – always there, yet always slipping away. Lusting for more than we need, leading to the greed of acquisition and the gluttony of position. A future that feels far but all too close. One that could be sublime if we didn’t fall behind in the times from our refinement of the mind, the state of my people is altered but my faith is completely unfaltered. I’m reaching up and reaching out, to go where no one’s been. Spiral out, keep going

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type-a-nomad · 7 years ago

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ah, to be young. Alternative Title: sometimes I’m a little crazy but only when there are no consequences whatsoever.

It’s March 23 and I don’t understand how the world is turning so fast that the days are just spinning by. The thing that’s really drawing my attention to the days passing is that Tim is leaving very soon. For me, he is kind of the person that sets the energy for this place. He has been here longer than almost anyone and it shows. He works as a kind of center for people. A role model. An example of the kind of person who volunteers at SAVE. He was supposed to leave in a couple weeks, but things changed a bit and he decided to leave early to go visit friends in Germany on his way home. It’s going to be a very sad goodbye, especially because the end of his stay here came as a bit of a surprise. In terms of interesting things that have happened in the last few days, there haven't been that many. We have had a lot of issues here with protests and riots in the townships that shut down our projects because it’s either too dangerous for us to be there or too dangerous to get the kids in and out. It means I’ve had a lot of free time because project has been cancelled for two days already and could possibly be continued next week if the pattern of rioting continues. Generally, what happens is there is a protest because of lack of resources and lack of understanding between the government and the people in the township. Then, during the riots, people drink a lot. The next day everyone is still drunk and the destruction continues. The following day there are no protests, but the day after people start drinking again and the whole thing repeats itself.

One thing I’m very tired of here is drama and gossip. I’m in house 22 and it is getting so bad and generally stressful for me that I want to ask to be moved just so i don't have to think about that energy anymore. The current issue has to do with Danni (again). Basically, she was drunk on a beach and got in a fight with another drunk girl who went and told Robyn and Shannon that she feels threatened and now it’s a whole drama and Danni wants to leave the program and is a perpetually dangerous move. She’s honestly a bully and it scares me to deal with her because she has no problem being mean to people. Usually, bullies root their anger in their own insecurities and lash out at people because it makes them feel better about themselves. Danni isn't this way. She’s confident and sure of herself and doesn’t attack people for no reason, she just is amazingly aggressive if you push her buttons. And, she has a lot of buttons. She has very long toes, they’re easy to step on. I’m scared of her, especially because a lot of my friends live in Dunbar and she has been obviously irritated and cold to me since I’ve been hanging out with her “group” less and less. I have no problem standing up for other people’s rights and morals, but when it comes to person situations for me, I avoid confrontation at all costs. Confrontation stresses me out and, even if the person in question doesn’t actually matter to me in any other situation, my brain has a real problem with thinking that people are upset with me. I am tired of this feeling like middle school and I have an entire 3 weeks left, so I am just going to walk over to reception and say my problem and hopefully they transfer me (fingers crossed super hard). The people I actually like are at Dunbar anyways. The only downside to Dunbar is that the wifi is horrible, but who cares. I didn't come to Africa for good wifi. Excluding that negative energy, I had a really really nice weekend. I spent most of my time eating and dancing. On Friday, I went to Big Bay and sat around on the beach with a smoothie with my friends. The water was absolutely freezing and I loved it. That night, we went out dancing and I had a fantastic time. One thing I notice whenever I’m in public and music is playing is how obnoxiously bad pop music has become. On one hand, there’s a brilliance to it. People have found a formula that you can follow perfectly and get your song on the radio. Further, they’re figured out that people don’t mind if all of your songs sound the same and only have about 20 repeating lyrics in them. On the other hand, I have to listen to the shît these people are making and it drives me crazy. The pop music industry rakes in millions of dollars a year. There are actually talented artists that this money could be going to who give a shît about their composition and hooks and time signature and have actually done their research and turned on their brain before stepping up to a microphone. In my eyes, it’s incredibly insulting that people listen to Selena Gomez or over people who make their own beats and have original thoughts that they then turn into music that actually sounds good and complex, even if you don’t understand the lyrics (e.g. Shoos Off, Kyle Bent, the Roots, Bleachers, Soccer Mommy, Mos Def, Samuel Larson, M.I.A, Abhi the Nomad, BROCKHAMPTON, just to name a few). That being said, I can dance to anything that remotely resembles “music” if I really want to. After we all got back, I sat with my friend Lucy in the kitchen drinking tea until 5am. I felt like such a *youth*. We talked about life and why we came to South Africa. I think I came here to travel and do good, but mainly to isolate myself from the familiar. I wanted to see if I could find calm within myself and balance that with the ambition I already access easily. It’s easy to feel calm and satisfied with where you are and stay there. It’s hard to stay calm while still learning and improving. That was the goal. I think, with every day that passes, I get closer to realizing that goal. I am becoming more sure of myself and my capabilities. Further, my values are clarifying. I am passionate about fighting for people who are in situations that make it very hard for them to have a voice. That is to say, if you are poor African-American in Oakland, being an activist and arguing with people about causes like Black Lives Matter is most likely not the first on your list of priorities. Safety and security are first. If you feel like even law enforcement is a threat to you, why the hell would you have time to try and improve that situation— you’re just looking to survive it. I think it’s too much to ask those people who are focusing on survival to try and make their general situation better on top of fighting their personal battle, whether emotional or physical, every day. There are incredible people out there who are doing both, and that blows my mind. Moreover, because I don’t have to go through a situation with that intensity, I think there is a certain responsibility that comes with, entirely by chance, being born into a situation as comfortable as mine. That responsibility is to fight for and help those who were, entirely by chance, born into a less comfortable situation. I will fight tooth and nail for those people. I feel deeply that it’s my duty, because my own shît is generally taken care of. I get to go to University and study something I love. I feel comfortable calling 911 for help. I get to marry somebody I love without worrying about the legal and social consequences. I can kiss my boyfriend in public without others being offended and grossed out by my display of affection. I don’t have to think about my race and how it affects my life. I can open my fridge and choose something I want to eat from multiple options of food. This brings me to another point: the privilege of diversity. Until I started living alone, I didn't realize how luxurious variety is. To have enough wiggle room in your life that you can do different things every weekend or night. To have enough wiggle room in your bank account that you can buy two different kinds of bread and cereals at the supermarket without worrying about wasting food I can’t afford to. When I live on my own, I eat the same thing for breakfast every day. When I go back home to Berkeley, I get to choose whether I want granola or Honey Nut Cheerios, and that blows my mind. When I go back home, Honey Nut Cheerios encapsulate luxury for me, and that’s not something I will ever fail to appreciate ever again. On Saturday, I was functioning on 3 hours of sleep and my body went into full survival mode. It was brilliant because I felt 100% fine, sort of how people who are about to die supposedly feel right after a car crash. Like I had a pole shoved through my abdomen, but was walking around and saying that everything is peachy keen, because it felt that way. I was invited by my new friends Leis and Tanya (both super cool girls who live at Dunbar, unfortunately Leis leaves at the end of the week) to go to the Old Biscuit Mill. Because I felt totally fine, I pulled on some clothes and went. I had the best steak sandwich of my entire life and it was fantastic. Even though it was 11am and I had gotten no sleep, I still got my favorite watermelon mojito. To justify this to myself I kept in mind that they put very little alcohol in it, it’s my favorite drink in the whole world, and it’s only sold on Saturdays (when the Mill is open) in Cape Town, South Africa. Might as well capitalize on the opportunity. After a few hours the other girls were super tired, even though I felt great, we decided it was time to go home. Before we called the uber to go back, I asked if we could stop in this artsy jewelry shop that looked really cool. When we were poking around in the store, we noticed they did piercings there. I asked if I could get some new piercings, but the woman who was working at the register said she needed to get her boss to com in for that and that would take at least an hour and a half. Now that I was in the piercing mindset, I turned to my friends and told them about a piercing studio in the city center that I had heard about. For some reason, this really appealed to a group of absolutely exhausted 20-year-old women. We got into the uber and went straight there.

Today, was Sunday. I hiked a mountain up to a cave on the other side of Table Mountain called Elephant’s Eye. It overlooks the Cape Flats, which is gang land and the crime and murder rates are off of the charts. It was absolutely gorgeous. The walk up and down were a bit treacherous because it is way less popular than other tourist-y hiking spots, so it’s not as well groomed and the rocks have sand everywhere around them so everything is very slippery. After the hike, I went into Muizenberg, which is like the cool surfer cousin in the family of the Cape Flats. I had an amazing burger with lots of cheese on it, fries, and a chai latte. After I had fully started my food coma, I took an uber home and started writing exactly what you’re reading now. For dinner, I went over to Dunbar to get takeout with my friends because I’m super exhausted from the bad vibes in house 22. It’s to the point where I genuinely don’t want Danni to be in the room when I get home.

While I was hanging out at Dunbar, Tim turned to me and said “I have some bad news”. Immediately I panicked, because the last time he had “bad news” he told me he was leaving over a month earlier than expected. Also, whenever there is “bad news”, I get a feeling that I’m about to get in trouble. I get kinda nervous and say “alright what’s up”, and then he has the NERVE to say “I’ll tell you later”. I’m sorry EXCUSE ME?? Why the hell would you tell me that I don’t get to hear bad news NOW. I was irritated to say the least. I might do yoga, but patience still is not a particularly strong aspect of my personality. When he finally tells me, it turns out he was messing with me the entire time. The news was that he extended his flight and is now leaving on April 9th (my baby sister’s birthday!!!!). This was the best thing that I had heard all day and I did a happy dance for several minutes. Things are getting complex here, but I think that’s natural when you start living somewhere— the more you engage the more details and complicated things get. I can handle it.

things I need to work on:

not eating so poorly ALL THE TIME. I really need to teach myself that ramen and grilled cheese is not sufficient for breakfast and lunch. learn more kids’ names. plan a road trip get back to doing yoga every morning and just getting more exercise in general.

things i’ve been doing well:

enjoying life here going to the beach lots creating space in my mind. planning for university and this summer when I have time

- Q

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megacircuit9universe · 5 years ago

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The Timers That Tick

FRI APR 3 2020

The pandemic has been going on here in America now for three or four weeks... ramping up all the time... all the smart states have been on lockdown for a while... people are starting to wear masks when out in public... everybody’s washing their hands like crazy... and the economy is so far into the shitter... so much further than 2008.

For a minute there, I was worried that Trump might actually rise to the occasion, do everything that needed to be done, like order corporations to start producing ventilators, and order a national stay at home order... get on top of the situation and then, come November... win in a landslide, because he’s the new GW Bush, and this is his 911.

He’s refusing to order manufacturers to switch over to making PPE and ventilators... cuz that’s not free market economics.

He’s refusing to order a national lockdown... cuz that’s a violation of State’s rights.

He’s getting bitchy with States like New York who are despirately calling on the Federal government to help them... cuz that makes him look bad.

He’s refusing to wear a mask in public... cuz that’s not a cool look for a President.

Meanwhile the death toll is climbing exponentially higher every week, and the economy... oh baby, the economy!.. is going straight to hell. In all metrics by which the health of the economy is measured.... unemployment, market activity, GDP, what have you... this is already rivaling the Great Depression... and we’re only a few weeks into the shut downs of non essential businesses.

No theaters, sporting events, bars, festivals... or even dining out, or even church services. No late night TV shows. No schools or colleges. No RETAIL SHOPPING MALLS! :O

The voting population has been divided into two new groups... the essentials and the non essentials.

The non essentials are stuck at home, for the next many months, trying to stay safe and prevent the spread of the virus, but also... already experiencing high levels of cabin fever and, in many cases... going broke with zero income, and little savings or credit. They are not happy.

The essentials, on the other hand, include many front line workers, from utility workers, and distribution workers, to delivery people, supermarket stockers and checkers, and health care workers. And they’re being asked now to put their lives in danger every day... to keep getting their own paychecks... with shortages on PPE like gloves, masks, and sani-wipes. They are also not happy.

I can’t imagine the super elite rich assholes of the planet are very happy either, watching their stocks become worthless, and profits dwindle to nothing, while lending rates are at zero percent, and property values are poised to crash again worse than they did in 2007, because nobody can pay their mortgages, or even their rents, much less look to buy any new real estate.

So... for Trump to be acting like such a sensitive little bitch right now, refusing to act, but also bristling at any hint that he’s not doing a perfect job... is not going over well with anybody, on any rung of the social ladder, from the very bottom, to the tippy top.

The problem here, remains that Joe Biden... has been almost completely absent for this entire crisis, and the few spots he’s done on TV... have been back to dementia Joe who clearly has no grip on what’s going down right now.

Luckily... all the Democratic primaries which were scheduled to happen after that Super Tuesday with Illinois, Florida, etc... that took place just as this crisis was getting serious (Illinois went into lock down just days before it) have been postponed.

So now, we’re in a weird primary limbo, where Bernie is still in the race, and the DNC can’t dispose of him, given how the landscape has changed... even if they still despise him.

It’s difficult to foresee how exactly any of this will play out, because the timers on everything in play... the pandemic, the conventions, and the general elections, all have several months left on their individual clocks.

Still, we can try to break down what *should* happen, if there were any logic and reason left to be found at the roots of this once healthy democracy, in this once functional post WW2 world...

SARS-CoV-2, the current contagion plaguing Earth, will continue to be a high level threat until mid 2021... when we finally have a vaccine. Between now and then, outbreaks might wane, and we might get a breather, but social distancing has to stay in effect to mitigate the next wave, bound to strike late next fall.

This means the economy, in turn, is not bouncing back any time soon... certainly not in October and November, when the generals are to be held.

It also means that there will be, best case, a “post apocalyptic” time period after the vaccine arrives... in which the whole world just has to slowly recover... which will take several years.

Thus, the next President of the United States, not only has to see us through the extremely difficult period until there is a vaccine... but also has to lead us back to economic prosperity.

There are only three men in the running for that world leadership role and... we all know two of them, Trump and Biden both, are not up to the task. Meanwhile, Sanders, seems to have been born for exactly this moment.

So, from that perspective, it’s a no brainer that Sanders will be our next president... but the powers that be, on both sides... Republican and Democratic, will fight that eventuality tooth and nail.

That’s about all I’ve got to say about it all tonight.

I’m going to bed.

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surveysonfleek · 8 years ago

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384.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 10

901. Would you rather have a candle scented like blueberries and creme or butterscotch pecan pie? definitely butterscotch pecan pie. 902. Which ones are fruits and which are vegetables: Banana f Cucumber v Tomato f Apple f Carrot v Eggplant v Cherry f Pumpkin v 903. Does it annoy you when people talk loudly on their cell phones in public? i don’t really care...unless it’s on public transport and you’re stuck listening to them. 904. Is love a commitment to one person, or can you love more than one person at the same time? for me personally it’s commitment to one person. but i have no doubt that it’s possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time. 905. Cover or original: Smooth Criminal; is it better by Michael Jackson or Alien Ant Farm? Blue Monday better by Orgy or New Order I Want Candy; Is it better by Aaron Carter or Bow Wow Wow? Love Song; Is it better by 311 or The Cure? It's My Life; Is it better by No Doubt or The Talking Heads?

906. What is the most uncomfortable feeling? witnessing or hearing something you shouldn’t be seeing/listening. 907. Do you like Maroon 5? they’re cool but i’m not a fan. 908. Would you ever go on a blind date TV show? nope. 909. How much of your wardrobe is dry clean only? maybe only like five pieces. 910. Who's arms would you like to crawl into? my boyfriend. 911. What the hell is your problem? nothing right now. 912. Look around you. What is the most beautiful thing you can see? my corkboard lol. 913. What is the most beautiful thing you can't see? idk. 914. Take a deep breath. Yawn deeply. Do you appreciate the things most people take for granted, like breathing? sure. 915. Do you appreciate breathing more when you have a cold and you're all congested and can't breathe right? yes, i guess. 916. Is congestion a positive thing because it helps you to appreciate breathing? if you look at it that way. 917. How is your life like a work of art? i guess i’ve had plenty of cool experiences. 918. Do you feel that your life influences and is influenced by many other lives? yeah. 919. Has a smile ever made all the difference in the world to you? not that i remember haha. 920. Have you ever looked at a tree and considered how the roots could be miles long, trailing and entwining with other roots underground, all of them holding the soil together? nope. 921. Do you notice the little things in life? sometimes. 922. Do you feel, as Jung did, that deep down, underneath our individual personalities we are all the same? no. 923. Do you feel a great oneness with the universe? no. 924. When was the last time you decided to really enjoy yourself? ummm. idk tbh. 925. When was the last time you set your self free and acted without caring at all what someone else thought? today. 926. Have you ever held someone and appreciated how delicate and fragile all life is and felt that they were even more precious and beautiful because one day they would die..and so will you? no. 927. In ten years someone else might own your house and the room you are sitting in now. Someone else might be standing right next to where you are sitting now. So that means you could be standing right next to someone but you can't see him or her because they are ten years away. Ever look at life like that? nope. 928. When was the last time you: Soaked in a bubble bath: in niagara falls lol. Read a good book outside: i forgot! Held someone's hand: a couple days ago. Felt truly joyful: a week or two ago. 929. What do you bring to this world that no one else can? tbh i don’t think there’s anything absolutely only i can bring into this world. 930. Do you feel that you are part of every living thing in this world and that all those things are part of you? no. 931. Are you more afraid of death or not completely living? not completely living. 932. What was the last thing you wanted to do but didn't or couldn't do? work today. 933. Why don't you try and do that thing now? no, i called in sick. 934. What is the most wonderful thing happening right now in the world? idk, i’m sure a ton of people are really happy at this very second. 935. Name 7 things going on around you that you normally wouldn't notice: 1. someone being born. 2. someone dying. 3. someone working their ass off just to provide for their family. 4. a couple breaking up. 5. someone turning down an opportunity of a lifetime. 6. someone getting kidnapped. 7. someone winning a huge amount of money. 936. Name three things you hate 1. someone coughing without covering their mouth. 2. arrogance. 3. physical abuse. 937. Name one GOOD thing about each of those 3 things you hate. um, nothing. 938. What do you tend to see in black and white, rather than in shades of gray? idk. 939. Admit three things you do that you are ashamed of but shouldn't be. 1. where i am at this point in my life. 2. my body. 3. doing a damn 5000 question survey lol. 940. What qualities make a person “good” in your eyes? kindness. 941. Do you have any of these qualities? i hope so. 942. Are you willing to do what it takes to achieve what you want to? eventually. 943. Name one bad quality about someone you love. lazy. 944. Name one good quality about someone you hate. idk. 945. Are you pro life or pro choice and why? pro choice. 946. If you are pro life write a reason someone might be pro choice. If you are pro choice write a reason someone might be pro life. idk maybe for religious issues. 947. Can you see the beauty in? A bumble bee: A man skating: A woman combing her hair: A box of tissues: Yourself naked: Light: yes to all. 948. What are you most afraid of? losing someone i love. 949. Whose life would you REALLY NOT want to ever have? Why? idk. 950. Can you come up with a reason why you might want their life? - 951. Name one thing that is beautiful about your body i have nice skin i guess. 952. Name one thing that is ugly about your body my stomach. 953. Name one thing that is beautiful about your mind i like learning. 954. Name one thing that is ugly about your mind i don’t like giving second chances. 955. Who was the last person you were rude to? someone who was rude to me. 956. Are your elbows soft? neither soft or rough. 957. Are you ticklish? sometimes. 958. Are you awkward or graceful? neither. 959. Do you wear glasses/contacts? glasses. 960. If you wear contacts what's the longest you have ever left them in your eyes? - 961. What's going on where you are right now? nothing really, it’s night time. most people are asleep. 962. What is your favorite thing to touch? squishy stuff. 963. What is your favorite kind of incense? i haven’t used incense in years tbh. 964. What relaxes you? sleep and massages. 965. How much time have you wasted? a ton. 966. How do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle? i don’t have that lifestyle. 967. What does teen spirit smell like? idk. 968. Do you mostly listen or hear? listen. 969. Look or see? see. 970. Do you comprehend all the things you read? sure. 971. Is it necessary to be repetitive in order to be creative? not really. 972. Do you control your attitude or does it control you? i control it. 973. Are your relationships mostly passion or conversation? in between. 974. Do you do what needs to be done regardless of the consequences? nope. 975. Is money how you keep score? not really. 976. Who can you do everything or nothing with and still have the best time? my boyfriend. 977. Just because you're angry does that give you the right to be cruel? no. but i can be anyway. 978. What is maturity and where does it come from? being responsible and making rational decision. it comes with age and/or experience. 979. Who is the maturest person you know? my parents. 980. Who is the most immature person you know? my sister. 981. If there was a fire and you could only rescue one thing from your room (all people and pets have escaped on their own, even goldfish) what would it be? my laptop. 982. If you could, what 3 albums would you force everyone to remove from his or her CD collections? 1 2 3 i wouldn’t... everyone’s entitled to their own musical tastes. 983. Does Marilyn Manson scare you or bore you? neither. 984. What do you think of the Insane Clown Posse? a bit eccentric. 985. What's the best movie about high school? clueless or mean girls. 986. Do you like Michael Jackson better in the 80's 90's or today? 90s. 987. Is choosing a different store to shop in from most people really making a statement? not really. 988. What's the riskiest thing you've ever done? idk. 989. Have you ever ridden in a car while the driver had been drinking? nope. 990. Who needs to get a life? me haha. 991. Do write on yourself with milky pens? no. 992. What should be different about high school curriculum? i don’t go to school anymore so i don’t really care. 993. Right now are you exactly the way you want to be? nope. 994. Who can save you from yourself? me. 995. Are you a responsible person? yes. 996. "It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."— Oscar Wilde Do you agree? eh, i don’t agree. 997. How many greatest hits albums do you own? maybe 5. 998. Are you at risk for a.i.d.s.? not that i know of. 999. Do you want to have it all? not really. 1000. Do you collect green pictures of dead presidents? no.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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notsofly · 6 years ago

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Ties in Blood Chapter 8

@mrswhozeewhatsis @impala-dreamer @percussiongirl2017 @idreamofplaid @winchestergirl-13

Chapter 8

Aaliyah stared at the brown eyed man. The look he returned seemed to bore into her, as if he studied her. She wondered what he was looking for, if anything. “Hey.”

“It’s Sam,” he told Aaliyah. “And she’s the help you told me about?”

“She can hold her own in a fight,” Dean said, closing the back door and opening the driver door. “You shoulda seen her against her first werewolf.”

Aaliyah flashed a little smile before getting into the back.

“Werewolf, huh? How bad?”

“Left some good scars,” Aaliyah told him. “Think we can swing by my place real quick? Don’t exactly have my hunting stuff with me.”

***

Aaliyah dropped the last of three duffel bags near the door of her apartment and turned her attention to the brothers. Dean half rummaged through the kitchen as Sam looked at the few pictures that Aaliyah had put up.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Sam commented.

“Work ten to twelve hour shifts for six days a week,” Aaliyah countered. “Really doesn’t give much of a chance to go out and get things to spread roots. So to speak.” She cast a look around what was her living room that held a few lawn chairs, a television bought second hand, and a card table. “Same thing for food.”

Dean closed the fridge and turned to her. “So, when are we leaving outta here?”

Aaliyah looked around the sparse living room once more. “Now. I’m sure the landlord would love to clean out what little I have here.” She shouldered a duffel and picked up the other two. “Most of my clothes and anything valuable I’m taking with me.” She glanced over to the counter where she had dropped her set of keys before stepping out the door. Behind her followed the two brothers. The apartment had been yet another temporary stop for her on a road that hadn’t seemed right since killing the werewolf back in college.

“So, where we going?” she asked outside the building.

“Manning Colorado,” Sam answered.

***

Aaliyah looked at the dark cabin from beside the Impala. Her stomach knotted up even as she followed along to the door. Something was telling her that they were being watched. She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the trees, as if whoever was watching was there. The door swung open as Sam managed to successfully pick the lock. Dean guided Aaliyah into the house behind Sam. Aaliyah turned her flashlight on and moved it over the mess.

“Maid hasn’t showed up,” Dean commented.

“There’s salt over here,” Aaliyah called out, her light trained on the circle of salt.

“Protection against demon salt, or whoops, I spilled the popcorn salt?” Dean asked.

“Definitely demon protection.” Aaliyah turned form the salt ring and looked around the floor.

“Think this Elkins guy is a player?” Sam asked.

“Definitely.”

Aaliyah half listened as the two discovered a hole in the roof and assumed there had been more than one in the attack. Her light flashed over some scratches on the floor that seemed to be just a bit out of place for a fight. “Guys, over here.” She hunched down and gestured to the lines. “Think I got something.”

“Death throes, maybe?” Sam suggested.

Aaliyah shrugged as Dean grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil to make a rubbing of the scratches.

“Or maybe a message.” Dean held up the paper to Sam. “Look familiar?”

“Three letters, six digits. The location of a post office box; a mail drop.”

“Just like how Dad does it.”

***

Aaliyah bounced a knee. She didn’t like the idea of sitting in the post office’s parking lot while Dean went and got the letter. The feeling of being followed hadn’t gone away since they left the house. She slid a hand into her pack and wrapped her fingers around the knife. Dean slid back into the car and held up the letter as Aaliyah slid over and to the edge of the seat.

“J.W.?” Sam read the envelope. “John Winchester?”

“Think it’s your dad?” Aaliyah suggested.

“Should we open it?” Sam asked.

Aaliyah pulled her knife out when a knock at a window surprised her. Dean had a fist up and ready before he recognized the person on the other side of the window.

“Dad?”

Aaliyah shifted over away from the door as John slid in as if he took no notice of her. After the past few years, she doubted he even recognized her in the low light.

“I heard about what happened to Daniel,” John answered Sam’s question Aaliyah missed. “And got here quick as I could. I saw the …” He turned his attention to Aaliyah. “Who are you?”

“Aaliyah. The boys called for help.” She half shrugged. “Figured I’d would.” Aaliyah kept her attention on the older Winchester while the thought of if she was actually recognizable.

“College werewolf,” John said.

“You remember that?” Dean asked.

“Hard to forget a nineteen year old civilian taking out their first werewolf with a knife to the chest.”

Aaliyah dared to shift her gaze from John to Dean, who gave her a slight nod. She made an impression on John and she was going to take it as a good sign. “So, why come all this way for Elkins?”

“Yeah. He…was a good man. Taught me a lot about hunting.”

“You never mentioned him to us,” Sam told John.

“We had…a falling out and I hadn’t seen him in years.” He motioned to the envelope. “I should look at that.”

Aaliyah leaned over as John took the envelope and read the contents over his shoulder. Her eyes frown in confusion. “If you’re reading this, I’m already dead. What does that mean?”

“Son of a bitch,” John swore. “He had it the whole time.”

“Dad, what?” Sam’s voice broke in.

Aaliyah looked up to John as he cast his gaze between the three of them. There was that split second where she was sure he was going to ask her to leave the car.

“When you searched the place, did you find a gun?” John questioned. He had accepted Aaliyah in the case. “An antique revolver.”

“There was a case,” Dean stated. “But it was empty.”

“They have it,” John said.

“Whoever killed Elkins?” Aaliyah asked as John started to climb out of the car.

“We gotta pick up the trail.”

“Wait,” Sam cut in. “You want us to come with you?”

“If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find the gun,” his father told them.

“Why?” Sam countered.

“Because it’s important, that’s why.”

Aaliyah heard the tone in John’s voice. It had that no questions asked and follow orders no matter what vibe. “Do we know what we’re hunting?” She dared to ask. She forced down the flinch when John turned his attention to her.

“You should go back home,” he told her. “This isn’t…”

“I’m involved,” Aaliyah cut in. “This isn’t a life for everyone, I get that. But I’ve got experience. Besides, what’s bad about adding more?” She felt Sam and Dean’s attention on her while keeping hers on John. “So … What’s the monster of the week?”

John stared back at her, like he was looking for something. “If you come with us, you follow my orders. Understood?”

“Clearly, sir.” Aaliyah pushed down the dislike that she had to give reign of decision making over to the elder Winchester. Even with Amanda on some hunts, Aaliyah was able to call the shots. “So, monster of the week?”

John turned his gaze to his sons. “They’re what Elkins killed the best: vampires.”

“Thought there were no such thing,” Dean said.

“You mean vampires were legit legend?” Aaliyah asked, shifting her gaze between the three men.

“You never mentioned them,” Sam said as Aaliyah spoke.

“I thought they were extinct,” John told them. “That Elkins and the others killed them all off. I was wrong. Most lore about them is crap. Crosses don’t repeal them and sunlight and the stake to the heart doesn’t kill. They need fresh blood to stay alive. They were human once, so you won’t know it until it’s too late.”

***

Aaliyah stifled a yawn when she slid out of the Impala. She had slept the couple hours it took to reach the motel. She grabbed her bags and stumbled toward the door, using Sam’s back as a moving target. Behind her came Dean with John at the rear. Once in the room, Aaliyah dumped her bags at the foot of one bed before collapsing onto the mattress. Sam and Dean kept their voices low in a debate on who got the other bed and who got the floor. The mattress sunk a little more under Aaliyah even as she adjusted her position.

Her feet got slapped as John’s baritone voice called for them to wake up. She moaned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Wha….”

“I picked up a police call,” John told them.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

Aaliyah started to lay back down when Dean caught her. She shot him a glare even as he shook his head.

“A couple called 911, found a body in the street,” John told them. “When the police got there, everyone was missing. It’s the vampires.”

“How do you know?”

Aaliyah suppressed a moan as her muscles stretched when she got to her feet. She watched John head for the door with the instruction to follow him. There was something between Sam and his father she couldn’t place just yet. Grabbing her bag, Aaliyah headed out to the Impala.

***

Aaliyah laid on the hood of the Impala, eyes closed. She heard Sam sulk about not being included in being able to talk with the cops and Dean responding back to him. “Will you two shut up?” She sat up as she opened her eyes to find John started for them. “Two hours of sleep isn’t enough with your sulking and your attitude.”

“It was them alright,” John told them. “We’ll have to double back to get around the detour.”

“How can you be sure?” Sam questioned.

“Sam…” Dean started.

Sam turned to Dean. “I just wanna be sure.”

“We are,” John countered.

Aaliyah swore she heard the tone a parent would take with their child when the parent really didn’t have an answer and wanted the child to accept what was given. She watched as John held up a tooth.

“It’s…a fang,” Dean said.

“Not fang, tooth,” John said. “The second set descend when they feed. Any more questions?” He shot a glance to Sam. “Good. Let’s get outta here, we’re burning daylight.”

Aaliyah slid off the hood, mindful not to leave scratches on the paint, as the three men moved.

“Dean, you should do a touch up on the car?” John shot at the elder son. “No point on getting rust. I wouldn’t have given it to you if you were going to ruin it.”

Aaliyah caught the ‘I told you so’ expression Sam shot at Dean before she slid into the backseat. She pulled out a leather bound book and a pen as Sam started the car and drove after his father. The road had bumps along the way, making Aaliyah’s attempts to write a little difficult. She managed to make an entry about meeting up with Dean and Sam and the events of the hunt so far. Dean read from John’s journal about the vampires; how they lived in nests and how victims were taken there and bled for weeks. “You think that’s what happened to the 911 couple?”

“That’s probably what Dad’s thinking,” Sam answered, his voice grumpy. “It’d be nice if he actually told us what he’s thinking.”

“So it’s starting,” Dean jumped in.

“What’s starting?” Aaliyah asked.

“What?” Sam countered, ignoring Aaliyah.

“We’ve been looking for Dad all year,” Dean reminded him. “Now we’re with him for a couple hours and already there’s static?”

Sam humphed. “Look, I’m happy he’s okay, alright? And that we’re all working together again.”

“Well good.”

Aaliyah shifted her eyes between the two brothers before turning her attention back to her journal.

“It’s just the way he treats us like children,” Sam continued, like he couldn’t help it.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes even as Dean sounded off his frustration about it.

“He barks orders at us, Dean,” Sam told him. “He expects us to follow without question. “He keeps us on some need to know crap.”

“He does it for a reason,” Dean countered.

“What reason?”

“Our job,” Dean told him.

Aaliyah swore Dean shot her a glance that included her in that two word sentience. She had been accepted by John the night before. Something he apparently didn’t do all the time from the little she knew of him.

“There’s no time to argue, no margin for error, right?” Dean continued. “That’s the way the old man runs things.”

“Maybe when we were kids, but not anymore,” Sam argued. “Not after all we’ve been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you’re cool with just falling in line and letting him call the shots?”

Aaliyah thought on the question. After all she had been through after taking out the werewolf in college, she couldn’t ignore her twisting stomach. Sure, that hunt she was a complete novice and relied wholly on Dean and John. Finding her father had been another story. After that, Aaliyah had her own hunts. Sure, Amanda joined on one or two, but it had been all Aaliyah.

“If that’s what it takes,” Dean answered after a long look to Sam.

#supernatural spn fanfic Winchesters angst Dean Sam John

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