#I did my damnedest to not scream in the actual post

[storyknitter]

The ever-dashing Captain Eli’anara Nabeshin and her younger cousin, Alliance Commander and Jedi Knight Vassanna Nabeshin by the lovely and talented @sbeep / @damarlegacy

[mutilatedmadonna]

A Heart To Heart Conversation (Not Literally Jesus Christ Where Did You Even Get That)

YOOOOOO made it with one hour to spare but ya girl still has her submission for the @secret-shifters gift exchange! This is for the lovely and talented @hiddendreamer67 who I was so fucking excited to write for! Also side note, I started a fic before this one but it was taking too long for my taste so I popped out this sucker instead. That being said like............why waste a perfectly good fic.............why not finish it eventually...........and still gift it to her since it’s techinically her prompt lmaoooo

I will go back and edit this post to include the AO3 link when I publish it :3c

Anyways

Warnings: Mild depictions of gore, fearplay; obviously, it’s all I know how to write whoops

Some people are great talkers, others are fantastic listeners. Some listen so well, in fact, they’re willing to destroy a government lab for you.

“Stop, please, I don’t want to hurt you!”

As if Derrick stood a fucking chance against the massive creature that was currently inching closer to him, crouched low to fit within the compound’s hallways. The alarm ringing was making his head pound, an unfortunate addition to his dizziness he’d been overcome with as soon as he saw the first body. Well, bodies. It had wiped out nearly every scientist and researcher in that sector as soon as it was freed from its cage, growling and hissing all the while as it dug its teeth and nails into the panicking humans. How it escaped at all was still a mystery and probably forever would be. As soon as it clawed its way through the protective lockdown doors into gen pop, all hell really broke loose. Guards tried and failed to take it down, hoping to wound the monster at best so that it could be recontained, but even as more backup arrived with heavier artillery, they never stood a chance. It was fast, it was strong, it was pissed, and it seemed to have a taste for blood and bones.

He didn’t know if it had any sort of plan beyond escaping the observational cage it had been trapped in for years, seemingly going into halls and sectors at random to slaughter the hapless scientists seeking refuge. The only reason Derrick had survived this long was simply because he ran and he continued to run. There was no use trying to hide, it was too good at tracking, so instead he did his damnedest to stay ahead of it. It had been working pretty well until he was stopped by the door at the last hall, a dead end to safety potentially. The only problem being his fucking keycard wasn’t high enough clearance to open it. He could hear it getting closer, hear the screams and crunch of bodies and deep growls that echoed all around. His breathing became more ragged the louder the sounds grew, knowing it was just one final turn away from being at the far end of the hall with a straight shot right to Derrick. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die like this. Not at the hands of this beast, not at the hands of...shit, what he thought was almost his friend.

It was his job to observe the creature in its confinement at night and take excruciating notes about every sigh and twitch it might make. It was truly as boring as it sounded, especially when the creature was awake a majority of his shift but only laid on the floor, quiet and still. It looked depressed and Derrick didn’t blame it. It had long since been locked away before he had even started at the organization, subjected to trials and tests day in and day out for hours so that the scientists could jot down these amazing discoveries. He had no idea what they planned on doing with all this data they were collecting given that this whole place was top secret, the creature certainly never meant to see the light of day. Or rather, people were never meant to see the creature. It’d cause mass hysteria. So, one evening, a few hours into the terribly dull silence he started talking aloud. Not to anyone in particular and not about anything exciting, just idle chit chat with the wall, really. 

He never expected the creature to perk up at the sound of his voice, eyeing him curiously as he continued on. He certainly never expected to turn his head back towards the massive bay window to see it sitting much closer than before. Still watching him with wide, yellow eyes and tilting its head when he quickly shut his mouth. It had never moved so close before, hell it never even showed interest in him before beyond a few glances when he’d first enter the small overhanging room. At the same time, it didn’t appear aggressive or annoyed with his mindless ramblings. In fact, when he had stayed quiet for a minute during their staring contest, it chirped at him. Like it was...encouraging him to talk again. So he did, nervously at first before getting back into the flow of whatever random thought he had at the moment. And every time the creature would just sit and listen, its full attention on Derrick, with the occasional dozing off in the midst of his longer topics. He wasn’t sure how much it actually understood him. After all, it never listened to any directions it was given during another trial, but then again that could have just been out of spite and defiance. It didn’t speak English to his knowledge as it had never once given him a reply, but that didn’t mean it didn’t know it.

It never really responded, but there were quite a few times it would react to whatever he was saying. He theorized it was basing most of its assumptions off of whatever emotion he was portraying in his speeches. When he was visibly upset about some incident with Travis down in aquatics, it would whine. When he was excited about some great news he was dying to share with someone, it would chirp. When he was exhausted for one reason or another, unable to keep his eyes open or his stories coherent, it would purr. Almost as if it was trying to lull him to sleep, which it succeeded in every time with its soft white noise. If he were to be honest, he genuinely looked forward to his evening shift just about every day. Derrick could get so much shit out of his head and off his chest without having to worry about what the creature would think about him later. Maybe this was just a trick of the mind, but...it almost seemed just as happy to see him as soon as he would appear in that bay window, immediately twitching its ears up and moving closer.

Clearly, the mutual bond was not reciprocated.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, why the fuck would the creature like him? He was just another human that stared at him for science and soon enough he’d be just another human ground under its palm until his organs burst. Perhaps it just liked hearing the sound of his voice, anything being better than the silence it was constantly surrounded in, or maybe it had always been sizing him up for a snack. He had never written any of these emotional reactions down. He didn’t...well, it was hard to put in the right words, but he just didn’t want his superiors to have that knowledge that could understand feelings for the most part. That it appeared to like him. That it could be docile. Almost like he was trying to protect it from more severe and psychological tests they would surely run. He wondered if things would be different if he actually did report his findings, like if they could have prevented whatever triggered its rage strong enough to rip down doors and walls.

It was creeping closer now, claws clicking along the concrete floor. It was absolutely soaked in blood, especially around its mouth and hands. The way its tail jerked side to side reminded him of an irritated cat, which he didn’t take as a good sign. It wasn’t like Derrick actually had something to protect himself with like he so claimed. His bluff was called in an instant and it made a throaty rumble in response to his threat. It had been difficult to see at a distance with the flashing, red light acting almost as a cheap strobe, but now that it was only a few yards away, he could very clearly tell there was something hanging from its mouth. Something large and dripping and red and oh Christ it was a body. He hoped the poor bastard wasn’t alive anymore for mercy’s sake, firmly clamped between its jaws and impaled on its fangs. Was that a sign of things to come for him? He pressed as much as he could against the lock door in a vain attempt to somehow phase through to the other side and reach safety. With no such luck, he slid down to sit on the floor instead and covered his head with his arms curling in tightly on himself. He was shaking something terrible and tears still managed to find a way to escape his shut eyes. This was never how he imagined he’d meet his end, but either way he didn’t want to see it coming. Maybe if it did like him just a smidge, it would grant him a quick and painless death. He doubted it, though. It sounded like it enjoyed the struggles of its prey far too much.

Derrick could tell when it was hovering right above him. Its shadow engulfed him, blood dripped steadily into a puddle in front of him, spreading out across the floor until it actually touched his shoes. Fuck, he couldn’t help the sob that escaped him. He was scared. Strangely enough, it didn’t...do anything to him as seconds ticked by agonizingly slow. Staring at him, he presumed? Just how it would when there was a safety window between them. Something heavy landed in front of him with a disgusting squish, splattering more blood onto him. When the silence stretched on again, he hesitantly cracked open an eye to see what was supposedly laying at his feet and immediately wished he didn’t.

It was fucking Travis. Or what was left of him, anyways, torn to shreds and missing a few vital chunks from his body. Derrick wanted to throw up, but his throat was already choked up with more panicked cries. He looked away from the corpse, not wanting to take in anymore of the gory details and instead looked at the face of the creature. It didn’t look upset in the slightest, not like how angered it had been dismembering every other unlucky human in its path. Instead, it just stared back at him with those same wide, yellow eyes, tilting its head at Derrick’s lack of reaction. It leaned down to nudge the body closer to him with its nose, pushing it against his legs and rumbling curiously. No, no, no, get it off, get it off!

“S-stop! I don’t fucking w-want it!” He cried, kicking his legs out to shove the remains away from him. What was he supposed to do with it anyways!? Why was it showing off its latest kill, like it was seeking his approval, like it--

...like it did it for him.

The night before last, he and Travis got into it again in the break room. He was already pissed about being transferred to the division the creature was in and leaving his previous work behind. It could have been because Derrick happened to be the only one there or because he was one of the younger hires, the asshole decided to take his frustration out on him instead. Snide comments turned into full on insults and all Derrick wanted was some goddamn coffee before he clocked out. Waiting for the machine to finish brewing wasn’t worth it at this point, he could pick up a cup somewhere else on the way home. He tried to leave, but Travis blocked the doorway and he, not being in the fucking mood, tried to shoulder past him instead. It was very much not appreciated as the next thing he knew he was being pinned against the wall, the lapels of his coat clenched in his fist. He was absolutely ready to throw hands with this guy before he backed off suddenly, another coworker entering the break room with a cheery greeting and total obliviousness.

Maybe he should have told his superiors about the incident, but he chose instead to vent about it to the creature the next night. As soon as he mentioned when it got physical, its ears flatten back and it growled, though Derrick was too consumed by his own emotions to really care about its apparent threat display. After that was when it had clawed its way to freedom and started its rampage. That...that couldn’t have been what set it off though, right? There had to be other catalysts surely. However, it didn’t change the fact how eagerly it was presenting the mauled corpse of his aggressor, almost as if to say look! For you!

Did that mean...it really did understand him? It understood enough that Travis had tried to attack him and he was not his biggest fan right now. He had been really worked up during that little rant, too, probably making it sound worse than it actually was. Either way, it didn’t like that and took matters into its own hands. Or, mouth rather. This must be its interpretation of protecting him, killing the threat before it could strike again. Good thing he wasn’t one to usually bad mouth coworkers or the creature possibly could have had its massacre sparked by Derrick being mildly annoyed that Sarah always forgot to clean out the coffee filter when she was done.

The creature looked at the body as it was kicked back towards it, whining slightly. Was it upset that he didn’t accept its gracious tribute? That wouldn’t start another fit of anger, would it? He thought it just might when he scoot forward those remaining few injuries to press its face against Derrick’s trembling body. Its bloody mouth transferred an unfortunate amount of gore onto his clothing, but he had other things to worry about, like how close its fucking mouth full of fangs was to his more important organs. The nose buried into his chest rubbed gently, trailing up his neck and to the side of his head. Purrs rumbled with each quiet breath, taking care not to accidentally deafen him. He still cried out when the creature invaded his personal space, though he didn’t have much room to struggle as he was pinned between the door and the face. He whimpered regardless, trying to turn his head to avoid being nuzzled and ultimately failing.

If he thought the impromptu cuddling was bad, he was in for a worse shock when the creature pulled back just a hair, foolishly thinking that it finally had its fill of smelling him or scenting him or what the fuck ever. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, not when a black tongue darted out from smiling lips to lick him from his stomach to the crown of his head in one, quick swipe. Now that made him actually scream out some sort of pathetic, strangled sound, squirming about as he was lapped again and again and again.

“N-no, don’t, p-please!” He begged uselessly, “D-don’t kill m-me, please, p-please, don’t e-eat me!”

Much to his surprise, the creature actually pulled away from him after that last remark, tilting its head questioningly again. While Derrick was in the middle of his panic attack, doing his damnedest to keep his cries from becoming too harsh, it crossed its arms and rested its head on them, watching as he tried to collect himself to no avail. When it seemed like he was starting to slip deeper into his episode, it started to purr. Quiet and soft, a nice noise to help drown out that increasingly annoying siren. And the worst part was that he really was actually starting to calm down. Not that he liked being so scared he couldn’t breathe, but it was the sheer fact that it was the creature bringing him comfort when it was the one who terrified him in the first place. His sobs quieted down after a few minutes and when they were ragged breaths instead, it started to chitter. Little chirps and purrs and throaty noises he could only assume were directed at him since that’s where it was staring so intently, though the sounds meant nothing to him. Was that how it felt when he used to talk to it for hours on end?

Was it trying to talk to him to soothe him, because him talking to it made it feel relaxed?

He supposed their time together was a much needed break from being poked and prodded and tested and it started to associate Derrick with that mini luxury. The talking probably gave it a sense of company considering he had no fucking clue if and where other members of its species resided. Maybe this friendship wasn’t as one sided as he thought. Maybe it cared so much about the stupid little human that would blather his entire shift that it was willing to rip the facility inside out just to get rid of his bully. One by one his muscles started to uncoil their tension until he was sagging against the door. His breathing was still labored, but he could at least get a steady breath through his nose rather than his gasping mouth. A minute tremor in his hands was all that was left of his previous quivering and his headache was now replaced with a cloudy exhaustion. The creature was still making its imitation noises, only tapering off when Derrick managed to raise his head up and look at it.

“You won’t hurt me...will you?” His voice was so small and weak, it was a good thing the creature had fairly strong hearing.

It responded by bumping its nose into his chest again, smiling all the while. Affection. It liked him. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and gingerly placed it on the creature’s cheek, giving it a tiny pat.

“...you...you know we’re fucked when the army comes...right?” They were a last resort when all other failsafes went south and had yet to be deactivated. It wasn’t their job to find and help survivors, it was their job to make sure nothing about this event was leaked into the public. Be it the experiment itself or scientists who could potentially blackmail the directors.

It shifted to push itself back into a crouched position, lowering towards him with its mouth open. He flinched and turned away which seemed to be exactly what it wanted, clamping down on the back of his shirt and jacket and narrowly missing giving his back a nasty scrape. Derrick all but squeaked in surprise when he felt himself be lifted up, dangling a few dozen feet in the air. It was like he had the same POV as the creature, watching its hands paw at the locked door until claws were able to scratch through the metal in large gouges. Wiring and mechanics were exposed as a result and with a little more tearing and pulling, it opened the entry wide enough for it to slip through, Derrick in tow. Huh. Guess keycards we’re always a necessity. 

He hadn’t the faintest idea where they were headed, but it seemed like the creature had a general sense of direction and so far it was taking the correct route to the surface, to outside. For the moment, he didn’t have a single thing to say and simply let himself sway with the creature’s gait. Its intentions with him after they escaped into the world above were pretty vague at best, but he couldn’t really find the energy to care right now. As long as the military hadn’t beaten them to the exit, they’d be fine. 

They could talk later about their really unconventional future later.

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (8/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: This will hurt. I am sorry.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains character death, some depictions of violence, depictions of poor and unhealthy coping mechanisms, as well as a toxic relationship. Any intercourse and physical touch in general is fully consensual, but emotionally the relationship may appear upsetting to some. Also there are some elements that may resemble emotional self-harm.

Word count for this chapter: 4k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 8: Killian Jones, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

The kiss is deeper than he expected. Killian pushes the woman back, but gently. He was the one who gave her permission to kiss him, after all.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss. I have a girlfriend."

Her brows are going wild. "Shit. Sorry."

He's so stupid. What would Milah think? "'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That,” she slurs. “Thank you again."

Just as the woman closes the bathroom door behind her, Milah appears above him.

“You okay?” she says.

He looks at her confused, before he realizes it's not that normal to sit on the floor while at a club. “Yeah,” he says. “Just very, very drunk.”

She gives him her hand, he takes it, then she starts pulling at him. “Let's go outside for some air. There's too much smoke in here.”

“I wanna pee!”

She drags him up. “You can pee outside! Let's go!”

It feels better outside. The cool, clean air wakes him up a bit.

Milah throws her arms around Killian's neck and pulls him to lean his forehead on hers. He smells the martini in her breath, landing hot against his lips.

He closes his eyes. He could stay like this forever, and how he wishes this moment lasted that long...

“How sweet,” a sharp voice says from the side.

They turn together to see Gold staring at them, his hands crossed on the handle of his cane. There's two big guys flanking him, and Killian pulls Milah aside, stepping in front of her.

“What do you want?” Killian says.

“I did wait,” Gold says. “I held back, let you take my wife away from me.”

“Shut up,” Milah says, moving to Killian's side. “Our marriage was over long before I met Killian.”

Gold looks at her, hand grabbing the cane hard.

“You... you followed us here?” Milah says, suddenly realizing. “What the hell? Where's Jack?”

“You have no right to ask about him,” Gold says and takes a brisk step forward. “You went against my conditions for meeting him. You brought that bastard with you!”

Milah flinches, and Killian's left hand grabs onto hers.

“And you?” Gold looks at him. “Going behind my back to take my son on your side? Trying to buy his love?” His face seems to barely contain his rage as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun.

Killian's hand squeezes Milah's as his other one raises up in defense. “Whoa, Gold, wait-”

Gold shoots.

Though Killian’s ears are ringing from the exploding sound, he hears Milah's trembling sigh. It feels like it's hours later that he turns to look at her, eyes going straight for the growing red spot on her chest.

And then she's falling.

“No,” he whispers and holds her, gently breaking her fall.

Her eyes are moving wildly, then she coughs and a thin trail of blood runs from the corner of her lips.

“No, no. Milah...”

She focuses on him. “I love you,” she whispers. She gasps one last time, then she's limp in his arms.

It's like even more hours pass. He feels her hot blood staining his hands.

Her eyes are closed. She's not breathing. Only her blood moves, dripping out of her body even though her heart has stopped beating.

“No,” he says.

He hears the tapping sound of a cane, and he looks up to see Gold standing above him, gun aimed at him. His henchmen also aim their handguns at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Killian says. “Finish it.”

What else can he say? It's not as if he'd leave him to tell the tale.

“Oh, no. You won't be so lucky,” Gold says, but he doesn't move.

Killian manages to hold himself back only long enough to set Milah down gently, then he lunges at Gold, grabbing the gun.

It all happens in half a second.

Gold shoots, Killian's ears are ringing again, and he sees two fingers fly off in a sudden fountain of blood.

He drops down to his knees. His left hand hangs limp in a way no hand should. The thumb and index finger are missing, and there's a gaping crescent hole, starting under his middle finger and reaching to the middle of his wrist.

The pain hits him suddenly and a scream erupts from his throat.

His vision comes and goes; one moment Gold is standing above him, the next Killian is leaning over Milah, the blood spilling from his hand onto her unmoving body.

There's more people screaming; people shouting; sirens, blue and red lights...

Then white. So much white.

Killian is just three days younger of twenty-eight when he once again thinks how he's cursed.

Milah is dead, there is no doubt about that. His hand was amputated, and he has to spend a whole week in the hospital before the doctors clear him for a transatlantic flight.

In the meantime he learns that Milah's body was sent back to England, per Gold's request.

At first, he finds it impossible; but the cops who'd questioned him about the assault soon inform him that Gold has solid alibi in London at the time of the murder.

Killian almost shuts down in the week he has to spend in there; Gold must have stolen Killian's phone before fleeing the scene of the crime, and Killian has no way of contacting Nemo, and he didn't let him know the specifics of his trip in the first place, like when exactly his return trip would’ve been.

If Nemo had known, he would have worried after not getting any news from Killian the day he was supposed to return. He would have contacted hospitals, would have found out about the assault. Probably would even honor Killian's request to attend Milah's funeral in his place, if Killian had the guts to actually ask him for that.

And to top it all, Nemo's phone at home is out of order. Why didn't he ever bother memorizing his cell phone? Now all Killian can do is lie in his hospital bed and do his damnedest to avoid looking at where his left hand is no more.

The blasted week goes by; Killian spends the rest of his savings into a new return trip, the only one he can afford has two stops in between.

He's dead tired, hungry, with fresh dog crap under his sole, and somehow he's not surprised to see his apartment has flooded.

It's three in the morning and he contemplates walking through the ankle-deep water anyway and collapsing in his bed.

He stands so long in front of the open door of his apartment that eventually the downstairs neighbor comes to complain about water dripping into his place.

One call to the fire department later, Killian picks up his two bags – he didn't have the heart to throw Milah's stuff away – and takes a taxi to Nemo's place.

Nemo obviously got out of bed to let Killian in, and of course, he asks Killian what happened.

It's like he's seventeen again, unable to react to one of the most life-changing news he ever received, only the opposite, in the most grim way that he never dared imagine.

He's hiding his handless arm inside his jacket pocket and silently walks the stairs up to his old bedroom. He doesn't answer Nemo's questions next morning, he doesn't even sit down to get breakfast. He goes straight to the lawyer Milah had during her divorce.

Gold is paying people to give false testimony, and Killian is gonna take him down.

Too consumed in his own hatred for the man, the whole week he spent planning his comeback he didn't think of the problems the lawyer is listing now; Killian was drunk – as evidenced by hospital records – enough for his testimony to be considered debatable; he also has motive to want to get back at Gold, stronger than Gold's motive to kill his unfaithful wife three whole years post their divorce which concluded in his favour; and of course, one has to prove first that Gold's witnesses are lying before questioning Gold's alibi of more than five thousand kilometers away from the scene of the crime.

Killian doesn't return to Nemo's place. His own apartment stinks, damp and moldy, half of his furniture and appliances were ruined, but at least his bed is functioning, and he can't deal with Nemo's sympathy right now.

He needs to take Gold down. He can't have any more distractions.

It takes him a month to remember his therapist. He checks his emails for the first time since the assault, and he feels he loses another part of him at the news of his therapist moving towns to study for a doctorate; she's suggested other therapists at him, followed by two more emails of asking if everything is okay, then nothing.

Killian looks at the names and phones of the suggested therapists as if they're threats to his consciousness. He actually laughs. Dr. Eriksen had him since before he was even an adult and she knew everything about his fucked-up adolescence. Where would he even begin with someone new?

He deletes the email.

For two years, his whole life centers around finding weak spots in Gold's armour. He quits from Shakespeare's boat rental and works at stock in the harbor. It's a tough, time-consuming job, but it keeps him in view of the sea and gets his mind off his pain. Alcohol takes over that job in his time off.

He stops drawing; Milah used to draw with him and it nearly breaks him to pick up a pencil to sketch. The last thing he sketches is the design for the tattoo with her name on it that is soon permanently inked on his arm.

Two years of trying, as much as his exhausted psyche and a mind always leaning towards booze can handle, and the best he manages is to break into Gold's house, hack through his computer and locate some suspicious activity between Gold's bank account and the one of one of his witnesses.

Thirteen years of no spots in his criminal record mean nothing to the law when there are spots in it in the first place, and he's arrested for breaking and entering.

Nemo responds to Killian's call to bail him out, even though Killian has barely spoken to him in two years. However, the disappointment is, for the first time since Killian met him, visible on his face.

“It's your decision,” Nemo tells him after Killian is out. “Your path to choose, and your life to ruin.”

If it were anyone else, Killian would be flipping him off. But Nemo is the one who took Killian in as an assortment of broken pieces and put him back together, loving and patient all throughout. The one who has always been too good to be called a mere father.

“It's not just wanting to get back at that bastard,” Killian says, nearly shouting. At Nemo's small flinch, Killian breathes in and out. Among all his losses, it's the first one that has filled him with such rage. “That monster killed her in cold blood. And he's out there now, not paying for his crime-”

His voice is too unsteady now to accommodate shouting.

“It's not just personal. He killed her-” A soft sob breaks his sentence in half. “-and he's walking free.”

“The world is not fair,” Nemo says in a very soft voice, hand resting on Killian's shoulder. “Come home, son. This isn't what you need right now.”

“No. I need to see him behind bars.”

“You need to grieve.”

Killian scoffs, laughing mirthlessly. “It's been two years.”

“Exactly.”

He drops his gaze. If he looks at Nemo's face right now, he may crumble, and his efforts of two years – albeit not very successful – will be rendered pointless. The time he lost, the damage he's done to himself, to his relationships with everyone, Nemo, Shakespeare, Will and Tink, it will all be for nothing.

And worst of all, he'll be yet another one who will do Milah wrong. If he gives up, he'll be doing to her nothing better than what Gold did, and the very thought sickens him.

There's only one thing he changes. His drinking has reached new levels, and he needs, if nothing else, to survive in order to bring Gold down. So for now, AA meetings are something.

At first, he only talks about how he manages to stay clean, how he slips and how he tries to not beat himself up over it. His fifth meeting is on a particularly bad day; the story of watching the love of his life die slips from him, and across the circle he gets looks of pity that he hates.

If only he told everyone about the furious thoughts for revenge on Milah's murderer that have been plaguing his every waking thought for the past two years.

He slumps in his seat and stays silent for the rest of the meeting. He shouldn't have come today, he should have known he would be too emotional to think rationally before speaking.

The meeting ends and he's already made up his mind to look into other AA groups before he even exits the building.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls at him.

He turns. It's Eloise Gardener, one of the attendees.

“On the last meeting you mentioned that mental activities keep your thoughts away,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“I'm hosting gardening classes, two evenings a week at the Bare Feet Greenhouse. I thought I could invite you to join, they're already quite cheap and I'll give you a discount.”

“Your name is Gardener, innit?”

She smiles. “And I am a gardener. Shocking, I know. But I've found it's a good distraction, especially knowing you're taking care of a life. You get the satisfaction without committing to... raising a child, let's say.”

Killian decides it's worth a try; unlike the AA meetings, raising a plant actually has visible proof of progress.

He stops coming to the meetings, but Eloise doesn't ask him why. She teaches him and guides him through providing a good environment for his plants.

One night after class, she helps him move the pots with his grown plants to his apartment. He doesn't truly invite her in, and when she initiates a kiss with him, he takes a few seconds of thinking before he realizes he doesn't mind that much.

It's just fuck, and Eloise doesn't seem to be thinking it's anything deeper than he does.

If he thinks it's any deeper, he'll just be haunted again by that miserable thought, that the last person he kissed before Milah died was not Milah herself, but a random stranger whose face he wasn't even sober enough to remember.

Eloise leaves and within minutes, he's left as well to search for any open store that sells booze. Rain is pouring down, cars splash him until he's soaking wet, but he finally gives up when he trips and falls, his leg hurting too much to take him too much further.

Even the couple of hours he stays in the hospital while they put a walking cast on him feel unbearable. Two years have gone by and the memories of hospital misery are still too raw.

Eloise doesn't comment on the cast nor his continued absence from the AA meetings. She invites him to her place and after they have sex he asks if he can stay the night. That way it's much easier to avoid looking for a drink to deal with how disgusted he feels.

Even the other people attending the gardening lessons wouldn't imagine Eloise and Killian are sleeping together – and Killian is attending two different classes side by side. Not that there's anything to show for it. They just fuck, sleep in the same bed, and that's all. She keeps him from running out for a drink in the middle of the night, better than any AA meeting managed, he gives her a person to have control over the way she wants, and they scratch each other's itches.

Nemo keeps trying to stay in touch with him, and Killian nearly blocks his number out of pure shame. Perhaps if Nemo realizes he's been blocked he'll stop bothering.

Killian has practically moved in with Eloise now, or she with him; in any case, they'll sleep in the same bed every night, whether it's the one in Killian's apartment or the one in Eloise's house.

He cannot connect who he was before with who he is with Eloise now. Before Nemo even adopted him officially, Killian had allowed him to pick up his pieces and make him a functional human. With Milah, it was Killian who was the whole, the rock she could lean on.

With Eloise, he can once again be broken, but without any expectation to get fixed back up – and he's too tired for unrealistic expectations. He can stay the mess that he is, sharing his body and his space with her so that he can feel something, even when the feeling isn't the best. Eloise is controlling and demanding, and Killian's feelings for her range from fear to disgust, but he prefers those over pain, grief, rage, and a continuously burning thirst.

It's easier to hate his... “partner” than to hate everything else in his life, including himself.

He's actually shocked to realize two years have passed since his first time with Eloise, and nothing at all has changed. Their feelings didn't change towards one way or another; they just kept fucking, sleeping next to each other, and going by their day without thinking about each other.

He almost hates it when she asks him to ride with her to a concert in Maidstone. Not only because she's making ensuring no-one assaults her sound like a chore, but also because he's still not ready to enjoy music he used to love. Especially not in her presence. Being in her company is not a circumstance that fits happy thoughts.

There's a lot of things he's been denying himself since Milah died. Everything that used to make him happy, even the company of his family, feels sullied now.

He doesn't expect to enjoy the concert. But Eloise buys his ticket and drives the car, so he decides that he can tolerate one night of being a boy toy to discourage sleazebags.

It doesn't even feel that special that his birthday is tomorrow; he lost Liam a few days after his fifteenth birthday, and Milah a few days before his twenty-eighth. Maybe it's just not in the cards for him to celebrate it again.

For three whole hours, he forgets everything. There's just the music, and the lights, and his throat getting sore from singing without a care.

There is, of course, the occasional groping, people stepping on his feet, even getting an elbow to the ribs, but for him it's all par of the course now. Including checking his pockets afterwards and realizing that twenty pounds are missing. And Eloise being... well, Eloise.

“You were supposed to stand by my side,” she starts complaining after the concert is over and people start dispersing.

“I can assure you I was touched against my consent far more than you were.”

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

Ugh, her arrogant, calm face she makes when she tells him off. He hates it.

“If you wanted an actual bodyguard, you should have hired one. I only have one hand,” he bites back at her.

“Really? I get you a birthday gift and you consider this an appropriate response.” There’s no question mark in her tone.

“Oh, piss off. As if you've given a fuck about my birthday all these years.”

Her lips purse together, but her voice keeps that cool tenor that irritates him to no end. “I wanted to make it a good one for you. Just because you don't care about it doesn't mean no-one else does.”

He sighs. He actually had a good time and he doesn't want it ruined by her gaslighting. He's experienced people actually caring for his birthday, and he knows Eloise's words are just words. Next, she'll say that she contacted Scorpions themselves and asked them to have a concert the day before his birthday.

She shakes her head and goes for the portable toilets. At last, he can have some time on his own. He turns his head away and back to the scene, now completely empty.

No One Like You wasn't exactly the song he liked the most tonight, but it's the one he can't stop humming. He's humming!

Maybe he does owe Eloise a bit. Just a bit.

"Catchy tune, huh?" he hears from the side.

He turns, seeing a woman with a wide smile on her face.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he says, smiling back. "What a night."

The woman nods. "Did you have fun?"

The words pour out of him like vomit. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my...” – How should he call her? – “friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh.” Her face softens. “Sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach." A very dedicated hand, maybe. There's only so many hiding spots he has.

"Do you have a ride back home?" the woman says.

He stares at her, and he feels his jaw drop when he realizes. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

She just smiles. "I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He scratches behind his ear. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh.” She seems to think for a moment. “I don't even know where that is."

He holds back a laugh. "Figured so. From your accent."

Her smile widens. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he gives his hand back, careful to keep his left arm inside his jacket pocket. She's still looking at his face when he drops his hand to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she pauses as she checks her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in-” She pauses suddenly. “What?"

She's obviously cut off by the expression on his face. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma seems happy as she looks back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones. Does your birthday seem promising?"

His chest feels twice its normal size when she turns to look at him. Somehow, with their birthdays being so close, it feels as if her having had a great birthday is feeding his own satisfaction for that day, for the first time in four- no, five years.

Some of her slightly messy hair is sticking to her face – she probably went all out dancing tonight – and her eyes seem to droop in drowsiness, but she's absolutely glowing.

Glowing and looking at him.

When she takes a step towards him, it feels like it's gravity that's pulling his own body to her.

"It seems that way, aye," he replies.

Her eyes close when she's a few inches away from him, but he waits for the moment his lips touch hers to close his eyes.

~

(A/N: I want to remind the readers that this chapter is told from Killian's point of view, distorted as it is from grief, rage and isolation from the people he loves. Emotional progress is almost never visible in the short term, especially regarding addictions. Killian might have thought the AA meetings didn't help him, but it doesn't mean that giving up and depending on a controlling person to keep him clean was the healthy thing to do.

I know it's a work of fiction but some lines are easily confused, so the message I want to pass is that if you or a loved one is trying to let go of an addiction, keeping up the effort when progress isn't directly visible may be hard, but it's worth it and will eventually help.)

[spacevikingdeathstar]

I Am Angry

I don’t usually do this, posting about myself or my life. I’ve been lurking in the Tumblr realm for years but only actually started interacting properly a few months ago - and only to reblog other people’s posts, with and without my own commentary. However, I felt the need to rant and, given my area has just shut down because of the shitstorm going on globally, my only option is screaming into the void here on Tumblr. 

A little background you may need to make sense of this rant: I am a 29 y/o full-time college student living in the American Southeast (smack in the middle of the Bible Belt, ugh). I’ve suffered from severe depression and socia/general anxiety 20+ out of those 29 years and have only just begun to heal and interact with other human beings in the last year or so.

Last night I was taking about what’s going on in the world both locally and internationally with my mom. I was kinda ranting about how badly the US government has dropped the ball and all the ways in which our so-called leaders are making everything worse for us lowly peasants. When I get upset, I get loud, my voice raises in pitch, and I tend to rage-cry. These are all things my mom knows about me, this isn’t new information. Yet once again, as always, when I got upset, when I got loud, she told me to calm down and don’t yell at me and I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. For the record, I wasn’t yelling at her. I wasn’t really yelling at all. My voice did get loud, I will admit, but rather than admit that this was an upsetting situation, she told me to stop. Stop being upset, stop being emotional, stop trying to connect with her. 

I know this isn’t what she was trying to do; she was trying to calm me down. However, for as long as I can remember, every time I’ve gotten upset and shown that to her, she has shut me down. When she says don’t yell at me or calm down all I hear is your outward show of emotion is inconvenient to me and I want you to stop. It’s always been like this and it always has the exact opposite effect of what she wants - I just get more upset and more loud. Recently, I’ve taken to not talking to her at all when I’m upset; if I need to convey information I text because you can’t hear volume or tone in written form. If I get upset in the middle of a conversation, I cut that conversation off and leave. This, in turn, upsets her because she feels like I’m cutting her off and distancing myself from her. And I am, I admit it. But that’s only because every time I try to connect to her, I - and more importantly, my emotions - get dismissed. And I have no idea what to do with this.

I have a large-ish extended family, but my mom is the only one I’m close with or even interested in being close with. She’s a very warm and accepting person - normally - but is totally unable to connect with me or accept my emotional life if it at all inconveniences her. Maybe she’s just too empathetic and my being upset upsets her in turn and she’s trying to stop that from happening. Maybe she’s just not used to having to deal with me being emotional (I was dead inside for most of my childhood and adolescences on top of being an Aspi and so not taken to frequent emotional outbursts). She was mostly emotionally absent most of my teens but we’ve been building a better relationship now that I’m an adult. However, I don’t know how close I can be to someone who systematically shuts me down every time I try to make a connection in any way other than fluffy positivity. 

I just don’t know what to do.

As for the reason I was so upset - the Covid19/Coronavirus bullshit - I feel like I am absolutely in my right to be angry! We should all be angry! We should be furious about how our government has failed us and seems set to continue to fail us in the future. The fact that so many people are ambivalent about it outside of if or how it affects them personally is disgusting - though probably a function of just how inured to catastrophe we all have become. Our so-called media is designed to actively brainwash the population with lies and propaganda - it’s all sensational entertainment, not real news - and so many Americans drink it all up like mother’s milk, letting it dictate to them what they think, what they do, who they vote for. 

We’re running head-long into apocalypse and no one is pumping the breaks. The failure of our government to successfully handle this crisis is not the cause of impending country-wide collapse, it’s a symptom. This crisis has shined a spotlight on just how little our “democracy” cares for the people (hint: little to none). Covid19 has destroyed what was left of the illusion of governmental competence to reveal the man behind the curtain and shown him for the ineffectual clown he his. And I don’t just mean Trump - everyone (or at least everyone with two brain cells to rub together) has known how much of a clown he and his administration is, was, and has always been for a while now. Unfortunately, it seems as though not everyone has those two brain cells and, so long as his ineffectual “leadership” didn’t personally effect them, a lot of Americans were willing to ignore it. That’s beginning to change as the country begins to shut down and the masses start pointing fingers and questioning who to blame. Maybe this’ll be the wake-up call America needs to make mass, overarching, and sweeping change to all aspects of our governance and public policy. 

I hope so, yet still I am angry.

I sit here and read about Italy, I read about Britain, I read about China. Then I look outside and watch the hundreds of cars driving by on the interstate and know we aren’t doing enough. We aren’t taking enough actions to stop this pandemic from spreading - and our entire country is going to pay for it. I watch the news and see our government bailing out big businesses and banks to the tune of 1.5 trillion while letting it’s citizens suffer. In a capitalist society corporations are people, actual people are just commodities to be used up and discarded and nothing highlights this more than a government demanding everyone stay home while simultaneously denying them any help with bills, food, rent/mortgage, healthcare. I see posts of individuals begging for help because they’ve been laid off but their landlord remains unwilling to work with them. I see people posting from the hospital with an oxygen mask over their face and having every single symptom of the virus - yet unable to get tested - and can only conclude the systematic denial of tests is in effort to keep the “confirmed” cases lower than they are in actuality. I read about the Trump administration resolutely cutting 700,000 people from their access to food stamps - despite the growing number of people losing their jobs as the country shuts down and the lack of employment opportunities country-wide. I read about how some people are wanting to organize a general strike - but fear it being ineffectual in a economy where so many are desperate for jobs. What’s to stop these corporations from simply forcing their striking employees back to work like it’s 1890 and the Pinkertons have been hired? Whats to stop them from simply firing anyone who dares to go on strike - en mas, if necessary - and hiring any one of the tens of thousands of people who will be desperate for a job at that point? Nothing, that’s what.

And I am angry. 

Maybe it’s a function of the belief that all negative emotions are bad - that people shouldn’t show anger, feel anger, express anger. Maybe that’s why every time I give voice to what I feel, I am shut down. Maybe that’s why I am told “maybe you should stop reading/watching the news” rather than “maybe we should do something about this”. Maybe everyone else is too numb to be angry, or to apathetic to do anything about it, or feel too disempowered to know what to do. 

But I am angry.

I am also scared and feeling powerless, like so many others. I am doing my damnedest to not allow this imposed isolation and the abject horror of our situation negatively effect my mental health - the last thing I need is to fall back into depression. But every time someone tells me to stop watching the news, stop following what is going on across the world, stop researching how the political candidates for American presidency are reacting to this crisis - I want to yell NO! No, I will not stop. No I will not put my head into the sand and ignore everything around me to make myself feel better. No, I will not stay uninformed. 

I didn’t vote in 2016. I’m ashamed to admit it, but there you go. I was in a really bad place that year and trying to follow the political debates took a chisel to my already fracturing mental state. So I did what everyone told me and stopped reading the news, stopped following the candidates, stopped getting upset over “politics”. And when November came around, I didn’t vote. I didn’t know anything but hearsay about Trump or Clinton and so couldn’t make an informed decision - and I was unwilling to make an uninformed decision. I was told this was the best option given my mental health; that when the planes are going down you need to put your own oxygen mask on first before concerning yourself with other people. This is sensible advice, as far as it goes, but I don’t think that it’s wholly applicable these days. Given the state of the world and the people who propose to run it, I think the advice to stay away from politics because it might upset you is the absolute wrong one - at least for myself. Going back to the downed plane metaphor, such advice more closely reads as: stick your fingers in your ears and sing real loud while the plane goes down in the hopes that it will all go away. Ignoring it won’t change a thing and, given everything going on right now, getting upset about “politics” is the most sensible reaction there is. 

So, I am angry. 

And I will not stop being angry just because it is inconvenient to others. I will not stop being angry because my emotions make others uncomfortable. I will not stop being angry because I was told to. I will not stop being angry by ignoring the world around me. 

I will not stop being angry until our government - the so-called world leaders of freedom and democracy - get their collective shit together and begin treating their people with the respect and dignity we all deserve. Until the richest country in the world starts acting like it and providing their people with the basic rights afforded to all other peoples of first-world countries. Until public policy is created for the betterment of all people, not just to pad the pockets of the ultra rich. Until the foundations of our crumbling democracy are rebuilt to truly create a government for the people, by the people. 

I am incandescent with rage.

And I will not calm down. 

[nyanzaya]

@ayokaya mentioned you in a post

@nyanzaya could you do iza with number 7 and some random dude?? XD

Your request is my demand:

First-Time interaction starter pack   “Hello! Would you like to hear about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

(🐈) There were three knocks at his door and Iza couldn’t help but wonder who was at his door at this hour. It might have only been two in the afternoon but these were his prime hours to rest and take naps not deal with people who decided to come at such an inconvenient time. 

To his dismay, it was... the Mormons? Christians? Same thing, right? 

“Sorry, but I’m a Atheist-Satanist.” His left his twitched, lying. 

“Oh even better. Please let me help you find your way to Jesus and God’s light.”

For crying out loud.

“N-no that’s okay, I very much enjoy Satan and the powers he gives me.” Another twitch of his ear.

“Please, I can’t let someone like you fall to that Devil’s evil ways.”

“Sorry, but the only way you are ever going to get me to scream and believe in Jesus and God is if you fuck me. I’m gay sorry bye.” Iza went to close the door only for it to be stopped by their foot.

GOD HELP ME.

“Is that true? I can recite the words of Jesus himself to save your soul as you do something so sinful.”

Iza’s screaming inside. This wasn’t happening. This was fake. No way this was possible. “Y-you’re not serious.”

“By the word of Jesus Christ himself, I am.”

Iza wanted to die right now and frankly, God himself wouldn’t strike down a sinner such as himself. His only wish and prayer to God was denied. 

Reluctantly, Iza let them in. Why did this feel like a bad plot to a porno? He knew that these types of people literally beg and try their damnedest to get inside a home but...

Jesus, why did it have to be me? ME! Of all people? I just wanted to sleep in and-

“Let’s get on with making you a Believer.” They said as they started to unbutton their dress shirt.

“Why are you stripping! Stop- I actually.. Yeah something came up I have to go.” He can keep this house for all I fucking care.

“Oh- I can come by tomorrow, is that better?”

“No way, maybe in a month I’m a real busy guy.” Iza nervously laughed. 

“Oh alright, I’ll see you in a month then.”

They left on their own and Iza locked the door bringing a hand to his face. “Jesus Christ what the fuck was that God. I fucking hate you.” 

Forever, Iza would curse God for bringing this misfortune on him. 

[k-frances]

Ironic, right? A tumblr post about not listening to tumblr posts. What I’m going to talk about might get a little touchy, but I feel like it’s my job on this blog to go where other people don’t because they’re overly worried they might offend someone. So disclaimer, if this offends you, I don’t care. That sounds harsh, but let me explain. I’m going to do everything in my power to express my views in a way that is non-offensive. If my views still offend someone, I did everything I could to not offend them and I can do no more, so for that reason I won’t feel guilty or bad because someone else doesn't like something. 

That’s lesson one. Tumblr has created a real environment of fear around offending people. Yes, it’s good to try your damnedest not to offend people, but guess what. It’s still going to happen. 

Advice on Writing Method

There are hundreds of posts talking about how the ‘rules of writing’ are not so much rules but guidelines, so I won’t go into incredible detail with it. I’ll simply leave it at; if someone’s writing method doesn't work for you, don’t do it. 

On the flip side, if someone says that, in their opinion, certain writing methods don’t work well for x,y,z reasons, don’t get offended. Just don’t. Don’t waist your energy on it. Either read what they have to say and consider, or don’t! If you know what you’re doing is working for you, then why would you need advice about it in the first place?

Advice on Things Not to Write About (because it will offend someone)

 Hi. I’m a doctoral student in a clinical psychology program. So as far as sensitivity training goes, I have more than you (almost definitely). I probably have more than 90% (made up statistic lol) of this website. Here is what is important to consider:

As a writer, we will always be touching on experiences that aren’t identically our own, because otherwise we would be writing biography. Sometimes we might go so far as to write about different races, religions, or traumatic experiences that we have never experienced. It’s important that we are very careful when writing about these topics. Remember, we are doing our best not to offend someone. That means doing the research, asking (politely) if you have a recourse to ask, and reading about what that minority group has said about representation. We should try our absolute best to include those voices in our consideration of the topics we’re covering. Not only will it make minority people feel better, it will also make your writing more authentic and palatable for everyone. 

However, you are likely to still offend someone. That’s right. You can do it all, and some people will be upset simply at the idea you, a Non-whatevergroup, is writing about them, and your writing doesn’t match up with ThEiR ExPeRiEnCe™. You could ask 100 people of a minority group, and 99 would love what you did and not find offence at all, and one of them would skin you alive with their words of pure outrage. And that one person would for sure have a tumblr account. 

[A small lesson about sample sizes. For the most accurate information about a demographic, you need a random sample. Tumblr is not a random sample. It houses the most offendable people on the planet, and you will likely find that people in your real life of the same exact demographics are somehow not nearly so.]

So if your main source of advice is from tumblr, let me give you a few guidelines for what advice not to take:

-advice which tells you to ‘never’ touch a topic at all, and gives absolutely no reason, caveats, or clarification. If someone isn’t willing to express their opinion beyond saying (my favorite) “If you’re going to write about X, just don’t.” (when X is a broad topic or theme, not a specific trope) then their opinion is either poorly formulated in their own head and based on automatic, emotional responses, or at the very least poorly expressed to a point where it isn’t helpful critique to use.

-Their reasoning is nothing beyond ‘I don’t like it’. Even if they use fancy language, just not liking something is not reason enough to ban it from all literature. If something is truly problematic, there’s going to be a clear and easy to convey reason. 

-If the person is an ass hole about it. That’s it. Simple. If someone is expecting you to listen to them and they’re spouting, you don’t have to listen to that. They’re expecting you to tread carefully around them while screaming at you.

And lastly, in the hopes of creating a better environment, here’s some advice when wanting to approach the type of ‘please don’t write about this’ post that will actually get people to take you seriously and listen:

-realize that you don’t know other peoples’ ‘groups’ on face value. Almost everyone is in a minority group. (Whaaaaa?!) Yes, its true. Even CIS White Men™ may have a learning disability or past trauma. The fact is, you don’t know. Don’t imply that no one knows what it’s like to be the sad man, when what you really mean is ‘my experience differs from yours because I am X, and here’s how’.  (No I’m not saying having trauma is the same as being Black or gay. I’m saying they’re different, but not better or worse, it’s not a competition and there’s no assigned value of struggle. They’re just complexly different.)

Aside: I am so sick of struggle dick measuring contests on this site! 

-Avoid ‘never’ statements unless it’s something very specific (ex: never refer to a Black character using term X). What I’m saying not to do is ‘never write about the struggles of a Jewish person if you’re not Jewish’.

-Give your reasoning! No, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you feel, but you are expecting people to listen to you and do as you say. They don’t even know you, so if you want to be taken seriously, just explain yourself a little. It will also help to clarify, stop unneeded arguments due to miscommunication, and help writers actually discern what it is that is offensive so they can apply that understanding to other scenarios that might also be offensive for the same reason.

-Realize that people are going to make mistakes and don’t skin them alive for it. 

-Also, please stop saying things like ‘if you can’t see why this is offensive then I can’t help you’. First of all, that’s inflammatory. No one needs your help. You’re trying to impart your opinions on someone else, it’s much easier for them to just ignore you, so stop acting like you get the final stamp of approval on their work and they need you. 

They don’t need you. We need each other. We need to communicate positively with each other if we’re going to make this medium a better, more inclusive environment. Lastly, you’re whole argument is that other people can’t understand minority experiences they’ve never lived, so why would you turn around in the second breath of your point and say ‘if you can’t understand, there’s no help for you’? That creates an environment that clearly says; if you aren't X, you don’t understand, if you don’t understand you are garbage.

That is some fucked ups cyclical shit right there.

[survivor-tierradelfuego]

Ep. 13: “I just want to bury my head in a mountain of blankets and sleep.” -  Sarah

Najwah

Well, that was shit. I feel as though I really tried to get Amy to vote with us but Pedro wanted to get her out so everyone just decided to write her name down too. Also, she basically used my name as a decoy too. And I used Maddison as a decoy too so she could flush Olivia's idol. It worked. I had my superidol at the ready too. I feel like this game is just going to get more insane from here on out. We are so little people in the game. So close and yet I'm content with just being here. In the final seven. This feels good. I'm glad Pedro is with us and I wish we had gotten him on board a while back. We haven't told anyone else about our idol and superidol yet. I wonder if Amy really gave Pedro the fake idol lmao that would be hilarious. Anyway. I'm just going to carry on playing I guess. Amy had crazy big plans and I loved them but I felt like her allegiance to Maddison ruined our common goal. I wish she'd just been on board with us voting Maddison like she wanted to when we voted Grae out. That's when it all started. That's when we were causing waves in the game without anyone even knowing. Sigh. I wish things could have been different. 

Olivia A

So it looks like Maddison and I got Pedro to agree to work with us!! This is very very exciting. We can get Aimee to flip easily (even though she does keep going back on that promise) and have a majority. Assuming it goes as planned, Maddison and I will then have our pick of who to go to the final 3 with (Aimee or Pedro). I have felt 100% solid with Maddison from day 1 and we have made every single decision together. I don’t wanna be at the final 3 with anyone but her.

Aimee

All Maddison had to do was play her idol on Amy and Cody would of went home. Maddison was scared that Old Hanuha was lying to me again and that those 3 were voting Maddison and Pedro and I would be left out and vote Amy. I wanted to put Cody’s down but I knew it would of been rocks, four versus four vote.

Dang I wish I would of known about the idol sooner so I could of had Old Hanuha put the votes on Maddison and get Cody out that way. It would’ve been such a huge game move for me and Maddison that would have looked super great for the jury, and if Cody left this game would be wide open again. Also it would’ve been believable that Pedro ratted the vote out to Maddison instead of me so I could’ve hid behind that too and old Hanuha never would’ve known I told Maddison the vote. But I get it and Maddison was nervous it was her. We still have an opportunity to flip this on the next vote too. It just requires Pedro and the personal connection I have with him to flip with me. He will have to put personal things aside with Maddison and Olivia if he wants to be more than fourth or fifth in this game. He knows the best he can get here is fifth with them....he even told me this straight up. I wish I didn’t have to flip because I love these people but I know that Cody Najwah and Sarah are a final 3. And I’ve been wronged so many times before that it would be a nice little treat for Ben and everyone else hahahaha. Actually Sarah flipping would be great for her own game too but I’m not sure if she is really going to do that or just is waiting for the right moment to maybe flip with me and Pedro as well. It’s interesting with Sarah because it’s almost like we are both staring at each other waiting for the other to say we wanna flip. Wonder if we are thinking the same thing and maybe planning the same moves. Wouldn’t surprise me, Casanova 👑 has a really similar game to mine, even if it’s portrayed differently.

Aimee

Also, after listening to that podcast. WHOS THE TOP PISCES NOW, ZACK! https://64.media.tumblr.com/ce6ed38bc4ad9c69ee92e5e764c19e5e/tumblr_njj8unqiGl1sqbiv1o5_400.gifv

Sarah

From three days ago but I just got it to upload.... https://youtu.be/w5g35793Bkc

Sarah

From last night... https://youtu.be/IBPzYsGfIRU  Najwah I had a brain fart at the end of that game and I said something so ridiculous. I just want to bury my head in a mountain of blankets and sleep. 💀💀 What a fun game though I enjoyed it! But... Embarrassed for life. 

Aimee

https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/616209748381122560/ I wore my jacket looking fancy for this immunity challenge. Too bad my mood was shit. Oh well. Congrats Cody!! 🥳🥳🥳 https://64.media.tumblr.com/b1324cd7cf8c621547f61c8cb20d5fda/eaeee04a03e6c254-72/s540x810/eaf80576f97d63015f9a99cffb28fe7b46e888cb.gifv

Najwah

No ones ever going to see that video again so let's write a better confession. Here's the thing, I am playing for fun at this point. After hearing and having time to listen to Zack's podcast, I realised how intense I was initially too. How I'd do anything to win. Whether it was stay up until 6am, avoid my job, accidentally stay without food, stay in bed, not call my parents for weeks, blindsiding James just to get to merge. I no longer feel stressed and angry. One thing I liked about Zack's podcast segment was that I have a whole new perspective on a lot of things right now. I'm here, in the fucking top 7. Never thought that would ever happen. I have made friends and gained so much from this. At some point in this game you get to a crossroads and you have to decide who you are. Are you a vicious blindsiding, backstabbing bitch or do you want to see your people WIN more than anything. Tonight Cody won immunity. He fucking deserved it. I'm so happy he can go spend time with his nieces and nephews and not worry about being a target. Me? Oh I'm burning to use my damn superidol so that I can at least try to win ONE immunity.

Everyone in the game right now has won individual immunity except Pedro and I. Which is funny bc I always thought of Pedro as a challenge beast. I miss Amy. I don't like not seeing her in this game. I've been thinking about how we left things all day. Why did she want me to vote her? Why did she trick me about the vote or was that just her protecting me? Either way, we played the same game at each other as our last play. The double decoy. I don't know if I mentioned this yesterday, but Amy wanted to vote Olivia out so that we could form a 4 person alliance with Pedro and Maddison. I've never spoken to Maddison ever. And Pedro is a loose cannon. I don't see how that would have ever worked. And she said our first play would be to get the strong players out: Cody, Sarah.. Like? In my opinion Maddison is the strongest player in the game. If Maddison were at the end, I wouldn't hesitate voting her in a heart beat. I didn't get how she wanted. To hide behind Maddison forever and not take control of her own game. I didn't get that she wanted Maddison out but whenever it came down to it, she would hesitate to get her out? She's told me every one of Maddison and Olivias advantages and idols etc. She's spilled so much tea while I've never told her anything negative about the people I'm working with because I didn't want them out? Ugh. I guess some day I'll ask her. If this were a real game of survivor perhaps I'd take Sarah or Aimee out, like I'd flip on them for a million bucks maybe coz they're strong players but as long as this is an online game ima be cheering everyone on bc this game is long and tough and we have been through things together, ya know? 

Olivia A

Just talked to Aimee about flipping to work with Maddison, Pedro, and me. She said she’s in for now but still wants to talk to og hanuha people and see their plan for this tribal. She still said that she realizes if she doesn’t flip all of our games (including hers) are done. So even thought she hasn’t given full agreement, I think we’re all solid on this. We are planning to vote Sarah out. I think this will completely turn the game around. I don’t wanna think too far ahead but I’m starting to see my trajectory to FTC pretty clearly. Don’t wanna speak too soon though so if I get voted out don’t hold this against me lol.

Pedro A

trying to break the trio...have a bad feeling about this tribal ....working with maddison and olivia isnt the best....i hope they dont lie AGAIN....at this point..if i get out....they are next...so its kinda dumb to vote....BUT IF I LOSE....i will scream ALELUIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...cause damn im exhausted 

Aimee

This song is dedicated to Cody and his immunity win!!!!!🙌💚🖤 https://youtu.be/weRHyjj34ZE Sharika - Whenever, Wherever Our humor knows no distance 😻🌵🌈💞 😅I’m trying my damnedest to get Maddison and I as far to the end of this game as possible. So sorry about the confessional about me wanting the idol to work to get you out. https://64.media.tumblr.com/562258ad5eb14f6498ceff24aa8392e7/984582d2a107588c-d2/s540x810/1b6cf1576e95c3672122cfb7887ffd5a644d87da.gifv So I hope no hard feelings! I love that we can laugh over pop divas, gay culture and just life in general. 😂 We are gonna tear up the city as soon as we can hang out in person. I hope Texas and Ohio is ready for this! Olivia A

Pedro being so paranoid about Aimee’s commitment is getting frustrating. Since we brought this plan to him we’ve told him she’s 100% in she’s been talking about flipping forever and he still gets so nervous. I understand the paranoia bc it’s a big move but I wish he would listen to what we’re telling him and trust our intuition. That doesn’t really matter though bc tonight we are voting Sarah and it’s going to work! :) Oh also Maddison and I keep saving up coins to buy things that end up being nothing it’s getting really frustrating but oh well!

Pedro A

Sarrah says she wants to vote maddison...and now aimee..is trying to get me to vote...with maddison and olivia who want to take out sarah.....(i already know about the plan, i made the plan lmao)......somehow i feel like im the one GOING HOME TONIGHT

Maddison

I’m putting trust in someone that I never wanted to have to trust. Pedro, here’s to you bud.

Aimee

https://kasugano.tumblr.com/post/154832341580 Well I figured I would try! I will do everything in my power to keep Maddison here on Skype survivor island. https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/612534208936755200/ I just keep losing one close friend after another in this game. I’ve honestly become numb to it at this point. I just see that light at the end of the tunnel. 2 weeks just 2 more weeks. I don’t plan on going to jury. I’m just so excited to finally reconnect with my people at the end. I’ll keep fighting like I’ve been doing since day 1. I feel like Maddison being voted out just kicked me into overdrive. The adrenaline is here and I’m ready for what’s to come next. This lady is strong and a fighter. https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/613061232697753600/

Cody A

https://youtu.be/S8iY2_ho8-Y

[sage-nebula]

You're my new favorite person in the fandom. Thank you for further illustrating my general dislike for player characters, MC being no exception.

Thank you!

And it’s no problem. I’ll be honest: I did end up conceptualizing my idea of who MC is while playing, and I do have post-canon headcanons that involve her, following on from Saeyoung’s route and the Secret Endings (although both are rewritten to some degree in my headcanon, the Secret Endings in particular, because the way Cheritz portrayed them made me so angry). However, I’ve found that my ideas for how MC should be (and how her relationships with Saeyoung and Saeran) should be tend to run in direct contrast to both what Cheritz has done and what the fandom continues to do, so it often leaves me in my own little corner of the fandom, all by myself, haha.

Basically, my primary issue with both what Cheritz did and what the fandom continues to do is that it all feeds into the (understandable, if disagreeable) entitlement of the player. It’s been routinely established that MC is supposed to be nothing more than a player stand-in. Despite Cheritz’s mind-boggling insistence on showing MC 1 in all of the CGs (at least have unique CGs for each of the default MCs?), and the fact that the MC’s personality is faintly outlined in the available answer choices, we’re supposed to project onto the MC, and are therefore supposed to live out a romantic fantasy through her using the character we’ve chosen. While all of that is perfectly understandable when you remember that this is an otome game, the problem is that Cheritz created three-dimensional, wonderful characters who it is incredibly easy to care for. And that’s good … except that in wanting to care for these characters, I find myself caring for them, not for myself, in the sense that I don’t really give a damn if they return my feelings or not, I just want them to be safe, happy, and healthy.

So on Saeyoung’s route (since he’s my #1, easily—although I love Saeran a great deal as well, just in a different way), the fact that MC keeps whining on and on about him “being too one-sided” (tf, you selfish bint, step off) and ignoring her feelings aggravated me to no end. MC’s feelings aren’t the main issue here. Saeyoung is going through so much; on top of everything in his past that he has had to deal with for his entire life, he has now learned that his beloved brother is the farthest thing from safe and happy, he has potentially hundreds of people (including the person who has been helping take care of him ever since he entered the agency) after his head, he’s learned that his stated father-figure has been lying to and potentially using him for years now, he’s still doing his damnedest to ensure MC’s safety … and yet, MC is going to sit there and whine that he’s not paying her enough attention? Are you kidding me? Like, just look at this selfish, entitled nonsense: 

First of all, bitch, you can’t cheat on him because the two of you aren’t in a relationship. Second, the mere fact that it’s even an option for MC to say that is disgusting, because it shows that she doesn’t care at all about what he’s going through, but is instead thinking purely from a position of lust and greed. Third, he’s literally risking everything, including his own life, to ensure your safety, and you’re going to accuse him of being “too one-sided”? Saeyoung chews her out as a result of picking the first option (I’m not sure what happens if you pick the second, because I would never), and to be honest, my only reaction is to give him a standing ovation. Like, literally:

GO OFF. YOU TELL HER, BBY. (He said more, but I mean, the general gist is here.)

Despite the fact that Saeyoung (and Saeran, but more on him in a minute) is going through so much, and yet those days in the apartment are still basically reduced to “wah wah Saeyoung is being mean :(” is disgusting. Relationships are supposed to be equal. Partners are supposed to support and care for each other no matter what. If we, as MC, are supposed to pursue a relationship with Saeyoung, then when we see that he is struggling and suffering, we should want to put aside everything in order to help him, just as he does for us. The fact that MC could be so selfish and whiny is abhorrent. The last thing he needs is to have to worry about someone moaning and complaining that she’s not getting enough attention. The last thing he needs is someone who wants him to sacrifice himself and what’s best for him just so that she can get to spend time with a cute, funny boy.

So instead of all that nonsense that made me want to backhand MC’s teeth down her throat (including when he was like, “why do you like me?” and the only “good” choice is, “There’s no reason, I just do” — like, bitch, move out the way, I have an entire goddamn scroll of reasons why I love this boy), instead I like to envision an MC who, while of course she has the same less-than-eleven-days destiny induced care for Saeyoung that he has for her, actually cares about him, more than she cares about herself. Yeah, of course it’s a bit disappointing that he doesn’t seem to want to talk or interact with her on even a basic level once he arrives at the apartment—but her biggest concern is whether or not he’s okay. Her biggest concern is if he can find, rescue, and reconcile with Saeran, if he’s going to be in serious danger from the agency, if he’s eating and sleeping at least a little (even if it’s nothing but Honey Buddha Chips, Saeyoung, come on, eat something). Whether he returns her feelings or not is irrelevant. That’s not important. She just wants to help him, in any way she can. Even if he doesn’t return her feelings, even if he doesn’t care about her—yeah, that hurts a little, but it’s fine, because she cares about him and so she wants to be there to support him. (Well, she is there, but you know.) 

So at the end of the apartment days, they’re not in a romantic relationship. Saeyoung has accepted her support, her help; he has confided in her about Saeran, as a friend, particularly since (as he establishes in his route) it’d be more dangerous to just leave her be since both Saeran and Vanderwood know what she looks like. But when she goes with him to Magenta (and beyond), it’s as his friend, not his girlfriend. They have feelings for each other, perhaps, but now is not the time. That’s not what’s important. Saeran is what’s important, to both of them (not that MC knows Saeran, but she cares about Saeyoung, and Saeyoung cares about Saeran, and that’s enough in the beginning). 

And this continues throughout the Secret Endings, in which, by the way, my version of MC would be a lot more active, because fuck that passive, barely there bullshit that Cheritz put into them, quite honestly. Saeyoung gets shot, he’s bleeding out, he passes out in Magenta and what does MC do? Fuck all, is what she does! VANDERWOOD cares more about Saeyoung in the Secret Endings than MC does, and yet MC is supposed to be Saeyoung’s girlfriend? For real? (Not that Vanderwood shouldn’t care, because Vanderwood has been looking after Saeyoung since Saeyoung was a teenager, but you know what I mean.) It infuriated me, because there was so much I wanted to do to help the twins in the Secret Endings, but I couldn’t do any of it because MC was a passive, useless little do-nothing. (Also, like, in the first chapter of Secret Ending 1, when she’s supposed to be the getaway driver, and the only option is “slowly accelerates”. ??? Are you trying to get all of you killed? Drive, bitch!! Put the pedal to the metal, ffs!!!)

But yeah, like—they’re not romantically involved in the Secret Endings, either, because again, there are more important things going on. I think it wouldn’t be until after Saeran is rescued and starts to heal that they’d discuss things like that—that they’d have their first kiss, go on some dates, get engaged, et cetera. And part of this is because of Saeran as well; it’s not healthy to have just one person you’re close to, to have only one relationship. I think that, as much as Saeran obviously needs the chance to grow close to his brother again, it would also benefit him to have a sister to spend time with, to support him, to help him heal. As much as he’ll also have the RFA family to give him some support, I think having both Saeyoung and MC there to help him grow, heal, and recover would be really good for him. And I hate the fact that so many people want to romance him, that so many people romanticize his trauma. Saeyoung has a lot of trauma and mental illness that he’s dealing with as well as a result of his past experiences, but Saeran has been through even worse, and nothing we’ve seen of him in either of the realities (Another Story or Original Story) suggest that he would be in a place where he could have a healthy romantic relationship, or even that he would want that. (Because in Secret Ending 2 we learn in his own words that he’s terrified of being used, abused, and abandoned again, thus he pushes people away. What part of that screams “I want a gf” to people?) If we get anything with Saeran in the future, I want it to be a platonic route continuing from the Secret Endings, where we help him—as a friend, as family—to continue to heal and get acquainted with the freedom he now has. Bad Endings could include both trying to romance him (at which point he tells Saeyoung that you’re a ho and Saeyoung kicks you out—because, since would continue from the Secret Endings, you’d be engaged to Saeyoung), as well as being insensitive / cold / cruel to him, at which point Saeyoung once again kicks you out, because if you try to make him choose between you and his brother, he’s picking his brother. Full stop. It’s not a choice that will make him happy, but he’s not going to lose Saeran again. Never again. (And my MC knows this, and is more than fine with it. She knows that Saeyoung could survive losing her. She knows that he couldn’t live with losing Saeran again.)

But that’s a bit off-topic. The point is, it really frustrates me that so much focus is put on MC’s entitlement in both the actual game itself and fanworks, to the point where the characters (and in my experience, particularly the Choi twins) are reduced to nothing more but pretty princes to pamper and spoil her. They’re three dimensional characters that we’re supposed to care about, yet looking at fanworks, you don’t get the idea that many people actually care about them or their story. The fact that Saeyoung is so very often reduced to a ditzy memelord (and that so many people seem unaware of the fact that he quits hacking after his route) is proof enough of that. The fact that so many people romanticize Saeran’s mental illness, or that they want the brothers fighting over MC (or sharing her, like, tf?) is proof enough of that. While I do have a version of MC that I’ve worked into the (edited and changed) story, I love both Choi twins a great deal, prioritize their happiness, and certainly don’t want either of them to exist for my sake. I want them to exist for their own sake, happy, and healthy, and whole.

BUT ANYWAY, THIS IS SUPER, SUPER LONG, so I’m sorry to subject you to all that, haha. I did type up this post of post-canon headcanons; again, it does include MC as Saeyoung’s love interest / Saeran’s sister-in-law, but most of the focus is on the Choi twins and their recovery, if you’re interested. Lots of brotherly fluff, because as I state in that post, I’m also not here for the idea that Saeran would forever be irritated by Saeyoung. Saeran is snarky, he can be prickly, but he heals with lots of love and support, and the idea that the twins would always be fighting is very short-sighted (and also sad, like—let them be close and happy!! LET SAERAN HEAL!!). I’m all here for post-canon Choi twins brotherly bonding. Give me more of that. I’m all in for that.

[parkersrevenge]

Send a Ranger! Pt. 2 of ?

Caleb’s first day of work went rather well, in the overwhelming way that first days always tend to be. The hangover didn’t help either, but that part was worth every painful throb to the temple. The evening with Ben wound up being more fun than he had in a long time. Besides, as much as they sucked, Caleb was a bit of an old pro at handling them. He filled out the paperwork with only minor difficulty, and sent an amused text to Ben as soon as he was out of the administration office- “They said they reduced the amount of paper to help save the trees or some shite, but I swear my packet was like 50 pages long. If this is saving the trees, I’m amazed we have any of those left.”

With paperwork complete, he made his way back to what would be his own offices and sat down with the supervisors to set a fixed schedule for his first week. Training at all the duty stations was the main point on the agenda, but he’d also have to order uniforms, get some lessons on the park and interpretation itself, and take the computer ethics course. He texted Ben a complaint about that, and Ben sent an evil looking emoji right back. Bastard.

Of course, none of this was really new to him. He had been a ranger out west for three seasons, working in the woods and trying his damnedest to make sure no one got eaten by a bear. Or a hot spring. Turns out those were becoming an increasingly common problem. You wouldn’t think “eaten by a hot spring” would be a concern on a fun-filled family vacation, but if anyone bothered to read the signs posted literally everywhere, that fate could easily be avoided. At least, that was the thought Caleb had on a near daily basis while he was working out there.

People and signs. Do they view signs as the enemy, to be defied at all costs? Or do signs just turn invisible as soon as someone enters vacation mode? There was valid hypothesis in there, somewhere, and Caleb wanted to test the theory out the next time he went on a trip.

In either case, Ben would get an earful of that rant soon enough, Caleb decided. He liked ranting, and Ben seemed like a perfectly wonderful person to rant to. Something in him just screamed “I am a calm person”. Or… something in him talked quietly. Screaming seemed rather counter-intuitive, come to think of it.

It was decided, after lunch, that the best way to close out the day was to observe one of the rangers doing a rove down on the beach. Caleb was thrilled at the chance to actually be outside, and hurried out to meet the ranger in question. He saw him a few yards down, talking to a group of young boys. It was only when he got closer that he saw one of those six-pack plastic rings in the ranger’s hands and heard what was being said.

“Now, let me put it to you this way… how would you like it if I walked into your home and just started making a mess? Throwing your clothes everywhere, spilling drinks, hiding your xbox controllers, turning off your wi-fi?”

The ranger’s voice was slow and quiet, but with enough of a bite to it that the kids around him looked rather guilty. “I wouldn’t like it,” one of them replied meekly, not meeting his gaze.

The ranger glanced up at Caleb, giving him the faintest smirk, then turned to face the kids once again. “I figured as much. Well, this beach is the home to hundreds of different animals. Do you think they like you messing up their home?”

A dejected chorus of “no’s” rang out, and the ranger nodded gravely.

“Exactly. Now I know you didn’t mean any harm, but these rings are dangerous and should not be thrown around. Birds and fish get caught in them, and most aren’t lucky enough to be rescued. I know the rules sound lame, but we have them for a reason, alright?”

The kids nodded, shuffling their feet awkwardly, waiting for the lecture to be over. The ranger sighed, knowing there wasn’t much else to be said, and sent them on their way. Rolling his eyes, he turned to give Caleb his full attention at last.

“Do you need a knife to cut those rings, man?” Caleb asked.

The man looked him over, studying him carefully. “It would be much appreciated, yes.” He handed the plastic over, and Caleb went to work cutting the loops with his pocket knife. The ranger crossed his arms, not saying anything else.

Caleb didn’t see anything rude in it, as he figured the man was just shy. Shrugging, he continued, “That was a fun lecture I overheard! I think you scared the shit out of them. Or at least guilted them into submission.”

“Thanks. I’m not too bad dealing with children. They generally don’t want to do wrong. They’re inherently sweet, until they start screaming over whatever it is they scream over. It’s the teenagers I have the problems with. I have no idea how to handle those. Not even when I was one.”

Caleb laughed, closing his knife and glancing around for a recycling bin. “I’m actually not too bad with teenagers. You just have to be really sarcastic and morbid around them, and they seem to appreciate it.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” the ranger replied, still a little coolly, but clearly trying to appear relaxed. “If I’m being honest, I’m not too great with adults either.”

“Ah, if ever there was a job to help with that, it’s this one, I think,” he continued, happy to see the man at least trying to continue the conversation. “I’m Caleb, by the way. I’m the new seasonal. I think I saw you this morning, but they shuffled me right to admin.”

With that, the man’s demeanor began to shift entirely, and he smiled genuinely for the first time.

“I’m Rob. You just moved into park housing yesterday, yes?”

“I did! The only people I saw was Ben and Anna, though.”

“Ah, yes, I was out last night, got back late. Heard some talking, but thought better than to disturb it. Besides, I was tired… so you’re Ben’s new roommate, then?”

“Indeed I am!”

Rob paused, clearly pondering something. “You’re our newest house mate. We should hold a council of war tonight and get you acquainted with everyone.”

“Council of war? That sounds a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, hardly. Anna, our den mother, will welcome you to the fold in her most charming way over a group dinner. We’ll probably order pizza or something. Get some fake candles lit to pretend to be classy. You’ll meet the whole gang, get the house rules, and then the war aspect will probably begin.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s always some drama, it’s just a matter of what day of the week it is. If I have to place a bet, though, this early in the season it’s probably going to be Abe and Anna finding something hopelessly stupid to bicker about. My only consolation is I don’t work with them at their park. Their drama must drive the rest of the staff insane. I don’t know how Ben does it.”

“What exactly do they bicker over?”

“Everything, really. I think they both enjoy it, too. Separately, they’re perfectly fine and even fun, but together? It’s clearly not a situation that can last.”

“The living situation?”

“The fucking.”

“Wait… what?”

“They’re… together. Usually. I think they broke up right before last season ended, but got back together when he came back last month? Or maybe they got together over Christmas break. It’s hard to say, with them. In any case, it’s an important lesson learned. Never date a co-worker, Caleb. Abandon all hope ye who enter there,” he sighed, shaking his head.

Caleb nodded, letting out an amused whistle. Where Rob clearly saw misery, Caleb saw an endless source of entertainment. It was only day one, and this was already looking like the start of the most amusing summer of his life. Especially since, Caleb noticed almost immediately, Rob seemed a bit too invested in Abe and Anna's relationship in the first place.

[ao3 link]

[spiderdevitt]

The Hardest Mistakes - Prelude

Synopsis: Greydene had a difficult upbringing. Born in the UK and adopted by American parents, her life in the system hasn't been ideal. She was brought to the US at a young age and at 18, joined the Statesman, a spy organization in Kentucky. The rules were too much and she goes rouge, becoming an assassin. Her first job? Protect royalty with help from the Kingsman and her Uncle, Harry Hart.

Tags: In this chapter? Drama.

Author’s Note: Like I said in my first post, this story is HIGHLY UNCANON. I’m just writing based of things I’ve wanted to write. Much of this will not make sense or tie in too much, but again, just that warning. It’s uncanon.

Main Characters: OC, Gary “Eggsy” Unwin, Harry Hart.

“I’m going to need you to push harder than that, Claire. You can do this,” the calming voice of the doctor lulled through my ears.  

The delivery room was spinning. The beeping from the monitors around me were fading and the bright lights above me were slowly becoming dark.

“Claire, come on! One big push and we can get the baby.” I did my best to pick my head up to look at my doctor. He had his face mask on with his round glasses, looking at what I didn’t want to imagine. How could I have let this happen? It was only one night.  

10 months earlier:

I had met the man in the shops. The small villages of England have many, which make it easy for people of status to want to run towards them in hiding. The zig-zags of the roads, the hustle and bustle of the streets and the perfect decor in the windows are hard to ignore.  

I worked in a small storefront bakery where I was able to smell the sweet cinnamon rolls and tart lemon pastries bake. The aromas were intoxicating as they would fill onto the street. The scents would bring in everyone. Tall, old men to the smallest of children; the poor who could only afford a half of one pastry, to which I’d slip in an extra two for good keeping and savoring. But on this day, we had attracted the rich. Rich in money, rich in status and rich with his words. His vocal elegance flowed like the smoothest velvet you could imagine.  

“Excuse me, do you happen to cater?” The man asked as I brushed my flour covered hands on my apron.  

“Yes, you’d need to fill out a fo-” I responded before being cut off from my boss.

“No need to fill out a form, Your Majesty! She don’t know what she’s on about! Just let us know that you need and we’ll be happy to oblige!” She said, her white hair flapping away on the top of her head. I looked at the man as he darted his eyes away from me. I had no idea he was of royalty.  

“The cupcakes. The lemon ones. They’re to die for. I’d like those at the banquet this weekend, if you please?” He asked, his beautiful smile coaxing my boss into a frenzy.

“Absolutely! Claire, dear! Get to filling out that paperwork! I’ll handle the rest of the store!” My boss barked, shoving the clipboard and pen at me before pushing me towards the man. I shook my head in her direction before turning back to the man.

“She’s a fun one, isn’t she?” He smiled before looking down at me.

“You have no idea.” I said as I clicked the pen and wrote the beginning of the order on the paper. “So lemon cupcakes. Which frosting? And what colors?”

“I’d like a buttercream. A baby blue if you can.” I continued to write, not making any eye contact.

“Garnishes? We have sprinkles, edible pearls, sanding sugar?”

“A light yellow sprinkle would be lovely.” I finished writing the order. “Could I maybe request a lovely lady named… Claire, was it? Can she bring the cupcakes, or do I get the lovely, loud bird at the register?” He smiled. I looked up at him and shook my head.

“I’m not allowed to bring orders, unfortunately.” I shrugged my shoulders and his smiled turned to a flirtatious frown. His blue eyes and brown hair were exceptionally memorable. The blue in his eyes was like ice, but the tension between us wasn’t cold in the slightest. His hair brushed over his eyes slightly, making him look mysterious.  

“Excuse me, ma’am? I’d like for Claire here to bring the order to the banquet, if you please. Her smile will brighten the room.” He said. He looked back down at me, gave a wink and left the storefront without another word.  

The banquet came quickly and I was told by my boss that I had to look as professional as I could. I was to represent the bakery with pride. I was granted access to the banquet hall to help set up the dessert display of the cupcakes. They had come out just like he wanted and there were hundreds of them. Our small kitchen of chefs had worked tirelessly to make sure they were complete perfection for Prince Andrew. I had three stands which would fit two sets of fifty cupcakes and one set of one hundred. The long dining table would then have every cupcakes filed in beautiful lines as if the most behaved children were walking into primary school on their first, nervous day. I was placing the cupcakes on the table when I heard the click-clacking of dress shoes approaching my direction.  

“Claire, they look lovely!” Prince Andrew said as he approached me. I turned and took a bow.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I answered, standing up straight.

“Oh Claire, please. You can just call me Andrew right now. No one’s around.” He smiled and I returned with one of my own.  

“So what is this banquet for tonight?” I asked, crossing my arms.  

“It’s my like… fifth cousin’s birthday or something. I don’t try to understand my ridiculous family tree. But he wanted the cupcakes so I went as my gift to him to get them.” Andrew explained.  

“Cupcakes are the sweetest of gifts, so I think you made a lovely choice.” I smiled as I turned back to the table to arrange the rest of the cakes.  

“Ah, yes. The sweetest of gifts. Luckily tonight, I get a gift of my own.” He laughed. “I get to see a beautiful, working woman do something she’s passionate about.” I looked back at him.  

“Oh? Is there another working woman here?” I asked with a smirk on my face.  

“No, just you.” Andrew blushed. “Hopefully when things die down tonight, I can see you on less borrowed time and more leisurely time.” He said before taking my hand and giving the lightest kiss to my skin.  

The night was beautiful. Royal women in their gorgeous gowns, the men in their suits and the children trying their damnedest to remain proper in the face of political and powerful people. Andrew owned the room, smiling and engaging in conversation with everyone he encountered. The cupcakes were an absolute hit and by the end of the night, there were hardly any left. The clock chimed so many times that I was unsure of how long the party had actually gone on. It was close to one in the morning and people were just starting to leave, and those were only the people with young children.  

I began to clean up my station and take down the cupcake stands when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Andrew hiding behind the pillar closest to my table. He motioned for me to follow him. Looking around to see that no one was looking, I followed and he brought me down one of the grand hallways of the mansion. The hall was dim and freezing on the winter night and I began to shiver. He took his suit jacket was off and draped it over my shoulders.

“So, why did you pull me away?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, clearly being okay with the temperature change.

“Leisure time, Claire.” He said with a flirtatious smile. We continued to walk a ways down the hall, turning the corner to a darker area of the mansion. The leisure time was mostly silent, but the silence was comforting.  

“I’d ask what all of this is like, but I can see this is it, apparently.” I said quietly. “Lavish parties, beautiful nights, but in reality, you just want to get away from it all sometimes.”  

“Yeah, you kind of just want to sit in silence and not think for a while.” Andrew said, stopping in the hall. He leaned against a doorway with his arms crossed. “And you? A baker with an evil step-mother like boss? A Cinderella story?” He chuckled.  

“Yeah, her. She’s… a little extreme, but I love baking and it’s the only way I could save up for a place of my own.” I responded, approaching the same doorway and leaning against the frame like he was.

“She’s not actually your step-mother, I hope?”

“No, not at all. My mother was a housewife. My father was a retired engineer. My brother is… a tailor.” I smiled, looking at one of the photos of some royal family members on the wall. “The Hart family is full of people who wanted to do things they loved. We were never taught anything less. Why lull yourself into a life you don’t truly believe in?” I absentmindedly said before looking over at Andrew who had turned his full attention to me, his face inches from mine.  

“Claire Hart, you amaze me.” He smiled before placing a light kiss to my lips. My mind immediately began to race. I should have pulled away, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.  

He broke the kiss, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips. My eyes did the same before we both met halfway and kissed again, this kiss being much more passionate. He opened the door we were leaning against and closed it behind us.  

10 months later:

“Push Claire! We’re losing her!” The doctor yelled! I snapped out of my daze, let out a scream and pushed as hard as I possibly could. The room was spinning. My head was killing me. I felt blood vessels popping everywhere and my entire body felt like it was on fire. Then suddenly, the pressure I felt had started to melt away. A baby’s cry filled the delivery room. It felt as if the boulder I was carrying on my shoulders for ten months had been lifted and hurled away. “A beautiful baby girl, Ms. Hart.” I heard the doctor say. I sighed as he approached me with the baby.  

“My beautiful little girl,” I said, my voice weak. “My beautiful Graydene.”

I didn’t have to be given a sleeping aid. I felt exhausted and didn’t want to move a muscle. The dreams were all so clear. A life with my baby. Being a single mother wouldn’t be hard. I’d have the support from the people at the bakery and my brother, Harry. He would surely help me.  

The dreams were ever-changing as they were clear. I heard a door creak and suddenly I was in my hospital room. The silhouette looked like Andrew, which I knew was impossible. He wouldn't come to see me. When he found out of my pregnancy, he said we could never see one another again. The figure approached my bed and clicked on the light next to me.  

“Hello, my love.” he said, his voice still as soft as velvet.

“Andrew?”  

“Yes, love. I had to come see her. I was just too curious.” He said, looking around the room at the monitors. All the sounds sounded so real. The room was dim and fuzzy. Why couldn’t I move in my dream? “This will be our last meeting, my love. I love you, Claire. Truly.” Andrew said as he went over to the sleeping Graydene. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. And suddenly, everything went black.

[imagine-loki]

 TITLE: He Will Never Love You Like I Do!

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-Shot

AUTHOR: ara-toa-min

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: TRIGGER WARNING: PAST ABUSE AND PTSD

 Imagine having PTSD from an abusive relationship. Loki gets angry one day and triggers your PTSD by yelling at you.

RATING: Between T and M (depending on sensitivity to the topic)

NOTES/WARNINGS: TRIGGER WARNING (in case you missed it). I really liked this imagine and I decided to post it after all this time because, even though it is a sensitive topic for me, I thought it would be better for people to read it and know that they are not alone out there. If any of you need someone to talk to I am always there, as are many others out there. You are not alone, and you are never alone. Let me know if I should make a second part to this and thanks for reading it.

It had started out just like any other day at Stark Tower. You had woken up, got dressed in your usual jeans and long sleeve shirt, made breakfast (usually getting roped into making enough for the rest of the Avengers), and then went down to the lab to get to work.

Your job was to decode messages and files from terrorists like Hydra that Natasha or another Avenger had gotten their hands on; and you were one of the best in the fields. Once, you had been a member of Hydra, but your loyalties never truly lied there. If anything, it was a forced career for you. But you refused to think of that life any more than you had to.

Decoding files took up so much of your time that you barely had time to think, which was good. It took time off of your thoughts, which mainly (if left alone for too long) drifted to “the incident”.

You shook your head, dislodging the drifting thoughts from your brain, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand. Absentmindedly, you tugged at the sleeve of your shirt, pulling the fabric farther down your (s/c) arm, trying to over the skin underneath it. You didn’t dare look at the flesh there, already knowing what hid underneath.

Within a couple of hours, you had decoded every file given to you from Natasha’s recent mission. Your thoughts went to Natasha. She was the only one who knew about what had happened three months ago. You weren’t entirely sure if she had told her friend Clint or not, but if she did he never said a word about it. She had found out after one of your moments of carelessness, while you were reaching for something higher up and your sleeves slipped to show off your wrists.

After she had consoled you and told you her own similar stories, you had found a friend and confidant in her, for which you were thankful. She was like the sister you never had, and you loved her more than anything in the world.

You smiled at the memories you had with her. I should get these files to Tony and Fury. You stood from your desk and gathered up all of the files you had to deliver. Making your way into the lift, you rose it up to one of the upper floors, which were used exclusively as a base for the Avengers.

Walking out of the lift, you saw that most of the Avengers were there. Tony and Bruce were engaged in some sort of scientific discussion, which you had no clue was about. Usually, there discussions ended with them leaving to perform whatever hypothesis they acquired (which is exactly what they did after you gave Tony the files for both himself and the director).

Natasha and Clint were cooing over a photo of the newest addition to Clint’s beautiful family. Natasha always wanted kids of her own, and even though it saddened her that she would never be able to fulfill that fantasy, she was more than elated to be the godmother and “aunt” of Clint’s children. They both perked up when they heard your voice, exchanging smiles and waves with you.

Steve was not here. He had gone out on a solo mission; something about the Winter Soldier (Bucky he had called him) being sighted in a small Romanian city.

Lastly, there was Thor and his brother Loki. Thor seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with his brother, but Loki did not seem to care about what he was saying. Out of everyone who lived in Stark Tower, Loki was one of the few you had never really talked to, and that was fine with you. There was something about him that set you on edge, but you always tried to find some good in him.

As punishment for New York, Loki was forced by his father, Odin, to remain in Stark Tower until all repairs were completed. His magical abilities were restricted and he could only roam on the upper few floors. Tony wasn’t too pleased with this decree, but with Thor here 90% of the time, he didn’t have to deal with “Reindeer Games” as he called the trickster prince.

Thor lifted his head, a broad smile crossing his face. Loki didn’t dare turn to see you. “Lady (Y/N)! It is a pleasure to see you once more!” He set Mjolnir on the ground beside him, gently, before rushing over to envelop you in a hug.

Your body tensed unbidden, but you were able to force your fear down quickly. You didn’t really like physical contact anymore. The only one you really allowed to touch you without fear was Natasha. You knew that she would never hurt you. And you knew that the other Avengers would never hurt you either, but it was just a fear you had after them; one that you couldn’t seem to shake.

Thor set you down, still smiling. You straightened your clothes, making sure that your arms were completely covered. “It’s good to see you too, Thor.” You heard a snort from behind the blond god as Loki shifted in his seat. “How are things in Asgard?”

“Things are well. My people still need guidance, but now that the Allfather is back on his throne, we have peace once again. I am actually on my way back there at the moment.”

“I see. Will you tell that gatekeeper that I said hello for me, please? I remember you mentioning that he was always happy when someone remembered him or asked about him.”

Thor’s smile widened as he nodded. “I will be sure to tell Hiemdall that you have inquired into his wellbeing.” He reached out and gave your shoulder a light squeeze. You tensed up, but was able to hide your fear as Thor retrieved his mighty hammer and made his way to the lift.

When Thor had left, you finally noticed that you were alone in the room with only Loki, who still sat in his chair, but his eyes were pinned to you. Clint and Natasha must have left during your conversation with Thor. Your eyes met with Loki’s, and you could see the rage in his emerald eyes.

Instinctively, you took a step back. “I’ll just be on my way, then.” You turned to leave.

“Don’t move.” You did as you were told, years of training from him that were drilled into you halting your steps. You could see the lift, it was only a few feet away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move closer to it. “Turn around.”

Again, you did as you were told, trying hard to keep your fear from becoming evident on your face. If Loki saw through your façade, you had no idea. You kept your head lowered, not daring to look at him. “Why are you so friendly towards that oaf?” His words sounded strange to you. Since when did he care who you spoke to or didn’t speak to?

“He is my friend. And I really don’t see how it is a concern of yours who I speak to.” You made your way over to the small kitchen area. Mainly, it just held drinks and small snacks for the Avengers. You reached into a cupboard, pulling out a tall glass and filled it with water.

Taking a small sip, you tried your best not to notice how close Loki was standing to you. He was practically leering overtop of you as you set the glass down on the countertop. “I have not seen you with anyone other than that red-haired assassin. So, tell me, how does a mere mortal find herself to become friends with that witless being?” He moved around to the other side of the counter and placed his hands on the marble.

What? Was he jealous that you were speaking to Thor? Loki never even made any attempt to talk to you before now.

“I still don’t see why it is any concern of yours who I befriend. We don’t speak, Loki, so I find it to be none of your business.” Your nerves were on edge. He was beginning to frighten you, but you tried your damnedest to hide it from the god. You tugged at your sleeves, a habit that you had acquired and now you did it whenever you were nervous. The thought of covering up your past made it seem like everything would be alright in the end, even if you knew that that was false.

“Why is it so hard for you to understand? It is my business.” His voice started off low, gradually getting louder and louder before you. In your mind, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, which would send you tumbling into a relapse. But Loki didn’t seem to notice. His voice boomed at you as he screamed “WHY CAN’T YOU SEE THAT HE WILL NEVER LOVE YOU LIKE I DO!” In his anger, his seidr pulsed around his body, smashing the glass before him and all the glass in the cabinets around you.

Loki’s narrowed eyes widened as he took in the tears that begun to stream down your face. “Norns…(Y/n) I…” But it was too late, you had already toppled over the edge. He moved around the counter, but you did not move out of fear. He raised his hand out towards you, too fast for your liking. You raised your hands up, palms towards him, in a submissive motion. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” You repeated as the raven-haired prince lowered his hand to his side. Loki stared at the flesh uncovered by your falling sleeves, and a mix of anger, guilt, and sorrow befell him.

Red scars crisscrossed your arms. Some were jagged, like they had been created by a ring ripping through flesh. Others were straight and narrow, like they were caused by shard of glass that were embedded into the skin. Black and blue bruises, despite their age, mottled your (s/c) flesh. Loki noticed that a few of your fingers tilted in odd directions, like they had been broken before and were never set properly to heal.

“I’ll be good…I promise…Just d-don’t hurt m-me…please…” Your fearful words brought Loki out of his trance. He reached out and gripped both of your wrists, attempting to lower them from your face. As his skin touched yours, all sorts of memories flooded your mind.

“You are nothing but a whore.” A sharp kick landed against your ribs, sending you sliding across the floor. You curled into a ball, awaiting the next round of abuse.

“You really thought you meant something to me?” They gripped your wrist, pulling and twisting painfully until it made a sickening popping noise. You held your other hand up to cover your face as they began to beat you.

“Just shut up and die already!” You laid curled up in a ball amidst shard of the broken vase they had just thrown at you. You could feel pieces of the pottery lodged into your arms and legs, but you made no move to pull them out. It would likely anger them again and cause them to beat you.

Your previous partner’s words as well as their actions towards you regarding each occurrence played in your mind. You looked up at the man holding you, horrified to find that it wasn’t his face staring down at you, it was your previous partner’s. Their menacing smile leered down at you, as if they had come back just to finish the job. You let out a scream, so heart wrenching that Loki let your wrists go. You fell to your knees and cradled your body into the most submissive position that you could muster.

Shard of broken glass embedded themselves into your legs—just like before, you thought to yourself—as you kept repeating the words “I’m sorry” to the man before you. Tears fell to the ground before you could stop them. They always got angrier when I cried…They always beat me harder when I cried…

Loki stood unmoving before you, his mouth agape. He had no idea what to do; he never encountered anything like this. He looked up as he heard shouting coming from the lift and a very pissed-off Natasha and Clint running at him.

Clint reached him first, shoving him as far away from you as he could. Natasha knelt beside you, scooping you into her arms and brushing the hair back from you face. “Shh…he isn’t here…he isn’t here. He is never coming back, (y/n). You’re safe.” She rocked you back and forth until your crying finally stopped, but you could not help but shake as the memories fought to regain their control over your body.

Natasha helped you to your feet, glaring at Loki the entire time. “You would be wise to return to your rooms, Loki. If I find you before I’ve calmed myself, you will not like what happens.” She ushered you towards the lift and escorted you to your rooms. Clint shook his head at Loki. “Just when I thought that you had been changing for the better…” He left before Loki could defend himself, leaving the god alone with his own thoughts.

He stared at the lift you had just utilized and could feel nothing but guilt. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought. His hands shook at his side in both rage and sorrow. Rage for what had been done to you, the person he held dear to his heart, even if he had no way to show you his feelings. Sorrow for being the one to cause you to remember it all in such a horrific way.

Loki doubted that he would ever be able to see you again. That female assassin would be keeping a very close watch on you now, of this he had no doubt. He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Tears, unbidden, fell from his face; he hadn’t cried since he was a boy, he thought. But now felt like the time to do so.

“What have I done…” he cried out softly as he watched the lighted numbers of the lift descend lower and lower.

[andromeda3116]

i will say this, about being born and raised in mississippi:

i am so fucking used to being shouted over and ignored and mocked for being liberal, that it honestly no longer fazes me in the slightest. like, go on and try to pick a fight with me, buddy. i have researched every position i believe in to depths unplumbable by any line. i have actually fucking changed someone’s mind about abortion on facebook*, okay, i have become a goddamned expert at this, whether i ever wanted to be one or not.

i’m so used to having my leaders ignore me -- shit, i came of age under “philbilly” bryant, who apparently got his personal philosophy from captain planet villains, it’s not whether or not my governor will take my concerns to heart, it’s what new, fresh hell he’ll try to inflict upon us next. we’re the bottom of practically every barrel. we have nowhere else to go**. just fuck it. i’ll keep screaming. you can’t ignore me harder than my own state government has ignored me, so fuck it, and fuck you. you don’t care less about me than my state government, so fuck you. 

it’s so tempting to just pack up and leave, and i have wanted to for as long as i can remember, because mississippi is so fucked, you guys. just. so fucked. there is so little hope for this goddamned afterthought of a state. but. fuck.

somebody has to care. the problem is that liberals leave for places where they might actually have a voice, or else they get beaten down by mississippi’s aggressive apathy. and holy shit, you truly do not understand how aggressively apathetic mississippi is until you’ve lived in it.

mississippians have a great capacity to care, but my god, you get broken down by the poverty, by the failures. you get broken down by the way it seems like you’ve all tried everything and it just. doesn’t work. low taxes on businesses as a way to hopefully generate jobs, “a great place to start a business!” and yet the money doesn’t come. people don’t come. 

and even if it does work, nobody cares -- just look at haley barbour after katrina. haley barbour was the governor in 2005 when hurricane katrina hit, and did an exceptional job at handling the emergency, to the point where, although the gulf coast got absolutely devastated, mississippi had relatively low casualties and rebuilt with relative speed, compared to new orleans, to other places impacted. mississippi was how it should have been handled, and wasn’t elsewhere. and nobody even remembers, even as an afterthought. 

(that’s a source of great bitterness in the state, by the way, that everybody cared more about new orleans -- one day i’m going to write a lot about this, because i do think that some of it was facilitated by the fact that we didn’t have power for weeks, cable for months, a lot of us didn’t know how bad it got in new orleans, i certainly didn’t find out for a very long time afterwards (i mean years) -- and left us behind to rebuild ourselves alone. in retrospect, though... our government at the time handled it properly, whereas louisiana and the federal government absolutely did not, and got a lot of people unnecessarily and horrifically killed. but to so many mississippians, it’s “nobody cared about us when we got torn to shreds, so we had to do it for ourselves.”)

(i actually think you could sort of treat mississippi and hurricane katrina as a microcosm of the psychology of the modern right, the self-centeredness of it, the “giving to you means taking from me so, sorry buddy, but screw you” philosophy it’s developed since then. in spite of the fact that a more liberal governor, and more liberal programs, and a quick government response, are the reasons that we weren’t in such a dire place as new orleans -- all mississippians see is “we took the brunt of the storm, the mississippi gulf coast got wiped off the map, and nobody gave a shit” instead of “the mississippi gulf coast got wiped off the map, but they’re handling it whereas new orleans is drowning and needs our immediate attention”.)

(or maybe i’m being a little naive. maybe it really is that nobody cared about us. i wouldn’t blame them.)

anyway, my point is, that mississippi breeds apathy like kudzu. it chokes us out and covers us up and smothers anything else that could grow here. and a whole awful lot of it is our own fault, and a whole awful lot of it is poverty, and a whole awful lot of it is that mississippi is treated as a joke and an afterthought. nobody cares about us. and, eventually, if nobody cares about you, you stop caring about you, too. so it just becomes self-centered, just -- “you know what, just give me a bigger cut of my paycheck, i have bills to pay, i can’t afford to feed anybody but my own family” -- and that becomes hatred to anyone who disagrees, and...

what i’m saying is, mississippi -- as a whole -- brews its own poison.

and i don’t know what we need, but i do know that it isn’t for the people who care about it to leave. i think, at the very core, what it needs is for people to care, and about more than themselves and jesus (or, more accurately in many cases, “republican jesus”).

i don’t know. this post started as a “fight me” post and ended up as an introspective on why my state continues to aggressively screw itself over at every opportunity, i don’t know. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. this is all behind a cut. if you’ve read this far, you are my new best friend.

*granted, not the person i was arguing with, but it was a rather conservative bystander i worked with at the time, who admitted to me that he watched the whole argument go down and did some soul-searching, because he had never considered my points before, and was forced to come to the conclusion that it really, really is not his business or place to decide.

**which is not to imply that philbilly isn’t trying his damnedest, since he’s recently started going after the strict vaccination laws in our state, which has made mississippi the number one in exactly one positive metric (vaccination rates among public school children). also, the less we say about transparency in jackson -- i.e., what transparency in jackson? -- the better.

[lumiolivier]

Chapter Thirteen:  Meet Me on the High Dive

Word count:  5502

Chapter No. 13/36

Notes:  It’s been a while since I last posted any of my NaNo project.  Last week, I had a perfectly good reason for that.  I decided to write some Royai instead.  I’m sure the MCs would be able to forgive me for that.  But all that aside, I do have some pretty in depth analysis of Black Butler in this chapter.  And a little of some feelings on Shou Tucker.  So, new chapter?  Shall we?

Chapter Twelve:  The Birth of Russell

Home sweet home.  I got out of Julian’s car and kicked my black ballet flats off at the door.  I couldn’t believe he was actually coming over.  I didn’t understand why he had me so nervous.  It was just Julian.  The just as weird as me otaku with an amazing cosplay collection and really pretty eyes…and a warm, loving personality…and a body that just won’t quit…

 Dammit!  It was happening, wasn’t it?  I wanted to stand on my rooftop and scream obscenities at the top of my lungs.  Fuck…That son of a bitch was making me fall in love with him, wasn’t he?  Relax, Mimi.  You’re overthinking things here.  Let’s go over the specs, shall we?  I didn’t want him hurt.  I didn’t like when other girls flirted with him.  And he was just…so…fucking…charming!  Hold on.

 Why was I so angry? It had been two years since my last boyfriend.  And he dumped me over my pillowcase.  Julian had one of those pillowcases and no room to judge.  I saw it with my own two eyes.  Didn’t realize how slightly unsettling that was until I was on the other side of it.  But he understood me.  he got me in a way that no one else had ever gotten me before.  Julian was sweet and weird and maybe, just maybe, he loved me, too. When we were laying together this morning, something about it felt right.  Like when I had the dream with Rin and Haru and I was cuddled up with Rin. Like it was something bigger.

 I was.  I was falling in love with Julian.  And there was no shame in that.  Now, it was only a matter of how I was going to tell him.  Or if I was even going to tell him.  I liked having him around.  And we work together.  I didn’t want to scare him off.  Definitely didn’t want things to be weird between us.  In that case, I guess I’ll just keep it to myself then.

 “Hi, Julian,” Mom sang at the front door, “How are you, sweetheart?”

 “Hi, Marilyn,” Julian greeted her, “Mimi left a case at my house and I thought I’d be a nice guy and bring it back to her.”

 “Aren’t you sweet,” Mom awed, “Mimi!”

 “Yeah?” I sat at the top of the stairs.

 “Julian’s here!” she called up to me, “Are you busy tonight, honey?”

 “I don’t think I have anything going on,” Julian thought it over, “Why?”

 “You should stay for dinner tonight,” Mom insisted, “I promise my cooking isn’t deadly.”

 “Really?” he gasped a little overdramatically, like he didn’t see that coming.  And the performance kept on coming, “No.  I couldn’t impose like that.  I should get back to my unpacking.  Alone.  And my ramen noodles.”

 “No,” Mom put her foot down as I got to the bottom of the stairs, “I’m not going to let that happen. You’re staying for dinner whether you like it or not.  I can’t, in good conscience, let you go back to your house to be by yourself.”

 “Fine,” Julian caved, “I guess you twisted my arm.  I can stick around.”

 “Wonderful!” Mom smiled, “Dinner should be done in about fifteen minutes.”

 “I’m sure we can wait,” he charmed, “Something tells me it’ll be worth it.”

 “Oh, stop,” she giggled.

 “Come on,” I put a stop to this, my makeup case in hand, “Mom, we’ll be upstairs.”

 “Keep your door open,” Mom went back into the kitchen while Julian and I went to my bedroom.  More so out of spite than anything else, I shut my door.  I’m pretty sure we weren’t going to be naked any time soon.

 “So, this is your Batcave,” Julian jumped around, “What?  Is Sebastian out with the young lord this evening?”

 “Fuck off,” I rolled my eyes, giggling under my breath, “But yes.  This is my otaku dungeon.  Although, in just under thirty minutes, it transforms into a normal girl’s bedroom.”

 “And you know this for a fact?”

 “Unfortunately,” I sighed out, “Anytime we have people over.  My wall scrolls come down first.  Then, my figurines.  Then, a curtain goes over my bookshelves.  Then, I put a regular pillowcase on my body pillow and we’re golden.”

 “Ouch,” Julian pulled me down, “Why would anyone want to do that?”

 “So I don’t come off as the weird recluse,” I explained, “When I was younger, my dad would have some of his business contacts over and I had to play my part as his perfect, little angel.”

 “You poor, poor thing,” Julian empathized, “I guess I lucked out on that.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Well,” he began, “My mom’s an artist.  I got my first taste of otakuhood when I was six.  She and I watched Spirited Away together.”

 “Cutting your teeth on Ghibli movies?” I awed, “I’m jealous.”

 “We didn’t have much for TV,” he went on, “We had movies.  We had DVDs.  That was about it.”

 “No cable?”

 “Mom thought it was unnecessary,” Julian continued, “So, we didn’t have cable.  She encouraged me to draw a lot, though.  I have a whole sketchbook of nothing but old school tattoos. You know, your anchors, your pin-ups, your skulls.  Shit like that.”

 “I’d love to see that,” I rested my head on his shoulder.

 “Speaking of things I’d love to see,” he had been darting glances at my closet door since he walked in, “I have a hard time believing you fit all your cosplays in your teeny tiny closet.”

 “Go ahead,” I allowed, “Open it.”

 “Please tell me there’s a little bit of an organizational system to it,” Julian kept his fingers crossed, pulling the doors open, “Oh, sweet baby Jesus…”

 “Only by series,” I grinned, “Other than that, good luck.”

 “You’re killing me, Mimi,” he wept, “But you did all of these yourself?”

 “Yeah,” I nodded, “They’re all mine.”

 “And they’ve never seen a con?” Julian gasped, thumbing through my inventory, “It’s a travesty. They need to get out and breath fresh air.  Oh, hello…”

 “What’d you find?” my stomach knotted up almost instantly.  Not all of my cosplays were exactly PG.

 “Nothing,” he flashed a dirty smirk, “I spy with my little eye a green bunny girl.”

 “That’s my Ruff Rabbit,” I cleared up, “That’s my Usagimodoki in Allmate form only to be done as a kawaii bunny girl.”

 “That’s pretty kawaii alright,” Julian agreed, “Looks like something I’d see at a place I used to frequent when I was living in St. Louis with some gentlemen friends of mine.”

 “I’m not a stripper,” I rolled my eyes.

 “Nylons or fishnets?”

 “Fishnets…”

 “At least an escort then?” he assumed.

 “Shut up,” I snapped at him, “Get the hell out of my closet.”

 “But I’m not done yet,” Julian pouted.

 “That’s too bad,” I demanded, “Either you go through them like a respectable human being or you get out.”

 “Fine,” he stopped, continuing his search through my closet, “Hey!  I found Misa Misa!”

 “Dammit,” I grumbled to myself.

 “What?” Julian smiled, “I bet you make an adorable Misa.”

 “I hate her so much,” I tried my damnedest to hold myself together.

 “But Misa Misa-”

 “Julian, I will punch you.”

 “At least I can defend myself,” he chirped, “Let’s see.  Would I want to fight you with the Death Note?  Maybe Edward’s staff?  A little flame alchemy?  Or…”

 “Or what?” I worried as Julian fell silent.

 “Maybe,” he pulled out a big, light pink, Victorian looking dress from my closet, “I could just summon my demon butler.  What do you think?  Pink my color?”

 “No,” I started settling down a little, realizing how much of a dork this asshole was, “Put Lady Ciel back.”

 “You think crossdressing runs in the Phantomhive family?” Julian asked, “One day, for a case, Vincent put one of Rachel’s dresses on and felt different?”

 “I don’t know,” I giggled.

 “You know when Druitt’s judging the curry contest in season one,” he recalled, “And he’s talking about all the beautiful women he’s met over the years?”

 “Yeah.  What about it?”

 “There was a woman in that mess,” Julian jumped back on my bed, “She was in a very beautiful royal blue dress, black hair, same kind of corkscrew pigtails Ciel had.”

 “Point, Julian,” I pushed him along, “What about her?”

 “That particular shade of blue looked really familiar,” he pulled up a screencap on his phone, “Like the blue in Ciel’s ring.  How much do you want to bet that this woman is Vincent?”

 “No way,” I shoved him, inspecting the picture a little closer.

 “The pigtails had to have been lying around somewhere in the manor,” Julian defended, “Sebastian may be one hell of a butler, but I’m sure there wasn’t a wig shop open that late. And with him being busy giving the young master all those treacherous lessons and we all remember the infamous corset scene.”

 “That’s not…” I took Julian’s phone from him, “That’s not Vincent.”

 “Look at the face shape,” he zoomed it in, “Looks an awful lot like Sebastian, doesn’t it?  Who else do we know that looks an awful lot like Sebastian?”

 “Vincent…”

 “I rest my case,” Julian slipped his phone back in his pocket, “That woman was no woman, but in fact, Vincent Phantomhive.  Crossdressing runs in the Phantomhive family.  Case closed.  Score one for the boys back home!”

 “And apparently those boys occasionally look like girls to get their information,” I chuckled, “You think Vincent and Sebastian are the same person?”

 “Really?” he gave me a look, “You subscribe to that theory?”

 “I’m just saying,” I grabbed a volume of manga off my bookshelf and flipped to a page with Vincent Phantomhive’s pretty face on it, “This is Vincent.  And if we go to this page, this is Sebastian.  Look at them, Julian.  They’re pretty damn similar.”

 “Maybe that’s just a mistake the artist made while drawing them,” Julian brushed me off, “Sebastian isn’t Vincent in demon form.  Although, I do think that Sebastian took on a form similar to Vincent because he wanted Ciel to be able to trust him, but not exactly, so it wouldn’t cause his young master anymore pain.  Who better than his own father?”

 “Valid point,” I nodded, “But I still think he’s just a demon form of Vincent.”

 “You’re a stubborn little girl, aren’t you?”

 “I can be a whole hell of a lot worse,” I bit my lip, “Usually when I’m running on pure spite.”

 “I don’t see you much as one for spite,” Julian went back into my closet, “One for…”

 Julian went silent. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“What?” I asked, terrified about what he found now.

 “Mother of God,” he took out a long, low cut black dress, “Lust?”

 “Yes,” I cringed as someone lit a flame under my cheeks, “Out of the homunculi, she’s my favorite.”

 “Mine, too,” Julian agreed, “Mostly for the same reason Havoc liked her.”

 “More of a boob man than an ass man?” I assumed.

 “Big time,” he blushed, “But she’s still an amazing character.  Wasn’t too fond of the way she skewered the colonel, though.”

 “Neither was Hawkeye,” I remembered, “I know.  I’ve seen all of Brotherhood.  Probably a dozen times.”

 “Quick,” Julian asked, “Original series or Brotherhood?”

 “Brotherhood, hands down,” I picked, “I loved the manga.  I loved the way everything worked out in the end.  Hiromu Arakawa is my queen and I love her.  Not saying the original series didn’t have its merits. I’m glad it prolonged Shou Tucker’s misery.”

 “How dare you speak his name?” he scolded, “How dare you speak Shou Tucker’s name so calmly?  The only one in the entire series, despite everything the homunculi did, to ever burn in hell in the memoriam section? After everything that son of a bitch did, he deserved a very slow, very painful death of every torture imaginable. What kind of sick fucker could do that to his daughter?”

 “He could,” I wrapped my arms around Julian’s waist, “I know.  Saying he’s an asshole is an understatement.”

 “I only cried while watching an anime twice,” Julian confessed, “And they were both Fullmetal Alchemist related.”

 “Tucker and Hughes,” I guessed.

 “Oh yeah,” he nodded, “And it’s not bad enough I read it in the manga.  Then, the manga gets an anime.  And then!  That anime gets a reboot!  AND I HAVE TO SEE IT UNFOLD THREE TIMES OVER!”

 “Julian,” I held him a little closer, “I understand.  I know how tumultuous our life can be.  And I understand better than anyone else in this house.  Hell, in this town!  They’re not just characters to us.  They almost become like another family to us.  Especially when the outside world isn’t as kind to us as they are.  They teach us things that no one else ever will and in a way that no one else ever will.  But the best thing we can do for them is to move on.  We find a new series to tear us apart emotionally.  But the love we carry for the others is what keeps us strong.  And we’ll always have that.”

 “Wow, Mimi,” Julian wiped his eyes, “That was beautiful.”

 “I’m a writer, sweetie,” I reminded him, “I do this on a regular basis.  If I can’t be a little eloquent from time to time, what kind of writer would I be?”

 “Are you a demon, too?” he wondered.

 “Nope,” I assured, “Simply one hell of a writer.”

 Julian reciprocated my hug tenfold, “Thank you.  The floodgates were about to bust open and some hella tragic childhood memories were about to come spilling out of my mouth.  You didn’t need to see that.”

 “Hey,” I curled into his ribs, “How do you fare with tragic backstories?”

 “Pretty well most of the time,” he admitted, “Why?”

 “You might want some emotional support the next time you watch Dramatical Murder,” I cringed, “The boys’ backstories can get pretty rough.  Koujaku’s hurts.  Noiz’s put me in a mini coma for about three hours after watching it.  Mink’s is rough.  Clear…Don’t even get me started with that little angel that deserves all the love in the world.”

 “Mimi!” Mom called up the stairs, “Dinner’s done!”

 “Ready to get this unpleasantness out of the way?” I asked.

 “Yep,” Julian opened his inside jacket pocket, revealing a bottle nestled in it, “You did tell me to bring the Fireball.”

 “Bless you,” I took a good, heavy drink from the bottle, feeling the warmth down to my toes.

 “Cheers,” he toasted, doing the same.

 The two of us ran downstairs to find my mother’s cooking on the dining room table.  Mom had been busy.  If there was one thing in this world worth living for, it was my mom’s chicken and dumplings.  If everyone had this in their lives, there would be no war.  There would be no famine.  Everyone would love each other and the planets would go into perfect alignment.  Yes. They’re that good.

 “Julian,” Dad chimed, sitting at the table with us, “When did you get here?”

 “A little while ago,” he told, “Mimi left a case at my house.  I brought it back to her.”

 “A gentleman and a scholar,” Dad praised.

 “Gentleman, always,” Julian agreed, “Scholar?  Only a semester.”

 “What’d you go to school for, Julian?” Mom asked, giving him a plate.

 “I was a psychology major,” he explained, “Halfway through the semester, I realized it wasn’t for me and my minor would’ve been stupid to get a degree in unless I planned on becoming a professor, so I left.  Started traveling a lot.”

 “Where’d you go?” Dad wondered.

 “Mostly just around the US,” Julian went on, “Around the east coast.  Quick stop in Canada.”

 “I wish we could do more traveling,” Mom sighed out, “Just think of all the places we have yet to see.”

 “Maybe once you move out, Mimi,” Dad jabbed.

 “Thanks, Dad,” I grumbled, “I appreciate that.”

 “Think about it,” he went on, making me squirm a little.  Dad was good for that sort of thing.  He didn’t realize he was doing it, but he was definitely doing it, “We won’t have another mouth to feed.  We’ll have more money laying around.  Maybe we can start putting it in a jar and finally take a trip out of the country.”

 “Again,” I cringed, “Thanks, Dad.”

 “I’m just saying,” he dropped it.  And Julian grabbed my hand under the table.

 As soon as we were done eating, he and I went right back upstairs again, shutting the door behind us, regardless of what my mother had said.  It wasn’t the first time we were left alone.  I’m pretty sure we knew to keep our hands above the covers. Besides, they were right downstairs. I didn’t know about him, but I could make a lot of noise.

 “Well,” Julian threw himself on my bed, “That was excruciating.”

 “You’re telling me,” I followed suit, “You still got that bottle of Fireball?”

 “Hasn’t gone anywhere,” he tossed it to me, “You got anything to mix with that?”

 “Don’t want anything to mix it with,” I did a quick shot, “I love them to death.  You know that, right?”

 “I know,” he nodded, “I get it.  My dad’s kind of the same way.”

 I never heard Julian talk about his dad.  Always his mom, but never his dad.  I figured that may have been a touchy subject.  Maybe it was best that I didn’t bring it up.  But my curiosity got the better of me, “What do you mean?”

 “My mom’s the artist,” Julian reminded, “My dad?  He’s the doctor.  He’s the reason why I went into psychiatrics.”

 “Your dad’s a shrink,” I assumed.

 “He liked to poke the bear just to see what happened.  And guess who he liked to use as his personal bear?” I could see the hurt in Julian’s eyes. And it broke my heart, “Yeah. That wasn’t a bit traumatic.  Little kid with a spastic personality misdiagnosed with ADHD pumped full of experimental behavioral meds?  Who hasn’t had that?  That’s why Mom and I ended up in St. Louis.  She was taking in commissions wherever she could get them, yet managed to find time for me.”

 Now, I understood why Shou Tucker hurt him more than the average person.  Julian and Tucker’s daughter Nina had quite a bit in common (minus the whole being fused with her dog thing).  And seeing Julian like this was absolutely soul crushing.  I couldn’t stand by any longer.  Barely having a buzz, I grabbed Julian’s hand and my car keys off the hook, “Come on.”

 “Where are we going?” he wondered.

 “You’ll see,” I dragged him downstairs, “Mom!  We’ll be right back!”

 “Where are you going?” she asked.

 “Park!” I yelled back, “Shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours.”

 “Ok!”

 “We’re really going to the park?” Julian gave me a look, getting into the passenger seat.

 “We’re making a pit stop first,” I backed out of my driveway and started toward this little ice cream shop downtown.  Ironically called the Pit Stop.  I had been going here since I could remember and needed to eat my feelings.

 “Ice cream?” he assumed.

 “That’s right,” I confirmed, grabbing the door.

 “Hiya, princess!” the old man that ran it greeted me, Sal.  I loved Sal.  And Sal adored me, “You’re just in time!  I was about to close up.  What can I get for you?”

 “Double scoop of rocky road for me,” I ordered, looking Julian over, “And a double scoop mint chocolate chip for him?”

 “That works,” Julian approved.

 “Got it,” Sal got two plastic containers and scooped our flavors into their respective container, “So, how’ve you been, Mimi?  I feel like I haven’t seen you in an age.”

 “I’m always working, Sal,” I smiled, “You know that.”

 “Jeffrey still giving you a hard time?”

 “When isn’t he?” I chuckled nervously.

 “Rumor has it he actually hired on a new guy,” Sal looked around for lids.

 “In all technicality,” I corrected, “I hired on a new guy.  He was new in town and needed a job.”

 “I am that new guy,” Julian chimed in.

 “Welcome to Lenexa, new guy,” Sal shook his hand, “Sal Griffin.”

 “Julian Cooke,” he introduced himself, “But if…Hold on, did you say Griffin?”

 “Yep,” he chirped, “Jeffrey’s my little brother.”

 “My condolences,” Julian joked, “But if he asks, my name is Russell.”

 “Why the sudden name change?” Sal wondered, “You on the run or something?  I won’t let my little angel get tangled up with a bad influence, new guy.”

 “No,” he assured, “I’m not on the run.  I’m not a bad influence.  It’s more for my own personal safety.  I’ve been sniffed out by a group of soccer moms and they’re savage.”

 “I know exactly who you’re talking about,” Sal empathized, “My condolences.”

 “Thank you.”

 “So, this is the new boyfriend then, Mimi?” he asked innocently.

 “No,” I shook my head, hoping the wind would help with the heat I my face, “He’s just a friend at this point.”

 “I’m sorry,” Sal apologized, “You two seemed awfully chummy.”

 “Because we’re the best of friends,” Julian covered for us.

 “That’s nice,” he smiled, “Tell you what, princess.  On the house. You caught me at closing time. Nobody has to know about this.”

 “Fess up, Sal,” I teased, “It’s not because it’s closing time.  It’s because I’m your favorite.”

 “Don’t tell anyone else,” Sal winked, “You, too, Julian.  This is a one-time thing.”

 “I won’t,” Julian promised.

 “Come in and see me soon, ok?” Sal gave me the biggest hug and a kiss on top of my head.  And they were always the best.

 “I will,” I vowed, “We should be going, though.”

 “Go on,” he nudged me, “Get out of here.  You have better places to be on a Friday night.”

 “Bye, Sal!” I waved behind us.

 “Bye, Mimi!” he waved back, “Nice meeting you, Julian.”

 “You, too!” Julian and I left the Pit Stop with our ice cream and got back in my car, “Hell of a guy, isn’t he?”

 “Sal?” I assumed, “Yeah. He’s a sweetheart.  If I had to pick between working for Sal or working for his brother, I’d pick Sal every day of the week.  But he’s never hiring.  It’s just him.  He works some long hours for what he’s got.  And the thing is, he basically opened the Pit Stop out of spite.”

 “Really?” Julian giggled, “What made him spiteful?”

 “Griffin had opened up the café,” I explained, “He said it was going to be the best in town and he was going to have the most popular place the Lenexa’s ever seen.  So, Sal, being the wily old man he is, opened up the Pit Stop just down the road, trying to outdo his smug little brother.”

 “I like him a little more now,” he beamed.  There it was. That was what I was looking for. I didn’t want to see Julian so down and Sal had a mystical power over people.  And if all else failed, ice cream made the world a better place anyway.

 “According to Sal,” I pulled into the park, right by the pool that had already closed for the fall and got out of the car, “They’ve always been that competitive.  Ever since they were kids.  And Sal always came out on top.”

 “So, that’s why the boss has such a god complex,” Julian figured, following me closely, “Um, Mimi…Are we supposed to be here?”

 “Don’t worry,” I settled him, “No one cares.  It’s not like we’re vandalizing or trying to refill the pool.  We’re doing nothing wrong.”

 “Wouldn’t this be considered trespassing, though?”

 “On public property?” I giggled, “You’re adorable.”

 “I know that,” his ego made an appearance, “But what if we get caught?”

“Julian,” I assured, “It’s fine.  I promise. The worst they can do is tell us to leave.”

 “Where are you going?” Julian wondered, taking my ice cream from me.  I started climbing the ladder to the high dive, “Mimi, what the hell are you doing?”

 “Just come on,” I demanded, “Trust me.”

 “How high are you?” he squeaked, “I’m not going up there!”

 “Why?” I asked, halfway up already, “Scared of heights?”

 “It’s not the heights that bother me so much,” Julian worried, “It’s more the possibility of falling that scares the fuck out of me.”

 “I’m not going to let you fall,” I promised, almost at the top, “Come on.  The views are better from up here.”

 “I’m not doubting that,” he questioned my sanity, “But I think I’m going to stay down here.”

 “You can’t,” I pointed out, “You still have my ice cream.”

 “You’re the one that gave it to me in the first place,” he retaliated.

 “Julian,” I shut him up, “Do you trust me?”

 “Yeah…”

 “Then, come up here,” I sat at the top.  

 “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Julian put our ice cream containers in his pockets and started climbing up the ladder, “I swear to God, Mimi, if I fall, I’m suing you.”

 “You’re not going to sue me,” I giggled, “You’re already halfway there and you haven’t fallen.”

 “Don’t remind me.”

 “It’s only twenty feet,” I told.

 “Only, she says,” Julian scoffed under his breath, “And it’s just a ride in an ambulance.  There’s no broken bones or anything.  No head trauma.  No nothing.  Just a teeny little slip.”

 “Julian,” I took his hand, pulling him up the rest of the way, “I promise you.  I’m not going to let you fall.”

 “Swear to me,” he begged, shaking a little, “Swear to me on something that matters more than anything.”

 “Equivalent exchange,” I smiled, “I swear to you on equivalent exchange.  Hell, on the Philosopher’s Stone if that’s what it takes. You’re going to be fine.  Or do I have to swear by the moon, too?”

 “No,” Julian settled down a little, “I think you nailed it at equivalent exchange.  And the fact that you’d go the extra mile and swear on the Philosopher’s Stone, too, means a lot to me.”

 “You’re welcome,” I took my rocky road out of his pocket, “Now, look up.  Best view in town.”

 Julian cranked his neck back, staring into the beautiful, glittering void, “Wow…”

 “I told you,” I stuck my spoon in my mouth, “Aren’t you glad you listened to me now?”

 “Yeah,” he sat back in complete awe, “I’ve never seen such a stunning night sky.”

 “Really?” I wondered, “Never?”

 “Aside from pictures on the internet,” Julian said, “No.  I grew up in the city, Mimi.  This is my first time ever living in a small town.  My mom was a sucker for an industrial loft to work in, so we always lived in the city.  The bigger, the better.  The city lights are great.  Don’t get me wrong.  And they’re beautiful in their own right, but this?  This is immaculate.”

 “Yeah,” I rested my head on his shoulder, “You don’t get this living in a city.  It’s going to be one of those things I’ll miss when I finally leave.”

 “And when do you plan on doing this?” Julian wondered, stealing a bite of my ice cream.

 “I’m thinking May,” I decided, “I’ve lived in Lenexa all my life and never felt like I belonged.  It’ll always be home, but I’ve never fit.  I didn’t care about the shit going on in town. I wasn’t part of a farm family.  I didn’t get into the extra-curriculars too much. I was the weird little girl with the obsession with Japan.  Always have been.”

 “And where do you want to end up?” Julian asked.

 “Ideally?” I sighed out, “I can’t decide between the sunshine or the rain.  LA where I could potentially make a living with my cosplay or Portland where I can be just as much amongst my own kind.”

 “Never been to the west coast,” he admitted, “Sorry I can’t be more of a help.  But think about it this way.  If you went So. Cal., San Diego is right there.  The mother of all cons.  Plus, you got Anaheim and LA and San Francisco.  Then again, if you go Portland, there’s Emerald City in Seattle.”

 “So, you’re saying,” I thought it over, “I should go to LA.”

 “The traffic’s hell,” Julian chuckled a bit, “The people can be artificial.  This is all according to my mom.  She’s been to almost every state.  You need to meet her.  I feel like you two would get along famously.”

 “Then, I think it’s settled,” I chose, “Looks like I’m going to California.”

 “And if you’re looking for a roommate,” he hinted, “I’m hypoallergenic and housebroken.  But I might be watching Transformers at two in the morning with the surround sound on.”

 “I think I’ll just get a dog,” I teased.

 “Borf!” Julian barked.

 “You’re not a dog,” I giggled, “Unless you’re a Pluto situation.”

 “No,” he shook his head, “Because that would make you Angela and fuck her.  I hated her.”

 “I bet you like a good belly scratch, don’t you?” I smirked.

 “I am a good boy…” Julian was a big dork if anything.

 “See?” I took his hand, “You know, this is my favorite spot in town.  I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve been up here in the off season.”

 “Does the high school have a swim team?” Julian asked.

 “No,” I pouted, “And if they did, I’d feel like a pedophile.”

 “You little sinner,” he stole my last marshmallow.  If it were anyone else, he’d be getting pushed.

 “Can I ask you something?” I rested my head on his shoulder.

 “Sure,” Julian pushed my hair out of my face, “Go ahead.”

 “Why do I have to keep my schedule open tomorrow?”

 “Dammit,” he laughed, “I knew that was coming.  I’m not telling you, Mimi.  It’s not happening.  Keep your schedule open.  Let things happen.”

 “Can I have a hint?”

 “No.”

 “But…” I groaned, “I did Misa dumbest bitch in the universe Amane for you!  I did Miku for you!  Yet I ask for a little hint about Saturday and you say no.”

 “Exactly.”

 “You’re a dick,” I rolled my eyes.

 “Come on,” Julian put my empty ice cream container in his jacket pocket, “It’s getting kind of late and we have to work in the morning.”

 “Ok,” I looked at my phone and it was knocking on midnight, “I’ll go first, though.”

 “Does it matter?” Julian wondered.

 “I don’t want you staring up my skirt,” I moved past him.

 “Who says I would be?” he squeaked sounding a little insulted.

 “Tell me you wouldn’t,” I stood on the ladder, “Look me in the eye right now and tell me you wouldn’t.”

 “I wouldn’t be staring,” Julian promised, “I can’t be held accountable for the occasional glance.”

“Right there,” I shoved my finger in his face, “That’s why I go down first.”

 “Says the girl that took her panties off in my living room for absolutely no reason,” he reminded me.

 “I did that to prove a point,” I defended.

 “What was the point?”

 “That you didn’t have to breathe over my bed to steal my panties,” I climbed down, “Also that I have no shame.”

 “I could’ve told you that,” he started down the ladder, “So, what’s to stop you from staring at my ass on the way down?”

 “Myself,” I assured, “I might not have any shame, but I do have a little self-control.”

 “And I don’t?”

 “You said it yourself,” I fought, “You couldn’t be held accountable for the occasional glance.”

 “Yet here you are,” he retaliated, “Holding me accountable.”

 “Julian,” I stopped him, “Just shut up.”

 “We fight like a married couple,” he pointed out, “I hope you know that.”

 “Only a matter of time before we’re fighting over other little things,” I figured, “Bills, the kids, who’s going to do carpool this week.”

 “Sudden change of heart?” Julian asked, “Since when did you start wanting babies?”

 “I don’t,” I clarified, jumping down from the bottom rung, “I’m just saying.  Examples.”

 I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him so bad.  I just wanted to tell Julian that he was the only one that was making me even slightly consider the potential of babies. In all honesty, with his bone structure and my eyes, we’d make some beautiful babies.  No.  I had to shake that idea out of my head before it escalated any further.

 I dropped Julian off at his house and went home to bed.  And tonight was the first night in a long series of nights where I wished I wasn’t sleeping with Sebastian.  What kind of Pandora’s box did I open this morning?  More importantly, what was he planning for tomorrow?  That boy had something up his sleeve.  And it involved me somehow.  I’m sure he’s not going to stab and mutilate me, so I have that going for me.  Still, it worried me.  I didn’t know how far Julian would be willing to go for me.  

[subtletyislost]

Like half the stuff you write or talk about about Lena in your fics is like really sad? Why?

It’s a long story, but basically tl;dr here I relate to Lena, a lot, on a personal level and I’m kind of using her as like a little idk cushion? pillow? outlet?? I don’t know words, what I’m trying to say is I relate to Lena a lot so I use her to make myself feel better by putting her through things and giving her people and letting her recover from those things because people and a chance to recover from all the shit I’ve been through (or had nightmares about) are two things I’ve never really had much in my life. I have people now, sure, but like a small amount and they’re all pretty much in the same boat I am as far as the recovery thing is concerned. 

(tfw you need a tl;dr for your tl;dr)

When I was little I was almost exactly like Lena: I couldn’t sit still, wouldn’t really ever shut up even though no one was listening, I loved airplanes and kites, I liked drawing and painting on walls, I had a favorite hoodie that I wore almost everywhere, I was “weird” “annoying” “talkative” “a trouble maker” “distracted” “disruptive” the list really went on. People didn’t like me. I was kind and selfless even to the bullies. 

I used to have nightmares in which I literally disappeared from time. They were terrifying and I couldn’t really do anything in them, just was in a void, hazy and unfocused, vaguely seeing people I loved or at least knew somehow, trying my damnedest to scream, to cry, to reach out and do or say anything to get them to notice me, and they never did, I was essentially a ghost.

Everything I put Lena through, is something I’ve either been through myself, or have had nightmares about. 

In particular, in Don’t Blink the whole thing where Lena isn’t sad about not really having friends until she’s old enough that she realized that she actually wanted them, that happened to me. 

The details of what happened before the opening of A Bit Like Dancing, is based on a very recent nightmare I had after learning that the word ‘dyke’ (which I got called a lot in both elementary school and high school by people who barely even knew me and that my friends didn’t know ) is/was an insult, that combined itself with nightmares I had as a child after some asshole in my kindergarten class attacked me with a pair of scissors and succeeded in cutting off my ponytail. 

I might make it sound like I put Lena through a lot of shit, but in all honestly, the things I write her into are rather tame compared to the shit I put my ocs through, and there’s more calm nice things than the bad or just hard to explain ones. I’ve chilled a bit, maybe not in the things I’m willing to write (I’m willing to write a lot) but in what I’m willing to post (I realize now that some things I write, need to stay to myself because other people won’t approach them the same way or because honestly I wrote them as vent/self-indulgence and it’s best to keep it to myself).

The having chilled a bit on what I’m willing to post is why I’m honestly really really iffy about sharing my particular Talon!Lena au, because it involves a lot of really bad things happening to Lena and honestly I’m not actually sure I can write them well nor am I sure I want to be responsible for the level of angst and hate they might cause even if I did write them extremely well. It’s probably better I keep the au to myself, I have begun writing it to a degree but I’m honestly not sure. 

Odd as it sounds, I’d probably be more willing to share my stuff if I had more than 558 followers, like... I barely get people interacting with me as it is, I don’t want to scare any of them away some how.

Anyways long story short: I do it because I relate to Lena and it helps me cope with my life

[notjustbacon]

The not so brave side of traveling.

My husband and I quit our jobs, sold our belongings, and flew off for our round the world travels in March. Now I'm just past two months into our trip of a lifetime with these weird feelings starting to percolate. These whiny complaints and questions are slowly sneaking into my mind. Questions like, "When do we get free time? What's the plan? How can I know exactly what's going to happen? Are we there yet?"

Unfortunately, many of these questions don't come in neatly packaged answers or they may actually need to go completely unanswered. I dubiously find myself going through the various stages of denial and bargaining, eventually and begrudgingly accepting some discomfort. Still, the next moment appears with yet another nagging grumble, "but I don't want to wear the same outfit for the third day in a row. I'm damp, I smell... and I can't justify doing laundry this soon." It's true, living out of a backpack can be much more limiting than having a closet full of (clean) clothes. However, I find that having limited possessions comes with so much more freedom and power to experience the exceptional adventures and lessons (rather than the materials) that life has to offer.

The journey can get REAL uncomfortable though. High and low temperatures, massive humidity, lack of sleep, stiff mattresses, soft lumpy mattresses, bugs that bite, creatures that scream, language barriers, "unusual" traffic, unique foods (that will have you questioning everything), dismal water quality, body sweat, life back home, and your own sanity can often be uncertain. 99% of the time I've faced these discomforts I have answered them with, "Oh heyyyyyyy, this is different. What a great new opportunity to learn from. What's it going to hurt to try to do this in a new way?" I laugh more often than cry. Note: It helped immensely that I was reading the following book about an epic climbing expedition that summited Everest and then subsequently fell into disaster on the way down. Reading the book through this part of our journey put my feeble worries to rest.

"I didn't doubt the potential value of paying attention to subconscious clues. As I waited for Rob to lead the way, the ice underfoot emitted a series of loud crackling noises, like small trees being snapped in two, and I felt myself wince with each pop and rumble from the glacier's shifting depths. Problem was, my inner voice resembled Chicken Little: it was screaming that I was about to die, but it did that almost every time I laced up my climbing boots. I therefore did my damnedest to ignore my histrionic imagination and grimly followed Rob into the eerie blue labyrinth." - Jon Krakauer, Into Thin Air.

I've become pretty flexible and adaptive. In fact, I recently chowed down on BBQ'd frog, snail, and rat one afternoon just because I had never tried it before and a new friend of mine bought it to share with the table (you can even check out my Instagram for proof, if you want). I've also crossed one lane traffic saturated with motorbikes and cars alike going non stop in both directions (in no discernable pattern) without blinking an eye. And even though those were both experiences I previously thought I'd never live through, I did. I've successfully made it through 100% of my worst days, and honestly those times didn't even pale in comparison to my darkest moments, but that's another story all together. 

There have been a few WorkAway experiences, where the work and time expected from both Alex and I differed drastically from what we had planned. Working with kids, for instance, has been very very fun. Especially rewarding while having the opportunity to share the experience with Alex. The program we were at however, was not very well organized and thus presented several uncomfortable situations. Including one morning where Alex and I were expected to give some sort of language class to 3 and 4 year olds. First, we had no indication that we would be leading the class (particularly with zero preparation). Second, their teacher didn't speak more than a few words in English... While our efforts were valiant, I surmised the idea of having her help with translating anything was out of the question. On top of that, we hadn't been given any idea of how long the lesson was supposed to be... So we spent the following 2 hours singing songs, reading books, and attempting to teach a few games to a room of questioning and blank faces. Alex and I often exchanged glances in fear that we were doomed to a mutiny of toddler melt downs. Luckily, we switched activities well enough that we miraculously avoided any take over. All in all, I was very impressed with how well the group did. I've worked with kids and adults over the last ten years in leadership, teaching and training roles, but unfortunately I was left feeling a bit disappointed in myself... In large part I held this feeling because I didn't walk away with the connection and confidence in our delivery like I had in so many other of my past situations. Alex was quick to point out how incredible we did since we weren't given anything to go off of when we walked in. So I coaxed myself into understanding that there was definitely some misplaced frustration.

Similar to our previous WorkAway, we ended up spending allllllllllllll day with our host and her family with very little respite. However, it was so hard to hold any hard feelings... Mostly because our host was one of the most dynamic and generous people I have ever met in my life. Plus, she pretty much planned out our trip and hooked us up with some amazing deals for our weekend getaway in Ha Long Bay. She dropped us off at the bus stop, negotiated prices, gave us "the family deal" at her cousin's Hotel, and helped to communicate with all the various transportation services that we needed to get there and back safely (AND for a good price).

Also, we did not have to pay for anything during our stay with her. The family served us feasts for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They took us in with open arms and showed us authentic moments of their daily lives. There is no way you could buy or find this opportunity otherwise. It is in this realization that we knew any discomfort was SO worth it. Especially in realizing that time is so temporary.

While you may see the beautiful photos and hear the optimistic attitude in my posts, know that their have been moments where I shared in my own meltdowns. Planning continuously, not knowing what comes next, and experiencing the unfamiliar adventures worldwide can definitely feel tiresome. I've pondered my sanity on few occasions, but ultimately have found pride in the growth that this journey beseeches. Ultimately, Alex and I are growing a little wiser and stronger with each day. It's laughable to think of the fears I held as a two months junior Alice. I'm sure that if I left on the plane in March and landed in some of these more current situations that I would be experiencing meltdown city and culture shock around each corner. So I try to hold onto the good as I recoup and move forward in our travels leaving behind the bad. We are roughly a third of the way there and I know we've got this, but it's good to have a reality check every once in awhile to make sure my mirror is reflecting more of what I am then what I imagine.

Thank you for listening to my thoughts!

TTFN,

Alice

[jrad-was-here-blog]

End of Tour

Hi Everyone! 

I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated you on my Central American journey but I’ve finally finished  the tour and really wanted to keep my promise. Just to preface, since its been a while, there’s a lot written. Thank you to anyone that reads all the way through:

So I’ve been home for almost 2 months now, and… its strange. Its almost as if my inspiration has disappeared. Actually, It’s a little scary. 

I’ve talked to my family and friends about it and a pattern keeps coming up in conversation. “Do you enjoy performing?” is one, or “why do you enjoy it?” is another. 

I absolutely enjoy it. Being able to connect with the audience is the best part. But the in between, the time of practice and honing craft, feels like the hardest part to keep up. It’s hard to stay motivated consistently, so then I procrastinate and put myself in a cycle of self sabotage. 

Maybe I’m not as motivated because I need to redefine what I love? When things are not as exciting, why does one keep going? A good example/comparison would be the start of a serious relationship. You fall in love and everything’s amazing. Things are going really well and you get in a good groove. But then suddenly... your bored. The light isn’t as bright as it used to be and you ask yourself “Am I really in love?” Does this relationship mean enough to me? I am now face to face with what I love and I’m asking myself... should I run or go deeper? 

That being said, let me catch you all up on the rest of the Tour and then we’ll circle back to that question:

Where I last left, I was leaving the town of Panajachel in Guatemala to head back to Antigua. 

There I performed for a deaf school called LAVOSI (Las Voces Del Silencio).

It’s great to get a chance to perform for deaf students having to rely solely on my physicality and actions rather than sound to tell a story.  

When I arrived at the school, there was a beautiful shift in sound. I could hear a light ruffling of the kids clothes. Their shoes were tapping the floor as they signed and grunted. They’re was a high amount of focus and quiet across the room. A yapping dog runs into the room, breaking the silence. No one reacted except for me, so they moved to hush the dog. As things settled, one of the teachers directed me to the stage. Just around the corner, she points to a back patio of sorts. It was a small space, but a space nonetheless. I nervously got into my costume in the middle of the patio, while the kids around the corner were still in class.

The performance began. They were a very well behaved crowd, and very attentive to my actions. When they laughed, their bodies jolted forward with a grunt. I felt good about the performance. There was a deep connection with each one of the students. As I left the building, a warm satisfaction swept over me. That happens from time to time performing. It’s a nice reminder of my love for performance. That little electric chill that goes through your body is addictive. I just wanna catch it and bottle it up, so I can ask it questions.

From there I moved on to Leon, Nicaragua. 

A high amount of tourists were aroound, and lots of beautiful architecture to see. White and gold trim were on some of the buildings, and then others were painted with red, pink, and blue. While in Leon, I connected with a group called Quetzal Trekkers. They ran multiple tours, and all the money they earned would be donated to NGO’s and charity projects. One of their projects, called Asociación Las Tías, is in a village right outside Leon. I took a taxi with Kim, one of the owners, to perform for the children there.  As we pulled up to the village the setting shifted dramatically into a Mad Max world. A long, hardly drivable, road was lined with large piles of trash and small shack homes. Emaciated dogs stumbled along, while groups of vultures were ripping away at undefined carcasses. In the center of the village, I could hear a group of children screaming. It’s that type of scream where you can’t tell if kids are playing or in danger, so I was a little on edge at that point. However, once we arrived 3 kids ran out laughing, and their faces were covered in shiny star stickers. One girl had them covering her lips and she was so proud of her stars.

Without even knowing who I was the kids embraced me, grabbed my hand, and lead me into their fantastical world. Walking up, there were fence posts painted in bright colors, hoola-hoops lying throughout the yard, and kids racing about loving life. The teachers directed me into a little shack to change my costume. I was pretty disoriented. I would smile and nod while everyone spoke Spanish, trying my damnedest to understand what was going on. Yet with all the confusion, I fucking loved it.

A teacher with a megaphone yelled something in Spanish, and all the kids got into a line. Kim, from Quetzal Trekkers, tells me there about to have a parade through the village and its probably best to wait behind for them to finish. Before I knew what was going on, I had joined the kids in their parade. It was a very hot day, so by the time I finished parading around the village with the children, I was drenched in sweat. Kim was right, I should have stayed behind.

The performance was wild. The kids wanted so badly to come up to the “stage”. Screaming and jumping, they tugged on my pants in anticipation. I always love for kids to come up on the stage, but if you don’t set any ground rules you can lose control of them. That being said, I decided to shape the performance around the kids energy. It started with one kid running up to smack my butt, while another was stealing my props. Another kid throws himself onto the stage, growling at me. I realized the control was fading, so at that point I just stood still and let him rip.  He jumps in front of me, staring me down, and growls louder. This kid sure is confident. I stood still and stared giving him all the attention. Then, slowly I turn him to the audience. As he growls and shakes, I look to the kids and point. Without even skipping a beat they erupt into a roar! It was a sea of howling kids. With my magic conductor wand (a feather duster) I direct the chorus into a beautiful roaring orchestra. Lowering my wand, I bring them into pianissimo and with a flick of my wrist, they explode into fortissimo! It was a magnificent piece.

A couple of moments, the kids would speak Spanish to me and I was little lost. This one girl chanted something to me and I thought, what a beautiful sound coming out of her mouth. It would make a wonderful song! So again, I conduct the orchestra of kids to chant this “sound”. The best part is later on, after the performance, Kim from Quetzel Trekkers in between laughing says “You know that phrase they were chanting? Yeah, they were saying ‘Shut up clown!’ over and over again!” 

That my friends, made my entire day :) 

After the performance, they wanted me to come back to teach the kids some juggling. We ended up making juggling balls out of balloons, rice, and plastic bags. Cheap and easy. I left that day completely fulfilled. They were all so excited to learn! 

Later that week, I met a tour guide named Anri. He thought it would be great if I could perform for the village he donates school supplies to. So, I traveled with him and a small group the very next day. We  gave school supplies to teachers in the village and In return they served us a meal of Sopa de Gilla, a traditional Nicaraguan chicken based soup with squash and yucca. It was delicious! Then, we traveled to the center of the village, and got all the children together for the performance. They were shy and quite, but I could see the delight in their eyes.  

*NOTE* When I finish performing, loads of thoughts seep into my brain.

This is always the best time for me to write. I can learn and create more, while moving and shaping things. Most of the time my ego will look at what I just did, and say it was all shit and that I should just give up. If I give my ego a little bit of attention, that could be the point where I somehow “forget” to write my thoughts down. If all else fails, write it down. Even if my ego shows up on the paper, at least it makes it outside my mind. It even helps me immensely writing this all for you. My mind races, yet when I write at least its on a track. *END NOTE*

Moving forward, I packed my bags and headed to Granada.

Moving constantly is an interesting thing. You don’t have much time to get super attached to a place. It can be a bit disorienting. After a while though, I started getting used to it. Used to the unpacking, and packing. Meeting new people and exchanging stories. Dealing with the constant questions when I tell people  “I’m a traveling clown”. I like those questions though. The more I talked about it, the more clear my ideas got of what I was doing.

Anyway back to Granada. It’s a beautiful city, and the architecture is incredible. Bright colors, and grandiose carvings all over the buildings. While there, I again had moments of fear of where to go and what to do, but I pushed on sticking to my mission. Some days I would feel disconnected with it, and then others the mission was crystal clear. While in Granada, I performed for a group called Empowerment International. It was a very large group of kids of about 85 in total. I felt a bit intimidated by that number. My common thought arose “This is going to go horribly!”

And if it does? So what! Hah! I laugh in the face of fear!

The performance did go horribly and great at the same time. There were some hilarious moments… and then other moments, crickets.  A teacher at the beginning handed me a microphone and that became another magic wand. I began to beatbox, and the kids would cheer for more. It may have been too big too fast in the beginning, but so what. I made a note of it later. I was having too much fun to really care.

Later that week I performed again for the same organization, but a smaller group of kids. The energy of a place can be SO different. Sometimes it can be very intimate, and other times its just in your face, LOUD NOISES! Performing outside for the kids was oddly intimate.  It was a very quite afternoon. A dry hot day, light breeze, and you could hear the squawks of chickens in the distance. The kids sat under a big tree, and the branches shaded them from the sun. 

I performed, and stuck to most of my act, but improvised a bit. They giggled here and there.

*NOTE* I’ve found it difficult to end performances because most of the time there’s no going behind a curtain to end. The best I found is pulling down my red nose and saying thank you. It gives the kids a chance to see the other side. I used to think it spoiled the magic, but In a strange way it seems to enhance it. *END NOTE*

After Granada, I headed to the island of Ometepe. 

The island was in the middle of a huge lake. Wild horses, bulls, and dogs were scattered everywhere.  I rented a moped and cruised the island to my destination. Riding along, large bulls slowly made their way across the road. Sometimes I’d see a family of 4 riding on a small moped: father, mother, son, and baby. Pretty ballsy I’d say, but quite resourceful. 

2 hours away from where the boat landed, I arrived at my hostel: Hacienda Merida. I liked this hostel for multiple reasons. There was a school connected to it, and all money made would help support the school. Also, the owner Alvaro kept the community clean by using his patented eco-bricks. The eco bricks were used water bottles stuffed with non-biodegradable materials. When using cement, you could stack eco bricks wrapped in chicken wire, and it would cut about 50% of the cement normally used. Also, Alvaro allowed the people of the community to make their own eco bricks to make a couple of bucks. 

The next morning, I performed for the hostel’s school.

Rather than a semi-circle of kids, it was a full “circus circle”. My favorite part of the performance was when I turned this one kid into a “karate master”. I picked him up and had him flying through the air like ‘Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon’. I had him fake kicking kids in the audience, and at that point I almost broke laughing. It was all in the moment, and probably the best part of the show.

Within that week, after reaching out to other people in Nicaragua to perform, and getting no response

I decided to move on to Costa Rica.

At that point, I could feel the trip reaching an end.

Once in Costa Rica I followed some Swedish guys to Monteverde (nicknamed “Cloud Forest”). Instead of rain there, it was a constant mist throughout the day. Monteverde’s based in the middle of mountains, so it gets pretty chilly at night. 

I made my way through the town of Santa Elena and was able to set up performances for a public and a private Quaker school.  

When I performed for the quaker school, all the kids were sitting down on wood benches inside this amazing open wooden chapel. There were big windows and wide open space for me to perform. The benches were set up in a semi-circle, and all the kids sat wide-eyed, waiting. At the beginning, the co-director Rick introduced me with a small bit between the two of us. At the end of the performance, they wanted more. They chanted again and again, “More, more!” I’d never gotten that before.

 I’d say this was the best performance of the whole trip. I was having so much fun with them. I didn’t have much expectation of what was going to happen, and before performing I had a nice 30 min walk to help clear my head.  

The next performance was for the public school. The principal wanted me to perform for each classroom (thats 18 in total). I performed for about 8 minutes in each class, which turned out to be a great exercise in refining moments. I took one bit and did that over and over again, and each time I did it I found more and more nuances. The more I did the bit, the more laughs I got. 

I was surprised that even some of the teachers payed less attention to the performance than the kids did. One teacher was on his phone, and… he was texting! Mid performance I stopped and stared. The teacher was caught, and sheepishly put his phone away. 

My last performance was at a small village near the coast of Costa Rica called Amubri. The day of the performance I brought a friend Katia with me to watch. We made our way to the village on a bus, crossed a river by boat, and then back on a bus the rest of the way. We met up with the village leader Danilo and his translator Kim. Once there, it felt a bit unorganized. Nobody really knew where to go or sit.

I wanted to create something, but I didn’t know where to start. It was kinda like street performance, where you have to attract people to the performance. The highlight of the performance was when a kid came out driving this toy jeep. He had to of been only 2 years old, but yet he was able to chase me full speed around the yard. 

I discovered later his father was driving the car with a remote control. I was pretty much the village idiot for the day. 

So fast forward to me coming home to NC, I’m driving home from the airport, and my Dad’s partner Mike asks me “What’s the take away from your trip?

I think the biggest thing for me was noticing how I talk to myself as an artist. I realized that the main reason my productivity suffers is because of how I talk to myself. Even when I read through my journals of the trip it was a constant cycle of me trying to discourage myself. I don’t know where it comes from, but I’m glad I’m at least aware of it. So circling back to the question “Should I run or go deeper?” Of course I want to go deeper, and to do that I need to listen. Simple as that. I’m sure the answers will reveal themselves if I just get still enough...

And thats that.

Thank you so much to everyone that followed me on this journey.  I appreciate you taking the time to read through my struggles and successes. Hopefully I will be able to fill you in on new adventures with clowning soon. 

But for now...

I bid you A’dieu. Until next time!

With all the love we can muster;

Sincerely, Jared & Roadie