#and my…unconventional read on job and jesus

[eleneressea]

I think it's interesting how Morgoth, of the Valar, seems to have the best grasp of Incarnate psychology. Even from nearly the beginning—he's the one who notices that, with the Valar refusing to talk about the Men, the Noldor will believe basically anything about them, and so convinces the Noldor that Men will overthrow them—and specifically using the Valar's silence as evidence for that!

I think it's because his domain was supposed to be change, and the Incarnates are changeable in a way that the Ainur…aren't. So the Valar approach the Eldar with the assumption that their psychologies are the same; that the Eldar will not change their minds, because the Valar generally don't. (Except in extreme circumstances: I can only think of Mandos releasing Beren, and Melkor's "repentance"—because Manwë believed it, so it must have been possible for Melkor to repent.) Whereas sure, the Eldar don't often change their minds about things, they're fairly stubborn, but it does happen and the Valar seem pretty much completely unable to handle it when it does, or to anticipate that it might happen.

[apocalypseornaw]

Sheriff, Ranger & Marshal

Beau Arlen x Female Reader x Cordell Walker

When a resort comes onto a few agencies' radar a task force is formed and 3 people are chose to go undercover. You, Beau and Cordell

I have no excuse. This is smut yall. J2 makes my brain go to mush.

A Sheriff, a Marshal and a Ranger walked into a hot tub. Sounded like the beginning of a joke but it was very much your current reality.

When a joint task force had been propositioned to infiltrate a resort that was marketed as “An unconventional getaway for people who didn't live by society's standards” you knew you would be on the list for potential undercover. You had a decent track record and usually only took a couple weeks to decompress after assignments before you'd be completely back to normal as if it had never happened.

—----------------------

You however didn't know that Liam's older brother Cordell would also be on the list along with Beau Arlen, a Sheriff from Montana that had worked well with the bureau in the past. The resort was suspected of being a front for money laundering, weapon and drug smuggling.

—---------------------

When each branch of the task force which consisted of the Marshals, the Rangers and the FBI had picked their undercover the three of you met. It was basically a chemistry read like they did for movie roles. Had to make sure it was believable that the three of you were together.

You'd met Cordell in passing so you knew he was a good looking man and feigning attraction to him would be easy. The moment you laid eyes on Beau you nearly bowed out of the assignment. No one would believe these two men had chosen you.

When you'd voiced your concerns to Captain James who was overseeing the meeting Beau and Cordell had exchanged a look before Cordell moved up to your back while Beau moved to stand in front of you, effectively trapping you between their larger frames.

Beau gently brushed your hair behind your ear, green eyes holding you place while Cordell trailed his fingers over your arms “Now darling,we've talked about this. If anyone's lucky it's me and Eric. You know we love you”

Cordell leaned down to where his lips were almost touching your ear when he spoke “David's right Nessa, so just get those thoughts out of your head”

You felt your face warm so in one fluid movement you punched Beau in the stomach then threw your elbow back into Cordell's. Both men fell away from you, painful laughter falling from them as Captain James clapped “See? Proof to point you're the woman for this job because that? Really looked like you're their wife”

You walked into the safe house the task force was using as the “home address” for your thruple. Jesus you'd gone under cover solo and as a couple with a few guys and a couple women but you'd never gone under cover with two men and had to act as if you were deeply in love with them both.

Beau and Cordell were already there considering Cordell had picked Beau up from the airport and you'd been meeting with the contact you'd formed through a few yoga classes that was in with the owner of the resort. You'd parked your persona's little yellow beetle next to Cordell's persona's range rover.

When you made it past the entry way you let out a low whistle “Honeys I'm home” you heard laughter as your response before Cordell called out “in the kitchen baby” your stomach flipped a little at his voice.

—------------

You walked into the kitchen and both men were sitting at the small breakfast table, a cup of coffee in front of them both. You walked over to stand between the two of them and placed the envelope you carried down on the table “We got an invite to the resort. Bianca came through”

Without warning Cordell pulled you down into his lap, you started to protest but he whispered into your ear “We gotta get used to acting all the time” Beau winked at you “Eric quit hogging Nessa before I spank the both of you” “Promise?” You and Cordell teased in unison. Yeah this was going to be the most interesting assignment you'd ever undertaken.

The resort was beautiful, you had to give it that. Set back in the mountain side of Colorado the scenery was gorgeous. You, Cordell and Beau had been there for a few days but so far no one was really opening up to the three of you and you were starting to feel guilty having a California king to yourself while one man slept on the couch and the other slept on the floor in your suite.

A few times housekeeping had taken you by surprise so blankets and pillows had to be tossed around and one of them joined you in the bed while the other answered the door. You'd told them they could share the bed with you; it was plenty big enough and all of you were adults.

—-----------------

Cordell had apparently woken up first and ordered room service. You woke up to him and Beau testing everything on the tray to ensure nothing was drugged before you all ate.

You sat up in the bed, leaning back on your arms and admired the sight of your “husbands” Cordell was wearing a pair of jeans, hung low on his hips. He was barefoot and not currently wearing a shirt, the muscles of his back flexing deliciously in the sunlight streaming in from the high window.

Beau was wearing the gray sweatpants he wore to bed, that left little to the imagination (not that you'd looked) and he was also barefoot and missing a shirt. His light brown hair was still tousled from sleep and the way the muscles in his arms moved was damn near hypnotizing. Fuck, when was the last time you'd had sex to have you drooling over your temporary partners like this? You needed a cold shower.

Cordell glanced over his shoulder at you and grinned “Nessa you're finally awake” you smiled and tossed the blanket off your legs. You were currently wearing one of Beaus shirts or well “Davids” and panties. It fell far enough on your thigh neither men saw anything but should something happen it looked better if you were wearing one of their clothes to bed.

You walked over to stand next to the room service tray, running your nails across Beau's bare back as you leaned into Cordell's side “We need to talk” Cordell whispered in your ear. At your confused look he motioned to the tray then his ear. Your eyes widened and you nodded “What's a girl gotta do to get you fellas in that big Ole shower with me?”

Cordell laughed “Darling you know all you gotta do is ask” you grabbed Cordell's ark and then Beau's “well come on then”

—--------------------

Once the three of you were in the bathroom you shut the door and rolled up a towel to put under the crack before going to the corner where a shower as big as your first apartment sat. You turned the cold on full blast so there would still be hot water for your showers but enough noise you could talk freely.

Once the shower was going you beckoned them closer to it where it would drown anything out “They bugged the room service?” You whispered and Cordell nodded “From what I gather they don't trust us. Apparently everyone else here has an exhibitionist streak. We're the only people that hasn't had sex loud enough you can hear it down the hall or publicly enough anyone can see it”

You looked from him to Beau, both men close enough you could touch and sighed “Then we have to put on a show” they exchanged a look, clearly letting you take the reins on this “What do you mean?” Beau asked.

You rolled your eyes “You've both been undercover. I had to make it to third base with my last partner's wife one time to keep us from blowing our cover. If they want a show we give them one. That hot tub right outside our room would be a good place because we turn it high enough no one knows what's actually happening under the water as long as it sounds believable”

Cordell nodded slowly, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “The three of us need to make sure we're comfortable together. Our personas have been together for nearly eight years” you nodded then reached up to hook your arms around his neck, pulling him to you.

When your lips met his he didn't even appear to have been taken off guard, instead he backed up closer to the wall caging you between it and his body. He slid a clothed knee between your legs keeping them open as he flicked his tongue into your mouth, tasting all of you. You could feel your knees weaken from the kiss before you gasped lightly and pulled back trying to get air so he moved from your lips to your jaw then down to your neck, working the sensitive flesh there between his teeth gently as his knee pushed up into your dripping center causing a light moan to escape your lips “Fuck” you whispered when he pulled back with a grin “Good enough?” He asked and you nodded “Very”

He turned his eyes from you to Beau who was watching the two of you intently. He readjusted himself and your eyes slid down to see he was half hard under those sweats. He'd apparently enjoyed the show “Come here” Cordell spoke, pulling Beau to him.

You watched as the two men shared a kiss that was all tongue and teeth and rolled your hips against Cordell's thigh that was still between your legs, trying to soothe the ache forming there. Once the two of them broke away from each other Cordell nodded towards you “She makes the sweetest sounds doesn't she?” Beau nodded, green eyes full of hunger.

Cordell moved and let Beau in front of you. Beau grinned before he leaned down to catch your lips in a bruising kiss. Your hands went to his shoulders, gripping tightly. Damn could he kiss. He moved your hands from his shoulders to hold them both in one of his large hands before pressing them to the wall above your head.

His other hand moved to tease your hardened nipple through the shirt you wore, devouring the moan that escaped you. He kissed down your jaw opposite the side Cordell had but worked the sensitive flesh the same, enough to bring you pleasure but not to mark. Just when you felt like you might explode he placed a final kiss on your lips then backed off, dropping your hands and bracing your hips to help keep you upright as your chest heaved like you'd just ran a few miles.

You swallowed hard twice to keep from whimpering. The two men in front of you both smiled slightly “Believable that we both chose you?” Cordell asked, throwing your words from the chemistry read back at you. You nodded stiffly, finally finding your voice “Believable. I'm gonna um I'm gonna shower. I'm supposed to go to yoga with Bianca”

Beau grinned “Want us to join you or?” You felt your face warm and shook your head “Go eat breakfast. Save me some though. Tonight after dinner in the dining hall we'll give em a show to make sure they don't doubt us” Cordell tipped his head “Yes ma'am” you weren't even the senior agent here but they were letting you lead for the undercover part. Why you weren't sure but you kind of enjoyed it.

Beau started to walk out then shook his head and walked back over to you, catching your lips in another hungry kiss. Not to be outdone the moment Beau released you Cordell pulled you into another kiss. You groaned when they both finally stepped away “Later” you needed the entire day to prepare for the show you'd have to put on tonight. You had gone to third with Lindsay to keep you both safe and you'd simply been friends with her. Those two?

They could easily ruin you and if you didn't keep a hold on yourself you might just let them.

The ground rules that had been set was no penetration and always remember that it was your peronas. Not yourselves.

—---------------

Easier said than done. You'd chosen a simple back two piece because while you trusted the men you were with, the rest of the resort didn't need to see everything.

You stepped out of the bathroom and laughed at the fact that they were both leaning against the doorframe leading out to the deck area where the hot tub sat. Cordell had on dark blue swim trunks while Beau wore dark green ones. The moment they heard the door open both of their eyes landed on you and you could see them darken. “Sorry to keep you fellas waiting”

—------------

You walked past them outside and they both followed you closely. Beau had set the tub to high, like you'd said. You stopped at the edge and both men offered you a hand to help you get in. You took Cordell's and worked at Beau.

Once you were in they both climbed in “Where do you want us Nessa?” Beau asked and you grabbed Cordell's hand first “I want to sit in Eric's lap” you pushed Cordell down in the corner and once he was settled with his long legs bent at the knees you settled yourself between them, your ass brushing against his crotch as you did so and heard him stifle a groan.

You reached a hand out towards Beau “C'mere David” he grinned and dipped himself down to be kneeling in front of you, he leaned down close to your ear to whisper feather light “How far are we going darling? Me and Cordell discussed it. This is your ballgame”

“They have to think we've had sex” he nodded and glanced over your shoulder at Cordell. You'd laid back against Cordell's chest which meant Beau could easily lean over you. Him and Cordell shared a heated kiss and when they pulled away Cordell nodded towards you “Make our girl fall apart in my lap David”

Cordell shifted you higher up in his lap so Beau wouldn't have to crouch to reach you. He gripped your chin with two fingers, tilting your head “Look at her. So damn gorgeous and all ours” when his lips met yours you didn't try to swallow the whimper that escaped you. He smiled against your lips “and always so eager for us”

You felt one of his hands come up to cup one of your breasts while Cordell snaked a hand around you to cup the other. You moaned lightly and that seemed to spur them on. Beau moved down to your neck, kissing and biting gently and Cordell leaned up to claim the other side of your neck, both of them still working at your breasts, tweaking the sensitive buds and making your back arch off Cordell's chest pushing you into Beau's.

—-----------------

Just when you were damn near too overwhelmed they changed tactics. Cordell moved his hand to your chin so he could tilt your head back and claim your mouth while Beau slipped one of your breasts free from the swimsuit top, flicking his tongue over the nipple. Cordell swallowed every moan that you gave as Beau finished with one breast and tucked it back into the top before going to the other.

You rolled your hips back against Cordell and felt his erection pressing into your back. You slipped one hand between you and he hissed when your fingers slipped below the band of the shorts he wore, wrapping around his hardened cock. Damn he was big and thick. You began to jack him slowly, moving at the same rhythm as your lips moved against each other.

After a moment Beau reclaimed your lips from Cordell, one hand slipping between your legs to tease at your clothed core. A moan escaped your lips, one from Cordell joining you. “Do fingers count?” Beau asked low between gritted teeth and you shook your head. With your go ahead he moved your bottoms to the side plunging two fingers knuckle deep inside of you.

You moaned loudly as Beau curled his fingers finding that spot deep inside of you. A rhythm fell of your hand moving at the same speed of his fingers as he worked you towards an orgasm and you worked Cordell. You bucked your hips against Beau's fingers and he broke from your lips to move down your neck “Just like that sweet girl. Fuck yourself on my fingers while you jack Eric off”

—---------------

The names didn't matter, the fact that you were technically working didn't matter. All that mattered was how amazing Beau's fingers felt and how fucking wrecked Cordell sounded behind you. You felt yourself getting close to that edge and knew from how Cordy was moving his hips to meet your movement he was close too. Beau twisted his wrist slightly and your vision went soft around the edges as your orgasm washed over you. The feeling of Cordell's warm cum coating your hand anchored you in the moment as both men bit down on your shoulders.

Beau gently slipped his fingers out of you and grinned “You're looking a little gone darling” then looked behind you at Cordell “You both do” Cordell was breathless as he said “That was intense” you turned to pull him down into a kiss, his tongue rolling against yours. When he pulled back he kissed the tip of your nose “Baby he didn't come”

You looked at Beau and smiled “C'mere David” he moved closer and placed a quick kiss on Cordell's lips before pulling you out of Cordy's lap and into his own. He moved so your back was against the side of the hot tub and your legs were wrapped around his waist. He dropped his head to your neck and whispered “I'm not gonna fuck you,don't worry”

He moved a hand under the water and if anyone nearby looked it probably appeared he was freeing his cock but instead he just tightened his grip on your hips. He gave a hard roll of his hips into yours and your head fell back with a low moan “Fuck” you gasped and he did it again. You looked up to stare into those gorgeous green eyes “Can you come like this?” You whispered against his lips and he chuckled “Fuck yes”

—----------

The feeling of his hard cock rubbing just right against your clit with every thrust of his hips were pushing you closer and closer to that edge. You wanted to feel him without the layer between you, but you'd set the rule. You looked over at Cordell who was now stroking his semi erect cock, working back up himself at watching the two of you. A silent conversation happened between the two of you and when he nodded you grinned before slipping a hand between you and Beau.

He stopped his movements and watched you with hooded eyes as you slipped your hand into his trunks to free his cock then pushed the bottoms of your swimsuit to the side. He looked from you to Cordell and when you both nodded he rolled his hips forward again this time sliding into you. Fuck he was wide and long and felt so damn good.

Your head fell back at the feeling of being stretched around him. After a moment he gave a tentative thrust and when you tightened around him he buried his face in the bend of your neck and started fucking you in earnest.

You knew it wouldn't take long for you to hit that high again and judging from how hard and fast Beau was slamming into you he was chasing his own orgasm as well. “Fuck, harder” you begged and he groaned “You're killing me darling” his thrusts got deeper and harder and when Cordell moved to slip his hand between your body and Beau's, rubbing tight circles on your clit you came hard clenching down around Beau's cock. He groaned as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts then came inside of you, you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming with pleasure.

He stilled with his cock still inside of you and searched your face, no doubt wondering if he crossed a line but when you simply smiled he crashed his lips against yours in a rough kiss.

You gasped when he pulled out of you then looked between him and Cordell. They were both watching you so you took a few steadying breaths before saying “How about we break in that California king?” They both grinned “Yes ma'am”

You woke up the next morning curled up to Beau's chest with Cordell's tall frame wrapped around you from behind. You were sore everywhere, both of them were big men in every way and damn their stamina.

You considered trying to get up but both had vice grips on you. You decided to try to go back to sleep but right before you dozed back off the memories of them both whispering your real name and each other's last night came flooding back along with the fact that you were fairly certain you'd done the same. What the hell had the three of you really gotten yourselves into?

[allthingslinguistic]

But by the end of my five years [as a copy editor], I felt intellectually and psychologically worn down by the labor I logged on my biweekly timesheets. Whatever roller-rink of neurons helped me spot aberrations from convention had grown practiced and strong, and it was difficult to read any unconventional sentence without reflexively rearranging it into a more conventional form.

Something had shrunken and withered in me, for having directed so much of my attention away from the substance of the stories I read and into their surface. Few people in our office, let alone outside its walls, would notice the variation in line spacing, the fact that Jesus’ was lacking its last, hard “s,” or whatever other reason we were sending the proofs to be printed again—and if they did, who the fuck cared? [....]

I can’t help wondering, though, whether there wasn’t something insidious in the way we worked—some poison in our many rounds of minute changes, in our strained and often tense conversations about ligatures and line breaks, in our exertions of supposedly benign, even benevolent, power; if those polite conversations constituted a covert, foot-dragging protest against change, an insistence on the quiet conservatism of the liberal old guard, and if they were a distraction from the conversations that might have brought meaningful literary or linguistic change about. In fact, I sense myself enacting the same foot-dragging here.

It’s fun—it’s dangerously pleasing—to linger in the minutiae of my bygone copyediting days, even if, by the time I left that job to teach college writing full-time, I was convinced that “correcting” “errors” of convention most readers would never notice was the least meaningful work a person could possibly do. I’m writing this, however, to ask whether copyediting as it’s been practiced is worse than meaningless: if, in fact, it does harm.

*

Do we really need copyediting? I don’t mean the basic clean-up that reverses typos, reinstates skipped words, and otherwise ensures that spelling and punctuation marks are as an author intends. Such copyediting makes an unintentionally “messy” manuscript easier to read, sure.

But the argument that texts ought to read “easily” slips too readily into justification for insisting a text working outside dominant Englishes better reflect the English of a dominant-culture reader—the kind of reader who might mirror the majority of those at the helm of the publishing industry, but not the kind of reader who reflects a potential readership (or writership) at large.

A few years before leaving copyediting, I began teaching a scholarly article I still read with students today, Lee A. Tonouchi’s “Da State of Pidgin Address.” Written in Hawai’ian Creole English, or Pidgin, it asks whether what “dey say” is true: “dat da perception is dat da standard english talker is going automatically be perceive fo’ be mo’ intelligent than da Pidgin talker regardless wot dey talking, jus from HOW dey talking.” The article leaves many students questioning the assumptions they began reading it with: its effect is immediate, personal, and profound.

In another article I pair it with, “Should Writers Use They Own English,” Vershawn Ashanti Young answers Tonouchi’s implicit question, writing, “don’t nobody’s language, dialect, or style make them ‘vulnerable to prejudice.’ It’s ATTITUDES.” Racial difference and linguistic difference, Young reminds us, are intertwined, and “Black English dont make it own-self oppressed.”

It’s clear that copyediting as it’s typically practiced is a white supremacist project, that is, not only for the particular linguistic forms it favors and upholds, which belong to the cultures of whiteness and power, but for how it excludes or erases the voices and styles of those who don’t or won’t perform this culture. Beginning with an elementary school teacher’s red pen, and continuing with agents, publishers, and university faculty who on principle turn away work that arrives on their desk in unconventionally grammatical or imperfectly punctuated form, voices that don’t mimic dominance are muffled when they get to the page and also before they get there—as schools, publishers, and their henchmen entrench the idea that those writing outside convention are not writing “well,” and therefore ought not set their voices to paper at all. [...]

Like other emissaries of the powerful (see, e.g., the actual police), copy editors often wield what power they do have unpredictably, teetering between generous attention and brute, insistent force. You saw this in the way our tiny department got worked up over the stubbornness of an editor or author who had dug in their heels: their resistance was a threat, sometimes to our suspiciously moral-feeling attachment to “correctness,” sometimes to our aesthetics, and sometimes to our sense of ourselves. [...]

There’s a flip side, if it’s not already obvious, to the peculiar “respect” I received in that dusty closet office at twenty-two. A 2020 article in the Columbia Journalism Review refers casually to “fusspot grammarians and addled copy editors”; I’m not the only one who imagines the classic copy editor as uncreative, neurotic, and cold.

I want to say they’re the publishing professionals most likely, in the cultural imagination, to be female, but that doesn’t feel quite right: agents and full-on editors are female in busty, sexy ways, while copy editors are brittle, unsexed. Their labor nevertheless shares with other typically female labors a concern with the small and the surface, those aspects of experience many of us are conditioned to dismiss.

I’m willing to bet, too, that self-professed “grammar snobs” rarely come from power themselves—that there is a note of aspirational literariness in claiming the identity as such. [...]

It makes me wonder if, in renouncing my job when I left it—in calling copyediting the world’s least meaningful work—I might have been reenacting some of the literary scene’s most entrenched big-dick values: its insistence on story over surface (what John Gardner called the “fictional dream”), on anti-intellectualism but also the elitist cloak of it-can-never-be-taught. The grammar snob’s aspiration and my professor’s condescension bring to mind the same truism: that real power never needs to follow its own rules. [...]

Copyediting shares with poetry a romantic attention to detail, to the punctuation mark and the ordering of words. To treat someone else’s language with that fine a degree of attention can be an act of love. Could there be another way to practice copyediting—less attached to precedent, less perseverating, and more eagerly transgressive; a practice that, to distinguish itself from the quietly violent tradition from which it arises, might not be called “copyediting” at all; a practice that would not only “permit” but amplify the potential for linguistic invention and preservation in any written work?

--- Against Copyediting: Is It Time to Abolish the Department of Corrections? Helen Betya Rubinstein on Having Power Over More Than Just Commas

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

Let me into your echo chambers. Please.

Introduce me to your friends.

I need out of my echo chamber and so do you.

So don't just like. Share it with your friends.

If you liked it don't you think your mutuals might be interested in it too?

Then take 30 sec to check out the OP's blog and see if they are worth a follow.

Tumbler's UI is shit and I ramble, so I apologize that this will be a scroll.

==================

I am a rambler when I write. And for a blogging site, Tumblr is pretty shit for blogging. Almost like it was on purpose...

But anyway, since I ramble, I write to help skimming. I highlight important points you might want to pay attention to and then you can go back to read a bit more context on that point.

So don't be intimidated.

I give every art I see at least a like. Maybe a comment. Because I love to see people express themselves and put themselves out there. And I want to encourage you. And maybe interact a bit. And maybe I was high.

And when I write, I tend to ramble. But I promise that my writing and content is worth the effort and time.

But whenever I see something unique or special or meaningful or especially lovely or just plain weird, I hit that share button.

So, follower beware: I reblog a whole lot and it is part of my content. And my created content might take a bit to read.

And it's not that I'm particularly trying to get your attention. I just play around on here when high.

I just think a wider view of the diversity in this world is better for everyone to have. But more importantly I believe it is necessary to hear from the weirdos.

I find weirdos and I amplify them.

Like and subscribe!

Because you fuckers need to meet each other and see each other's shit. Especially the shit that is different.

We need to see the world outside Normies' Big Media Capitalist curated News world.

I love you fuckers. All so unconventional and weird and whatnot. Most of us keep it together in the outside world.

But we have to find the other weirdos to be weird with. Normies are great friends and I love all my lambs, but the weirdos are my people and we can be ourselves together.

There's a lot of normies that try to be weird to build a fun persona and I'm kind of impressed with you. It takes a lot of guts in this society to pick a fun way of living and stick to it against the tide. You do you.

Just like all the other lovely normies out there. They try so hard to find themselves.

It's due to all having shared interests and hobbies. They all have same politics, same worldview, same income, same race, same shared media and experiences, education, upbringing, and desires and cares, wants, and needs. They just need to feel loved. Like us.

Shalom.

But otherwise normies only want comfort and conformity to get acceptance. So they go along with everything,

and only go to water parks, the mall, and DisneyWorld, eat shitty imitation of Popeyes weekly for Jesus's sake, and do all the Applebee restaurants and dabble in exotic local eateries. They watch sports and play golf or bowl or "manly" shit together and talk sports, women, politics, and work. They look for normal jobs and the normal White/cic-masking BIPOC at work or church count for diversity and as their "many" Black "friends." They go to big well funded fancy museums filtered through capitalism and Western academia and that society.

All of it with a fuck ton of asshole Aristocrats and Billionaire meddling,

bankers picking and choosing, America bullshit, Capitalism and grants making us beg like dogs for centrifuge tubes or explain why my research required fucking printer ink while we rely on desperate and idealistic kids to do all the work basically for free.

The normies just go along with it all and live in the normal Aristocratic-lite society, do normal stuff, watch normal media, and love Disney. The normies just eat that Disney shit up.

They go those normal museums for culture. And while they are there, they look at magnificent art, technological achievements, architecture, poetry, and toys with wheels by ancient civilizations that made ours look shitty and all they see is pretty or weird.

I see before me strange weird things someone saw as common place and wonder how they would have regarded it.

I try to do that with weirdos too.

Weirdos show me a whole new world without the Disney bullshit.

While Aristocrats pump us full of Big Media, Disney, Education Systems, fake high society, fake Masters fake educated Geniuses flown to prominence by their privilege, and fake Comedic Geniuses.

(Van Gough & a few Divincci's and Einstein' or Jim Carrey' excluded)

Fake everything. And once in a while a true weirdo leaks out. And once in a while that weirdo shows up in public.

And that wonderful weirdo is seen as freak of nature. Abnormal by the normies narrow Diversity Standards.

Excluding us even more. Driving our personalities under cover just to get a seat at the table or make a good damn friend. I hate those smug fuckers making us act like them just to get a fucking job a "friend" who won't let you be yourself.

Sometimes I hate them. Most of the time I'm just tired of them.

They just are so boring. I'm so lucky to be faculty at a shitty school. It's filled with weirdos.

You fuckers must be drowning in normies

That's what made elementary, middle, and high school so bad. All the conformity. It was an exqisitely painful narrow kind of homogenous environment dominated by the few rich families in the neighborhood who ruled the school dress code. You wore what they were or you were Out. Outtened of interacting with Their society. You talked what they talked. You laughed at their jokes and only told similar kinds. You can't be too different. Just flavorful enough to get noticed if you're brave. You were "goodlooking" like them. White Sons and daughters of modern inbred high society modern day slavers and over titled middle management. All waspy rich brats. With a few diversity hires being "normal" for dear life.

How is your society now? Is it different now? I'd assume there's a definite ruling society. Who runs it? What kind of people have a seat?

Not the weirdos.

Not us.

We're below notice.

Like these words I write on this backwater shitty blog. Which is one of the few places that let us be weird together in long form and media for free.

So I figure a fake name should be enough to keep my Uber White Evangelical well-educated over-paid middle-manager Christo-fascist trustees running my shitty school from ever finding this page. I doubt they'd even thinking of looking here. Not without a Google hit for my Christian name.

So I'm just me here. And most of you are just you here. And that's refreshing.

There's a lot of normies still on here for fun, but bit most were driven away by the shitty UI, search features, lack of toggles and filters, oversaturation of ads and general derision for the user experience to the point that I think they are doing it on purpose.

You know a similar thing happened at another social media that brings truly diverse people together on more egalitarian grounds. Twitter got fucked up like Tumblr. Elon over paid just so he could be the one to destroy our communities.

(and drive the site Upulie loves to play on into the worst possible version of itself and then into a long depressing death spiral.)

This is Capitalism after all. And who controls Capitalism sanctioned social media? "Geniuses" ™️ like Elon Musk. And his tech bro fanboys and billionaires. No Aristocrat or Aristocrat-lite or their sycophant wannabes wants our shit out there in normies Big Media world.

So they drove the normies and play-actor normies and well-connected away. There's no fame or money here. You can't even go viral. There's just other weirdos without connections. And Will Wheaton. Who is also a weirdo.

I love you all just because. But I especially adore you because you are so fucking weird. But you still love others. Mostly. You are my kind of people. You don't fit in society. You beautiful, magnificent bastards.

And it's killing you acting like a fucking normie all day. It's itchy.

When you're stressed it gets impossible to mask and that gets scary.

I'm lucky to be surrounded by such loving weirdos at work. But they aren't weird weird if you get my drift. They are all conventional in most of their education experiences, interests, religion, Big Media consumption, background, White, and mostly men.

And I'm...? I've never fit in with any society.

Never enough to be even exotic normal for them.

And I've been in some weird societies. I'm just able to conform enough to get by with a buddy or two at work and not freak my friends, family, therapist, or the wife out.

I just want to be me. And that's hard when everyone just wants to be boring and do Capitalism bullshit and preferably do it the luxury way.

They just can't accept my personality being uniquely weird. And they will never recognize my uniquely weird genius languishing in this Tumblr prison of an echo chamber.

But if you are still reading, know that I amplify weirdos and important shit.

This might be a fucking tiny echo chamber Tumblr stuck you all in with me. This might be a really tiny sub chamber just for me. Mine is like the same fucking 10 people in my mentions. But I'm starting to leak out a bit.

Thank you for noticing me.

I hope you like my shit, but I don't give a shit if you don't care for it. (I very much do give a shit. Why don't you like me?! )

Anyway I think seeing the world from the non-normies is important. Knowing more foreigners and strangers and poor and lower SES is important to see the whole world. But you are still mostly seeing the Aristocracy's world. But the real world. To know the real world, you need to hear from the weirdos. We live outside the normie world. We see it from the outside looking in. We observe it. And we live a unique experience that gives us a unique world to share with others and a unique take on our shared world.

Knowing more people who live in totally other worlds is a wise thing to do

And you should all be amplifying whatever is weird or beautiful. But also the more unpleasant important things and local news.

Help us see this world.

The world beneath.

To help us see takes that are truly unique and not rehash of corporate plants and cherry picked normie viral sensations.

Giving us unique understandings of this beautiful world, synthesing the experiences of some truly beautiful people in some really weird or unusual, under represented, or shitty circumstances.

Big Message : Learn from each other, enjoy each other, amplify each other to help us escape these echo chambers. And follow me so I can escape with you.

[tonesplash]

its thanksgiving get nasty (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

summary: you get bored at thanksgiving dinner. unfortunately for edward you wore sandals

warnings: smut,brief footjob, thanksgiving dinner, edward kind of chokes on corn, reader doesn’t like their family, mild injury, fingering, innappropriate use of vampire speed, technically exhibitionism and public sex?? bad dirty talk, and cousin-shaming, reader is afab and might be described as female im not sure

a/n: i wrote this in 24 hours so any sloppiness is not my fault

masterlist

(c/n)= cousins name

When you told him thanksgiving with your family would be boring, you’d meant it’d be for him, looking forward to his reaction to being on the receiving end of your bloodlines ridiculousness while you’d get dinner and a show. But, as it turns out, your family just so happens to get along with Edward much better than they do with you.

The seating situation is a little unconventional, since because your boyfriend-snatching cousin stole the open seat next to Edward before you even made it back from the bathroom, leaving your only viable option directly opposite of him. On the bright side, you had the option of kicking his leg when he’d said something to embarrass you.

 Bless his soul, he’d done his best to bring you into the conversation but apparently, anything you had to say about your relationship had been relayed verbatim to the family group chat you weren't even in by your mother. So, after the third time you’re talked over by the aforementioned horny cousin or some other nosy relative on you’re bored out of your mind.

Everyone had gotten over your piss poor table manners years ago, or were just completely ignoring you at this point because there were no protests when they’d brought the turkey out and you’d stayed slumped low in your seat like a child in church.

Twitter had stopped refreshing ten minutes ago, and when you finally resigned yourself to tuning back into the conversation, your mother was showing Edward your baby pictures again. Idly swinging one bare foot under the table, your bare toe grazes the drape of his dress slacks under the table when you get an idea.

 You’d lost a sandal earlier after Edward had pinned it under his shoe in a vain attempt to stop your pinching and dirtying of his slacks with your filthy soles. You scoot a little further forward in your seat to reach out and press your arch flat against his shin.

Edward doesn’t visibly react, just shifts his leg away, leaving yours to slip to the floor until you reach up again to plant your heel on the seat of the chair. The conversation lulls for a moment as everyone says grace, and he uses the opportunity to grab your ankle and send you a warning glare over the top of your phone.

You meet his gaze and boorishly eat a spoon of mashed potatoes, shrugging as if he couldn’t read in your mind exactly what you were about to do. 

Your cousin asks about his mom car again and when you roll your eyes Edward flicks the outside of your fibula, sure to bruise, and you crinkle your nose, pinching his marble thigh between your toes as best you can through the material.

“Well my father thought it was necessary for my siblings and I to-” 

While he talks, he's soothing the spot he flicked, playing in the stubble leftover from your shoddy shave job this morning, and the absent affection gives you the final motivation to further push your luck. You tease the seam of his left leg with the very tips of your toes, coaxing the unnatural heat of the venom to build in the crotch of his pants, the coolness of the rest of him making it seem even hotter in comparison.

He inhales on a forkful of corn, almost taking it down the wrong pipe, and you fight a smile around the bowl of the spoon as he flawlessly recovers and finishes the thought. You idly wonder if you could be that smooth someday. For now, you press further, pressing a toe against the seam over his cock, stroking up and down as slowly and consistently as you can while stretched under a table because who would’ve thought that footjobs are kind of an athletic feat. 

Edward taps insistently at your leg, harder than he normally would, and you have to hold back a laugh at the idea of him splitting the table because he can’t take a little footsie action. You press forward again, arch encompassing his hardness through the fabric, toes curling against his pubic bone when-

“Ho-oly shit!” Searing pain shoots up from your ankle, and you double over, using everything in you not to shout, Edwards dawning mortification going unnoticed as everyone at the table turns to you at your unexpected outburst.  

“(Y/n)?” Your mother doesn’t seem that happy to have dinner interrupted, and you clutch your stomach as a quick cover.

“Uh, my bad.” You snicker nervously at the sudden attention, bravado gone. Your face feels red-hot. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I think,” you lick your lips and slide out of your chair. “Lady problems.”

The table erupts in a cacophony of gags and groans as the notion of a menstrual cycle is brought up in casual conversation, and it gives you the perfect cover to retreat to the upstairs bathroom. It takes you a minute to make it up the stairs without causing a scene, and just as soon as you close and lock the door behind you and settle down to weep in peace, he’s there, jiggling the doorknob like it’s a drug bust.

“Let me in.”

You’re apparently taking too long because as soon as your injured foot touches the floor, he forces the lock and slips in, shutting the door a little too fast to pass as human. 

“Jesus! Edward, are you trying to lose our deposit?” You lean around him to check for a handprint but he doesn’t respond, wordlessly setting you up on the counter, kneeling to examine your injured ankle, cool fingers soothing to the sore skin. You sit in silence, idly swinging your other leg to distract yourself.

“How'd you make it out?” You can't imagine they’d let the guest of honor go so easily.

“You forgot your bag, I told them I’d just bringing it up to you.” He places your bag next to you as evidence. “Maybe you should start carrying menstrual products for when you actually need them.”

Of course, he breaks your foot and wants to lecture you on responsible uterus care. Edward sighs, taking your foot with the gentlest touch and whispering a kiss into the skin. “It’s only a sprain, but I’m still sorry.” 

“S’Okay.” Your face burns, not expecting his guilt. “Serves me right, huh?” You titter, poking his side with your uninjured foot. He swipes it up before you can start again, halfheartedly laughing with you. 

“Let me wrap it before you get any more ideas.” You hand him the compression wrap from the medicine cabinet, and he gets to work. The wince you give at the pressure is more reflex than anything, but the anxious expression on his face tells you he wasn't going to let this go easily. 

“Y’know…” You poke at him again. The playful contempt in his golden eyes gives you the go-ahead to make your case. “If you’re really feeling torn up about it, seeing you wow my family like that got me a little riled up.”

“Really.” Edward kisses the secured wrapping and releases you, standing to frame you against the counter.

“I’m serious, impressing them isn’t easy, (C/n) is probably shaving in the guest room to steal you from me right now, just thinking about it has got me a little hot under the collar.” You run your hands over his back and through his hair, nuzzling into the crook of his throat.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?” His hands smooth over your exposed thighs sending a shiver up your spine. You think you've got him, but he's such a tease sometimes you can never really be sure.

“Depends. Is it working?” You still, bracing for some line about ‘responsibility’ and ‘your family waiting for you.’

But then his hands are under your skirt, hooking into the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your thighs, leaving them to free-fall to your feet. You clutch his auburn hair in your fingers at the shock of open-air against your cunt.

“Do you think I could let you go back to that table smelling like this?” His sweet breath washes against your ear as he huffs a soft laugh. “I’d rather not go downstairs and pretend to care about football when I know you’re here, hot and ready for me.”

You can’t resist him any longer, pulling him close and kissing him with the desperation of a woman who needs to be back downstairs before dessert. His thumb teases over your cunt at first, swirling over your swelling clit and teasing your hole before he finds a focus, using the thumb of his free hand to hold your hood back as his slicked fingers grind the bud into a frenzy while he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

It’s all you can do to hold your breath while he touches you, cool fingers building a knot in your belly, smooth and steady as they batter you up into a frenzy. He adjusts his hand, his ring finger pressing into you and bringing a low ache from rushed preparation, but you welcome it, thighs shaking with the effort to stay open for him as your mouth falls open in a shaky gasp. Edward breaks the kiss to let you breathe , seemingly unbothered until- 

“(C/n) is coming.” 

“Wha-” A particularly deep stroke has you biting your lip as you struggle to concentrate. “What the fuck does she want?”

“She’s going to ask you where I am.” His expression doesn’t match his words, still completely concentrated on ruining you despite the obvious issue.

“And what am I supposed to tell her?!” You hiss back right as she reaches the door. His mouth closes over your pulse point and you don't think you've clenched that hard before in your life.

“Hey (Y/n)? Have you seen Edward?” Her voice is enough of a mood killer that you have to shove your face into his throat to ground yourself in the moment. He adds a second finger, gaining speed, and you pray and hope to any god listening to this that she can't hear the squelches through the door.

“N-no.” You rack your mind for an excuse. His scent is making it harder to concentrate. “I think he went out for a smoke?” Nice one.

“Really? I didn't smell anything on him...” If all your blood flow hadn't been centralized below the waist at this point you'd’ve asked how the hell she knows what he smells like. He's fully abandoned your clit now, leaving it to pulse in the open air while three of his fingers push and pull at your pelvic floor.

“That's cause he unh-” You slap a hand over your mouth to stop the moan before it can be recognized for what it is.“-he vapes!” Edward pulls back from your throat to look at you incredulously, but it's a little hard to be ashamed when he's nearly wrist deep inside you.

“Oh… Well, let him know if you see him that they’re playing charades and I need a partner. You know how it is.”

You forget to reply, too enthralled watching him spit onto his unoccupied fingers and mash the coolness against your clit, causing you to nearly spasm off the counter, losing the sensation as he silently laughs at having to hold you steady. She seemed to have taken your silence as an admission, as you can hear the door at the stoop of the stairs swinging shut after her. Thank God.

“Rub your spot, Sweet, come on, we have to be quick.” He kisses your temple and laughs a bit maniacally at the little whimper that escapes when you bring a hand down to your clit. “Surprisingly, she’s having trouble picturing me in a vape shop.”

You whine around a bitten lip, too far gone to listen to his ribbing. You’re building up to overstimulation with the sloppy way you’re rubbing yourself, and he must feel it too, because in the next second, his fingers are vibrating.

“Come on, (Y/n), don't you want to finish up here and mop the floor with them?” You hadn’t even realized how hazy your vision had gotten until he grabs your chin and levels your lidded eyes with his and says your name again. You nod sluggishly for him, not hearing a word. He laughs again, smiles wide. His teeth are pretty. 

“If you cum right now;” The buzzing grows stronger, your free arm spasming under you as you support yourself. “I’ll rub you raw after on the ride home. You just need to come right now and win charades with me.” 

The buzzing inside grows too strong, and your vision goes white, pulsing in long pulls around his fingers as hot waves of sensation spread from your head to your toes.

Edward kisses you, soft and slow, swallowing any whimpers tempted to escape as you come down, abandoning the counter to clutch his sleeve as the twitching reduces to a tremor.

“Oh my god.“ You laugh, planting your face into his collar as you catch your breath. “I can't believe you used charades to make me come, I'm never gonna forgive you.” 

“I heard the top prize is a ten dollar gift card to…” He squints and checks again. “The Google Play Store.”

“Ew, what could you even do with tha-”

“(Y/N) come help with plates!” Your mother shouts up the stairwell, totally fucking up any release you just had.

“I guess I should run down to the corner store;” Edward smiles, helping you to stand on wobbly legs and smoothing your skirt down. “Don't want to blow your cover.” 

“(Y/N)! Plates!”

“Oh my god;” Your eyes may never return from the back of your skull. “Meet you downstairs?”

He kisses you sweetly one last time, pulling you close and wiping the sheen of sweat off of your face.

“Downstairs.”

With that, he heaves himself out of the narrow sill, and you busy yourself cleaning up as fast as you can.

You just catch him hopping off the roof, and coming around to the front yard. He'll hear you no matter the volume, but you still shout the warning;

“Stay away from my cousin!” 

[fantasyforbeginners]

Just wondering, you don't have to answer if you don't want to <333

What are your favorite character dynamics in books and movies? Or character tropes, either limited to one character or affecting character interactions?

Oh I have been waiting my whole life for this question, thank you so much! As always tropes depend equally upon execution (we've all seen them poorly done or read/watched something we Should like, by all means, that just didn't click with us) but here are some of my favourite dynamics / character archetypes w/ recommendations

Dynamics

Platonic Power of Love / Platonic soulmates. Please see: How to Train Your Dragon, Crazy Ex Girlfriend, Loveless by Alice Oseman

Ties into found family, that is my #1. Bio siblings who also choose each other, unconventional extended family dynamics, workplace families, misfit families, just all the found families. Give it to me, every time. Please see: every recommendation on this list, Ducktales (2017), Six of Crows duology, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Grump X Sunshine but like in the specific "Grump has abandonment issues, Sunshine is like a golden retriever or paragon that helps them believe in life again, and the Grump's eventual opening up helps reaffirm / reward Sunshine's belief in people" way. Please see: The Dragon Prince, Inside Job

Mid-20s something who is too young to be a parental figure to the scrappy pre-teen kid they just found but someone's gotta parent the child, they Guess. Please see: vaguely Crazy Ex Girlfriend

Opposite but related trope of Adult trying to protect and raise their Chosen One child, trying to cope with the reality that they can't protect their child and that the kid ultimately belongs to the world. See: Aang and Monk Gyatso from Avatar: The Last Airbender, Christianity (hi Jesus and Mary)

Friends to Lovers. Even if they're enemies, there's gotta be a strong friendship stage / component, or I'm rarely gonna be entirely convinced. (But I'm also on the aromantic spectrum, so that defs influences me). Please see: Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Dragon Prince, Heartstopper

Villains / antagonists who are competing against one another or are reluctantly working together. I love the instability, the way it can make one villain work with the heroes, the snideness and differing goals. It's so good. Please see: Trollhunters (Tales of Arcadia on Netflix), Spider Riders (2006)

Platonic or Romantic "I was just going through the motions of my life until you woke me up and changed Everything," I love that transformative shit. Please see: The Dragon Prince, Infinity Train (s2)

Basically just "There are people you haven't met yet who will love you" every time. Please see: The Good Place

Foil sibling relationships, and if it's also intergenerational? Chef's kiss. Please see: Gravity Falls, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Dragon

Slightly more serious older girl and more carefree younger boy. He helps her to lighten up and let loose, she helps him mature. Also angry girl and soft boy. See: every ship I have almost loved, Infinity Train, The Dragon Prince, Peter Pan 2: Return to Neverland (aka where my ideals for love came from when I was five, feminist girlboss movie of my childhood)

Love of any kind transcending death and time, Please see: How To Train Your Dragon franchise, Titanic (1997), Julie and the Phantoms

Loyal dutiful Knight / Lady or royal dynamic. Please see: The Legend of Zelda games

On that note, co-leader character dynamics. They have the same goal and uniquely mirror each other's devotion and drive, they're willing to put duty and share that maturity with each other? Eat that shit up every time. Please see: Shiro and Allura from Voltron if the show hadn't ended up being terrible, The Dragon Prince, Julie and the Phantoms, Roy and Riza from FMA (which I still need to watch)

If there is a big possibly scary creature and they have a tiny human and they love each other, I will fall for that friendship every time. Please see: How To Train Your Dragon, Transformers: Prime

Basically please watch The Dragon Prince if you haven't already, it's everything I've ever wanted or needed in a show.

Character Archetypes

So much of this just comes down to "Selfless leader burdened by duty and responsiblity" just with variations so keep that in mind

Older character haunted by memory / knowledge, knowing they are an unfitting protector to the new younger generation who needs them, re: The Giver by Lois Lowry

Team leader who feels like it's their responsibility to take care of everyone else whether or not that's actually plausible / the case, re: Rayla in The Dragon Prince

Paragons in general, re: Optimus Prime, Aang, Ezran

Strategist leader who is smart as all helll, if a little (or a lot) ruthless, re: Kaz Brekker from Six of Crows

Moses archetype who returns to liberate people from physical or emotional servitude / abuse, re: The Prince of Egypt, what Finn from Star Wars could've been

Character who's a little egotistical and a tad dim, but they really care about / will protect their family and comes through when it matters, re: Alvin from Alvin and the Chipmunks Meet the Wolfman, it was foundational for me; also Louie and/or Dewey from Ducktales (2017)

Driven angry girl with goals who will do anything to achieve them so long as it doesn't mean diminishing herself, re: Jane from Peter Pan 2 was my blueprint, Reagan from Inside Job, MT from Infinity Train

Just any woman with goals (and a man who supports those goals), re: Grace and Simon from Infinity Train until it got fucked up in the best way

Female tough girls and bullies with a softer side, a la Clarisse La Rue from Percy Jackson (not Amity from Owl House)

Exiled / outcast character with a massive guilt complex, re: Aang from ATLA, Rayla from The Dragon Prince

Nurturing characters with fierce tempers, re: Callum from the Dragon Prince

Chosen ones. I know it's cliche and I do not care, that shit can be compelling as hell. Honourable mention to: main character is trying to protect the chosen one (a sibling or friend), or there are multiple chosen ones running around

If they're a really good older sibling I'm probably sold, re: The Dragon Prince, Over the Garden Wall

Soft spot for gentle giants and lancers who can call the protag out on their shit while also knowing when to support them, re: Cyborg from Teen Titans

Grandmothers who have no time for anyone's shit

Women getting to have more 'masculine' roles unquestionably, men being satisfied in more 'feminine' child caring roles, re: The Dragon Prince

Revolutionaries, misfits, anyone rebelling against a system or two with a splash of solidarity as a bonus, again, most of the things on this list. (Milton's Paradise Lost is so fun)

Heroes and Villains who have actual similar personalities and flaws and it's not a superficial "we're not so different," re: Luke and Percy from Percy Jackson

Also that thing fantasy does where like, all the different groups and peoples will pitch in and come together for a common cause, it's so good and I will go for that shit every time. Truly one of my favourite tropes for all time

This might be more general than like, specifics (i.e. characters tending to each other's wounds) and I could honestly do a list like this all about like, Themes I love the shit out of, since I write from Theme first in a lot of ways and character second, but I hope you enjoyed my very specific list!

[thisaccisdead]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

[goddamnitkastle]

The Ring

Happy Valentine’s Day!

So I finished my binge watch of the CW’s Nikita and well, I think we all know by now that I just love ripping off scenarios from other media and making Kastle fics. It’s my schtick and I’m gonna run it into the ground.

So here is an unconventional marriage proposal Kastle fic. Honestly this is probably how it would go anyway so it’s not like it’s beyond the realm of reality.

But first I want to give a huge thank you to my beta reader and editor, the amazing @joanofarkansass. This fic was initially, um, rough to put it nicely. But like a fairy godmother, she made it happen with incredible insight and gentle critique. I am literally indebted to you and I cannot thank you enough.

I also want to thank @evilbunnyking for reading the final draft, their awesome support, and catching every misplaced period and comma. Thank you!

And just a heads up, the canon in this is really screwy. Foggy and Karen know that Matt is Daredevil and Daredevil Season 2 is canon but basically just ignore the rest of the Daredevil/The Punisher Netflix/MCU timeline lol. Frank is a free man and clear of all charges here (yes that is unbelievable but just go along with it please and thank you). This is canon divergence borderlining on AU and slightly self indulgent and well, I don’t care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Enjoy!

Karen pulls up right behind the police cruiser, about a block away from the 15th Precinct. She gets out and knocks on the windshield window, making Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney jerk his head up at her in fear for a fraction of a second.

But once he sees her he lets out an annoyed sigh and gets out. Karen crosses the front of the cruiser to get out of the street and onto the sidewalk, trying to hide her laughter from scaring Brett.

“What’s got you nervous, Mahoney?” Karen asks as he joins her and pockets his keys.

“What’s got me... oh, you know, about to watch Frank Castle walk out and be a free man. Again.”

“Nelson and Murdock won the case. Unfortunately this was not the sequel to The People vs. Frank Castle that New York City was hoping for.”

“That you were hoping for?” Mahoney cracks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No. Well, maybe Ellison was hoping for it, but… look I’m just glad he was acquitted and that justice prevailed. It’ll be a more positive ending to write up.”

Mahoney shakes his head and starts walking toward the precinct. Karen follows and falls into his stride.

“Look, I know he didn’t kill that mobster,” Brett starts. “As crazy as that sounds, given his track record. But he gave us a hell of a time when we arrested him…”

“Do you blame him? In the span of two years, he has been charged and put on trial for murder twice,” Karen says pointedly.

“Well, you didn’t hear me say this but… the guys did a great job convincing everyone that Frank Castle was a changed man.”

“He is a changed man, Brett.”

“Believe me Karen, I know. I thought Frank Castle was scary as a man who had nothing to lose. I was wrong. Apparently I needed to deal with Frank Castle when he’s got someone he cares about…”

Now it’s Karen’s turn to jerk her head up at him.

“What did he say?” she asks.

“Nothing incriminating, your reputation is safe... I guess. But it’s all over the man’s face Karen. He really…”

“I know.”

It’s a tense silence but the look Mahoney gives Karen is more perplexed than judgmental.

“Do Nelson and Murdock know?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Jesus…”

“We kept it quiet for a while but when he was arrested we had to tell them. They’re… slowly coming around to it. Should only take another couple years for them to be sort of okay with us.”

“Yeah I doubt that,” Brett replies sarcastically.

Karen chuckles half heartedly in response.

He quickly sobers up again though. “Well if you’re both happy then… I am glad. You both deserve some happiness after this shit show.”

“Thank you, Brett. That’s really sweet of you.” Karen says, just barely able to hide the emotion in her voice.

“Like I said, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Alright, let’s go get him.”

Just then, the front doors of the precinct building burst open with Matt and Foggy dragging Frank away from a horde of pissed off cops.

“Shit,” Mahoney mutters. He jogs ahead toward the mob with his hands up to stop their hot pursuit.

Karen takes her .380 out of her purse and speed walks toward the commotion. She honestly hopes she’s not gonna have to use it but she’s glad to have the comforting weight of it in her hand. She catches up to Matt and Foggy as they let go of Frank. Matt tilts his head toward her, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Come on Karen, that’s not…” he says as he gestures towards her hand that’s holding her gun.

“It’s just Mahoney, Matt. They’re gonna kill him. We have to help,” Karen insists ardently.

“No, we have to get out of here,” Matt dismisses with a wave of his free hand.

“I’m with Matt on this one, Karen,” Foggy agrees. “You have no idea how lucky we got with this case. And that none of those cops tried to kill him just now.”

“Exactly, because of Brett.” She turns her attention back to Matt, who has his walking stick in a vice grip. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“The cops are just upset. They’d be stupid to try anything. He is their boss, and at the end of the day they have to follow his orders.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Karen argues.

The frustration is palpable between the three of them. Karen just then notices Frank’s silence. She turns to him and takes in his clenched jaw and that trigger finger of his tapping away against his thigh.

“Frank? Are you…”

Just then several loud shouts catch everyone’s attention. Mahoney is on the ground now and a cop has his gun drawn.

“Oh, that’s not…” Foggy gasps.

“Come on Foggy.” Matt grabs Foggy’s arm, leaving Frank and Karen alone.

“Let’s get to the car, Frank. Before this gets a lot worse…”

Frank’s expression had barely changed so when he whips his head toward her she can’t help but take a step back.

“Give me the gun,” Frank commands quickly.

“What? Why?”

“Give me the damn gun, Karen!”

He snatches it from her hands and runs back toward Mahoney and the cops.

“Where are you going?!” Karen shouts incredulously.

“To get your engagement ring!” Frank shouts back.

Karen is stunned and suddenly, the last month comes into focus for her. The jumpiness of his movements whenever she entered a room before he was arrested. His trigger finger tapping away more than usual during the trial. How his bottom lip began to tremble out of nowhere each time she kissed him.

Karen smiles as Frank bolts past Matt and Foggy. He takes on several cops at once, knocking them down like bowling pins. Karen makes her way to the boys as Foggy raises his arms in disbelief while Matt tries to pull him away.

“Unbelievable! Are you kidding me, Castle?!” Foggy yells. “Matt, can’t you do something?”

“I’m in the wrong suit, Foggy.”

“Damn it.”

“Matt is also technically blind Foggy. Do we really want to open that Pandora’s box tonight?” Karen reminds him.

“Come on, let’s get to the car. Looks like we’re gonna have to make an escape. And figure out how we can keep this quiet...” Matt muses.

“We almost got through this damn trial without issue, I swear on the Nelson name…” Foggy groans as he runs his hand over his face.

“Karen, come on,” Matt says as he passes her.

Brett is the last man standing and both men have their guns pointed at each other. Karen is about to join the standoff when Brett holds his hand out and reaches into his back pants pocket. He reveals a ring box. Frank takes it and starts running toward her.

“Go! Go! Go!” Frank hollers at her.

Karen bolts to the car, makes a beeline for the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. Frank joins her a moment later in the passenger seat, flushed pink and his hand wrapped around the ring box.

...

“I’m surprised you didn’t take me to Metro General. Or get us back in that service elevator at the hotel…”

Frank laughs and Karen is relieved that the last 24 hours haven’t deterred Frank.

“Seriously, what was your proposal plan?” She teases as she pokes him in the arm.

“Just... trust me Karen. Okay?”

The Williamsburg Bridge is shadowed by a deep orange sunset as they walk hand in hand. Frank suddenly stops and Karen’s stomach drops. He turns to her, tears in his eyes as he exhales a shaky breath.

Suddenly Karen can’t catch her breath, everything is about to change and she isn’t sure she is ready for it. “Frank, you don’t have to do this…”

“Yes I do. It’s tradition and I’m a traditional man. And the hell I went through to get this ring to you... I want to do this right.”

He gets down on one knee and Karen covers her mouth with her hand. Frank produces the ring box in his hand and opens it. It’s simple; a small, oval diamond on a silver band. It’s perfect.

“Karen. A long time ago now, in some diner, I told you that you had everything with a man that I thought you deserved to be with. I told you to hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go. But the truth was he didn’t deserve you. And I honestly don’t either. But I will spend whatever remaining days I have to be worthy of someone like you. I love you. Karen Page, will you marry me?”

Karen hoists Frank off the ground, holding his face in between her hands. Any doubt she was holding onto is gone now.

“You had me at ‘Give me the damn gun, Karen.’”

They both laugh as Karen holds out her left hand. Frank takes the ring out of the box, caresses her hand before sliding the ring into place. They crash into each other, their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.

“I love you too, Frank Castle,” she says when they finally break apart. She takes his hand as the darkness settles in around them. But the ring doesn’t feel like the weight of her .380. Rather it feels like it has always been there. Like home. And she’ll fight like hell to keep it that way and so will Frank. They’re in this together now.

[alliterative-albatross]

So, I sent you (@disgruntledspacedad) a pretty long ask a while ago (back when you had anon on) and I'm decently sure Tumblr ate it (or maybe you ignored it, in which case, feel free to ignore this one as well). But then I saw one of those "writers appreciate feedback no matter how long" posts, so I'm back here. Here is my mediocre attempt to rewrite my original review of your work. Bear in mind that English is not my first language, so if at any point my phrasing sounds weird to you, you know why. Mandatory disclaimer/apology: this might get a little too long 😅

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

I remember being SO mad at myself for not finding this sooner. I binge read it one afternoon with no thoughts for any real life responsibilities I might have had (and no regrets). Javiears is one hell of an unconventional relationship in the beginning, and I really love what you did with them. The whole premise of your story is quite refreshing, and you somehow manage to convey the trust and mutual respect there two feel for one another without explicitly showing us the beginning of their "entanglement".

Also, fuck you for what you did to poor Emilio, that man was a saint and he deserved better! I honestly can't believe that I got so attached to a character that appeared so little in the story, but it happened, and his death kind of broke my heart.

But the Javiears reunion + mild confession was lovely, and felt completely deserved. And of course the sex scene. I won't lie, I expected a bit better from Javi there, but I did like how utterly /human/ it was. Capturing that humanity, the imperfections in each character is something you're really good at (more on that later).

AFTERSHOCKS

Ah, my emotionally constipated babies who really need to work out their communication issues. I do love them, though. And this short series did a really good job of delving a bit deeper into Ears's and Javi's psyche. Kudos to you for dealing with the medical "aftershocks" of living through an explosion AND using that experience to move your emotional plot forward. These two need to grow a lot before they can get to a stable point in their relationship, and you really manage to convey their insecurity and fear of commitment/intimacy while making it clear that they're in it for the long run and that theirs is a relationship that WILL work out so help them God.

IF I FALL

Ouch. Punch me in the gut while you're at it, why don't you?

But seriously, "If I Fall" is SO FUCKING GOOD. Don't get me wrong, it's angstier than an image of Jesus on the cross (don't judge me, it's Holy Week and I just got home from accompanying my grandma to church), but it somehow works beautifully. You, my dear, play heartstrings like they're a fucking guitar and I AM HERE FOR IT.

You're doing an amazing job at making me feel everything these characters are feeling, which is both awful (bc pain) and impressive.

Also, if anything happens to Ana I will cry, because she is adorable and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Also also, if anything happens to Ears I will cry, because she is badass and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Also also also, if anything happens to Javi I will cry, because he is loving and wonderful and has suffered way too much already and really deserves a break and some cookies.

Basically, I am really invested in the well-being of these characters and can't wait until they're happy and safe again (please tell me they will be, my heart can't handle much more pain).

A quick note on the angst complaints: yes, this story is way angstier than most other fics out there and it can be a bit too much at times, especially considering how many chapters of pain it's been. BUT it's obvious that "If I Fall" NEEDS this amount of angst to get where it's going, to send the message it wants to and to properly develop its characters. The pain is as important to this story as flour is to bread. You may not like eating flour on its own (I don't think anyone does), but you love bread (because bread is amazing) and you must recognize that bread NEEDS flour to work. It wouldn't be bread otherwise. And eating the flour as part of the bread even makes you like the flour because the bread is just DELICIOUS.

I fully understand and sympathize with the people who have elected to table "If I Fall" until it's completed so they can binge read it knowing there's a happy ending in sight, but in case you're feeling a bit self conscious about all the angst, please know that your story is beautiful not in spite of the pain, but rather /because of it/.

PS: No, I'm not high/drunk, I just really like bread

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Silly thing to comment on, I know, but I do feel like it's important that you know how useful your ANs have been. There are many details in the story that I simply wouldn't fully get without reading your comments at the end of each chapter, and I appreciate your writing a hell of a lot more knowing how deeply you understand and care for each one of your characters. Plus, it is obvious how much work you've put into researching a country and a time period that are (from what I gather) unfamiliar to you, and I really do believe you've done an amazing job of it.

JAVIER PEÑA

My boy. I love your characterization of this complicated character, and I have eagerly read each and every one of your headcanons about him. I can't really say if your version is fully faithful to the source material because it's been a while since I saw Narcos, but your Javi most definitely reads like a real person. He's fairly consistent as a character, and I feel like everything he does is perfectly natural for him to do as a character. He makes for an unconventional yet deeply interesting romantic lead, and so far I have thoroughly enjoyed all his POV chapters/scenes.

OCs

I know you've gotten some flack for making her into an OC halfway into the story, and while I get why the sudden change may have felt like a disappointment for some, I don't share that sentiment. I firmly believe that this fandom is unfairly harsh towards Original Characters and their creators, and I don't really understand why. Listen, I love Reader fics, and consume many Reader fics. I have read dozens, maybe even hundreds, and I can safely say that I've only ever "inserted" myself in approximately 10% of those stories. Reader characters are not as blank as their writers may want them to be. They can't be. They're characters, and character have personalities and moral values and senses of humor and a bunch of other things. Reader characters may not have a backstory or a physical description attached (and even that's not guaranteed), but they're still characters.

And on a more personal note, pretending they're actual blank slates is naive at best and insensitive at worst. Reader characters are American coded 99% of the time, and white coded 95% of the time. Not every readers is white nor American, even if that's the predominant demographic on Tumblr. When I read a JavixReader fic about a woman who speaks exactly zero Spanish, I know she's not me. The story may be beautifully written and have an amazing plot and character development, but the Reader *isn't me*. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, and some of my favorite xReader stories feature a "reader" who couldn't be more different from me, but it's something that enemies of OC fics should take into account. Particularly if they are white and/or American. But I digress.

HANNAH AARONS

Your character is amazing. She's strong, smart, confident, independent and an all-around badass. She gets kidnapped while pregnant and still focuses on problem solving and survival. But she's also overly guarded and mistrustful, and really needs to work on her communication skills. There are times when I absolutely love her and even admire her, and other times when I want to whack her with a slipper. She's no Mary Sue, but remains interesting and likeable throughout the story. She feels wholly human and real, and that's no easy task. I like her, I am invested in her, and I can't wait to see what's next for her. She's a compelling and three dimensional protagonist in a complex story who never fails to draw me in. I love her. She's your baby, and you should be proud of her.

Also, quick question about personality types: I know you've typed Javi as ESFP and Ears as ENTP (100% agree on both, btw), but have you given any thought to their enneagram types? I personally have always seen Ears as being somewhere on the thinking triad, maybe a 7 or even a 6w7, but I'm not too sure about Javi. 9w8 maybe? He could also be a 6w5 🤔

PARTING THOUGHTS

Basically, I love your story, your characters and your writing in general. You are a fantastic storyteller and wordsmith. You get into the heads of incredibly different characters personality-wise (Ears, Javi, Berna...) and manage to capture all of their complexities and quirks every single time. And it doesn't feel like it's something innate for you either. To me, it seems that you have put a lot of work and effort into understanding each and every one of your characters, who they are, why they do what they do and what they want. And let me tell you, all that effort has been more than worth it. "Better Love" is a fanfic, but it wouldn't be out of place in a regular bookstore, if I'm honest. I don't know what you do for a living or if you've ever considered writing professionally, but you clearly have the skills and the drive to create some masterpieces.

You are amazing and your writing is a gift. Thank you for sharing it with us, and have a nice day! ~ 🍪

~

My friend, I apologize for hoarding your first ask. I’ve been sitting on it because I’m not gonna lie, I enjoy going back and rereading it. It gave me a lot of comfort when I was in a pretty dark place, both personally and in regards to my writing, and I was reluctant to send it out into the the abyss of Tumblr where I might never see it again. 

That’s not fair, though. You put just as much effort into sending me that review as I put into my writing, and I apologize for never responding to you.

Okay, anyway, so twice now, you’ve made me cry. In a good way, I promise! 

I absolutely love your bread/flour metaphor. It made perfect sense. I want the emotional release of Javi and Hannah’s reunion to be earned, and in order to do that, the angst has to come first (there are also a few plot “ingredients” that have yet to make their appearances). Thank you very much for understanding that, and for voicing it so eloquently.

I appreciate your comments on my research and characterization. You’re correct that I’ve put a lot of time and effort into crafting a universe. In a lot of ways, I’m doing my best to stay true to the source material (regarding culture and timelines in particular), and in others, I’m branching into my own territory. 

On that note, I’ve never once regretted fully embracing Hannah Aarons’ identity as an OC. She’s stayed consistent in my mind from the beginning, and it was a relief to finally share my vision of her with the audience. And for the record, I totally agree with you regarding “reader” characters. Every reader insert echoes the perspective of their author, no matter how vague the physical description. I can only imagine how grating that must be from the perspective of a non-white, non-american reader. Thank you so much for sharing your insight! I will certainly keep it in mind the next time I write a “reader insert” fic.

Okay, enneagrams! I am much less familiar with enneagram than I am MBTI, but I agree 110% that Javi is a 9 with a strong 8 wing. I waffled back and forth on Ears a little, but eventually landed on 8w7 for her. It came down to the eight’s deepest fear, which is being controlled. That’s Ears all over, and the fact that she and Javi share that eight willfulness means that they might butt heads a little, which also seems very appropriate for them. Big thanks to @remusstark for her insight into the eight frame of mind - our conversations helped solidify my decision on this. :)

Anyway, I’m just rambling now. The big take-away point that I want you to get is that I am so, so grateful to you, both for your insightful feedback and your dedication in making sure that I actually saw it. You are an absolute gem and a deep thinker, Cookie-Anon, and if you ever feel like sliding into my DM’s, I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know you better.

Mad love and soft hugs, 

~ Jay

[madasaloki]

Chapter 1 : Planes.

No, this surely couldn’t be. I stepped onto the plane, bumping into a solid and captivating smelling human. As I looked up, embarrassed that I’d run into someone, but also that I’d been so wrapped up in my own shit I hadn’t noticed him.

“I am so fucking sorry.” I swore, as I looked up, becoming more and more mortified.

The soft but liquid voice chuckled as he looked down at me. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t just be standing here in the aisle.” He apologised in the most British accent I’d ever heard.

Normally a British accent did nothing for me, other than of course David Bowie and Alan Rickman but the sound of the voice I heard was something else entirely.

I looked up and almost fainted. He was gorgeous. “Are you in this row?” I gaped at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, just the aisle spot.” He smiled, stepping aside and placing a hand on his torso, the other to the row.

“Jesus.” I mumbled under my breath.

I pushed my carry on up into the overhead locker and sat down in the window seat, immediately tucking my feet up under me in a cross legged sitting position.

An entirely beautiful and contagious laugh echoed from the aisle and I saw him again smiling wide looking at me.

“I’m sorry. That just…You did that so effortlessly but it looks so uncomfortable.” He continued.

“You’re obviously not an early childhood teacher.” I laughed, turning to face him in his seat, still sitting somewhat cross legged.

“A what?” He looked puzzled.

“A teacher. I am able to teach from birth until year 6, so 12 years old. I mainly focus on the early years though, from birth through to 8 years old and we do a lot of sitting on the mat and we teach them to sit with their legs crossed. It’s a habit I never got out of once I learnt it.” I explained.

“You’re a teacher?” He asked, his eyes lighting up.

I nodded, smiling. “I’ve just actually said goodbye to my 8 year olds, year 3’s. Bittersweet, but I’m ready for a holiday.” I nodded.

“Wow. Amazing.” He nodded.

I hummed and smiled at him as the pilot announced himself and we began the pre-flight checks.

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He flashed a knee weakening smile at me, holding a hand out with long, slender fingers.

“Bowie.” I smiled, slipping my hand into his and giving it a soft shake.

“What a lovely name. What do your students call you. Mrs?” He said a brow raising.

“They actually just call me Bowie, or sometimes Miss Star but only if they’re annoyed at me.” I smiled.

“They don’t use your last name?” He questioned, a long leg folding over the other, as he turned in his seat to face me more.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander at his legs, a sucker for a tall man. Especially a handsome tall man.

“I think it’s about respect for me. I want them to know it’s a safe and respectful space for them. I use their first names and I like that they can use mine. I’m not a, use my position to assert power and fear, and I’m not a shout and do as I say type of teacher. I’m very unconventional. We don’t use the desks much, We take our shoes off, do yoga and I cater to the way they learn to ensure they are learning what they need to learn whilst also feeling confident, emotionally supported and creating a space where they know in themselves they can succeed and are valued.” I rambled.

He stared at me as I spoke and as I realised I was rambling I blushed, putting my fingers over my mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m very passionate and I tend to ramble about it when asked.” Still blushing.

“It’s lovely. I wish the teachers when I was at school were so passionate and accommodating to our needs. I bet you have really great students.” He smiled.

“They are really good kids.” I nodded, smiling.

The plane had begun to take off and I’d expected to see Tom turn and enjoy the silence of the plane, but I was shocked to see him still turned in his seat watching me as I pulled out my book.

“Passionate about your job and you’re reading Shakespeare. I think I’m in love.” He chuckled as I caught him staring.

“Just a hobby, it’s not something we really learnt at school and I like to branch out and learn more. I have heard you’re a bit of a Shakespeare lover.” I shrugged, blushing once I realised I had revealed I knew who he was.

“Oh, so you do know who I am.” He laughed, his fingers rubbing over his lips.

“You caught me. I may have recognised you.” I blushed very hard.

“Well I appreciate the discretion.” He smiled softly at me.

“You’re just a person too, no one wants to be bothered when they’re travelling, just because you’re an actor doesn’t mean the rules are different.” I said, tucking my hair behind my hair.

“I should leave you to your book.” He said sitting up slightly.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant. You’re not bothering me.” I said apologetically, realising it seemed as if I’d complained.

He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m sure you’ll find more exciting things in your book than talking to me.”

I snorted. “I doubt that.”

He laughed again and propped his chin up with his knuckles as he smiled back at me.

“What do you imagine is so exciting about me?” He questioned.

“Well I don’t know, I don’t know you. So everything must be exciting because it’s new knowledge.” I smiled, completely turning in my seat to face him, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my own face in the palm of my hand.

“You’re a very curious person, aren’t you?” He chuckled.

“Very.” I smiled. “So, tell me something interesting.”

Tom licked his lips before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looking back up at me. He really was a handsome man.

“I have just finished filming a movie.” He said softly.

“Boring, tell me something interesting about you. I’m sure everyone knows you’ve been in Australia filming.” I laughed.

“Ooh, harsh.” He faked being hurt, placing a large hand on his chest, turning again in his seat so his body faced mine.

“It’s like I tell my kids, the things we keep to ourselves are often the things people find most interesting. You want to inspire people, you talk about things you want to talk about, not what you think others want to hear.” I smiled, parting with another piece of wisdom.

“Are you secretly a 100 year old monk that has all the wisdom of the world?” He chuckled, his smile creeping onto his face.

“You caught me. I just have a really good plastic surgeon.” I laughed, holding my arms up in defence.

“I don’t think even the best plastic surgeon could create a beauty such as yourself.” Tom said softly, a soft blush gracing his face when he realised what he’d said.

My face however was crimson, trying to cover my face with my hand.

“Thank you,” I squeaked, my face burning.

“I have a miraculous ability to embarrass myself.” He chuckled sheepishly.

“Well it’s truly shocking that I hadn’t already myself as it’s also something I’m very good at.” I laughed, trying to ease the tension.

We continued talking as the plane continued through the air. We talked about the strangest, random topics but it was things we both felt passionate about, things that you wouldn’t have in a normal conversation with a friend or colleagues but it wasn’t even things I’d discussed with previous partners, let alone someone I first met. We barely even stopped when our food arrived, continuing as we ate.

“So, you’d said you just finished filming, what now?” I asked, as the lights began to dim to allow for people to sleep.

“A break,” He chuckled. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind couple of years so I’m hoping to take at least 6 months off. But I don’t know how long that will last. I haven’t got anything booked though so I can hope for a break.”

“So lounging around and enjoying no cameras?” I questioned.

“That is the goal. Just some down time.” He nodded.

We both settled into a comfortable silence, as the rest of the plane seemed to go to sleep.

“I should let you get some sleep, the trip from Sydney to London isn’t an easy one.” He said softly.

“Are you sick of talking to me already?” I teased cheekily.

“Honestly, I could listen to you all day. This has been the most interesting conversation I’ve had in quite some time.” He said with a soft sigh.

“Well, this is the most interesting adult conversation I’ve had in a while. 8 year olds beat you on the interesting factor, they come up with some wild things.” I giggled.

Tom laughed with me before he shifted in his seat, as a lady gave us both the look of death, causing me to giggle more as she grunted about trying to sleep.

Tom apologised like such a British gentleman whilst I giggled. I lifted the armrest up and pushed it between the seats and scooted into the middle seat, sitting on one leg and the other still up at my chest. I was so close to Tom I could feel his breath on me as I looked at him, propping my chin in my palm again.

“You’re going to get into trouble, god forbid we laugh on the plane.” I teased with a smirk, trying not to giggle as I did.

“I’m starting to think that you are the troublemaker in your class and not your students.” He teased, winking at me.

“Who told you,” I played along.

“That mischievous smirk on your face.” He chuckled.

The lady turned again and shot us both a look this time shushing us. As she turned away I poked my tongue out at her, causing Tom to snicker into his hands.

We continued talking and giggling at many different things for most of the flight. It was only when the plane was set to land did I return to my seat and our conversation began to slow.

When the plane had landed, Tom continued to be such a British gentleman and helped me with my luggage before ensuring I made it off the plane easily, even insisting on helping me with my luggage once it appeared on the conveyor belt.

“Thank you for an amazing beginning to my holiday Tom. You’re fascinating.” I smiled at him, as he approached the driver holding his name on a sign.

“Thank you for an enjoyable flight home Bowie, I really hope you have a fantastic holiday.” He smiled.

“Enjoy your time off, superstar.” I giggled as I waved, pulling my suitcase behind me as I headed toward the taxi line.

“Enjoy your trip Miss Star.” He smiled with a knee weakening smile.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #455

“but you didn’t have to cut me off  /  make it like it never happened and that we were nothing”

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? We're besties! :') Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? No. Would you get a lip piercing? I already have a vertical labret. I've considered getting spiked snakebites (they might be called devil bites?) too, though. With a vertical labret, it looks sick as FUCK. It might be a bit much too close together for me, though, idk. Nose piercing? I want my right nostril re-pierced. What are you currently waiting for? Girt to message me back. I've decided what I want out of our relationship and just want to see him. Do you have feelings for anyone? Hit me pretty hard through a lot of examination of my feelings that yeah, I do. Have you ever run over an animal? Oh my god no, I would be DESTROYED. Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? bro what the fuck When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? I do only out of expectation. I don't want someone to think I'm an ass or something for not saying it. When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? A few years ago for my niece's birthday. She was scared of how loud it was and was very reluctant to get near it, so my fat ass got in there with everyone else to show her it was fine lol. I can't remember if she eventually got in. She loves them now, though. :') Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? No, but thanks for the idea, ha ha. Have you ever entered an art competition? Yes. What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. What is one food that you detest? Asparagus. Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Not really. What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic. Are you still that religion? GOD NO. Do you often find yourself questioning your future? That's my full-time job. How many friends do you have on Facebook? 124. What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? The same I listen to now. What pet names do you use with your significant other? I'm single rn, but usually, I go for "sweetie/sweetheart," "hunny," "love," "dear," stuff like that. What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? Wal-Mart. Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yes. What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli. Have you ever missed a flight? Yes. I was SO fuckin upset because it was on Sara's birthday and planned in secret, and I was supposed to wake her up. It still wound up being a big surprise to her when she walked into her room and I was chillin' at her desk, ha ha, but I still wish it coulda gone as originally planned. Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yes; they have a yappy-ass dog that doesn't shut up. I haven't met them. What color is your bedroom door? White. If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? This may sound very ungrateful, but I have heard A LOT of celebrities say it: it would get old, being stopped constantly in public for signatures, pictures, etc. Like yes, I still WOULD be grateful, but I'd miss just being off the radar and able to go outside carrying out chores and stuff like a normal person. Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? No. :( Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? Nah, not nowadays. Have you ever written a story? Yes, a kinda short one when I was little. Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? The breakup with Jason and the fact we're just strangers again. It was really short, but I like it a lot, honestly. Do you have a chance with the person you like right now? I think so. What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? A skeleton in my closet, lol. Literally. Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? alkdsjflakjwle yes In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? That '70s Show. 3rd Rock From the Sun is high up there, too. What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? HYPOTHETICALLY, two, but I'm pretty damn serious about having none. I just always feel kinda bad for children without a sibling, but three would make me pull my hair out. Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Yes. I overreact to even minor symptoms to ANYTHING. Are you comfortable with who you are? No. Pretty much everything about myself embarrasses me, even if it shouldn't. Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? Yes? Others' opinions don't affect how I feel about someone. Does popularity matter to you at all? No, outside of trying to be a successful photographer. Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? If they really wanted that and it would benefit them, yes. Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? I discovered them myself. Do you ever read fanfiction? Nah. Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Jesus. A plane crash, I guess, because in a lot of cases, it would be an immediate death. What are your top five favourite TV shows? Meerkat Manor, Fullmetal Alchemist (and Brotherhood; shut up, they go together), That '70s Show, Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. What is your favorite superhero movie? Logan. If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Uhhhh idk... I guess maybe a heart attack? Judging by doctor appointments, my heart is just fine, but the fact still remains that I'm technically obese, so that's always a risk. Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Facebook, yes. It was just depressing me. I was playing the comparison game REAL hard. Who is the most talented person you know? I dunno. I know many people talented in a lot of areas. Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No. Where did you and your current interest go on your first date? Bowling. Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Jason and Juan pursued me at the same time. They'd known each other in the past, and Juan hated him for "winning" his ex-girlfriend. Then when Jason and I got together, Juan wasn't the happiest for sure. Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? Before I actually came out as bisexual, I don't think so? Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Conservative. Mom is more open, but still conservative. I think. What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? I'm not in school. How far away does your closest family member live? I live with Mom. If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? I actually strongly prefer Tim Burton's. Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yeah. I just want to be in a long-term, serious, healthy relationship to reach that point and be as safe as possible about it. Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal, but I do have some conservative beliefs, too. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I don't have one, given I never got into that franchise. What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Not a goddamn thing. What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Done "the thing." Name something that you are against. I'll go with an unconventional one that's a problem as of the late: making owning reptiles illegal. Why are you against it? Because reptiles are perfectly capable of being brilliant pets and, most importantly, can tame people's fears of them. I think that it's very important to see the worth and beauty in all animals, and reptiles are one of the most unappreciated families out there. :/ Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? I played some of either the first or second one. I could never beat it. Old games are hard, man. Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I absolutely believe that it can get to an extreme that I don't like, but for the most part, I don't mind a clingy partner because hey, I am too. Beatles or Rolling Stones? Stonessss. When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? It'd been on my mind for a while, but I *officially* realized that I really do like-like Girt a couple days ago. And since then it's gotten a bit hardcore and all I wanna do is talk to him bc fuck me and how attached to people I get. What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Every single time I go to the gym, I feel proud of myself because it REALLY takes a lot out of me. Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? Nope. I'm willing to be a shoulder to cry on for like... anyone. If you're hurting, talk to someone. I'll be there as an easy option. What was the last thing to fascinate you? It was... INCREDIBLY disturbing and almost nauseating even for me, but I saw a video of a dead whale explode. It was GRUESOME. Guts just kept coming and coming and coming and :x Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Hmmm... I'm sure there is, but what, it's not coming to me. Sudden, loud noises are an obvious answer. Do you have a favourite microorganism? ... No, I can't say I do. Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? Girt's, actually. It's in October. If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I actually had them as a kid. Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Ye. Have you ever owned chickens? No, but that'd be cool. Fresh eggs from a properly cared for chicken taste SO much better. When did you last listen to music? Currently. NOW I'm obsessed with Melodicka Bros & Violet Orlandi's cover of "Somebody That I Used to Know." It's done in a gothic metal style and is amaaaazing.

[netflixandfanfics]

I Have A Plan (Diego Hargreeves) PART ONE

Summary: Diego gets an unexpected visitor asking for a pretty big favor. (This is set before season one so no spoilers!)

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader

Warnings: Bad language words, mentions of stalking

A/N: Okay, so this is the first thing I’ve written for Diego, or for Umbrella Academy in general, so I hope it’s okay. I plan on making this a series if you’re interested, but I hope you enjoy! 

-C

(Y/N) tapped her foot, the sound echoing through the empty stairwell. The owner of the gym, Al, had let her in after she told him that she was there to see Diego. He didn’t ask for much more information, only to let him know that if he didn’t start doing his job, he was going to have to find a new gym to sleep at. She debated on whether or not she should even stay. If Diego even agreed to help, what exactly was he going to do that two separate police departments couldn’t?

“Who the hell are you?” The voice startled her. She stood up straighter, prepared to explain herself. It did seem rather suspicious that she had just shown up outside of his apartment out of the blue. The detective at the precinct told her where to find him and she assumed that she had relayed the message since she clearly knew him personally, but apparently she hadn’t. 

“I’m (Y/N), I uh- I need your help.” She adjusted the straps of her bag on her shoulder. She tried her best to look as calm and collected as possible. “This is going to sound crazy, I know, but there’s this guy who’s been following me around and sending weird letters and ‘gifts’. It’s been going on for almost a year and I’ve tried changing my PO box and I moved out of state, but he keeps showing up.”

“How’d you even find me?” Diego had to admit, the woman looked scared. Determined, but scared nonetheless. He couldn’t deny still being a little bit skeptical. Why would she seek him out? As confident as he was in his own abilities, it would without a doubt be more sensible to go to the police first. Especially with an open-and-shut case like this one.

“Detective Patch told me where to find you, she said you could help.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I figured she’d let you know I was coming, I’m sorry to just show up unannounced.”

Diego furrowed his brow. “It’s okay, just, why would she send you here?” The question came out more blunt than Diego intended. He was thinking out loud, trying to figure it out for himself. Patch had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t approve of his methods, not to mention she was the cop. This was the kind of thing she was equipped for. His style was more… unconventional. “I mean, she’s the cop,” he clarified. He opened the door to his ‘apartment’ and gestured for her to go inside. 

“The thing is, I’ve never actually seen his face,” She bit her lip, “and apparently since I haven’t been murdered or kidnapped yet, there’s nothing the police department can really do.” She sat on one of the many empty chairs scattered around the space. 

“Well, if you haven’t seen his face, how do you know it’s the same guy?” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. She was way too rattled to have been lying. He was just trying to get a sense of what he was dealing with here. 

“Usually he’s in a car, a black Honda, I’m not sure what model. The windows are tinted so I can’t see inside, but there’s a big dent on the side so I know it’s the same car. There’s also the letters.” She looked at the floor. “Most of them are just telling me how pretty I looked that day or how much he loves me.”

“Do you still have them? The letters?” He felt bad for hounding her. She was clearly uncomfortable, but the more he knew, the likelier it was he could actually catch this son of a bitch.

“Yeah, I’ve been saving them to show to the police,” she scoffed. “I thought that with physical evidence they would be able to make a case, but unfortunately since I don’t know who’s doing it, they don’t have enough.” She pulled a large stack of papers from her bag that resembled a Stephen King novel. 

“Jesus,” Diego muttered under his breath. He flipped through, skimming through the pages. If he tried to read the whole thing, they’d be there all week, there had to be at least one hundred and fifty pages there if not more. 

“Why are you just now going to the police? This guy’s clearly not stable.” She shifted slightly.

“I did go to the police, back in Indiana, but at the time nothing really serious was going on, but two weeks before I moved out someone broke into my apartment, that’s why I finally decided to leave. I don’t know if it was a coincidence because I didn’t live in the best neighborhood so shit like that just happens sometimes, but when I got home from work this afternoon, this was on my doorstep in an envelope.” She showed him a tarnished locket. “It belonged to my grandmother, it was one of the things that were stolen.”

“So this guy broke into your house?” Diego raised an eyebrow. “That seems like it warrants a police investigation to me.”

“There’s an open investigation into it so I don’t know if it was him or if he saw it in a pawn shop and knew it was mine, but I do know that he’s the one who left it on my doorstep.”

“Clearly you have something this asshole wants, and in my experience, they don’t really take no for an answer…” Diego thought for a minute. There had to be some way to catch this son of a bitch, the key was to get him to stop playing it safe. Right now, the guy was reveling in his anonymity, but if there were someone else in the picture… If there were someone else in the picture, maybe he’d start taking risks because he wanted her to know who he was, to know how much he loved her. “I have an idea, it sounds crazy, but it might be crazy enough to work.”

[momentsbeforemass]

Drop it

Every one of us has disappointments and setbacks.

Things that harm us or hold us back. And things we just don’t understand.

You were doing everything right. But somebody ran a red light. And now your car’s totaled.

Your employer didn’t make it through the shutdown. And now you’re out of a job.

You worked hard to save the relationship. But things didn’t work out.

How it happens to us doesn’t really matter. Because all of it hurts us just the same.

When those things happen to us, we’ve got a choice.

We can hold onto it. Or we can drop it.

If we hold onto it, dwell on it, think about it. Wonder why it happened. Wonder what we did to deserve that. Replay it over and over.

It won’t be long before we start assigning blame. Whether we blame others, or ourselves, or God, or all of the above, doesn’t really matter.

Because when get to the point where we’re assigning blame, we’ve handed over control of our lives to whoever or whatever hurt us. We’re putting that in charge.

And setting ourselves up to let whatever or whoever hurt us do it again. And again.

This is what Jesus is pushing back against in today’s Gospel. With His unconventional responses to violence and abuse of power. To break the cycle of holding on to what hurts us. To set us up to drop it.

To be clear, dropping it isn’t about never thinking about something again. Which is good. Because I don’t know anyone who can actually do that.

Try telling yourself not to think of something and see if you can beat my record (I’m good for 30 seconds).

Dropping it is an act of faith. Dropping it is letting go of something or someone that hurt you. So that you can hold onto the One who has always loved you.

When you drop it, you’re saying, “God, I trust you. I don’t understand it. It’s not right. It still hurts. But I’m not going to let it get between you and me. I’m going to hold onto you, God.”

No matter how bad you’ve been hurt, dropping it is the first step on the road to healing, on the road to peace.

Today’s Readings

[giftofshewbread]

CRITICAL MESSAGE *READ*

Does God Ever Let You Down? :: By Steve Schmutzer 

Published on: February 26, 2021

Does God ever let you down?

Wait. Before you answer, I’m not interested in cliché replies. You know, “In all things, God works for the good of those who love Him,” or, “God’s plans are to give me a hope and a future.” I don’t want to hear that old standby, “He knows what’s best for me.”

Those responses ARE Biblically-based, and so they’re true when they’re properly applied with the right heart to the right situation. But in my experience, too many people say this kind of stuff when their faith has reached its limits. They are barely able to endure their pain, describe their confusion, or contain their rage.

Just because we can force certain words out of our mouth does not mean we are saying what we are truly feeling. Just because we can’t admit what’s really going on does not mean it isn’t.

Let’s be totally honest here – have you ever been mad at God? Did you ever bargain with Him in your heart and now you’re upset He didn’t keep up His end of the arrangement? Are you still “fighting the good fight,” but you’re exhausted and despaired? Did you take the high road – but you got the raw end of the deal?

Now – let’s get down to the brass tacks: Did you pour yourself into the task of raising your children the right way only to have them disappoint you with their choices?

Are you laboring long and quietly in a ministry while others with less gifting, less commitment, and less maturity are getting the reward and recognition?

Have you prayed and tried for years for a baby and one still hasn’t come? Meantime, irresponsible parents are popping out feral kids like rabbits?

Did you carefully plan for a simple and responsible retirement – only to see it all evaporate in the wake of unexpected health problems and medical bills?

Have you prayed around the clock for justice and truth to prevail, but all you see is the flourishing of evil and deceit?

Have you lost your job and now you are struggling to find work that pays the bills?

Did you find the man or woman of your dreams, but things have changed and now you wish you hadn’t?

So let me ask the question one more time: does God ever let you down? If you are feeling that way, or are tempted to – you are not alone. Even people that knew Jesus personally might have felt that way… or at least they may have felt they had reason to.

You see, we can talk all day long about our “relationship with God,” but three Biblical characters come to my mind that actually knew Him personally. I mean, they interacted with Jesus, they watched Him, listened to Him, and learned from Him. They knew who Jesus really was! Their lives are recorded in the New Testament as being part of His life, so the personal connection went both ways.

Despite that, I think it can be argued that all three of these people might have felt some disappointment with Jesus. Put another way, they might have admitted they felt let down by God.

But all three characters faced their natural reactions and chose to respond to Jesus in different ways. I think we can learn something from their examples because these are ways we still respond to Jesus Christ today.

The first of these three characters is John the Baptist. He had a key role before Jesus’ ministry. Since he and Jesus were cousins, he probably knew Jesus as they were growing up together. Maybe they even played together as children – this is not an unreasonable assumption.

John the Baptist turned out to be a rough and rugged character – unconventional, certainly. He was a strong man with equally strong convictions. He didn’t think twice about confronting the hypocritical religious leaders and calling them a “brood of vipers” (Matt. 3:7). His straight talk and no-nonsense approach attracted truth-seekers, and he had many followers and disciples.

A time came, however, when John the Baptist prepared the way for Jesus’ ministry as a “voice in the wilderness” (John 1:23). He did this because he had a right view of Jesus. John said of Him, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30), so John the Baptist grasped the proper priorities and how things needed to be.

None of this was an act. John the Baptist was a man of God who had a passion for proclaiming the truth and for living it out. His extraordinary ministry and exemplary character were affirmed when Jesus said of him that there was “…none greater” (Luke 7:28). To be sure, John the Baptist was the real deal.

It is difficult to know how much time John the Baptist actually had with Jesus Christ. There was that special occasion where John had baptized Jesus (Matt. 3:13-17), and John had felt that Jesus should have baptized him instead. But in their adult years, it seems they had little face-to-face contact.

We know John the Baptist publicly confronted Herod Antipas for the king’s sins (Matt. 14:1-13), and this had resulted in John’s arrest and imprisonment – and ultimately his beheading. This happened early in the ministry of Jesus Christ, so there was no opportunity for further contact between the two cousins after that point.

It is after John’s arrest that we learn of his doubts about Jesus Christ. In a desperate situation with his life on the line, John the Baptist faced gnawing questions. Reports of Jesus had found their way into John’s cell, and news of Jesus’ ministry had worked its way into the fabric of John’s deepest frustrations. Time had passed since that glorious baptism, and Jesus’ ministry was now thriving while John’s had abated.

John’s disciples fed him bits and pieces of information as they were able to, and it’s fair to say these reports reinforced the misgivings John had of Jesus. You see, the ministries and activities of Jesus and John were very different, and it’s not beyond reason to suggest these differences aroused John’s concerns.

John’s choices had set him apart from the crowd while Jesus’ choices had blended in. John the Baptist and his disciples fasted often, but Jesus and his disciples ate and drank with sinners (Matt. 11:18-19). John performed no signs in his earthly ministry (John 10:41), but Jesus – and his disciples – performed miracles of every kind (Matt. 9:35, 10:1). John lived reclusively, but Jesus was a very public person who was often surrounded by enormous crowds of people.

Now John was sitting in prison, captive most of all to his own disappointments. It’s not hard to imagine the questions that may have gone through his mind, such as, If Jesus was really the Messiah as he himself – John – had announced, then why wasn’t Jesus doing more? Why was Jesus not getting down to the business of establishing His kingdom and burning up the wicked with unquenchable fire? (Matt. 3:12). Was he here in prison because Jesus was powerless to do anything about the situation?

When John the Baptist could resist his own insecurities no longer, he sent some of his disciples to confront Jesus and to ask Him directly, “Are you the promised Messiah or should we be looking for someone else?” (Matt. 11:2-3). The question is a revealing one because it shows John had expectations of Jesus that were unfulfilled. It also shows that John the Baptist was unsure, doubtful, and delicate – the same way you and I have felt from time to time.

John wanted to know if he’d been misled. Was Jesus their only hope or was somebody else going to come along that was a better fit for the job? Was Jesus Christ really the Messiah, or not?

Jesus sent John’s disciples back to John with an answer, but it was hardly the one John the Baptist was seeking. Jesus challenged John to consider the evidence of His miracles, and he added, “…blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.” In other words, Jesus exhorted John to cling to the truth of Old Testament Scripture. He did not give John a simple “yes” or “no” answer, but he left him hanging a bit. Jesus responded to John’s heart instead of his mind because John’s heart was the seat of his faith.

We can say John the Baptist was wrong for the ideas he had about how Jesus needed to operate, but – honestly – we’re not much different. We expect God to work in certain ways too, and if God does not fulfill our expectations, we also get disappointed.

We may not like to admit it, but it’s easy for us to think that if our God is really the God He says He is, then we have a right to expect something different from Him. I feel it’s likely that John died with some of his questions unanswered. That doesn’t mean his faith wasn’t real. It means he was human, and because he was human, his reactions to Jesus Christ were imperfect – the same way yours and mine can be too.

A second character that probably felt let down by Jesus Christ was Judas Iscariot. What do we know of him?

As one of the original 12 disciples, Judas Iscariot basically lived with Jesus for three years. He was given assignments and divine powers by Jesus (Matt. 10:1-4), and he was the official treasurer for the group (John 12:6) – albeit a deceptive and self-serving one.

The bottom line is Judas saw Jesus perform many miracles and he heard Jesus teach many times. He learned directly from the King of kings and Lord of lords, and he had the opportunity to grow as few others did. He saw the mistakes and the actions of the other disciples, and he learned from all of this. In other words, as a disciple of Jesus Christ, Judas Iscariot had the optimal schooling in the Gospel of the kingdom.

But it’s likely that Judas Iscariot was also a Jewish zealot. Many scholars believe his surname, “Iscariot” was a form of the title Sicarii, meaning “dagger-men.” This was a group of zealots who despised the Roman oppression. They were known to carry a knife with them, so they were prepared to assassinate traitors and capitulators. The Jewish zealots were principally motivated by socio-economic and political considerations. They believed that if they turned their nation back to God and incited a war against the Romans, the Messiah would rise to lead them and establish His Kingdom.

It’s easy to see how all this may have played out in Judas’ mind. Jesus was a righteous Jew and a descendant of King David. He spoke of establishing His kingdom, and he cast out demons, produced abundant food, and controlled the weather. Surely Jesus could lead the Jews to victory over the Romans and usher in God’s Kingdom! In Judas’ activist mind, his own ideas made perfect sense.

But somewhere along the line, the situation changed. Judas became disappointed as Jesus let him down. Jesus began to talk about dying, and His descriptions of His coming Kingdom didn’t fit with Judas’ ideals. Judas began to doubt Jesus, and he began to openly chide Jesus for His choices and priorities (John 12:3-6).

We know how this turned out. Judas chose to betray Jesus for 30 pieces of silver (Luke 22:3-6; Matt. 27:3-5). Perhaps Judas had come to a point where he felt Jesus was a fake – a false Messiah, someone who was not fulfilling the expectations that Judas had of a ruler that would lead Israel into her kingdom. We don’t know for sure – but it all seems to fit the larger story.

The bigger issue is the questions that are raised by how things ultimately transpired: How could Judas live, eat, walk, and talk with Jesus Christ day in and day out for three years and still turn out as he did? How could Judas miss the Messiah when he knew him so well? How could Judas hear the Gospel so clearly and miss having the right relationship with Jesus Christ?

We are left with some element of speculation, but it’s reasonable to assume that Judas resented Jesus and felt justified in his own views (Mark 14:6-16). Ultimately, that triggered his decision to turn Jesus over to the authorities. The greater account of Judas Iscariot suggests he had some underlying anger issues with the whole situation – which may explain why “Satan entered him” (John 13:27). The Bible teaches that our anger always gives Satan an opportunity (Eph. 4:27).

In the end, Judas’ response to Jesus Christ was likely dominated by a selfish desire for political change. Judas wanted conditions that were not there. Jesus didn’t overthrow the Romans as Judas wanted Him to, and so Judas’ selfish intentions led to profound personal compromise. It fostered resentment, clouded better judgment, and it ultimately destroyed him. Judas Iscariot wanted things to work out his way – not Jesus’ way. When Jesus didn’t do what Judas most wanted Him to do, Judas was through with Him.

Today, Judas Iscariot’s name is synonymous with betrayal, treachery, and disloyalty. He’s one of the most hated figures in Scripture – so it’s not without some hesitation that I suggest his patterns are often our own.

To lessen the blow, I’ll speak for myself. It is easy for me to get focused on one or two goals in my life to the exclusion of all else God is trying to do. In this situation, I can end up ignoring the things God is doing in my life, the lessons He is teaching me, or the way He is working in the life of my church, my friends, my family, and even my country.

Because it’s natural for me to become selfish in my expectations of God, it’s not hard to start compromising here and there and doing things I once never thought I would. I believe there is a huge principle at stake here. You see, we can be surrounded by believers and ministry and still fall. We can hear the regular teaching of God’s Word and still fail. We can witness God at work and still miss the most important need to be in a right relationship with God.

If we persist in thinking about ourselves first – what we can get out of the situation, what we think the outcomes should be, or how we feel “who” should be doing “what,” then we completely miss what God most needs to accomplish in our own lives the very same way Judas missed it. At that point, resentments creep in and we say and do things we ought not to.

And here’s the third and final character: the thief on the cross. By this, I mean the “good” thief (Luke 23:39-43). We don’t even know his name. There were two thieves who died with Jesus, and while both received the penalty for their crimes, the “good” thief gave Jesus the proper respect.

I feel that – for various reasons – the “good” thief is the most remarkable man of the three individuals we have assessed. What do we know of him? Not much, I’m afraid.

We do know that when Jesus was crucified, there was a cross on either side of Him. On His left and right were two criminals. In the Greek language, they are called “kakourgos,” which has the straightforward meaning of “criminal,” “evil-doer,” or “one who commits serious crimes.”

The “good” thief was a bad man. Other gospels call him a “robber.” He could have been a bandit – someone that ambushed others, took advantage of them, and left them for dead. It’s very likely that this “good” thief had been the sort of person that Jesus had in mind when He told His parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). This “good” thief had been a burden, a blight on society – and so he was sentenced to death for his crimes.

But despite his faulty resume, this “good” thief had a right view of God! He asked the other bellicose thief, “Don’t you fear God?” He put the “bad” thief in his place by correcting the latter’s improper assumptions of Jesus Christ.

To put this remarkable situation another way, the “good” thief’s mouth revealed the condition of his heart (Luke 6:45). The Bible teaches that you are what you say, and the “good” thief said to Jesus Christ, “…remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Whoa! By ANY measure, this is an astounding statement!

Consider that by this point, all of Jesus’ disciples had fled the scene, and only John is recorded as being at the cross (John 19:26). These disciples were the men Jesus had personally trained. These were the guys who had seen supernatural evidence of Jesus’ power and authority. These were the guys who had learned from the Messiah Himself – and they were nowhere to be found!

The “good” thief, on the other hand, had had none of that training and experience. He had not spent the same time with Jesus Christ, and he had not seen all the miracles Jesus had done. He knew far less about Jesus than others did. By conventional standards, the “good” thief had missed the boat.

On top of all that, Jesus Christ was now dying. Beaten and bloodied so badly, He was now unrecognizable (Isaiah 52:14). Jesus was breathing His last right there beside the “good” thief, and by all measures of the term, Jesus Christ appeared mortal. Few people at that crucifixion scene were confident in Jesus Christ’s future kingdom.

But faith sees through the way things seem to the way they really are (Heb. 11:1), and so here the “good” thief showed more faith than many upright personalities in the Scriptures. The “good” thief saw Jesus Christ correctly. He didn’t see a dying man – he saw a living King of kings. He didn’t see someone who had failed and was unable to deliver – he saw someone who was assured of having the final victory. He didn’t see someone who was abused and humiliated by others – he saw someone who had infinite power.

In short, the “good” thief recognized Jesus Christ as the Messiah! He knew Jesus was not an imposter or someone who couldn’t deliver on His promises. The “good” thief looked beyond the limitations of that horrible situation, beyond the natural questions that saturated that awful scene, and he fully understood that Jesus Christ would still receive and set up His everlasting kingdom.

The “good” thief faced personal adversities that exceeded those challenges John the Baptist and Judas Iscariot had faced, and yet – against all human understanding! – he still believed that Jesus was exactly who He said He was. For his astounding demonstration of genuine faith, the “good” thief received way more benefit than he had bargained for.

It’s a weighty question, but I have to ask it. Which one of these three individuals are you most like right now? Are you like John the Baptist: insecure, unsure, disappointed, and needing reassurance that God is still able to be the God you most need? Are you asking God to reaffirm Himself to you so that you can be convinced of His promises and plans?

Perhaps you are like Judas Iscariot: angry, resentful, focused on what you most want and what you feel the situation needs to be. Are you taking in the regular teaching of God’s Word and participating in a ministry – but it’s having little effect on changing who you are and how you’re seeing things?

Or, are you like the “good” thief? You are in a place where the odds are stacked against you – and by all standard assessments, there is no clear evidence that God is demonstrating Himself to you the way your desperate situation most needs Him to. Do you find yourself in a tenuous spot where you cannot see the power of God in the circumstances you are facing – – – and yet your heart is still bursting with faith?

I cannot answer the tough questions of these last few paragraphs for anyone but myself. However, my prayer for all of us is that our faith rises up and shows itself in the tough and uncertain times just as the faith of the “good” thief did.

The “good” thief didn’t see Jesus Christ as someone who had let him down – he properly saw the only one who gave him hope.

[hatari-translations]

Griðastaður (Sanctuary) - translation

Here we go. This is a full translation of Griðastaður, Matthías’s graduation work, complete with a bunch of translation footnotes.

When I translate lyrics, I usually try to stick as closely as possible to the actual words/phrasing used in the original, so as to give an accurate idea of what the original lyrics say (but translating idioms and such appropriately, of course). Here, the main goal is to get across the narrative of this play, so I’ll go for something that communicates that narrative effectively over directly translating the exact words being said. I’m not making anything up that’s not there, and most of this is quite close and possibly too close, but there are definitely times where some other phrasing would’ve been closer to the original but I consciously go for a different one that sounds more natural in English, just has a bit more punch to it, or conveys mood etc. better.

The play is pretty much a monologue, but I’ve included occasional stage directions when they help illuminate the context of what Lárus is saying, so that you should be able to just read the translation straight through without being confused (or, at least, any more confused than someone actually watching the play being performed). You can also try to watch along as you read, and then the stage directions will hopefully help anchor where you are.

Sanctuary

[LÁRUS is pacing, muttering to himself.]

Welcome. Good to see you. Hope you're feeling all right... A store unlike all other stores. All other stores. Unlike all other stores. [unintelligible] Give you a warm welcome. There's good morale, a dedication to customer service, great ambition... looks, responsibility, ambition. Yeah. The employee- employee and human - employee and human resources policy. Employee and human resources policy. The employee and human resources policy of IKEA.

[He sips a drink, then walks over to look in the mirror.]

Okay. Hello.

Hi. I'm Lárus.

Welcome. I'm Lárus.

I'm Lárus.

Hi.

Yeah, welcome. I'd just like to ask you to turn off all your mobile phones and... not take any photos during the meeting.

Welcome, I'm Lárus. I'm just going to - I'd be thrilled if you'd all turn off your mobile phones and not take any photos during the meeting.

Hi! Greetings! I'm Lárus! Um... I'd be thrilled if you'd just, maybe, put your phones on silent, or preferably turn them off, or, and don't take any photos during the meeting. If you need to have it on, of course, you do that. I mean, maybe you've got kids, or... or moms.

[He shakes his head; starts pacing again.]

Hi. I'm Lárus.

Hi! Greetings! Lalli here!1 ...No.

I'm Lárus. Welcome.

It's nice to see how many of you there are, at this unconventional time. Right? Fun to see how... I'm Lárus! It's fun to see how many people are here at an unconventional time. Everyone's probably got a busy schedule, as you do, in a modern society... [sigh] Jesus Christ, man.2

Hi. I'm Lárus, and I'm just going to get you up to speed on things around here. Get you up to speed... I'm going to get you up to speed on things around here. [He starts to write this down.]

Hi! I'm Lárus! I'm just going to get you up to speed a bit on how things work around here. Ah, it's fun to see how many people are here at such an unconventional time. Um, everyone's gone except me, and you, heh. It would've been fun to say hi to people - say hi to everyone, but... Maybe the Securitas guy'll be here later. Obviously he's not actually working for IKEA, unfortunately he's Securitas, but if he comes around, I'll just explain to him that we're staying late, and it won't be a problem.

...Ugh, what am I saying.

IKEA. IKEA, IKEA, IKEA. IKEA. What is IKEA? IKEA. Welcome. I'm Lárus. I'm going to get you up to speed on things around here. IKEA. What is IKEA? IKEA was founded in 1943 by Ingvar Kamprad. Uh... Ingvar Kamprad was born in Elmtaryd in Ag- Agunnaryd in Sweden, and he was a young man with big dreams. He wanted... Yeah, it all started with one matchbox, and it...

[He stops and shakes his head.]

Everyone... Everyone has their own special relationship with IKEA, whether they work here or not. It's... I had my special relationship with IKEA long before I started to work here. I'd come here just to browse, and to find some peace. Right, I came here to find peace. And that sense of peace is still here, and there's good morale, and we want people to feel good and give them a warm welcome, and that's not least thanks to the employee and human reason- employee and human resources- employee and human resources policy of IKEA. Employee and human resources policy. Human resources policy.3

[He sighs and flips through papers on the desk.]

Right. Four-day week. Four-day work week, twelve-hour shifts. Twelve-hour shifts, and that's... Twelve-hour shifts, and for those of you coming in full-time - but to balance it out, we get good vacations in between. It's intermittent work. ...Employee and human resources policy.

I, for my parts, I just started to come here because I've always got this fucking4 guilt going on. I started to come here because I always just had this raging guilt. Uh... I guess that's why I applied for a job here.

Today I don't have anything to complain about! I've got a great job, I've got decent pay... [He looks at himself in the mirror.] Nice. The best. [He starts irritably straightening his hair.] I've got a decent car, a Netflix subscription, I've got a Nockeby sofa, I bought a Nockeby sofa here at IKEA, just a three-seater, not the corner sofa. Really nice sofas. And, uh...

Maybe I always just have this guilty conscience. A guilty conscience calling for organic fair-trade chocolate, or eco-labeled5 deodorant. Or a Netflix subscription, but no, that only calls for more chocolate, or a thoughtful status update, or a B-product6, like that Nockeby sofa.

...Right. See, you, as employees, you get a 15% discount on all purchases, but for B-products, it's 30% off. By all means make good use of that. 30%.

Right. So about two years ago, I got... I woke up with a raging guilty conscience. Woke up with a raging guilty conscience. And I came here, to IKEA.

It was just a normal day. I don't know why I was feeling so guilty. I just woke up and got dressed and got some coffee, and I went out and unplugged my car, and I just drove straight up to Garðabær7, alone. Did you know that there's an eco-labeled house in Garðabær? It's just like a regular house, perfectly usable, only eco-labeled. Sustainably produced. It's... neat.

Anyway. So I drive up to IKEA, and what greets me is these flags. They're majestic, the flags outside IKEA, the way they just ripple in the blue and yellow of the Swedish flag. I always remember where I parked my car based on the flags; where the third flag is, that's where I parked. That's how I remember. Yeah. See, I think, the person whose job it is to fly the flags at IKEA has to be really satisfied in their job. They've got to feel like the hero of the day at IKEA, waking up before everyone else and flying the IKEA flag in the morning sun, outside IKEA. Yeah.

But I'm not there to fly any flags, I just go inside and up the escalator and into the living room department, and I - well, I'd just have a quiet moment there, maybe even entire days, without buying anything. You see, I don't feel guilty if I don't buy anything, unless of course it's a B-product. Yeah.

Hello?

I get a phone call. The phone rings on the escalator. A phone call. I'll never forget that phone call.

[He picks up a framed photo on a shelf and looks at it.]

Hi.

Yeah, hi.

What's up? Yeah?

How are you feeling?

Right.

Yeah.

Hey, should I... should I do something for you? Maybe stop by with some chocolate? Green & Blacks? You like that.

No?

Right, okay.

Or we can go out? We can take a walk later, maybe I can... Yeah?

Oh. No, it's... You're tired, I know.

Huh? No, they... they didn't say, all they said is you're not going home until the inflammation gets better. I don't know what that means, it's just... They've got to have the final say.

Yeah.

Yeah.

What? No, don't do that. Nononono, you have to take your medicine. You have to take the - yes, you do, it's one red one before you sleep, two green when you wake up, two Paratabs8. And enough water.

Yes, Mom. Yes, you have to... yeah.

Huh? No, I'm just at IKEA.

No - what cabinet?

No, I - Mom, I'm not about to buy anything.

No, you know perfectly well that I'm just - no, I'm just thinking and people-watching.

Yeah... Yeah, I know it's weird. Don't worry about it, Mom.

No!

Huh, María? [He becomes audibly defensive/irritated.]

I don't know. I don't - probably just fine. Mom, we broke up ages ago.

Yeah. No, I told you ages ago. Yeah, I have no idea what's new with her.

Right, I need to keep going here. We - I'll visit tomorrow. Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Yeah.

Take those pills!

Yeah.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

[He sighs, putting down the photo.]

Just to clarify it a little, see, some people go on walks, around Tjörnin9, or by the beach, and others do yoga, or go to the gym. Some people go to church or a mosque. I'd just go to IKEA. For me. I know it's weird, but I... IKEA is just the place that truly reflects me the most. I... My place is there, among the people, and the cabinets and shelves and price tags, and all my deepest desires and expectations.

Yeah. So I'm there on the escalator, talking to my mom on the phone, and then by the time I've hung up on my mom, I'm in a model apartment, in my favorite staged bathroom in IKEA. And I sit down on the brim of the bathtub and I'm just thinking. What... where do I stand? Who am I, Lárus, here among the furniture? Can I afford this cabinet, or this bathtub? How about that woman? Does she think she can afford it?

Am I ever, in my entire mortal existence, going to have stuff this nice? I'm thirty-seven years old and I would never use my oven enough for it to ever be worth it for me to buy the newest Griljera stove for 160,000 krónur10. Even if I had that kind of money to spare. I mean... and even though it's a good price, do I really need it? Do I want it? What am I doing here? Why am I here? What am I going to leave behind? What, a toilet brush? An IKEA toilet brush? I, Lárus, and my IKEA toilet brush! What, toothpaste? Toothpaste! Two hundred tubes of toothpaste! I, Lárus, and two hundred tubes of toothpaste! 6232 rolls of toilet paper! 6232! 26 bottles of shampoo, actually that's not that much. Q-tips? I actually stopped using Q-tips. I just use toilet paper, take two squares and fold them up and put them in my wet ears after a shower. But you know, think about it. There's just some factory over in China that's producing some little plastic sticks with a bit of cotton on the end, just to put a hundred of them together in a plastic box - what for? And then a million - one and a half million liters of water. I'm not measuring that exactly, but you know, what am I, Lárus, doing with all this water? Or, like, laundry detergent. There's a whole laundry tub full of it - Neutral, of course, it's eco-labeled - fabric softener, lavender spray, toilet cleaner, uh, universal cleaner, floor cleaner, glass cleaner, bathroom cleaner, uh, shaving cream, seventeen bottles, aftershave, razorblades, disinfectant, thirty-four bottles of that. Yeah, I use a lot of disinfectant. And that's not even over that long a period, it's just since I moved out of Mom's place.

And deodorant! 128 rolls! 128 rolls! And I couldn't help thinking, last time I threw a roll of deodorant into the garbage, roll number 127, that, uh... Yeah. We've got a very clear environmental policy at IKEA, but it's, uh... I couldn't help thinking, as I was throwing roll number 127 into the garbage, that there had to be at least one guy in China, on the other side of the world, just spraying himself. Just spraying himself. You know, I use mine sparingly. My deodorant, an organic deodorant, from Germany, a really good-quality brand, not tested on animals or anything, eco-labeled, see - but he's over there, some guy in China, just spraying himself. Spraying himself with his new Nike deodorant in the aluminum can that's produced who knows where, some concoction of nastiness and chemicals, just to have exactly the right smell for the least amount of money. And he doesn't give a shit about the factory and the ecosystem and whether it's eco-labeled. They just spray it on! They spray it!

I think: last time I - yeah, when I was throwing mine in the garbage, at that exact moment, that guy in China, on the other side of the world, is throwing his away, and I'm just yeah, great! I spent 800 krónur on mine. I might want to use lavender, but I want to do it right. And I wish I could just say to that Chinese guy: Hey! Use that sparingly, man! You don't have to spray it on like that! You'll get the smell even if you don't spray it on like that! Hey! Hey, look, I'm not spraying - Look, there's aluminum, paraben and [unintelligible chemical name] in that! Are you crazy?! And I say something like that, but that's not... Maybe he'd just answer back. "You no judge me!11 You no tell me what to spray in my own home! My sister, my sister died! She died! She overworked herself in a really intense environment so I could spray myself with Nike Extreme Men Edition Deodorant!" And I'm just like oh, really, of course, you're right. What am I doing telling some Chinese guy what he does with his deodorant? I don't even know Chinese, I could never say that to him! I can't... I can't even tell my mom how I'm feeling, how am I supposed to tell some Chinese dude what he does with his own deodorant? Maybe he's working in some factory that's full of gross chemicals and all he wants is to just come home and spray himself with some other gross chemicals! Maybe he was going... Maybe he was going to get ice cream, or on a date, I mean, I don't know anything about this guy. I don't know anything about this guy. I don't know how to get across that hey, we both want lavender, but this isn't the right way, you see? This here is eco-labeled! There are chemicals produced under some really toxic conditions! [He's getting choked up.] Like where your sister worked. Right? But you don't have to use it. I want to help you! We're on the same team! Can you help me understand how I can help you? I'm just one man, and you're just one Chinese man. But we share one beating heart! We have to learn to work together, think of the children, and buy eco-labeled! And eco-labeled products are often way higher quality, you just somehow get the feeling that they're better made! And they don't even cost that much more, if you take quality into account, see, if you take quality into account you're really getting way more for your money! Do you disagree with that? Help me... help me understand.

[He bows his head, sobbing, for a bit, before slowly looking up.]

Help. Help! Spiders! Giant spiders! Nooo! Not in IKEA! Nooooo! Watch the children! They're killing the children! Nooooo! They're so small! Aaaaahh! Moooom! Take your mediciiine! Aaaahh! Yeah, glycol! You mean, just spray it on them? [He mimes spraying pesticide, making choked spider-dying sounds.] They're dying! [Sprays.] Oh no! More monsters! No, what a nightmare!12 ...María, will you kiss me?

[He snaps out of it and shakes his head, goes to have a drink, clears his throat, fixes his hair in front of the mirror.]

Ahem. Yeah, that little meditation, uh... it's just... The story about the Chinese guy and the spray bottles and the spiders, that's... I dreamt this once, actually, and I just chose to tell it because it happens here, in IKEA, in this model apartment. The truth is... the truth is that we are constantly battling contradictions, like the eco-labeled nightmare, every day. [Looks in the mirror again.] Nice, Lárus. Every day. We don't want to give discounts; we want to get discounts, on eco-labeled products.

[On 'discounts', he clicks his tongue, miming pressing a button on a remote. The camera zooms out to reveal a projected word behind him, like a PowerPoint slide: "DISCOUNT"]

[Points into the audience.] You there! You want to get a discount, on eco-labeled products. But you won't get that here! Not in IKEA. Not today.

[Another click, switching slides; the projected word is now "IKEA".]

...Or, well, okay, you get a 15% staff discount on everything, and 30% on the B-products, and you should make use of that.

[Projected: "B-PRODUCTS"]

But we, we want quality of life. ["QUALITY OF LIFE"] But what is quality of life? Is it love and happiness? ["NO"] No. Is it security and contentment? Soft beds and good dreams? ["NO"] No. Isn't quality of life just not having that guilty fucking conscience? ["YES"] Yes. Environmental policy. The environmental policy of IKEA.

But how are 7.6 billion homo sapiens ["SAPIENS"] supposed to live and breathe together on one planet without having a raging guilty conscience? It's not like they're all just going to go shop at IKEA. No, they'd just buy up everything in a split second and everyone goes home with their Griljera stoves ["GRILJERA"] while everything goes to hell. So what then? ["?"] Is our conscience perhaps what makes us human? ["US"] Is it fair that I have a guilty conscience, enough to only buy organic fair-trade chocolate and eco-labeled deodorant, but that Chinese guy from the story, he doesn't feel anything? He was just spraying it on. ["LIKE, SPRAYING"] Like, spraying. Not me. Does this make me better than the Chinese guy? ["NO"] No. But I feel like I am.

I have flown to Asia, and I got a hell of a guilty conscience for that. ["GUILTY CONSCIENCE"] Because flying pollutes. And so does eating meat, and keeping dogs. And mass-produced furniture! And cars! My car, even though I drive an electric car. ["NICE"] An electric car. And I sort my garbage. And I'm a vegetarian. No, I'm vegan. Yeah, I'm vegan. ["NICE!!"] Sort the garbage.

And then eating food also pollutes, but it varies how much. But tofu's not eco-labeled! ["TOFU"] Is it? Or the veggie balls here in IKEA? ["NO"] No. And it's all imported. But what about disasters, like tornadoes or hurricanes or those spiders? ...No, they're... I guess they don't pollute. That's tragic. Very tragic. Very tragic.

[He goes and has a drink, then walks over to the corner.]

"Can I help you?"

I'm standing there in the bathroom department, in the staged bathroom, and suddenly I hear this firm, young, but still kind of pathetic voice behind me.

"Ahem. Can I help you?"

See, the only thing that annoys me about IKEA is all the other people at IKEA. And there he is, some summer-job substitute employee in a polo shirt, trying to sell me something, some shelves or a bathtub, or just politely ask me to leave. And he says, "Thanks for that contemplation. Obviously we live in fraught times. An ever-expanding middle class in eastern Asia is entering the same quality of life race as us Westerners, increasingly flying and bowing to ever more exaggerated standards of hygiene. But is that your fight? No. Your fight is to get your own priorities in order. And good for you, buying eco-labeled."

...No, he didn't actually say that. He just said, "I've noticed you've been here in this bathroom since we opened."

Oh. Uh, yeah, you're right.

"Right. And you were here yesterday too?"

Huh? Yeah.

"And the day before that?"

Yeah, that's right.

"Right. Can I... help you with anything?"

What?

"I mean, are you looking for something in particular?"

Nah, or, well, yeah, uh, how much is this cabinet?

"Oh, that's 7950."

7950. It's 7950. He's already trying to sell me something.

"Yeah, it's 7950, and these are really nice cabinets. We've got them in light brown, too."

Right. No, white is - white is fine. What... what do you put in a cabinet like this? Is it for toothbrushes and...?

"Sure. Toothbrushes..."

Toothpaste?

"Yeah, sure, that too."

200 tubes of toothpaste?

"Huh?"

How about medicine and stuff like that?

"What? Oh, sure, you can put medicine in it."

My... my mom is chronically ill, in the hospital.

[He, playing the employee, nods slowly.]

So, uh, do you live alone? Because I live alone.

"What? No, or..." [The employee clears his throat.] "No. I'm sorry to hear about your mom. Uh, how about I write this down for you, the number, and they'll help you with it down in the warehouse? I have to help more customers, so..."

And then he goes and writes down, with a tiny little IKEA pencil, on a tiny little IKEA note, in tiny little IKEA handwriting, that I'll find this cabinet in aisle 7, rack D. And this - this is just a really good example of how there's a difference between service-mindedness and not knowing how to mind your own business. There I was, expertly manipulated into buying some cabinet that I wasn't going to - I mean, I was going to be there until closing, and I'm allowed to do that, but no, now I have to buy this cabinet. I'll just walk the path that IKEA has laid out for me. And it all goes smoothly - the whole building and the people are completely different when you know exactly what you're going to buy. I, Lárus, am going to buy a cabinet, that I, Lárus, picked out for myself, Lárus. And you, whoever you are, you can stand there looking at those neat little spice shelves all day, but I know what I'm buying. I'm here to buy! And I'm just going to pick up a fake cactus and some towels, and some plastic boxes that fit into the Silverån white mirror cabinet. Yeah. And I walk right down there, straight-backed, faster and faster, not giving a fuck what the staff think of me, not giving a fuck if they saw me here yesterday or the day before that or the day before that. All those days are written off, when you're buying a white Silverån cabinet at IKEA. And I walk past the lamps and the potted plants, and I see that on the other side of the potted plants there's a whole new world. The warehouse. Hallelujah. The warehouse, oh yes. A giant hall, shelves upon shelves upon shelves, boxes upon boxes upon boxes, of all kinds of crap. Dead-honest fucking white fluorescent lighting and a flat concrete floor, with garden chairs placed in the middle and a cabinet on display and some woman with a cart trying to maneuver her Billy-shelves onto the cart, and I don't even stop to help her, I just go straight to aisle 7, rack D, and look for that white Silverån mirror cabinet, and what I find is that the white Silverån mirror cabinets are all gone!

Fuck!13

Then what am I doing here, with a shopping cart with some towels and a fake cactus and plastic boxes? What am I supposed to do with these plastic boxes? They were supposed to go in the cabinet! And now I'm all worked up about some cabinet. What am I doing? I'm like an idiot. And you can't just walk backwards against the traffic through IKEA, that just looks silly!

I'm standing there, by the rack, facing this question: why am I here? And that's when my phone chimes, a quiet little chime. I reach into my pocket and see I have three missed calls and a notification from the hospital.

The nurse that I've been talking to the most about my mother's illness writes:

Dear Lárus,

After a diligent struggle with her illness...

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

...nothing that could be done.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Your mother, Stefanía, passed away shortly after three o'clock.

Your mom, Lárus, is dead. She's a carcass.14 Dead as a doornail. Dead as a doornail in the hospital bed. Sorry 'bout that.15

Deepest sympathies, your mom's dead.

And there and then is when I decide the sole purpose of my being at IKEA is to climb up into the rack, behind the boxes in the next rack, without anyone seeing, put on headphones - I carry headphones - and just lie down and wait. I'm going to wait until everyone's gone from IKEA and has forgotten that I exist, and IKEA closes, and I'm all alone in the world. In IKEA.

And I lie there, somewhere in aisle 7 in the warehouse, sometimes with the headphones and sometimes just waiting and listening, for six hours.

[He's curled up inside a box for a couple of minutes while the lights dim and soft, mournful music plays16; you can hear him sniffling a bit. After the music stops, he slowly uncurls himself and stands up as the lights come back on.]

[Whispering] And then it's quiet.

Wow. Can you hear? And I realize I'm all alone in IKEA. The silence is incredible. And I'm all alone, in IKEA.

Your mom, Lárus, is dead. A carcass. Just dead as a doornail in the hospital bed. Sorry 'bout that. Deepest sympathies, your mom's dead.

If I ever cried over the content of that message17, it's here, alone, at IKEA.

And suddenly - suddenly, for no particular reason, don't know why, I imagine - I imagine an argument with IKEA's security guard, who's going to kick me out into the deep blue night, out of IKEA.

"Excuse me, pal, we're closed," says this grumpy IKEA security guard. He says, [more angrily] "Hey, excuse me, pal, we're closed."

No, no, please - hey, listen, man -

"No, listen to me, man."

No, you listen to me, man. IKEA is my sanctuary. Right?

"That's none of my concern. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

No, but - you don't understand - I've had a really difficult day, a difficult month, year. I was just going to - hey, take it easy! I was just going to check out this cabinet and - I didn't mean to - I was just going to search for - hey, calm down. Don't - listen to me! Don't! Let me go! Stop! Don't touch me, you - Hey! Hey! Don't you touch that white Silverån mirror cabinet! It's mine! Fucking shit!18 Go fuck yourself, you disgusting piece of shit!19 Fuck! Fuck!

[He mimes wrestling an imaginary opponent down; he mimes the entire following couple of paragraphs as he's saying them.]

And I take him and throw him to the floor, and I just start to beat the crap out of him. Pow! Pow! Pow! And I take an IKEA screwdriver and stick it in both his eyes, and he's just "Aaaahhh! Aaaaahhh! Aaaaahhhh!" And I pick him up like "Ahaha! Huh?" And he's like "Please, please, I've got kids, I've got kids," and I twist him around and jam the screwdriver up to this throat and say "If you don't fucking leave me alone, huh? If you don't fucking leave me alone, I'll take this screwdriver -" "Yeah, yeah, please, please, please, I have kids, please don't kill me, don't kill me -" "Are you going to get the fuck out?" "Yes! Yes, yes, I promise! I promise! I'll do anything!" "Are you going to leave me the fuck alone?" "Yes, yes, I promise, I promise!" "Who's the king of IKEA?!" "What? You! You!" "I can't hear you!" "You! You're the king of IKEA!"

And then I take him and wrestle him down, and just pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! And I take the screwdriver and - [He mimes stabbing several times, then stands up and mimes stomping on the guard's face, then mimes some other action I can't quite figure out.] And he's just, he's just, "Aahhh, I'm dying, I'm dying, don't, my kids, my kids, I'm dying!" [He's panting.] And I...

...And I'm suddenly just really hungry, so I just head straight to the cafeteria where I'm just going to spray, just spray some Swedish veggie balls into my mouth20, but no! I go there and find they've taken all the hot food and just thrown it away! How typical, how they tell you they're so environmentally friendly, and then they're just throwing imported chickpeas into the trash! And suddenly I really need to go to the bathroom, so I go to the bathroom.

[Leaning against a wall, presumably in the bathroom, he starts to catch his breath.] Okay. Okay. Okay.

When I go back to the cafeteria, I see that the salads in the fridge are fine, and I grab a chicken salad, and a healthy wrap, and a smoothie, and a sixpack of beer. And I take it all to my favorite staged bathroom, and I lie down in the bathtub to have some chicken salad.

[He lies down on a couch, still panting, and starts to eat.]

What was that. What was that.

There's not a soul here. No security guard. He was imaginary. No veggie balls. Chicken salad. Sure.

The king of IKEA, bathing in a staged bathroom. I've always dreamed about doing this. [He gets choked up.] And Mom's dead.

[He's lying there, sniffling a bit, for some time, then slowly sits up.]

I don't get... I don't get when I cry. Why I... I don't get why I'm even crying. I don't get whether I'm even crying. Do there have to be tears for you to be crying? I don't know.

It could be anything. Really I went through the mourning process long ago. I haven't really cried about María since we split up and I've barely cried for Mom. And where should I cry for them, if not alone at IKEA?

See, deep down I knew that Mom was going to die. I knew ages ago. She'd gotten so tired, somehow.

[He stands up and starts pacing.]

Look, in the German PoW camps during World War II - not Auschwitz, not the concentration camps, the PoW camps for captured British soldiers - the first ones to die were the ones who didn't bother to shave. I read that in a book. The ones who shaved and bathed every day, they survived the camps. Maybe years of imprisonment. I know it's weird, but I think it makes sense. I mean, if you've stopped bothering to take care of yourself, you've stopped bothering to live. Tenacity - you lose that tenacity. You just think: Why shave? Why take a bath? Why exercise? Why buy myself flowers21? Let myself have some fine chocolate, just because my life is worth it? She always liked it. Green & Blacks, the green, long one.

Then she stopped wanting it, stopped calling me, stopped wanting to do anything with me, stopped looking forward to going to the theater with me. That's how it was with the World War II prisoners of war, too. The ones who saw a reason to take care of themselves and bathe and shave, they weren't really prisoners. They were just... just sprightly guys.

And part of me said, I said to her, Mom, so what? So what? Of course you're going to die! We all die! Are you just going to sit there wallowing in it? Are you just going to give up? We all die! You, me, the nurses, everyone at IKEA! Me! Just, everyone you see dies! Everyone dies, Mom! Everyone dies, you understand? Just because you're dying, you don't have to wallow in it! No! Because everyone dies! Everyone! Everyone dies! Everyone dies! Do you know how many people died in World War II? No? It was... many. Because everyone dies! Yes! So just have some fucking chocolate, just once go to the fucking theater before you fucking croak! Or whatever, we can go for a drive! You can leave the hospital bed for a bit, the nurse said so. Sure, go, by all means, everyone dies. She said that. Sure, fuck it, just go, everyone dies. Yeah? Because everyone dies! I've got these black hairs in my nose and aches in my knees and my back and every now and then I get a long hair growing out of my eyebrow, right? Because everyone dies! Yes! And I'm not wallowing! No! Fuck it! I love you!

[He looks down.] ...No. I didn't say that to her.

At least, I've gotten up and I've had some food. I'm in the sofa section, looking at all these nice sofas in IKEA. And who should I bump into but the Chinese guy from the story? He's just sitting there. Sitting on this Norsborg canvas sofa, green. Maybe he's mourning his sister. His sister who died.

Maybe she was young, his sister. She wasn't meant to die. She was young and she was - she had dreams. She had dreams, she had tenacity. She was going to - she was going to move to the big city! Shanghai! There's three IKEA stores in Shanghai. She was going to do something real, learn something real in Shanghai. Maybe she wanted to be a nurse. Or a bio... biomedical... or a marine, a marine biologist! The kind that scuba dives with dolphins! And she recognizes them individually, and talks to them... and she's diving, and maybe she sees a turtle, a little turtle stuck in a piece of plastic trash. [imitating turtle] Aaaahhh! And she goes and saves it, and removes the plastic. Here you go, little turtle! Turtle! [imitating turtle and waving] Thaaanks!

And then maybe she analyzes the water for the little turtle, because she's checking if the turtle - this is in the South China Sea, and she's checking if the little turtle can even live there anymore, what with the rising acidity of the oceans. And then she's got coral plants22, maybe she's growing coral plants in her home or at a lab, a lab full of coral plants, and she's going to save the coral reefs, and the coral plants, and the dolphins, and the turtles, and just, do something! Do something other than just dying!

...Yeah. And he sighs, like this [sighs], thinking about his little sister. His little sister who died. Maybe he never managed to say goodbye to her. Maybe he never said 'I love you', those words, to her. Couldn't do anything for her. And I sit beside him and put my arm around him, on his shoulder. And we just sit there, the two of us, in silence. We don't say anything, but we understand.

I feel like I can leave something behind here. It's not about 'What's Lárus going to buy at IKEA?' And it's not about 'What's the Chinese guy' - I don't know what his name is - what he's going to buy at IKEA, but what do they leave behind?

When the time is right, we split up, and the Chinese guy and I go our separate ways, in a deep mutual understanding.

Before long, it's not long at all, before long, another IKEA employee shows up. It's a woman, in her thirties or so, who's probably worked there a few years. Blonde. She obviously just got up, but she's still in a bright mood. She's just flown the Icelandic and Swedish and IKEA flags, in the morning sun outside of IKEA. The IKEA flag-bearer. And she takes my hand and leads me out of IKEA.

Yeah. Bye. [He waves.]

A few days later, I bury my mom. And then a year passes, the great IKEA year. The IKEA year. Today, I work for IKEA. I even outrank Guðrún, the one who led me outside the previous year, the IKEA flag-bearer, her name's Guðrún. I outrank her, working at the same company. Head of marketing and sales for the business department of Swedish furniture giant IKEA, that's me. [He sighs.]

The other day, Guðrún and I visited my mother's grave. Guðrún, the one who led me outside after a whole night alone at IKEA. The two of us together, at my mother's grave. And Guðrún, she knows what she's talking about. She said to me: "Yeah, Lárus, you're right. Everyone dies. Me, you, everyone at IKEA, everyone who designed all those shelves, everyone asking about the quality of the different mattresses at IKEA, everyone having veggie balls, everyone having meatballs, everyone drinking beer after work at IKEA, everyone buying a bunch of Swedish crisp bread and weird soda, everyone having a hotdog at the corner store, everyone arguing about the kitchen at IKEA, everyone browsing spice shelves at IKEA, everyone crying in the bathroom department, everyone buying a bunch of disposable crap they're not going to use, everyone just looking and not buying anything; you're right, Lárus, everyone's going to die."

IKEA is my sanctuary, I answer. Here, mortality is as staged as the staged bathroom.

"Yeah, Lárus," she says, "mortality is a staged bathroom."

...No, actually she didn't say that. She just said some - she was very polite. She said... actually just the other day, out of nowhere, completely out of nowhere, she said, "Doesn't everyone die, Lárus?" Everyone who... everyone at IKEA. Everyone opining on the food at IKEA. Everyone who thought their oven would be more expensive at IKEA, they're going to die. Everyone who thought their whole kitchen would be more expensive at IKEA. Everyone who's disappointed at IKEA, everyone mourning their mother at IKEA, everyone mourning their sister at IKEA. Everyone at IKEA who has kids. Everyone at IKEA who doesn't have kids but still browses the kids department of IKEA. Everyone feeling their age at IKEA. Everyone celebrating a milestone at IKEA. Everyone who gets the IKEA catalogue delivered to their homes but still doesn't go to IKEA. Everyone who takes the IKEA catalogue to IKEA and asks an employee if they've got this carpet at IKEA. Everyone who's been to IKEA once, everyone who's been to IKEA a lot. Everyone who's been to IKEA abroad. Everyone who lives in the countryside and uses the opportunity when they come to the city to go to IKEA. Everyone who thinks going to IKEA is a family moment. Everyone who takes selfies of themselves and their families in IKEA. Everyone who's disappointed in IKEA. Everyone who just can't deal with IKEA. Everyone who feels a spiritual calm in IKEA. Everyone who was just going to visit IKEA briefly but then spent most of the day in IKEA. Everyone. Yeah.

And Guðrún, she... she leads me out, softly, after that fateful night when my mom died, this night that's stayed with me all this time. She says goodbye on the escalator. And I stand on the escalator with tears in my eyes, and opposite me, the first customers of the day are coming in. The first of the day to browse the selection available at Swedish juggernaut IKEA. I can see that outside the day is growing brighter. And I wave to them, one after another. An old man with a walking stick. A mother and daughter pointing somewhere. A just-married couple planning out their kitchen. They don't wave back, they just look at each other. A few teenagers, probably just going to hang out at the cafeteria. Contractors having breakfast. Two sisters around fifty. I don't know what they're going to do. And suddenly I'm all the way down, the king of IKEA. And the years just pass, peacefully.

I know - I know what some of you are thinking. You're thinking, 'No, that doesn't make sense. IKEA doesn't have two escalators! There's only one escalator and it goes straight up to the living room department! They don't face each other! This doesn't make sense! There aren't two escalators!' But I'm telling you yes! Because it's new! And you know what else is new? I'll tell you. I can proudly tell you that we here at IKEA will soon be introducing our first eco-labeled cabinet at IKEA! The first eco-labeled cabinet! And do you know what it's called? It's called the Silver Swan mirror cabinet! And you know what? It's exactly as functional as its predecessor, but far more sustainably produced! The Silver Swan! The eco-labeled mirror cabinet at IKEA!

"Lalli" is the usual nickname for Lárus, but it's a bit silly-sounding. ↩︎

He actually says "Díses kræst", which is sort of a slightly mangled phonetic import of the English "Jesus Christ". It's pretty commonly used and sounds more casually exasperated than the actual Icelandic "Jesús kristur". ↩︎

He's enunciating this super-clearly, trying to practice saying it because he tripped over it before; it's kind of a tongue twister. ↩︎

The expletive he's originally using here is "helvítis", literally "Hell's". Basically all generic Icelandic swearing is religious in nature, and you don't really get anything stronger than this there, so translating it to "fucking" is appropriate even though it sounds kind of unintuitive in English where all the strongest language is sexual or scatological. We don't tend to take swearing very seriously in general, though; nobody's really offended simply by people swearing, or bumping up age ratings on movies purely for strong language. ↩︎

This is a word that's going to be coming up a lot here. The Icelandic word is svansmerkt or "swan-marked", referring to the Nordic swan ecolabel. ↩︎

I asked some friends and it doesn't seem like this is a thing in English. It's just a term for returned or cosmetically damaged goods that are sold at a discount. ↩︎

The municipality just outside Reykjavík where IKEA is. ↩︎

Icelandic brand name for mild over-the-counter painkiller paracetamol/acetaminophen, the same active ingredient as e.g. Tylenol. ↩︎

A large pond in downtown Reykjavík. City hall is basically in the pond. ↩︎

The Icelandic currency, ISK. Google will convert to your currency of choice if you type in e.g. "160000 ISK in USD". ↩︎

He starts talking in sort of a cringeworthy stereotypical Chinese accent here, only to drop it a couple of sentences in as this character starts to take shape as a human being in his head. ↩︎

He does this whole thing in this obviously fake screamy whisper, kind of the tone of voice you might use as an adult playing along with a child playing pretend. I think the idea here is that he's trying to play off the entire preceding breakdown about the deodorant as just another bit of silly fooling around. ↩︎

This time he's literally saying 'fuck', or rather, 'fokk'. Swearing in borrowed English is pretty common for modern Icelanders, but it's not accepted written Icelandic, and if you're translating something from English into Icelandic you're going to replace any fucks with proper Icelandic swearing. Most of the fucks in this translation are actually literal - from this point on, I believe, nearly all of them are him actually saying 'fokk' or 'fokking'. Note that we wouldn't use fokk in nearly every situation where you might use fuck in English. "Sjitt" is also a fairly common exclamation. ↩︎

In Icelandic, he says "Mamma þ��n, Lárus, er dáin. Hún er dauð." Both "dáin" and "dauð" mean "dead", but the former is used for people (and pets or other animals that you really care about) and the latter for animals/plants/things. Using "dauð" for a person in this way sounds extremely callous, even hateful, though here I believe it's just him expressing how jarring and callous the message feels for him. (There's no way the nurse actually wrote this.) ↩︎

The original line is "Sorrí með það", featuring another case of a borrowed English loanword, which makes this sound even more casual and callous than "Sorry about that." I tried to convey that by making it "Sorry 'bout that". ↩︎

The music here (which also reoccurs later towards the end as background music) is a very slowed-down, haunting choir version of "Vegir liggja til allra átta", which is originally a pretty upbeat tune, but lends itself really well to this, since it's in a minor key and the lyrics speak of the roads where life takes you, being powerless to control where it goes, and longing for lost love and happier times. ↩︎

He actually says "letter" here, and I honestly think it sounds just as strange in Icelandic to refer to a text message as a letter. I'm really not sure why he'd use that word. ↩︎

I believe what he's saying here is "Helvítis fokking fokk", an infamous quote from a 2008 protest sign. I rendered it as "Fucking shit" because literally translating it would just sound obviously parodic and hard to take seriously, and in this moment in the play I think it comes off as a genuine expression of impotent rage rather than a wink-winky quote. ↩︎

He calls him "ógeð", which is a word that just means "a disgusting thing". He then follows that up with "Ew!" That bit just sounds weird when it's not directly in reference to "ógeð", so I just went with "disgusting piece of shit" and left out the "Ew". ↩︎

In Icelandic spraying food into yourself is an actual figure of speech, so it doesn't sound as bizarre as this does. This is clearly meant to be a sudden unexpected callback to the deodorant story, but I don't think there is any English term that can simultaneously apply to spraying deodorant and gobbling up food, so it's just going to have to be a bit bizarre. ↩︎

The myself there is feminine, hinting he's speaking as his mom now. ↩︎

Corals are actually animals and not plants. Initially I just corrected this to "corals", but now I'm figuring maybe it's intentional, since Lárus doesn't seem amazingly educated about marine biology, so I've undone the correction and am just nitpicking it in the footnote instead. ↩︎

[globalworship]

Prayers during an Epidemic

1. A Prayer for the Global Health Crisis MARCH 4, 2020, by my friend Dr. Carlos  Colón https://carloscoloncomposer.com/2020/03/04/a-prayer-for-the-global-health-crisis/

God is our refuge and strength; A very present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1

Our God who is with us, Emmanuel, we come to you asking you for your assistance, and to lend your ear in this time of distress.

Hear, our prayer O Lord.

As you lifted once a paralyzed man from his bed, we ask you to come and visit us, and raise our bodies and spirits.

Hear, our prayer O Lord.

Grant to us the gift of your Holy Spirit, that our bodies and souls may be protected from infirmity.

Lord, Have mercy.

And we pray for those who are now suffering from this disease: we beseech you, O Lord, to visit them, encourage them, and heal them according to your great lovingkindness.

Lord, Have mercy.

As you once listened to the cry of the Canaanite woman, we beseech you to hear our voice, for every country hit hard by this disease, and specially: China, Iran, Italy, South Korea, and many other places in Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas.

Lord, Have mercy.

And we pray Lord for the families, friends, and medical personnel who care for the sick, and for those who are being monitored.

Be their Rock of Ages.

Please bless all scientists, researchers, public health officials and governments who seek and prescribe treatments, and for those who are working toward a vaccine.

Be their wisdom!

And for all of us, Lord, guide us so that this may be a time of reflection and good will to work to eradicate the diseases that threaten our bodies, and the hate that threatens our souls.

Lord, Have mercy.

O God our help in ages past, the God who heals and comforts; our Maker, and the Maker of wonders; the one who alone is worthy to be praised: incline your ear to us, and grant, in your mercy, the prayers of your people.

Amen.

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2.  Love Thy Sick Neighbor: A Liturgy in Times of the Coronavirus by Kayla Craig,  March 4, 2020 https://www.redletterchristians.org/love-thy-sick-neighbor-a-liturgy-in-times-of-the-coronavirus/

[See link above for an introduction]

Forgive us

As we have feared others,

And in doing so

Have contaminated our hearts.

Forgive us

As we have hoarded our resources,

And in doing so

Have abandoned our witness.

Forgive us

As we have desired control,

And in doing so

Have not loved our neighbor.

Comfort the afflicted among us.

In their loneliness, provide care.

In their sickness, provide health.

In their weariness, provide rest.

We grieve the contagious fear that we consume and spread.

Soothe our anxious minds as we read viral headlines.

And protect those who have been victims of racism and fear-mongering

Because of our dread of the unknown.

Protect us from the evil one

Who aims to use each update, not to inform or guide,

But to stoke the flames of chaos and confusion.

We thank you for health care workers

Who care for the sick and tend to bodies and souls

With great compassion and commitment.

Give them stamina.

Give them wisdom.

Give them grace.

We pray for those who lack access to health care,

Or safe places to rest their heads.

We pray for the vulnerable:

The sick,

The disabled,

The elderly,

The uninsured.

For the Kingdom is theirs.

We pray for the mother working paycheck to paycheck,

Who worries about her children and the job she can’t afford

To take time off from.

For she reflects Your image.

We pray for the chronically ill fighting invisible battles,

Hour by hour, day by day.

Nourish their bodies;

Protect their souls.

For they are never out of your sight.

We lament our roles in an empire

That values profit over human life

And takes advantage of our anxious spirits.

We acknowledge that we are not immune to the human condition,

And we repent from ways we have benefited

From dehumanizing systems and structures.

We ask for your Holy guidance

As we journey into the unknown.

Ignite in us a spirit of generosity;

Of hope and mercy;

Of grace and truth;

Of gentleness and self-control.

Cleanse our spirits,

Comfort our minds,

Care for our bodies,

And make us new.

We give thanks that you lavish your grace onto us,

Not pushing us into shame, but providing a steadfast comfort.

When all else falls away, we turn to You and You alone.

We pray this in the name of Jesus

Who healed the sick

And sat with the poor.

Amen.

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3. A Coronavirus Prayer Amid an Epidemic by Kerry Weber, March 02, 2020 https://www.americamagazine.org/faith/2020/03/02/coronavirus-prayer

Jesus Christ, you traveled through towns and villages “curing every disease and illness.” At your command, the sick were made well. Come to our aid now, in the midst of the global spread of the coronavirus, that we may experience your healing love.

Heal those who are sick with the virus. May they regain their strength and health through quality medical care.

Heal us from our fear, which prevents nations from working together and neighbors from helping one another.

Heal us from our pride, which can make us claim invulnerability to a disease that knows no borders

Jesus Christ, healer of all, stay by our side in this time of uncertainty and sorrow.

Be with those who have died from the virus. May they be at rest with you in your eternal peace.

Be with the families of those who are sick or have died. As they worry and grieve, defend them from illness and despair. May they know your peace.

Be with the doctors, nurses, researchers and all medical professionals who seek to heal and help those affected and who put themselves at risk in the process. May they know your protection and peace.

Be with the leaders of all nations. Give them the foresight to act with charity and true concern for the well-being of the people they are meant to serve. Give them the wisdom to invest in long-term solutions that will help prepare for or prevent future outbreaks. May they know your peace, as they work together to achieve it on earth.

Whether we are home or abroad, surrounded by many people suffering from this illness or only a few, Jesus Christ, stay with us as we endure and mourn, persist and prepare. In place of our anxiety, give us your peace.

Jesus Christ, heal us.

Printable version of the prayer above at https://www.americamagazine.org/sites/default/files/attachments/Coronavirus%20%281%29.pdf

4. Lord, Make Me An Insstrument (adapted for this health crisis) https://globalworship.tumblr.com/post/612394111416320000/lord-make-me-an-instrument-adapted-for-global

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Remember Who We Are

In uncertain times like these, it’s easy to lose our bearings and focus on stocking the freezer or finding the last remaining N95 masks from a cousin of an uncle of a friend in Turkey who can get you a special  delivery at an unbeatable price. Yet church history reminds us of the countercultural posture of our spiritual ancestors during times of great affliction.

In 252 A.D., a devastating plague hit the ancient North African coastal city of Carthage. Healthy people fled in droves, leaving everything behind. In response, Carthaginian Bishop Cyprian drew all the Christians into the center of the very city where they had been persecuted and told them, “If we’re going to do what Jesus did, so that through His poverty we might become rich, I call you to give personal and financial aid, care and comfort to all according to their need, not their faith.”

This unconventional posture clearly differentiated these early Christians from the society that surrounded them and contributed significantly to the perpetuation of the Christian faith. 

About a century and a half later, the ancient Mediterranean city of Caesarea had already been suffering the effects of famine and war when the plague struck. As citizens began fleeing the city, one group determined to remain: the Christians. As Bishop Eusebius reported, “All day long [the Christians] tended to the dying and to their burial, countless numbers with no one to care for them. Others gathered together from all parts of the city a multitude of those withered from famine and distributed bread to them all.”

Eusebius goes on to state that because of their compassion in the midst of the plague, the Christians’ “deeds were on everyone’s lips, and they glorified the God of the Christians.”

While we face uncertain days ahead, let every Spirit-filled heart remain open and, “let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9.

Please join me in praying for the safety and health of our community and that our church can showcase the hope of Christ during this time. 

Following a Faithful God, Pastor John Lindow at Arbor Heights Community Church in West Seattle.  (March 2020)

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See a new hymn text dor this time of healh crisis at https://globalworship.tumblr.com/post/612213497111166976/a-new-hymn-prayer-in-response-to-coronavirus-cw

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A woman wearing a mask prays during Ash Wednesday Mass at St. Joseph Cathedral in Hanoi, Vietnam, Feb. 26, 2020, amid the coronavirus outbreak. (CNS photo/Kham, Reuters)