#i have no sick time left. and no space to quarantine myself. we’re three people living in a one bedroom apartment

[palms-upturned]

.

[dynamightsfave]

Quarantine cookies - Timothée Chalamet

(gif not mine! credits to owner)

timothée chalamet x oc

summary: during quarantine, oc is bored and tim comes up with a way to pass the time

warnings: might take you back to those quarantine boredom moments, swearing, a suggestion of sex (for like a second, but maybe it needs a warning, idk)

a/n: i wrote this during quarantine, i was reading some tim imagines and i was like, why not? also there’s a joke about edward cullen not being pretty and i just wanna say that it’s a joke, just in case someone hates me for it

masterlist

***

The United States of America have been in quarantine for five days and I’m already bored out of my mind.

I’ve done it all! I’ve made puzzles, I’ve binge watched the whole child section and family sections on Netflix, I’ve had a Harry Potter marathon, I’ve re-read like ten books… I can’t find anything else that I want to do in this apartment.

[...]

“Ugh!” I sigh dragging the word as I flop on the sofa “This is so boring!” once again, I drag the last word, just to make sure whoever can hear me feels my agony.

And I know for a fact that someone can hear me, because they live with me and have no option but to bear with me and my cranky self for as long as this social isolation lasts.

I hear his laugh and seconds later I see his figure get out of the bedroom and into the living room.

“Are you bored?” Timothée mocks, looking at me from his spot in the side of the couch.

I glare at the sight of his smirk. Unfortunately, him being upside down doesn’t hide it, and it can be so annoying when I’m not in the mood and he’s just making fun of me. When my glare just makes his smirk bigger I change my expression into a pout.

“Yes” I sigh, bring my arms up and letting them fall for emphasis “There’s nothing else to do in here!”

Timothée lifts my head up and sits down, placing it on his lap. He still has that stupid smirk on.

“Poor, poor Iris. What ever will she do?” he asks dramatically. A mischievous grin replaces his smirk and he looks down at me again “You could always do me” he winks.

I look at him with an unamused expression.

“You’re not funny Chalamet. There’s gotta be something for us to do! We’re only five days into this imprisoning, I can’t possibly have run out of things to do”

“You could always keep watching TV, there’s something new every hour” he suggests “Or you could find some tutorial in YouTube and try to do your make-up, you like that”

I think about it, furrowing my brows as if it were a very important decision. My boyfriend’s fingers found their way to my hair, and started playing with it, making my body relax almost instantly.

“I’m not in the mood for that, maybe tomorrow” I close my eyes, humming as I smile in delight. Damn, this massage feels amazing.

I feel Tim chuckle lightly at my actions, his chest vibrating beside me, making my smile grow bigger.

“Well, we have all the time in the world, so-” I bolt up, scaring him.

“Spy Kids: All the Time in the World! I’m adding that to the list of movies to watch. Good call, babe” I pat his arm as a reward. He just looks at me dumfounded and blinks “Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?” I lay back down and put his hand back on my head. It takes him a second, but he shakes his head and rolls his eyes with a smile.

“How about… we cook something? Oooh, we can bake cookies!”

“Yeah, we can do that… But first let’s stay like this for a bit, mkay?” I sigh in content again, turning on my side so I can wrap my arms around his torso and hide my face in his belly.

Instead of letting me stay like that, he picks me up, ignoring my protests. And just when I think he’s going to make me bake cookies with him, he walks to our bedroom and lays us both on the bed. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close to him, then he moves his other hand to my head and goes back to playing with my hair. I nuzzle my head on his chest and close my eyes, letting myself drift off.

[...]

When I wake up, it’s been three hours since Timothée carried me to bed. I smile softly, still holding onto him, and look up to see his face. His eyes are closed, but I know he’s awake. His career is acting, and yet he has never been able to fool me into thinking he’s sleeping. He says it’s because it’s me. Whenever he tries to make it seem like he’s doing it, a smile slowly creeps to his face and he always ends up laughing.

Like right now, his nostrils are getting bigger, the corners of his lips are twitching upwards and I can already tell that in five seconds he’s gonna burst out a breathy laugh.

“C’mon Tim, just laugh already” and he does. And his laugh makes me smile and join in.

“I don’t know why, I just laugh. It’s your fault, y’know?” he said when he calmed down. I let out another laugh and shake my head at him, leaning in to kiss his lips “Can we make cookies now?” his excitement is similar to a child’s.

“Have you slept at all? Or you’ve been too occupied thinking about the cookies?”

“For your information,” he says in a matter of fact tone “I have slept. I woke up fifteen minutes ago”

“And you’ve been watching me sleep?”

“Pretty much”

“What a creep. Are you trying to out win Edward Cullen or something? I mean, you’re pale baby, but not that pale” Tim rolls his eyes at my stupidity.

“I am more handsome that that bloodsucker”

“A lot of people are. Don’t think you’re special, honey” I pat his cheek and he pouts.

He pecks my lips and gets up, taking all my warmth with him. I sigh before following him. He’s taken out apron that his mother gave us and he’s put it on. The apron is bright pink and say “Kiss the Chef” on it in white. He looks at me and puckers his lips.

“Kiss the Chef!” he exclaims, and I laugh walking over to do so.

“Ok, Chef Chalamet, how do we make these cookies?”

“First, we take out the ingredients” he claps his hands, giggling in excitement “You take out the butter, eggs and flour, I’ll get the rest” I turn around to get to the fridge and get the eggs and butter out, then to the cupboards.

When I turn around, Tim has his back to me and seems to be occupied doing something. I silently walk over to him and stand on my tip toes to see what he’s hiding.

“Are those chocolate chips?!” I exclaim, so loudly that he jumps around. He has chocolate on the corner of his lips “And you’re eating them without me?!” I point at him accusingly.

He shakes his head, looking like a kid that was just caught with chocolate all over his mouth. When he realizes how stupid he looks, he swallows whatever is left in his mouth.

“Uh… no?”

“Good try. Gimme that” I snatch them from him. I take a fistful and throw it in my mouth “Now, don’t take anymore. We need them” I manage to say while munching.

“Right” he narrows his eyes “Okay, let’s start. We’ve been saying that for five minutes and we still haven’t done anything”

I leave the stance to go find my phone. If we’re doing this we need music, and I’ve been wanting to listen to soundtracks. I get my phone from the coffee table in the living room and turn on the Bluetooth to connect it to the speaker. She’s So Gone from the old Disney Channel movie, Lemonade Mouth comes on, and I smile.

“Now we can start” I say, looking over at my boyfriend, that just chuckles and shakes his head, curls bouncing around. We both know I’ll spend more time singing and dancing than helping with the cooking thing.

I can’t sing, my voice is not pretty, and my dancing isn’t the best either, but hey, at least I have fun. I mix the ingredients in the bowl jumping slightly on my feet, singing to the lyrics. When the chorus comes around, I take the whisk and use it as a microphone, making a whole scene right then and there.

“She’s so goooooneee awaaaaay” I sing to Timothée “Liiiike hiiiistooryyyyy… Sing with me Timmy!”

But he doesn’t, he just bobs his head to the rhythm, tapping his foot. He laughs at my dance moves, like he always does, but I don’t care. Music puts me in a good mood, and this is probably the first time in five days I’m moving more than to go from the couch to bed or vice versa.

The song ends, and The Other Side comes in. I go back to mixing, bumping my hip with Tim’s and smiling brightly at him. He’s mixing his own bowl and at this rate he’ll end up mixing mine too. I’m a disaster with staying concentrated as it is, but if you play music for me… let’s just say I had this phase at high school where I was failing almost everything and later we found out it was because I kept listening to music while studying.

And just like I predicted, the boy beside me takes everything from my hands and starts doing it himself.

“Go dance in the living room” he orders “You have more space” I smirk and elbow him.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you can see me from here. It’s okay Timmy, you can say that, don’t feel embarrassed. I mean, you admitted you watch me sleep earlier” I wink at him, and he rolls his eyes “It can’t really get any creepier can it?”

“Just go!” he laughs “You’re not helping here anyways”

“Hey! I can do this and not dance!”

“Oh really?” he challenges.

“Yes, really. I’ll show you”

But just as I say that, Dancing Queen comes up, and I know I’m screwed. I’ve never been able to resist this song and luckily for me, neither has Timmy. He looks at me with his lips pursed.

“After this song” he states, before taking my hand and twirling me around singing “Having the time of your life…”

[...]

“These are amazing babe” I tell him while biting my third cookie “You really are a chef. God” I moan as I go for the fourth.

Next to me, Timothée chuckles and holds me tighter, kissing my head.

“Took a lot to make them too, you were quite distracting”

“But you had fun, and I had fun. So mission Avoid Boredom During the Day was a success! And as a plus, now we have food to last us a day or two if you stop me now”

“I am gonna stop you know, otherwise you’ll get sick and I don’t want to take care of you to avoid getting bored tomorrow”

“Gee, thanks hun”

“Anytime chérie” he winked.

[wanderinginksplot]

Clone Trooper Rambles

The misadventurous mixture of an overactive imagination, a Clone Wars obsession, and a boring yet high-stress life. Basically, I’m an adult with a group of armored, highly trained imaginary friends. This is the stuff that happens.

Kix Hates My Lunch

It all started with Kix. I shouldn’t have really been shocked. Too many days in quarantine had left me bored and frustrated with the worldwide virus response, and I started thinking about how a medical professional I actually trusted would handle it. The fact that the only medical professional I trusted was a character from a children’s cartoon was also a problem, but Kix seems like he would be smart enough to get things done right.

Mistake number one.

Next, I started writing down some ideas for Kix-based one-shots. Those quickly snowballed into fully written one-shots and their number started to grow almost daily. I started reading more clone-based fics and planning out additional content of my own.

Mistake number two.

When I finally got the call to return to work, I was nervous. We’re busy, almost constantly packed with people and I didn’t see any real chance of that changing. Capitalism is a powerful thing to those who benefit. I was scared, wishing for a sense of confidence and security that could help me through those first few days back.

Mistake number three.

When I got to work, they were there. I saw clones patrolling the area, listened to them talk to each other, and took comfort from their presence. It doesn’t really matter how I started talking with them, but I did and Kix soon became one of the troopers I spent the most time with.

Kix is judgmental. It’s because he cares, but it’s a bit stressful. He urges me to sleep more, drink more water, wear more sunscreen. I try, but who really has the time? 

I’ll never forget the first time Kix came with me while I ate my lunch. As I pulled out a plastic baggie filled with trail mix, I could feel the horrified stare, but busied myself opening my water bottle so I could start to rehydrate in the air-conditioned space.

“What the kriff is this?” he asks (a little harshly, if you ask me).

“Trail mix,” I answer simply, silently. I never speak out loud, but the clones always seem to hear me.

“And what else are you going to eat?” It’s a dangerous question, with an even more dangerous answer.

“Nothing.”

Kix doesn’t disappoint. In fact, he pushes his chair back so he has room to stand up again and start pacing. “Nothing? Are you karking serious? Do you even know how much trail mix you would have to eat to get the calories you need? Especially if you’re going to work for the rest of the day?”

“It’s hot outside,” I explain as patiently as I can. Conversing with an imaginary medic wasn’t particularly how I wanted to spend my lunch break, but he was here and demanding answers. “If I eat too much, I’ll feel sick when I go back to work. I eat something small and drink a lot of water, then I go home and eat again when I’ve showered and cooled down.”

“You’re going to pass out,” Kix tells me, voice matter-of-fact. 

I would almost have believed him, except that… “I do this all the time, Kix. The last time I had a big lunch at work, I almost did pass out. This is what works. Trust me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Well, so much for trust. “Your bedside manner sucks.”

“I’m trying to keep you out of a hospital bed!” Kix snaps. 

“I’m not going to pass out, Kix. I am going to get cranky if you keep pestering me about it. I have work I need to do while I’m not… working. Schoolwork. It’s due soon and I need to get it done while I have a few minutes.”

“Yeah, add stress to the mix, that’ll help everything,” Kix says snarkily. 

I can tell from his voice that he’s moving further away from me and closer to the door, but I’m focused on my phone and refuse to look at him. After he’s gone, I pop the baggie open and start to read my assignments for the week as I enjoy my trail mix in peace.

*fin*

Next | Masterlist 

A/N - for full authenticity, read all titles for this story while thinking really hard about the theme song for It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hmm, speaking of the current global situation we’re facing against, how about a HC between Arthur and the reader, who is a frontliner. There was an outbreak in Gotham and the reader has to join the other doctors and nurses to treat the infected patients. Of course Arthur would be very worried for her, but she comforts and assures him that she will come back to him safe and soon. They would exchange letters and couldn’t stop thinking of each other. Angst, but with some fluff too. How about that?

This is a request based in reality so I reference disease, deaths, illness, social distancing, depression and suicidal rates increasing (just one line on the last two things listed). Please skip this one if you need to, because I had to take breaks from writing this and I almost cried at several points.

I also kind of feel like I’m being disrespectful of the current global climate by writing this; please know that I do not view this situation through a purely fictional lens. I am aware of myself and of the world and I wrote this as respectfully as I could. If this is viewed as offensive or anything like that (I’m really anxious about posting this so I’m sure I’m overthinking) then it’ll be taken down immediately and no more will be said about it.

WC: 1, 284.

The unthinkable had happened.

There had been an outbreak of illness in Gotham City and it was so virulent, so aggressive, that you and Arthur would have to be separated while you pulled back to back shifts at Gotham Central Hospital.

People were contracting the disease like it was going out of fashion. There had been no warning, no inkling that this would happen, and as such (and also due to the government’s poor funding and organisation), little had been done in the way of protection.

Everything was happening so fast. No one knew what was happening, no one knew what to do.  People were panic buying, people were freaking out. Some people were preparing and being cautious... and then there were the people like you.

Essential workers, who didn’t have the luxury of going into quarantine to wait out the disease. People like you, who had to find alternate living arrangements for the time of the pandemic because you couldn’t risk the people you lived with getting sick.

People like you, who had to leave behind their loved ones for a time for safety, to help others. It was your job and you loved your job... but for all of your training, you could never have foreseen this.

Arthur was worried out of his mind; worrying about bills (he had been laid off from work due to the pandemic), how he would get food (you told him that you would get everything), how you would get fresh clothes...

A laughing attack was always on the back of another and it was all you could do to keep Arthur calm enough to have a proper conversation with you.

In the end, it was decided that you would call each other as often as you could, and you would exchange letters left in the crevices of freshly washed clothes (from Arthur to you) and on top of piles of clothes which needed to be wash and groceries which were essential (from you to Arthur).

It was a huge inconvenience and oh, how desperately you missed each other, but it had to be done. 

This was no joke. There was no punchline. 

A sentiment Arthur knew well, a bit too well, and he took this in stride just like he did everything else which happened to him. 

The process worked pretty well, all things considered, and both of you adored receiving letters from each other.

hi beutifull. i miss you so so much. your the lite of my life. i hope your drinking enuf and eating dsintly. i love you - a.f.

Hi, baby. Make sure to take care of yourself for me, okay? I’m real, I’m here for you and I love you. I’ll be home soon, angel. - Y/N.

Exchanges stretched across the weeks, which bled agonisingly into months...

Every single day people were dying. There weren’t enough medical supplies, beds, the funeral industry was booming... it was terrifying and in the midst of all the chaos, you most needed your clown.

There was nothing either of you could do, though, but to hold on. Arthur had touched these letters; his cool hands had worried over them, his face had undoubtedly been pressed into the clothes, inhaling your scent before he washed them and folded them... the sweet man even ironed them for you.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. Nothing was improving but nothing was changing.

Soon, the disease peaked but you knew that there would be a second wave. People would get complacent and so it’d kill more people than the first.

Even when the social restrictions were lifted and your job slowed the tiniest amount, you stayed away from Arthur knowing that complacency would have devastating results.

You called each other every day, both of your voices thick with unshed tears.

Arthur always greeted you with a barrage of questions. “Hi, angel. Are you feeling okay? Any fever? How’s work? Are they looking after you, are they - “

“Hey, Arthur, shush, honey. I’m okay, it’s - it’s hectic but it’s not forever. Can you hang on for me, just for another day?”

That was how the both of you had to take it - just a day at a time. That was all anyone could do in circumstances such as these.

Depression and suicide rates were increasing too, as were rates of other social atrocities... it was maddening but Arthur was your one constant, just as you were his.

“Yeah, I can... yeah. It’s just... a day, isn’t it, Y/N?”

“It is, Arthur. I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll be home as soon as it’s safe.”

“I know. Just - don’t ever forget I love you. Please.”

A sad smile from each of you, separated by the city, “I love you too, darling. Don’t you ever forget. I have to go, Arthur, but I’ll phone you before bed, okay? I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N. You’re the best part of all of this, the best part of me.”

Tearful goodbyes, reluctant spaces as each of you held onto the others’ silence for as long as you could. Neither of you wanted to end any of the phone calls you had every day. 

Death hung over your heads; any phone call could be the last, any letter could be the last...

It took a large toll on your mental healths but you had to keep going. You had to, there was no other way.

Months bled into each other, and everything was just one long today with snatches of sleep in between. Your soul became as worn as your body but soon, soon, it was safe enough for you to go home.

You were going home.

You phoned Arthur to tell him the good news first, knowing as you did that if you just turned up at home unannounced, he would think you were a hallucination. 

“I’m coming home, Arthur. I’ll be home at my usual time. I’ll see you soon!”

“Wha - what? Y/N, do you - do you mean that?”

“Yes! I’m coming home, so just wait for me. I love you.”

You didn’t give Arthur a chance to say it back before you hung up the phone in the office at the Hospital, grabbed your bag and took care of all the extra measures at the entrance of the Hospital before you were on your way home.

Your physical exhaustion was overridden by your desperate desire to see Arthur for the first time in almost three months.

You ran up those stairs, lungs and the backs of your legs burning alike, but you used the physical pain to push yourself around the corner, into the foyer of the apartment complex and, not trusting the lift, you ran up the eight flights of stairs separating you from Arthur.

Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur Arthur I’m coming home I’m going home Arthur Arthur Arthur - 

You fumbled with the keys, wrenched the door open and yelled out his name.

The quick padding of bare feet on the worn carpet, your name almost shouted, and you caught a blur of Arthur before he crashed into you, arms around you, lips anywhere and everywhere he could reach... oh, but it felt like heaven as he sobbed and laughed against your skin, so emotionally drained and overwhelmed was he.

You weren’t much better off but that was okay. There was time now, for the both of you, to reunite and to find yourselves and each other again.

The danger had passed. You were safe and loved by each other and you felt your souls, tortured by the others’ continued absence, click back home.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @notyourlittledoll @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @d-dreemurr @lynnesm @sagyunaro @sgtsavoytruffle @docsportello @ezziesworld @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino

[tragiceyes]

The Importance of Being Honest

Note: Because of course I had to write a quarantine Jaydick fic. And it’s a little too dialogue-heavy to be a good fic, but I still had a lot of fun writing it!

Summary: Fourteen days Jason and Dick have to stay in quarantine together. Fourteen days until he kicks Dick to the curb forevermore. Jason’s counting down. Link to ao3 --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598802 (read it there, better formatting)

14.

Fourteen days left. Jason was counting his lucky stars they’d gotten stuck at one of his more robust safe houses. Half his places in the City were one-room, bare bones bunkers, with enough food and clothing for a couple days tops.

Conversely, they were trapped at his place in the Bowery, which, for all intents and purposes, had the form and function of a normal apartment. Fully stocked cabinets, a comfy couch and plenty of books to pass the time.

That is, if one could concentrate on reading.

Dick let out a long-suffering sigh. His tenth in the past five minutes.

“Christ, Dick, can you please shut up? I’m trying to concentrate here.”

“I’m bored, Jason,” Dick complained, “if you had more interesting things to do in your apartment-“

“-there are literally two shelves full of books right behind you-”

“I don’t feel like reading.”

Honestly, Dick was such a child.

“I don’t care what you feel like, find some way to entertain yourself,” Jason snapped at him, “or get out of my sight.”

Dick fell silent. He was the type of person who’d prefer silent company over lonely exile, Jason considered.

Jason returned to his book.

For a moment.

Dick stood on his hands and began tottering around upside down.

Jason let out a sigh of his own.

13.

Monday morning. Jason had the same breakfast every day: six eggs and six strips of bacon. After pointedly ignoring Dick’s request for cereal, Jason was making enough for both of them.

Dick was making coffee.

“You don’t have any cereal? Not even Cheerios?”

“No, Dick. I don’t like to start my day eating a bowlful of sugar, and neither should you.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Okay, grease monster.”

“Dick, this is a protein-rich breakfast. I burn through at least half it before lunch with my workout routine.”

“Yes, you have very nice abs, Jason. We’re all very proud.”

“How long do you think the energy from that cereal’s gonna last you? One or two girly cartwheels?”

“I’m an acrobat. I don’t want to be built like a tank.”

“Yeah, I can see you prefer to be built more like a ballerina.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jason.”

Jason sauntered over and dropped a plate in front of him. He grabbed Dick’s hand and slid it under his shirt, “Feel that, Dickie-bird? Try punching through that and you’d break your feminine wrist.”

“Impressive,” Dick concerned with a smirk, “or, it would be, if I hadn’t still beaten you in hand-to-hand combat countless times.”

“What you do isn’t hand-to-hand combat, Dick. It’s more like a rousing game of ’dodge-the-fist.’”

“Whatever, Jason.” Dick withdrew his hand, but not before purposefully yanking a little on the hair beneath Jason’s belly button.

He wasn’t above being petty.

12.

Dick was a slob!

He was leaving his clothes everywhere, like a trail Jason could follow to find him.

It had only been two days. How had he made such a mess?

He stomped into the bedroom, where Dick was sitting on the floor, video-chatting Wally West.

“Pick up your shit, Dick!” Jason yelled, tossing the clothes at him, “This is my fucking apartment, have the decency to clean up after yourself!”

Dick hung up the phone, and removed the dirty shirt in his lap, “God! I’m sorry! You could just fucking ask-“

“You’re a fucking adult, Dick! I shouldn’t have to ask you to clean up after yourself!”

“-and I would have-“

“It’s not a fucking circus in here!” Jason stormed into the other room, having no further escape, “fucking trailer park circus boy!”

He instantly regretted that. Wasn’t like he hadn’t grown up poor himself. Dick’s trailer was no more shameful than his parents’ dilapidated apartment.

Or the occasional cardboard box.

He felt sorry. He hoped Dick hadn’t heard.

11.

“Jason, can I borrow something else to wear?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wearing the same thing for the past three days. Can I borrow something of yours?”

“Oh, yeah. Go for it.”

Dick emerged from the bedroom in a pair of jeans he’d cuffed at least six times (they still dragged on the floor) and a t-shirt emblazoned with the Red Hood logo.

Jason liked it, though he couldn’t say why.

10.

Dick was lounging on his couch watching television, taking up as much space as humanly possible.

Jason ambled over, shirtless and still a little sweaty after his at-home workout.

“Whatcha watching?”

“Love is Blind.”

He snorted, “Seriously?”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”

“Sit up and move over, then.”

To his surprise, Dick moved over to make room for him.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes.

“I can’t believe you watch this crap. Honestly, Dickie, do you have no shame?”

“It’s not as bad as you make it out to be."

“Nothing about this is even remotely real.”

“Sometimes it’s real. And they really fall in love.”

Jason laughed heartily at that, “You’re kidding, right?”

Dick ignored him.

“Love at first sight? On reality tv?” Jason mocked him, “You do know people don’t really believe in that shit, don’t you?”

“They want to believe it.” Dick said simply.

9.

Jason had just brushed his teeth and was getting ready for bed.

Dick was lying back on the couch, a hot towel over his eyes.

“You alright there, bird brain?”

“Fine.”

“What’s with the towel-blindfold?”

“My eyes get really dry at night. Hot towels help a little bit.”

Jason bit down on his smirk, “Hmph.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, I guess Mr. Perfect is mortal like the rest of us.”

Dick pulled the towel off his eyes to glare at him, “I’m not perfect, Jason. You’re just insecure.”

Jason raised his eyebrows, taken aback, “Well, tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m sick of you saying shit like that. You’ve been snarking at me since you were a kid. And I’m sick of everyone else saying shit like that, too. I never claimed to be fucking perfect, so it’s not my fault when people have ridiculous expectations of me that I can’t live up to.”

“Relax, Dickface, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize it was such a sore subject.”

Dick’s face fell a bit, “Well, it is. You all expect a lot from me, and I can’t always be what you want me to be.”

He put the towel back over his face.

8.

Dick was in his bed.

Dick was in his bed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason demanded.

Dick looked up at him, “I think we should trade tonight. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for almost a week.”

“Yeah, and you’ll be sleeping there for another week. Beat it!”

Dick didn’t budget, “Come on, Jason. It’s uncomfortable. It’s too cramped and my back hurts in the morning.”

“You know what isn’t too cramped? The floor. Try that.”

Dick snuggled into his pillow, the bastard.

“Dick.”

Dick ignored him.

“DICK!”

“Just for tonight.” Dick said it like he was bargaining, but it was clear he wasn’t going to move.

“Dick, you’re 5’10-“

“5’11!”

“-I’m 6’3. I need more space than you. Physically.”

“We can share, if you want.”

Jason glared at him, “You want me to come over there and move you myself?”

Dick didn’t even glance his way, “Try it.”

Jason stomped over to the bed and grabbed Dick’s ankle. Dick slithered out his grip. Jason lunged for him, and they wrestled on the bed together. He had the weight advantage, but Dick could be as slippery as a snake.

Jason moved to crush him, but Dick wrapped his legs around Jason’s waist and flipped them over. He seated himself right on Jason’s stomach, and grabbed both his wrists, bearing down so they were face to face.

He smirked, “Pinned ya.”

Jason’s face was red and his stomach felt funny.

Dick curled up tight like a child, far away from him, his head resting on Jason’s favorite pillow.

“This is a one-time thing.” Jason said aloud to himself.

Dick was already asleep.

7.

“You’re smiling.”

Jason looked up from his book, “What?”

“You’re smiling at your book.”

Jason stared at him.

“Did something funny happen?”

“No…I, uh…I just like this line.” Jason mumbled to himself, “In The Importance of Being Earnest.”

Dick waited patiently. Jason swallowed.

“When Jack leaves, Gwendolen says ‘If you are not too long, I will wait for you all my life,’” Jason reads the line, biting down on his smile, “I always liked that line. It’s a good line.”

“It is a good line.”

Jason nodded at him awkwardly and continued to read.

“That’s cute.”

Jason snapped his head up so quickly, he cricked his neck, “What did you say?”

“It’s sweet,” Dick was smiling at him now, “that a line in a book makes you smile like that. I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Jason.”

Jason bit back the denial on the tip of his tongue. He returned to his book, feeling the heat of Dick’s gaze warm his cheeks.

6.

The next morning, Jason was greeted with an unusual, though not totally unwelcome, sight.

Dick was contorted on the floor, ass up in the air and knees boxed around his ears.

What the fuck.

“Karnapidasana.”

“Gesundheit.”

Dick let out a soft chuckle, “I’m doing yoga.”

He gestured flimsily to Jason’s laptop, which was open to a YouTube video on advanced yoga practice.

“Sorry I borrowed your computer without asking. Hope you don’t mind.”

Jason’s mouth was a little dry.

“Not at all.”

Dick breathed in time with the practice, “You’re free to join me.”

“Thanks, but…pretty sure I can’t do anything resembling that.”

Dick slowly untangled himself, “We can do a beginner’s class. Give it a try, it’ll do wonders for your state of mind.”

Jason considered snapping back that his state of mind was perfectly fine for someone who’d watched his mother die, lived on the streets, been beaten to death, resurrected, and replaced, but instead he just said:

“Okay.”

5.

Dick was singing a soft tune in a language Jason didn’t know.

Strange. The Bat had trained them in all the same languages, or so he had assumed.

He wanted to complain, but true to form, Dick had a nice voice, and Jason had been about to take a nap anyway.

He closed his eyes and let Dick’s gentle voice wash over him:

“Nane man dajori,

ňi kalo dadoro, ačhiľom korkoro

sar čhindo kaštoro.”

4.

Dick was scrolling through the channels when he noticed Jason rummaging around in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?”

“Just looking for some yeast?”

“Yeast?”

“Yeah, I was gonna bake a loaf of bread to go with dinner.”

Bake bread from scratch? Jason was clearly a more sophisticated cook than Dick had realized.

“I didn’t know you could bake bread from scratch.”

“I can do a lot of things.”

“Will you show me?”

Jason looked over at him, surprised.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Kneading was fun. Dick wasn’t doing it right.

“Not like that! You’re going to tear it.” Jason admonished him.

Dough was stuck to Dick’s hands. He tried to push it back into the mound.

“No, look. Like this.” Jason moved behind him, taking Dick’s hands in his own and guiding them rhythmically.

Push. Turn. Push. Turn. Flip. Push. Turn.

“Better. Keep doing that.” Jason let him go and turned to switch on the oven.

He liked the feeling of his hands on Dick’s.

3.

“Let’s play a game!”

“No.”

“Come on, Jason. It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“Well, I’d rather do nothing.”

“Come on. A drinking game. Let’s drink the rest of your stash and play a game.”

Jason rolled his eyes, knowing he was going to give in. After all, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

“Fine. Go get my whiskey.”

Dick grinned triumphantly and made his way to the kitchen, returning with the bottle and two glass tumblers. He sat on the floor and patting the space across from him for Jason.

“What, we can’t use chairs like civilized people?”

“Come on. It’s more fun this way.”

Jason made his way to the floor, taking a pillow with him. He took the bottle from Dick’s hand and poured a finger into each glass, “What are we playing?”

“Truth or Dare.”

“How very high school of you.”

“You can go first.”

“Fine. Truth.”

“Who’s your favorite Robin?”

“I hate all of you equally.”

“Liar.”

“Fine. Stephanie, then.”

“Good choice. How come?”

“Because fuck the Replacement-”

“Jason-“

“And I don’t like the demon child.”

“He’s not a demon child.”

“-but you knew exactly who I was talking about…”

That surprised a laugh out of Dick. Jason was surprised. Usually, Dickie-bird was much more sensitive about his little demon friend.

“What about me then?” He asked with a self-satisfied grin.

“You’re in second place.”

“All right!”

“It’s a distant second.”

“Fair enough.”

Dick was still grinning at him with a funny look it his eye. It was making Jason feel exposed. He took a swig from his glass.

“Your turn.”

“Truth.”

“Same question.”

“Oh, I love all of you equally.” What a sap.

“That’s a cop-out.”

“But it’s true!”

“No, it’s not. Your favorite is Demon Boy, followed by Replacement, followed by Steph, followed, in a distant fourth, by me.”

“That’s not true, Jason!”

“Yes, it is.”

“You were a great Robin-“

"Yeah, okay."

"I mean it!"

“Well, you didn’t exactly think so at the time I took the job.”

Dick’s face fell. Jason hated himself for hating himself for doing that.

“That was…complicated. And it wasn’t about you.”

“Whatever. I want a dare this time.”

“I dare you to lick the floor.”

“What the fuck, Dick!”

“What? These floors are immaculate.”

“They aren’t, not since you’ve been here.”

“Are you really going to chicken out this early, Jason?”

“You are fucking deranged.” Jason said authoritatively. But he bent down and licked the floor anyway.

“Ew!”

“Fuck you, Dick.”

Several drinks and rounds into the game, and things were starting to get a little hazy.

“Your turn.” Dick slurred, flat on his back.

“Truth.”

“Coward.”

“Last time you made me dump ice cubes down my pants, and my nuts are still numb. I’m not taking any more chances.”

“Who was the first person you ever liked? Like like liked.”

Jason wanted to mock his language, but he was suddenly feeling a little warm, “Pass.”

“You can’t.”

“I’ll take a dare, then. Go ahead and make me drink from the toilet or something.”

Dick snickered at that, “No, you have to answer. That’s the law according to the rules.”

“You don’t need to know.”

“I really need to know now, cons-slithering…condisering...considering how much you don’t wanna tell  me.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t laugh at you, lil’ wing…”

“What a fucking liar.”

Dick cackled. “Fine, maybe I will then.”

“I’m not telling.”

“You have to,”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaassseeee?”

“Fuck no.”

“Please, please, please, please." Dick chanted. "Please!”

“GOD! Shut up! It was you, okay! Fuck!”

Dick’s jaw dropped, his eye wide. He looked like a fish. Jason decided to tell him so.

“You look like…you fucking fish. You look like a fucking fish.” He took a defiant swig of whiskey straight from the bottle.

“You like fish then. Fish fucker!”

Jason couldn’t stop a laugh for bubbling up, but being mid sip causing a bit of whiskey to go up his nose. It burned like hell!

“Fuck! You! You just made whiskey go up my nose!”

Dick was laughing hysterically, unsympathetic as can be.

“Fuck, that burns.” Jason coughed loudly, “God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Dick was teasing him now, and Jason couldn’t stand it. His face was reddening and he was glad to have to whiskey as an excuse.

“Get over yourself.”

“You really liked me?”

“Yeah, I really did. Which made you hating me fffffff-fucking hurtful." Jason continued thickly. The alcohol was really loosening his tongue now, and this could only end badly, "You hurt my fucking feelings, you know.”

“Jason,” Dick was crawling over to him now. Jason began scooting away, “Jason, I’m sorry.”

“Get away!”

“I want a hug!”

“No! Get back!”

But Dick was relentless. To Jason’s clear horror, he climbed up on his lap and threw his arms around Jason’s neck and pressed his face into Jason’s shoulder.

“God!” Jason yelled. He would never forgive himself if he went hard, “Damn you! Get the fuck off me!”

“Stop moving and just hug me!” As though Dick wasn’t the one squirming on top of him, absolutely clueless as to the effect it was having on him.

Jason groaned miserably. What had he done to deserve such torture?

“Get. Off.”

Dick squeezed him a little harder before relenting unhappily, “Fine.”

He crawled away on all fours, until Jason, emboldened further by the alcohol, raised a hand and brought it down as hard as he could against Dick’s ass.

SMACK!

“OW! Fuck, Jason!” Dick cried indignantly.

Jason was cackling madly at the look of disbelief on his face, “Ha! That’s what you get!”

“That hurt!” Dick dragged himself to safety, far from Jason’s reach, “Jesus Christ.”

He knocked over the bottle of whiskey on his way. Fortunately, it was empty.

Empty!

“I guess the games over then…” Jason slurred, “which is….imma go to bed then…”

Jason stumbled to his feet, slowly and clumsily making his way to the bedroom, and collapsed face first into the pillows.

Dick wasn’t far behind.

Jason flipped to his side with a moan, only to be confronted with Dick shuffling himself into a little spoon position.

“No, Dick!”

“Cuddle me!”

“No! Get back on your…that side.”

“Jason!”

“No.”

“You know you want to.”

“I’ll kick you off.”

“Is it because you have a boner? It doesn’t bother m-UNF!”

Jason had just shoved a pillow in his face to smother him. He held it down with all his might, but Dick’s fist flew out and hit him on the shoulder. He loosened his grip for a moment, but that was all it took for Dick to get free and mount an attack. He gripped the pillow underneath his head and whacked Jason as hard as he could.

Jason pushed his face down with one big hand.

Dick kicked him in the stomach.

Jason grabbed his ankle and started tickling his foot.

Dick screamed in spite of himself and used his other foot to kick Jason in the chest.

Jason grabbed his other ankle and forced them to either side of his body.

Dick grabbed him between his legs and began to squeeze.

Jason threw himself down to crush him under his weight.

Dick squirmed to the side and used Jason’s momentum to flip them over.

“Ha!” He cried in triumph, hands on Jason’s shoulders. From where he was seated, there was no mistaking Jason’s arousal. Dick was impressed. After all those drinks you’d think he-

“AH!” He cried as Jason suddenly forced himself up, dislodging Dick from his crotch. Jason pressed his advantage, crushing Dick beneath him, hands gripping his thighs, chests pressed together, his face inches from Dick’s.

Dick’s eyes were wide, his face was pink, his lips were parted. Jason wanted to devour him.

Dick looked like he was about to speak. Jason could think of no other way to silence him.

He crashed his lips against Dick's.

Then they were kissing and moving aggressively, hands wandering, rolling around on the bed. Jason ground into Dick and Dick let out a moan that he knew would follow him in his dreams. Dick was tugging at his shirt, Jason was fumbling with his own pants, he was so tangled up in Dick he could hardly tell who was who, but he never wanted to be separate again, from now on he always wanted to be this close to Dick.

They were rolling, pushing, squeezing, and Jason’s head was pounding, but he was seeing and touching parts of Dick he’d never imagined, and Dick was touching him too.

They came apart together, and when it was over Jason, pressed closely to Dick, slept better than he had in years.

2.

He woke up as if in a strange dream.

He was naked

Someone was next to him.

That someone was Dick.

His nose was in Dick’s hair.

He arm was clutching Dick’s waist.

Dick was naked too.

Dick. Naked!

And he was still asleep.

Jason shamefully snuck a peek at him.

He was all warm, golden skin.

Angular, perfect face.

Long, slim neck.

Strong, lean back.

Faded scars.

Round, plush ass.

Strong thighs.

Jason could lean in and stay pressed up against him all day long.

Instead he went to make some coffee.

As he prepared the first cup to Dick's liking, he heard a soft shuffle.

Dick was there.

He hadn’t bothered getting dressed.

God bless him.

"Hi."

"Hi."

1.

“You know what this means?”

“What?”

“You cheated.”

“…what?”

“During the game. You said Steph was your favorite Robin,” Dick was grinning at him now, all teeth. Smug as can be, “That wasn’t the truth.”

Jason walked toward him, stopping only when they were inches apart. Smirking triumphantly when Dick had to look up at him.

He wanted to taste that grin.

Dick opened his mouth again, “You-mmmmm”

Jason had finally found a way to shut him up.

They spent the day together.

0.

They’d made it fourteen days. Dick was free to go.

But Jason didn’t want him to, and Dick didn’t offer.

What Jason did want to do was finally get to a grocery store. He had a nice dinner in mind, and needed some ingredients.

“I’m heading out!” He called, but Dick appeared, fully dressed in athletic gear.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air too. Going for a run.”

“See you back here later?”

Dick grinned, “If you’re not too long-“

“Don’t even think about it.”

“-I will wait for you all my life.”

Jason, refusing to dignify that with an answer, made his way out the door.

“Don’t pretend you’re indifferent to me!” Dick called after him.

Jason turned back with a grin, “Even before I met you, I was far from indifferent to you.”

Dick smiled, “Oh, Jason. That was so sweet. Did you just make that up?”

Jason’s grin froze on his face. He stared at Dick. Dick stared blankly back.

“Fucking dumbass!” Jason stomped off, not even trying to keep the amused smile off his face.

“Jason, wait!” Dick laughed, chasing him, “What do you mean? Jason!”

-the end-

[brideylee]

Chateau Quarantine

                 Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating.  It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

               She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on.  At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men. 

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything.  Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself.  Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

             Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in  Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse  glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow.  “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides.  “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”. 

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them.  Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet-  spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

                Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman. 

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile,  a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has  ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?”  Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

               Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage. 

          “I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare,  a look only afforded  to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension. 

 “We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical.  It was not fun to watch.  Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos.   Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off. 

[segenassefa]

4: A Lazy Girl’s Guide to Surviving COVID

Whenever a global pandemic decides to rear its ugly head, I have the bad habit of believing that I am somewhat untouchable. In my middle school days, when the kids were catching dengue left and right1, I swatted it off – literally and figuratively. The same thing happens every year with the common cold– and even when I do get it, it’s always after everyone else has had it, making me believe that my immune system is nothing more than a follower. I eat relatively healthy, I get enough sleep, drink water, and maintain and generally healthy state of mind 2.

So, you can image my surprise when a friend I had been in close contact with tested positive for coronavirus. I was not as scared as I think I should have been However, that afternoon, I did my civic duty and took myself and a friend to get tested at the local hospital.

Before I get into what having the virus was like for me3, let’s talk about the test.

Thankfully, the process was nice and fast, so that part is free from scrutiny. All of the healthcare workers were kind and understanding of the fact that we didn’t have health cards – and one of them complemented my 1s, so you know I have to give them a glowing recommendation. The real horror came after check-in process.

I sat in a back office, the air conditioning blasting, awkwardly crossing and uncrossing my legs. Two nurses in full PPE and running sneakers talked quietly back and forth, occasionally scribbling things onto notepads. The first nurse drilled me yet again – asking why I had decided to get tested, whether or not had symptoms, and how I was currently feeling. Once my answers were up to par, she left the room, and the second nurse produced a long-stemmed cotton swab.

I am no stranger to pain – I have nine different piercings, five of which I’ve done with safety pins, and have dislocated bones, suffered from burns and some pretty disgusting cuts - but I was a bit apprehensive when I saw how big of a cotton swab it was. I asked the nurse how much this test would hurt. In her exact words, she told me, “It doesn’t hurt at all! If anything, you’ll feel a little discomfort.” She compared to the sensation of water rushing up your nose, something none of us are a stranger to.  

Y’all, when I tell you this lady LIED.

I have never been in so much pain in my life. As a kid, I was fascinated by ancient Egypt, but there’s a big difference between reading about mummies and feeling like one4. Not to mention the fact that the test took her three tries because every time I felt the cotton swab poke my literal brain, I had to stop and take a breather5 . Fortunately, my results came in relatively fast - less than 48 hours – and I began to quarantine the day I got tested.  

The first week was mild. No real symptoms except for body aches, and the occasional headache. However, as a person with chronic migraines and aches, I didn’t really chalk it up to coronavirus symptoms, and instead to the fact that I was spending eighty percent of my day laying in the bed – the other twenty percent was spent in the shower, or standing in the kitchen, watching the tea kettle boil. Also, fortunately for me, I caught this virus near the end of summer school, meaning that I wasn’t just wasting away in my house, and it gave me something to focus on instead of my throbbing body aches. Considering that my entire friend group was sick at the same time, it was also nice distracting one another with zoom calls. However, we were definitely spoiled by spending the majority of the summer together, so this diet version of socialization was not ideal.

Another hurdle was not being able to quarantine at home. My housemates have high risk family members, so staying in my original place of habitation was not really an option. Fortunately, another friend of mine, who also had the virus, was kind enough to open up her home to me, allowing me to eat her groceries, run up her water bill, and bum around. I know people always tell you how your mask doesn’t just protect you, but the other people you encounter and live with, so this was a bit of a lesson on how my prevention – or lack thereof - doesn’t just impact me, but the people we live with, especially if they aren’t our immediate family.

There was also the slight detail of the Toronto Public Health Department being on our asses. My experience with quarantine procedures in the states indicated that public health officials were not as vigilant as communicating with people in quarantine as TPH (read: daily). For reference, my home state of Minnesota made masks in public spaces mandatory at the end of July, so that should let you know how seriously the United States is taking this virus 6 . Once a day, I would get a call from my Public Health official. The calls were pretty thorough in the first few days of quarantine – asking about my interactions with others in the days leading up to me getting tested – everything including the names, and license plates of the Ubers I had taken, who’s homes I had been to, restaurants and shops I had visited, everything. After they had gathered all that information, the calls became about my general health and wellness, in addition to six separate emails about how long was quarantine was supposed to last, what I was and was not allowed to do, and the penalties for leaving the house before the end of the quarantine, including a fee to the tune of five thousand dollars.  

In week two, most of the initial symptoms I had started with began to subside, and the only one that was left was an even impending feeling of boredom. I started doing things like watching soccer7, binge watching Law and Order: SVU, and spending copious amounts of money on Uber Eats. It wasn’t too much of a change from normal life except for the fact that I felt like TPH would swoop around the corner if they ever caught me outside when I wasn’t supposed to be – felt a bit like being a fugitive if we’re keeping it two Virgils with one another.

As the end of my quarantine period approaches, I have to be honest – this was not a huge, transformative experience. I acted irresponsibly and my actions caught up with me. That being said, there are plenty of people who have actively social distanced, followed the rules, and have still caught the virus. I don’t think this is something that should be looked at as damning, more like there is a virus and we mere human beings can’t beat out a pandemic. After this whole ordeal, I will definitely be taking PPE a bit more seriously, but I’m also really grateful because this experience could have been a whole lot worse. So, my peoples reading this, wear your mask! Invest in some travel size Wet Wipes and hand sanitizer, stay at home, and most importantly, remember that virus prevention is a group effort, not a solo endeavour.

Notes

1 Growing up in the Caribbean, dengue was a normal occurrence.

2 Disregard the fact that I didn’t mention exercise.

3 I will have one left of quarantine after publishing this blog post, so yay for that!

4https://www.si.edu/spotlight/ancient-egypt/mummies. That is all I will say.

5 I also did cry a little but we can just act like that part never happened.

6 About as seriously as police brutality, if that puts things into perspective…

7 I am extremely disappointed that PSG lost to the Nazis, but Project Mbappe will prevail.

[this-lioness]

Quaranmemes for Quarantines

Tagged by @reallyginnyf​ <3  Putting this under a cut since it’s pretty much doubling as my weekend wrap-up as well.

when was the last time you left your home? On Thursday I had to run a few quick no-contact errands -- dropped a bulk mailing off on the rear platform at the post office, deposited a Fedex envelope into one of their pickup boxes, and then ran some miscellaneous groceries over to my Mom’s house.  Today I went for a run, but only around the neighborhood, so that doesn’t feel like it counts. 

what was the last thing you bought? I’ve actually been doing a bit of online shopping lately -- bought a sewing machine (still need to sit down and set it up), a gas-powered pressure washer (arrived today), a new bathroom scale and a vacuum sealer.  Last thing we bought in-store were some small necessities from Walmart.

is quarantine driving you insane or are you finally relaxed? This is tough to answer, because I’m never actually relaxed.

I worry about someone in my immediate family getting sick, but beyond that the quarantine doesn’t really trouble me.  I’m largely a homebody, and honestly this has kept us from a lot of unnecessary spending, so all the places I’d probably be going would just be buying shit that we really don’t need. I think my anxiety only ramps up when we have to go somewhere, like when my parents need groceries, and we have to go through the whole process of masks and gloves and fully decontaminating everything once we get home.  We have it down to a science, but it’s still a whole process.

But I’m frankly enjoying the time at home.  I’m a very “routine” person -- I’m comforted by having lists of things I need to do, and places to put things, and then doing it all by rote.  We worked very hard to make our house be a place where we enjoy being, creating, relaxing and working, and now we’re reaping the benefit of all those things.

who are you spending quarantine with? My husband Marc and all the cats.  I only see my parents long enough to drop things off at their house.

do you have pets to keep you company? We have three of our own -- Bones, Spencer and Rosie -- plus two fosters, Baby and Blue.  There is also a semi-feral cat, Fidget, that we feed and care for, and he occasionally spends a night inside if it’s particularly cold or wet out.

what are your current responsibilities? We’re both very fortunate in that we are fully capable of working from home, and both our employers are in full gear.  Mine is actually busy enough to need to hire new people for the sudden influx of work, apparently. So I work my “day job” during the day, and when I’m not working I’m cleaning and doing laundry, trying to keep our chest freezer topped up with ready-to-prepare meals, a lot of organizing and a bit of gardening.  I really need to sit down and do something creative, although my muse has been completely dead for... longer than I’d care to admit.  I’m going to give it a bit of a try tonight, though, so we’ll see.

Just lately I’ve been on a purging spree.  Thursday, Friday and yesterday I cleaned out every corner of the art room / office and made three piles of craft supplies to give away.  I also gathered together two enormous bags of various clothes and gave that away as well.  My next step is probably to switch out my winter wardrobe for the summer stuff, although we’re expecting a good week of cold, rainy weather so... maybe not quite yet.

do you have a room to yourself? Well, if I ever needed time to myself I could certainly find it.  The art room / office is unoccupied when we’re not working, and when we are I can always come down to the living room or go into the bedroom with my laptop, or I’ve got a little “writing chair” in the dining room, by the back patio, that’s nice to sit in.  I can be content anywhere in the house, basically.

are you exercising? I wasn’t, but a few days ago I decided to change that.  I need to get better control over my physical well-being (and self-image), so I made myself a little weight / diet log, included columns for water intake and exercise, and signed up for a “virtual 5k”.  Today it was just warm enough to get outside, so I went for a run.  Technically we went for a run, but Marc got winded not too far into it and had to head home again.  I grabbed my earbuds and went back out.

Got in 2.27 miles before deciding to head back home.  Because the weather is going to be shitty I plan to kick the fosters out of their room for at least 45 minutes every day so that I can get some treadmill time in.  With any luck we’ll shortly have space cleared in the attic so that we can do yoga and maybe barre as well.  

town, country, city? We’re in a semi-rural suburb in Bucks County, PA.  It’s... suburban, but very very blue collar, and there’s plenty of farms around, large and small.

how’s your toilet paper supply? We seem to be OK.  I am a prepper by nature, and I made sure to stock up before things started to get bad.  I’m also being very mindful of how much I use, which helps.  I’m more worried about my folks, who blow through resources like crazy, but I don’t think it’s terribly hard to come by as long as you can get to a store.

what’s the worst thing that you had to cancel? I was a bit bummed about the Colin Firth concert being cancelled in the early part of this month.  That was going to be a nice night out.

To be very honest, my biggest regret is that we took on the fosters when we did.  No one in this area is in a position to adopt two cats, and to be honest... they’re not very good fosters.  Blue is friendly and outgoing, she likes to play, but she’s not cuddly -- she’s not really interested in being petted or held and doesn’t seem to want to sit in your lap for very long.

Baby likes Marc well enough, but she continues to run from me whenever she sees me, and forget about coming up for a cuddle.  She’s just... fucking miserable.

We’re also giving up on trying to integrate them with our cats.  They don’t have very good “cat manners” (they have no sense of personal space and will get right up in the other cats’ business), and the two of them have twice now gone after Rosie in what was a semi-playful, semi-aggressive manner that she definitely did not appreciate, so that’s the end of that.

It would be different if they got along with our cats, or if they were cuddly, but Blue is the only one that I’d consider truly adoptable.  Baby is fucking miserable and I have no idea how the fuck we’re going to adopt them out.  I’m desperately trying to find someone that can take them, but I don’t have a good feeling, and I honestly don’t know what we’re going to do long term.  It was a mistake taking them in, and I regret it, but I’ve got to find a way to deal with it now.

what’s the best thing you’ve had to cancel? This is going to sound terrible but... we were planning on going to a “Return of the Living Dead” convention in June.  Had tickets, a hotel, everything.  Technically it’s still on -- they haven’t cancelled the event yet -- but we’ve agreed we won’t be going, even if it’s still on in June.  Too much of a risk.

In theory this was going to be super fun, and I actually was excited about it, but... honestly, going to so many comic cons has really burned me out on other people who attend conventions, and the idea of being around mobs of people acting like smelly, poorly socialized assholes about something that I genuinely love was kind of stressing me out.

I didn’t want to see something that I love gatekept, I didn’t want to be “fake geek girled” about it by somebody with B.O. and no social awareness.  It was starting to stress me out. So I’m sad that we won’t be going, but glad that I don’t have to stress out about it.

who do you miss the most? My boss, I guess?  He was fun to hang out with and bullshit with, and we can’t really do that the same way that we did when we were in the office together.  I’m pretty lukewarm on everybody else I used to see in person day to day.

do you have any new hobbies? Ugh, please, I already have so many fucking hobbies.   Uh. Well, I did buy the sewing machine, so... :/  Let me get it set up and actually sew something before I start calling it a hobby, though.

what are you watching the most? Marc and I have been binge-watching Ozark and a show called Futureman, which are both compelling and extremely difficult to watch in different ways.  I’m still waiting on new content from the lady that lives in Japan, haha... this is probably a good opportunity to go back and watch whatever videos I haven’t seen yet.

are you still going to work? Remotely, yes, every day.  I’m actually using the time to try and get myself better organized and establish good work habits and routines that I can carry through to when things start to normalize.

what are you out of? Mmm... nothing, I don’t think?  I’m getting low-ish on yeast, since I’ve been baking so much, but I’m not even really low on that yet.  I’ve tried to do a “dried cranberry yeast starter” but I’m not convinced it took... I need to drain off the yeast liquid and add some flour tonight, see if it grows or if it’s a dud.  

have you made any changes to your hair during quarantine? I trimmed my bangs about a week ago, I think, because they were getting frustratingly long.  Fortunately I didn’t butcher them too badly.  Today I helped Marc give himself a trim, and he’s looking quite dapper again, so I guess we’re not in too bad of a shape.  I chopped my hair to the shoulders back before the quarantine so it would have to get much, much longer before it became problematic for me, and even then.  I’m still debating if I even want to color my grays at all, so I’m not concerned about “touching up roots” or anything like that.  I am what I am. 

Not tagging anyone because A) I’m terrible at tagging, B) Most of the people I follow that are “real people” and not just content-posting accounts are mutuals of one another.  If you want to participate, please consider yourself tagged.

[fulldreamsahead]

Super Virus Testing Facility

Believe it or not, last night I actually had another freaking iZombie dream. Like where are my The Good Place dreams? Maybe it’s because The Good Place was so amazing that my brain just really wanted more out of iZombie? I once again cannot stress enough that these dreams are coming weeks after finishing the series, but I digress... This one at least isn’t some sort of alternate ending and instead I borrow some of the characters to make some kind of mishmash dream about busting out of a compound with the help of some familiar characters and a helpful robot, but I’ll get into that after the break... 

I am Liv Moore, but I’m not a zombie. I've recently been living very comfortably in Minnesota when I found out I was pregnant. Unfortunately I contract a virus during the pregnancy that has been going around the US. It is quite lethal and even though I’m testing positive for it, I’m not showing signs, but it’s threatening my fetus. To keep the virus under control, they are sending people who test positive off to a quarantine facility. I am therefore trucking from Minnesota to an unknown location which is basically some enormous military medical base impounding facility. I spent my first few months withdrawn, refusing to acknowledge the other people there because I miss my old life.

After awhile, I got used to the daily routine which includes getting up at 7 a.m. to eat breakfast and then going through regimented exercise activities. At exactly noon there is lunch and from this time until 7pm at night we are allowed to have supervised time with the opposite gender with whom we are typically quarantined off from. The weirdest thing about the virus is that none of us really seem to be sick. Most of us seem completely normal, but we keep being reminded that it is indeed a horrific virus and all the guards are in Hazmat suits. We cannot rebel or even ask questions because they are also equipped with taser guns to keep us in line. Since a few months have passed, my stomach is really starting to swell from the baby. While I still don’t feel comfortable around others, the loneliness is starting to set in. I am the only woman who contracted the virus via pregnancy and that anomaly causes the other women to avoid me for some reason. It seems to stem from how rare that scenario is. 

After scoping out the lunch scene for a few days, I finally select a group of three men who seem relatively approachable. I meet with them and while two of them are faceless, one of them is none other than Major Lilywhite. I strike up a friendship with them and after a lot of talking I finally voice my concerns aloud about how I think it's ridiculous that we're being held up like this and I don't really see a reason why. I don't want my baby to have to grow up in a holding facility not knowing the outside world. Major is a recent quarantine, he was only been brought in the last month, and he is exhibiting great behavior among the officers watching over us. It just so happens that prior to infection he actually worked for the military and was pretty high up in the chain of command. The officers can’t help but treat him a bit differently and so me and the other two men  coerce Major into hatching a scheme with us. 

It takes a lot of convincing, but Major finally agrees that this is a bad scene and he also wants to get out because there just doesn’t seem to be any real virus. Our plan begins by using Major to guilt-trip the general with whom he used to be close friends. Major pretends he is going  stir-crazy in the facility. It just so happens that the base is situated in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hundreds of miles of empty wilderness. Major reminisces about his old love of fishing and how he’ll never be able to do it again. The general is sympathetic and since there is just open space outside the facility he grants Major a day pass to go out and fish in a nearby lake. Instead, we all prepare to use Major’s one-time use day pass keycard to escape like a line of cars sneaking into a gated apartment complex. The general has left Major with the keys to his old Hyundai so we all pile in to leave. 

We drive like our lives depend on it, not realizing that, though it is not within eye sight, there is a second outer wall that we must pass through before we are actually off-base. The outer wall is thick, un-climbable, and comprised of a vaccination facility where they've been trying to produce vaccines for everyone being detained. Faced with those facts we are forced to ditch the car, since our group will be easily spotted at the drive-thru checkpoint, and instead go through the vaccine facility. Major helps us take out a couple of guards walking the perimeter and we don their uniforms to sneak inside. Since I am heavily pregnant, I stick out like a sore thumb and my uniform doesn’t fit at all. 

As we navigate the facility we run into a robot that looks like Justin McElroy. Instead of just being Justin McElroy, it’s more like a shiny metal and squared edged robot that has a striking resemblance to the eldest McElroy brother. His AI is incredible and after working at the facility to move deadly strains of ‘virus’ even he has come to believe that everything going on in the facility is made up. His data led him to believe that the military is being unjust. He tried to voice his concerns to the highest authority, but he was brushed off as a simple malfunctioning robot. While he was checked over by the tech guys, he played dumb and acted completely normal so he could get cleared to return to operation to collect more data. He joins us so he can globally spread what he has found and we maneuver the facility with him leading as if he is meant to. 

As we get out of an office-type area, we enter a part of the vaccine facility that is just rows and rows of tiny Porta-Potty sized cages with people in each stall. There are multiple levels of stalls and narrow walkways suspended overhead leaving little blind spots for monitoring guards. There are small ventilation windows just above the stall doors and we peek into them to find that people are in various stages of disfigurement. We realize that the military is creating some sort of super strong mutating virus by infecting people over and over again with more and more virulent strains. AKA they are purposefully creating super-bug viruses with coordinating vaccines by torturing people. Our urgency levels go up one million fold and we know we have to get out. 

As we follow Justin-bot we are almost immediately spotted and we have to run down winding halls of stall doors to try to get out. We get separated from the two faceless men so my party includes myself, Major, and Justin-bot. We turn another corner and end up in a dead end with no choice other than to try the stall doors. It just so happens that some of the stalls are empty and we all cram into a stall to try and hide. We hear our other two comrades get captured in the distance so we really start getting nervous. Thankfully our compatriots put up a huge fight and buy us some time. Meanwhile, Justin-bot is using one of his attachments to unscrew the top of the stall so maybe we can sneak out onto an upper platform. He gets the top propped open, but we see there is a guard taking his sweet time strolling right above us. We can hear the men finally breaking down the stall doors that lead to ours and Major readjusts the way we are all crammed into the stall. When they bang our stall door open, the door conceals me and Justin-bot while Major allows himself to be captured peacefully. While they are cuffing Major and berating him for betraying the brotherhood, Justin-bot finally gets the top loose and we quietly creep up to the upper platform where the guard has finally left and run for our lives to escape.

[delicateheartstranger]

March 16, 2020

Dear world,

This has been started actually on the 15th, but since it will take awhile to write out everything I will mark it the 16th. 

So here begins my crappy 2000s movie start of a blog. Unlike the movies where at some point my blog will blow up and my life will take either a turn for the worse or better I have nothing to fear because that was barely realistic even back then. Since I wanna make sure though just in case any chance someone who knows me finds this I will not state my name. I’ll tell ya’ll this, I’m 19 years old and will be 20 in October, I like fandom shit, I’m trans, I’m pan, I wish I could go back and kill baby Hitler so I would never be born and no ww2, I’m in love with one my best friends, I have feelings for a guy I met online that lives in Norway while I’m stuck in the U.S., I suffer from ptsd/depression/anxiety/a fuck ton of just not being mentally stable, live at home with my parents right now, have no job, most of my close friends are toxic, and I have no privacy.

I was at college for a few month, but then a bunch of things happened and I had to drop out. When I came back home my parents I feel resented me a bit for not being stable enough to stay at that college (they loved it and want to send me back) so now my home life became a lot worse. I’m in a php program currently so even if it weren’t for the fact that my parents would rather roll over dead than have me work (earn money to get the fuck out) I can’t get one since most conflict with time. I’m 19 and only ever held one real job because my parents claim the house needs to be clean before I can work. I’m not the only one who lives here, but okay. Also I would make less messes if I wasn’t home. Top it off it’s like “we don’t want you working for other people before you do the work you owe us at home.” They have this whole family first idea, but the thing is I don’t feel a part of the family. They decided I had no say when I was younger when moving far from home, I wasn’t a part of it enough to get attention while my brother was sick, I wasn’t a part of it enough for them not to judge me to the point where I quit lots of things I loved just so they’d stop hurting me, I wasn’t enough a part of it that they would do things for me that would be what “family” does.

So yes I will put myself aka my mental health first because you guys never will. Because of the Corona outbreak my area has been quarantined. It means 2 weeks no school (wasn’t enrolls), no physical php, less people in public, and that good old shit. Thing is now my parents are trying to force my brother who’s off in college to come back home AND not let me see my friends physically while locking me up in our home. The most I can do if I wanna leave is go for a walk for like 30 minutes near our house. I hate walking as it just riles me up ever more and brings back bad memories of my parents forcing me to. They tried super hard when I was younger to walk the fat off me. Worked like a charm, said no one. If anything the many years of fat shaming made me gain weight as they didn’t get me a therapist, didn’t think I was depressed, didn’t let me take meds, and all I had was eating to comfort me. So yeah I’m basically trapped in my own house. I think I may fuck up. I’ve been around a month or two clean of self harm, but I know that will change in these coming weeks if I am forced to stay here alone with my folks and brother.

I usually have passive SI and SH thoughts, but within this weekend I’ve had so many that I was close to acting on them. They’ve gotten to the level of overwhelming that it’s like I’m back in 11th grade again. Which by the way, found out one my few friends from that time tried to MURDER my other friend (who is a bit newer, but still) is living in a house for people with murderous tendencies. So that’s just peachy. Oh another friend from high school has a brain tumor which probably will kill him and it makes me super sad even though we haven’t talked in years. I am currently upset about my life choices of who I made friends with.

My three best friends would be LM, DW, and LL. 

LL is a friend I made in my third high school. He’s kinda going through lots of shit right now. He used to realize that he couldn’t drink and that he could only smoke in small amounts. Now he’s back on his bs. He’s also having unsafe sex with strangers he met on tinder. Now it’s find to fuck around. Go live your best life. But if you are having unsafe sex that’s a problem. He is constantly having pregnancy scares (he’s trans). All of this while on the fact that when he’s not too fucked up he’s like kinda self center. I told him like the other night when he was doing better that I was feeling really down given some shit I got for being fat, but I was fine talking. This man goes ahead and spends the whole time talking about all these stories about himself and doesn’t let me speak for like the whole time. And he was like on this thing about how I need to do something, but he never got there. Don’t tell me how to self improve when you’re in a worse state than me. 

Then there is DW. I’ve been in love with him since middle school. We met at this outside of school after school activity. I fell hard. When I first confessed to him he didn’t really speak to me and avoided me for about a year. Then we became friends again due to weird grouping things at that after school activity. Irony was I was trying to get into the group he wasn’t in so I would lose my feelings. Then after we got close again I confessed my feelings, again. Some how that made us best friends? I mean I’m glad he didn’t cut me off again don’t get me wrong, but it just wasn’t what I was expecting. Now here’s some hard shit. About almost a year ago over the summer (2019) we were talking about my weird love life. You see I still tried to date outside of him. Can’t keep going after something that won’t happen. Then I asked about his love life as it’d been like months since I brought it up directly with him. Turns out he’d been dating a girl for almost a YEAR. He just “forgot” to tell me. I understand he could’ve been worried about my feelings, but I’m more hurt that he hid something that big away from me and lied about it too. We’re supposed to be best friends. Course I don’t wanna hear about how he fucks her or whatever. I just wanna be there for him. And so now I’m getting a taste of my own medicine. He is talking about her. How they go on dates, how they had a dear valentines day date, how he cares about her, how she even was in the same php program as me. I wanna fucking strangle her. She used to be my friend, but we grew apart. Then of course I find out that she’s dating the love of my life. Cool. Worst is when me and him are texting and she has the NERVE to try and talk to me. I don’t ever wanna speak to her again. I will if it makes DW happy, but for my sanity and her life I will avoid that. She’s a fine person, props forgot about me and my feelings for him, and doesn’t deserve the utter rage I hold for her. That don’t change it though. All of this on top the fact we’ve been distantly lately. I noticed about like 5 months ago how I was always the one texting DW and that started our convos. How I was the one putting in effort. So I started to text less. He only about 5 times started the conversations. It was over memes and reply to my general instagram stories. I’ve given up and realized if I want him in my life have to do the texting. I won’t let him go anymore. I’ve tried in the past, it don’t help anything. No matter what I try I need him and even if it’s bad for me it’s no worse than not having him.

Now we are on my closest and most toxic best friend. LM. LM I also met in my third high school. She was kind and charismatic. Thing is she is unstable, manipulative, controlling, hurtful, and just really toxic to me. She’s the alpha of the friend group I’m in with her. She can hurt me so much. I’ve tried taking breaks from her in the past, but when that happens she gets angry. She tried in these times to ruin my reputation. She has so much dirt on me. Top it off she lies like crazy and people just like, believe her? The only ones who have been able to see through her shit would be: Me, LL, and MA. That’s it. Not even her own sister can, least she doesn’t show it. It’s shit like, let’s say I was embarrassed by something and felt bad. LM would say I sobbed over it and yeah. Or she also just full on lies about me doing or saying something. It’s too the point where she’s said things about me that could get me in legal trouble if she told some authority figure and they believed her. Like she claims one time that I was about to drug one my crushes if she wasn’t there to stop me and that I masturbated with his jacket when he left the room in his closet. Yes I’m not proud of it, but when I was in a bad head space I thought about the idea/fantasy of having him take horny pills that SHE showed me and offered me. I did also once smell up my crush’s jacket in the closet. Not proud of it at all. I wasn’t stable and wasn’t thinking in my right mind. Doesn’t make what I did okay, but I did not do anything that would be as fucked as she claimed. Sometimes with that old crush she’ll bring it up saying straight up lies like I went to his house. Never did. Did find my crush on white pages (again not okay, but I wasn’t healthy), but never went anywhere near him outside of our setting. So yeah if I cut her off or just take a break she could realllly ruin my life given everyone believes ever word she says. All of that and I’m still a bit bitter over her manipulating a situation where me, her, and a few friends had a crush on the same guy. She lied saying she didn’t have feelings for him. She told us to confess and when we were like ‘idk not to ready for that’ she went ahead and did it for us. He didn’t like us back which is valid. But then she got really handsy and did things that basically helped him fall for her. Now I don’t have feelings for him anymore. If I do imma just push em away given he wouldn’t be good for me. But they constantly do things now as a couple that feel like an invasion on my being. THEY HAD SEX WITH THE DOOR SLIGHTLY OPEN IN THE ROOM NEXT TO ME ONLY TO LIE STRAIGHT TO MY FACE. So they couldn’t see I’d woken up. I was facing the door and they were full on sex. Like I heard the moans. I heard it all. I knew they were fucking. So when they finished and went to wake me up I pretended to be asleep. Then later that day I brought it up to my friend CS (her boyfriend/ex crush) I thought they were having sex cause I could heard them in my dream, he lied to my face saying I was crazy. Straight up gas lighting tactics LM would use. This isn’t the first time they tried that. Even when I was with someone and we both were like yeah we heard ya’ll having sex they denied it and said we were crazy. Like please just don’t fuck when there are others around or at least have the decency to do it where we can’t hear/wake up from it.

All of this said about each one I love them all dearly. And it’s hard the idea of losing them. It’s just so shitty dealing with all their shit on top of my own. 

Now the worse thing happening right now that I can’t even talk to a friend about it that I got my new name outed. So my parents are transphobic, but diet transphobic. Like they “support” trans rights yet do really transphobic things.I came out to them a few months ago and not a SINGLE time have they used the right pronouns. Then when bringing up trans things they have shot me down claiming xyz. I just wanna be me, but the same time I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. At my php program I go by my chosen name. I told all the staff my situation at home yet the nurse managed to fuck up when emailing and wrote in an email that was attached to my parents my chosen name. So great my parents probably know something is up. I’m gonna fucking cry if they hurt me more. They already invalidate me on so many things I can’t stand the idea of them doing so on something so close and core to my identity. They do it with everything else and most things core to who I am. I had one safe space and the nurse had to fuck it up for me. I just can’t fucking deal with all this.

Top it off the one good person in my life, ESK hasn’t spoken to me in about 3 days now. ESK is someone I met online who lives in Europe. He’s genuinely the only good thing in my life. The only non toxic source of happiness. He brings me so much joy. I’m pretty sure he also has feelings for me or had them at one point. He’s 2 years younger than me and is turning 18 soon. I wanna get him a gift, but not only would that be weird, but he also hates celebrating his birthday. So I’ll just wish him a happy birthday when it comes around. Regardless I might not even be able to since he hasn’t responded in awhile. He has some serious health problems so I am worried he could be really sick. That or he’s angry at me/hates me/doesn’t wanna talk anymore. It could be just my anxiety, but the same time it could be true. I hate that I can’t tell. I can’t even talk to any of my bffs about it since they’ll all be super judgmental. Maybe DW, but even then it’d be hard. I just wanna make sure ESK is okay. He means the world to me. I don’t want to lose him. This is all happening after we both showed full face selfies of ourselves in our last convos. I hope he doesn’t think I’m ugly. It’d break my heart into toooooo many pieces if my looks scared him away or made him lose his romantic feelings for me. It’s not like we could date rn as not only are we an ocean away, but I’m far to emotionally unstable to. But hey that won’t matter if he drops off the face of the earth.

Lastly before I go I wanna talk about this girl in my php program who is legit making me crazy. We will call her LLL. She looks and acts just like my first crush, but if she’d grown up. The only difference is her eye color, age, and where she’s from. She isn’t her, but boy that doesn’t stop my lizard brain. I feel like a piece of trash whenever my eyes wander over her more revealing parts. It’s bad to objectify women and bad that I’m placing this role on her. Plus I’m like 90% sure she’s straight and like 60% she has a thing for a guy in our php group (who is much hotter than me). It’s just so hard since I lost my crush via my abusive grandma. It was her fault I didn’t wake up in time (I was 9) which meant I never got her number. I remember my heart sinking seeing her wave good bye to me from her car window as she drove off. I never really got over her as I just repressed any sense of being not cis het. I only really realized what I had for her was more than “wanting to be bffs” like a year or two ago. Still haven’t had the proper therapy to undo all my baggage. I really hope she hasn’t realized that my eyes linger on her just a little too long or that my feet are always pointing towards her. I want it to be a safe space for her.

SO yeah. That’s like 2% of my life rn plus 1% back story. You guys can tell I say like, so, and ya’ll a tad too much. I don’t know what to do and I have to wake up at 7. If anyone sees this I hope you can give me advice before it’s too late.

Yours cordially,

A.

[dreamweaversofficial]

symphonies of unfilled space

Itinerary:

Nothing.

Residual homework.

Text people.

Paint nails.

Shower (how many times per day is permissible?? Ask google)

3/25/30

Word choice is reevaluated after the ink has dried. The walls have been the same color since before I was born, and they aren’t likely to change. My little brother is taller than I am, and he calls me little sister, the bastard. Being active is all well and good when you’re allowed to go outside.

3/30, 2120

I guess this is like. My diary. Funny to think I wouldn’t have been caught dead with one of these a few years ago, but with so much time on my hands, I guess I can deal. I can’t think of anything to write, and I’ve been informed I sound terse over paper, so. It’s not like they’re wrong.

It’s not that time slows down, I guess, it’s that I’m more aware of it. I wake up early, and I do schoolwork for seven hours, and then I find some way to fill time until I go to sleep. Turns out you become well acquainted with the day when there’s nowhere but the same three places to go. I try to go on walks off the property. Every day I go a little bit further, but the same old houses line the street.

4/15, 2120

If this was a book, the readers would want to know the characters by now. I guess technically this is a notebook, which has ‘book’ in the name, so. There’s me. I guess. Wow, I say ‘I guess’ way more often than I’d thought. Maybe I should write this shit in pencil. But nobody else is going to read this. I don’t know.

For characters: there’s me, and only me. It’s my book.

4/28, 2120

I hate this stupid pandemic, but at least I can avoid my ex-girlfriend. That’s probably wrong of me, right? Like, avoiding an ex is a brightside? But the point is that nobody told me living through some world changing event (and I say that mockingly) was so fucking boring. I’m watching so much garbage television, I think I’m going to decompose.

Did you know humans have to be able to see nature or they’ll go crazy? I guess the succulent I’ve got on my desk is saving my humanity. Nobody seems to like when I point out that even fake ones will work, so I guess our brain is okay with imitation as long as appearances are kept up.

5/4, 2120

There’s this spot by my house - this crossing, I guess, where drivers can’t really see. An intersection! Fuck. Bikers used to travel by all the time, huge streams of them passing the windows, and then one of them died in a car accident up on Death Corner. At what point does someone cross from ‘brave’ to ‘foolhardy’? Maybe it shifts intangibility from person to person. Maybe people are just stupid. I guess it could be both.

I don’t know. I got reminded of this story I was writing in eighth grade, for no reason, which was - years ago. It never got finished.

That’s too passive.

I never finished it.

5/16, 2120

I had this really weird dream? I was in space, and I was supposed to be leading this group of kids. Alien kids? We were all students at this school or whatever, and we were out on a mission taking samples for something, and things started off fine. The planet was habitable and our host family was cool. And then two of my ‘subordinates’, like, start yelling at me? I think I was supposed to be a diplomat, which was why I was in charge, and also I was older, but then I punched at least one.

Somebody literally went missing at one point, which was when I decided ‘screw it’ and evidently chose to pull the plug on the mission, find him, and go back to school. Except one of the brats disagrees, and calls you a bitch(?), and then we get in a fight again. Right, that’s when the fight happened. Google can’t tell me what the hell that meant.

5/31, 2120

I miss people, but never with a passion. There’s the fierce swell of grief, then time washes over the beach of my emotions and smooths over the sand. Sometimes I think I could go anywhere without looking back. There’s this strange limbo between loving people and places, and the part of me that could handle it if I turned my back. Because there are a lot of people I'd die protecting, but heaven forbid if they turned their backs on me.

In quarantine, I can feel the sting of missing threaten to swamp me as it tugs at my bones and makes me restless.

6/11, 2120

I get migraines so often, they’re practically chronic. I get it from my mom, who got it from her mom, who got it from who knows where, and somehow the headache gene that’s plagued me since preschool skipped my brother entirely. Once coming home from school in tears cemented itself into A Thing That Happened, pain worked itself into a constant presence in my life. Like a homophobic family member that ruins things.

I just sprayed IcyHot spray into my eyes by accident. Fuck, this was supposed to go on my neck for the muscle tension headache. Fuck.

6/15, 2120

Isn’t it so ridiculous that we’re still protesting for people’s basic human rights? Jesus. Nobody is a ‘retard’ for knowing your rights aren’t different based on skin color. People shouldn’t have to worry when a family member isn’t home on time, or see people dead on the news, or get pulled over for no reason. This is supposed to be a newer generation.

Why are people trying to be like the old ones?

7/1, 2120

Sometimes you want to fall asleep, and sometimes you just want to be fucking unconcious. Sometimes you miss people before they’re even out of sight.

7/21, 2120

Today I got into one of my hyper-energetic fits. That basically means I have spastic thoughts and end up pacing without end for an hour or two. It’s like ADHD was blended into a smoothie, dripped over my head, and injected into my eyeballs over the span of an hour.

At any rate, it’s preferable to its sister feeling. That one is like rabid beasts have found a home under my skin - I want nothing to do with anyone or anything. It’s as if I have this tightly wound tangle of rage, coiling until it’s poisoned my surroundings, body, and thoughts. I don’t know.

I say that a lot, too.

8/8, 2120

I had a panic attack over some stupid math assingment, and the fact that my dad was out of the house, and a million other little things I didn’t know I was stressed about, I guess. I just. Got nauseous, and by the time my mom got home I’d wound up sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back pressed against the tub, and then you’re just. Talking.

As I talked, my breathing ramped up, and I remember thinking “this isn’t a panic attack, you’re thinking rationally, you just need more air,” except that then you were hyperventilating, and I don’t know what a panic attack feels like, but I could feel my heart’s sick thump in my chest like I never can in my wrist.

8/27, 2120

“I’m dying,” my grandfather says in lieu of greeting when he picks up the phone. When he says “I’m dying,” he doesn't mean tomorrow, or the day after, or even the following week.

When I say “You're always dying,” I mean that he’s been saying that for an eternity, and I want him to keep saying it for an eternity more.

He’s sad, sometimes, and quiet. My dad says he remembers him whip smart and funny, and I’ve learned to take his word as law. He’s sad, sometimes, but he never tries to take that sadness and foist it onto someone else. He’s quiet, sometimes, but that just means you have to listen harder for his jokes. Sometimes he’ll tell me a story I’ve heard before, but something about him makes you laugh like it’s the first time and not the seventieth.

I can see him as he is, and I can see him younger, as he sits in the same chair and makes it new each time.

9/3, 2120

I write differently with a marker than I do with a pen. One of my fine tipped, colorful markers, I use carefully. My handwriting becomes neater, more controlled, unsmudged. A good book can make you hollowed out and unfinished in the same way another can, but a little to the left. I think it’s so interesting how people can be made out of the same basic materials and yet be so different.

It’s been months of quarantine. Months since I stepped foot in a classroom, since I broke up with my girlfriend, since I had to ditch the world for a newer, stranger one. I remind myself I’ve got time. Shitloads of it. The nauseous feeling of empty time presses down on an otherwise weightless body.

But for now I think I’ll sit outside in the sun.

[mareebrittenford]

Space Zombies Pt #3

So far in the story… (part #1 and part #2)  Lyse, looter and scavenger of abandoned and destroyed space ships found herself on board a ship that had supposedly been overrun by a plague. Except the sick are still walking around and seem to want to eat her.

She managed to escape back to her own ship with the friendly dog she found on board. But that’s just the beginning of her problems…

The military has found us.

At least they’ve locked us down, and not just blown us out of existence.

Why on earth haven’t they?

:get in bed with him:

“What?” I say out loud.

:do it. It might save us:

Well, if Phil says so. Inside my brain. Obviously it must be important then.

It’s not as if I’m not salivating to cuddle up with my now clean and nice smelling soul mate. So I obey my little brother. He’s never going to let me live this down.

David is dead to the world, poor guy. He must be so unbelievably exhausted to have missed that clunk--silence that is one of the most ominous sounds you can hear on board a small independent ship like this. I’ve only heard it once before and woke me out of sound sleep.

The bunk is narrow. It’s not really enough space for even one person, let alone two, so I’m halfway on top of him. Honestly I don’t mind, but I can’t help worrying that he does. That somehow he doesn’t feel this same bond, that he doesn’t want me like I want him.

But this is survival, I know that from the tenor of Phil’s voice in my head. Enjoying it is incidental. I take a few slow breaths. Breaths full of the scent of his skin. I’m guessing that my racing heart isn’t what Phil wants here.

“Link me in,” I murmur. I know Phil is listening, mentally or via the ships intercom system, which he is always able to turn on, even if I turn it off. Annoying little brothers never fail like that.

The intercom crackles to life.

“--crossed quarantine line,” says an authoritative male voice in English. The accent is planetary. I’m not sure which, the flat r sound is a giveaway.

Central Military supposedly recruits from all over. To represent the people they serve. The planet born ones at least. Citizenship for people born in space was a protracted battle, that was only resolved fifty years ago. There’s still a hierarchy of worth though. Planet born outranks us station born folk. And those unfortunate enough to be born aboard ships in open space, well their parents better have some strong alliances with either a planet or station otherwise the birth registrations tend to go astray. Even a father as careless as Felipe made sure that Phil and I were both born on Aptar.

“I’m so sorry,” Felipe is replying, also in English. “I was completely unaware. I assure you we’ve had no contact with any other ships in the 36 hours.” He’s in full schmooze zone. It doesn’t work as well over coms, but as far as I know something about the wavelengths of his voice just makes people happy and want to please him. It always feels a little icky to me, but hey, I rip off people’s moves and use it to kill them if I have to, so eh, we’re both icky really.

“I was just giving my son a lesson in astronavigation. We had all the navigation software turned off.”

Astronavigation? Well he pulled that one out of his butt.

“Excuse me?” the man says, suddenly losing much of his authoritativeness.

“Oh, I’m sure you folks have such excellent technology, and so many redundancies built into your systems you don’t need it, but on little ships like this we have to be able to navigate by the stars alone in emergency situations.”

Felipe’s full of it. The only way our nav systems would go down would be if the engines were down, so we wouldn’t be navigating anywhere. We’d be dead in space. But the man on the com either doesn’t know enough about this class of ship to realize that, or he’s falling victim to Felipe’s ability. Probably a bit of both. He does always say that half his ability is figuring out people. And that the best way to manipulate them is to push them off balance, away from information they’re sure of.

I’m starting to fade out into sleep, the combination of exhaustion and proximity to David relaxing me in spite of the situation. And besides, they’ve detained us, not destroyed us. That means it’s a matter of negotiating what sort of bribe or concession we have to pay. And Felipe is the go to guy for that stuff. There’s nothing for me to do.

I manage to stay awake long enough to hear that we’re going to be quarantined for four hours and then boarded.

A few hours. I guess David was right when he said the disease comes on fast. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not going to die horribly. There’s no way they’d be taking the risk of coming on board if there was any chance at all of the contagion spreading.

But the next words jolt me into alertness again.

“Your crew manifest lists four crew members. Yet we’re only reading three thermal signatures.”

What? Four? Since when?

“Oh, yeah,” It’s Phil’s voice, smugly confident. “You should probably take a closer look at my sister. She’s in the aft cabin. If it’s anything like usual she and her boyfriend are in really close proximity.”

That little brat. He must have been listening to my entire conversation with David, and added him to the crew manifest. Who knows exactly how he’s doctored the records, but now his insistence that I be in bed with David makes more sense. He doesn’t want even a specter of a doubt about the length of David’s stay on this ship. And he and I appearing to be involved in a long term relationship, and currently sleeping in each other’s arms, would go counter to anything they’d expect of someone we’d recently taken from a quarantined plague ship.

Even I’m surprised at myself for being so okay with it. I’m feeling pretty good about not catching zombism. But even though he’s not infected he’s still not human. I’m used to being around powerful Extraordinaries. I’m considered one myself. But I’ve never seen anything like him.

And yet, yet none of that matters right now. He’s snuggling his face into the side of my neck, and adjusting his body around mine, and I feel safe and warm. Warm in a way that has nothing to do with lust and has everything to do with comfort. Warm in a-- I never even knew how cold I was before-- way.

I snuggle closer, and smile. So far having a soul mate is amazing.

----

I’m woken by the thumps and clangs of another ship docking and making a seal with the airlock a few feet from my bunk.

:act normal:

Why thank you Phil. Yes, it is absolutely normal for me to wake up in the arms of a stranger while the Central Military are boarding us. Yes indeed. I shall certainly act like all of this is normal.

I shake David, who is still sleeping soundly. Poor guy. I bet he needs to sleep around the clock, and all he got was four hours.

He can sleep when we’re all not dead.

His eyes snap open and he stares at me in shock. Brown. His eyes are brown. An odd sensation ripples down my spine.

“I’m still real,” I say, feeling shy.

He shakes his head as if he’s trying to arrange it’s contents into a more coherent format.

I slide out of the bunk and turn to wait for him.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“We got held up by the military. I guess they had us wait out a quarantine period, and now they’re coming on board to check things over in person.”

“What about--”

I shake my head, cutting him off. Who knows if they’re listening. I’ve heard things about the technology the military has, that enables them to eavesdrop across empty space, let alone when they’ve made a full boarding seal.

“I’m sure all they want is to double check that all four of us are healthy. Then we can get to Aptar, okay?”

He still looks confused, but he nods and smiles. I’m confident that Phil can push information into his head if needed.

The important for quarantine locked hatch slides open. Phil comes through and hugs me, followed by Felipe, who glares daggers. I know this situation with David is not settled. But survival comes first. If the military finds out that we boarded that ship, and that David was on there for who knows how long then we’re all dead.

We line up, spaced a meter apart, hands loose and visible at our sides, as far away from the walls and fixtures as we can manage. Military is known to be trigger happy. No one wants to be an accident.

As the airlock door slides open I look over at David. He’s facing forward, ignoring me. He rolls his shoulders back and lifts his chin. The guy that up until now looked about as threatening as a puppy suddenly feels dangerous. I can still feel his emotions and he’s just as scared as the rest of us. But there’s something else there. I’m still uncertain about what he thinks about the soulmate link, but I’m certain that if this comes down to a fight he will not only have my back, he’ll be lethal.

Before I can think too hard about what that means the airlock slides open and I’m face to face with people with guns.

A squad of eight lines up opposite us. All male. Lovely. One of those squads. And two of them for each one of us. Nice to know we’re being taken seriously. Or perhaps it’s just that they want to be prepared in case we’re harboring some of those zombie creatures.

The stand, assessing us for a moment. Or perhaps their slow brains need that time to count to four. Yes. We are all here. No. None of us are zombies.

On some silent command four of them move away, presumably searching the ship. Luckily they’re not going to find anything. While we frequently do have cargo on board that’s not entirely legal we’re currently empty. The only thing I brought back from that ghost ship was David, and Phil has already worked his data magic on that little problem.

I stare down the four we have left. I could take them. It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if we took out all eight we’d still have a shipful more to take on. I can see it in their body language.They’re nervy, on edge. They know about the zombies. But they have the cockiness that big guns give a boy. And they are boys, all of them not much more than teenagers.

They dehumanize us the best way boys like that know how. Sexual objectification. Somehow despite the baggy coveralls they all seem to be able to look me, David, and ugh, even Phil (he’s 15!) as if we’re naked objects delivered up for their entertainment. Apparently Felipe is too old for this kind of diminishment. He always misses out on the good stuff.

I can’t help but twitch a little, just to see them flinch, to remind them that they don’t know what I’m capable of. Even if I can’t actually show my abilities. I know as well as everyone else that our best chance out of this is Felipe’s glib tongue. I hate relying on that.

For thirty seconds or so we stand there and stare at each other while the rest of the squad finishes their search. Lucky it’s a small ship. I can imagine how boring this would get if we had a large storied vessel.

When the others return they com an all clear, and finally someone with authority comes through the airlock.

I assume this is the man in charge. The one Felipe spoke to earlier. He’s surprisingly young. Not much older than my twenty five earth years. And he’s only a lieutenant? or maybe lower. I’m not too clear on the insignias on his uniform. I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that we’ve been caught by what I’m guessing is a small, less important vessel. Felipe straightens and pastes an ingratiating smile on his face, but the Junior Lieutenant (??) doesn’t even glance his way. Instead he comes to a stop in front of David. His predatory look is quite different to the way his soldiers were looking at us a few moments ago. It’s cold and assessing.

“David Smith. Do you know how many people are looking for you?”

David’s face stays impassive, but his fear ratchets up a notch. “I’m not sure why I should care. I haven’t broken any laws.” That’s a lie, but the delivery is perfect.

“You should care. There’s quite the reward out on you. And not everyone looking to collect it are entirely honest.” His eyes drift to me, un-subtly hinting that I am such an unscrupulous person.

Ha. If only he knew, both how incredibly unscrupulous I am and how smittenly committed I am to David’s health and welfare.

David still looks impassive. If I wasn’t already madly crushing on him I’d be done in by his ability to be scared to death while looking supremely bored. “I suppose you’re here to collect on the bounty?” He says. “How much is my mother offering these days?”

The Jr Lieutenant smiles and runs his hand through his greasy hair. “More than enough that I convicted the boys here to delay their shore leave a few hours so we could collect you.” He shifts his body, angling himself to block eye contact between me and David. “Why don’t you join us on board? We can offer you far more comfortable accommodations.”

“I’m sure, but I’d rather stay here.”

“I’m going to have to insist.”

And it clicks. Usually I can read intentions in body language like people are shouting. But this guy. He’s lying about so much stuff. But he’s explained enough now for me to put it together.

We’ve been picked up by a small transport carrying a squad to shore leave. It’s why the officer in charge is so young and such a low rank. The only reason we’re not currently a debris field is David. What ever bounty his family has out on him is so large that the whole squad of them was willing to betray what I’m assuming is a standing order to destroy any ship violating the quarantine line. But as soon as David is off this ship we’re particles.

Obviously I can’t let them take him.

:they’re going to blow the ship:

Thank’s Phil. I’m so glad he’s keeping up.

:they placed charges - don’t let them take david off this ship:

Okay that’s more than I expected, but still. I know. David leaves, we all die

And this is probably the crush speaking, because while there’s probably plenty of excellent ways to stop them from removing him from our ship in my panic I can only think of one.

“ Él es mi familia.” I yell out. “ Él es reclamado por Aptar.”

This may the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. What if David counters my claim on him? I still can’t see his face. Hopefully he’s at least keeping up his stone face.

The lieutenant turns slowly, his previously smarmy expression turning hard.

“Are you saying that you and Mr. Smith are married? And he’s choosing citizenship on a... station? Because I’d say I have records stating otherwise.”

Crap. It’s not like I can claim soulmate bonding even though if we were on Aptar and we both claimed each other it would be considered a superior bond to legal marriage.

And then David steps around him and takes my hand. “Betrothed. We’re planning on having the official ceremony once we get to Aptar.”

The lieutenant clenches his teeth. He knows he’s screwed. I can tell from his body language that he’s considering cutting his losses and just killing us all.

Despite the ridiculous complexity of the treaties and contracts between the planetary systems and the stations there’s one thing everyone knows. When you marry you can choose to be claimed by your spouses home world, or station. Of course it’s ridiculous to think that David, who was born on freaking Earth would chose to change his citizenship to a station. Except it’s Aptar. Even the military know there’s something special about Aptar, even if they don’t know it’s the home of any Extra that can manage it.

If he separates me and David now and he leaves David alive then he’d be signing himself up for a legal nightmare. Especially if David’s family is as wealthy as it appears.

We’re at an impasse, best broken by making sure this whole thing never happened.

I squeeze David’s hand and hope that he has a god he’s praying to.

[bigyack-com]

U.S. Passengers Evacuate Quarantined Cruise Ship in Japan

TOKYO — American passengers evacuated a cruise ship that had been quarantined for more than a week in the Japanese port city of Yokohama, after hundreds of people on board fell ill with the coronavirus. The Americans boarded two chartered flights to the United States, and the flights departed Tokyo at 7:05 a.m. Monday, according to a statement by the United States Embassy in Japan. As the passengers prepared to leave the country, Japanese health officials said the number of confirmed coronavirus cases found on the ship, the Diamond Princess, had grown by 70, to 355. “Can’t get off here fast enough,” Sarah Arana, 52, a medical social worker from Paso Robles, Calif., told reporters on Sunday. The American Embassy had recommended that its citizens stay aboard the ship during a 14-day quarantine period. But it suddenly changed course on Saturday, citing “a rapidly evolving situation” as conditions appeared to worsen. American passengers said they were told to prepare to leave the ship at 9 p.m. local time. Their flight was scheduled to depart Haneda Airport in Tokyo at 3 a.m. on Monday. Officials said they would be taken to one of two military air bases in the United States. But the process, taken deck by deck, went slowly. It took several hours to load all passengers on buses to take them to Haneda airport in Tokyo. On one of the buses, Gay Courter, 75, an American novelist traveling with her husband, Philip, said the passengers were mostly silent. A doctor in a yellow hazmat suit accompanied the group. “Clearing my throat sounds like thunder,” Ms. Courter wrote in an email from the bus. All passengers were given N95 respirators — a heavy-duty mask fitted to the face that filters out 95 percent of smaller air particles — to wear on board the repurposed cargo planes, Ms. Courter said. Updated Feb. 10, 2020 What is a Coronavirus? It is a novel virus named for the crown-like spikes that protrude from its surface. The coronavirus can infect both animals and people, and can cause a range of respiratory illnesses from the common cold to more dangerous conditions like Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, or SARS. How contagious is the virus? According to preliminary research, it seems moderately infectious, similar to SARS, and is possibly transmitted through the air. Scientists have estimated that each infected person could spread it to somewhere between 1.5 and 3.5 people without effective containment measures. How worried should I be? While the virus is a serious public health concern, the risk to most people outside China remains very low, and seasonal flu is a more immediate threat. Who is working to contain the virus? World Health Organization officials have praised China’s aggressive response to the virus by closing transportation, schools and markets. This week, a team of experts from the W.H.O. arrived in Beijing to offer assistance. What if I’m traveling? The United States and Australia are temporarily denying entry to noncitizens who recently traveled to China and several airlines have canceled flights. How do I keep myself and others safe? Washing your hands frequently is the most important thing you can do, along with staying at home when you’re sick. Some sections of her flight were segregated from others, with those who had tested positive but were not yet showing symptoms sitting in a tented area of the plane, she wrote from on board. Passengers on the charters were told there would be no overhead luggage space, so all carry-ons had to fit under the seats in front of them, and shipped luggage could not exceed 70 pounds. The converted 747 cargo plane could be cold, the officials said, so passengers were advised to shower and dress warmly. They were also told to take their own food. Rachel Torres, 24, who had been on her honeymoon with her husband, Tyler, also 24, said they were trying to clean their stateroom so as not to leave a mess for their cabin steward. “We didn’t sleep much last night,” said Ms. Torres. In preparation for flying, she said, the two were “drinking as much water as we can to hydrate for the flight since we will be wearing masks on the plane.” Including the cases aboard the Diamond Princess, Japan has recorded the highest number of infections from the new coronavirus outside mainland China. Worldwide, more than 70,500 people have been infected, and at least 1,770 have died, almost all in mainland China. When the ship was placed under quarantine, more than 3,700 passengers and crew aboard were on board, including about 400 Americans. Those found to have the virus and some particularly vulnerable passengers were taken off the ship. Only those passengers who were screened and did not show any symptoms of the illness were allowed to board the flights bound for the United States, according to a statement from the State Department. “All travelers on these flights were screened for symptoms prior to departure and will be subject to Centers for Disease Control (CDC) screening, health observation, and monitoring requirements,” the statement said. “Only those who were asymptomatic were allowed to board the flights.” The State Department said in a statement on Monday that 14 passengers who had tested positive for the virus two or three days ago but were not showing symptoms had been allowed on one of the charter flights. “These individuals were moved in the most expeditious and safe manner to a specialized containment area on the evacuation aircraft to isolate them in accordance with standard protocols,” the statement said. Once in the United States, the passengers will be required to undergo a two-week quarantine at Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, Calif., or Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio. Those who did not take the charters will not be allowed to travel to the United States until March 4, two weeks after they would have otherwise been allowed to leave the ship on Wednesday, the embassy said. Some remained hesitant. Linda Tsukamoto, 63, a retired retail manager from Marina del Rey, Calif., said she had signed up for an evacuation flight, but changed her mind at the last minute. Ms. Tsukamoto stuck a Post-it note on her door reading, “I’m staying.” Three military doctors came to her door and advised her to go. Their emphatic tone, she said, was “scary,” but she was standing her ground. “I’d rather go home first class on United Airlines than a cold, noisy military charter when the Japanese Ministry of Health releases us,” she said. “I refuse to be fearful but respect the U.S. government to help others who feel more comfortable rushing home.” According to a letter from the Diamond Princess staff to passengers on Sunday, passengers who test negative for the virus and show no symptoms will be allowed to leave the ship on Feb. 19. The letter noted that passengers “may be subject to additional quarantine requirements by their country of destination when leaving Japan.” After 11 days of being isolated in their windowless cabin, John and Carol Montgomery were finally preparing to board a bus to take them to the airport, where they would then fly next to hundreds of people for about nine hours. “It feels surreal,” said Ms. Montgomery, 67, a retired administrative assistant from San Clemente, Calif. With at least 55 Americans from the ship having tested positive for the coronavirus during the quarantine period, some were left behind in Japan as the charter flights departed. For some, that meant family separations. John Haering, 63, who was taken to a hospital in Chiba Prefecture last week with a fever and tested positive for the virus, will have to stay while his wife, Melanie, heads home. “She’ll be in California quarantine,” Mr. Haering said by telephone from his hospital bed. “And I’m staying here, obviously.” Mr. Haering said he was angry that the United States government had not acted earlier. “If they were going to fly people out, they should have flown them out in the very beginning,” he said. “That way, we wouldn’t have sat there for 12 days, all of us getting sicker. I wouldn’t have been in the hospital; I would have been in the U.S. getting the treatment that I needed, and I could have been in quarantine there.” Tung Pi Lee, 79, was whisked away from the ship Wednesday night with a fever, leaving his wife on the ship. JoAnn LaRoche Lee, one of Mr. Lee’s daughters, said she and her siblings did not want her mother to try to stay in Japan with their father for fear she would not be allowed to come back if she did not take the charter flight. As for their father, said Ms. Lee, “We’re just kind of trusting that the State Department will be able to facilitate my dad’s return.” The United States previously evacuated about 850 people on five charter flights from Wuhan, the city in central China where the coronavirus emerged late last year. Canada and Hong Kong also said they would charter flights for passengers on the cruise ship, though it was not immediately clear when those flights would leave. The Philippines’ labor minister said on Sunday that the country was working to bring home more than 500 crew members. The Australian government said it was sending an expert to Yokohama and would consider the best options for more than 200 of its citizens aboard the ship. The Israeli government said three of its citizens on the ship had been infected. They are the first confirmed Israeli cases. About 330 Hong Kong residents are on the ship, including 260 Chinese citizens and 70 foreigners. Eleven of the Hong Kong passengers have been infected, the Hong Kong government said. An 80-year-old man who took the Diamond Princess from Yokohama to Hong Kong in January tested positive for the coronavirus on Feb. 1, the first documented case on the ship. Reporting was contributed by Eimi Yamamitsu, Ben Dooley, Chris Cameron, Johnny Diaz and Isabel Kershner. Read the full article

[cra5htig3rart]

Last Expiration

By: Kurisu678

All characters belong to @smokeplanet.

One Year Ago...

Late morning sun shone through the blinds into the bedroom shared by Mitch Mueller and Jonas Wagner, painting thin lines of yellow light against the bright blue walls. The space was kept in a state of comfortable chaos, a delicate balance between order and disarray. As per usual Sunday custom, alarms had been left off and both Mitch and Jonas were left in a blissful state of dozing while snuggling.

It was however, not to last.

"Hurk... hack... fuck..!" Mitch's body, the big spoon wrapped around his husband's smaller form, was wracked with painful spasms as deep-seated coughs exploded from his lungs. Involuntarily, he squeezed Jonas tight as a ward against the pain.

"Uh... m-morning." Jonas yawned deeply, the disturbance waking him. He brushed his long brown hair from his eyes. "So much for sleeping in. You getting that bug going around?"

"Yeah... must be..." Mitch said. Damn, those had hurt! He rolled over to let Jonas up from under his arm, discreetly clutching his ribs in the process.

"Well please try not to infect me. I can't afford to miss work right now." Jonas sat up at the edge of the bed, his body soft and curvy. His skin was light brown speckled with darker brown spots. Mitch smiled, nothing was quite as nice as seeing his short chubby husband in nothing but boxers.

"Stop undressing me with your eyes," Jonas said, sticking his tongue out with a smile.

"Can't help it, Spots. Besides, you're almost naked already." Mitch answered with a grin of his own, showing off his somewhat overlarge and yellow teeth. "Would take me less than a blink to get it done."

"Ha-ha," Jonas retrieved some grey sweatpants from the dresser. This pair was freshly-laundered and cozy against his skin; it was perfect for the chilly winter air.

"Seriously, though. Setting up this blue-whale breeding ground expedition has everyone working overtime." Jonas slipped on a t-shirt and made a serious face. "We only have six months to finalize everything. I couldn't live with myself if someone else had to do my  work too if I was sick!"

"Urgh... it's Sunday. I don't even want to hear the word 'work'!" Mitch grimaced, covering his face. His chest still ached, but he brushed it off. He tried to focus on deep, even breathing. He had been getting a bit short of breath lately...

As Mitch pondered Jonas entered the master bathroom, the sound of running water and brushing teeth echoing off the cool white tiles. Jonas finished up and went downstairs, presumably to make breakfast. Mitch rolled over and got to his feet, not bothering to get dressed beyond his boxers and padded into the bathroom. His long, lean frame had finally filled out since high school. With a respectable amount of muscle and a disreputable number of tattoos,  he finally looked like a pretty decent stud. Mitch smiled at his reflection.

"Hey, stu... hurk, gurgle...!" Mitch's words were cut off as another round of coughs rose unbidden from his chest, the pain just as bad as before. He doubled over the sink, covering his mouth with his hand.

When he pulled his hand away, it was flecked with blood. The bright red droplets stark against his pale skin, like a handful of rubies dropped on a snowbank.

"Sh-shit..." Mitch's body began to tremble. Coughing blood couldn't be good...

"That last one sounded pretty bad. You think you ought to see a doctor, Mitch?" Jonas had returned from the kitchen, with two plates laden with golden waffles smothered in maple syrup with a side of scrambled eggs.

"N-no, Spots. I'm fine, you know me... I don't stay sick long." Mitch said, quickly and discreetly washing the blood from his palm and lips. He bent over the sink so Jonas wouldn't see.

Jonas handed Mitch his plate. "Don't I know it, but that doesn't mean I'm going to risk catching anything. You're in quarantine mister!" Mitch tried to smile as genuinely as he could, but he felt something in his chest besides the ache that filled it. It wormed its way into his otherwise picturesque life.. was it... fear?

Eight Months Ago...

After about an hour in the hospital waiting room, Mitch was about to call it quits and go home. He needed to check his wristwatch every 15 minutes, if this took any longer then Jonas would know he wasn't home. The stress of the mother across the seating area trying to put herself between her son and Mitch, as if she could shield him from his bad influence, was really pissing him off.

Three seconds before he would've got up and said "fuck it," the beautiful nurse came out from behind her desk. Her hair was long and dark, wavy and full like she was some damn shampoo model. Mitch squinted at her name tag, "Nurse Morgan."

"Mitch Mueller? The doctor will see you now."

"Finally." Mitch muttered under his breath as he went into the examination room. Various anatomy charts hung on the white walls while the short and portly doctor wrinkled his walrus mustache in a smile as Mitch came in.

"Good, good, Mr. Mueller. Just take your shirt off please and we'll have a look at you. What seems to be the problem?" The doctor's stubby fingers flipped through Mitch's file as Mitch pulled his shirt off his long, lean torso.

"Uh, well Doc, AH!" Mitch flinched as an ice-cold stethoscope was placed against his chest. The shock caused him to take a sharp breath, only to feel pain lance through his lungs as he coughed in response.

"Hack... ahem... well, I've been coughing a lot. Sometimes there's blood when I cough, too." Mitch said, the doctor moving the stethoscope around as he talked.

"And I've been getting out of breath a lot, like I'm not getting enough air. Weird, right? Since I'm so in-shape." The doctor said only "mhmm" in response as he continued his examination.

"How long have you had these symptoms?" The doctor moved the stethoscope against Mitch's back, pulling a frowning face at his tattoos.

"Almost four months..." Mitch said.

"It says here that you work construction? Ever worked with asbestos?" The doctor asked.

"Well yeah, but they make us wear masks for that shit." Mitch frowned, tugging his shirt back on. "Do you know what it is or not, Doc?"

"Mr. Mueller," the doctor said, exasperated.

"Just Mitch, please." Mitch bit his lower lip, holding back his frustration.

"Mitchell, this could be any number of things. You could have contracted tuberculosis, or it could be a completely different illness altogether." The doctor said. "Such a cursory examination can only reveal so much."

Mitch cringed at the doctor using "Mitchell" but decided to let it pass.

"Clearly your lungs are in some kind of distress, your breathing sounded laboured. But as to why we need to dig deeper." The doctor made some illegible marks on his clipboard. "I'm ordering an exhaustive battery of tests to see exactly what's wrong."

"All right, fine. So we're done?" Mitch started to pull his jacket on, the air was still chilly out.

"Yes, yes. Just one more thing, it says here you are a smoker?" The doctor said, not looking up from his scribbling.

"Yeah, since high school. What's it to you?" Mitch said, cross. He hated it when people judged him for smoking, it was his own damn life.

"Just making sure all the information is correct. Nurse Morgan will schedule you in for a blood test and some X-rays. Unfortunately, our X-ray equipment is not working currently, so you'll need to go out of town to have them taken..." The doctor looked up, his eyes magnified by his reading glasses.

"Tch... it's fine, I can wait." Mitch desperately wanted to get out of there. His phone buzzed, it was a text from Jonas asking where he was. He was going to need a believable lie...

"Really Mr. Mueller, this could be very serious. The parts won't come in for at least a few more weeks, maybe months..." The doctor said as his frown deepened.

"I said I can wait! Just call me... on my cell, not the home phone! When you've got the stuff fixed." The doctor sighed as Mitch practically sprinted out the door.  Maybe he could pick up pizza and claim it was a long line?

Six Months Ago...

Their room, once in balance between disorder and harmony, was now firmly on the side of disorder as Jonas frantically tried to get everything packed for the voyage he was undertaking. Clothes were strewn about and the dresser appeared to be in a state of exploding into a pile of sweatpants and dress clothes.

"And it's really amazing because no one has actually been able to find out where the whales go to breed. We see mothers with their calves all the time, but where do they go?" Jonas prattled on, his eyes shining bright with excitement. Most of the marine-biology jargon flew over his husband's head, but if Jonas was excited Mitch was definitely happy for him.

"But the University finally decided to finance our project and now we can track at least 50 female blue whales 24/7 with GPS to find out exactly where they are mating!" Jonas shoved another dozen pairs of socks into his suitcase, cheerful and smiling. "It's a six-month voyage of scientific discovery!"

"So you're watching a bunch of whales bang?" Mitch reached out and grabbed his husband from behind, pulling him onto the bed with him. He winced at the pain in his chest, but he'd been getting better at suppressing the coughing. However the bleeding had been getting worse, and he'd started to lose weight.

"I married a perv!" Mitch said as he laughed, as Jonas steadied his suitcase.

"Careful! It took me all night to get that organized." Jonas said, smiling at his husband.

"But I guess that would mean like attracts like." Jonas pulled in for a kiss, his lips grazing Mitch's. The touch sent a warm flush through the both of them.

"So I'm a perv, then?" Mitch was certainly in the mood, if the tent in his pants was anything to go by.

"Oh yes, but I was pure as the driven snow before I met you." Jonas kissed Mitch on the cheek this time. Jonas slowly unbuttoned his work shirt and loosened his tie.

"A-and now?" Mitch said, breathless.

In one fluid motion, Jonas pulled his tie still in a loop over his own head and slipped it around Mitch's neck. With a firm but gentle tug he pulled Mitch's head forward for another kiss. Mitch's eyes were closed in bliss when he felt Jonas push him flat on his back, Jonas's hands grasping his own and pushing them above his head. The fabric of the bedspread slid as Jonas straddled Mitch's chest, the springs squeaking under them.

"I dunno, Mitch Mueller." Jonas smiled, "why don't you tell me?"

"Uhh..." Mitch gulped.

The next morning they were all at the pier.  A massive ship was tethered to the dock being loaded with all the equipment the research team needed, including a submarine. Jonas was standing a bit away from Mitch, talking with his fellow marine biologists as they made final preparations. Mitch looked out across the sea, and sighed. It would be six months without Jonas. The ocean waves crashed against the shore, as if trying to flow upwards and swallow the land.

"Tch, nerds." Mitch was waiting to kiss Jonas goodbye when his phone buzzed. He opened his email and saw it was from the doctor. He finally had the tests done and after being poked and prodded and giving about 5 gallons of blood, he was impatient for the results. Mitch began to read:

Mr. Mueller, we regret to inform you that the tests results show that the cause of your symptoms is stage 4 cancer. It appears to have originated from your lungs, but has begun invading your other organs, including your liver, kidneys and stomach. We recommend aggressive chemotherapy treatment immediately, as cancer this pervasive simply isn't operable. Please come into the office as soon as...

Mitch's blood turned cold as ice as Jonas walked toward him, apparently finished talking.

"Well we look all ready... hey, hey! Are you all right?" Mitch felt a tear roll down his cheek, this was the highlight of Jonas's career he couldn't ruin it. Not now, he couldn't fuck up one more thing...

"Yeah no, I'm f-fine, totally fine." Mitch said, wiping the tear from his eye. "Just sad 'cause I'm not going to have you to keep me warm at night."

"Oh, Lord. You're a marshmallow!" Jonas laughed, and wrapped his arms around Mitch's waist. "It's only six months, and I'll be back before you know it. This expedition could uncover secrets that would help us protect the blue whale breeding grounds from drilling and shipping traffic."

Jonas pulled Mitch closer, his much taller husband having to bend down for their goodbye kiss. After all this time together, they were well practiced in dealing with their difference in height.

"Just... take care of yourself, please. I've noticed you're losing weight, Mitch." Jonas bit his lip as they pulled apart.

"Yes sir," Mitch said, pulling forward for a tight hug. "I'll be a fatty before you know it."

"Ha-ha." Jonas rolled his eyes.

"You don't need to worry about me." Mitch said, trying to remember this moment, this feeling of Jonas's comfortable weight in his arms.

"Promise me you'll be waiting for me?" Jonas said, his head against Mitch's chest.

"I promise. I'll be right here, waiting." Mitch's heart stuttered only a little at that lie, and not loud enough that anyone else could hear.

Four Months Ago...

Mitch was lying in bed, his hospital gown loose on his long, lanky body. The chemotherapy hadn't exactly been easy on him. Weight had melted off his frame as he cycled through the toxic poison meant to cure him of his illness. Most of his hair fell out after the first month, and by now he was bald. His eyes were sunken and he was painfully thin. He coughed weakly as the doctor entered the room.

"Mr. Mueller," the doctor began, Mitch too sapped of energy to correct him on his name. "I'm afraid the news isn't good. While some of the tumors have responded, the cancer has spread to your lymph nodes... and your brain." The doctor seemed to try and shield himself from having to look at Mitch's emaciated body with his clip board.

"A-and that means?" Mitch replied, trying to sound as sarcastic as he could. He felt, hollow. Despite his body being so full of cancer, he had never felt more drained of life.

"At this point there is no treatment avenue we can try. You'll feel a bit better after we take you off the chemotherapy... but you have at most four months to live. Cancer this pervasive can cause any number of your body's systems to fail at any time. We'll try to make you comfortable with the time you have left..." Despite the doctor's medical brilliance, his bedside manner left much to be desired.

"Well fuck.. that sucks." Mitch leaned back in the bed, the white walls and windows failing to mask the scent of death that clung to the air like rotting flowers. He could hang on for Jonas, he could make sure the last thing he said to him wasn't a lie...

Two Months Ago...

Mitch's mother sat next to his hospital bed, holding his hand. She had aged rather gracefully over the years, like a really shady Betty White. Her fingers were adorned with golden rings studded with diamonds from her rich, oil-baron husband. Mitch was glad she found someone, being the best man at his mother's wedding had been a blast. Jonas had needed to drag him to the car and drive him home, it was like high school all over again.

"Jonas... didn't take the news well." Henrietta said, holding her son's hand tighter. "He sounded pretty angry. Also sad. I'm not sure he if he was yelling or crying." His mother clutched her pearls as she gently squeezed her son's hand.

"Hurk... sounds like him." Mitch coughed weakly. His hair had grown back without much colour, and he continued to lose weight as the cancer sucked the life from him to grow. His joints ached all the time and his breathing was shallow and weak. Apparently having a tumour in your brain could impinge the optic nerve so his vision was getting blurry and dim. It was almost like being high, but minus the fun parts.

"Son, why didn't you tell him?" His mother asked, sounding sad herself. "The ship can't come back from the other side of the world on demand. He can't return to see you until they're finished."

"This trip... it was his... cough cough... dream." Mitch replied. "Make his career and shit..." he felt drowsy. The drugs they'd given him to help alleviate the pain had also dulled his mind and senses.

"I think you were his dream..." His mother's voice sounded far away, heard as if underwater.

Now...

Mitch had long since lost the strength to talk. The amount of drugs coursing through his veins to maintain the dimming twilight of his life was absurd. When he slept he began dreaming of high school, happier days when he first felt falling in love with Jonas...

But cling to life he did and the same beautiful dark-haired nurse from the doctor's office all those months ago attended him. Sometimes he could hear his mother crying. Other times it was her voice, telling him how close Jonas was to coming back.

"Oh he's on the way here, honey. Just a little longer." She would say, her face haggard and drawn.

Mitch had dreamt of their first county fair together. How nice it had been to hold Jonas's hand, so warm and soft. He had even scrounged up some change to win some prizes for Jonas to impress him.

"You know telekinesis is cheating right?" Jonas had said, but he accepted the giant pink panda bear with a wide smile.

"Oh he's almost here, Mitch. He's in the parking lot! Oh, I'll just go and get him." Mitch's mother sped off, rushing to the elevator.

The nurse quietly closed the door. She was wearing blue scrubs... but no, as Mitch focused his eyes, she was wearing something else.

"You're out of time, Mitch Mueller." She said, pulling her cape aside. It was made of crow feathers, oily and black like a starless night. She wore leather armour and plates of metal. In her hand was a mighty lance, the spearhead a shining blade of silver metal. Mitch's heart began to race, but it's not like he could escape her if she decided to impale him.

None of the hospital staff seemed to notice as she reached out her pale hand, her fingernails curved like talons. She grasped his hand and pulled, and Mitch found himself drifting away from the hospital. She was drawing him toward some dark void, far away from Jonas. Faint words reached him, the staff's useless attempts to revive him were weak tugs that did nothing to stop the dark-haired woman pulling him away.

"NO, DON'T LEAVE!" Jonas cried out like a dying animal. "YOU SAID YOU'D BE HERE! YOU PROMISED!" Mitch had to get back, get back to him... get back... to Jonas...

Mitch turned around, to try and return and escape the yawning abyss trying to swallow him up, but as he did the woman's face was right up against his own.

"You're out of time, Mitch Mueller!"

Then...

Mitch woke with a gasp, the fortune-telling tent dark. The sounds of the county fair muted by the thick, dark fabric that enclosed the space. That's right! He and Jonas were at the fair, they were at the fair! It wasn't real, his dying wasn't real! Mitch clutched his chest, sucking in deep breath after deep breath, reveling in the lack of pain.

"Enjoy your future, Mitch Mueller?" The beautiful woman, still dressed in her armour and feather cape stood before him. Mitch slowly remembered coming into the tent and she had offered to show him the future.

"Fuck!" Mitch flinched, he tried to get up but his body was glued to his seat, like magic. "What the fuck did you do to me!? Who the fuck're you!"

"Well that depends on who you ask," the woman said with a coy smile. "To the Mayans, I was Camazotz." She stepped closer, making Mitch's heart beat fast in terror. "To the Greeks, I was Thanatos." She inched ever closer, Mitch felt his shirt begin to cling to him with sweat. "The Celts called me The Morrigan." She was so close Mitch could feel her breath on his face, cold and damp like a crypt.

"But all my old names mean nothing to you, do they?" She grinned and laughed, sanguine and predatory. "You can call me Death."

Mitch felt like he was going to either vomit, wet himself or both. But he really wanted to do neither.

"Well y-yeah. O-OK, then 'Death' if th-that's your real name." Mitch said, face red and beaded with sweat. "So th-that was my future, yeah?"

"Aw... don't get cute."Death leaned back, sitting down on her fortune-telling table.

"It is a future Mitchell, there is no true future until it happens." She examined her claw-like nails.

"So, I-I'm gonna die of cancer then? Well f-fuck..." Mitch shuddered, the feeling of losing Jonas still fresh. It all felt so real...

"That future is real, if you keep doing what you're doing, Mitchell." Death said, as if reading his mind.

"Every time you smoke one of these, that future becomes ever more certain." Death poked him in the chest, right at his heart. Right where he kept his cigarettes in his front coat pocket. "And the funny thing is you always go on about how it's your life and no one else's, yet you destroyed Jonas's life too." Death's laugh was cold, just like her touch. Mitch didn't feel animosity or cruelty from her, rather she seemed to radiate frigid indifference.

"After you die, Jonas's guilt over his research voyage and your lie of omission about your cancer completely cripples him emotionally. He quits his job and never remarries, instead becoming a school teacher and drowning his sorrows in booze." Death drew her namesake tarot card from her deck. "Jonas Wagner dies driving into a telephone pole at age 39, drunk on the anniversary of your death. I guess he got abandoned one too many times. His sister blamed you for his death you know, she defaced your gravestone after Jonas's funeral."

Mitch felt like he was about to cry, inside the tarot card was a clear image, like a photograph, of Jonas dead across his car's dashboard. His blank, empty eyes somehow still clearly etched with grief.

"But I guess in your selfishness, you didn't really care about him at all." Death got up, and Mitch found he could move again, and he leapt to his feet backing toward the tent entrance. "As my bother Eros is always telling me, it's the ones we love we end up hurting the most."

"So I guess the question is, what kind of future with Jonas do you want? A short and tragic one, or long and happy?" Death winked, the tip of her spear nearly touching Mitch's chest... "Whether I see you sooner or later is up to you, Mitch Mueller!"

Mitch backed out of the tent and fell flat on his ass. Wincing, he stood up, the tent he came from having vanished, where it stood was completely empty.

"Mitch!" Jonas cried out, carrying corndogs, popcorn, cotton candy and his pink panda bear. "There you are, can you carry some of these? My hands are pretty... hey, what's the matter?" He placed his burdens on a nearby bench.

"What's the matter, you're shaking like a leaf!" Jonas held Mitch's hand. Mitch's heart was starting to slow from its frenetic pace. Looking at Jonas's face, he kept seeing Jonas dead in the tarot card. While the precise memory of that year that Death had made him live was starting to get fuzzy, the feeling of fear and pain and loss was clear as crystal.

"Oh, just... guess the haunted house got to me. Th-that's all." Mitch held Jonas's hand tighter, warm and reassuring trying to laugh it off.

"Wow, you're such a marshmallow!" Jonas laughed, he sounded so full of life. "Even I didn't believe in that fake blood!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Mitch just needed to help calm down, take the edge off. Unconsciously, his hand pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. He had nearly flicked the lighter on when he realised what he was doing.

"Um, something wrong with your lighter?" Jonas said, after about a minute of Mitch standing there with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"Nah," Mitch spat it out into his palm. He looked at it hard, then at Jonas. "I... I guess smoking is kinda dumb, right?"

"Well yeah, cigarettes are bad for you." Jonas sounded like he was talking to an elementary school kid. "Everyone knows that."

"What kind of future do I want...?" Mitch muttered, holding the cigarette.

"What was that?" Jonas said. "Nothing," Mitch replied, throwing out all his cigarettes and his lighter into a nearby garbage can.

"Oh, you're throwing those away? I didn't even know you wanted to quit." Jonas said, surprised. "But that's good, right? Much healthier."

"That's right, Spots." Mitch said, wrapping his arm around Jonas's shoulders. Jonas leaned into the embrace, albeit a little embarrassed to be so affectionate in public. But his smile told Mitch all he needed to know.

"I still need you to help me carry all this..."

THE END

[ladystylestores]

Coronavirus Briefing: What Happened Today

The future of air travel

Lara writes: Over the last month, my Swedish partner and I have had to travel from New York to London to Sweden. Each of our three flights was a vastly different experience but gave a preview of what to expect as countries begin to reopen their borders as coronavirus lockdowns ease.

For our first flight, we arrived at Newark Liberty International Airport to find a virtual ghost town. Only 36 of us were scheduled to take off on the 318-seat Boeing 787 Dreamliner to London, so we were allowed to choose whatever seats — or entire rows — we wanted. We wore masks, as many airlines have required, and food service was reduced.

Three weeks later, we left for my partner’s home in Gothenburg, Sweden, but because of lower demand, there were no direct routes. Our connecting flight to Stockholm was packed and social distancing was impossible. On our last flight, there were enough empty seats to have a little extra space, but every cough and sneeze still made me nervous.

Though we would not have traveled if we did not have to, we still wondered: How much risk were we incurring?

You can’t be completely protected from the virus on a commercial flight, according to the Times science reporter Donald G. McNeil Jr., but if everyone is wearing a mask and there aren’t too many people, a plane can be fairly safe.

“The biggest factor is luck,” he told us. “Did you get on one of the dozens of planes on any given day that are just fine? Or did you get on the plane that has a virus-spewing superspreader — who may not even be feeling sick — aboard?”

A whole new world: Tourist-dependent countries are searching for creative ways to bring back international visitors without importing the virus. New Zealand and Australia, for example, are planning for a “travel bubble” to allow unrestricted flights between the two countries, which have largely tamped down their outbreaks.

But for higher-risk travelers, a study this month hopes to figure out whether the current 14-day quarantine can be shortened. Volunteers will fly from San Francisco to Taipei, Taiwan, and be tested for the virus before boarding and then three, five, seven, 10 and 14 days after arrival. The aim is to determine the latest day a positive test could emerge.

Related: Passengers on U.S. airlines say that rules requiring passengers to wear masks are not being enforced.

The Times is providing free access to much of our coronavirus coverage, and our Coronavirus Briefing newsletter — like all of our newsletters — is free. Please consider supporting our journalism with a subscription.

An unemployment surprise

The U.S. unexpectedly added 2.5 million jobs in May, reversing some of the losses from pandemic-induced layoffs, with significant gains in sectors such as restaurants, construction, retail and health services.

The data suggests that reopened states and cities allowed some businesses to bring back furloughed employees. Still, the unemployment rate, which fell to 13.3 percent from 14.7 percent in April, remains higher than in any recent recession, with more than 20 million people out of work.

Updated June 5, 2020

How many people have lost their jobs due to coronavirus in the U.S.?

The unemployment rate fell to 13.3 percent in May, the Labor Department said on June 5, an unexpected improvement in the nation’s job market as hiring rebounded faster than economists expected. Economists had forecast the unemployment rate to increase to as much as 20 percent, after it hit 14.7 percent in April, which was the highest since the government began keeping official statistics after World War II. But the unemployment rate dipped instead, with employers adding 2.5 million jobs, after more than 20 million jobs were lost in April.

Will protests set off a second viral wave of coronavirus?

Mass protests against police brutality that have brought thousands of people onto the streets in cities across America are raising the specter of new coronavirus outbreaks, prompting political leaders, physicians and public health experts to warn that the crowds could cause a surge in cases. While many political leaders affirmed the right of protesters to express themselves, they urged the demonstrators to wear face masks and maintain social distancing, both to protect themselves and to prevent further community spread of the virus. Some infectious disease experts were reassured by the fact that the protests were held outdoors, saying the open air settings could mitigate the risk of transmission.

How do we start exercising again without hurting ourselves after months of lockdown?

Exercise researchers and physicians have some blunt advice for those of us aiming to return to regular exercise now: Start slowly and then rev up your workouts, also slowly. American adults tended to be about 12 percent less active after the stay-at-home mandates began in March than they were in January. But there are steps you can take to ease your way back into regular exercise safely. First, “start at no more than 50 percent of the exercise you were doing before Covid,” says Dr. Monica Rho, the chief of musculoskeletal medicine at the Shirley Ryan AbilityLab in Chicago. Thread in some preparatory squats, too, she advises. “When you haven’t been exercising, you lose muscle mass.” Expect some muscle twinges after these preliminary, post-lockdown sessions, especially a day or two later. But sudden or increasing pain during exercise is a clarion call to stop and return home.

My state is reopening. Is it safe to go out?

States are reopening bit by bit. This means that more public spaces are available for use and more and more businesses are being allowed to open again. The federal government is largely leaving the decision up to states, and some state leaders are leaving the decision up to local authorities. Even if you aren’t being told to stay at home, it’s still a good idea to limit trips outside and your interaction with other people.

What’s the risk of catching coronavirus from a surface?

Touching contaminated objects and then infecting ourselves with the germs is not typically how the virus spreads. But it can happen. A number of studies of flu, rhinovirus, coronavirus and other microbes have shown that respiratory illnesses, including the new coronavirus, can spread by touching contaminated surfaces, particularly in places like day care centers, offices and hospitals. But a long chain of events has to happen for the disease to spread that way. The best way to protect yourself from coronavirus — whether it’s surface transmission or close human contact — is still social distancing, washing your hands, not touching your face and wearing masks.

What are the symptoms of coronavirus?

Common symptoms include fever, a dry cough, fatigue and difficulty breathing or shortness of breath. Some of these symptoms overlap with those of the flu, making detection difficult, but runny noses and stuffy sinuses are less common. The C.D.C. has also added chills, muscle pain, sore throat, headache and a new loss of the sense of taste or smell as symptoms to look out for. Most people fall ill five to seven days after exposure, but symptoms may appear in as few as two days or as many as 14 days.

How can I protect myself while flying?

If air travel is unavoidable, there are some steps you can take to protect yourself. Most important: Wash your hands often, and stop touching your face. If possible, choose a window seat. A study from Emory University found that during flu season, the safest place to sit on a plane is by a window, as people sitting in window seats had less contact with potentially sick people. Disinfect hard surfaces. When you get to your seat and your hands are clean, use disinfecting wipes to clean the hard surfaces at your seat like the head and arm rest, the seatbelt buckle, the remote, screen, seat back pocket and the tray table. If the seat is hard and nonporous or leather or pleather, you can wipe that down, too. (Using wipes on upholstered seats could lead to a wet seat and spreading of germs rather than killing them.)

Should I wear a mask?

The C.D.C. has recommended that all Americans wear cloth masks if they go out in public. This is a shift in federal guidance reflecting new concerns that the coronavirus is being spread by infected people who have no symptoms. Until now, the C.D.C., like the W.H.O., has advised that ordinary people don’t need to wear masks unless they are sick and coughing. Part of the reason was to preserve medical-grade masks for health care workers who desperately need them at a time when they are in continuously short supply. Masks don’t replace hand washing and social distancing.

What should I do if I feel sick?

If you’ve been exposed to the coronavirus or think you have, and have a fever or symptoms like a cough or difficulty breathing, call a doctor. They should give you advice on whether you should be tested, how to get tested, and how to seek medical treatment without potentially infecting or exposing others.

The unexpected upswing also raised fears that lawmakers could shut off aid prematurely, leaving millions of Americans stranded without work. Republicans had already thrown cold water on the idea of another stimulus package on top of the nearly $2.8 trillion already approved.

Reopenings

Here’s a roundup of restrictions in all 50 states.

What else we’re following

The federal government’s tally of coronavirus-related deaths in nursing homes around the country is missing thousands of deaths, according to a Times analysis.

Disordered eating in a disordered time: Social isolation and unstructured days add to the anxiety of those struggling to achieve a healthy relationship with food.

The World Health Organization endorsed the use of masks to reduce transmission of the coronavirus, a reversal critics said was long overdue.

American students risk falling months behind because of coronavirus-imposed distance learning, new research suggests, and racial and socioeconomic achievement gaps will most likely widen.

Summer camps are becoming something of a laboratory for companies that are trying to get into the consumer market for testing for the virus.

Thanks to a virus lockdown, elephants are roaming freely in a Thai national park.

What you’re doing

For months now, I’ve sent out three trivia questions to my extended family every night at 5 p.m. The person with the right answer gets a point and the competition is fierce. By now I’ve covered every topic you can imagine — Greek mythology, world geography, natural history, professional sports, famous feminists, obscure Harry Potter, and more. It has become a thing we can all count on.

— Amy K., Falmouth, Maine

Let us know how you’re dealing with the outbreak. Send us a response here, and we may feature it in an upcoming newsletter.

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What It’s Like to Be an OB-GYN Nurse in the Age of COVID-19

elle.com

My mother, the nurse, blinks herself awake at 5 a.m.

She reads her Our Daily Bread devotional, a prayer book by the Christian ministry of the same name. Then she thanks God for waking her up once again, on this cloudy morning. Sixty-three years, God has been waking her up each day.

There are so many people who went to bed last night and didn’t get to see today, she thinks.

After her quiet devotion, she drinks Nescafé with a little cream and two Equals, shuffling around the modern, airy kitchen in the house she just bought, watching the morning news and weather: overcast with a high of 45. The death rate in New York City is surging by the day, the TV says, and increasingly overwhelmed and burnt-out medical teams are crying for help.

Today, she adds two boiled eggs to her morning nourishment. That thing inside of her that tells her to bring the babies into the world, and to keep them healthy—she feels it extra strong these days. Maybe stronger than ever. It’s going to be a long day.

She eats the eggs.

My mother is the OB-GYN head nurse at Lincoln Medical Center, a public hospital in the South Bronx. There are 362 beds at Lincoln. Its web site boasts that the hospital’s level 1 trauma center is “the busiest in the northeast region.”

The author’s mother, Patience Omokha, works during the COVID-19 pandemic as the head OBGYN nurse at Lincoln Medical Center in the South Bronx.

Rita Omokha

She dreamed of being a nurse from when she was five years old, growing up in Benin City, Nigeria, population 1.5 million, near the Atlantic coast. She loved the white uniforms and the blue and red pens she saw sticking out of the towering nurses’ chest pockets when she went to the doctor. She wanted to wear that uniform.

In 1970, her father was in a motorcycle accident and broke his leg. My mother stayed with him in the hospital. “I told my mom, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do everything,’” she says. “The whole time he was there, I volunteered to be the one to change his bedpan and sleepover. Everything. I felt good that I was able to be there to help him.”

She was 14.

Around 6:30, mom begins her drive down Bruckner Boulevard in her black Toyota Highlander from the Shorehaven neighborhood, where she lives, to Lincoln.

She used to have to leave earlier, because of all the school buses on the road. The streets are quiet now.

When bad things happen, humans respond in all kinds of ways. We bring a meal, we send a card. We donate money. Maybe we even volunteer our time. Sometimes we ignore the bad things, convinced that our own lives demand too much of us. But mostly, we want to help, and we feel a little better when we do.

We can say, “I did that.”

Some people? Like my mom? They make it their job. There are a lot of ways to make a living, and my mother chose to take care of sick people and new mothers. She gets that same rush of satisfaction we all get when we do a good deed. She just gets it all the time.

It felt good that I was able to be there to help him.

In normal times, when she arrives at Lincoln to start her shift, the lobby on East 149th Street is crowded—people waiting to be picked up, people drinking coffee, people coming and going. Guards casually monitoring things, giving people directions. There are homeless people, even, catching some warmth.

Now? The lobby is as desolate as the city around it that, before the pandemic descended, never slept. Within the familiar burnt-orange and sky-blue walls, the active noise of anticipation and concern that normally vibrates throughout the place has been replaced by waves of silence. The waiting area chairs, more than fifty of them, have all been removed. The yawning space now only contains the security guard’s post. The guest check-in cubicle at the main entrance to the building is now a makeshift screening station stocked with surgical masks and an oversized clear bottle of hand sanitizer for incoming patients, who must show documents proving that they have an appointment.

Patience as a young woman in Nigeria.

Rita Omokha

Once she’s on 5B: Maternity—her unit—she enters her windowless office, changes to her white lab coat, washes her hands, and puts on gloves and a surgical mask, which she will wear for her entire shift. This is a new precaution.

“Everything is changing,” she says of the new required procedure.

The maternity unit has not yet been escalated to N95 respirators—the tighter-fitting mask with a higher filtration of airborne particles. Until now, the cases that have come through her unit have been primarily quarantine cases, including a Hispanic woman in her late-twenties. The woman had only held her newborn baby for a few seconds before she showed two signs of the virus: high fever and shortness of breath.

Immediately after her delivery, her blood was drawn. She now lays in 5B awaiting the results, separated from her baby and her family.

A vague fear of death permeates most other units of the hospital—of any hospital. Not Maternity. The maternity unit is about life. As an OB-GYN nurse, my mother is accustomed to—and finds joy in—welcoming new life. She is always optimistic.

Except that it’s getting harder right now.

“I feel so sad when I think about anything hurting the mothers or babies,” my mom says. We’re talking using FaceTime—me in my apartment in Manhattan, her in her house, after her shift. “Can you imagine if the mother is affected—or even passes? Then, who’s going to raise the child? Every baby needs their mother. I’m praying and trusting God that nothing bad will happen. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Outside the new mother’s isolation room is a three-drawer rolling cabinet with a set of personal protective equipment, or PPEs, in each drawer: a yellow isolation gown, surgical mask, plastic face-shields and gloves. Yellow isolation gowns, used for low- to moderate-risk scenarios, have been designated for quarantine cases.

The blue isolation gowns are for positive cases. They have an added layer of protection.

“My name is Patience Omokha,” my mother says, entering the woman’s sterile room. The air smells strongly of Clorox. “I’m the head nurse for the day shift, and I’m doing my rounds. How are you feeling this morning?”

The petite woman wears a bluish-gray patient gown, and a white bed sheet swallows her lower body. A clear water pitcher rests on the bedside table. Next to the bed is a portable blood-pressure machine.

“Oh, I’m okay,” she says, somberly. She is fair-skinned, which makes her brown hair striking. A blue surgical mask covers her nose and mouth.

My mom takes her vitals: temperature, pulse and respiration. Her temp is still 101.

The patient sizes up my mom: a 5-foot-6, shapely frame covered by a yellow isolation gown, her sweet oval face and dark brown eyes partially showing behind her surgical mask and the plastic face-shield wrapped around her head.

“Do you understand everything that’s going on now?” my mom asks. “Do you know why we put you in this private room?”

“Yes.” The woman pauses. A blank expression fills her face before she adds, “I think so.”

“What do you understand is going on?”

“They said I can’t see my baby because of this virus thing,” says the woman. “I have to stay here until the test comes back.”

The tests are due back in one to three days, typical for new mothers suspected of being infected with the virus. Until the results are in, she won’t see her baby boy.

“How are you feeling about that?” my mom asks.

“I know this is for my own good,” she says. “And for my baby, too.”

The author with her mother.

Rita Omokha

Last week, two mothers who tested positive for COVID-19 were admitted under the same protocol. Like them, their newborns were also placed in isolation until test results return for both the mothers and babies.

“We don’t know what to do yet for all these mothers,” my mom says. “All we can continue to do is be there for them and make them feel comfortable.”

New York is an epicenter for COVID-19, with over 44,000 confirmed cases as of Friday. Hospitals are adapting on the fly, and healthcare workers are scared for their safety—especially with limited PPE supplies.

In 5B, nurses complained about not having any blue isolation gowns left, so my mother set up a meeting with the associate director of the hospital’s Department of Infectious Control to reassure her team that the yellow isolation gowns were just as effective for quarantine cases as the blue isolation gowns were for positive cases. The hospital will dispatch blue isolation gowns, when necessary, to the units that need them the most, the associate director told them.

“Some of my nurses are scared for themselves and their families,” my mother says. One of her nurses recently tested positive for the virus and is on her tenth day of quarantine. “I go in those rooms because I have to, it’s my job. I hope to always lead by example, even when I’m concerned about getting exposed myself.”

Hearing my mother say that frightened me, as I consider the possibility that she could herself be infected with the virus. The fear grew even more when she later texted me: “Oh my goodness, the results for the patient just came back and she is positive.”

The new mother she’d spoken to has COVID-19.

As I read her text, I wondered, was my mother more afraid about contracting the virus, or was she more scared that a newborn baby might grow up without a mother?

I think she is fearless because growing up, she had to be.

She grew up middle-class in Nigeria, one of six siblings. Education was optional for women. A domestic lifestyle, and marrying into an affluent family, was the goal.

Not for Patience.

The author and her brothers.

Rita Omokha

Getting to that white uniform would prove difficult with mounting school expenses and family challenges, like the seasonal income from her family’s storefront business. But then my grandmother, who was uneducated, joined mom’s fight for her dream. She sold all her special-occasion ankara and lace clothes—high-quality, sought-after fabrics then—to help raise enough money to get mom’s schooling started in Ibadan, the third most populous city in Nigeria. The balance would later come from loans.

“That kind of sacrifice, I’ll never forget it,” she tells me, our FaceTime conversation growing long.

My brothers and I joined mom in America in 1995, when I was seven. We lived in a modest two-bedroom white row-house on Intervale Avenue, in the South Bronx. One morning when I was about nine, I noticed a giddiness in her step.

Already dressed in her multi-colored uniform, hair grease dripped from her primped Jheri curls onto her top. She went between sternly telling us we only had minutes before we had to leave the house and rummaging through the hall closet in search of snow boots. She looked at her thin gold wristwatch—she was running late. The number 2 train at Freeman Street ran on a schedule. If she missed the next one, she would lose a few minutes before the next train arrived.

The author and her mother.

Rita Omokha

I remember just noticing her in this haste, and seeing her, really seeing her, perhaps for the first time: That was the morning I realized mom was a nurse, and not just mom.

On March 18, Lincoln imposed a new policy on 5B: Mothers are no longer able to have the support of friends, family members, or doulas in the delivery rooms.*

Nurses, like my mother, are all they have.

“Father, sister, partner or grandmother—nobody can come for the delivery or visitation,” she says.

Typically, on the day of discharge for a mother and new baby, the family would bring a change of clothes, car seat and balloons to the mother’s room—all manner of happy things to mark the joyous moment. No more. Even car seats aren’t allowed inside the hospital. Upon discharge, a nurse must escort them out of the building and off the premises to their pickup vehicle—where fathers, sisters, partners and grandmothers await to finally meet their newest family member.

“Every day there’s something new,” my mom says. “Everyone is overwhelmed.”

The COVID-19 pandemic has forced many other changes at the hospital, which has more than twenty clinics. Each clinic normally attends to over 100 people at any given time, but now throughout the day, at the different intervals—10 a.m. to 12 p.m., 1 p.m. to 3 p.m., and on and on—they only allow ten to fifteen people at a time.

Nurses are also being called to help understaffed units. My mother now splits her time between maternity and the main medical floor, with patients who have pre-conditions like hypertension, diabetes and asthma.

The author and her brothers.

Rita Omokha

Today is day 13 since I last saw or hugged my mom.

What we would normally do today, maybe: She might take me on a Costco run, or she would drop off a homecooked meal and groceries at my apartment. We’d get our nails done at the corner of East 76th Street and Second Avenue before crossing the street to Blossom Brows for our threading appointment. We’d catch up on everything, often having the same conversations as last time, garnished with more details.

Just before the outbreak, I was also in the middle of helping her decorate her new home.

Because non-patients are not allowed at her hospital right now, and I don’t want to endanger her by going to her home, I interviewed her for this story over FaceTime. The usual excitement for her daily routine was drowned with balmy concern.

Still, we had our laughs. I told her I needed details: “What colors are the lobby walls?” I asked her.

“The color of the walls!” she said, as she munched on her dinner. “I never notice these things!” Then she squeezed her face and pressed her lids shut, “I’d say—it’s—uh, orange, but not orange-orange. But, it’s orange, though. And, also like a light blue too.”

Moments like these and our regular check-ins tame the disconcerting feelings.

She has always been tenacious. She walks into that hospital every day ready to tackle uncertainties—scary uncertainties—and lead her team with courage and love. I miss her, but I am prouder to be her daughter. Her drive for what she loves has challenged and inspired me throughout my life. To see her meet this challenge encourages me to remain fearless, especially now.

“This is what I love to do,” she tells me. “I need to be there for my team more now. I don’t want them to get burnt out. This virus is scary for all of us because no one knows what’s coming.”

“Why did I become a nurse in the first place? This is why.”

My mother has been planning to retire next year. But now I see her so eager to be there each day, like the more dangerous things become for people, and the more she can help them—let’s just say I’m not planning her retirement party just yet.

“Why did I become a nurse in the first place? This is why,” she tells me. “When someone tells me ‘Thank you,’ or, when they hug me—when they used to, anyway—it made me feel so happy to be doing what I’m doing. Now I’m always thinking about how I can help more people, especially those mothers. They are scared and lonely when they are quarantined and waiting for their results.”

When my mother texted me about her patient testing positive, a second text immediately followed.

“Pray for me!!!!!”

Editor’s Note: A policy change was announced this week allowing one person into delivery rooms. However, visitors were still not allowed at Lincoln Medical Center at the time of publication.

Rita Omokha Rita Omokha is a graduate journalism student at Columbia University, where she is writing a book on the history of Nigerian immigration.  

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