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dreamscapestars · 4 years

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The Ultimate Reylo Fanfic List

* = highly recommend (aka if you’re going to read anything off this list read this)

Canonverse AUs

***All Our Days - E - 221k - "I can listen no longer in silence."The hologram projection of his strangely handsome face is cobalt blue, flickering, and full of static. "I must speak to you, Rey. You… you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late.” He groans, runs his hands through his dark, silver-streaked hair, then refocuses his gaze on the holorecorder. “I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight and a half years ago. Do not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death."Here the recording of Ben takes a deep breath, and looks down at something outside the holorecorder’s field of view. Perhaps at his hands, Rey manages to think, through the veil of shock and timid, fluttering hope. She wishes she were there with him, so she could take them in her own, and offer him the confidence to carry on.But this is only a hologram, so she must wait. Eventually, when he looks up again, his features have settled. He looks… Fierce. Determined. Self-assured."I have loved none but you," he says. - canonverse jane austen au

trillions of molecules - T - 11k - Fake papers forged, contract signed and a navy blue jumpsuit with his name printed on the chest supplied to him, the man who called himself Solo was hired by the Felucian Transit Corporation as shuttle operator number B414. - tros fix it au

There Shall I Be - N/A - 50k -She remembers the first and only time she saw him smile like this before and how it didn’t touch his eyes at the time and how it broke her heart.Now it fills her heart and gives her life.She shoves him back onto their blanket and climbs on top of him. She pulls off her sweater and takes him inside her again and rides him into the night. - canonverse far from the madding crowd au

*landscape with a blur of conquerors - E - 362k - "While I share your contempt for this situation in which we find ourselves, do not mistake it as apathy," he hissed through gritted teeth, dark eyes burning. "I hardly expect your disposition to sweeten, but I will be damned if I allow my future Empress to behave in a manner that reflects poorly on me and on the First Order!""If you allow?" She wrenched her arm out of his viselike grasp, batting his hand away for good measure. "I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone.""That might have been the case back when you were a scavenger on that pitiful scrap heap of a planet, but now?" His sardonic gaze flickered over her silk robes and the jewels woven through her elaborate braids. "Now you are the Chume'da, and the Chume'da belongs to her people. Their fate is entirely in your hands. Should you cross the line, it is they who will suffer for it. Am I making myself clear?""I hate you," she said bitterly. He sneered at her. "See? Already you are acclimatizing so well to married life." - arranged marriage au

Modern AUs

*the man, the stallion, and the wind - E - 17k - Weary and alone, Rey barrels west on the Trans-Canada Hwy in her old pickup truck. Weary and in need of a lift, Ben Solo stands by the side of the road with his thumb out, in the hopes of hitching a ride.One hell of a winter storm’s about to roll in, leaving them stranded. What ever shall they do? - hitchhiker au

The Mechanic - E - 122k - It's a magical midsummer night, just made for following a persuasive, dangerous-looking lawyer to a hotel across the road from the party. But then reality catches up to Rey. - mafia baby au

*Soul Searching - E - 205k - Sixteen-year-old Rey finds out she’s soulmates with her English teacher -- in front of her entire class. Now the school gossips won’t leave her alone, prying for tidbits that Rey wouldn’t give them even if she had any. And she doesn’t. Because Mr. Solo is too horrified at being soulmates with an underage girl to even talk to her. - soulmate au

Mitan, Midi - E - 83k - After a French notary contacts Rey to inform her she's inherited a house in the Drôme (France), she decides from one day to the next to quit her job and move there. The house is pretty secluded, there's no service, no internet, no way to reach other people aside from the landline in the living-room.Ideal conditions, by her standards, as those theoretically should allow her to be perfectly alone. Theoretically. - french country side au

*A Treehouse Covered in Salt - E - 34k -High school senior Rey Johnson has lived next door to Ben Solo her whole life. The two could not be more different and at school, Rey wouldn't be caught dead in his presence. That doesn't stop her from sneaking out to their treehouse every night. Despite her unwillingness to be friends with Ben in the light of day, he has always been there with her in the darkness. - high school au

Initial - M - 45k - A Soulmate AU in which you are born with the initials of your soulmate marked on the nape of your neck. Easy enough, right? Except for two people who don't use their real names. - soulmate au

Killing Me Softly - M - 32k - Rey clings to the hope that her husband will regain his memories after he survived a car crash that left him with amnesia. During her monthly visits at a medical facility with Ben, who now calls himself Kylo, she struggles to cope as he tries to make her let go of the past, and in turn, him with it. - amnesia au

only child of the universe - E - 98k - The first time Rey meets Ben, they're carefree strangers getting high at the fair, alight and in love for a night. The second time is different. The second time is in therapy— where the asshole won't even acknowledge her. - high school au

a place to go - E - 52k - All Rey Johnson wanted was solitude. A place to go where she could escape from the daily stressors and mayhem of her job. A place where she could enjoy some peace and some quiet. Her mentor Luke Skywalker's small cabin up north seemed like the ideal place to do just that. A week of seclusion was just what she needed.And then Ben Solo arrived. - snowed in au

into the great laughter of mankind - E - 30k - There is something about watching Rey put her mind to task. Ben can't put a name to this something, exactly— all he knows is that it fascinates him like nothing else has in a long, long time."Dr. Solo?" She glances over at him. "What do you think?"I think I'm doomed, he wants to say but doesn't. I think the curse of the pharaohs has nothing on you. I think you are my Egypt. - archaeologist au

(now it’s) Time to Learn - M - 86k - “You’re a teacher?” Ben doesn’t look like a teacher. At least not like any teacher Rey has ever had. - teacher au

For Now - E - 8k - There are plenty of things he could say, but he doesn’t. Buying you muffins makes me excited to get out of bed in the morning. I wish I could go back in time and be the kind of person you could like. I don’t remember my life before you. ---------- When Kylo finds his soulmate, she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t tell her. - soulmate au

Cupcake Wars - E - 36k - Entirely by accident, Rey ends up fucking someone who works for Snoke's Cupcakery. She's just blowing off steam. It doesn't mean anything at all. It certainly won't come back to bite her in the ass. - bakery au

The Food of Love - E - 60k - Rey picked up her first violin at eleven, finding a mentor in conductor and former-violinist Luke Skywalker. With the First Chair up for grabs, Rey is thrust into the spotlight as the youngest violinist to take First Chair in the NY Pops. But Kylo Ren - former violinist, former NY Pops cellist, formerly Ben Solo child prodigy - may take issue with Rey Nobody sitting in his grandfather's chair. - orchestra au

Orion - E - 14k - Rey Niima finds herself in the Saharan desert trying to heal wounds from her life, and Ben Solo is there too, fixing himself along the way. - roadtrip au

Embers - E - 34k - All the myriad things he’d been—someone who made her laugh; the warmth on the other side of the bed; her best friend—those things, Rey had buried. Rey left Ben two years, three months, and sixteen days ago. But who's counting? - getting back together au

Gilded - M - 11k - Everyone had two marks, one for class and another to identify a soulmate. She only had one: green rings on her finger, proof she was part of the laboring class. It made matters lonely, but never unbearable.Until she met him. He had two sets of marks—had a soulmate—and she did not. - soulmate au

flutz - E - 27k - Rey was determined to have no distractions during her first season in Senior Ladies figure skating.She swore that Olympic medalist and figure skating legend Ben Solo was not going to change that, no matter how intent he seemed on proving her wrong. - ice skater au

oh autumn, oh teakettle, oh grace - E - 30k - "So let me get this straight," he says. "You're a dryad.""Quite so," she cheerfully replies."Like an actual—" His hand rises to make a feeble gesture at the towering elms that surround them— "tree-dwelling, speaks-with-animals, has-magical-powers, frolics-through-the-woods-in-orgiastic-pagan-frenzy dryad?"She wrinkles her delicately freckled nose. "Well, I don't know about orgiastic frenzy, that's really more of a maenad type of deal."He looks her up and down, taking in her pretty face and her slender figure in the skimpy white dress."Too bad," he mumbles. - dryad roadtrip au

A Proposal by Any Other Name - E - 188k - Rey and Finn have been A Thing for a long time now. Since she was eighteen, to be exact. When Finn leaves on a trip to Europe for six months for work, Rey finally chases after him to Dublin to do what he seems to be putting off: propose.She wants a family, after all.The universe has different ideas. Her flights are delayed, storms hit, she loses her tickets and everything seems to be going horribly. To top it off, she ends up stranded around a rather irritating man by the name of Kylo Ren. It goes about as well as you'd expect. - leap year au

endless summer afternoon - E - 63k - “My son's room is always made up,” Han had said, hitting a light switch as Rey clung to a dirty backpack in the dark hallway, “he never comes home. Warm bed might as well get some use.”Rey spared Han some of the dignity of his own longing assessment of the space that clearly hadn’t been looked at in a long time. An empty room in a quiet house. As gruff as he was, handing it off to some runaway nobody just because she was helping him rebuild a car was one of the kindest gestures she’d ever experienced, and had a hidden weight that she knew needed a respectful amount of privacy. Mysteries were often about unresolved sadness, and were usually only solved by the people who didn’t feel it.Rey is offered a place to stay: a spare bedroom once belonging to the mysterious Ben Solo. What does she do when she wakes up with him wanting his bed back? - roommates au

Dandelion - E - 45k - Rey's an ex con and orphan, just released from jail after killing Plutt. She follows advice from her former guardian, Maz, and finds a job at Luke's coffee shop. Ben's a lawyer who lost his job and moved back to his hometown. He falls for Rey, unaware of her dark past. - coffee shop au

A Few Small Repairs - E - 69k - Ben Solo is a ruthless property developer, and Rey Johnson is the lone holdout on the block. She does not intend to give up what's hers, not for anything. (Not even for a pair of pretty eyes.) - property developer au

Unbroken - E - 7k - He found her sleeping in the stables, curled up in the stall of his newest, unbroken colt...

Lockjaw - M - 106k - Kylo finds Rey unconscious and near death on the side of a road, surrounded by twitching, wretched things looking to her for their next meal. Ever the altruist, he picks them off and takes her with him, saving her life in the process. It's no wonder that when she wakes she feels she owes him, and agrees to become his travel companion as he crosses the United States in search of safety and a new home. - zombie apoclypse au

Everything to Prove - M - 13k - “The show,” he says. “It’s probably best if they don’t—if we don’t—”And Rey follows his line of thought at once. For all the program is one that doesn’t seem melodramatic—the height of drama in previous seasons came from someone’s cake falling over and that was about it—she does not doubt that the producers and cameramen would leap at the opportunity to make there be something out of nothing in their relationship—especially if there was something out of something.“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, probably. We can pick baking stations that are…” but she doesn’t want to complete the thought. She likes baking next to Ben.“Or we can just be careful?” he suggests, sounding quite as pained by the prospect as Rey feels.“Yeah, careful. I can do careful,” Rey says at once and her lips are on his again and he’s laughing now, and she’s laughing, and she didn’t think laughter would be part of all this. She didn’t think it could be. But here she is, laughing and kissing and holding a man who, at some point, she’s going to want to beat.She does her best not to think of that now.It’s a friendly competition, after all. It’s not life and death. It’s baking. - great british bake off au

*In Bloom - E - 13k - The flowers that bedeck her skin don’t lie—ballet dancer Rey is in love with her partner, Ben. But the years go by and his skin stays resolutely, devastatingly blank.He doesn’t love her. But when his hands are on her body, she can pretend. - ballet soulmates au

By Blood and Flame - E - 10k - Rey can’t go to her professors with this spell. She needs help, though, needs someone to do the spell with her, and she needs the best because it’s tricky. Dangerous.There’s a boy on campus. Powerful. Mysterious. He’s admired and envied, feared and loathed, depending on who’s talking, but for all everyone knows his story, no one seems to really know him. And Rey… Rey has been curious about him for… well, for longer than she wants to admit.She’s not sure if it’s good or bad luck that he’s the perfect person to help cast her spell. - magic college au

count the rings - E - 63k - “Because you’re sitting there all comfy, not looking at all bridal-” “I’ll just fetch the veil out of my backpack, shall I?” “-when you could be, you know, making a move on that fine-ass tree.” In which camping comes with unexpected consequences. - accidental marriage au

(won’t you let me) walk you home from school - E - 129k - Ben, a counselor in the upper school at the legendary Alliance Academy, keeps finding himself interacting with the lower school art teacher, Rey. He definitely doesn’t like it. - teacher au

follow in your form - E - 23k - Ben Solo wakes up paralyzed and angry about it.A story about dealing with change, holding onto hope, and finding love. - quadriplegic ben au

*screwdriver - M -101k - Rey is a bright-eyed intern on her first campaign trail, Ben is an irritated data analyst, and how difficult can it be to get a legacy senator elected president? Apparently fucking impossible. - political au

9 pints - E - 83k - She knew next to nothing, and Google was largely unhelpful. All of her searches (“vampire sex rules” and “vampire dos and don’ts” and one very self-indulgent “average vampire cock size big?”) linked her to dated top ten lists written by anyone other than an actual vampire.Twenty minutes of frustrated scrolling eventually led her to a supernatural dating forum. The website was horribly aged, but still active. Questions were tagged, which meant that it was easy to narrow down her search. Vampire, she clicked, and Sex.--In which Rey gets suckered into shooting porn with one of Poe's pickiest vampire actors. - magical porn stars au

fine young cannibals - E - 27k - Kylo raised his head to the sky as he inhaled, his broad chest expanding even wider. His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the scent like a sumptuous meal. He grinned.“Oh,” he murmured, so softly Rey wasn’t even sure it was meant for her ears. His eyes slid to meet hers, scarlet and violent and hungry. “You brought a snack.”And then all hell broke loose.About three things, Rey is absolutely positive:First, she is totally, completely, and madly in love with her vampire boyfriend, Poe.Second, there is another vampire—an older, evil, definitely-not-hot vampire—that thirsts for her blood and wants nothing more than to kill her.And third, she is maybe not absolutely positive about either of these things. - twilight au

Epithumia - E - 46k- ἐπιθυμία, ας, ἡ: epithumia : desire, passionate longing, lust *** “No extra credit.” He made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You ask that every time.” “Well, I have to try.” Rey said, weakly. “Can you make an exception?” A lone eyebrow ascended his lofty forehead into his hairline. “Try harder, Miss Kenobi.” - college teacher/student au

Historical AUs (ranging from medieval to the early 2000s)

light carries on endlessly - M - 6k - “Traitor,” he told Cerberus gruffly not too much later, using both hands to scratch behind the hound’s many ears. What appeared to be a rat tail lay nearby on a blood-stained bit of stone. “What did I tell you about women with pretty eyes?”One wet tongue lapped at his wrist, and he sighed. “Right. Nothing.” - Hades and Persephone au

The Witch in the Wood - E - 138k - As a knight errant of the kingdom of Alderaan, Kylo Ren has traveled the country, completing quest after perilous quest in search of redemption for the dark deeds of his past. When an evil witch captures the princess of a neighboring kingdom, Kylo reluctantly accepts the burden of rescue with the assumption that it will be a simple task.It is not. For the creature that lives in the woods is not a monster at all.Since her mentor died, Rey has lived in the witch’s tree and uses magic to maintain the balance of the forest. Her life is practical, repetitive, and simple—at least, until a wrathful knight thunders through her door and levels a sword at her throat. Yet something within the knight calls to her, a buzz beneath his skin that she recognizes.Without a doubt, he is not who he appears to be. - medieval witch au

Black Knight, White Queen - E - 53k - Luke Skywalker wrote his sister a letter on his deathbed, revealing that his ward is the orphaned heir of a family long thought extinct - and politically powerful. That letter fell into the wrong hands, and the secret of Rey's heritage is secret no more. The Emperor has managed to unite the Kingdoms, but he is old, and his son is weak. Seeking to ensure his son's claim to his throne, he sends his most trusted captain to bring the girl - willing or not - to be his son's bride. Rey is taken from her far-flung home, and plunged into a world of court intrigue, arranged marriage, political rivals, and would-be assassins - the black knight her constant companion and bodyguard. But even he, her dark shadow and protector, she cannot know whether to trust... - medieval bodyguard au

Days to Remember - E - 42k - A man heads home after years of estrangement. What do you need from me? A woman leaves her world behind, a bird in a gilded cage. When we get to New York, I need help running away. -- I'll bring you to Boston with me. - titanic au

*what if the storm ends - E - 61k - As a child, Rey is evacuated from London to the Yorkshire Dales during the Blitz. She spends the war in the care of the Solos on their farm, wandering the moors with their son looking for a legendary family artifact long lost. When the war is over, she returns to a city she no longer recognizes, and she writes a popular series of children's fantasy books based on her childhood in the Dales. After amassing fame and fortune with her stories, tragedy brings her back to the farm to see Ben Solo, once her greatest inspiration and now a widower. - post WWII au

Take Me - E - 39k - Every night, at 8:30 pm, Rey and Ben get on stage and pretend to be in love with each other. At 9:15, they walk off stage and the actual fireworks begin. - 60s country singers au

I could have been wild, I could have been free (but nature played a trick on me) - M - 61k - “Did you know that I did not even learn your name until yesterday, when I married you?”His face flushed a darker red than it had at breakfast, and he attempted to defend himself with incompetent stammering, “I—I regret that. The situation, of course, would have been,” he wrung his hands together and stared at her feet, “It would have been preferable if we had known one another more. On several occasions, I did attempt to make myself known to you, but you seemed to have other preoccupations.”Rey could feel her face contorting into a sneer to spit out her barbed words, “Perhaps that was your cue not to marry me!” - regency arranged marriage au

Patch - M - 20k - He is nineteen when he first sees her.She comes to the rink alone, laces her skates alone, strokes warm-up circles alone...He looks at her, really looks her in the eye, and he decides he likes what he sees.She may be young, but she is hungry and angry, and for now? That’s enough for him.It’s not like he has a lot of options. - 80 russian ice skaters au

*The Great Big No - E - 165k - Kylo Ren is third generation rock royalty, a reigning brat prince starting to feel the burn of the fame he reached for with both hands. Rey is an aspiring singer on the verge of a big break, provided her A&R guy still has a job by the time she reaches LA. Their paths have crossed briefly, disappointingly, before. What happens when they collide? - 90s rock au

***go I know not whither and fetch I know not what - E - 119k - The year is 1994. The Iron Curtain has come down, the oligarchs have begun their rise to power, and Kyril Ren, a powerful member of the infamous crime syndicate Solntsevskaya Bratva, has been given a job: hunt down an estranged uncle who has been snitching to the FBI.Irena, nicknamed Rey by her adoptive father Luke, is a Krav Maga instructor in New York who has finally been able to obtain her original birth certificate from Russia. Turns out she was born in a little village named Vershinino, but if she wants to know more than that… she’s going to have to go there herself. - 90s russian mafia au

we could plant a house, we could build a tree - E -124k - Ben takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s a project. Conceptual art. You wouldn’t get it.”Rey presses her lips together to keep from laughing. She plans her next words quickly and carefully, determining what will get her the best reaction. “Really? Looks like you ruined a bedsheet to me.”His reaction does not disappoint. “Get out.” ** Seven-year-old Rey decides it's her duty to annoy the crap out of Ben Solo every single day she's alive. - 90s growing up together artist au

#reylo #reylo fic rec #reylo ao3 #reylo fanfic #fanfic #fic rec #adam driver #daisy ridley #rey #kylo ren #kylo redemption #ben solo #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the grocery list

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decadentenemyturtle · 4 years

Text

The Great Unknown

Part 23

Words: 2499

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

The previous chapter of The Grat Unknown

You had heard many kind of stories in your short life, starting from your favourite of Beauty and the Beast to your dear friend Emma slaying her first dragon. And these were not just stories. These were someones history, something that had actually happened. But still, when someone told them to you, they were just like stories. They felt like stories, not something that actually happened to someone.

Your mother, Regina, used to tell you stories every night, even when you were an adult. She even told you about her past, about the bad things she had done. When you were a kid, many people told you stories, like Mary-Margaret, David (when you asked him nicely and looked like sad, kicked orphan puppy), Granny (when ever you were visiting her little restaurant and if she just had time to tell you something), Bell (even when she rarelly told you that much), captn Hookey the drunken master of thee salties waters of them all (he, and only he could tell the most captivating stories from the seas), Emma (with her glumsy way of just saying that she did, because duh, why not), grandpa Rumple and your brother Henry. The last two were your absolute favorite story tellers. Grandpa Rumple had seen so much in his life and he had his own style to tell things, both good and bad side, and he was being honest about them. And Henry was an natural story teller. He could captive anyone while tellings his stories. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was THE writer.

You had heard too meny stories to count in your life. You knew about war, dragons, ogers, Shrek and Fiona, one true love, the typical Disney story telling of any "good 'n evil" shite, how everything wasn't just as you thought it would be. And yet none of it was quite your story. You were just you, nobody, some sort of an side character of a story.

Yea, you were a daughter of mayor of Stoorybrooke, Regina Mills, and her husband Robind the Hood (infamous steal from the rich and give to the poor -guy), but still, you were not quite their daughter. They had adpoted you, when you were just few weeks old. You had two older brother's, or half brother's, or whatever, Henry and Roland. Your aunt was an evil... sorry, wicked green witch from OZ, who now days was a white which from the Wester OZ, godmother of Dorothy (one of your friends). Your "grandpa" was the infamous Rumplestiltskin, or Rumple for a short, his wife Bell referred rather to be called aunt ("I'm too young to be called a grandma. Sorry, honey") and their son, Gideon, was like a cousin to you. You had a few uncle's from your father's group called Merry Men. Every single one of them called you a princess, and refused to call you in any other name, even when you were a grown up woman threatening to stick a tree in their ass.

Too much information yet? Not too comblicated?

Yeah...

That was your story, your history. Comblicated shaite in a fairytale city, where people ran around killing dragon's, defeating evil beings and what not, while your life was protected and utterly boring. You were not allowed to do anything. Many pople, like the people mentioned earlier, took care of that.

And then came the day, when you could choose the college, or what you wanted to do with your life. You wanted something different, something... well, normal. So, you applied for few different universities. And a new path opened to you, in New York city, when you started your studies as a photographer. Capturing the world from afar and showing it to the world felt like your thing, and far too much something you had done pretty much your whole life; Watching the world from afar while it went on and while you did nothing to it.

Anyhow. After the life you had lived, even after your parent's had decided to move in NY to "have some own time", you felt like a normal photographer, who loved capturing peoples lives in a picture and go on a longer trips with your partner to photograph nature and animals. Your life was normal, perfect and you truly felt like yourself for the first time.

And then you had visited your parent's apartment one afternoon... And the fight that had followed... And then, everything you knew had changed. You didn't know if it was an irony or not, but it seemed that even you had more in your backstory than just regular, boring life. Just, the funny thing was that, you didn't remember a thing what happened to you these past few millenium or so in your life here in Arda.

So, who are you going to blame when you had laughed for the story you had heard from the Blondy, aka Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood.

"Many things have I heard in my short lifetime, but not a story like this! And when it is suppose to include me!" you laughed drily. You had priefly mentioned to these two elves, that the city you were from was full of stories of heroism and dragons and war and things like that, but how you had never been involved any of those things, even when your mother was a mayor, or the leader of the city, as these two didn't quite understand what a mayor was.

"It still is your past, whatever you remember it or no. When aunt Sarael sent your fea to safe, you must have forgotten your life in here" Legolas said, glancing at you sadly. You three were half jogging, half walking towards the Big lake in front of the Lonely Mountain.

You did feel bad for not remembering, or even knowing what was suppose to be your history, if all what you had just heard was really your history, or if people were just misunderstood and your capability to turn into an animal was just Gandalf's magic's doing. Anyhow, this was your life now, being a daughter of an elf Glorfindel and Guradian-Maian Sarael, a skin changing protects of all Arda. And, apparently, Beorn was some sort of an kin to you. Legolas wasn't sure how, but apparently all the skin changer's were some sort of an descant of your blood line.

"Well, may it be so then. But I do apologie for not remembering anything, or you for the matter" you sighed. To be honest, you felt bad for not remembering and being sure, if this elf was indeed your cousin. You wished there was a way to remember things, but magic and brains had their ways, and therefor, you had no change of just remebering things. Something needed to happend to trigger your memory, and erase the magic blocking your memory. And there was a slight change that you would ever remember your previous life in these lands.

Legolas only sighed, and said nothing. He knew it wasn't your fault of losing your memories of this world. But, Legolas seemed to be sure that you were his cousin. And, then you frowned. He might claim to be your cousin, but the little facts he had given to you to think over and to believe these theories were just that, theories. He seemed to put much weight over the fact that you could only change your form to an animal. For all he knew, it might actually be Gandalf's magic that had caused this to you, not the fact that you were his cousin.

"Hey, Legolas, can I ask you something?" you asked as you followed the two elves down the river. "How do you know I'm your cousin? Do I look like her, or is there something that reminds me of her?" For now there hadn't been any sight of orcs, but Legolas and Tauriel could spot easily marks of a battle. The bodies of dead orcs were dead give away of that, and even you could easily quess that there had been a figt. Which meant that the dwarves and the orcs had had a battle, until the bodies and other sights stopped. Which only meant that rather the company was dead or the orcs had lost sight of the dwarves, or the orcs were all dead.

And after few minutes the prince of Mirkwood decided to answer you. He stopped over a rock, watching a little beach below with a frown. You and Tauriel stopped next to him, you looking up to the blondy.

"I knew her as if she was my sister. You remind me of her; You are shorter than her, but your hair color, facial features, laugh and smile, and...." Legolas stopped and turned to look at you, with a small smile "Above all, your fea is exactly same and as bright and lively and full of life as hers. And there is no possibility to someone have same kind of fea as other has. Even twins share different kind of feas, even if they look similar to eachother" You swalloved, turning your gaze shily from his. So, you did remind Legolas of this girl.

"I... I wish I could remember" you said, still staring at the river. You didn't need to look at the two elves to know that they were looking at you with pity. "I want to remember. Everything. To find a way to remember, or even know if there's a way to remember" Legolas took a step towards you and placed his hand on your shoulder. When you looked up to him, he smiled.

"We will find a way, ressë" he said. You could feel the warmth and friendliness in him, and you welcomed it. Maybe trusting him wasn't so bad idea afterall, maybe all he said was true. You were exhausted and hungry, and slowly you started to realize it. Your tierd emotinons were getting a better of you, and you knew that after eating a little something and a little nap you'd be better and more welcoming in these new things, and maybe even more accepting.

But right now you couldn't do these things. These two wanted to catch up the dwarves, you wanted to catch up with them, catch up with Thorin. The sight of battle had left them, and you, worried that some of them might be hurt. Sturdy as the dwarves might be, one or more of them might still die to bloodloss or poisoning, as you had carefully suggested if the orcs were using poison in their weapons. And since their healer's - Oin's - stuff had been left back in Mirkwood, they had no supplies to bind and heal the wounds. And you weren't even sure, if all the orcs were dead, or if some of them were still chasing the dwarves down.

"There's two possibilities where the dwarves might be" you said. You had crossed a river, rather easily, and were standing now on a beach, where the dwarves had most likely been earlier. There was one lonely, broken barrel left behind, and Tauriel had spotted a place over a rock where "a dwarf sized could easily sit" with pool of blood right next to it. Someone of the company was clearly hurt, and had been given first aid with what they had - which meant a ribbed pease of someone's cloth over the wound.

"The mountain is one possibility, but it is a bit far away for a wounded one" Tauriel mused and turned towards the mountain.

"And they have to cross the lake to get there. They have the barrels, but I doubt that they'd be stupid enough to use them. The water is already cold enough in the river, but the lake is freezing cold. Too cold even for dwarves. They have had to find another way to cross it" Legolas said, seeming to be deep in tought. You looked both Legolas and Tauriel, wondering if neither of them would suggest Laketown. It was nearer than the mountain, and the dwarves probably needed supplies and weapons. And a warm shelter after the ride in the river.

"I... don't think they went to the mountain just yet" you said carefully. Both Tauriel and Legolas turned to you with guestioning look, so you continued: "Atleast one of them might be hurt, so they need healing supplies to get him, or them, better. And, they need other supplies aswell, as I understand that they left without taking anything but the barrels with them. They need a little bit food, clean and dry clothes, and weapons with them. And, as I understood it, there's a fucking dragon in that mountain. And were talking about dwarves here. They would not go anywhere near that mountain without any weapons, even if they might not kill the dragon with these weapons. And if they have orcs on their tail, they might want to get somewhere else than near a dragon, where - if it's still alive- they could get themself killed in a snap"

Something flashed in both Legolas' and Tauriel's eyes, and then they both smiled. You looked at them, a bit confused.

"So, to Laketown we go" Tauriel says, and starts to jog onward, probably towards this Laketown. Legolas gives you encouragin smile and nods to you. You sigh and so the two of you jog after the red haired elf. You really didn't feel like exercising today, but alas, this wasn't a gym class you could just skip when you didn't feel like playing a tag. This was worse than that, far worse than that.

The jog to the small city took about two hours. At some point you had felt like just giving up, sitting on nearest rock and staying there for the rest of the eterinity, but Legolas had offered to carry you on his shoulder - but only if you'd change your form into a small animal. So, you had taken a form of an small cat and on your cousins shoulder you stayed on the rest of the jog.

And, at first you three smelt it - and you only smelled it because you were on a form an animal. A smocke, like when something was burning. Something big. And a bad feeling set on you three.

"Let's hurry, I have a bad feeling about this" you said, and jumped down from Legolas' shoulder, turning into a leopard. You ran past rocks and trees and finally the three of you came out of the mall forest right next to the lake. And then you came to an halt.

It was an early eavning, and the sun was just setting. The sky was colored in orange, yello, pink... You know, the usual. But, right now, the colors were more vivid, more powefull. And there was the orange glow in the horaizon, some kind of steam and smoke rizing from what seemed like a...

"No..." Tauriel whimpered.

The Laketwon was on fire. But there was no dragon on the sight.

Tag-list;

@lidda @lady-bee-fechin @queendarkmuffin @silencegetawayfromme @kettnerjanea @sdavid09 @ealasaid @jumpingmanatee @fab-notfat @bae-age @fricking-ghoul @k-youre-a-fantasy @dumbgopher1 @maddybeck01 @naminalati @leah-halliwell92 @evyiione @tschrist1 @red608 @aliendaddiesneeded @letsbeinspiredby @jotink78 @dragongirl642 @shxrrybomb @awaiting-pointless-dreams @leac813 @sukeraa

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin x reader #legolas #Tauriel #one upon a time #regina mills #robin hood #rumpelstiltskin #emma swan #captain hook #henry

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chronicallyillandunhappy · 4 years

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I’ll probably change the blog name but I’m starting a new blog.

About me:

I’m a married chronically ill woman who is disabled and housebound. I can’t work and rely on the PIP I get and my husband to pay bills.

I never leave the house and I’m very lonely and unhappy.

I do love my husband but we don’t get on. He gets angry at me for everything. He takes things out on me and then blames me instead.

Today he was getting angry and raising his voice as he had suggested a way to do something that wouldn’t work as it hasn’t in the past. I said it hasn’t work in the past and is difficult for me to do. He ny and raised his voice and went in a mood. I asked what was wrong and he said he was trying to “stay normal” as I said it wouldn’t work. I only had it hadn’t worked in the past and was difficult for me to do. He then got more and more high pitched and rolling his eyes and sighing. I asked if he is ok and he said that he won’t be if I keep asking.

This is just a minor one but this is every kind of conversation if you don’t just nod and agree with everything he says.

The other day he got angry as he wants to move and I said the house is very cluttered and would need most things removing, plus the mould sorting, broken radiators fixing, the fact it’s a lot of work and I’m disabled and can’t do anything to help, and as I have the only doctor that will prescribe fentanyl for my chronic pain I said that too. I wasn’t saying we shouldn’t I said it’s lot of work. He got super mad and shouted at me saying “so we can’t move because of your fucking fentanyl?!” Without the painkillers the pain is so bad I would rather be dead. He knows this and this is what he says.

He is very selfish and gets angry all the time and gaslights me. I regularly cry and get upset and if I do he blames me saying it’s my fault I get upset so I have to hide tears too.

I am scared to speak most of the time as I don’t want to say something he will take wrong and get mad at me for. If I get upset he blames me for being emotional when he causes it and says things like “I need to see someone” all because I got upset form how he treated me or spoke to me, if I get angry at how he treats me then he says she hasn’t done anything and again it’s my fault.

I’m so unhappy and he takes no responsibility for anything he does or says. He never says sorry.

I tiptoe around him to be careful not to trigger him as anything can do it.

I even thought I should record the conversations to play them back to him but that would make him mad again.

He’s it violent, but this feels like emotional abuse. I shouldn’t have to feel like this and be spoken to like he does. I shouldn’t get told I need to see someone when I cry after being spoken to like shit.

I’m incredibly unhappy but I can’t leave as I have no money, nowhere to go, can’t work due to disability from chronic illnesses. I do love him but this is not a life. This is awful.

#unhappy #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronic fatigue #disabled #marriedlife #married #gaslighting #depressed #husband #upset #relationship #emotional abuse

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missxrosalie · 4 years

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[ ROSALIE LAFORÊT. 43. FEMALE. SHE/HER ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 1 MONTH ] and are originally from [ MANHATTAN, NY ]. They are a [ VEDETTE & BURLESQUE DANCER ] and in their downtime love [ LONG DRIVES ] and [ PLAYING CARDS ]. They look a lot like [ KERRY WASHINGTON ] and live [ ON SILVERWOOD TERRACE ].

PHEW alright. I’m exhausted but y’all know I’m long winded SO, my dears, introducing one of my most beloved characters Rosalie. She’s maybe not the easiest to get along with sometimes but she’s working on it. Here’s some facts!

Born Roselyn Lafayette. She was raised in the projects of Manhattan. Needless to say her family was not rich. Her mother worked 2, sometimes 3 jobs to support her family with unstable support from Roselyn’s father who was in and out of the kid(s) life. He lives permanently in Jamaica now, after being deported.

All that said, Rosalie had always been a daddy’s girl. Even if their relationship is strained now for the stress he put the family under.

She and her mother butted heads often but without a doubt Rosalie’s mother is her best friend. Now that she’s made a name for herself, Rosalie brought her mother a house and makes sure she doesn’t have to work another day in her life.

In addition, giving back and serving your community is very important to Rosalie and she has money set aside every year to go towards a scholarship for girls in the projects to study dance. Girls just like her.

But you won’t hear about any of that. And I’m getting ahead of myself.

Rosalie was a good student and could have gone to school to study anything she wanted -- to get a respectable job, to go right into the work force. But her passion had always been dance. And her dedication to her craft, hard work, and tenacity got her a full ride to her alma mater in Chicago.

Because she has always been so... hyper focused on success and being the best and pushing herself to be better than she was the day before she rose to the top of her class and got noticed but didn’t make many friends. She was pretty lonely. Maybe she still is.

She was first introduced to Burlesque looking for a job (to support herself and send money home to her mother) and quickly fell in love with the rich scene Chicago touted. And that was history.

After she graduated she continued to work in Chicago, dancing under the alias of Rosalie Laforêt. It was there that she was scouted to move to Las Vegas, an opportunity she took immediately and ran with.

It didn’t take long for her to have her own show. And her career as a Vedette began before she hit 30.

She met her husband at one of her shows. She wasn’t used to men being consistent in her life, considering her parents’ relationship and maybe she was just starved for... attention that went deeper than what everyone saw on stage.

They were married quickly. And again she packed her bags, off to start again in Paris.

Her husband was a french art critic & collector. And Rosalie was making good money. For the first time she experienced wealth. Which was fine. But inside their beautiful home things weren’t always as picturesque as one might thing.

Bottom line: Rosalie’s husband was a known alcoholic and drug addict to boot. But she loved him so she stayed. Regardless of the cheating. Regardless of the screaming. Who knows, maybe she’s so guarded now because of the shit that went down in her marraige but we don’t talk about that.

It was when her husband died of “mysterious circumstances” that her life in Paris began to totally fall apart. People knew her husband wasn’t... the best. People knew that she was younger than him. People knew that she was attractive. And all of those factors led to people narrowing their eyes.

They called her a gold-digger. Pointed their fingers in her direction. But Rosalie had never been overly emotional. From childhood she had to learn how to survive. Peoples’ problems with her were theirs. Not Rosalie’s.

And to be honest, it did hurt. Because in reality, her husband smoke and drank and drugged himself to death and she was left to pick up his and her pieces while being blamed for breaking him in the first place.

LIKE BEYONCE’S “LOVE DROUGHT” GIVES ME MAJOR ROSALIE VIBES. So I shall quote from it: “I’ve always been committed, I’ve been focused. I’ve always paid attention, been devoted. Tell me what did I do wrong?”

ANYWAY. She had had enough with Paris. So she let things quiet down a bit. Took a break. Then let her agent convince her to try LA. It would be another new start. And Silver Lake was just out of the public eye enough, and just close enough to LA for work that she packed her bags. Again.

Please don’t waste her time. Rosalie is kind of that bitch. She doesn’t mean to be rude, or harsh, and if you don’t give her a reason not to she’ll be civil but she is kind of tired of people right now. People just... disappoint you. She’s never needed anyone but her mother before, she doesn’t need anyone now.

Definitely drinks too much wine.

Has kind of become a little bit of a recluse, honestly. The only people she really talks to on a daily basis is her mother and her agent.

TL;DR HOT WINE MOM IS HERE, A LIL SAD, KIND OF WANTS FRIENDS BUT ALSO I DONT NEED FRIENDS THEY DISAPPOINT ME, IS STILL FROM THE PROJECTS AND WILL FIGHT IF PROVOKED, PLEASE LET HER COOK FOR YOU

#slintro #//this is so long y'all #//i'm so sorry #tw: alcholism #tw: drug abuse

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james-stark-the-writer-wips · 5 years

Text

Of Witches And Demons - An Excerpt

Chapter 2: The Immortals.

WC: 4000 words. Wanted to get this out asap tbh so it’s not the most polished thing but I hope you’ll forgive that and enjoy this!! If you wanna read a slightly more polished version, it’ll be up on wattpad soon so,

LINK

(“Let’s go away a little. Different town, different people. Doesn’t matter where. Just know we’re not in Tenebris anymore although we will get back there soon. Does matter who. So pay attention.” Krilla said. Almadea nodded.)

“So,” Alice said, lighting the candle in her hand. “Who are we this time around?”

The forest was calm, quiet, isolated. They liked coming here a night. Listening to the crickets hiding in the grass, the hooting owls, seeing the moonlight giving everything a soft glow. It was magical. Even after so long, the magic hadn’t faded. The man beside Alice sighed as he looked away from the moon and towards her.

“Who do you want to be?” He took the candle from her. “Billionaires? Eccentrics? Business owners?”

“I can’t decide, Xan.” Alice said.

A soft breeze began to blow, carrying cool water along with it. The candle flame flickered as the wind blew past it. Xander put a hand around the flame to keep it from going out.

“So, you’re here. Took you long enough.” Xander said.

A branch crunched under the foot of the man walking towards Xander.

“I’m sorry I don’t finish as fast as you do, Xander.” The man said.

“You took an unusually long time.” Xander replied.

“I take a perfectly okay time, Xan. You’d think you’d know after two centuries together.” The man stopped in place. The wind began to die down.

“I should, I suppose.” Xan nodded. “Anyway, get over here, Cy.”

“So why the meeting outside?” Cyrus asked.

“I wanted to talk about our plans on Thursday.”

“Couldn’t we have had this conversation in the house?” He protested.

“I wanted the fresh air. Now get over here and stop whining.” Xander said. Cyrus let out a frustrated groan and walked over to the two of them.

“So, have you decided who we’re going to be?” Cyrus asked Alice.

“Well, I’m not sure yet. But definitely something new, someone we haven’t been yet.” She said.

“New, huh?” Cyrus chuckled softly.

“Let’s start at the basics. What have we been?” Xander said.

“Doctors, magicians, circus folk, philanthropists, bakers, politicians...” Cyrus began.

“So, what do you think, Alice?” Xander asked.

“How about ourselves?” Alice said.

“Don’t be naive, Alice. You know we can’t do that.” Cyrus said.

“I’m not saying tell everyone who we are.”

“Then what are you proposing, Alice? You know I hate vague people.” Cyrus leaned against a tree.

“Let’s be a family again instead of distant siblings. I’m tired of playing siblings.”

“Then, what? You wanna be my mother?” Cyrus scoffed.

“It’s not the 1800s, Cy.” Alice replied, picking up the candle and putting it to her nose. “You’d be my father. Besides, you are older than me.”

“You want me and Xander to be your fathers?” Cyrus said.

“Yes. And what’s the problem? You two used to date each other, right?” Alice vaguely pointed at both of them.

“There’s no problem, I’m just confirming.”

Xander interrupted before Cyrus could get another word in. “That’s fine and all, Alice, but what do we do? You know, for a living?”

“We’re rich, that’s for sure. I have had enough of being poor. We’re immortal, for fuck sake. There’s no fun being poor. Certainly not in this world.” She grumbled.

“Okay. Then you better come up with a good reason for us being rich.”

Alice pondered over it for a minute. What should they be? People would ask, that’s for sure. After so many years, Alice had learned that people couldn’t help but stick their noses in other people’s businesses.

Alice snapped her fingers. “Ooh, how about you be oil princes?” She said. “We haven’t done that yet.”

“Both of us?” Cyrus asked.

“No. Don’t be silly. There’s no way anyone would believe that. It’d be more plausible if you started the business together after you met and fell in love or you started the business then fell in love but that feels old.”

“Then, what, pray tell, should we be? It’s your turn, Alice. Otherwise we skip your turn and we do my thing.” Xander said.

“No! We did your thing the last time we moved. I’ll think of something. Just give me a second.”

Cyrus sighed. “Okay, then. Take the night to sleep on it. We have a long trip ahead of us soon, anyway.”

“At least we’re sure of the location, yes?” Alice asked.

Xander nodded. “Yes. That hasn’t changed.”

“Where was it again?” Cyrus asked.

“You know where it is.” Xander said.

“I wasn’t listening when you said it.”

“You’ve got to start paying more attention, Cyrus. You’re wasting that photographic memory of yours.”

“Please, let’s not do this right now, Xan. Just tell me where we’re going. And let’s let Alice decide till tomorrow, yes?”

“Sure, whatever.” Xander let out a soft sigh. “We’re going to Tenebris.” He turned to Alice. Let’s go.” He put a hand on Alice’s back and turned to Cyrus. “You coming?”

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up. I’m going to enjoy some of that fresh air you dragged me out here for.” Cyrus said.

Xander handed him the candle and began to walk away.

“Where the fuck is Tenebris?” Cyrus called out.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Xander kept walking.

“Don’t be vague, Xan.” Cyrus shouted but Xander and Alice had already walked away.

A slight smile crept onto Cyrus’s face without permission as looked up at the moon, its glimmering light illuminating the entire forest in a silver blanket. Anyone who says the night is evil has never looked at the moon. He thought.

He put his hands in his pockets. The air seemed to grow colder every passing second. He could smell the fresh, wet grass from last night’s shower. It clung to the air like glue, filling it with a soft hint of earthiness everywhere.

He began to walk back towards the mansion they currently resided in. They owned the forest (at least parts of it) and the mansion. They’d bought it to make sure the number of tresspassers and onlookers would go down and it had helped a lot, actually.

But people were getting suspicious. It was time to pack up and move, as they did every twenty or so years, whenever they thought someone was onto them. They’d lived in France, Italy, Russia, Switzerland, India, Japan, Canada, Brazil, Mexico and every big city and country in the world. Now they’d had enough of the city life — one of the primary reasons they’d moved to this town from NY, in fact — and wanted to move somewhere more quiet and peaceful.

While cites sure had their advantages — a prominent one being everyone was too busy to give a shit about new people in town — it got lonely over time. And even in big cities, there was no escaping nosy neighbours.

Though it had been only nine years in this town, they’d decided to move somewhere they could live in peace. A place where they wouldn’t have to worry about getting shot or killed and being found out. This town had its charm but even it’s residents were wondering why the people in the mansion didn’t seem to age a day in the last few years. They’d started believing the ‘good genes, I guess’ excuse even less every time it was told to them.

Cyrus had personally seen what happened when humans found out about one of them being an Immortal.

When Cyrus had been granted the opportunity to be an Immortal, there were eight of them. Now, only Cyrus and Xander remained of the original eight. The others had either died, left to live in isolation or moved away to try their best to stay out of regular human business, trying to live normal lives unhindered.

Alice had only recently – 167 years ago, to be precise – joined them but she was a fine addition. She was the first woman to be turned in almost five centuries.

Cyrus took in a deep breath, letting all of nature’s beautiful smell consume his body as if tasting wine. He took his hands out of his pockets and blew on them to warm them up a bit. It was freezing out here.

Time to head back, he thought as he turned around and began to walk uphill back to the mansion.

With over twenty rooms in the mansion, the place was fit for kings (and had actually once belonged to a prince, of sorts). Everything about this place screamed ‘We have too much money’. Which wasn’t a bad thing, really. They had actually helped build an orphanage in the city, which had finished construction three weeks ago.

The mansion sat alone on a cliff, with no houses for miles and no one to disturb them. From the balcony, you could see the entire town in all its glory.

In one corner, smoke arose from the town’s bakery as Keith, the owner of said bakery, baked the last bread of the day, shutting down for the night.

In another corner, if you lived in a mile radius, you could her Mrs. Radley screaming at her husband for being home late again. As the clock struck ten, the town began to close up, with only the twenty four hour pharmacy and the famous Powers’ Coffee Shop staying on.

Even in this small town, you could see a few people sitting in the coffee shop, writing away on their laptops all night long. It was the students from the nearby college that came out to Powers’ for their famous coffee.

Justin Powers and a single employee kept the shop open all day with them looking after it during the day while Justin’s son Max looked after it at night.

And their coffees were delicious. And, thankfully close by to Joanna’s Pie Shop, the best pies you’ll ever taste.

And in two days time, they would all be a faint memory, never to be seen again, if possible.

Cyrus made his way into the mansion. All the lights had been turned off, no surprise there, and Alice had gone to bed.

Xander, on the other hand, sat by the fireplace, a glass of expensive whiskey in hand and a novel in the other.

“I’m gonna go sleep, Xan. I’ll see you in the morning.” Cyrus said.

“Mmhmm.” Xander said, flipping a page in his book.

Cyrus walked up the stairs and found his way to his bedroom, the smallest of all the rooms in the mansion, and crawled into bed, pulling the covers onto him.

He reached under his bed and grabbed the long stick he kept there. He quickly extended it to the opposite wall and flicked off the light switch. He put the stick back in its place and opened the curtains behind his bed. As he closed his eyes, he found sleep quickly.

As the sun rose above the horizon, Alice woke up, yawning, gently outstretching her arms. She had given much thought to what they should be… and nothing seemed as exciting as good old star crossed lovers. Ala gay Romeo and Juliet. Except without the dying part.

She pushed the bed covers aside, heading straight for the bathroom. She couldn’t wait to tell Xan and Cy what she’d chosen. As she took a quick shower, she began to iron out the details of how it would work and what their story would be. Sure, star crossed lovers was old and cliche, but it was perfect. To be honest, she was always trash for Shakespeare and star crossed lovers. This was a perfect pit. Besides, they’d been siblings for far too long.

About twenty minutes later, the clock rang nine and Alice stepped out of the shower, quickly drying herself off and slipping on a nice pair of jeans and a plain red t-shirt.

She rushed down the stairs, jumping two steps at a time, making her way to the dining table where a sleepy Cyrus sat, slowly sipping on his coffee. Besides him sat Xander eating his regular bowl of cornflakes.

“Guys!” Alice said, rushing to take a seat besides Cyrus.

“Please, just…softer.” Cyrus said, halfway through a sip.

“Just listen. I’ve decided.”

“About?” Xan asked

“Our cover.”

“Alice. Softer.” Cy scolded.

“Shut up, dick.” Alice snarked. She turned her attention to Xan. “So, our cover. I know what we wanna be.”

“Alice, you know what we say about cussing at the table.”

“You’re not my dad!” Alice said.

Xander had a rule about being civilized at the table. It was a surprise he’d managed to uphold it all these years, especially with Alice and Cyrus in the house — half their vocabulary was curse words.

“Well I’m gonna be soon, apparently so you better start listening, right?” Xander retorted.

“Ugh, I hate you.” Alice groaned.

“Perfect. Means I’m being a good parent.”

“So much wrong with that statement but we don’t have the time to explain all that. Anyway can you just listen to me?”

“Alright alright. Go on, I’m listening.” He shoved a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth.

“Right. Our story. You two are, drum roll please,” She paused until Xan put down his spoon and reluctantly did a little series of taps on the table, “star crossed lovers.”

“Good god.” Cyrus sighed. “Why did we let her choose again?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Alice said.

“Her birthday comes up soon. It’s her gift.” Xan reminded, not noticing it was a rhetorical question.

“So,” Alice continued, unfazed. “I’ve been thinking all night and Xan was the rich guy…”

“Obviously.” Xan said, taking a bite of his food. Alice rolled her eyes.

“Would you just let me tell it?”

“Okay!” Xan backed off. “Sorry.”

“Right, so, Xan was the rich guy. You met at a mutual friend’s party, had drinks together and hooked up. Cyrus was still in the closet at the time and his dad was super homophobic. But, you kept seeing Xan because you felt a connection. When you meet him the second time, three days have passed. Xan sees you and says, “I’ve been waiting for you.” And you ask, “For three days?” and he nods and you kiss him in public for the first time. You stay over for the night but the next day your dad finds out. He’s threatened to cut you off if he sees you with Xan again.” She paused for a breath.

“But, you like him so much, you risked being broke. Your family isn’t super rich, but you do pretty well. You went off to live with Xan and your dad said he cut you off. But, your dad suddenly falls ill only you don’t learn that until a week later when your mom calls you to his funeral. He couldn’t bear to see you go and he died of a heart attack. When his will is read after the funeral, you realize he never took you out of it. In fact, he left you most of his possessions. You give a lot of it to your mom and you and Xan continue living together. After two years, you have an amazing fall wedding. Then the year after that, you adopted me from an orphanage at age six or something. At this point, Xan is 28 and Cy, you’re 26. And since then, it’s been like eight or nine years and now I’m starting high school.”

Xan almost spit out his milk. “Wait, hold up. You’re going to high school?”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t really get to go back when I turned and I haven’t really been to one since. It’ll be a good learning experience. Plus what am I gonna be? Homeschooled? I need to start hanging out with people my own age!”

“Good luck finding a hundred and seventy year old people. Do you need me to buy you a graveyard, hon?” Cyrus teased. Alice ignored him.

“It’s going to be awful. You haven’t been to school for what, a hundred and sixty eight years at this point?” Xander said.

“Sixty seven.” Alice corrected. “Sixty eight next month.”

“Yeah, a lot has changed since then.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll pick things up quick.” Alice reassured him. “Plus there will be cute boys and girls there.” She added softly.

“You can’t be serious.” Cyrus put his cup down, fully awake now, and turned to Xander for an answer.

“Oh, come on, Xan.” Alice begged.

“Eh, let her do it. She’ll be fine. You know how she can be if she doesn’t get what she wants.” Xan resigned, after some thought. He continued eating.

“Yay!” Alice squealed, jumping out of her seat. “You lose, I win!” She stuck her tongue out, making a face at Cy. He ignored her.

Alice blew a raspberry. She turned to Xan. “So, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, earlier if we can manage it.” He chewed on his food before continuing. “Start packing, say your goodbyes.”

“Great. I’m gonna go do that then.” Cy stood up and left the room.

“I’m gonna go to Joanna’s then. Grab some breakfast and say goodbye.”

“Bring something back for me and Cy, yeah?” Xan said.

“Sure.” Alice grabbed her coat, her purse, the car keys and rushed out the door.

Joanna’s Pie Shop was a quaint little shop, tucked between a McDonald’s and a Starbucks. But it got by surprisingly well, all because of how goddamn delicious Joanna’s pies were.

Alice had eaten a lot of things in her relatively small existence but having had a taste of Joanna’s pies was her most proud moment.

“Joanna!” She called out as she pushed open the door and walked in.

“Coming, darling!” Joanna’s voice came from inside the kitchen. “Just getting some pies ready. Be out in a minute. Take a seat.”

Alice took a seat on the black bar stools by the counter and sat patiently as she waited for Joanna to come out.

Joanna arrived from the kitchen with thick gloves and trays with steaming hot pies, her apron covered in flour.

“Hot from the oven!” She announced, placing the tray on the counter and slipping off the thick gloves. “Want a slice?”

“Yeah.” Alice said. “A full Chocolate Coconut Creme for me, two slice of green apple for Cy and a slice of Pumpkin pie for Xander.”

“Coming right up.” Joana said. “Feel free to help yourself to some coffee if you want.” She grabbed a mug from behind her and handed it to Alice.

“Thanks, Jo. You’re the best.”

Joana smiled before disappearing back into the kitchen.

As Alice sipped on her coffee, Joana walked out of the kitchen with the pies. “Here ya go, hon.” She quickly stuffed them into a large box and handed it to Alice.

“Thanks. How much is it?” Alice asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s on the house. I’m in a good mood today. Plus you’ve already done so much for us.”

“Oh, come on, Jo. This’ll be the last time you get to charge me.”

Joana gave her a puzzled look, “What do you mean, hon?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” Alice said.

“You’re not dying or nothing, right, hon?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Alice reassured her.

Joana let out a deep sigh of relief “Well, good. Then what is it?”

“We’re moving. Me, Xan and Cy.”

“Moving?” Joana gasped. “Where?”

“It’s far. That’s all I can tell you about it. It’s family business.”

“But you’ll come back eventually, right?” Joana asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. We’ll be staying there permanently.” Alice said softly.

“Permanently?” Joana couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Alice nodded. “So, this is… technically, goodbye.”

Joana choked up. “When uh— When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Afternoon. Maybe earlier.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Joana cleaned her hand on her apron and wiped off a tear.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the decision was so sudden. We made plans last night.”

“No, it’s fine. Just, before you leave, promise me you’ll stop by one last time? For old times sake?”

“I’ll try, Jo.”

“No, promise me, Alice. Just stop by before you leave. It shouldn’t take very long.”

“I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. But I’ll try my best.”

“Very well then. I hope you come.” Joana started to go back in the kitchen.

Alice held up the box. “Joana? How much?”

“Like I said, Alice. They’re on the house. Enjoy them. I’m not gonna charge you and that’s final.”

Alice smiled. “I’m gonna miss you, Jo.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, hon.” Joana disappeared back into the kitchen.

Alice sighed and walked out of the shop.

The next day came quickly and everyone rushed frantically to stuff their things into a million bags. It’s insane how much junk you collect over the years. A lot of it would go into the storage facility they’d kept over the years but beyond that, everything else they were attached to came with them.

This time, the furniture, most of the paintings, the utensils, some small things and other stuff they didn’t want all stayed. They’d decided to donate the mansion to the city and open it to the public for free use by anyone. Xander had even talked to some of the townspeople to turn it into a lodging for the homeless free of cost of something similar. But now they had to leave so who knew what would happen to the house?

The truck came, the important stuff was loaded in and Cyrus and Alice sat in the car, waiting for Xander to lock everything up and bring out his bags. Finally, he did come out and got in the car.

“Ready?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“Yeah.” Cyrus said.

“Hey, Xan, you mind if we stop by Joana’s? She asked me to stop by if we could.”

“What’s the time right now?”

“It’s uh, 1:36 pm.” Cyrus said.

“Sure. We’ve got some time to kill. I guess that’d be alright. Plus I have to go give the house keys away too.”

“Great. Just drop me off at hers then and come pick me up after you’re done.”

“Alright, give me a second to go tell the driver the plans have changed.” Xander said, getting out of the car. He returned quickly.

“He’s gonna go ahead and he’ll be waiting on the outskirts of town for us to lead the way.”

“Cool.” Cyrus said. “Turn the AC on and let’s go already.” He put in headphones and lied down on the backseat, using his forearm as a pillow. “And wake me up when we get there.”

Xander sighed. “Fine.”

The car whirred to life.

Joana stood idly in the shop, expectantly staring at the door, waiting for Alice and the other two to arrive.

As she saw their car turning the bend, she rushed out from behind the counter and ran outside.

“You came!” She said as Alice opened the car door.

“Yeah.” Alice said.

“No, no don’t get out.” Joana said. “Or I’m going to start crying and I don’t want to ruin my makeup. “Just wait here, I’ll be back in a second.”

“O-okay.” Alice said.

“What’s wrong?” Xander asked.

“She told me to wait here.”

“Fine.” Xander said.

Joana reemerged from the shop carrying a large box of pies. She quickly handed it to Alice.

“What’s this?” Alice asked, opening the box.

“It’s my coveted smores pie. With extra marshmallows. Made them specially for you this morning.”

“Thank you, Joana.”

“I’m gonna miss you, hun.”

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Alice said.

“Now go, before the waterworks start.” Joana said.

Alice nodded, closing the car door. As the car drove away, Joana waved a last goodbye.

Almost thirty six straight hours of driving later, Xander called out for Cyrus who had woken up and gone to sleep multiple times at this point.

“Cy, we’re almost there.” Xander said.

“We’re here?” Cyrus sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Just about. We’ll be there in five.”

“Great.” Cyrus said.

The car slowly cruised along the road, the truck following behind as they passed into Tenebris’s borders.

“Welcome to Tenebris, babe.” Xander said to Cyrus.

“I am not calling you babe.” Cyrus said.

“You better start.” Xander said. “Our daughter wants us to, don’t you, hun?”

“Mmhmm.” Alice said.

“Fuck you both.” Cyrus said.

“Yeah, love you too, babe.”

Cyrus let out a frustrated groan. God, he wished this wouldn’t last long. It already felt weird. But, here they were: in Tenebris, a town smackdab in the middle of fucking nowhere. And for a while, this would be their home.

#writeblr #writblr #writing #creative writing #original writing #wip #owad #Of Witch And Demons #excerpt #excerpts from my writing

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innerpowercounseling-blog · 5 years

Text

A Decluttered Life, Part 2

Items and Identity

Let’s begin at the beginning.

As I mentioned in Part 1 of this series, I recognized the need to start from scratch, giving myself the space and time to literally examine every object I owned, from clothing to paper clips. The only way to understand the impact of the things in my life was to surround myself with them. Viewed in their totality, there was nowhere for me to hide and no excuses. So I began to follow the KonMari method* in earnest, pulling out all the items in a certain category and holding each one in turn. Then I allowed myself to honestly experience the feelings and thoughts associated with each item. I soon learned that most of what I owned had more insidious ties than I had expected.

For such a long time I had battled with myself over the things I owned. I knew the life I wanted to lead, both personally and professionally, and worked hard to give myself permission to pursue that life, no matter what anyone else thought. I felt increasing clarity around the difference between the way of living that I valued and the life it seemed I was expected to lead. I knew what looked good—important position, fancy office, big house, nice things. But for my husband and I, it wasn’t what felt good. It did not bring life or joy. Accumulation is the norm for a lot of us, and we each have our own reasons for owning things—for soothing ourselves through what we consume. I do not believe that every item we own was bought in an effort to soothe ourselves or meet an inner need, and I do not believe that big houses are the enemy of the soul. What I do know is that I fell into the trap of accumulation and appearances way too many times, and stayed there for longer than I wanted.

When I owned certain items or books, I felt that they said something about me. They told the world who I was and what I liked, as if those objects were my credentials. “See, I am a smart and valuable person. I love Sartre and here is the proof: I own his books and plays. I am also interesting and unique, as well as a real female nerd. Look at my varied collection of figures and video games. I am a good wife and mother. See my nice pillows and tidy kitchen?” The items also told me something about myself: “I affirm you. As long as you own me, you are still connected and valuable. You have not lost the magic of your childhood. Hold onto me, and you will have light in the darkness and way to protect yourself.” I heard and I believed.

I now understand that I did not feel like a full person with a connection to my core Self. My internal house was constantly at the mercy of my own tornado. I experienced my life in pieces—different parts of me swirling around at dizzying speeds, lost and without a tether. I wanted to own my experiences and love what I loved simply for myself, but as long as I believed that I needed the approval of others, I was stuck. I had to vigilantly search for—and hide away—any part of me that did not fit what others seemed to value. I created closets upon closets of dirty secrets, shoved away whenever company came over. Messy bedroom? Close the door. Extra weight? Hide it. Tatoos? Wear long sleeves. Doctor Who figures? Put them away when “real adults” come over and pull them out when nerdy friends pop by.

It is exhausting and lonely to know yourself only through the opinions of the outside world. And while some people are open with their judgments, most are not. So we take on the maddening task of inferring what other people think, painstakingly sieving through every look and conversation. And we scan the outside world, religiously taking in the pictures and comments of others, hoping they will tell us what is good and how we can become valuable. What we actually want or need gets lost. And that is where I found myself—pulling back and realizing that not all of my life was authentic. Not all of me wanted the things I was collecting and striving for. But where was my true voice? Sometimes I could barely hear it.

What I want for myself, and for my family, is a life of true love—fueled by the joy of creativity and connected to the souls and minds of others. I cannot reach that place by staying the same and simply accepting what comes. I cannot connect to others when I am afraid of myself. So whatever gets in the way of being in that genuine place needs to be examined and re-examined. I want to know within myself who I am and what I stand for, unshaken by the opinions and judgments of others. When I believe in myself and my family, then I do not need to show others who I am, and my life does not depend on their decisions about me. I do not need other people to believe I am intelligent and professional. I will show them with my actions, or I will not. But no book on my shelf or clothing on my body can do that for me. I do that for myself.

Staking claim to my Self happened in many forms, including the decision to truly discard the trappings of success and identity. If I held an object in my hands and felt that I owned it to please someone else, I let it go. If I knew that a book was only on the shelf in hopes that the right person would see it and think highly of me, that book needed to move on. With a gentle kiss (yes, literally) I thanked the item for its help and placed in gently in a donation bag. As I did this, I not only saw my external world expand, my internal world lightened as well.

I felt connected to the power within me—the power I had placed my hope in even before I was certain it existed. I could reach up my hands and gently remove the blindfold. In my blindness, I had assumed my weights were chained tightly to me, burdened with locks I could never break. Now I could see the truth. There were many weights, yes, but the chains were weak and most of them had no locks. If I wanted, I could stand up and walk right out.

The internal world is a complicated one, and I admit that I had to walk out of the same door more than once. A few times I found that an object held layers of meaning for me and while I could recognize that it was tied to my identity, I still found it hard to let go. Often, those items had nostalgic, emotional energy as well, and needed to be revisited. I had to acknowledge the part of me that feared the loss of emotional connection as well as the part that longed to be seen and valued. With complex items, I also made a promise—from my Self, to every part of me. We would not squander our new freedom. While our chosen path would wind and narrow at times, looking very unlike the path of our neighbors, we would be faithful to ourselves and those we loved, walking in trust and faith. I believe we will not be disappointed.

References

*Kondo, M. (2014). The life-changing magic of tidying up: The japanese art of decluttering and organizing. New York, NY: Ten Speed Press.

Disclaimer:This is a blog, which contains a mixture of my current knowledge and opinions. The information is accurate to the best of my knowledge but may contain omissions, errors, or mistakes. I am a psychologist licensed to practice in the state of Washington, but this article does not create a psychologist-client relationship. I am providing psychological information and my own opinions for informational purposes only, and anything I present should not be seen as psychological, emotional, or medical advice or treatment. You should consult with a mental health professional or your primary care physician before you rely on this information or take any action. I reserve the right to change how I manage or run my blog and may change the focus or content at any time.

#healing #psychology #self-care #self-awareness #declutter #cleaning #mindfulness #therapy #konmari #marie kondo #joy #self #myself #clutter

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 6 years

Note

i don't think you got my ask, so I'll resend it just in case. i was wondering if you could recommend a good fan fic with a lot of feelings and that will suck it me until i finished.

Hey Nonnie,

I’m going to recommend some of my favourites. Feelings galore, I assure you! These are all fics that I read over and over and over again because they’re just SO GOOD. All of them are complete, with an interesting and beautifully developedpremise, outstanding characterisation and just all-round excellent writing. Enjoy!

Hugs, Marjan

Glass Houses by @sanctumslider

In an alternate universe, all babies are born with a level of empathic sensitivity to others; an ability to sense emotions, to glimpse deep into a person’s soul with just a kiss. Except Kurt Hummel. Registering at a mere 0.5 on the Hawkins Scale of Empathic Sensitivity, Kurt has resigned himself to a lonely life, empty of touch or true love. That is, until the mysterious Blaine Anderson transfers to McKinley, and everything Kurt thought he knew was changed. But finding love is never easy, even in a world where everyone’s emotions are shared. This is the story of the boy who could not feel, and the boy who felt too much.

Catalysis by @nadiacreek

Kurt Hummel chose his soulmate too early. Blaine Anderson thought he’d never have a chance to choose one at all.

Missing Pieces by @sunshineoptimismandangels

Even after living in New York City for three years Kurt Hummel still hasn’t found love. He thought that the city of his dreams would make all of his dreams come true, but maybe he just isn’t made for romance. That is until Kurt is home for the summer, helping his father run his growing Android Repair shop and getting to know hid dad’s latest acquisition, a handsome and sweet android with curly hair, and a kind smile and a love for musicals. Maybe Kurt will discover that love isn’t what he always thought it was.

It’s Not Babysitting by @anxioussquirrel

AU, present time. Kurt Hummel is 28 and has been living in New York for ten years now. He has a good job, nice apartment and two best friends anyone could wish for: Sebastian, a snarky lawyer, and Cooper, a workaholic investment specialist. What he doesn’t have is luck in relationships. But then Blaine, Cooper’s 17-year-old brother comes to NY to spend the summer. He turns out to be gorgeous and quickly develops a huge crush on Kurt…

Westerville Abbey by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

Chrysalis by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

Vegas Verse by imaginentertain

This verse contains two fics, and in my opinion, the sequel surpasses the first story, which is quite a feat, as that one is superb already.

Serenade My Heart by @mrscriss2012

Kurt Hummel is a hugely successful actor, who suddenly finds himself having to take care of three small children. Blaine Anderson is a struggling musician, hired to teach piano. Only, Blaine has never taught piano before, and Kurt has never had to be a parent before. It’s a voyage of discovery for all of them.

Blaine’s Muse by @lady-divine-writes

Blaine is an artist with the perfect life, hopelessly in love with his husband and his muse, Kurt. But when a tragedy takes his muse away, how will he find the strength to go on?

For Better or For Worse by @antarcticbird

Kurt and Blaine are the perfect match - according to their test scores. Reality looks a little bit different.

True Like by DualWielding

Kurt loves his job at the off-Broadway theater. As for Blaine Anderson, Kurt might have to work with him, but he doesn’t have to like him.

Written On My Heart by @gingerfic

Kurt draws Blaine’s name in a massive secret pal exchange at work. He doesn’t know Blaine, and thinks he is giving to a female. Will he decide to reveal himself and actually meet Blaine at the end of the six weeks?Meanwhile, he has started noticing an attractive stranger…

Don’t You Want Me by @quixoticity

Blaine Anderson’s plans of a life spent performing were derailed in his senior year, and he had to compromise on everything he’d dreamed of - except love. Kurt Hummel, haughty and aloof Broadway darling, was forced to come back to Ohio where there was nothing left for him but painful memories - until he noticed a pair of fine eyes. (Pride & Prejudice inspired, but set in present day)

Desperate Times… by @caramelcoffeeaddict

Blaine Anderson is a college student studying theater. He is also a well known porn star that goes by the name Devon Anders. When Kurt Hummel starts having some financial difficulties he asks his classmate Blaine to help him get a job doing porn.Virgin!Kurt / Pornstar!Blaine AU

Stripped Bare by @missbeizy

Blaine is a married, twenty-seven year old businessman. Kurt (aka “Porcelain”) is a performing arts student who works as an erotic dancer to put himself through college. The last thing they expect to find in life is each other.

Still Good by legallyblained

This is my family. I found it, all on my own. Is little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.

Kurt and Blaine are both single dads, and their complicated lives end up getting tangled together.

Keep my heart captive, set me free by @keepmyheartcaptive

D/s AU - Kurt Hummel had always dreamed of a fairy-tale bond, a perfect, kind and caring Dom. Blaine Anderson had always dreamed of someone who stands out from the boring crowd, someone real, and pure. When their worlds collide, will either of them get what they had dreamed of?

Too Late by @zavocado

When Blaine came out at sixteen, everything changed. Fifty years in the future, sixteen year old Kurt is still hiding himself away, lost in the misery of a friendless high school life with only the memories of a dark-haired, kind boy who helped him when his mother died. A story of lost chances, saviors, and how love transcends the limits of Time. soulmates!Klaine, AU

Threadbare by @merikg

Slave!Blaine AU. Blaine is a service-slave owned by a hotel. He is available for rent as a courtesy to guests to entertain them during their stay. His life is irrevocably changed one night when he is called to to serve by fashion designer Kurt Hummel. Very Klaine.

All I ever need is everything verse by @damnpene

After years apart Kurt and Blaine have moved on from one another and built separate lives. Kurt is developing a quiet reputation off-Broadway. Blaine is a fledgling musical theatre writer and producer on the West Coast.

Then they reconnect - because of the music, because of the theater. Because of course they do.

How Kurt Hummel Loses His Virginity by @scatter-the-stars

Tired of being a virgin, and not having anybody be interested in him, shy and insecure, Kurt, decides that for his twentieth birthday, as a present to himself, he will hire an escort and lose the big V. Little does he know, that when he meets Blaine, his escort, everything will change.

life is like a song by @luthien82

AU-ish - Kurt and Blaine have been best friends since college. They would do anything for each other, which Blaine proves when Kurt confesses he has to go home for a wedding - a wedding where everyone expects him to bring his long time boyfriend. The thing is: Kurt doesn’t have one. But he has a Blaine, who is willing to help. Enter one group of crazy, well meaning friends, a week full of wedding preparations, and lots of sexual tension and you’ve got yourself a mix that’s just bound to blow up in their faces…

Is It Weird? by @a-simple-rainbow

Blaine sends his Topics in Contemporary Music mid-term essay to the wrong e-mail address, writing an extra m where it was supposed to read Humel. Kurt, spending a semester abroad in Paris, is having a challenging night of essay writing and procrastination, and goes a little bit beyond letting Blaine know he got the wrong person, sparking what will soon be described as a “weird pen-palish thing we got going on” that takes them both by surprise and leaves them hopeful and giddy.

Love is the End by @heartsmadeofbooks

After the unthinkable happens on his wedding day, Kurt Hummel has to learn how to navigate life after heartbreak. But he is not alone – his best friend, Blaine Anderson, is there to take him on a journey back to happiness and love.

#klaine fanfiction #all the feels #these fics are excellent i can vouch for them #Klaine #Klaine fanfic #fic finder

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bleederziine · 7 years

Photo

“I’m Compelled To Do It”; an Interview w/Lisa Jane Persky, Photographer, Writer, and Artist

In high school I was going to move to New York and grab the city by its throat. I was going to have at least 500 friends, own a punky couture boutique, and hold gothic open mics there every night and maybe date a Stroke for a few months. My imagination was like an entire universe of different identities, with tiny planets for NYC, Paris, 90s Seattle, 20s Greenwich Village. My favorite magazine was Pitchfork Review, and when I read Lisa Jane Persky’s piece, “X Offenders: A Typical Day in the Life of an NYC Proto Punk”, I got really jealous of her and then I got over that and wanted to know more. So I sent her a pouring my heart out email about how boring my neighborhood was, and how her story gave me hope for my own “New York story.” Sappy, right? Also, it was likely the truest thing I had ever written, before or since. As an over emotional messy artist, I’ve learned that the only way for me to get anything done is to rip open my heart and be as (healthily!) vulnerable as I can. In my experience, this has led me to knit a sweater for my favorite lead singer (Luke of the Walters) throw pads at Mario of the Orwells, and interview one of the coolest people I know.

Hi Lisa! How are you?

Lisa Jane Persky: I’m fine, just doing so many things at once! How are you?

I’m good! What are you working on right now?

LJP: I’m going to do a ten-day residency in London in June with my friends at Underground, a subculture inspired brand that makes some cool favorite stuff of mine. We found each other in 2015 and have been plotting something to do together ever since. June is Music Month in the UK and the residency will first of all be a show of my early photography, mostly of the Blondie days, and CBGB's time, really early, like 74-75. Along with that I’m programming various events, so different artists will come, DJs, musicians, underground comic book illustrators, all along the lines of subculture and music.

What made you want to photograph Blondie, since you were already familiar with them as friends?

LJP: Mostly it was access to a camera! I had a camera my dad used to use, and the band was just so cool looking, and I was going out with Gary Valentine at the time. Chris and Debbie were living in my friends loft, which is now known as the Blondie loft on the Bowery, where the band also rehearsed, and up there on the fourth floor was a big, torn white backdrop for portraits. It all started with an *official* session where I took 5 rolls of film in the loft, and those were pretty cool so I just kept going.

What is a good picture to you?

LJP: I like looking at people, studying them and observing what they do. When I shoot portraits we create an atmosphere together. I try to make a comfortable space for the subject to play, to be who they are with me, in spite of my lens I really enjoy seeing that, and the collaboration of it. It has to mean

something to me and I try to frame in the camera, and not edit it later. My eyes really were the frame then. Everyone looks so beautiful, was so young. When you’re young, you think, “we’re all so that!” And they were. Debbie’s a beautiful woman. She makes a picture look good, without much effort. I’m all

about making Instagram a place for my work right now. I like the shooting for that square shape. I love seeing other people’s photography evolve there.

Who were some of your other musical subjects?

LJP: I photographed Martin Rev of Suicide, I did a series on keyboard players, Cherry Vanilla’s, Zecca, and Richard Sohl, Patti Smith’s keyboard player, Kristian Hoffman of the Mumps, Lance Loud and the other Mumps, The Fast, mostly my friends and mostly portraits. I prefer to see live music rather than photograph it.

Yeah! I photograph shows sometimes and I prefer to ask to take pictures of the band after because I feel like the subject will give me more than when they’re thinking I’m just an anonymous photographer. What motivates you as an artist?

LJP: I’m compelled to do it, I want to do it. That said, writing is harder for me than all the other things I do. I’m not really sure why. I think it’s because there’s a loneliness to it that the others don’t have. Even when I’m out photographing my landscapes, which I call Lonescapes because there are no people in them, I never feel lonely. But there’s some kind of foreboding loneliness in writing that keeps me away from it. But I love having written, which is how most people probably feel.

”The picture of me is a photo booth pic. I’m wearing an Eagle’s Nest T-Shirt. The Eagle’s Nest was a gay hardcore leather bar in the Meatpacking District (no girls allowed) and their symbol was that Eagle on the shirt, which is the eagle that in part inspired Arturo Vega to design the Ramones Eagle. There are all kinds of other stories out there about Arturo's art but he loved America and being in it, had a great sense of humor about its hypocrisies. The Bicentennial was coming up and that was a very big deal in New York City with sailors from the fancy wooden Tall Ships arriving and all. Anyway, I thought you might like to see that and know about it. The Eagle's Nest is now called The Eagle and it has moved uptown from its old location.”

What do you get out of making art?

LJP: The most important thing is what connects me to different people. I like being able to be in the world with others to share stories with people who aren’t necessarily like myself. Each of these things I do connects me to others in different ways. I value that, making and having friends and exploring the world through art and music together more than anything. But I also have no idea what else I’d do. I really don’t.

So the way we met online was through me reading your piece in Pitchfork; what made you want to write that?

LJP: Every year my husband and I go to a conference that highlights music writing of all types, a very eclectic mix of people and papers, and I one year presented a paper on my interview with the Ramones, which I did the day after their first record came out. And then I wanted to write another paper, since everyone had been asking me, “what was it like back then?” And I had read something Tommy Dean (Mills), who owned Max’s at that time in the 70s had said in an interview. He said that all the girls who came to the club with or to see the bands back then were either hookers or groupies. And I read that and it made me really mad, because all of us had been working our tails off, we were not hookers or groupies! Not that there is anything wrong with being a hooker or groupie, it’s just that way he characterized all the women. It said more about him than us but that quote coupled with people asking what it was like, made me decide to write what it was like for me. So I wrote that and presented it at the conference, and used photos I had or had taken or found that went with the text, so people could get a three dimensional look at what a day in the life in downtown New York back then was like.

What was writing for the New York Rocker like?

LJP: Well, that is why I was interested in what you’re doing, because it’s very similar. It was just a bunch of us going to these shows. Early on there was hardly anyone going, just us, the people in the bands and the neighborhood, other artists, our friends and then Alan Betrock. He was older and always a superfan of rock music, especially pop and girl groups. He had a zine before there were zines. I don't know what you'd call them but it was amateur publishing by smart people and he and others like Greg Shaw would

write to each other about records newsletter style sometimes on mimeograph paper because they didn’t even have Xerox machines then and they’d snail-mail it around because it was the only way. So he showed up and we knew he was a kind of force and then it was like “Lets have a newspaper!” and he gave birth to New York Rocker with us as his staff and we wrote about each other and it was much more representative of the downtown music scene in the early '70s than PUNK magazine was. PUNK magazine was great but was its own more specific world.

What do you think was the most interesting thing one of these musicians said to you?

LJP: One of my favorite answers, when I asked the Ramones in July of 1976 what they liked to do when they weren’t making music, they all agreed, and I think it was Johnny who said it, “we like to hang out in stairwells.” And he wasn’t kidding; they liked to hang out in stairwells in Queens. One of the things that was good about being there and these early interviews was you got an idea of who everyone was in an unguarded way except for Patti Smith who always seemed strategic and cautious. It was before anyone else there was famous or known, and no one knew whether they were going to be anyone or not. We were all hanging out with our pants down, there was no hiding going on.

What do you think were punk’s biggest inspirations back then?

LJP: In the beginning, they were all pop bands, really. Everyone really liked pop, and everyone was a fan of real rock n roll, and what we heard on the radio was more like Bread and yacht rock before it was called that, and it didn’t feel like what we grew up with and times were tough and a lot of us were just furious, had a ton of energy that needed an outlet. And then, too, we all liked glam. These things, the pop sensibility, the love of glam and the performative aspects of that and the furious energy was the most visible, in many of the Max's and CBGB'S bands 74-76. In 76 the Sex Pistols who had been influenced by The Ramones but had their own kind of fury and other UK bands started to have an effect. There was a lot of discussion, which I wrote about in the New York Rocker and the LA Weekly, about whether our New York music was punk. And we didn’t think so. We were, most of us, a bunch of punk kids but Punk wasn’t a good moniker for most NY bands.

A lot of your Pitchfork article was also about your acting career. How did you get into acting?

LJP: Yeah, that article was about the time when you could still get an apartment for $65 a month in Greenwich Village. There was a lot of experimental theater in the neighborhood, and this guy who lived in my building was a wonderful, known playwright and all around character in The Village named Harry (H.M. Koutoukas), and he came up to me on the street one day and said, “Darling I've written a play for you. Rehearsals start on Sunday. The pay is $25 a week. I’m sending someone to pick you up.” And I didn’t really have anything better to do, I wasn’t sure what I was doing. It was right after I graduated from high school. The guy he sent to pick me up, came to my apartment, walked me from there to the East Village to La Mama Experimental Theater Club and we started rehearsals, and that got my career started. I was enthusiastic and had a passion for it and even more important, I got laughs. The guy who picked me up and walked me to the first rehearsal of the play was the same person who let Chris and Debbie move into the loft on the Bowery with him. The theaters I worked in were right around the corner from CBGB’s so it was convenient to go to shows after I’d perform. The acting part of my career went on until about 2005. I haven’t done much of it since then but I'd welcome the opportunity to play some juicy part with fun people.

What was your favorite acting role? LJP: Well, that’s a hard question to answer because I’d almost always think, “this is the best job, this is the most fun I’ve ever had!” I loved the film The Big Easy, because I had worked with the director Jim McBride before, and we knew each other pretty well. And there was a preponderance of male characters in that script and I said to him, “you should make one of these detectives a woman. It would be so much more interesting.” We had to convince the producer, and we did, and I basically got to write my own role. And you were in the Golden Girls! What was that like? LJP: Well, those ladies are pretty amazing and admirable, as you might imagine. Bea didn’t like to talk very much. She would come in every morning and say “good morning everyone” and not really talk to anyone all day, unless she had a note for you about your performance. It was quite odd. It was fun, but there were more fun jobs. It was more fun to watch them work. What music/art/other stuff do you like today? LJP: Theres a band called Shame that’s from the UK, and they just put out a record called Songs of Praise. I’ve seen them live and they’re fantastic. They have the spirit that I saw back then, in the mid 70s from all the punk bands that we didn’t call punk. I love Mary Epworth who is putting her own unique ethereal spin on psychedelia. She has a beautiful voice. I love so many artists and musicians that I don’t know where to start listing but I’ll tell you this, at any given time you might find me listening to Rhys Chatham’s Guitar Trio Is My Life! I’ve been listening to Simple Minds again lately. I like Orwells, who I learned about from you. When I was growing up I was the only girl that I knew who had a record player and records. My father worked at a newspaper, so I got a lot of free records. My stepfather was a violinist and he would buy me more experimental music. I always liked noise and I was the only girl I knew who liked prog, and I still like prog. I love Steven Wilson, from Porcupine Tree--but not Porcupine Tree. I like his prog band which goes by his name. I like his work in part because he writes interesting songs about women. No one’s really paid enough attention to that. Prog is leaving behind it’s reputation as a masculine ghetto. Someone needs to write about it. Maybe me, but I haven’t gotten around to that.

Interview by Chloe Graham

All Images Courtesy of Lisa Jane Persky

#blondie #lisa jane persky #punk #70s new york #70s punk #film photography #70s #interview

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mielikki-austin · 4 years

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My imperfect recollection of the pilot episode of 9-1-1: Lone Star

So, Master Pancake did a live mock of the pilot for a show I somehow never knew existed called 9-1-1: Lone Star. JD and I watched it, and told friend Josh about it the next day. Me: I have to describe this show though Josh: please do Me: so this was made recently Rob Lowe is a fireman his son is also a fireman they live in NYC so RL was firemanning when 9/11 happened and he keeps a bit of melted slag on his desk Josh: This already sounds like the Calvin and Hobbes cartoon where he's setting up a huge collision between a plane, a tanker truck, a dinosaur, and whatever other toys he has around. Me: RL is tortured because many of his friends have died from 9/11 cancer, and in the episode he finds out that he has.... LUNG CANCER! (dramatic music!) His son, who is gay (dramatic music!), has a history of drug addiction (dramatic music!), and ODs when the man he proposes to dumps him (dramatic music!) we're like 10 minutes in at this point Meanwhile, in Austin! Josh: Okay, you can cancel the previous statement I made. Me: A security guard puts a foil-wrapped burrito in a microwave, and sets an entire manure plant on fire, which explodes and kills the entire Austin FD except for one guy (dramatic music!) Josh: okay now this is turning into my favorite movie ever Me: Some Official Guys come to NY and ask RL to head the Austin FD, which he initially refuses because he loves NY so much but when his son ODs, he decides he's gonna move to Austin with his son and they're going to whip the FD into shape and he'll live with his son in a gorgeous house with a view of the Hill Country that costs $4500/month to rent Josh: (Checks off "The Refusal Of The Call To Action" from the Joseph Campbell monomyth checklist.) Me: RL gets applications for firefighters "from all over the state" He hires: -a Muslim woman who has 6 citations for insubordination, because she is a loose cannon -a black trans guy -an illiterate Hispanic guy who can't pass the written FD test, but has a heart of gold the one guy who WASN'T killed from the last batch of firefighter guys applies, but is a dick, barely keeps himself from ripping RL's head off in the interview, denies he has PTSD, but loses his shit when RL says he isn't ready to come back (dramatic music!) Josh: This is already a lot. Me: Meanwhile! Josh: WHAT MEANWHILE THERE'S ALREADY TOO MUCH STUFF TO DO A MEANWHILE IF YOU WANNA DO A MEANWHILE YOU GOTTA GET ANOTHER MOVIE Me: Liv Tyler is seen screaming outside of a house, accusing the occupant of murder. Josh: WHYYYY THIS IS TOO MUCH MOVIE Me: she runs out into the street to the crowd of people who've gathered to watch her scream at a closed door, and a kid in the crowd is having an asthma attack! (dramatic music!) Josh: WHAAAAAAA Me: She scolds his dad, who says he can't afford to take the kid to a doctor because he is poor and Hispanic She tells him to come to her vaguely-described clinic or business or something The police show up, and they know her, because her screaming at this door is apparently a regular occurrence Evidently her sister disappeared and she thinks someone in the house (or maybe the house) murdered her sister. (dramatic music!) NEXT, the FD is called out to a spicy food emergency Josh: NO EFFING WAY JD: This is not a movie, it’s a show and this is the first episode Me: a man eats a hot pepper and starts to die (dramatic music!) Josh: NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPERS NOPE Me: RL and the multiculture pals show up, and start dick-swinging "clear the area, the FD is here!" Josh: Was this one of those "written by an AI trained on disaster television" scripts? Me: Then Liv Tyler shows up and swings her dick and tells RL &c. to back off, because unlike in NY, the FD has to back off in medical emergencies to her, as head of the PARAMEDIC DEPT (dramatic music!) Josh: How... um... how... how did any of the actors deliver their lines without falling over laughing? Me: RL is skeptical, and she says "You didn't read the Travis County manual, did you?" and throws the spicy food victim on the table, cuts his lung open, and saves his life (dramatic music!) Josh: wait no no no no Me: next emergency! (dramatic music!) Josh: no cutting on lungs that's not a thing you do for spicy food NO MOAR EMERGENCIES EVERYONE GO TO BED NAO Me: a woman is in a car wreck, her car is upside down on the road and we find out that she is PREGNANT (dramatic music!) RL directs everyone to do things, because the water on the road smells like gas, and jaws of life are invoked, and stuff happens Josh: of course stuff happens absolutely everything happens in this thing nothing is not happening Me: then the woman cries "but my baby!" Turns out, there was another child in the car (dramatic music!) everyone looks for the baby, who is eventually found 30 feet up in a tree (dramatic music!)

Josh: YOU ARE MAKING THIS UP THIS IS NOT A REAL THING THAT REAL HUMANS MADE FOR SERIOUS Me: he was flung out of the car (still in his car seat) into the tree when the car rolled I AM NOT KIDDING Josh: I KNOW YOU ARE NOT KIDDING BUT I ALSO DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE THIS THING WAS ACTUALLY MADE Me: Meanwhile! Josh: NO MOAR MEANWHILE I MEAN IT TOO MUCH MEANWHILE MOVIE Me: Guy with PTSD is at home getting shitfaced and continuing to insist to his black wife (dramatic music!) that he doesn't have PTSD she reminds him of his nightmares and stuff he whines that it's not fair Josh: that checks out Me: she reminds him that she is black so he can shove it with this not fair bullshit Josh: new favorite character JD: Seriously this is a 48 minute pilot Josh: it was gonna be toddler-in-a-tree but black wife is my new favorite character Me: she coaxes him to take her out to the apparently one bar is Austin, which is possibly the actual Broken Spoke bar Josh: WHY NOT Me: so they can at least get fucked up in a bar instead of at home like losers turns out, RL and Liv Tyler and their crews are there celebrating after the tree baby incident Josh: this movie needs more Adderall. Or less Adderall. I don't know. Me: Liv dares RL to join her in line dancing, which RL is REALLY GOOD AT (dramatic music!) Josh: YAY RL YOU MIGHT HAVE PICKED A BAD MOVIE BUT YOU'RE STILL AN OKAY DUDE Me: RL explains that country was really popular in NY a few years back Josh: It was. Sigh. He's not kidding. Me: RL also has a touching moment with his gay drug son, who thanks him for making him move to Austin, then gay drug son starts line dancing with, I think, illiterate Hispanic guy with the heart of gold? Josh: BINGO That's a BINGO on the card I just invented for this pilot. Me: black wife confronts RL in the parking lot and tells him to SAVE HER HUSBAND because he SAVES PEOPLE RL agrees to let clearly mentally unstable PTSD guy come back to work THE NEXT DAY Josh: IF THIS THING MEANWHILES AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD Me: PTSD guy comes to the station, and notices all the dead flowers people had left for the dead fireguys at the station in the garbage so he immediately starts giving RL shit about being a city slicker who is a Big Damn Hero because of 9/11 who's coming down from on high to help the FD that was fucked up by exploding poo RL says "I have cancer" (dramatic music!) Josh: YES Me: and PTSD guy is all, okay, but you're still on my shit list for throwing away the dead flowers then he turns the corner, and over the bay where the trucks come out of the station is a thing with the pictures of all the dead poo firemen and a sign that says "WE REMEMBER" or some shit (dramatic music!) PTSD falls down and starts crying Josh: YAAAAAY Me: RL tells him it's going to be okay and PTSD is a bummer and stuff then a little white girl and her white mom show up to give cookies that they made to the new crew, turns out they are the daughter and wife of one of the dead firemen Josh: this show just fires pathos at you like a six-year-old with a t-shirt cannon Me: cue montage of Muslim woman praying, trans guy considering his skin care regimen (I forgot about the part where RL helps trans guy with his skin care regimen), illiterate Hispanic guy is cleaning the firetrucks or something, and roll credits Josh: THREE MORE PATHOS PLEASE FOONT FOONT FOONT Me: I wanted to lay it all out before I forgot, and marvel at the trope-fest Josh: How many people wrote this movie? And how much speed did they have in the writers' room? Me: all of it oh man, check these out; the first episode was a harbinger of trope saturation to come: (Wikipedia episode synopses) "The team responds to a man suffocating in corn within a grain silo" "The team is called to a brawl at a male strip club; Paul helps Josie, who got hit in the eye with stripper glitter." Josh: I like how they have to clear out a rattlesnake infestation with a fire extinguisher. Me: "At a sirloin eating contest a woman collapses" Josh: "Owen gets good news about his cancer while learning that his experimental immunotherapy drug was tested on dogs, some who were abandoned. He adopts Buttercup, a Bernese Mountain Dog who has the same kind of lung cancer, as the 126's new semi-destructive mascot." Me: "On another call at a cow breeding facility, a disgruntled customer sets a fire to distract from his theft of bull semen." Josh: "On another call, a handyman's epileptic seizure is mistaken for electrocution." THIS PAGE IS THE GODDAMN BEST JD: And don’t forget this is all very clearly filmed in Southern California that is standing in for Austin Me: yeah, the trees were all wrong Me: "On another call Grace helps an older man with a flu who ingested a cloud of cremains while disposing of a friend's ashes." "The team responds to a used car lot event where a bull got caught in the side of a vehicle and needs the hydraulic jaws-of-life" "a man hit in the head reveals to the paramedics he has CPPD (calcium pyrophosphate dihydrate crystal deposition disease), a condition characterized as extra painful arthritis. En route to the hospital he goes into cardiac arrest needing defibrillation; the treatment reacts with the man's ingested medication causing a toxic vapor which causes the ambulance crew to pass out, and the vehicle to flip." Josh: THIS IS AUSTIN WHY ARE THERE BULLS EVERYWHERE Me: "The team at 126 deal with a call at a gender reveal party when a man is burned by a grill." TEXAS TEXAS TEXAS JD: Austin is a small town where people ride horses to work Josh: I'm not gonna lie, living in this fucked version of Austin would be awesome. Me: Jesus. Just read the whole last episode.

"Chaos ensues in Austin when a solar storm causes the electricity and power equipment to malfunction. Them 126 team has to rescue the passengers of a light aircraft caught in the lines of high voltage electric towers while transporting a sick man for a liver transplant. During an outing with Carlos, TK questions his relationship with him after Carlos begins asking. When the malfunctioning traffic lights cause several accidents, they rush to help people before the 126 arrives. In the homeless camp, Michelle discovers that her lost sister is alive and living there. Michelle and her mother try to get her back home but she chooses to stay at the camp, despite her schizophrenia. With the lines scrambled, Grace gets a call from the damaged ISS, and manages to connect its last astronaut, dying from radiation poisoning, with his family to say goodbye. Back at the park, TK confesses his addiction to the rest of the team and that he's realized he wants to be a firefighter after all. Later, he also reconciles with Carlos."

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binsofchaos · 5 years

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‘I Believe in Love’: Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Final Year, In Her Own Words

Introduction by Garance Franke-Ruta. Jump to the start of Elizabeth Wurtzel’s essay here.

The late Elizabeth Wurtzel was best known for her memoirs and essays, especially Prozac Nation and Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women, but after attending Yale Law School in her late 30s she also enjoyed having a voice in the political arena. She was as much an original there as everywhere else, and between 2010 and 2012 she wrote a series of pieces for me at The Atlantic.

A feminist and a New Yorker who had really lived, she looked at the world in a different way from all the boys on the bus in Washington. And she was funny. She would send long text messages written on her smartphone while she was walking through Washington Square Park, an emissary from a more vivid and creative world than the boxy K Street buildings I would pass en route to my office in the Watergate. Sometimes her stories would come in like that too, texted in graf by graf, and I’d knit the passages together in what seemed like the right order and ask for some connective language. The thoughts were always razor-sharp; the understanding of human nature acute.

Over time our editing relationship moved into a long-distance friendship. We met for dinner at a restaurant in Chelsea, outside of course so her dog could be nestled at her feet. She had somehow managed to find a lipstick with my name on it — Guerlain’s Garance — and purchased us two tubes encased in elegant silver that sat heavy in the hand. She wore hers to dinner, and when I went to the restroom, I changed my color too, making us lipstick twins. It was how she was and in many ways the secret to her success: In addition to being wildly talented, she overcompensated for being so difficult and never totally in control by being astonishingly thoughtful, and kind, and, well, seductive. She was a seductive personality; hard not to love even as she could be hard to be close to.

When I started working at GEN this fall and living in New York full time, I reached out to her. “I’m in remission!” she’d said brightly when we first reconnected, three years after last seeing each other and nearly five years after she first learned she had the BRCA gene and breast cancer. We drank red wine on her balcony overlooking a giant earthen pit in the ground: The future NY offices of Netflix. We went to dinner at Il Buco on Bond Street (her suggestion); I could feel she was lonely. She and her husband Jim Freed had separated and were in the process of divorcing, a not so happy ending to the happily ever after story she had been astonished to stumble into in 2015, and something she was still figuring out how to write about. She started sending me things she had written as we talked about her writing a piece about Gen X politics and the 2020 race.

“I am intimate with the dirt,” she wrote of the Netflix pit. “It has infiltrated everything. It is all over me and under me. It is Love Canal, sewage from the Mississippi, cigarette butts, marijuana ash, slave remains, rats, mice, Three Mile Island, Mount Etna, Mount Saint Helen, Dust Bowl, Adam, Eve, serpent, Satan, Chernobyl, Berlin Wall, acid rain, asbestos, uranium, geraniums, 9/11, 7/11, Donner Party, bird beaks, pigeon claws, squirrel tails, gerbil puke, hamster wheels, insulation, Saran Wrap, Mason Pearson bristles, dental floss, Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Mafia hits washed up from the East River, syringes, works, the residue at the bottom of the empty bag of dope, coal waste, cookie crumbs, broken bottles, rusty nails, Bataan Death March, Manila massacre, Boston Tea Party, frog legs, goldfish, mutant ninja turtles, alligators from Florida, red algae, yellow fever, Agent Orange, bubonic plague, gold teeth, silver spoons, copper wires, iron ore, Crest with fluoride, whitening strips, stripper tips, dollar bills, twenties laced with cocaine, subway tokens, expired MetroCards with unused fare, tickets to see Star Wars in 1976, bicentennial souvenirs, gutta-percha, cat guts, doll parts, golf balls, tennis racket strings, cashmere socks, polyester, rayon, pylon, nylon, Mylar, warped vinyl, scratched CDs, crispy leaves, shredded lettuce, tarnished keys, queen bees, xerox paper, pepper spray, Prozac pills, poppers, pooper scoopers, hula hoops, leis, fecal matter, aborted fetuses, snot, rot, cots, bots, shot glass shards, broken windows, chimney smoke, dice, playing cards, poker chips, lollipop sticks, toothpicks, used tissues, dirty handkerchiefs, bandanna threads, kite pine needles, kite strings, toilet water, wolf fangs, sunburn peel, hangnails, cavities, skin, scabs, split ends, fur balls, chicken bones, dissected cadavers, wisdom teeth, crash test dummies, Big Bang, Little Miss Muffet, Humpty Dumpty, Rip Van Winkle, bog wood, petrified forest, oyster shells, freshwater pearls, blood diamonds, Star rubies, asteroids, primordial ooze, love letters, promises kept and broken.”

Very soon the piece she’d wanted to write about Gen X politics started to slip. The cancer was back. There were so many tests and scans to undergo. I told her not to worry about writing it and was surprised when she filed. She said it was a good distraction from having cancer. She badly wanted to interview Beto O’Rourke, but by the time he arrived in New York City where they might have had a face-to-face — the Gen X skate-punk candidate and the Gen X icon — he was already getting ready to drop out of the race.

She sent me a long piece about her past year, about her impending divorce and her marriage and her mother and Donald Trump. It was from something longer she was working on, she said.

We talked about her writing an additional passage when she recovered from brain surgery and running the piece on Medium. “I suppose I have to add something about this, since so much of the piece is about cancer,” she texted. “You know, of all my failures of imagination, I never wondered what a brain tumor is like. So I could not have guessed it was this atrocious, the dizziness and the pain.”

Her recoveries from the relentless march of the disease during her final, dreadful month would prove to be brief.

After her first brain surgery — she had two to cope with her metastatic breast cancer and subsequent complications — which she described as a “brain resection,” she was astonishingly herself. She was funny and poetic and articulate and in good spirits. Still dizzy and unstable — the tumor had impacted her balance center and left her clutching the furniture as she walked during her last night in her own home — but also still herself. She laughed with her mother, who took video and pictures of her in the hospital and helped coordinate, along with Jim and some of her oldest friends from college, a parade of sun-up to way past winter sundown visitors so that she would never feel alone.

And the night before the surgery, Jim was the one she stayed with. He was the one who took care of Alistair, her dog, and her black cat, Arabella. When I saw him in the hospital, he was entirely attuned to her and what she might need so that she could recover and have, in the unspoken best-case scenario, another year.

“I can’t get over how great my husband has been with this. He has made it possible for me to get better and not worry about anything,” she wrote in mid-December, after the surgery. “He loves you so much it’s clear,” I texted back, thinking of how attentive he had been, how he was arranging visits with so many people, that look on his face that you cannot fake. “I think so,” she texted back. “It’s good you see. I love him so much.”

But the past year had been a hard one. This is what she had written about it. She had shown it to Jim too, and he agreed, as did a number of her oldest friends, that she’d want it published. She loved to be published.

I Believe in Love

By Elizabeth Wurtzel

Greetings from the chaotic land of marriage come undone.

The caravansary is dismantling, toothpicks flying everywhere, the bubblegum that held it together is unstuck.

Everything is falling.

My husband moved out at the end of December [2018], as the calendar flipped from last year to this [2019], while I was in Miami Beach, strolling the walkways in the shocking morning sun and under the nighttime Van Gogh sky, away from it all.

I knew he was moving out, but still: I was surprised.

I did not see that the game was over. I did not know the clock was running. I never lose, but I do run out of time. It turns out this was basketball and not baseball.

While I looked away, my marriage fell apart.

I fell off my keel. I lost my kilter. I was a kite without a string.

Maybe it’s better.

It is a peaceful purple without him here. But psychedelic with disarray.

Marriage is an organizing principle. It is flow. It is coffee in the morning. It is who walks the dog. It is HBO at night.

And love. Don’t forget that.

Now I am an ombré mess of a person. I am missed appointments and canceled meetings. I am the thing I forgot to do. I am hanging on by a strand of Drybar dry-shampooed hair.

All day long I have to ask people to forgive me, I am flailing and failing at it all. Forgive me, I beg, as I hope my untweezed eyebrows will. Maybe soon, I will even tug at a few strays.

Or maybe wild is the way.

🖤🖤🖤

I still think of Jim as this sweet person I married. He is my trust fall. He is my emergency contact. He is my next of kin. He is my valentine. He is my birthday dinner. He is my secret sharer. He is my husband.

I do not know him anymore so I do not know myself. Who are my friends? Where is my family? I have fallen into a crevasse of nobody nowhere.

I am estranged and strange, strangled up in blue.

I do not want to feel this way. I am going through the five stages of grief all at once, which Reddit strings have no doubt turned into 523. They are a collision course, a Robert Moses plan, a metropolitan traffic system of figuring it out.

I feel bad and mad and sad.

Is this a festival of insight or a clusterfuck of stupid? I change my mind all the time about this and about everything else.

I got married because I was done with crazy. But here it is, back again, the revenant I cannot shake. I feel like it’s 1993, when my heart had a black eye all the time.

26 is a boxing match of the soul.

I did not expect bruises at 52.

🖤🖤🖤

I have blamed myself. I have blamed my husband. I have blamed cancer. I have blamed marijuana. I have blamed sexism. I have blamed Charlottesville. I have blamed my in-laws. I have blamed several men named David. I have blamed my mother who lied to me my whole life about who my father is.

Who would I be if I did not blame Donald Trump?

I am angry all the time since the election of 2016, like it happened to me, like I was gang-raped by Michigan. I don’t want to be angry, but so there, I am.

Who don’t I hate?

Who won’t I blame?

If you are standing there, I blame you.

It is not conservative against liberal.

It is everybody against everyone. Here we are, in it together, alone.

The problem is not arguments I have with people who voted for Trump, who I don’t know anyway. The trouble is the way all of us who agree about everything are bickering. Oh, the narcissism of small differences.

I remember not that long ago when the world was not political. I was part of landmark litigation that was all about a team of Republicans and Democrats working together. I loved everybody. We were all on the same side.

What Alamo did I not forgive? What Masada did I not get over?

Now there is no microaggression too small for me to scream about so the next four neighborhoods can hear.

My husband does something and I am affronted like it matters.

I am sure he does not know how I feel.

And maybe he doesn’t.

But what does any of this have to do with why we got married? We got married to be in it together. Polarization has even invaded love.

I have anger fatigue. I am sick of sick. Like everyone.

The emotional toll of the world we live in is going to do all of us in.

But politics is not about conflict.

Politics is about making the world a better place.

🖤🖤🖤

How could my mother keep a secret for 50 years? What makes someone do that?

She buried herself in it. She grew a wild Victorian garden with thorny bushes of rose and purple larkspur and red snapdragon. There was a lush meadow of lavender that gave a whiff of Aix-en-Provence en été. The dandelions ran rampant and the daffodils glowed yellow like Big Bird.

But underneath it all, beneath the lilies of the valley and the rows of geranium, there is dirt.

There is a secret.

I am a bastard. I am her bastard daughter.

There are things that come along that are a shock.

I believed something for nearly half a century. It was a lie.

I was conned.

I was wrong about myself.

I did not know who I am.

My mother told no one.

It was a lie she told for so long it became true and the secret faded to no-memory. She misremembered who my father was. She did not think it mattered.

When it all came out in 2016, not long after I got married, just after my real father died, my mother could not see what my hysteria was about. She did not understand why I was stunned.

All the while I was trying not to feel the worst way ever, trying not to be overwhelmed by the explosion, my mother could not figure out what was bothering me.

After all, she is the nuclear physicist.

My mother is like everyone else. She thinks she is normal. She is sure her behavior makes sense. She believes she does the right thing. Since she cannot imagine that this is not the case, she is surprised to find out that, yes, she makes bombs.

I scream at my mother, “What’s wrong with you?!”

I do that and she does not know what I mean.

She says, “Oh get over it.”

Her eyes widen until they look like goggles on an herbivore. She is put upon. She cannot believe we have to discuss this yet again.

“Omigod yet again!”

When will I quit badgering her?

I say, “You lied to me.”

She says, “It wasn’t a lie.”

“Then what?”

“It was a decision!”

Any relationship founded on a lie is doomed. Or not a lie, according to her, which is another lie, a lie about a lie.

That is how it is between us. We are living in the doom.

And yet, we are still at it. My mother and I refuse to give up. She is my only parent. She is all I have.

She made sure of that.

This is the most painful thing ever.

She has made so many inexplicable decisions over the years that I know about, and now I see the ones I did not know.

And yet I love her more than anyone else in the world.

She is it for me. She is in the way of everything. I should be interested in my husband, but how can he compete with how much I want to figure out the Once that started all that is upon a time?

🖤🖤🖤

I was a welter of emotions.

I was so emotional.

When I found out that my father is not my father, that my mother lied to me my whole life, that there was so much I did not know, a bomb dropped in my life. Bombs, really, aerial bombardment. It was the Battle of Manila: bazookas, flamethrowers, grenades, tanks, cannons, howitzers, banzai charges, kamikaze tactics, I was shocked and stunned with feeling.

I did not know what to do.

I became a raging lunatic.

I was a mettle of rage.

My rage is my retinue. My rage is a filthy velveteen train I drag around with me, carelessly. It is my ruby tiara. It is my rainbow and my pot of gold.

My rage is cream. It makes Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee that my grandmother brewed in a percolator on the breakfront in the dining room taste not half bad.

It is the coloratura harmony to my singsong days.

My rage is my conscience. I insist on my right to feel.

But I got caught in a Möbius strip of emotion. I was gone round the bend of scream.

It was stuplimity.

🖤🖤🖤

My marriage is crushed beneath the weight of so much. It is delicate, like all relationships. It is not one of those fine elms that blows with the gusts and does not snap.

We are a scattering of branches on the lawn. We are deadwood.

Oh, there is a lot that holds us together, the love and the hours. We got married during chemotherapy. We are bound.

But my husband is not who he was.

Yes, I know: It is always like that. The sorrow of unraveling is the stranger you are facing. What happened? I want to scream. Where did you go?

My husband had a softness. I will not compare it to the feel of cotton balls or the touch of silk charmeuse, because it is better. He was new to love. I could tell. I could see. He was surprised. He did not see me coming. He did not know I was interested. He was alone in a room. His life was small. He had the same six friends he always had. He was shy. He was not brave. He had no expectations.

He was lovely.

The beginning is always like honey, liquid and sweet.

But he was open.

He was not wounded by a million heartaches.

He had not been through it all.

He did not have a wretched past.

He was 34, which is not young. Younger than I was, but a lot could have happened by then.

It had not.

He was fresh.

There was nothing I would not do for him.

There was nothing I did not want for him.

We met in October and got engaged in May.

We knew.

And now he knows he has had enough.

It has been too much.

🖤🖤🖤

Most of all, it is not easy to be married to someone with cancer.

I feel for my husband.

Cancer is so big. Everyone is prostrate before its deadly enormity. It is the answer to every question. It is the reason why. Is it an excuse or is it real? Who is anyone to argue? Cancer is a bully. It is an elephantine disease of body, mind, soul. My husband moved a half a mile away from it. I would love to do the same.

I am stuck until the end.

I do not know what he expected when he married me when I was ill. I am sorry that it has not been what he wanted. I am sorry that I hurt him.

After I got cancer, I was not the same.

I wanted to be.

I wanted my life to go back to what it was.

I was so lively. I was so lovely.

I was so busy. I was so social.

But I could not do it.

No surprise, I changed.

I was withdrawn during chemotherapy and my world became small. It contracted like starvation. It is hard to get back what is lost. It is more difficult still to begin anew.

I tried. So hard. I called. I emailed. I texted. I showed up.

But there was a diminishment.

Cancer is an ecosystem. It is a crime spree.

Things broke. My radius. My fibula. My tibia. My spirit.

My cancer came back a year after it went away.

You think people are nice about it? No.

Cancer is misunderstood.

Everyone says the wrong thing. Which is what they do so much anyway.

Then I say the wrong thing back.

There we are, bumper cars of mismatched words.

I can’t believe the stupid things people tell me in an effort to be kind, about something hard they had to deal with that is not the same as having cancer.

The worst thing anyone can do is tell me they are sorry about my cancer.

I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. About anything. Don’t apologize unless you have done something wrong. It is nasty to feel sorry for anyone for any reason because it pushes her away.

Mostly sorry is just a thing to say. Anything else would be better, including I don’t know what to say.

It is always people who are the problem. What else? Our suffering is small compared to our misunderstandings with others, how they fail to give us a break, know what it’s like, judge us fairly, see the world the way we do. It is not even cancer or especially cancer. It is especially this and even that. If you are looking for absolution, you are going to have to forgive yourself.

I have chainmail from years of frustrating conversations, of people who think something bad has happened to me.

I don’t see it that way.

You could tell me everything that’s bad about cancer, like that it’s cancer, but you could not convince me that cancer has been bad for me.

Cancer has made me optimistic.

These are the days of miracles and wonders, of biopharma fireworks, of immunotherapy wow.

I have been saved.

I am miraculous me.

I will skate figure eights into infinity.

I am all claws I am all fangs.

I am not afraid of cancer. I think cancer should be afraid of me.

This past October [2018], I had a tumor in my shoulder bone that was 5 inches: big! It was threatening to break it.

And worse.

My cancer antigens were at 205, when 25 is as high as the level can go.

I had meetings in the World Trade Center while all this was going on. I hate it down there. Skyscrapers as grave markers. It is an ominous place.

When I went for help in Philadelphia at the Basser Center for BRCA at the University of Pennsylvania, only Alistair, my service dog, was with me.

My husband said he had to work.

My marriage had already come undone.

I had stereotactic radiation at Memorial Sloan Kettering. It took only three sessions to zap the tumor away. The treatment saved me, but I have a five-inch hole in my bone that looks like a cave in the Thai jungle.

When my husband moved out, I was still healing. I have a rotator cuff tear and pain from the long way home.

🖤🖤🖤

This is a love story.

Every marriage is a love story.

People who run off to Vegas after knowing each other for 10 days and find a drunk outside the Sands casino to be their witness — they really mean it. Marriage is a big gesture. There is no reason to do it except: love.

It is effusive.

I am sorry I failed.

I am sorry for this confederacy of catastrophe.

I am sorry for it all.

I think that my husband can’t believe I hurt. I know what I’m like: I have a powerful personality, it’s true. But he got me.

He made a vow to love me in sickness and in health.

There was great love between us.

And love is hard to stop.

We made a commitment for when we could not remember why we did.

He decided enough.

I am a monotheist. I am in it for life. I am in everything for life. If you don’t stop me, I will not stop myself. I have the kind of faith that you can only have if you have talked your way out of trouble all along.

I feel so much and too much. Deep in my radiated bones.

I cannot believe it is like this with my husband and not like it was that long ago on Halloween, our first date, which he did not know was a date, maybe it was maybe it wasn’t, he showed up at my door not knowing anything at all.

We were resting on our future arms, we were like people who have never read The Unbearable Lightness of Being, have never seen City of God, have never heard Exile In Guyville, oh what lay ahead.

I remember my husband in the beginning, I know the man I married, I insist he is still there somewhere.

I keep peeling for the pentimento.

Or has this all been a fraud?

Love gone wrong feels like a confidence crime.

That is the worst of it.

Do I have an electron microscope or am I blinded? Do I see more clearly now or is this a distortion? I could ask that about the whole wide world.

Sex and race look different since Trump was elected. We know all the things that we never knew. We were living in a world of trust, we believed we were on a righteous path, that things were incrementally improving, so we did not look so hard into sunlight.

All anything ever is is another way of seeing.

I thought my husband was on my side.

I thought I knew him.

I did.

I don’t.

He changed.

I do not know how to help him.

I do not know how to reach him.

Anything is possible.

I believe in so much.

I am just that way.

I believe in love.

What matters more in this crazy world?

Shame on Casablanca’s ending! I will take the hill of beans.

(This is Garance again.)

Love. Sometimes in our lives when we feel most bereft it turns out that we are not alone at all. It is the kind of cloying Disney sentiment Lizzie might have scoffed at, but it was also the truth with her. She affected a toughness that was both real and a coping mechanism, but which also led her to downplay how sick she was. Even as she was telling me she was in remission in September, spots of cancer had already returned, I have since learned.

“The people who know us when we are not our best selves — what would we do without them? I am so grateful right now for even my mother coming through for me,” she wrote after her first surgery in December. Her mother Lynne Winters and she had a famously complicated relationship, but it was Lynne who took her home to recover both times she was released from the hospital, and who had the difficult burden of having to bring her back, and who sobbed in the sparkling clean MSKCC neuro ward hallway where other parents of too-young-to-die adult children paced forlornly.

“Jim has been the best,” Lizzie texted after the surgery. “I wish you a great first husband. That might be all you need.”

They had, in fact, not divorced. The papers were signed, but not filed. He was her husband until the end, during the final days after it was clear no further interventions would work, when she lay still in bed in what was by then her at least fifth different hospital room, for all the world the image of a big-eyed Renaissance pieta looking heavenward.

“Neurology takes a positive view toward god and prayer,” she had texted after the first surgery. “And relinquishing, which is what god and prayer is about. It is always turning your will over to a higher power and letting the will of the world and not your extraordinary manipulations lead you to your desired result. I always say that, it is my constant prayer: god, if you are out there, watch over me and your will, not mine, be done. That is what will happen anyway, but I pray for release from the dreadful fight.”

She spent her whole life fighting — fighting her parents, society, the patriarchy, social conventions, addiction, depression. But man, did she live big. She had a gift for building love into her life and at the end, her friends built a cocoon of love around her.

And on the morning of January 7, 2020, she was, as she had prayed, released.

#Elizabeth Wurtzel #i believe in love #love #garance franke-ruta #medium #writing

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newstfionline · 7 years

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Learning to Learn: You, Too, Can Rewire Your Brain

By John Schwartz, NY Times, Aug. 4, 2017

The studio for what is arguably the world’s most successful online course is tucked into a corner of Barb and Phil Oakley’s basement, a converted TV room that smells faintly of cat urine. (At the end of every video session, the Oakleys pin up the green fabric that serves as the backdrop so Fluffy doesn’t ruin it.)

This is where they put together “Learning How to Learn,” taken by more than 1.8 million students from 200 countries, the most ever on Coursera. The course provides practical advice on tackling daunting subjects and on beating procrastination, and the lessons engagingly blend neuroscience and common sense.

Dr. Oakley, an engineering professor at Oakland University in Rochester, Mich., created the class with Terrence Sejnowski, a neuroscientist at the Salk Institute for Biological Studies, and with the University of California, San Diego.

Prestigious universities have spent millions and employ hundreds of professionally trained videographers, editors and producers to create their massive open online courses, known as MOOCs. The Oakleys put together their studio with equipment that cost $5,000. They figured out what to buy by Googling “how to set up a green screen studio” and “how to set up studio lighting.” Mr. Oakley runs the camera and teleprompter. She does most of the editing. The course is free ($49 for a certificate of completion--Coursera won’t divulge how many finish).

“It’s actually not rocket science,” said Dr. Oakley--but she’s careful where she says that these days. When she spoke at Harvard in 2015, she said, “the hackles went up”; she crossed her arms sternly by way of grim illustration.

This is home-brew, not Harvard. And it has worked. Spectacularly. The Oakleys never could have predicted their success. Many of the early sessions had to be trashed. “I looked like a deer in the headlights,” Dr. Oakley said. She would flub her lines and moan, “I just can’t do this.” Her husband would say, “Come on. We’re going to have lunch, and we’re going to come right back to this.” But he confessed to having had doubts, too. “We were in the basement, worrying, ‘Is anybody even going to look at this?’”

Dr. Oakley is not the only person teaching students how to use tools drawn from neuroscience to enhance learning. But her popularity is a testament to her skill at presenting the material, and also to the course’s message of hope. Many of her online students are 25 to 44 years old, likely to be facing career changes in an unforgiving economy and seeking better ways to climb new learning curves.

Dr. Oakley’s lessons are rich in metaphor, which she knows helps get complex ideas across. The practice is rooted in the theory of neural reuse, which states that metaphors use the same neural circuits in the brain as the underlying concept does, so the metaphor brings difficult concepts “more rapidly on board,” as she puts it.

She illustrates her concepts with goofy animations: There are surfing zombies, metabolic vampires and an “octopus of attention.” Hammy editing tricks may have Dr. Oakley moving out of the frame to the right and popping up on the left, or cringing away from an animated, disembodied head that she has put on the screen to discuss a property of the brain.

Sitting in the Oakleys’ comfortable living room, Dr. Oakley said she believes that just about anyone can train himself to learn. “Students may look at math, for example, and say, ‘I can’t figure this out--it must mean I’m really stupid!’ They don’t know how their brain works.”

Her own feelings of inadequacy give her empathy for students who feel hopeless. “I know the hiccups and the troubles people have when they’re trying to learn something.” After all, she was her own lab rat. “I rewired my brain,” she said, “and it wasn’t easy.”

As a youngster, she was not a diligent student. “I flunked my way through elementary, middle school and high school math and science,” she said. She joined the Army out of high school to help pay for college and received extensive training in Russian at the Defense Language Institute. Once out, she realized she would have a better career path with a technical degree (specifically, electrical engineering), and set out to tackle math and science, training herself to grind through technical subjects with many of the techniques of practice and repetition that she had used to let Russian vocabulary and declension soak in.

Along the way, she met Philip Oakley--in, of all places, Antarctica. It was 1983, and she was working as a radio operator at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. (She has also worked as a translator on a Russian trawler. She’s been around.) Mr. Oakley managed the garage at the station, keeping machinery working under some of the planet’s most punishing conditions.

She had noticed him largely because, unlike so many men at the lonely pole, he hadn’t made any moves on her. “You can be ugly as a toad out there and you are the most popular girl,” she said. She found him “comfortably confident.” After he left a party without even saying hello, she told a friend she’d like to get to know him better. The next day, he was waiting for her at breakfast with a big smile on his face. Three weeks later, on New Year’s Eve, he walked her over to the true South Pole and proposed at the stroke of midnight. A few weeks after that, they were “off the ice” in New Zealand and got married.

Dr. Oakley recounts her journey in both of her best-selling books: “A Mind for Numbers: How to Excel at Math and Science (Even if You Flunked Algebra)” and, out this past spring, “Mindshift: Break Through Obstacles to Learning and Discover Your Hidden Potential.” The new book is about learning new skills, with a focus on career switchers. And yes, she has a MOOC for that, too.

Dr. Oakley is already planning her next book, another guide to learning how to learn but aimed at 10- to 13-year-olds. She wants to tell them, “Even if you are not a superstar learner, here’s how to see the great aspects of what you do have.” She would like to see learning clubs in school to help young people develop the skills they need. “We have chess clubs, we have art clubs,” she said. “We don’t have learning clubs. I just think that teaching kids how to learn is one of the greatest things we can possibly do.”

Four Techniques to Help You Learn

FOCUS/DON’T. The brain has two modes of thinking that Dr. Oakley simplifies as “focused,” in which learners concentrate on the material, and “diffuse,” a neural resting state in which consolidation occurs--that is, the new information can settle into the brain. (Cognitive scientists talk about task-positive networks and default-mode networks, respectively, in describing the two states.) In diffuse mode, connections between bits of information, and unexpected insights, can occur. That’s why it’s helpful to take a brief break after a burst of focused work.

TAKE A BREAK. To accomplish those periods of focused and diffuse-mode thinking, Dr. Oakley recommends what is known as the Pomodoro Technique, developed by one Francesco Cirillo. Set a kitchen timer for a 25-minute stretch of focused work, followed by a brief reward, which includes a break for diffuse reflection. (“Pomodoro” is Italian for tomato--some timers look like tomatoes.) The reward--listening to a song, taking a walk, anything to enter a relaxed state--takes your mind off the task at hand. Precisely because you’re not thinking about the task, the brain can subconsciously consolidate the new knowledge. Dr. Oakley compares this process to “a librarian filing books away on shelves for later retrieval.”

As a bonus, the ritual of setting the timer can also help overcome procrastination. Dr. Oakley teaches that even thinking about doing things we dislike activates the pain centers of the brain. The Pomodoro Technique, she said, “helps the mind slip into focus and begin work without thinking about the work.”

“Virtually anyone can focus for 25 minutes, and the more you practice, the easier it gets.”

PRACTICE. “Chunking” is the process of creating a neural pattern that can be reactivated when needed. It might be an equation or a phrase in French or a guitar chord. Research shows that having a mental library of well-practiced neural chunks is necessary for developing expertise.

Practice brings procedural fluency, says Dr. Oakley, who compares the process to backing up a car. “When you first are learning to back up, your working memory is overwhelmed with input.” In time, “you don’t even need to think more than ‘Hey, back up,’” and the mind is free to think about other things.

Chunks build on chunks, and, she says, the neural network built upon that knowledge grows bigger. “You remember longer bits of music, for example, or more complex phrases in French.” Mastering low-level math concepts allows tackling more complex mental acrobatics. “You can easily bring them to mind even while your active focus is grappling with newer, more difficult information.”

KNOW THYSELF. Dr. Oakley urges her students to understand that people learn in different ways. Those who have “racecar brains” snap up information; those with “hiker brains” take longer to assimilate information but, like a hiker, perceive more details along the way. Recognizing the advantages and disadvantages, she says, is the first step in learning how to approach unfamiliar material.

#Barbara Oakley #learning #Learning How To Learn

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 7 years

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My partner is set to deploy next month. This will be our 3rd deployment since we got together. It has me thinking about Sterek Military fics. Marines, Army, Navy, Navy Seal, Spec Ops, whatever I will take them all. Bless you and this blog for getting me through many lonely nights.

Awwww, sending your partner good vibes and well wishes! Tried to find you some completed fics with happy endings bb, hope they help

I’m Coming Home by redhoodedwolf

(1,031 I Teen I Complete) *military!Stiles

Prompt from Tumblr:I’m not sure if your still doing prompts… but if you are I would love you forever if you could write a Military!AU, where Stiles surprises Derek be coming back early!! Very FLUFFY!!!

Everyday Will Be Like a Holiday by wirewrappedlily

(1,395 I General I Complete) *soldier!Derek

When Stiles woke at ten the next morning, Derek was curled tight around him, Erica’s head in the dip of Derek’s waist, and Isaac’s thin form thrown over their legs, Scott lying around both Stiles and Isaac while Lydia slept in as small a ball as possible on Stiles’s chest, Boyd’s hand on her head as if she’d had a nightmare. Stiles smiled to himself, going back to staring at Derek’s sleeping features. The curve of his eyelashes and the relaxed shape of his mouth. He wanted to trace his finger over the line of Derek’s nose, leave hickies over the straight edge of Derek’s jaw. It was new and old and so good Stiles wanted to cry.

Derek was home.

Coming Home For Christmas by Nerdy_fangirl_57

(1,780 I General I Complete) *soldier!Derek, married!sterek

Stiles was trying to be the best dad he could be for his little girl after Derek was drafted into the military 3 months ago. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like crying when Alex tells him that all she wants for Christmas is for Santa to bring her papa back home.

What a Difference a Day Makes by the_gramophone

(1,888 I General I Complete) *soldier!Stiles

Derek is struggling not to feel lonely this Valentine’s Day, but he does his best to put on a brave and happy face for his daughter. Both their days take a turn for the better when they get an unexpected surprise.

Home Without a Heart by 138andcounting

(2,145 I Not Rated I Complete) *marine!Derek

Derek leave the Marines due to an injury, and finds himself in a small town in California, Beacon Hills. Not being able to stop helping others, he joins the police, where he meets 18-year-old Stiles Stilinski. A year of dating later, they moved to NY for Stiles to go to college. After dating for two years, Derek get’s an unexpected visitor.

Coming Home by Ella Dean Pendragon

(2,277 I General I Complete) *soldier!Derek

It’s been three hundred and seventy six days since he left and Stiles has been living each day as it comes but all that is about to change. Non werewolf AU. Army AU, Sterek, Slash. Other pairings Scisaac, Dethan and Lydia/Aiden.

A Soldier Surprise by Eburn

(2,765 I General I Complete) *soldier!Derek

The one where Derek is a Soldier and Stiles is at Uni, and they’re engaged. Derek surprises Stiles by coming home early.

Traveling Soldier by Angelwithwingsoffire

(3,006 I Not Rated I Complete) *soldier!Derek

Stiles works in a diner when one day a soldier walks in, dressed in army greens and sits down at one of Stiles’s booths. They end up talking and soon enough Stiles is sending letters off to one Sergeant Derek Hale, until one day, the letters stop.

Thank God Your Heart is Too Close by hoars

(3,469 I Not Rated I Complete) *soldier!Derek

There’s a boy, (“Fuck you, dude. I’m seventeen. Not fifteen.” Stiles laughs in his memory) waiting for him back home.

Coming Home by WyldeWombat (orphan_account)

(3,766 I Teen I Complete) *soldier!Derek

Derek joined the military over four years ago, and Stiles doesn’t get to see his mate very much. In fact, he hasn’t seen Derek in over a year. Little does he know, Derek is coming home.

In the Air, On Land, On Sea by enthroned

(6,443 I General I Complete) *marine!Derek, marine!Stiles

In which Derek is a marine on his way home. He meets Stiles, a marine on his way to war.

Marine Sergeant Hale by Angelwithwingsoffire

(6,258 I Not Rated I Complete) *marine!Derek

Stiles has been bullied for years and it gets worse when the Sheriff is deployed one last time. One day, in the middle of the daily beating, a Marine comes to his rescue. A very hot and muscular Marine who also happens to be in uniform. And unbeknownst to Stiles, they’ve met before. Stiles can’t remember but Derek remembers it all.

If You’re Not Here to Turn the Lights Off (I Can’t Sleep) by losingmyangelgrace

(7,234 I Explicit I Complete) *marine!Derek, teacher!Stiles

“Honey! I’m home!” Stiles shouted into the empty apartment as he moved quickly through to the kitchen, dumping his backpack onto bench before crossing to the fridge and crossing off another day on the calendar. A month and a half. That was how long was left until Derek came home, until he was safe. Everyday felt like a lifetime to Stiles.

Grace - Prologue by Venchaser

(9,655 I Explicit I Complete) *historical au, WWII au, soldier!Derek, doctor!Stiles

Twoshot - Prologue (Complete) . It is the 1939, the world is on the brink of a second World War. Stiles is the son of a wealthy high ranking ministry official. His friend and childhood protector Derek Hale is off to the same medical school as he is, with the financial help of his own father, something Stiles is not too happy about, though he won’t admit it to himself that there might be feelings involved. Yet.

The Last Time by clawstoagunfight

(10,874 I Explicit I Complete) *Soldier!Stiles

Stiles is leaving in the morning and Derek can’t find the words to say how he feels. Instead, he shows him.

Secrets of Suburbia by GiaUrsula

(17,338 I Mature I Complete) *historical au, Soldier!Derek

Lydia Martin was the Queen Bee of Beacon Hills so it was her job to welcome her husband’s nephew, Derek, and his new wife into the neighbourhood. Derek has returned home after service in Korea to settle down and marry his sweetheart, Gen, who Lydia becomes fast friends with. But after stumbling upon Derek cheating on Gen, she isn’t sure what to think. But who was the man she saw him with? Who is Stiles?

Air Mail by Handsofred

(20,229 I Not Rated I Complete) *soldier!derek, dad!derek, teacher!stiles

‘’Oh my god’’ Stiles breathed out as heavy booted footsteps faded away down the hall. ‘’oh my god’’

‘’Stiles?’’ Allison asked as he scrambled around the desk searching for the last letter before he was thrusting it at their faces.

‘’It’s him…my soldier…it’s him, it’s Mattie’s dad’’ He told them, his eyes wide as Allison took the letter from him, ‘’oh my god, oh my god and I fainted in front of him…oh Jesus Christ’’

Protecting Home by countrygirlsfun

(38,400 I Mature I Complete) *soldier!Stiles, Teacher!Derek

Stiles Stilinski is now an ex-army sniper and engaged to kindergarten teacher Derek Hale. All he wants is to leave his military service and experiences behind him so he can move on and build his life with Derek.

But it isn’t always easy when the battlefield follows you home.

I’ll Be Seeing You by thepsychicclam

(81,489 I Explicit I Complete) *soldier!derek, WWII au, historical au

In the summer of 1941, with the country on the brink of war, diner waiter Stiles meets Derek Hale, an army soldier just passing through Beacon Hills.

#sterek #teen wolf #anon #military au #soldier!derek #soldier!stiles #rating: e #rating: m #rating: g #rating: t #less than 10k #10kto25k #25kto50k #50kto100k

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brainfoodgp · 7 years

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Seeds For Wellness Journal Summer/2017

“There needs to be a lot more emphasis on what a child can do instead of what he cannot do.” -Temple Grandin-

I have certainly been busy this month celebrating my 45th new year! For someone that spent a lot of my 20’s and 30’s trying to find ways to end my life, there is a certain joy that comes with each new passing year. Managing my manic depressive symptoms is in itself a full time job. However, by eating a healthier diet and getting out into a garden as much as possible. I realized that the reason I am still on this earth is to spread that message throughout the mental health community. Both of these wellness tools successfully work for me and I know deep down they could work for you as well.

A perfect opportunity to further that mission came about several months ago when life coach and motivational speaker Ozioma Egwuonwu invited me to come out to The Dream Center in Newburgh, NY and to share my story and vision for Brain Food Garden Project. The DreamTalk will take place on July 27th from 7-9PM I hope you will be able to join me or stream it live. To learn more about The Dream Center Click Here And to learn more about its founder Ozioma Click Here

I love the fact that we highlight certain days, weeks and months out of a year to bring attention to important causes. I love Mental Health Awareness month and the greater understanding it brings to the world. However, I also believe that we should talk about all of these important issues all year long. It is our goal at Brain Food Garden Project to keep the dialogue flowing on a plethora of topics related to mental health and food justice every single day through social media and this blog. That is precisely why I turned over our BFGP Feature story this month to a good friend and the mother of a beautiful young man Carter, who just happens to also be Autistic. Sarah Todd’s beautifully written article will indeed show you the true meaning of the words unconditional love.

Also this month we return with more Notes from the Resistance, and What I’m Reading and our Healthy & Delicious Recipes tie in to our feature story on Autism.

Happy Reading!

The BFGP Feature:

Sarah Todd is a resident of Covington, Georgia. Besides being an exceptional mother to her son Carter and a true believer in the power of Harry Potter as a mental health wellness tool. She is also an advocate for all children and parents dealing with Autism. Sarah is the Vice Chair of County Parties and County Party Liaison for the state Democratic Party. She travels county by county insuring that the next generation of grassroots activists are trained and ready for the frontlines.

Life As an Autism Mama by Sarah Todd

When it comes to parenting a child on the autism spectrum, you often wish there was a book you could pick up that would give you step by step instructions on how not to screw up your one task, which is to raise a happy, healthy human being. I’ve wished and dreamed for such a thing, but I know it doesn’t exist because as the old saying goes, “if you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.” There is no one-size-fits-all strategy for raising an autistic child.

In the grand scheme of things, I’m relatively new to the world of autism. Unofficially, I’ve lived in this world for 11 years. Officially, for 9, when we received a diagnosis of PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Delays – Not Otherwise Specified) for our son Carter. I had a totally normal pregnancy. Easy delivery. Everything was just fine and we couldn’t be happier. Carter progressed as he should have for about 15 months and then stopped reaching “normal” infant and toddler milestones. I really didn’t need a doctor to tell me my child was different. I knew something was different about Carter before we were ever told. A mother always knows. The signs were there.

Lining up toys in a straight line. Loud noises hurting his ears. Twirling until he fell over and then getting back up and doing it again. Bright lights hurting his eyes (and in stores, the noise of florescent lights hurting his ears). Not interested in playing with toys, but wanting to see how they worked (especially if they had wheels that moved). Walking on his tip toes. Answering your questions with a question or just repeating back to you what you said to him (echolalia). Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. Hand flapping when he was excited (this was really cute and I kind of miss it now that he’s outgrown this stimming technique). The obsessive love of Thomas the Train. My husband and I knew it was time to get him into something else when we ended up arguing about two of the trains at 3 o’clock in the morning – long after Carter had fallen asleep, but with us still watching. Thomas the Train being replaced with an obsessive love of the movie Cars. Seriously, I’m pretty sure we put some Pixar employee’s kid through college with all the stuff we had to have because it was Lightning McQueen (although I’m pretty sure that was normal for every little boy at that age).

We started the therapies that were recommended by our doctor - occupational therapy and speech therapy. They also recommended ABA therapy (Applied Behavioral Analysis therapy), but our insurance wouldn’t approve it. When he was three, we enrolled him in a program through our local school system called Babies Can’t Wait that provides early intervention for children with developmental delays. We couldn’t get him into the program until about three months before the school year ended, but it was a very good start to getting him socialized with other kids. He was in a special needs Pre-K class at one school. I wasn’t impressed. We moved to put him in a better school. He excelled in this other school. He’s just finished up the 5th grade and is moving to middle school this year. He’s leaving elementary school on the A/B Honor Roll and he has made lasting friendships with some really great kids. The teachers and staff of this school are some of the most amazing people you would ever hope to have in the field of education.

Carter was “mainstreamed”, which means he split his time between smaller special education classes and regular classes with neurotypical children. He loves math. I guess it’s because he can see how it works in his mind. He’s a visual learner. He receives occupational therapy and speech therapy through the school system and it helps him maneuver through a day with other kids who don’t have a clue what autism is. His classmates know he’s different. They just accept him.

It sounds like a perfect life and I can’t tell you how many times someone has said to me that they couldn’t tell that he’s on the spectrum. Good. That’s exactly how we’ve raised him. I take my role as a parent preparing him for a life without me very seriously.

He really is a happy kid and I consider myself to be the luckiest mom in the world to have a son that was voted “Most Polite” by his fellow classmates and teachers at school this past year. He’s funny. He’s smart. He’s kind. Unlike some others on the spectrum, he’s extremely empathetic. He’ll bring you a tissue if he sees you crying and tells you over and over that it’s going to be ok. By my account, he’s doing just fine.

He’s just out there being the best 11 year old he can be. There have been times when he’s faltered, but what child hasn’t? Getting to this point though has been a struggle for us. I would never speak for my husband because our roles in Carter’s life are very different, but for me, this life hasn’t always been peachy. I wouldn’t trade being his mom for anything in the world, but I would like to know what it’s like to not go to sleep on a regular basis being eaten alive with worry. He’s an only child. Who will be there for him when we’re gone? Will he be picked on at his new school? Will he always be oblivious to the dangers of this world? Will he ever be able to communicate with people in a truly meaningful way? Will he ever find someone to love him for just being his amazing self?

People don’t know that it’s lonely being a parent of a child with autism. We’re surrounded by others, but they have no idea what kind of struggles we go through. I often wonder to myself if parents of neurotypical kids are guilty of wishing that, for once, their kid just “gets it” like everyone else does. Or, in my more selfish moments, I want to know do they know what its like to mourn the loss of a child that never existed, but you thought you would have? Where’s my son that would play little league baseball instead of sitting at a computer all day building cars on car company websites? In my more critical moments, I’m deeply ashamed of myself for thinking such things.

We face a lot of external strains. Financially, we’ve taken hit after hit. Georgia wasn’t a state that mandated autism coverage when Carter was younger so we had to pay for his therapies out of pocket. We burned through our savings. I cashed out two 401k’s. We lost our home to foreclosure, but I have a kid who can communicate with others so I think we chose wisely.

I consider myself pretty lucky that I have a great partner on our son’s journey to adulthood. Don’t get me wrong - I get angry with my husband. I resent the hell out of being The Parent while he gets to be Mr. Fun Time Guy to hang out with on the weekends, but we also know that we’re not the focus anymore so we get over ourselves real quick. It’s not about us. It’s about Carter and we do whatever we have to do to get through another day as TeamTodd

I’m not naturally predisposed to being an optimistic person. I’ve never been what can be described as patient. But since I am my child’s introduction to the world, I do whatever I can to be just those very things. You don’t know love until you are choking down your rage at watching the same movie for the 786th time. If you are a planner like me – a logistics queen – you weep for your former life because now you know you have to just go with the flow. You can plan and plan and plan and think you have something figured out for just about every scenario imaginable (and you usually do if you are an autism parent), but there will always be that one thing that comes up that you just have to deal with.

Well-meaning people ask me all the time how to interact with those on the autism spectrum or what can they do to help? I usually chuckle. They are so serious when they ask, like they’ve just heard you have some terminal illness and they don’t know what to do. It’s ok. Nobody knows what to do until you must deal with it yourself. I usually tell them that the most important thing to remember when interacting with someone on the autism spectrum is to be patient and don’t take it personally if you don’t get the response you have been hard wired and conditioned to receive your whole life. Anything “typical” to you may or may not be to them. Really. Can you imagine what it must be like to live in a world that is always too loud, too bright, too colorful, too distracting, too smelly, too much? We ask so much of people with autism. Every day, these individuals are expected to fit their square pegs into the round holes of our society.

Life is all about choices. Some people choose to get bogged down by life, to see the ugliness of a cruel world. We choose to see life through Carter’s eyes – one filled with love and joy and empathy. We choose to protect him for as long as we can, but we also choose to let him experience his life his own way. We’ve relinquished control of the path we take. We’re just along for the ride now and we couldn’t imagine a better guide.

What I’m Reading:

We named Temple Grandin our BFGP Hero back in April of 2016 after I finally watched the wonderful HBO movie based on her life and read her first book Emergence:Labeled Autistic. In honor of my friend and fellow Hufflepuff Carter Todd I have recently started reading The Autistic Brain:Thinking Across The Spectrum by Grandin and Richard Panek. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette called it “The right brain has created the right book for right now.” 1 in 88 children are affected by Autism. to learn more about Autism Click Here

Notes From The Resistance:

The Christo Fascist Authoritarian regime currently holding our country in a vice grip knows no shame. From trying to again take away millions of American’s health care to appointing a company party planner to oversee New York’s federal housing programs. These are our notes from the resistance.

1, Who Gets hurt by the SNAP cuts in the current regime budget? Click Here

2. This is nothing to party about Click Here

3. Food Justice experts weigh in on the Fascist Click Here

4. Pesticides our health is at risk with the Authoritarian’s EPA Click Here

5. End the fascist regime’s pay for play in the private prison system sign the petition Click Here

Healthy & Delicious Recipes:

When I talk to friends with children on the autistic spectrum. One of the consistent things I hear frustrates them the most is the fact they find it difficult to feed their children healthy foods because their kids just want pizza or chicken nuggets. So much of this has to do with the fact autistic kids see visually and taste differently than we do. I have been following our guest writer Sarah Todd’s journey on Facebook recently on working to get Carter to eat more healthfully. That struggle inspired me to look for a recipe this month that would fit Carter’s sensibility but with mom’s desire for him to eat healthier.

Baked Panko Breaded Chicken Nuggets

INGREDIENTS

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 1 pound total)

1 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)

1/3 cup grated Parmesan

Coarse salt

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

½ cup all-purpose flour

3 large eggs, lightly beaten

Cooking spray

DIRECTIONS

1.Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut chicken into 2-inch pieces. Spread panko on a rimmed baking sheet and bake until golden brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer to a shallow dish, then add Parmesan and ½ teaspoon salt; drizzle with oil and stir to combine.

2.Place flour and eggs in separate shallow dishes. Increase temperature to 450 degrees.

3.Set a wire rack in a rimmed baking sheet; lightly coat rack with cooking spray. In batches, coat chicken in flour, shaking off excess, dip in egg, then coat with panko, pressing to adhere. Place on rack.

4.Bake until chicken is cooked through, 12 minutes, flipping halfway through. Serve nuggets with sauce.

1 note · View note

theartificialdane · 8 years

Text

Galactica, part 229

In this Ivan surprises his parents, Patrick suggests a compromise, Raven entertains, Fame goes to a friend, Sutan crosses the line and Bianca does her best.

Thank you to @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull for all of their help! <3 Rating: E

“KATYA! KATYA!”

“I’m awake!” Katya sat up straight, her chin covered in drool as she had fallen asleep at her desk, the agenda for the next day's teachers meeting at her school in front of her, the pages upon pages of what was going on in the students lives apparently too much for her to handle. Katya rubbed her eyes, the door behind her opening as she turned around. Katya was tired, so so tired, even though her husband's enthusiasm usually woke her right up. Ivan had barely been sleeping, the little boy not doing anything besides screaming unless his dad was with him, talking to him in his native language in a slow and sweet voice.

“Katya! It happened!”

“What happened?” Katya looked up, and came face to face with Trixie, Ivan on his hip, her husband holding what seemed like a… full diaper?

“We were reading his night night story, and all of a sudden he got red in the face and I thought he was choking, but look!”

Trixie held out the diaper, the sight of it actually disgusting, but somehow, as she jumped up to hug her husband and kiss her son's little head, she had never been happier to see another humans excrements.

***

Fame sat at the table with her hands folded, waiting for her husband, trying not to let her nerves be written clear across her face. The last time they saw each other...well, it hadn’t been her best showing. But she was optimistic about today’s meeting, lunch on one of their favorite restaurants, a lovely little Italian place tucked away right in the middle of midtown but somehow a total escape from the madness. He’d agreed nearly a minute after she’d reached out. So maybe he was missing her just as much as she missed him.

She rose to greet him when he walked through the door. He looked so handsome, so familiar, so...relaxed? Calm? Confident? Why was he so relaxed? Fame frowned and sat down again, clearing her throat.

Patrick smiled at her. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” sha answered, a slight edge in her voice, still suspicious of how at ease he was.

“So, I’ve been thinking…” he continued.

“Yes?”

“We should go up to the farm together?”

“Really?” Fame was almost ready to cry. So THIS was why he was so happy and relaxed - because he’s been missing her and now that she invited him out, he was confident that they would be reconciling. Maybe they were on the same page! After all, the farm has always been so important to them both. Patrick bought it for her when he moved to NY to be with her, since she missed the country, the chicken ranch where she grew up. “Oh Patrick, I’m so happy, it’ll be perfect, just you and m-”

“We’ll have to calculate how much it’ll take to keep it running, for your alimony.”

“....My alimony?”

“You don’t want alimony? I figured you would, with the house and Charles and all.”

“Patrick, what are you talking about?”

“For the divorce, Fame.”

“The divorce?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Fame stared at him for a minute, open-mouthed.

“I...I thought that’s why you asked me here. To talk about formal...terms...in a civilized way…” Patrick suddenly didn’t look so relaxed anymore.

Fame was guilty of many things. But one thing that she would NEVER do, was throw a fit in a restaurant. Especially not a restaurant she frequented multiple times a week. So she rose slowly to her feet and, without even a glance back at the philandering jerk she’d married, marched out of the restaurant.

***

"Rave, are you sure about this?” “Yes! Come on Violet, just try it on!” Raven laughed and took a sip of her wine “You’ll look great.” Violet smiled slightly, the velvet fabric in her hands so soft. Raven had texted her earlier that day, first just asking her if she had her Yves Saint Laurent in Rouge Pur Couture (she didn’t). But as they texted back and forth, Violet quickly got the feeling that Raven was very lonely. Raja had been busy at work lately, in fact so busy that Violet almost felt bad at how annoyed she was with Sutan at times. Violet wasn’t sure if it was the truth, but the gossip around the office was that Fame wasn’t feeling her best, that Fame had disappeared after a lunch with Patrick, and that her and Patrick were getting divorced, but Violet wasn’t really believing it, Fame and Patrick loved each other. They had to stay together, they just had to. “Okay.. But only if you’re absolutely sure.” “I am! Now come on!” Raven pushed Violet who quickly got up, the two girls sitting together on the floor of Raja and Raven’s wardrobe since Raven had been looking for outfits for her honeymoon. The duo was had boxes of chinese takeaway to the side, as they had eaten together in the colorful room like two school girls, giggly and happy. Raven had somehow talked Violet into sharing the bottle of wine with her that added to the cheer. Violet shimmied out of her dress, Raven whistling as Violet was standing in her underwear before she pulled the dress that Raven had given her over her head. “So what do you think?” Violet thirled, giggling as the motion made her feel slightly dizzy. “That dress is perfect for you, it’s the perfect balance of sexy and sophisticated without being super flashy. You look amazing Vivi!” Raven said with a big smile and two thumbs up. Violet turned around to look in the mirror, her slender frame covered by the simple, black Gucci dress. Violet moved from side to side, looking at herself, a small smile on her face. “It does look pretty great…” “You’ll look amazing at Marie Claire, making those bitches love your collection.”

“Raven! That’s Bianca you’re talking about, she’s your friend.”

“Still a bitch though.” Raven giggled, and Violet smiled a little at her friend, Raven emptying her glass of wine before she poured another one. “And she’s Raja’s friend more than mine anyway.” Violet bit her lip slightly, watching how it was slightly baggy on thinner frame, her due to Raven's curves. "Is it okay if I take it in a little? I promise I'll be careful." Violet knew she could most likely make it go back to it’s original shape afterwards if she did it by hand, Raven’s offer of letting her borrow it so sweet. "I would expect nothing less honestly," Raven said easily as she walked over to give Violet a pair of black patent pumps to go with her outfit. "This particular dress is closer to a size 4, but your frame is more of a 0 or 2 so I would have recommended you to take it in anyway. I know when I first wore this dress for a shoot, I had a corset on so the waist was more pinched in." Violet nodded, pinching in the fabric on the side to see if it looked better, Raven smiling brightly. "So if you take ,.the dress in 2 inches all around, with an additional 2 inches at the waist, it'll fit your frame perfectly. Pair it with a pair of sheer garters and you'll be perfect." Violet smiled, and nodded, Raven’s vision clear in her head "I'll make sure I get the dress back to you, as soon as possible. Who is your dry cleaners?” Raven looked at Violet curiously, "What?" "Don't you want your dress back?" Violet asked as she turned to face Raven again. "No, this dress now belongs to you now.” Violet looked in disbelief at Raven, the dress barely feeling used at all. “Really?” "Sure!” Raven said as she pulled out a garment bag from under a pile of clothes. "You can have the shoes too, since I have another pair of them," she continued as she began pulling more dresses and skirts." "Oh, Raven, no I, you don't have to-” Violet began before Raven waved her off. "Don't worry about it," Raven replied.

“I… Thank you Rave..” Raven smiled and took Violet's hands in hers, "You can have anything, well almost anything, you want, from my wardrobe, all I ask is that you feel as beautiful and confident as you’ll look." "Thank you so much Raven," Violet smiled, about to take the dress off before she caught one last look at herself in the mirror. "Actually..." Violet crouched down to the floor, quickly reached into her bag to take out her phone. "Would you mind taking a picture of me?" "A picture? You want to take a picture?” Raven smiled brightly, Violet giggling in her slightly drunken state. “Why?” “For Sutan.” "You're asking me to take a picture for Sutan?" Violet nodded. "I want him to see how good I look.. So he won’t forget me!" Violet blushed, causing Raven to giggle before bouncing over to her friend. "I would love to! Do you want to freshen up your hair and makeup before we start taking pictures?" “Really?” Raven's face lit up in a smile as she guided Violet to sit down at her vanity she had in the wardrobe, equipped with hot tools for hair, makeup and even some of her jewelry. "What look do you want to for our photo shoot? I think old Hollywood glam with pin curls or deep waves and a simple winged liner and red lip with light blush, highlight and contour." Raven was beaming, beyond excited to have a fun project for the afternoon. "You're the visionary of this shoot," Violet said, Raven getting the bottle and their glasses to refill them. "Work your magic." Raven grinned as she set her glass of wine on a free spot on her vanity, "Visual seduction is my speciality so I'll do more than that." She said as she took Violet's hair down from her ballet bun, "You'll not only knock him off his feet but give him a permanent boner for the rest of the day." Violet laughed at Raven's enthusiasm before taking another sip of her wine, "I trust your judgement, but if anything goes wrong I'm blaming it on you." "Don't worry lovey," Raven began, "if I know Sutan the way I do, you'll have him eating out the palm of your hand."

***

“I’m COMING! Jesus fucking Christ!” Bianca walked towards the frantic, hysterical knocking at the door, wondering which one of the fragile little lambs in her life was going to be falling apart tonight. She’d been planning a relaxing evening with the television and a bottle of wine, possibly delving into some saved photos later on while Courtney was at an out of town gig.

She opened the door to find Fame, swaying in her stilettos, already drunk, eye makeup beginning to run. “Apparently I’m getting a divorce.”

Bianca opened the door wider and pulled Fame inside. “You know there’s fucking paps outside, did they get you like this?”

Fame shook her head, sniffling.

“Okay, good. Come here.” Bianca led Fame to the sofa and sat her down. “Red, white, or hard stuff? How bad is it?”

“Red.”

“Okay! So there’s hope!” Bianca said brightly, getting a couple of glasses and a bottle of red wine. “Tell me what’s going on, blondie. Is it time for me to fire Shannel yet? ‘Cause to be honest, Nina has been a real cunt lately and it would serve her right to lose her assistant.”

“Oh my god, do you think she’s the reason?!”

“I...sorry...I was just...shit.”

“I didn’t even THINK about her! That fucking asshole...do you think he’s screwing her?”

“I don’t know, blondie.”

Fame closed her eyes. “B. I’m going crazy.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Why is this happening?”

Bianca wrapped her arms around Fame’s shoulders and held her close. “Because...shit happens. And then we die.”

Fame laughed through her tears. “Why did I think coming here was a good idea?”

“Because I have a good wine collection,” Bianca reasoned, refilling her glass.

“Oh yeah.” Fame snuggled against her chest.

*** “Maaaaaaaaaax, I’m booooored.” Ruby tossed and turned on Max’s bed. She knew she was whining but she had come over after work, sneaking her way into Max’s apartment since she still didn’t really feel comfortable around his roommates. “You promised we could go out for pizza.”

“Ruby, I’m sorry but I have to get this done.” Max was sitting with his headphone around his neck, his hand flying over his tablet, the little pen he was holding correcting the photos he was going through one after one after one. “The deadline is tomorrow.”

Ruby huffed. She knew she was being unfair, but she loved spending time with Max, the brit always making her day so much better.

“I know, I know.” Max sighed slightly, his attention barely divided between Ruby and the screen, Max still editing.

Ruby sighed and lay back on the bed, closing her eyes as she listened to the low music she could hear from Max’s headphones.

“What about a compromise?”

Ruby peaked up. “Yes?”

“You go get pizza, I get as much done as I can, we watch animal planet for an hour, and then you let me work?”

Ruby smiled, jumping up from the bed. “Deal Mr. Malanaphy.”

***

BIANCA: Hey bunny, did you land okay? Xx

COURTNEY: Yep! Miss you already!

BIANCA: Break a leg tonight. I know you’ll be amazing.

COURTNEY: <3

BIANCA: FYI, I’m telling you this in real time - Fame is here. She had a fucked up meeting with patrick and she’s in bad shape. She’s drinking heavily and I told her that she could stay over.

BIANCA: I am being totally honest with you.

BIANCA: OK?

COURTNEY: OK

BIANCA: I’m just trying to be a good friend. But I know you got upset last time because I didn’t tell you right away, so I’m telling you right away.

COURTNEY: Alright.

BIANCA: That’s all you’re gonna say? I’m trying to do the right thing here.

COURTNEY: You want a medal?

BIANCA: ...Should I not have told you??

COURTNEY: No. That’s not the point. It would just be thrilling if we could get to the point where you’re not having sleepovers with your distraught ex lovers on the regular. Have a good night, I’m going in for sound checks.

BIANCA: Baby...

BIANCA: Baby, I’m sorry.

BIANCA: She’s not my “ex lover.” I mean I get what you’re saying but that’s not what’s happening here. She’s my FRIEND.

BIANCA: Courtney.

BIANCA: I LOVE YOU

COURTNEY: I love you too

BIANCA: Still mad?

COURTNEY: Yes

BIANCA: Fuck

COURTNEY: I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

***

“Fuck you’re so perfect” Sutan knew he properly should not be so rough, knew that Violet was drunk, his girlfriend giggling, her normally pale and cold skin a dusty pink and oh so warm against his touch, her delicate lips painted a deep red, but god she was amazing. Sutan had picked her up from upstairs, Violet sending him picture after picture during his meeting of her, pictures he had never seen before, his girlfriend stunningly beautiful as she always was, but there was also a desperation in the pictures, like she was afraid of something, Violet never sending him anything with her entire body and least of all her face included.

“Sutan.. Don’t..” Violet whined slightly, Violet’s body pressed into the jackets that were hanging in the entryway of Sutan’s apartment, the fur of her winter coat and the thick wool of Sutan’s. Sutan had no idea why, but Violet was only wearing a sheer top and booty shorts that clearly didn’t fit her right, her hair not in her usual high ponytail but instead in a low one, perfect for grabbing, his hands already itching. He suspected Raven had a hand in it, his sister in laws imagination already running off with her, but none of that mattered right now when he grabbed Violet’s hair, her long ponytail waved into his fingers so he had total control.

“Down.”

Violet nodded, her eyes half lidded, a rush of warm going through Sutan at her easy submission. They had only recently started playing the games, Sutan taking more and more control, but it was perfection each time, Violet like butter in his hands, his girl so sweet and soft. Sutan gave her a single kiss, a smile on his lips as he gently guided Violet down, his other hand already on his belt, working to unzip it when Violet gave an unsuspected moan, the girls eyes flying open.

“Violet?”

Violet’s cheeks were bright red, her mouth open, hips rocking slightly, and Sutan immediately connected the dots, the shorts she was wearing a whole new experience for her, the fabric oh so tight between her legs.

“Does that feel good mata indah?”

Violet nodded, the girl almost looking stressed with the sensations, and Sutan couldn’t help but smile. Drunk Violet would always be his favorite, her reaction to her own body always the greatest amusement whenever she experienced something new.

“You’re perfect.” Sutan gently ran his thumb over Violet’s cheek, the man holding her face with his free hand, helping Violet balance on her the pad of her feet, the girl swaying slightly, her cheeks a bright red, her breathing unsteady and Sutan could practically feel how hot she was, her nipples tight against the fabric of her shirt. Sutan guided her down, her knees hitting the carpet, another gasp leaving her, her hand coming up to grab Sutan’s left arm, her fingers digging his shirt, her eyes closed as she clung to her boyfriend, the power exchange between them keeping her in an almost trance like state.

“Can you come like this?”

Violet whimpered, clearly not knowing what to say, a small moan leaving her as Sutan pulled her ponytail with her left hand, the pain pushing her even more, and Sutan did something he had never considered before.

Smack

The first slap was soft, only just testing, his palm making connection with Violet’s cheek, the woman gasping loudly, her eyes flying open as Sutan slapped her again, as hard as he could this time.

Smack

Violet’s head turned with the force of the slap, Sutan’s hand in her hair quickly catching her, holding her, her eyes filled with tears, nothing coming from her but short and sharp intakes of breath, her entire body still, and Sutan realised she had come, the force of his second slap bringing her over the age the second he touched her cheek.

***

“Biancaaaaaaaaa, put down your stupid phone,” Fame slurred.

“You’re getting me into trouble.”

“What are you even talking about?” Fame asked, pouring the rest of the bottle into her glass. “This is empty which makes me super sad, so get another bottle like right away.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” She stood and walked over to the wine rack, opening another bottle of Merlot.

“So what. Are you talking about? Trouble? Like what? What? What?” Fame shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t fucking touch you.”

“I know that, you dumbass, but I told Courtney that you’re sleeping over, since you’re obviously incapable of even operating your elevator, and she threw a hissyfit over it.”

“Well…” Fame leaned back, laughing a little. “That’s your fucking problem, now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And by the way...that’s karma, you homewrecking slut.”

“Excuse me?!” Bianca sputtered, laughing in spite of herself. Fame didn’t get into these kind of moods often, but when she did, she was quite a sight to behold, and quite a force to be reckoned with.

“Yeah, you heard me. This is your karmic destiny.”

“You’re off your damn rocker. And drunk.”

“No. I mean yes, I am drunk. Yes. But no, I’m telling truth, absolutely. Because if it wasn’t for you, and your dumb self, I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess with Patrick, and--”

“Wait just a minute!” Bianca stopped Fame. “I’m going to quickly declare bullshit. First of all, I’m not the only person you slept with outside of your relationship with Patrick. I was just the first. If not me, it would have been some other bitch.”

“Maybe not.”

“Maybe definitely. You know how many predatory lesbians there are in this city that would have happily popped that particular cherry for you? A fucking lot. Hell, Raja was foaming at the mouth for it.”

Fame laughed. “Yeah, she was.”

“Still an option, if you want to know the truth,” Bianca said, raising one eyebrow.

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“What’s the subject, drunky-pants?”

“I forget. But...shut up.” Fame laid down on the sofa, putting her head in Bianca’s lap.

Bianca sighed. “Seriously, what am I gonna do about Courtney?”

“I don’t care,” Fame yawned.

“Rude.”

“Okay...jewelry.”

“I meant like, in an abstract sense, but that’s not the worst idea.”

“She likes sparkly stuff. It doesn’t even need to be expensive.”

“So what about you? What are you doing about Patrick?”

Fame groaned. “I think it’s over. I mean how...how could we possibly recover from this? I just… I love him so much…” Fame looked like she was about to cry, before she took another swing. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Do you WANT to recover? Or do you want to move on? I’m probably better with the latter, but I’m willing to stretch outside my comfort zone to help you if you need it.”

“You really need to speak in shorter, simpler sentences right now.”

Bianca smiled and ran her fingers through Fame’s hair, pulling a blanket up around her. “How about, you just rest, and we can have a serious talk in the morning?”

Fame took one of Bianca’s hands in hers and held it, replying, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, B?” Fame asked in a small voice.

“Yes?”

“Um…” a tear slid down her cheek, and Bianca bent down to kiss her forehead.

“Shh...It’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay.”

***

“Do you want some more water?”

Violet shook her head, a small smile on her lips. She was in Sutan’s arms, the TV running in the background, the blue blanket that was hers wrapped around her, her head resting on Sutan’s shoulder, her arms around his neck.

Sutan had picked her up from the floor, Violet’s head still spinning, both from the pain of her cheek, and how incredible her orgasm had been, her fingers and toes humming with the intensity of the pleasure. “Okay..” Sutan kissed her forehead, and Violet sighed slightly, content and happy. Sutan was here, protecting her, keeping her safe. He loved her, and she loved him, and that was the most important thing.

#galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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