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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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Every Now and Then - Chapter 5

Summary: “It’s a simple case of not enough versus taking what you can get. Sometimes she sees him for a day or two, then not again for almost half a year.” Relationships are hard. When one person is a world-wide superstar and both people are idiots, they get that much harder. They both take what they can get, but eventually that may not be enough.

Warnings: Two large dollops of smut, a half-cup of angst divided, several pinches of language, dash of loneliness, and a good sprinkle of lack of communication. Fold ingredients together gently, bake at 200c fan for 20 minutes, then serve piping hot from the oven.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: So many, many thanks to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield for endless cheers and edits and more cheers. I love you both. Thank you to @there-must-be-a-lock for the lovely image (and all the many wonderful choices you gave me to pick from). Please excuse my slang terms if I got them wrong. I did a lot of internet research but was too self-conscious to ask an actual British person for advice.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

…

Every Now and Then

Chapter 5

They have an agreement of honesty and disclosure but as few outside personal details as possible. She gets all the information she honestly needs about his love life from the tabloid press, and she answers any questions he has about anyone she bothers to date in his absence, though his questions are near to non-existent. As are her other dates, to be honest. It’s impossible to find anyone that measures up to him in his absence, and she’s mostly given up trying.

She doesn’t see him for the whole of one winter and then only sporadically through the spring. Then the internet and tabloids explode over videos of him dancing and kissing and all manner of things she honestly does not want to see, and she thinks…

Well, she doesn’t know what to think. Jealousy, obviously. Disappointment. A deep, unexpected emptiness. But really, what did she expect? They aren’t married. They aren’t dating or really even committed. They certainly can’t have an official relationship. She has no claim and should really have no expectations.

She does her best to avoid tabloids, to turn the other way at the market when she does her shopping, and she avoids all but the most necessary uses of the internet. She buries herself in work and her friends and family and continues on with her life, just as they both always say they should when they aren’t together.

Because they are very obviously, very much not together.

And, yet, she misses him all the same.

When the “news” of his break-up hits, she refuses to allow herself to be glad. He’s always wanted someone he can be with publicly, have a real, open life with, and she will not hope for or be excited by the prospect that he has lost something so important to him.

And, yet, she listens for his call all the same.

It doesn’t come.

Autumn has firmly set in and is toeing the line with winter. She is in for the evening, too tired to go out with her friends, feeling just melancholy enough to let herself sulk into a mug of hot chocolate as she surfs shit television, wrapped in giant cardigan, sweatpants, and a fleece blanket to boot. Her flat is conspicuously empty of him tonight, and she feels his absence in every fiber of her being.

“Fucking pathetic, ridiculous, and absolutely stupid.”

She groans and finishes her scalding drink in one go, heaving herself off the sofa with the intention of making another one with extra whipped cream, when the door buzzer goes off unexpectedly. She stares at it, perplexed. It’s too late for deliveries, and most of her mates are off on a mini holiday that she didn’t feel up to joining. No one should be coming over.

The buzzing stops before she can answer, and she waits for a moment, staring hard at the box mounted in the wall. Maybe there was a short in one of the wires. There’s a long minute of silence before she finally shrugs and turns to the kitchen. She’s just pulling the milk out of the fridge when a short, definitive series of knocks comes from the door.

He’s just as tall as she remembered, but he seems a bit deflated as he stands in her doorway, a ridiculous hat on his head, thick sweater obscuring the sharp edges of his body, looking as unlike himself as she’s seen in a long time. She steps back automatically to let him in, but he hesitates, his eyes nervous and sad behind his thick, black-framed glasses. She knows what he’s waiting for, but, as much as it pains her to pain him, part of her is the barest hint of vindictive tonight, and she needs to hear him say it.

“I missed you.”

She waits.

“It was too long.”

Yes, it was.

“I won’t apologize, because you told me not to, but I…”

She cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Try again.”

“I tried, she and I both tried, and it didn’t work. I didn’t want to make you my rebound, so I waited until I thought I was settled again. I should have called, at least checked in, but I didn’t want you to think...I didn’t know what you would say, and I’m afraid I was a bit of a coward. That’s why I came instead of calling first tonight. I was afraid you’d hang up. And then I buzzed, and you didn’t answer, and one of your neighbors was coming in and didn’t recognize me, so I thought...I just wanted to see…”

She gives him one more chance, knowing instinctively he’ll get it right this time.

“I just wanted you.”

There it is.

...

“Where did you even get that ridiculous hat?” she asks him later, tilting the accessory in question over her forehead as she lounges across his lap. He leans back against the wall behind her bed, hands folded behind his head, watching her with a faint smile of amusement lighting his face.

In all those tabloids she hasn’t looked at even a little (not once, not at all) while he was gone, she definitely did not notice how little he was smiling. And all those interviews she didn’t watch on the internet. Or read about on the gossip sites.

“I’ll have you know someone told me I look rakish and edgy in that hat.”

“But how does it even fit over all that hair? Really, darling, you’re getting quite shaggy.” She turns to face him, kneeling with her legs on either side of his thighs. Her voice, though teasing, is lower and quieter than normal, and she still feels a little raw around the edges.

She needs to reassure herself he’s really here and not some desperate, late night fantasy conjured up by her loneliness. Her fingertips trace over the faint lines around the corners of his eyes, the ones that deepen so beautifully when he smiles. She runs her fingernails lightly through his beard, ghosts a faint touch over his lips, looking everywhere on his face but still managing to avoid his eyes.

“Tell me.” It’s a request, and she knows it, but they have an agreement, and she feels compelled to answer.

“I was jealous, more than I want to admit. And sad. And lonely. And everything I’d imagine you felt after you broke up with her, as well.”

“You have nothing to be jealous over, you’re so much-”

“Shut up, you great git.” But there’s no sting to her words. “I don’t want to be compared to her, even if it’s favorably. I’d never believe you, anyway. You asked, I answered. I missed you, I hated every mention of the two of you together, and I had every vitriolic thought conceivable, none of which I will ever let reach your ears no matter how much you convince me I need to be open and honest and blah blah blah about my feelings.”

“But you can tell me, you know.”

“I can, but I don’t want to. First, I am done to death with your ex-girlfriend and would love nothing more than to never think of her again. Second, I have gone nearly eight months without a single stupid Shakespeare recitation or dramatic reenactment of my favorite chef, so if you aren’t going to put your tongue to better use, go get that recipe book and get to reading.”

“Darling, I don’t need a recipe book anymore. As the good lady herself said, ‘Once you have mastered a technique, you hardly need look at a recipe again and can take off on your own.’ I think my tongue can be put to much better use pleasing you without resorting to recipes.”

…

She watches him silently from the sofa again, her feet encased in thick, cozy socks and fingers wrapped around her perpetual morning coffee mug, as he sips his tea and scans the newspaper. The sun slips a little higher in the sky, hitting his ridiculous halo of hair in a burst of bronze, and a knot in her chest she didn’t even know was there loosens suddenly. He looks up at that moment, as if sensing the change, and their eyes lock in one of those silent looks they’ve shared so very often. She feels the sting of tears, but she fights them. Yes, they agreed to honesty between them, but there is honesty and then there is idiocy.

“You’re a terrible arse, you know that? The worst kind, and you know I can’t bear the sight you.”

His smile, though sad and knowing, is entirely genuine when he gathers her into his arms and buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“I never claimed to be otherwise, darling, and I can’t stand you, either.”

...

The End

#tom hiddleston rpf #rpf #tom hiddleston #unnamed original female character #reader insert #smut #angst #loneliness #lack of communication #idiots #I love my idiots #romance #every now and then #some language #bad slang usage #I've apologized #and i will do so again!

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dragqueenpentheus · 3 years

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Okay no one has to read this but i DO have to write it:

PYROC VS FATHER PAUL

Ya bitch needs an art break bc im getting angry about voices existing as i try to keep myself entertained. Today is NOT a god one for sinking into repetitive line work and that’s just about all i have on the table atm

SO! Im gunna do a little thinking about my little meow meows all fucked up by religion. Just a comparison for my sanity and interests. Pyroc is my baby i wrote him for the first time years ago. Five?????????? Whadda hell. Going on six.

ANYWAY john joined religion because of his trauma. His sister died and he felt lost. He was unmoored in this fishing village and looking for reason looking for hope. Hed had his heart broken and trying to make sense of tragedy on his own was totally beyond him. Thats why his interactions with riley in AA are SO good like. He knows that confusion and he knows the rhetoric that’s supposed to combat it. Only it dooesnt work for riley.

The same sort of thing happens for pyrc, only inverted. Loss urns him away from god and religion because its SO strong in his family and not only is he loosing trust in god, but his kin as well. He’s suspicious there’s mre they arent telling him, at the point of his fathers death. And he agrees to, on the surface, absolutely wholly throw himself in to being the second the family and the village need. But he’s keeping his treachery under wraps.

That’s one of the coolest things about father paul imo is like. That slow unraveling of what is. Frankly. An awful half assed plan, driven by fear and loneliness and desperation and dementia and love. Even VERY obvious things like. Taking down the newspaper photo of his young self ‘slip’ by him. I think, on some level, its DEEPLY intentional. He wants people to CHOOSE this. He wants people like bev. He wants people who see him and are in aw of him beating god. Of killing death. He wants to be worshiped and adored and for people to come to him willingly, no tragedy driving them to his arms.

Pyroc also wnats to be worshipped, but he ALSO wants to do the worshipping. He really longs for an element of almost????? But not quite??? Subjection?? He wants to be shown something and for a Great Voice to tell him, unquestioningly and unerringly that it is GOOD. Full stop. And then he wants to spend his life worshipping it. But this booko is an exploration of how….. no such thing exists. And more importantly no great voice exists either. There is nothing wholly good, nothing wholy evil. His lack of faith in himself once he becomes god is him starting to understand that as well. Thats on purpose baked into the lore. The starting point was ‘what if god was a position and in order to get promoted you had to be a murderer. No matter what’. He understands things are not wholly good, at that point. I onder how long it will be for him to realize they are not fully evil as well?

Bc pruitt does hm hm hm an interesting move. Where he takes something the narritve is very sure to communicate is EVIL no wiggle room just fact. Even if its driven by animal instinct its. Evil. And he makes it, not just good, but HOLY. And god i LOVEEEE that for him i ADOREEE that what a MOVE. Driven by desperation and dementia and relief and ‘if god saved me than maybe i can be good despite loving and sinning and maybe if i defeat god then i will be Thee Good’. SO sexy of him. Im really fascinated by his morality. He seems to have an understanding of the shades of grey in some respects??? But if he had a BETTER one with more forgiveness in his heart i feel like hed have left the church anyway after sarah was born??? Even if millie didnt ask him??? That might just be my own sensibilities creeping in but ….. like he culd have seen her on the weekends. He can do other jobs. Hes straight (??? Not totally convinced of this) he could have just dated her that makes me crazy. LIKE OBV HE HAD LINES HE THOUGHT THAT WOULD CROSS AND HE HAD INTERNALIZED THE CHURCH AND THE RULES AND SHE WAS MARRIED AND ECT ECT i know he couldnt have really but. Thye were straight. They coulda.

Im not gunna do fantasy homophobia bc i think its …………….. Boring. But i think some element of??? The vindlegaurd line MUST be passed along and for that particular rules must be applied. But thats also boring as hell :/ maybe i can work in my parthenogenesis lore?????????? I bet pyroc would love building that spell in any universe. That’s the sequal when he goes to magic university in helsin. But yeah i do like the concept that. Anyone can have a baby thru magic its just a time and energy commitment. Just a matter of wanting it enough together. Every baby is so deeply wanted and its mere existence is proof. Thats dope i love that. HMMM to be decided at a later date when im deeper into the story i think. I still havent figured out fully how and where and why orion is going to be invovled and if???? Pyroc and orion are even going to be romantic??????? Im torn im TORn…….

Thikns about john bonding w sarah over science and learning and starts wEEPING…. Like theres some surity beloved. Its just a matter of uncovering. I think sarah felt that same thirst for answers and hunted them differently. Her faith is in logic and science. I loveeee her god. Every scene w her and her dad absolutely RUIN me like!!!!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW LOVED SHE IS!!!!!! I hope at hte very end she saw the blood as the gesture of love it SO clearly was and not him trying to poison her. God i love that she spat it out. GOD. Thats about being gay, btw. Spits the religious offering that could save you across the gasoline soaked church floor like BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think we as a collective should talk about the possibiites around sarah/erin more. Bc their defiance combined would be. Earth SHATTERING for crockett.

In the future pyroc gets a kid. Ever since that campaign where Enemy ended up playing his daughter im like. How did i NOT know this idiot wanted nothing more in the entire world than to travel it with his daughter. I dont care how or why hes getting a kid. Hed be so doting and awful abut it. He would need orion as a co-parent for the kids self esteem to be normal levels. thINKS ABOUT PAUL GETTING TO RAISE SARAH AND JUST ABSOLUTELY GASSING HER UPPPPPPPP HANGING EVERY DOODLE SHE EVER MADE ON TEH FRIDGE. BOASTING ABOUT HER SCEINECE PROJECT OT ANYONE WITHIN EYESIGHT EVEN THOUGH ‘WE K N O W JOHNWE WERE ALL AT THE SCEINCE FAIR’!!!!!!!!!!! Let these fuck ups be doting fathers im fucking begging. That scene where paul is like. You take ccare of everyone on the island sarah. Its more than being a doctor. You comfort them.

HM HM comfort is such a thing for Miss Bitch like!! He sees it as a Good Thing. He tries to bring it for riley by asking to hold the AA meetings on island ((also manipulation. Obvously also manipulation. I wouldnt have bene shocked if he was slipping the vampire blood into the coffee every meeting either. But thats just a theory. A game theory.)) ANYWAY he sees comfort as hly. The church gave it to him when he needed it. The angel gave it to him in the cave. Feeling safe and warm is HIGH on his list of priorities and what makes him hand over respect.

I think pyroc has lived a very comfortable life in SO many ways, but in none he. Activly recognizes. A key part of his character arc his him…. Opening his eyes to the world around them. Seeing the privilege he has and being like. Wait. This isnt Right. We have to change thi. And when no one agrees ti shifts to I have to change this. With Violence. A little revolutionary <3 it only costs the life of his whole ass family

Thats more fun comparison ground like…… paul is SO much about I know whats right and there is a cost but i AM ignoring it. Like HE KNOOOOWSSSS he knooooows he just doesnt want o See. I’m not sure if im going to surprise yroc with the ……megadeath of. His whole family. Or if it’s a choice he has to activly make. I think a choice makes it more compelling, more layerd. It has to be in the moment though, becaus ei think thats. A key difference between them. Pyroc wouldnt do it.. hed just leave hed peace out and do what he could in small ways. But he wouldnt do his big stand off with god. Hed shrink his goals in order to not hurt his family. Out of love?? Intimidation?? Some instinct wihtin him that balks at the idea of disobedience??? I think even he doesnt know. But i LOVE john becaue he jsut decides to lie. He closes his eyes and says i am being stupid on purpose. I think thats PERHAPS more compelling than good guy coward pyroc BUT!!!!! Thats who he is rip to ths little man. Cant change him now hes a whole ass child in my head. The PLOT i can change. Him….. not without massive character development <3

UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MM set my brain on FIRE!!!! Im so glad nano is coming up. I love sharpening pyroc against the comparison of other AMAZING characters. Father paul hill my beloved millstone <3 anyway sorry to anyone who reads this its literally me unhinging my jaw and emptying my brain out. I had to write stuff that wasn’t novel or fic. A little character time down and dirty. I wil NOT be editing this love and light to future me trying to decode this

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #pyroc #midnight mass

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

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Chapter 16. Fight or Flight

‘I am healing by mistake. Rome is also built on ruins.' Eliza Griswold

“It’s a private street,” Harry explained as he walked me on quickstep towards the big black gates in red brick ahead. “Technically owned by the Crown Estate. Most of the houses are embassies or former embassies now owned by billionaires.” “Was someone supposed to have stopped me from just walking in?” I asked, already guessing the answer.

“A little weird to have a central London address mostly habited by dignitaries and rich people and forbid people from entering it, isn’t it?” He grinned. “So it’s open for pedestrians and cyclists twenty-four-seven. Cars only authorized. And, of course, they are free to kick you out if they think you’re behaving strangely.”

“Understandable.” I smiled.

“...So…” He started, shifting on his feet as he walked, adjusting my bag on his shoulder, “Where’s Christopher?”

“...Right now? Halfway to Canada, probably. On business.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And… your security?”

I looked around at the street lights, avoiding his eyes. “It’s just me.”

“Right… but, should it be? Isn’t it a bit--?” Before he could finish -- ‘dangerous’ was probably going to be his last word -- I stopped, and looked at his, heaving a sigh. “This is weird. Isn’t it? I’m sorry, I can get a hotel.”

Under the moon and lamp post lights, I thought I saw his cheeks redden. “No, that’s not--! I don’t-- You’re welcome here, of course! I was just… worried. You shouldn’t be walking around on your own.”

At this charming revelation, said in an even more charming tone, I smiled, sheepishly. “Well, I am.”

“So, no… major changes after the… new succession?”

I sighed, remembering Joyce, my protection officer that had been replaced, and Cadie. “Some. Not tonight, though.”

We were quietly ushered through a pedestrian steel door a few steps after the big gates, which magically opened when Harry approached. His protection officer followed after us.

“Uh, sir?” He called when we kept walking.

Looking back, Harry startled slightly. “Oh, that’s right. Do you mind?” He looked at me, “They need to sign you in.”

“Oh, of course.” We walked to the security cabin near the bigger gate, where another guard, this one in uniform, smiled at us.

“ID, ma’am?”

I handed him my passport from my coat’s pocket, which I had kept handy for the train.

“I’m sorry about this,” Harry said, worried, “It’s… bloody protocol.”

“It’s alright.” I smiled. “You do remember I live in a palace, too? If there’s one thing I understand in life is protocol.”

He smiled back. “She’ll already be registered.” Harry told the guard. “She was here last October.”

I remembered, distantly, filling up my passport in security forms before the tour, and we had come to Kensington for tea once. A lifetime ago.

The guard returned my passport and wished us a goodnight, so Harry walked me towards the palace, now unaccompanied by any officers.

We didn’t go into the main building, however, like when I visited William and Catherine’s house, we went around it.

“So…” Harry started. “I don’t live in the main palace. I don’t got an apartment. It’s… small, my place. Really small. Two bedrooms! So, should be fine, but–”

“Is this--?” I stopped walking, my mind finally catching up to where I was and what I’d done. “Should I not have come? This is weird, right? I didn’t mean to barge in and--”

“No!”

“I’m sorry, I can get a hotel–”

“No, really– It’s fine!” He assured me. “I just wanted you to be prepared, because it’s not a… big, fancy place like my brother’s house, or my father’s house. It’s just… a cottage, really. It’s tiny. I live alone, so it’s quite good just for me–”

I sighed, feeling relieved. Now almost amused. “Agani, fellow royal. I live in a palace? I know how it works. It’s not all a palace.”

He smiled. “Yes… It’s just that people always seem to think it’s all very glamorous.”

The house was nice, it was, as he had mentioned, smaller than most, but it made up for it with that warm, comfortable look of a real home. The front door led into what seemed like one room, with sliding doors separating the smaller half – a kitchen with faded yellow cabinets that needed upgrading, but looked nice. The other half had a blue three-seat sofa and a matching armchair in front of a wooden chest of drawers in which was propped up a flat-screen TV – the only thing in the room that looked like he had actually purchased and not inherited, or maybe borrowed from the Royal Collection.

“It’s nice.” I told him in the silence. He was still watching me from the front door, which he’d just closed, my bag still hanging from his shoulder. “I like it.”

“Are you hungry?” He asked, with a smile, moving quickly into the kitchen. “We could order takeout. I like thai food, there’s a nice place not far from here. Or, I have stuff to make sandwiches, if you’d prefer– what?”

I was smiling at the way my bag would sway around as he moved quickly around his small table to reach the fridge, looking slightly frazzled. “Nothing.”

He smiled, too. “Or!” Excitedly, he walked over to the microwave and opened it, removing a small plate. “Ta-da!”

I approached, realizing he was holding a plate of the entrées from the wedding. “You stole the entrées?!” I laughed.

“I asked! Politely asked if I could have some of the leftovers. You were right, they were delicious.”

We laughed. “Scandalous!” I said, grabbing one and moving to the sofas. “I’m not that hungry, actually, but thanks.”

I sat on the larger sofa, realizing the room also had a small, marble-top coffee table on top of a Persian rug and a corner bookcase with picture frames. I got up to look at his books, realizing it was a mixture of books, CDs and DVDs, even some vinyls. My eyes were first caught by Jurassic Park, by Michael Crichton, 1984, by George Orwell and Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. He also had Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, and The Complete Calvin and Hobbes collection, which made me smile. I pulled out an orange spine -- The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Mark Manson -- and he moved behind me, the only time I heard him since walking over.

"That was a gift." He explained, in a justification tone.

I smiled back at him, returning the book to its place and noticing a white one with large black letters next to it, Why I'm No Longer Talking to White People About Race, by Reni Eddo-Lodge, which had a summary that regarded it as 'the essential handbook for anyone who wants to understand race relations in Britain today.' I returned it to its place, smiling.

“So you like fantasy.” I concluded, when I found The Hobbit and at least two Harry Potters.

“More like sci-fi.” He replied. “I like The Hobbit, and I made an exception for Harry Potter, which is iconic.”

“I liked the movies.”

“You haven’t read the books?”

“Could never really get into it.” I shrugged.

He closed the distance between us, my bag still on his shoulders, and stared at me from up close, seriously.

“You didn’t like Harry Potter?!”

“What I said was I couldn’t get into it.” I repeated, fighting a grin.

“That’s what people say when they tried something and didn’t like it.”

“Well–” I reflected on the option. “You don’t have any evidence that’s an universal truth. Surely not that that’s how I meant it.”

“Okay, counselor,” he sighed, impatiently. A grin made its way into my lips. “Did you or did you not like reading Harry Potter?!”

“I believe I have a right against self-incrimination in Britain, I certainly do as a Savoy citizen, so I will be evoking that right at this moment.”

He took in a long breath, running a hand through his hair, “Wow.” He sighed, making me laugh. “Just… wow. I am… outraged. As a British man, as a human being–”

“Okay, calm down.” I laughed.

“Harry Potter is incredible!”

“It was just… really childish for me.”

“The first book was written for children! The tone changes as the books go along!”

“Yes, there’s like ten of them. It’s a lot.”

“Seven, and you went to Harvard! You can handle seven children’s books!” My bag fell off his shoulder at his exasperated arm movements, but he was quick to grab it by the handle before it hit the floor.

“And why are you still carrying that?”

“I just…” He shrugged, walking over to the armchair to put my bag there. “I imagine you’ll need it.”

He looked back at me, pulling his long sleeves up past his elbows.

“I--I imagine your protection detail will be ‘round shortly to collect you.”

I chuckled, nervously. “What–? Why? I told you, it’s just me tonight.”

“Yes, and you’re the next in line to the throne of a country. I can’t go anywhere without security, and I know my brother has at least two at all times, so I’m assuming you have at least one person looking for you out there by now.”

There was an awkward silence as I shifted on my feet, hands still in my coat pockets, mouth agape, searching for what to say. He didn’t look upset, and it wasn’t like I’d just committed a crime by omitting what happened, but it still felt as if I had done something incredibly wrong, and the more I looked at him, the more uncomfortable the thought of continuing to lie was.

“It’s–It’s… It’s not like they’ll rush in here screaming that you kidnapped me or something.” I said, nervously forcing a giggle at the thought. “I don’t even know if they’ve noticed I’ve gone yet.”

“Ah.” He nodded, slowly, sitting down on the larger sofa. “So you ran away when they weren’t looking.”

“They were asleep.” I corrected, feeling my whole body warm in embarrassment. “And I would object to the word ‘ran’, I very calmly walked off the train when it stopped in London. It’s not my fault they didn’t notice.”

“They were asleep?!” He asked, his voice going higher than I’d heard before.

“It’s a long journey… Especially from Northern England.”

“Well, it’s their job! That’s… that’s so unbelievably unsafe!”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I raised my hands, in a placating gesture. “No harm done.”

“Well, you couldn’t have known that, could you?!” He asked, eyes widened. “But they sure should have, it’s their job! What if someone walked into the train and pointed a gun at you and forced you to leave?”

“What– I’m– I don’t even–” I sighed, frustrated. “Harry, I’m sorry, okay? Do you–? Would you like me to leave? I can get a hotel–”

“No!” He got to his feet. “I just–” He sighed. “I know how important security is, and… you… you’re a bigger target now, aren’t you? Your security profile must have changed since… you know.”

“I don’t.” I admitted. “They don’t really tell me much these days.”

I walked over, took off my coat, and sat down on the sofa. “Really, Harry, if this is a lot, I can get a place to stay, it’s no trouble.”

He walked over and sat next to me, laying his head back to rest atop the back of the sofa. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Relieved beyond understanding, I started to relax. So I sat back and laid my head next to his.

“So you didn’t miss the train.” He said, and seeing as it wasn't a question, I thought it would be best not to incriminate myself again.

“Marie? Did you?”

I looked at the ceiling. “Technically, I did. But I missed it because I got off.”

He let out a quiet, nasalized chuckle. “Why?”

I heaved a long sigh, and turned to look at him. “I don’t know… I just… I was in the train. And I couldn’t stop thinking about things. And I wanted to. And then we stopped in London. And I grabbed my bag and went to the bathroom, just to walk a little, to distract myself. But then I saw the doors opened. And my protection officers were asleep, so they didn’t even see me get up, so one second I was just fantasizing about how I could just… walk off, and the next I just… did.”

“I still think your security is incredibly irresponsible in this scenario.” He said, on a low tone, in which a hint of anger was only just noticeable.

“They have a right to sleep if we’re on a moving train.” I protested.

“What were you thinking about?” He asked.

“I just… I don’t know, okay? I just… The door was open and there was this colder breeze coming in, and I just… I just wanted to feel more of it. I don’t really understand it, either.”

“I actually mean… What were you thinking during the journey? That you said you didn’t want to think of anymore?”

“…Oh.” I looked back at the ceiling, biting my lower lip. “Everything, I guess. I just…”

I thought back to the train ride, the sound of the tracks, the dimmed lights as everyone seemed to either be asleep or blissfully entertained by their phones. To my heart, full of questions and… anger. I couldn’t tell him half of it.

“I just… I can’t–” I felt my voice break slightly as a knot found its way into my throat. “I can’t be in Savoy right now. I just… I don’t even– Sometimes it just feels like… Like–” I sat up, clearing my throat and turning to look at him, folding one leg to sit on top of it, facing him.

He’d opened his house to me out of nowhere. I knew how chaotic this must look. He deserved some explanation.

“It’s like they’re all playing a game and I’m the only one who wasn’t told the rules, but I’m still… part of it, you know? I’m the… I’m the game.” I said. “And I’m just… so tired of it.”

He was quiet, brows furrowed. He sighed… and then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll go give security a call, and tell them if someone comes asking for you to say they haven’t seen you.”

My mouth opened, in astonishment, but I didn’t know what to say.

“And you… what do you want to do? Shower? Movie? Pizza? Sleep?”

I was still astonished, but I started to smile now. “A shower would be nice, I guess.”

“Great, let me show you to the bathroom and I’ll get you a towel.”

He got up, quickly grabbed my bag and smiled when he asked me to follow him. The guest bathroom was just around the corner from the living room, beyond the narrow, carpeted staircase up.

“This is the guest bath. You can use the one in my room, though, it’s better water pressure and you’ll be closer to the guest room.”

Upstairs, there was just a small hallway with three doors, one of which was a closet where he got me two towels. The one at the other end was his room.

The bed was made, but looked like it had been slept in recently. Another flat screen TV was mounted on the wall in front of it, with a paused Netflix movie displayed.

“Do you have pajamas, or–?.” He asked as he left my bag on the bathroom floor. “I can find you some of my clothes?”

I had a clean set of pajamas I’d brought to stay in the hotel overnight, but for some reason I smiled, sheepishly, and said, “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Sweatpants good? I’ll leave them in the bed. You can change here, I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Okay.” I smiled.

Inside, I got out of my travel clothes, brushed my hair down slowly, taking deep breaths, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. When I was done, I put my hair up in a tight bun, and finally looked at myself, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” I told mirror-Maggie.

As I showered, I tried to better answer the questions he had asked. I’d been thinking of Christopher, of his family ring, of why he would have decided to propose so soon after we got back together. I thought of why my father would say yes without consulting me. Of why my father would continually make decisions about my life without consulting me.

When I turned off the shower, I knew a couple of things for sure: I didn’t plan to run away. I just wanted to go to the bathroom on the train, to distract myself from my own thoughts. When I saw the door and realized that I could leave without my security seeing, all I wanted was to run. To feel… free. To be somewhere I wasn’t expected to give people the nice and polite answers they expected. For some reason, my heart decided this was that place. But this freedom also brought me guilt. What did that say for my relationship?

I wrapped myself in the towel and opened the bathroom door to find a pile of clothes in his bed. I brought them inside and got changed into a much too large for me black sweatpants and dark green shirt. Luckily – or maybe Harry had predicted this – the pants had drawstrings, so I could adjust them to my waist. I folded the bottom as best as I could.

When I did, my eyes fell on a bottle on the lower shelf of his cabinet. It was L’Occitane Cedrat Spray Deodorant. The name was familiar. I got up and realized there was another bottle on the shower caddie with the name – this one a shower gel. So I reached for the deodorant and sprayed a little of it in the air.

The smell almost knocked me to my feet. It was the smell Harry always had, the smell I remembered from London. The smell that brought me right back to an otherwise boring State Dinner, on a red dress, dancing barefoot in a room in Buckingham Palace where we weren’t supposed to be, his face leaning ever so much closer to mine, chills going down my spine, warming up my skin, getting on my tiptoes hoping to close the distance… before we were interrupted by my protection officer Joyce telling us it was time to go.

The smell took me back to flirty, happy texts planning a date. Running after Lourdes after she stole my phone. Waiting for a reply when Auguste and Montennon walked by with death on their faces… before everything changed.

I shook my head. I couldn’t add more things to the archive of stuff I had to think about.

Down the stairs, I found him in the kitchen. He bit down a grin when he saw me in his clothes. “Well, you look…”

“Ridiculous.” I smiled. “It’s a bit big.”

“No! You look cute.” He said, making me blush. “Security has been informed, by the way.”

“Right.” I sighed. “Thank you so much, Harry. I don’t think I said that yet.” He avoided my eyes, shrugging. “It’s not a problem. You’re always welcome here.”

“I know it’s... Weird… and I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.” I added. “I saw the TV on in your room.”

“Oh, I was just watching a movie. The new Transformers.” He told me. “It’s… not great. But in a good way? Does that make sense?” I smiled. “Kind of, yeah.” “Wanna watch it with me?” He asked. “I’d practically just started it. And it’s early-ish, still.”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He clapped his hands together and found a packet of popcorn in the kitchen cabinet.

A little while later, he handed me a bowl and a salt shaker. “Madame.”

I salted the popcorn as he walked around, grabbing napkins and a bag of M&M’s from a cabinet. “Chocolate or peanuts?” He asked. “And bear in mind, there is a right answer.”

“Dealer’s choice.” I returned.

“Coward.” He half-coughed, half-muttered, making me chuckle. “I have coke, orange juice, and beer.”

“Coke.”

“Right answer.” He nodded, approvingly, before turning to me with a slightly more serious expression. “I have… further questions.”

I pulled a chair and sat down, pushing the popcorn away. “Okay.”

“So… who knows– Did you tell Christop–” He sighed. “How many people know you’re here?”

I did the math in my head. “Five, or six, maybe?”

“Plus me and the security officers we walked by?”

“No, I– I mean you and the security officers.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And the cab driver, but I don’t think he knew who I was.” He was quiet for a while, biting his lower lip. “Any other questions?”

He sighed. “Shouldn’t you tell someone?” At the way my face responded, he continued, quickly pulling up a chair and sitting next to me. “I mean, just that you’re okay, at least. They’ll think you were kidnapped!”

“If I turn on my phone they can track me.” I confessed. “All our phones are tracked by security headquarters.”

“Don’t you have a chip?” He asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Those tracking chips that go into your skin?” I asked, “No. The idea gets floated around every couple of years, but my siblings and I always hated it. And my mother thinks it’s too weird.” He nodded. “Do you have one?”

He smiled widely, teeth closed, and pointed at the right side of his jaw. “Just under this tooth here… But don’t tell anyone.”

I laughed. “Right, lesson one of anti-terrorism training. Your teachers would be very disappointed in you.”

He groaned, grinning. “Don’t remind me. Those guys are impressive, but they’re terrifying.”

“Do you ever get refresher training?”

“I think my last one was after my brother’s wedding, due to ‘increased media attention’.” He quoted, annoyed.

“Yeah, they made us take a refresher when Lourdes was born. It was awful.”

“Weren’t you, like, ten?!”

“Yes!” I confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s what made it awful!”

We chuckled, together.

He scratched his beard, looking at the ceiling. “God, we live weird lives.”

The TV in his room was bigger, so we took the popcorn, the cokes and the chocolate M&M’s – his favorite – upstairs where he started the movie from the beginning.

Admittedly, I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have, but I understood enough of it to know he was right: it wasn’t great. Great was the popcorn, the ice cold coke, and the chocolate M&M’s.

Eventually, though, my back started to hurt, so I slid down to lay on his pillows instead of sitting against the headboard, and my eyelids grew heavy, and the sound of explosions grew dimmer as I fell asleep. I shook myself awake a few minutes later, apologizing, but he only smiled and said, “It’s okay”, as he hesitated slightly, before reaching over and resting his hand by my head, brushing my hair so lightly I was asleep again in seconds.

When I woke up, the room was darker than before, the movie was over and the TV now displayed the long list of credits on a dark screen to a slow instrumental track. Harry nowhere to be found.

I heard steps from the hallway, and closed my eyes instinctively, just as I heard him come in. Slowly, I felt a warm blanket cover me, just at this moment realizing how chilly I had been a second before. I breathed in deeply, realizing how much his pillow smelled like him, and settled in to place to sleep again before I heard him step away. Opening my eyes, I realized he was leaving.

“Harry?”

He stopped at the door, and looked back. “Hey.” He whispered. “It’s okay, you go back to sleep. I’ll take the other room.”

“You should sleep in your own bed.” I said, forcing myself to sit up.

“It’s fine, Marie.” He smiled, approaching to gently tuck me back in, pulling the blanket up to my chest. “I promise, just go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was almost leaving again, but my heart couldn’t take it.

“Harry?” I called, whispery, holding on tightly to two fistfulls of the blanket to stop from reaching out to hold his hand.

“Yes?”

I thought of his girlfriend, of my boyfriend, of the imaginary crown looming over my head, and yet, I couldn’t stop my lips from uttering, “Stay.”

He stared at me for one, two, three seconds before getting up. He walked around the bed and laid down, fluffing his pillows slightly as I stretched the blanket out to him.

We laid in silence, his warmth reaching over to me under the covers – or maybe my skin was just warmer than usual. I flipped over to lay on my stomach, hugging the pillow under me. When I did, my fingers hit something that felt like a needle. Carefully feeling it out, I realized it was a bobby pin. ‘This must be the side his girlfriend sleeps in when she’s over’, I thought, feeling suddenly sick to my stomach.

Turning to look at him, I breathed:

“Truth or dare?”

I heard his body move in the dark, and felt his knee brush against my leg as he turned to lay on his side, facing me.

“Truth.”

“Okay…” I held out the bobbi pin from under his pillow, pointing it at him. “Now, be honest… Do you curl your hair to sleep?”

His head raised from the pillow to look at what I was showing him, confused. “What–? Oh.” He smiled as I chuckled. “That’s–ha-ha, hilarious.”

He picked the bobby pin, and turned around to place it carefully in the bedside table next to him.

“Or does that belong to a lady-friend?”

He laughed. “A lady-friend?!”

“You never explained if you and Cressida broke up or not, so I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

“No, of course.” His tone was a mixture of sarcastic and teasing. “You’re just being respectful.”

There was a nice, quiet silence before I whispered, “You never answered the question.”

We laughed again. “No, Marie-Margueritte, I do not curl my hair before bed.”

“So how, pray tell, do you explain the evidence?”

“Objection, your honor,” he said, and I could still hear the giggle in his voice, “No follow-up questions, remember?”

I sighed, “Oh, right, that bullshit rule.”

“Enough stalling. Truth or dare?��

I smiled, sighing. “Truth.”

“…Do you think Clara could have done better than John? Be honest.”

I laughed. “You’re terrible.”

“Come on, we’re all thinking it.”

“Who’s ‘we’ in this scenario?”

“Every guest at their wedding.”

“You’re a terrible friend.” I giggled.

“Hey, I didn’t say that to him! I’m saying it to you, in confidence.” He justified, “And I can’t help but notice you’re avoiding the question.”

“Alright, fine. Admittedly, yes, she has dated guys I think were objectively better looking in a traditional way. But that’s not everything!”

“No!” He said, in an exaggerated way. “Of course not… that’s why your boyfriend looks like that.”

“What do you mean with ‘like that’?” I laughed.

“Oh, you know… the big, moussed up hair, the fancy suit, be honest, does he wear makeup?”

“Oh, my god!” I laughed. “You’re the worst. And you already asked your question. So, truth or dare?”

He sighed. “Truth.”

I considered for a long time what to ask. Long enough that he called out, “Marie?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Oh.”

Gulping, I tried to make the question sound as casual and playful as possible. “Who’s the mysterious owner of the bobby pin?”

“…oh.”

He was silent.

“Go on.” I laughed, nervously. “You must answer truthfully.”

“I–” He sighed. “It’s… It’s you.”

“I–” I startled. “What?”

He sighed, again, deeper now. “That day, my last day in Savoy. On the stairs. You were trying to remove your hat… I helped. I tried to give them back to you, but you– were distracted, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t.” I turned around, laying in my side, facing him. “Harry, I’m the one who’s sorry… that day I was–I was acting completely insane.”

“Don’t apologize.” He asked. “You were going through so much–”

“Yes, but that doesn’t excuse hurting someone–”

“You didn’t hurt me.” He reached out, holding my hand in the space between us.

“I mean–”

“I know what you mean.” He assured me.

Breathless, I closed my fingers on his hold. I couldn’t know what he was thinking of, but I was thinking of the kiss. Or, more accurately, the almost-kiss. I could still feel his neck on my lips, his smell, right there on his pillow, had lived in my mind for the past five months. That‘s what I was apologizing for, but couldn’t say. I couldn’t speak of it. Speaking of it could lead to questions I had also been avoiding for five months like my life depended on it.

“Truth or dare?” He asked, without letting go of my hand.

Breathing in, deeply, and knowing I still wanted to talk about it, but it may not be the right time, I said, “Truth.”

Quietly, I felt his fingers brush mine, slowly.

“Why did you ask about my ex?” He asked, whispery, barely audible.

“…I…” I gulped. “I was curious… I guess– I guess it feels… sad? That we lost touch. I wanted to know what– you know, what you’ve been up to.”

He was quiet. I ventured a look past our hands, to his face, where I could almost see a smile on his lips.

His finger slowly traced mine. His next question came even lower than the first, as if scared to make it even a little bit more real than it had to be. “Were you jealous?”

I felt my heart jump on my chest. His soft touch on my hand, the guilty knot of anxiety in my stomach to be laying in bed with him, as platonically as it was… it all made it impossible to lie.

But I was a lawyer.

“No follow up questions, remember?”

A silent second. And then I heard his nasalized chuckle. “Wow…”

“Your rules.” I shrugged, painfully pulling my hand from his while I still could, and turning to the other side. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He let out another low, appreciative chuckle. “Goodnight, Mary.”

I fell asleep smiling as the name echoed in my thoughts: ‘Mary’.

--- ---- ---

[A/N: heeeeeeeeeeey. how ya’ll doin? I really wanna write something cute and funny here about the chapter or about how much I appreciate you reading but its 4 am on a monday and i spent all sunday working on overtime and i am exhausted so... just know I appreciate you A LOT seriously thank you so much for reading!!! let me know what you think???????? the end of this chapter made me smile when i wrote it and the next chapter made me cry so you have that to look forward to. THANKS BYEEE]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

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burnedastra · 3 years

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Forever N’Ever

Summary : The hard and brutal realization that a relationship is coming to an end, no matter how much they love each other

Category : Angst

Content Warnings : None really

Word Count : 2 K

___________

Inspired by this song but I also would recommend to listen to this one

They say it’s all about the timing. That no matter how dearly you care about someone, sometimes the stars just refuse to align. Maybe that’s what it was. The Universe telling them that it wasn’t their time. That they weren’t meant to be. Maybe if they had met later – or sooner – whatever this was would not feel so doomed. Maybe in another lifetime they would have had a chance. But right now, it just felt like they were dancing around each other, chasing a feeling of bliss that would only be partially satisfied.

With those feeling weighting on her, Talia woke up and turned her head to the girl sleeping next to her, black curls falling on her cinnamon face. She looked peaceful in that state, a thousand miles away from day-to-day problems. A small but sad smile played on the auburn hair woman’s lips as she stood up slowly, trying not to awake her lover and put on a big shirt to fight the cold November air. She silently made her way to the living room, walking towards the small open kitchen to brew some coffee. She embraced the calm atmosphere of the lazy Saturday morning. There, she could almost forget about everything else, pushing away the heaviness of her heart. She reached out to the cupboard and took a black mug, pouring a full cup of the dark liquid, to which she added a splash of coconut milk. She sat on the counter, holding the drink in her hands for warmth, letting it settle in her chest, soothing her into a serenity state.

Her thoughts wonder to the night they met; it was simple but Talia knew in the moment she would remember it forever. It was hard to believe she didn’t even want to go in the first place. But this is how life goes isn’t it? You’ll never truly know how significant an event is going to be until it passed.

She was tired from the day she had at work, everything suddenly deciding to go against her. Barely after getting in the office, she fell and spilled her coffee on herself, then her computer refused to open any of her graphics software and of course that was the day the big boss just so happened to be around. So, when she arrived at her place and dropped down on her couch, emotionally exhausted, she really didn’t feel like going to that party. And she tried to tell Cameron, but they were not having it. And if there was anything no one could take away from them, it was their persuasive talent. So obviously – and after barely ten minutes on the phone with the red head – Talia got up and changed into a mint green jumpsuit before heading out into the busy streets of New York City. When she arrived at the building, she took the time to lit up a cigarette, in an attempt to recharge her social batteries and prepare herself for the surely crowded apartment. After throwing her smoke, she finally went in. Cameron was being their ecstatic self, as usual and eventually Talia loosened up, not without the help of a few drinks. That’s when she caught her eye. Alyssa was standing on the small balcony, laughing at something a non-important-enough-to-recall person said. She was stunning in her black jeans and baby pink crop top. The dark skin woman looked through the window to her and wave with a little smile in her direction.

“Someone’s gotta crush” said Cameron in a seductive voice.

“You’re annoying Cam, you know that, right?” Talia responded playfully, turning around to face her friend.

“Ow, I love you too sweetie pie. Now, this gorgeous woman over there is Alyssa, she’s from the communication department at my work. Honestly, I know you two would be perfect together”

“Please don’t tell me you dragged me out of my apartment just because you think I need to get laid.”

“Well, am I wrong?” They laughed before Talia punched him in the arm. “Ouch! No, but seriously, go talk to her”

And with that they pushed her further and disappeared. Taking a deep breath, she took the last steps that separated her from Alyssa.

And of course, Cameron was right, they knew her better than anyone after all. Things went smoothly between the two women and they clicked instantly, alternating between dumb jokes and cultural niché facts. They fell in love so easily and so quickly; it was almost scary how well they fitted together. The first months were blissful, romantic and passionate. They spent most of their free time together, hanging out around the city or at Talia’s apartment – being the most obvious option, since Alyssa had three, loud and very nosy roommates. But nothing this great could last forever, and Alyssa became a little more distant a few weeks after their first “I love you”. But it didn’t really make sense to Talia, since her lover was the one who said it first. Reflecting on it now, she realized it was probably because of a stupid comment Cameron said about them being soulmates. And she had been warned about Aly’s fear of commitment, even tho she chose to brush it off. They fell out of sync, arguing about Talia’s clinginess and Alyssa’s distant behavior. The two women were trying their best to make it work nonetheless, but it felt like they were both losing a part of themselves in the process. They were left to wonder if it was really the relationship they were struggling to salvage or the fantasy of it they both created since the night they met.

Maybe that’s all it had become. Preserving a fairy tale that was only ever just make-believe. But that didn’t sit right with Talia. Not with everything she felt every single time her eyes landed on Alyssa. So no, it could not be like that. Well, not to Talia at least. Maybe they weren’t ready yet for a love quite like this one. Maybe it was just because Alyssa was still too attached to a form of freedom she felt like Talia would take away from her, even without actively doing so. Or maybe it was Talia’s lack of confidence showing, making her reach out to her partner all the time, asking for constant validation. Maybe, even with everything they had in common, they were too different in their core for it to work. Maybe they needed to grow a little bit on their own before giving it a try. But Talia was not fooling herself. She knew that if they did say goodbye, it had to be forever. That if they did break up, they couldn’t count on a possible future, waiting for each other, because that wouldn’t do them any good. And if she was being honest, she even knew that she could wait but that Alyssa wouldn’t. And that idea alone had the force to tear her apart.

Eventually, she finished her coffee and hopped down the counter before putting the mug in the sink and making her way to the small couch in the living room. She curled up against one of the armrests, trying to bring herself some comfort as she came to the awful awareness of her denials. She knew, deep down, that she should just rip the bandage, be done with it once and for all. She knew that she needed to respect herself enough to do so, no matter how painful it would be for the both of them. But between what you know when you rationalize everything and what you acknowledge in your heart, there could be an entire galaxy. Her fingers played with her lips, pulling unconsciously on the skin. She felt the irony taste of blood on the tip of her tong as she poked a little too hard on her cupid arc. She winced a bit and forced her hands on her lap, registering just how anxious she was. She heard in the background the small squeaking of the bedroom door, followed by Alyssa’s soft footstep making their way to the bathroom. Talia ran a hand through her wavy hair, in an attempt to recompose herself. Her girlfriend finally walked into the living room, in all her casual glory. She smiled softly and joined Talia on the couch, wrapping loosely an arm around her shoulder. The light skin woman leaned into her embraced, closing her eyes to take in the peace of the moment as she rested her head on Aly’s shoulder.

The sun was high in the sky that day, warming their skins as the laid on the grass of Central Park. They had found a small corner near the lake where there weren’t too much people, for a change. The couple was alone for now, but some friends were supposed to meet them up here. The previous day had marked the official three years together and they went all in to celebrate it. Alyssa had taken her to see a show on Broadway that Talia had been talking non-stop for ages, but never got around to actually buy some tickets. They went on after the show to a small restaurant nearby were they had one of their first dates. It was light and breezy and everything they needed to forget about their past troubles. They decided to run of that blessed feeling by taking that day out.

Talia had her head on Alyssa’s lap, humming in content when her lover started to pass a hand in her hair. Their free hands found each other, interlocking before Aly brought them to her lips. Talia opened her eyes to look at the scene and smiled.

“You’re touchy today” she pointed, a spark in her eye. Alyssa shrugged, smiling down to her, a glimpse of a blush warming her cheeks. “It’s nice, I like it” Talia added, squeezing gently her hand.

They stayed like that all afternoon, barely moving when their friend arrived. And it was still going really well, until of course it wasn’t. Until someone made one small comment about how it’s been three years and they should move in together already. Alyssa instantly froze and tear herself away from Talia, hardly looking or speaking to her until they went back to the apartment. And that peaceful week-end ended like everything ended those days, with yells and tears. The two women stood their ground, like they always did in their stubbornness. And they kept arguing until all strength was gone and they almost passed out on the bed, one last time.

Talia was looking straight toward her, lost in the space when she finally found the courage to speak. The events of the previous day were playing in her head. The end of that week-end made her felt sick in her stomach, the memory forever ruined by those lasts few hours.

“This is it huh?” she said in a soft voice

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

A tear fell down her cheek as she felt Alyssa bringing her tighter in her embrace, not quite ready to let go just yet. After a moment that seem to last both an eternity and a nano-second, they pulled away. Every movement was heavy and they both did their best to move around the apartment without showing how affected they truly were. Keep the façade one last time, a few more minutes before finally being able to crumble. Alyssa gathered her things and made her way to the front door, each step louder than the one before. She looked at the door a few seconds before finding the courage to turn to Talia, who barely manage to keep the tears from falling. They looked at each other, with the kind of gaze that said a thousand words in a split second. I love you. I’ll never forget you. I’m sorry. I sincerely wish you the best.

And that was it. This was goodbye. The only way it could be. Forever.

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zen3to5 · 4 years

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J/H 7-17: Down the Road Apiece

We assume that 7-02 through 7-16 play out in this timeline the same as they do in the show as-is. That's right - the break-up, and the reasons for it, still happen. I know those aren't favorites for some fans, as you may recall from my review of Season 7, I’m alright with that story. The execution was sloppy in places, and there are individual jokes I don't like, but I just couldn't justify adding additional episodes to my rewrite list based on those patches when I think the overall story is solid.

What isn't solid is the way that Jackie and Hyde get back together, which is ridiculous on multiple levels. That brings us to this episode, and this partial rewrite that covers all of their scenes...

(NOTE: As with the previous date changes, this doesn't solve anything re. continuity issues, but we assume that, in this timeline, the show has been in 1978 from 5-10, "The Crunge" [going by production order] to 7-13, "Can't You Hear Me Knocking," when it finally changes over to 1979.)

FF.Net AO3

***

INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY A truncated gang hanging out. HYDE reads in his chair, JACKIE reads on the couch, and KELSO and FEZ rummage around in the shelves under the stairs. JACKIE: You know, Steven, it's great we can still hang out. We're kinda like Sonny and Cher. We're together even though we've broken up. I'm beautiful. You're weird-looking. Seeing them talk, Fez nudges Kelso. FEZ: (whisper) Look, they're talking. Maybe they will... He mimes lovelorn expressions, a passionate embrace, and a vulgar make-out. KELSO: (whisper) Nah. See, with Jackie, on the first break-up, you need a guy friend to get her back together with her man. Same goes for the second, which they’re on now. On the third break-up, that guy friend becomes the new man. FEZ: (whisper) Really? (to Hyde & Jackie) So, are you two ready to kiss and make up? Kelso slaps Fez upside the head. He takes him by the shoulders and steers him to the stairs. KELSO: Okay, we’re going upstairs. We gotta... we gotta... we gotta take a shower. FEZ: Together? He seems more intrigued than repulsed. Kelso shakes off any repulsion of his own and pushes Fez all the way up the stairs. Hyde continues reading, but Jackie looks around the otherwise empty room. JACKIE: Wow. You know, I think this is the first time we've been alone together since, uh... She trails off. Hyde doesn’t look up. HYDE: Yeah. JACKIE: Well, maybe we can use this opportunity to touch base about our feelings. That gets his attention. Hyde sets his magazine down and looks right at Jackie. HYDE: Or we can watch TV. JACKIE: Great! Oh, I love TV. Hyde stands, flicks on the TV, and sits back down. TV (aud. only): Oh, Janie, it's so hard to be in the same room with you, because even though I'm a rough ne'er-do-well, my love for you burns like a fire deep in my soul. Hyde looks to Jackie. TV (aud. only): I feel the same, Clyde, and even though we broke up because you won't marry me, I still hope that one day we'll get back together. Jackie looks to Hyde. HYDE: What are the chances of that?

*** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY Later in the day. Jackie and Hyde haven’t moved from their seats. The soap opera is still playing on the TV; Janie and Clyde are still sorting things out. CLYDE (aud. only): Janie, we couldn’t possibly get back together. Not as long as you insist on trying to plan for the future, when neither of us can know what it has in store. JANIE (aud. only): Oh, Clyde, I know that’s just your fear of commitment talking, and your lack of confidence in your own potential. HYDE: (to Jackie) Is this from that public access station you work at? ‘Cause this is starting to sound like one of those lame romance plays you wrote for your English project. JACKIE: No. But whoever wrote this obviously knows what they’re talking about. JANIE (aud. only): You’ve let a lifetime of poverty and rejection beat any expectations for life out of you, and now you’re letting fear and pride drive away your one chance at happiness, you scruffy drifter! JACKIE: (points to TV) See? Hyde shifts in his seat, avoiding Jackie’s smirk. CLYDE (aud. only): What would anyone so young and so swept up in their own fantasy world know of life and happiness? Your wealth and your demanding nature have won you everything in life, but you won’t make me fall to your whims so easily, you spoiled brat! Now it’s Jackie’s turn to shift, and Hyde’s to smirk. HYDE: You called it, Clyde. JACKIE: Oh, like he knows what she’s thinking. HYDE: Oh, and you do? JACKIE: Well, you don’t. You don’t know what anybody’s thinking, because you never listen. HYDE: Hey, maybe if you talked about something other than how to keep your hair from getting tangled up in hoop earrings, I might pay attention. JACKIE: (beat) That was a segment on my show last night. Have you been watching my show? HYDE: (beat) No... Mrs. Forman was watching. I was just in the room. For thirty minutes. He pointedly avoids Jackie’s touched look, keeping his eyes locked on the TV. *** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Is this the longest soap opera ever, or what? Clyde and Janie are still arguing, and Hyde and Jackie are still watching. JANIE (aud. only): You reckless, immature man! CLYDE (aud. only): You mad, impulsive woman! JANIE (aud. only): We can never be together! CLYDE (aud. only): I’ve never agreed with you more! Slowly, Hyde and Jackie turn to look at each other. JANIE (aud. only): Oh, Clyde, I didn’t mean it! CLYDE (aud. only): Neither did I, darling! Hyde and Jackie’s heads snap back to the TV. JANIE (aud. only): Your uncouth manners and run-ins with the law may disturb my family, and may have frightened me when we first met, but I’ve seen the diamond in the rough. I’ve never had a wiser teacher, a more tireless protector, or a more passionate lover. CLYDE (aud. only): And your life of privilege and entitlement may make you a symbol of everything I rebel against, but you’re not the shallow socialite you claim you want to be. You are the truest friend my stepbrother Alec’s fiancée has, and no one has been as open, as honest, or as loving to me as you have. While their heads remain turned to the TV, Hyde and Jackie’s eyes flick to each other. JANIE (aud. only): But you still refuse to marry me! CLYDE (aud. only): And you still can’t accept what we have now! JANIE (aud. only): Oh, Clyde, how can we get past this? How? CLYDE (aud. only): HOW? Hyde and Jackie lean forward in rapt attention. ANNOUNCER (aud. only): Will Janie and Clyde find their way back together? Or will they remain forever divided by fear and pride? Find out next week on MOON OVER TIP TOWN! Hyde and Jackie fall back into their seats, deflated. Fez bursts out from the shower and leans against the back of the couch. He is so focused on the TV, he doesn’t even notice the jump he gives Hyde and Jackie. FEZ: NO! Next week? I cannot wait that long! JACKIE: Fez? How long have you been in the shower? FEZ: I snuck in fifteen minutes ago when Janie and Clyde had the fight about the nurse. (sniffles) Oh, how am I supposed to find out how to get you two back together now? And who knows when they’ll get to the storyline when you break up again? (looks up to God) When? When is it Fez’s turn? Halfway to tears, he turns and runs up the stairs. A baffled Jackie looks to Hyde, who just shakes his head and stands to turn off the TV. *** INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT Hyde and Jackie are still in their seats. The TV is off and the magazines are on the coffee table. Only awkward silence pervades, until: HYDE: (sighs) Much as I’d like to let the psychic soap opera do it for us next Friday, maybe we should talk, man. JACKIE: Why? Nothing’s changed. Nothing but... HYDE: But what? JACKIE: But... well, I thought I couldn’t be with you if you wouldn’t commit, but I hate being without you either. I don’t know how we can get past this. HYDE: (beat) You know, Forman and Donna are doing that thing where they don’t talk about what they are. You know, no labels. JACKIE: Steven, I’m not Donna. I’m all about labels. Perfect nails, best legs, shiniest hair – that’s just three that fit me like glove. But I also want to know what we are, or at least what we’re going to be in the future. HYDE: Can’t that wait until the future gets here? Man, you’re still in high school, you’ve just started your show, you don’t know where it’s going, and I’m still new to this record store thing. We’re not going anywhere in a hurry. JACKIE: Things aren’t going to be like that forever, Steven. HYDE: Well, until they change... I mean, I’m not doing great without our weekly bedroom tiff-and-tumble either. JACKIE: Those are hot. (sighs) Okay. She gives Hyde a small smile, and he gives it back. Jackie takes his hand in hers, then crosses over to his lap. They begin to make out. Fez appears at the top of the stairs. Seeing Jackie and Hyde go at it, he looks up to God. FEZ: And they get back together on their own? If they didn’t put on such a quality show, I would curse you! He shakes his head and pouts, even as he turns back to the lovin’. FADE TO BLACK

***

You may recall seeing 7-07, "Mother's Little Helper," on the list of episodes getting re-written. It was; things didn't work out, so it got cut from the line-up. I consider that a failure on my part; one thing about the set-up to Jackie and Hyde's break-up that I don't like is that Jackie's desire for commitment and adulthood, while plausible, only pops up when it's needed for the plot. The planned 7-07 rewrite would've ditched Jackie and Donna's fight storyline (a really terrible running gag) to provide some build-up to Jackie's attitude in "Winter" and "Don't Lie to Me." But 7-07 was the last episode I put on my list. Everything else had at least been outlined, if not in a drafting stage for key scenes. When it came time to sit down and actually work on 7-07, events in my personal life made enthusiasm for one more episode hard to come by. Working, as I am, on a self-imposed deadline for this project, I had to cut 7-07 to press ahead and finish what I'd already planned.

Bottom line - if this section of the rewrite feels lacking, with how little has been changed, there's some reason behind that, and I apologize. Hopefully, what's to come is satisfying for everyone who's been reading along - and I appreciate all of you who have, very much.

#z's fics #that 70s show #zenmasters #jackie x hyde #zen3to5+#fan fiction #fan script

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a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives · 4 years

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AN INTERVIEW WITH LUKE ARNOLD

Many people know actor Luke Arnold from the Starz TV show Black Sails where he plays the character, John Silver. But, to add to his extensive acting credits is his debut novel, The Last Smile in Sunder City. The first novel of the Fetch Phillips Archives series. If you haven’t had a chance to check out Sunder City, you should fix that ASAP. (Our review can be found here.) Sunder City is a little bit of fantasy, a little bit Sam Spade, and a whole lot of good writing. GdM got the opportunity to sit down with Luke and talk to him a bit about his writing, and what is happening in the future for Fetch Phillips.

GDM: Hi Luke. Thank you for agreeing to chat with me a bit about your writing, life, and The Last Smile in Sunder City.

LA: My absolute pleasure. Thanks for having me.

GDM: For the uninitiated, could you tell me a little about yourself and how you got into writing Sunder City? Have you always been a writer?

LA: I’ve been working as an actor for most of my adult life. When I started out, all my creative paths were intertwined. I’d write things, act in them, direct them, and collaborate with anyone on anything. Then I was lucky enough to have some success in the acting world, most notably on a show called Black Sails, and gave that all of my focus for a few years. After that wrapped up, it felt like it was time to dig back into my own writing, so I put away some time and punched out the first draft.

GDM: I know with acting, you must pull character creation and visualization from a creative space. How does that differ from character creation when writing novels?

LA: In some ways, they couldn’t be more opposite. When you act on film, you really have to trust everyone around you and hope that you’re in safe hands. You work off someone else’s material on a set that someone else built, in a costume that someone else made, while you listen to direction and hand your performance over to an editor at the end of it. It’s about doing your homework, preparing properly, and then committing to this brief window of time when you try to be in the moment and deliver a performance worth capturing.

GDM: With a novel, you are the entire crew, and the window lasts as long as you need it to. For the most part, there is no collaboration, no outside input, nobody rocking up with a ready-made set or a beautiful coat to put on one of your characters. For better or worse, it’s all you.

LA: To be honest, being able to bounce back and forth between the two makes me enjoy each of them even more.

GDM: The Last Smile in Sunder City was a remarkable story. I loved how the story is told through a series of interactions, both now and in the past. It was a compelling narrative device in describing how a character can change once crossing a pivotal moment in their lives. In Fetch’s case, it was the before and after the Coda. Did you plan for the story to be told in this fashion, or did the story change organically as you wrote it?

LA: When I started writing this story, it was only the present-day part of the story: a man-for-hire searching for a Vampire in a broken fantasy world. I thought maybe I would do a bunch of these short cases, stick them together, and then do an origin story one day.

I shared the story with some friends in the publishing world and while they really liked it, they informed me that collections of short stories are nearly impossible to sell, and suggested that a novel would be a better path. Thankfully, I took their advice.

I think the scars of that process can still be seen on this story, but I kind of like that. It’s the same thing that happened to Raymond Chandler (my biggest influence when it comes to this book). Chandler wrote short stories for a magazine called Black Mask. Most of his novels were an amalgamation of those shorter stories, tied together and padded out.

My second book, Dead Man in a Ditch, is more tightly constructed, but for the first story about a hopeless, wandering gumshoe who only begins to find his way, I think the creative journey added to the tone.

GDM: How did you create the after Coda world? What was the inspiration?

LA: A lot of the pre-Coda world (the magical time) was planned out before I started. I tracked the beginning of magic and thought about how it would seep into the world and create versions of all the magical creatures we’re familiar with. But in the post-Coda, a lot of it comes to life as I take Fetch around the city and see who he stumbles across. Rather than being inspired by any particular time or place in history, it’s more about a feeling. A bit of guilt. A touch of depression. A regular spoonful of self-loathing. Sometimes it’s about growing up. Sometimes it’s about living in the aftermath of mistakes. It all depends on where Fetch’s mind is at. He’s always struggling with some internal dilemma, and I love to make him bump into the perfect creature that will make things even worse.

GDM: Are you a big fantasy and science fiction reader? Which books have you been inspired by?

LA: I’ve always been a big reader, but I only dabbled in fantasy before this. I’ve been doing my best to catch up over the last few years. Most of the fantasy worlds that influenced me would have come from video games, anime, and film. I’ve been going through Final Fantasy 7 recently (remake, and replaying the original), and realized that it probably influenced Sunder City more than any book.

There’s plenty of Pratchett in my world, and I’ve stolen fantasy creatures from everywhere, but you’ll find more elements of Humphry Bogart than Hobbits.

GDM: One of the take-aways I had From The Last Smile in Sunder City was even under all the dark, the ominous, the despair, under the constant struggle to live, there is always a small shiny kernel of hope. As a reader, I am drawn to stories that have this; it helps me connect and want more as a reader. Was this always the intention?

LA: Sure. I love playing with the expectations we have of fantasy characters versus what we expect of ourselves. In worlds with magic spells, evil villains, and ancient prophesies, we want our heroes to find the special sword, kill the baddie, and restore peace to the land. When you’re younger, our world seems so different to the ones in books that it feels like escapism. But as you get older, you realise that there are actually these looming threats coming to destroy the us and villains who cause suffering for their own gain, but the bit that we struggle with (at least I do) is what we can do about it. Could we be better? Does anything we do matter? Or could we wake up tomorrow and actually make a difference?

I don’t know how to fix the world (yet) but I do know that a shared moment with a close friend or a perfect cup of coffee will help me get up tomorrow and keep searching.

GDM: Can you tell me a bit about Dead Man in a Ditch?

LA: The first book hints that the magic might not be completely gone for good. Of course, Fetch isn’t ready to believe that, but word has gotten out. Folks start arriving at Fetch’s door, asking him to find a way to fix things. That includes the police department, who invites Fetch to a crime scene where a guy’s face has been blown apart by a fireball.

With the stage set by the first book, Dead Man in a Ditch makes some big moves forward, though the shadows from the past are still hanging around.

GDM: Finally, I always like to end on a light-hearted question. The Dinner Party question. If you could have dinner and conversation with three figures from real life, alive or dead, or fiction, who would they be and why?

LA: Jim Henson. I think Sesame Street is the most important television show ever made and everything Jim brought into the world has made it a better place. Maybe I’d get to learn a couple of things but maybe I’d just get to spend a couple of hours in his presence.

David Bowie (Similar reasons to Henson, really) and Nina Simone (because she seemed really disappointed at Montreux that Bowie wasn’t there, so I’d die to see them hanging out). And there would be a piano tucked in the corner, as if by accident, but I’d never ask anyone to play (until the second bottle of wine, when I absolutely would).

I know they’re all creative, but then I would at least have a chance of joining in the conversation. If it was Nelson Mandela, Marie Curie and Martin Luther King, I’d be outed as an imbecile immediately.

- Grimdark Magazine (x)

#luke arnold #interview #the last smile in sunder city

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retrauxpunk · 4 years

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Rain, I ask you: ALL the quarantine asks!

Animated character that was your gay awakening? not really an ‘awakening’ so much as a ‘hint’, but Azula from Avatar: the Last Airbender ... yep

Grilled cheese or PB&J? GRILLED CHEESE

What show/YouTube video(s) do you put on in the background when you when you don’t have anything to watch but you want something on? I don’t really experience this mood, but my go-to watch is the vlogbrothers YouTube channel

Your go-to bar order, if you drink? if it’s a low-key/work outing, lager or cider (esp the ones with non-apple fruits too); if it’s getting more serious (lol) or with closer friends or a more celebratory mood: vodka with sparkling apple juice

What’s your favorite pair of shoes that you own? these Doc Martens that are white with red hearts got ’em with my first ever full time design job paycheck. i did not take care of them well so they’re super scuffed/beat-up and very much not Perfectly White ... but they’re still comfy as heck, i still love the design, and they’ve lasted 3 years so far, let’s see how much longer we can make it ... also i think they’re a limited edition so i likely won’t get my hands on any replacements...

Top three cuisines? my cheap-ass answer would be, like: East Asian, South-East Asian, Western European ... but my non-shit answer is... Japanese, Chinese, Italian (ftr i’m not a seafood fan ... i just love the ramen and non-seafood stuff that japan makes hehe)

What was your first word as a child (that wasn’t a variation of “Mom” or “Dad”)? i have no clue

What’s a job that you’ve had that people might be surprised to find out you’ve had? cold-calling strangers to ask them to do market research phone surveys (y)

Look up. What’s directly across from you? the kitchen

Do you own any signed books/memorabilia in general? i have a messenger bag that i got signed by Jeph Jacques of the Questionable Content webcomic that i once adored ... and I think my boyfriend has gifted me a signed Matthew Reilly hardcover.

Preferred way to spend a rainy day? curled up indoors wearing something cosy, reading and eating something delicious. playing animal crossing lol. aaaaand listening to music, a good podcast, watching stand-up comedy, drawing, getting intoxicated...

What do you get on your bagels? What WOULD you get if you had access to anything you wanted? occasionally the standard smoked salmon and cream cheese, but i slightly prefer the meat to be, like, prosciutto

Brunch or midnight snacks? ehh fuck it, both???? both!!

Favorite mug you own easter limited edition waitrose mug, squat and round and yellow, painted/shaped like a very round chick. a Borb,,,,

What coffee drink would you describe yourself as? i actually thought about this and, uh, peppermint mocha. not for everyone, slightly weird, never fitting in with the regulars/being a default, but???? obviously awesome?? also: about 65% on the mainstream/hipster scale

Pick a song lyric to describe your current mood (and drop the name and artist!) The Wombats is the artist. lyrics are either “Let's dance to Joy Division / and celebrate the irony / Everything is going wrong, / but we're so happy” from Let’s Dance to Joy Division or “the edge of nowhere’s such a beautiful place” from Emoticons

Fruity or herbal teas? herbal but i agree with @queenofslime, black tea is the best

What’s that one TV show that you’re a little bit embarrassed to watch but you still like nonetheless? ...do i experience embarrassment about what i like to watch on TV? i don’t know if i do, because i watch relatively few shows ... and have relatively little shame? maybe???

That book you were forced to read for class but actually ended up enjoying? ftr i wasn’t bitter about this before reading, i had no preconceived biases against, and i was pretty open to liking it -- The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

Do you match your socks? if they’re of a really nice design then yes always, if they’re of a more standard/generic design then ... not necessarily

Have you ever been horseback riding? yes a few times ... on the last time which was like five years ago ... the lady said i was a natural and asked if i’d ridden much before, which was. flattering. and yes this is a Brag.

What was your “phase” when you were younger? (i.e., Mythology Nerd, Horse Girl, Space Geek, etc) didn’t have much of a hardcore phase but i was pretty much always into fantasy ... oh wait yeah i did! i had a spy phase :)

Have you ever been to jail? to closed-down ones, yep

What’s your opinion on Lazy Susan’s (the spinning tray in the middle of tables)? pretty great idea unequivocably, right?

Puzzles? i tend to enjoy riddles/lateral thinking puzzles, i am impartial about jigsaw puzzles. i enjoy escape rooms.

You can only have one juice for the rest of your life, what is it? apple ... but elderflower if i’m feeling reckless (y)

What section do you immediately head for when you walk into a bookstore? young adult ... or stationery

What’s one thing you’re trying to learn/relearn in your downtime right now? Russian language :( it’s going не так хорошо

Who’s your go-to musical artist when you’re feeling upbeat? not sure if i have a go-to artist so much as go-to playlists i’ve made but some good ones are The Wombats and Bastille

Where could someone find you in a museum? mammals/birds in natural history

What’s that one outfit in your closet you never get the chance to wear but want to? i swear i was talking about this recently but i clean the fuck forgot what it was ... oh yeah, i have this short-sleeved black minidress festooned with silver buckles/buttons and also featuring decorative suspenders ... which, yes, does make me look like a sexy military officer,,, anyway it’s pretty badass and somehow it hasn’t occurred to me till now that i can just wear that every day now if i want? ftw i do get the chance to wear it, it’s just a little bit Extra so i get self-conscious. i’ve worn it a few times though. including to work. because fuck it, right? i didn’t become a graphic designer to be shy about sometimes looking like a prototypical emo/scene kid-turned-adult??? (ftr i was never an actual emo/scene kid. i lacked the requisite guts, commitment of feeling, and permissive parents.)

Rainbows, stars, or sunset colored clouds? sunset-coloured clouds :)

If you could own any non-traditional pet (dogs, cats, fish, rodents, etc), what would it be? how about a shapeshifting feathered dragon that could range from, like, two thirds of a foot long (20cm) to sit on your shoulder, to ... the size of a massive draft horse? (but longer and thinner)

Do you have more art on your walls or more photographs? photos, though if i didn’t live with a partner, it might be art

You have to get one meme tattooed on your body, what meme is it and where does it go? i’ve already got a meme tattooed on my body ... a private meme i have with my boyfriend, one on each leg (left: outer side, just above knee; right: outside, a few inches above the ankle)

Pick a superhero sidekick to hang out with ?????? is this a sidekick to a known superhero, or a superhero to act as your sidekick? also i don’t know? who are the standard heroes? i’m not up to date on this.

Lakes, rivers, or oceans? rivers or oceans

Favorite mid-2000s song i can’t decide a favourite, it’s too stressful, but one that i like is Rob Thomas’s Little Wonders

How do you dress when you’re home alone? either a t-shirt and PJ pants, or a dress (usually short-sleeved/sleeveless minidress)

Where do you sit in the living room (we all have a preferred spot, and you know it)? on either side of the couch haha

Knives or swords? BOTH but ok swords.

A song you didn’t think you’d enjoy but ended up loving hmmmmm like all of Linkin Park’s first three albums with some exceptions? hahahah

Pick an old-school Disney Channel Original Movie i don’t think i.....know any????

Are you a “Quote that relates to the photos” caption-er, an “explanation of where I took the photos” caption-er, or a no caption kinda person when you post pictures online? explanation, though on instagram quite often the photo and caption are unrelated

Name a classic Vine there’s only one thing worse than a rapist...

What’s the freezer food that you stock up on when you go to the grocery store? dumplings! as in the gyoza type.

How do you top your ice cream? that ‘magic’ chocolate sauce that hardens into chocolate. that stuff. i watched those ads all childhood long but my parents were immigrants and therefore very thrifty so we NEVER bought it iirc and then in my adulthood i got it a bunch of times. but now i live in the uk and can’t find it. and forgot it existed. and have never seen it anywhere.

Do you like Jello? the kind that’s served on a plate as a dessert? meh. the kind that are found in asian grocery stores as individual fruit-flavoured serves in little plastic cups? YES

What’s something that you don’t have a picture of that you wish you did? future stock prices? LOL ... or i’m gonna go with @queenofslime‘s answer again -- how others see me. it’s a great answer.

How are you at climbing trees? not............ good. i mean, i like climbing, but i have absolutely terrible upper body strength. i did bouldering for a couple months but only stuck to the first like... three out of nine difficulty levels.

#thanks!! hehe #quarantine asks #queenofslime #asks

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lifeofacomplexmixedgirl · 5 years

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Surviving a Quarter-life Crisis

15-minute read | to be listened with: ‘Our Destiny’ by Hinda Hicks

It's November 30th, and I'm sitting at the corner of the bed, having a panic attack, hiding underneath the warmest cobija I could find in Tio Edwin's cold and abandoned room. The only clean and conveniently isolated corner of this entire house - buried behind mountains of hoarded clothes, furniture, and mail from the '80s - to shield myself from Abuela's nightly rage. If I silence my thoughts, I can hear her shouting from the attic, "Pinche cayajera…siempre yendo y viniendo. You make me so mad!" Five minutes later, she's baiting me with a peace meal, "Mija, ya comiste? I cook for you some arroz," only to get caught in her next course of torment - no, thank you.

Surrounded by unfinished ink drawings plastered along the walls, a few discarded guitars, and a hot wheel collection, I volunteer to solitary confinement as I wait till she exhausts herself to sleep. Tonight's interrogation began the same as every other - with my face cradled in my hands, asking, "why the fuck am I here?". I fall back onto the bed, close my eyes, and take deep breaths until my mind saturates with fantasies of the free and steady life I long for. The sight of my own home decorated with open space, natural light, greenery, walls filled with photos, and shelves of books evokes earlier memories of what I used to have. Suddenly, my mind becomes inflamed with countless regrets, and I cry - depending on my tears to flood away the fires that have been set ablaze inside of me for some time. Feeling desiccated, I reach for the phone and call the only person who can restore me... mom.

Answering the first ring, I immediately drop a dumbbell of weightless questions in hopes she will have the solutions to maybe one or two - but let's be honest - all of my problems.

"Um… hello? Ma, did you hear what I said?" I ask irritably.

"I'm listening… sounds like you're having a quarter-life crisis kid," she jokingly remarks.

"Ha ha ha…-_- I need to get out of this house like now. Abuela is stressing me OUT! I ain't gonna make it…" I respond in desperation.

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"PLEEEASE!"

"Be cool, gymshoe. I just dropped your brother off at home. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Alright, bet."

I'm checking the time every few minutes, then finally an hour elapses. A rush of energy fills my body, and I jump out the bed, grab my jacket, and race out the back door in an escape. Just in time, I see mom pull up through the rain, and I hop in the driver's seat as she climbs over to the passenger side. "You hungry, lovebug?" she asks. "I stay hungry," I assure her. We bop in-sync to our favorite R&B throwbacks driving east down Division to scoop a pound of jumbo shrimp from Goose Island and make our way to my mom's mentor and long-time friend, Dr. O.

Dr. O'Bannon is the epitome of black excellence - a woman of independence, knowledge, and self-love. Dining at her table, pouring glasses of cabernet wine, in a high-rise that overlooks Navy Pier and Lake Michigan, everything about her exuded strength. As she and my mother are sharing childhood stories, ancestry, and accomplishments, I'm leaning in to listen and absorb it all. After a few hours, I'm so inspired and loaded with courage that I ask her if she would be open to having me as a guest for a week, and with the help of my mom, she accepted.

And with this new blessing, I'm setting out to heal, learn, and reach a higher state of self because in ten days... I'll be 25.

How I Prepared Turning 25 in Ten Days

Day One: Sunday

I woke up to a new day, new week, new month, so I decided to start my day by doing something active. League of Their Own, a Chicago based women's recreational sports group that meets up every other Sunday, was holding a double dutch event - I couldn't miss out on the opportunity to enjoy some culture and bask in positive girl energy. Afterward, I had a healthy breakfast - drank some fire peach coffee - and engaged in pleasant conversation at Peach's in Bronzeville with one of my homegirls. Then I kicked it back to the crib for the rest of the day to indulge in self-care rituals and prepare for the week ahead.

What it cost: $20 (splendid breakfast + tip) What I gained: Strength and timing - I have to get my footwork right before I step into the new decade.

Day Three: Tuesday

On my way home from work, I decided to take a detour through Millenium Park, and I saw everyone crowd around the rink to watch the staff resurface the ice. Out of curiosity, I went to inquire about admission and told myself, "If this is more than $15, I ain't skating". Ha - it was $13, so I took it as a sign to go out there and take a break from adulthood. Unconcerned about time or priorities, I put my headphones on, skated for an hour, and reminisced on my favorite childhood memories. Remembering when my mom placed me in ice-skating classes for the first time and how much I loved it. I couldn't remember why I stopped going, but alas, there I was - my child-like spirit being awakened inside of me.

What it cost: $13 (skate-rental) What I gained: Childish innocence - my most appreciated attribute - and a new activity to keep every Tuesday during the winter to stay active.

Day Five: Thursday

I picked a route and stuck to walking home for the rest of the week. With an enormous love for all things design, I stopped by the Chicago Cultural Center to check out the Chicago Architecture Biennial. I have this goal for when I turn 30, which is to go back to school for architecture, design my family's home in Mexico, and successfully retire as 'the ultimate designer.' I walked through the exhibit, sat down, and sketched. I looked up at my favorite piece and just knew that this was something I'm committed to accomplishing.

What it cost: FREE (Admission is always free to the public) What I gained: Inspiration and reassurance of my future goals.

Day Seven: Saturday

After drill, I stopped by Abuela's to pick up some things. I made my way towards the back door, and when I opened it, there stood at the top of the stairs, my Tio Huber's savage-ass dogs. I was still until one started barking, and the other three charged for me. "Oh shit," is all I could think as I turned around and dipped. Once I made it to the gate, I felt a sharp pain pierce through my thigh and pull me back before I could jump over. At that moment, I gave up and broke down in tears - because as much as I've tried to keep my spirits high and pass on positive energy, I'm always thrown a curveball. I let them bite and claw at me as I made my way back to the door to attempt to run again upstairs.

While trying to care for the wound and Abuela shouting at me, I realized that my time living here has come to an end, and come January, I need a new place to stay. Sharing this news with her made her even more upset, but I left for the hospital, accepting my circumstances. On my way out, my tio's friend shares with me, "Life is really kicking your ass right now...everything is going to be okay, remember it's only temporary. The universe is preparing you for something greater." - Great, what in the possible world could the universe be preparing me for? -_-

What it cost: We're not even getting into this... What I gained: Acceptance.

Day Nine: Monday

I took it slow today. I went to work, then home.

As I poured a glass of wine and appreciated the views, I reflected on the past 5 years of my life. I pulled out my secret journal, wrote down my lessons, blessings, goals, and planned my next steps. What else should do I be doing the night before I turn 25?

What it cost: It doesn't cost anything to invest in yourself. What I gained: Closure and enthusiasm for a new and healthy beginning.

Day Ten: Happy 25th Birthday

"Happy 25th birthday to me!" I yelled in excitement- I hope I didn't wake Dr. O, but I couldn't help it. I usually keep special days like this to myself and only share with close friends, but I wanted to make an announcement to the world that I'm here, healed, healthy, and loved. I went to work and had a beautiful dinner with Dr. O. It was the perfect night to wind down from an amazing week.

I planned a get-together tomorrow night with all of my day ones at my favorite bar, Estereo, so my birthday isn't over until I'm hungover, haha!

What it cost: Vulnerability and patience. What I gained: Genuine support, long-time friends, and healthy relationships.

It's hard for me to accept that things aren't going to go the way I intended, but I've learned to accept it because everything really does happen for a reason. One of the biggest lessons I learned this year is to lead a life with no expectations because life itself is unexpected - who we meet, where we go, what we say, when things happen - that way, I'll never be disappointed.

Your girl, ~Eva

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ifeveristoday · 6 years

Text

Buffy Summers’s Diary (III)

[insert Dawn’s lament here]

My silly little thing has gotten a bit less sillier in this part. Carry on.

1 Lyft carpool with Anya

3 missing pens

1 maybe date

7 outfit options, all terrible

100 years of rain

When I was little and it rained, my mom would bring me to the living room and watch the rain splash against our bay windows. Sometimes she would get out her box of cassettes and we’d listen to “It Never Rains in Southern California.” Of course, I would point out that the singer was wrong, because what was happening outside then?

She would just laugh, and shake her head. ‘Baby, it’s not that it doesn’t rain, it’s the feeling that LA is always sunny even when it rains.’

I didn’t understand back then.

Watching the sun stream into the street and shine on perfect rectangles of manicured lawns while I peeked through blinds – I understood a little better. LA carries on even when darkness surrounds you, is in you.

Anyway, it rained today, a deluge even. Kendra arranged for Lyft carpools for the employees and I shared mine with Anya. She lives only twenty minutes away from my apartment, but she drives while I take the bus. I like Anya, but it’s impossible to make small talk with her. She doesn’t understand the concept and launches into whatever she’s thinking with no segues whatsoever. I need a mental crash helmet whenever I talk to her.

She asked me if I used her gift certificate – ‘It expires soon, Buffy. There’s a special sale going on this weekend, I really think you would find some helpful aids there.’

Before I can even respond, she’s off talking about the new vibrator line that’s come in, and the importance of using essential oils in the bedroom.

The backseat of a car never collapses into a black hole when you want it to.

She managed to ask a question about Xander among all the updates from the Magic Box and I guess my expression tipped her off. Her mouth thinned out and she crossed her arms across her chest.

‘What? I can’t ask about Xander?’

I’m just surprised that she wants to. Their romance was pretty volatile at the end.

‘No, you can. He’s fine – sent me a postcard from Cape Town. He seems happy.’

She slumped a little. ‘Oh. That’s nice.’

I’m going to regret this – like in five minutes, I’m sure of it – but I ask her anyway.

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine. I’m the one who broke it off. I’m very happy, I’m busy, my jobs are going great, I found a decent hairstylist in this town – I’m fantastic,’ she babbled.

She straightened up again and looked out the window.

‘I’m happy that he’s happy,’ she said. ‘We’re almost there.’

The driver pulled up to our building five minutes later. He smirked at us as we got out.

Anya works in a different part of the building than I do and our goodbyes were awkward as I got out of the elevator. ‘Remember the sale, Buffy,’ she said as the doors slid shut.

I’m just not in the mood for that kind of self-care.

There is an office supply thief on this floor and they are stealing my purple pens. I had four and now I have one. This is ridiculous, we are all adults and surely we can use the office supply cabinet instead of just lifting pens from other people’s desks like thieves in the night.

Why would they even take my pens? Everyone in the office knows I use purple to revise my notes – I know everything is digital but there’s something comforting about the way a pen can glide over the paper. I like the weight of the pen against my palm and it seems more permanent than a blinking cursor on a screen.

I moved a PR box and found my pens wedged underneath my monitor stand.

Good thing I didn’t write that email to HR complaining about pen theft and being known as the most uptight person on this floor.

I need a cup of coffee but I’m going to make tea instead.

William is lounging in the break room when I come in. He has a rapt audience, the temps and Harmony are there, hanging onto his every word.

I roll my eyes and head for the tea station. Just because a man has good bone structure, an accent, and a leather jacket doesn’t mean he’s the most interesting person in the room.

Okay, maybe in the top five.

I sit at the lone unoccupied table and hear snatches of the conversation. William is doing research for his next novel. He reached out to several publications and my CEO accepted his request along with the offer of a guest column in the magazine. He’s going to be writing about his travels and whatever else interests him.

It sounds like a dream assignment but I remember my blog is important too. Kendra told me not to read the comments though.

One by one the admirers flutter out of the break room as editors appear in the doorway, meaningfully clearing their throats. I’m still sipping my tea when William walks over to me and sits down.

‘So, Summers. I have a gift for you.’

‘Yeah?’ I say, playing it cool. I am a cool glacial woman of substance.

‘I do,’ he smiles and then reaches into his messenger bag. ‘Freshly autographed.’

He slides Saturday and The Chosen across the table to me. His fingers skim the covers carefully as if he’s touching something precious.

Saturday’s cover shows a picture of a black woman, her gaze defiant and steely. The Chosen has a more generic cover, its title picked out in shades of gold and bronze.

‘Thanks,’ I say as I turn The Chosen over and read the blurb on its dust jacket. ‘Oh. Fantasy’s never really been my thing.’

Except for the period Dawn and I would read Harry Potter to each other under the covers with a flashlight, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He lifts one eyebrow and I notice the thin white scar cutting it into two imperfect halves. ‘Try it, you never know. Or maybe Saturday is more your type.’

‘This the one with your lone female character?’ I lean back and gaze at him over my cup.

He laughs and rubs his chest. ‘Ouch. But fair – I’m going to be writing more female leads in my novels. Nikki won’t be the last.’

‘That’s her name?’ I nod at Saturday’s cover.

‘Yeah. Nikki Danger.’

I choke on my tea. ‘Her name is Nikki Danger? Are you writing the next Bond novel?’

His smile has a hint of teeth. ‘Says the girl named Buffy Summers.’

‘My mom gave me that name, and it’s after a famous singer, you Philistine.’

I heard Will use that once, during debate class in high school. It sounded cool then even though I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

‘I know. And love, I’m in the arts, not exactly a Philistine. Do you want to borrow a dictionary for next time?’

This asshole.

Then I realize what he said. ‘What do you mean next time?’

Full on smile, and is that dimple? ‘How about dinner after work – does tonight sound good?’

He stands up and leaves before I can complete my thought.

I open Saturday. He’s scrawled his phone number on the front page.

So it’s not a date. It’s a friendly dinner. I’ve done that before. It’ll be like riding a bike.

I have an uncomfortable vision of William riding a motorcycle and I decide that I need some advice.

Willow’s answering machine picks up when I call, so I just tell her I’m looking forward to our weekend brunch.

Andrew screeches when I call him. Literally, I had to hold my phone away from my ears.

‘You’re going on a date with the Spike Pratt?’

‘It’s just dinner,’ I say, fumbling for my apartment keys. ‘I’m going to meet him at some bistro after work.’

‘Are you going home to change?’ Andrew demands.

‘Well, of course.’

‘Then it’s a date,’ Andrew says triumphantly. ‘If you didn’t care, you’d just wear your work clothes.’

‘My hair got wet this morning and it’s sort of frizzy,’ I say. ‘It’s not that big of a deal. And his name is William.’

‘Eh, Spike sounds sexier,’ Andrew says. ‘William sounds like an accountant.’

‘It’s a maybe date,’ I say. ‘I don’t know. I made fun of him this morning, maybe he’s just returning the favor.’

Andrew sighs.

‘Girl, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?’

‘Not that long,’ I scan my desk to make sure I haven’t left anything important behind. ‘There was Owen and Parker…’ I trail off.

‘Ew, ew and ew,’ Andrew says dismissively. ‘A poet and a day trader? Buffy, Parker was gross, and Owen writes gay erotica on the internet. He hasn’t written a poem since leaving college.’

‘You’ve read some of it,’ I say. ‘And you’ve dated some highly questionable people yourself.’

‘Yes, both the poems and the erotica were terrible. And you can’t hold Warren over my head all the time.’

‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool of me. But he really was the worst.’

‘He really was,’ Andrew agrees. ‘Just go on the date. You never know until you try, right? You told me that once.’

‘Okay. Maybe it won’t be completely terrible.’

It was completely terrible.

All of my clothes weren’t right. I have exactly three types of clothes – athleisure, work clothes, and clothes that are too big for me. I haven’t had the chance to donate them yet or buy clothes that fit properly.

It took me seven tries until I settled on something that wasn’t too much or too little for a casual dinner with a handsome man.

Okay, I admit it. He’s a good looking man.

I called him on the way to the bistro. He didn’t answer until the third ring. He sounded strange as if he forgot that he asked me out to dinner in the first place.

‘I’m glad you called actually – I was about to call. I’m sorry, Buffy. Something came up and I can’t make it to dinner after all. Can I have a raincheck?’

‘What?’

‘You have every right to be angry at me, but I just can’t get out of this commitment. I’ll call you, love. All right?’

The dial tone rings in my ear.

I ended up getting takeout from the bistro – it seemed stupid to go all the way there and not get dinner. The ride back to my apartment gave me time to sort out what exactly I was feeling.

It was a tornado of emotions. First, sheer relief. Then, a flush of anger prickling against my skin. Who does he think he is, I muttered to myself. Then seething resentment followed by an aching emptiness. He must have googled me.

I don’t do that anymore. The last time I checked for myself was right when I got out of the clinic. All the headlines were some variations of ‘Fallen Olympian completes rehab’ or ‘Buffy Summers – where is she now?’

Even the Sunnydale Post had something about me and I only trained there for three summers. ‘Ex-Olympic Gold Medalist in Recovery for Eating Disorder.’

Simple and to the point – though skipping all the reasons why I got there. The byline was a familiar name – Freddie Iverson. He was one of the first people to interview me when I won my medal.

‘How does it feel being a champion?’

It feels wonderful. It feels like flying and your feet don’t touch the ground. It feels like nothing can hurt you.

How does it feel to be washed up at nineteen?

Ten years later and I’m still trying to answer that question.

It starts raining as I clean up the rest of the takeout. I made myself eat every last bite.

It never rains in California, but girl, don't they warn ya? It pours, man, it pours

the lyrics are from “It Never Rains in Southern California” by Albert Hammond

and I’m working from the fancanon (in exalted circles) that Buffy is named after Buffy Sainte Marie who would have been very popular during Joyce’s time because you just know Joyce was a hippie.

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#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #buffy summers's diary #btvs #buffy fic #tho there's a bit of William in this part #this doesn't really qualify as buffy/spike fic #because jazz hands it's an all human AU #and it's not meant to be a shippy fic either #so goodbye 95% of the audience #my fic

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stupidpianist · 6 years

Text

22 october 2018

10:36: Rolling my slug body out of bed. Stayed up a bit later than I had anticipated yesterday night, was watching The Disaster Artist for a second time. Saw it once at a get together with friends when we had all been steadily drinking for a couple hours so I wasn’t paying the closest attention to it, though we all agreed that we mutually thought it was a really good movie. Read/watched some reviews of the movie by my favourite reviewers since I’ve been intrigued about it for a long time, being a fan of The Room, and read that my favourite reviewers all really liked the movie, so last night I was like, “it’s okay, your first class on Mondays isn’t until 11h35, you can sleep in a bit, just watch it, it’s okay, this will ‘inspire you’ and the net benefit of watching the movie will be a lot of productivity and general wellbeing.”

Always loved narratives like these ones, outsiders pursuing a personal dream irrespective of the views of other people, who are just “good enough” and hard enough workers and determined enough that in the end they succeed despite all expectations. It helps that Tommy Wiseau is, like, almost insane, too. I like people that seem to play with reality, like, that seem to warp reality around themselves, like, that command some extremely mass-ey gravitational field that seems to suck everything in and reprocess them based on their own frameworks, rather than the other way around the way that most ppl seem to operate in the world, maybe?

Found myself earnestly surprised at how good I thought the movie was, finding myself drawn into a Tommy Wiseau obsession. I’m tying up this liveblog update in the music library right now and I am sorry that I’m skipping around chronologically, I promise right after this tangent I’ll flip right back into “regularly scheduled programming,” just wanted to share thoughts on Disaster Artist first. Was very inspirational, I’m finding myself, today, being, like, renewed in personal endeavours, and less attentive towards the negative detractions of external influences. Feels pretty cool. Heh.

Actually woke with my alarm at 10h, but didn’t want to get out of the comforts of bed just yet, so I checked Instagram and Facebook for a few minutes and then just closed my eyes, waiting for my second alarm, which I knew was coming in a bit.

Stood, put on bathrobe, feeling “particularly luxurious,” then walked to do the ol’ routine of boiling water, brushing teeth, splashing water on face, putting water in hair, you know the drill by now. Yup, this is just going to get more and more repetitive as the days draw on. An unexpected consequence of starting this experiment is that I have a strange urge to “switch things up” and “change up the routine,” just for sake of novelty. Always had a “soft spot” for novelty, you ever wanna give me a gift? Just give me one of those cheesy, tacky novelty items you see for sale every holiday season. Get me that stuff, give it to me, I want it all. Also: those things you see in infomercials. I want ALL OF THEM. Shamwow? Slap Chop? That thing that removes hair but isn’t a razor? Gimme.

11:14: Still feeling very calm, brewing second cup of tea while sitting in front of computer, aware that I should leave in a minute if I want to be “responsibly early,” but knowing that I could leave in ten minutes and still make it to class on time if I sped walked a wee bit. Didn’t want to “rush myself” this morning, have no idea why, felt like I was “pampering myself,” so I just kept watching some YouTube videos, sipping my tea, in my bathrobe. Eventually was like, “it’s time, it’s time to do it,” and took off bathrobe, put on jeans and Bell Witch long-sleeve shirt. Realized that I might have a work shift later, and checked schedule on computer. Yup. Work later. Changed out of jeans and shirt into black pants and short-sleeve black shirt. Thought, “don’t really want to go back-and-forth from home to change, might as well wear the ‘uniform’ right now.”

11:23: Walking to class. Feeling like I want a Red Bull, probably because Tommy Wiseau, in real life, and featured in The Disaster Artist, drinks a lot of Red Bull. Thought “product placement wins again” in slightly ironic tone, then walked into dep en route to school and bought Red Bull, also painfully aware this is nowhere in my budget, and that I’d have to cut something more important than Red Bull out of the budget if I wanted to buy it. Still bought it, still chugged it in ~10 seconds, placed it in green recycling bin beside shopping complex. Took that Red Bull “to the face.”

11:34: Seems like I got to school ridiculously quickly today?? Very odd. This is a “chill class,” it’s piano pedagogy, the professor is a nice guy and easy to like. Seems like everyone is relatively laid back in the course, one or two students don’t seem very invested at all, but there is earnest commitment from the majority of us. Feels good that the first class of the week is something like this, rather than, like, psych stats, even though that’s happening tomorrow morning… Really skeptical that I’ll get myself out of bed to attend, even though I really should. Seems more likely I’m going to stay up until around one researching The Room, then sleep until ten, and miss the 08h30 call time. Whatever, I’ll deal with this at the end of the day.

Feeling excited about the work shift tonight, too, like, I really like going to work. It’s one of the few places where it’s both easy to ignore the world and feel simultaneously productive, since I’m, like, earning money, even though I’m not exactly doing that much. And it’s a good time for personal introspection; sitting alone backstage without windows, where things are mostly dark, only interacting with people who are hyper-focused on their impending performance, it makes for a good atmosphere to just be with yourself and think about things.

13:28: In music library after class, “fiending for” another Red Bull. On Indigo’s website, seems like they’re just definitively not gonna stock Megan Boyle’s Liveblog… So disappointing… But, they do have copies of the The Disaster Artist book. Don’t want to start practicing yet, for some reason practicing before, like, 15h or 16h in the practice rooms usually puts me in a crappy mood? I love practicing early in the morning if I’m alone, and there’s like a nice window and I have my coffee and there’s morning frost everywhere and I can sort of see my breath in the room. That’s fricken sweet. But if I’m put into a cage with six pianists on either side of me and it’s the morning, gosh, seriously, just so bad??? Almost “disgusting,” even. So instead of starting to practice now I’m gonna head to Indigo, read through part of the book, then think really, really, REALLY hard if I wanna drop twenty bucks on buying the thing. I really want to, but I might have to wait until next month to do so… Really don’t want to, but don’t really have much of a choice. Can’t even “pick up” more work shifts, as there aren’t many concerts this time of the year, but really “can’t complain” about money situation, either. “Feel thankful,” I’m thinking. Yeah, I am thankful, I am!!

13:57: Taking the short “trek” to Indigo bookstore. Listening to Ghost and Let’s Eat Grandma.

14:46: Mission accomplished. Bought The Disaster Artist. Was chatting with [removed] about the movie and they said they didn’t really enjoy it, also that it was problematic because a lot of Tommy Wiseau’s misogyny was skipped over and not addressed. Going to be “very aware” of this while I make my way through the book, “very excited” to “get into it.” Spent, actually, a bit shorter in Indigo than I had anticipated; I was simultaneously checking out the book The Artist’s Way that Alli had recommended to me, saying that I’d probably really enjoy it and that it was really beneficial. It seems like a self-help book centered around artistic creative recovery/rediscovering or discovering new ways of harnessing your innate creativity. Sat in my usual corner by the fantasy novels way in the back to read the beginnings of each one, and while reading The Disaster Artist this employee walks up to me and is like, “sir, I have a seat for you,” so I stand hurriedly, being like, “oh wow, okay, thanks,” and she leads me to this cushioned seat with an amazing view, and I’m thinking, real sheepishly, like, “oh my gosh, what did I do to merit this sort of treatment,” and thanked the employee, who nodded and walked away. Was like, “this right here, this is ‘real customer service.’” Settled into comfy cushioney seat to read.

Was honestly really difficult to choose between the two books. I feel like the final “nail in the coffin” for The Artist’s Way was that I didn’t think I had the right personality for self-help books. Not in, like, a stubborn, self-aggrandizing way, I hope, I don’t look down on them at all, I mean, I own How to Win Friends and Influence People, I like them, I just find that they’re written for a different demographic than I’m a part of. Usually their tactics/methods of self-improving run almost perpendicularly to my own, and if I try their methods, I almost always end up less happy and less fulfilled than before, whereas if I just “do that my body tells me to do,” I almost always end up feeling better. Feel like I’ll improve, personally, more from reading about the details of Tommy Wiseau and The Room than I will from this book. Will still read The Artist’s Way, though, gonna find a PDF of it and start the program, just don’t want to spend fifty bucks on books right now.

Going to head to the practice rooms now, feeling good about “throwing down” twenty dollars on a book rather whimsically. Feels like I’m “investing in my future” in a concrete way, like, “this is a book that you’ll internalize, that will lead to a definitive positive impact on your future life.” Eager to chart the effect this book has, expect a “George Book Review” soon. Maybe I’ll start up my podcast, too?? I used to do this “George’s Book Club” podcast, stopped doing it really early out of lack of time/effort, it was a lot of fun though, I’m gonna consider starting it up… Only, like, an hour-a-week obligation, seems insane that I wouldn’t have time to continue it, just need to “put in the effort.”

15:00: Making an impromptu pit stop at Vinh’s, the Vietnamese cafe in the music cafeteria. It features pho soup and banh mi sandwiches, and other “treats.” Gonna get a “Vinh’s Classic,” the cheapest sandwich, which has cold cuts in it, as opposed to “better things,” like barbecue pork, or grilled chicken.

Lady at cash register accidentally mis-scanned can of Coca Cola that I impulsively chose to buy. I was standing in frnot of the fridge with all the cans of pop and I was like, “I’m spending way too much money, I shouldn’t get a pop, it’s also just… expensive… and unhealthy… Why are you doing this to yourself, no, stop,” then just found myself reaching for a can anyways. Seems like a good sign that she mis-scanned the coke and didn’t notice, I didn’t have to pay for it, got the sandwich and drink for under $6. Internally high-fiving myself right now.

15:02: Got a real good room today! I’m being so spoiled. The piano in this one has a really reactive response, it’s super easy to get it to project, unlike a lot of the other pianos on the floor. Gonna make for an easier practice session, gonna take this sandwich “to my face” as fast as possible and then “dig into” some Alkan and Thalberg.

17:02: Received e-mail notification on phone, the McGill library’s copy of Liveblog is here!! I was expecting it to arrive a lot later, I submitted the acquisition request really recently, and they replied quickly, saying they had decided to purchase a copy, and would e-mail me when it had arrived, but I didn’t anticipate that it would arrive before a copy of Knausgaard’s My Struggle: Volume 6, which still somehow isn’t in the system yet??? Maybe there’s been a glitch, or something, My Struggle has been out for a month longer than Liveblog and it’s been on McGill’s acquisition list for even longer than that. Will have to look into this, will “keep you posted”...

Gonna stop my practicing today here, only two hours, but it was a really intense practice session. Was “singing along” around 60% of the time, played through Alkan, Thalberg, some Mozart, then “messed around” with some other Alkan etudes, and a bit of Prokofiev’s second piano concerto. WAsn’t the most “work-heavy” of practice sessions, but I still feel like I “got what I needed to get done, done.” Want to go to McLennan before work at 18h30 and pick up a physical copy of Liveblog, finally, FINALLY!! I’M SO EXCITED!! TO READ!! IT!! It’s going to take a long time, it’s over seven-hundred pages long, but I’m so into it a hundred pages in, that’s already 1/7 of the book, the rest of it will take no time, right???

Saw Megan Boyle comment something on a mutual writer friend’s Facebook status, only remembering this now.

17:24: Picked up the book from the reserves room, sitting in the lobby of the new music building reading it in the horu I have before work. It’s a lot more substantial, physically, than in my head, like, I knew it was a pretty long book, but I didn’t expect it to feel this dense. The cover and back are also slightly, like, pastel-hued? I’m not going to be able to describe it very well, I was just expecting it to be completely black and white, but now it really, really reminds me of the cover of Taipei, which is funny because the author’s photo on the back of Liveblog was taken by Tao Lin. Seems like these two novels could really be considered “sister novels” for a variety of reasons, like, they cover a similar time period, they feature many of the same people, they’re about a similar period of life in both author’s lives, Megan and Tao were engaged, etc. etc. The cover also has this really pleasing texture to it, like, it feels so good to run your hand over it. It’s one of my favourite cover designs, still not as good in my opinion as Tao Lin’s Richard Yates or Taipei, or the Farrar, Straus and Giroux editions of Knausgaard’s My Struggle, but it’s definitely up there. I think it just doesn’t really fit the material of the novel as well as Taipei’s cover, I mean, the covers look so similar they could’ve been swapped (though oh god Taipei with the cover design of Liveblog would’ve been so much worse than the fluorescent, shimmering letters it actually has), but the cover of Taipei matches up so well with the information the novel presents it’s unbelievable.

Okay sorry for this rambling, meandering conversation on book covers wow. “Settling into” Liveblog again, find myself consistently laughing and grinning wildly at Megan’s observations. Really enjoy the way she perceives things, wish I have the opportunity to “sit down and talk with her” one day, assuming she’d want to talk to me.

17:57: Boss texted me, asking if I could actually help him out at Redpath hall with moving something heavy. Gonna have to “pack it in” early and head over, it’s only a five minute walk or so. I like working with him, he’s a “great guy,” feel like I’m using that phrase correctly? Like, if I was in a movie right now, and I was speaking to a friend, I’d be like, “my boss, yeah, yeah, he’s a real great guy, he’s ‘one of the good ones.’” Blasting Ghost through headphones while heading over.

A summary of the events in Redpath:

-Got to the hall, went to boss’ office adjacent to backstage. Made pleasant conversation with him for around fifteen minutes while we waited for the rehearsal to be over. Usually I don’t make much conversation with him, not because I don’t want to, but I don’t usually have anything I want to “bring up” or “say” to most people, even if I like them. Today was, like, egregiously easy to make conversation, for some reason, maybe a result that I’ve been in a consistently good mood of late?? He also seemed “in high spirits.”

-Rehearsal ended, took pair of work gloves that boss then deemed the “sick gloves,” and that he wouldn’t touch the gloves again, stated in a humorous tone of voice. Walked with boss on stage, saw Poppy on harpsichord, said, “oh hey, it’s Poppy!” Spoke for a few seconds with her, told her I was here working, that I was just moving something heavy.

-Got two other musicians from rehearsal to help us, one whose name I forget, and Eliana (not sure if I’m spelling this right????), a cellist that I’ve had a few classes with over the years. Feel like Eliana is grouped with “people I’ll voluntarily make eye contact with and smile to,” one of the closest groups of people in my mind to “friends,” probably feel similarly to this group of people as most other people feel towards their actual friends, maybe?? Feel like, because I barely speak to anyone, and “hang out” with even fewer people, as a result, a ridiculous majority of my interactions with people are peripheral, voluntarily, so, to me, if I even feel comfortable smiling to someone or waving at them while passing them, that’s, like, to me, a “big deal”??

-Boss slid box with electric organ in it into hall, four of us hoisted the box up onto stage

-Went back to Boss’ office, chatted for a couple more minutes, he signed my time sheet, wished each other a good evening

-Stepped out of hall, put backpack down on floor to put on headphones and start blasting Ghost again before walking back to Tanna Hall

Was doing this weird thing with my neck while walking to Tanna, entirely unsure why I was doing it, other than it “felt good” to do, was just sort of craning my head back, then shaking it back and forth sort of like people do in the shower? Felt “amazing” to do this, have no idea why. Felt my adrenal glands firing away, as result of Ghost pounding through headphones. Picturing the live shows of Ghost I’ve seen on YouTube in my head while walking, not feeling the cold temperature at all.

18:54: “Settled in” for work, backstage.

19:34: Jazz concert tonight, which are always just a lot more casual than classical concerts, meaning I really don’t have anything to do other than sit back here and hit record, also that I need to clear the stage once the concert is over, but, gonna be a “real chill one” tonight, folks. Gonna read Liveblog while idly listening to the concert. Here’s a view of my “workplace environment”:

19:41: Not really “into” the music in this concert so far. Wow why am I even writing this, why is my opinion on this at all important? NO WAIt this is MY liveblog I’m gonna run it HOW I WANT and I’m GIVING MY OPINION. On page 97 of Megan’s Liveblog, gonna try to “make a huge dent in it” right now, finding myself increasingly engrossed.

20:04: Spent a bit too long “perusing” the free and for sale page for McGill on Facebook. NEver ceases to astound me how expensive some of the stuff being sold is… Also kind of got “sucked into” the endless hellhole of Instagram, spent like 15 minutes just scrolling through it. Got some great memes out of it, I guess? Gonna go pee now, then return to Liveblog. (Guess what? The concert isn’t getting better either.)

Feel like buying beer tonight. Usually don’t drink on weeknights, but feeling like some beer tonight, feels like a “good way to end the day,” like, it feels satisfying to buy some beer on the walk home after work. That sounds so official. “I’m having a few beers after my work shift ends. I’m having a few beers after work. Yeah, man, just having a few drinks after work. Just gonna throw back a few after work, wanna join? Hey, hey, you wanna hit up a bar after work? Yo, wanna come get some drinks with us after work?”

20:55: Feeling increasingly annoyed that this concert is still, somehow, inconceivably, unstoppably still going on?? Someone needs to put a stop to this, it’s almost nine, if this runs over their scheduled time slot I’m going to be... miffed... Gonna be real miffed about this... Just let me go home, I mean, I like staying here late so stay as long as you want, but, like, oh oh--!! OH OKAY THEY’RE ENDING NOW OKAY sick wow sorry for the rant wow jeez okay

#liveblog #blog #writing

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pixelgrotto · 6 years

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D&D With My Bro: The Case of the Almost Assassination

For the last four months, my brother and I have been playing a Dungeons & Dragons campaign that I whipped up called The Case of the Almost Assassination, and we came to a triumphant finale the other night. My bro’s called it a “steampunk mystery set in a fantasy world,” which is a good description, but on a more detailed level, the campaign was also heavily influenced by the Ace Attorney and Professor Layton games and exists in the universe of The Thirteenth Hour, a series of fantasy stories self-published by my brother that are inspired by 80s movies and cartoons. So the whole thing is one huge ball of fun nerdiness, and figuring that it might be cool to chronicle the campaign as we played, I captured each of our sessions on video. You can watch the whole thing on YouTube here in convenient playlist format (listening to it in the background like a podcast is also pretty nice, I gotta say), and there’s over 20 hours there, which is longer than some of the video games I’ve blogged about!

This wasn’t the first time that my brother and I had played D&D, since I’d previously introduced the game to him via a small four hour mini-campaign last time I visited his house. (He’s written some great thoughts on that adventure, as well as the experience of missing out on D&D in his childhood but getting the chance to discover it as an adult here.) But this was certainly the first time we’d played something long that continued from week to week, and it was also the first time we’d used virtual tabletop software - in this case the very useful Roll 20 - to play online. Minus a few minor internet hiccups, it ran smoothly, and I think both of us had a great time. The experience also made me ruminate on three interesting facts about D&D that I think not enough people write about, and I’m going to jot off a few thoughts on them here. Without further ado...

1) It is perfectly possible, and sometimes even more fun, to play D&D with just one other person.

Normally, Dungeons & Dragons conjures up images of a bunch of people - usually three or four at minimum - sitting at a table listening to instructions given to them by the Dungeon/Game Master, or DM. But the hardest part of D&D isn’t juggling rules or even fighting Challenge Rating 30 monsters - it’s getting a group of three or four people to meet up together on a consistent basis! This is why you can tell that anyone who still thinks of D&D as an activity for anti-social basement dwellers hasn’t actually played it, because in truth, the game is a demanding social commitment, especially for adults.

Thankfully, while it might be a less common way to play, you can totally enjoy D&D with just two people. Usually this means that someone more familiar with the rules has to be the DM while the other person acts as the player, which is what my brother and I did. Sometimes, the DM will also have to create a player character for themselves, and I did that in order to assist my bro with various battles and tricky scenes. This is more work for the DM, since they’ll have to juggle both their own character as well as the various non-playable characters (NPCs) encountered in the story, but if you’re up for it, it’s a rewarding exercise.

The best thing about playing D&D with just one DM and one player is how efficient it is. Three or four player D&D (to say nothing of five, six, or even more players) can get slowed down by arguments about how to progress or share loot, not to mention downtime in battles when a player who has a bazillion spells at his disposal deliberates on the one he wants to use that will both do the most damage and look the coolest. Don’t get me wrong, I actually love these sorts of interactions, but it’s also nice to strip all that fat away.

When it’s just one player and the DM, the DM also has the chance to make that player feel pivotally important by basing the story around them. Usually, the “unit” of D&D is the adventuring party, but in a one person + one DM game, the player gets to shine as the main character. Thus, it’s a good idea to choose the sort of story that can emphasize the important actions of an individual, and in my opinion the best ones for this are heavy on role-playing and character interaction rather than dungeon crawling and monster slaying. For example, a rogue adventure in an urban environment might fit the bill...or maybe even a mystery. Which leads me to my second point...

2) If you’re a DM making a homebrew campaign, try utilizing a setting that your players are already familiar with.

When my brother initially agreed to play a long campaign with me, I first thought that we might attempt one of the many published Forgotten Realms adventures that have been released for 5th Edition D&D. But then I realized that while my brother is mildly familiar with the Forgotten Realms, thanks to old comics and fantasy art from the 80s and 90s, he’s much more familiar with the setting that he created for his own fantasy novel, The Thirteenth Hour. My bro originally wrote this book when he was a high school kid and finally published it a few years ago, and in the time since, he’s written some short spin-offs and outlined ideas for a sequel. In the mini-campaign we’d played in October, his character was actually a half-elf ranger named the Wayfarer who’ll play a pivotal role in book two, and I initially pitched the whole idea of D&D to him as “Hey, this can help you brainstorm your sequel concepts before you put them down to paper.”

Once I began toying with the idea of making a homebrew campaign set in The Thirteenth Hour world, I started worrying that my brother’s universe was limited when compared to the “fantasy kitchen sink” setting of the Forgotten Realms. I mean, my bro’s book didn’t even have orcs! Or dwarves! What was I gonna do! But then I stopped being reliant on fantasy tropes and actually re-read The Thirteenth Hour, quickly finding that there was plenty I could work with.The universe that my brother created doesn’t have all of the races that Tolkien coined, but it’s still full of magic and wonder - a place where crafty old wizards inspired by The Last Starfighter’s Centauri run amok, strange technological anomalies like hover boards occasionally pop up and an otherworldly gatekeeper known as the Dreamweaver lets the spirits of the deceased visit their loved ones in dreams. And there’s also a large kingdom called Tartec ruled over by a vaguely Trump-esque king named Darian, who thinks he’s found the elixir of immortality when actually all he’s discovered is coffee. (If you think this sounds amusing, you can pick up a digital copy of my bro’s book on Amazon for less than a cup of Starbucks!)

Darian’s a funny character, and in one of the spin-off short stories that my brother wrote, an older and slightly wiser version of him reflects on how an assassin nearly took his head off with a dagger. This one sentence got me thinking who that assassin might be, and before I knew it I’d come up with the basic hook of a campaign. At the time, I was also reading Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, a D&D book that introduces 5th Edition’s Inquisitive subclass, which is basically a fantasy Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly, the ideas began bubbling in my head - the campaign would be a detective story set in Tartec with two leads trying to determine the identity of King Darian’s would-be assassins. Once I had this hook, I decided to draw further inspiration from the two video game series I think of when I hear the word “detective” - the Professor Layton games (which I like the style of but am rubbish at, since puzzles confound me) and the Ace Attorney series, which I’ve written about before. My brother would be the main character Lester LeFoe (patterned slightly after Phoenix Wright, the star of Ace Attorney), and I’d be the spunky female assistant Claudia Copperhoof (a little similar to Phoenix’s assistant Maya Fey).

I hoped that situating these characters in my brother’s world would breed a quicker sense of familiarity than he’d get from playing a generic warrior in the Forgotten Realms, and I think it’s safe to say that the experiment succeeded. Thus, even though 5th Edition D&D products all use the Realms as their default setting, it’s worth remembering that you don’t have to follow this lead, and can always tailor your campaign to a world that your players are already familiar with. In my brother’s case, he’s a writer who made his own world, but for someone else this can easily be Middle-Earth or the Hyborian Age of Robert E. Howard’s Conan books. The D&D Player’s Handbook and Dungeon Master’s Guide actively encourage modifying published adventures to appeal to your players’ favorite settings, in fact, and not only will this potentially help to decrease the amount of lore you need to explain as a Dungeon Master, but it’ll also help keep the attention of everybody listening to you. Because who wouldn’t want to insert themselves into their favorite bit of genre fiction as a legendary figure? In many ways, the whole point of D&D is to give people a framework to do that!

3) If you’re DMing for someone who doesn’t have much time to play, remember that a linear campaign is not necessarily a bad thing, and simplify the more complicated rules - making stuff up whenever necessary!

On page six of the 5th Edition Dungeon Master’s Guide, there’s a whole section entitled “Know Your Players,” which is all about altering your game to appeal to the personalities at your table. If you’re DMing for people who like acting and appreciate in-depth stories, give them plenty of role-playing opportunities and narrative twists, for instance, and if you’re dealing with folks who’d rather just make their characters look cool, try having them fight lots of monsters who reward snazzy armor and weapons.

There should really be a sub-section there entitled “How to run a game for players who are low on time.” Because that’s my brother in a nutshell. He’s a late 30s dude who works a demanding job and has two small children to take care of, one of whom is barely half a year old. (You can hear my nephew gurgling in the background in a few of our videos, and sometimes we’d even have to stop playing when the baby woke up from a snooze, which is a situation that I’m sure all new parents can relate to.) I know for a fact that my brother is also the type of guy whose eyes will glaze over when presented with a lot of complicated rules - as is probably the case for anyone who only has at most an hour or two, often in the late evening, to sit down to play a game when the rest of the family is in bed.

In my opinion, the way to tailor your game to such a player is to make a brisk, well-paced story that they can actually see to a satisfying conclusion. This means that the campaign might be fairly linear - a word which seems to have bizarre negative connotations to some D&D players out there, who are always ranting about “railroading,” which is when a DM puts players down a predetermined path without any wiggle room. I think it’s important to note that “linear” does NOT necessarily equate to “railroading,” however, and that a sprawling campaign with a trillion different outcomes and choices to make at every interval isn’t necessarily the best approach for someone who can only play a little bit each week and might get bored if they feel like they aren’t making tangible progress.

Let me put it this way - the campaign that I made for my brother was tightly designed. Instead of giving Lester and Claudia a vast landscape to explore, everything was confined to the city of Tartec, and I made an effort to nudge the characters towards certain objectives that they had to complete in order to solve the mystery, such infiltrating a manor house in the upper class section of town. But I also made sure to flesh out these few areas (quality over quantity) and allowed a certain degree of freedom in how the objectives could be cleared. For instance, I initially thought that Lester and Claudia might sneak into the manor house through the sewers. But as I was brainstorming strategies with my bro, the topic of disguises came up, because Claudia owned a disguise kit. And eventually we decided to infiltrate the party with Lester masquerading as a nutty old lady and Claudia as his keeper, which was a fun improvisation that I never would’ve anticipated - but still a viable way to complete the main objective that didn’t negatively impact the story’s pacing.

On the topic of keeping the pace of the story brisk for a player low on time, I feel like it’s also important to minimize the number crunching and reduce D&D’s more complicated rules whenever possible. In practice, this meant that I took care of as much behind-the-scenes stats management as possible so my bro wouldn’t have to, though I did always try to explain to him what was going on (and what all of those funky dice rolls meant) so he’d have some understanding of the game’s mechanics. Also, whenever we were in a situation where I wasn’t sure of a rule, instead of wasting time looking at the Player’s Handbook, nine times out of ten I’d just make something up on the fly. For example, our adventure had a friendly NPC orangutan in it (specifically chosen because I know my brother likes backflipping primates) and she was supposed to be a super strong, unpredictable force of nature in the final battle. I’d lost the stats that I’d used for her when she first appeared, and instead of looking for them, I decided to just roll a d20 for her damage, figuring that the end result would be close enough. In that same vein, there were a few instances where I made mistakes, since I’m still a relatively new DM. Once I totally miscalculated a character’s special attack, leading to a funny NPC death (which I’d expected but not exactly in that way) and on multiple occasions I flat out forgot to apply modifiers to attack rolls. But instead of going back to redo everything I’d either just laugh it off or forge ahead, hoping that my bro didn’t notice, which he never did.

Ultimately, my philosophy for DMing is to not sweat the small stuff TOO much if it probably doesn’t matter in the long run, especially if you’re running a game for just one person whose free hours are precious. I believe this sort of approach might be sacrilegious to some of the more rules-oriented DMs out there, like the ones who spend hundreds of words arguing over damage variables on the D&D Subreddit. But I’m not one of those folks, and I’d prefer to follow the advice of Sly Flourish, a DM who has a great website where he advocates a “lazy” style of Dungeon Mastering which de-emphasizes nitpicking over rules in favor of just having fun.

At the end of the day, having fun is what D&D is all about. It’s a game of make believe that can really bring out your inner storytelling-loving child, and in an era where very few adults are encouraged to even consider the concept of “make believe,” it can be a truly wonderful breath of fresh air. And if you don’t believe me...I encourage you to watch The Case of the Almost Assassination and try not to crack up at some of the situations that Lester LeFoe and Claudia Copperhoof found themselves in. :)

The pics above are either art that I assembled for our adventure or screenshots that I took while we were playing! The little figurines I designed via HeroForge.

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burrito-of-confusion · 6 years

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The Gap in the Backseat: Part 1

Title: The Gap in the Backseat

Word Count: about 3,000

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female OC

Summary: Dean Winchester did what he could to keep the pervading darkness of leading a hunter’s life at bay, but when the one constant in his life he never realized he had in the first place decides that they can no longer handle the realities of their own situation, the pillars of his defenses begin to crumble.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing, mentions of violence and sex, and... angst.

Disclaimer: no, I do not own Supernatural nor any of the characters. I am simply a measly fangirl with too much free time and a lot of thoughts. Woot, woot.

Hunting was hard, exhausting and utterly lonely. Sure, Sam was there for companionship, but sometimes a man needed more than brotherly love to keep him going. Dean needed the friction of skin on skin, hot mouths and hotter touches, and the ability to forget when all he could think about was the pleasure of it all. Quick fucks in bar bathrooms and seedy motels after one too many beers became the new normal. However, though he tried to ignore it, the luster of nameless sex began to wear off over the years and was replaced by the deep seated self hatred he felt each time he finished. He wanted an easy connection that random women in even randomer towns never allowed, but still with none of the harsh trappings of commitment or feelings getting in the way.

He thought that he had found the solution after, in the heat of the moment, he and Natalie had slept with each other. They had been hunting together for several years at this point, and the intensity of one too many close calls with death broke down barriers that would normally be there until he had her pinned against the motel door and she was pulling his shirt over her head all while Sam was off buying burgers.

It became a ritual of sorts. That is, if rituals normally resulted in passions of the flesh every time emotions were too high or losses were had. Dean thought it was the perfect way to blow off steam. He wasn’t left with a deep seated feeling of nausea and an overwhelming urge to shower each time they parted ways with matching smirks plastered on their faces. Nonetheless, there may have been a flicker of something else in the back of his mind, but he quickly disregarded those thoughts. He didn’t have time to feel things, much less delve into those emotions. Friends with benefits it was.

Natalie lay sleeping in bed, her skin glowing in the aftermath of sex and a full night of rest as sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the motel room to dance across her face. Her eyelashes cast long shadows across her cheeks, and she looked so peaceful tangled in the white sheets with none of the horrors of life’s realities clouding her face.

Dean almost wanted to stay here forever; simply watching the rise and fall of her chest under the sheets as she remained in the dreamworld of oblivion. But that was a fantasy he could never let reach fruition. With a sigh he was rolling away from the sight of fanned out hair and bright cheeks to pull himself out of bed.

Throwing his clothes on quietly, he strode over to slip through the door and escape to the diner he had been wanting to visit ever since he saw their prices advertised on the window. Well, that and the overwhelmingly attractive waitresses he had seen through said window. He may have found an alternative to only ever screwing strangers, but he was still the same Dean Winchester as always. The same Dean that drowned himself in booze and women and pie so that he didn’t have to think anymore. The same Dean that was so close to escaping to tall stacks of pancakes and black coffee so bitter it made even him grimace when Natalie’s voice shattered the silence.

“G’morning,” she said, voice muffled with the lingering haze of sleep.

Plastering a smile on his face, he turned and replied, “morning, sleeping beauty. You were out like a light.”

“Still heard you moving around, didn’t I?” She easily retorted. Her arms flexed as she bundled the sheets around her, and he almost objected as the fabric obstructed all of her he wanted to see.

“Guess so.”

“You going out for breakfast?” Questioned Natalie around a long yawn that made her nose scrunch in a way that was definitely not adorable. He really needed to go punch a wall or something to regain his sense of self after this.

“Yeah. I’m thinking the diner next to the antique shop.”

“The haunted antique shop?”

“Uh, formerly haunted, now perfectly normal yet still kinda creepy, thank you very much,” Dean reminded her with a wink.

“Why don’t we try that one… Roberta’s?” She trailed off, lost in thought. “Or was it, like, Rosie’s or somethin’? Whatever. At least it’s an actually nice place, not just a crappy diner.”

“That one had a ton of old ladies in it. I mean, sure, I go for cougars sometimes, but this town is ripe for the picking with the mid-twenties and desperate category, so I’m all in for cheap diner eating if there are hot chicks involved. Even if it is in screaming distance from a freak show.”

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable simply standing in the doorway, but now she was scrunching her eyebrows, so things were about to get a whole lot worse. “Oh, I didn’t realize that beautiful women meant a good meal, so pardon me,” she snapped.

Ignoring the angry tone of her voice, he chuckled out low and deep, “well, if you play your cards right…”

Natalie sighed, interrupting him, “yep, this isn’t going to work.”

“What?” He asked, smirk dropping from his face in confusion.

“I thought I… I thought I would be able to handle it, y’know?”

He did not know. Wait, did he know? What was he supposed to know?

“Guess not. Classic,” she continued to ramble nonsensically.

“You’re gonna have to catch me up here, Nat. The hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she answered darkly. “So, yes, when we started this, it was under the guise that it would be purely for the sex and none of the mushy-gushy feelings stuff we both so hate, but here’s the thing: it was already too late for me. I’ve had feelings for you for years, Dean. Years. I—I’m basically a lovesick puppy at this point.”

His eyes widened at her words, and something wrapped itself around his heart so tightly he almost thought he was dying. She loved him?

“And I’m so sorry that I took advantage of you with this whole fuck-buddy thing, because you thought it was no feelings, and whatever, but—but, honestly, I thought they would go away. Well, I hoped against hope that they would go away because I know now that you will never care for me more than as a friend. Really, though, that’s okay. I want to be your friend, Dean, I really do. But I can’t be your benefits, too. My feelings won’t go away unless we stop.”

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he uttered quietly, feeling almost breathless in the oppressive weight that hung around him.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just need for you to understand and, um, respect my decision,” she mumbled. Tears dripped down her face and clung to her cheeks as she looked down at the pillow she was clutching tightly to her chest.

“Will anything, uh… change?”

She looked up, and the hold around his heart tightened as he took in sad eyes shining with a glossy film above crescent moon bags that bruised her skin from exhaustion.

“Well, it’ll sure as hell be awkward.” Even her laugh was tired, and she only managed to let out a few lifeless chuckles before stopping to speak again, “and there really will be no more of this. I don’t think I would be able to handle it.”

“What do you… what should I do?” He asked. Something burned behind his eyes.

“Either you love me back, or you leave. Your choice,” she said, looking so deep into his eyes he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Her cheeks shone in the early morning light with the memory of tears.

Silence.

“I really am so sorry, Dean. But you need to make a decision: stay, or go.”

Unbearable, heartbreaking silence.

And then, the squeak of the door on its hinges as he left without another word.

Dean soon found that his method of coping was to either give himself liver failure or a deadly STD in order to achieve the sweet release of death he so craved ever since his life had become a never ending cycle of tense awkwardness. Although Natalie could have gotten an Oscar for acting normally and completely unaffected while she was around him, each and every moment he was in a room with her, it felt as if his brain was going to shortfire because his thoughts were pinging around his head like loose ping pong balls. Every shared glance and fleeting touch only sent him into more of a frenzy as he attempted to bury himself in the decadence of living.

Whereas before he was only going out to bars and returning to the motel at 3 in the morning drunk off his ass with some random chick on his arm maybe once every couple weeks, now it became an almost daily spectacle. He tried and failed to convince himself that he was only making up for lost time, but the true reason he kept on going was to see the flicker of pain light in Natalie’s eyes each time he found a new conquest or boasted of another late night. If she could completely turn his world around with but a few simple words, then why couldn’t he get payback?

(Even he knew how shitty and terrible his behavior truly was. Even he could see the cruelty of his actions. Even he knew how different the circumstances were for him to break her heart knowingly, and her to admit her feelings. He just couldn’t seem to stop.)

It was on one such late night, after a long evening of three salt and burns gone wrong, that he yet again found himself in a sleazy bar. Sam and Natalie accompanied him, although there was reluctance plastered to both of their faces as Dean threw back shot after shot. His vigor for drowning himself in booze was renewed each time he saw the pained expression on her face accompanied by a cut lip and steadily blossoming black eye. Tonight, he wasn’t just drinking for the pain of feeling too much all at once. No, this time he was drinking for all the mistakes he had made that resulted in Natalie being thrown around like a ragdoll by an angry spirit.

Alcohol poisoning seemed like the best punishment for his wrongdoings tonight.

“Dean, I think you need to slow down,” Sam sighed.

“No can do, Sammy. I’m on a mission to get as drunk as I possibly can.”

Natalie let out a scoff and retorted harshly, “that’s healthy.”

“I hear the judgement, and I’m just gonna go ahead and ignore it,” he grunted and shoved his way out of the booth, empty glass in hand. He had to get away from Sam’s judgemental stare and Natalie’s mournful gaze.

At the bar, he slammed the glass onto the table harder than he had meant to, and loosed a long groan as he flagged down the bartender. A few more shots, and he would be golden. Or perhaps the busty brunette two stools down making eyes at him was distraction enough?

With one last swig of his newly refilled drink, he was sauntering over to her side with cheesy pickup lines and a crooked smile in tow. The voice in the back of his head whispering that this was all wrong was firmly shut up after she tugged him out of the bar and shoved him down onto a floral comforter so that he forgot how to do much but make the occasional grunt.

However, nearly three hours later, he was bolting from the floral bedding and beige walls before brunette Barbie’s head even had time to hit the pillow. He was spewing his guts across the sidewalk before the door leading outside of her apartment building was even fully open. He was feeling the regret of each decision he ever made before he even saw the disappointed expression on Sam’s face.

What the hell was I thinking? Why do I keep doing this to myself—to her?

The instant he entered the motel room, he stumbled upon Natalie tangled in her bed covers, hair fanned out around her head in a way so similar to when he had watched the sun dance through the air as he woke up beside her one last time.

Why do I keep doing this to her?

He shuffled over to the bathroom, already nursing a headache and feeling the need to shower the past night off of himself. The pungent smell of alcohol and the stale memory of sex permeated his clothes and the air around him. Practically ripping them off, he dropped them onto the floor without care as soon as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He hopped into the shower to wonderful water pressure that almost made him forget all of his wrongdoings. If only he could stay here forever without constant dread and guilt weighing on his consciousness. However, water didn’t last forever, and neither did forgetting.

By the time he was out of the bathroom, Natalie was awake and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, hair pulled back messily as she puttered around the small motel room aimlessly.

“Oh, hey, Natalie. How ya feeling? You look better.”

Her eye had faded from the dark purple of yesterday to a dull blue, and her cut lip looked recently cleaned. He still felt a deep pang of regret when he caught sight of the pain inflicted upon her because of his screw ups, but they would heal like other scars were unable to.

Why do I keep doing this to her?

“Not great,” she retorted sharply.

His heart stopped. “Oh. What’s—”

She interrupted him suddenly, “Dean, I’ve been trying to hold it together. I really have been. I just don’t think I can continue like this anymore. I don’t know if you sleeping your way through every town we visit is your attempt to send some kind of message to me, but I’m gettin’ something loud and clear. I understand that you don’t want me.”

His head filled with a white noise that prevented him from forming a coherent thought.

“My heart breaks every time I see you flirt with some random chick, or come back late after a night out at the bar… but, I think you know that already. I just can’t handle it anymore, though. So, I need out. Out of this toxic bullshit situation that hurts everyone involved, and out of the life, too. I’m tired, Dean. Tired of travelling and hunting and hurting all the time.”

His stomach dropped, and he had to force words past the knot forming in his throat, “what do you mean?”

“I mean”—she took a deep, shuddering breath—“I’m quitting the life. And, don’t worry, it’s not only because of you. Don’t be so full of yourself. Hunting was getting tough for me, anyways. Not just in the normal tough way, but the kind that makes you think bad thoughts when you’re alone and a longing for a darkness that only comes at the end. So… I’m retiring.”

The white noise thrummed against his skull and he resisted the urge to pull his hair out. She was retiring?

“I think I’ll stay in this area. Maybe move a town over. I don’t know quite yet what I’m gonna do, but… well, once I know, you guys will be the first to find out. And, if you ever are passing by, I’d love to see you guys. I’ll still help with cases and shit like that, so if you and Sam ever need backup close by, I’m definitely your gal. For now at least, that’s all, though. I really need some time for myself. To figure out who I am, without all the needing to save the world and near death experience crap,” she finished, words jumbled and breathing hard as if she had been trying to get this all over with. She probably had.

“I—” His voice cracked. He didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her eyes were sad when she looked up at him, and her voice barely a whisper when she spoke, “but you did.”

“You’ll call if you need anything, right?” Sam asked for the seventh time in the last five minutes. The concern was evident in his voice as it practically dripped off of his every word.

Natalie simply laughed in that snorting way Dean never wanted to forget, and responded with a cocked eyebrow, “of course, you big moose. And call me, too. I still am the ancient dialect master, not to brag, so if you’re in need of any translating, hit me up. I’d be happy to help.”

“Of course we’ll call. As soon as you get a place, and we’re available, we’ll try to visit as well.”

“Yeah, you’d better. We still have to finish the second season of ‘Black Mirror,’” she replied, eyes narrowing threateningly. “Don’t you dare watch any without me.”

Sam pasted on an expression of faux indignation and began to retaliate, “I would—”

“Okay, c’mon, Sammy. We gotta get going,” Dean interrupted gruffly.

Both of their expressions quickly sobered.

“Okay. Yeah,” Sam murmured. “Bye. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Natalie agreed. “Don’t die, as hard as that is for you boys.”

They hugged, and when they parted, Dean could have sworn he saw Sam whisper something in Natalie’s ear that brought a certain sheen to her eyes. Before he could look any deeper, however, she was turning to him, and his heart was stopping yet again in his chest.

“Bye, Dean. See you around.”

His heart only started beating when she was but a blurry figure in the rearview mirror of the Impala.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #angsty angst #romance #all the feels #don't cry #it's ok #i'm so sorry if this is bad #this is my first fic #forgive me?#FANFICTION #i guess...

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fem-mem-mine · 4 years

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How Conservatism Failed Its Women

By Lili Loofbourow Nov 02, 2020

My politics are progressive now, but I was raised conservative among conservatives. A lot of the people my family spent time with were hardcore right-wingers, some of them John Birch Society members (or sympathetic ex-members—when the JBS became too racist toward Hispanics, which many of us were, some broke off but otherwise hewed closely to its principles). In California, extreme conservatism made me something of an outsider. It often seemed to me that the liberal milieu in which I lived misjudged us—stereotyped us as believing things I did not think we believed. Or accused us of hypocrisies I did not think we harbored. The conservatives I grew up around were charitable and generous—they welcomed strangers to their social gatherings with open arms. They were ideological in ways I found stringent and uncompromising, certainly, but admirable for all that. Their beliefs seemed sincere and foundational. They required (at least in theory) self-discipline and sacrifice. The men made mean jokes and were unquestionably sexist, and yes, I was tasked with politely pretending to find them funny when they weren’t. (“Impeach Clinton and her husband” was the height of comedy.) They were homophobic and attached to displays of national power. But their principled commitments seemed sincere, and they appeared to live in accordance with them. They supported their families. They weren’t wealthy, just averse to government interference. And their revulsion toward Bill Clinton’s sexual conduct, to take one example, seemed visceral, not partisan. I found their anger and their authority a little bit scary, even if some respected me for being smart (for a girl).

And as far as I could tell, the women took a lot of pride in the position they occupied, even if it was structurally subordinate, and even if some were clearly smarter and more capable than their partners. I could not reconcile this—the notion of assenting to a false inferiority seemed slightly dishonest to me—but it was clear to me that they could and I respected that. They cooked and fed improbable numbers of people with good humor and endless patience. Many of them worked, but work wasn’t the point. All in all, these were people who believed in things and spent a lot of time at activist gatherings that mixed fun with a smattering of outsider pride.

But the older I got, the more I heard. A couple of the women I looked up to and loved turned out to be abused by their husbands. I heard one advise another to deal with it by crying in the closet. (I also watched one woman help another get out of her abusive marriage to a man with many guns—she made it, but she was not seen in the group again. The cost of leaving seemed to be extremely high. He remained.) As an adolescent, I became conscious of a slight but definite creepiness some married men expressed toward me and the other girls my age. In time I would hear this wasn’t unusual, and that when it happened, the women they targeted tended to lose out: When one married man was found to have groped another woman in the group (she rejected him), his wife defended him and called the other woman a liar and worse. She stopped coming. He stayed. Women kept disappearing from the circle. I missed them. Whatever sexual degeneracy the men vituperated against in others was somehow defined out of their own conduct, unpoliced. They joked and debated and sometimes shot at targets outside while the women cleaned up, and the fantasy of male protection started to seem increasingly unstable: When it became known in the group that a woman had said she was raped, she was neither treated well nor universally believed. And so, too, predictably, we saw her less.

The rules were acquiring a certain vaguely authoritarian arbitrariness, in short, which I can best explain with a story: One abusive husband wanted to show off his son’s obedience to the assembled company. I had spent a lot of time with the little boy; his eyes were watchful and it was virtually impossible to get him to talk. The topic had been responsible gun ownership, and the father told us all he had taught the boy not to touch his weapons under any circumstance. He put his revolver on the coffee table to show us how well he’d trained his son. “Bring that gun to me,” he kept saying to the boy, who, confused and fearful, finally obeyed. The man’s face fell; he was humiliated and angry. The boy would be punished.

These were people I loved. They were practically family, and there’s a lot of joy and beauty in my memories. I was treated kindly. The kids I grew up with are dear to me still, though we don’t see each other much anymore. And sometimes it seemed like the system worked: The men were slightly pampered would-be warriors upholding standards a decadent culture had let lapse while the women cleaned and cooked for them, and the women liked that the men acted like and considered themselves providers and protectors. In practice, that protection rarely materialized: Whenever the men did something damaging or disruptive, they stayed and the women left. In practice, what I witnessed repeatedly was how the women protected the men against consequences, even social ones. I did not know how to fit into this innocently—or whether I could opt out. Once, when I was 7 or so, one of the men (who was white) used me to humiliate his errant Hispanic nephew on whom I had a silly crush. The boy, some five or six years older than me, had trouble reading, so I was instructed to read a passage from his book in front of him. The objective was clearly to shame the boy. I did it, vaguely understanding that my being a girl was an unspoken factor redoubling his shame. I read as fast and as well as I could. I was trying to escape my own small share of humiliation by proving that girls were smart, but that was the wrong quest just then and I couldn’t figure out how to pivot. I sided with the man against the boy and against myself. I will always regret this. I don’t know whether that particular incident marked the boy, but he eventually disappeared too.

There were many such attempts to harden boys (and to soften girls), and it was clear that people were unconsciously carried along by—and consciously making trades to preserve—a way of living that prized authority and punished weakness. Not surprisingly, I didn’t want to be the weaker sort, and I resented my own femaleness. The men seemed to have more power and less stress. I wanted to rise to their challenge, live up to their stringent definitions of freedom, share in their fun, participate in their anger. I never did, of course. My place was with the women whom I loved but whose conversation seemed, by comparison, more constrained—gossipy and sometimes parochial in its adherence to punishing social standards.

Then came a shock: After one beloved matriarch’s genial but dominating husband died, she became far more easygoing and philosophical and—to my surprise—liberal. Abortion came up in conversation, and she stunned me by gingerly approving of it; being pro-life at the time, I found myself in the bizarre position of arguing against a person whose positions I had found formative. I see now that she hadn’t felt at liberty to express the full range of her convictions while her husband was alive. I spent the final years of her life getting to know the real her in puzzled gulps. And realizing that the earlier framework I thought I’d been taught by her was treacherous—beliefs cannot be borrowed or inherited, even from people you love. Or maybe: What women say they believe changes once the men who need them to believe those things die.

What happened next is no secret since you’re reading this. I acquired different ideas, tested them out, found them persuasive and drifted away. It was painful at first; being an outsider to outsiders doesn’t help you belong anywhere much. But even as recently as five years ago, when Donald Trump was leading early GOP primary polling, if you had asked me, I would still have said that the people I grew up with, and who mean a great deal to me, felt everything they said they believed in. I would have defended their values as real and from the heart despite notable (but perhaps human?) hypocrisies. Because I saw how they reacted to the Clinton scandal, I wouldn’t have guessed that a single one would support Donald Trump—a former Democrat! an immoral playboy! a corrupt con artist!—especially after the Access Hollywood tape. But most of them did. And still do.

I am not proud to admit how unprepared I was for this revelation. Naiveté is embarrassing to confess to, but there it is. Five years ago, I still thought ultraconservative men did sincerely want to protect the women in their lives, however frequently they failed, from threats including those posed by bad and predatory men. Trump proved otherwise, and I find myself disgusted by that violation of the bargain all those women actually did honor. I’d witnessed so much stern political fanaticism, and it had come with an extremely high price tag—for women. The protection the men offered was theoretical, but the sacrifices the women made to sustain the ultraconservative American dream were real, and included assenting to a lower-power status in exchange for an idealistic, family-first vision of protection and respect. In practice, it frequently required jettisoning their own close friends in order to mask male misconduct. Yes, this was a trade I avoided: The nebulous benefits of gun-toting chivalry were not, in my view, worth the constant, everyday sacrifices it exacted from its female beneficiaries. I am nevertheless chilled on behalf of the women I knew to find that there was no substance to it at all. Their financial and social subjugation in this grand patriarchal bargain between the sexes was quite real, but the political framework that made it necessary was fake—for the men, it turned out to be little more than a pretext, or a binding agent, or a game. The contract was no contract at all but a rule they could make and break on a whim, and at their pleasure.

Republicans had to normalize Trump, and they did it so easily it barely registered, even if it meant denigrating men in general by redefining him as typical and writing women out of the ability to testify altogether. Any woman who came forward to talk about Trump’s treatment of her was immediately labeled a bad actor trying to take a good man down. What Republicans floated in 2016 was a country that would be a safe space for men in which women—and children—would not get in their way. The party of personal responsibility offered up a new, more accurate version of its social contract, one that conferred great power on men with no responsibility at all.

The politics of sex are the politics of power. The majority of white men who still support Trump and the women who remain loyal are supporting a vision of power expressed as wealth and impunity—where his lies and corruption are a feature, not a bug. This may also underpin the growing male support for Trump in Black and Hispanic communities. It conceives of power as a limited resource that needs to be not just hoarded but abused. The power to be arbitrary—unconstrained by rules, but free to punish and enforce them on others—is seductive.

A lot of women have turned against Trump. I don’t know if conservative women, for whom the promise of protection must matter in order to make wifely obedience worthwhile, are reevaluating some of the bargains they made in light of how baldly their men have sided against them. (There have been several memorable anecdotes during this election cycle about women not wanting their husbands to know they are voting Democratic. And men advising each other to “make sure your wife votes exactly as you do.”) But for people like me, who drifted uneasily away, sometimes wondering if we’d been wrong to do so, or overshot, or missed something crucial about the holy bargain of “submitting” to a man in exchange for his sacred protection, seeing Trump as the purest expression of that patriarchal ideal—unfettered by ethics, enlivened by cruelty—has been clarifying.

#2020-campaign #donald-trump #sexism #men #women

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gb11lhn · 4 years

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