#this is a giant word dump that really should be in a journal not on the internet

[bee-a-ts]

I've not made a secret of having an absolutely awful week. I've tried not to trauma dump unprompted, either, so I've kept it vague, but in addition to the occasional tumblr post I've reached out to irl friends with statements on the theme. Some friends, and statements, repeatedly. Which isn't like me - I'm normally forthcoming with my stress when it's relatively minor. Or I'll say it once and leave it be. But I'm drowning right now and so I keep reaching out.

And no one. Not a single one of these good friends. Has done so much as said, "I'm sorry, I'm here for you," or asked more questions, or checked in, or, hell, sent a silly picture to try and cheer me up. It's like pulling teeth to get a response at all. It's always me reaching out first - how was your birthday, how was your move, how are you feeling, how was so and sos visit? Here, have a meme that made me think of you, here's a song that made me think of you, here's a picture of the sky in Seattle today, and on and on.

Is it unrealistic to expect a base level of reciprocal caring from close friends?? I know I can always be direct - "I need you to talk first, check in, think of me when I'm having a hard time" - but a, it takes the value out of it for me to have the only times I'm cared for be in response to a direct ask; and b, I have done that before. It's clearly not stuck.

I'm just - gods, I'm frustrated and angry and so goddamn sad. This is my life. I live alone. I do not have a partner, and probably never will. I need my friends, because I literally do not have a different support option. And it's been like this all month, sending message after message to the void for all the response I'm liable to get.

All that to say, I forgot to add kale to my Jamba Juice smoothie delivery this morning and had a fucking breakdown about it when I realized, because it was too sweet and without a vegetable I can't justify eating it so the whole thing will go in the trash. Thankfully, I found some spinach in the freezer and salvaged the situation. But it's so clear to me I'm taking out the stress of this month on my body.

Yesterday the only food I ate and kept down was a pastry and some carrots and seaweed during DnD. I had a banana and donut that morning, but I made myself throw it up.

I've been taking too hot showers trying to burn myself, and too cold showers when that doesn't work to try and make myself cry it out. I am constantly thinking about all the destructive habits I've used in the past and trying to redirect them, but a rubber band on the wrist only goes so far.

I'm exhausted and while this week really took the cake in terms of Extra Bullshit, the intense stress has been going on for two months now and it's looking like another two months of this at least. I don't know what I'm going to do. Probably keep hating myself and my body and coping poorly, if I'm honest. It's not like I'm actively suicidal - I'm not going anywhere. I'm just-

Fuck it, I don't know. Who cares anyway. Clearly. I'll be fine eventually, I always am. I'm used to being the only person taking care of myself.

I'll probably delete this later anyway.

[cleverthylacine]

fiddleford and jazz for the ask game?

OK! Re Fiddleford - if you love Fiddleford, I'm sorry, because...

I don't.

First of all I spent the first 26 years of my life in West Virginia and Kentucky so when this was the "Appalachian" character in Gravity Falls in the first season, before we knew his history, I was completely fucking PISSED OFF about that. That's where "why do they look like that" comes from. Sure we have people that look like that but they're not the majority, and so does every other fucking place in the world.

Second of all, I still don't like him. I have a lot of sympathy for him with regard to having to put up with Bill but that's where it begins and where it ends. The rest of what we know of him is as follows:

He had some kind of relationship with Ford, quite likely romantic and certainly queer, but after they graduated he fucked off to the suburbs and got married to a woman who was taking care of him, because before big tech got big, in the 1970s, that's not what your house looked like if you were someone like him. People who aren't me don't all know how Earth worked in 1982 so I don't blame anyone who wasn’t even born then for thinking he'd already hit it rich on his own but no, someone had to be supporting him, and to those who say he got married and had Tate after he left Ford, I'm just going to say that Roe vs Wade was passed in 1973 and even if you were drunk enough to screw him after he gave himself brain damage, would you actually have a kid with him? Plus, who was paying for the house?

Second of all, he dumped her to go back to Ford and his kid hates him. In other words, he's a shitbag at handling his relationships. He was queer until graduation, married because it was the thing to do in the very early 70s I'm sure, almost certainly wasn't honest about his relationship with Ford, and abandoned his kid. He sent giant robots after his wife who divorced him, which he bloody well earned.

And then he started a conspiracy secret society to erase people's memories whether they wanted them erased or not.

I don't. like. Fiddleford. And I do NOT ship Fiddauthor. Honestly I always ship Ford with OCs because there's nobody in the canon but Jheselbraum who deserves him and (hahaha) Valiska Courinna, my OC, did most of the stuff that Jheselbraum did, in my RP and in my fic, before Journal 3 came out and I even knew about Jheselbraum's existence.

Sorry. I know some of my mutuals ship Fiddauthor really hard, so I usually keep my mouth shut about it as I believe that everyone has the right to ship what they want, but from a canonical perspective, I think both Fiddleford and this ship suck.

Jazz is cool, sexy, and funny. There's not enough of him anywhere. They should have spent more time on Jazz. Mirage is a bougie wannabe Jazz and not nearly as cool. I adore JazzWave as a sexy rivalry even though RavWave is my OTP (it's not like they're strictly monogamous LMAO) and if you've got far enough in Voice of Stanix to be past the point where Jazz shows up you probably already knew this. He is also very open and loving and I think he is almost certainly poly.

There are not a whole lot of Autobots I like all that much (compared to the number of Decepticons I fucking adore) but I love Jazz and I would bang the hell out of him if, you know, allowances could be made for size differential and the relative tolerances of flesh and metal. I feel like he would be really smooth and really good at it. He's just adorable and fun. And also an incredible special ops dude and good at assassination and sabotage but um, we all know that's what I like in a mech right?

[thechosenferret]

Of Course it’s Precious Potter - Chapter 2

Summary: Draco has been tasked to steal a possession from precious Prince Potter. Little does he know, that's only a small test for what they need done next. Well, that is if Draco can carry it out to the end.

You can also read it on ao3 under the username TheChosenFerret (there’s a link in my bio, I don’t trust tumblr with links in original posts), or through my tag #Of Course it’s Precious Potter

_______________

Not wanting to give the world the opportunity to catch him in possession of a royal artifact, Draco went immediately to hover near the designated meeting spot to wait for his clients. 

It felt like hours had passed before a reasonably dressed man showed up only looking slightly uncomfortable. Draco waited a few minutes to make sure he was alone before dropping carefully to the ground. 

“Are we done here?” Draco asked, handing the guy the trophy, ready to walk away the moment he said yes. 

The guy surveyed the item briefly, getting his confidence back. “Actually, there’s one more mission you’re needed for. Bring your company and go to the second meeting spot.” Then, taking Draco’s opportunity for a dramatic exit away from him, he practically disappeared when the sun came up to blind Draco for a moment.

______

The light streamed in, hitting Harry in the face, sufficiently waking him up, only then to have a few loud knocks on the door that do nothing but remind him of his guards. 

Harry hurried through his morning routine, making sure that he at least gave an attempt at his outfit today before he ran down to the kitchen for breakfast, eager to get there early and not have to interact with people, especially today. It seemed everyone else had the same idea, casting him glances whenever they thought he wasn’t looking, but otherwise leaving him alone. 

Not before long, Harry was put on a carriage with the rest of the Dursleys, no long in the comfort of people ignoring him. Well, at least ignoring him in a considerate way. 

“Do we have to go to this?” Dudley pouted, fiddling with the button on his suit, angering the threads on the process. 

“We wouldn’t have to if Harry could just suck it up and get over it like the rest of us.” Vernon stared at Harry as he finished, trying to make his maddened gaze sink into Harry. It wasn’t effective, however, as Harry just kept his head down, trying his hardest to go over the speech a bit in his head. Even if ignoring his “family’s” taunts were going to harm him more in the end, he just really couldn’t handle trying to listen to them right now. 

Thanking Merlin that they arrived before the Dursley’s got angry enough to do something about it, Harry emerged from the carriage last, immediately trying to hide in the crowd of workers before he had to be responsible again. That didn’t last very long, however, as the workers then had to disperse to their places, leaving Harry with no barrier from the public’s eye. As soon as the nearby crowd noticed him, he straightened up and made his way to the raised area. 

It figures that the most he would get for the event was a single wooden box. Whenever Dudley wants to make a ludicrous announcement, he always gets access to the great hall, no matter how sudden it may be. However, Harry’s yearly speech only warranted a box that likely was or is full of cabbages. 

Harry unfolded his speech from his pocket, not that he needs it, he’s stressed and practiced it so much that it was gonna be stuck in his head for a long time. This is the single event that actually means something to him, and he’d be damned if he lets it fail, especially with Dudley eagerly waiting for him to mess something up. 

Harry began the speech as soon as silence fell over the good sized crowd. It was slightly smaller than last year, but he always holds out hope that it will get bigger once he starts. He didn’t have to glance at the Dursleys to know that they’ve already returned to the carriage, most likely to complain about how filthy the public is and throw in a few jabs at Harry. 

“Hello. Thank you all for coming out this morning. As you all know, my parents, former King and Queen Potter, died today 18 years ago. While I do not wish to bring up those memories again for you, I know that it is needed in order to keep their memory alive, and make sure that what they put energy into isn’t in vain. For instance, the last act they made before that day—the Family Act—to reduce the amount of kids alone in poverty—” Harry glanced at the carriage once again “—Has recently been conversed about in an effort to overrun, but it is yet to be decided…”

At some point during his speech, Harry couldn’t help but notice amongst the crowd the same set of blonde hair from his dreams. He didn’t have time to think about the logicality of him being here before he realized his brain was speaking on auto-pilot for too long, and that if he wanted to not make a giant mistake he would need to actually look at his notes again. By the time he looked back up, the hair was gone. 

______

Draco doesn’t know why he did it, let alone stay long enough to listen, but he stopped at the edge of the crowd surrounding the precious Prince. As he listened, he silently cursed himself for not bothering to check what day it was. The anniversary of the attack on the Potters. Nonetheless, Draco stayed and listened as Potter recounted their accomplishments and sprinkled in silent jabs at the rest of the castle whenever needed. 

Everything was going good until the Prince’s eyes landed on him, making Draco tense up. All he could do now was keep his eyes down (with a few brief glances up to see if he was safe), hoping that the prince didn’t notice him. Potter stared for too long for comfort before finally glancing at his paper again. Scared that this time Potter’s gaze would never leave him, he ducked down out of view and booked it. Realistically, Draco knew that he really really should not have done that, especially with him now both being late to the meeting but also having been spotted by the Prince, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

______

Draco slipped into the designated meeting spot, hoping that if he was quiet enough his tardiness would go unnoticed. For once, it seemed that luck was on his side until he caught the side of his father who in return seemed to stare right into his soul, clearly sending the message that they will have to have a little “talk” about this in the future. 

Draco tried to ignore that for the time being, instead casting his attention on the room. This was always his least favorite spot to meet with the way spiders can never be fully banished from it’s corners and it always smelled a bit like a rotten egg no matter how long it’s been since food has dared exist in this dump. It’s the price that must be paid with this being their most secure spot. 

Around the room, he could see the rest of his company planning amongst themselves, waiting for the next assignment to arrive. In the middle of it all was his parents chatting and making notes with Bellatrix who seemed too delighted with herself as always. Most of the lower level members still went with wearing their mask all the time, but lately many have taken more of an ease with only wearing it when talking to the founder. Draco wasn’t complaining with that however, it always made his airflow too restricted to feel at all comfortable. 

Soon enough the same man from the alleyway appeared and walked straight to the middle of the room, not saying anything before handing Lucius a letter. He stared at it, taking in the meaning before handing it to Narcissa who now had Bellatrix reading the letter at the same time over her shoulder. “20,000,” Bellatrix spoke up, moving to stand next to Lucius. 

“15,000,” the man replied, staring Bellatrix down. 

“21,000... for the argument,” Lucius added.

“No can do. My max is 15,000.”

“18,000. That’s the lowest,” said Narcissa. Clearly seeing that the man was still trying to work out a way around the price, she added, “This is the prince after all.”

“Deal. 18,000.” The man took out an envelope and hid it back behind his jacket for a second, his lips giving away the fact that he’s counting. After he handed the envelope to Lucius, he left immediately. His swift exit then sparked the same idea in everyone’s head as people started to exit through all the different pathways. Lucius handed Draco the first letter as he passed by, clearly intending for this to once again be his job to carry. 

As he read its contents, all Draco could do was laugh at the fact that Potter had a diary. Technically, it was referred to as a journal, but diary is a close enough word. Draco made his way back home, hand tight on the letter, ready to get some sleep before he had to think more about making a plan for the following day.

_____________

Taglist: @devilrising @sweetlialia @ladyseidenlocke

[casualcatte]

RP Journal: 08/19/2020

Ever since Wilbur came into my life -- the porxie familiar crafted for me by Rae-Hann -- I find that I’m never plagued by nightmares. I dream of peaceful things and dark, green places. I feel safe and warm, enveloped within feelings of kinship, friendship, and love. Not the sweeping, earth-shaking love that consumes heart and soul, but the little loves of friend-to-friend and father-to-daughter.

(Courtesy cut for length)

While it wasn’t strange to wake up in Norvrandt, I momentarily felt like I was in that moment between dreaming and waking. I was nowhere I recognized and in the distance was a glimmering expanse of a magnificent cityscape. Amaurot, Rae-Hann had called it, telling me of how it had appeared some time before, which he found curious. And, being himself, he wanted to investigate.

To do that, I had to do a bit of pond fishing first, which was an easy enough task for a premiere koi-fisher like me. With fishes in-hand, Rae-Hann explained that I had to lure up what he called a “sea dragon” with it.  So we went out onto these bridges made of squishy anemone that spanned out over a vast chasm. I don’t even think I could see the bottom!  You know, I think Rae-Hann is afraid of heights, I don’t think I knew this before now. His tail was all poofed up. I would’ve laughed if I didn’t think he’d turn me into a frog or something. 

I lured up my sea dragon and he was amazing! I don’t know how he flew, but fly he did, keeping pace with the manta ray that Rae-Hann had lured up. Norvrandt is a magical place, I tell you, and I don’t think I would ever tire of adventures here. Down, down, down we soared, my sea dragon turning flips and just having a grand time -- me right along with him! We finally reached the floor of the city and that’s when I noticed.

This place was /huge/. I don’t mean sprawling metropolis huge. I mean huge as in giants of some type must have lived here. I felt like a mouse scurrying about. That wasn’t the oddest thing about the place, though. I didn’t notice it til Rae-Hann drew my attention to it. This whole city, from the smallest blade of grass to the highest sky-scraping spire -- it was all a construct. The amount of power it took to create something so colossal was unfathomable to me. And why? What was it about this city that had someone had to preserve it in aether for all time? It raised too many questions for which there weren’t near enough answers. Rae-Hann and I mused on it for a time, but it was little more than an academic exercise for me, since I don’t yet fully understand aetheric theory.

For a moment, we spoke about our friendship, Rae-Hann and I. I told him I would always be there if he needed, come what may. He asked if that included more of the strange troubles that people tended to dump on his doorstep. I told him, yes, even those. He worried that the Hunt kept me too busy, but I reassured him that I was never too busy for my friends. He counted as one now. I think Rae is the only person with whom I can be the truest version of myself. He’s seen my dreams and my nightmares, parts of my soul laid bare that no one else would ever see. He’s helped me find some truths about myself, too, and taught me about aetheric spell casting. I’m not perfect at it yet, but I’m at least able to heal more than minor scrapes. That will come handy in the hunt. 

He asked after Edgard and I found that I could more easily speak about what I felt with Rae-Hann than with anyone else. Rae-Hann wished us both luck in the upcoming hunt and by then, my time in Norvrandt began to fade. It was back to the waking world and reality instead of the land of dreams.

Later in the day, I met Lorrendor Hauland out at the Convictory in Coerthas as planned. We would investigate the rumors of the Saurotaun together and see what came of them. The knights at the Convictory were less impressed by my hunting experience and more impressed by Lorrendor’s easy Ishgardian manner. Naturally, they would trust one of their own over some upstart miqo’te. So, they spoke and I pretended to be angry at being ignored, all while listening to every onze of information they gave us. When it was all done, some cutting words were exchanged, at least from me, and Lorrendor and I took ourselves north to Banepool.

Hearing of this creature, its movements and its hunting habits, I knew it could not go far. The most likely place for it to lair would be within the ruins of Dusk Vigil. Lorrendor was all for going spelunking to explore it, but with the hunt with Edgard on my horizon, I dared not injure myself and risk hurting either of us in the field. Lorrendor agreed that it was probably best, that it might be wise to return with Edgard in tow and another, if we could find a fourth. 

With our task done, we went on to Tailfeather and spent the evening in my cabin. It was too dark to show Lorrendor around the village, so we had sandwiches and cider as we wound down from the day’s events. As we ate and relaxed, Lorrendor insisted that he wanted to learn all there was to know about me. I had to ask him four different times what he wanted to know before he’d consent to asking questions.

What was I supposed to do, just spill my guts on my life’s story simply because he’d asked? He asks after me, to know me, yet offers so little of himself in return. I still know nothing more than he lived in Gridania, lost the love of his life -- or three? -- and went on to Ishgard to become a machinist. How can I open up to him when he refuses to do the same?  If he knew anything about me, he’d know how important an equal give and take is. But sometimes, it’s like he doesn’t know me at all.

Once he actually asked questions, I was able to answer them. That’s really all it was.  Question. Answer. Question. Answer.  Occasional compliment from Lorrendor with the undercurrent of his feelings behind it. Gods, I know one day I’m going to crush this man’s heart utterly, simply because I’m not interested in anyone right now. He says he can put his feelings aside and just be my friend, but… can he really? He can barely have a conversation without not-so-subtly inserting his feelings in there. Half the time I feel like he’s half a breath from saying he loves me. 

I really don’t know what I’d do with him if that happens. I’m not out to hurt anyone and I don’t really feel as if I’ve been leading him on in hopes of finding something. I can’t be involved with anyone when my own future is so uncertain. I won’t do to anyone else what Tristane did to me.  No one should have to go through that pain. And it will certainly never be at my hands.

The evening began to wane and I was growing tired. At the very last, Lorrendor said that he would go anywhere, fight anything, so long as he could be at my side. All I could wonder was why.  Why would he be so willing to go to what would likely be his doom?  No doubt he would say because of his feelings for me -- but where do /those/ come from?  What is it about me that causes such deeply abiding loyalty?  I don’t know. Maybe I don’t even want to know.

The hunt with Edgard begins soon. I can’t wait. A good hunt always clears my head.

[stoweboyd]

Building A Zettelkasten In Typora

I stumbled across a reference to a note-taking system I had not heard of: zettelkasten.

In Zettelkasten — How One German Scholar Was So Freakishly Productive | David Clear writes about the notes box (zettelkasten) note system of Niklas Luhmann.

The Zettelkasten principles

A Zettelkasten is a phenomenal tool for storing and organizing your knowledge, extending your memory, generating new connections between ideas, and increasing your writing output. However, to make the most of a Zettelkasten, you should follow some key principles.

1 | The principle of atomicity: The term was coined by Christian Tietze. It means that each note should contain one idea and one idea only. This makes it possible to link ideas with a laser focus.

2 | The principle of autonomy: Each note should be autonomous, meaning it should be self-contained and comprehensible on its own. This allows notes to be moved, processed, separated, and concatenated independently of its neighbors. It also ensures that notes remain useful even if the original source of information disappears.

3 | Always link your notes: Whenever you add a note, make sure to link it to already existing notes. Avoid notes that are disconnected from other notes. As Luhmann himself put it, “each note is just an element that derives its quality from the network of links in the system. A note that is not connected to the network will be lost, will be forgotten by the Zettelkasten” (original in German).

4 | Explain why you’re linking notes: Whenever you are connecting two notes by a link, make sure to briefly explain why you are linking them. Otherwise, years down the road when you revisit your notes, you may have no idea why you connected them.

5 | Use your own words: Don’t copy and paste. If you come across an interesting idea and want to add it to your Zettelkasten, you must express that idea with your own words, in a way that you’ll be sure to understand years later. Don’t turn your Zettelkasten into a dump of copy-and-pasted information.

5 | Keep references: Always add references to your notes so that you know where you got an idea from. This prevents plagiarism and makes it easy for you to revisit the original source later on.

6 | Add your own thoughts to the Zettelkasten: If you have thoughts of your own, add them to the Zettelkasten as notes while keeping in mind the principle of atomicity, autonomy, and the need for linking.

7 | Don’t worry about structure: Don’t worry about putting notes in neat folders or into unique preconceived categories. As Schmidt put it, in a Zettelkasten “there are no privileged positions” and “there is no top and no bottom.” The organization develops organically.

8 | Add connection notes: As you begin to see connections among seemingly random notes, create connection notes, that is, specific notes whose purpose is to link together other notes and explain their relationship.

9 | Add outline notes: As ideas begin to coalesce into themes, create outline notes. An outline note is a note that simply contains a sequence of links to other notes, putting those other notes into a particular order to create a story, narrative, or argument.

10 | Never delete: Don’t delete old notes. Instead, link to new notes that explain what’s wrong with the old ones. In that way, your Zettelkasten will reflect how your thinking has evolved over time, which will prevent hindsight bias. Moreover, if you don’t delete, you might revisit old ideas that may turn out to be correct after all.

11 | Add notes without fear: You can never have too much information in your Zettelkasten. At worst, you’ll add notes that won’t be of immediate use. But adding more notes will never break your Zettelkasten or interfere with its proper operation. Remember, Luhmann had 90,000 notes in his Zettelkasten!

Clear goes on to show how he has implemented a digital note box (that what zettelcasten means in German) in markdown-formatted text files, like this:

# 201912161352 Zettelkasten is amazing

#notetaking #writing #productivity

The Zettelkasten notetaking system is the best notetaking system ever.

## Links

- [[201912070830-Zettelkasten-principles]] - [[201912080935-Niklas-Luhmann-short-biography]]

From the top: a title, a series of tags, the actual content which is a single sentence in this example, and a list of links to related notes.

The double-bracket notation is a feature for cross-file linking supported by 1Writer for iPad. The rest is plain vanilla markdown.

Dropbox Paper Fail

I tried to build a note box in Dropbox Paper, but tags don’t work as they should. Dropbox Paper supposedly supports tags, but the search functionality simply ignores the special characters. So a search on ‘#platform-capitalism’ finds all files that have either ‘platform’ or ‘capitalism’ in the contents. Not good.

I haven’t been using tags in Paper, and now I know why. They don’t work as they should.

Typora to the Rescue

But my favorite markdown tool — Typora — works pretty well for zettelkasten. Typora starts as a great markdown editor so that covers the note side of things.

Tags are not a core aspect of markdown, and not an extension built into Typora. However, the two sides of tags – marking and finding – can be pulled off.

I use markdown footnote, supported by Typora, to represent tags. For example, see this:

Each tag is formatted like this

[^#tag]: [optional text description]

Here’s the text of the file:

I opted to use footnote formatting in order to avoid Typora treating the ‘#’ as an indicator of a heading, at first. But it also means I can tag sentences in the contents with the tags, as in this example with ‘#auction’ in the second paragraph.

Typora’s search for ‘#auction’ leads to this:

Both the footnote indicator in the text and the footnote definition in the document footer are found and highlighted. Clicking on each opens the document and centers on the location where the tag is located. This works really well.

Creating links to other documents should build on search, but there’s a little snag. Searching for ‘platform-capitalism’ brings up the two docs that have that in their contents. With Typora I can simply drag a file reference from the file list into the Links section of a document, and it creates a link to that document.However, this can’t be done with files in the search results! So I have to search, then remember the files, and pull them from the file list in the folder view.  [It would be helpful if I could drag a file reference from the search results: I have suggested that to the Typora folks, and we’ll see.]

The Bottom Line

Typora can support creating a zettelcasten in markdown, clearly.

But this presents me with a larger question. I have been managing my daybook journal as a chronological series of files, one for each day, in which I paste all sorts of information related to each day: things I’ve read, things to do, things I’ve done. Perhaps I can continue with both techniques? A journal for one and a notes box for the other?

I’ve already learned that I can’t effectively search through my Dropbox Paper journal – at least until they fix the search functionality – so I will revert to journaling in Typora, since I need to remember things, not just capture them. I guess my zettelcasten and my journal coalesce into one giant folder, neatly time-stamped.

[fckdiosmio]

Hold on your life ✧ {Vince Neil x Reader}

SUMMARY ✧ a oneshot of @mirandanancexo’s request – “reader is pregnant with Vince’s baby and they’ve been together for a couple of years and Vince is off on tour while she’s staying home and he accidentally overdoses and when he wakes up he’s just worried about his girl and his baby ”

NOTE  ✧ Feedbacks are always welcome! Anyway, requests are ALWAYS open, meet me in my ask box! English is not my birth language and I use Tumblr and imagines to improve it, so I’m not immune to grammar errors and if I commit them and you want to warn me, there’s no problem, I’m always learning and your help is very welcome.

WORDS  ✧ 1.2k +

WARNINGS  ✧ cursing, drugs mentioning

______________________________________________________________

It was very difficult to live like a rockstar. Yet most difficult when you were the frontman of one of the most famous rock bands nowadays. Vince could feel that right on his back while living all this Mötley Crüe thing. At first, the sex drugs and rock’n’roll way of life seemed very fun, but then Vince met you and discovered a whole new world of possibilities of living his life by the side of the woman that he loved, but it wasn’t like he could dump all the band to live just for it: he liked being on tour with the boys too. Through all these years that Vince and you were together, you two managed to make this type of life work: Vince was out on tour and, when you couldn’t travel with him, you just stayed at home doing your journalism work and waited for him to come back. 

But things were different now. You were pregnant with your first baby and it was not like Vince wanted to let you and his little precious thing home alone, even with you trying to convince you that everything was okay. It was not such a long tour, right?

“Fuck off, Nikki. I’m the fucking lead singer and no one managed to let me know that the tour is going to have fifteen more days?” Vince screamed at the bar, knocking his hand off the table. The whole band looked shocked at him, while Nikki sipped some water from a giant glass. “I need to go back home. (y/n) is fucking pregnant. My child can be born at any time and I am HERE!”

“Calm down, mate. It’s just fifteen more days, right? The band needed that. Everything was sold out!” Nikki continued to talk while Vince got up from the table, causing the bassist to walk behind the blonde one. Vince turned around, facing Nikki’s face with anger.

“And my pregnant wife is home alone waiting for me to come back.” He said, facing with anger the glass of water that Nikki was holding since the decision of being sober. “and you know what? I’m not even liking to be here. I’m done with the no fun tour.” Vince said while took a shot of something alcoholic from the hands of a waiter who was passing on their side.

“Vince, c’ mon.”

The blonde one just faced Nikki while drank all the alcohol from the tiny glass before bursting it on the floor, turning around and letting the band alone on the bar. Vince didn’t need them to have some fun or just distract himself from the fact that he couldn’t be with you and his baby.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

You sat on your couch with a new book to read on this rainy afternoon. Your belly was just so heavy that you couldn’t stand being active for so long, so you were just resting after trying to do some yoga. Your pregnancy was very advanced right now and you were pretty anxious for Vince to come home and be with you in this final level of being pregnant with his baby. Damn, you loved him so much. You loved the fact that you were carrying someone that you two made together. It was just surreal. You caught yourself smiling to the nothing while the telephone rang. Vince didn’t talk to you since after the show yesterday, so you thought it was him, quickly answering the phone.

“Vince? My Vince?” You said while hearing what someone was talking to you on the line. “Oh, God. No, no, no, no.” you got up, going to find someone to help you to get to the hospital in the other city as fast as possible.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Vince woke up on the strangely white room. His head hurt and his arm was trapped in a lot of tubes and needles piercing his skin. He blinked some times before figuring out he was at the hospital. He couldn’t remember a lot of what he did in the night that he went completely mad, but the only thing that he could think about now was you and his baby. Vince looked to the empty couch by his side and noticed that he was alone. Where were you? Had you decided to leave him after what had happened? Was his baby okay? He wanted to scream your name, but he didn’t have the proper strength to it. The blonde one was about to call for someone before the door started to open, and then you showed up, surprised that he was awake.

“Babe, you’re awake! Thank God!” You smiled, entering the room and closing the door behind you. Vince couldn’t help but smile seeing you and your completely perfect and giant belly, just carrying the most precious thing in his life. “Since the couch is not the most comfortable the doctors said to me to take a walk from hour to hour.”

“I thought you had left me.” Vince said, bumping his head on the pillow. “after what happened, I...” 

“I should, Vinnie. I really should.” you crossed your arms, straightening your lips. “Overdose? Really? I’m carrying your fucking baby and you get a drug overdose?”

“I was just so stressed out for not being able to see you and our baby. I was going completely mad.” You could tell that he was sincerely sad from the way that he looked at you while talking. His thin lips were pressed against each other and he was staring at your belly with such a lovely look... you hated to see him in that way. “I’m so sorry, (y/n).” 

“Just think about caring a little bit more for your life. Or you don’t love your baby enough for it?” You were trying to hold the tears that were on your eyes. You looked up, not being able to stare at Vince anymore, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what would I do if something happened to you. For God’s sake...”

“Please, don’t say something like that.” He raised the arm that wasn’t trapped on the tubes to start caressing your belly. You felt like your baby moved inside of you, cheering daddy’s touch, and so do Vince. “I love our baby. And I love you. More than anything in my life. Forgive me.”

“I forgive you.” You sighed, placing your hand over his on your belly. “But for one condition. Being sober for our family.”

“I just want you two to be okay.” He looked at you with sad puppy eyes. You took your hand to the golden hair falling on his forehead, caressing his pale skin. “I’ll be sober. Fuck this tour. I just want to spend the rest of the days of my life by your side. We’re starting our family, (y/n). Our family! I don’t want to start with the wrong way.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled, curving yourself with difficulty since your belly was too big, just to kiss Vince. He was so weak, yet he raised his hand just to wrap his fingers in your hair and caress your head. “I was missing you so much...” You stared at his blue eyes. “I can’t wait for meeting our baby and start out family.”

“Babe.” Vince’s eyes widened as he carefully pulled you away with his hands. You took one step back without understanding. “Babe. I think your water just broke.” You looked down just to see a water puddle on your feet, right under you and your comfy dress.

“Oh shit.”

[callia-evergreen]

Character Journals 2: Jumps-At-Shadows

-- I spent the night in the house of an Ebonheart Pact officer, a Dunmer woman named Captain Rana. She seemed nice enough, for a dark elf. I asked her how I got here, and she said I’d washed up on shore, perfectly dry. She also told me she needed help gathering the villagers for evacuation. Apparently she’d heard that the Daggerfall Covenant had plans to attack this island, probably because the Pact had made it into a sort of outpost. She asked me to find some of the missing villagers I told her I’d help.

-------------------------------------------------------------

-- I’m surprised at how many other Argonians I’ve met here. I guess I expected to see mostly humans outside of Morrowind. I met an Argonian, Bura-Natoo, who says she’s part of the Fighter’s Guild. Her friends were attacked by spiders. Urgh! Nasty creatures, frostbite spiders. She told me she only got away because Argonians are resistant to poison. As if I didn’t know. Still doesn’t mean I want to fight giant spiders! I did it anyway. They weren’t so frosty after I hit them with a few fire spells. Still nasty work. I had to crack open these giant cocoons to let everyone out. Bura-Natoo was thankful. She said I should join the Fighter’s Guild, and that she’d put in a good word for me. I didn’t want to tell her I was already in the guild. I’d received a summons from the guild master days ago, and still haven’t reported in. I’m a little afraid of what she’ll say when I finally do show up. I mean, it’s not really my fault though. I would’ve been there already if I hadn’t been kidnapped, killed, imprisoned by daedra, and dumped on some freezing island in the middle of nowhere!

-------------------------------------------------------------

-- There are a lot more people missing than I realized. I wasn’t counting on having to scour the entire island. But I don’t want to leave anyone behind. I have to make sure everyone is accounted for. As I find people, I’ve been having them gather in the main village. We have to keep a head count somehow. Though I think I’ve actually found everyone now. I’ll check over the island one more time, then tell Captain Rana we’re ready to evacuate.

-------------------------------------------------------------

-- Sssk! Egg-Breakers and murderers! The Covenant soldiers burned the village! As far as I can tell, most everyone made it out on time, but Captain Rana tells me there are several Nords still trapped in the burning houses. I have to get them out. The whole place is swarming with Covenant troops, but right now I couldn’t care if the whole army were there! They want to play with fire? Fine! We’ll see how they like my fireballs!

[forever-more-never-again]

Greek Mythology-The Lore of Medusa

I do not own Supernatural*Gif not mine*

This was supposed to be a short drabble story but then I got carried away and whoops its now its ~5500 words

sorta fluff?

This is my second Supernatural Fic, so please leave feedback and comments if you like it!

Warnings: Death, Swearing, Kidnapping, Snakes (I feel like that needs to be a warning), Typical Supernatural killing

Sam Winchester X Reader

Egyptian Lore of Anubis

Masterlist

“So get this,” Sam walked into the Bunker’s conference room, laptop balanced on his hands as he sat across from Dean who was stuffing his face with a burger. Same grimaced at him, “Dude, really?”

Dean frowned, wiping the grease from his chin, “I’m a warrior Sammy, I need my meat. Anyways,” He took a swig from his beer, “What do you have that’s so important.”

Sam shook his head at his brothers antics but got back to his original point. “I think I got us a case. Look here,” He turned the computer so that Dean could see the police report that had caught Sam’s eye, “Victim was found by hikers in the city of Seattle, Washington. Looks like he was turned to stone...literally. Police are saying he was possibly dumped in cement, but autopsy shows no compounds of any regular cement product. And,” Sam raised his finger to emphasize this point, “His eyes were wide open and seemed to be turned into stone as well.”

Dean took another swig of his beer as he pulled the laptop closer. “Hmm, definitely looks like our kind of thing. Any clue about what it might be?”

He glanced up to Sam, who had already stood up and was pulling down lore books from the shelf. “It doesn’t fit any criteria of monsters we’ve seen before. This will be one with a lot of research, I’m certain.”

Dean groaned, “And you know how much I just love research.”

Sam smirked at his older brother, “Well how bout this, you drive and I’ll start looking for something to help us. We’re headed to Seattle.”

*Time Jump*

The winchesters had went straight to the Seattle Police Department Headquarters. After going through the whole FBI introduction, one of the officers led them to the morgue.

“So agents, here he is, the poor bastard.” The overweight officer led the brothers into the morgue, where the body was laid out on a slab.

Sam looked taken aback at the cop’s tone, “Did you know the victim, Officer Mcgowan?”

The officer chuckled as he looped his hands through his belt, “Knew him? Hell every woman within a twenty mile radius knew him. Mr. John Buckley here was a regular womanizer. He was a bit of an asshole, he’s got a list of sexual harassment allegations.”

Sam squirmed a bit as he glanced at Dean. Dean spoke up, as he prodded the stone body, ‘So who found him?”

The officer pulled out his notepad and flipped through a couple pages, “That would be one Miss [y/f/n] [y/l/n]. She was out taking her dog for a hike on one of our more scenic trails when her dog started going nuts. Said he got free and when she found him off the trail, there was John Buckley. Petrified.”

Sam nodded at the officer, “If you don’t mind, we’ll need her address and phone number to contact her. And if we could see those sexual harassment  reports as well?”

The officer let out a sigh, his cheeks puffing out making his beard look fuller. “It’s your playground agents. I’ll see that you get all the specifics.” At that he walked out of the morgue.

Sam waited until he was sure that the officer was out of earshot before turning to Dean, who was now poking at the open eyes of the man on the table.

“Dean!”

Dean looked up, “What? I’m just seeing if its actually stone.”

Sam shook his head exasperated as he read through the information on the man. “Well looks like Officer Mcgowan was telling the truth. This Mr. Buckley was known for taking pictures up women's skirts. Pressing advances onto unwilling woman. Stalking them. He really was the neighborhood creep.”

Dean sighed, straightening up, “Which means every woman in this town is a suspect.”

Sam sighed as well, turning on his phone he googled the address of the victim, “Well I say let’s go check out his house, see if there is any clues there and then go speak to the witness.”

Dean walked past his brother, trench coat swinging past his legs as he walked out of the room back to the officer desk to pick up the information.

Soon they were parked in front of the vics house. Sam straightened up as he stepped out of the Impala and whistled, “Wow, for a creep he sure liked to live in style.”

They were in one of the nicer parts of Seattle, close to Pike Place Market. The house they stood in front of was two stories. White marble pillars and what looked to be ivy wrapped around the base.

Dean pushed past Sam to get inside, excitement evident in his body language. “Oh my god! Sammy! He has a HD Flat Screen 55in TV on his wall! And look, look at this,” Dean raced over to the staircase which had paintings on the wall, “This is a rendition of Van Gogh's starry night!”

Sam looked at his brother out of the corner of his eyes, a smirk growing on his face, “And since when were you a collector of the arts?”

Dean brushed his brother off, “Oh stuff it Sam. Let’s check out his bedroom.”

They headed up the staircase and walked down a hallway to what appeared to be the master suite. Dean pulled out his EMF device and nodded to Sam to open the door, who had his gun pulled out. Slowly they walked into the room. There was piles of clothes everywhere. Fancy sport memorabilia on the walls. A king size bed took center stage with a velvet canopy. Dean snorted when he saw that. Same frowned at him and nudged his head at the closet that was on Dean’s right.

Dean looked down at the EMF reader as he pulled open the closet, noticing no signs radiating from it. When he glanced up, his jaw dropped. “Uhh Sam...You need to see this.”

Sam sighed under his breath, and walked over, “What is it De..wow.” He froze next to his brother.

There on the back wall of the empty closet hung hundreds of pictures of women. Some looked to be professional shoots and others looked like they had been taken while hiding in bushes peering into windows.

Sam looked at all of them. ‘Dean...Look at the ones on the bottom.”

Dean paused at his brothers tone before turning his gaze down to where Sam’s eyes were glued. There, on the bottom of the wall were photos of the same woman, over and over again. In different settings. The woman had stylish [h/c] hair and piercing [e/c] eyes that in some pictures could be seen smiling or laughing. Some pictures showed her walking on a trail, the picture taker obviously hiding off on the side of the trail. Others showed the woman sitting on a couch inside a house. Others had the woman in the backyard playing with a black lab dog, the pictures appearing to have been taken from above, as if from a tree or drone.

Dean looked disgusted as he met Sam’s eyes, “I’m glad somebody got that bastard before I did. He was a true monster.”

Sam started to nod before he shook his head, shutting the door to the closet, hiding the secret they had just unearthed, “That may be true Dean, but we still need to find out what did this to him. I looked back through dad’s journal and the lore books and I can’t find anything on people turning to stone.”

Dean walked around the bedroom before stopping at a desk with a laptop on it. Pulling out the chair he fired it up. “What if it’s not something in lore? What if it's something simple like a lake or a buildup of calcium from being under water?”

Sam came to stand behind Dean as he typed in ‘things that can turn people into stone’.

“I don’t think that’s what it is Dean, this guy obviously had a lot of enemies and if anyone knew about that,” Same gestured back to the closet, “Then someone would definitely have it out for him. We should go and chat with the woman, [y/n], who found his body.”

Dean waved him off, “Yeah, why don’t you go talk to her, I’ll dig around a bit more, see what I can find.”

Sam headed towards the door laughing, “This coming from the man who bemoaned the idea of any research.”

Dean shook his head, a smile on his face. “Go Sammy. I’ll walk back to the motel when I’m done here, and when you come back to the motel, bring some Pie.”

Sam shook his head but headed out of the victims house and hopped in the Impala. Pulling out the notepad where he had written the address, he headed towards the market place.

Trying to find parking in one of the most popular places of Seattle was making Sam frustrated. People were parking in the middle of the street because of lack of parking spaces.

Trying to reign in his anger he pulled around the block, seeing an opening in front of a driveway. He swiftly pulled the Impala in before looking up at the modest one story house he had parked in front of.

It was the residence of the witness, luck was with him. Pulling out his FBI badge and putting on his best jacket, he walked up to the door.

Knocking twice, he waited for someone to answer as he look around the block. He noticed a giant weeping willow right beside the house and took notice of how it would provide the perfect angle for someone to take pictures of the inside of the house and the backyard.

He took a step back when he heard barking coming from behind the door followed by a woman’s laugh and stern, “Down Pepsi! Good boy.” The barking stopped as a young woman opened the door.

She still had a slight smile on her face as she tilted her head up to meet Sam’s eyes. But Sam was stuck. It was the same woman from the bottom pictures in Mr. Buckley’s closet. The woman in front of him had the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He was captivated by her [e/c] eyes that seemed to sparkle with laughter.

The woman was also frozen. The man on her doorstep was a giant, with sandy brown hair and the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. Shaking herself from her stupor she leaned against the door as she felt Pepsi nudge her legs trying to get past. “Can I help you?”

The man seemed to realize he was staring as he pulled a badge out of his pocket, “Special agent Zepplin, Ma’am. I need to ask you a few questions about that body you found a few days ago.”

[y/n] took a step back, smile now gone, as she invited the agent into her house, “FBI, huh, didn’t know you guys looked into this sort of thing.” She walked in front, leading the man into her living room. “Pepsi behave.” She scolded as her dog sniffed the man’s shoes.

“It’s standard procedure. Sometimes life gets a little boring in the office.” He chuckled as he bent to scratch the black lab’s ears. Pepsi seemed satisfied in his examination as he chuffed and then walked over to the fireplace to lay down.

“Can I get you anything? A water? Soda?” [Y/n] fidgeted slightly as the FBI sat on her couch, he shook his head, “Im good. I just have a few questions for you and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

[y/n] took a breath and then sat on the loveseat across from the agent. She ran her hand through her [h/c] hair, missing the look the agent gave her when she did.

Sam coughed, as he pulled out his notebook. “So the day you found the victim, he was not on the trail you were on, correct?”

[y/n] nodded, “Yeah, if Pepsi hadn’t gotten loose from his leash I wouldn’t have found him at all. He was a good ways off the trail, in the middle of the woodlands.”

Sam nodded and continued, “And when you found him, he was already stone?”

[Y/n] nodded again, rubbing her hands on her jeans, “Yeah, I thought it was cement, but then I saw that his eyes were wide open and were stone as well. I don’t know who could’ve done that to John.”

Sam noticed her naming the victim, “So you knew John.”

[Y/n] gave a cynical laugh, “Who didn’t know him? He was a menace. Always starting fights, stalking women. It became dangerous for women to walk anywhere alone. That’s part of the reason I got Pepsi from the shelter.” She smiled at her dog who started wagging his tail at the mention of his name.

Sam smiled, “You rescued him from a shelter?”

He couldn’t help feeling a tug on his heart at her soulful smile and the way her eyes filled with love as she looked at her dog, “Yes, I went in with the idea of getting a mean looking dog to protect me, but as soon as I saw his small little frame shivering in that kennel, I knew I needed to take him home with me.”

Sam reluctantly tore his gaze away from her face as he looked down at his last question, “Do you know anyone who would be motivated enough to do this to John Buckley?”

[Y/n] tore her attention from her dog, “Every woman hated John, but no one in this town would kill him. We reported him to the police enough we figured someone would stop him, I just didn’t think it would be by killing him.”

Sam stood up, walking towards the door. [y/n] followed him. As he stood on the porch he looked back at her, “Thank you for your time [y/n].”

She smiled at the handsome FBI Agent, “Any time agent. If you have any more questions please don’t hesitate to find me. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Sam flushed a little at her words, while [y/n] silently screamed in her head in mortification for saying them.

Sam let a smile creep onto his face as he handed her a card with his number on it. “Call me if anything else pops up.”

She nodded and closed the door.

Sam let out a breath he wasn’t realizing he was holding. As he walked back to the Impala his phone went off. Digging it out he answered, “Yeah?”

He heard Dean on the other line, “Sam I think I know what we're hunting and you’re not gonna believe it.”

Sam ducked into the Impala, starting her up, “What do you mean? What could we be hunting here?”

He heard the click of a keyboard as Dean answered breathlessly, “I think we're hunting Medusa.”

Sam laughed, “As in the woman with snakes for hair? That’s just a myth Dean.”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh, “Sam our lives are a myth. If demons and Angels exist then why wouldn’t Greek mythology? It says here that Medusa can turn anyone into stone with one glance and that she, wait for it, has a penchant for going after unfaithful and lust filled men.”

Sam started driving back to the motel they were staying at, keeping his brother on the phone, “You really think a Gorgon is behind this?”

Dean was getting excited now, “Yes, and get this, she was banished to an island, Seattle is next to the water, the body was found in the woodlands, I think she is hiding out in a cave.”

Sam sighed, he pulled up in front of the motel. Dean paused, “Hey, how did speaking with that witness go? Find out anything useful?” Sam grumbled as he shut off the engine and walked towards the room. He hung up on Dean as he opened the door and saw him sitting at the small table with his laptop open in front of him.

Dean put down his phone and turned to his brother, “So? How’d it go? And where’s my pie?”

“I don’t have your pie, and, ‘He continued despite Dean’s glare, “The witness knows next to nothing. [y/n] is just a sweet woman who had to handle a pervy man just as well as she could under the circumstances.”

Dean’s glare turned into a smirk as he noticed how uncomfortable Sam looked and how he was fidgeting. “You like this girl, don’t you Sammy boy?”

Sam sputtered, “What? How? No!”

Dean leaned back in his chair, arms crossing triumphantly across his chest, “Sammy has a crush, awwww.”

Sam gave Dean his bitch face, “Cut the crap Dean, go back to explaining how we can kill this thing so we can get back to Kansas.”

Dean, still smirking, pushed his laptop around so that both brothers could see it. “It’s pretty simple, we have to cut off her head.”

Sam peered at the screen, “Yeah, but it says here we can’t look directly at it or else we risk turning to stone. How do you plan to avoid that?”

Dean scratched his head, “I hadn’t planned that far ahead yet. In the myth it says this guy Persues flew on winged sandals to her cave and used his shield as a kind of mirror so that he wasn’t looking right at her when he cut off her head.”

Sam went to his duffel, pulling out his knives and machetes, “Well, I’m fresh out of shoes with wings and I don’t have a shield at the moment, can you think of an alternative?”

Dean typed into the computer looking for answers as he answered his brother, “I’ll find something, don’t worry. I also think I know where her cave is, so we can find her.”

Sam made a noise of agreement, becoming distracted by the thought of [y/n]. His phone started buzzing, snapping him from his trance. He looked quickly at the number and not recognizing it, answered, “Hello?”

“Hello Agent Zepplin, I know it’s a little early to call, as you just left my house, but I remembered something.”

Sam’s voice caught in his throat as soon as he heard that breathy voice on the other end.

“Agent Zepplin? You there?” She let out a nervous laugh at the silence on the other end.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to Dean who now stood behind him mouthing ‘who is it’. Sam put up a finger and cleared his throat, “Not a problem [Y/n].” Dean’s eyes widened, “What did you remember?”

Sam shooed Dean away as he leaned closer to the phone. [Y/n] sounded cautious as she responded, “Well I’m not sure how much help it will be to you, but about a week before John Buckley disappeared and showed up dead, he was seen hanging out with this gorgeous redhead. She always wore a hat and giant sunglasses, but he seemed to be enjoying her attention. She laid herself all over him in very public displays and he would leer at her when she wasn’t looking. Never seen the woman before, and after John showed up dead, it was like she just up and left. Haven’t seen her since.”

Sam gestured at Dean to follow him out to the Impala, grabbing his machete as he went. By now it was near Nine o'clock and it was nearly pitch black outside.“And you’re positive you’ve never seen this woman before then?”

“I’m sure. Pepsi always acted really strange whenever we crossed paths. It was like he was afraid of her. I never got a name, but she always smiled and waved at me when I saw her.”

Dean mouthed at Sam as they got in the Impala ‘Pepsi?”

Sam waved him off again, “[Y/n] I need you to really think, you never saw this woman again?”

[Y/n] chewed her lip. She was sitting on her couch relaxing, Pepsi curled up by her feet as she talked to the handsome agent on the phone. Before she could reply she heard the doorbell ring. Pepsi looked at the door before he suddenly stood up and whimpered, tail between his legs backing away. “ I’m sorry agent, someone is at my door, hold on.”

Sam sucked in a breath, holding his hand over the speaker of his phone he whispered to Dean, “Drive to that address for [Y/n]. I have a bad feeling about this person who just appeared at her door.”

Dean nodded, face hardening in determination as he gunned his Baby to the street. Sam kept his ear pressed to the phone, trying to catch any snippets from the other line.

[Y/n] walked to the door, holding her phone to her chest. She opened it, surprised when she saw the same woman she had been describing to the agent. The woman still had on giant sunglasses, even though the sun had gone down and had a giant hat on her head, only allowing wisps of red curls to be seen.

“Hello [Y/n]. We have a lot to talk about.” And with that the woman lunged forward and [Y/n]’s world went dark.

Back in the Impala Sam heard the line go dead. He slammed his phone on the dash, “Drive Dean! I think the Gorgon just attacked [Y/n]!”

Dean accelerated faster as he glanced at Sam, “Why would it do that? It only attacks men. Not women. “

Sam, now in fear for the woman who managed to produce emotion from him, ran his hand through his hair as he tracked where they were from the window, “I don’t know Dean but if it is the Gorgon we need to stop it before it kills [Y/n]. You weren’t there. She’s the nicest, sweetest person I’ve met and she doesn’t deserve to go out like that.”

Dean knew that now wasn't the time to tease his brother, but his heart lifted at the tone he heard in his brother’s voice. When this was over, he for sure was going to pursue this [y/n] thing Sam had.

In what seemed to be hours later, but was actually just a couple of minutes, they pulled up outside of [Y/n]’s house. Dean looked over at his brother, “So how do you want to go in?”

Sam looked down at his phone in his hand, an idea forming in his head. “Dean turn on your camera on your phone.”

Dean looked confused but did what Sam said, slowly realizing what Sam was thinking. “You want to look through the camera rather than look right at it, that way this Medusa chick can’t turn us to stone!”

Sam nodded, face serious, as he got out of the car and headed to the door. Dean scrambled out and jogged to catch up, “Slow down man, we aren’t going to save her if we just rush in there.”

Sam sighed, but slowed down. Finally they reached the door, Sam gave Dean a look when he saw that the door was slightly opened. Dean nodded at Sam as they both raised their phones so that they could look through them.

Sam led them in, glancing around the living room. He raised his machete when he heard a sound but lowered it as it registered, “Pepsi?” He whispered. In response another whimper was heard and Sam saw the black lab crawl out from under the couch.

Sam crouched down to the dog as Dean kept lookout. “Hey boy. It’s okay. Where’s your owner, huh?” The dog sniffed Sam’s hand and licked it before whimpering again, this time turning to face the kitchen.

Sam looked up at Dean, who had caught the dog’s look. They moved as one as they walked to the entryway to the kitchen. They swung around the corner and saw [Y/n] tied to a chair in the dining room.

Her eyes darted to the boys, filled with fear. Sam raced over and tugged the cloth from her mouth so she could speak. “You have to get out of here. That woman, she…”

Before she could say anymore the woman walked in behind Dean, “Tsk Tsk Tsk [Y/n] I thought you understood me when I said that I was the only one in your life who mattered.”

Dean swung around when he heard her. Phone raised so that he didn’t meet her eyes. Sam stayed crouched down by [Y/n], keeping his eyes on hers.

“What do you want with her? She’s not like that guy you turned to stone before.”

Sam kept his voice level and calm, as he reached for one of [Y/n]’s bound hands, gripping it tight, trying to tell her it was okay with his body language.

The woman laughed, still wearing the sunglasses and hat. “Oh please. I know that. John deary was worthless scum. I did the world a favor by getting rid of him. Did you happen to see his lovely collection of photos? That’s how I discovered lovely [Y/n] here. I stumbled across it by accident after a sleepover at his house. The very next day he was dead.”

The woman’s tone was neutral as if she was discussing the weather. Sam kept tensing up, He looked up at Dean who shook his head.

The woman continued, “No, [Y/n] here is nothing like that worm. She is pure. She is innocent. So I am going to make her into my other.”

Dean frowned, “Other? What do you mean by that?”

The woman laughed, but this time the sound was darker, sinister. She raised a hand up to take off her hat, and sunglasses. Dean choked at the sight he saw through his camera.

Giant red snakes poured from the hat, attached to the woman's head. Her eyes were a piercing yellow, with slits like a snake. Dean shuddered hoping that the Camera thing worked and he wouldn’t turn to stone.

Sam locked eyes with [Y/n]. “Look at me, only me. Don’t look anywhere else.’

She nodded, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

The woman stayed where she was standing, staring at [Y/n] with something akin to hunger in her eyes, “Yes, my other half. I want to turn her into one of my kind. She will make a perfect Gorgon. Innocent, untouched. She will be one of the best. Men will come pouring to her, to be in her presence. And each one will face the wrath of those scorned by men.”

The woman took a step and Dean raised his knife, “Not another step devil lady. I don’t know much about you Medusa’s but I do know that you can be killed.”

Medusa laughed, with a flick of her wrist, the snakes on her head hissed, turning to face Dean. “Well that’s not something you see everyday.” He muttered as he swung out and cut one of the snakes off her head, making sure to not look anywhere but the phones screen.

The remaining snakes let loose a scream. They surged forward again as Medusa walked closer to where [Y/n] was still tied down, clenching Sam’s hand.

“You will be mine, [Y/n]. You cannot fight the loneliness you feel. You’re almost thirty and you never had a stable relationship. Men are pigs. All men will do is break your heart and scorn you. Once you become one of us you can have your revenge! You can pay them back for all the tears shed, all the fights, all the anger.”

[Y/n] steeled herself, and as if sensing what she was about to do, Sam shook his head and reached up to stop her. But it was too slow. She turned her gaze onto the Gorgon. Sam looked on, shocked, as she didn’t turn to stone.

[Y/n] Glared, defiant. “Yes. I have cried. I have had my share of fights with boyfriends and lovers. But that is not enough of a reason to kill them! I don’t know who made you so cold, but I’d rather see the good in men, and hope for a brighter future than look back on a bleak past.”

Medusa grinned, oil seeping out of every pour as her voice slithered out, “[Y/n]...so sweet. But once I turn you, those feelings will go away. Don’t you worry.”

Sam looked over at his brother. But he was busy trying to evade and kill the snakes from the Gorgon’s head. They seemed to be acting on their own as they focused on Dean and the Gorgon was facing Sam and [Y/n].

Sam gave [Y/n]’s hand a squeeze before whispering, “Do you trust me?”

[Y/n] glanced down at the brown eyed man crouched by her side. Despite only knowing him for a couple hours, and being thrust into something that seemed to be out of a movie, she realized she did trust him. And once this was all over, she was definitely going to ask him out for coffee.

She gave him a tight nod. He smiled slightly at her before he let go of her hand. He stood up and turned fast, Keeping his eyes down. But before he could raise his arm holding his machete, he froze at the sound of a loud growl.

Surprise at the new sound had him raising his head and he watched as Pepsi lunged towards Medusa, pushing her to the ground.

Medusa let out a snake like scream as the black lab continued to attack her and her snakes. Sam ran up to the fallen Gorgon and welding his Machete, sliced her head from her body.

The snakes fell down dead as the head and body turned to stone. Dean was panting as he put his phone back in his pocket, “The dog couldn’t have come help earlier?” He picked up the head, careful to avoid looking at it before placing it in a trash can, tying the bag shut.

Sam grunted at his brother as he returned to where [Y/n] was still tied up. He started undoing the knots in the rope. He looked up at her face and realized she was going into shock. Her body started shaking and her eyes were frozen wide.

Sam finished untying her and pulled her down to him. Keeping her in his lap he started rubbing her back and whispering. He couldn’t bear to see her [e/c] eyes with so much fear in them.

Dean turned and saw what was happening. He fidgeted in awkwardness before muttering about letting the dog out and walked outside with the black lab.

Sam kept up his whispers for a while before he felt [y/n] relax in his arms.

She looked up at him, “What...I mean.. You weren’t surprised… What type of FBI Agent are you?” Sam sighed, letting [Y/n] climb out of his arms and back into the chair. He stood up, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not an FBI agent, [Y/n].” He paused, catching her eyes. She stayed silent so he continued, “My name is Sam winchester, my brother Dean and I,” He gestured to where Dean had walked off, “We hunt these kind of things...We hunt monsters.”

“Monsters.” [Y/n] deadpanned. “Monsters are real.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question but Sam answered none the less, “Yes, all those fairytales you read when you were younger and all those horror stories about vampires and werewolves, all those things are real. We hunt them down and protect people, like you.”

[Y/n] seemed calm on the outside, but inside she was screaming, “i see. So you’re not Agent Zepplin,” Sam nodded, “Your name is Sam. Okay. I can work with that. Monsters are real. Okay. The world isn’t all candy and cupcakes.”

[Y/n] knew she was rambling but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Sam crouched down back to eye level with her and grabbed her hands. She shut up, looking down at their clasped hands before looking back up into those soulful chocolate eyes.

“[Y/n], it’s going to be okay.” He smiled softly at her. ‘As long as my brother and I are around, we’re going to keep hunting those bastards down. We won’t stop until all of them are dead and gone.”

[Y/n] took a deep breath. At that moment, Dean came back into the house and Pepsi ran over to her and nudged her hands free from Sam. She let out a shaky laugh as she ran her hands down Pepsi’s back.

She looked over at the one called Dean, then back at Sam. Then she said something she never thought would come out of her mouth in her lifetime, “I’m coming with you. I’m going to help you hunt these bitches down.”

[angelicwritingoflesilva]

Sunday, “Everest’s Loneliest Creature”

!! After more than five hours of writing, two hours of editing, here it is, in all its glory: Everest’s Loneliest Creature! Okay, time for some life lessons:

What I’ve Learned: Journals are so hard to write. ;u; People who write stories with just letters, holy frick, props to you. Seriously, making this entertaining without making it seem like a regular piece was... difficult (not gonna say very because that makes for weaker writing see I definitely know what I’m doing).

Props to more people: historical fiction authors. It was hard enough researching something current. How you all can do it for something that has been gone for like at least 50 years, no clue.

EVEREST TAKES FOREVER TO GET GOING. LIKE, HECK, FORTY DAYS TO REACH CAMP IV? REALLY? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE A SHORT STORY AAAAA! no i’m not bitter

Characters are really fun to develop behind scenes! I thought that I would just throw the friends who came with Mallory to the side, but they were really fun to write about. I think that I gave them, certainly simple, but interesting personalities. I actually think that the characters are believable in this story, which is something that I think I struggle with a lot.

Final Word Count: 8,986

Final Time Spent (writing/editing): 8 hr 14 minutes

Trigger warning: being stranded somewhere, storms, big monsters who’ll love you to death, and sadness :(

Everest’s Loneliest Creature

February 28, 2018

Hello there, journal! I’m going on the climb of my life with my friends, Jasmine and Casey. We’re going back to my family’s birthplace, to a small country housing the most giant of mountains! A small fry taking reign of the largest shark! A teeny mouse housing a fierce African elephant! 

That’s right, we’re going to Nepal to climb the one and only Mount Everest! Just writing that feels unreal, wow!

Casey suggested the idea to me last year, around April or something. We were studying deer behavior in the field when he suddenly said that he wanted to climb Everest one day. I rolled my eyes at him and said that we would never have the money. I make plenty to keep myself afloat, but to afford an entire trip to Everest? 

Besides, I told him, I’m not great at keeping jobs. To do something like climb Everest when I’m not even sure if the research program is going to want me tomorrow would be dumb. He and I laughed about the time that I abandoned my (infinitely and endlessly boring) task of documenting the edible plants in Yellowstone to follow a goose and her goslings, and my subsequent firing. But, it’s fine. I didn’t really like the people who employed me at that time anyway.

After we stopped laughing, he said to think about it. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything with the idea, but Casey is really persistent. He kept bothering me about it, and finally, I threw him a scrap and said I’d talk to my parents about it. Now, mind you (or me, I guess?), I don’t need their permission to do it. I just thought that if I were to go climbing on Everest, they would want to know. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt if they could give me a little money, right?

So, I came to their house, served them a gourmet dinner of oven-baked dino nuggets, and then told them what I was thinking about Everest. I told them that it would be a good way to connect with great grandpa Hiransh’s roots. 

Mom looked at dad, and the two shared a concerned glance. They told me how dangerous it was to climb Everest, and I’m sitting here like, come. On. I am a field biologist. I work with giant snakes and bears, already have spent lots of time climbing mountains, in very dangerous areas, and you don’t think that I know that Everest is dangerous?

Anyways I just nodded as they warned me, smiling and occasionally saying, yep, yep. Or, yeah, I’ve heard that. Nothing disrespectful, just enough to show them that I had done my research.

Eventually, mom said what I was thinking--expenses. She looked over to my father, her hands wringing in her lap. She said that a permit alone could cost me greatly, but I told her that I had already done research on how much it cost. But, I also said, I would love if you guys could spare a hundred or something so I don’t, like, freeze to death on the mountain because I couldn’t afford a coat. My dad laughed at that, but my mom just bit her lip. I promised to pay them back.

My mom and dad talked, and they finally came to an agreement to give me $500. My dad said, jokingly, that if I didn’t pay them back, that he would get to shave off what remained of my hair. (long story short: I decided to get a pixie cut and dyed the tips of my hair dark green, and I think it looks pretty bad. Casey says it looks good, though, so maybe I’ll keep it like this)

So, I left with an extra $500. It wasn’t much, compared to the monumental expenses of climbing Everest, but it was a start. I had to basically empty my spend account and dump it in my growth account. Who knows, I thought. Maybe by the time I climb Everest, I’ll have a whole extra dollar! (I actually ended up getting about ten dollars! Score!)

I started to train for the expedition. At first, I just worked normally at the gym, and then I started to use a mountain training mask. Basically, it just lowers how much oxygen your body gets, and it gets you ready to breathe the thinner mountain air. I also had to work really hard at my job to work up enough extra money so I could go to Nepal and not be bankrupt by the time I got back. I volunteered for every job, even the extra boring ones, and did my best to stay on track. Gradually, my bank account grew.

My friend, Jasmine, heard about this and decided to jump in. Jasmine is more serious than I am (job wise, at least), and, although she’s only like 20, she’s really smart. Her parents were able to afford insanely great schooling for her, and they chipped in for a lot of our trip. We probably we would have had to delay it another year if they hadn’t helped us so much. She and I get along well since she can kind of reel me in when I’m ready to run off.

So, while I was training, I was slowly buying the equipment I would need. Of course, I got the usual clothing--sweat-wicking underwear, long-sleeved shirt and long pants, fleece jacket, coat, and then a larger, bulkier coat, etc, etc. Pretty boring stuff, if you ask me.

But the coolest thing I bought was this air tank. First off, it is a lot lighter than other air tanks, but it can last a climber much longer, because of an incredibly incredible reason that is so incredible that it might just blow your incredibly uninformed mind. It is split into two compartments. One is filled with oxygen, the other is the air breathed out by the climber. There’s something techy about breathing in opening a valve and then breathing out closing it, so it leads to two different compartments, but I’m not really in that field of science, so what do I know? The air that is breathed out is filtered into the one compartment. There’s this bio paper thing that’s kind of like a plant in which it takes in the CO2 to make oxygen, but I literally have no idea how it works. I think there’s something to do with genetic manipulation, maybe? Who knows.

I’ve worked with it more than any of my other tanks and I love it to bits and pieces. I think it can last up to a week and a few days before the bio paper becomes worn out. After that, it becomes basically just a normal air tank.

So, anyways, we’re taking a plane tomorrow. This is like the only notebook I haven’t written in yet, so I’m taking it along. Luckily, it’s really sturdy. Not exactly my taste in books, since it is butt ugly. It’s from like five years ago, so that doesn’t help either. Well, whatever. It’ll do.

It’s going to take more than an entire day to get to Nepal, but we’re making it! I just finished packing not even like five minutes ago. Wait, just glanced at the clock. This has taken me a lot longer than I thought--forty minutes, actually! Well, I better sign off, if I’m going to catch the five o’clock flight tomorrow morning. Getting up at 3:30, driving out for thirty minutes, going through security, and then boarding. Sounds like fun, right?

See you in the morning!

Mallory Woodruff

March 01, 2018 (well, technically, it’s the second but it still feels like the first sooo)

Casey snores so loudly. I swear, my seat is shaking with the sound of him. I don’t want to wake him up though. If I could manage to fall asleep, I would too. But I’m not a great flyer, so I’d probably wake up and vomit all over myself.

Jasmine isn’t sleeping either. She’s still getting caught up with work. She’s kind of a push-over and takes other people’s unwanted work even when she doesn’t feel like doing it. She says that it’s not because she doesn’t want to stand up to them, it’s because she wants to get a promotion. But, if getting a promotion equals ten hours of work on a plane that has spent forever sputtering its way over eternal turbulence with no overpay, uh, thanks, but no thanks.

I’ve been passing the time by reading about Everest. Of course, lots of the writing is the “exciting” stuff that has happened on Everest, i.e., death, destruction, and the like. Maybe I should stop reading it. It’s interesting, but I guess it’s also kind of morbid for me to be reading it right now? Like, is it giving me bad karma? Does karma work like that? I don’t know.

We’re hitting more turbulence, and I doubt I’ll be able to make any comprehensible sentence in a few minutes. We’re supposed to land in like an hour, and then we take one final flight to Nepal.

Mallory Woodruff

March 03, 2018

Okay, so we’re in Nepal, and it’s warm. I mean, I know it was supposed to be warm, but I wasn’t actually expecting it to be this warm. With Everest so cold, it’s strange to me that, so close to the mountain, it’s warm. Anyways, update time.

So, we landed in Nepal smoothly. It was late, around one o’clock, when we landed. The other flight was supposed to get us to Nepal at ten, but it was delayed due to a storm. Talk about a bummer.

When we landed, I wanted to go out and eat somewhere nice. Casey had wanted to sleep some more, but when he heard about my idea, he instantly wanted to go, too. Jasmine eventually caved in, because, first off, food, and, second off, food.

So, we ate out. It was really nice, and I was so happy to not be eating plane/awful fast food. It was like a miracle, to have delicious spicy food again. I gobbled down my entire plate and then proceeded to wistfully mop up the remains of my dish and lick them off my finger. Casey had all of his, too, but then threw up later since he hadn’t eaten anything in like the past fifteen hours. (note to self: spicy food on an empty stomach is a no go. Learn from Casey’s mistake) Jasmine just ate some rice and had water.

Anyways, we have to take a short plane ride to Lukla tomorrow. We stopped in Kathmandu because it is gorgeous and I insisted on it. I accidentally left my camera at home, so you’ll have to make due with some crappy phone pictures.

The city is amazing, and, the best part, there are forests nearby. Like, national parks and stuff. If I were to move to Nepal, I would definitely come here. It’s really great. Wow, I sound so enthusiastic ending that sentence with a period. Shall I do it some more. Wow. I’m so excited that I’m going to climb Everest. Wow. Okay, I’ll stop now, haha. But seriously, it is beautiful around here!

It’s getting late, so I’m going to sign off. If anything cool happens on the flight, I’ll let you know!

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

The flight was only around 30 minutes, nothing crazy happened. The landing was terrifying though--the runway is so tiny! I swear, I was gripping Jasmine’s arm so hard that I’m surprised I didn’t break it. But, we’re safe and sound!

Today, we met with our guide. He speaks very limited English, but I’m sure that it won’t be a problem. After all, taking people places usually doesn’t require any words! I’m pretty good at reading expressions anyways, I think. Working with animals all the time has actually helped me learn people’s emotions and what they want to convey really well! It’s surprising, but sometimes I can guess what a person’s going to say even before they open their mouth. It’s a useful skill to have, I think.

We’re going to start our trek to Everest Base Camp today after we stretch for a little bit. I’ll probably write something once we stop.

Mallory Woodruff

March 04, 2018

Hey, for once I kept my word for doing something! For starters, let me talk about the villages.

So, people live on Everest. I don’t know if that’s common knowledge (I didn’t know before I started researching), but there you have it. They live in these small towns, with stone roads and stone houses. Although that sounds bland, they also have these amazing red roofs. The sun shines off of them softly, without the pernicious glare that reflective things back home have.

All our guide had to do was gesture at the village with a smile for us to freak out. Even Jasmine was in awe. There are a few cylindrical structures, with a small roof place on top. Tassels hang from the roof, which is shaped like a triangle but is kind of curvy. There are words written in a foreign language, in yellow-painted blocks. The main body is covered in red paint, and yellow and green designs line the top and bottom of the cylinder. It is just gorgeous!

They also have this line that runs throughout the village. There are faded cloths attached to it, colored in dim red and almost blushing blue shades. They are apparently prayer flags. Our guide told them that it’s not for gods; it’s for love and goodness. The flags apparently are made specifically to fly in the wind, to spread peace and joy. The village people believe it, and, if I’m being honest, watching the lines flicker in the wind, I do too.

We set up tents and are sleeping off the side of the trail. There are little lodges called tea houses, but we passed one, thinking we’d be able to make it to the next, since we were moving faster than expected. We were wrong. So, yeah.

I’m sleeping in Jasmine’s awesome tent (you can unzip parts of the tent for windows! In a tent! I wish my family was rich, then I could have cool tents too!), Casey brought his own tiny one, and our guide obviously has his own. I’ve seen at least six yaks, and we nearly ran into one on the trail. We had to walk around it, and the detour took a good twenty minutes to find a safe path, take it, and then get back to the trail. Definitely worth it, though! What I would give to study those yaks, though…

We have around another week to go before we make it up to base camp. I’ll try to update tomorrow!

Mallory Woodruff

March 09, 2018

Okay, so maybe I forgot about this and by the time I remembered I was too lazy to actually write in it. But! I’m writing now! We’re taking a quick water break and catching our breaths. I’ll catch you up on what’s happened since the fourth.

We’re about a day from base camp. We’ve actually made great time, and the weather has been super cooperative. The landscape has turned from green and gorgeous to pebbly and full of shrubs. It’s still pretty, and there are still prayer flags up here, it’s just not as welcoming as it was lower on the trail. Kind of crazy how different things can be just a little further up.

Remember those tea houses I mentioned? Well, we’ve only had to sleep in tents once since that first night. Our guide wanted us to be comfortable, so we’ve been able to sleep in one basically every night now. To sleep in beds is incredible, even if they are pretty stiff. You can also eat there, and by doing so, I’ve met a few people. Most are just going to base camp, hiking around, and then heading back down the mountain. A few have said that they’re attempting a summit, though! Glad to know that there are other crazies out there :)

Anyways, yesterday was the day that we had to sleep in our tents, and today we will too. The air is crazy thin up here. I am so happy that I trained really hard for this--I don’t think I would be able to make it up to camp otherwise. Our plan is to get to base camp, spend two days hiking, and then climb up to the higher camps.

So much has happened in the past nine days. Reading my old passages feels like they’re from a lifetime ago! It’s crazy; I don’t think time has ever held such meaning for me! Looks like we’re getting ready to move. I promise I will write as soon as we get to base camp.

Mallory Woodruff (why am I signing my name? I know it’s me. Maybe I should stop? Eh, too late now. Conformity!)

March 10, 2018

Haha! I did keep my promise! We’re here at base camp, and there are quite a few other climbers with their tents pitched. Some of them are really friendly, but most of them just want to be left alone as they enjoy the mountains. Our guide is going to accompany us on our first summit attempt, but after that, he’s leaving. (totally not because we couldn’t afford him any longer) He warned us against attempting a summit without a guide, but, although we didn’t tell him, we’re definitely going to do it anyways. Well, at least Casey and I will. Jasmine doesn’t seem too thrilled with the idea of climbing without someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

Anyways, like I said, we’re going to hike around for two days and then start climbing to the second camp. It’s going to take a really long time to get up to Camp IV, which is the camp directly before we attempt a summit. Like, 40 days long. I’ll try to update, but we’re probably going to be pushing pretty hard. :) See you later, I guess.

Mallory Woodruff

March 31, 2018

Halfway there! We just reached Camp II. It’s rough. So far, no need for oxygen tanks. Once we get to Camp IV, we’re going to need them, though. It’s crazy--every day feels incredible. Although, I do miss my bed… and the warm Wyoming sun… and my garden… BUT! It is still incredible to be on Everest. Besides, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’ll always be able to sleep, sunbathe, and garden, but I won’t always be able to climb Everest!

Our camp is situated on a bed of rocks. Not exactly the most comfortable, but it’s the least slippery surface out here. There’s also a large ice wall-like thing behind us that keep the wind from, you know, blowing us off of the mountain in our sleep. Despite all its discomforts, it has a killer sunrise. Seriously, the colors tint the mountains in gorgeous shades of oranges and yellows, and the sun pokes his head out between the peaks, as if playing a game of peek-a-boo with me. It’s beautiful.

Sorry I haven’t been able to write recently. Also sorry that this entry is so short. I kind of want to focus on the trip while it’s happening, though. Otherwise, it’ll be over and I’ll have no memories but writing in this old journal! Plus, Jasmine and Casey got into a fight over something dumb. Jasmine is paranoid about work, and Casey told her to relax, Jasmine was like, Oh, shut up. You don’t work at all. Casey called her a rich asshole.

So. Yeah. That’s unfortunate. They haven’t talked to each other in like the past two days, but I’m sure they’ll eventually get over it. Besides, there’s not much else for one to do up here but think and talk. So I bet, in a few more days it’ll blow over.

Mallory Woodruff

April 03, 2018

Yep. They’re back to normal now. Jasmine is still worried about work, but Casey’s cooled off from her jabs. I’m glad it’s over--they were kind of using me as a shield against the other person and it really sucked.

We should get to Camp III in about a week. My brain feels numb from all of the snow, but, holy cow, I am happy that I have sunglasses. It’s blinding sometimes, even with them on! The way the sun smacks off of the snow and into your eyes--it hurts! I’ve avoided sunburns since I’m basically covered from head-to-toe. I am so glad that I have all of this equipment.

Oh! I also decided to take only two of my air tanks with me. The trip up to Everest will take only a day. When our guide learned that I was carrying four tanks, he just laughed and told me to pick one. I decided, hey, why not take two?

One will last me around three days, and the other is the super special one that I was talking about earlier. Really, there is probably no need for the first one, since the special one will probably sustain me just fine. But, you know, just in case. :)

There are only a few puffs in the sky today. It’s gorgeous.

Mallory Woodruff

April 09, 2018

Again, we made good time and arrived at Camp III a whole day early! That leaves us some time to chill, and, for me, to write in my journal!

I’ve been taking some wickedly great pictures. I wish I could print them out right now, but I’ll have to wait until I get back home. Even then, they’re not going to be of the highest quality. But, Jasmine has a camera (as I have learned in recent days), and I have been slowly mooching it off of her. Maybe I can convince her to print out some photos from it when she gets home? Hopefully!

Our guide is really kind and helpful. He’s been sure to keep us safe. If there’s any sign of a storm, he warns us to be careful and sometimes turns us back. Nothing has happened, though… yet! Haha.

Anyways, from here on out, it’s going to be really tough. Things are going to be slow, since the air’s so thin up here, and we’ll have to stop every half hour or so. When we’re not moving, I’m going to be catching my breath. So, you’ll just have to wait until we get there for an update. I’ll make sure to give you all the “deets,” though! I’m sure Jasmine and Casey will have another absolutely awesome fight to talk about.

Mallory Woodruff

April 20, 2018

Finally made it. Christ, I am tired. As expected, Jasmine and Casey are fighting again. The air isn’t the only thing that’s running thin up here.

I think Jasmine has gone into super high-stress mode now that her phone has no service (i.e., no communication to work, i.e., no way to make sure that everything’s going alright, i.e., Jasmine’s hell). She’s even short with me. I try to remind her that we are, after all, climbing Everest, but she won’t listen. To her, it’s probably not even that special. Her family could probably afford a summer home on Everest.

Casey’s been alright. He’s quieter than usual, probably because of the drama with Jasmine and stuff, but at least he’s not yelling at me.

With no one really to talk to, I guess I have some time to write. But I don’t really know what to write about…

We’re going to spend a day resting and then go attempt our first summit, at midnight. Our guide said that it’s best to start the climb at midnight, so we can make it up the mountain before the light dies the next day. He said we should get up there by morning, hopefully.

It’ll probably be our only try, since Jasmine’s head is going to explode if we spend much longer up here. I’m inclined to agree with her. I think all of this time spent together is somehow doing our friendships more harm than good. Once we get back to the States, this should all be undone. Hopefully.

Anyways, I’m probably just going to take more pictures tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much, journal.

Mallory Woodruff

April 21, 2018

Ascent day! I’m really excited! Not even Casey’s and Jasmine’s bickering can make this day go badly. I am determined to make the most of this day/night. In about 30 minutes, we’re going to start climbing. There are a few clouds, and the wind has picked up a little bit, but our guide says it should be alright. He feels bad for how Casey and Jasmine have been bickering and promised us to try his very best to get us to the summit.

I should probably stop writing and help out. I’ll write later hopefully, once we reach the summit! Not much though, I’ll probably just write ‘summit!’ or something, since I’ll want to enjoy the view as much as I can. I’ll make the word very pretty though! Maybe I’ll curve the S specially and make the t wind underneath the whole word--that would look pretty great. :)

Mallory Woodruff

April ???

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I have no idea what day it is. At least three days have passed. I’ve been out for almost all of it, I have no idea what to do.

Shit.

I’ve lost everyone. I can’t move, either. The storm blew in way too much snow, every step is a risk. All I could do was build a snow den.

I have enough water for a while. I’m asleep (well, passed out), most of the time. I have no idea when rescue will arrive, so I’ve set my air tank to its lowest setting. Christ, I just need to explain everything.

We were climbing up the mountain when the winds began to pick up. It was about an hour after we had started. Our guide, being the careful man that he is, said that we should stop and go back to camp. He even offered us a free day of his labor so we could attempt the summit again.

So, we turned back. But the storm had crept up on us in the dark. The winds picked up, and kicked up the snow. My flashlight could barely scout out a few inches in front of me. It was pitch-black too, so that didn’t help anything either.

The howling gusts overpowered our voices. I screamed for Casey and Jasmine, but I never heard a response. Eventually, I had to assume that either they had run to camp, or they were dead. I built a snow shelter, basically a glorified hole in the side of the mountain.

I collapsed and turned my air tank down to the lowest setting. I think it has a day left in it. That’s what the meter says, anyway.

I am so infinitely happy that I was carrying my extra tank. I also have at least two dozen bottles of water. I have some food, but not enough for more than a few days. At least since I’m barely awake, I don’t need as much to stay alive. My clothing layers are all that’s keeping me warm enough. But I can already feel the beginnings of frostbite. You aren’t meant to stay still when trekking on Everest.

The snowstorm hasn’t stopped yet. It’s crazy how powerful it is. On one of the days I remember, I had to clear out my den, since it was filled with a fine powder of snow. Also, the fact that the storm isn’t over yet poses another risk--rescue. They obviously can’t send a chopper in this weather, so I’m just going to have to hold on as long as I can.

This might be my last entry ever. If so, mom, dad, I love you so much. I doubt that you’ll ever read this message if I die, but on the off chance that you do, know that I love you more than my job, despite what you probably think.

Jasmine, I love you too. Please chill once in a while. It helps all of us, but mostly you.

Casey, never stop being you. Find yourself a nice woman and have the romance you’ve been dreaming about.

I don’t even know why I’m writing. I should stop.

The storm is finally over. My first tank is empty, but it doesn’t matter because I have my second. I attached it without any issues.

I cleared away some snow and laid out my empty water bottles and bags of provisions, and my air tank. Forgive me for polluting, but this is the best way for someone to spot me. In my snow hut, I’m going to be invisible, despite my bright orange coat. But I can’t go out, in case it starts to snow again. Plus, everything is unsteady. If I took one step beyond my garbage signal, I would probably tumble down the mountain.

All I can do is hope, and wait. I’m too tired to continue writing. I have to turn my oxygen back down, just in case. It’ll make me pass out, but I’ll have enough to last me at least a few days. I’ll eventually wake up. I will.

Okay, so let me start this off by saying I have no idea what the hell happened.

I woke up in a strange cave. My stuff is all in the corner, but the floor is dirt and the ceiling is ice. So, if this is the government’s rescue mission, they chose a strange place to put me.

What concerns me is the shape of the cave. I’ve worked in the field for a long time. When an animal lives in an area for a long time, especially dig-outs, the walls become smooth from them constantly rubbing past them. Usually, the area has to be pretty small. Otherwise, their bodies won’t reach everywhere.

This cave is showing the same signs. However, it is a large cave, so the animal that supposedly lives here must be massive, easily eight or nine feet tall. More likely, its height is in the double digits.

At the same time, it just can’t be an animal den. It feels more like a person’s hideaway than a den. There are no bones or discarded branches. No urine smell. I’ve never seen an animal keep its den this clean. Hell, I don’t keep my house this clean.

Finally, there was just a pile of blackberries waiting for me. Fresh. As if picked a few hours ago. Do you know the last time I saw vegetation?

Before we reached base camp. Which is now more than 3,000 meters below me.

What. The. Hell.

Maybe it’s the abominable snowman, but he grows a really nice garden and heats it using his magic. Maybe he’s super civil and shit, and enjoys a strong cup of tea. Brushes his fur every night with a comb elegantly carved from pine wood. He’s probably so nice that he brought me FURTHER UP THE MOUNTAIN.

Oh yeah, not kidding. I’m definitely higher up. I’ve had to turn up my oxygen input, because I will not wake up if I turn it any lower. Not in this temperature. Plus, I don’t want to be surprised again by whatever took me up here. My tank has about a week left in it, I think.

I need to start moving. I’m going to eat the blackberries and then head out. There’s no way that a rescue team will think to search for me higher up on the mountain than where I was when the storm hit. They’ll just assume I’m dead. I’m going to start walking down.

Okay, so I have two things to say.

One, I’m not going to be heading down the mountain for a long time.

Two, I found what brought me up here.

So, I walked out of the strange cave and not even five feet away was a gigantic creature. I have never seen anything like it. It has no fur. Rather, it looks like it only has scales. But there’s no way that it’s a regular reptile. A cold-blooded creature would freeze to death in seconds at this height. Anything would, but especially something that has no internal body temperature.

Its jaw jutted from its face, and massive teeth spike out from them. Angular horns formed from the side of its head and flanked its jaw. Crown-like ice structures (or perhaps more horns) poked out on its head. It looks like that, naturally, it would be white, but it is pale blue on every edge of its body. Almost like it’s suffering from frostbite, but all of its limbs have remained intact.

Its claws are massive, easily closeable and made for crushing. Its shoulders are rough and powerful. It has a tail with a claw-like appendage at the end, the use of which I can only imagine in my nightmares. Its belly is plated with sharp, curving scales that fold over each other to allow easy movement.

Although my biologist’s mind noted all of this in a moment, I was instantly drawn to its eyes. They were the only part of the creature that stuck out from the snow. They were a deep orange, blazing with life. I could see recognition in them. The way it focused on me was not in a normal, animal one. It was like… it knew me. I think it’s intelligent.

I’ve never seen something like it. I have no idea how it’s alive up here. Why hasn’t anyone seen it before? Why haven’t I heard of it?

After I saw it, I didn’t scream and I didn’t run. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time on the field is that the best thing you can do during a situation is be calm. I just turned around and walked back into the cave. Every step caused more blood to flow from my head and into my feet. Once I felt the dirt underneath my shoes, I passed out.

And now I’m awake. I’ve checked my tank--I haven’t been out long. Perhaps an hour or so. There are more blackberries on the ground. I have now realized that it put the blackberries there earlier. It’s keeping me alive. But why? Why not just eat me?

That’s another reason why I’m drawing the conclusion that it is intelligent. There is no other way to explain its strange, un-animal-like behavior. I’m going to go out again, but this time, I’m going to try to see what I can learn about it. I don’t think it means me harm. If it does, there’s not much I can do anyway. I’m bringing my journal, in the rare chance that I can get a sketch of it.

Wish me luck. I hope I don’t die.

It’s night now. Let me explain what happened during the eight hours in which I didn’t write anything.

It definitely means me no harm. When I came out again, it did nothing but watch me with those warm sunrise eyes. I approached and, despite my best abilities, I was shaking pretty badly. When I reached it though, all it did was lift its head.

It stared at me, as if drinking in every detail. From the tip of my hat to the toes of my boots, it memorized me. If I had any doubts about its intelligence, I forgot them then.

I felt like I was on the field again, but the roles were reversed. Suddenly, I was the animal being studied under the watchful eye of a giant. It was terrifying but thrilling. In a strange way, I felt as if I was being cared for by it, like its recognition was something to be treasured.

As the day wore on, our “friendship” grew. It showed me to its berry storage. There were dozens of fresh branches. How it brought them up the mountain, I don’t know. 

It also allowed me to sketch it. I have a few pages filled with drawings and rough measurements. My phone is dead, though, and Casey was the one handling the solar panels and extra batteries. So, no photos.

It is way more intelligent than I previously thought. I talked to it out of habit (and partially out of loneliness), and it looked at me with… interest. Understanding. Like it was learning the English language as I was speaking to it. I would kill to get a brain scan of this creature.

In less than three hours, I have been able to communicate it using simple hand gestures. It picked up on them quickly, far more quickly than even a moldable-brained toddler could. However, it doesn’t just know the hand signs, it understands them too.

We watched the sunset together. I sat with it near a cliff face. It stared at the sun as it dipped behind the tree line far below, its slitted pupils dilating and growing as they adjusted to the changing light. I watched the sunset by looking at the reflection of it on the creature’s eyes. It never looked at me once, entranced by the beautiful colors. Occasionally, it would close its eyes in a manner that I can only describe as longing. It would tilt back its head and breathe in deeply, its nostrils flaring, as if marking this moment in time, a sweet memory to savor in dark times. I understand the feeling.

When it was dark, the creature stood. Stretching, it motioned at me to move. We returned to the den, and there was just enough room for the both of us. I turned on my flashlight and tried to communicate more with the creature using hand signals. It couldn’t reply well, but it was obvious that it understood me.

I motioned at myself and held up one finger. Then, I gradually began to add more to my hand, until I had all five fingers up. Then I pointed down the mountain. I gestured at it and raised one finger, tilting my head inquisitively. The question was clear: where is your family?

The beast didn’t do anything for a second, silently staring at my finger, single among the other folded fingers. It closed its eyes and laid its head on the ground. Confused, I craned my neck to see why it had ignored me. A small tear leaked out of its closed eye, instantly crystallizing on its cheek. I turned away, my heart thudding painfully.

There are none left of its kind.

Is that why it took me? How long has it been alone? I think it’s lonely, really lonely. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t killed me yet.

…

I haven’t thought about escape much. Well, until now I suppose. This creature… whatever it may be, it is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t think about Jasmine or Casey. I have to focus on what’s going on in front of me. If they are dead, my tears will not help, and if they aren’t, then I have no reason to cry.

I’m going to sleep now.

Today was wonderful. The creature gave me more berries to eat. Although they are getting old (and are quite frostbitten), they still are tastier than the pre-packaged food I’ve been living off of for the past few weeks.

I’ve managed on my water well. I have to be careful, though. It’s cold enough up here that any dribbles will freeze. I don’t think it’s cold enough to freeze my mouth, but I’m going to be careful, just in case. I think if I drink about two bottles per day, I could live up here for about a week.

I have started calling the creature Hiransh. I don’t know many Nepali names, and, plus, I think my great grandfather’s fits him perfectly. Hiransh doesn’t seem to need food or water. Of course, he must eat and drink at some time; all creatures must. I believe that he is a predominantly hibernal animal. Almost like mountain goats, I think he spends most of his life on the mountains, coming down occasionally to eat, but, unlike goats, spends lots of his time sleeping. It makes the most sense to me.

His tail is the strongest part of his body, that much I have learned. Four large claws sprout out of the end of it, and, as he once allowed me to inspect it, I have discovered that, inside the claws, it is covered with tiny, hook-like bones. They curl inwards to the center of the tail. 

Here is my theory: Using his tail for balance, he climbs up and down the mountains every few months to get food. His tail is used almost like a fifth leg. He relies on it to grasp surfaces as he moves along the terrain, and, on occasion, to support himself as he climbs directly upwards. Despite his bulky build, he has shown himself to be fluid of movement. I would ask him if I’m correct, but he’s been icy since my question about his family. Pun definitely intended.

Anyways, Hiransh has kept me safe. He can’t keep me warm (he is cold-blooded, as I have found out. Still no clue how his body can deal with that), but he does block most of the wind with his gigantic body. I think he has come to see me as almost a hatchling of his own. With no one else around, it seems perfectly natural for him to do that.

He showed me a new den that he has been building. It is much bigger than his old one. He sat at the entrance, staring after me with a pleased expression in his eyes as I explored his cave. I have noticed over time that he’s meticulously neat--no piles of snow clutter the inside of the cave, no claw marks gouge the carefully patted-down floor, and branches from the berries are stacked in the corner.

I wonder how many caves he’s built. On top of that, I wonder how long he’s been alive. I would bet he has been around for quite a long time. He has an ancient, all-knowing air to him. Maybe that’s romanticizing things a little bit, haha.

I have to think of him as less as a subject to be studied, and more of as a friend. Perhaps it is because I am alone up here, but I like to think that, in any circumstance, Hiransh and I would get along well.

I almost wish I could stay up here forever. Hiransh is the discovery of a lifetime. 

Perhaps my mom was right. Maybe I do love my job more than my friends and family.

Spent three days without writing anything. Very sorry! I have been really busy--will tell you more about it tomorrow!

So, I’m heading to bed now. Let me tell you what’s happened over the past few days. So, the first out of the four that I have to talk about. Hiransh worked on his den. I couldn’t do much, but I helped pack in the walls, so they were more structurally sound. He was appreciative of my work and grumbled a low thanks in his chest. It made me feel warm inside.

We worked well together, with him doing the moving and me doing the sculpting. He was doing work that would’ve taken me weeks, and I was doing work that he would have to rely on time to accomplish for him.

By the end of the first day, the den was mostly done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much larger than his last home. Instead of his back scraping the roof, he would have to stand on his hind legs to brush it with his head. I’m serious when I said it was big!

We moved my stuff to the new den. I kind of just slung it in the corner, and plopped down. Hiransh shuffled around before coming to sit beside me. When I turned to look at what he did, I saw that my backpack and all the other things that I was carrying were neatly reorganized.

He and I are more different than two creatures could be. He’s in his comfort zone up here; that much is obvious. I’m not… but that has been made quite clear by recent events, right? He’s also meticulously neat for an animal. He rarely has a scale out of place, where, here I am, sometimes not able to remember which way is left and which way is right.

But, we do make quite a pair.

So, after that day, he let me ride him. Yeah, you heard that right. I rode this snow creature. It was terrifying, and he didn’t go faster than a trot, but it was incredible. I was so high up, and I felt almost connected to him through the roll of his muscles. I never stopped squeezing my arms around his neck for dear life, though.

He showed me how he hunted. It’s something that I’ve been wondering about. Surely a creature of his stature couldn’t survive on berries alone. He demonstrated with a tiny branch that has already been stripped of its blackberries. So, he buries himself quickly underneath the snow and, if needed, into the dirt. Then, he covers himself with the snow and waits for something to walk over him. When it does, he bursts out of the snow and catches the creature in his jaws.

Let me tell you, seeing this massive snow lizard erupt out of the snow just to “kill” a twig the length of my forearm is actually the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

We watched the sunset together, again. This time, I didn’t stare at him, though. I just looked ahead.

Yesterday, we just hung out in the snow. He and I dug random snow pits. Of course, his were always bigger. But mine were more elaborate, if I do say so myself. I love the idea of some random climber stumbling upon them and thinking that there are aliens on Everest making weird snow shrines. Hehe, but still not as funny as Hiransh killing a stick.

Today, he took me to where he finds his berries. It’s actually not that far down the mountain, surprisingly. If the gigantic claw marks in the wall have anything to say, I think that he actually planted it himself.

He has dug out a wide pit for the berries, down to the rock of the mountain, and filled the hole with soil. On top of the soil, he put dark black rocks, which is something I never would’ve thought of in a million years. It’s genius that he’s using colors to keep the berries warm. He lays thin layers of snow on top of the rocks, which melt and water the plants. Everything he does just makes me think that he’s that much smarter than I thought before.

I also sketched more pictures of him. I’m always learning something new about him. It seems that there is no end to his secrets. If only I had access to better lab equipment, I might be able to run some actual tests…

Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I’m tired. Tomorrow, we’re planning on some more snow fun! Maybe I can teach him how to make a snowman. Doubtful, with those big, clumsy claws of his, but I can try. :)

I’m back at base camp.

Only a day has passed.

I’ve never felt so hollow before.

May 13th, 2018

I think I can talk about this now. I’m sitting in a hotel room right now. Casey has finally left me alone. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the States. Goodbye, Nepal. Goodbye, Hiransh.

Let me explain what happened.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Coughing. It was so bad, I had to breathe in every five seconds, but I never had enough air. I was sick multiple times, all over myself. Hiransh woke up as well, his orange eyes snapping open instantly. I was grasping at my throat, trying to remove the empty air tank’s mask. Hiransh understood what I was trying to do and slashed off the mask with his claws. In his terrified rush, he left a deep cut on my cheek. Despite the mask being taken off, I was coughing and unable to breathe.

Finally, Hiransh seemed to come to a decision. He carefully scooped me up in his jaws. Strangely enough, the only teeth that he has are outside of his mouth, so instead of being impaled the moment he picked me up, I was just bounced along inside.

He made it down the mountain in record time. I passed in and out of consciousness. Only the splash of snow on my face kept me from slipping away. He would bound, bound, bound, skid to a stop, kick up snow, and then bound, bound, bound again. It was jarring.

Finally, we were far enough down the mountain that I could breathe. I took in the air in gasps, planting my hands on the side of Hiransh’s face. Once he realized that it wasn’t a fit for air, he let me from his jaws. Pebbly earth met my boots.

I held Hiransh’s massive head in my hands, feeling the rough scratch of his scales against my skin. A tear slipped down his face, but this time it did not turn to ice.

“Hiransh,” I whispered. I realized he wouldn’t understand me, so I tried to sign to him that I was heartbroken.

I told him that I couldn’t breathe up there. I was never going to be able to live with him. His shoulders slumped, and his ice-blue eyelids closed over his inner fire. I’m so sorry Hiransh. He’s alone. No one will ever be able to stay with him.

I told him that I would come back. I promised that I would meet him by the berry patch in the summer. I vowed to return.

I will return.

Hiransh, please do not give up.

2 Feb. ‘81

This took hours to find. My old bones made it such a pain, too. But, I have to, before I fade away.

Since I suppose that this journal will be given away, I must explain a few things. Like what happened with the rest of my life.

Well, I just kept living it. People discovered me where Hiransh had left me. I was stumbling down the mountain, crying and without a backpack, my phone, or anything really. All I had was the journal that was in my hands when I fell asleep. Luckily, the winds blew snow over Hiransh’s tracks. He was never discovered.

Of course, people were curious. I managed to hide the journal in time, but the press bothered me for days afterwards, when all I wanted to do was mourn the loss of a friend.

Casey and Jasmine were both alive. Jasmine had severe frostbite on her ears, and on three of her left fingers. Her pinkie had to be amputated. But, otherwise, they were miraculously unharmed. Our reunion was tearful. I don’t remember much but a blur. It seems as if all of my memories are like that nowadays.

I continued with my job when I got home and never told anyone about Hiransh. I hid the journal--I knew I should’ve burned it, but I feared that, if I did, I would lose my memories of Hiransh, convince myself that they were just a dream. So, I held onto it, quietly.

I went to therapy, obviously. Eventually, I stopped having panic attacks and got over my chronic sadness. I was able to stop when I was 35, 12 years after the incident. I was never the same, though. Never as excitable, never as fun-loving, never as... naive.

I never forgot Hiransh, like I had feared I would. The place he scratched me when trying to save my life has turned into a scar. I think of him almost every day, wondering how he is doing alone. It breaks my heart to have the terrible knowledge of him, alone on the mountain. Unless someone out there discovered him and is as good at keeping a secret as I am, I doubt he’s been found.

Casey and I married when we were 38. I know, a little later than most, but we wanted to be ready. We adopted a Nepali girl, four years old. We named her Lily. We had our first grandchild when we were 68. A boy named Thomas.

And then there’s you, sweet child. You were always my favorite grandkid (don’t tell your brother that). You loved my work so much. And so I will pass it onto you.

I have spent a lifetime tracking down the berry patch that Hiransh showed me all of those years ago. I have attached the coordinates, as accurate as I could make them, to this journal. You may choose not to believe me, but I implore you, please, please, please, travel to Everest, visit the berry patch, and you will find that I am telling the truth. Grandma Mallory was never one for dementia, right? Don’t be stupid, either. Tell people you are going, but don’t bring them with you. Take a guide, but leave them before the summit. Don’t tell anyone about him, even if you choose to not believe me. Go during summer, in April. He will be waiting.

I know he will.

I love you. Remember me when I’m gone.

Mallory Woodruff.

*wipes sweat off of forehead*

Finally done! If I ever want to revisit this story, it would be quite fun to write about Mallory’s grandkid, and maybe about her grandkid, and so on and so forth. Maybe it would gradually be integrated into the Woodruff family, a treasured family secret, perhaps? But, that’s a story for another time. :) Thanks for reading!

- L.E. Silva

[sammy-moo]

Holiday Traditions

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Prompt: Traditions

Words: 520

Warnings: Fluff?

A/N: Sorry this is up late as well. Been a crazy past two days. This is day eleven for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ and @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​ 12 Days of Christmas Challenge

The holidays were always a busy time of year, especially for hunters. People would go out and make the choice to buy items from thrift shops, getting their hands on cursed objects. You and the boys saved so many people within the past few months that you couldn’t count it on your hands alone.

But it never felt like the holidays to you until you were slaving away in the kitchen.

At first, celebrating Christmas for the boys was just cheap gas station gifts wrapped in newspaper.

Until you came.

Their Christmas upgraded to an extra person to buy for, a day to relax, and a day to eat home cooked food.

Usually Dean would be the one to cook if it wasn’t fast food, but Christmas was yours.

You were cooking away in the kitchen working on dumplings. Flour was piled onto the counter like snow as you rolled various thicknesses, cutting then with a pizza cutter. You’d gather each one and dump them into the pot with the chicken.

The kitchen smelled of cookies, fudge, mashed potatoes, and more.

The boys woke to the delicious smells and their presents on the library table. Your gifts to them stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the newspaper and brown bag wrapped ones.

Sam smiled to his brother as he opened his skin mags and shaving cream. When he opened the gift from you he found a journal and a new audio book on one of his favorite murderers.

Dean found candy, motor oil, a massage candle, and a recipe book you caught him goggling one day. He couldn’t help but smirk as he stared at the candle in his hand, knowing exactly what was to come later that day. The metal made a small clank as he set it back to the table, heading towards the kitchen and wrapping his arms around you.

“Good morning.”

You smiled as you felt your boyfriend hug you to him, “Merry Christmas. Did you two already open presents?”

“Yeah,” Dean husked out in a small chuckle. “I don’t know what to look forward to most. The food or the sex.”

You blushed at his forwardness and glanced back at him.

Dean flashed you his smirk that would make you melt instantly before pressing a small kiss to the back of your neck.

Sam entered the room, clearing his throat slightly. He had been used to the PDA but sometimes it just got unbearable when he walked into the room full of sexual tension. “It smells good in here.”

You flashed the younger Winchester a warm smile, “Well thank you. I’ve been doing this since this morning. It should be done soon so we can all eat.”

“Thank you for doing all of this. We really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing Sam. Besides, it’s nice to take a day to ourselves and enjoy something. While I don’t mind hunting, I do often miss Christmas and Thanksgiving. But thankfully we can celebrate one where we can all enjoy a family recipe of dumplings.”

“Best dumplings I’ve ever had, Baby,” Dean said with a giant grin.

Tagging:  @sleepywinchester, @hay-yo-its-jo, @timeforsmut, @goldenangelbloodcastiel, @because-imma-lady-assface, @growningupgeek, @abbessolute, @keelzy2, @wideawakeandwriting, @super-not-naturall, @babypieandwhiskey, @wi-deangirl77, @ilsawasanacrobat, @becs-bunker, @inlovewithbja, @squirrel--moose--giraffe, @mistressofallthingsgeeky​, @theoutlinez, @samwinjarpad

[ruminativerabbi]

Bahya Steps Up

Last week, I invited readers to join me in peering through the mist to catch a glimpse of King Kohelet stepping up to take his place on the debaters’ stage amidst the top dozen people vying for the Democratic nomination and then to join me in imagining what he might have had to say if he had been there in person and not merely as a figment of our collective imagination. I tried to come up with several distinct lessons he might well have wished to teach, but all turned out to be variations on the same theme: that humility is the surest sign of wisdom and that, therefore, the least qualified leader or would-be leader will almost always be the individual the most of sure of him or herself, the proudest of his or her accomplishments, and the most certain that no one could possibly know more or do better than him- or herself. And then, life occasionally actually imitating art, I opened the newspaper the other day and found myself reading about a scientific study published just last summer in the journal Current Directions in Psychological Research that detailed the latest thinking on degree to which humility is not merely a virtue (like patience or generosity) but rather a critical personality trait that truly mentally healthy people cannot do without. (The original journal article has to be purchased—and for an exorbitant $35—to be read on- or off-line, but to see the New York Times article by Benedict Carey about the journal piece, click here.)

It makes sense too: in a world of highly polarized attitudes towards everything, people possessed of the kind of humility highlighted in the study turned out to be less dogmatic, less judgmental, less aggressive, and less likely to fall prey to what the author calls ideological or political polarization. They’re also less likely to fail in their committed relationships—which only makes sense given the need for compromise in such relationships. Perhaps even more to the point, the study found that the humble among us are more likely to have the psychological resources “to shake off grudges, suffer fools patiently, and forgive” themselves for inadvertent missteps or errors of judgment. In that regard, I can also recommend a very interesting essay by Peter Wehner that came out in 2017 (click here) about the worth of humility from a spiritual point of view. (Wehner writes specifically in Christian terms, but Jewish readers will find his views very resonant and highly applicable to themselves.)

I have my own odd relationship with the concept. One of my own culture heroes, although not one I’ve written much about in this space, lived in Spain a cool thousand years ago in the first half of the eleventh century. And, as the author of the first Jewish book devoted solely to ethics and ethical issues, he deserves to be far more famous than he actually is. There are a few reasons for this. First, my guy, Bahya ben Joseph ibn Pakuda, is regularly confused—including by people who should certainly know better—with Bahya ben Asher ibn Halawa, who lived about two and a half centuries later, and who became known as one of the greatest biblical commentators of his day. So maybe it was inevitable that the two Bahya’s would get confused with each other, but it’s a shame that that happens: Bahya ben Asher was insightful, creative, and intelligent, but Bahya ibn Pakuda was one of the handful of true greats: a giant in terms of his incisive intellect, his ability to synthesize diverse material, his literary ability…and the humility he brought to his writing desk even when working on a book that he could not possibly have imagined readers a millennium later still considering novel, interesting, and not even slightly stale. And then there’s the matter of language: Bahya wrote not even in regular Arabic or in Hebrew, but in Judeo-Arabic, the specific dialect of Arabic spoken by the Jews of Spain during what we in our day have taken to reference as the Golden Age of Spanish Jewry. So that means his book is read today in its original language by more or less no one at all.

When I first began to read Jewish classics, I was still in college. And in my junior year, which I slightly unexpectedly spent in France studying Hebrew, I found myself in a class devoted to reading the 1950 French-language translation by André Chouraqui. After a few weeks, I was completely in his thrall. To say that Bahya became my only friend that year is to exaggerate. (I wasn’t that lonely.) But he was a real (if spectral) presence in my life that year…and a very supportive one at that. I don’t know where other people read Bahya, but I read him each night before bed. And I carried his book around with me too, pausing to read a few paragraphs whenever the opportunity presented itself. What can I say? Friends hang out together! (Maybe I really was that lonely.)

It was from Bahya that I learned about humility as something to be cultivated and sought after. In the sixth chapter of his book, which is wholly concerned with the topic, he writes that “one should always show humility toward others and divest oneself of all pride for the sake of showing honor to God, casting off all sense of loftiness, all arrogance and self-importance…both in private and in the midst of a crowd.” And then he goes on to explain how Scripture makes a point of requiring this particularly of people in leadership positions. And now we get to my point for the week.

Aaron, for example, was the High Priest of all Israel—but he was not above cleaning the ashes off the altar each morning and delivering them to the dump personally as a way of reminding himself to avoid haughtiness and arrogance. Similarly, the Bible reports that when the Holy Ark was finally brought into the City of David, King David himself offered up the burnt-offerings and danced in the street to remind himself that, when all was said and done, he was just as unworthy to sit on the throne of Israel as any other mortal would also have been.

And then Bahya goes on to describe the true leader specifically in terms of the degree to which such a person successfully cultivates a sense of natural humility, speaking as little as possible, declining ever to pontificate in public, always avoiding vulgar language, never behaving in a tawdry, tasteless, or crude way in front of others, and instantly intervening when someone is being treated unjustly. True leaders, he goes on, always seek to avoid public praise and never pass up an opportunity to own up to their own moral or ethical errors. “Such people,” Bahya writes, “never blame the ones who blame them (for having done things that they did in fact do), nor would they ever be angry with whomever uncovered the misdeed in question. On the contrary, the true leaders will always say to an accuser, ‘O my friend, what is this evil act of mine that you know of in comparison to those of which you are ignorant and which have been concealed by God for my sake for such a long time? Were my deeds and sins known to you, you would run away….” That, Bahya says, is what it means to embrace humility as a personal virtue...and to qualify as a national leader.

What would our American landscape be like if the people vying for political office were to take these words to heart—actively seeking forgiveness for past missteps, owning up to an inability to know with certainty where any chosen path will eventually lead, openly admitting ignorance and shortsightedness, and actively—and vigorously—seeking the counsel of the wise when decisions have to be made instead of relying solely on an inflated sense of their own ability magically to know the unknowable? I can answer that question myself: a lot more appealing and a lot healthier than the endless contest we now endure to see which candidate or would-be candidate can speak with more brazen certainty about the future, can be more disdainful of his or her rivals’ points of view and opinions, and who can be as little self-effacing as possible in an attempt to convince the undecided voter to choose him or her as our nation’s next leader.

Bahya’s book is almost a full thousand years old. Its author has been gone from the world for almost that long. His precise dates are unknown, as is the site of his grave and the details of his personal life—whom he married, how many children he had, what became of them, etc. He is hardly known to the non-Jewish world at all, but even within the world of Jewish letters there are only very few who can say that they have read his book from beginning to end even once, let alone many times. If only our would-be leaders were among them!

[atlafan]

No More

rucas one shot, post Texas

a/n: so everything is pretty much the same canon stuff, only they’re juniors and not in the 8th grade

“Are you only here because Riley told you, you two are brother and sister now?”

Maya looked Lucas square in the eyes, searching for an answer. She did, she had asked him the question he was hoping she wouldn’t. He didn’t want to lie. It was true, though. He was only exploring this new scenario because he couldn’t have Riley the way he wanted. Maybe that was wrong of him to do. Another part of him was doing it because that’s what Riley said she wanted, and he tried to do everything he could to make her happy, even date her best friend.

“Answer me Friar.”

“Maya…”

“Well, that answers that.”

“I only said your name.”

“You said my name, paused, and then sighed. Which means, you’re trying to think of a way to not hurt my feelings. If you don’t like me like that, then why are you here? Because Riley blurted out that I have a crush on you?”

“Why do you have a crush on me? I thought it sickened you that you couldn’t break me, or that I’m just a nice guy.”

“It does sicken me, but I’ve seen how good you are, and it’s inspiring.”

“When did it start?”

“I first noticed the appeal, or attraction when Zay got here. Watching you really get fired up for the first time, not using wit to solve the issue, but your anger and muscle. You showed a side of yourself that I started to like.”

“A side of me that I’ve been working really hard to get rid of.”

“You know what hurt me?”

“What?”

“Back in Texas, I literally told you I would never speak to you again if you got on that bull, and you still got on. Did my friendship mean nothing to you?”

“No...it means a lot to me actually. But you had never gotten that serious with me before, and honestly, it came from out of nowhere. That was our whole reason for going to Texas in the first place. I have to say, I’ve been feeling a little resentful towards you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because if you hadn’t stormed off, Riley never would have gotten into her head about how you felt about me. Feelings you clearly aren’t sure of what to do with yet. Right before she told me she loved me like a brother, I was finally going to ask her if we could try making things official. She completely broke my heart.”

“Guess that’s another reason why you’re here...to fill the void.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to try this out with you. I just don’t feel the same way. I should have told you that up front, but I didn’t want to make you feel the same way I did.”

“So you thought you’d humor me? Gee, thanks.”

“Maya, I care about you alot, and I truly value we have. We’ve grown a lot closer, and I’m thankful for it. I figured if you were feeling a certain way, we could at least give it a shot. What did I know? Something could have really sparked.”

“But nothing did.”

“No, and I’m so sorry. I’m still stuck on Riley. Do you really think she’d rather be going out with Charlie?”

“Here’s the appeal of Charlie. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to say how he feels. You and Riley have these amazingly deep talks, are you really going to tell me that topic of you two being an item really never came up?”

“Anytime something like that would happen, we’d get shy and change the subject.”

“Well, you were never clear about what you wanted or how you were feeling, and neither was she. I don’t think she likes him more than you, but he was the best option for her after you.”

“I need to fix this.”

“No, let me. This is basically all my fault anyways. She needs to hear from me first that it’s not working out between us, and that I need to really figure out my own feelings. I’ll go see if she’s home, and I can text you when we’re done.”

She gives him a reassuring smile, and starts to walk out of the bakery. Lucas jogs out after her.

“Maya, wait a second.”

“What’s up.”

“Thank you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t-”

“Don’t apologize. Sometimes you just can’t help how you feel. I’ll be okay, now let me go fix this.”

Maya climbs up the stairs to Riley’s bay window, like she had done a million times before. She could feel this giant pit in her stomach. She knew Lucas belonged with Riley, but for some reason she let Riley step back that day in Texas.

Maya peered through the glass of the window. She usually never hesitated before entering Riley’s room, but she almost felt scared to tell Riley everything. Riley was sitting there, writing in her journal peacefully. Maya taps on the glass to catch her attention. Riley’s smile grows when she sees her best friend, and walks over to the window to let Maya in. They both sit in their usual spots.

“Okay, guess I need to be supportive here, how’d it go this time around with Lucas?”

“No smoothie dumping, if that’s what you mean.”

“Great, progress, that’s great.”

“Actually, we talked. We didn’t just sit there this time, we talked.”

“Even better.”

“We talked about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah...it’s not gonna work between me and Lucas. There’s no spark. His words, not mine. He just doesn’t feel the same way, and well, you never should have forced him to try with me. I should have never let you-”

“Oh, so this whole situation is my fault? I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“I know, I didn’t mean to come off as blaming you for anything. It’s my fault. I was feeling something new, and I didn’t know how to handle it. It wasn’t as deep as you thought it was, and it went too far. It was just a crush.”

“A crush that deserved to be developed into something more.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He likes me as a friend, and I only have the strong feelings when he gets tough, which is side of himself he doesn’t even like. It’s one big mess Riles.”

“So what now?”

“Now, no more brother and sister, no more Charlie. You and Lucas need to talk and figure it out. He wants to be with you Riley, not me. He made that clear.”

“I’m sorry, I really did try to help.”

“I know, and I appreciate everything you did.”

“If he and I start being offcial, how are you gonna be? I don’t want you sitting there being resentful, and then all of a sudden you hate me and we’re not friends anymore.” “I won’t let that happen. I know when to talk to you when I’m having an issue. If I start feeling sore towards the two of you, I promise we’ll talk about it. That just means you both will have to go on your own little dates, get the cute stuff outa your system for when we all hang out together.”

“You’re sure you’ll-”

“Stop worrying about how I feel, and worry about how you feel. I want you to be happy too Riles. Call him, ask him to come over, or you go to his place, I don’t know. Just figure it out.”

The two hug, and Maya leaves Riley to sit there with her thoughts. RIley felt bad that she felt such a big sense of relief that things didn’t work out between Maya and Lucas. She sends him a text to see if she can go over to his house.

Riley goes out to her living room, and sees her parents watching TV.

“Mom, dad? Is it alright if I go over to Lucas’ for a little bit. There’s something he and I need to talk about.”

Both Cory and Topanga’s whip around to look at Riley with deep concern.

“Is everything alright?” Topanga asks, getting up from her spot on the couch.

“Yeah, everything’s great actually. We’re going to talk about us, and what we want from each other.”

“Ummmm.” Cory also gets up. “And what exactly is that?”

“To be official. No more games, no more pushing each other away, no more putting our own feelings on the sidelines to make others happy.”

“What about him and Maya?” Asks Topanga, still concerned.

“He told her earlier today it just wasn’t gonna happen for them. She just left, she told me everything. She was the one that told me to go talk to him. So, is it okay?”

“I don’t see why not. Just be home before curfew, and text one of us when you get there.” Cory says.

“Thanks guys.”

A half hour train ride later, Riley arrives at Lucas’ townhouse. He is out front waiting for her on his porch swing. She goes right up the stairs, and sits down next to him.

“Hi.” She says looking down, blushing, butterflies in her stomach.

“Hey.” He says, biting down on his bottom lip, unsure of how to start the conversation.

“Maya came over earlier, she told me what happened.”

“She took it better than I thought. I still feel bad though.”

“Me too. She’s my best friend, I just wanted her to be happy.”

“And I think she wants you to be happy too.”

“She does, which is why she told me to come see you. Apparently, we need to talk.”

“You know what was funny? She said it was weird that you and I talk all the time, have these really meaningful conversations, and we never discuss what we are to each other.”

“And what did you have to say about that?”

“That whenever it was slightly brought up, we’d basically change the subject.”

“Why do you think we do that?”

“Probably because we’re afraid that the other might not feel the same way. Or that maybe we just weren’t ready to go there because it’s kind of a big deal and change.” He pauses, and puts his hand on hers, and she looks up at him. “But, I’m not afraid of any of it anymore. I don’t want to risk losing you to someone else because I can’t just tell you how I feel.”

“Same here.”

“Riley, I really want to be official with you. I want to be your boyfriend. I want to take you to every single dance, hold your hand when we walk down the hall, and continue being the one you have the really important conversations with. Are those things you want? Because if they’re not, that’s okay, but it would be nice to know.”

“Those are all things that I definitely want Lucas, more than you’ll ever know. I think we should give it a shot. I think we’ve both matured since last year. I think I’m actually ready to have a boyfriend, and be a girlfriend. I want to be with you. No more unofficial thing.”

“Great, so let’s make it official.”

“I don’t know how to be a girlfriend.”

“It’s not a job that you need years of training for Riley. We can just be us, just a more exclusive us. Plus…”

“Plus what?”

“Well, I mean we keep doing what we’ve been doing, only we get to kiss and stuff. That’s really what sets people apart from being just friends and being in a relationship.”

“We’ve kissed before, and we stayed just friends.”

“I don’t think either of us really knew what that kiss meant. I know that I couldn’t kiss Maya.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to have that intimacy with you, and only you.”

“Alright then.”

Riley puts her hands on Lucas’ cheeks, like she had done those years ago on the train. She leaned in and kissed Lucas. Instead of it being a quick lip touch like before, this time he pulled her in closer, and they had a good, long kiss. They let go of each other and smiled.

“I guess this means we’re official.” Says Riley.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Lucas puts an arm around Riley, and she snuggles into him. They rock on the porch swing, watching cars go by, watching the stars around the moon. They sat there quietly, enjoying each other’s company. Riley looks at her phone and realizes it’s getting a little late.

“It’s getting late, I should probably start making my way home.”

“Let me drive you. The traffic shouldn't be too crazy right now.”

“That would be great.”

Since Lucas was a year older, that meant he got his license before any of their friends. His parents got him a truck. Not exactly ideal for city life, but it was what he wanted. He was right, the traffic wasn’t too crazy, and he got Riley home in plenty of time.

“Well thanks for bringing me home. I guess tomorrow we can announce to the world that we’re official.”

“Why bother? The world can figure it out.”

“What about our friends.”

“I don’t know. I’d almost like to see how long it takes them to figure it out.”

“Or how about we take a picture of the two of us right now, send it in the group text, and then not answer any of their questions until tomorrow. That’ll really drive them nuts.”

“I like the way you think.”

Riley holds her phone up, and at the last second Lucas kisses her on the cheek. She blushes, and almost drops her phone.

“Just another thing to get used to, but I’m not complaining. Goodnight Lucas.”

“Goodnight Riley.”

Riley gets up to her bedroom, and flops onto her cozy bed. Butterflies still in her stomach, but this time they were the good kind. She never felt happier.

[themusiciantraveler]

Off to See the World...

Monday.  May 21, 2018. 8:36am.

 Horns honked, brake lights glared, and drivers yelled at other drivers inside their mostly sound-proof vehicles not many feet away.  Michael weaved in and out of traffic, causing some of the Mercedes’ occupants to keep their wide eyes trained on their laps in fright. My head drooped impossibly low as I battled sleepiness and slid from side to side during our jolting ride.

Despite not being as well-rested as the remainder of our traveling group seemed, I felt surprisingly put together.  But looks can be quite deceiving.  I can probably guarantee that I have forgotten something behind in our little valley home.  However, throwing caution and care to the wind as our sleek car inched through the infamous Los Angeles traffic I have decided to take the “if I did not pack it, I do not need it” philosophy for my initial foray into the world outside of the United States.  I am armed with my Nikon, clad in my Birkenstocks, and I have my faithful mother and trusty traveling companion trailing not far behind me.  I feel prepared to take on the world – literally.

A small tip on packing from someone who overpacks for everything without fail: don’t overpack.  Just don’t. Check the weather for where you are traveling, talk to people who have visited where you are going or read articles from blogs or travel writing journals that boast facts on weather and terrain for the locale you will soon be visiting.  Pick neutrals that go together and can easily be mixed and matched, it will help cut down the number of things you will want to pack. If you’re traveling through Europe in early summer like I am, you will want to pack an umbrella and a lightweight rain jacket for the surprising mid-day storms and comfortable walking shoes for the cobblestone streets.  You seriously won’t want or need more than two pairs of shoes on a trip that’s two weeks or less.  And just remember this helpful fact: anything extra that you pack that you don’t absolutely need will take up valuable space that can be replaced by souvenirs and memories from your once in a lifetime trip.

Now just a bit of advice, if you ever see an exceedingly full elevator, do everyone a favor and wait for the next one.  Or better yet, take the escalator or the stairs and build some muscles. That advice had not been heeded by enough travelers, so our overly populated ride to the proper floor involved zero personal space and one extraordinarily confused emergency responder that had been accidentally summoned by the small red button the resides below the floor numbers – yes, the button your mother told you never to push.  But when the elevator remarkably resembles an iconic clown car, what else can one expect but for someone to lean against the button panel. An audible sigh of relief emanated from the steel cage that had thankfully made it up the few floors as the inhabitants fled from its constricting grasp.

Confusion, complaints, delays, mad dashes, and trashcans overflowing with contraband (your 18 bags of trail mix will probably feed some starving TSA agent fairly well for a few afternoons) are just a few hallmarks of airport security lines.  I learned how to snack and pack well from my dad, in his words “you must always be prepared for unexpected inevitable.”  He is called King Pack in our household and could probably win the world championship of Tetris.  So, armed with this ability to put everything in its place and keep it all sequestered to a single bag, you can imagine my dismay (horror, really) as my aubergine backpack was unceremoniously upended and the contents of my in-flight survival kit were dumped onto the table in front of me.  So perhaps, rethink that umpteenth bag of cheese puffs in lieu of making it to your gate in a timely manner – in other words, learn from my mistake and unfortunate encounter.

Time flies when you’re having fun or running just the slightest bit behind schedule.  Suddenly we were the last of our group to arrive at our gate as the hustle and bustle scurried around us and boarding began.  Time slowed as blurred travelers swept around our little group of professors, parents, grandparents, students, graduates, and new-found friends.  Within those moments as we shuffled through the long line of passengers filing down the narrow walkway to the plane an overwhelming sense of wonder overtook me – I was about to leave the country for the very first time.  Finally.

 Wanderlust:

“a strong longing for or impulse toward wandering.”

The word boasts its roots in the German language and embodied several of the emotions I was feeling as we navigated to our seats and settled in for the 10-hour flight to Heathrow airport.  Nerves, excitement, a growling stomach, exhaustion, and imminent muscle spasms loomed on the horizon as the giant steel bird floated effortlessly through the haze and above the clouds.  The crowded plane that was our shared home for the next leg of the journey brought together young and old alike with headphones and neck pillow adorning armrests and trays full of electronics and reading materials.  Each from their own walk of life and yet we would all share part of ourselves through conscious or subconscious actions and reactions in the following evening and morning.  Some looking to get away from normal for a while, some returning home, and some just partway through a much longer journey.

And in the midst of this somewhat philosophical moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would physically be able to sit still for that long.  My advice for long flights: know how to occupy your mind, drink lots of water, invest in a good neck pillow, know when to rest even if you cannot sleep, and stretch every couple of hours.  I also recommend setting your watch, or any type of clock available on-hand, to the time zone you are traveling to and attempt to rearrange your daily habits to fit the current time of your final destination. It should help you successfully conquer jetlag and leave you feeling refreshed and ready to take on a new city or country once your plane lands.

Another fantastic and equally engaging activity to busy yourself with during long flights is reading up on the history of the cities and sites you plan to visit.  Travel writing books are endlessly fascinating, but your best bet will be any of Rick Steve’s travel books based in your destination.  He provides personal insights, pricing, recommendations, and closing times that will become your best friend while on the road.  For seasoned travelers and newbies alike, I cannot recommend a better book and travel guide for the world abroad.

If you’re anything like me, the excitement will keep you awake most of the flight, and you will probably memorize the safety information card for fun due to boredom.  But I can promise that no matter how tired you are after those long hours cooped up in that cabin, you’ll want to soak in and remember every waiting moment just to see what the morning brings with its clementine-soaked rays and endless possibilities.

[nondescriptman]

Things I forgot to post so here’s a dump

Feb. 17, 2016 I've given myself five minutes to capture some of my main feelings about Bahktin's Rabelais and His World. I had a hard time grasping this book. Bahktin is not a great writer and without knowing a thing about Rabelais, the context of this book is lost on me. Through the study of laughter and a long trip through Wikipedia, I discovered that Rabelais is known for writing Gargantua and Pantagruel, a story of the giant Gargantua and his son, Pantagruel. These names I have heard many times in my life in various forms. Rabelais' work was written in the 16th Century and has been about humour, grostequeness, scat, "material body lower stratum", carnival, jesters, and all things seen as "low humour" or "low brow". Having some knowledge that this is what Bahktin is trying to describe, I find it ironic that the text is inaccessible to a regular person while the subject matter was to be presented to the commoners of society. The images that come to mind thinking about humour and the grotesque are The Joker (and every Batman villain, including Batman), Kefka, Hisoka, Resident Evil/Half-Life, pretty much any anime/video game/movie where there are experimentations that warp the human body, showcase something gross, or present it in a humourous way. Takeshi Miike also comes to mind and his level of gore that's so ridiculous it becomes funny. Tim Burton is also high up there with this. What I like about this level of humour is that it is accessible for all. It's not pleasant and it can sound very rude, but life isn't always pleasant. A little rude awakening can help. Certainly, when compared to the gore presented in the Iliad, I think a fart joke is nothing. Well, 5 minutes is up. I'll write more tomorrow.March 1, 2016 It has been a couple of weeks since I wrote anymore information about Rabelais. The more I think about what Bahktin was trying to say, the more I want to hear about it. I wish we spent more time in class on Rabelais because there is something in the way Bahktin describes the work that has gotten a hold of me and I want to read on. I'm surprised that I might find that Bahktin and Rabelais being the book I will take with me to exile. Dostoyevsky is the cause of my desire to unpack Bahktin further. Bahktin is impossible for me to read. I do not understand it and I think he is (maybe it's the translator) a terrible writer. He does not write so that the information is easy to digest. This is a problem. Dostoyevsky can be the same way but when his characters really go inside themselves and expose their thoughts and feelings, I relate to them. The connection with Bahktin is the realism both authors bring to the world. It is something I discovered with the Iliad too. I have spent most of my GLS education on looking for the ideal way to life. I wanted to find eudaimonia, enlightenment, the good life, how to become bamboo, and how to cultivate the seed of compassion. I forgot why I was interested in looking for these things. It is because I think that most days, life is dull and uneventful. As I write this, I don't know if I should be happy or glad that life is uneventful. The question I want to ask myself is: Do I want to be a great man so that many people will know and acknowledge me, or do I want to be a minor player, a extra and obscured? Do I want my voice heard or do I want to keep it silent and save it for those close to me? Epicureans might want the latter - be happy with those around you and live a simple life - that is how to obtain happiness. Maybe it is contentment. Is that so wrong? I have a desire to be better and great also. I want to be the hero of my own story or maybe the hero in others people's stories. I don't know how I intend to do that. The closest I came was when I was working with other people. I thrive on that work; it gives me so much energy to build and be more. My current life is quieter and I want to know if I can become great. This is an opposing view. Which one should I aim for and do I have time to do either? Should that be the goal of life to try anyway, even if I run out of time? The week that I am writing this, I am reading Van Gogh's letters. They show a person who is feeling the same. He wants art to be his passion and is working desperately to get there and get approval, mostly from his brother, Theo. He works tirelessly and is grateful for his brother's help and is looking somewhat on the approval from his brother too. I like these letters. I like looking into the hearts of the artists to know that they suffer a little bit too. These days, social media only shows happiness. We escape into each others' highlights and we forget how to manage the lowlights. I am waiting for some highlights right now. There is a meme online of Bob Ross. It is a quote of his that goes, "Gotta have opposites dark and light, light and dark in painting. It's like in life. Gotta have a little sadness once in a while so you know when the good times come. I'm waiting on the good times now." The problem is when the darkness, the sadness seems unending to the point where your loved ones are too tired to see you hurt that they leave you. Who will be there to pull me out of the dark? That is where I think Bahktin's interpretation comes into play. Rabelais wrote in dark times. The world he lived in was plagued by the Black Death. Humans were coming slowly out of the dark ages (I need to make sure my historical references are accurate) yet Bahktin says there was room for fun and laughter. People knew that life was rough and Rabelais showed that they were still able to make the best of it. We are not so grateful these days. Victor Frankl speaks of his experiences with the Holocaust and Holocaust survivors. The ones who made it out were about to make the best of it and enjoy life when possible. Not true for those in Vietnam and for all soldiers living with PSTD. Jonathan Shay gives a good account of this. (Find the images of the lighters from Vietnam). The soldiers' stories were intense but maybe there was some joy and laughter too in the bad situation (will confirm when I read it or talk about it). Freud notes that we need to cope with this trauma and create narratives to survive (research this). So, this interest in Rabelais is about finding joy while living in the shit. Some New Ager might want to say that it's mindfulness and awareness. We are coping and managing our auras or some other kind of nonsense. I want to believe that we have the ability to change that but since I am in the shit, I want to go back to it and find what's funny. I really don't care if it is vulgar. I want to decide whether the grotesque is adequate in describing my conundrum, my situation. I'm so surprised that I am going back to the book I least enjoyed reading. March 17, 2016 The last few weeks in class has been tough. I'm not enjoying the works of Virginia Woolf or Margaret Buber-Neumann's Milena. I could not identify with either story and I don't think class discussions has brought me into the fold. I simply don't understand the context of these narratives. I do not have family who were rich Victorians or Holocaust survivors. I'm from a peasant-middle class family. We never tried to bring in memory into our lives. I suppose the greatest source of memory is the Book of Names that my father treasures, a list, almost like a poem of the names of my ancestors. In relation to the books we've read in this class, it is reminiscent to the names associated with the 'heroes' of the Iliad. I am from a long line of other Chinese sons that go back to the 1600s. I am weary of my role in the establishment of traditions too. Do I keep them or break them? I am the only son of the only son left in this line. I should be having another generation follow me. My mind has been pre-occupied with the continuation of this legacy and I wonder if my future partner will understand the significance to my desire to maintain tradition or will I have to abandon ship and enter a progressive relationship where the woman has an equal say in the traditional upbringing of a child. So my mind is a little split on this. I am looking for a new relationship since the old one seems to have faded and ended, as far as I can tell. I have no desire to return to her and yet I am stuck with strings still attached. Maybe those kinds of love attachments never go away but the pain and sharpness does. Is it so wrong to have that kind of feeling linger? The current crop of women I have gone on dates with seem to think that's a problem but I only recall Mary Wollstonecraft's second husband, William Godwin, who seemed to not be worried that Wollstonecraft had lingering feelings for Imlay, or others who had multiple affairs and recollections and helped bring about the story of their past lovers. Even Buber-Neumann accepts Milena's past attachments to her lovers. What is it about the modern world now that considers these memories as "baggage" that needs to be released before entering into a new life? It only seems to apply to men, but single mothers have children that are attachments to the past, yet I don't think that's looked at as a bad thing. My writing is failing me. I'm reading Kafka's Blue Octavo Notebooks, published after his death. I like his writing process, much like I enjoyed Van Gogh's painting process. I write and think in this way. It is not exactly creative but it allows for ideas to escape from my mind, where they are twisting and swirling. They don't go anywhere but now they are free to be. Sometimes I return to my thoughts and wonder what was going on in my mind at the time of writing. I am sure I will do that here too. The process of writing, getting words down on the page is important to me. I am often neglecting this wonderful transition from the internal to the external. My Grade 9 English teacher, Mr. Miller, made us write in journals as soon as we got into class. For the first ten minutes, we would sit and write. He never read what we wrote, rarely if at all. At first, I was very annoyed. I didn't understand the process so for the first few months, I wrote angrily. I wrote with so much anger and hatred and this waste of time exercise. My memory isn't so clear from that age, but I think I stopped being angry after a few weeks. I might as well write my feelings, anything that I was feeling. I liked doing that so much I continued throughout most of my high school life and undergraduate degree. I continued when I graduated and moved to Japan. My entire year there is captured and easily recalled. People ask me why my memory of the past was so strong; it is because I wrote about it constantly. It was a drive I could not contain. Nowadays, I write occasionally for school. I don't write as often. I consider myself to be too busy to write. I keep everything locked away in my mind where they can transform. A good thought can brood inside and turn into anxiety, fear, anger, hatred. I tried to speak about it but no one understands. I am better writing than speaking. I forget that about myself. An example of my brooding. On Monday, I met a young woman for dinner. I have seen her once before and I have been anxious to see her again. She is very attractive; beautiful. We talked but we didn't really laugh. Maybe we did. I can't remember because I only remember how I didn't laugh at everything, didn't try to make her laugh. I was so nervous to talk to her. I was surprised she wanted to meet again because it seemed like she didn't want to meet. She does not use her phone to text and her life seems pretty complete and busy. Yet, at the end of the night, she leaned in and kissed me. I liked it. I think she liked it. Here's my problem: "I think she liked it." I wasn't present in the moment so I couldn't feel her and I'm usually very good with that. I wonder now if that means she couldn't feel me either. Without that spark of the first kiss, we don't have a chance of getting any closer. But maybe I'm thinking about this too much? How do I stop? Her lips were very soft. Now, she's busy again for another week or two. Will I see her again? I don't know. As Roland Barthes say, "I'm the one who waits." So I wait and I wonder. I try to distract myself so I don't become anxious. I try to focus on other tasks. They don't work. But writing! Writing seems to work well. My distractions are coming up to meet me now. I must end this writing section again. Where will I go with my final paper for GLS? April 7, 2016 The last two books of this semester were Fred Wah's Diamond Grill and Jonathan Shay's Achilles in Vietnam. Both books were great for their own respective reasons. I liked Diamond Grill because there are many parallels with the Wah's trip through immigration in Canada and my own family history in Canada. My family history is very short. I don't really understand my cousins' view of living in Canada. I'm sure it's hard to be mentally challenged (is that the correct political label - why do we care so much that our words no longer offend? Whatever happened to Rabelais' vulgar, grotesque, carnival, spectacle that is what it is to be human? Why are we so focused on being clean and safe? Have we gone too far or do we need to keep going to find those limits?) or homosexual as the first set of immigrants from my family to be hard. I'm not better - a 36 year old unmarried bachelor - something my parents were not expecting when they came to Canada. They make it obvious that I should have had children by now, settled down, not focused on my dreams (if I knew what my dreams were, I would definitely have followed them - it's the problem with being an immigrant child - where do we get our dreams if they were not forced upon us by our traditional families? I don't know that I have actualized my potential and become my own self or I'm still split between the multiple selves with attached responsibilities from my immediate family to my distant ancestors. The whole filial piety thing is difficult for me to comprehend and put into practice. It pulls me in from time to time, when I see my father with a head of white hair, when my mother asks for help to lift a heavy object. My sister is there but she's not the one responsible, or shouldn't be, but has become de facto caretaker of my parents because I'm the older fairy child with one foot in reality, a foot, sword, bow, shield, aura in fantasy. I never want to leave that fantasy world; I'm afraid of reality and facing it. It's much easier to see it play out in someone else, learn the lesson from their trials, and incorporate the learnings in me. That's why we read, right? I need to come up with a way to express my choice of exile. I like the writing style of Kafka's Octavo Notebooks and Fred Wah's vivid detail of his childhood as a homage to his father. I want to provide some kind of legacy and record of my family history. It will have to change since our family history has been documented in Chinese and I'm finally regretting not learning the language in my youth. It is hard to read and write Chinese as an adult. I don't have a lack of motivation. I am incapable of memorizing new information easily. I always feel lazy, like I'm not doing enough. Life is about opportunities for experience. I am forcing myself to experience positive things, all things. I realize that I cannot possibly do this. Those who have children seem to comment on how children change their focus and purpose in life. I wonder how much of that is reflected in Diamond Grill. Wah doesn't speak much about his children. There is some two way communication between him being a son and him being a father. He plays with language so well I can't tell which way his address is heading. Shay's book is very intense and I'm interested in it because it brings me back to the fantasy world. Wah's book is real. Shay's book is meant to be real but I can't experience it other than through stories which seem to always glorify battle, even if it's meant to provoke compassion, sadness, or some other sombre emotion. The text is heavy. I feel for the Vietnam veterans. It is much easier to think about the Iliad because I can think of the soldiers as mythology and not real people. I have met a real soldier but he was young. His eyes were not young but he liked me and his platoon liked me and I felt like I was part of their brotherhood. There's something there that is not love, it's not caring, and he was their commander and it was definitely like being a mother. He talked about going berserk. His name was Sparta. I can't believe I didn't bring him up in class. Maybe I should write something about it in an email. yes, I'll do that and share my thoughts.