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curioskitty · 3 years

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THE・Rarest Bakugou

Given Bakugou-kun's description as a "juvenile delinquent" (Horikoshi sensei uses the term 不良少年, or furyou shounen, meaning juvenile delinquent boy), it's expected that he wouldn't conform to standard. So obviously, it's not possible to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie properly................

What is up with this perfectly tied nonsense right here?!

Bakugou-kun, I thought I knew you!!! THE LIES! THE BETRAYAL!!!

But, it's probably just a fluke. You didn't mean it, right Horikoshi-sensei?

WTF?! WHY?!!! Horikoshi-sensei?!

Yep. Contrary to expectations, Bakugou-kun wearing a tie correctly only ranks at Ultra Rare status: difficult to find, but not impossible.

So, what's rarer than a tie-wearing Bakugou-kun? Go Beyond, Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In fact, it's even harder to find Bakugou-kun wearing a tie improperly. Given proto-Bakugou's loose tie design, I would have expected that to be the likelier delinquent-esque tie option. But I've only seen Horikoshi-sensei draw him like this once:

(Horikoshi-sensei's one year celebration illustration. This is still fairly early in the publication.)

On top of that, Bakugou-kun consistently wears his uniform tie-less and with at least one button undone on his shirt collar. His pants are always slung low on his hips and legs bunching up at his feet (except when he had to wear jeans for Best Jeanist). You can even see panels where Horikoshi-sensei drew in the rips at the hems near the heel where they drag on the ground.

So why the inconsistency, Horikoshi-sensei? I see you over there, stop pretending you didn't notice. I know you're paying attention.

Horikoshi-sensei gave proto-Bakugou a loosened tie, so what is the reasoning for taking Bakugou-kun's tie away?

Some No-Tie Theories

Fan Theory #1: HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW

//Like Midoriya-kun, Bakugou-kun came from a middle school with gakuran uniforms. They never learned how to tie them. Midoriya-kun messes up his tie, while Bakugou-kun doesn't even bother to try.//

I actually think this is the least likely reason. Bakugou-kun was designed to be a naturally talented genius. I think this applies to anything he wants to do. If he does something, it's always perfectly done.

Bakugou-kun can (and does if you look above) tie it perfectly when necessary.

CONCLUSION: If Bakugou-kun doesn't do something, it's completely out of personal preference or because he doesn't see a reason to.

Fan Theory #2: REBELLIOUS NATURE

//Bakugou-kun is a delinquent and maintains that image because he thinks it looks cool. Or maybe he is rebelling against fashion designer parents. Either way, because of his family background he knows how to tie a tie, but wants to be a rebel.//

I'd give partial points for this one. I'm pretty sure he wears his pants loose at least partially because he thinks it looks cool. However, Bakugou-kun's parents were noted to be designers and not specifically fashion designers.

Despite appearances, this is the kid that sleeps at 8:30pm, doesn't break school rules, and yells at his friends for smoking.

He zips up the collar on his gym track suit all the way. Both the summer and winter versions get the same treatment. He doesn't feel the need to "make a statement" by wearing his track uniform incorrectly. Outside of class, he can and does sometimes wear his track jacket unzipped, but during class he always wears it properly.

So then why does Bakugou-kun refuse to wear the band T-shirt and Christmas party Santa outfit? Because he isn't cooperative. In Ultra Analysis, his Cooperativeness Stat was the lowest rank: E.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun may be non-conformist and uncooperative, but he isn't a rebel.

Fan Theory #3: TRAUMA/PTSD

//This is one of the more popular theories. Between Dabi grabbing his neck, the Sludge Villain and being restrained at the School Festival, our boy has been through the wringer. As a result, he just doesn't like stuff around his neck because it gives him anxiety.//

The Western Fandom is definitely concerned about the mental health of the kids. But I don't actually think this is the reason. Not that I don't think they all need some therapy and self care, especially right now, but there just isn't evidence for this specific trauma in Bakugou-kun.

He wears scarves and even turtle necks without a problem.

On top of that, Bakugou-kun ALSO unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and gakuran in middle school; even from before the Sludge Villain incident. There isn't any evidence Bakugou-kun changed his dressing habits due to trauma. He wore a scarf to the entrance exam for UA, too.

CONCLUSION: Bakugou-kun has ALWAYS worn his shirts with the top button unbuttoned.

These 3 theories are inadequate, too. Even if they did explain the reasons Bakugou-kun doesn't wear a uniform tie, they don't factor in the reasoning for why he DOES wear his other ties properly sometimes.

HC#1: Bakugou-kun's preference

Bakugou-kun doesn't seem to care about his image and how "extras" see him. Even during the press interviews after his hero debut, he wore the same style of open collar look. He's not shy about being nude or taking his shirt off.

But what he hates is being uncomfortable.

He is "explosively brawny". Just look at how thick Bakugou-kun's neck is when compared to Midoriya-kun's. It isn't just that Midoriya-kun is supposed to be scrawny, but also that Bakugou-kun has a thicker than average neck.

Bakugou-kun doesn't like to button up his shirts all the way because it's uncomfortable. It's reasonable that he zips his track suit and everything else up because those are looser at the neck or made of stretchier materials.

As for why he doesn't wear the uniform tie at all... Don't forget Bakugou-kun is a perfectionist and a bit of a neat freak.

He always tucks his shirt in. For the band performance he wore a collared black dress shirt. From what we saw of his room, it's minimalist and clean. I don't see him wanting to look like a slob.

A sloppy loose tie would probably irritate him more than just not wearing it (which is even funnier when you think about Midoriya-kun's chonk tie. It probably makes him want to strangle Midoriya-kun, or maybe just tie it himself...)

Bakugou-kun has difficulties compromising when it comes to his high standards. So if he has to wear it, it's going to be either 0% or 100%.

HC#2: Explosiveness

Why draw Bakugou-kun with either 0% tie or 100% tie? If Horikoshi-sensei is going for a delinquent image, wouldn't the 50% tie option make more sense?

Taking a look again at Bakugou-kun's profile page, Horikoshi-sensei describes him to be explosive in every way. That includes his whole body being "explosively brawny", but also adds a note that he looks slender in clothes.

Horikoshi-sensei put an effort to make every element of Bakugou-kun's character in some state of either fully compressed or explosive.

His slimming clothes, general appearance and even his speech patterns are highly compressed (blunt/terse) and loud. The extremes of his attitude are compressed too; if Bakugou-kun is not loudly raging, then he's quietly observing.

This contrast is key to his character. You can't explode if you aren't compressed first. It's supposed to be shocking to see how brawny he actually is under his slenderizing clothes. And I always feel shocked whenever I see this kid compressed into a tie.

HC#3: Deku & Kacchan

These two are set apart from the class by design and very much on purpose. Horikoshi-sensei designed them to be at opposite ends of the same spectrum.

If Bakugou-kun has muscular arms, then Midoriya-kun needs muscular legs. If Midoriya-kun buttons up his shirt all the way to the collar, then Bakugou-kun's collar has to be loose. Their designs reflect their connection.

So if Midoriya-kun has a poorly tied tie, the opposite of that is either non-existant or perfectly tied. If it's perfectly tied, he'd just blend in with the class.

The no-tie option just makes more sense.

Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou

Horikoshi-sensei only ever draws Bakugou-kun with a tie in specific scenarios. Costume events that require the neck tie as part of the costume or "fancy" events where everyone is in formal wear. And even in those, Bakugou-kun manages to not wear his tie 90% of the time.

So, I just imagine that when Horikoshi-sensei makes Bakugou-kun wear his tie, he's super grumpy! Just look at his face in every illustration he's wearing a tie in. He's probably hot, uncomfortable, and really not enjoying himself at all.

Ultimately, the "Plus Ultra Rare Bakugou" is a Bakugou-kun who wears the tie and SMILES while doing it.

(Yes, I know that's NOT actually a tie. Shut up Bakugou-kun. You're only smirking in this one because you won the Popularity Poll for the 5th time in a row...)

(Well that's random, you say? Welcome to my blog. Considering the stuff going down on canon, I figured I should give fans, and myself, a break from angst to talk about something silly.

Please note that this applies only to the manga. I've found that the anime isn't quite so strict about how Bakugou-kun looks.

Regarding the headcanons, I just want to clarify that everyone is free to think whatever they like. I enjoy all headcanons and support your right to have them.

I wrote this a while ago and then debated posting it because it's such a huge meta about... Bakugou-kun's tie. I had regrets. But now it's become my new years post. Regrets were for 2020, it's already 2021!

Demons out, fortune in!!! I know it's not setsubun for another month, but 2020 was such a demon.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!)

#why did i write this #does this even qualify as meta #bnha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bnha randomness #bnha spoilers #bkdk #bakudeku #decchan #if you squint #bnha meta #boku no hero manga #Bakugou Katsuki's tie

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celestinaruns · 5 years

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Dealing with Devastation

This weekend I ran my 5th marathon--and my worst marathon.

Yup, you read that right. After running half-marathons and marathons for four years, this was the day I did my worst. No sugarcoating? It’s a shit feeling. It’s heartbreaking. I was sobbing during the race and full-on crying afterwards. When you’re doing something you’re good at, and something like this that requires so much effort, the idea that you will go somewhere ready to give it your all only to end up doing worse than your first attempt is impossible. So when it happens, it’s devastating.

But it does happen. It happens in everything we do at any point in life (which, admittedly, doesn’t actually make me feel any better). Running a 3:54:34 marathon after qualifying for and running the Boston just... well, simply put, it sucks.

You’re probably wondering what happened. Those that know me personally know that I tend to overwork hard. I’m competitive and stubborn. And honestly? I couldn’t even tell you. Around halfway through the marathon, I just got hit with the a horrible wave of nausea. That’s all I really know. I felt a little uneasy and had some stomachaches in the morning--but it was pretty early in the morning, that could have been normal. I didn’t even think twice about it. And I suppose the water stations were awkwardly spaced out and my energy chews didn’t feel good--but there was water.

So I don’t know. All I know was that I felt sick to my stomach, and since I had taken an anti-emetic before the race, I knew I wasn’t going to puke... but that feeling in my stomach made it impossible to run too fast without getting sick, and I gagged every time I even smelled an energy gel. In other words, I ran the last half of my marathon without any gels. My legs felt like lead.

It could have had a cause, or it could have been a fluke that will never happen again--either way, it completely ruined my time and the lack of control really doesn’t help. It’s like if you were to break an arm on the way to a final exam. That’s insane, right? But it happened, and now you can’t write an exam for a class you’ve been working hard in for a whole semester. You just have to take the L and cope somehow.

Admittedly, there were other factors at play, too. I ran Boston five weeks ago. I also had a bad bout of nausea that weekend. There is a very good chance I wasn’t ready to take on a full (the thought “I should have done the half” went through my head about 2 km before the nausea hit). Unknown to me because I know very little about Red Deer, a good chunk of the race was on trail--and I was not prepared. Not to mention headwinds at every damn turn (I was running in loops--talk about acts of God). I have also been in the shittiest of headspaces all week due to a lot of external stress, and marathon running really demands 110% of your mental willpower. Feeling sick to my stomach for half the race was more like the last straw.

So yeah--it’s safe to say that I was heartbroken at the end of this. I felt like I had failed myself somehow. In reality, I just forgot to do the one thing everyone does when they’re trying to succeed: taking it easy. Again, those of you that know me personally know that I don’t do well with taking it easy. Still, the main lesson from this race wasn’t that I suck. It was that I’ve been pushing myself too hard, and because of that I couldn’t run my best. And if I want to continue running my best, I need to take it easy sometimes.

I bring to you...

Things Celestina needs to start doing

1. Not racing her heart out all the daMN TIME. I’m running a 50 km trail race in June with a time limit of 10 hours. It’ll be a lot of jogging and walking on my part. And I’m volunteering as a pace bunny for the Edmonton Marathon at a much slower pace than I would normally do. Hopefully, this will give me the time to focus on running for fun and recuperating for my BQ attempt next year in Edmonton. (Aside: I actually can’t run Boston in 2020 because of school, so 2021 it is).

2. Figuring out new nutrition tactics. Clearly gels and chews hate me, or maybe I need to try a different brand. And I hate running with a belt or a hydration pack, but I do need some kind of plan for races that just don’t have a good spacing of hydration stations. Either way, I need to optimize this so I don’t get sick anymore. And on that note, to consider seeing a nutritionist about what else I could do.

3. Not being her own worst enemy. Ultimately, I ran a sub-4 marathon and I was the 7th out of 34 women. Yeah, it was my worst time. Yeah, that’s a shitty feeling. But it’s still a sub-4 marathon and I got 7th place... just five weeks after running Boston. I know that I exacerbate things a lot of the time by making them seem worse than they actually are, and this isn’t any good for that headspace I was talking about.

A hefty to-do list, to say the least. But running was never meant to be my 5 seconds of fame. It’s something that’s allowed me to stretch my own limits and help out other people that want to do the same. It’s something I want to do for the rest of my life--but that requires hitting a few bumps in the road.

PS -- One way or another, I still got Peter’s. I guess we can call that a win.

#celestinaruns #celestinarunsfitness #celestinarunshealth #marathon #marathon runner #marathoner #running #runblr #fitblr #healthblr #nutrition #healthy living #marathon training #racing #blog #running blog

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miss-emrys · 6 years

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The Sea Is Calling

Read on AO3

“Back again? Second time this morning, Sid.”

Sidney blushes and Geno wishes he could see past the wetsuit zipped up tight on Sidney’s neck, to follow that enticing flush further down.

“It never hurts to be cautious,” Sidney replies after a moment. He bites his lip before adding, “She’s a bit restless today.” Then he’s already walking back in the direction he came from like he knows Geno will follow.

Geno does.

Even though he’s been working at the Coastal Marine Rescue Center for almost ten months, Geno’s still one of the newest veterinary hires. He also can count on both hands the number of personal details he knows about the elusive Sidney Crosby, despite having grown quite close to the rest of their tight-knit staff. That personal information is hard-won. Sidney resides in a league of his own, keeping to himself for the most part; he seems to prefer it that way. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem altogether bothered when Geno’s curiosity gets the better of him and he shamelessly peppers Sidney with questions from time to time. It’s a delicate game of give and take, learning tidbits of information about him. Geno makes sure to offer up details of his own life so it’s less of an interrogation and more like an actual conversation. He always feels a special kind of accomplishment when he learns something new about Sidney.

They don’t speak much as they walk through the facility, comfortable in each other’s presence, and Geno has to force himself to focus on something other than the view of Sidney right in front of him. That damn wetsuit is the bane of his existence; it never gets any easier to see him walk around in skin-tight neoprene without any idea of the effect it has on the rest of them. Geno might even think Sidney is entirely oblivious to the world around him if it weren’t for the glances Geno catches aimed his way every so often when Sidney thinks he’s not looking.

As they enter the large enclosure, Geno’s eyes shift from the broad line of Sidney’s shoulders to their patient in the water. Weighing only a couple of tons, the humpback whale calf that had been rescued less than a week before is still severely malnourished. Geno estimates she’s about four or five months old, which means she should weigh significantly more than she does and likely still be nursing for awhile yet. He can still remember how disturbing it felt when the emergency call came through, when they found her beached and alone on the shore with a dangerously low body mass, so far from any of the local pods. They had truly arrived in the nick of time; it’s a wonder she’s still alive considering her condition.

Geno and Sidney crouch down at the edge of the expansive tank in unison, watching as she rises up to the surface in the slow, gentle way they’ve become familiar with over the past few days. She’s moving a bit more steadily today than she has been, attempting to break the surface of the water more and more as is her nature.

“You know humpbacks playful, Sid,” Geno remarks after watching her swim around for a couple minutes, breaking the surface a few more times. “Lacerta just try breaching little bit.”

Geno knows better than to name a wild animal, especially one whose stay is only temporary. But that didn’t stop him from referring to the young calf as Lacerta the first time he examined her in the water, due to the distinct constellation-like pattern on the underside of her fluke. Sidney has yet to comment on it, but based on the tiny smile that quirks up on his lips each time Geno says her name, he figures he’s not being judged for doing so.

“You think?” Sidney asks. Lacerta resurfaces again further away, blowing out a spray of condensation and slapping the water with her tail. “She’s been so lethargic since she arrived. It’s strange for her to be attempting a breach.”

Geno doesn’t mention that it isn’t strange behavior for a humpback though. Sidney knows that, just as Geno knows Sidney has a tendency to fret over the marine life that makes its way into their care. It’s part of what makes him so amazing at his job. He never misses a thing when it comes to the animals they work with, often putting in extra hours without pay to see that they’re taken care of. It can be a thankless job to rehabilitate animals when the ultimate goal is to successfully see them return to the wild. But Geno has seen firsthand the positive impact Sidney’s precision and attentiveness has on the wildlife they work with, so he doesn’t mind indulging in Sidney’s idiosyncrasies.

“Think maybe we increase feedings,” Geno says instead, changing the subject. “She not reject meals yet, is moving around more. Could use extra calories.”

Sidney nods, dropping his hand to run the tips of his fingers through the water. “The additional fat would do her good. I spoke with Shaw last night and he said her nutrient levels are starting to rise a little.”

“See?” Geno smiles and nudges Sidney’s shoulder with his own. “Nutritionist happy. Vet also happy,” Geno replies, pointing to himself. “Not need to worry. Lacerta grow big and strong, do pretty lobtails for Sid.”

Sidney turns his face away, but not before Geno catches the grin spreading across his face. Geno slaps his thighs lightly and stands once more, ignoring the catch in his breath at the sight of Sidney’s smile. He stretches out the ache in his right knee as Sidney stands up, too, turning to face him.

“You get milk for Lacerta, find me later after more feedings. I’m check on sea turtles now before Letang bore them to death.”

Sidney snorts helplessly, covering his mouth with his hand to stem the unexpected giggles. “He can’t bore them, Geno. They don’t even understand what he’s saying.”

“Nobody understand what he say. French always so messy,” Geno jokes, rolling his eyes.

Lacerta swims closer just then, spraying the two of them with her blowhole and prompting a sigh from Geno when his dress shirt and right side of his trousers cling wetly to his skin. It’s not the first time this has happened, considering he works in a facility that is literally filled with water at every turn. That doesn’t make it any less inconvenient though. Especially since Geno used his last spare shirt the other day after assisting with an unexpectedly messy emergency surgery that left him in need of a change. He hasn’t remembered to bring in a spare set of clothes since then, so hopefully there are some clean scrubs in the supply closet.

“Look, Sid,” Geno whines pitifully. “You distract and now my shirt soaked.”

Sidney stands unfazed by the spray of water on his wetsuit, although the dripping hair forming dark curls across his forehead is sending butterflies dancing around in Geno’s stomach. It’s entirely unfair how beautiful Sidney looks in a generally unflattering piece of clothing, especially when Geno’s own wetsuit makes him look like a gangly giraffe wrapped in rubber. He looks away before he can get caught staring and begins unbuttoning his shirt, the cool water making the fabric feel tacky and uncomfortable against his skin. A crash makes him jump, startled by the loud noise. When he glances up, Sidney is bent over a bucket of cleaning supplies which are now scattered across the ground, that charming blush spreading across his cheeks once more.

“So clumsy, Sid,” Geno chides gently. He pauses in his undress to go help, but Sidney quickly bounces up just as Geno walks over, already backing away towards the storage rooms.

“I’ll just—I’ll see you later, G,” Sidney stumbles over his words before making a fast retreat.

If Geno watches him walk away for a few moments longer than necessary, well...he’s only human.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s been almost three weeks since Lacerta was rescued, and she’s an entirely different whale from when they first found her. Her weight is up, she flits about the large enclosure with increased amounts of energy, and her overall playfulness and demeanor is encouraging to see.

“I can never decide if I love or hate this part,” Sidney remarks, walking up to stand beside Geno as he preps his diving gear. Sidney’s actually wearing regular work attire today: khaki cargo shorts, a navy blue polo with the rescue center’s logo embroidered on the chest, and his ever-present yellow crocs. It’s rare to see him out of the water for a day, but Geno knows it’s Sidney’s way of avoiding the goodbyes.

Geno hums in agreement, soaking in these last few moments. It’s always bittersweet releasing an animal back into the wild. They spend so much time together, working so closely with them with the intent to rehabilitate them for this very purpose, but that can make it all the more difficult to let go when the time comes. The animals that reach their facilities tend to arrive with severe injuries or needs, so even with the care they receive here there’s still a decent chance they won’t survive long after being set free. That is the true hard part.

“Lacerta need to integrate back with a pod before too late, Sid,” Geno eventually replies.

“I know,” Sidney sighs. “I wish we could’ve found her mother, though. She’s so young.”

They’d attempted to locate any local cows who may have given birth this season or lost their calf, but the efforts had been fruitless. Most of the employees believe Lacerta’s mother was likely the victim of an orca attack. Geno knows Sidney is worried Lacerta won’t survive without her mother. She is still quite young to be out on her own, but they are reaching the point when it will do more harm than good to keep her here. Whales aren’t meant for captivity; even these past few weeks are pushing the limits of her care.

“She strong and fast,” Geno says rather than voicing his thoughts. “Will travel to feeding ground with pods and make new family.”

A technician calls out to Geno before Sidney can reply, so Geno grabs his diving gear and finishes strapping on the equipment. He needs to tag Lacerta and run some final exams on her before she can be officially released, but Geno knows she’s ready. They’ve been counting down the days for most of this week.

“Tell her goodbye for me,” Sidney requests, like he does every time.

Geno makes a silly face behind his diving mask just to see Sidney smile once more, then pats him comfortingly on the shoulder and heads down the ramp that hangs over the water.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What’s this, Geno?” Sidney walks into Geno’s office unannounced three days later, holding his hand out in front of him.

Geno doesn’t bother to look up from the report he’s typing. He’s used to Sidney letting himself in by now. “What?”

“This,” Sidney replies, thrusting his hand out further. Resting on his palm is the silver keychain Geno had purchased on a whim yesterday. He could only take so much of Sidney’s moping about Lacerta’s release before attempting to do something about it.

“What it look like? Is whale charm for keys. You always lose.”

Sidney huffs. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but you can’t just—”

“Lacerta not forget you, Sid,” Geno cuts him off. “She smart, you kind. Is special bond.”

“That’s not even—”

“Sid,” Geno interrupts again, putting his work aside. This is clearly going to take his full attention. “You allowed to feel things. Okay to be sad. We not think you weak or silly. You amazing, best at your job, always try hardest to help. That makes goodbye hard.”

“I...you think I’m amazing?”

Of course that’s all he got out of that explanation. Smiling, Geno rises and walks over to Sidney, standing a little closer than he would normally dare. “Most amazing. All animals love. Care so much all the time. Nobody else like you, Sid.”

Sidney looks away, Geno’s steady gaze tracking the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a fortifying breath. “There are many people who could do my job, Geno.”

“Not just a job to you,” Geno disagrees, gently guiding Sidney’s chin up so their eyes meet. “You best.”

“I don’t think—”

“Why always argue?” Geno chuckles. “I know best. Just accept.”

“You just want me to admit you’re right about something,” Sidney replies with a petulant huff, still arguing, the tiny beginnings of a smile starting to appear on his face.

“Yes, reveal master plan.” Geno rolls his eyes, taking another step closer. “Can’t just say thank you, Sid?”

Sidney blinks as though just realizing how rude he’s been. The thought doesn’t quite seem to compute with his polite, Canadian brain. “Of course. Thank you, Geno. It’s lovely.”

“Will use it?” Geno presses.

“I—” Sidney’s breath catches as Geno moves closer still.

“Find it in store,” Geno continues softly. “Think of Lacerta, remind me of you, work so hard with her. So beautiful swimming around in water.”

“She really was,” Sidney agrees.

Geno shakes his head. “Not talking about her, Sid.”

Their eyes meet again, a question in Sidney’s dark eyes that he doesn’t seem willing to voice. They are standing close enough now that Geno can feel Sidney’s warm exhales against his neck where his collar lies open, the sensation sending goosebumps across his skin. Geno bends down slowly, so as not to startle Sidney, their noses just brushing.

“So beautiful, Sid,” he whispers, helpless to resist the pull of Sidney that draws him ever nearer.

He remains there, waiting, the sound of their breaths the only noise in his quiet office. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, months even, Sidney always moving close and then away like a sunbeam dancing upon the open water. Geno doesn’t want to scare him off, would wait months more for Sidney, but the ache in his chest feels nearly unbearable right now in the tense silence.

“Geno,” Sidney finally says, so many unspoken words layered into his voice as he reaches up, one hand settling on the side of Geno’s neck, pulling him down the few inches necessary for their lips to meet.

Geno sighs into the kiss, the tense set of his shoulders melting away as he gathers Sidney closer, arms around his waist. Sidney tastes like the salt water he so often works in, his lips soft and warm against Geno’s. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as they kiss and Geno is content to linger there, savoring the feeling. Their lips gently separate what feels like hours later, yet altogether too soon, exhales mingling between them as neither of them move any farther apart than necessary. Geno strokes his hands gently up Sidney’s back, urging away the nervousness he can already feel gathering there. He delights in the flush that returns to Sidney’s cheeks and knowing he’s the cause of it.

Sidney hides his face in Geno’s neck, but Geno can feel the curve of Sidney’s lips and an answering smile blooms on his own face. He commits this moment to memory, somehow knowing that Sidney’s going to make him work for another one like it. If there’s anything Sidney’s always been entirely genuine and open about, it’s his dedication to his job. That’s part of what drew Geno to him in the first place. As good as this feels, Geno can almost guarantee Sidney won’t want to jeopardize their assignments by letting Geno distract him with kisses and touches at work.

Geno looks forward to testing this theory in the very near future.

Thank you for letting us participate in this, @sidgenophotochallenge!

#sidgeno photo challenge #sidgeno #sidney crosby/evgeni malkin #hockey rpf #my fic #my writing #this is my first time actually writing hockey rpf #i hope i did alright #this was so much fun #my knowledge of whales is painfully limited #just go with it okay?

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pjbehindthesun · 6 years

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chapter 15: have you heard the one about…

Hey, I feel like this one needs a preface, if only because Chris shows up briefly, in a very lighthearted scene, and it's a tough time of year to feel very lighthearted. All I will say, inarticulately, is that I started tinkering with and ultimately sharing this old project last year to help me process what happened. Something about having an alternate universe where I could keep things exactly the way I wanted them, keep everybody safe, felt healing. I hope it feels that way for you, too.

So that's enough of that stuff. Peace, love, and I hope y’all like dirty jokes.

Tuesday, October 23rd, 1990

shit. Shit. Shit! SHIT! What was that??

I let go of my lip only when I'm positive I’ve regained enough control of myself not to say anything completely insane out loud. I keep my eyes shut tight though… whether to avoid the awful, crashing reality of looking my boyfriend in the eyes and facing what a terrible person I am, or whether I'm just not ready to surrender the stolen image behind my eyelids quite yet, I can't begin to understand.

Meanwhile, Alex seems totally oblivious as he rides down from his own high, pressing a kiss to my damp forehead.

“Mmmh, where did that come from?” he mutters, brushing my hair back from my face.

Your guess is as good as mine. Well, maybe not exactly…

I shake my head, still not feeling entirely trustworthy enough to speak, and let out a little laugh, shaky and slightly hysterical-sounding.

“Well, whatever it was, it was fuckin’ hot…” he says, nuzzling my nose.

Oh no, don't be sweet, please, after all this time, don't suddenly start being sweet now…

“I'm gonna, uhm... I’ll be right back,” I stutter, nodding in the direction of the door. Really smooth, Cora, Christ Almighty.

After disentangling myself from him and bolting to the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face for several seconds while I try to get my heart rate under control. But it's no use, every time I close my eyes I see the same thing… I try glaring at my own reflection instead, hoping to scowl some sense into myself.

God, get a grip Cora, it's nothing, okay? It's just been so long since you even had sex, you're all mixed up. And it doesn't mean anything, you were just hanging out with him earlier tonight, that's why he popped into your head, just a totally innocent fluke of the subconscious… and you know your subconscious is a crazy motherfucker sometimes … but it doesn't mean anything, right?

It means one big thing, at least. It means I am the world's most horrible girlfriend. I didn't even want Alex tonight, not specifically… I didn't even want him to kiss or touch me, I just wanted one thing… even before I thought of, uhm, someone else… so where do we go from here? If things have gotten so hollow and disconnected that the only sex we’re ever going to have now is this meaningless and empty? Doesn't this mean we’re completely through, if I can't even trust myself not to use him while I fantasize about someone else?

And of all the someone elses, it wasn't just anyone, it was Stone! Stone?! Fuck, it's like my subconscious is on a mission to destroy me. What was it about him tonight? How did he get me so unglued? What made me say such an idiotic thing to him? He probably thinks I’m insane now, or some kind of damn groupie or something. I have a thing for you playing an acoustic… What the fuck, brain, have you been working on this scheme ever since that day at the fucking gallery? That level of treason takes commitment, kudos. But seriously, Stone?

...okay, fine, admit it, Stone’s not the problem here. He’s actually pretty fucking great. He’s insightful, and hilarious, and brilliant, and talented, and lately he's been a lot less of a shit for whatever reason… last night, he seemed so much more sincere, or secure, or something, I can’t figure out what it was... and okay fine yes shut up he is also extremely good-looking shut up already. But it's one thing to respect and admire a friend, or even acknowledge their empirical attractiveness. It's another thing altogether to mentally cheat with one of them.

I scrunch up my face, like I can somehow squint hard enough to crush all these thoughts of him out of my disordered mind.

I grope for the shower faucet and turn it on, climbing in before the water even has a chance to heat up. I don't know how I expect soap and water to wash this night away, but with shaking hands and a sick heart, I have to try.

When Alex's alarm goes off, I slam my eyes shut and pretend to sleep. I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling while he snored softly, trying to figure out how I was going to face him in the morning. And the coward’s way out wins. After waiting the usual amount of time to get ready for work and only crack an eye open when I hear the front door open and shut. At least after my shame shower last night, getting myself ready this morning is a quick process… oh, look, a silver lining…

The only glimmer of clarity I found in my panicked thoughts all night was that if there’s any hope for me at all, any hope of retaining any decency or value as a girlfriend and human being, I’ve got to stay the fuck away from Stone for a while. No, strike that, make that all of the Mookie guys, just to be safe. My heart aches at the thought of such an extensive amputation. This could get messy.

The one thing that can make me smile right now is the sight of my little brother in pajama pants, eating cereal on the couch and watching garbage morning news.

“Morning, sunshine!” he quips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like shit, C. Didn’t you sleep?” He peers at me through his shaggy bangs.

I shake my head and gravitate towards the coffee pot. “No. Busy week at school, I guess… I’ve got a couple exams next week…”

He nods thoughtfully. “...your bratty kid brother all up in your business…”

“You know you’re not, drama queen.”

“Yeah, well, I was thinking, I’m liking this Portland idea more and more. I was gonna call around today and see if I can set something up for this weekend.”

My heart throbs painfully again. “So soon?”

“Well, yeah, C, I have to, like, find a job and be a productive member of society, I can’t freeload off of you and Alex forever.”

Definitely my little brother. I frown at him for long enough that he gets off the couch and comes over to give me a quick hug.

“What’s going on with you out here, Cora? You seem so unhappy.”

“I’m not, I --” I swear to god, I’m not, it’s just that none of the right things are bringing me happiness anymore, and I can’t begin to explain that to him “-- I’m okay,” I finish weakly.

“Oh yeah, sure… and you and Alex, that’s okay too?”

“What do you --”

“Come on, it’s obvious, it’s been obvious since the day I got here. Maybe not to you, but I have the benefit of not having seen you in a while. You two are done. You know I love him to bits, C, but you gotta cut him loose if you’re done.”

Guilt churns through my chest as I echo him. “If I’m done…”

“Cora, you’re not happy. I fucking hate that. I don’t know what’s going on, and I for sure know you’re not going to tell me, but you deserve to be happy. You’re the smart one, you can figure it out.”

I allow him to pull me into another hug, which gives me a chance to try and squash the sob I can feel rising up in my throat and the tears pricking my eyes. Just as I think I’ve gotten it under control, there’s a knock at the door.

“Thanks, kiddo,” I mumble as he lets me go.

“You can repay me by letting me use up all your hot water,” he cackles, heading toward the hallway to take a shower.

I frown at Eddie in confusion when I find him standing outside my door, exposing one of the most obvious flaws in my plan. It’s a little tricky to amputate people from your life when they live across the hall.

“What’s up, bud?”

“Hey, sorry, hope it’s not too early, uh… hey, you okay?” he frowns back at me, inspecting my face.

“Yeah, uh, just… something in my eye.”

“Uh huh,” he muses, clearly not buying it but not pushing me for further details. Thank goodness for that.

“Anyway, what’s up?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, we’re gonna be at the gallery all day, we gotta record these demos, but uhm, we happened upon these six tickets for the game tonight, preseason game, Bulls at SuperSonics…”

“Oh right, your Chicago roots,” we share a grin. Damn it, I always forget about those dimples until they blind me.

“That’s right,” he beams.

“Your team’s got my guy, you know.”

“Who?”

“Jordan, who else?”

“Really?” he chuckles. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“He’s a Tar Heel, Eddie, of course!”

“Oh man, so then this is perfect timing… we’re all going, the whole group, Lucy’s coming too, and Dave was gonna come but he can’t make it, so I was wondering if you wanted his ticket.”

The distraction of Michael Jordan is immediately replaced by panic swamping my brain at the thought of seeing Stone again so soon. Operation Amputation doesn’t seem to be going so well. And the thought of trying to explain to Lucy why I can’t hang out with her and her boyfriend gives me a bellyache. Why do you have to be so nice to me, Eddie? Be a jerk, make it easier.

“I really shouldn’t… you know, I’ve got a lot of work, and my brother’s leaving soon, and Alex is gone all next week… I should probably stay pretty close to home this week…”

Eddie nods sincerely, wrinkling his forehead. “Sure, yeah, I totally get that. Well, hopefully we see you around soon. You, uhm, you really helped me out last night, you know.”

Without another word, he turns on his heels and starts down the hallway. Suddenly, I remember something I should have said to him already, and I yell out to get his attention, “hey Eddie!”

He whirls around and gives me a questioning look.

“You did great last night.”

He lets loose another one of those massive, dimpled smiles, nods once, and disappears down the stairwell.

***

I decide to cut through the park on my way back. Maybe it’s not the most direct route from my house to the gallery, and I know I need to get back, but it’s a more scenic ride on the bike, and since last night I’ve been looking for any opportunity to be alone with my thoughts.

You know I have a thing for you playing an acoustic…

I still get a thrill in my veins every time I replay it in my head. The little smile, the color in her cheeks, the awkwardness that took over as soon as she realized she’d said it out loud. It was undeniable, even for Cora. She’s gotta admit it now.

But what if she doesn’t? What if she regrets it? What if I try to talk to her about it and she bites my head off yet again? Talking to her last night felt so great, and as much as I want us to finally air out all of our feelings, I don’t want to blow up our whole friendship by fixating on an impossible crush. I just want us to start being more honest with each other. I want her to be more honest with herself. I know she’s not happy, I...

Way up ahead, I spot a redheaded girl on a bike heading towards me on the path… that’s not her, is it? Jesus, man, get a grip, that’s ridiculous. Why would she be all the way up in this part of town? You’re hallucinating her.

Except…

“Stone?” The redhead in my thoughts is the same one braking right in front of my path, and I stop dead, blinking like a deer in the headlights. Funny thing is, she’s got the same expression on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Cora asks, looking a little wild-eyed.

“I live around here, what’s your excuse?”

“I, uh,” she stammers, “just heading up to UW. Classes, and, uh, I wanted to do some stuff in the lab beforehand...”

“This is kinda out of your way though, isn’t it?”

“Uhm, I guess,” she chews her lip and looks around like she’s just realizing where she is, “but it’s pretty, and I guess…”

“It’s okay, Red, I’m taking the scenic route too.”

She fixes me with a questioning expression but can’t come up with anything to say. I can’t get over how nervous she looks. Something really shook her up, I just wish I knew what it was.

“I’m heading back down your way, actually,” I explain, “gotta get back to the gallery, but my parents are out of town for a couple weeks so I’m on geriatric dog piss break duty.”

“Glamorous. Well, I don’t want to keep you…”

“It’s okay.” I glance at my watch. “Did you eat lunch yet?”

“Uhm, yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, just wanted to know if you wanted to get a bite to eat.”

“I just told you, I already ate.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So you very sensibly asked me to eat lunch with you because…?” she asks wryly, putting a giant crack in that nervous shell.

“I don’t know,” I smile stupidly, thankful for an idea that just popped into my head. “Hey, but there’s this great little ice cream place near here, we should go…”

“Ice cream? It’s almost November.”

“Right? Damn the man! Let’s go get ice cream in 50-degree weather. This place is worth it, honestly.”

“I’m sure it’s great, but I really should get to the lab…”

“Come on, Wet Blanket, there’s always time for ice cream. I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream… in the land of the ice and snow…”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” she laughs.

“That’s how the song goes, you uncultured swine, the ice cream song.”

“So Zeppelin ripped off a 1920s novelty song?”

“Honestly who didn’t they rip off? Come on, are we getting ice cream or not?”

Her smile broadens. “You’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

“You’re quick, Red.”

We steer our bikes across the park to the place I’m thinking of, talking idly on the way about nothing and everything, and she’s becoming more relaxed by the minute. Maybe this means things are really changing between us now. Maybe she doesn't regret what she said. Maybe the nerves are just because she’s finally letting her guard down.

We park our bikes outside the ice cream parlor and step inside. While she contemplates the choices, I place my order because I know exactly what I want.

“Seriously?” she asks with a snort. “Old lady butter pecan? That's what you're going with?”

“Is there a problem here?”

“No problem at all, granny,” she snickers as she scans the freezer case to make her own choice. “Actually, that's kinda perfect.”

“Granny?? I'm all man, Red. And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, perfect?”

The clerk hands me my cone and glances between us, obviously waiting for Cora to make up her mind but too polite to say anything. Cora, meanwhile, is occupied with way more important things.

“Uh huh. I don't know, butter pecan just makes sense. Like, it's you, in ice cream form. It's a little ironic, so it's got that going on, but it's also undeniably one of the best, most underrated flavors. And it's probably kind of a pain in the ass to make it just right, a little finicky, so the details are important. It explains you perfectly.”

“I'm not sure if I want you to keep describing me or order some damn ice cream so you’ll shut up,” I make like I’m going to mash my ice cream cone in her face, and she squeals with laughter. The clerk sighs and gives us a pleading look.

“Strawberry, please,” Cora finally says.

“Oh hell no, you're not getting off that easy,” I shake my head.

“And your problem would be…?” she raises a lazy eyebrow.

“In no possible scenario are you strawberry ice cream, my fine feisty friend.”

“Bonus points for alliteration, but I was not choosing myself as ice cream, I just fuckin’ wanted strawberry.” A mischievous smile spreads across her face. “But since you brought it up, what ice cream flavor am I?”

We pay for our cones -- I tried to pay for hers but she rolled her eyes and teased that it wasn't a date -- and go sit outside on a bench, which is ridiculous in this weather, but I’ve got a very serious question to ponder and a beautiful girl to eat ice cream with, so who gives a fuck if it's a little cold outside. None of it ever makes sense with her. That's why I love her.

As I'm figuring out how to define her in flavor terms, I glance over and watch her take a bite of her ice cream, thinking of how sweet she looks when she's completely unaware of having an audience. Well, bite’s not really the right word, she doesn't exactly use her teeth, and what kind of psychopath bites ice cream, anyway… but she doesn't simply lick the whole thing, either, except for occasionally running her tongue along the bottom edge to catch a drip… no, it's more like she gives a little lick to one chosen spot, and then applies her lips to melt a little circle of the ice cream, pulling it inwards, then licking again, starting over… uh, Jesus… lucky ice cream...

Her eyes travel up to mine just as she’s about to give another small lick, and she lets out a self-conscious giggle. “You're melting, Stoner.”

“Wha…? Oh,” I switch my attention to my own ice cream, which is starting to run in a little rivulet down my hand, so I busy myself cleaning it up with my own tongue to stop myself from thinking about hers. It doesn't work particularly well… I mean my hand’s clean now, but my thoughts...

“So, did you decide?”

“Mmhmm,” I say, simultaneously trying to corral my hormones and make sure I don't have ice cream on my face like a total dork, “I mean, you're something weird, let's just get that out of the way right now.”

“Granted.”

“Strawberry is way too sweet.”

“Hey!” She elbows me hard and I almost lose the whole cone to the sidewalk.

“Obviously you’re a sweetheart,” I snort. “But, like, strawberry's too… accessible, or something. Too mainstream.”

“Mmmhk,” she says skeptically through a mouthful of ice cream. I will not stare. I must not stare.

“So you're a weirder one. Something completely awesome, but an acquired taste. Offbeat, unknowable, unpredictable. But that’s the fun part. Most people totally wouldn’t get the appeal…”

“Well, definitely don’t quit your day job for a career in ice cream marketing…”

“Hush. What I meant was, maybe you wouldn’t find it in every shop, but that’s a shame, because it’s the best one when you do find it. Except, it’s a little scary, too, like… the novelty makes it cool, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be awesome, but can I really handle a whole serving of something so unfamiliar? So what would that even be? Blueberry? Like, I never see blueberry ice cream anywhere but it sounds so fucking cool… but even that’s not quite right, ugh…”

She’s watching me ramble with the most curious expression, and she hasn’t even noticed that her own ice cream is dripping down her fingers. I nod at her and she jumps a bit before trying to clean up the mess and again running her tongue around the rim of the ice cream cone. Deep, steady breaths, man, come on, be cool. She smiles at me again.

“Offbeat scary blueberry, huh? I don’t know whether to be intensely flattered or completely insulted.”

“See? Perfect,” I beam at her, triumphant.

“You’re such a dick,” she giggles, her cheeks reddening just a little. Okay, if both of our minds are thinking about dicks, I might as well make the most of this opportunity.

“You wanna hear a joke?” I ask her, eyeing her as I take a bite out of the sugar cone.

“Always.”

“Okay, well it’s not really weather-appropriate, but I think it’ll still work… have you heard the one about the penguin driving down from Alaska to his vacation down south --”

“Penguins don’t live in Alaska,” she frowns.

“Excuse me?”

“There are no penguins in Alaska, Stone, they live in the Southern Hemisphere.”

“This is what bothers you? The inaccuracy of the penguin’s habitat? Not, oh I don’t know, the fact that the penguin is DRIVING?”

“Well I was gonna get to that next, but as the resident scientist, I felt obligated to --”

“It’s a joke, you fucking pedant!”

“-- it’s a pretty piss-poor joke so far.”

“Yeah, because of all the pedantic interruptions. Here, shove some ice cream in there, maybe that’ll help,” I nudge her cone up towards her face. “Okay, so who the fuck knows, maybe he’s fleeing a zoo or something, anyway, he’s driving south…”

“...probably to get back to the Southern Hemisphere where he belongs…”

“God damn it,” I laugh. “Okay, fine, have it your way. So he’s driving home to the Southern Hemisphere after VISITING Alaska, and somewhere in Arizona, in that intense desert heat, his car gives out. So he calls a tow truck and ends up at this repair shop in a little town, you know the type, just a big Main Street but nothing else.”

“Sure.” She takes the last bite of her cone and crumples up the napkin.

“Okay. So the mechanic tells him it’ll be about an hour to figure out what’s wrong with the car, so the penguin waddles over to this cute little ice cream shop across the street.”

“Ah, synergy, I see what you did there,” she grins.

“I’m good that way. So the penguin gets himself some ice cream, and he’s sitting down enjoying it…”

“What flavor?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a joke killer? No? Alright, fine, it’s vanilla. And he loves it, right, he’s devouring it with his little bill. But penguins are not the most dextrous of animals, not having hands and all… so he’s having trouble managing his treat with his little flippers, gets a little messy, and it's all hot out so the ice cream's melting, you know how it is. But he doesn’t care because he’s having a grand old time. Anyway, the hour’s up, so he waddles back over to the repair shop and asks the mechanic if he’s found the problem with his car. The mechanic looks at him and says, ‘it looks like you blew a seal.’ The penguin freaks out and says, ‘no no, it’s just ice cream!’”

The subtle red tint in her cheeks creeps through her whole face and her eyes widen for just a moment before her shoulders start shaking and her face scrunches up. I’ve never seen her laugh so hard that she forgets to make noise, but it’s so fucking irresistible that somehow I’m doing it now too, and soon we’re both laugh-sobbing so hard my sides are aching. After several minutes and a lot of disapproving glances from passersby, we manage to collect ourselves. Cora wipes a tear from her eye.

“Okay okay okay, my turn... uh, have you heard the one about the nun who --”

“Oh, please, Red, your Catholic schoolgirl humor is no match for a fellating penguin.”

“You think so? Shows what you know about Catholic school.” Her playful smile takes on a hint of puzzlement. “Hey, when did I tell you I went to Catholic school?”

“Uhm,” I take a moment to make sure I’ve got my dates right, “it was my birthday.”

“Really? You remembered that?”

“Yeah, wow, I listen to you. What a concept.”

There’s an expression of shock in her eyes that’s going to be the death of me. I nudge her with my shoulder, “just make with the nun joke, will ya?”

“Yeah, uhm… okay, so Mother Superior’s at the convent, and she hears a knock on the door. She opens it up and is shocked to find two leprechauns standing at the door, holding their hats in their hands, all respectable-like…”

“Leprechauns? And my story was implausible?”

“Nah, you’re just funny when you’re all riled up,” she gives me a wicked look. “Anyway, the first leprechaun says, ‘Mother Superior, would you be havin’ any leprechaun nuns in this convent?’ And she says, ‘no, my son, we have no leprechaun nuns in this convent.’ So he asks, ‘and are there any leprechaun nuns in all of Ireland?’ And she says, ‘no, my son, I don’t believe there’s a single leprechaun nun in all of Ireland.’ So the leprechaun turns to his buddy and says, ‘oi, I told ye ye’d been fuckin’ a penguin!’”

We both crack up again, and this time she slumps into my shoulder while she tries to pull herself together. I lean back into her, trying to catch my breath too, but also jealously hoarding the feeling of having her so close. She lifts her face to look at me, her eyes still shining with laughter, her mouth curved open in an inviting smile, close enough that I can count the freckles on her nose, feel her breath on my lips… she smells like strawberries...

She inhales sharply and then tries to disguise it as a laugh as she sits up straight, fidgeting, her shoulders tensed up practically around her ears. “Ha, uhm, sugar high,” she stammers, blushing furiously.

She may be rattled, but I’m experiencing the exact opposite sensation. My brain seems to have slowed every other operation down to a crawl in order to make room for how all-consumingly I want to kiss her. “yeah, maybe,” I mumble sluggishly, trying not to smile too wide.

“We should probably get going, huh?” She bites her lip, glancing at our bikes. I nod, trying to think of something to break the tension.

“Uh, speaking of bikes… and nuns... have you heard the one about the side street?”

She shakes her head, watching me with a wary smile as we start walking our bikes back through the park toward the point where our routes diverge.

“Really, they didn’t teach you that one in Catholic school? The one about the two nuns who rode their bikes to the market, and they’re heading back to the convent? They decide to take a side street, this little cobblestone alley. After a couple of blocks, one nun says to the other, ‘I’ve never come this way before!’ and the other nun says, ‘must be the cobbles.’”

She cringes horribly, laughing in a much more frenzied way than I’ve ever heard, refusing to look at me. Damn it, I wish I didn’t have to go back to the gallery. I could spend all afternoon making her squirm with dirty jokes… or other methods…

Finally, she composes herself enough to rally with another joke, although she’s still stubbornly looking anywhere but at me. “What’s the difference between a woman and a computer?”

“Hm, you got me.”

“Computers don’t laugh at three and a half inch floppies.”

“Ohhh, brutal! Hey, did I ever tell you that I used to date an English teacher?” “No, why’d you break up?”

“She dumped me for improper use of the colon...”

***

Wednesday, October 24th, 1990

Okay, okay, so Operation Amputation’s kind of a colossal failure. Something about the combination of endearingly shy lead singers, my best friend dating the bassist, and the general Stoneness of Stone seems to be making that plan a little too complicated. Time to face facts, I can’t just cut them -- cut him -- out of my life. We’re way past that.

Not like I have any fucking clue what to do with that information, of course. So I settle for wiping this one section of the mirror behind the bar obsessively, until my reflection’s spotless…frowny and washed out under the ghastly halogen lights in this place, maybe, but spotless. At least the lunch shift has been pretty quiet so far today, letting me contemplate in peace. I don’t even look up when I hear the cafe’s front doorbell ring, signaling the arrival of a big group.

“What do you think you’re gonna find through the looking glass?” Eddie’s voice wafts over my shoulder, tinged with laughter, and even though I’m surprised by the ambush -- he’s flanked by Jeff, Chris, and Stone -- I have to laugh along with him.

“Hopefully no Jabberwocks.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“M’lady, a round of beers, if you’d be so kind?” Chris asks with a bow and a flourish, and Jeff bats his eyelashes. Eddie watches the two of them and laughs, but Stone’s quietly focused on me. His gaze makes me shaky all over again as my mind floods with sensory memories from yesterday. His green eyes, which were infinitely more vivid in the sunlight. The rhythm of his silent laughter shaking me as I leaned into his shoulder. The slight cedar smell of his sweatshirt. The way I imagined his lips feeling on mine, if we’d only leaned in a little closer. God, this is so much worse than I thought. I drop my washcloth and walk around the counter to say hi, hoping the rest of these idiots can distract me.

“How come you didn’t come out with us, Cora?” Jeff asks. “Eddie says you’re a big Jordan fan, you woulda loved it, he had a great game.”

“Bulls were victorious,” Eddie beams.

“Uhm, I just have a ton of work to do right now, you know, Patch and Alex are both leaving soon, and anyway I didn’t feel right going out on a school night,” I lie, trying not to look at the real reason for my absence, who is still watching me closely and who speaks up in his usual sardonic tone.

“Oh yes, there’s our good little Catholic girl,” Stone smirks.

Chris's eyes light up in that way that looks wholesome on most people’s faces but in his case always looks vaguely satanic. “Smokey Bear, I didn't know you were Catholic!”

“Recovering,” I fire back.

“Me too! I shoulda known, usually we can smell our own. Hey, you know what's even sexier than Catholic guilt?”

I shake my head, wary of where he’s going with this, and of the intensifying gleam in his eyes. He suddenly swirls an arm around me and dips me so low I worry my head’s going to hit the floor, but he’s got a tight hold on me.

“Absolutely nothing,” he sighs seductively in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. As he sets me back on my feet, the guys dissolve in laughter and chatter again, but Stone only gives me a tiny little smile. Even with Chris clowning around and monopolizing the whole cafe’s attention, it feels like there’s no one else in the room when Stone looks at me like that. I used to wish he wouldn’t do that. Now I don’t know what to wish.

The guys hang out at the bar for a while and finish their beers before saying goodbye, and I’ve just gotten back to my cleaning when I hear the bell ding a second time. When I turn around, my mind’s preoccupation is standing at the bar right in front of me, by himself.

“Uh, dropped my keys, had to run back,” Stone gives another little smile, waving his key ring as evidence and stowing it in his pocket. “Hey, you said Patch and Alex are both leaving? What’s going on?”

He really does listen, doesn’t he? “Oh, uh, Patch is heading out on a Greyhound on Friday morning, he’s gonna go visit a friend from high school who moved to Portland.”

“And Alex?”

“Work conference thing all next week, he leaves on Sunday.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. So forgive my antisocial behavior, I feel like I should probably spend time with them the next couple of days before I end up in an empty apartment for a whole week.”

“Sure, yeah. Just sucks, because I’m leaving Friday too.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“New York. With Jeff. We’re gonna meet with the record label folks and see if they’ll let us out of our old deal before we try to move ahead with this new stuff.”

“When are you leaving?”

“We fly out Friday some time, back Tuesday.”

I thought I’d feel relief at the idea of him traveling a few thousand miles away while I try to figure out what I’ve been feeling for him the past 48 hours, but somehow, relief’s not the word. What the hell, Stone, I’ve finally figured out that I can’t dodge you anymore, that I don’t even want to, and now you’re leaving town? No fair.

He seems to read my mind. In a soft, vulnerable voice I’ve never heard before, only slightly above a whisper, he asks very simply, “can I call you?”

His eyes widen with hope while he waits for my answer. A nod’s all I can manage, and only after he shoots me one more smile and ducks back out onto the street after the rest of the guys do I notice that I’ve been holding my breath.

#did you guess right?#chapter 15 #behind the sun #fanfiction #fanfic #stone gossard #jeff ament #eddie vedder #chris cornell #pearl jam #soundgarden

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medschooled · 7 years

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Hashtag Failing

Do you ever wish you could rewind time? I have this feeling so often. If I could go back a few months, I would do ____ differently. I get this feeling the most when I see the success of my peers. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I'm jealous of others and what they've accomplished. Especially when they make everything look so easy. I hate when I compare myself to others, but I've found myself doing it more often these days. Personal and family issues have put me behind my peers. I still have huge hurdles in front of me most of my peers have completed. So often when I sit down to study, do questions or take practice tests I feel idiotic. I start to wonder if it was an accident or a fluke I even got accepted to med school in the first place. I start to feel so stressed and overwhelmed by all I need to do that I start to get anxious and frustrated - so I try to push the feelings out, tell myself I'll get a lot done tomorrow and ultimately don't get much of anything done. Today was an all time low though. One of my best friends was scheduling an exam and when I looked over and noticed, it felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. It feels like people are making laps around me while I crawl toward the finish line. Why would I ever feel jealousy or resentment toward my best friend in med school?! I want the best for him in everything he does! These feelings make me feel like I am a horrible person. But even when I feel some twinge of resentment or jealousy toward all those med school goers who have it so cush I feel like an awful person. Just because I don't have people who can help me financially doesn't make it ok. So I will try again tomorrow. I will remind myself why I'm doing this. I will try to feel excited when I learn something new and not overwhelmed by how much I need to remember. I will push on - I may or may not achieve my goals, but I will try.

#medschooled #winetime #jealousy #ms4

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animeindoblog-blog · 7 years

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[PUBG] How to Win Consistently

New Post has been published on http://animeindo.org/blog/2017/11/20/pubg-how-to-win-consistently/

[PUBG] How to Win Consistently

Rob “NualphaJPN” B.

While winning is certainly a rewarding feeling in just about anything you partake in, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything if you don’t understand just how you did it. We’ve all heard of the term ‘Beginner’s Luck’ and for many, that’s what they tend to experience. It’s that elated feeling that comes just after a great round and you’ve managed to grab your first ever Chicken Dinner on the battlefield. Does that mean you’ll be able to mimic that very same performance another time? Or was that simply just a mere fluke that you got because somehow the RNG gods were on your side this time? Whatever the reason is, is exactly what we’re trying to focus on in this article as it will help to allow you to score those same wins but on a more consistent level. Winning is great but only when you’ve learned to hone your skills and understand just what made you win, why you win, but most importantly, how you can do better for next time. With that being said let’s jump in.

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We’ve all heard various sports commentators elaborate on the term of ‘Being in the Zone’, a state in which a player is in such a deep state of focus that their abilities are heightened to another level. Their ability to read the situation and act accordingly is akin to that of a superhuman strength and yet, all it is really is the brain working at a pace with no distractions. To many this feat may seem borderline impossible to do but think of a time where you were working on something so hard, that everything else around you felt like an absolute blur. Perhaps it was that final exam and you had to study 25 pages and memorize every formula to ensure you don’t fail and repeat the term. During that phase your mind shuts everything else off and you find yourself in this blissful state, a lot like when you’re in deep meditation and everything just feels fluid.

Well that’s what being in the zone feels like and a lot can be attributed to having laser like focus on a goal, and working at that goal until you’ve come to master it. That means there’s little time to fool around and get distracted, you’ll need all the brainpower to stay alert and play at the optimal level. This will bring us to the next point that relates well to staying in the zone: Mindful Meditation.

Before reading we’d like to give a shoutout to Youtube channel “What I’ve Learned” for the video. We’re not asking you to start climbing up mountains and isolate yourself away from society in order to seek nirvana, but being able to stay mindful of your actions is what can help guide you closer to that ‘Zone’ we mentioned earlier. Being mindful of something means that you’re constantly aware or ‘Awakened’ to the point that, whatever situation you find yourself in it becomes easier to deal with the more focused you are. Take PUBG for example where there’s a lot happening around you and any careless mistake in your gameplay can lead to a premature death, and ultimately some frustration. All of that can be alleviated simply by doing what’s called ‘Mindful Meditation’, a term used to describe an individual who is constantly in the present moment, and doesn’t let it escape from them. In the video above it illustrates the idea of a “Monkey Mind”, a mind that’s constantly chattering away and can’t seem to pull itself together when it needs to.

That’s because the Monkey Mind is trying to throw distractions at you in order to keep you from completing important tasks, or have you sit there on your smartphone tapping away at something that clearly has nothing to do with your goal. So being mindful simply just means being absolutely aware of what’s currently happening, in other words being absolutely present. Now you’re probably thinking, “You’re making this sound so easy, like I can just do this right away.” and the answer to that is you can. Being mindful doesn’t mean you sit in the buddha cross legged position for hours and chant out buddhist mantras to achieve ultimate peace, it just means paying close attention to your thoughts as they pop into your mind and not letting them possess you. In PUBG being able to stay present at all times and not rely on past thoughts or future thinking will help you to stay ready for whatever threat lies ahead. The past, present and future all exist in the now because time is a continuum, not something you can pause and reflect on. Keep that in mind with your PUBG strategy.

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This mantra has stood the test of the time and is still a common phrase we use in everyday life. It certainly plays a very big role in PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds since you have so much to dive into, and must learn on the fly. There’s no training mode or offline shooting range that you can use to hone your shooting skills, all of that must be acquired simply by playing the game consistently. Doing something over and over again may sound a bit monotonous to a lot of people but this is why pros are pros and the average joe is well, your average joe. The pro spends a great deal of time doing repetitive actions or movements in order to develop what’s known as ‘Muscle Memory’ and through that practice, they develop faster reflexes and a more controlled state of mind. This all goes back to mindful meditation and being in the zone since practicing is like food for the brain.

It’s not so much about how long you practice for it’s about the quality you put into it. This means that playing a 1000 games of PUBG doesn’t mean you’re going to be an overnight star in the game, and Chicken Dinners will be a natural occurrence. 1000 matches means nothing if you haven’t put in enough time to master techniques, question where you went wrong, what you did right and just how you can do better. Even when you do win there’s always something you might’ve done that could’ve costed you the game, so constantly assessing yourself is a sure fire way to see the results you desire. With enough proper practice and creating a regimen to sustain consistency, you’ll start to see improvement almost immediately and confidence generate gradually.

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philipandrewmerrick · 7 years

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Miss Rowlette was armed and ready for my induction as an eager eyed too tall and too fat just a tad too cool school-clothes clad country bumpkin High School Freshman. Right there in the front along with the rest of the rag tag gaggle of the Freshmen class of 73. Right there with a curious and innocently eager and far too pretty (are you a boy or a girl) face. And those Merrick blue eyes. Duck and cover here comes the next Merrick!

Miss Rowlette had spent that summer digging out her weapons, cleaning and polishing them and adding to them where necessary.

Just before school started that September of nineteen hundred and sixty nine, Miss Sally Rowlette sat down in her just-so Victorian parlour with a glass of hearty red French Burgundy wine she had alowed to breath for exactly the twenty seven minutes set on her stop watch. The same stop watch she used to time those dreaded final exams every June .

Miss Rowlette fished around in her old and cherished and fascinatingly voluminous carpet covered handbag and finally pulled out a file.

She got comfortable and took that anticipated first sip and reached back into her handbag and pulled a white filter tipped Lark Menthol 100 cigarette and a Lady Zippo gold plated cigarette lighter engraved with the Rowlette Family Coat of Arms. The same one emblazed on the signet ring her right hand pinky finger proudly bore, every darned day of Miss Rowlette’s quietly rewarding and tweed suited life.

Miss Rowlette gave a final and satisfied sharpening to her talons as she smoked her Lark and sipped her burgundy wine. Chin up… Butt out. Not a trace of lipstick on the white filter tip.

Now after all, mind you, Miss Rowlette had not all that long ago had just barely, by a freakishly fluke stroke of just plain luck or far more likely Divine Preordination, much to every freshman’s dismay, very narrowly escaped by a mere breath being mowed down by one of my gorgeous, black haired, beautifully pale faced, glamorous and wildly popular older sisters.

That time they probably still talk about behind the door marked Teacher’s Lounge. Not the other door marked Janitor. Not the one with the really creepy guy in it who only came out at night. Whatever you do don’t open that one. At least that was the whispered legend of the class of 73. Probably some crew cut ex jock with a wife and kid and a Ford Ranchero.

That door in the shadowy and spooky basement in the Administration Building of Atascadero High to this very day.

That time when that same big sister of mine loaded up her brand spanking new convertible Volkswagen Bug with a bevy of her fellow Pretty People. As always they were all elegantly dressed and coifed with the latest Single or Double or Tripple Bubble Double Bubble (no copying) teased up high hair-do’s right off of the most recent glossy cover of Teen Style Magazine. Each and every last one of them Prom Dates of Senior Varsity Football Stars. Each and every one a Debutante.

You remember that time all those Debs piled in that bug with the top down, singing along to the latest in a long line of never ending gold records by Diana Ross and the Supremes.

They all knew instinctively and with the proud chin up butt out confidence of the inherited sense of unquestioned privileged entitlement that they were all grown up. And they could do no wrong. And they could never get caught.

If they ever did get caught, though IF they ever did I certainly never heard about it, Dad silently and from a discrete distance behind his enormous desk in the County Courthouse executive suite of the offices of the Commander in Chief of the County, in order keep it from the newspapers, wielded his fearsome intimidating power as the acknowledged overseer and the fair minded arbitrator and the undisputed and uncontested iron fisted ruler of the entire very large and very important county.

Dad made it all go away and vanish into the ozone layer, to the tremendous relief of the Self-Martyred Mothers and the Proud Fathers of the other Pretty Dollies.

Mom never caught wind of it. Neither I or any of my six other siblings and nor did anyone else. It never appeared in the Count News. Not the Town Tribune, and not on the six o’clock news. No reporters were standing by.

I do get a little kick to think of it being whispered about behind closed doors over steaming world’s best mom coffee mugs.

Yes, without a doubt they were the most beautiful, the most fashionably stylish, the most condescending and conceited and the most privileged and the Just Plain Filthy Richest and hottest dang pretty young thangs on campus as they went right on singing and laughing and careening down the main hall during that long awaited and final recess in that VW.

That time they just ever so barely missed smacking right on up against the proud and considerable, firmly and efficiently tweed upholstered back side of every freshman’s Homeroom Nemesis, the terrifying and terribly frightening Miss Sally Rowlette.

Yep. Miss Rowlette just about got smacked in the rear that day. And she knew it full well. And she was not at all pleased with the situation, regardless of the nearness of the miss.

It almost happened in a single split second moment. That only almost moment just before impact when something, probably a cute guy but I’m just guessing here, distracted my beautiful and popular big sister’s attention for just that split moment and the steering wheel oh so gently followed the subtle turn of her head to the other side of the hall.

That moment when my beautiful and favorite big sister and her glamorous and so very very sophisticated back up singers could be heard belting out that final and very heartfelt Diana Ross wail, all throughout the campus of Atascadero High.

That glorious and long anticipated end of June Senior Last Friday Party afternoon. Back then in those glorious and heady days of the late Nineteen Sixties.

That final heartfelt from the soul howl was abruptly cut off by the horrific ear splitting and mind numbing shriek of metal on metal as that shiny white brand new Vee Dub Ragtop wiped out a whole damned row of pale green sophomore lockers.

I don’t know for sure whether anyone got hurt but I’m sure as HELL not going to ask my big sister. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

On that clear and quiet, picturesque and hot and dry afternoon. That dead still aired very last day of Senior Year at Atascadero Unified High School.

And THAT sound was heard in that hall and all over that hilltop campus of that High School in Atascadero. That sound projected out into the atmosphere from that usually quiet collection of shaded and hallowed halls. That sound reverberated out across the atmosphere of the sleepy little daytime village of Atascadero.

That horrific sound could be heard echoing in the distance throughout the bucolic fields of the surrounding farmland, echoing again through the gently sloping grassy green valleys, ultimately startling a herd of peacefully and methodically grazing, brown and white Hereford cows with great big innocent eyes.

That sound caused those sleepy big friendly cows to erupt into a high speed and thunderous stampede that never once slowed down or even showed the least sign of subsiding.

Nor did those frightened big friendly cows ever slow down for a even a minute. They ran and they ran and they up ran until the now wild heard finally reached high ground.

They stood at the apex of the high ground. The stood there baffled trying to understand in their small guileless and sweet and and simple cow brains why they couldn’t go any further.

Those cows just stood there, finally exhausted. They were lost and they were confused as they looked around at the unfamiliar countryside.

By then, that herd of good hearted, emotional, dazed and mixed up cows began to wonder why they had ever started running in the first place.

They had forgotten all about that gawdawful screeching sound. That sound that they had been so mortally frightened by.

That sound that came loudly swinging across the idyllic countryside, repeatedly echoing through the valleys and the previously peaceful canyons of the country side surrounding the high school and the lazy village.

That terrifying sound that came blood-curdelinly screeching out of that wide and unbarred Atascadero High School Hallway.

That day that my Big Sister finally broke a rule.

That up until then, peaceful and blissful afternoon when my Black Haired Double Bubbled Big Sister decided to go ahead and let loose for once and wipe out that entire row of lockers with her back up dollies in her Brand Spanking New High School Graduation Present from Dad, Shiny White Volkswagen Convertible that made all the other students jealous.

That VW Stuffed full of wanna be Diana Rosses. And wannabe Supremes. With the music blaring and the top down.

So there those sweet tempered cows were.

They huffed and they mumbled and mooed amongst themselves and they looked around. They didn’t understand much those cows but they knew they were lost.

Soon they began to miss the farm. They stood there lost, unable to graze or to console themselves in any way.

Those cows just stood there lost. Tired, sweaty and defeated. And utterly and profoundly lost.

They stood there lost just a few short miles inland from the rugged and magnificent Golden Coast of the Great and Proudly Democratic State of California, tight up against the foothills of the Coastal Mountain Range.

I never heard my big sister nor any member of my family mention that day. Once, a bunch of us were ditching class and we were sitting around our usual big booth table right up front in Sambo’s Restaurant.

While Dolly or Dot or maybe Betty crushed out her half smoked cigarette, adjusted her name tag and refilled all of our bottomless cups of horrible acidic and slightly burnt coffee.

After a while, one of my nerds or maybe one of my stoners got our attention and quietly told the tale.

I don’t know anything about that day in Dad’s study. That day my big sister skulked sheepishly through the house.

All I know is I was up in the treehouse and watching as the ratty old pickup truck of the farmer who owned those cows drove down the drive.

And I was still there in the treehouse an hour later when that farmer walked out the back door patting his wallet pocket. I was there as he hiked his vindicated bulk back up to the sprung seat of that old truck.

I watched from the treehouse as he drove back down the drive and accelerated as he hit the road. And I watch as he drove away.

Dad never said a word about that visit.

Any of you kids of younger generations, down through the classes since 1966 and right on down and down, year after year to the class of 2016, getting ready to finally graduate and studying hard for your finals this afternoon.

Any of you classes of Jocks, Cheerleaders, Geeks, Oily Haired Nerds, Hippie Chicks, Stoners, Greasy Nailed Gear Heads, and of course now those classes of you Misunderstood Dark Haired and Black Eye Shadowed and Somberly Draped Goths.

You Pierced and Tattooed Latter Day Punk Rockers and you Sweetly Smiling Fag Hating Born Again Jesus Freaks.

And don’t let’s ever forget to offer solace to all of you Tormented Chubby Country Bumpkin Misfit Freshman Victims of Schoolyard Bullies. And yes, even to the Big Bad Bullies Themselves.

Any of you ever wonder why there are steel dividers barring every entrance to every hallway, right across the hilltop campus of Atascadero High Unified High School?

Well, now you know.

Nope. No way. Miss Rowlette was not about to take any guff off of another one of those wild and unruly black haired monsters from that great big mysterious house out in the country.

So, Miss Rowlette, she spent that last summer of my childhood, gleefully sharpening her very scary claws. Plotting her revenge against the Black Haired Monster by whipping the next one in line smartly and efficiently into shape. Day one.

So yes, Miss Rowlette dug out her entire arsenal that summer after I graduated the eight grade and innocently left my childhood behind. She was tall she and stood proudly in what had to be painfully straight posture and she was built like a a very study fire hydrant.

Miss Rowlette had a stalwart demeanor. She had wiry gray hair, all seeing and piercing bright blue eyes that would burn right through the head of a misbegotten recalcitrant freshman.

Miss Rowlette stood resolutely prepared for battle, right there unsmilingly in the doorway of Freshman Home Room, counting heads as the new crop entered the room.

FIRST DAY – FRESHMAN YEAR:

Young man. You! You sit right here. Right in the front row. Right here in front of me.

Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it.

If I catch you turning your head to the right or to the left or in any direction except directly at the blackboard or at my face, you will be summarily escorted directly to the principles office.

Me? I’m the GOOD one, Mommy’s little favorite. What did I DO?!”

MR. MERRICK!!!!!!!

YOU WILL NOT BE WARNED AGAIN!!!!!!!

I have no idea how I lived through that agonizing hour. Finally escaping it, I held back my tears and walked calmly, quietly and respectfully out the door of Miss Rowlette’s Homeroom Fiefdom.

Right smack dab into the shock of rudely awaking to the brand new and unexpected life of the favorite victim the marvelous machinations of the unchallenged Chief of the School Yard Bullies.

To be continued..

Philip Andrew Merrick

Home room, Cows & Volkswagen Bugs Miss Rowlette was armed and ready for my induction as an eager eyed too tall and too fat just a tad too cool school-clothes clad country bumpkin High School Freshman.

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