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#because the therapist is retiring in march
musicprincess1990 · 1 year
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New pet peeve unlocked:
When someone is perfectly capable of finding the answer to a question, they have all the tools and knowledge to figure it out, and doing so would take minimal thought, time, and effort...
But they still ask, because they're too lazy.
Like the physical therapist asking me if I've blocked off his schedule for a lunch meeting in a few weeks. BRUH. You can look at your own damn schedule and find out. I know you know how to do it, because you always ask me questions about patients on your schedule, you look ahead frequently, so why the fuck can't you look for the answer yourself?!
...I just can't today. THANK GOD it's a short week.
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its-only-v · 1 year
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Best Shows of 2022
Yes, I'm putting this on Tumblr after 2022 has ended. Yes, it's also entirely too long with 30+ shows and all categories that I made myself.
The Best Show That Feels Like an Extended Award-Winning Cut of a Movie
And yes, I mean it in a good way, and not in the way that it should’ve been a movie and not a tv show. Slow Horses made the time fly by and it was so excellent that its second season is already airing right now and the show just came out in March. A big reason to watch it is also Gary Oldman, who plays one of the leads in the show. He’s also announced that he’ll be retiring after it ends - but don’t worry, it won’t be anytime soon because Apple has already renewed it for third and fourth seasons. How is that for a stamp of approval?
The Show with the Superhero in Most Desperate Need of a Therapist
On one hand, we have Peacemaker who has daddy issues (understandably so) and survivor’s guilt. On the other hand, there’s everyone in The Boys. We have definite psychopath Homelander and possible psychopath Soldier Boy and what’s Butcher doing this season with superpowers? But I doubt a therapist would be safe from the maniacs in The Boys so I’ll give this one to Peacemaker who would make better use of the help and not kill the therapist (this guarantee doesn’t extend to Vigilante).
The Show with the Highest Tension
This one’s a tie between The Bear and Severance. And what a surprise, both of them have the workplace as the central setting. Besides what I’ve already said about them in separate editions dedicated just to them, do I need to say more? Fine, here’s one line - it’s best to go in blind for Severance because you want to be surprised and I’ve watched The Bear all the way through three times.
The Best Show About Worst Career Changes That Sort of Work Out
A tie and both of these are comedy shows. Killing It follows Craig (Craig Robinson) an entrepreneur-turned-python hunter in Florida and Our Flag Means Death follows Steve Bonnet (Rhys Darby), a gentleman-turned-pirate. Both of them should not be doing what they’re doing but they do it anyway and it manages to sort of kind of work out along with hilarious situations along the way.
The Show with the Weirdest Relationship
Nobody can explain the plot of The Time Traveler’s Wife in a way that doesn’t make you narrow your eyes. Clare (Rose Leslie) first meets her husband Henry (Theo James) as a little girl when he travels back in time to a clearing near her house as an adult. She grows up falling in love with him because who wouldn’t (and she finds out that he’s already married her in the future so it’s destiny)? But it’s technically okay because he keeps his distance (and it’s not like he time/space travels on purpose) and he’s actually first met her as an adult when she’s an adult too (who has been in love with him since her childhood so is it acceptable?). It was cancelled after the first season because of the entire HBO/Warner Bros/Discovery disaster of a merger so we won’t be exploring more complexities of this relationship but it was interesting to watch while it lasted.
The Show with the Best Fictional Criminals
Sprung makes having a crew seem fun. You’d love to hang out with them and commit crimes (for legal purposes, this is a joke and I’m not condoning crime). We also had some white-collar crime in the new season of Industry but I’ll give them the leeway that crime isn’t their full-time job.
The Show with the Best Real-Life Criminals
This category was previously going to be called best shows based on real life, but then all the characters were fans of shady business practices. The contenders include WeCrashed (about WeWork), Super Pumped (about Uber), The Dropout (about Theranos) and Black Bird (about getting a criminal to get a serial killer to confess) (let’s pretend Inventing Anna didn’t happen for the sake of my sanity). Black Bird is the clear winner here. It has Taron Egerton and Paul Walter Hauser giving their career-best performances and the show feels like a spiritual successor to True Detective and Mindhunter, which elevates it even more.
The Best Show About Teenagers Falling in Love with Teens Who Act Their Age
This was a difficult one to pick with very strong top three contenders - the new season of Young Royals, the last season of Love Victor, and Heartstopper. But, at the end, how could this not go to Heartstopper that’s romantic, wholesome, cute, and does not fail to put a big smile on your face? (The characters of The Sex Lives of College Girls are also teenagers but the second season is still airing so jury’s still out on that and if they all look & act like teenagers or rather young adults is up for debate)
The Show with the Best Power Couple
George (Morgan Spector) and Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) from The Gilded Age, overcome the absolute drabness of their names to be the best power couple in television this year, not just in a period drama. Doing a bad relationship is easy. A great relationship? Tricky. Especially when it happens to be set in the past, with all its problematic period-accurate outlook. But Julian Fellowes has aced it (Bridgerton, please take note so you can have Season 2’s promising couple back for the third season, which didn’t happen this year).
The Show with the Most Toxic Couple
Yes, I said doing a bad relationship is easy. But - hear me out. Doing a toxic relationship with such compelling characters who happen to have insane chemistry? Louis (Jacob Anderson) and Lestat (Sam Reid) from Interview with the Vampire will make you go from thinking they-should-be-together-forever to please-someone-enforce-a-restraining-order. And as a bonus, there are multiple toxic relationships to go around along with toxic traits that don’t include ripping people’s heads or organs off their bodies (murder can be excused but Lestat, don’t open your relationship if you’re going to throw a fit once your partner takes you up on it and definitely don’t turn a teenager into a vampire to have an adoptive child to save your marriage). Runner-up goes to The Great, which had its second season air this year, with a couple that would also gladly kill each other but at least they’re honest about where they stand.
The Sexiest Show with Queer Vampires
How is this a category? How can this not be a category when you have What We Do in the Shadows’ latest season, and new shows including Interview with the Vampire, Reginald the Vampire, Vampire Academy, and First Kill all airing in the same year? Vampires definitely had a resurgence this year and not just on television (Dracula Daily was also a phenomenon this year and we had the iconic Morbius that needs no introduction and the overlooked Netflix film Day Shift with Jamie Foxx and Dave Franco as vampire hunters). But all of this is just to say that yes, Interview with the Vampire wins again, and Guillermo from WWDITS would agree and we should take his word for it.
The Best Show About Making Money Off the Female Gaze
Minx and Welcome to Chippendales both have businesses trying to capitalize on the female gaze - the first with a magazine and the second with a troupe of male strippers. Since Welcome to Chippendales is still airing and I’m not entirely convinced it’ll stick the landing, Minx wins this one by default but it’s also a very strong show which might have won anyway.
The Best Show To Take You On a Vacation
Or, more specifically, Italy. Yes, the second season of The White Lotus wasn’t the only show with a scenic Italian setting this year. While at the time of writing The White Lotus hasn’t ended yet, I know Mike White isn’t going to lead us astray. The other show that takes you on a vacation in Italy during Mussolini’s era is Hotel Portofino, which weaves in beautiful locales, interesting characters, history, and a mystery to keep you hooked till the end of the season.
The Show with the Best Murder Victim
The Afterparty. RIP Xavier (Dave Franco), you were a superstar blessed with predicting your own death in your music video. (Bonus points for the song being a banger, with the creators filming the full music video even though it wasn’t in the show and releasing a full EP by the character on Spotify).
The Show with the Most Underrated Detective
With a lot of criminals come a lot of criminal catchers. You know the trio of Only Murders in the Building but I bet you’ve not heard of Bell Prescott from Panhandle is a genius crime solver and there couldn’t have been a more fitting name for him for the way he acts. Luke Kirby (who you might know as Lenny Bruce from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel - also the only good part of this year’s new season which I didn’t like much) plays the lead - he manages to solve years of unsolved cases all while not having stepped out of his Florida mansion (that he shares with his mother and pet crocodile) since the death of his wife (whose presence he still hallucinates). Also, like any crime-solving genius, he also gets an assist from a sidekick (rookie cop Tiana Okoye) who makes up for his flaws, making them an epic crime-solving duo.
The Best Supernatural Show NOT About Vampires
Well, not exclusively anyway. Supernatural Academy is my pick for this one, which won't entirely be a surprise. It was such a well-made show and had so much mature storytelling than I was expecting from it. I was also considering The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself because that was such a good show but it only picked up about halfway through and now it's been cancelled with just the first season on Netflix. While there hasn't been any news of Supernatural Academy's second season, I'm more hopeful of Peacock keeping shows going than Netflix at this point so I hope we'll see more of it.
The Best Show About Shows
Please take a moment to acknowledge the meta commentary by the placement of this category at the end. Thank you.
Please take a moment to acknowledge the meta commentary by the placement of this category at the end. Thank you.
There are multiple shows in this category and all are winners. The Rehearsal is technically a reality show that also shows you what goes into the making of a reality show. We also have Reboot for scripted fiction, which you’ve probably guessed from the title is a show about the making of a reboot that also happens to have an all-star comedy cast. If we extend the definition of a show to all types of shows because why not, we also have Hacks, whose new season was about the making of a new stand-up show on the road. Also an excellent watch.
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wolfmadefromash · 3 months
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Another Buddie WIP
So this is the Young Buddie WIP, because I seem to like Buck and Eddie meeting when they're younger. I'm not anywhere near ready to actually publish the fic, but I'm liking it so much right now that I thought I would share what will likely be the first chapter.
To give a general overview, as general as I can manage... Eddie's family (household only) moved to a more central city/town during his freshman year, with the idea of his father getting more time at home if he isn't literally crossing the entire state. Buck's (only known as Evan in the beginning because his nickname and how he gets its will remain the same) father is a general in the Air Force, borderline retired but the kind of military man who's made his whole like about the Air Force. They move to Texas from Maryland (near DC) just before Buck (and Eddie's) sophomore year when Mr. Buckley is assigned there to assist in the training process. It being Texas, Buck and Eddie meet at football practice - it's light on the football stuff because my knowledge in limited and I don't care to really look it up beyond positions. The 2 hit it off and become instant best friends, bonding over their issues with their respective parents.
I have the chapters splitting between a more present timeline where Eddie is speaking to a therapist, then jumping to like a flash back of sorts which is the focus. It starts with a therapy session prior to Eddie's moving out to LA. Eddie's not sleeping, stuff from overseas on his mind and some trauma resurfacing from when he was in high school. MAJOR WARNING for this story, there is homophobia and physical abuse that will appear. Eddie's father is depicted as a stereotypical Catholic father from Texas, he is not a good person and at this point I am undecided if he will ever be seen differently. Eddie's mother is also frustrating, but Abuela? We love Abuela, as usual. Also the Diaz Sisters, Sophia in this is about a year younger than Eddie and they'r very close while Adriana is about 5 years younger. And Shannon isn’t the bad guy really, am also thinking about altering that plot point and also keeping her alive.
In this first chapter, it's Eddie and Buck friendship, ending with Buck being open to him about who he is, and Eddie kind of freezing.
I'm going to put that little read more thing here, if you read this far and are interested, then read on. Again, this is only what is to be the first chapter, I have barely gone back through and made any edits so things may change when I'm ready to publish. I'm over 30K word in and Buck and Eddie have yet to be reunited... Because yeah, there's a separation.
Texas, 2018 
“Tell me about the relationship between you and your parents.”  
Eddie turns away from Dr. Marsh, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. It didn’t matter that he voluntarily started therapy, that he recognized the damage done to him throughout his life and his time in the military. He still didn’t want to talk about certain things.
He came here because he was having nightmares, and it was starting to scare his 6-year-old son. The nightmares were about his time in the military, getting shot out of the sky and pinned down by gun fire, thinking he was going to die and never see his son again or the wife who left him anyway. Maybe, sometimes, that war zone that flashed in him mind shifted into a familiar Texas scene, with a lake in the background and the sound of a party happening yards away. And maybe sometimes the pain of bullets tearing through skin morphed into the feeling of fist colliding with his face. Once or twice, maybe, the enemies he saw in the desert looked a lot like his father.
“I’m here to talk about what happened to me in the army.” He told Dr. March firmly. “Has nothing to do with my parents.” 
“Okay.” Dr. Marsh shrugged her shoulders, leaning back in the cushioned chair she seemed to favor. “Let’s talk about why you joined the Army then.” 
Eddie’s gaze slide from the window to meet the counselors annoyingly kind eyes. “What does that have to do with me almost getting killed?” 
“What does you joining the Army have to do with you almost getting killed?” She asked with a quirked eyebrow. 
Eddie huffed, throwing his hands up. “You know what I mean. My reasons for joining have nothing to do with the things that happened over there.” 
“Not directly maybe, but you willingly put yourself in a position where your life would be at risk. You tested high, Eddie, very high as I understand it and you could have had your pick of any job yet you picked one that would certain put yourself right in the middle of the fight. Wanting to help people, save them even, is commendable but you threw yourself into danger with a new wife at home and a baby on the way.” 
“I was trying to provide for my family.” Eddie argued. 
“But you chose a position that had people shooting at you. Why not move towards a role as an engineer? You certainly have the intelligence and aptitude for it and it would keep you out of harm's way while still allowing you to have a vital role, why combat medic? Why something that would pull you away from your family?” 
“Because I needed to get away from my family!” Eddie snapped, gritting his teeth. “Not... not Shannon, or-or Christopher.” He corrected quickly. 
“Then who?” Dr. Marsh asked the question so gently that Eddie felt the resistance leaving him as he sagged back into the couch utterly exhausted. 
“My father.” He sighed. 
“Just your father?” Dr. Marsh prodded curiously. 
“My mom is... blinded by the man she believes my father is, the man she fell for at 16. She has this drive to keep our family together and that's taken a precedence over other... things.” 
“And what kind of man is your father?” 
Eddie lifts his eyes to meet Dr. Marsh’s in a cold stare. “A homophobic, bigoted, violent son of a bitch.” Dr. Marsh pauses a moment before taking a breath and making a note in the book laid open in her lap. “You at a loss for what to say after that one Doc?” 
Dr. Marsh closes her notebook, laying her hands gently on top as she looks at Eddie. “That’s a very harsh opinion to have about someone.” 
“It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact. With the exception of son of a bitch, I guess. That’s not entirely accuate, my abuela is one of the sweetest women you’d ever meet. But the rest?” 
“Is a fact.” Dr. Marsh finished for him. 
“He came across me and my first boyfriend fooling around in my truck and dragged me out by the back of my neck and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me in front of him. My boyfriend had to break his nose in order to even get the upper hand to drag him off me. So, yeah. It’s a fact.” Eddie’s chest was heaving, his whole-body trembling at a memory still so fresh in his mind he swears he can taste blood in his mouth. 
“That’s horrible.” Dr. Marsh gasped, her hand on her mouth. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and trying to regroup. “I’m sorry, I... I’m supposed to have something constructive to say, something helpful.” 
“Need a minute?” 
“Do you?” She asked, nodding at the clenched fists in his lap. “Eddie,” She started, leaning forward in her chair. “You may have come here to find a way to fight the horrors you relive in the middle of the night, but we can talk about this.” 
"It... it's been part of the horrors." He admits, shaking his head. “I haven’t... I haven’t talked about it or-or him since... well, just... since.” 
“Would you like to? If the memories there are too difficult, we can work up to it, we should work up to it.” 
“Memories of him are... good.” Eddie said with a small smile, his gaze fixed on his lap. “His name was Evan, his dad was an Air Force general, and his family had just moved to Texas; he was my best friend. I was still kind of the new kid too since we’d just moved to Abilene from El Paso near the end of my freshman year.” 
“I didn’t know that you’d moved at all while in Texas.” Dr. Marsh commented. 
“Dad was a petroleum engineer, traveled all over the state for work, was hardly ever home.” 
“An engineer of any kind was never going to be on the table as a career path for you, was it?” Dr. Marsh concluded, jotting down something as she reopened her notebook. 
Eddie snorted. “Kind of ridiculous, I know. The positions are nothing alike but I needed as much separation as I could get, if my Abuelo hadn’t been such an important part of my life, I’d have changed my name.” 
“Your father’s absence had to have put a stain on things.” 
Eddie nodded. “I guess. We never had that picture perfect, father-son relationship where we’d play catch in the yard or go to baseball games together. He was gone more often than he was home, and he expected me to be the man of the house at 10 years old. We moved out to Abilene because it’s a little more centrally located than El Paso, the idea was that he’d be able to cut down on come travel time and be home more.” 
“Was he?” 
“He was able to be home for longer stretches, a full week instead of a few days but that’s about it. I'll say, it made moving back to El Paso easier.” 
“Why did you move back?” 
Eddie looked back to Dr. Marsh. “Because, my father found out I was having sex with a boy.” 
-----  ----- 
Texas, Sophomore Year - 2006 
Eddie stood on the sidelines, waiting with the other perspective quarterbacks to step up and show the coaches what they had. He’d done well at his high school in El Paso, his coach had reached out to sing his praises and sent off some highlights of his first season. He was good enough, even as a freshman, to be on varsity. The captain of the team had an injury halfway through their season and he was in first rotation to fill in so he’d been able to get a lot of time on the field. But, this was Texas and everyone had to prove themselves to make their spot on the team. 
He watched the other players move and work together, spotting some weaknesses himself. His eyes caught on one player in particular. The coach was favoring him for different plays he was calling out while testing the prospective quarterback, even pairing the running back up with some of the seniors out on the field. This kid could move. He bobbed and weaved through the defensive line and he was right there with solid blocks against the offense coming at his quarterback. Eddie watched the ball as it sailed thought the air, looking back down at this golden-boy running back and thought there was no way he’d get under it in time. But sure enough, something switched in this kid and he bolted, not only getting under the ball but ahead of it in time for it to just simply fall into his waiting arms just as he crossed the line for what would be a touchdown. 
“Diaz! You’re up!” The coaches bellowing voice reeled Eddie’s focus back in. “We’ve got you going with Buckley, simple snap and run the ball. No plays, just work on instinct. Your old coach says you’re a natural, I wanna see it.” 
“Yes, sir.” Eddie said, slipping his helmet on over his head and moved to the line-up. 
Buckley jogged over to him, his wide grin visible through the bars of the facemask. “Hey!” He said, holding his hand out. “I’m Evan.” 
Eddie nodded, shaking his hand. “Eddie. You new?” 
Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, moved here last month.” 
The whistle sounded. “Have your little pow-wow on your time, not while you’re on my field. Run your play!” The coach called out. 
“Let’s get to it then.” Evan slapped Eddie’s padded shoulder and went into position. 
Eddie snorts, shaking his head as got behind the Center. He looks across the defensive line he’s up against, trying to get a read on them and spots a small shift in the one’s stance and knows then where he needs to put the ball. He gets down into position, calling for the ball to be snapped. His arm is cocked and he’s throwing the ball out to the right side, a blur of motion wizzes past him and Evan has his hands on the ball in a blink, tearing off toward the end zone. He’s take down about 10 yards from the line but made it 40 yards before anyone was able to touch him. 
The coach has them run a couple more times, letting Eddie go with his gut again and then calling our specific plays to make sure he knows them and can follow instructions. Each time Eddie makes a move, Evan is there right where he needs him to be, catching the ball or coming in to block without any direction needed. He’s the perfect partner, he see what Eddie seems to see in the other plays that have him change course, he can read Eddie in a way no one ever has before. At the end of practice, he feels like he’s hardly had to do any work with how easy Evan made everything. 
Evan bounds up to him as the team heads to the locker room to shower and change. He’s practically bounce, his grin splitting his face and his eyes shining with excitement when he yanked off his helmet. “That was awesome!” He said, his shoulder knocking into Eddie’s as they walked. “I don’t know what it was! I just knew everything you were going to do!” 
“Yeah.” Eddie laughed, holding his helmet at his side. “It was wild, man. I’ve never been so in sync with someone before. I barely had to do any work at all.” He joked, heading over to his locker. “You made my job way to easy.” 
“Diaz, Buckley!” Nate Goulding, a senior captain, came strolling through their row of lockers. “You boys going to be our dream team this year? Get us to state?” He said, dropping his hands on Eddie’s shoulder and giving him a light shake. “Damn you got one hell of an arm, I’m a little worried about my position.” He laughed, patting Evan’s back on his way past. “Great work out there today! You two were seriously in the zone. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is gonna be our year!” He hollered, chanting Eagles, getting the others riled up as he went. 
Eddie laughed, tugging off his practice jersey and slipping out of his padding. “So, you’ve been here a month?” He asked Evan as the other boy got undressed next to him. 
“Yeah. My dad wanted to be down here in plenty of time for tray-outs and practice. He had a trainer lined up here to make sure I’d be good to go, Texas football is no joke.” He said with a laugh. 
“Yeah, you kind of have eat, drink, and breath football down here. Where’d you move from?” 
“Maryland. My dads in the Air Force, he's desk bound for the most part after a car accident a couple years ago. He’s heading up the training programs down here now.” Evan tells him, pulling out a towel and shower gel. “He’s a miserable bastard anymore, not that he was pleasant before.” 
“I know what you mean.” Eddie said, pulling out his own stuff to clean up. He sees the curious look that Evan throws his way and just shakes his head. They head off to the showers and Eddie knocks his knuckles to Evan’s arm before they split off. “Hey, did you want to hang out after, grab lunch? There a good sandwich place in town, they have great shakes too.” 
“Yeah! I-I mean... sure, yeah that sounds cool.” 
Eddie chuckled. “Okay, meet me out front in 20?” 
“You drive?” Evan asks. 
Eddie smirks. “Of course.” 
“So, what do you do for fun? There doesn’t seem to be much to do.” Evan asked, seated in a booth across from Eddie. 
“There’s not, I mean there’s the zoo and museums and stuff but when you live here, you don’t want to do that tourist stuff.” Eddie laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t watch TV much, I have 2 younger sisters so they usually have control or my mom does. Movies I see aren’t even ones I would pick.” 
“Because of said sisters?” Evans says with a smile, dipping a fry in ketchup. 
“Exactly. Most people go for a drive or hang out by the lake I guess.” 
“You guess?” Evan says with a laugh. “I thought you were a local?” 
“Yes and no. I’ve only been here since April, we move out here from El Paso.” 
“Is your dad military too?” 
Eddie shook his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nah, petroleum engineer. He travels all over the state for work, El Paso is on one end and he thought that having something more central would get him to be home more.” 
“Did uprooting his family work?” 
Eddie snorted. “Not really, it gained him an extra 3 days home. But its give the illusion of being better so my mom went along with it.” 
“So, your dad’s not around much then either?” 
“Nope.” Eddie says, popping a fry into his mouth. “When he is, he’s on my ass about something. Yard work, my room, my truck, my grades, my sisters.” 
“Speaking of truck, you gotta tell me how you’re able to drive?” 
“Well, first you need a working car. Then you get in the driver seat, that’s the one with the big circle in front of it that allows you to steer the car-” 
Evan rolls his eyes, tossing his balled-up straw wrapper at him. “Fuck off, you know what I mean. We’re the same grade, so I assume that means the same age. I thought you couldn’t get your license until you were 16.” 
“You can get it at 15, there are some hoops you have to jump through and different qualifications you have to meet. I’d have my license in a few months anyway but my dad insisted on it, it called a hardship license or something. I personally don’t think that I qualified, but he pulled some strings, I guess. It’s good though, I can help my mom with my sisters when schedules overlap or when she has to work on the weekends. I can pick them up from school if I need to for her or take them to the doctor.” 
“So you help your mom with your sisters a lot then?” 
“As much as she lets me, she still wants me to be a kid but then I get my dad on my case about being a man. They’re not exactly on the same page there but he’s not home enough for them to figure it out, and mom doesn’t want to always be fighting. So, I’m stuck being pulled in two different directions. I don’t mind helping with Adrianna and Sophia though, I like spending time with them.” 
“What’re the age difference between you guys?” 
“Sophia just turned 14, I’m just over a year older than her so we’ve always been really close. She probably my best friend.” Eddie says with a fond smile. 
“Well, was, you mean. Because I plan on taking that title.” Evan says with a beaming grin. 
Eddie snorts and bobs his head. “Right, was.” 
“How old is Adrianna?” 
“10, well almost 10. She’ a brat too, welds that pout and her big brown eyes like a weapon to get whatever she wants.” 
“And you cave every time?” 
“Pretty much, yeah.” Eddie says with a laugh.” What about you? Is it just you and your dad or what?” 
“No, mom’s here too. She thrived on being the general’s wife.” Evan said with a roll of his eyes. “We were just outside DC so there were all these different functions she went to as the wife of an Air Force General. She made my dad’s rank her whole personality so, she’s not really happy about being down here; I don’t think there will be many people impressed by the status of her husband.” 
“No siblings?” 
“Ah. Yeah, I’ve got an older sister.” Evan tells him, his eyes dropping to the table where he’s fiddling with his napkin. 
“Is... everything okay there?” Eddie asks cautiously. “I didn’t mean to step in something.” 
“No, it’s fine, just... complicated, I guess.” 
Eddie frowned, tapping the side of Evan’s calf with his foot. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bum you out. This is probably why I don’t have a ton of friends.” He said lightly. 
“Really, it’s fine. We don’t... I’m not allowed to talk about her, it’s kind of a sore subject with my parents. My dad really pushed for her to join the military, follow in his footstep and he does the same with me. He had me on weekend retreats back in Maryland and different trainings, really wanted me in the Naval Academy in Annapolis.” 
“Not the Air Force?” 
Evan shook his head. “He doesn’t want anyone giving me any sort of special treatment, he’s a decorated officer and his name holds a lot of weight. Navy, it’s a different branch and while he’d be respected, his name and rank would do nothing for me. He doesn’t want me to ‘ride on his coattails’.” He explains, using air quotes. 
“Wow. What a dick.” 
Evan laughs, nodding. “Yeah, he is. He’s one of those guys who think that his branch is the greatest of them all and looks down on all the others. I floated out the idea of joining the Coast Guard, just to see his reaction? I thought his head was going to burst. He doesn’t want me in the Air Force because he thinks I’ll sully his good name, so he’ll settle for me being in the Navy. Maddie, my sister? She was going to be the one to carry on his legacy. But she didn’t want that, she wanted to be a nurse. She move out when I was 8 and went to school in DC so I still saw her all the time, then she met her boyfriend Doug. They stayed around for a while but he ended up getting a job in Boston a couple years ago, the two of them moved up there together and got engaged. My parents refused to go to the wedding, they hated Doug, which meant I couldn’t go to the wedding either. I haven’t seen her in 3 years, we talk on the phone when I can sneak around to do it because my parents would lose their mind if they found out. We’re supposed to shun her or something, like that will get her to change her mind.” 
“That really sucks.” 
“It’s not great, but... it’s nice to be able to talk about her.” Evan gives Eddie a small smile. “Thanks for listening to me ramble.” 
“What are friends for?” Eddie tells him, taking a sip of his milkshake. “You know, if you need a place to hide out and call Maddie, you can always come over to my house.” 
“I think I’ll do that.” 
----- 
Eddie and Evan learn that they share almost all of their classes together with the exception of phys ed and their 2 elective classes. Eddie’s dad told him he would be taking a business finance class along and auto shop, telling him he needed to make the most of his education and take classes that will help him when he joins his company after graduation or classes where he will learn a real skill. 
“Photography? Writing? What can you do with that Edmundo? No, you need something useful.” His father had told him when he’d brought him his prospective schedule for his sophomore year. 
Eddie liked photography, had an interest in it and had hoped to learn more and he found the he really enjoyed writing to. He want to take the photography class offered and a creative writing class but, his father called the school and had his classes changed. 
Evan, had a music class and an art class telling Eddie that his parents didn’t seem to care about his selected courses one way or the other because he future was already sealed. 
"How’s the first day?” Eddie said, placing his lunch tray down on one of the small picnic tables outside and sat on the bench across from Evan. “Get lost yet?” 
Evan looked up and smiled. “You’ve been with me for most of it.” 
“Yeah, but not the art class you just came from.” 
“Well, considering its right across the fall from the cafeteria...” 
“So, you haven’t gotten lost then.” Eddie grins, looking down at the food on his tray. “I hate school lunches.” 
Evan chuckles, sliding over have of his Italian sandwich. “I didn’t want to risk it the first day so, I got a sandwich from the pizza place down the street from my house last night. You can have the other half.” 
Eddie pushes the tray to the side and takes up the sandwich. “You’ve definitely taken over as best friend.” 
“I’m sure Sophia will be crushed.” He laughs. 
Eddie finds that he finally enjoys Abliene. His days are more enjoyable with Evan’s smiling face meeting him in the morning and sitting across from him at lunch. Practices are great, the whole team is really meshing and Evan seems to be a key part of that. He’s far more outgoing than Eddie and talks to everyone, no matter what position they play or if their first line or not. Every time he started getting pulled into a conversation, Evan was tugging Eddie along with him.  
Evan was smart too, he paid attention in class even when it looked like he wasn’t. He and Eddie would get together every day after practice and do homework and study, at some point at least once a week Evan would lay back on Eddie’s bed and talk to his sister. Eddie would usually take that time to get them something to eat or drink and check in on his sister so Evan could have a few minutes to himself with his sister. 
They were the perfect dynamic duo on the field, rotating in with the seniors of their positions when needed. There were games that they would start, if the coach had felt like they’d fallen behind too early in the previous game, but most often they came in for some of the last plays of the night to secure the win. They were trending to head to state until Eddie got sacked by one of the linebackers from Amarillo, dislocating his shoulder and spraining his wrist. Evan had got blocked on his way to cover him, he blamed himself for him getting hurt and blamed himself for losing their next and last game of the season. 
“Ev, it’s not your fault.” Eddie told him, sitting on the tailgate of his truck looking out over the lake. “It’s a full contact sport.” 
“Yeah, but my job is to have your back.” 
“You got blocked, Amarillo was doing their job.” He said, swaying over and knocking his uninjured shoulder to Evans. “Seasons over, we’ll get it next year.” 
“If I’m here.” Evan said with a sigh. 
Eddie paused, turning to his friend with a deep frown. “You’re moving?” 
“No, at least I don’t think I am. But I didn’t think we were moving out of Maryland before coming here and we did. I don’t know what’s going to happen, my parents don't tell me anything.” 
“Well, I’m going to assume you’re not moving. Because then I’ll be friendless and alone again and that’s just too depressing to think about.” 
“Right.” Evan agrees with a firm nod. “No point in thinking the worst.” 
“Exactly.” 
“You know, I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Evan tells him, looking down as he kicks his feet back and forth. 
“Yeah? Me too. Well, besides Sophia but this is different.” 
They’re quiet for a while, music playing from the radio filling the silence. “Hey, Eds? There’s something I want to tell you.” 
“Well, you know you can tell me anything, Ev.” Eddie tells him sincerely. 
“It could be weird.” Evan warns before looking up and meeting Eddie’s eye. “I don’t want things to be weird with us.” 
“Never gonna happen.” Eddie reassured him. “Seriously, if there’s something you want to tell me you can. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine too.” Eddie wasn’t sure what it could be that Evan wanted to share with him, but it had to be important if he seemed this worried about his reaction.  
“I don’t like the feeling that I’m hiding something from you.” Evan inhaled a deep breath, looking out over the lake. “I… I’m bi.” He said quietly. “I-I like girls and guys, both.” 
Eddie raised his eyes rows, surprised by the confession. He didn’t expect that, he thought maybe Evan was going to tell him he got a girl pregnant not that he... “Oh.” He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond, what he should say. If he even should say something. 
“It’s not like… I’m not a pervert or anything. I’m not in the locker room just staring at everyone.” 
“Right. That’s… that’s good. Considerate.” 
Evan snorted. “I’m not some asshole, I don’t ogle girls either like some of the guys. I’m respectful no matter who it is.” Eddie nods, his mouth feeling dry. “Hey.” Evan reaches out and puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, he jerks involuntarily and Evan pulls his hand away. “Sorry.” He mumbles, hopping off the back of the truck and taking a few steps away. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You know, I-I can probably walk home from here.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 
Eddie sags, feeling like an asshole. “Evan.” 
“Maybe I’ll have a run, keep in shape for next season.” 
Eddie slides off the tailgate, sighing when Evan takes a few steps away from him. “Ev, come on.” 
“No, really! I think it’s probably better that I run.” 
“Your house is like 10 miles from here.” Eddie argues. 
“Well, it’ll be a good run then.” 
“Evan, just... just stop, okay? I’m sorry. I... I never... I’ve never had someone tell me something like that and I just... I don’t know how to respond.” 
Evan nods, wiping his nose and blinking his eyes. “Right. Of course, so naturally you freeze up and jump away from me like you’re going to catch something.” 
“No, I wasn’t... I wasn’t doing that!” Eddie says. “I... fuck, I’m sorry.” 
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Evan says quietly, shaking his head and turning his back to Eddie. “I figured since you were my best friend I could and I just... I was stupid.” 
“Ev, come on man. I am your best friend.” Eddie takes a few long strides and grabs Evan’s arm with his good hand. “Don’t go, okay? I-I mean if you want space or whatever because I’m an asshole fine but at least let me give you a ride home?” 
Evan sighed, he turned back to the truck with a nod, hopping into the passenger seat without a word. They drove back to Evan’s house in silence. 
“You didn’t have to say anything, you know.” Evan said as they pull up outside his house. “I just, I wanted to tell you. It’s not something I ever felt like I had to hide until moving here and it was just sort of driving me crazy no one knowing but my parents.” 
“I’m sorry.” Eddie says again. 
Evan nods and hops out of the truck, going into his house without another look back. 
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abbysarmpit · 4 months
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Personal rant. If you wanna read.
CW: depression, financial struggles, the state of the world.
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What a weird couple of days. I'm in a funk. Had two things happen yesterday that almost triggered an autistic meltdown. I always get sad in December and I guess it came a bit early this year. I was supposed to have a meeting with my boss about getting a raise, but she came over to my desk last minute to ask to postpone it to next week because she's "so busy." So I'm missing out on a potential week's worth of extra pay, if they even decide to give me a raise... which I desperately need. It feels like she doesn't take me seriously or care. (I get MINIMAL to no supervision from her. She might as well ignore me.)
My girlfriend is also autistic but much higher support needs. She hasn't had a job or steady income since March. I've been covering both of our expenses for... 4 months now? I've racked up several thousand dollars of debt because of it... costs are rising every day, and I haven't had a cost of living or merit-based raise in over two years. It's basically like being paid less and less each year. I panic-applied to a few more jobs that are the same pay... if they can't give me regular raises here, I need to find a place that takes COLAs and merit-based raises seriously. Somewhere with somewhere to climb and work towards. There's only one position above me right now, and even if she retired, I wouldn't be qualified for her position. There's nowhere for me to go here anymore. It feels like I'm going to be stuck in the same apartment, with the same job, same pay, same situation, for much longer than I expected...
My girlfriend is trying to find a job to pay me back some, get back on track financially, then we can pool resources to move in together which will then save both of us a lot of money... but she's been job searching for MONTHS to no avail. It's insane. The job market is so confusing right now. I just don't know what to do. I even looked into claiming her as a dependent of mine, but because we aren't related or married (yet), I can't claim her.
The cherry on top - I was kicked out of my FAVORITE TLOU Facebook group. For no reason. No notice. No explanation. I hadn't even been commenting/engaging much lately there, and I definitely didn't say anything against TOS or the group rules. The person who runs the group also blocked me directly, so I can't even try to appeal. It feels very personal and unfair. I seriously think it's because my profile picture was the Palestinian flag for a week. It feels like I lost part of my community. I know a lot of you are here as well, and it's a more markedly queer TLOU community here, so I do think this community is even better... but I feel a bit lost. Glad I'm seeing my therapist this week. I didn't last week because of the holiday.
It just feels like this isn't a "merry" holiday season this year. The world is burning. Genocide is a daily occurence. The rich get richer. No one cares. People hoard resources. The system is broken. Then, the responsibility of "fixing things" is put on us, in the form of "hope" via boycotting. Even though we didn't start it or decide it. Now we suffer more in an attempt to fix the world's problems. What is there to look forward to? When I will never be able to afford a house for me and my partner? When I am perpetually increasing my credit card debt just to survive and try to stay happy and not k*** myself? Being poor is expensive, depressing, inhumane, and patently unfair. Photomodes for tax.
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Believe me, I never wanted to have to choose between tennis and a family. I don’t think it’s fair. If I were a guy, I wouldn’t be writing this because I’d be out there playing and winning while my wife was doing the physical labor of expanding our family. Maybe I’d be more of a Tom Brady if I had that opportunity. Don’t get me wrong: I love being a woman, and I loved every second of being pregnant with Olympia. I was one of those annoying women who adored being pregnant and was working until the day I had to report to the hospital—although things got super complicated on the other side. And I almost did do the impossible: A lot of people don’t realize that I was two months pregnant when I won the Australian Open in 2017. But I’m turning 41 this month, and something’s got to give.
I have never liked the word retirement. It doesn’t feel like a modern word to me. I’ve been thinking of this as a transition, but I want to be sensitive about how I use that word, which means something very specific and important to a community of people. Maybe the best word to describe what I’m up to is evolution. I’m here to tell you that I’m evolving away from tennis, toward other things that are important to me. A few years ago I quietly started Serena Ventures, a venture capital firm. Soon after that, I started a family. I want to grow that family.
But I’ve been reluctant to admit to myself or anyone else that I have to move on from playing tennis. Alexis, my husband, and I have hardly talked about it; it’s like a taboo topic. I can’t even have this conversation with my mom and dad. It’s like it’s not real until you say it out loud. It comes up, I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat, and I start to cry. The only person I’ve really gone there with is my therapist! One thing I’m not going to do is sugarcoat this. I know that a lot of people are excited about and look forward to retiring, and I really wish I felt that way. Ashleigh Barty was number one in the world when she left the sport this March, and I believe she really felt ready to move on. Caroline Wozniacki, who is one of my best friends, felt a sense of relief when she retired in 2020.
Praise to these people, but I’m going to be honest. There is no happiness in this topic for me. I know it’s not the usual thing to say, but I feel a great deal of pain. It’s the hardest thing that I could ever imagine. I hate it. I hate that I have to be at this crossroads. I keep saying to myself, I wish it could be easy for me, but it’s not. I’m torn: I don’t want it to be over, but at the same time I’m ready for what’s next. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to look at this magazine when it comes out, knowing that this is it, the end of a story that started in Compton, California, with a little Black girl who just wanted to play tennis. This sport has given me so much. I love to win. I love the battle. I love to entertain. I’m not sure every player sees it that way, but I love the performance aspect of it—to be able to entertain people week after week. Some of the happiest times in my life were spent waiting in that hallway in Melbourne, and walking out into Rod Laver Arena with my earphones in and trying to stay focused and drown out the noise but still feeling the energy of the crowd. Night matches in Arthur Ashe Stadium at Flushing Meadows. Hitting an ace on set point.
[...]
To me that’s kind of the essence of being Serena: expecting the best from myself and proving people wrong. There were so many matches I won because something made me angry or someone counted me out. That drove me. I’ve built a career on channeling anger and negativity and turning it into something good. My sister Venus once said that when someone out there says you can’t do something, it is because they can’t do it. But I did do it. And so can you.
[...]
There are people who say I’m not the GOAT because I didn’t pass Margaret Court’s record of 24 grand slam titles, which she achieved before the “open era” that began in 1968. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that record. Obviously I do. But day to day, I’m really not thinking about her. If I’m in a grand slam final, then yes, I am thinking about that record. Maybe I thought about it too much, and that didn’t help. The way I see it, I should have had 30-plus grand slams. I had my chances after coming back from giving birth. I went from a C-section to a second pulmonary embolism to a grand slam final. I played while breastfeeding. I played through postpartum depression. But I didn’t get there. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I didn’t show up the way I should have or could have. But I showed up 23 times, and that’s fine. Actually it’s extraordinary. But these days, if I have to choose between building my tennis résumé and building my family, I choose the latter.
[...]
The fact is that nothing is a sacrifice for me when it comes to Olympia. It all just makes sense. I want to teach her how to tie her shoes, how to read, where babies come from, and about God. Just like my mom taught me. As she grows, it’s something different every month. Lately she’s been into watching baking shows, which we do together. Now we bake with Play-Doh, which is so much fun. She loves this game called The Floor Is Lava, where you have to do whatever you can to avoid touching the ground. I love setting up my gym for the game, arranging my step-up boxes and weight machines like an obstacle course. Whatever she likes, I like.
I think tennis, by comparison, has always felt like a sacrifice—though it’s one I enjoyed making. When you’re younger, you see kids having fun, and you want to do that stuff but you know you have to be on the court, hoping that one day it will all pay off. I got pushed hard by my parents. Nowadays so many parents say, “Let your kids do what they want!” Well, that’s not what got me where I am. I didn’t rebel as a kid. I worked hard, and I followed the rules. I do want to push Olympia—not in tennis, but in whatever captures her interest. But I don’t want to push too hard. I’m still trying to figure out that balance.
[...]
I don’t particularly like to think about my legacy. I get asked about it a lot, and I never know exactly what to say. But I’d like to think that thanks to opportunities afforded to me, women athletes feel that they can be themselves on the court. They can play with aggression and pump their fists. They can be strong yet beautiful. They can wear what they want and say what they want and kick butt and be proud of it all. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my career. Mistakes are learning experiences, and I embrace those moments. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve also taken a lot of criticism, and I’d like to think that I went through some hard times as a professional tennis player so that the next generation could have it easier. Over the years, I hope that people come to think of me as symbolizing something bigger than tennis. I admire Billie Jean because she transcended her sport. I’d like it to be: Serena is this and she’s that and she was a great tennis player and she won those slams.
Unfortunately I wasn’t ready to win Wimbledon this year. And I don’t know if I will be ready to win New York. But I’m going to try. And the lead-up tournaments will be fun. I know there’s a fan fantasy that I might have tied Margaret that day in London, then maybe beat her record in New York, and then at the trophy ceremony say, “See ya!” I get that. It’s a good fantasy. But I’m not looking for some ceremonial, final on-court moment. I’m terrible at goodbyes, the world’s worst. But please know that I am more grateful for you than I can ever express in words. You have carried me to so many wins and so many trophies. I’m going to miss that version of me, that girl who played tennis. And I’m going to miss you. 
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feralgremlinchild · 2 years
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Hey guys, I’m still around!
Idk when my last post was but I know it’s been a minute. I was hospitalized in March for a manic episode, and released about a week later once I was stabilized. Since then it’s been an absolute shitshow.
My mother had two brain surgeries, my sister had a baby girl and gave it up for adoption, there was a big cps case because the baby was born with drugs in her blood, my nephews dad tried to file for full custody, my psychiatrist retired, I was off my meds for 3 weeks (not by choice), I got food poisoning, I became my mother’s caretaker, I got heat stroke, my mother fell AGAIN and is currently in the hospital bc she needed 14 staples in her head and she also had pneumonia and sepsis and at least one growth on her pancreas
I’m sure I forgot something somewhere in there but that’s been the past 9 weeks or so. I’m ready for a nap. I’d like to get back on here but it’s hard to do much without my adderall, I mostly just watch tiktoks because it’s effortless and I don’t have to think about any of it. I’m also trying to avoid triggering posts here because my mental health is doing alright and I would hate for it to go to shit again. I’m pretty much recovered from my ed, which is really nice.
I’m still in therapy with my usual therapist, still going three times a week. My insurance is fully covering it, which is very cool of them
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awildkelkinnie · 2 months
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I WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY OCS SO I WILL !! :3c (even tho the story isn't done ヽ(≧□≦)ノ)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death, Car Crash, shooting, brain alteration (I think), cults, and other things, JUST STAY SAFE ON THE INTERNET!!!
So, to start off, here's a summary of how this whole story started:
Additionally, William leads a cult. The cult is a group of people who believe that William is a god
There are these 2 dudes: William and Adam. They are 2 engineers, and they both join an engineering competition. Adam wins, and William is JEALOUS!!!! (the award for winning was a check of 1000 dollars or smth) WILLIAM WAS OLDER SMARTER AND HE WAS ANGRY HE DIDN'T WIN SINCE HE NEEDED THAT CASH BADLY!!
Timeskip, Adam gets a wife named "Rose" (her stage name) and shes this lovely woman, and her and Adam get this child named Madeline. WILLIAM WAS STILL MAD!!! so What did he do? hire a hitman to kill his ex-friend ofc.
2. Bethany Lewis: A teacher in her 40s who helped Madeline and had to retire
On March 23, 2012, the small family was driving home after celebrating Madeline's birthday, and the HIT MAN TRIES TO SHOOT ADAM, BUT HITS ROSE INSTEAD, AND THIS CAUSED A CAR CRASH. Since the car crash was on Madeline's birthday, she felt like it was her fault that she wanted to go out, that she wanted to celebrate her birthday, and etc.
ANOTHER TIMESKIP, the year is 2017. Adam and Madeline have moved to Neptura City around 2015, and Madeline had some prettay neat friends.:
1. Madison Salazar: She is an older girl at her school, and she had to go due to financial reasons
3. Andres Lopez: her cousin!! Who had to leave for med school but was rather distant for some reason..
4. Hayate Otowa: Her therapist, who is helping her!!!
So she only had Hayate, and she told him about how she had this vivid sights of her imaginary friends (Who are all based off one of her close friends/relatives mentioned in the list above)
Madison = Fern
Bethany = Bliss
Andres = T.E.L. (which has a secret meaning (⊙ˍ⊙)')
Hayate = Hayate.. he is hayate.
Her therapist is worried and he goes "ayo..you SEE THEM AND CAN TOUCH THEM??? 🙁🙁🙁😦😦" so he reaches out to a friend, Ejice (WHO IS WILLIAM WHO MADE HIMSELF A NEW IDENTITY OUT OF FEAR OF BEING TRACKED DOWN BY THE COPS)
Ejice RECOGNIZES MADELINE AND IS LIKE "..oh 😈" and abuses his power as a scientist to alter the child's brain, to torment her so she would go insane or so, and her dad (Adam) would die alone.
Hayate is unaware, but checks on madeline, genuinely caring for her. Ejice has been studying a new theory of his: The dreams people dream of aren't just dreams, they are a new universe hidden away.
He coins the term "Myalou realm" to refer to where dreams occur (Myalou is greek for mind :3). In order to torment Madeline, he does these things:
alter Hayate's dream counter part to make him evil and try to hurt Madeline
Intensify the nightmare side of her brain
alter some memories of hers
he also had another idea, to bring her imaginary friends to life. Why you may ask? As an experiment. He wants to bring his horrible creatures in his mind to life to take control of the world. I forgot to mention that ever since he made a new identity, he gained a bit of a superiority complex, and because he was able to escape a master plan, he could make more master plans and not get arrested
So this is all i wrote so far 💀 but I promise to write more!!
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ear-worthy · 1 year
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WhiskeyCast: A Podcast That Goes Down Smooth
 What is one of the oldest podcasts in the entire audio industry? It's a podcast that began in 2005 and is still delighting its listeners today? No it's not a tech, politics, or comedy podcast.
It's a podcast about whiskey. That's right, whiskey.
It's called WhiskyCast. The podcast's subtitle is Cask Strength Conversation since 2005. Now, I don't even know what that means, but after listening to just one episode of WhiskyCast, I want to know more.
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Let me be clear. I am not a whiskey drinker. But I'm fascinated by this vibrant world of whiskey acolytes. For the unaware out there -- like me -- let's define what whiskey is.
 Whisky or whiskey is a type of distilled alcoholic beverage made from fermented grain mash. Various grains are used for different varieties, including barley, corn, rye, and wheat. Whisky is typically aged in wooden casks, which are typically made of charred white oak.
People are passionate about whiskey. They're like wine drinkers, only less obnoxious. 
Here's what retired psychologist and whiskey drinker Gary Beaufait says:"I'm into bourbon because it's a type of whiskey that's an American invention with certain criteria needed to be met to be an official, legitimate Bourbon."
Beaufait continues: "The process produces a smooth, palatable, and drinkable liquor of varying proofs - ranging from 80 upwards to 120+, but typically 90s. For me, the proofs in the high 80s and 90s are just right if the product is blended nicely. The different types and brands can be rather nuanced, so people have preferences. The most sought after are very hard to find, and a secondary market exists w rather high dollar amount-hundreds to thousands for a prized bottle."
Listening to WhiskyCast is like hearing a well-oiled machine hum along with seamless efficiency. Each week, veteran journalist Mark Gillespie brings listeners the latest whisky news, in-depth interviews, tasting notes, and much more. Each podcast features brand-new content, and unless there’s a special occasion, and they do “best of” shows.
Gillespie is a terrific host. His voice is as smooth as some of the whiskeys they taste, and his delivery is smooth and pure. Gillespie is the winner of the International Wine & Spirits Competition’s 2023 Spirits Communicator Trophy, which seems to be quite an honor in the field. From the episodes I've listened to, the host deserves such an accolade. In his 18th year as host, Gillespie sounds as if he has the verve of his first episode. The podcast has a standard and successful formula. Each episode begins with whiskey news, and I underestimated how much such news there is. For example, the news covered the dominance of Jameson in the global and U.S. markets. Reportedly, Jameson accounts for 70 percent of U.S. whiskey sales and 40 percent of whiskey sales around the world. 
In another episode the news included stories about In the news, Jack Daniel’s has been ordered to stop work on one of its new barrel houses after a neighbor sued over whisky fungus problems, while Kentucky distillers are hoping a bill pending in the state legislature could mean the end of the “barrel tax.” 
After the news, there is a main story like the one called "Choosing passion" on the March 5th episode. The episode details how Melissa Rift’s career path is anything but traditional for a whisky maker. She started out as a family therapist before discovering her passion for Bourbon, and it’s led her to become the new master taster for Old Forester.  
On the February 27th episode, the main story is about whiskey clubs. Unbeknownst to the whiskey obtuse such as myself, there are literally hundreds of whisky clubs around the world, with more being formed all the time. On the episode, listeners hear from some club founders on how they started their clubs, along with advice for those thinking about forming a whisky club. 
In that same episode, WhiskyCast announced the launch of the new WhiskyCast Community mobile app, which is a smart monetization, brand loyalty, and brand extension move.
If you are a whiskey drinker and haven't heard of this podcast, I highly suggest listening to at least one episode. There, you'll find like-minded people who enjoy the social aspects of whiskey, its unique color and taste, and the artistic skill needed to make whiskey.
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221bluescarf · 1 year
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My therapy group's facilitator is retiring in March. There's no one to take over the group, so we may have no more group which is sad because many of us need it. We were told to go off and find other groups. I'll miss everyone. It took me so long to be able to join the group in the first place. I was a nervous wreck for weeks there. The only reason I was able to join initially was because the old facilitator was my individual therapist, so I had someone there I was comfortable with. Now it's been almost 4 years since I joined. It's a big change and I don't know if I'll be able to overcome the anxiety to find and join a new group. I might have to just do without it...
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raychesshittyart · 2 years
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Interview
Here is the transcript of the interview. In bold are the different topics the questions are based off, in normal are my questions, and in italics are Dr Morgan’s answers. Just thought I’d also have visual description because I am super artsy and that’s how my brain works.
Questions about Patricia’s career: • Now I have made the mistake of thinking you were an arts therapist, and with some research I have seen that you have a lot of experience in different fields. Would you be able to clarify your profession, please? Researcher, artist 25 years ago, community developer 15 years ago. A mix of all of those things, mostly researcher • Through my research I have found that you are a fine artist. Have I got that right? N/A • Is that something that you have aspired to be before all your current qualifications and experiences? It wasn’t something that she always thought about, it was something that she just always did. It’s just who she is, and impulse is implied in everything she does. • Do you still practice? And in what areas do you still focus on now? Yes and no. On the occasion she’ll pull out a pad and paper and do some drawing or painting. But she’s so busy with her business and research projects that she doesn’t have time to properly be into her practice. It is her retirement dream, however, to move somewhere by the sea to retire to and work again on her practice. Sometimes she applies her practice in her profession (researcher in Positively Women), as well as showing examples to those people to better explain what she was asking them to do. She still has ideas all the time but doesn’t turn them into something these days.
Positively Women, March 2020: • What did the workshop involve? The workshop was a bit of a hybrid of arts therapy and research project. In the website for the Positively Women project, there are subpages that are titled themes, and one talks about the therapeutic experience that happened for the women. Release trauma, gained agency. There was great findings around stigma and discrimination for women living with HIV/Aids. Using art as a research method, less as a therapeutic method. For Dr Morgan it started in 2020, having just finished designing an in-person workshop just as Covid hit. She had just booked the venue, providing of food. This led to the university potentially shutting down the workshop as they didn’t want any human research at all, however, they allowed everything to be moved online. Dr Morgan had doubts that doing this research project online would work, with what workshops involve, she didn’t believe that it could be transferred to a plastic screen, as human connection is easier to make in person than over a square, plastic screen where there is an invisible veil. In the end she redesigned the workshop. Each week had a theme. The research project was wrapped up with a paper that Dr Morgan has written and is about to publish, as well as an exhibition that has done quite a few tours. There are also seminars in the medical community, universities and such, about the awareness of HIV/Aids and using the exhibition of this workshop as part of those seminars. • Was it a weekend long workshop or longer? If longer, how many days was the workshop? In the end, the workshop became six weeks long experience for the women, connection online for three hours each day. • How long was the research process? When did it start and end? Where was the workshop placed in this time frame? Didn’t get time to ask. • Where was the workshop based? N/A • How much was provided for the Women doing the workshop and did the Women have to bring anything in to help continue with the workshop? As it ended up being online, the women ended up having to use resources that were around the house at the time. • What started the research project? How did the idea come to be? Did not have time to ask. • I know there were 10 women who did the workshop. How many people were involved in running of the research project? While there were ten women for this workshop, they ended up dividing the these ten women into two groups so that there weren’t too many people on screen for the online workshop, having two sessions each day. • Were there different teams of people doing different things? i.e one team specifically running the workshop, while a separate team worked on the research. If there were teams, how many were there? There was just the one team running the workshop, but the women doing the workshop were divided into two groups. • What got you involved in the research project? Didn’t have time to ask. • What was your position in the research project? Researcher, coordinator. • In your opinion, what was successful about the workshop? A lot of positive outcomes for the women, one of them has started studying to become an arts therapist since finishing the workshop. A lot of them have felt a change in themselves as well, which is important in research, that the researchers give something back, that it’s not just about the researchers using things to develop their careers. Another success was the researchers being able to procure findings that were very useless in the outcome of the workshop. Also some of the images were projected on a large sculpture in a square in Perth on World Aids Day and just getting information out there. Dr Morgan had created that method, without knowing whether or not it would work, and it excited her that it had worked successfully. Some of there women quite liked working online, as they were working from home which made them feel more comfortable and safer. • How did these successes impact the 10 women and those running the workshop? Mostly very positively. • In your opinion, were there any downfalls with the workshop? Yes and no. Answer below as to why. • What were these downfalls? That they didn’t have a more diverse group of people, though they were diverse in that the women came from different parts of Australia and different ages with different times of living with HIV/Aids, but not different cultures, nationality, or gender. They had an opportunity to work with an Aboriginal woman and a woman from Syria, but the Aboriginal woman had to pull out as she was just about the give birth and the Syrian woman wasn’t able to do the workshop virtually, as her husband or other family members may not have known and she couldn’t risk sitting on her computer for three hours a day without her husband or other family members walking in. This was less of a downfall however, it was more of a missed opportunity. Other women would have preferred to have done this workshop in person over a weekend, so that it was more intimate and got to know each other better (something couldn’t be fixed or resolved during the start of Covid). • How were these downfalls dealt with? They were more unavoidable missed opportunities because of what was going on in the world and personal matters for some of these women, and could probably be more mindful about for the next research project. • Did these downfalls impact on the 10 women and those running the workshop? How did they impact on them? Yes and no and was answered in the two above questions. • How were the 10 women chosen? Was there an application process to be part of the workshop? Or were the 10 women individually reached out first? Recruiting was done by the community advisory board, members of groups representing people living with HVI through out Australia, there’s a group or two in every state, and Dr Morgan and her team reached out to the advisory board with a proposal of this workshop via email. • If not individually; How was this workshop advertised for applications? Answered above • If not individually, what was the process in choosing each woman? Didn’t have time to ask. • If chosen individually, what was the process in choosing each woman? N/A • Most of the women’s exhibitions shows pieces that involved the grim reaper and the grim reaper reworked. What were these pieces about? This concept came from the Grim Reaper campaign advert that came out in Australia in 1987. They had used the concept of a grim reaper with a bowling ball and with it striking down a group of people. The over voice had commented that either being with just one partner or always wearing condoms would prevent catching HIV/Aids and the caption at the end of the ad read “Aids. Prevention is the only cure we’ve got.” Dr Morgan commented that even though this ad was meant to be very successful, it instead became painful, damaging and stigmatising for those living with it. It had actually got shut down after a few weeks because of how bad and vilifying it was. To turn this around for the research project, the women were asked to send in images from the time they were diagnosed and five or six out of the ten sent through the grim reaper. The women were then asked to address the injustice by reworking the imagery, so most of them had redrawn the grim reaper in the image they would have wanted to see it as, the grim reaper reworked. That’s how big an impact this campaign was in their lives, to still see this campaign so many years later in their minds. Being able to do this project for these women took the power away from those who discriminate against them. Dr Morgan noted that this was one of the strongest weeks of the workshop. The outcome of this was the gaining of a lot or agency, releasing of negative emotion, and being able to take your power back. • Were these a symbolism of something that happened to these women/something they lived with or experienced/how they saw their worlds? N/A • I really liked the colour emotion pieces. Am I right in assuming that these pieces were a way for the women to express how they felt? Yes, this helped the women work through their emotions. • What were they able to get out of the colour emotion pieces? Didn’t have time to ask. • I also really liked the different pieces where they worked with multiple types of symbols. Were those symbols something they came up with, or something they got to choose from a list? Didn’t have time to ask.
Body Positive, to hopefully start once funding is available: • Are you hoping to have a similar workshop to the Positively Women with Body Positive? There are many unknowns of how this research project will run, as they haven’t yet gotten the funding needed. So, Dr Morgan was unsure of whether or not this would be run similarly or differently to the Positively Women research project and workshop. Whether they want more diversity, certain gender, etc has yet to be discussed and they’d have to think of why they want to do it before starting to plan it, as they need to know what they need to find out or what the community need them to find out, then work from there. This means that the questions I have put down below and had time to ask were hard for Dr Morgan to answer, but she did manage her best to try to answer the ones I did get to ask. • If similar, what would be the differences? Ran out of time. • If similar, will you be using the successes and downfalls from Positively Women research project to help guide you with the Body Positive research project? Ran out of time. • If not similar, how will the research project and/or workshop be run? Ran out of time. • If not similar, are there still successes and downfalls from the Positively Women research project that you can learn and use for the Body Positive research project? Ran out of time. • Does this research project have a name already? If willing to share, what is it be called? Ran out of time. • Has there already been a process built to start up the research project with Body Positive? Ran out of time. • How many people will be involved while working on the research project? And how many people will be doing the ‘workshop’ (if that is what it will be called)? There have been discussions to maybe involve heterosexual, or all, men for this research project, instead of women, especially as Body Positive is mostly focused on men living with HIV/Aids, though they do help women as well. • How will you advertise to get people involved in the workshop? There is a possibility of the same process to reach out to people for this workshop as they did in the Positively Women research project. • What are the end result hopes for this research project? Ran out of time. • Will you have the same position in this research project as you did in the Positively Women research project? Ran out of time.
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theultimatefan · 2 years
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Tom Brady’s (For Now) Record-Holding 624th Touchdown Ball Goes Up for Grabs at Heritage Auctions in May
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The very football from Tom Brady’s 624th career touchdown pass is a centerpiece of Heritage Auctions’ May 12-14 Sports Catalog Auction.
The historic pass came in the fourth quarter of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers’ blowout win over the Carolina Panthers on Jan. 9, 2022. Twenty yards, Brady to Mike Evans. Then, Mike Evans to lifelong Bucs fan Janice Greene, who went to Raymond James Stadium that day sporting her red Evans jersey in the hopes the wide receiver might leap into the stands and gift her the ball. Which he did. Because that’s what Evans does when he scores touchdowns. And, because sometimes dreams do come true.
For now, Brady’s 624th touchdown throw holds the National Football League’s TD record by a wide margin; Drew Brees comes in second on the estimable list at 571 TDs thrown during the regular season. When Tom Brady retired on Feb. 1 of this year after a 22-year career as The Greatest of All Time, it was a given that his touchdown record would never be broken, nor even approached.
Then, a mere 40 days later, Tom Brady unretired. Which means that in all likelihood he will add to his touchdown record sometime this fall. Until Brady suits up for his 23rd season, Janice Green’s football is still the record-holding ball. But, likely, not for much longer.
On March 12, Green went to bed thinking she owned one of the world’s most valuable footballs, something whose sale could “be really life-changing.” On March 13, the occupational therapist, who works mostly with school-age children with special needs, got in her car and drove toward the sunset, “heartbroken” by the news that her favorite player had come out of retirement, determined to pile more touchdowns upon that mountain of records.
Days later Greene was in Dallas, at Heritage Auctions headquarters, to consign the ball she fell asleep holding the day Evans handed it to her. Because a blessing is a blessing no matter the size.
“I have resolved myself to enjoying this experience, enjoying the memories that I have from it,” says Greene. “I still think it’s special. I really think it’s special. And I think somebody is going to really want this.”
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lavenderbau · 3 years
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criminal minds headcanons
derek
-is a player bc it helps him move on from what happened when he was a kid but if someone even HESIATES he immediately stops
-goes to defense classes with garcia so she’s not embarrassed
-the headphones he always wears? classical music all day long bitches
-sends part of his paycheck to ellie spicer’s mom (she doesn’t know but he’s happy to do it)
-fiercely protective of hotch bc he'll be damned if he lets jack grow up with a father (or if he loses a dad again but we don’t talk abt it)
-he takes a personal day on the day matt spicer died to spend the day with ellie (who’s hanks favorite cousin)
-after emily’s “death” he gets a tattoo of a crown on his ribs (bc he called her princess)
-goes to a different team members house monthly to fix something wrong with their house
-after he retires he teaches self defense class
-makes weekly bets with emily on who can get in more trouble with hotch for the week
hotch
-a god at mario kart
-goes to a widow support group right after hayley died (dave told him it still counted and that it would help)(dave was right)
-he has garcia makes jack’s bday cake every year bc jack wants a homemade one but he cant bake for shit
-he tries harder not to be self sacrificial bc emily pointed out if he wants reid to stop doing it he has to first (he asked what’s gonna get her to stop and he got slapped upside the head)
-jack goes to a white lies party when he’s in high school and his shirt says “i have a good relationship with my mother” that leads hotch to go on an hour lecture and threaten a therapist and emily slides him a 20 for making him go on his longest lecture yet (sorry if this is offensive my friend made a shirt like this for a party she went to and ik people use humor to cope and everyone is different!)
-has to take away the aux cord after emily kicks derek in the balls for pausing her taylor swift
-is the teams emergency contact
-only has social media to stalk jack and the team (little does he know that they all have spams he doesn’t follow)
reid
-has the messiest handwriting in the world
-often cant sleep because he feels his mind is too active and has trouble slowing it down
-tried to destroy emily’s headstone bc she said she wanted to be cremated but only broke his toe bc stone is hard
-sleeps with a night light
-lactose intolerant but is obsessed w dairy
-cant pronounce shit because he reads most of the words he learns so he always mispronounces stuff
-worst gift wrapper in the world
emily
-she goes to a pro-choice protest every year
-gets yelled at weekly by hotch for eating raw cookie dough
-she becomes a foster parent after she retires
-the most talented artist on the team if they don’t have a sketch artist available and are in a rush, emily’s there to save the day
-emily loses at least $10 every case to the “i fucking hate men” tip jar
-has a tattoo of wheels up in cursive
-on nye the team is on agreement that after her 3rd glass of champagne they all secretly switch her to kids champagne
-every time she has to flirt with an unsub she makes the boys buy her a round of drinks
-somehow is never the designated driver on team night out
-has the splits and will randomly do it in the office
jj
-she drags spencer to a women’s march in dc multiple times over the years (AS FRIENDS)
-multiple times shes turned in a report to hotch and its henry’s drawings
-when she and will are fighting she mocks his accent
-blasts taylor swift all day long
-had a meltdown when she was pregnant with henry when she thought he was going to be a virgo man
-goes on runs with derek weekly
-accidently confused hotch’s number one dad mug with her number one mom mug and she never lived it down
-always called in to settle an argument between the “kids” of the office
-makes a killer margaritia 
garcia
-she has plants named after everyone who’s ever been on the bau team
-she stress knits (everyone on the team has at least 3 blankets from her and they’re the softest shit in the world (besides the bau team))
-takes sergio whenever emily is on overnight cases (it’s part of their custody agreement)
-decorates everyone’s office on their birthdays
-has gotten everyone in the bau into astrology
-she’s the person who started the party in the usa scene from pitch perfect reenactment
-has no social media whatsoever
-secretly puts fake plants in hotch’s office to liven up the place (its not a secret but hotch likes it)
-makes the best christmas cookies
rossi
-is tiktok famous for reading karen tweets in a monotone voice
-after particularly hard cases members of the team will go to his house to play with Mudgie
-his name in emily’s phone is papa pasta
-made the team get a life360 circle and stalks them religiously
-actually has to take cooking lessons for anything other than italian
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sanoiro · 3 years
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Lucifer S6 Meta: Chemical
IT CONTAINS S6 SPOILERS
One of the most subtle meta you can get when the series ends is connected to a very ground breaking moment in Season 1. 
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To which Linda replies that Lucifer finds it disturbing despite saying it fascinates him and that’s when therapy seems to be like a good idea for him. It’s also a first admission of feelings albeit we can all agree it’s a lie as she does find him attractive despite his cheeky dickiness in the Pilot.
So how it is connected to the ending of the series? 
Chloe transitions and Amenadiel asks her: ‘Are you ready to go home?’ 
To which she nods and sheds a tear following Amenadiel to Hell. 
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‘Home is where the Heart is’
At that point a song starts, a well known song that some of you now may have made the connection but bare with me. 
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When I was a young boy My father took me into the city To see a marching band
He said, "Son, when you grow up Would you be the savior of the broken The beaten and the damned?"
He said, "Will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers The plans that they have made?""
Because one day, I'll leave you a phantom To lead you in the summer To join the black parade"
To a meta within a meta we see that Dad had a plan but Lucifer could not realise it until it was time. Also do remember that Mum and Dad made up exceptionally fast for a couple that had an abusive relationship and the husband locked his wife away. Do remember that Mum and Dad had to wait millenia until they could reunite and retire in Mum’s universe. 
Mum and Dad had their own tragic story if you think about it. For beings of omscience, very much like Lucifer and Chloe at the end of S6, they knew that there would be a war, their child would spiral down to Hell, that he will would eventually need to be saved but no matter how much you want to wrap your child with bubble wrap, life does not work that way. 
They need to fall down to scrap a knee and for you to do everything you can in order for them to pick up themselves and carry on. That is not sadistic. Yes you know they will get hurt and suffer but you cannot give all the answers that’s not how the answers are becoming a piece of us. 
So think of this, would Amenadiel have managed to live through Lucifer’s tribulations in Hell and on Earth? To leave the woman he loved (Not a time to discuss Linda and co-parenting) and his child behind? Any of his siblings really? Lucifer was the only child that was so similar to Dad. No he could become God but the love and dedication needed, the ability to tackle pain and have the patience to see your loved ones again is possessed only by Lucifer. 
It is why in 601 the Magnar act, where a magician takes the position of his predecessor is also a meta point as well. Being God does not mean keeping the balance of things. We saw that it was just the Angels needing guidance. It was about loving and forgiving and only Lucifer could do that. Not all apprentices can become Magnar so we are left with a being very difficult than any we have every encounter before on Earth, Heaven or Hell. 
And to close this gracefully. In 610 the song plays, it gives us all the reasons why Lucifer had to stay in Hell, why he sacrificed everything and it all begun in a therapist’s office with Chloe Jane Decker. 
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The band that performs the song is of course ‘My Chemical Romance’. Here is your core meta and that is why the series ends with their song and to a door that resembles Linda’s office door. 
As the titles drop the lyrics provide us with the last meta and hint of what is happening afterwards. 
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Sometimes I get the feelin' She's watchin' over me
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We can use this as a meta to Chloe’s request of him to close his eyes and then she tells him she will always be there. The same applies for Lucifer as a show, that’s why I believe this line was added. Something does not need to be present to be real. Love does not work like that and even though people or circumstance challenge us we cannot fall out in love with something we knew it was real. It’s what we discover in the process that changes the equation and in this case nothing changes. 
And other times I feel like I should go And through it all, the rise and fall The bodies in the streets And when you're gone, we want you all to know We'll carry on, we'll carry on And though you're dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on We'll carry on And in my heart, I can't contain it The anthem won't explain it
We'll carry on And though you're broken and defeated Your weary widow marches
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Because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you'll never break me We want it all, we wanna play this part (we'll carry on!)
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So here is the thing. You might not have liked the ending or the tools that were employed to reach it. These feelings are valid but story wise the ending made sense. The whole series was building towards this end. I will hopefully dedicate a meta on that later on. 
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We want it all.
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And you do not throw it all away for something that was fixed. Something that is mended for eternity but there is a condition. You must surrender that blip. No one said it would be easy. No one said it would not be painful. But like with Deckerstar’s relationship from August 5th till the time they meet again. We have the same relationship with the series from September 10th until the next time we press play, start typing a fanfic story, make a fanvid or a fanart. Until we think of it fleetingly in a late afternoon or a grumpy morning. The time and space is unidentified and not important because 
Close your eyes. You are not going to watch it but it’s right there. It happened. You were a part of it. So yeah... Sad but cathartic as well as there are no ends. 
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writerwrites · 3 years
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Yuánfèn | 01
Ch.1: Depaysement: “The feeling that comes from not being in one’s home country; being a foreigner.”
Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.9k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff
Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist
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After the 2012 Battle of New York, you didn’t have anyone to tell you that you shouldn’t start working for Stark Industries. The United States government swore that less than a hundred people had died in Loki’s Chitauri attack on the city you called home, but the loss of both of your parents and your only sibling was still sitting like an anchor of depression on top of your chest. They hadn’t even been in the same buildings and thinking about those devastating hours sitting at home alone waiting for them to come through the door as the wireless network collapsed under the panic of the city still sent you into a week of night terrors. The blood never did wash out of your scrubs, one of the worst days of both your professional and personal life. Still, you didn’t blame the Avengers and thought that if anyone was going to stop the world from falling into that darkness again that it was them. If all you could do was patch up those few people skilled enough to save the world, you would manage your own emotions. Compartmentalizations, that was all you knew after that day.
It was your maternal grandmother, a reclusive woman that retired in Mallorca, that was all you technically had left. With no relationship between the two of you, it was easy to take up the offer to start working for Stark and the team, especially with how busy both Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner had been with their own research. The facilities in Stark Tower were far beyond ‘state of the art’ and you’d been given a team of androids and nurses that helped you build confidence in knowing what you were doing when, in terms of years of experience, you’d been an unlikely choice for the job. It was those years learning under great minds that you really flourished and in a few short years, had found a rhythm to your new normal. Work, apartment, study and practice technique; rinse and repeat.
There was more expected of you at Stark Industries than just the titles of doctor, surgeon, or even therapist. You kept your head down for years, expecting Stark to think he’d made a mistake choosing you. It was Dr. Cho’s encouragement that made you stand a little more straight, a little less invisible, a little more emotionally available. When the team came back from Sokovia with an entire hole through Clint Barton, Dr. Cho took him for tissue repair and you ran your checks on the rest of the team. To your surprise they weren’t in the common area, everyone dispersing and choosing their solitude, uncommon for a mission that should have been deemed a success. You found Natasha first, sitting in a room next to Clint’s. “Hey Doc, I’m all clear. Just need to know how Clint’s doing.”
Pulling up your stool you shook your head. “Nice try, jacket off.” She nodded and you worked her bruised arm to make sure there weren’t any fractures or sprains. “Dr. Cho seemed confident Clint would be fine. You know that as long as you clean up she’ll let you in there. Physically you’re good to go, but what happened out there. Everyone’s run off.”
Watching Natasha’s gaze fall, the swallow at her cottonmouth, and the brief silence it was obvious the injuries were different on this mission. “There were some enhanced kids working for HYDRA, she got in Tony’s head, banged Cap up pretty bad too. I’m fine and we got the scepter, but this one isn’t feeling like much of a success. I just have to process, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll have JARVIS pencil you in for a chat. If you’ve worked through it, great. If not, you’ve got me. I get it, really I do. He’s your person.” Offering up a soft smile you tapped away on the tablet. “Clean up so you can get to Barton.”
“Thanks, Doc. I took it pretty easy compared to Steve and Tony.” She trailed off, offering an apologetic smile before she slipped out of the door.
Pinching your nose, you asked JARVIS for everyone’s location in the Tower and the A.I. made you a map with little blinking lights. Captain Rogers was closest and you went into the gym quietly, hearing the sound of his fists lobbing into a punching bag. Quietly crossing the wooden floor, you knew that with his enhanced sense he already knew you were coming before you walked in, but it didn’t stop you from being cautious. He had swapped the suit for sweats and an undershirt and you could see the crusted over cuts on his bicep and forearms, the stain of blood on his wrapped knuckles. By the time you were within arms reach, tablet and medical bag in hand, he grabbed the bag to stop it from swinging into you. Sweat dripped down his forehead causing his disheveled blonde hair to stick to his skin and you lowered your gaze so you’d stop staring. He broke the silence first, “Did you already check on the others?”
For a moment you were tempted to lie, “Clint is with Dr. Cho. Nat’s patched up. Your turn now, Captain Rogers.” With a firm nod to the bench he surprisingly obliged. As you carefully took off the bandages on his hands, cleaning them up and wrapping them in fresh gauze, you asked about what seemed to have shaken the team up. “What did the enhanced agents in the field do?”
He stiffened, not just from the sting of the astringent on his cuts as you moved up along his arms. “The girl used some sort of mind control. Tony thinks it was a vision, but I got the brunt of whatever telekinesis she has. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The boy that got Clint was just fast, threw him off and he got hit.” Pressing one of Dr. Cho’s artificial skin patched over a deeper cut in his bicep, you took off your gloves and tapped away on the tablet before meeting his eye, wondering if he would continue. “Whatever Tony saw, it’s put some idea in his head and, well, you know how Tony is. There’s a lot of pressure to do things right, to get everyone home. I’m not saying I’m not used to it, but since I came out of the ice I’ve had it relatively easy working with SHIELD and the Avengers.”
A crease formed between your eyebrows as you looked up at him. “I know the feeling.” Letting out a slow, shaking breath you took his hands in yours, just for a moment, “Focus on what you can control, Tony’s not one of those things, but the team could learn from the mistakes made. You can make a training plan to better prepare for another run in with the kids. Until you’ve got that down, I’m sure you’ll be busy trying to find out who they are.”
Unless Steve had looked into the undoubtable file Stark had made on you upon your hiring, there was no way he knew you had lost your entire family years earlier while he was out avenging. Maybe he didn’t know you’d noticed he was a planner. He certainly didn’t know you were too or if he did, he wouldn’t know why. Both of you pulled away simultaneously, neither managing to look at the other. It was isolating, unintentionally so. The dynamics in the Tower between the team and everyone else that worked there made you feel like you had each foot in two different worlds; a stranger to the team in an even stranger land. To your surprise, he stood up and grabbed the scraps of packaging and dirty gloves, “I’ll heal up in a few days, so I promise to stay off the punching bag until then. If I need anything I’ll find you, Doc.”
It was exactly what he needed and proof that he was used to these doctors orders. Despite the job, you’d kept a low profile. None of them really knew you. You were at best ‘Doc’ and at worst completely invisible. You watched him do what the rest did after a check up, walk away without another word. Under your breath you whispered your name- seemingly the only thing you could manage to string together as you felt misplaced. It was worse than homesickness because you knew there was no home to go back to, no friends that knew your former self. Lost in your thoughts you almost didn’t hear the soldier softly repeat your name before tossing the trash in the nearest bin and marching out the door. It closed so loudly behind him you flinched.
Pulling up the map that JARVIS had made for you, you finished your rounds and slipped back into your office to fill out your paperwork, the equivalent of a debriefing report. There wasn’t much to write, not a single one of them told you what they’d seen and it was the psychological, not the physical injuries, Clint aside, that worried you. Your thumb pressed into the smooth metal of the two gold wedding bands that sat against your sternum under your scrubs, then across the links of the gold necklace that held them. It was in the unspoken images the woman had placed in Tony’s mind, the powerful scepter sitting in a lab in the Tower, and the near-loss of Hawkeye, all of it was too much at once for the team. You could hear Natasha’s voice saying she had to process that gave you the sense of being unsettled and separate from one’s place of belonging and it had you reaching for the tokens of your past.
Absentmindedly clicking away from the forms to your email you noticed a high alert message with a heading in Spanish. As you clicked, you tried to switch your tired mind into what had once been your first language but that you hadn’t used in deep conversation in years. Line by line you reread the message, thinking that what you read was simply lost in translation. Right when you were about to ask JARVIS to translate, the door to your office opened. Tony Stark never had the decency to knock so you didn’t know why you half expected him to not read your emails. “Stark, come to tell me what the kid put in your head?”
Tony leaned against the door to your office, whiskey in one hand which was more than a hint that he’d found his own way to cope with what he saw. He tapped on the tech on his wrist and projected an images of your grandmother, her villa in Mallorca, and then swiped to display medical records. “I’ve made arrangements for you to take some time off and handle everything with your family.”
Before you could scold him for reading your email or tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, your phone chimed. The screen lit up with alerts from various apps indicating a flight, Uber, and Airbnb were all set up for you. “Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to…”
“Ah, but I did.” He cut in, wagging his finger at you. “You’ve kept the team in one piece for years, this is the definition of doing the bare minimum. Come back when you’re ready, your job will be here. We might even manage to stay out of trouble while you’re gone.”
“I might actually buy that if it was coming from Cap, but you wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you were given a manual.”  Getting out of the chair and picking up your things you hadn’t noticed you’d been crying. Wiping the tears away when you weren’t looking you managed a soft, “Thank you.” By the time you turned around Tony was gone.
Walking the familiar path to the elevator you popped in your AirPods, keeping your head low as you waited for the elevator in case someone tried to stop you or ask you something personal. The doors dinged and opened and you were met with the familiar scent of bar soap and laundry detergent. Reaching for the garage button to see it lit up you pulled your hand back. “What happened to taking it easy?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was soft, but you kept your head down, music playing quietly in your ears, “What’s this song?” Pulling your phone out of your pocket you showed him the screen, uncertain if you could keep yourself together enough to speak, and ultimately not realizing that you hadn’t cleared the notifications from the screen when he asked with a tone of surprise, “You’re leaving for Spain?”
Fighting the burn in your eyes as your nerves seemed to insist on making you face the reality of this trip you looked up at him, only half way, talking to his chin instead of meeting his eyes, “Yeah, for my grandmother. I have to take care of… I won’t be gone long I don’t think.”
His calloused fingers lifted your chin forcing you to meet his eyes. The bright blue, the concern that melted into sympathy. “Cancel the Uber. I’ll take you to the airport.”
“You don’t have to do that. I haven’t even packed.”
“I want to,” His soft smile made you attempt your own broken smile, causing the tears to trickle down your cheeks. Despite never having a real conversation with you and knowing nothing about you, he wiped the tears away and gently squeezed your shoulder. “What’s easier for you, leaving your car here at the Tower or leaving it at home?”
You didn’t want to admit that the thing that would probably bring you home before the date on your return ticket was the team getting into trouble. “Leaving my car here.”
Giving him directions to your place proved to be an amusing distraction by the third wrong turn. Despite knowing him for three years, it was the first time you really saw him laugh. That melodic, deep laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing into your hands to hide the ferocious blush that wouldn’t seem to leave your cheeks. With some relief you made it to your apartment and invited him in. “I just have to pack really quick.”
“I could help. Military made me a master at it.” His eyes were wandering over the place, hands in his pockets.
You didn’t need to look at him for more than a second to know that he had no idea who the people in the pictures were or that you’d lost them all. Your stomach twisted hoping he wouldn’t ask, so you thoughtlessly thanked him and led him to your bedroom, only partitioned from the living room with a vintage panelled wall divider. It was a relief you were almost never home, leaving the place fairly clean. Taking out your one small suitcase and your old canvas backpack from medical school you tossed them on the bed, “The longest I’ve been away from work was four days. I have no idea how to fit enough clothes in here.”
“Just set what you want to take to the side and I’ll get it in there. You should grab your toothbrush and computer, chargers and things.” He sat on the bed and picked up the backpack and suitcase, checking out the pockets as you tossed a handful of clothes onto the bed. You’d changed scrubs in front of other doctors and seen most of the super soldier, leaving you unfazed by the fact that he was now handling your intimates. Steve on the other hand was quickly becoming a warm shade of pink as he made quick work of the task at hand. “So...what’s the trip for?”
When Steve looked up from your luggage and reached for the item in your hands he knew immediately, as if he’d forgotten in the laughter on the car ride that he’d found you in the elevator fighting back tears. The black dress was formal but not flashy, a practical length but not something meant for an interview… and you knew that he knew as he took it and set it as delicately as he would have laid the flag of one of his lost soldiers in the hands of a mother or wife. “I just hope it still fits.” Turning away so he wouldn’t see you cry, you held your breath and rummaged through your dresser for something to wear to the airport.
As you pulled a tunic and leggings to your chest you turned around and smacked right into the super soldier. He didn’t hesitate to pull you right into a tight hug. “If you end up needing anything while you’re there just let me know. Anything at all, okay?”
You couldn’t be sure how long he let you cry into his shirt, but you knew it was soaked through when you finally slipped into the bathroom. With a glance at your phone you realized there wasn’t much time left to get to the airport, certainly not to shower. Cleaning your face and changing, you stepped back into the room to find him with his nose in the book you’d been reading that had been sitting on your bedside table, Heart Like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff. “Home is the place, for better or for worse, we learn to love.” You quoted as you picked up your backpack and put it on, “I haven’t finished it yet, but you can borrow it while I’m gone. I don’t think I’ll have much time for reading.”
He stood up and grabbed the suitcase, but not before tucking the book into the pocket of his coat. Both of you managed a smile and he looked around, “Got your passport, ID, and…”
“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded and patted the bag.
“Stop saying thank you for something you’d do if the shoe was on the other foot.” With one last look around your place Steve noticed the plants and a pet fish on the window sill. “Why don’t you leave your keys with me. I’ll check on your fish and water the plants, grab your mail.”
You hesitated, but it wasn’t as if you’d been home often enough to get to know your neighbors. Telling yourself that it was okay to let a coworker be nice to you, that this wasn’t anything like forming an attachment, you nodded and passed him your keys. “I’ll completely understand if it’s an assistant that ends up coming here, but, umm…” Catching yourself from saying thank you again, you stepped into the hall and watched him lock up a bit unnerved by how quickly he realized which key belonged to the three locks.
“You’re welcome, Y/N.” It was the first time you’d heard him say your name in full voice, close up and yet it somehow felt softer than it had earlier. You shuffled quickly down the one flight of stairs, but not before Steve took your small suitcase. Those blue eyes watched you the whole way, making you wonder if he thought you were about to snap.
From holding the door open to passing you the auxiliary cable and asking you to play the music from the elevator, the ride to the airport was fairly quiet. Periodically, a song would come on that would choke you up and you’d go to reach for your phone to skip it. Every time, Steve would grab your hand and give it a squeeze, waiting until you’d caught your breath before moving his hands back to the steering wheel. To your surprise he didn’t pull up to the drop off and instead parked and walked with you as far as the TSA would let him go, carrying your small suitcase and giving your hand a supportive squeeze every time you were asked about the reason for the trip overseas. Rather than saying thank you as you prepared to part ways, you cleverly thanked him in Spanish, making him shake his head disapprovingly. “Steve, you’ve been an absolute gentlemen through the hardest night I’ve had in three years. I know you said I would do the same for you, but I guess I never thought anyone at work knew I existed.”
Steve scoffed, “You’re a little hard not to notice. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way when you’re back.” Your eyebrows furrowed, concerned he was going to scold the team or worse. “Don’t make that face.” He let out one laugh and shook his head and passed you his phone. “Here. I’m getting a lot better with the texting thing. Keep in touch while you’re gone... even if it’s just pictures of food so that I know you’re eating.”
You put your number in his phone and passed it back. “I’m not going to have a problem eating.” When you looked up at him, he seemed unconvinced. “I’m a doctor, knucklehead. I’m trained in the stages of grief.”
He nodded, but you both exchanged the sort of look that said you’d keep in touch anyways, thank you, and goodbye all at once. You wanted to hug him, but felt like maybe you’d used up all the proximity of a fresh friendship’s timer in your fit of tears in your bedroom. Looking back, glassy eyed as you prepared to move through the last line of metal detectors, you noticed he was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket as he watched you. Your chin quivered as you fought back tears. No one had stood by you through the loss of your family in 2012, now you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you were eternally grateful for this man.
Your gaze felt to your feet as you fought back fresh tears and then, before you knew it, there he was, arms wrapped back around you, one hand rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his warm chest. He was saying something to the TSA agent but you couldn’t hear it over the fresh bout of weepies. Steve rocked you and then lifted your face in his hands. “What did I say? If you need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Don’t miss your plane. You’re going to get through this.”
Then, and you were certain he’d only done this to get your mind off the grief, he placed a kiss to the top of your head. You looked up at him as you slowly untangled yourself from the hug, his eyes stayed on yours but he stepped aside to let you go after another moment or two. You didn’t say goodbye or thank you, words seemed to fail you, and you’d have an entire plane ride to sit confused and overthink how this night hadn’t just turned into some crush on America’s most high profile bachelor. Nearly twelve hours later you made it to your grandmother’s home in Mallorca, emotionally and physically exhausted. As you collapsed onto the sofa, too anxious to roam through the house just yet, your phone chimed. “It’s Steve. I hope you made it to Spain and are getting some rest before you take care of your family. Thank you for the book, I really enjoyed it.”
With a sleepy smile you type back, “Finished already?!? What did you think? I made it. Resting is TBD...”
His reply surprised you, a quote from the book, and you fell asleep before you could muster one last reply:
We cannot know the remarkable velocity at which we pull each other, tear at individuation, until the distance between us curves and no one is themselves.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. While I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.
Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​
I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.
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trulymadlysydney · 3 years
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Somewhere In Time: Ten
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“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. "So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
tw: Death, Loss of Parent
Previous Chapters HERE
***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***
March 10th, 1990, 11:54am
Seventeen year-old Oliver Ward sighs, glancing mindlessly out the window of the old retirement home and fighting a yawn.  
It isn’t that he doesn’t love his Saturday mornings spent with his ninety one year-old companion, because he does.  In fact, most Saturdays he forgets that this is even an extra credit assignment at all.  He knows, of course, how terrific this is going to look on his college applications-- but he doesn’t think of it like that.   Over the past month or so, he’s befriended the older gentleman he’s been assigned by his AP psychology teacher, and the old man has taken a liking to him as well.  Most Saturdays, Oliver loses track of the time because he finds himself lost in some story the old man is sharing with him.  
This Saturday, however, Oliver doesn’t much feel like socializing.
It isn’t anyone’s fault but his own. Not really, at least. The previous night had been spent tossing and turning in bed, with a total of two non-consecutive hours of sleep. He’s exhausted, he’s bummed, and he’s pretty sure he’s lost the girl of his dreams.
“Awful talkative today, aren’t you?”  The older gentleman speaks in his thick accent from his spot on his recliner, drawing Oliver from his thoughts and startling him.
Oliver turns, softening when he sees the man’s understanding smile.  He chuckles sheepishly. “Sorry, Mr. Styles. Got a lot on my mind I guess.”
The gentleman— Mr. Styles— nods knowingly. “Well, I figured as much,” he says. “And I know how that goes. Do you want to talk about it?”
Oliver sighs again, moving closer to Mr. Styles.  “I’m afraid it’ll bore you, sir.  And I’m not sure you’d understand.”
Mr. Styles grins a dimpled grin, with a twinkle in his eye.  “Try me.”
That’s something that Oliver loves about Mr. Styles. He’s never judged Oliver, no matter how silly he thinks he sounds, and honestly he gives better advice than anyone Oliver has ever known.  He seems to have an air of mystery about him-- he always has-- and Oliver is sure that Mr. Styles knows at least two secrets of the universe that he’s keeping to himself.
So he shrugs, taking a seat on the bed beside the old man. “Okay.  So. There’s…. a girl.”
Mr. Styles nods understandingly. “Always is, isn’t there?”
“She’s the grade below me. She’s my best friend, but lately it’s been…. I don’t know, kinda more than that?  I  think?”
“Mutually?”
“Yeah, I mean…” Oliver fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah. We’ve been hanging out and stuff.  Even kissed a few times.”
Mr. Styles wiggles his eyebrows. “Oooh, I see.”
“But lately I feel like…” Olivier sighs. “I don’t know. Like she’s getting bored with me.”
Mr. Styles sits back further in his seat, reminiscent of a therapist in his comfy chair. “What makes you say that?”
“I think she wants me to like… commit.”
“Ah.” The old man chuckles. “I see.”
Oliver eyes the older gentleman, curious as to how Mr. Styles could possibly understand any of this. As far as Oliver knows, Mr. Styles has never been married. A few times, he’s mentioned a girl from his youth, but never anyone after that. All Oliver knew about the girl is that she up and left, leaving poor Mr. Styles alone and heartbroken. And truth be told, Oliver had always found it silly how Mr. Styles had never moved on from that.
Oliver shrugs. “Anyway… I dunno. She’s been playing hard to get recently, like maybe she’s bored with me?  Like, she flirts and stuff, but then when it doesn’t go further I feel like she gets annoyed.  And...I want to commit, but what if I’m getting mixed signals, you know? I mean like, what if that’s not actually what she wants? You feel me? What if I ruin what we have going by trying to label it?  And besides,” he sighs, “I find out soon if I got into Syracuse. And if I did get in, I would start there in the fall. What if she doesn’t want to do the long distance thing?”
Mr. Styles chuckles wittingly, but not in a condescending way.  “Well first of all, son, I think you’re completely overthinking this.”
This brings a smile to Oliver’s face. “I have been known to do that.”
“That being said, you seem to really like this girl.  And from the sound of things, she likes you as well.  Am I wrong?”
“Well, that’s the thing.  We’ve kissed and stuff, but like, what if I’m reading it wrong?”
“How can you possibly read a kiss wrong?”  Mr. Styles grins.
Oliver sighs.  “You’re right.  I know.  Feelings are just… really hard.”
“Who is the lucky lady anyway?”  Mr. Styles settles further into his seat.  “Can’t say I recall you ever mentioning having a girl.”
“Her name is Roni,” Oliver says.   “Well, Veronica. She goes to my school.  I think I may have mentioned that.”
Oliver has launched deeply into the backstory of how he and this girl met, completely unaware of the way that Mr. Styles’ face has gone entirely ghostly white.  The old man is frozen in his chair, unblinking, and hardly listening to a word Oliver has said.
He doesn’t even realize he’s cutting Oliver off when he speaks.  “I’m sorry… what did you say her name was?”
“Roni?”
“Last name?” Mr. Styles presses.
“Uhh… Elliot?”
If Mr. Styles didn’t look ill before, he certainly does now.  Oliver takes notice of this, rising to his feet. “Mr. Styles, are you alright?”
Mr. Styles blinks a few times, his breath heavy as shakes his head.  For whatever reason, he won’t look at Oliver now.  He looks at the wall, out the window, at the floor-- literally anywhere but at his young companion.  Oliver begins to grow worried, and he steps towards Mr. Styles, putting a concerned hand on his back.
“Should I call the nurse?”
It’s when Oliver asks this that Mr. Styles seems to regain some sense of consciousness back.  He blinks up at Oliver, almost like a curious little child, and shakes his head-- as if reminding himself to be present.  “No,” he says quietly.  “No, don’t call the nurse.”
“You’re scaring me,” Oliver admits.  “Where did you just go?”
Mr. Styles swallows thickly, eyes growing misty.  “You said… Veronica Elliot?”
Oliver nods.  “That’s right.”
The way that Mr. Styles scans Oliver’s face makes him grow anxious, and it becomes apparent that Oliver wants to let go and perhaps take a step back.  He’s a good kid though-- one who genuinely cares for Mr. Styles-- so he stays put.  “Sir?”
Mr. Styles lets out a shaky breath, obviously still processing everything that’s going on, before looking back up at Oliver  “I just--”  He trails off, noting for the first time the worry in the young boy’s eyes.  He softens just a bit.  
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Oliver says.  “I can call the nurse, it’s not a big deal!  I just--”
“No,” Mr. Styles says, suddenly seeming more like himself than before.  “No, there will be no need for that, son.”
Oliver hesitantly relaxes, still keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Styles’ face. “What just happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Mr. Styles says, the slightest bit of color slowly returning to his face.  “I just… knew her mum.  That’s all.”
“Oh!”  Oliver seems to take this as an acceptable answer, obviously relaxing again.  “Yeah.  Her mom died like, five years ago actually.  It was super sad.  Car accident.”
“Five years ago,” Mr. Styles repeats, more to himself than to Oliver.  “God.”
“Yeah,” Oliver says, nodding.  “She’s okay! Lives with her grandparents. They’re super cool.”  He smiles suddenly, as if remembering something.  “They like me a lot.”
Mr. Styles smiles absently.  “I’ll bet they do,” he says gently.
“Anyway,” Oliver sighs,  “I don’t know.  Do you think I should go for it?”
Mr. Styles takes his time with his answer, still trying to process everything he’s hearing.  Oliver seems preoccupied with his own thoughts, which is good because he doesn’t notice the dampness of Mr. Style’s eyes.
What Oliver doesn’t know is that Mr. Styles is reliving every memory he has with the same girl Oliver is fretting over.  Mr. Styles is suddenly twenty-five years old again, in 1925, dancing in his living room with the girl from the future, and he’s young and head over heels in love with her.  He’s remembering everything that the young girl had told him about her timeline, about the boy named Oliver who was waiting in the future for her-- who befriended her shortly after her mother passed and asked her to be his girlfriend just before he graduated.  
This all checks out, and it makes Mr. Styles’ heart feel something it hasn’t felt in ages.  He blinks a few times, trying to clear out the moisture in his eyes.  
“Well,” Mr. Styles says, after a long pause.  “I think that… life is too short to let something so good pass you by.   Do you really like her?”
“So much, Mr. Styles.”  Oliver nods eagerly.  “And I think she likes me too, I’m just scared.”
Mr. Styles shakes his head, doing his best to cover up the shakiness in his own voice.  “Don’t be.  You need to make this girl your own.  You never know what tomorrow holds.  You don’t want to lose her, and spend the rest  of your days wishing you still had the chances that you have now.”
Oliver can tell that Mr. Styles is deep in his own head now, and he debates even speaking at all.  Mr. Styles continues on.  “Can’t even begin to tell you how much I wish I could go back and change some things.  Make some better decisions.”
“I know what you mean,” Oliver says, even though he really doesn’t.  How could he?
“And,” Mr.  Styles says, making an effort to sound less philosophical--less introspective-- and more human, “from the sounds of things, she really likes you, too, son.”
Oliver smiles.  “Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  Mr. Styles swallows a lump in his throat.  “Take my advice, and don’t mess this up with her.  She sounds like a once in a lifetime kind of girl.”
“But what if--”
“No more ‘what if!’”  Mr. Styles sounds more stern than Oliver has ever heard him, and it takes Oliver aback.  “Get her.  Love her.  Love her now. You don’t realize how important she is, Oliver.  These feelings are real.  These feelings make life worth living.  You can’t pass them up because you’re too scared.”
“And if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“She does.”  Mr. Styles softens as soon as he speaks, as if realizing he’s being far too blunt.  “Oliver, she does.  Trust me on this one.”  
Oliver opens his mouth, then closes it.  Mr. Styles somehow seems to read his mind, and he continues speaking.  “Make her your girl.”
“You really think I should?”  Oliver asks quietly.
“I know you should.”
After a brief pause in which the two stand seemingly at a hold, Mr. Styles clears his throat  gently.
“Don’t let her pass you by,” he says, for emphasis.
Oliver smiles, nodding his head in finality.  “Alright,” he says.  “You’re right, Mr. Styles.  I can’t let her pass me by, can I?  I really like her, and--”
“And I know she likes you, too.”
“Yeah.  I’m gonna call her.”  
Oliver moves like he’s going to leave the room, stopping abruptly as if realizing that he’s here because of school.  The two seem to have the thought at the same time-- that Oliver is getting college credit just for spending a few hours a weekend with Mr. Styles, and they laugh awkwardly together.
“Sorry,” Oliver says.  “I didn’t mean to--”
“You know what you can do for me, son?”  There’s a smile on Mr. Styles’  face, but there is a serious edge to his tone of voice.  “Genuinely?”
“Anything,” Oliver says.  “Anything you need.”
“Bring her in.”  Mr. Styles smiles, contrasting Oliver’s confused expression.  “Bring her in, and let me meet her.  Hm?  Would love to meet her.”
“Yeah?”
Mr. Styles nods.  “Yeah,” he says, somewhat absently, but with a smile for Oliver nonetheless.  “Would love to see the young lady that’s done such a number on you.”
Oliver laughs, and even Mr. Styles lets out a personable chuckle-- as if he’s in on some joke that Oliver didn’t know he was keeping.
“I suppose I could bring her in,” Oliver says,  “but again, I don’t want it to be weird--”
“It won’t be,” Mr. Styles says.  The playful gleam still lingers in his eyes.  “What, am I not interesting enough for her?”
Oliver laughs.  “No, no! She’ll love you!”
The words hit the old gentleman’s heart in a way that Oliver doesn’t notice.
She did love him.  She does. She just isn’t aware of that yet.
“I hope you’re right,” Oliver adds. “About all of this, I mean. I hope she does like me and I’m not just… I dunno, reading too far into it?”
“I can assure you that you aren’t, Oliver.”
There is no trace of doubt on Mr. Styles face, and it makes Oliver both nervous and reassured.  He smiles.  “Alright then,” he says.  “I’ll talk to her.”
Mr. Styles relaxes into his chair, nodding his head in finality.  “Alright then,” he echoes.  “Good man.”
Oliver returns once again for his weekly visit the following Saturday, only this time, he’s hand in hand with his new girlfriend of four whole days.  He’d taken Mr. Styles’ advice and asked her to be his after confessing everything he was feeling for her.  She, of course, felt the same way, and though it didn’t come as a surprise to Oliver it did come as a great relief.
Roni hadn’t seemed as thrilled to go share the news with Mr. Styles, however, once Oliver brought it up.
“Why did we have to come so early though?” Sixteen year-old Roni whines, as she and her new boyfriend Oliver make their way into the Senior Citizen’s home.  “Like, couldn’t we have come in the afternoon?  I’m sure Mr. Style wouldn’t even know the difference.”
Oliver chuckles.  “It’s Mr. Styles,” he corrects, “With an S.  And he seemed really excited about this! This is the time he gave me, so this is the time we’re here.”
“Why was he so excited anyway?” Roni asks, picking at a hangnail on her thumb.  “He doesn’t even know me.”
“No,” Oliver says, “but he knows me.  And he helped me out a lot! Gave me a lot of advice about you.  Least I can do is introduce him, you know?”
“I guess,” Roni mumbles to herself as Oliver checks in at the front desk.
Everyone here seems to brighten at Oliver’s presence.  All the little old ladies know him by name, and he’s quite the charmer.  It’s one of the reasons Roni likes him so much, really.  He talks so fondly about his Saturday’s spent here, and Roni can’t think of a single person his age who would enjoy it as much as he does. It’s cute the way he gushes about Mr. Styles, and how he had mentioned him when he’d asked Roni to be his girlfriend-- officially-- four days ago.  
Truly, Roni feels like she owes a lot to this Mr. Styles, and she really can understand why he would want to meet her.  The least she can do is thank him for telling Oliver to man up and commit already.
Oliver clips his badge to the collar of his shirt and gives Roni a little visitor’s sticker on which he’s scribbled her name with a green sharpie.  He’s dotted the “i” with a little heart, and it makes Roni’s cheeks grow hot when she notices.  He smiles, nodding his head towards the receptionist and interlacing his fingers with Roni’s.
Roni follows her boyfriend down the long hallways, into the elevator (where she has a mini makeout session with him because, come on, who could resist him when he’s looking this cute?) and onto the third floor.
He leads her out into the hallway, trying his best to dismiss how flushed and messy he looks (honestly, Roni takes pride in her work) and giving Roni’s hand a subtle squeeze as they walk along.
Roni looks at the doors as they walk, subconsciously counting the numbers in her head  304, 305, 306… each room an entire home to these people.  Each room a final resting place for all of them.
Oliver stops walking in front of door 310, and suddenly Roni grows nervous.  Her stomach seems to do cartwheels as Oliver smiles down at her.  “You’re gonna love him,” he says quietly, as if to reassure her.  “He’s the coolest.”
Before Roni even has time to reply, Oliver is rapping his knuckles against the large wooden door.  Two quick knocks, followed by one that seems out of rhythm with the other two.
After a few seconds, nothing happens. Roni shifts her weight to her other foot and waits, somewhat impatiently, wanting nothing more than to go home and make out with her boyfriend.  Oliver seems to feel her energy, giving her side a few playful yet charged squeezes that make her giggle.
“No!” she squeaks, squirming out of his grasp.  “Don’t do that here!”
The door opens as Roni is mid giggle, and she and Oliver are met with a little old man, hunched over and looking at them with a warm and expectant smile.  He’s dressed nicer than Harry’s ever seen him dress, and on his head rests a little gray cap that’s probably as old as he is.
“Oliver,” the old man says by way of a greeting.  And then he looks at Roni.  
The reaction he has to Roni is strange to say the least.  It doesn’t make Roni uncomfortable by any means, but something in his demeanor shifts, and he seems to grow a hundred times more serious.  His stare is intense; so much so that it makes Roni shift her gaze.  His eyes seem to grow strangely misty, and his jaw begins trembling-- as if he’s about to cry.
He looks at Roni like he’s known her all his life, and it’s strange.  She almost feels bad that she doesn’t recognize him as well.
She clears her throat, trying to lighten up the now tense silence.   ‘Hi!” she says, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and holding out her hand.  “I’m Roni.”
Mr. Styles swallows audibly, his trembling jaw hardly calming as a smile tugs on the corners of his lips.  “Roni,” he says.  He takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze, never once removing his eyes from hers.  “How wonderful it is to finally meet you.”
Roni looks at Oliver, wondering if he feels the same intense vibes that she’s feeling as well.  She laughs awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. “I’ve--uh-- heard a lot about you, Mr. Styles!”
Mr. Styles grins, an old hidden dimple flashing amongst the wrinkles of his cheeks.  “All bad, I hope,” he says, and now Oliver laughs.
“Of course,” he says.  “I had to let her know what a menace you were!”
Mr. Styles laughs, sounding suddenly young and full of life again.  He moves slowly to the side.  “Come in, please.  Make yourselves comfortable!”
Roni and Oliver share a glance and a quick smile before they enter the room.  It isn’t much, but it’s cozy.  Roni is surprised when she’s met with a delicious vanilla smell emanating from a candle in the corner of the room. (Not that she’d been expecting the place to stink, of course, but she absolutely had expected it to smell like old people, which it did not.)
“Wow,” Oliver says, as if even he is surprised with the state of the room.  “Mr. Styles, you cleaned this place up nice!”
Mr. Styles grins.  “But of course,” he says.  “You have to when you have a pretty girl coming over!”  He looks at Roni.  “Does this boy not clean up for you when you’re spending time together?”
Roni giggles.  “He does.  Although I have to say, the vanilla candle is an excellent touch.  I don’t even think Oliver owns a candle!”
Mr. Styles shakes his head, a playful smile on his cheeks.  “What a shame.  Oliver, you best buy some candles for your lady!”
Oliver and Roni both laugh.  “Vanilla is my favorite,” Roni comments.
“Somehow I had a hunch,” Mr. Styles replies with a playful wink.
With every passing minute that turns into an hour, the three grow more and more comfortable together. It isn’t weird, or forced, and Roni marvels at how easy it is to talk to Mr. Styles.  He asks her questions about her life, oddly fascinated by every word that comes out of her mouth.  The way he watches her with his undivided attention makes her feel important.
He plays music from a little tape recorder that sits in the window of his room.  It takes him a moment to figure it out, and Oliver has to help him a bit, but he finally gets there.  Roni doesn’t recognize any of the music playing (nor does she realize the way Mr. Styles watches her reaction to a few specific songs very closely), but she enjoys the tunes nonetheless.
He shares memories associated with each song; what specific stories each song calls to his mind. And Roni listens, fascinated with every single one of them, realizing that she could genuinely listen to this old man speak about his youth for days.
A stack of books on the nightstand near his bed draws Roni’s attention at some point, and she rises to her feet to go examine them further. Mr. Styles notes her movements and smiles, almost  knowingly, to himself.   She thumbs at the one on the top of the pile, a small menu from some pizza place marking his spot towards the back of the book.  She cocks her head to the side to get a better view of the books title:
Alternate Realities: by Lawrence Leshawn
She blinks a few times, the concept of an alternate reality very new to her.  Without thinking, she picks the book up and scans the back of it.  She glances back at the pile, noting the various ones on time travel, meditation, and astral projection.  Time travel being the only topic of the other three books that she’d ever considered before, this discovery of books feels like a landmine of information.
“Bit nerdy, innit?”  Mr. Styles’ voice pulls Roni from her thoughts, and she turns to him, still holding the book in her hands.  His eyes twinkle.  “Is that what the kids are saying these days?  ‘Nerdy?’”
Roni giggles.  “It is.  But this isn’t nerdy.”
“Ohh,” Mr. Styles says, playfully brushing away her words with his hand.  “Come now.  Yes it is.”
“You’ll never get Roni to agree with that,” Oliver speaks up.  “Haven’t I told  you before?  She’s super into all that!”
Roni feels her cheeks go hot with embarrassment, but Mr. Styles’ only smiles at her.  “No kidding!”
“I mean…” Roni trails off shyly, worried she’s about to make a fool of herself. “Yeah.  Kinda.  It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly,” Mr. Styles replies quickly, a hint of gravity to his words.  “Never say that.”
Roni debates telling Mr. Styles everything; about how she’s trying to find her mother, about how she’s already tried (and been unsuccessful) multiple times, and about how he is the first person (other than Oliver) who hasn’t actually thought she was silly for this at all.
But she’s only just met Mr. Styles, and she doesn’t want to bombard him with her own personal life story just yet-- nor is she certain he would really care.  So she only shrugs, a soft smile spreading across her cheeks.
“Yeah. I just… think it’s neat.  That’s all.”
There’s a look on Mr. Styles’ face that seems to say that he’s interested, but he doesn’t want to push her.  He waits patiently for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, he tries pressing just a tiny bit.  “Any particular reason?”
Even Oliver is watching her now, waiting for her answer even though he’s already known for a while. He offers her an encouraging smile, and Roni hesitates briefly before speaking   “I just want to go back and see my mom again.  She passed like five years ago and I just…”  She trails off, feeling silly despite the understanding looks on both Oliver and Mr. Styles’ faces.
“I understand.” Mr. Styles speaks up after a few moments of silence.  Roni doesn’t notice the all knowing smile on his face, or the way his eyes have grown damp.  She doesn’t catch the way he swallows down the lump in his throat.   Or how he looks at her the same way she looks out the window: pensive and lost in thought.
“Anyway,” Roni sighs, halfway through a laugh.  “I don’t know.  Oliver is the only one who believes me and even then, I’m not sure he really does.”
“I do!” Oliver laughs, shrugging almost defensively.  “I do.  I just don’t know if they’ve like… I dunno, developed some way to time travel yet.  I don’t know if technology has come that far, you know?  What  do you think, Mr. Styles?”
Both Roni and Mr. Styles seem to be deep in their own little worlds, but it’s lost on Oliver as he waits for a response from the older gentleman.  Mr. Styles smiles to himself, chuckling gently.  “I think it’s entirely possible,” he says, voice quiet.   “And I hope miss Roni never gives it up.”
Roni smiles, turning to face the old man.  “You really mean that?” she asks, stepping towards him.  “Like, you really think it’s possible?”
“I can promise you it is,” he says.  “I’m certain of it.”
Roni, realizing she’s still holding the Alternate Realities book, holds it up and gestures  at it with her free hand.  “What about this stuff?  I’ve never really heard of it.”
Mr. Styles grins, obviously glad she’s asked.  He shifts in his seat, speaking slowly.  “Have either of you ever heard of a parallel universe?”
Roni and Oliver both shake their heads, and Mr. Styles raises his eyebrows.  “No?  Well.  It’s a plane of existence, similar to the very one we’re living in right now now, that co-exists with our own.  It is said that there are multiple.”
“Multiple… existences?” Roni questions.
“That’s right,” Mr. Styles continues.  “Not much is known about them.  Especially considering that it isn’t even known if they exist or not.  But if they do, it is said that some are wildly different than your current existence now, while others are exactly the same with only a few minor differences.”
“Gnarly!” Oliver exclaims.  “So like, somewhere out there, I exist but I’m a billionaire?”
Mr. Styles chuckles.  “It’s possible.”
“Wait wait wait,” Roni says, significantly less convinced than her boyfriend.  “So you mean that somewhere out there in the world, there’s another Roni?  Who has no idea I exist?”
“We don’t know.”  Mr. Styles shrugs.  “Maybe.  Or maybe she knows all about you.”
Roni shakes her head, trying to wrap her mind around all this new information.  “That’s nuts.”
“Not really,” Oliver offers. “Kinda makes sense if you think about it.”
“So wait” Roni says, setting the book on the dresser and walking to stand by Mr. Styles.  “I told you why I’m into this.  Why are you into this?”
The old man goes quiet, smiling a tight lipped smile and hesitating as if really giving thought to his answer. “I like to think that in another reality, somewhere in time, I’m with my honey.”
Roni softens.  “Oh, I see.  Did she--”  She’s about to ask if Mr. Styles’ girl passed away as well, but she thinks better of it, unsure as to whether or not that’s an appropriate question.
Mr. Styles chuckles quietly, knowing exactly where Roni was going with her question. “I lost her,” he explains, because it isn’t technically a lie.  “Many, many years ago.”
“Oh.”  Roni frowns.  “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”  At this point, it’s impossible for him to hide the way his voice cracks.  Roni looks at him, then averts her eyes, as if she feels guilty for hearing it.  Oliver sighs, stepping forward.
“Mr. Styles--”
“You remind me of her,” Mr. Styles says, ignoring Oliver.  The look on his face makes it seem like he’s got more on his mind.  
“Yeah?” Roni steps towards Mr. Styles, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
He sighs, reaching up to place his hand on top of hers.  “Yeah,” he says. “More than you’d even believe.”
“Wish I could’ve met her.”
Mr. Styles grins up at her, swallowing thickly and patting her hand.  “Yeah.  She was my honey.”
He takes a deep breath, looking away from Roni and glancing out the window.  There’s a charged silence.  Oliver squirms uncomfortably, but Roni stays right where she is, waiting patiently for Mr. Styles to continue.
“I think she’s doing just fine,” Mr. Styles says.  He smiles up at Roni.  “Wherever she is.”
“Maybe she’s with my mom,” Roni offers.
Mr. Styles closes his mouth, blinks back a few of his tears, and nods his head.  “Perhaps she is.  Wouldn’t that be something.”
“I didn’t mean to like… make you sad or anything, Mr. Styles--”
“You didn’t, darling.” The old man shakes his head.  “Don’t be silly.”
Somehow, Roni doesn’t believe him.
The subject is swiftly changed and the rest of their visit goes by relatively smoothly.  Mr. Styles is back to his cheery self before Roni can even think twice about the interaction they’ve just shared, and soon the three are laughing and chatting away like best friends again.
All too quickly does their visit come to an end.  They say their goodbyes, although it’s obvious that Mr. Styles doesn’t want their time together to be over.  He looks almost emotional to be saying goodbye to Roni, something that neither of the two teenagers seem to understand.
After he gives her a warm embrace, careful not to hold her too long or, heaven forbid, make her feel uncomfortable, Mr. Styles pulls away, holding Roni at arm’s length.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Confused, Roni cocks her head to the side.  “For?”
“You’ve made me feel young again.  I cannot even begin to express how badly I needed this.”
Roni smiles.  “Oh.  You’re welcome then!”  She giggles.  “It was so nice meeting you, Mr. Styles.”
“The pleasure was all mine, honey.”  His hands tremble as he lets go of her.  He turns to Oliver.  “You bring her back to visit sometime soon, alright?”
Oliver chuckles.  “I will.  But don’t go liking her more than you like me, now.  I’ve been here way longer.”
Mr. Styles laughs.  “Sure,”  he says,   “but she is prettier.”
Oliver slings his arm over Roni’s shoulder.    “Well I can’t argue with that, can I?”
When they finally do go their separate ways, Roni and Oliver playfully chase each other out to Oliver’s car-- blissfully unaware of the way that Mr. Styles watches them from his bedroom window with tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. They don’t know that Mr. Styles doesn’t leave his bedroom for the entire rest of the  day-- to the point that the caretakers at the home begin to worry about him.  
They don’t know that Mr. Styles has just reunited with his honey,  after nearly sixty-five years of looking for her, and that she has obviously no idea herself.
Oliver continues his weekly visits to Mr. Styles room for a few more weeks, noting that he is completely unlike himself, until mid April when Mr. Styles passes away.  
Oliver attends his funeral.  Roni, visiting a cousin out of town, does not.
Both Roni and Oliver eventually forget about the old man completely,  moving on with their lives and living together in blissful ignorance of  just how odd time can be.
It isn’t until ten years later, in April of 2000, that Roni  seems to recall the little old man, realizing with immense sadness how significant he really was.
With a heart shattering sob, she hopes that he’s with his honey, somewhere in time, just like he said.
------
December 31st, 1999, 11:54pm
It is ridiculously bright when Roni tries to open her eyes.  
She opens her eyes too quickly at first, immediately regretting it and squeezing them shut again.  The act of closing them once more, however, pushes a hot tear that’s been waiting for release from the corner of one eye  
And suddenly, it all comes flooding back to her.
Harry, 1925, Violet LaRue, the ocean, her mother…
She is so overwhelmed all at once with emotions that she grows sort of nauseous, and she sits up immediately to try and stop the spinning of the room around her.  
The room --her and Oliver’s shared bedroom-- looks completely untouched, as if she’d never left.  There is hip-hop music booming downstairs, lots of chattering, and a smell in the air that can only be described as drunk people.  The silence in the room, however, contrasts the chaos that’s occurring downstairs, and it makes her head pound.
Roni looks around slowly, noticing the skimpy, revealing party dress she’s wearing that clings to her every curve. It looks untouched as well, albeit a bit disheveled, and she reaches a cautious hand down to smooth it over her lap.
She hears Oliver’s booming laugh downstairs, and the sound feels like a stab to the heart. He must be completely wasted. The clock on the wall reads 11:54pm, and she knows she has to get back down to the party before the clock strikes midnight.
Never in her entire life has Roni felt anything like the feeling she’s currently experiencing.  
Surely she couldn’t have dreamt it all.  It was real-- Harry was real, and seeing her mother was real.  Besides, the fact that she’s even crying right now tells her that she had to have been experiencing something physical.  
Which reminds her…
Roni rises to her feet and makes her way over to the mirror hanging on the back of the door.  She pulls the neckline of her dress down, and feels her own breath catch in her throat when she finds what she’s looking for.
There, in the exact spot on her chest that she’d been anticipating it to be, is a bruise left by Harry.  The last remaining physical reminder of his existence.
With a shaky hand, she gently brushes her thumb over the purpling skin.  It stings, just a bit, but it’s real.  It’s there.  And it’s too much for Roni to handle.
Grateful for the cover of the commotion downstairs, Roni can’t help herself but to let out a pathetic sob as everything comes flooding over her.  How could she have been with Harry not even five minutes ago?  And her mother?  How was her mother just there and now suddenly she’s gone again?  
How can she be expected to go on in a world where neither of them exist, and she’s the only one with knowledge of what she’s just experienced?
She collapses to her knees, eyes closing and another choking sob echoing from her throat.  She reaches up to wipe her damp eyelashes, mindful of the fact that sooner or later she’s going to have to go downstairs and face everybody again— which she can’t do with a face full of runny makeup.
But right now she doesn’t care.  Right now, she’s overwhelmed, and upset, and deeply, deeply missing the love of her life.
It’s been ages since she’s cried this hard, and it feels somewhat therapeutic, although it doesn’t fix the terrible ache in her heart. Her throat hurts and her chest heaves. She reaches up to cover her own mouth to quiet her wails as her heart feels like it’s physically breaking.  
She misses him.  She misses him so much.
On top of that, having her mother so close to her after so long without her--only to have to leave her once more-- is more painful than she had ever anticipated it would be.  
Roni remains like this for another minute or so, until she’s drawn by her thoughts when she hears her own name faintly downstairs.  Someone asks where she is, and Oliver slurs out that she’s been gone for a while.  When someone suggests that he go find her and he jubilantly agrees, Roni panics.
“Shit.”  She reaches up and wipes at her snotty nose; stumbling awkwardly to her feet and making her way to the mirror once again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  
Roni scrambles to fix her hair and wipe away the splotchy mascara stains under her eye.  She prays that Oliver is too drunk to even notice that she’s crying, and she swallows down the intense heartache still in her throat.  When she’s at least somewhat satisfied with her appearance, she hears footsteps coming down the hallway— her cue to leave.  With a deep breath, she opens the bedroom door just in time to eee Oliver approaching.
Oliver, with his sweet, drunken smile, immediately opens his arms. “Ronnaaaaaay!” He says, by way of greeting her.  “There you are!” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, instead he just wraps her up in his arms and gives her a big, suffocating squeeze.  He pulls away to press an obnoxious kiss to her forehead, and it breaks Roni’s heart even more.  
On any other occasion, she would find this unbearably adorable. But now, the scent of the alcohol mixed with his cologne is making her even more nauseous than she already was.
After a few more wet pecks to her forehead, he squishes her cheeks in his hand and kisses his way down her face, pausing only once he reaches her mouth and realizes it’s wet and salty.  He pulls away, not removing his hands from her cheeks, and furrows his eyebrows as he scans her face. “You been crying?”
Roni knows that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose control again. So she only smiles, turning away and giggling softly as she nods.
Oliver doesn’t seem to find this as humorous as Roni does, and he tilts his head so that he’s once again in her line of vision. “Heyyy, hey,” he coos. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
She sniffs, trying her hardest to keep her light smile on her face. “It’s nothing,” she says, throat raspy and voice hardly above a whisper. “I promise.”
“It’s not nothing,” he says, wiping at Roni’s damp face and gently guiding her back into their bedroom.  He’s thoughtful like that-- he doesn’t want Roni to feel it necessary to squash her emotions should anyone walk by.  He knows she wouldn’t want anyone else to see her crying like this. He doesn’t close the door fully, leaving only a crack, before turning to Roni.
She doesn’t say anything, but the way he’s being so ridiculously sweet to her is making her want to cry harder. This isn’t fair; not fair to her and definitely not to him.  She crosses her arms over her torso, feeling ridiculously vulnerable under his gaze.
He gives her a sympathetic smile, and there’s a look in his eyes that comes across almost as if he knows what’s going on.  She lets out a little half laugh/half sob, and she feels closer to him than she expected to in this moment. She speaks.
“Are you gonna say something?”
Oliver cuts her off, speaking only a half second after her. “You tried that time travel junk again, didn’t you?”
His words feel like a slap to the face, but they aren’t exactly wrong.  She stays frozen, mouth agape, and then wilts.  
“Yeah,” she whispers, because what else is there for her to say?
“Ohhh, babe.” Oliver steps towards her, wrapping her in his arms. I told you it wasn’t gonna work.”
Roni knows she should have expected that kind of response from him, but still.  Ouch.  
For a split second, she almost loses it.  She almost tells him everything; about how it did work, about how she’s actually been gone for a little over a week now-- not just a few minutes--, and about how hard it was to find her way back. She wants to mention seeing her mom, and she wants to rub it in his face. “You were wrong! You were wrong about it all! I saw my mom! She hugged me!”
It’s when she considers telling him about Harry, however, that some sense is knocked back into her.
Just the mere, brief thought of Harry makes her want to break down again, and subconsciously the mark on her chest that Harry had left begins to sting.  She chews the inside of her cheek so hard it hurts.
“I’m sorry, honey.”  Oliver’s use of the pet name that Roni had grown so used to hearing from Harry’s mouth makes her nauseated.  She tries to break free from Oliver’s grasp, but he holds her tighter.  “I know how much you wanted it to work.”
“Stop,” she whispers.
He doesn’t hear her.
“I know you’ve tried for years, but haven’t you been through enough heartbreak?”  Oliver sighs.  “I really think it’s time you give it up, Ron.  I don’t know why you won’t just listen to me about this stuff.”
“Stop it.”  Roni finally does break out of Oliver’s embrace, and in his drunken state he blinks dumbly back at her.
“Did I say something?”
“Fuck’s sake,” she says, wiping the tears on her cheeks.  “You’re right, okay?  I’m an idiot.  I’m done trying.  I quit.  Is that what you want to hear? Can we fucking stop?”
Oliver frowns, hesitantly taking a step towards Roni.  “Babe, I didn’t mean--”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Roni says, harsher than intended.  “Okay?  Drop it.  Please.  I’m begging.  I just want to go to bed.”
“But it’s almost midnight.”  Oliver is pouting now, and although it should make Roni soften a bit, it only makes her angry.
Oliver takes a more definitive step in Roni’s direction.  “I don’t want to start the new year fighting with you, babe.  Can we just go back down to our party?  We can talk about this tomorrow.” He shrugs.  “Or not! We don’t have to ever talk about it again if you don’t want to.  I just want to bring in the new year kissing you, surrounded by our friends.  So can we just… please?”
Roni scans his face, feeling more and more on the verge of breakdown with every passing second.  She closes her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here, and covers her face with her hands.  “God,” she groans, before taking a big breath and opening her eyes again.  “Fine.  Sure.  Let’s go.”
Oliver smiles softly, holding out his hand timidly for her to take.  “Sure you’re not mad?”
It isn’t Oliver’s fault.  Of course it isn’t.  So how can Roni be angry with him?
She sighs, trying to bitterly laugh off a tear that’s threatening to roll down her cheek and ignoring his hand.  “Yeah,” she says quietly.  “I’m sure.”
“Not sure I believe you,” Oliver chuckles, “But okay.”  He steps in, closing the gap between him and Roni and puckering his lips.  He speaks in a babyish voice that, in any other circumstances, would absolutely melt Roni.  “Gimme kiss?”
It makes Roni even more upset than she already is, but who is she to deny Oliver? He is none the wiser as to what’s going on, and she can’t exactly drop this bomb on him right now. Not when he’s drunk.  Not when there’s a party going on downstairs.
Not when they’ve been together for so many years with absolutely no problems before this.
Before Roni even has time to process what’s happening, Oliver is taking her wrist in his hand and pulling her impossibly closer to him.  He kisses her, softly at first, and then a bit more passionate once their lips are fastened together.  
It’s Oliver who is making all the effort then; tongue maneuvering it’s way into Roni’s mouth as seductively as he can manage.  Roni would have no objections to this in any other situation.  In fact, she would welcome this.  The normal Roni would suggest she and Oliver skip out on the midnight countdown altogether, in fact, and elect to stay up here bringing in the new year whilst fucking like rabbits.
But not now.  Of course not now.  In fact, probably not ever again.  How could she ever go back to Oliver now?  After Harry?  After everything she’d felt for Harry?
How could she have done this to Oliver?
She gently pushes Oliver off of her, hoping he doesn’t note the tears in her eyes.  “Please,” she says quietly.  “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”  Oliver giggles,  “Kiss your boyfriend?  You scared our friends will catch on?  Start thinking we might have crushes on each other?  Assume you think I’m hot?”
Roni knows Oliver is playing around, but she genuinely is not in the mood for that right now, and she’s afraid that if he says much else she’ll snap.  She groans, leaning in and pressing the most bland, unemotional kiss to his lips.  “Lets go,” she says.  “Please.  We’re going to miss the countdown.”
She begins making her way out of the room with Oliver close behind her.  “I expect a much better kiss than that when the ball drops!” Oliver says. “Much, much better!”
Roni’s heart is pounding in her ears so loudly she can hardly hear herself think. Her face grows hot while the inside of her body feels cold.  She’s having a panic attack, no doubt about it, and for once she’s glad that everyone is going to be too drunk to acknowledge it.
“Ron?”  Oliver asks as he and Roni begin descending the stairs. “Hey, Ron? Baby… will you stop a minute?”
“I don’t want to miss the ball drop,” Roni says, refusing to turn around and trying her hardest to sound like her breathing is under control.
Oliver stops her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” Roni insists, more urgently than intended.  She sighs (the shakiness of her breath incredibly obvious to both of them) and softens as best she can.  
“I’m not being weird,” she repeats. “Just tired.”
“You know if something is going on you can tell me, right?” Oliver sounds more sober than he has in hours, and the way he looks at Roni makes her insides shake with guilt.
She opens her mouth to speak, but has to forcibly stop herself when she almost says Harry’s name. She scans his face, so genuinely concerned and yet ridiculously kind, and she swallows down the vomit rising in her throat.  “Yeah,” she says “I know.”
Oliver smiles.  “Okay then.”  He gives her shoulder a squeeze and follows  her lead back into the living room.
Roni feels like she’s in a dream as she moves;  like her body is here physically but her mind is elsewhere.  In the strangest way possible, her brain feels small and disconnected entirely.   She can see everyone cheering when she and Oliver walk in.  She can feel her friend put a red solo cup filled with alcohol into her hand.  She can hear her name being called, but she doesn’t register it.  She doesn’t register anything that’s going on at the moment, actually.
Her attention is briefly caught when she hears people start counting down, signaling that the ball is about to drop.  Their exuberant voices sound far away, however, as if she’s hearing them from the next room over.  Her face feels cold and her hands feel sweaty, and she thinks maybe if everyone would scoot over a bit she’d be able to breathe better.
“18….17…. 16….”
Someone accidentally bumps into Roni, knocking into the cup in her hand and sloshing a bit of its contents onto her dress.  No one reacts; in fact, no one else even notices. Oliver gives her hand a quick squeeze, pulling her close to him and wrapping his arm around her waist.
“...12… 11….”
Roni’s ears burn.  She knows where she is, but she cannot, for the life of her, focus on a single thing.  Her heart is hurting.  This doesn’t feel right.  She shouldn’t be here.
Slowly, the room around her begins spinning.  Roni wobbles a bit on her feet and Oliver catches her, probably chalking her wooziness up to her being as drunk as he is. She almost wishes she was, because maybe that would make everything hurt less.
“...8… 7…6”
Roni’s throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, and her mind seems to be running far behind her actual body.  She tries to blink herself into some clarity, glancing around the room.  She’s looking--hoping-- for someone who she knows damn well isn’t there.  Someone who couldn’t even try to be there.  The only person she cares to see at this point.
“...3...2...1…”
The entire room erupts in cheers, which definitely doesn’t help the throbbing in Roni’s brain, and the song Auld Lang Syne blasts from the tv.  There is nothing but chaos surrounding Roni, and she almost gags at the feeling of the lump in her throat.   She opens her mouth to say something, but is promptly cut off when Oliver pulls her in by her hips, fastening his lips to hers in a kiss that feels a far too enthusiastic for Roni’s taste.
The way he’s holding her by her hips would be enough to make her swoon on any other occasion. But now it makes her feel suffocated, and she doesn’t even close her eyes as she gives Oliver a half-assed kiss back.
No one else in the room seems to be aware of what’s going on.  They’re all too drunk, too busy making out with their respective partners/fuck buddies/love interests for the evening, to seem to care or even notice at all that Roni’s eyes are wide open.  The guilt, the pain, the longing for Harry-- all of it wraps itself around Roni’s heart and squeezes like a python.
Oliver pulls away, a dopey smile on his face.  “Happy New Year, baby!”
He looks so thrilled; so beyond naive to not only the fact that she’s hurt him in what she’s certain will be an unforgivable way, but also the fact that she is more concerned with missing Harry than feeling much else at all right now.
“Roni?”
A voice from off to the side catches her attention, and she turns in slow motion to see her and Oliver’s mutual friend, Zach, squinting at her.  “Ron, you don’t look so good.”
“Wait, yeah,” comes Zach’s girlfriend, Skye.  “Girl, are you okay?”
Roni hears their questions.  She hears them, but she doesn’t process them.  Zach and Skye aren’t the only people who seem to be concerned, as more and more people around them quickly catch on.
“Sweetheart?” comes Oliver’s voice, and Roni turns, almost drunkenly.
“Is she drunk?”
“Did she take something?”
“She looks green!”
“Baby?” It’s Oliver’s voice that breaks through the deafening noise the most, although Roni still can’t even really process what he’s saying. “Roni?  Hun, can you hear me?”
“Everyone step back!”
“Let her breathe!”
“Can someone get her some water?”
“Ron?”
Her breathing is so shallow now that she can actually hear herself gasping for air.  She feels like she’s choking.  She hates this.  She hates these people.  She doesn’t want to be here.
Where she wants to be is with Harry.  Alone with him, in his tiny apartment that isn’t even half the size of the room.  The year 2000 nothing but a vague memory, something she knows is so far in the future that  she’ll never have to worry about it.  She should have stayed.
Goddammit, she should have stayed.
As she looks around the room at these people who she should love-- who she should be thrilled to be surrounded by-- she realizes that she’s never felt more alone.  Not a single one of them would understand what’s going on. How is she supposed to continue on into the new year-- the new millennium-- feeling so isolated in her own feelings?
“I can’t breathe.”
She can feel herself saying the words, yet her own voice sounds so fuzzy and far away.
“She can’t breathe!” someone repeats.  “Everyone back up!”
“Can we get her some water?”
“Ron?”
It’s too much.  It’s all too fucking much.
Roni’s knees wobble a bit before she feels them buckle.  The last thing she sees before hitting the ground is Oliver worriedly scrambling to catch her.  
And then everything is dark.
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keanureevesisbae · 3 years
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Protection Chapter 6
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Summary: Mia and August are in the safehouse, but Mia has a plan, since she really doesn’t want to be here. 
August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)
Wordcount: 5.4k
Warnings: Mentions of stabbing and guns.
Masterlist // Protection Masterlist // Previous Chapter
1 hour at the safe house
After the three hour drive, August and I arrive at this safe house. It’s the middle of the night and normally I’m in a deep and nice sleep, spooning Bobo and dreaming about some sort of male celebrity to ease my mind. That is not the case now, despite my brain being dog tired, but it’s also running over time.
The safe house is like every ordinary house, but maybe that is exactly what we need. We need to fit in with the rest of the world, not sticking out like sore thumbs.
Bobo is already acclimated to the place, curling himself up on the sofa, purring loudly as he is about to drift off to sleep.
Me on the other hand, can’t relax for shit. I’m pacing (no, not pacing, limping) through the living room, desperately hoping to remember something. It doesn’t matter what. Maybe something about my family, something that is a dead give away I’m not part of this weird family who had access to the safe. Maybe something about what happened between the crash and me sitting on the curb, holding my arm as I was waiting for help.
Or something that would get me out of this place.
August was my safe haven for the drive here, but I don’t know what to think of him. Do I believe him when he says he’ll protect me? Yes, especially what happened to me on the parking lot.
Do I trust him?
I have no idea…
Is he soft and kind to me?
Yes.
And is that everything I need for now?
I hate to admit it, but yes…
I let out a deep sigh. While I keep on wishing I need to be with someone who I feel safe with, it’s brutally obvious that… August is the only one who can both protect me and make me feel safe. I think about his strong arms wrapped around my body, my forehead resting against his chest and him allowing me to hold his hand. I know that’s not what he wants, or at least, what he would initiate, but he lets me. He lets me hold him, lean on him and cry on him.
And that sure means something right? He understands and gives in to my needs.
I turn on my foot, but since my brain is nearly frying itself, I forget this one hurts. I wince and sit on the floor, holding my ankle tightly. Tears trickle down my cheeks, without me actually crying.
I just want to go home, to my own psychical therapist who could help me out. I need normalcy back in my life.  
‘What are you doing?’
My head jerks up, to discover August standing near the kitchen, leaning against the wall. The softness I felt during the way here, it disappeared. Maybe because I wasn’t responding well to it, or because I was responding to it a bit too much. I have been a snotty and hopeless mess since early Monday morning, when I found out about the file.
‘I was pacing.’
He walks into the living room and stops in front of me. ‘You need to be careful.’
‘Well spotted. I can see the CIA training taught you well.’
August sighs. ‘I think you need a new gauge on it.’ He holds out his hand and with a groan I take it. He pulls me up, but when I’m standing, his arm glides underneath my knees and back, carrying me to the kitchen. He does it so effortlessly and without a thought. Maybe that softness is still there. Maybe he does care. He places me on the counter and takes off my shoe.
‘That hurts,’ I hisses.
‘I know,’ he says. He opens a few cabinets, but doesn’t see what he was looking for. ‘Wait here.’
He wanders out of the kitchen and comes back with my mug. The one with the flowers. The one I left at his place. He fills it with water and holds it in front of me, together with a strip of painkillers. ‘Did you bring this with you?’ I ask him, as I wrap my fingers around the mug.
He nods.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s home and I figured you could need it.’ He ushers me to take the painkiller and I do what he asks me to do. I lean back, with my head against the cabinet doors. He grabs a dusty barstool and places my foot on his lap.
‘August,’ I whisper.
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t hate you.’
He looks up. ‘I know.’
‘I’m just scared.’
‘I know that too.’ He takes off my sock and bandage and checks my ankle, that is swelling and turning red. ‘I think I need to provide you with a brace. Or do you have one with you?’
I shake my head. ‘I left it at home, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ he snaps and I tense up. Just because he isn’t apologizing, he all of the sudden has this personal vendetta against me doing it. ‘I’ll try and arrange something. For now a new bandage will do.’
While he prepares the new bandages, I carefully place my hand on his cheek as I lean forward. He lets it happen and maybe I’m totally hallucinating, but I think he is leaning against my hand. ‘You sure you’ll protect me?’
‘I will,’ he answers in a dead serious tone.
‘Even Bobo?’
August looks up and bites back a smile. ‘Especially Bobo.’
5 hours at the safe house
I’m back at the crime scene, but this time I’m not a young girl anymore. I’m the me of today. I walk around the car wreck, spotting the limb bodies of other me’s family. I notice a young girl sitting on the curb. Me on the curb. Clutching my arm and simply staring at the wreck, as someone without a recognizable face drags away the body of a teenage boy, while another man drags away the body of a man.
They look deceased, but as of right now, they could be unconscious.
A woman, who is just as unidentifiable as the other men, crouches down in front of me. ‘Vanaf nu, is jouw naam Mia,’ she tells me. From now on, your name is Mia.
The young girl—me—shakes her head. ‘Nee, dat ben ik niet.’ No, I’m not.
‘Jawel, luister goed. Als iemand er naar vraag, jij heet Mia. Mia Makaruku. M-A-K-A-R-U-K-U.’ Yes, listen carefully. If someone asks, you’re Mia. Mia Makaruku. M-A-K-A-R-U-K-U.’
With a jolt I’m wide awake. I look around me, expecting to find Bobo for some emotional support, but he is not here. I could use a hug, to be honest and Bobo is the one that I wished was right here to hug me. I slip on some warm socks and get out of my bed. No, the bed in the safe house. It’s not mine. It smells musty. My bed always smells like lavender.
‘Bobo,’ I whisper shout, ‘where are you?’
I see August’s door is opened ajar and I peek inside, only to see Bobo curled up on the windowsill, while August isn’t asleep. He looks up and flicks on his light. ‘What’s wrong?’
I want to make a stupid remark about Bobo sleeping here and how they are becoming close buddies and how it should make me jealous, but it can’t seem to leave my lips. I simply lean against the doorframe and fumble with my shirt.
‘Mia, what’s up?’
‘I had a memory,’ I whisper, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. I close the door and I walk over to his bed. I sit on the edge, staring at Bobo, who is still asleep and doesn’t really care I walked in. Looks like I’m traded in for. Nice to know that my lovely cat will trade me for someone with testosterone. ‘My name is not Mia Makaruku.’ I tell him what the memory is about. I don’t feel tears coming up, but to be fair, I have cried for hours on end.
August sits up straight next to be on the edge. ‘You know what your real name is?’
I shake my head. ‘That was all I wanted to tell you.’ I want to stand up again, but August grabs my wrist and forces me on his bed again. ‘What?’
‘I know it’s hard.’
‘How?’ I ask him. ‘Because this all happened to you when you were younger? Did you have a promising career, that was put on hold because someone swooped into your life and all of the sudden you realize you are not who you think you are?’
He doesn’t say anything, but I simply pull my wrist out of his grasp, grab Bobo and march back into my room.
1 day at the safe house
I came to the conclusion that in no way, I can stay here in this safe house.
August is keeping a close eye on me and I have to tell him what I’m going to do every single time I leave the room. Even when I just need to pee! This whole situation is suffocating me. I wished he would just be a bit more relaxed, less controlling and just back the fuck off.
Ever since I had my first memory, I have been thinking about it, nearly giving myself a painful headache. But I don’t remember anything.
When I was wandering through the house, I confiscated a letter opener, to use it as some sort of weapon. Who knows if I might need it one day. And that one day might come sooner than I think.
I’m sitting in the living room, as the blinds are closed, leaving us with the lights on, in the middle of the day. I can barely sit anymore, so I walk towards a wall and do a handstand against it. I hear some bones in my shoulders crack.
For a top athlete, going from intense training to nothing, it’s unhealthy. I read about those people who get heart attacks after they retire and get a heart attack within the first week of doing nothing, after a very intensive job for forty years.
While I’m not suspecting a heart attack anytime soon and I shouldn’t compare this situation to retirement, I’m keeping it in mind.
Is it your left arm that starts to hurt when you have a nearing heart attack?
‘What are you doing?’
I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t see that. ‘I would swear you’re blind,’ I say, as I get back on my feet. ‘I was bowling, you happy now?’
August doesn’t say anything. He simply walks over to the couch and sits on my spot. Man spreading is tame in comparison with what he is doing. I think it’s a good thing this man wears pants, because I could’ve looked right up his ass and do an internal examination, without trying.
That’s quite the picture, Mia… What are you doing to yourself?
I turn around and let out a gasp when the doorbell rings three times very short. August stands up and ushers me to come over. I don’t understand why, but he looks pissed and I better listen to him. I limp towards him and he pushes me behind him. When he opens the door, he simply takes the package after signing for it and closes the door. ‘What was that about?’
‘Better be safe than sorry.’ He opens the package without using scissors (which is weird, because I would’ve needed a scissor or a knife to open it, but to each their own) and hands me my new ankle brace.
‘Oh,’ I say, when I see he actually arranged a real good one. Maybe he cares in his weird way… ‘Thanks.’
He doesn’t say anything about it. ‘I’ll start lunch.’
3 days at the safe house
It has been two days since I found the letter opener and I don’t think he suspects a thing. The hours pass by without a mishap. I let him check my ankle twice a day, I try to get him to like Bobo (no success so far and that’s all on August) and we watch the stars every night, since that’s the only time he lets me out of the house.
Pretending I made peace with the situation, gave me enough opportunities to plan my escape. Even when he made me a hot water bottle the other night because I was shivering, even when he suggested to cut the onions, so I wouldn’t get teary eyed and that time when he carried me to bed.
Even when he makes me feel like no one else made me before, I cannot stay here. I have read the files, I have seen where he hides our passports, I know where he hides his guns. I can escape.
Especially now, since I don’t want him near me anymore.
The only way I can actually lock him up, is by luring him into the basement and that sounds painfully scary, I admit, but I have to try. I’d rather die trying, than give up and sit here like I’ve given up on life.
I have to leave him.
Everything is all set and done in my bedroom, ready for me to leave. If I can’t hide it in my room (the car keys, the file or the passports and of course his guns) I know exactly where to find it.
I’m standing in some tight black leggings and a cropped sweater in the basement, trying to find something on the top shelve I could desperately need and I can’t reach. Pasta sauce? That seems like something I could use.
I have made some food in these past couple of days and I have yet to make some pasta. It sounds like me to try something new.
Normally I wouldn’t wear something that accentuates my ass this much, but I have to distract him some way, so maybe this’ll do. I don’t know, I have never done this before. Sure, I’ve kissed, but never anything further than that. Being a professional athlete, you barely have time to date.
Or that’s just me, I don’t know. Other girls seemed to find time to date…
My heart is pounding painfully fast in my chest. You can say about August Walker whatever you want, but that man looks terrifyingly experienced. He seems like the type of man who can rip you apart and you’d beg him to do so again.
It’s now or never, Mia.
‘August!’ I yell.
It takes a second before he answers. ‘Yes?’
‘Can you help me out?’
Asking him for something, is the way to his heart.
I hear his descending footsteps and I turn around, to see him approaching me. ‘Can you reach the pasta sauce for me?’ I ask. ‘I wanted to make pasta tonight.’
August simply nods and stretches himself to grab the package from the top shelf. ‘Anything else?’
I bite my lip, before shaking my head.
‘There is something on your mind,’ he says. ‘What is it?’
This man reads me like a book. I hate it. ‘Nothing, it’s silly, really.’ That and I might chicken out right now. Maybe this isn’t such a fantastic well thought out plan, though I thought about it non stop for the past forty eight hours.
But, am I seeing this correctly? Is he smiling? ‘Tell me this then: why are you wearing this?’
Oh shit, he is too good. Fuck, I just blew my cover, simply because it’s too much. ‘What?’
August places his large hand in the dip of my waist, his fingers touching my bare skin. ‘You never wear this.’
I clear my throat. Now is not a good time for that heart attack you were thinking about a two days ago, I tell myself. ‘Oh, I…’
‘Come on,’ he whispers, ‘you can tell me.’
I swallow hard, all of the sudden not so sure about this anymore. I shouldn’t let him intimidate me, but it sure does. It might have to do with this authoritarian lining I hear in his deep voice.
‘Tell me,’ he says, ‘did you plan this?’
I finally find my voice again, yet it’s not a very secure one. ‘Maybe,’ I whisper shakily.
‘Why?’
‘It’s you, really,’ I say and that is not a total lie. I mean, I have seen him pretty up close these passed few days. And since I’m a functioning human being with a heart beat and certain—slightly nasty—dreams about him…  It seems reasonable to be planning this, right?
August nods, before lifting me on the empty table I wished in my initial plan he would place me. ‘If I start, Mia, I don’t think I can stop.’
‘I don’t want you to stop,’ I whimper, already completely at his mercy.
I curse myself.
He chuckles and bites his bottom lip, his eyes turning a few shades darker. He takes off his shirt, revealing his strong and broad chest, covered with chest hair that I only saw glimpses of.
Am I sure I can do this? Am I sure I can do what I plan to do?
‘What?’ I ask him.
‘You look like a deer caught in the headlights, Mia.’
‘Oh,’ I gasp, which is a dead giveaway that I am indeed a deer caught in the headlights.
His strong hands force my legs open. ‘It’s a good thing I sometimes find you adorable.’
Now I’m actually offended. ‘Why only sometimes?’
He smiles. ‘Maybe always.’
I shouldn’t do this, I think to myself. I feel sorry for him now, he looks so approachable and finally he shows me who he is deep down. The August Walker that I knew was in there, hidden by the walls he has built. The August Walker I saw glimpses of since the day I met him. Okay, maybe not since the day I met him, but since we went to that basketball game.
I place my hands on his broad chest and let my nails drag over his skin. August bridges the space between us and the second our lips touch and his tongue enters my mouth, I hook my feet together behind his hips.
The way this man kisses… I have never been kissed like this. Never have I ever been so overpowered, so dominated.
I’m getting too sucked into this moment, that for a second I forget my plan. He buries his face in my neck, his tongue running over the delicate skin. I bite my lip to keep my moans in, but somehow one escapes.
‘Such a needy little girl,’ he grunts in my nape, before going out of his way to leave his marks on me.
When he kisses my lips again, he seems distracted enough, I think to myself. My hand goes underneath the edge of the table, where I taped the letter opener…
But I can’t find it.
‘You were looking for this?’ he asks when he pulls back. His fingers twirl the letter opener around.
Oh fuck, I screwed up big time.
‘I admire you thought about this,’ he says, ‘but I’m not a total idiot.’ He lets the sharp tip drag over my cheek, causing me to pull back.
‘You knew?’
‘Of course I knew,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m a CIA agent, I notice everything you do. I’m trained to do such thing.’ He pulls back completely and I let out a groan. While he puts the letter opener in the back pocket of his pants, he grabs his shirt from the floor. ‘Shame, Mia, that I can read you like a book, but yet again… I appreciate the effort.’
He turns around with a cocky grin and I clench my jaw. What an asshole. I look around me and see a block of wood next to the table. I jump off the table, grab the wood and rush towards him. I am not giving up, because if I did so, I wouldn’t have become the soccer player I am today.
I was, I mean, because I’ve come to the realization those soccer playing times might be over.
August must’ve heard me (he is a CIA agent after all), but I’m mid swing already and the edge of the block hits him on his temple. I watch as the enormous man falls like a bag of potatoes and I stare at his limp body on the floor.
Did I just kill him?
Before I jump over him to go up the stairs, I quickly check his pulse in his neck. Okay, there is a heartbeat. I climb up the stairs and lock the door.
It’s game time.
I rush to my room, grab my coat and the carriage for Bobo. I figured I would bring him to a shelter, before I would get on the plane, because I’m not leaving my precious orange cat in a safe house with August Walker.
Within record time I have got my bag ready, the file and I grabbed the fake Indonesian passport I need. ‘Come on, Bobo,’ I try to coax him and the dumb ass actually goes into the cage.
‘Mia, don’t fucking do this,’ I hear August yell, as he is trying to force the door open.
Okay, it’s quite a relief to know he really wasn’t dead.
I grab the car keys and when I walk passed his room, my eyes fall on his weapon holster. The one last thing I need. I grab his gun and though I have zero idea on how to use it, I can just do what they do in movies.
Just pull the trigger, right?
I grab the carriage with Bobo, only to hear August breaking out from the basement. The door collapses in front of me and I see his eyes are dark, but not filled with lust like they were a few moments ago.
Filled with absolute rage.
‘Don’t even fucking think about it,’ he growls.
Before I even think, I grab the gun out of the bag and point it to him. My hands are shaking. ‘Let me go,’ I say.
‘Mia, I can’t let you go.’
‘I don’t want the CIA to help me,’ I tell him, as tears run over my cheeks. Way to make your point, Mia. ‘I just want my normal life back.’
‘You can’t and you know that.’
I do know that. ‘I want to find answers on my own,’ I continue, ‘and on my own, doesn’t involve you. I hate you, August Walker, I fucking hate you.’
I can see it in his eyes, that he tells himself that it’s not true and it’s not true. I don’t hate him, I just need to get out of here. He clenches his jaw. ‘Give me the gun, Mia.’
I shake my head. ‘No. Step aside or I’ll shoot.’
Even I’m not convinced…
August walks up to me and places his hand on the barrel, pulling the gun against his chest. ‘Do it then.’
My finger is on the trigger, but… I’m too weak to shoot him. I hand him the gun, before hiding my face into my hands. I lean with my back against the wall. This is so embarrassing. Why on earth did I think I could escape?
I hear August opening the door of the carriage, followed by the soft steps of Bobo.
‘Talk to me, Mia,’ he says, causing me to look up. When our eyes meet, he isn’t mad. He looks so disappointed. but I’m not sure if he’s disappointed in me or himself for letting this happen.
I take a deep breath. I don’t know what to say about this situation. ‘How is your head?’ I ask him, noticing some blood running over the side of his face.
‘It’s okay.’
I simply take his hand and drag him with me to the kitchen. He sits on a lower stool, so I can actually reach his face, without having to wear pointe shoes. I see a small cut on his temple, the source of the stream of blood and I grab the kit he used on me so many times. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a soft tone. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Don’t apologize.’
‘But I have to, August. I hurt you.’ I clean the wound, before grabbing the special bandages to pull wounds like this back together.
He sighs deeply. ‘You did what you thought was best. I can’t argue with that.’ His tone is low, raspy, but also soft.
He doesn’t sound angry at all, while I expect him to be. I mean, I kinda wanted to stab him.
‘It’s just that I… I just want to get out of here.’
August nods. ‘I know that and we will go. Eventually.’ When our eyes meet again, I see the hurt. Fuck, I hurt him so badly. Guilt washes over me and there are a million things I could say to him. But he doesn’t let me. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over this.’
He can indeed read me like a fucking book and I should hate that. But I’m actually quite relieved as of now.
‘I’m not beating myself up.’
‘You are.’
I push back some of his hairs, my fingertips running over his scalp. He melts against the touch and shuts his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.
‘I won’t escape anymore,’ I whisper.
‘I know.’
‘It’s… I don’t know what possessed me. I mean… I hit you in the head quite hard.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t you worry about it. Besides, I’m actually pretty relieved. I now know you can defend yourself properly.’
‘Properly?’ I can’t help but chuckle and I see a tiny smile form on his lips. ‘Don’t over exaggerate. August, I just… I feel so useless here. I don’t remember a lot of stuff. I just sit here and wait. I haven’t done that in a long time.’
He nods. ‘You are not useless.’
‘I need to do something with my time. It’s awful sitting here, with you breathing down my neck.’
He smiles. ‘How about I teach you some basic self defense tips?’
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Honestly, you could ask me to do some embroidery and I would take it.’
He places a hand on my back and actually forces me to sit on his thighs. My eyes enlarge, causing him to chuckle. ‘I meant what I said in there,’ he says. ‘Both the deer caught in the headlights part and the needy little girl part.’
Yeah, I just want to disappear and I wished that could be arranged. ‘Could we maybe not mention that. Like, ever again? I’d like to maintain some form of dignity.’
His lips graze over my cheeks. ‘Had I not found the letter opener,’ he whispers, ‘how far would you let me go?’
‘Not far. I was gonna stab you, August,’ I chuckle, but it’s a nervous one, since I can hardly focus as I sit on his thick thighs. ‘Why?’
‘Because something tells me… You’ve never done that before.’
That can’t be good. I feel like my self confidence just disappeared into thin air. ‘Was it that bad?’
‘No, no, no!’ he quickly says. ‘It’s just that your heart rate was out of the roof and… You seemed nervous.’
‘I kinda was. But mostly because I needed to stab you.’
‘Liar.’
‘I’m not a liar.’
‘You are,’ he says, before placing a kiss on my cheekbone. It’s so soft and tender, almost a full 180 of that kiss he gave me in the basement, a place I will never go back to again, because I’ll probably die of shame. ‘And that’s okay.’
I want to say something, but then I hear a loud meow and August growling. ‘Stupid cat, stop doing that!’
‘The attack thing on your leg?’ I ask him.
‘Yes, what a stupid idiot.’
‘Hey, don’t talk to him like that!’ I look over and see Bobo peeking around the corner of the kitchen island. ‘I can’t believe I genuinely thought I could take Bobo with me on my little adventure.’
August pulls me closer to him. ‘It shows your character, Mia.’
I meet his eyes again. ‘You’re not mad at me anymore?’
‘I haven’t been mad at you. I know you don’t want to stay here and that is a mutual feeling. I just have to know I can guarantee your safety.’
I nod. ‘When do you think we can leave?’
‘Next week somewhere?’
‘Is it allowed for me to get wasted or am I bringing the operation in danger if I do so?’
He smiles. ‘One drink, that’s the best I can do.’
I don’t want to do it, but I press my lips against his. A quick peck, nothing compared to the kiss earlier. But it’s all I can do right now. ‘Can we start now?’
5 days at the safe house
‘What’s that?’ I ask August, when he places a box on the table.
Ever since my little escape debacle (I let August swear never to mention it again and so far he lips were sealed), time doesn’t go by as slowly and August actually trusts me now. I don’t have justify myself for every step I take. He teaches me some self defense, but I’m a very slow learner and he tries to be patient, but really isn’t.
It’s nice being around August, especially when he tries to be nice to Bobo.
He is just a bit uneasy around the cat.
‘It’s for you,’ he says, not making eye contact.
‘It’s not even my birthday,’ I say.
August simply shrugs. ‘I can give you gifts, right?’
‘I mean, if you want, you won’t hear me complaining. I love gifts.’ I grab the box and pull it closer to me. It’s not really tightly closed, so I can easily open it. I peek inside, only to discover a…
A soccer ball?
‘Are you serious?’ I ask him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know you miss soccer,’ he tells me. ‘I know I can’t bring back full stadiums, screaming fans and a better opponent, but this is the least I can do. Just remember: take good care of your foot.’
‘Of course, of course.’ A smile appears on my face and I take it out of the box, balancing the ball on my hand. Memories flash through my mind. My first soccer ball, the first goal I made in amateur soccer, after that professional soccer.
I walk around the table and I give him a kiss on his cheek. Ever since kissing one another after the basement event, we didn’t do that anymore. But now feels like an appropriate time to do so? Maybe not, but it’s happening now.
I can’t go back now.
‘Since I can’t use my foot, you want to throw it with me?’
‘Of course,’ he says. However, before we can start, I sense he wants to say something to me. I wait, but he shakes it off. ‘Never mind. Let me move the couch, so we have more room.’
10 days at the safe house
I am in a deep sleep, when I hear some rumbling sounds in the background. I open my eyes, but I figure out it’s one of August’s nightly escapades. He does that quite often in the middle of the night. Just wandering around, moving around some things and sometimes I even hear him exercising. I wonder if he ever sleeps.
Not me though, when it’s dark outside, I’m sleeping.
I turn around and try to drift off in a nice sleep again, hoping to go back to that lovely dream again, but then my door opens. I jolt awake, when August enters my room. ‘Easy now,’ August says. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘I got your clothes, your stuff, everything. Even your creepy cat worked with me and got in his carriage.’ He hands me a thick sweater and helps me in it. My head is still a bit drowsy and my body barely works. August lifts me up and I place my head against his shoulder.
‘I can walk,’ I mumble.
‘I know, but you’re sleepy,’ he whispers. ‘Besides, I don’t mind.’
That shouldn’t make me smile as much as it does.
He carries me to the car and places me in the passengers seat. He starts the car and with an illegal speed he drives off. I look over my shoulder, to see Bobo in the carriage.
‘What’s happening, August?’ I ask him. ‘Why are we leaving?’
‘We might’ve been found,’ he says, his eyes not leaving the road.
I nod. I grab his hand from the steering wheel and I hold it in both of mine. ‘I trust you,’ I whisper. ‘I really do.’
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