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apocalypse-shuffle · 8 months

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HOBIE BROWN | SPIDER-PUNK (atsv)

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“Pizza Time” (Hobie Brown & Gn!Reader)

| You, Hobie, and crew get called out to deal with a canon disturbance.

| SFW, canon typical action, team fic™️, my attempts at humor, one original spider variant, -gn!reader

| H/n=Hero name (Pic source: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) movie)

| PART ONE

| 2k+ words

The sounds of an argument bounce off the walls of the hall leading to the transport station and Miguel’s office - if you wanted to call a floating platform and boundless walls of unfeeling shifting metal an “office” that was.

Hobie walks in, hands in his pockets and gait steady, already heaving a sigh.

“Level one! You’re sending us - me! - on a mission for a goddamn level one disturbance?”

A platform above you, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, Miguel groans. The sound borders on growl but you don’t buck an inch.

Hobie would totally be admiring the show of grit right now if he didn’t have something waaaaay better to do, but alas he does so he needed you to shush sooner rather than later.

“Are you crazy? I can do so much better than respond to some villain of the week!”

“Ay, dios mío, I can assure you I’m perfectly sane-”

“Huh,” Hobie scoffs. He’d sure like to hold a microscope up to that claim.

He swings his guitar ‘round to his front and leans against the wall otherwise silently, doing nothing but waving when Miguel’s sharp eyes snap to him. He does want to laugh at the way just his presence is causing the ever present crease in their - not their as in ‘his’ but their as in ‘everyone else’s’ - leader’s forehead but that’s something he’d have done last week and he rather liked his inconsistencies to stay just that; messing with Miguel was more fun that way.

So today he keeps mum. To an extent. Just feeling the way the headquarters’ walls hum with power against his back and watching with lidded eyes as you bark up Miguel’s tree.

Miguel averts his attention back to you and you’re clearly still giving him a nasty look if his eye roll means anything.

“You’re going. That’s not me asking, this isn’t up for debate. You want to work so bad, here you go.”

“Work? This is a glorified playdate at best-”

Alright. Time to cut and run. Hobie pushes off the wall, walking over to tug you back with the pads off his fingers. Grabbing onto skintight spandex isn’t some easy task so he sticks to you instead.

You stumble away with an irritated huff but Hobie talks over the barrage you’re likely about to release.

“Oi, cut the argy bargy! Don’t we got somethin’ to do?

Miguel turns with a nearly slackened expression - look at that he almost did something that wasn’t a scowl! - but gestures towards Hobie regardless.

When you do the same, turning to him like he’s gone and betrayed your whole bloodline, Hobie shrugs your gaze off and lets go of you. For the time being he needs you to be sated enough that he can get from under the security cameras he knows are up his knickers and nipping at his balls right now.

“For once we agree,” Miguel intones.

In response Hobie flips him off and right on cue that scowl makes its reappearance.

“Just go,” the man sighs.

Nearly in tandem you and Hobie give Miguel mock salutes. Hobie can tell you’re rolling your eyes under the mask but opts not to comment as Pavitr finally enters the room.

Miguel’s tense voice follows you all into the bright energy field that makes up the dimensional portal when you guys finally mobilize.

“Your mission parameters will be on your watches when you get there. H/n and Hobie you’ll be taking point. The Spider of the universe you’re being sent to is already on standby.” He heaves a sigh and you can just hear the way he’s attempting to rub out the halos in his vision. “And please try not to destroy another national monument.”

“No promises!”

The way Hobie’s words ring out into the spacious room is capped off by your raucous laughter as you both walk through the portal.

A blinding light flashes and then you’re traveling through a technicolor cavern, shot forward to your chosen destination by an invisible and unwavering current.

In almost no time at all you meet the timid air of Earth-159, the home of the self proclaimed:

SPECTACULAR SPIDER ╸MAID!

You breathe in cool damp air, taking a moment to ground yourself in the feel of yet another alternate New York before twisting around to confront your partner.

“Since when are you such a follower?”

You grumble the words with a no doubt demur turn of your lips and Hobie shrugs, shaking the stability back into his legs.

“Nah I ain’t never been that, don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth. It just so ‘appens that ‘is usual utilitarian act matched up with my plans for today, is all.”

“You? Plotting? What a surprise,” you chuckle and flip around - walking backwards - so you can watch him as y’all walk out on the other side of the portal. “I want in.”

He side eyes you, “You plan on keeping that big mouth shut anytime soon then? No usin’ what I tell you as ammunition against Miguel, and all that.”

Still walking backwards you chuckle lowly and press your lips together. Your pinched fingers come up to pantomime a zipper closing across the seam of your lips, you make a show of breaking then showing off the invisible zipper key, and finally toss the imaginary zipper away.

“Alright then,” he hums. “Keep your schedule open for tomorrow and I’ll spill.”

“Great.” You shove your hand in your pocket as you and him both catch up to a buzzing in place Pavitr.

He turns to you, shiney hair bouncing almost sadly to the left.

“Shouldn’t Maid be here already? What’s taking her so long?”

Before either of you can answer Pavitr the telltale thwip of a web-shooter meets y’all’s ears from a short distance and then a flash of red and yellow head to toe spandex catches everyone’s eye.

Spider-Maid lands in front of you all - after a series of well timed flips - with her hands on her hips. She flips springy curls over her shoulder.

“I swear I would’ve been here sooner, but there was a minor incident with Dr. Conners and she was shedding everywhere!” She lands in front of you three, hands flailing every which way. “Like, I’m talking huge slabs. And everything was slimy-!”

“Spider-Maid,” you cut her off and she goes stock still, head ducking.

“Sorry.”

Before you can reassure her yourself Hobie’s already laughing her apology off. He walks over, swinging an arm over her shoulder.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, Mad Maid! Things goin’ as good as they sound?”

“Oh yeah!” She laughs and when Hobie shakes his hand out and holds his fist out for her to dap him up she happily fist pumps him. “Everything’s great! You know? Despite the dimensional disturbance in my world apparently. Do you guys have eyes on that by the way?”

You shrug, “Honestly? I was hoping you did. You know Miguel prefers the ‘throw the baby in the deep end and let them figure it out’ method of learning.”

“Yeahhhh,” she nods. “Swim or die sounds about his speed.”

“Oh it is definitely his speed,” Pav says.

The sigh you let out comes from your bones. Pavitr is barely out of his superhero teething phase and he’s already picked up on how much of a hardass Miguel is, and Maid isn’t too far behind him either.

God the Spider Society was a mess.

A rush of people running from behind a pizzeria halts any further conversation. You all tense in unison, a cluster of fine tuned spiders ready to jump headfirst into danger. Hobie and you glance at one another.

A series of head tilts and hidden eyebrow raises commences before Hobie finally sighs and clears his throat.

“Alright, here’s how we’ll do things! I’ll go check whatever that was out and the rest of you look for any more signs of the disturbance, yeh?”

“Form a parameter and then scour it,�� you add and he nods his agreement.

Everyone else then acknowledges the plan and y’all break up with you officially on spider-sitting duty by yourself.

For the first couple minutes things go smoothly enough. There’s no sign of the disturbance but there’s no more screaming people either, and Hobie seems pretty nonplussed - if a little humorous - at what it is he finds.

Barely enough time passes for you to start giving the two Spiders with you secondary instructions on what to look for when tracking someone before Hobie’s voice cuts through the calm.

“Ow! Shit!”

From the roof beside the one you're on Pav stops in his tracks and Maid - sticking to the side of the same building - slips. She clips her chin a little bit you’re too preoccupied to address it. Or catch the sigh of relief she lets out at that.

Your brows furrow beneath your mask and you eventually turn away from the now tense teens, glancing at the building Hobie disappeared behind.

“Hobie? Status?”

“There’s these fuckin - Ow!’” He yelps, still over coms. “Pudgy horned animal…things round the corner - shit! - and they are not as cute as I first thought!”

“Shit,” you grunt.

Maid waves to get your attention, crawling over the edge of your roof and running up to you.

“Can I?”

Maid and you turn to give each other a look. You shrug at her.

The brunette spider makes a jerky motion towards where Hobie’s run off to. From behind your mask you raise a brow and she catches on surprisingly fast for someone who isn’t used to hanging around other capes 24-7. For instance you can also tell that her eyes are saucer wide behind her mask.

“Do you think I should…go?”

“Somebody should!” Hobie yells, bordering on shrill even with his low timbre, and you start shoving at the girl to leave.

“I- yeah I think you should go. You’ll do fine. Me and Spider-man #2 over here can handle the main anomaly on our own.”

“Hey! Why am I number two?”

A call of Pav’s, Maid’s, and then your moniker comes from your wayward member, and Maid raises a hand to shoot off a web.

“Are you-?”

“We got this,” Pav cuts in. His tone is nearly melodic and you chuckle. “We’ll just split up like that old cartoon from the 70’s!”

Maid nods, leaving you two alone in just a few swings.

You turn to Pavitr as you both jump down to the street for a new vantage point. “You talking about Scooby-Doo?”

“What?” He laughs with a shake of his head. “Oh no I was talking about the Groovy Detective Crew-”

A high pitched scream ends that line of conversation. Instantly you and Pavitr are back to back, fighting stances coming naturally to you both.

“Guys! What was that?”

Your eyes track over the low roofs of the buildings surrounding the square you’re in, heart hammering in your chest.

“Yeah, that was definitely Hobie! I’ve got eyes on him now and there's something holding onto him, but I got it!”

Hobie starts yelling again, clearly being jerked around if the way his voice is cutting in and out means what you think it does.

“Bloody ‘ell it’s got my fuckin’ arm!”

Then Maid’s voice is added to the mix.

“Oh that’s just- that’s freaking disgusting.”

The question is on the tip of your tongue when you catch a glimpse of something not quite right banking the opposite corner from your teammates.

“Wait Pav.”

You point out a pair of little black boots rounding a corner, the disturbance cackling as it goes, and you and Pav are in pursuit seconds later.

“Hey guys! I think we found the main anomaly, we’re going after it now!”

The moment you and Pavitr swing past the corner you're met with the…thing? It’s already squaring up to you, that much is clear, its feet firmly planted as it stares you down from the other end of the street.

You scowl, planting your own feet even as your mind stalls.

Problem is you can’t really make sense of what you’re seeing. Subconsciously your head tilts as well, and beside you Pavitr makes a small incensed noise. There’s a lot of red but you can’t be sure if it’s blood or…or sauce(?), and there's just an absurd amount of glinting toppings stuck to the thing.

Hobie’s voice cracks through your stupor.

“H/n! You lot find the issue yet? What is it?”

“Well it’s- uh…is a-” your head tilts the other way, mouth going agape with your scowl. “Um…”

“Well spit it out already!” Over the line Hobie grunts, breathing out a curse as something presumably hits him. Maid’s higher grunt of impact follows.

Honestly there’s no good way to describe what you're looking at. You’re not even entirely convinced it isn’t a hallucination.

“It’s- it’s a…pizza?”

“Pizza? What the bloody fuck are you going on about? Pav, help me out here mate.”

Problem is Pavitr’s still just as confused as you. The boy’s so perplexed that it’s like he hasn’t even heard Hobie by the time he next speaks.

“Is that…sanitary?” Pavitr questions.

Yeah, you're kind of wondering that too. Regardless of that though - you shake your head - you still had a job to do.

Clearing your throat you straighten, projecting your voice a good couple of feet beyond you. “Who are you?”

The thing, all wet plops of itself falling to the floor and wafting garlicky scent, looks up at Pav and you slowly. You can’t tell if the two sharp points at what appears to be the top of it, even covered in a lion’s mane of fur, would be considered its shoulders or not.

It gives a hearty chuckle.

“After today - when you Spiders’ heads are skewered on the tip of my mighty spear - I’ll be the most dangerous of them all.”

TBC…

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

Let’s say Gwen was on another mission or something and that’s why she’s not in this. Idk, I just didn’t want to write a whole bunch of characters. I’ll introduce Gwen later. I’m not very confident in everyone’s portrayal here either but I’m giving it a try so bare with me.

Also, funnily enough, I decided to name Earth-159's Spider-Woman Spider-Maid because Earth-159 in DC comics is an alt universe where Lois Lane was sent from the dying planet of Earth to Krypton (in the reverse of Clark) where she then becomes that worlds version of Superman, Supermaid. Apparently.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

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Nights in the City.

Crime Boss! Min Yoongi x Sassy College student OC!

Part 1/?

For all that city is supposed to be a thriving metropolis with bustling traffic no matter what the hour, it still felt incredibly creepy to be standing inside a deserted midnight mart, clutching three packs of highlighter pens, a pack of condoms and a pack of tampons.

But it was finals week, and that generally meant that either

a.) I would stress the fuck out of myself and my period would come on early

b.) I would run out of highlighters , fail to highlight the most important part of my notes , forget all about it during the exam and end up dropping a whole grade over it.

c.) I would be so horny, would manage to sneak a guy into my room and at the last minute , we would both realize we didn't have protection.

Sounds oddly specific?

These are actual things that have happened to me so, one could say I was merely being smartly proactive by preparing a contingency plan for when or in case things went wrong.

Such wisdom, much wow.

And so here i was at the local all night mart, waiting for the drunk out of his mind kid to pay for his flavored water .

My legs ached, it was pouring cats and dogs outside, and I could feel a headache come on.

Just as the guy finished paying, i felt a surge of relief. Great, I could pay and finally leave, thank you Lord, angels and every saint chilling next to Jesus-

A hand shot out from behind me slapping a wad of 100000 won bills on the counter.

"Need to see the CCTV footage from this evening kid." A low gravelly voice rumbled in my ear , so disgustingly hot it bordered on obscene.

I turned around to glare at the stranger, only to feel my breath catch in my throat.

A breathtakingly beautiful man stood right behind me, dressed in what looked like a Valentino Tux, ebony dark hair and tattoos that stood out stark against his pale skin.

He was tall and lithe, eyes cat-like yet blazing with anger ? passion? a love for opera music?

Well whatever it was, it was potent.

As was his cologne .

I gagged a little.

"Excuse me, pretty boy.... you're in my space." I snapped .

He looked surprised, like he really hadn't noticed my five foot four ass dressed in a lime green fleece jacket and purple yoga pants.

He tilted his head.

"Excuse me?"

That fucking drawl.

Rolling my eyes i pointed at the board that said " Wait your Turn."

"Can't you read?" I snapped.

He didn't reply, merely staring at me carefully, as though memorizing all my features before giving me a very blatant once over.

Not to be outdone, I did the same to him and the small smile on his face grew into an amused smirk.

The cashier's panicked voice drew us both out of our little eye fuck fest.

"Miss, please if you could step aside... hyungnim I'm so sorry...let me get the tapes for you at once..."

"That's alright. i'll send one of my men to get it later. Why don't you finish billing her items first?" He said softly. He gave me another small smile.

"Since you asked so nicely, petal." he rasped out, reaching out and gently brushing the hair off my face.

i frowned at the little endearment.

Well, no matter.

Satisfied , both at having stood up for myself and not having it backfire in my face, I grinned wide at the cashier.

Why did he look so terrified? Geez.

I finished paying and then politely stepped out of the line, indicating to Mr. Tuxedo that he could go next.

But he didn't .

instead he followed me as i walked out.

"Where do you live?" He asked casually.

I blinked, confused.

“What? Why?”

“So I can drop you off. It’s late and the city gets dangerous at night.”

I rolled my eyes.

“The city isn’t dangerous..” I lowered my voice , curling my fingers to get him to lean closer. He obliged obediently, moving closer and bending low till his ear was almost level with my lips, “ I am dangerous.”

He straightened, brows raised and lips parted.

“Oh? You are?”

I grinned conspiratorially.

“Listen, you look rich and kind of handsome so I’m going to assume that you aren’t going to mug me, so I’ll show you. Now, the reason I’m wearing this jacket that makes me look like the hulk jizzed all over me is, this jacket is the only jacket I have with big enough pockets to carry this.”

I slipped a hand into my pocket and pulled out my trusty pepper spray.

“Ah. Smart.” He nodded in approval.

“And Dangerous.” I reminded him.

“Definitely dangerous.” He nodded again, solemnly.

Satisfied, I slipped the can back in.

“So really, kind stranger I’m perfectly safe to walk the dark streets of Seoul on this night.”

He smiled and held both hands up , stepping away respectfully.

“A strong independent woman who don’t need no man.” He said with a grin, “ Noted.”

“I’m Shinhye. What’s your name?” I asked brightly.

“Yoongi.” He smiled.

I nodded.

“Alright, Yoongi. I’m gonna go now… By the way why’d you want the CCTV footage?” I smiled at him.

Yoongi hesitated before giving me a small shrug.

“I stabbed a guy in the neck in the store this afternoon . Just wanted to make sure my men turned off the CCTV when it happened.”

I was still smiling, waiting for him to laugh at the joke, which was definitely creepy, but perhaps just in theme with what we had been discussing.

But he didn’t laugh.

And I felt the first stirrings of worry.

“Ha ha ha.” I said nervously.” That’s funny. L-O-L.”

He tilted his head.

“You think stabbing people is funny?”

I blinked, horrified.

“What, of course not… I mean… You didn’t actually stab anyone did you?”

He hesitated.

“To be fair, he stole from me. If I didn’t stab him and drop his body in the Han, then other people are going to think its okay to steal from me too and I just can’t have that.” He said with a shake of his head.

I opened my mouth to say that the joke had stopped being funny, when three other scars came skidding into the parking lot. I yelped, stumbling on a stray rock and Yoongi caught me, hands firm on my arms , drawing me into the warmth of his chest to keep me from falling.

“Careful, petal.” He breathed right against my ear and I froze staring at the men climbing out of the cars.

Now, these men, I could believe were capable of stabbing people.

They wore small dagger at their waist, the outline of pistol holsters on their sides and their thighs.

“Boss, it’s done. We got rid of him. He’ll be fish chow by the morning.” One of them said cheerfully.

Wait.

No.

No way.

This was a dream.

I had dozed off by the tampon aisle and I was having a fever dream.

“Excellent Jungkook-ah. Boys, say hello to my girlfriend, Shinhye.” Yoongi said casually.

I jumped, trying to get away but his arm came right around my shoulder, forearm resting on the swell of my breasts as he held me closely.

“ Your- your what?”

“Girlfriend. I haven’t met a girl this intriguing in a while and well, you’re quite easy on the eyes too…”

“I… I’m not… No.. Please…” I couldn’t quite form a coherent thought.

“Oh, petal , I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t accept that no. I’m going to pick you up for dinner tomorrow night at …well wherever you live. Our first date so wear something pretty yeah?” he nuzzled my neck.

Actually nuzzled it.

What the actual fuck.

“You’re insane. I’m not dating you!” I said shrilly.

“Eight O clock.” He hummed, still pressed right up against my back. The warmth of his body was ridiculously comforting in the chill night air.

Then before I could process what he was doing, one hand came up to curl over my chin in a gently grip, tilting my face back so I was looking up into his beautiful face.

“Don’t make me wait, petal.” He said softly, before reaching down and closing his lips over mine.

It was a soft kiss , over before I could even process it.

“You said you’re dangerous right baby? I’m dangerous too. Maybe together we can be absolutely terrifying , yeah?” he was laughing now.

And i wasn't.

Infact,

I was going to pass the fuck out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note : this is just something fluffy and ridiculous to keep me sane while I write the angsty fics.

#yoongi mafia au #bts mafia au #fluff and smut #bts smut #yoongi smut

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secret-engima · 3 years

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LC Birds: Meeting Child and Accursed

(I have gotten a several asks about Ardyn and Ozpin and such and them meeting and Ardyn wigging out, but I wanted to do a nice ramble on it in a separate post just Because™ so here goes)

...

-Ardyn does not know much about the cloning process. Just that Besithia is able to take blood of himself or even of animals, sometimes long DEAD animals, and grow them into new beings in tubes. He’s never cared. The clones that become MT units are essentially tiny Besithias in his mind, and if the man wants to turn himself into a daemon a thousand times over then let him. Ardyn doesn’t care.

-What he does care about, if only distantly, is the word that comes of King Regis having another child. His two illegitimate children, found at age thirteen a few years ago, have already been the fuel of much gossip in the Niflheim courts. Ardyn had found it amusing that Somnus’s descendant could not keep his lineage in one place. But this child ... this child is his heir.

-This child will be the Chosen King. He can *feel it*.

-And he is curious, in a dark and bitter way, over what this new, “better” Chosen King will look like. So perhaps a year after the “happy” news that the child has been born and his mother recovered from her post-pregnancy complications, Ardyn decides to pay a visit.

-Slipping past the guards is child’s play. They either see one of their own, or a servant, or nothing at all depending on his desire. He steals a keycard from some fool that he allows to remain alive and makes his way up to the royal suites. It doesn’t take him any time at all to find the royal Heir. The twins are in another part of the Citadel, and the young prince’s magic is fresh and new and vulnerable. Easy to track down to a sprawling playroom where Ardyn hears miserable crying through the door.

-”Shh,” someone says as he slips inside, “It’s alright, I can make it better, it’s alright.” Ardyn stills when he sees the Chosen King, at first completely ignoring the young teen rocking him back and forth. The child looks spoiled rotten, chubby with baby fat and red from his tantrum, the source of which Ardyn can see on the chubby cheek. A tiny cut with just the faintest beads of blood. How the child managed to do that is a mystery, but Ardyn feels nothing but scorn. The sheer amount of growing this child will have to do to be anything *interesting* will take more years than Ardyn anticipated. Not that he can’t be patient-.

-Magic.

-Not his, not the child’s. It caresses the Chosen King and NOW Ardyn looks at the teen holding the young prince. The boy is dressed in comfortable finery, with an ornate cane beside him that indicates he himself is not of the best health, but none of that matters because Ardyn is too distracted trying to figure out why the boy’s magic exists. Another wayward elder spawn of the current king perhaps?

-The teen gently touches a finger to the cut, a serene smile on his face as he hums and green magic flickers to life, “There, there, it barely even stings, see?”

-The Chosen King stops crying and coos as the cut heals over-

-And reopens on the teen’s dark skinned one.

-Ardyn forgets everything, forgets stealth, forgets the Chosen King, forgets even to be angry. All he feels is something cold and ugly and fearful in his chest, all pointed at someone other than himself. The teenager is on his feet less than a moment later, the cane in his hand and pointed at Ardyn’s chest like a sword as he backs away, something fearful in his gold eyes and Astrals above.

-Those are Aera’s eyes. Not her color, this boy’s eyes are gold, but the shape, the shape he memorized so long ago, the long, thick lashes, the silver-white hair so common for the males of the Nox Fleuret line. His skin is dark and his eyes are gold but his eye-shape is Aera’s. His wispy, wavy hair is Aera’s. His cheekbones and the way his nostril flare with his fear are all Aera’s even though the magic surging out in alarm-warning-fear-battle is more Lucis Caelum than Oracle and his jawline is just a touch too broad for Aera’s even though it is achingly familiar, as if from a mirror.

-A mirror.

-Aera.

-Him.

-The magic only he had ever possessed, mixed with the warning snaps of Oracle gold that bite at him and make his human guise fall away as the Scourge rises up to snarl back. The boy looks horrified, he looks angry and ready to fight Ardyn to the death even though he has a heavy limp as he backs away with the child king and it hurts Ardyn, on a level he didn’t think he had anymore, because that is Aera’s child. Somehow, some way even though she has been dead and gone for so long. It is like looking at a dark skinned dream, a wish he’d once had that was never meant to be, but that makes no SENSE. Aera is DEAD and Ardyn has never lain with anyone. Ardyn never even laid with Aera, so he cannot be a descendant. And there is no other way for a child to come into being.

-Except there is.

-“Where did you come from,” Ardyn rasps, stalking closer even as the boy’s eyes flash emerald in warning and the cane hums with magic, “Who’s child are you?” The boy stares, and Ardyn roars over the crying child in the teen’s arms, “ANSWER ME.”

-“My name is Ozpin,” the boy manages past the terror Ardyn can see coating his every breath, past the tremble in his hands, “And I never knew the parents who gave me their blood. I woke up on the shores of an island with no memory of how I came to be there.”

-“You have Oracle and Lucis Caelum magic both,” Ardyn growls, “Is not the KING your father?”

-“No.” The teen chokes out as the magic of the twins and the king burns closer-closer-closer to his rescue, “They ran tests. The nearest blood connection I have to the current Lucis Caelum line is two thousand years old-.” He ducks, using his body to shield the child as a green shield flares and guards his back against the glass windows that just shattered. Pieces slam into place and for once even the screaming of the Scourge has no hold on his mind over the chant of Aera-Aera-Aera-Aera’s-child-MY-CHILD-AERA’S-CHILD-. Ardyn’s mind clears. For one moment he feels like himself again. Like the Ardyn he was before the sickness, before Somnus’s betrayal, before he was dragged out of his tomb by Besithia.

-The boy with Aera’s face and hair and Ardyn’s gold-tainted eyes and their magic mixed together in perfect harmony stands up again, and in his face is the sudden calm of someone who has stopped being scared because they are certain that they are going to die protecting another.

-He did that.

-He’s ... frightened the boy.

-He’s frightened Aera’s son.

-The royal twins, the king, and a host of guards burst in moments later, but Ardyn is already gone, flung himself out the shattered window and down into the city to escape, to grieve, to RAGE because he has frightened Aera’s son. A son that shouldn’t exist but DOES and-

-And he knows exactly who is at fault.

-Who should have told him.

-Perhaps it is time to sit down and have that conversation Besithia is always needling for. And when he is done, perhaps it is time for the Empire to find a new head scientist. Because he knows little about cloning, but he knows it can create life from dead bones, and anyone who desecrated Aera’s rest deserved what nightmares the Scourge screaming inside him wanted to unleash.

-(And if he is running from the guilt of frightening the child he never thought he would have, if he is running from the realization that he and Aera had a child only for that child to see him as a MONSTER for the scourge under his veins and the way he found the boy- well. That is his crisis to deal with another time)

-(Meanwhile Ozpin sags into the hold of his Shield and Sword, shaking and bordering on a panic attack as his mind replays the sudden appearance of a man who felt- who lOOKED- like SALEM. Corrupted and sick and not right in the head, and in that moment Ozpin had been so sure the cycle was going to start again, that the man would smile and somehow know to call him Ozma even though the man cannot be Salem and Ozpin knows it-.)

-(He hides his face in the crook of Raven’s neck and tries not to wonder about the way gold eyes had briefly, gut-wrenchingly cleared and become sane again. Become afraid and heartbroken again.)

-(The man had asked about who his parent’s were.)

-(Ozpin refuses to think about how in that moment of sanity, the man’s shade of gold had been exactly Ozpin’s own)

#Secret Engima Rambles #LC Birds verse #long post #RAMBLE #shoot I might fic this verse at this rate

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mareliini · 4 years

Text

of Tangled and Corona and fictional maps

lads i just got up with pure spite bc my morning eyes fell into this post and to yet another “official” map and I want to talk about this. Listen. A couple of friends and I are going semi-feral over maps plastered in tts so it’s time to share that small collection and also yell. Presented below

1. Strategy room map

(ignore the fact the screencap is from rapunzeltopia. It doesn’t matter, only the rock placement is different and also nonexistent in the real map. I couldn’t bother my ass to go find a pic of the real map from s1 bc Fred always stands on the way and it doesn’t matter)

Immediate notes: Corona is positioned on a peninsula. There’s no way to tell the scale of the map but it appears to be rough topography map (argument point: mountains are drawn and not showed like they usually would but I’m a bitch and will ignore than in favour of ranting about that weird worm formation on north). (Seriously what’s up with that weird formation what could it be)

North of the country appears to be quite flat and near the ocean level while south of the country is higher ground (this at least pairs up with the “official” map which i will talk about later).

Wall... sure exists, but its placement in relation to sunflower spot and corona main city baffles me.

Sea monster status: hiding behind too fancy north arrow

2. Varian’s map

(screencapped and very fervently edited in ms paint by your’s truly. It’s missing some bits and pieces but also I’m not redoing it)

Immediate notes: starts the long line of “Varian appearing with some funky perspective map please learn to draw them like a sane person would” nightmare maps, yet somehow still the most accurate description of the country.

The peninsula shape is WILDY different from the strategy room map and they each have different river and lake formations. Peninsula here appears a lot smaller and shorter, and while we see some resemblance for scaling in the border, there’s no explanation for it still. Waterfall visible in some other maps is further south here and whole country seems to be more or less mountain/hill area.

Corona might have some map tradition of drawing maps only relevant for certain areas (Old Corona has given lots of detail here down to the field placements compared to other villages or to the capital which leads me to think other places might do the same). By style it tries to emulate old timey maps which is fine, bc they were all more or less mind maps.

Wall: has towers now

Sea monster status: it apparently exists but I cut it out (friend pointed out)

3. Movie map and book map

(Book map pic credit at the link at the very start of this hellshow of a post) I’m putting these two together bc from the bunch, they resemble each others the most (and are also only maps not shown in the series). Movie credit map seems to be almost identical for book map, just zoomed in.

Immediate notes: this is? drawn by Eugene? (I said and rewatched s2e3 which revealed man can’t draw shit but still) We have a scale now but un-fUCKING-FORTUNATELY it tells us shit. We can always assume that 0 ---- Kilometres means ---- is 1km, but there’s really no way telling that and thus I sadly have to ignore it. It’s also a mind map yet again, does corona...... does corona have any real geographers? no?

Capital placement differs from show maps and so does the peninsula shape, again. Unlike previous maps where landmass kept growing north, here it caps off, indicating even longer peninsula Corona is only a part of. South part of the country appears to be high cliffs while north part has fields and villages, which pairs with strategy room topography map, but could also just be weird perspective. Nothing’s so far explaining the worm formation.

Waterfall I pointed out in previous map actually factoid error, it is here in the same mountain area too. The out-of-the-country bridge is further south compared to varian’s map, but Old corona has still weirdly got lots of focus (ya telling me this bitch ass country got only two bigger towns??). Movie&book map has other, mostly movie related details not relevant and thus not visible in show maps, which saddens me a bit bc hey........ maps.... should be equal..... show us the dam in other maps too you cowards...

Wall: doesnt run from sea to sea, has towers

Sea monster status: definitely there

4. Spire map

Lord forgive me from ever trying to screencap this monster. Whoever did this should be both publicly shamed and fired from making any more maps, I have no words. Friend yelled in chat when I showed this. It’s a spawn of satan and not in a wholesome blue exorcist way.

Immediate notes: Burn it. There’s no north arrow, but based on Capital’s position north is either up or up-left corner (depending on which maps we go by). Neither of those position saves this map from the fact that thERE IS NO LANDMASS IN SOUTH OF CORONA THAT COULD FIT ALL OF THIS. IT’S A PENINSULA. THE WHOLE TIP OF PENINSULA IS CORONA. FUCK OFF-

Wall: Schrödinger's wall at this point

Sea monster status: finally defeated, like my sanity

5. Strategy map vol2

for some reason they had time to place down individual trees yet there’s no fields and also the river is all wrong when compared to reality.

Immediate notes: a clear example of really zoomed in map, the whole portion of the country between capital and old corona is skipped and that’s fine. North arrow comparable with previous show maps but not with movie&book map so it feels like they exist in entirely different universe where whole continent is slightly sifted to north-east.

I’d want to believe this maps gives more accurate reading to Old corona than Varian’s map, giving it’s nature, but it also does.... have the river all wrong and it drives me so mad.

Wall: is there

Sea monster status: left

- Bonus map for the geologists *blows kiss*

I am so sorry but they just bullshitted that particular group project there is no way, listen. I appreciate the effort clearly done here in cataloguing rock placements in what appears to be Old corona but a) they are facing south (Capital is always to the west and can be seen in the bg here) and you’re making pure assumptions based on how they are behaving on the very edges of your east border there and b) thAT PARTICULAR PIECE OF PAPER, LISTEN, that particular piece of paper is positioned smack under Old corona and it’s tunnel system yet you nuckleheads somehow think it’s comparable for the island’s tunnel system oN THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR COUNTRY CAN YOU EVER STOP TO THINK-

I do have the map of s2 places but given how shitass of a map it is I chose not to include it here. It makes me so angry. Not quite as angry as the Spire map but it’s up there and I do not want to think about it. Also I don’t think it was even meant to be accurate or show any real continents so looking at it would give u nothing.

#tangled the series #tts #rta #omat paskat #I will keep you posted on new map discoveries but seeing how we're in s2 I'm not holding my breath #tangled #for friend's blocklist ur welcome also keep liveblogging it to me #i know you wont see that tag but still i enjoy it

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter Ten

My thanks to @statell for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Ten

The track stewards were unmoving in their decision to disqualify Midnight Runner. Track officials made a public announcement, and then it was over. The final word was that Runner had bumped the second-place horse in his rapid advance late in the race. The bump was hard enough to knock the horse's stride off thereby eliminating any chance to win.

Michael, Claire, and Jamie studied the race video repeatedly to see what happened and decided there was little that could have prevented it, unless Claire was doing her part as a jockey.

“It’s a big part of what the jockey does, you watch for openings and potential problems Claire. It’s time for you to become his jockey.”

Claire looked at Michael, “It’s about God damn time.”

They had two weeks before the next race in Kentucky and Claire would learn as fast as she could to prevent further bumps. She would have a long mental talk with Runner, so he understood the consequences of bumping another horse.

Jamie and Michael made sure Runner was safely boarded on the plane and rode back with the handler who brought them. Claire had everything packed and ready when Jamie returned, but she was too quiet. Jamie hugged her and asked for some honest talk time before they left. Sitting across from each other he asked what was on her mind.

“If something goes catastrophically wrong in a race, like yesterday, I wouldn’t be responsible for it up until now, because I wasn’t guiding him. Now I’m nervous that I won’t be a very good jockey and my direction to Runner will be wrong and cause a real mess.”

“It sounds like you trust Runner more than yerself lass. Can ye not see how much yer needed now? The races get harder from here because the weaker horses are gettin pulled from the stakes races. He will be runnin against better horses and he needs yer guidance.”

“I have two weeks to learn how to guide a twelve- hundred- pound speeding bullet with other horses all around us, and I’m terrified at the thought.”

“Ye said ye rode hunter-jumpers until two years ago but ye did more than that, didn’t ye lass?”

She threw him a questioning look.

“Forgive me Sassenach, I checked because I had to know everything about ye. This was back when my crush first started before I kissed ye the first time. It was the only thing I could do when I was missin ye.”

“I’m not sure I follow where this is going, Jamie.”

“Ye did more than just ride. Ye showed them competitively, even through vet school. Ye won yer class at the Hampton Classic did ye not? I watched your jump off and almost had a heart attack at the height and size of the jumps, the tight corners and angles, and the speed! Have ye forgotten that Sassenach? What ye will do in the race doesn’t even compare to that level of control.”

Claire blushed and looked at her hands. “That seems like another lifetime ago Jamie,” she said quietly.

“Well, it wasn’t, love, and it’s time to channel the competitor Claire and learn to race. I haven’t a single doubt about yer ability to learn, and ride him straight through undefeated.”

Jamie pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the love and passion he felt. The colt was still proving he was one in a million with each race he won so they had to keep going. Now that they were going back to Kentucky, there were other issues they would have to deal with. He needed to see her strength, now more than ever.

It was decided that Michael would bunk with Jamie until he found somewhere to live and purchased a car. Jamie hoped Isobel would be cordial and accept the new roommate for the short time he was there.

Rupert pulled up to Claire’s house and waited for Jamie to walk her inside. She clung to him and kissed him before he was out the door, leaving her with all her doubts.

Jamie had explained his living situation and the presence of Isobel to Michael the best he could. The men stopped at the compound to look at the new quarantine wing where Runner and Porcelain Love would stay safe from outside threats. Jamie looked at the new multiplexer and thirty-two cameras that were displayed across two large screens in his office. Tomorrow he would get the doors online and provide pass codes for all the borders and staff. Isobel would not be getting a password and if she walked into the compound she would be followed closely by Rupert or Angus.

Michael appreciated the high tech facility and the improvements Jamie had made while they were in New York. He wasn’t a stupid man. There was more to the story than Jamie had shared and it piqued his interest, not only for Runner’s safety but for the wellbeing of his new friends. He would keep his eyes open and melt into the background for now.

Finding the house empty of one irritating Isobel, Jamie showed Michael to a guest room and went to bed. He sent a text message to Isobel telling her they had a guest so she wouldn’t shoot him when she came home. He laid in his bed and dialed Claire. He missed her already.

“Beauchamp.”

“My love, ye have caller ID do ye not?”

“I never remember to look. How is the most handsome man in the world?”

“What in God’s name is going on over there?”

“Sorry.” Claire closed herself into her room and the giggling girls were no longer heard. “That is Molly and Lulu and some boy that stopped by. I haven’t figured out why they are so happy. They talk so fast I can’t understand a thing they say. They make me feel old.”

“I’ll miss ye tonight mo chridhe. Runner has another two days of rest and I will lose my mind by then. Can I come over tomorrow night?”

“Anytime, day or night, Jamie. I’ll miss you too. Goodnight love.”

“Goodnight.”

The weight of the world became too heavy for Jamie to bear so he gave in to sleep and let the blackness carry him away.

Michael struggled with insomnia and tonight it was next to impossible to fall asleep. He decided to take a walk and stop sheet boxing. Once on the road, he naturally walked toward the compound enjoying the lovely evening. Large floodlights made it easy to find his way into the stall area and he walked the aisles looking at beautiful horses tucked in for the night. He found Runner’s wing and slipped in to give him some love when he was jumped from behind and almost strangled in the process.

“My name is Michael, I’m a guest of Jamie’s!”

Suddenly the weight on his back was gone and Rupert was sputtering his apology. Once Michael could breathe again, he asked why he was attacked. Rupert explained they were taking turns sleeping near Runner for his protection.

“Jamie will activate the new locks tomorrow, so we won’t have to do this anymore.”

“What are you protecting him from?”

“Well, two years ago someone tried to poison Jamie’s horses. Several died but Claire was able to save the others, including Runner. She cut him right out of the dead dam. So lately, there’s talk of someone comin into the stall area, late at night. Jamie and Claire got worried the same person was tryin to kill them again. Or steal them. That’s why we have all this new equipment and this quarantine wing. Just an excuse to fortify the walls, purify the air, and keep the feed separate. They never found the guy that tried to kill them so he’s still out there.”

Michael couldn’t believe his ears but now he understood all the new security. It seemed a bit over-reactive, but he never had someone try to kill his horses before.

“This person who came to the stalls recently, who saw him and did they ask why the guy was here?”

“No, Claire heard about it from Runner who was scared shitless about it, and it was a woman.”

“Come again?”

“It was a woman he said.”

“Who said?”

“Runner.” Michael was trying to keep his composure as he backed away from Rupert. He wanted to get out of the compound and back to the sane people right away.

“I see. Well, goodnight, sorry I bothered you.”

Rupert watched the man walk swiftly to the outside door thinking he was a bit odd. The horses were sound asleep again, so Rupert jumped back into his blankets and joined them.

Michael was replaying the scene with Rupert on his way back to the house, convinced Rupert was challenged in some way and Jamie gave him a job out of the kindness of his heart. That must be it, he told himself. Before he got to the house his cell phone was vibrating with a message from Claire. It was only ten o’clock so he called her back.

“Beauchamp.”

“Claire, hello, just got your text as I was walking back to Jamie’s. I went down to the compound to walk off some stress and ran into Rupert.”

“Oh, okay, now you’re walking back. I see.”

“Rupert told me about the woman who was coming to the stalls late at night. I was wondering, who found her?”

“No one found her.”

”How do you know she was here then?”

“Runner told me.”

Michael heard the bomb go off in his mind and he staggered to get his legs under him so he didn’t fall. His heart was pounding, and his hand pushed sweat off his forehead.

“Well, goodnight Michael. I will see you in a couple of days.”

“Yes, goodnight Claire.”

Michael felt like he was in the twilight zone where people seemed normal until they had you on a breeding farm in the middle of nowhere and then revealed they were all crazy. He couldn’t walk himself out of here if he tried. It had to be many miles to the nearest store or gas station, and he had no idea which way to go. He had no choice except lock himself in his room until morning then ask for a ride to town.

Jamie was pulling wire into his office the next morning when Michael came in. He looked a bit under the weather and Jamie asked if he was well. Michael was fidgeting and looking at the ground while Jamie was distracted by running the wire.

“I came down here last night when I couldn’t sleep. I spoke to Rupert after he nearly choked me to death. We had a nice talk about things.”

Jamie looked at Michael, “what kind of things?”

“Well, the woman who visits the stalls late at night. He said Runner told you.”

“Nah, he doesna talk to me, only Claire.”

Michael was positive now, they were all crazy. “Do you think I could get a ride into town, right now?”

“Of course, Rupert can drive ye.”

“Is there anyone else available?”

Jamie put down the wire and looked at the trainer.

“What’s goin on Michael, yer acting very strange and why don’t ye come in and take a seat?”

“I need to get on my way actually, right now, and I can’t wait.”

Jamie could see the man was terrified and wondered what happened to him.

“Michael, ye mean a lot to us and I hate to see ye go. What’s happened to ye?”

He described what happened the night before and his brief conversation with Claire.

Jamie dialed Claire and told her they were coming over so she could talk to Michael about talking to animals. On the way, he had plenty of time to explain what happened the first time Claire came to Highland Brothers to do yearling checks and instead, walked into a mass poisoning.

“She held their head and started calling out drugs to mix into a cocktail. No way she could have assessed the poisoning so precisely but in the end, she saved all but five. My prized dam died and Claire cut the colt out of her. I bottle raised him which is why he had to be taught to run, I think. I dinna think he knew he was a horse. Claire taught him by racing him like he was a kid. It worked, now he only wants to race. When I saw him really run, I was stunned by his speed. He wouldn’t accept a rider until Claire held his head and told him something. She is the only one who can ride him.”

Michael looked like he wanted to open the door and run. Anywhere, it didn’t matter, as long as it was away from Jamie. The story he just heard was pure fiction, that was obvious, but who was such a master to perpetuate such a tail. Claire. She must truly be gifted to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, he thought. He felt a bit sorry for gullible Jamie, but it wasn’t his business. He had one task in front of him, get away from these people and find a way back to New York.

Claire clicked off feeling a deep worry about Michael leaving them. She asked Molly to please stick around to add her testimony and rushed to get dressed.

Claire welcomed them all to sit on the patio and went inside for a pitcher of lemon aid. Jamie followed her and told Molly to make sure Michael didn’t bolt for the stairs.

“Give me yer mouth Sassenach,”

Jamie kissed her several times before carrying the pitcher outside, followed by Claire who sat down and waited for Michael’s questions. The neighbor's cat was a regular visitor to her porch and jumped into Claire’s lap, purring with happiness at being stroked.

Claire could see Michael was not open-minded now and her answers fell on deaf ears. She told the cat to lick the face of the man near the stairs and sent a mental image.

“Michael, do be kind and let the kitty lick your face, don’t scare him.”

Michael looked at Claire like she was crazy because cats didn’t like him and never gave him a second look. The cat jumped in his lap and got up on hind legs to lick his cheek. Then it went back to Claire’s lap and curled up in the sun.

The silence was deafening as Michael struggled to accept what he just saw with his own eyes.

“Michael, it’s not important that you believe me, those closest to me had a very hard time with it. I understand that and do not force the issue. We can all coexist for the sake of Runner and hold our own beliefs. We are not a group of crazy people that believes we can talk to animals. Only me.”

That seemed to snap Michael out of his fear-based silence and he looked at Jamie.

“You don’t hear animals talking?”

“Never have, only Claire.”

“As long as I don’t offend you believing animals can’t talk to any human, I’m in.”

“It will not offend me, Michael, and I am very relieved to hear you are still with us.”

Jamie gave Claire a long look as they were leaving. It seemed she was always alone, starting with her parent's death and now a special gift that no one believed in. He wondered how she could be so level-headed, so compassionate, and not hate the world. He could hardly wait to get back here after work. He needed to hold her and tell her what was in his heart.

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a-common-haitian-name · 5 years

Text

The Legend of Little Jane

Please do not distribute my work to other sites without my permission. This was a small assignment for school that is mainly for the purpose of getting feedback. It is a bit long though so please keep that in mind.

On November 19th, at exactly 11:24 at night, detective John Lynch was asked by his friend Nick to come over. The night sky was dark and dull, not a sole star in sight. The only sources of light were from the old, dim street lamps, flickering on and off repeatedly and revealing the secret city below. The lights revealed the dirty streets that was filled with tired men trudging through the streets, worn out from work or yelling on their phones, or soccer moms coming out of bars after breaking their sobriety, or addicts wandering around aimlessly, looking for their next fix, their clothes old and torn. He adorned a long brown trench coat, with black slacks, and black leather gloves before he went out into the night. John felt the cold, winter air hit his face as he left his old, and deteriorating motel room. It was only going to get colder, John remembered, and groaned as he walked to his car. His feet made splashes in the puddles from the rain, and he shivered as the icy water hit and seeped into his pants. The once shiny blue paint on the car was now chipping off on the sides. Scratches and dents aligned the right side of his car, ranging from long to short, deep to shallow, and the word destroyer was keyed jaggedly on the left. John couldn’t afford to get it fixed. John opened the door and watched as a few beer cans fell onto the pavement with a soft thunk. Some were empty and crushed, while others were half full and spilling onto the concrete. He could smell the old beer coming from the floor of the car. It was putrid and filling John with disgust. John promised himself that he would clean his car. John moved the trash and paperwork out of his way (he couldn’t tell which one was which) and started the car. While he waited for the car to warm up, he took a small, black, leather notebook the size of his hand out of the glove compartment and opened it up. The notebook was old, and John couldn’t remember how long he had it, or who even gave it to him. The edges of the book were curled in, and the once white edges of the book were now brown and crumpled. The cover of the book was bumpy and rough, like sandpaper. The words methane and fire were the first words he saw written in the book, next to acid and smoke. Some of the words were either scribbled in the book, almost to a point of unreadability, or they were written neatly and with care, perfect enough for Catholic school. John liked to write in the book. It kept him sane, and grounded. It was a way to avoid the dreaded reality of his miserable existence. John wrote 11:24 and went to see what his friend needed. At 11:45, John arrived at Nick’s house. It was an old Victorian house, bought because his wife was richer than both of them combined. The outside was a light blue, with many windows and white borders. They had once bright plants in the front of their yard, that wilted and lost their color, and had yet to be replaced. Nick was an old friend of John’s. He was a nurse at the hospital across their small town, and has a wife and 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl, all 3 years apart. John could barely remember what they looked like. A part of John wished he could have something like that. Nick was standing on his porch, pacing back and forth, his bare feet hitting the wood at a fast rate. The red wood under him squeaked like an old mattress as he walked. Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat. The rhythm replayed in John’s mind until he approached Nick, and Nick stopped pacing. Fast flashed through John’s mind, and he made a note to write it down later.

“John!” Nick’s voice sounded panicked, and he looked somewhat disheveled. His dirty blonde hair was all over the place, and his gray robe was opened slightly, revealing dirty gray sweatpants and an old, tight-fitting t-shirt.

“What is it Nick?” It was the first time he spoke in hours. His voice was almost gone, and his breath smelled like cheap liquor and breath mints.

“I need your help! There’s this girl who might not be safe! Her parents aren’t answering the phone when we try to call them, I’m really worried because it’s been a few hours, and... and...” Nick was talking too fast for John to understand, and John asked him to slow down. “Nancy, my wife, has been tutoring a little girl around Susie’s age,” Susie was his daughter, about 6 to 7 years old, John remembered. “Nancy gave the girl her number to call us whenever she needed something, like to be picked up or if she needed food, and she called tonight, well I think it was her because no one was talking on the other line, and I don’t know if she’s alright! She might be hurt or in danger or worse-” John stopped him from saying anything else. Nick tended to ramble when he was nervous. He would’ve talked for hours if John hadn’t stopped him.

“Nick, tell me where she lives.” John ordered slowly, as to not push him into another tangent.

“It’s in the woods, 20 minutes east of Old Al’s pitstop.” John thought back, trying to remember where that place was. Old Al was long dead, and with him went the pitstop. No one has taken care of it in years. The place was surrounded by overgrown vegetation, and its only visitors were kids going to drink and vandalize the place, or animals passing through. John wondered why anyone would want to live near t///here. Despite his skepticism he got into his car and drove to the house, though in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him not to go.

When John arrived at the house, an eerie feeling passed through him. The entire area around the house felt empty. There were no trees around the house, no animals making any noise, not even a car in front of the house. The house felt out of place, like someone just picked up a house and placed it down at a random spot. The outside of the house was a plain creme color, and vegetation crept up the sides, clinging onto nothing before falling back down, only to repeat the same process over and over again. Growth flashed through his mind. Write it down later, John reminded himself. John knocked on the giant, white door and watched as it slowly slid open, with no one on the other side. John peeked inside, checking to see if anyone was there.

“Hello?” John called, but he received no answer. His feet hit the fluffy blue welcome mat, and he wiped the mud off his shoes as he stepped inside. The house was as empty on the inside as it was on the outside. To the left of him was a kitchen, where everything was white and clean. No dishes in the sink or any leftover food on the counter. To the right was a living room with one small couch against the brown wooden floor. In the middle was a long hallway with three white doors. Probably a bathroom and two bedrooms, John guessed. There was nothing on the walls. There were no family photos hung up, nor where there any Christmas decorations put up early. There were no undecipherable drawings from children of houses or of their family, or any annoying toys that make noises that ring throughout the house. The walls were the same crème color as the outside, and the furniture wats the same shade of white. The house was completely silent except for the drip drop of the water from the sink, and the low murmur of the tv in the living room. In the middle of the living room there was a little girl. She sat with her knees up to her face and her eyes glued to the tv screen, not blinking even once. The child had wispy black, curly hair, which was cut into different, and choppy lengths. Her eyes were black, unmoving, and caught in a trance. She was wearing a pair of blue fairy pajamas that were old and seem to be becoming too small for her and had a bandage on the inside of her right arm, from a scratch or a fall, John guessed. Bruised, John thought briefly, before walking up to her. The girl was shivering intensely, and John couldn’t blame her. The house was freezing, and John didn’t spot a heater anywhere. He squatted down to her level and waved a hand in front of her face. She still didn’t move. John’s eyes flickered from her to the tv. She was watching an old black and white show, one that John couldn’t remember the name of. The same scene was playing repeatedly. A woman, pale and doe eyed, running through the halls, away from the fast approaching shadow that was going to consume her whole. John walked to the tv and turned it off. When he looked back at the girl, he saw that she was now staring back at him. “My name’s John. What’s your name?” She only blinked once and shrugged her shoulders. “Where’s your parents?” John asked her. She stared at him for a few seconds, still not blinking, and stood up slowly, stumbling as she got up. John noticed Jane written poorly on her leg, the lines jagged and rough. “Jane? Is that your name?” John asked again but got no answer. The girl walked past John, into the hallway, and stopped in front of the first door on the right. Jane (John guessed that was her name) stood there for a few seconds before turning the shiny yellow knob and opening the door. John pulled Jane aside and walked into the room. John then faced the unholy sight of two dead bodies on the bed. One man and one woman. They both had black hair and had olive skin. Their eyes were closed, and they both looked so peaceful. They weren’t dressed like they were ready for bed. The man was in pair of basketball shorts and had a t- shirt on, while the woman had on a bathrobe, which was slightly open, revealing the lingerie under it. The only thing that were alike between the two were their golden wedding bands. Husband and wife. John concluded. Parents. John looked behind him to see Jane just staring at the two on the bed.

“Nothing’s alright in the end...” Were the only words Jane spoke. John quickly grabbed Jane and left the room, spotting a propane heater on the way out. John called the police, and sat with Jane until they, and the paramedics, arrived forty-five minutes later.

“Propane poisoning, I’m guessing.” The paramedic told him, watching as someone took the now empty tank of the propane heater out of the house, two body bags following close behind. “We’ll be sure once a full autopsy is done... Is that the daughter?” The paramedic tilted his head to Jane, who was sitting quietly on the ground right in front of the tv. John nodded. “So sad to see someone experience something like this at such a young age.” John decided he would drive Jane back to the police station. John led Jane to his beat-up car and opened the back door for her. Jane moved the liquor covered papers and beer bottles to the side and sat in the car. John closed the door and went to the driver’s side, where destroyer was waiting for him. John got in his car and looked back at Jane one last time before driving off. Fast, growth, and bruised ran through his head, replaying over and over until the loud sound of the rain drowned it out. John was brought back to reality when he heard the low rumble coming from the back.

He looked at Jane through the dirty mirror and asked her, “Are you hungry?” John received a small yes in response, and John decided to visit a small diner nearby. Betsy’s, John thinks the name was. The diner had been there even before John was born. It was a small diner, big enough for 10 tables and a kitchen. It was white and always smelled of cleaning supplies, cheap food and cigarettes. It was starting to rain when they arrived at the diner, and they had to run inside. They sat at a small booth in a corner. “What do you want to eat?” John asked Jane. She shrugged. John ordered her french-fries. He ordered himself a beer, which arrived quickly. The two were quiet while they were waiting for Jane’s food, until John decided to break the silence. “Jane do you know what happened to your parents?” He asked.

“They died...” Was her answer as she shifted in the plastic red chair. Pit pat. Pit pat. The rain became louder as it hit the window and dropped to the ground. Jane’s food arrived, and she started to eat it slowly.

“Do you know how?” It was a long shot, and John didn’t know why he was asking her these questions. He blamed it on the liquor.

“They were fighting,” She started, tearing a fry into 3 tiny pieces with her little hands before eating it. “I’m not supposed to move when they fight.” There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat. That eerie feeling from earlier was back now.

“Did you move?” John asked. Jane only nodded her head, looking down at her plate.

“I didn’t want to hear it anymore. They were so loud, all the time. I wanted it to stop.”

“What did you do?” John asked. His beer was gone now, and he was starting to become anxious. A tear rolled down her face, and she made no room to wipe it away.

“I took the tank... I remember father telling me not to breathe too much of it because it could hurt me, but I saw father using it all the time, so I thought I could do it too.” John took notice of how she said father instead of dad or daddy. Formal pounded into his head. “They came into the room and pushed me out. They were still fighting. The tank was still on.” Jane stopped eating and was full blown crying now. John could imagine how it played out. The parents, still unnamed, stormed throughout that one-story house in the middle of nowhere. One was probably chasing and yelling after the other. Little Jane was sitting tightly in front of the tv, probably put there to distract her. Later, the tv is turned down, while the yelling continued. For how long, John didn’t know. They had probably taken the argument to the kitchen or outside, close enough for Jane to hear it. Jane, most likely at her limit, took the tank from the kitchen or a toolshed in the back. John wondered how long it took Jane to drag the tank to the room. Four, maybe five, minutes. He imagined Jane turning the gas on, waiting as the gas quietly filled the room. Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat. John imagined the parents coming into the room, one of them yanking Jane by her arm and taking her out the room. They were still arguing and probably weren’t paying attention to the open tank. They probably argued themselves to sleep and died through the night. Dark came to him.

“Why didn’t you say something?” The sound of the rain became unbearable at that moment. Jane, her tears now gone, didn’t give him an answer, and only looked out the window next to her.

#writeblr #writing #black writers #writers on tumblr #fiction #thriller #or at least that was what I was trying to go for #critics are welcomed #my writing

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eternallyyoungjustice · 5 years

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Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry I skipped a week guys. Life’s been hella chaotic with school and the new pupper and I just didn’t have time to write or publish. But without further ado, here we go. Not super happy with this one, but c’est la vie.

Deléson, France

July 6

15:00

Deléson is known by few as a rural pearl amongst a city oyster. Sprawling farmland for as long as the eye can see, one’s sight line only obstacled by the patches of large trees and small cottage-esk houses, a calm river twisting through the town that was commonly accompanied by groups of children playing. All this in a decently short distance from the beautiful and bustling city of Paris. So although the community of Deléson was close, and more than happy to trade resources with one another, anyone could easily go to the neighbouring capital to pick up anything they couldn’t get locally.

This was one upside that the Dubois family took advantage of quite often, especially the middle child amongst them.

Evangélina Dubois was quite familiar with the road that lead in and out of Paris to Deléson, and for good reason. For one, the school she had been going to for the better part of two years was located just at the border. And although that particular building was far from her favorite, it was definitely a staple in her life. But then it came to her legitimate favorite building in the city: the Martín Dance Studio.

As much as her ‘extracurriculars’ helped her move on from her accident, it was the dance studio that kept her sane. When Lina woke up from her coma and was forced into a normal civilian life, or as normal as it would be with the aforementioned extracurriculars, she found one of the biggest holes in her life, save for her mother, was her act. When she effectively became a simple girl from a simple French town, she could practically feel her muscles cry to her every minute to be pushed to their full potential. To fly through the air without the Winds. To fly with only her own strength, endurance, and maybe a little chalk.

Meeting and befriending her only friend outside of her second life helped fix that. It gave her a reason to bike into Paris every day. It gave her free access to a dance studio for an hour, maybe two if she really begged.

And the beautiful fresh air Lina was exposed to on that hour-long one-way bike trip, plus the gorgeous scenery that still managed to catch her by surprise after years of living in it, was more than a fair price to pay for a sense of pseudo-normalcy.

So yes, it was safe to say that whenever the Dubois family was in need of something that they couldn’t simply trade one of their many friendly neighbours for, Lina was often the one to volunteer to go into town and get it.

Even if she often dreaded the final stretch, having to balance a load of full paper bags into the house by herself since nobody on the property bothered to answer to her call for help.

So much for a loving family.

Upon giving up on trying to twist the handle herself, Lina resorted to kicking on the yellow wood of the house’s front door.

“If any of the seven people that sleep on this plot of land would be so kind as to simply open a door, it would very much appreciated!” Lina shouted for good measure, a tone of underlying annoyance in her voice.

A moment and lots of muffled shuffling later, the door swung open to reveal a pale, slightly wrinkled, dirt-covered face.

“Sorry Miss, didn’ hear you pull in.” The thick Cockney accent of Travis Jones rushed as he gave the much younger girl a lop-sided grin which accented his missing teeth.

Huffing in a deep breath, Lina tightness her grip on her bags and waddled into her family home. “Not a problem Travis, I wasn’t angry at you. Thank you for getting the door though. Do you know if my brothers are here and alive?”

Travis ruffled his dull red hair, which released a couple specks of dirt from the strands. “Pretty sure they’re both upstairs Miss, and breathin’ last I heard.”

Lina dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter, which sat just by the front door, and exhaled deeply. “I swear those two...you’re our field-hand, our friend. Not our butler. I feel bad that you had to get the door, and for yelling.”

“Like I said Miss, no problem. Happy to help, I am. I was just heading out anyways, just finished lunch y’see. All of us did, including your Dad. I think he’s back out in the fields, you want me to get him for you? Or I could help put away some of them there bags if you’d like.”

“That’s really not necessary Travis, but thank you.” Lina smiled. “And don’t worry about my Father, I’ll see him at dinner, as I presume I’ll also be seeing you?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way Miss.” Travis said, nodding his head in farewell before ducking out the door. Sighing once more, Lina went to putting away her recent purchases. But not before letting out a loud, strong “Boys!”.

There was a number of thumps, some colourful words in various languages, more thumps, and then the patter of socked feet running down the wooden steps that connected the two levels of the house. Those feet, Lina was not surprised to see, were accompanied by a tall, well-built body and a head of golden blonde. However, that body was missing something very important.

“Calvin,” Lina frowned at her older brother, “where is your shirt?”

The eldest of the Dubois siblings looked down at his bare chest, then shrugged. “I was warm.”

“So you decided to go around half-naked?” Lina’s eyebrows furrowed even further.

Calvin seemed to think for a moment, then nodded. Lina, used to her brother’s antics by now, simply shook her head in disbelief. Unzipping the thin pullover that she had been wearing, one that had been his a few months back, she threw the article of clothing at the blonde.

“Ah, so I finally get this back then?” Calvin asked, smirking as he slipped the pull-over on.

“For now.” Lina smirked back. Her remark was quickly followed by the frantic footsteps of much lighter feet. Once the footsteps had made their way to the bottom of the stairs, a very flushed and disoriented-looking Leo made his appearance. The barely thirteen year old snarled as he directed his eyes to Lina, but pointed an accusing finger at Calvin.

“He shoved me into upstairs closet and locked the door! I had to pick the lock to get out!” The young boy exclaimed, causing Lina to glare at Calvin. The eldest simply shrugged.

“What?” Calvin said nonchalantly, switching to English. “We all know he’s ‘in the closet’ already.”

“Calvin!” Lina exclaimed.

Leo was left massaging his temples in annoyance as he took a seat next to Calvin. “‘Come out to your family’, they said. ‘It’ll make everything some much easier’, they said.” He mumbled under his voice, interweaving French and English as he spoke, something he did when he was thinking.

After taking a moment to rub the bridge of her nose, Lina focused back on her brothers. “I'm making a late lunch, have the two of you eaten?”

Both boys shook their heads, and Lina sighed as she began her cooking. As she prepared the meal, conversation flowed easily among her and her siblings. They spoke of the students Leo had volunteered to tutor during the summer holidays, Calvin's new girlfriend, Lina's new team and their adventures in Cadmus, and a new film they all wanted to see together.

When he was a boy, Calvin's blonde hair had always been cut short as to remove any possible fire-hazard. His face had always been chiseled and fairly attractive-looking as a young man, from the age of 16 he'd picked up quite a talent for flirting with female audience members. A long nose, bushy eyebrows, strong jaw, and-as was rampant amongst the Dubois family- lots of freckles. These past few years however, Calvin had let his hair grown so it nearly brushed his chin and fell into his eyes-the same eyes as his sister's. He had achieved a sort of American surfer look with his naturally wavy hair. He'd also filled out a bit which had gained him a fair amount of muscle mass. But what always concerned Lina was the growing number of little scars that would occasionally pop up on his face every once in a while. Nothing so major as to alarm suspicion, but enough to catch Lina's attention.

Leo however, had done very little to change in appearance these past few years. While Calvin and Lina had both taken up certain physical exercises that had led them to become bigger (moreso Calvin than Lina, much to her dismay), Leo had become more studious and dedicated to reading and indoor activities. Although the rapid growth spurts that came with puberty had made him fairly tall, taller than his sister at the absolute very least, and he was lanky and almost skeletal-looking. A marvel in fact, as the boy would eat as much as some of the family's pigs. To add to the contrast between him and his brother, Leo had strictly kept his hair shortly trimmed in an almost buzz-cut that showed off his pointed featured and elf-like ears. His eyes, wide and hazel much like their mother's, were framed by large, circular glasses which took up more than its share of his face.

As Lina gazed at her brothers, a sense of love and pride filled her chest and a small smile pulled her lips thin. Every single one of the family members had taken the accident hard, and who could blame them? Losing their mother, having one of the children fall into a coma that she may not have ever woken up from, having to leave the circus their families had been a part of for 5 generations and their friends/family because of the ghosts that lingered. It was terrible. But slowly and surely, they were each recovering.

Sure, Lina thought, Markus had driven himself head-first into his work, Calvin had become an adrenaline junkie and would disappear to Goodness-knows-where for hours at a time, and Leo isolated himself into his schoolwork and books. But they were recovering, and they were together. At the end of the day, that was what mattered.

Lina's thoughts were interrupted by her phone buzzing in her pocket. Placing the lid on the pot she had been stirring, she took out the device and opened it to see that it was simply a text from her friend.

Hey Lina,

Sorry to hear I missed you at the studio this morning. I have a new CD I've been meaning to hand out to you, you'll love it. I think there's one song you would really love to dance to. I'm working the closing shift tomorrow if you want to drop by and pick it up.

-Q

“A message from a lover?” Calvin asked, tipping his head forward.

“Quinn, actually.” Lina responded, quickly typing out ‘yes, absolutely!’ and pressing send before placing her phone back in her pocket.

“Boring.” Leo hummed, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips.

“Indeed, for a moment I thought you were actually going to be exciting, Evangélina.” Calvin smirked as well.

Lina frowned at her brothers. “I'm a hero with superpowers.” She argued. “What more do you want from me?"

Both brothers just shrugged and fell back into their previous conversation. Lina simply rolled her eyes and finished preparing the meal, scooping the thick liquid into a trio of bowls once it was complete.

“Smells delectable.” Calvin smiled as Lina placed the bowls in front of the two of them.

“Boeuf bourguignon?” Leo asked, and Lina nodded as she began to spoon into her own bowl.

“A cheap version. We had some leftover beef and vegetables that I thought I should use.”

“Definitely no complaints here.” Calvin laughed as he dug in.

As the three ate, they continued to speak to one another. Except this time, the conversation was more disjointed and they bounced from random topic to random topic, jokes and laughter thrown in at points which would make the occasional person almost choke on their meal. But sadly, their conversation was cut off by someone walking through the door. A strongly-built middle-aged man, in his mid-40s, with a weathered face full of wrinkles, bright freckles, salt and pepper hair, and blue eyes.

“Ah, so the rumors are true.” Markus Dubois smiled happily. “All three of my children are home and together for once. I'm surprised nobody's bleeding on the ground yet.”

“Eat first, then fighting to the death.” Calvin laughed, lifting his spoon towards his father before bringing it to his mouth.

“Lina made boeuf bourguignon, if you'd like some.” Leo offered.

“Thank you, but I already ate.” Markus said, patting his stomach as he walked over to where his children sat. “Besides, eating too much of Lina's cooking will make me even fatter.”

Lina rolled her eyes as her brothers snickered, Markus simply placed a leathered hand on his daughter's head before walking away.

“I'm just here to pick up something in the back. Keep the fighting to the death to a minimum, alright? I don't need the house being thrown up into the sky, or my walls painted in blood.”

“Yes sir.” The trio of teens said in unison as their father disappeared into the back of the house. Once the man came back and left to go through the front door however, he seemed to freeze, then turn back to Lina.

“Ah, Evangélina, it's for you.”

Frowning, Lina stood and walked over to the door only to find a tall, strong-looking, blonde woman standing there clad in a pair of fishnet stockings, shorts, a corset, a leather jacket, and a stern look.

“Black Canary, it's nice to see you again.” Markus nodded, slightly apprehensive towards the woman.

Dinah Lance gave off a strict ‘I can kill you with just a look’ vibe, even in a fairly small uniform. Strong, defined muscles from years and years of tough training and even tougher mentors, scars littering her pale skin like sprinkles on a cake, and a cold grey gaze that could freeze many people more than most ice-themed heroes or villains. To say that you didn't want to mess with her would be an understatement. But after two years of knowing her, Lina knew that there was a much softer side in her. Especially around the French girl herself, Roy, or her long-term boyfriend Ollie AKA Oliver Queen AKA Green Arrow.

“You too Mr. Dubois, it's been too long.” The blonde smiled back, then focused on Lina. “Hey kid.”

“Hey Dinah.” Lina replied, sheepishly smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt Markus,” Dinah smiled, turning back to the older man, “but I was wondering if I could steal Lina away for an hour or two? We have some things I'd like to discuss.”

Markus sighed, but remained smiling. “Of course not, as long as it's okay with her.”

Lina smiled to her father and nodded. “I'm not really very hungry anyways.”

“So much for all three of us being together for once.” Calvin snorted loudly from back in the kitchen.

“Too good to be true!” Leo added, chuckling just as loudly.

“In that case, best to get some training gear on Girly.” Dinah said, sharp gaze meeting Lina's much softer one. “We've got some grounding to do.”

Lina let out a small, quiet, whine of anxiety and woe as she made her way upstairs.

“I'll be home in time to make supper.” She called from to her family from the stairs. “Although whether or not I'll able to move, we'll have to wait and see…”

“Have fun being grounded.” Calvin called back.

“Don't get too bruised up.” Leo added. “Or else how will you handle our fighting to the death?”

Grant’s Gym

June 6

12:23

Lina felt the air rush out of her diaphragm as she plummeted onto the hard floor below her, her body seizing for a split-second in reaction to the sheer force.

“I'm not saying you guys were wrong.” Dinah argued as she paced slightly over Lina's fallen body. “Just that you should have taken more precautions. What if you guys had died down there? We never would have known!”

“I’m fairly certain you would have figured it out.” Lina gasped, barely spitting out the words as she tried to regain her breath. “Also, ow.”

“You’re getting good at using your opponent's strength against them, which is good. And your defense has definitely improved.” Dinah nodded. “But you need to up your offense, I know you can do better.”

Lina took a deep breath and picked herself up, taking another fighting stance as Dinah did the same.

This time, it was Lina who made the first attack; lunging forward with a strong punch, which Dinah easily blocked and countered with her own. Following suit Lina blocked the punch, but followed it by latching onto the older woman's arms and using them as leverage hold the woman and kick Dinah in the stomach, using the attack as a spring-board to flip over, landing in a crouching position as Dinah staggered back, winded but safe do to the armour in her corset.

“Better?” Lina asked.

“You're still using mostly defense-strong attacks, you need to learn how to simply attack your opponent as well.” Dinah explained, coming at Lina again. Grabbing onto her shoulders, Dinah moved to force Lina onto the ground but the younger girl rolled; causing the two to summersault until Lina could push her legs up, kicking Dinah off of her and using the momentum to kick-up to a standing position. However, Dinah seemed to plan for this, and from her position on the floor where Lina had kicked her to, she spun her body around and knocked the younger fighter's legs out from under her. Once again, Lina found her body hitting the floor.

“If your opponent realizes early on that your a defensive fighter, they'll try to overpower you and get the upper hand. You need to be able to adapt and switch between offensive and defensive when the time comes in order to keep your opponent on their toes.”

Lina let a few curses, varying in language, escape her lips as she ran her wrapped-up hands over her face.

“I'm a dancer Dinah, an acrobat. I'm agile and fast. Not strong. I'm no Superman, I'm not able to take a missile to the chest and still punch out an army.” Lina groaned, sitting up. “I get that I'm being 'grounded’ but isn't this a little much? We've been at it for hours!”

Although she usually didn't mind Dinah's tough-love during sparring, two hours of getting slammed into Ted Grant's gym fighting rings’ floor was making Lina irritable.

“It doesn't matter that you're not Superman, Lina.” Black Canary spoke calmly as she walked over and offered Lina a hand. “I know you and your potential. I know you can do this. And I know that no matter who or what you are, as a hero: you need to be able to survive in a fire fight.”

As Lina took Dinah's hand and the woman pulled her up, the famous Black Canary fell back into her fighting stance. “Now,” the blonde woman tossed a little bit of hair that had fallen over her shoulder away, “let's try this again.”

“Please!” Lina heard a voice plea. “Use us! You will certainly win the battle if you summon us!”

Lina shook her head. This was a strict fist-only battle. No Winds, no Canary Cry.

She was going to win this one, and it was going to be by herself.

Taking a running start, Lina made to give Dinah a strong right hook, which was once again blocked. The younger of the two didn't wait for a counter attack however, as she went to knee her trainer in the stomach. Dinah must have sensed this however, as the woman swiftly took her free hand and used it to push Lina to the side by the head. Realizing that if she didn't act fast, the battle would be over; Lina swung her head around Dinah's hand and, while the older woman was distracted, directed a strong punch into her corset-covered side. This caused the blonde to not only release Lina's arm, but also to stagger to the side. Not wasting a moment, Lina straightened up and, after running at Dinah again, put all her strength into delivering a left hook. This time, the punch met its mark, and Dinah was dazed enough for Lina to knock her feet out from under her with an easy lower roundabout kick.

As Dinah fell onto her forearms and hands, she watched as Lina unclenched her fists, took a deep breath, and released the tension in her body.

“Now that was better.” Dinah smiled.

“I, uh…” Lina massaged her arm, where her muscles were still tensed. “I guess something you said struck a chord with me.”

“Like I said, you have the potential in you to be a fairly ferocious fighter. We have to work on really unlocking that. For now though…” Dinah spoke as she kicked-up, “Let’s take a break, we've been at it for a while.”

Dinah walked over to the side of the ring and jumped over the railing, but Lina stood there; still rubbing her arm with a dazed-over look in her eyes.

“Kid?” Dinah asked, looking back at her trainee.

Snapping out of her gaze, Lina whirled around, looking startled.

“Pardon?”

“You alright? You looked like you spaced out there for a second.” Dinah asked.

Lina paused, going to nod, but then hesitated and looked down at her first. “It's just...I thought of something from Cadmus...Something that happened when Blockbuster-Desmond was trying to clone us…”

Lina suddenly shook her head, shaking the thought away. “Nevermind, it's nothing.”

Dinah raised an eyebrow, and watched cautiously as Lina flew over the walls of the ring and landed beside her. “Alright then, if you say so…”

The two women took drinks of water in silence for a moment, the elder watching the younger carefully before deciding to break the silence.

“So…about Roy.”

Lina pulled her water bottle away from her lips, turning her gaze to the blonde woman that stood in front of her. Dinah crossed her arms, leaning back against the ring in front of the young brunette.

“I've texted him a couple times.” Lina answered. “He only said that he's safe and still living in his apartment.”

“That's good.” Dinah sighed. “The same thing as Kaldur, and it's better than anyone else has managed to get out of him. Then again, that's not really a surprise. You guys have always managed to get him to at least somewhat listen.”

Lina shrugged. “He doesn't listen to anyone, let's be real.”

Dinah chuckled lowly, nodding. “Yea, but he'll at least hear the two of you out.”

Lina smiled, but then noticed Dinah's tone and her smile faded to a look of understanding. “You want me to hunt him down.”

“Just to check on him!” Dinah assured. “You know how he gets when he's determined, and without any of us to make sure he takes care of himself…”

“I won't try to change his decision.” Lina said, narrowing her eyes. “I may not agree with him, but he's made his choice to go solo. I'm not going to be used to manipulate one of my best friends.”

Dinah kept Lina's gaze, cold metallic silver burning into bright azure. “I won't ask you to.”

Star City

June 7

00:35

Roy Harper entered his small studio apartment through the window, ducking under the window sill and being sure not to apply too much pressure to his left wrist, which was in pain and possibly sprained.

Pulling off his quiver and throwing it and his red compact bow on the couch, the almost 18 year old walked over to his kitchen in order to get his first aid kit, but was promptly stopped by the sound of something dropping onto the floor.

Freezing just outside of the doorway, the redhead strained his ears towards the kitchen to listen for anymore noise from the other side of the wall. When he heard muffled whispering, he jumped into action.

As quietly as possible, Roy dashed back over to the couch. Picking up his bow and hurriedly shouldering his quiver, the archer notched an arrow and quickly, but being aware of any of the creaking floorboards, strolled back over to the kitchen. He put his back to the wall separating him, and the trespasser on the other side.

Listening closely again, he deduced the intruder couldn't be very big by the sound of their feet against the old kitchen tile. Probably just reaching 120ibs, and by the sound of the person's muttering they were probably female.

“Somewhat rare for a cat burglar”, Roy thought, “but not unheard of”.

As the sound of metal being unsheathed, the redhead straightened up. He knew that sound all too well, the sound of someone drawing a knife.

Pulling back the string of his bow, Roy whipped around the corner and aimed the arrow at the intruder's chest. Glaring at the figure, it took a moment before he recognized who it was.

“...is that an arrow pointed at my chest, or are you just happy to see me?”

Exhaling out all the tension in his shoulders, Roy relaxed his arms and bow. After giving the adrenaline a moment to get out of his brain, he looked back up at the tiny brunette standing in his kitchen, holding a knife in one hand and an apple in the other. She looked mildly surprised, but not the usual fear one would have upon having an arrow ready to fire at their chest.

“Lina, I swear to God I was ready to shish kabob your tiny ass!” Roy growled. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“You gave me a key, remember?” Lina asked with a raised eyebrow, dropping the knife to dig into her bra and pull out a ring with a couple keys hanging on it. One in particular had ‘R’ written in red nail polish. “Last year...when you bought this place? And you told me I was welcomed anytime.”

Roy took another deep sigh, dropping his bow and quiver again, leaning them against the wall.

“At the time I didn't think you'd break into my apartment.” He huffed. “And do you care to explain why you're in my kitchen? Isn't it early morning in France right now?”

“Technically it's not breaking in if you have a key given to you by the owner.” Lina shrugged, then motioned to the food surrounding her on almost every one of the kitchen's surfaces. “And I brought food, hence: kitchen.”

Roy furrowed his eyebrows and stepped into the kitchen, eyeing the food cautiously. From what he could tell there was some kind of soup cooking on one stove element and some vegetables steaming on another, there were a few bags of dried fruit in a basket on top of the microwave, a casserole in the oven, fresh bread in a basket, and rice pudding in a bowl in front of Lina.

“You brought a buffet.” Roy corrected, shaking his head. “Lina, you didn't have to-I have food.”

“Oh yeah, I dropped by late last night to see what kind of food you had. You were still out on patrol.” Lina pointed a quick finger as she strolled over to his fridge and opened it to reveal it's near-empty shelves. “A pizza box with a single piece inside, several sauces that have been here since you moved in, a nearly expired carton of milk, and some dried up spinach. Not including all the old, stale, and moldy things I threw out earlier.”

Lina whipped back around to Roy, planting her hands on her waist. “And so, I got up early this morning, got some old stuff from my fridge, plus some extra things from yesterday's pickings, and made you some actual food that won't go bad for a month and that you can eat as you like. De rien.”

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, dumbfounded. “Lina, I appreciate all this. I do. But...you're not my mother! And you have a family of five to feed, plus farm hands, plus trading goods.”

Lina stepped towards Roy, looking him dead in the eye. “You're my family too Roy, and if you're going to be going at this alone then I need to make sure you're going to do it as healthily as possible. It's summer, harvest time. My father, brothers, farm hands, and I have more than enough.” Lina, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, raised a hand and peeled off Roy's domino mask, revealing the dull blue eyes underneath looking right back at her. “Besides, Dinah told me to check up on you. So technically, I'm like your substitute-mother.”

Roy sighed yet again, but this time in resignation, and then gave Lina a small smile. “Thank you.” He finally admitted, and Lina smiled back at him.

“Much better.” She chirped, then she caught sight of the limp wrist at Roy's side. Immediately, she gently took hold of it and turned it over. Roy cringed at the twinge of pain that shot up through his arm, but it was dampened when the soft but calloused flesh of Lina's hand clasped over the joint. She began petting the bone as if she were scanning it, blue eyes carefully looking over his skin. "What happened?"

Roy sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to brush it off with her. "A guy I was fighting hit it with the butt of his gun. Just a sprain though, nothing to worry about."

Lina sighed, then her eyes squinted as her hands changed their grasp. Roy was about to ask what she was thinking, but then she grabbed onto his elbow, twisted, and a larger spike of pain shot through his bone and into his shoulder-blade. The archer bellowed out curse words and pried his hand away to cradle it as Lina walked over to the first aid kit that sat in a nearby cabinet.

"What the fuck was that for?" Roy yelled.

"It wasn't a sprain, it was dislocated." Lina explained as she walked back and methodically took his wrist back into her own. "Can you move your fingers?"

After a moment in which he pathetically pouted, Roy raised one finger in particular. "Looks like it."

Lina rolled her eyes, but couldn't help a small smirk that itched at her lips as she began to wrap the wrist in the bandage she had collected from the first aid kit. "Smartass." She mumbled.

"You love me anyways." Roy smirked back.

"Somehow." Lina stuck out her tongue as she finished tying up her friend's appendage. After she was finished, she turned away and floated back over to the bowl of pudding and the apple on the counter. “Now, go shower and get rid of that terrible excuse of facial hair on your face and we'll eat and talk together, c'est bien? You have to be careful with that wrist, but it should be good in the water.”

“Yes, mother.” Roy laughed and walked back out of the doorway, picking up his weapons on the way out. But at the last minute, he turned back around. “Hey Kid?”

Lina turned around. “Oui?” She asked.

For a moment, Roy thought hard. But then he finally spoke. “I'm sorry for the way I acted the other day.” He explained. “Not for quitting or confronting the League, but…for what I said to you guys. You guys are ready, more ready than I ever was at your age. You four...you're the good eggs.”

Lina smiled, then nodded. “Yes, we are.” Then, the girl turned back to the apple she was cutting. “And you are more than forgiven, by all of us. Now go! You smell of sweat, and that horrible 5 o'clock shadow really does look terrible.”

Laughing, Roy shook his head and continued down towards his bathroom; leaving Lina to finish her preparation.

Translations:

‘Boeuf bourguignon’: A French stew, typically made up of tender meat and vegetables

‘De rien’: You’re welcome

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mr-michael-kyle · 3 years

Link

BEDMINSTER, New Jersey — Former President Donald Trump informed Breitbart News exclusively he thinks “there’s something wrong” with his successor, President Joe Biden, as evidenced by Biden’s cognitive impairment on public display.

Asked during a nearly two-hour exclusive interview last week at his golf club here in northern New Jersey, the place he has been residing and working for the past several months, if he runs in 2024 whether he would rather face Biden or Vice President Kamala Harris, Trump informed Breitbart News he thinks Biden is not up to the job. Even so, he was unsure if he does decide to run in 2024 whether or not he would face Biden or Harris—or maybe someone else the Democrats would put forward.

“I don’t think you’ll face Biden,” Trump stated. “Biden is not an old man, by the way, but there’s something wrong. But he’s not an old man—he’s going to be 79; that’s not old. I know folks that are a lot older than that, and they’re as sharp as they were 40 years ago. Biden is just not an old person. They talk about age. If you’re in your 70s and even your 80s, I know so many people even in their 90s, like Bernie Marcus of Home Depot and so many others; they’re in their 90s and sharp as can be. However something is wrong. Something is going wrong there. I don’t wish to predict that far ahead. It’s such a long time, and I don’t know—things are happening left and right.”

Biden’s approval rating is sinking nationally and in key states from coast to coast, dropping to the lowest levels of his presidency thus far in most recent surveys. That sinking approval rating—and rising disapproval—comes amid a series of crises most notably in his failed withdrawal from Afghanistan but additionally in his mishandling of the coronavirus pandemic, his open borders policies resulting in record surges in migration across the U.S. border with Mexico, and a flagging economy that’s seeing soaring energy prices and inflation across the board on everyday household products. Polling out this week additionally reveals a solid majority of Americans think Biden’s withdrawal from Afghanistan was a failure and {that a} solid majority of Americans similarly blame Biden personally for it.

Asked about Biden’s unwillingness at the start of his botched withdrawal of U.S. forces from Afghanistan to take phone calls from foreign leaders—reports poured in that leaders from Europe frantically tried to no avail to reach Biden in the immediate aftermath of the Taliban overtaking Kabul—Trump stated Biden was likely not in the mood to do his job.

“I would imagine Biden was not in a mood to take phone calls at that point because he was getting hammered,” Trump stated.

Trump also mentioned he has received calls from some foreign leaders who expressed dismay with Biden’s performance. “Yeah, I have,” Trump stated when asked if some foreign leaders are calling him about Biden, without identifying any specifically:

US President Donald Trump speaks on the phone as he answers calls from people calling into the NORAD Santa tracker phone line in the State Dining Room of the White House in Washington, DC, on December 24, 2018 (Photograph by SAUL LOEB / AFP) (Photograph credit should read SAUL LOEB/AFP via Getty Images).

“They can’t believe it,” Trump added of the foreign leaders expressing concern to him about Biden. “They can’t believe it. Just like you can’t believe it. Just like any sane rational person can’t believe it. We were going to get out—however we were going to get out with dignity and with honor. We were going to get out with all the people. And we have been going to take all of the equipment.”

Trump also ripped former Afghan President Ashraf Ghani, who fled the country as the Taliban encroached on Kabul in mid-August, as corrupt and inept.

“I’ve always stated Ghani was a crook and Ghani had total control over the U.S. Senate and to a lesser extent the House,” Trump stated. “That was his power. As soon as it became obvious we were leaving, I always stated he would leave just prior to us, and I also stated probably he’d take whatever he could take, and he took a lot of money. However Ghani was a total crook. He was a bullshit artist. He had a great line on bullshit, even when I met him: ‘Oh, thank you, Mr. President.’ Thanks for what? I didn’t want to be here in the first place. But Ghani left”:

President Joe Biden, right, meets with Afghan President Ashraf Ghani, left, in the Oval Office of the White House in Washington, Friday, June 25, 2021 (AP Picture/Susan Walsh).

Interestingly, this week, a transcript and audio recording of one of Biden’s last telephone calls with Ghani before the Taliban took over leaked out. It showed Biden caring more about the “perception” of which side was winning rather than who was actually winning. The explosive transcript, according to Reuters, shows Biden pressing Ghani to present a false picture to the world of the Taliban not winning.

“There’s a need, whether it’s true or not, there’s a need to project a different picture,” Biden reportedly advised Ghani in the 14-minute telephone call on July 23, less than a month before Ghani’s government fell and he fled the country.

Trump, in his interview with Breitbart News, also stated the now fallen Afghan government’s military was not fighting for their country or a cause—however instead for a paycheck—something he said led to their not being able to stop the Taliban.

“The soldiers had been among the highest-paid soldiers in the world. You know who paid them? The U.S. taxpayer,” Trump stated. “When [now-former Secretary of Defense James] Mattis used to come up to me and say, ‘Sir, they’re fighting for the country,’ I would say, ‘No they’re fighting for a paycheck.’ That’s why we had so much of the blue on green and green on blue. We had a lot of that, the shooting of our own soldiers; we had more than we’ve ever had. These have been highly paid people, and that’s why they were doing it. As soon as the payments were going to stop, once we were leaving, they basically were going to stop fighting. They went to the other side with our equipment.”

Asked about Harris—and her decision in the first week of this crisis to abscond to Vietnam and other Asian countries on a foreign trip for several days while Biden was twisting in the wind—Trump stated that he doesn’t blame her for abandoning Biden:

US Vice President Kamala Harris waves as she departs from Paya Lebar Air Base in Singapore on August 24, 2021 (Picture by Roslan Rahman / AFP) (Picture by ROSLAN RAHMAN/AFP through Getty Images).

“It’s not a great time,” Trump stated. “It’s not a great time. She probably wants to get away. Who can blame her?”

Trump stated that Harris—whose net approval rating according to NBC News, is by far the lowest any vice president has had in the first 12 months all the way back to Al Gore in the 1990s—is not doing well in the job.

“If you go by the polls, she hasn’t been doing too good. She definitely hasn’t been doing too good,” Trump stated:

VP Harris has lowest feeling thermometer of any first year VP going back to Gore in 1993 … with an unprecedented “very negative” rating on @NBCNews survey tracking. pic.twitter.com/Ii3AlR5EZ2

— Bill McInturff (@pollsterguy) August 25, 2021

Trump also stated Harris’s handling of the border crisis has been a “disaster,” adding, though, that the border is “looking great” compared to Biden’s mishandling of Afghanistan.

“If they gave her the border, which supposedly they did, that’s a disaster,” Trump stated. “The border is a disaster. The border is looking great now because in comparison with Afghanistan, the border is being well-run. But it surely’s the worst border we’ve ever had, and I gave you the best.”

Trump also stated that “fortunately,” however, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld his administration’s policy of the Migrant Protection Protocols forcing Biden to reinstitute the Remain in Mexico plan—something he stated is “actually a favor to the Biden administration because it’ll make them look better.”

“It’s incredible. By us winning, it’s a favor to them because the news in the coming year won’t be as bad as it could have been otherwise,” Trump stated, referring to the Supreme Court case relating to litigation that Texas and Missouri brought against the Biden administration’s border policies. “But it’s not easy to get, as I understand it, and it’s great news it was just upheld by the Supreme Court.”

#donaldtrump #joebiden #kamalaharris #usanews #worldnews #afghanistan #bidenadministration

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portraitoftheoddity · 7 years

Note

okay so something thats bothered me is under the sokovia accords peter is technically illegal since he's not registered,, yet in civil war tonys out here inviting him to fight despite him signing off on the very document that would make spiderman a criminal. why.

Yeah, I have a LOT of issues with the Peter-Tony-Accords issue.

Spider-man did not sign the Accords, so having him – an enhanced person – in Germany, transporting him across international borders for a fight, is in violation of the Accords. And since Peter is a minor (14 at the time of CA:CW) and Aunt May presumably did not give permission for him to go to Germany to fight Captain America, it’s technically kidnapping for Tony to bring him there without the consent of his legal guardian.

The thing about Spider-man is that ideologically? He fits waaay more with Cap’s side of things. “With great power comes great responsibility” is the motto we’ve all come to know in regards to the character; Spider-man has the power to go out and help people, and therefor feels that he has the obligation to use that power to help wherever he can. And as Spider-man is a vigilante, in the comics and other media he frequently has issues with the law. (Though no sane person would allow him to legally work in law enforcement and fight bad guys because he is an actual child.) Cap initially objects to the Accords because of the lack of agency and choice they provide, asking what happens when the UN doesn’t send them somewhere that they need to be, or sends them somewhere that they shouldn’t be. The Accords take the great power of enhanced people, and puts all the responsibility for it in the hands of a UN panel and the US government, for better or for worse.

Tony very pointedly does not tell Peter about what the conflict in CA:CW is about. In the beginning of Spider-man: Homecoming we see Peter’s video diary flashing back to the events of CALCW, where apparently all he knows is that “Cap went crazy or something” and Tony tells him that Cap believes he’s right and that makes him dangerous, and not to listen to him. Pretty much all that Tony has communicated to Peter about Cap is geared at discrediting him, and stopping Peter from listening or asking questions. When Steve does try to engage with Peter, we see just how effective this tactic was.

At no point does anyone sit Peter down and talk to him about the Accords and what they mean – for the world at large, and for him in particular. Under the Accords, which prevent enhanced people from undertaking national or international action without explicit direction from a UN panel and government oversight, Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man would be outlawed. Peter could sign the Accords, but he would then answer to Ross & co., and not be allowed to operate as an independent, benevolent vigilante, the way he does as Spider-man.

What makes me even more uneasy, is that Peter wants to be an Avenger, and is even offered that opportunity at the end of Homecoming, but no one discusses the ramifications of being an Avenger and signing the Accords with him. Tony has a press conference ready to go, to welcome Spidey to the Avengers, which Ross would absolutely see and then demand he sign the Accords, and Peter doesn’t appear to have any idea that this would out him. Even if the case is made that his identity would be kept relatively private from the public, at the very least, Aunt May would have to know since a 15 year old can’t sign a contract on their own. But no one explains this to Peter so he can make an informed decision. It’s pretty much sheer luck that he turns down Tony’s offer and is thus able to keep his secret identity a secret.

Now on the one hand, we can say that Tony is protecting Peter by not forcing him to sign, allowing him to have that autonomy. But as we see by the treatment Team Cap gets, not signing the Accords and subsequently breaking the law in any way leads to enhanced people being thrown in the RAFT and denied any legal rights or due process. Spider-man would likely be on Ross’ radar after the airport fight, and as he is continuing to operate outside the Accords, he is at a very real risk of being apprehended and imprisoned with no due process – as allowed by the Accords. So he’s actually in a really dangerous position.

Getting back to your question – why does Tony do all this?

Honestly, I don’t believe Tony thought through anything in CA:CW. He consistently acts from a place of emotion, not reason. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really read the Accords (which is frankly giving him a generous benefit of the doubt – if he had read them through and understood the ramifications and still acted as he did, that would be a lot worse), and while he’s all about accountability in theory, his accountability with the Accords is purely performative. He makes a big deal about signing the Accords, but then breaks them at every possible opportunity (bringing in Peter, running off solo after Cap & Bucky, ignoring Ross’ phone calls). Signing them is little more than a gesture; something to make Tony feel like he made a change so he can alleviate his own guilt, and look like he’s taking responsibility in some way so that the personal consequences of Ultron are alleviated, and so blame for any future Ultron-like instances isn’t on him.

Tony’s complete indifference to actually adhering to the Accords whenever they become inconvenient for him personally illustrates that Tony’s support of the Accords is not ideological: it’s personal. Unlike Steve, Tony’s stance doesn’t come from any deep sense of principle, and he hasn’t really considered the far-reaching effects they’ll have on others – his main focus is how they affect him personally. (And it’s a pretty consistent aspect of Tony’s character that he has a difficult time conceptualizing problems with a lot of stuff until it has a personal impact on him; even going back to his origin – he knows his company is dealing in weapons that kill people, but doesn’t actually oppose it or do anything until after those weapons are used on him.) This isn’t to say Tony is a terrible person; just that he can be extremely myopic at times. He often reconsiders and revises his behavior once he has those experience-driven personal epiphanies, but it can be hard to get him there – and he never seems to get there in CA:CW. Tony supports the Accords when they help him, ignores them when they don’t suit him, and just straight up doesn’t consider how they’ll potentially hurt people who aren’t him. And his dismissal of the others’ concerns shows that for most of the movie, he isn’t interested in considering them.

So it’s possible Tony has genuinely not thought through how the Accords will personally affect Peter; that he hasn’t read them through enough to realize that even acting locally, Peter is technically in violation, and since he isn’t signing, isn’t getting retroactive amnesty for the shit in Germany. I do think Tony does genuinely care for Peter, and thinks he’s helping him out; but I also wonder if on some level, Tony knows that there’s something wrong with how he’s used Peter and kept him in the dark – because he keeps on keeping him in the dark. And while Tony might not have thought about it much in CA:CW – he was mainly focused on getting enough manpower to “win” against Cap – he’d definitely have time to think it though by Homecoming (and the aftermath of the ferry scene, which could have so easily been another Lagos). And the fact he still never told Peter about the Accords doesn’t sit easy with me at all.

So, yeah. It’s fucked up, anon.

–

[Of course, the likely IRL reason is the writers didn’t think this shit through at all and wanted to put Spidey on Team Iron Man so they could shoehorn RDJ into another movie to boost ticket sales. But for the sake of in-universe analysis, we will address the events of the movies as they appear, rather than writing off everything that was mandated by Marvel editorial for future film deals as shitty writing the Russos had to put up with.]

#spider-man #ca:cw discourse #tony critical #peter parker #spider-man: homecoming spoilers #mcu #Anonymous #lena answers things #anon ask #sokovia accords #sokovia accords critical

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ladyborel · 3 years

Text

Prayers

Despite them being go-go-go to the point that Aymeric sometimes felt like he hadn’t had a moment to think for weeks, things were good in Ishgard. And though he thought he hadn’t had a moment to think, he had also come to a conclusion. Because he’d been thinking.

Etien was being very good, and staying in Gyr Abania (though she wrote frequently). So, he had decided that when she was finished there, and came home as she’d promised, then they would get married.

…publicly.

The prospect excited him. She would look so good in fine silk, lace, and satin, dressed up and beautiful as she always was, pledging herself to him and letting him do the same for her in front of their friends and his countrymen.

Maybe he didn’t have the best origins, and his childhood hadn’t been perfect because of it.

But his future? With Etien with him, it looked like it was going to be better than anything he’d ever imagined.

He lovingly stroked the cheek of the wind-up Etien, letting his fingertip trail up to her ear afterward. Obviously, the automaton didn’t sigh. But he could hear it in his mind.

Someday, he’d be able to just pet the real Etien whenever he wanted, neither of them hiding from work to take solace in each other.

Sure, for now, he had to wait for that. But he was planning their wedding. That could get them one step closer. He prayed Etien’s return came soon.

Etien had no such positive energy flowing through her. She’d been level-headed at best in battles and meetings, the various tasks in Rhalgr’s Reach keeping her sane and herself.

Still, she was sure Alphinaud and Y’shtola were talking about her again—she wasn’t upset about it, really, she just knew they had chatted about her before. It came from a place of concern, and she knew that, too.

Still. It did sting that while she had been working on opening up to them about her problems, she didn’t need to in this case, because her pain was written all over her so clearly.

She could practically hear the conversation now.

“Do you think she misses Aymeric?” Y’shtola would ask, another casual asking of a heavy question.

Alphinaud, trying to be reasonable and mature, would respond with something like, “That much is clear. They are betrothed, so it would make sense she would feel that way. I just hope she remains focused on our goal.”

Etien huffed. These were her friends, and her only hope for survival, in many cases. It did her no good getting bitter about them trying to take care of her, and needing each other’s help figuring out how to go about it.

She knew though, deep down, that her frustration with them was a reassignment of her frustration with herself. She needed to stop being so desperate for a man who loved her dearly, but was far far away doing his job. She needed to do hers.

But… it was hard. Not only was the fighting hard, and the bearing everyone’s pains draining, but she also just… didn’t think she could do it.

Yes, she had slain primals. Many of them. Yes, she had been integral in ending the Dragonsong War. Changed Ishgard. She’d done all that, yes. With help—Ysale’s help, Estinien’s help, Alphinaud’s help, Thancred, Urianger, Krile, Y’shtola, even Tataru. And most of all, Aymeric’s help.

She was nothing without her friends. Well, she was something. She was Etien Felis Regina Mellifer, a runaway, a bookworm with a bow and a complex. Not even good at being a Miqo’te, let alone a hero.

All she had now was all she would have.

She stopped running through East End, sighing.

She counted Llymlaen as her patron, and yet, she had never felt so lost. Her heart’s compass was spinning, seeking its North.

Etien sat down in the dirt, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. After a second, she scooped up the wind-up of Aymeric that she still had trailing after her to keep her company in the barren and quiet, and settled him in her lap. She held him there with one hand, the other settling on her knee again.

She took a deep breath, letting her other hand return to her lap, so both were wrapped around the miniature of her beloved, then let the breath out in a sigh.

And then, she cried. Soundlessly, of course, so she didn’t attract anything to her—especially after that wasp had knocked her flat—but she cried.

The tears felt different when she cried here. Hotter, like something molten trailing down her cheeks. Surely, it was just because tears cooled quickly in Coerthas, where she’d been doing more of her crying thus far, but she couldn’t help but wonder if something else made the kiss of tears burn more.

Her rage, her pain, her loneliness, all more acute now, dribbling out the corners of her eyes yet again.

As the tears flowed and she dug her boots’ toes into the dirt beneath her thighs, she finally lifted her face to the sky and began to pray.

“With Llymlaen as my guide and Halone as my protection, nothing shall bring me harm as I walk my clear path. Then why am I hurting? Why am I so lost? I believe in the gods, do they no longer believe in me?” She took a shuddering breath. “All I want is to go home. Not the border of the shroud, though, Home.”

She said out loud what she thought Y’shtola must think. “Gods, I miss Aymeric. He has always made me feel better.” She clutched the automaton in her lap. “You simply do not cut it. You have no speech, no warmth in your hands, and you are so incredibly tiny.” She sighed, her fingertips gliding over its cheeks. “And yet, you are so much better than nothing. Than only my dreams. Than just the hopes and wishes and memories you supplement.”

She bent in half, kissing easily half the miniature Aymeric’s face.

Then she returned to her prayer.

“I ask you now, goddesses mine and borrowed, that if I may not possess the strength I need to make it home again, that it be lent to me. When all this is over, and I get to be safe and warm and happy in the manor, you can sap me of my strength, of my grit, of all that has gotten me this far. Because I will have won the prize. Safety, stability, love. Take anything from me, but not my friends and not the chance to finally see myself and Aymeric happy.” A fresh batch of tears breached the banks of her eyelids. “That is my desperate prayer to you, O Llymlaen and Halone. My sole desire. Let us all come out the other side and finally know peace.”

A calm overtook Etien, the flow of her tears drying, and a reduction of the weight on her heart. A sense of wellness, despite everything.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I will make good use of this gift.”

She squeezed the hands of the wind-up Aymeric as if it could feel that, and stood. She had a job to do.

#Aytien; Stormblood Era #Aytien

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movieswithkevin27 · 6 years

Text

Unsane

As is, frustratingly, often the case, Unsane is an experimental film on the surface only. Lacking the story to really take its experimental approach to the next level, instead leaning on genre cliches and predictable twists to help further its story, the film is one that winds up only slightly more than middling. Fortunately, the decision by director Steven Soderbergh to shoot the film on his iPhone proves to be a fantastic decision, giving the film a heavy dose of realism via a rather formalistic (in part) approach to making this film. A story about a woman, Sawyer Valentini (Claire Foy), who moves from Boston to Pennsylvania to get away from her stalker, the film portrays what happens to Sawyer after she is involuntarily committed. Interacting with deranged patients such as Violet (Juno Temple) or a recovering opioid addict in Nate (Jay Pharoah) who befriends her, believes she is being stalked, and seeks to help her, Unsane is an often thrilling film. As Sawyer is committed and continues to believe she sees her stalker only to find that her stalker David Strine (Joshua Leonard) has moved from Boston to work at the psychiatric center that Sawyer is being held in, the film takes a truly sinister turn. While engrossing as a film and possessing ground-breaking visuals, Unsane is undone by cliches and a bad ending that wind up taking the air out of the film.

Visually, Unsane makes its name. Soderbergh is certainly known for being rather experimental with his films visuals, whether it be via homage as in The Good German or more stylistic as in Traffic. Unsane is certainly no exception with the film’s iPhone visuals always making their presence known. Yet, the film never looks cheap. It is a film shot, edited, and directed by Soderbergh, all while possessing the look and feel of a film put together by such a Hollywood director. This is certainly a huge determinant in Unsane’s overall success as an experiment, as the film is able to utilize its phone-as-a-camera approach to be able to put the audience right into the film as an engaged observer, bordering on exhibiting voyeuristic behavior. It is almost reminiscent of found footage in the sense that both seek to put you there, but found footage is a technique that, inherently, lets the audience know that they are not there even if the visuals are taken by someone who was there, allegedly. Unsane, however, is a film that breaks down this barrier. Every bit of this film feels as though the audience is lurking in the corner, hiding down a hallway, or standing there as the events of the film transpire, allowing the events to be all the more intimate and deeply felt. As Sawyer fears for her life and screams in panic as the doctors pin her to the bed to tie her down after she hit another inmate, the audience is given a front row seat by Soderbergh. To accomplish this, Soderbergh relies upon a deep depth of field with everything in focus. This allows hallway shots to ring with realism as the faces of those at the end of a hallway can still be seen rather clearly. Similarly, there are shots from the ward that, when over-the-shoulder, reveal people walking in the hallway and into the ward or, in the case of David, looming in the window to keep an eye on Sawyer.

Soderbergh’s visuals also contain a rather fitting color palette, as the film’s action is predominantly laced with the yellowish walls of the facility aside from the introduction and final act both being shot through a washed blue tint and a sequence in a trunk being shot with night vision. Not only are all three cold colors - with the implied negative emotions of those colors - but the blue, in particular, proves to be quite relevant. As David obsesses over Sawyer, he notes that he first fell in love with her when he saw her wearing a blue shirt. Throughout the film, she wears a blue jacket over her hospital-issued clothes with the film’s obvious blue tint coming back in the final act as she desperately tries to flee her stalker. This obsession with the color blue is such a negative context is reminiscent of Traffic in how the blue-portion of that film is dedicated to a politician tracking down his drug addicted daughter. Here, the plot of Unsane is, obviously, different, but nonetheless contains a parent trying to find their daughter and get help for her against all odds, while facing a powerful entity that wishes to control her every action and motivation. The film’s usage of blue may further symbolize the power that David has over Sawyer - further underscored by the constant low-angle shots of David - as his presence is constantly felt by her, thus giving him considerable control and power over her. As blue is often recognized as a rather masculine color, it is not hard to come to this conclusion as the power and the masculinity implied the color blue are relevant to Unsane in which a man’s toxic masculinity exerts considerable influence over a woman’s life to the point she is always cloaked in blue and must fight for her life under the blue of night.

The usage of an iPhone provides far more than giving the audience an intimate view of the film’s events. Instead, Soderbergh uses it as a device to help create terror. As David stalks into the night to find Sawyer, Soderbergh washes the scene out in blue with a tight close-up of David from an extreme low-angle, while the camera bounces up and down as he makes his way into the forest. As Sawyer is drugged and given too much of her “medicine” by David - who, naturally, distributes the drugs - Soderbergh whips the camera around the room as she runs around, going out of her mind. Superimposing a front-view of her running around on top of an over-the-shoulder shot of her running around with her face poking out of the back of her head, the shot is one that is wholly disorienting and uncomfortable. Also utilizing a spinning camera - to some degree, this is apparent when Sawyer wakes up in the trunk of a car with the camera spinning around as she shifts around, capturing the claustrophobic scene while only serving to further disorient the viewer - at various times that really gives the film a great punch, Soderbergh does not just lean on the technique as a mere gimmick. Rather, he is able to create great tension from the iPhone. Not only are we right there, but his efforts to disorient and make the audience uncomfortable go a long way. Even typical low-angles - which are prevalent here - as the camera sits in a hallway as the drugs are given out prove to be disorienting with the overwhelming dark hallways looming from all over while the underqualified orderlies and David mill about in positions of power as well. These shots allow Soderbergh to underscore who is truly in control in this film. It is, obviously, not the patients. Rather, it is the “doctors” and even the clinic itself who exert control over them from beginning to end. The camera work is further beneficial, even when Soderbergh is more typical. As Sawyer screams from solitary confinement, the camera backs away ominously and pulls back down a nearby hallway. Cloaked in darkness and desolate, the shot is a truly sinister one that underscores two simple facts: she is alone and nobody knows she is there.

Though it works, one area will undoubtedly divide audiences is in how everything just feels...off. It is perhaps, in large part, due to the fact that the film takes place in a mental health facility. Thus, the patients are, literally, off. However, even the acting by “sane” characters such as Claire Foy or Jay Pharoah are off. The performances are still good, as both nail their respective characters, but just a bit alien. Joshua Leonard, similarly, acts quite alien as he descends into more homicidal madness in order to possess Sawyer. A lot of this is likely contributed by the film’s dialogue, which is quite odd at all times. Little jokes such as Sawyer saying she will give Nate a blowjob to use his phone only to “take a reign check” on it, to which Nate barely responds as he knew she would do so and was only being facetious. This odd dialogue can be found throughout the film as everybody acts just slightly more abnormal than regular humans would in a way that is silently disquieting. Normal conversations between Sawyer and her mother even ring with this same oddity, as both seem to practically go through the motions of what a normal conversation should be between mother and daughter, even if the pair clearly love one another deeply. This, in large part, is due to the film’s setting but likely also to allow Soderbergh to capture the film’s intentionally tacky elements. It is a film that is practically a B-movie at times with this cheesy and awkward dialogue, coupled with equally awkward performances allowing the film’s surface-level elements to reveal its rather intentional low-budget feeling.

Thematically, it is certainly clear that Soderbergh harbors some skepticism towards psychological clinics, an element that this review will return to in greater depth. However, at the center of the film’s character drama is the fact that Sawyer is being stalked by a man named David Strine. On the surface, he is a regular guy. Sawyer’s story of meeting him is such that she admits she did not mind him and took pity on him due to them having met as a result of her work at a hospice where David’s father was being cared for until he died. Thus, she empathizes with him, especially since her only father died. However, in the aftermath, his obsessive behavior as he texted her constantly, stalking behavior, his memorizing of every fact about her life, his possessiveness, and his desire to control her at every turn, really rises to the surface. Having planned out every detail of their life from where they will live to what they will do, David seems unaware of his crimes as he just lays down next to Sawyer after attacking her and everyone near to her, telling her he would love to have kids with her. It is a relatively normal moment, aside from the fact that he is bleeding from the neck, has broken her ankle, and has killed her friend and her mother along the way. The nature of the David character is such that it is a clear attempt to capture the “nice guy” who believes that kindness will earn them what they want from a woman. Soderbergh juxtaposes this nice guy with a regular guy who is on Tinder and is set to sleep with Sawyer without any hassle, except she encounters a psychological block due to her experience with stalkers. In essence, this is a film about a woman who has been stripped of everything. She cannot experience love, as the thought of David looms large. She cannot experience freedom, as she winds up being involuntarily admitted to this hospital where, naturally, she is stripped and cut off from the rest of the world right away. Once there, she is given drugs by David who works as an orderly in that department and even goes so far as spiking her doses. He seeks to control her, only finding that he is able to do so when he orchestrates her release and locks her in solitary confinement. This film, as a result, is a chilling representation of the damage a so-called “nice guy” can accomplish through the obsessive and possessive behavior they so often exhibit when they fall “in love” with a woman. Thus, Unsane is able to achieve tension through the fact that what is happening to Sawyer can happen to any woman who is “crazy” enough to show kindness to the wrong man. Feeding into their toxic masculinity and low self-esteem, women who are kind enough to all strangers wind up having to live as Detective Ferguson (Matt Damon) advises Sawyer to live: in a constant state of fear with their heads on a swivel. The film’s camera work further benefits this idea as it allows, especially women, to experience what is happening to Sawyer first-hand as Soderbergh is able to take this paranoia and fear to channel it to a cautionary tale of one of the major crises occurring in this world: men who cannot take a simple no. Even worse, Sawyer is locked up as she is seen as being crazy for thinking a man in stalking her while David is called a “gift from God” for his efforts at the hospital.

In terms of examining the conditions within a psychiatric facility, Soderbergh’s film very much laments the way in which hospitals exploit insurance and patients as they admit people against their will for reasons such as having thought of suicide without informing anyone near them or allowing them access to the outside world. In many ways, it is a legalized form of kidnapping, which Soderbergh examines and warns audience members to be wary of what they say to psychologists who may admit them if they open up in the wrong way, while also decrying psychologists who do not examine people straight-up and instead look for buzzwords to signal whether or not they can legally keep them in the hospital. In this way, the film almost plays similarly to Shock Corridor directed by Samuel Fuller. In that film, a journalist pretends to be insane in order to be admitted to a psychiatric facility and to investigate a murder that happened within the facility that has been covered up. Along the way, he encounters witnesses who experience moments of sanity that allow him to piece together what happened, only to lose his own sanity due to shock therapy. The same happens here to Nate Hoffman, who is revealed to be a reporter investigating the hospital for admitting sane people who mention brief suicidal thoughts as a means of exploiting their insurance (they can keep people for up to seven days without a court order, so patients will be “healed” by that point) and to meet monthly quotas. In the end, they will up both exploiting the person and, for some, they will up making them insane along the way. This happens to Sawyer as she is being legitimately stalked up until the time she leaves the facility. At that point, she begins experiencing hallucinations of David brought on by her experiences in the clinic. For his part, Nate - similar to the reporter in Shock Corridor - is given shock therapy as a means of silencing and killing him, though the evidence he is able to piece together is used to bring the hospital down as he had hoped. As such, both films explore the frightening ways in which psychiatric facilities conduct themselves, the false treatments that do not help the patients whatsoever, and the pressure cooker environment that only winds up making them all the more insane. Neither film is anti-treatment, but they are both against this type of treatment that just aims to drug patients and exploit them to the benefit of the hospital who can continue to keep beds full and charge exorbitant prices. It is a tragic system and one that exploits those who desperately need help. Instead, all they get is a slow death and a further descent into madness with doctors who are ill-equipped to actually help and underqualified orderlies who do nothing but abuse their power. The similarities to Shock Corridor are even furthered as the orderly that killed a patient in that film similarly had issues with women, having been moved to a separate section due to his actions with the nymphomaniacs. Here, the main orderly - David - is a man who quite obviously shares the same issue: he is exploitative and abusive towards women, exerting his masculinity in such a way that it causes irrevocable harm.

Where Unsane really stalls out, however, is with its reliance upon cliches and its terrible third act. While the film smartly avoids playing into the “maybe she is having visions” angle and instead replaces it with the reality that she is being stalked, it nonetheless falls into other predictable traps. Though stabbed and bleeding from the neck, David continues to live long enough to travel somewhere with Sawyer, chase her through the woods, and then give her one final chance to kill him for good, after she too feigns unconsciousness. This is quite cliche for one, but also highly implausible which is also something that could be said for much of the film’s rather convenient plot that is geared towards deriving tension from every moment without regard for practicality. This, of course, coming after the horrible sequence in which Sawyer plays along with David and convinces him rape Violet right in front of her as a show of his love. Though she is using Violet as she knows that she has a weapon she can use to attack David and free herself from solitary, the film nonetheless lets Violet die after Sawyer shuts the only door on her with David then breaking her neck. With this unfortunate event in which the protagonist uses another woman to escape - practically giving him bait and then abandoning her - coupled with the film’s cliched “oh but the killer is not dead yet”, Unsane becomes rather unsavory, fantastical, and cliche. Of course, the film is quite generic from beginning to end with the “sane person locked up with no one believed they are not insane” trope being one that has certainly been traversed before. However, the film’s cliche finale is particularly egregious in how it makes the film drag for the final 15 minutes, all the while building up to a predictable finale in which Sawyer, narrowly, gets away. This issue is further compounded by the neat way in which Nate is revealed as a reporter, the cops find the evidence Nate collected against the hospital, and as the administrator is led away in handcuffs. Compared to the film’s idea of this continuous abuse of patients for profit and the constant injustice this produces, the film’s rather neat and happy ending in which justice is served and David is killed is incredibly dull. The film’s last second bit with Sawyer thinking she sees David in a restaurant and approaches to stab him only to realize it is not him is similarly cliche as Unsane shows that the horror is not over yet. It may be thematically relevant, but plot-wise, it is a rather safe and predictable finale that just runs into every horror movie trope it could find.

A flawed film due to its reliance upon cliches that wind up delivering a wholly unsatisfying finale, Steven Soderbergh’s Unsane is a solid film nonetheless. Possessing smart themes, a terrific turn from Claire Foy, strong supporting turns, and ground-breaking visuals, Unsane is a film that has all of the key elements to be great, but it lacks a plot to truly deliver it to that promised land. Instead, it takes all of its unique bits and ideas only to then fizzle out into a sea of cliches and convenience to wind up falling short of its potential.

#2018 movies #2010s movies #unsane #steven soderbergh #claire foy #film reviews #movie reviews #film analysis #jay pharoah #joshua leonard #matt damon #juno temple #amy irving #aimee mullins

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zapiarty · 7 years

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Tekeny!

He’d lost his world before. Long before this day, he’d lost it the moment his Iliana had gone on her first mission, the deep cover assignment he wished she’d never volunteered for. Tekeny had been living his life trying to make the world he did have a better place, a place that wouldn’t have needed to steal his girl away. It’s why he became so passionate about the Dissident movement. If he, a Legate of many years in Central Command, could have everything he held dear taken from him so easily, surely the rest of Cardassia was equally suffering.

Even if in his heart he knew Iliana wouldn’t have understood that, was too convinced in her Obsidian Order training to ever thank him should he see her again, he knew it was right, what he was meant to do. Regardless of what it might mean for him. It was for Cardassia as a whole, because without family, what were they?

It was with that in mind that he realized it wouldn’t matter what the doctors said when they reached the station. Kira Nerys or Iliana Ghemor, Tekeny cared for this young woman whether she was his or not. He wondered if by losing his world so many times, once a decade ago only to get it returned to him days ago and then have it vanish twice over, could turn even the most sane Cardassian mad. He wondered if he cared about the answer or not.

The silence of the Defiant’s corridor was broken when Nerys-Iliana turned to the only other confirmed Cardassian on the ship as they headed towards the bridge. The man Tekeny had not taken his eyes off of except to check over his maybe-daughter the entire time. “Why did you kill Entak for me, Garak?”

“Well, Mila would have been very upset if you’d died, Major.” Garak replied with a smile that was bordering on a smirk. It made Tekeny’s glare narrow further, the agent he’d only known as Regnar was far too friendly to his perhaps-daughter. The thought that the man could have overseen part of her training like Entak had made his scales cold.

He couldn’t help but ask a question, the fact that it broke whatever moment was happening was a bonus, “Who’s Mila?”

Garak’s unsettling blue eyes turned to him in a flash, his smile-smirk still firmly in place. He and Nerys-Iliana spoke at the same moment.

“She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my niece.”

The words had him stop walking. Tekeny couldn’t help but gap at them both, hoping for a brief moment his age had caused his hearing to be impaired. “I’m sorry?”

Nerys-Iliana rolled her eyes at Garak’s amused look. “She’s not really my niece, she’s a little seven year old girl I’ve sort of…taken under my wing so to speak, so she calls me Auntie.”

Garak turned to her with a sarcastic frown, “Now Major Kira, she’s as much your niece as she is my daughter.”

The taunting sneer she threw back at him did little to reassure Tekeny. “She’s only your daughter on paper, Garak.”

“Ah, but she views me as a father, just as she views you as her aunt. Is that not, what really matters?” Garak asked with a tilt of his head and a smug look. Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and continued walking towards the bridge.

When Nerys-Iliana turned back to him and saw him still mouth agape, she offered him a smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest quarters, I don’t think either of us have slept much the past three days.”

“I do think a bit of rest would do some good. How long before we arrive?” Tekeny agreed, wondering if he’d able to fall asleep even if they had days, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to waste even a moment of time when he could be with his daughter. His maybe-daughter.

“Only eight more hours, barring any trouble we might meet.” She replied with a mischievous smile, and oh- his heart ached. He couldn’t help but return a warm smile. He hadn’t smiled this much in years.

“Then perhaps I’ll take you up on your offer.”

She turned and motioned with an arm, “Right this way, Ghemor!”

What he wouldn’t give to hear her call him yadik. Father, even. She still might, a painful shard of optimism whispered to him.

Perhaps he could settle for Tekeny.

There was a small crowd of people at the docking bay, but with a station this large and near the famed stable wormhole, that wasn’t surprising. What did surprise him was the small orange blur detaching from that crowd and running to…Garak. The blur collided with his legs, forcing him to stop walking and that’s when Tekeny noticed it was a little girl. Ah, this must be Mila.

“Yadik! You’re back, did you get Auntie Kira? Is she okay? Is she going to have to see Daddy?” She didn’t seem to stop for an answer let alone a breath between her questions and it brought a stab of pain into his heart. He remembered when Iliana was that small, that curious, that energetic. She always wanted to know everything about his day, and expressed worry when he was late or gone for long periods of time. What he wouldn’t give for those times again.

Seeing this reflection of it was agonizing.

Garak seemed about to answer one of her questions, when she looked past him and noticed Tekeny and his daughter, of his heart if not physically he told himself. Even now he held that sliver of hope that it was her. It would crush him if he let it, but still his grip on that shard would not release until definitive proof otherwise. The little girl froze and seemed to be trying to hide behind Garak’s leg.

“Mila, dear, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise?” Garak asked in a tone that Tekeny hesitated to call fond, if only because of what he knew of the man and sincerely doubted fondness was an emotion he could have.

The girl nodded, still staring at him and that’s when he noticed she was part Bajoran. Ah, that explained why she got close to Nerys-Iliana. Product of the Occupation, then. He wondered how in the world Garak became involved in the girl’s life.

“I did indeed find Major Kira, she’s right here, although I fear you won’t recognize her until she sees our dear doctor.” Garak made a show of looking around them and into the crowd, “Speaking of, Mila, where is your father?”

“We notified him before docking we’d be needing his services,” the Changeling put in while crossing his arms, “He should be here by now.”

“Here! I’m right here, I was dealing with a patient and- Major?!” a young man, with desert colored skin and wearing the blue uniform of a medic called as he approached them from the crowd. He was carrying a med-case and jolted to a stop when he saw Tekeny and Nerys-Iliana. Before Tekeny could blink, the man had set down the case and pulled out a tricorder and was scanning the major.

“Well I certainly see what you meant by ‘urgent but not fatal’, Constable. This is extraordinary, something in this scale-!” The doctor exclaimed as he continued to look at his readings. The major heaved a sigh of resignation that seemed to indicate this was a regular occurrence.

“Can you fix me, Doctor?” She asked irritably, and it caused the young man’s mouth to snap shut and straighten his back.

“I won’t know for sure what’s been done to you until we get you to the infirmary, but on my estimation from just these readings, yes.” He looked down when he was knocked into from behind and Tekeny looked down as well. The girl was now attached to the doctor’s leg and looking up at them. “It’s alright sweetheart, it’s still Auntie Kira.”

Mila ventured from behind him and walked up to her. When she bent down to bring them to eye level and started to speak softly to the girl, Tekeny was struck by such a wave of warmth it almost made the cold air on this station unnoticeable. To distract himself, he brought his gaze back up just in time to see the doctor greet Garak.

With a hand on his upper arm. Tekeny was baffled.

“And how was your trip to Cardassia, my dear? As eventful as you hoped?” the doctor asked with a flirtatious smile.

“Rather too much, actually. I won’t be complaining of boredom on this station again, let me tell you.” Garak returned with an empathic hand wave. The man’s expression turned from rueful to musing, “Though I do wish Mila could have joined me, if only to seen one Cardassian sunset.”

The doctor’s smile became strained, “Yes well, so long as Gul Dukat is out there, that’s not likely to happen outside a holosuite.” Garak nodded but said nothing.

With a squeeze to the Cardassian’s arm, the young man let go and returned to where Mila and Nerys-Iliana were still talking. Mila looked up at him with a doleful expression of distress, “You’re going to fix what the Order did to Auntie Kira, right Daddy?”

The doctor put a hand on her head, “I’m going to do my utmost. Shall we, Major?”

“I’m beyond ready, Doctor Bashir.”

Nerys-Iliana looked to him before she left with the doctor, and he couldn’t help the way her smile at him squeezed his heart like a vice. Not wanting to let her see his pain, Tekeny gave her a smile instead. He was brought out from his staring after her by a soft voice. “Who are you?”

Tekeny looked down to the girl which connected his Nerys-Iliana’s life with Garak’s. She was rather adorable, and even her connection to the Obsidian Order agent couldn’t stop the welcoming smile he gave her. “I’m Iliana’s- …I’m Tekeny Ghemor. I believe you’re called Mila?” He had to stop himself, had to face the inevitable facts. He may be an old selfish fool, but he didn’t have to be a stupid one.

“Mila Bashir.” She corrected with all the authority children possessed. His smile widened. And then died when an unwelcome voice broke in.

“Mila, my dear, I believe we’ve spoken about manners.” Garak stepped over, arms behind his back and posture more subservient than it had been while they’d been on Cardassia. Tekeny read unthreatening-mild-inferior easily and knew it to be a lie. The man’s skill at lying, even in second-language was truly a gift. When Mila looked back at him, his posture shifted just enough to change the message to superior-chastising-amused.

The girl nodded and with adorable concentration, shifted how she’d been standing, which now that she changed it Tekeny noticed had been a mirror of the Changeling’s posture. Suddenly, which the clumsiness of children, she was saying inferior-respectful-curious. “How long are you going to be on the station, sir?”

Doing his best to ignore Garak and focus on the girl, Tekeny shifted into superior-welcoming-amused and gave a smiled, if somewhat a bittersweet one. “For as long as…Major Kira needs me.”

“What did you do on Cardassia?” Was the next question, and while Mila’s voice was the same curious tone, her second-language said inferior-suspicious-guarded, which was an odd mixture and one Tekeny had no doubt she learned from Garak. He could at least admire the girl’s desire to protect those she was close to.

“I’m a Legate, my dear. Part of the Central Command…though it’s lost it’s luster.” Superior-unthreatening-regret.

The little girl’s honey gaze stayed fixed on him as she thought about his answer. In his perifrial, Tekeny noticed Garak doing much the same. After another moment, she seemed satisfied and gave him a smile that showed her teeth. Inferior-excited-welcoming.

“So what is it you’d like to do, little one?” Tekeny couldn’t help but ask. Superior-curious-welcoming.

Mila dropped out of second-language as her excitement overflowed, her posture returned to what it had first been, the odd mirroring of the Changeling who went by Odo. “I’m going to serve justice!” She declared with a puffed out chest and a stern expression that was ruined by her smile. Tekeny didn’t think he’d seen many things more heart-warming in his long life.

Garak interrupted the moment with a small dramatic sigh, “Indeed, no bolts of fabric in your future. Though I do see a meal and then bed, how late have you been up, Mila?”

The girl crossed her arms defiantly, “Daddy and I were waiting for you and Auntie Kira to return safely.”

“Of course, and we’ve returned safe and sound. Now, come along, leave Legate Ghemor to his business.” Garak’s eyes shifted to him and held them, “I’m sure he has many plans to be making.” Superior-knowing-dangerous. Then like it wasn’t even there, all Tekeny saw was inferior-respectful-pleasant.

“Yes, Yadik.” Mila nodded with a small disappointed sigh. Tekeny knew he was lost then, because he was sharply reminded if Iliana at that age so much it made him dizzy. He watched them go after Garak gave him a respectful nod with both wariness and longing.

It was decided then, even if he was starting to accepted Kira Nerys was not his daughter, he was going to request he be able to hold on to that connection anyway. He didn’t think he’d be able to stay together otherwise, without the anchor of family he’d be set adrift. He also wanted to make sure no one let down their guard around that man. He knew too much about the reputation Regnar had during his many many years serving the Obsidian Order to let anyone think they could turn their back on him. The small voice in his head that sounded like his daughter as he last heard her in person told him he was being bitter and envious. Tekeny told it he was just being cautious.

Tekeny only hoped Nerys was willing to listen.

#Tekeny Ghemor #star trek #ds9 #garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #kira nerys #mila bashir #my writing #there will be more with Tekeny in the future #as much as I can manage #thornfield13713 #Trekkie in Training #Mila verse

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alovelyspark-blog · 7 years

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MARCELO JIMENEZ’S TAPES

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER --- (found in the assignment & the consequence)

ENTRY #16

After months of secrets, subterfuge, and indoctrination, they brought me into their fold. This place is... elaborate to say the least. Despite the modernistic visage, the research they have been doing here seems to date back to over a century ago. This place has history and from what I can grasp, this facility is only one branch of many. Institutions, powerful families; their reach seems grand, and therefore the possibilities for me seem equally as rich. Clearly my own unique methods at Beacon have piqued their interest, and I am most grateful for the opportunity.

Most of what the researchers have been working on, however, seems archaic by today’s stands.

They told me budget is of no concern; results are the only thing that matter. Juggling duties here and at the hospital seems manageable, but Ruben... Comparatively insignificant, but even at his young age his studies are remarkable. Perhaps one day he will even assist me with my work here.

ENTRY #31

After surviving the fire incident and subsequent abuse from his parents, it’s a miracle Ruben can function at all.

His work comes from a place that isn’t motivated by fear or money or social standing... his motives are more... pure. I would say that he is obsessed with the chance to re-live and re-mold reality so he can be with her again.

His scarring is heavy, both physically and emotionally, but he longs for his lost sister.

His love for her borders almost on an incestuous level, but as long as it provides motivation, so be it.

ENTRY #120

His demeanor has turned far too aggressive and his techniques even more perverse. Da Vinci would dissect corpses to further his anatomical studies, but what Ruben has done goes beyond... Demanding his subjects be “aware” as he dissects them to truly see how the mind reacts. He’s more of a butcher than an artist.

But we must remain scientists above all. I had taught him from a young age that the end shall justify the mean, but I could not have predicted things to be this extreme.

Mobius has learned of his involvement, due to my carelessness. I’ve asked they bring him on board to assist in development. Perhaps offering him better facilities and support will refocus him and stave off his gruesome proclivities.

ENTRY #133

Ruben’s experimentation has demanded more and more subjects and, sad to say, they’re suffering as much as - if not more than - his previous patients. Fortunately, Beacon and this city offer no shortage of expendable subjects. I should feel guiltier than I do, but my Hippocratic Oath was abandoned long ago. The scientific and medical potential of the work is too great to be denied.

Mobius has also offered me a respectable amount of... compensation. Promoting me to director at Beacon is not something to be taken lightly. First, however, they want me to have a reputation, publishing studies in various journals. Repurposing some of Ruben’s research towards patient evaluation seems viable. I doubt he will even notice.

ENTRY #154

Despite our powerful benefactors, with this much collateral damage, it’s only a matter of time before people start to take notice.

KCPD has been dropping by. A female officer, I don’t remember her name... Regardless, the police are not something I should be involved with. Mobius says they will take cake of it and make an effort to ensure KCPD leave us alone.

Then there is the report from the Krimson Post, Ivan... something-or-other... He has become a personal annoyance. He barely qualifies as a tabloid journalist, writing cover stories about tales of church sacrifices and other nonsense, but now he’s being persistent about the missing patients claim. I’ll be damned if he is the man who bring Beacon down...

It seems that Ruben could be useful for other forms of problem solving. Perhaps I can interest this reporter in an “exclusive interview.”

ENTRY #188

They grow impatient with our progress and demand briefings on the development process. At first stressing the results, but now they work off of a timeline based on their needs - typical bureaucrats.

I’ve been pushing Ruben, but he’s retreated further, doing his research at home and refusing to come to the lab unless it’s directly working on our STEM prototype. I am feeling uneasy and no doubt Mobius is looking on us with question.

ENTRY #201

Ruben has no idea what he’s done. It’s not surprising that he doesn’t care, either. He was never motivated by fear of Mobius...

The STEM prototype works, but only when connected to Ruben. I’ve checked the details and he customized the whole system to only operate with his own brain-wave pattern. I left him alone with the device for far too long, trusted him too much and despite all my knowledge in the field it’s past the point of fixing. I can’t just flip a switch.

And that’s not the worst of it. They know, as well. I’m not going to take the blame for this. I will drag him here and make him fix it. I can’t imagine what they will do to him if he doesn’t...

ENTRY #209

I saw what they have done to him, and I am appalled. To think the young boy I mentored is now this... a mass of grey matter in a glorified test tube. Could they have been planning this all along?

And what have I become in all of this?

They’ve managed to keep his mind alive by simulating an artificial body. His consciousness is being confined to a mental straight jacket, a gear in their infernal machine. They have even stricken his name and humanity, referring to him by an anagram, “RUVIK.” A crude joke, as if spitting on his grave.

I almost felt the urge to smash the case and end it right there... but my anger was quickly replaced by scientific curiosity. Ruben’s legacy will live on; I will spearhead the next step. I will create something of my own out of this tragedy.

ENTRY #215

They’ve refocused the efforts of the other programs to support our research. STEM priority has seemingly overridden other departments’ individual research. Chemical and botanical studies are focused now on tempering, priming subjects for their inevitable connection.

Now that the prototype is up and running, experiments continue. Upon their return from STEM integration, patients are interviewed extensively. While their particular pathologies inform their experiences, there are commonalities. They all experience the same setting, the same occurrences. The “world” they inhabit becomes larger with every new visitor. This suggests that shard of each user’s consciousness are left behind inside the STEM, creating a community. It’s as if, internally, a new world is being built.

ENTRY #229

Patients emerging from the STEM are becoming more erratic. Their pathologies seem to be amplified by the experience now. Even worse, patients now seem to experience each other’s psychological trauma. It’s as if the user’s deepest fears linger within the encephalon of the system, even after the session is over.

The most concerning thing are their most recent statements. Every single patient claims to see a hooded figure slowly approaching them. Could it be him? His consciousness existing as a ghost in the system?

My curiosity has never been piqued like this. I want to know. I want to see what they see. But it’s too risky... for now.

ENTRY #231

I’m afraid that the fragile mental states of the subjects are limiting our studies. Mobius wants us to move past Beacon patients and on to more “stable” people. They want to get STEM closer to its intended use.

Would they see the world in the same way? Would a “sane” mind weather the psychically draining experience?

I had that dream again. I entered the STEM myself...

ENTRY #232

I revisited the Victoriano Estate yesterday; it’s a vestige, a mere husk of what was bound to be such a home of promise. Mobius reaped nearly everything of value when we took on the research ourselves, but Ruben’s notes indicate he was involved in something else.

There were plans for another STEM prototype... data about using receptors to transmit the brain function wirelessly to unaware users. It’s borderline parapsychology, but these schematics, and the scientific backup provided, seem sound...

What was he planning to do with such a thing?

There’s only one way to find out for certain, but I must continue these experiments in private, away from their prying eyes. I will not let them know... lest they take this from me as well.

ENTRY #239

Something else is even more harrowing... our subjects are... dying. They come out from STEM abruptly passing with looks of horror in their eyes. The one that do survive are catatonic; babbling incoherent masses that we can’t properly interview.

We’ve done nothing to the process to cause this change. It must be the ever-growing collective consciousness of the STEM system. These patients seem unable to take the strain of exposure. We need more “sane” subjects, perhaps to cleanse the system. At its current state, the system is unsustainable, something Mobius will not approve of. This time, only I am to blame for this.

Our new prototype in Beacon is almost ready. When it is, I will start its conversion to the wireless system. Even if the original STEM experiments go awry. I will show my worth to Mobius with its next generation.

ENTRY #246

Today was something truly surprising. He was one of the last groups of test subjects... Just another patient I expected to babble and maybe even die. Patient 105: Leslie Withers.

Ruben had singled him out as a useless subject... but he must have known. He knew I would read his notes. What else was Ruben lying to me about?

But this Leslie... he emerged cognant, calm, and able to report fully what he’d experienced inside. His unique pathology allowed him to successfully navigate his STEM experience with little repercussion.

They know nothing of his existence, but no doubt he is the key. If we all share the consciousness, then with him I too should be able to experience the STEM, potentially even suppress the more unsavory aspects of it.

With him I can be the master of the very technology I helped create. Mobius will see my worth and let me rise even higher in their ranks.

ENTRY #264

They’re coming for me. I don’t know how, but they know everything. They even know about Leslie. There’s no use hiding this anymore.

I’ll enter the system and my return will be proof that all of this was worth it. I can of course convince them that it wasn’t for me, it was for their goals!

There are just the final tweaks left. Once I finish, I will put Leslie in the STEM with myself and activate it. The wireless signal should ring out in the near distance. I can’t speak for those unfortunate to be around, but like I always said, the ends will justify the means.

Finally Mobius will see that I am one of their chosen ones. Ruben is but a ghost. I am their savior. Their plan is nothing without me.

#the evil within #CANON.#SAVE.

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go-redgirl · 4 years

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Mail-in Voting Is Only Democrats’ Latest Election-Stealing Strategy The Federalist ^ | August 17, 2020 | Bob Anderson

This November, election integrity is on the ballot as well. If the final tally is close, is there any doubt which way the final votes will land?

Sometimes a few votes make all the difference. Just ask former Senator Norm Coleman. On the morning after the election in November 2008, the official tally showed him with a 725-vote lead out of 2.9 million total votes cast. Coleman claimed victory. But Democrats flooded the state with lawyers to challenge the outcome. After the first recount, his lead was down to 206 votes, but things were just getting started.

Caches of ballots showed up late. Eight months later, the resulting litigation finally ended when Al Franken was declared the winner by 312 votes. He was sworn in July 2009. A subsequent study found that 1,099 felons had illegally voted.

The election mattered, not just to Sen. Coleman and his bid to retain his seat, but for a Republican party trying desperately to maintain a razor-thin bloc of votes necessary to sustain its filibuster power. With Coleman defeated, Senator Al Franken provided the pivotal 60th vote that gave America Obamacare. And so, a group of 312 votes out of a nation of over 300 million people changed the course of history.

The Democratic Party’s History of Voting ‘Irregularities’

Election shenanigans are nothing new. In 1948, six days after the polls had closed, 202 ballots were suddenly found in one precinct in a little town in south Texas that secured an 87-vote victory for Lyndon Johnson in his Senate race against the heavily favored Coke Stevenson. Again, the edge was small out of a total of one million votes.

With evidence of fraud, the case went to the U.S. Supreme Court, but it declined involvement. From that one election came the man who would become our 36th president. For Johnson, the 1948 contest wasn’t his last brush with whiffs of electoral scandal or voting shenanigans. Twelve years later, LBJ found himself forever dodging additional allegations that in the 1960 presidential election he helped steal Texas for running-mate John F. Kennedy.

That 1948 election in Texas was perhaps a foreshadowing of the battle for the soul of the modern Democratic Party: honorable defeat versus ignoble victory. Stevenson was a known gentleman, successful businessman, and a legislator who had worked his way up on account of his tireless, honest hard work. He rose from a job as the janitor of a local bank to becoming a bank president, attorney, and statesman.

Johnson, conversely, believed in guerilla warfare. With big dollars from the Brown and Root Company of Texas (now Halliburton), he flooded the state with negative ads assailing his opponent’s character. Stevenson refused to dignify them with a reply — and lost. From that epic struggle, Democrats seem to have engrained an old maxim: to the victor belongs the spoils.

Give them credit, Democrats are a tenacious bunch. They never give up. They understand that the game isn’t truly over when it’s “over.” Taking Vince Lombardi’s famous quote a step further, they’ve adopted the mantra, “We didn’t lose the game, we just added more time.”

Using Racial Tensions to Push Loose Voting Laws

Making up for what they lack in a persuasive argument on policy, Democrats are masters at carving up the body politic to get just enough to survive. As old reliable voting blocs such as labor unionshave dwindled, and with polls showing blacks exercising more party independence, Democrats have discovered that adding more voters to the rolls can be a suitable substitute for philosophical persuasion.

Trivial matters such as economics and tax policy are second now to sex and race issues. And absolutely everything is about sex and race. “How is Johnny’s school performing” matters less than if his school has added LGBT curriculum or The New York Times’s ahistorical indoctrination endeavor called the 1619 Project. Serious topics such as foreign policy, and the existential threat from China, are subjugated to the juvenile level of whether other nations like us.

Having looked away as felons voted for years, Democrats are now brash enough to openly lobby for it. Every Democrat running for president this year supported felons voting. After President Trump called MS-13 members “animals,” House Speaker Nancy Pelosi responded that there is “a spark of divinity in every person.” It’s easy to look away when the victims are people you don’t know. And what better time to let them all out of jail than during a pandemic in an election year? Guess which party they’ll be supporting?

Furthermore, Democrats suddenly support lowering the voting age to 16. They believe if you’re old enough to drive, you have the intellectual capability to select the next president of the United States. But sorry, kids, you’ll still have to wait five more years to buy beer. A cynic might suggest that Democrats believe they have a group that’s been captive long enough in their indoctrination centers (see: public schools) to count on their loyal voters.

Election Integrity Could Be at Stake This November

For years Democrats have opposed strengthening voter identification laws. Argue otherwise and expect a prompt lecture on “suppressing the vote.” In a sane world, we would all agree that verifying voter eligibility matters. Only in a world where everything is suddenly racist can the requirement to prove you are who you say you are be considered racist. As for those 16-year-olds mentioned earlier? Sorry, you’ll still need your ID to buy that beer — in five years.

On immigration, Democrats have even abandoned their great savior, Barack Obama. The Obama administration was known for strong enforcement and wasn’t hesitant to deport illegals. No longer. Attacking Trump for his desire to do the same (and build a wall) wasn’t just political theater, it represented a shift in strategy. If 312 votes in one election can change a nation, and 87 in another, then imagine what millions of new votes can do? With a promise of free health care and an open border, the sky is the limit for Democrats.

But for the coup de grâce, the mother of all voting schemes, Democrats have pulled out the ultimate 2020 trick: mail-in voting. With millions of ballots mailed out, and the ability for anybody to complete any number of them, the potential for fraud is nigh limitless.

It’s not hyperbole to say that one could expect more security from the guy checking your card at the entrance to Sam’s Club. Such is the state of voting today. Since the Trump administration is suingover the issue, we can expect the usual accusation of “voter suppression” to rear its annoying little head again. Make no mistake: Democrats will employ any tactic to ensure the survival of their plan.

So, when you go to your local precinct to vote this fall, remember that coming behind in many states will be bags full of ballots from unseen persons. There will be no guarantee they’ll arrive on time. No, we will be told that the new system takes a little longer, with some likely tallied long after election day. And if the margin is narrow, is there any question as to which way the vote count will drift?

More than this year’s election contests will be at stake. We may be witnesses to the end of election integrity.

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poop4u · 4 years

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The Best Exercise For a Dog is Using Its Nose

#Poop4U

Maggie, Skip, Jim and I are just back from a lovely hour-long walk this morning. All four of us were serenaded by the songs of a newly-arrived migrating birds, including Yellow and Palm Warblers.

Bird photos from Wikipedia, such a great resource.

Jim and I gloried in the sights of these gorgeous birds, the French-blue sky after a day of rain, and baby leaf buds springing forth, full of life and promise and hope.

While we walked and looked, the dogs walked and sniffed. And sniffed and sniffed and sniffed and sniffed. Yes, they got some physical exercise–especially good for Skip now that he can take longer walks along with his physical therapy exercises. But mostly what they got was brain food, and I can’t think of anything more important for a domestic dog than that. There’s a lot going on between those adorable ears, and we neglect it at our peril. Using their noses engages a dog’s brain in vital ways, and can prevent a raft of behavioral problems. Lots of interesting sniffing has been critical to keeping a just-turned, three-year old freight train of a Border Collie sane during his extreme physical restrictions. (Not to mention my sanity. Just saying.)

I was reminded of a post I wrote in 2016 titled Take Your Dog on a Sniff, and I thought today would be a good day to repeat it. There are so many people with new dogs out there, along with so many people with dogs/kids/jobs/life/pandemics taking up massive amounts of our time and energy. The best way I know to tire out a dog out in a healthy way is not to get it physical exercise, but to give it mental exercise. Tricks are one way to do that, but letting a dog use its nose-brain connection is another. You can do that by playing scent games, or going on walks (especially in new places), and the pay off is huge. Skip and Maggie came back to chew on stuffed Kongs, and are now sleeping at my feet while I write.

Here’s the post from 2016, Take Your Dog on a Sniff:

Recently I watched someone walking his dog close to my office in Black Earth. Every ten feet or so the dog tried to stop to sniff the ground, and every time she did, the man at the other end of the leash pulled her forward so that he could continue walking. Ah, the canine-primate disconnect, which never fails to appear if we just pay attention. I wrote an entire book about this, The Other End of the Leash, and yet I’m still discovering ways in which we struggle to merge our ethological needs.

Primates love to walk, at least, terrestrial ones like humans do. Not only that, but we like to walk side-by-side with our friends, to face the world together and exchange the news of the day. While we’re walking we spend a lot of energy looking around—enjoying the view and noting what has changed in the neighborhood. Dogs, on the other hand, primarily want to learn about the environment through olfaction, a sense that we humans are better at than we think, but often pay little attention to. But how many of us insist that our dogs don’t stop to smell the roses, but walk or trot happily by our side? It is why, in Family Friendly Dog Training, I suggest that dogs define heeling as “walk slowly and ignore all interesting things”. This photo, by the way, is Susannah Charleson’s Search and Rescue dog Puzzle, with Susannah in the background. (If you haven’t read her books yet, you’re lucky–because now you get to. Don’t miss them, they’re great.)

Dog owners aren’t alone in ignoring the olfactory needs of animals. Birte Nielsen and colleagues published an important paper in December of 2015 titled “Olfaction: An Overlooked Sensory Modality in Applied Ethology and Animal Welfare.” They argue, compelling, that we do animals a disservice by not acknowledging the impact of odor on their behavior and wellbeing. These odors can both cause suffering or improve lives. Jenna Bueley, DVM, found that air captured from a busy, stress-filled urban veterinary clinic increased stress-related behavior in dogs, reported at the 2012 IFAAB conference. Clark and King, noted in Nielsen’s article, found that olfactory stimulation increased behavioral diversity and activity levels in captive black-footed cats. But note… the same study found that odors had little effect on the behavior of captive gorillas. Ah, that primate thing again.

You don’t need me to tell you how important smell is to a dog. None of us are surprised that years ago, Bradshaw and Lea found that the vast majority of a dog’s interaction with a new dog related to olfaction (1992). But I think we all, me included, need to be reminded of how much “going on a walk” can be defined by us as “walking while looking and perhaps talking,” while to a dog, “going on a walk” means moving from one interesting smell to another.

It is important, but not natural, for us to acknowledge the essential nature of the sense of smell. Examples of its importance abound: Wells and Hepper (2006) found that day-old pups preferred the scent of aniseed if their mother’s food had contained it while they were pregnant. Think about that—it means that dogs can learn to associate emotions, and thus behavior, with a particular smell even before they are born. (Breeders take note.) It also appears that the perception of scent is lateralized in the brain in dogs. Sinischalchi and colleagues (“Sniffing with the right nostril” 2011) found that dogs preferred to use the right nostril when sniffing new scents, and switched to the left when the scent became routine, or non-threatening. Dogs who smelled arousing stimuli (adrenalin, sweat) never switched to the left nostril. Since the right nostril is linked to the right hemisphere of the brain (it’s an exception to the usual switch, left eye to right brain for example—if that stopped you for a moment, it did me too…), this suggests that olfaction in a dog’s brain is lateralized, and that the sympathetic HPA axis (hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal, or “on alert!” axis) is primarily mediated by the right hemisphere in dogs.

[Addendum added in 2020: And now we now that a dog’s nose can sense heat. Who knows what else they can do with their noses!]

This all circles around to the title of the blog: Take your dog on a sniff. I’ve written before that dogs need autonomy to be truly happy. I’m arguing here that what they most need is the freedom to use their noses. That is easy for us who can walk our dogs off leash. But leashed dogs need owners willing to compromise—an invigorating primate walk with our dogs trotting alongside part of the time, and the rest includes the dog getting, finally, the freedom to go from scent to scent and all the stimulation and information that entails.

Full disclosure: I’ve been good for years about letting my dogs stop to sniff when we are walking on leash, but lest I sound smug, guess how many photos I have of my dogs sniffing something? Three. Only three. That’s compared to literally hundreds of photos of my dogs playing together or with toys. Ah, that primate thing again. (Happy to say I updated that this morning, in May 2020, when I took a lot of sniffing photos.)

MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Skip is progressing by leaps and bounds, and we got a green light from UW physical therapist Courtney Arnoldy to give him a bit more freedom. Here she is working on weight loading Skip’s back right leg through a series of exercises that we replicate in the garage. (I watch on FaceTime, can’t go into the building. The photo was taken by assistant Haley, who was invaluable in keeping Skip focused while Courtney set up some of the exercises.)

Half of our walk this morning was with Skip on a long line rather than a short leash, so he got lots of time to trot rather than just walk fast. I’ve tried letting him off leash for a brief period of time and it’s pretty much what I thought it’d be: Two seconds of Skip standing still, and then exploding as if out of a rocket for twenty strides–the time it takes me to say Stand! and call him back to me. It’s just impossible to ease a young dog into getting a graduated amount of exercise, but I’m doing the best I can. Our next PT appt is next Monday, and I have hopes that his leg will be sound enough that I really can let him run for a few minutes without causing a set back.

Here are the dogs wearing out their brains while we listen to the birds.

If you follow the blog you know I love to cook, and I’ve done even more of it since Jim and I are staying Safe at Home as much as we can. Saturday I made the dough for these cinammon date rolls, and Sunday morning I got up early to make up the rolls and let them rise a second time before baking. (Or, “proof” if you’re British, says the woman binge watching The Great British Baking Show over and over and over again) . They look pretty good in the photo for sure, but I have to say, they taste even better. Healthy? Uh, nope. I’m making amends by making a lovely chicken/asparagus dish tonight, but I just picked fresh rhubarb and I have this recipe for rhubarb cake that is out of this world . . .

Friend and kick ass photographer Stephn Dahlgren came out to the farm last week to take some more photos. We haven’t seen most of them yet, but here’s one of Nellie, who, of course, managed to photo bomb what had been a great opportunity for a Trisha/Skip photo in lovely light. Nellie is highly displeased that twice a day I have to keep her out of the garage to do Skip’s physical therapy. She is making it clear by ripping the hell out of the wooded frame to the garage door, the message being clear: This is MY GARAGE. CAN YOU NOT READ THE SCENT MARKS AND VISUAL SIGNALS?

I hope you are hanging in there during this challenging time. As a dear niece said to me recently, “We’re all in the same storm but in different boats.” I hope your boat is keeping you afloat safely and without too much suffering.

Poop4U Blog via www.Poop4U.com Trisha, Khareem Sudlow

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