#it was just the perfect pain to joy ratio… it’s been so long.
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I want another hand tattoo… *kicks rock*
#it was just the perfect pain to joy ratio… it’s been so long.#I have two on one hand#but methinks the other is too barren and it needs to match?#I think if I do I’ll just get it matching the one I’ve already got bc the symmetry of it would tickle my brain hehe#✦ nc vb.
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Movies of 2021 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 2)
The Top Ten:
10. ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE – one of the undisputable highlights of the Winter-Spring period has to be the long-awaited, much vaunted redressing of a balance that’s been a particular thorn in the side of DC cinematic fans for over three years now – the completion and restoration of the true, unadulterated original director’s cut of the painfully abortive DCEU team-up movie that was absolutely butchered when Joss Whedon took over from original director Zack Snyder and then heavily rewrote and largely reshot the whole thing. It was a somewhat painful experience to view in cinemas back in 2017 – sure, there were bits that worked, but most of it didn’t and it wasn’t like the underrated Batman Vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, which improves immensely on subsequent viewings (especially in the three hour-long director’s cut). No, Whedon’s film was a MESS. Needless to say fans were up in arms, and once word got out that the finished film was not at all what Snyder originally intended, a vocal, forceful online campaign began to restore what quickly became known as the Snyder Cut. Thank the gods that Warner Bros listened to them, ultimately taking advantage of the intriguing alternative possibilities provided by their streaming service HBO Max to allow Snyder to present his fully reinstated creation in its entirety. The only remaining question, of course, is simply … is it actually any good? Well it’s certainly much more like BVS:DOG than Whedon’s film ever was, and there’s no denying that, much like the rest of Snyder’s oeuvre, this is a proper marmite movie – there are gonna people who hate it no matter what, but the faithful, the fans, or simply those who are willing to open their minds are going to find much to enjoy here. The damage has been thoroughly patched, most of the elements that didn’t work in the theatrical release having been swapped out or reworked so that now they pay off BEAUTIFULLY. This time the quest of Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) and Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to bring the first iteration of the Justice League together – half-Atlantean superhuman Arthur Curry/the Aquaman (Jason Momoa), lightning-powered speedster Barry Allan/the Flash (Fantastic Beasts’ Ezra Miller) and cybernetically-rebuilt genius Victor Stone/Cyborg (relative newcomer Ray Fisher) – not only feels organic, but NECESSARY, as does their desperate scheme to use one of the three alien Mother Boxes (no longer just shiny McGuffins but now genuinely well-realised technological forces that threaten cataclysm as much as they provide opportunity for miracles) to bring Clark Kent/Superman (Henry Cavill) back from the dead, especially given the far more compelling threat of this version’s collection of villains. Ciaran Hinds’ mocapped monstrosity Steppenwolf is a far more palpable and interesting big bad this time round, given a more intricate backstory that also ties in a far greater ultimate mega-villain that would have become the DCEU’s Thanos had Snyder had his way to begin with – Darkseid (Ray Porter), tyrannical ruler of Apokolips and one of the most powerful and hated beings in the Universe, who could have ushered the DCEU’s now aborted New Gods storyline to the big screen. The newer members of the League receive far more screen-time and vastly improved backstory too, Miller’s Flash getting a far more pro-active role in the storyline AND the action which also thankfully cuts away a lot of the clumsiness the character had in the Whedon version without sacrificing any of the nerdy sass that nonetheless made him such a joy, while the connective tissue that ties Momoa’s Aquaman into his own subsequent standalone movie feels much stronger here, and his connection with his fellow League members feels less perfunctory too, but it’s Fisher’s Cyborg who TRULY reaps the benefits here, regaining a whole new key subplot and storyline that ties into a genuinely powerful tragic origin story, as well as a far more complicated and ultimately rewarding relationship with his scientist father, Silas Stone (the great Joe Morton). It’s also really nice to see Superman handled with the kind of skill we’d expect from the same director who did such a great job (fight me if you disagree) of bringing the character to life in two previous big screen instalments, as well as erasing the memory of that godawful digital moustache removal … similarly, it’s nice to see the new and returning supporting cast get more to do this time, from Morton and the ever-excellent J.K. Simmonds as fan favourite Gotham PD Commissioner Jim Gordon to Connie Nielsen as Diana’s mother, Queen Hippolyta of Themyscira and another unapologetic scene-stealing turn from Jeremy Irons as Batman’s faithful butler Alfred Pennyworth. Sure, it’s not a perfect movie – the unusual visual ratio takes some getting used to, while there’s A LOT of story to unpack here, and at a gargantuan FOUR HOURS there are times when the pacing somewhat lags, not to mention an overabundance of drawn-out endings (including a flash-forward to a potential apocalyptic future that, while evocative, smacks somewhat of overeager fan-service) that would put Lord of the Rings’ The Return of the King to shame, but original writer Chris Terrio’s reconstituted script is rich enough that there’s plenty to reward the more committed viewer, and the storytelling and character development is a powerful thing, while the action sequences are robust and thrilling (even if Snyder does keep falling back on his over-reliance on slow motion that seems to alienate some viewers), and the new score from Tom Holkenborg (who co-composed on BVS:DOJ) feels a far more natural successor than Danny Elfman’s theatrical compositions. The end result is no more likely to win fresh converts than Man of Steel or Batman Vs Superman, but it certainly stands up far better to a critical eye this time round, and feels like a far more natural progression for the saga too. Ultimately it’s more of an interesting tangential adventure given that Warner Bros seem to be stubbornly sticking to their original plans for the ongoing DCEU, but I can’t help hoping that they might have a change of heart in the future given just how much better the final product is than any of us had any right to expect …
9. SYNCHRONIC – writer-director duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead are something of a creative phenomenon in the science-fiction and fantasy indie cinema scene, crafting films that ensnare the senses and engage the brain like few others. Subtly insidious conspiracy horror debut Resolution is a sneaky little chiller, while deeply original body horror Spring (the film that first got me into them) is weird, unsettling and surprisingly touching, but it was breakthrough sleeper hit The Endless, a nightmarish time-looping cosmic horror that thoroughly screws with your head, that really put them on the map. Needless to say it’s led them to greater opportunities heading into the future, and this is their first film to really reap the benefits, particularly by snaring a couple of genuine stars for its lead roles. Steve (Anthony Mackie) and Dennis (Jamie Dornan) are paramedics working the night shift in New Orleans, which puts them on the frontlines when a new drug hits the streets, a dangerous concoction known as Synchronic that causes its users to experience weird localised fractures in time that frequently lead to some pretty outlandish deaths in adults, while teenage users often disappear entirely. As the situation worsens, the pair’s professional and personal relationships become increasingly strained, compounded by the fact that Steve is concealing his recent diagnosis of terminal cancer, before things come to a head when Dennis’ teenage daughter Brianna (Into the Badlands’ Ally Ioannides) vanishes under suspicious circumstances, and it becomes clear to Steve that she’s become unstuck in time … this is as mind-bendingly off-the-wall and spectacularly inventive as we’ve come to expect from Benson and Moorhead, another fantastically original slice of weirdness that benefits enormously from their exquisitely obsessive attention to detail and characteristically unsettling atmosphere of building dread, while their character development is second to none, benefitting their top-notch cast no end. Mackie is typically excellent, bringing compelling vulnerability to the role that makes it easy to root for him as he gets further out of his depth in this twisted temporal labyrinth, while Dornan invests Dennis with a painfully human fallibility, and Ioannides does a lot with very little real screen time in her key role as ill-fated Brianna. The time-bending sequences are suitably disorienting and disturbing, utilising pleasingly subtle use of visual effects to further mess with your head, and the overall mechanics of the drug and its effects are fiendishly crafted, while the directors tighten the screw of slowburn tension throughout, building to a suitably offbeat ending that’s as devastating as anything we’ve seen from them so far. Altogether this is another winning slice of genre-busting weirdness from a filmmaking duo who deserve continued success in the future, and I for one will be watching eagerly.
8. WITHOUT REMORSE – I’m a big fan of Tom Clancy, to me he was one of the ultimate escapist thriller writers, and whenever a new adaptation of one of his novels comes along I’m always front of the line to check it out. The Hunt For Red October is one of my favourite screen thrillers OF ALL TIME, while my very favourite Clancy adaptation EVER, the Jack Ryan TV series, is, in my opinion, one of the very best Original shows that Amazon have ever done. But up until now my VERY FAVOURITE Clancy creation, John Clark, has always remained in the background or simply absent entirely, putting in an appearance as a supporting character in only two of the movies, tantalising me with his presence but never more than a teaser. Well that’s all over now – after languishing in development hell since the mid-90s, the long-awaited adaptation of my favourite Clancy novel, the origin story of the top CIA black ops operative, has finally arrived, as well as a direct spin-off from distributor Amazon’s own Jack Ryan series. Michael B. Jordan plays John Kelly (basically Clark before he gained his more famous cover identity), a lethally efficient, highly decorated Navy SEAL whose life is turned upside down when a highly classified operation experiences deadly blowback as half of his team is assassinated in retaliation, while Kelly barely survives an attack in which his heavily pregnant wife is killed. With the higher-ups unwilling the muddy the waters while scrambling to control the damage, Kelly, driven by rage and grief, takes matters into his own hands, embarking on a violent personal crusade against the Russian operatives responsible, but as he digs deeper with the help of his former commanding officer, Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Queen & Slim’s Jodie Turner-Smith), and mid-level CIA hotshot Robert Ritter (Jamie Bell), it becomes clear that there’s a far more insidious conspiracy at work here … in the past the Clancy adaptations we’ve seen tend to be pretty tightly reined-in affairs, going for a PG-13 polish that maintains the intellectual fireworks but still tries to keep the violence clean and relatively family-friendly, but this was never going to be the case here – Clark has always been Jack Ryan’s dark shadow, Clancy’s righteous man without the moral restraint, and a PG-13 take never would have worked, so going for an unfettered R-rating is the right choice. Jordan’s Kelly/Clark is a blood-soaked force of nature, a feral dog let off the leash, bringing a brutal ferocity to the action that does the literary source proud, tempered by a wounded vulnerability that helps us to sympathise with the broken but still very human man behind the killer; Turner-Smith, meanwhile, regularly matches him in the physical stakes, jumping into the action with enthusiasm and looking damn fine doing it, but she also brings tight control and an air of pragmatic military professionalism that makes it easy to believe in her not only as an accomplished leader of fighting men but also as the daughter of Admiral Jim Greer, while Bell is arrogant and abrasive but ultimately still a good man as Ritter; Guy Pearce, meanwhile, brings his usual gravitas and quietly measured charisma to proceedings as US Secretary of Defence Thomas Clay, and Lauren London makes a suitably strong impression during her brief screen time to make her absence keenly felt as Kelly’s wife Pam. The action is intense, explosive and spectacularly executed, culminating in a particularly impressive drawn-out battle through a Russian apartment complex, while the labyrinthine plot is intricately crafted and unfolds with taut precision, but then the screenplay was co-written by Taylor Sheridan, who here reteams with Sicario 2 director Stefano Sollida, who’s also already proven to be a seasoned hand at this kind of thing, and the result is a tense, knuckle-whitening suspense thriller that pays magnificent tribute to the most compelling creation of one of the best authors in the genre. Amazon have signed up for more with already greenlit sequel Rainbow Six, and with this directly tied in with the Jack Ryan TV series too I can’t help holding out hope we just might get to see Jordan’s Clark backing John Krasinski’s Ryan up in the future …
7. RAYA & THE LAST DRAGON – with UK cinemas still closed I’ve had to live with seeing ALL the big stuff on my frustratingly small screen at home, but at least there’s been plenty of choice with so many of the big studios electing to either sell some of their languishing big projects to online vendors or simply release on their own streaming services. Thank the gods, then, for the House of Mouse following Warner Bros’ example and releasing their big stuff on Disney+ at the same time in those theatres that have reopened – this was one movie I was PARTICULARLY looking forward to, and if I’d had to wait and hope for the scheduled UK reopening to occur in mid-May I might have gone a little crazy watching everyone else lose it over something I still hadn’t seen. That said, it WOULD HAVE been worth the wait – coming across sort-of a bit like Disney’s long overdue response to Dreamworks’ AWESOME Kung Fu Panda franchise, this is a spellbinding adventure in a beautifully thought-out fantasy world heavily inspired by Southeast Asia and its rich, diverse cultures, bursting with red hot martial arts action and exotic Eastern mysticism and brought to life by a uniformly strong voice cast dominated by actors of Asian descent. It’s got a cracking premise, too – 500 years ago, the land of Kumandra was torn apart when a terrible supernatural force known as the Druun very nearly wiped out all life, only stopped by the sacrifice of the last dragons, who poured all their power and lifeforce into a mystical gem. But when the gem is broken and the pieces divided between the warring nations of Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail and Talon, the Druun return, prompting Raya (Star Wars’ Kelly Marie Tran), the fugitive princess of Heart, to embark on a quest to reunite the gem pieces and revive the legendary dragon Sisu in a desperate bid to vanquish the Druun once and for all. Moana director Don Hall teams up with Blindspotting helmer Carlos Lopez Estrada (making his debut in the big chair for Disney after helping develop Frozen), bringing to life a thoroughly inspired screenplay co-written by Crazy Rich Asians’ Adele Kim which is full to bursting with magnificent world-building, beautifully crafted characters and thrilling action, as well as the Disney prerequisites of playful humour and tons of heart and soul. Tran makes Raya an feisty and engaging heroine, tough, stubborn and a seriously kickass fighter, but with true warmth and compassion too, while Gemma Chan is icy cool but deep down ultimately kind of sweet as her bitter rival, Fang princess Namaari, and there’s strong support from Benedict Wong and Good Boys’ Izaac Wang as hard-but-soft Spine warrior Tong and youthful but charismatic Tail shrimp-boat captain Boun, two of the warm-hearted found family that Raya gathers on her travels. The true scene-stealer, however, is the always entertaining Awkwafina, bringing Sisu to life in wholly unexpected but thoroughly charming and utterly adorable fashion, a goofy, sassy and sweet-natured bundle of fun who grabs all the best laughs but also unswervingly champions the film’s core messages of peace, unity and acceptance in all things, something which Raya needs a lot of convincing to take to heart. Visually stunning, endlessly inventive, consistently thrilling and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, this is another solid gold winner once again proving that Disney can do this kind of stuff in their sleep, but it’s always most interesting when they really make the effort to create something truly special, and that’s just what they’ve done here. As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the studio’s finest animated features in a good long while, and thoroughly deserving of your praise and attention …
6. THE MITCHELLS VS THE MACHINES – so what piece of animation, you might be asking, could POSSIBLY have won over Raya as my animated feature of the year so far? After all, it would have to be something TRULY special … but then, remember Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse? Back in 2018, that blew me away SO MUCH that it very nearly became my top animated feature of THE PAST DECADE (only JUST losing out, ultimately, to Dreamworks’ unstoppable How to Train Your Dragon trilogy). When I heard its creators, the irrepressible double act of Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The Lego Movie, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs), were going to be following that up with this anarchic screwball comedy adventure, I was VERY EXCITED INDEED, a fervour which was barely blunted when its release was, inevitably, indefinitely delayed thanks to the global pandemic, so when it finally released at the tail end of the Winter-Spring season I POUNCED. Thankfully my faith was thoroughly rewarded – this is an absolute riot from start to finish, a genuine cinematic gem I look forward to going back to for repeated viewings in the near future, just to soak up the awesomeness – it’s hilarious to a precision-crafted degree, brilliantly thought-out and SPECTACULARLY well-written by acclaimed Gravity Falls writer-director Mike Rianda (who also helms here), injecting the whole film with a gleefully unpredictable, irrepressibly irreverent streak of pure chaotic genius that makes it a affectionately endearing and utterly irresistible joyride from bonkers start to adorable finish. The central premise is pretty much as simple as the title suggests, the utterly dysfunctional family in question – father Rick (Danny McBride), born outdoorsman and utter technophobe, mother Linda (Maya Rudolph), much put-upon but unflappable even in the face of Armageddon, daughter Katie (Broad City co-creator Abbi Jacobson), tech-obsessed and growing increasingly estranged from her dad, and son Aaron (Rianda himself), a thoroughly ODD dinosaur nerd – become the world’s only hope after naïve tech mogul Mark Bowman (Eric Andre), founder of PAL Labs, inadvertently sets off a robot uprising. Cue a wild ride comedy of errors of EPIC proportions … this is just about the most fun I’ve had with a movie so far this year, an absolute riot throughout, but there’s far more to it than just a pile of big belly laughs, with the Mitchells all proving to be a lovable bunch of misfits who inspire just as much deep, heartfelt affection as they learn from their mistakes and finally overcome their differences, becoming a better, more loving family in the process, McBride and Jacobson particularly shining as they make our hearts swell and put a big lump in our throat even while they make us titter and guffaw, while the film has a fantastic larger than (virtual) life villain in PAL (Olivia Colman), the virtual assistant turned megalomaniacal machine intelligence spearheading this technological revolution. Much like its Spider-Man-shaped predecessor, this is also an absolutely STUNNING film, visually arresting and spectacularly inventive and bursting with neat ideas and some truly beautiful stylistic flair, frequently becoming a genuine work of cinematic art that’s as much a feast for the eyes as it is the intellect and, of course, the soul. Altogether then, this is definitely the year’s most downright GORGEOUS film so far, as well as UNDENIABLY its most FUN. Lord and Miller really have done it again.
5. P.G. PSYCHO GOREMAN – the year’s current undeniable top guilty pleasure has to be this fantastic weird, thoroughly over-the-top and completely OUT THERE black comedy cosmic horror that doesn’t so much riff on the works of HP Lovecraft as throw them in a blender, douse them with maple syrup and cayenne pepper and then hurl the sloppy results to the four winds. On paper it sounds like a family-friendly cutesy comedy take on Call of Cthulu et al, but trust me, this sure ain’t one for the kids – the latest indie horror offering from Steven Kostanski, co-creator of the likes of Manborg, Father’s Day and The Void, this is one of the weirdest movies I’ve seen in years, but it’s also one of the most gleefully funny, playing itself entirely for yucks (frequently LITERALLY). Mimi (Nita Josee-Hanna) and Luke (Owen Myre) are a two small-town Canadian kids who dig a big hole of their backyard, accidentally releasing the Arch-Duke of Nightmares (Matthew Ninaber and the voice of Steven Vlahos), an ancient, god-tier alien killing machine who’s been imprisoned for aeons in order to protect the universe from his brutal crusade of death and destruction. To their parents’ dismay, Mimi decides to keep him, renaming him Psycho Goreman (or “P.G.” for short) and attempting to curb his superpowered murderous impulses so she can have a new playmate. But the monster’s original captors, the Templars of the Planetary Alliance, have learned of his escape, sending their most powerful warrior, Pandora (Kristen McCulloch), to destroy him once and for all. Yup, this movie is just as loony tunes as it sounds – Kostanski injects the film with copious amounts of his own outlandish, OTT splatterpunk extremity, bringing us a riotous cavalcade of bizarrely twisted creatures and mutations (brought to life through some deliciously disgusting prosthetic effects work) and a series of wonderfully off-kilter (not to mention frequently off-COLOUR) darkly comic skits and escapades, while the sense of humour is pretty bonkers but also generously littered with nuggets of genuine sharply observed genius. The cast, although made up almost entirely of unknowns, is thoroughly game, and the kids particularly impress, especially Josee-Hanna, who plays Mimi like a flamboyant, mercurial miniature psychopath whose zinger-delivery is clipped, precise and downright hilarious throughout. There are messages of love conquering all and the power of family, both born and made, buried somewhere in there too, but ultimately this is just 90 minutes of wonderful weirdness that’s sure to melt your brain but still leave you with a big dumb green when it’s all over. Which is all we really want from a movie like this, right?
4. SPACE SWEEPERS – all throughout the pandemic and the interminable lockdowns, Netflix have been a consistent blessing to those of us who’ve been craving the kind of big budget blockbusters we have (largely) been unable to get at the cinema. Some of my top movies of 2020 were Netflix Originals, and they’ve continued the trend into 2021, having dropped some choice cuts on us over the past four months, with some REALLY impressive offerings still to come as we head into the summer season (roll on, Zack Snyder’s Army of the Dead!). In the meantime, my current Netflix favourite of the year so far is this phenomenal milestone of Korean cinema, lauded as the country’s first space blockbuster, which certainly went big instead of going home. Writer-director Jo Sung-hee (A Werewolf Boy, Phantom Detective) delivers big budget thrills and spills with a bombastic science-fiction adventure cast in the classic Star Wars mould, where action, emotion and fun characters count for more than an admittedly simplistic but still admirably archetypical and evocative plot – it’s 2092, and the Earth has become a toxic wasteland ruined by overpopulation and pollution, leading the wealthy to move into palatial orbital habitats in preparation for the impending colonisation of Mars, while the poor and downtrodden are packed into rotting ghetto satellites facing an uncertain future left behind to fend for themselves, and the UTS Corporation jealously guard the borders between rich and poor, presided over by seemingly benevolent but ultimately cruel sociopathic genius CEO James Sullivan (Richard Armitage). Eking out a living in-between are the space sweepers, freelance spaceship crews who risk life and limb by cleaning up dangerous space debris to prevent it from damaging satellites and orbital structures. The film focuses on the crew of sweeper vessel Victory, a ragtag quartet clearly inspired by the “heroes” of Cowboy Bebop – Captain Jang (The Handmaiden’s Kim Tae-ri), a hard-drinking ex-pirate with a mean streak and a dark past, ace pilot Kim Tae-ho (The Battleship Island’s Song Joong-ki), a former child-soldier with a particularly tragic backstory, mechanic Tiger Park (The Outlaws’ Jin Seon-Kyu), a gangster from Earth living in exile in orbit, and Bubs (a genuinely flawless mocapped performance from A Taxi Driver’s Yoo Hae-jin), a surplus military robot slumming it as a harpooner so she can earn enough for gender confirmation. They’re a fascinating bunch, a mercenary band who never think past their next paycheque, but there’s enough good in them that when redemption comes knocking – in the form of Kang Kot-nim (newcomer Park Ye-rin), a revolutionary prototype android in the form of a little girl who may hold the key to bio-technological ecological salvation – they find themselves answering the call in spite of their misgivings. The four leads are exceptional (as is their young charge), while Armitage makes for a cracking villain, delivering subtle, restrained menace by the bucketload every time he’s onscreen, and there’s excellent support from a fascinating multinational cast who perform in a refreshingly broad variety of languages. Jo delivers spectacularly on the action front, wrangling a blistering series of adrenaline-fuelled and explosive set-pieces that rival anything George Lucas or JJ Abrams have sprung on us this century, while the visual effects are nothing short of astounding, bringing this colourful, eclectic and dangerous universe to vibrant, terrifying life; indeed, the world-building here is exceptional, creating an environment you’ll feel sorely tempted to live in despite the pitfalls. Best of all, though, there’s tons of heart and soul, the fantastic found family dynamic at the story’s heart winning us over at every turn. Ultimately, while you might come for the thrills and spectacle, you’ll stay for these wonderful, adorable characters and their compelling tale. An undeniable triumph.
3. JUDAS & THE BLACK MESSIAH – I’m a little fascinated by the Black Panther Party, I find them to be one of the most intriguing elements of Black History in America, but outside of documentaries I’ve never really seen a feature film that’s truly done the movement justice, at least until now. It’s become a major talking point of the Awards Season, and it’s easy to see why – director Shaka King is a protégé of Spike Lee, and together with up-and-coming co-screenwriter Wil Berson he’s captured the fire and fervour of the Party and their firebrand struggle for racial liberation through force of arms, as well as a compelling portrait of one of their most important figures, Fred Hampton, the Chairman of the Illinois Chapter of the BPP and a powerful political activist who could have become the next Martin Luther King or Malcolm X. Get Out’s Daniel Kaluuya is magnificent in the role, effortlessly holding your attention in every scene with his laconic ease and deceptively friendly manner, barely hinting at the zealous fire blazing beneath the surface, but the film’s true focus is the man who brought him down, William O’Neal, a fellow Panther and FBI informant placed in the Chapter to infiltrate the movement and find a way for the US Government to bring down what they believed to be one of the country’s greatest internal threats. Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You, Knives Out) delivers a suitably complex performance as O’Neal, perfectly embodying a very clever but also very desperate man walking a constant tightrope to maintain his cover in some decidedly wary company, but there’s never any real sense that he’s playing the villain, Stanfield largely garnering sympathy from the viewer as we’re shamelessly made to root for him, especially once he starts falling for the very ideals he’s trying to subvert – it’s a true star-making performance, and he even holds his own playing opposite Kaluuya himself. The rest of the cast are equally impressive, Dominique Fishback (Project Power, The Deuce) particularly holding our attention as Hampton’s fiancée and fellow Panther Akua Njeri, as does Jesse Plemmons as O’Neal’s idealistic but sympathetic FBI handler Roy Mitchell, while Martin Sheen is the film’s nominal villain in a chillingly potent turn as J. Edgar Hoover. This is an intense and thrilling film, powered by a tense atmosphere of pregnant urgency and righteous fury, but while there are a few grittily realistic set pieces, the majority of the fireworks on display are performance based, the cast giving their all and King wrestling a potent and emotionally resonant, inescapably timely history lesson that informs without ever slipping into preachy exposition, leaving an unshakable impression long after the credits have rolled. This doesn’t just earn all the award-winning kudos it gained, it deserved A LOT MORE recognition that it got, and if this were a purely critical rundown list I’d have to put it in the top spot. As it is I’m monumentally enamoured of this film, and I can’t sing its praises enough …
2. RUN, HIDE, FIGHT – the biggest surprise hit for me so far this year was this wicked little indie suspense thriller from writer-director Kyle Rankin (Night of the Living Deb), which snuck in under the radar but is garnering an impressive reputation as a future cult sleeper hit. Critics have been less kind, but the subject matter is a pretty thorny issue, and if handled the wrong way it could have been in very poor taste indeed. Thankfully Rankin has crafted a corker here, initially taking time to set the scene and welcome the players before throwing us headfirst into an unbelievably tense but also unsettlingly believable situation – a small town American high school becomes the setting for a fraught siege when a quartet of disturbed students take several of their classmates hostage at gunpoint, creating a social media storm in the process as they encourage the capture of the crisis on phone cameras. While the local police gather outside, the shooters discover another threat from within the school throwing spanners in the works – Zoe Hull (Alexa & Katie’s Isabel May), a seemingly nondescript girl who happens to be the daughter of former marine scout sniper Todd (Thomas Jane). She’s wound pretty tight after the harrowing death of her mother to cancer, fuelled by grief and conditioned by her father’s training, so she’s determined to get her friends and classmates out of this nightmare, no matter what. Okay, so the premise reads like Die Hard in a school, but this is a very different beast, played for gritty realism and shot with unshowy cinema-verité simplicity, Rankin cranking up the tension beautifully but refusing to play to his audience any more than strictly necessary, drip-feeding the thrills to maximum effect but delivering some harrowing action nonetheless. The cast are top-notch too, Jane delivering a typically subtle, nuanced turn while Treat Williams is likeably stoic as world-weary but dependable local Sherriff Tarsey, Rhada Mitchell intrigues as the matter-of-fact phantom of Zoe’s mum, Jennifer, that she’s concocted to help her through her mourning, Olly Sholotan is sweetly geeky as her best friend Lewis, and Eli Brown raises genuine goosebumps as an all-too-real teen psychopath in the role of terrorist ringleader Tristan Voy. The real beating heart and driving force of the film, though, is May, intense, barely restrained and all but vibrating with wounded fury, perfectly believable as the diminutive high school John McClane who defies expectations to become a genuine force to be reckoned with, as far as I’m concerned one of this year’s TOP female protagonists. Altogether this is a cracking little thriller, a precision-crafted little action gem that nonetheless raises some troubling questions and treats its subject matter with utmost care and respect, a film that’s destined for major cult classic status, and I can’t recommend it enough.
1. NOBODY – do you love the John Wick movies but you just wish they took themselves a bit less seriously? Well fear not, because Derek Kolstad has delivered fantastically on that score, the JW screenwriter mashing his original idea up with the basic premise of the Taken movies (former government spook/assassin turned unassuming family man is forced out of retirement and shit gets seriously trashed as a result) and injecting a big dollop of gallows humour. This time he’s teamed up with Ilya Naishuller, the stone-cold lunatic who directed the deliriously insane but also thoroughly brilliant Hardcore Henry, and the results are absolutely unbeatable, a pitch perfect jet black action comedy bursting with neat ideas, wonderfully offbeat characters and ingenious plot twists. Better Call Saul’s Bob Odenkirk is perfect casting as Hutch Mansell, the aforementioned ex-“Auditor”, a CIA hitman who grew weary of the lifestyle and quit to find some semblance of normality with his wife Becca (Connie Nielsen), with whom he’s had two kids. Ultimately, he seems to have “overcompensated”, and his life has stagnated, Hutch following a autopiloted day-to-day routine that’s left him increasingly unfulfilled … then fate intervenes and a series of impulsive choices see him falling back on his old ways while defending a young woman from drunken thugs on a late night bus ride. Problem is, said lowlifes work for the Russian Mob, specifically Yulian Kuznetsov (Leviathan’s Aleksei Serebryakov), a Bratva boss charged with guarding the Obshak, who must exact brutal vengeance in order to save face. Cue much bloody violence and entertaining chaos … Kolstad can do this sort of thing in his sleep, but his writing married with Naishuller’s singularly BONKERS vision means that the anarchy is dialled right up to eleven, while the gleefully dark sense of humour shot through makes the occasional surreality and bitingly satirical observation on offer all the more exquisite. Odenkirk is a low-key joy throughout, initially emasculated and pathetic but becoming more comfortable in his skin as he reconnects with his old self, while Serebryakov hams things up spectacularly, chewing the scenery with aplomb; Nielsen, meanwhile, brings her characteristic restrained classiness to proceedings, Christopher Lloyd and the RZA are clearly having the time of their lives as, respectively, Hutch’s retired FBI agent father David and fellow ex-spook half-brother Harry, and there’s a wonderfully game cameo from the incomparable Colin Salmon as Hutch’s former handler, the Barber. Altogether then, this is the perfect marriage of two fantastic worlds – an action-packed thrill ride as explosively impressive as John Wick, but also a wickedly subversive laugh riot every bit as blissfully inventive as Hardcore Henry, and undeniably THE BEST MOVIE I’ve seen so far this year. Sure, there’s some pretty heavyweight stuff set to (FINALLY) come out later this year, but this really will take some beating …
#movies 2021#zack snyder's justice league#synchronic#synchronic movie#without remorse#raya and the last dragon#the mitchells vs the machines#pg psycho goreman#psycho goreman#space sweepers#judas and the black messiah#run hide fight#nobody#nobody movie
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First Line Meme
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!
tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖
Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:
1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.
2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.
3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.
4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.
5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.
6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due.
7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.
Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.
8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.
9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”
Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.
ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.
Okay. Anyway. Moving on:
10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.
It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...
That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.
(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)
11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.
His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.
(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)
12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.
“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”
There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”
(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)
13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”
Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”
Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”
Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”
“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”
(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)
14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.
(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)
15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.
And everything went dark.
(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)
16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.
(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)
17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.
(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)
18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.
(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)
19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.
(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)
20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.
“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”
Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”
Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”
Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”
(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)
And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!
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Dani and Jamie fluff anyone?
Cafe AU
Title: Steepingly Splendid
Read below or check it out on AO3
Taking writing prompts for one-shots, send them my way if you want some more content about these two!
Jamie never considered herself an adventurous woman. Sure, she was a bit of a wild thing back in her youth, but as she settled into adult hood, she came to realize that routine and stability were essential to her own happiness. She worked her entire life to achieve this.
As a teenager, she escaped a dysfunctional home environment by fleeing her small town in the middle of rural nowhere opting to take up residence in London. While adapting to urban life, Jamie met Owen, a boy with a heart of gold. He soon became her chosen family and life-long friend. Together, they opened a café in the heart of the city.
Jamie and Owen made quite the dynamic duo. Jamie took on the roles of business manager and barista freeing up Owen to pursue his love of cooking by experimenting with pastry recipes sold at the shop. Needless to say, Owen’s creations were a massive success. Customers lined up around the block before opening salivating at the mouth for Owen’s baked goods. Jamie was able to supplement these goodies with a proper cuppa and collect their cash, of course.
The shop managed to make a humble profit during the first year which enabled them to live a comfortable life in London. Over time, they fell into a comfortable routine. Everything was nice and boring, albeit a little hectic the more popular the “Steepingly Splendid Café” became. Their solution was hiring a new employee to help Jamie carry the extra day to day work while Owen focused on crafting his famous baked goods.
Desperate for help, they hired the first qualified applicant on the spot. She was an American woman named Dani Clayton, newly arrived in London with a fierce determination to serve others and genuine drive to make people happy. Jamie secretly suspected Owen hired her because he was desperate for a co-worker that actually enjoyed his love of puns.
Over the next week, Dani trained with Owen on the register. She seemed to take to it very quickly and even managed to deliver Owen’s signature appreciative catch phrase to customers with a straight face, “We appreciate your business a latte!”
Dani was capable of running the register solo in a matter of hours. Over the next few days, Dani worked along aside Jamie allowing Owen to spend less time in the front of the shop and more time in the kitchen experimenting with batters, doughs, and jams.
Jamie felt a familiarity working with Dani despite never having a formal “get to know you” conversation with her. They worked seamlessly in tandem, as if Dani had always been there. At the end of the week, Owen and Jamie decided it was time to expand Dani’s skillset into full-fledged barista. They were hopeful the young American would catch on to brewing drinks as easily as she did to processing payments and charming customers.
To say Dani did not take easily to this, was an understatement.
It was as if her ancestors had desecrated a tea grove many moons ago making it impossible for Dani to make a drinkable cup of tea to save her soul. The moment she touched the leaves, everything went to hell. Truth be told, Jamie felt sympathy for the girl. She was clearly trying to get it right but was becoming more discouraged with each failed brew.
Dani poured the latest catastrophe down the sink. She rested her hands along the edge of the sink, body slumped forward as she released ragged breathes with her eyes shut. Jamie felt a sudden urge to do something, anything to comfort Dani. Seeing her defeated left an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. In her indecision, she shifted closer to Dani’s side. The sulking woman must have spotted her out of the corner of her eye. Dani quickly composed herself, trying to brush off her disappointment.
“Well, I guess tea isn’t really my thing.” Dani mumbled, the shakiness in her voice was not lost on Jamie. The underlying tone of sadness tugged at Jamie’s heart. In all the time that Dani has been around, she was like a constant ray of sunshine bringing laughter and joy to the café. Jamie was determined to restore Dani’s sunny disposition she had become increasingly fond of over the past week.
Jamie shrugged trying to convey an air of nonchalance. “It’s to be expected really. You did just come over from America and all. Yanks aren’t exactly famous for making proper tea.” Dani let out a genuine laugh, her posture straightening. She swiveled her head looking at Jamie with an appreciatively, flashing her pearly whites. Jamie felt a fluttering in her chest very much encouraged by Dani’s response to her lighthearted joke.
“Ha, I guess all those years across the pond put me at a disadvantage, huh?” Jamie couldn’t fight back the dopey grin that was surely plastered all over her face as Dani poorly mocked her cockney accent. It was adorable.
“Damn right. We’ve got to knock the bad habits out of ya. Turn you in into a proper Brit if you’re up for it?” Jamie quipped.
Dani’s smile grew wide enough to reach her eyes. “I’d like that.”
“All right. Brewing boot camp is officially under way.”
The timing worked out perfectly. It was their med-afternoon lull. Jamie made an arrangement with Owen to man the front of the shop and deal with customers while she took over the back half of the shop to teach Dani the art of tea making. Before getting started, Dani pulled out a pocket-sized note pad for which she scribbled copious noted throughout their lesson determined to get this right.
“All right,” Jamie began, “first thing is first. We have to boil the water.” She handed over the kettle to Dani, who proceeded to fill up the container until Jamie told her to stop. Then Jamie directed her over to the burner. Dani placed down the kettle, switched on the gas awaiting her next instruction.
“Perfect,” Jamie said. “Now we wait until it gives us the warning whistle. In the meantime, we gather the leaves.”
Dani scrunched her face in confusion, “I thought tea came in little baggies?”
Jamie smiled holding back laughter, “Well good thing I’m here to set things straight.” Jamie could have sworn she saw the hint of a creeping blush spreading across Dani’s cheeks. She brushed it off, blaming the warmth coming from the stove, and focused back to the task at hand.
Jamie grabbed a tin container of earl grey from the selection of tea on the shelves. She placed it on the counter alongside a ceramic tea kettle. She measured out the amount of tea to make a single cup placing it in the kettle. Dani watched with focused attention scribbling on her note pad, hanging on Jamie’s every word. Jamie explained a proper cuppa was all about balancing the type of tea leaves with the optimal water to leave ratio and timing out the steeping part just right. All were crucial for extracting the all the flavor notes. Dani nodded in understanding while scribbling on her pad. Once Jamie was convinced Dani had the methods down, she grabbed a second kettle instructing Dani to brew up her own batch.
Dani poked her tongue out in concentration as she measured the tea exactly as Jamie had done before, her slender nimble fingers delicately weighing the leaves placing them with care inside the kettle. Her glowing smiled warmed Jamie’s insides.
“Not bad for a yank.” Jamie commented.
“Thanks,” Dani beamed at the compliment.
Jamie was forced to tear her gaze from the captivating blonde when the kettle began singing its tune indicating the water was ready. Dani’s eyes lit up with excitement. She rushed over to the kettle placing her hand on the handle to remove it from the stove. Jamie didn’t have time to warn her before the blonde jumped back.
“Owwww!” She howled in pain. On instinct, Jamie grabbed Dani by the wrist ushering her to the sink. She turned the faucet on full blast submerging Dani’s burnt digits under the cool stream of water.
Owen, recognizing what was happening, ran to the stove turning off the range and disappeared into the back office emerging seconds later with a first aid kit. He left it one the counter next to Jamie and pop back up front to attend to a newly arriving customer.
Jamie barely noticed what was going on around her. She was singularly focused on Dani. Her breathing was ragged but calming as her hand cooled off. After a few seconds, Jamie turned off the water. She pulled Dani’s hand closer to inspect the damage which thankfully was minimal. Pink slender fingers angry from their encounter with the hot kettle but all skin intact without any hint of forming blisters. Jamie released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“I’m so sorry Dani I should have warned you sooner to use a rag. That kettle gets wicked hot.”
“I-it’s ok.” Dani practically whispered. Jamie was so focused on tending to her injury, she didn’t realize how physically close they’d become. She could feel Dani’s body heat radiating off her from the close proximity. Dani must have noticed this too but made no attempt to move away.
Jamie shook her head, “It’s not ok. How am I supposed to teach you the right way to do things if I’m flat out putting you in harm’s way?” She looked back up from Dani’s scalded hand held gingerly within her own meeting Dan't eye line. Jamie was mesmerized by Dani’s piercing blue eyes, her lips quivering slightly as if she were also processing a million thoughts and feelings in this very moment. A stray lock of golden hair cascaded across the side of her face. Without thinking, Jamie tucked it behind Dani’s ear gently brushing the side of her face.
Dani’s breath hitched. “Well there is one thing you could do?” She said breathlessly.
“You name it.” Jamie said her voice sounded small, unsure of what was to come next. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
Dani, “You could kiss it and make it all better?”
The pounding in Jamie’s chest ceased for a beat. Her body tensed and palms felt clammy. Unsure if this was cardiac arrest or the comings of a panic attack, she tried her best to process what Dani just said; but before she could do that, Dani ripped her injured hand from Jami’s grasp, stammering at the speed of light.
“I-I didn’t mean it like-, I mean, I just asked you to, to. Oh boy. F-forget I said anything, anything at all.”
Fortunately, Dani’s incoherent word vomit was cut short by Owen’s arrival. “Here you go! Ice cubes in a towel to the rescue.” He extended the offering to Dani who accepted, placing it into her injured hand.
“Th-thank you.” She said flashing Owen an appreciative smile and then casting a nervous glance in Jamie’s direction. Desperate to make things less awkward, Jamie wracked her brain for something, anything to say. Her mind was blank. All she could do was feel Dani’s presence clouding her thoughts, her last request to “kiss her” replaying over and over in her mind. With each passing second, it became more and more apparent that her innocent crush on this girl ran much deeper than she initially thought.
“Does it hurt?” Jamie eventually managed to ask, relieved her mind caught up to the the present.
“A little,” Dani whispered, “the ice is soothing.”
Owen beamed with pride. “It seems that was just what you kneaded.” Jamie rolled her eyes as he laughed at his own joke along with Dani.
They decided to try and salvage the rest of the day’s tea lessons the best they could. Jamie performed the functions of making tea while Dani observed taking copious notes. The two of them continued this teaching method until Dani’s hand healed. Over the course of the following week, Dani became more confident with her tea making skills. Her hand fully healed after a few days of icing and resting. She was able to go through the entire process on her own. She even received a few compliments from the customers. Owen even sampled as an impartial third party claiming her brew was “Tea-riffic.”
“Look at you, whipping up tea like you’ve lived her your whole life.” Jamie’s insides performing summersaults as Dani smiled at her like an angel.
“Well, I had an excellent teacher.” Dani said.
“Is that so?” Jamie replied leaning casually against the counter.
“Yeah, she’s a proper Brit and everything.” Dani was inching closer, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. A nervous habit Jamie picked up on during their tea brewing lessons. “She’s seems tough on the outside like she could take on the entire world if she wanted to, but deep down she’s a softy who cares a lot more than she lets on.” Jamie felt her face flush at the insightful compliment. She tried to brush it off by playing it cool which would have worked if Owen hadn’t interjected his own commentary.
“You can even say her caring for others is her special-tea.” Owen chimed in.
Jamie tossed a day-old pastry in his direction. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Owen captured the fumbling pastry, brushing crumbs off his jumper. He leaned over into Dani’s space whispering loud enough for Jamie to overhear. “Be wary of this one. Hell, hath no fury like a woman sconed.”
Jamie rolled her eyes in faux annoyance while Dani giggled in comradery with Owen.
Owen slung his bag over his shoulder heading for the front door before Jamie could retaliate with another pastry toss. “Well ladies I hate to leave you when I’m on a roll like this,” winking over his shoulder at Dani. “but my baking experiments are calling me home. Try to not let anything go a rye! Chow!”
Owen mercifully exited the building leaving Dani and Jamie to man the shop for the rest of the afternoon. “That has to be some kind of world record for most puns about cafés said in a bloody café.” Jamie uttered, grabbing a damp rag to wipe down the counters.
Dani smiled, “His commitment is impressive. Any other lessons for today?”
Jamie grinned as an idea popped into her head. She discarded the towel haphazardly on the counter opting to swagger over to espresso machine.
“Well, since you’re an American and all, we can skip the basics of brewing coffee and move onto something a bit more fun.” The metallic machine grumbling to life after she pressed the on button.
Dani’s eyes shifted nervously. “O-ok. What did you have in mind?”
Jamie grabbed a bar stool from the dining section. She placed it adjacent to the espresso machine tapping the seat as an invitation for Dani to sit. The angelic blonde settled into the seat, moving to take out her notepad and pen. Jamie tugged on the sleeve of her denim jacket. Danie froze, staring at her like a deer in headlights.
“You won’t be needing that.” She said in reference to the pad and pen, “Just want you to watch for now, ok?” Dani visibly relaxed. She stashed the writing instrument and tiny pad in her coat pocket. “Ok. I’m ready.”
Jamie beamed with excitement. This was her chance to show off in front of the woman that was occupying most of her daily thoughts. She streamed a single shot of espresso from the silver machine into a tall white mug and then placed next to Dani. Next, she poured a healthy amount of milk into a steel pitcher which she placed underneath the steaming wand frothing the milk. Jamie could feel Dani’s gaze with every action. It was intoxicating. Once she had the right velvety consistency, she turned her attention back to the attractive blonde woman memorized by her every movement.
Jamie looked at Dani. Tilting her head from side to side to mulling over which creation she should start with. Dani squirmed in her seat twirling her hair to dispel her nerves under Jamie’s scrutiny.
“Ahh, got it!” She said, struck with inspiration. Jamie tilted her head towards the mug as silent instruction for Dani to observe. She was enthralled as Jamie poured the frothed milk, twisting and turning the mug until her creation came to life. Her heart fluttered in her chest when Dani’s eyes widened in awe.
“Is that a tulip?” Dani asked.
“It is. You mentioned they were your favorite flower. What do ya think?” Jamie asked.
“It’s.. It’s just so, so..” Dani stammered unable to fully express herself.
“Brew-tea-ful?” Jamie supplemented with a lopsided grin. She was hopeful Dani would appreciate her play on words she spent way too much time coming up with in order to casually drop into one of their conversations.
Dani’s smile widened, a rosy tinge gracing her cheeks. “Yes, it really is.” The huskiness of her tone coupled with the small bit her bottom lip left Jamie weak in the knees. She swallowed a dry lump in the back of her throat, tearing her gaze from Dani’s lips.
“Think you’re up for cultivating your own flower?” Jamie asked, dangling the pitcher of frothed milk. Dani shot up like an excited child. She snatched the pitcher, grinning from ear to ear and nodding up and down with enthusiasm. Jamie poured out another shot of espresso into a tall mug and slide the brew across the counter in front of Dani.
Dani poked her tongue out in concentration as she assumed her ready position. Her body frozen with the steel container hovering over the fresh coffee. After a few seconds of stillness, Jamie felt like something was off.
“Is everything all right?” Jamie asked, concern creeping into her voice.
Dani sheepishly replied, “I-I don’t know how to start. Could you show me again?” Dani pivoted her torso, offering the milk vessel to Jamie
Jamie smiled. “We learn best by doing not watching. I’ll guide you as a compromise.” Dani nodded in agreement resuming her position of hovering the milk above the mug. Jamie moved to stand behind Dani. She placed her right hand over Dani’s hand steadying the steel pitcher with the other, she grabbed the mug.
“Is this ok?” Jamie asked hesitantly.
“Yes.” Dani said breathlessly.
“Ok, now place your free hand on top of mine.” Her smooth skin brushing across Jamie’s fingers sending a pleasant shiver along her spine before finally settling her hand on top of Jamie’s, clasping the mug. Jamie released a shaky breath inadvertently tickling the nape of Dani’s neck causing her beautiful blue eyes to flutter. As if on instinct, Dani settled back slightly into Jamie’s body. The pleasant scent of lavender invading her nostrils from the close proximity.
“Ok,” Jamie managed through controlled breathes, “Focus on feeling the motions.” She proceeded to recreate the foam flower. Moving the pitcher up and down as she poured the stream into the mug, while twisting the mug from side to side. Dani moved in tandem, her arms hovering and hips swaying as they nurtured the tulip to life. Once it was finished, Jamie placed both containers on the counter. She relinquished her hold on Dani’s hands and took a full step back. The distance allowed the fogginess in her mind to clear and the thrumming in her chest to quiet.
Dani picked up the mug examining their creation. Her fingers tapped nervously along the ceramic. She turned to Jamie, her face flush. “Well I certainly felt that.”
There was something about they way she said it that made Jamie’s heart swell with confirmation that this attraction wasn’t one sided. Jamie mustered her courage. “Dani…”
As soon as she said something, the doorbell rung indicating the arrival of a new customer. Dani jumped at the sound, walking swiftly to the register to greet the young couple that arrived. Jamie excused herself shutting herself inside the single stall bathroom for a much-needed moment of peace. She ran cold water over her face to calm down.
They didn’t revisit this conversation. Instead they fell back into their in tandem working routine. Dani took advantage of lulls to perfect her coffee art. This continued for the rest of the week. Everything was nice and boring just as Jamie had always liked, just as she had always preferred. That is, until Dani Clayton waltzed into her life filling her days with happiness and excitement.
Over the weekend, Dani was all Jamie could think about. She was so desperate to unburden the weight of her feelings, she rung Owen to talk it all over. He confessed he sensed this was what was going on all along, having known her for years. He had never seen her look this happy around another person and encouraged her to go with her heart on this one.
On Monday, Jamie arrived at the shop a full hour before they were scheduled to open. As business manager, she was responsible for receiving early shipments which typically arrived first thing Monday morning. She walked through the door into the dimly lit café, the blinds still drawn. She was confounded to find a light was left on in the shop and even more perplexed to find an apron clad beauty behind the counter.
“You know your shift doesn’t start for another hour, right?” Jamie asked walking towards the counter.
Dani ran a hand through her hair, “I-I know that. I also knew that you would be here at this time.”
“Oh.” Jamie said stopping dead in her tracks.
“Yeah,” Dani proceeded, waving Jamie behind the counter, “I don’t like how we left things the other day and so I feltlike I had to do something about that.”
Jamie approached Dani. “And what exactly is it you had to do?”
Dani smiled, “Be brave, for once.” She side stepped a few paces revealing several coffee mugs lined single file up along the counter. Jamie approached the mugs and saw, a question spelt out in frothed milk “K-I-S-S-?”
Jamie felt a gleeful smile spreading across her face. She must have looked like a smitten teenager which is precisely how she felt. “Who knew you were such a flirt?”
Dani quirked her eyebrow in amusement. “Is that a yes.”
Jamie stepped into Dani’s space leaning in, ghosting her lips, “Yes.”
Dani closed the distance between them capturing Jamie’s lips. It was brief like both women were testing the waters, getting to know each other. It was electrifying.
They broke apart, resting their foreheads together. Jamie snaked her arms securely around Dani’s waste pulling her in closer. As if on instinct, Dani wrapped her arms around Jamie’s neck holding her steady in place.
“And here I was working up the nerve to ask you out to dinner.” Jamie whispered.
They shared a laugh swaying in the café at Jamie’s admission.
“We should do that too.” Dani hummed. “After all, Owen owes me 10 pounds. We could put it towards out first date.”
Jamie felt butterflies in her stomach at Dani’s casual use of the word date which was replaced by confusion as to Owen’s role in all of this.
“Why does Owen owe you money?” Jamie asked out of curiosity.
Dani pulled back smiling in triumph. “He lost a bet with me. I have proof that you do secretly enjoy dishing out café puns.”
“I really don’t.” She admitted craning her neck closer to Dani, “I only made an exception for you.”
Dani whispered, “I hope I was worth the effort.”
“You most certainly are.” Jamie said closing the distance between them initiating their second, and much longer kiss.
#the haunting of bly manor#dani clayton#jamie the gardener#dani x jamie#jamie x dani#fan fiction#ao3#i have a lot of emotions#hit me up with prompts
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I'm nb and use they pronouns and I have been saying for ages that asking for pronouns is sometimes just Woke Clocking. It becomes at a point refusing to allow people to pass, and refusing to pick up the cues they're putting down about how they want to be read in the world, and feels really performative in most situations. tldr contrapoints isnt perfect but ffs people calm down she's right in this situation and excellent at deradicalization & I appreciate that you say it.
It’s a competing needs thing, in the end.
I’m never going to be able to look like my gender. If I even knew what my gender was, there still wouldn’t be cultural markers to signify it to others. So, I dress how I dress, act how I act, and get called what I get called.
But there are plenty of people who do have the ability to express their gender in a way that can be fairly consistently nonverbally understood by the people around them.
If you see someone walking down the street in a sundress, full makeup, long carefully styled hair, manicured nails, high heels, jewelry, just like, the highest level of femme… and then you ask for pronouns because you noticed a narrow wait to hip ratio or a broader set of shoulders, well. You’re ignoring every single thing that person has chosen, in favour of the uncontrollable.
And yeah, maybe our hypothetical is nonbinary, and they’re going to be flattered that you cared enough to ask. Maybe they’ll spend the rest of their day delighted!
But maybe she’s a woman, and now she has to deal with a massive spike in dysphoria that she’s not putting out enough femininity vibes, or worse, she has to deal with a massive degree of fear because trans women who aren’t feminine enough to go stealth are the ones that get murdered.
And the inverse is just as possible. Maybe you don’t ask, and you go with the performance of female signifiers, and call the person “her,” when they are nonbinary.
And that’s going to cause them just as much dysphoria, just as much pain.
And it’s going to cause her just as much comfort and just as much joy.
Like, the thing is, our culture and our language is not equipped to handle both of these cases simultaneously.
It’s a real, genuine problem, and it’s not trans people’s fault by any means. We tried to come up with a solution, cis people adopted it partially, and that literally made the issue worse. Because you can’t trust cisnormative society to do shit.
So the problem remains.
But there is a contingent of people who are really invested in the idea that the problem is already solved, and anyone pointing out that it still exists is just whining so that they can hate nonbinary people or whatever.
It’s very tiresome.
The problem is real. Talking about the real problem is not somehow anti-trans or anti-nonbinary. Avoiding acknowledging the problem, and thereby suppressing any potential solutions, however, absolutely is both broadly anti-trans and specifically anti-nonbinary.
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Always Falling Down, part I
This was part of a rarepair gift exchange. mricj and I got matched because sometimes u CAN manifest what u want for urself~~~
This is Rosawatts for sure, but also very poly, very id-ficcy and very long (just under 7k....).
with a small part 2 pending because WE BUILT THIS SHIP WE SAIL IT HOWEVER WE WANT
oh and a playlist (click plz~)
PS: the plotbunny emerged from "i thought you (loved me)" by livj707. One of my top 10 TTM fics and the rest of them are in there too!
AO3
FF.net
or keep reading
(Part II here)
~~~~~
~We hold on to the good times and the right now and the long nights~
Can you hear when I say "I have never felt this way"? (I can't see you and me and her without each other)
Roxie
You were 8 or 9 when you realized that you responded to people’s emotions in an unusual way. Your mom’s anger made you feel like there was a small fire in your belly, no matter the amount or what the anger was directed at. Her joy when hummingbirds visited the garden you both made to attract them made you feel invincible. When she felt sad, everything looked gray.
So what, you thought. She was your mother; of course you’d be attuned to her mood. The same with the rest of your family. But there was a slight wrinkle in that logic— you sensed the emotions of your friends at school, and that affected you similarly, if with less intensity.
Soon after realizing that, though, came the realization that even friends of friends, even complete strangers, had emotional signals that you picked up without trying. You brought this up with one of your dad’s sisters (one of your favorite family members, were you ever pressed to admit it), because you couldn’t quite stomach having your mom worry about you. You were pretty sure what happened to you wasn’t normal.
Your aunt introduced you to the term empath, said her wife had the same ability that you did. She taught you ways to handle the side effects (as she put it), how to channel and control it, to some extent. Even with this, though, things got more complicated as you grew older. People’s emotions got louder.
The maelstrom this caused in you was nigh unbearable and (luckily?) manifested itself as stereotypical moody teenage behavior, when you weren’t wrestling with the attendant physical ailments. That led you to what’s turned out to be a lifelong interest in astronomy and stargazing. Or more accurately, it increased your at-the-time budding interest exponentially. Others’ emotions couldn’t sink their hooks into you, not when your mind was buried in a book or when you were alone outside on a clear warm night. Stargazing served as meditation, too, and slowly you gained a better grasp on this whole empath thing.
That was how you met Neil. He lived in another school district; somehow both of you claimed a little park in town as a prime stargazing spot. He said his gramps took him gazing every summer, and Neil found he wanted to do it more often than that. You didn’t know much about him besides that and some shows and video games he was into, but that was hardly a deterrent to your talking a blue streak in the rare times when both of you were done watching the sky. You talked about your hobbies, how school went, how your little brother was doing, what music you were obsessing over. You told him everything except your biggest secret, and even though he didn’t always acknowledge it all, you could feel he took it all in. He was the first person who had ever done that.
Then he moved away with hardly a goodbye, and that was that. You remember feeling hurt and sad for longer than a day, maybe a week or two, but time has worn away the memories of how you felt. College, of course, was the next big chapter in your life, when your present-day reputation for being bubbly and carefree developed. That had always been with you; college life simply made you turn it up to eleven, a coping mechanism of sorts in navigating the world as an empath.
Strange how the peace you found back then has led you right back to that feelings maelstrom, into the difficulty of parsing what belongs to you and what doesn’t.
You didn’t see Neil until you got to SigCorp, at which point all the moments he was in your periphery during training slapped you across the face, along with hazy childhood memories.
“You’re Roxie, right?”
And all the years without him collapsed together. Maybe you didn’t see much of each other, but your friendship still easily restarted, helped along by your shared sphere of work.
You’d say he’s your best friend, if you were asked.
Meeting Eva was a different kind of slap.
You could count the number of crushes you had on one hand, your relationships on six fingers. You hadn’t felt love yet.
You fell fast and hard for Eva. Then you got back up, and cut that off quicker than breathing, because no way would someone as cool, collected and straight-laced as her would ever be interested in you. (Plus, you had no idea if she was queer and that’s not something to ask someone you just met.)
And then there was Neil.
The two of them had capital-h History, obvious from the moment you saw them together. If anyone knew how much time you spend thinking about your friends’ relationship, the effort you put into trying to push them together, how much time recently you’ve invested in worry (especially over Eva, but Neil too) you’d get therapist recommendations at the very least—
It’s not just wishful thinking. Your empathy gives you a sixth sense as to which people are meant for each other, and/or are dealing with feelings towards each other (which also gave you a leg up in office gossip). And Neil and Eva fit so well; that’s why they were paired together, why you convinced Rob they should be a team, despite how much you liked working with her. Not that he needed convincing. That’s how obvious their compatibility was. And yes, this was despite their bickering (and Neil’s pranks on his partner).
What drew you to Rob, as a colleague and as a person, and helped you decide to permanently partner with him, is how quiet his emotions are. He’s hardly unfeeling, despite what others (like Neil) might say. No, it’s just that his emotions are blissfully subtle. Sometimes when you feel them flare up it’s like a gift.
His emotions toward you aren’t subtle, not these days. And sometimes you feel terrible for relying on him as much as you do. But that’s another thing.
Eva
The cases that go wrong from the beginning are always easier on you than the ones that go wrong when you’re so close to closing them out. Talking to loved ones afterwards is the common denominator, the same intensity of pain no matter what went wrong when. But you’ve grown used to that pain, used to letting it glance off your skin because this is your job, and perfection is impossible.
You thought you had, anyway. The case you failed barely twenty minutes ago, the one from which you’re walking to the car with Neil now, found a chink in your armor. A stupid rookie-level mistake that both of you believed you’d fixed came back to bite you; you almost didn’t log out of the machine before your client flatlined. You owned up to it, the client’s brother took a swing at Neil and tried at you, and the only reason you’re both out of there alive is the brother’s wife calming him down.
There’s still paperwork to finish. You did the bare minimum before getting the hell away from that place. And Neil has one whopper of a black eye that he’s too bullheaded to do anything about, because he had a spare pair of glasses and that makes everything just fine.
In the car, the practically-visible wall between you and Neil is even more unbearable given the post-case mood, and it makes you feel sick. This is far from the first case you’ve failed, with or without him. Hell, it’s not even the first case involving bodily harm directed at either of you. It still feels like the last straw. But you’re not going to quit, you tell yourself. Someone has to keep fighting.
Neil may have stopped trying, but there’s nothing stopping you from fighting enough for you both.
Robert
For the most part, you’re an analytical person. You’re able to compartmentalize your thoughts from your emotions, and often able to see past others' emotions to what might be eliciting them. And that’s why your work at Sigmund fits you so well, why you chose memory traversal over being a tech, as much as machines in general and Sigmund’s in specific interest you.
Your personality and Roxie’s make you an excellent team. Even though her default mode is happy-go-lucky, you’ve been partners long enough to know that she’s the kind of person who can feel everything, all at once, and weather it. That talent must have always been there, under the surface; it’s probably what drew you to her in the first place.
Being able to compartmentalize, however, only gets you so far. You’re hardly immune to base emotions, yours or others’. You get frustrated when you know something is wrong, someone’s having a problem, and that your clear-headed distance from the situation isn’t helping fix it.
Watts and Rosalene, one of your best teams, one of the best you’ve ever seen since you joined Sigmund, have been backsliding for some time. Their ratio of completed cases to failed ones is still good (and they’ve had some brilliant successes), but their previous case was a failure and the mood leading up to their next one is not promising, to say the least. They’ve had innumerable rough patches, no question, but even you can tell there’s a good bit of the personal getting muddled with the professional in this patch. You’re in the unenviable position of having to monitor them, getting closer to explaining to the higher-ups why they are still viable.
Viable. What a cold word. Makes you clammy to think of it in reference to your colleagues. Your almost-friends. It’s... bothersome, to see them fracturing, or whatever less-ominous thing might be happening.
On top of that, there’s something off about Roxie. A dimming of her natural light. The only other time that’s happened is when her brother got sick; he’d been in dire straits before he recovered, and the recovery had been hard.
You know this because Roxie told you. You seem to be good at listening. If only you weren’t abysmal at asking. Not that Watts— Neil— would divulge anything, and Rosalene— Eva— seems even less likely to.
You’d ask Roxie but with her, you’re terrified of not knowing what to say.
Neil
You could’ve decked that guy. Definitely could have. For once it isn’t braggadocio— the things he said about you and Eva made you see red. He telegraphed really badly too, so you could sidestep him (he was like two feet taller than you and you aren’t a total idiot), but taking a swing at Eva?! Good thing the guy’s wife stepped in or things would’ve gotten even more fucked. Because of you and for you.
Of course, with the adrenaline gone, your mutual antisocial...ness, toward each other (what? You can’t word when you’re tired) rushes in to fill the vacuum. It’s frigid out too, which is great. And your face kind of—
“Ah, fuck me,” you mutter as your piece-of-crap company car decides to break down in the middle of an empty road.
Eva sighs epically. Her breath clouds. “Shit.”
Ha, she legit swore.
Your momentary amusement is bulldozed by the inconvenient need to talk. The second you’re alone alone with her, in lulls before or after cases, in downtime at the office, the words bubble up in your throat, more insistent every time. And every time you try to open your mouth, they disappear. It’s been like this for weeks, ever since The Incident.
She found the not-from-Sigmund company letter. She found the (other) pills. Unlocked door or not, you haven’t forgiven her for the breach of privacy. She hasn’t forgiven you for keeping (those kinds of) secrets from her. And here you are now.
You don’t know how much more you can take.
Eva speaks before you can get your voice working. “I’m calling Roxie.”
“How?” Flipping open your phone, you glare at it. “No reception out here.”
“We passed a payphone on the way here. Shouldn’t be more than a 5 minute walk.”
You just gape at her while she bundles up in her scarf and hood. “It’s minus fifty!”
Her eyes meet yours for half a second. “Don’t exaggerate, Neil. Not tonight.”
And, predictably useless, you watch her get out of the car and start walking, snowflakes shining around her in the dimming headlights.
Roxie
One of the things about being an empath is, it’s easier to tell when someone’s romantically interested in you. (Too bad there’s no one-night-stand-interest sensor.) That feeling has a certain color to it, distinguishing it from friendship or dislike. And it’s the reason why you haven’t dated much. Every time you’ve felt it, it’s been like a flipped switch, a lightning bolt, leaving you unprepared and uncomfortable every time. Sometimes it’s been because you don’t return their feelings, sometimes because you need a few days to adjust to the idea. Even with one of the ones you liked back (a post-college roommate, because you may be an empath but that doesn’t exempt you from so-called clichés), it petered out eventually when you didn’t fit together anymore.
With Rob, it’s different. So subtle you don’t realize right away. And so soft it’s easy to lean into and pretend you don’t quite know how he feels, keep your already intimate friendship separate from that other kind of intimacy.
You like him. Want to like him as more than a friend, the way he likes you. If you could only let go of your ridiculous double crush.
There’s only so much room a heart should have, anyway.
Eva
The incongruity of using payphones hits whenever you have to use one, which thankfully is extremely rare. You’ve learned the hard way to keep a small stash of quarters within easy reach on cases, whether they’re located in the boonies or not. Even with gloves on, your hands are so cold that there’s a lot of fumbling involved in getting them into the machine, more fumbling while you pull up Roxie’s contact info on your phone. Not that you need to; you’ve got it memorized. She’s picked you up more than once.
It hits you square between the eyes this time, so you can’t ignore it: Roxie’s been like emotional glue, from back when you were a greenhorn changing partners every couple of weeks to now. She was the constant for you back then, and then became your tech specialist for a hefty amount of cases until you got paired with Neil. She’s patched things up several times when you wanted to strangle him, by talking you down, or being a mediator, or just listening to you rant. And since tonight is turning into one giant negative thought spiral, you get stuck on how much emotional support you’ve taken from her without giving anything back, alike or different. After this, well, you have to come up with something. A restaurant gift card? Ice cream from that new place down the road from yours? Why is food the only thing you can think of? True, food has meaning, but you sh—
“Hello?”
“Roxie. It’s me. Eva.”
“Hey! What’s up?”
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” you say on automatic. Nope, she’s probably—
“Nah, binging a few Shadow Junction episodes before hitting the hay,” she replies with a giggle.
Over this line, the brief silence is crackly. “I need a favor. Our car died on us…”
“Oh my god wait, you just finished a case!” There’s some scuffling and a small thump; when she speaks again her voice is closer. She must have taken you off speaker. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up ASAP.”
You give her a handful of landmarks, the compass direction. With the dark, the gathering snow, your barely-held-back exhaustion, you're starting to think you might be back in the simulation.
Your hands hurt. At least they still have feeling.
“There’s a storm coming, isn't there? Are you okay?”
“Tired. Cold. But, yeah, okay.”
“Hey, Eva?” Hearing your name wakes you up a little; the weight in Roxie’s tone wakes you up more. “I’ll call a tow for you on the way, but do me a favor and don’t hang up.”
“Sure,” you whisper.
She chatters about the latest plot developments on Shadow Junction for a few minutes; you feel like you're absorbing some of the energy in her voice. Then she says, “I’m getting on the highway now,” and then she says, slightly more subdued, “Do you want to tell me about your case?”
Nope. “It went badly, that’s all.”
More crackly silence. Then: “I know I’m repeating myself, Eva, but… are you okay?”
I’m fine.
I’ll be fine when I’m back home.
I’m used to this. It’s fine.
You say, “I think I’m losing Neil.”
The metal of the phone booth bites into your hand even through the glove. “I… found some things I shouldn’t have.” Roxie can keep secrets, contrary to her reputation. This one shouldn’t be her burden, and so you don’t share what you found. “He’s been conflicted about what we do for a while. I think he might be trying to leave Sigmund. And that’s his prerogative, but I just—”
You trained together, joined Sigmund together, starting planning to join Sigmund together. It’s been an enormous part of both your lives, and now you’ve been a team almost as long as your dream to be a part of this company existed. If Neil walks away, what will you have left?
Roxie. Robert. The McMillans. Eddie, Lisa, Logan. You won’t be alone, and you still have your purpose to guide you. But...
You were so certain you’d see that purpose through with Neil at your side, you don’t see how it would possibly be the same. How you could be the same. Sure puts a dent in your faith that you’re your own person.
You can’t simply ask him to stay. Some small irrational part of your brain thinks bringing up the subject at all will make it come to pass. And those pills. If he does leave, if Sigmund is part of his will too, what if—
You wipe at your wet cheeks and nose. “He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”
Your voice doesn’t sound nearly as broken as you feel.
Robert
It’s another night of Roxie on your couch, eating takeout from your favorite place and watching a movie together. Neither of you have defined your relationship. You’re fine with that, and you think she is too. And yet...
“Roxanne, I—” You love her, have for a long time now. But you’ve seen how she looks at Eva, and at Neil, and you know she doesn’t have room for you right now, don’t know if she ever will.
You had a chance. You realized your feelings for her well before she fell in love with them (or at least before she began to show signs). The obstacles were too many: she’s half your age, you work together but are sort-of kind-of boss and subordinate. All true. All excuses, too, because you weren’t brave (stupid) enough to take that chance.
But she’s come to you for comfort, and you aren’t an asshole; you won’t deny her that because she has a different measure of your relationship. You love her. You would care for her even without that.
Then she kisses you, and she says, “I’m sorry,” and curls up against you.
Roxie
You’re making a mistake, and you don’t care.
You needed that kiss. It soothed these pangs, this hollowness that’s grown over the past few weeks from whatever is going on between Eva and Neil. And the way Rob’s emotions have started to swirl feels dangerous. Addictive. You want more of that, the power to make his emotions dance with one touch.
It’s getting harder to ignore the voice calling you an awful person.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest. “I know, in every rule book ever made, that I’m leading you on. But I’m not trying to! I’m so sorry. I…” You swallow, sudden clarity hurting your throat. “I think I want to be with you. But, Neil and Eva…”
Saying their names brings fog back over you, reddened by wine. “I can’t explain it,” you whisper, arms around his shoulders. “I can’t... decide.”
You can’t give Rob what he deserves, what you finally know you want to give him, if you can’t make your mind up.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Despite the uncertainty you can practically taste, it feels like a promise. He holds you tighter, and you let yourself sink into him.
Neil
You’re tired, exhausted, and that makes your brain go all overdramatic, but even with that you’re pretty sure this is the shittiest night of your life. You can’t talk to Eva, and she won’t talk to you, and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere trying not to freeze to death, watching her freeze to death while she waits for Roxie to rescue both of you from freezing to death. The least you could do is stand by Eva and suffer with her. Then again, maybe she’d rather turn into an Evasicle in peace right now.
You resent how much this case haunts you. You resent even more your inability to walk away from Sigmund and from Eva. They wouldn’t care, but she (probably) would. Does. You wish that didn’t matter so much to you. It shouldn’t anymore, after what she did. The one time you don’t lock your office door. Like a goddamn house of cards. If she’d told you right after instead of sitting on it for a few days, making you wonder what the hell was wrong with her…
You’re such a hypocrite, with all the secrets you’ve kept and keep.
Everything feels gray. Heavy. Tunnel vision, maybe, from the cold and your lack of sleep. Stepping out into the wind chill would probably help you stay awake at this point, except you’re not so far gone as to actually follow through on that.
Eva’s left the phone booth and is standing in the snow, hood blown off from the wind, and she’s too bullheaded to pull it back up. You stare at her hair streaming out, your eyes grow blurry from snowflakes, and your thoughts drift back to distant nights spent with a talkative girl who shared your love of stars.
Roxie
You’re up late at home, watching the Shadow Junction episodes in your queue, when Eva calls you, voice tinny over a payphone. You can’t sense emotions tangibly without being in person, but her and Neil’s voices have a similar effect on you regardless, by now.
You talk with her until you’re on the road.
Something’s wrong besides their dead car, and Eva reveals the tip of the iceberg. You’re relieved. Your instinct hasn’t yet devolved into paranoia.
“He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”
The turnoff to where they are is coming up. “I can’t imagine how that must feel,” you say into your head mic. A white (gray?) lie. Her pain is making it hard for you to breathe. “But I’m getting you back to the office, and we’ll go from there. One step at a time. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
You call the tow place as soon as you end her call. After that, things blur together until your car meets theirs.
The snow hasn’t stuck; it’s the light, fluffy kind that would be nice in another time and place. You can see Eva and Neil hunkered down in their seats.
You can’t get out of your car fast enough.
Eva’s first to get out once you reach them. She hugs you, and, yeah, you could probably die happy now. You’re such a mess.
“Thank god for you, Rox. Seriously.”
You’re such a mess. Neil’s relief nearly makes your knees crumple with its warmth, but there are... layers to it. Those layers and the ever-present knot of worry in your stomach keep you alert. Besides, it’s not (won’t ever be) the time or place to let them know everything you’re feeling. So you smile past your shivers and wave off his comment. “No problem. Of course I’ll bail you guys out of this weather!” Then you force your offer of a ride back out of lungs tightened with the fear that they’ll know what lies behind it. “Brought you some cider. Blankets too. To thaw you out for the paperwork, y’know.”
They accept. Of course they do; they don’t have a choice. If either of them suspect anything they aren’t showing it and dear god you are so overthinking this. “Tow truck should be here any minute, if you don’t mind waiting a bit longer.”
“You have heat in your car. That’s all I care about,” says Neil, and Eva says, “A few minutes more doesn’t matter.”
Then she puts her hand on his elbow as they walk the short way to your car, and all your stupid mushy probably-touch-starved brain can think is, there’s hope.
They settle in the back instead of splitting up over the passenger seat, and dumb hope unfurls further in your chest. You waste no time in unfolding blankets and handing them each a thermos. Eva acknowledges with a grateful smile, and you pretend not to notice how Neil flinches when you drape the blanket over him. You ignore the flashing burn when your hands meet their bodies, ignore how fast your heart is beating.
You have a plan, even though it’s a selfish one.
Eva
Roxie still believes her bright shiny mask is impenetrable, but you know her better than she thinks you do; something is worrying her. A lot. And here she is, practically saving both of your lives, and trying to hide it so you don’t feel any worse—
You’re faced with the sudden urge to kiss her.
She’s been a shoulder to lean on, a friend, a good friend. Why did this feeling burst through now? Did the weight of what you and Neil failed to do, the weight of what you know and what he’s not telling you, crack and cause this shift?
(What would she think if you tried?)
You push the urge away, but feel it beaming through when you take your first sip of cider.
Maybe in another life.
Robert
Roxie’s on the verge of breaking, and you can’t do one thing to help.
She stands by you, thermos in hand, while she waits for Eva and Neil to tie up some legalities and gather what they need. At this hour, the offices are silent to the point of suffocation. Having these three around is reminiscent of oxygen. Even so:
"I was really scared, you know?" she says, smiling, eyes painfully bright. "All I knew was I had to get them. So I did. They’ve been dealing with something tough and I couldn't ask them even though I wanted to and they were nearly hypothermic, Rob!" The noise that comes out of her is a shrill mockery of laughter. "So after they're done here, we're going back to my place. All of us. I don't want them to sleep alone. I'll hogtie Neil if I have to, I swear to god.”
There’s nothing you can say, so you just nod. And then you realize: there is something you can do.
You want Roxie to yourself, of course; most one-sided relationships are likely that selfish. You want her to be happy even more than that. So you excuse yourself to the bathroom, and then double back to the offices and poke through Eva’s ajar door, knocking on the jamb.
They’re both in there, which makes it easier for you. Neil’s already got a file folder stuffed with papers in his arms (which he nearly drops upon seeing you). You also notice the overnight bag next to him, and that Eva’s looking over hers.
(Of course. The weekend’s coming up. You should get your bag too.) That’ll make it easier for Roxie.
You’re also worried about them, so this isn’t only for Roxie’s sake. Eva looks like a shell of herself, and Neil’s posture seems to indicate he’s in pain.
“What’s up, Bob?” Neil plops the file folder into his bag. “We taking too long or something?”
You shake your head. “Take the time you need. I heard from Roxie tonight’s case didn't end well, so I thought I should check in.”
“We’re as all right as we can be,” Eva says, zipping up her bag. “And anyway, we’re done here.”
She stops when you don’t move from the doorway.
“She’s really worried about you two. I don’t know any details, but… go easy on her. She means well even when she’s overbearing.”
You turn and head back to the lobby, feeling overheated.
Neil
Roxie seems like a supernova in the frozen night (and if you weren’t half-frozen you'd be slapping yourself for your dumb metaphorical thoughts), and that light is enough, combined with Eva’s presence, to propel you into Roxie’s car.
You flinch because, somehow, her brief touch feels like it unlocks all your secrets. Ridiculous, because Eva got there first and you really hardly know Roxie.
The paperwork is second nature. You and Eva go to your respective offices; you squint as if that’ll make your handwriting look any less blurry (okay, guess your glasses need cleaning); at the last second you grab your overnight bag, and instead of heading back to the lobby you gravitate to Eva’s office and stand there like a dumbass while she finishes up.
You thump your bag on the floor. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says without turning around.
You busy yourself with organizing your papers. But every so often you glance at her, and when you see she’s going through her overnight bag the urge to ask if she wants to stay at your place, or if you can stay at hers, is overpowering. Don’t ask, don’t— “Do you—”
There’s a knock, and of all people Rob’s standing there, as if tonight isn’t freaky enough. Still. Saved by the Bobert bell.
What he says, along with the sheer incongruity of his presence, knocks you out of your numbness for a few minutes. “Jeez,” you say once he leaves as fast as he came by, “he’s really got it bad for her, doesn’t he?”
A barely-heard whisper in your mind hisses, You should know.
She’s wearing an indecipherable expression. “I suppose so.”
It all makes slightly more sense when you get back to the lobby. Before you or Eva can open your mouths, Roxie’s talking.
“It’s been a really bad night for you two. I’ve been there, you don’t have to tell me anything, and... I won’t ask. But I’ve got a spare room and a couch at my place and you should take advantage of that for the night. I’ve already convinced Rob, and I won’t bother any of you, a-a-and I really think it’s for the best so, so please…”
As exposed as you’re feeling, you can see the appeal of staying at her place. It’s closer than yours, and yeah, okay, your brain cannot handle the logistics of dropping off and heading home. Besides, it’s pretty uncomfortable how upset she seems (even if it’s just about her sinking ship, har), and if this makes her feel better, well. You don’t know what’s going on, feel like you haven’t for hours, but you’re with people you know and who know you, even though they don’t know everything. There’s something to be said for having friends in the same line of work.
This rift between you and Eva hurts far more than you can admit to yourself, never mind anyone else. And even though Roxanne and Rob have no idea what’s happened, happening, between you two, them being with you feels like a bulwark holding back any further damage.
Maybe they might even help fix what’s broken.
Roxie could, maybesomehowsomeway. She seems like that kind of person, the kind who wants to fix people’s issues and is good at it, though who the hell knows where you got that impression. She’s standing closer, an arm’s length— a fact you only realize when she reaches up and takes off your glasses.
Roxie
You didn’t notice how close you’d gotten to Neil and Eva while you were talking, or that you’d been moving at all, until a shadow near Neil’s eyebrow catches your attention. At that instant, your accidental proximity doesn’t matter. Your heart stops for a split second. “Neil, your eye!”
“What about my—”
You remove his glasses. Eva gasps, like it’s A Bad Thing you just did (and okay, you can’t remember ever seeing his eyes before), and you can even sense Rob standing protectively close behind you. “Holy schnikes, Neil!” His right eye is nearly swollen shut, the bruise radiating nearly to his temple on that side and nearly across his nose on the other. “What happened?”
A tidal wave of guilt from Eva makes the room wobble, but Rob catches you.
“Sorry, more tired than I thought,” you say to their combined are you okays. Your nervous smile lands on Rob, who doesn’t look convinced. Still, he helps you upright silently.
Neil squints at you with his good eye. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’”
How can he not know? “It’s totally black??” You look from Neil to Eva and back, panic surfacing slowly. “It’s barely open??? Doesn’t it hurt?????”
Eva sighs, pulls a hand mirror from her bag, and holds it in front of him.
A pause.
“Huh,” he finally says. “Guess that explains why it’s a little harder to see.”
“Our client’s brother punched him.” Eva rubs at the bridge of her nose.
“He did not—”
“He said he was fine, but I thought he was just shrugging it off. I didn’t know he didn’t know! Don’t you remember your glasses broke?”
“He was huge! I dodged him easy! I…” Neil digs through his pockets indignantly for a few moments, then stops. “I don’t have my spare pair. Which… means that those…”
“Are your spare pair,” you finish gently, handing them back to him. “Neil, I think you might have a concussion.”
“Well, shit,” he says, at the same time Eva says, “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“That settles it.” You step back a couple paces, reluctantly. “You’re definitely coming back with me. I have ice and I have some bruise cream that’s pure magic, I swear.”
Neil huffs. “I already said I would.”
“You only thought it because I didn’t hear you.” You eke out a grin. “I’m not a mind-reader, you know!”
“Okay, well, this is my official yes let’s crash at your pad agreement.”
“Heard and acknowledged!”
Putting her bag over her shoulder, Eva says, “Then let’s go,” and leads the way to the elevators.
She and Neil take the backseat again, leaving Rob to sit in the passenger seat. Now that you’ve executed your plan, you seem to have lost whatever energy you had left.
The silence that falls, though, feels comforting instead of stifling.
~~~
The first step through your front door pulls a deep sigh out of you. Rob, Eva, and Neil’s various flavors of tension decrease slightly.
“I’m just gonna… stop for a minute.” So saying, Neil plops onto the floor in front of your stupid-huge couch.
“Sit wherever you like,” you say as you go to the kitchen for an ice pack.
You’re glad you turned the room into something slightly more presentable, even when you weren’t expecting three people to come by— cleaned up junky desserts from the coffee table, put pillows back, et cetera. You wrap a hand towel around the ice pack and bring it back to Neil, telling him to use light pressure. “I’ll go get the supplies.”
As soon as you flick on your bathroom light and see yourself in the mirror, your throat tightens with the need to cry. A few gasping sobs come out of you but, “Okay okay okay,” you whimper, clutching the sink rim, they’re here, you got them, you’ve made them safe now. “Get it together. Snap the hell out of it. You’ve got a job to do.”
You gather everything you think you need and then go back over it: disposable gloves, the arnica bruise cream, antiseptic wipes, washcloth, cup of warm water, 8-hour painkiller/swelling reducer. Then you splash off and dry your face, finagle all of it into your arms, and get back out there.
Neil’s made it onto your couch, probably because Eva’s sitting there now. She’s on his left. There’s space for you between them.
You’re friends. Colleagues. You’ve all been through highs and lows working at Sigmund, in parallel with each other. They can’t read your mind.
You unload your supplies onto the coffee table and take the seat.
Eva lets out a breath.
“Sorry for grabbing your glasses,” you say to Neil as you put on the gloves.
“Eh. Extenuating circumstances.” He shrugs. Takes them off. “‘Kay, do your worst.”
“I’ll be as careful as I can. First, these.” You hold up the wipe pack. “Your skin’s not broken so it shouldn’t sting, but I’ll make sure any excess is gone anyway. Oh—” You grab the pain pills. “Take these first, actually. I can get you water.”
“I have my own… water,” he mumbles, digging through his bag and retrieving a bottle. “Thanks.”
Once he’s taken the pills, you run the wipe all around the bruise, holding your breath while you dab at his closed eye. “Don’t move.” You wet the washcloth then and apply that, making sure no residue stays to get into his eye. That would suck.
“Okay, move if you need to. Magic cream’s the last thing!” You hold it up with a flourish. “Never had to use it on something this, uh,” you fumble for the word, “extensive, but I promise it’ll help.”
“Who died and made you Florence Nightingale?” he said with a chuckle.
You pause in the middle of daubing cream on your finger. “Who?”
“It’s an old reference. Really old. Like, my gramps knew the history, that’s how old.”
“Early 20th century nurse, I believe,” Rob says in a musing tone. “Founded the profession.”
“You’re almost as old as him, so you don’t count.”
“She opened the first nursing school, too,” says Eva.
“And you’re a nerd so you also don’t count.”
“She sounds pretty cool,” you say quietly; you’re close to Neil’s face again, applying the cream from the outside of the bruise in. “Glad someone’s remembering her, still.”
You don’t even notice the silence fall, you’re concentrating so hard.
Neil holds his breath this time when you put the tiniest amount of cream on and around his eyelids, using the barest pressure to rub it in and still wincing in his place.
You’re very close to him. Your hand tingles. Whatever’s charging the atmosphere is impossible to analyze.
“Um. All done.” You pull your hand away, look away, throw the glove into the little trash can under the table.
“Rox?”
You look back at him and try to breathe evenly.
“Just… thanks. For all this. And…” He leans forward to catch Eva’s gaze. “...sorry I got my head bashed in and forgot about it.”
“We should get that checked out tomorrow.” Her voice is worn, but her eyes are soft.
Your worry changes form in that instant, from low-key constancy in your veins to the choking kind of worry that comes from realizing you love them, are in love with them, your best friends who are in love with each other and either don’t know or can’t admit it. They certainly don’t have the room to accept your feelings.
You’ve known this for long enough; it’s hardly a revelation. But something about tonight has crystallized your feelings, made them impossible to bury. Now you know the origin of the physical ache that’s been dogging you for weeks, to the point of becoming a second skin, and you desperately wish you could do anything to ease Neil and Eva’s pain as much for yourself as for them. You just squeeze Neil’s hand, pretend Eva taking yours doesn’t stop your heart, and stare at Robert who graciously doesn’t stare back.
You nod, because you don’t trust your voice. But then you speak anyway. “We’re a team. Mismatched as we may be. We gotta stick together, you know?”
Looking at them both, you see Eva smile, and even Neil has a tiny flash of one when he says, “The four musketeers, or something?”
“Close enough.” Robert, soft, as he eases onto the couch next to Eva.
“No, exactly. One for all, and…” You swallow, looking at Neil, wishing so hard for Eva’s sake. “And all for one.”
Your hands left Eva’s and Neil’s to settle on the couch minutes ago, but now, almost synchronized, their hands cover yours again.
Every ounce of tension rushes out of you, in spite of the fact that your brain is in red alert mode, your heart’s beating fast enough it hurts, and heat’s flashing through you from head to toe.
Maybe one day you’ll tell Neil and Eva everything you feel. Maybe one day you’ll share your biggest secret with all three of them. But for now, all that matters is that you’re all together, safe for tonight, warm and dry. All that matters is the others’ emotions are blending into a shared, soft calm, that you’re almost, just about, being held by them. All that matters is that you all have each other.
For once in a long while, your mind is quiet.
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•The One With The Cookies•
A Reddie Oneshot
Summary: Eddie comes back from a stressful day at work and just wants to bake cookies.
~
Pulling into the driveway, relief filling Eddie Kaspbrak as he parked his car. A breath he didn't know he was holding escaped his lips, resting his head against the steering wheel. Content to have a moment of peace after a stressful day at work.
This was Eddie's fifth day at his new job, he was an intern to some big fashion designer, and he isn't the nicest guy. Although the job kinda sucked, he needed the money. Living life as a 23-year-old who rents an apartment with his boyfriend isn't cheap. He rubbed his temples, trying to rid the memory from his mind before grabbing his bag and heading inside the apartment building.
The elevator in the lobby has been broken since forever so everyone is forced to take the stairs. Usually, he would plug his earbuds in and listen to music but today he was fine with listening to the rhythm of his own heartbeat and the sound of his feet hitting the steps as he made his way up to the fourth floor, where his apartment was situated.
Eddie stopped short of his apartment door, for a moment he was excited. The thought of the O Oreos he bought gave him a reason to bake, which always put the brunette in a good mood. Baking was his favourite hobby, he even had a website which he sold baked goods on. It was his favourite way of relieving stress, it was also the main thing he did when he was stressed.
Before another thought could cloud his mind, Eddie braced himself and opened the door, ready for a greeting from his roommate, his boyfriend. He entered the apartment and quickly shut it behind him.
He gave his apartment a once over, looking through the family room and the kitchen, then down the short hallway where 3 doorways lined the wall. Suddenly the door leading to his roommate room rapidly opened, revealing a boy of the same age as Eddie, with wild dark brown curls and thick glasses, he wore a red shirt under a white Hawaiian shirt. "EDUARDO" He exclaimed at the sight of his boyfriend.
A smile appeared on Eddie's face as he hugged his boyfriend, "Hey Rich". The words left his mouth sounding more like a sigh then actual words.
Richie suddenly pulled away from the hug, "Oh god, what's wrong?", tilting his head like a confused puppy.
"Work, It's tiring..." Eddie's voice trailed off. Richie slowly moved his hands up to cup Eddie's cheeks before he planted a kiss on his boyfriend's forehead. He let it linger for a moment before moving down, about to kiss Eddie's neck when he pulled away from Richie.
"Richie... I don't wanna do this right now" The shorter of the two said as the taller boy raised his hands up in defeat. "Whatever you say Eds", disappointment laced his voice as he slowly backed away from his boyfriend. He turned and made his way towards the kitchen where he opened the fridge, looking for something to eat.
Eddie took his time making his way into his room, slowly getting changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. He grabbed a long-sleeve black shirt and his red shorts. He didn't spend much time choosing his clothes, he just wanted to bake the rest of the day away.
Walking back into the kitchen, he pulled up the recipe for the cookies on his phone. This was a new recipe for him, Eddie had been wanting to make them for a while, cheesecake oreo cookies. Even just the idea caused Eddie's mouth to fill with saliva as he pictured the cookies and the flavours and the textures.
Eddie looked over the ingredients one more time before making a mental list and padding around the kitchen for the things he needed, placing them on the counter as he collected them. Eddie opened up the cupboard which they kept all the cookies and sweets, searching for the Oreos he needed, but they were nowhere to be seen.
"Hey Eds, wanna catch up on Runaways?" Richie asked from his place on the couch.
"Sorry Rich, I've got a new recipe I wanna try out. Hey by any chance have you seen the Oreos I bought on the weekend?" He asked.
"Oh... Shit, sorry Eds I thought those were just like... snacking foods" Richie's cheeks turned pink as he pivoted around in his seat to see Eddie's disappointed face. "Oh babe I'm sorry, want me to go run and grab some from the store? I'll be back before you can say cheesecake Oreo cook-".
"No. It's fine, it's fine! That'd take too long, I already have all of the ingredients out..." Eddie's voice trailed off, trying to think of what to use instead "I'll just use chocolate chips".
He quietly sighed before looking for the last thing on his list. The flour, which was on the highest shelf in the kitchen
I really need to move that
The brunette rolled his eyes as he weighed his options. Ask Richie who's peacefully watching TV, which would disturb his peace, or grab one of the table chairs to use as a stool.
Oh god that's so unsafe
He realized before going with the best option. He got on his tippy toes and reached as high as he could. It's not that he didn't want to talk to Richie or anything, Eddie just needed a little time to himself, and Richie can just be so much sometimes, it's tiring when he only wants peace.
Eddie's fingers brushed against the bag of flour, he tried reaching even higher. He was able to push it a little, slowly pushing it towards the edge. Just as he was about to get a grasp on the bag, he felt someone slap his ass. Eddie jumped back, hitting his hip against the cupboards beside him. The pain from the impact immediately shot through his hip, causing him to curl up a little and move his hands to put pressure over the area where there was the most pain.
"What the hell Richie?" Eddie snapped, his voice serious, which caught Richie off guard.
The trashmouth did what he usually did, played it off with humour, "How could I not? Your ass is so cute" He winked at Eddie. After a moment he realized Eddie was actually in pain, he went to go console him when Eddie shooed him away.
"No-No, god you always do this" Eddie closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
This is gonna bruise so bad
Richie's face changed, his smile faltered as he raised an eyebrow, "What? What do I always do?" he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Annoy the living shit out of me!" Eddie spat.
The taller boy rolled his eyes, "Here we go again... Cause it's almost my fault isn't it? And you're such a little angel, right? I'm always the annoying shit, when all I wanna do is touch the fucking love of my life. But guess what? I CAN'T EVEN DO THAT!" Richie raised his voice.
Eddie's face was heating up now, all of the emotions building up like a dark group of clouds on the verge of a thunderstorm. "Yeah and I'm always the bad guy? All I want is some peace and fucking quiet but I never get shit with your trashmouth always joking about some bullshit".
There was a moment of deadly before Richie broke it, "Fine, enjoy your fucking peace and quiet, Kraspbrak", the tone of his voice was filled with anger and disappointment as he pushed past Eddie and went into his room, slamming the door before locking it behind him.
The moment Richie pushed past him, Eddie felt his emotions begin to overflow as a tear that burned like lava as it rolled down his cheek.
"F-Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!" He whispers shouted as he thrusts his fits against his side, in an attempt to try to relieve some of the anger that's building up inside of him.
I always do this
I always have to put other people in bad moods the moment things even go mildly wrong. It's not his fault I'm in a bad mood, so why is he the one I always take it out on? He just wants to love me...
Eddie slid down to the ground against the cabinet under the sink. He sat on the floor of his kitchen for a while, allowing himself to calm down and gather his thoughts.
He might be annoying as hell, always sarcastic and a fucking trashmouth
But he's my trashmouth...
~
When the time came to add the chocolate chips into the batter, Eddie carefully removed the bowl from its place in the mixer and set it down on the counter. Not bothering to clean the beaters that were filled with cheesecake cookie dough as he had other plans for them. He measured out the chocolate chips and poured the exact amount into the bowl. He folded the dough back and forth with a spatula. Which mixed the chocolate chips into the dough, making it perfectly polka-dotted.
He smiled down at the dough for a moment before realizing he needed a taste tester to make sure the dough tasted alright without the Oreos. But his official taste tester, Richie, had yet to emerge from his room, even after 2 hours. He retrieved a clean spoon from the dishwasher and scooped up a hefty amount of cookie dough, making sure the cookie to chocolate chip ratio was correct before shovelling the whole thing into his mouth.
His smile grew wider, spreading even to his eyes as the sweet sensation filled his mouth. He finally understood why Richie loved eating the cookie dough so much. Usually, Eddie cleaned off the beaters and the bowl until there were barely any remnants left, but Richie always insisted on cleaning them off with his tongue. Which Eddie never did himself, as he found it really unsanitary, but he enjoyed watching the joy spread through his boyfriend's face when he told him there were beaters to clean.
Suddenly an idea popped into the brunette's head before quickly got to work. He made the dough into little balls and placed them onto the cookie sheet. Then making some by only scooping out the dough with a spoon, Richie always preferred the ones that looked more imperfect compared to the perfect little circle ones Eddie always ate.
Once the last batch went into the oven and the rest of the cookies were on a rake to dry. Eddie removed the beaters from the mixer and placed them inside the bowl that still had dough remnants inside, sprinkling some chocolate chips inside to sweeten the deal.
He smiled down at his little peace offering before carrying it to Richie's locked door. He could hear the muffled sound of a Sam and Colby video coming from Richie's laptop, as today was the day the YouTubers usually posted. So before Eddie could think anymore about outcomes, he placed the bowl with the beaters inside, on the floor in front of Richie's door, quickly knocked then bolted down the hallway. He hid behind the corner, waiting to hear the sound of Richie's door open. There was a minute where Eddie worried whether he knocked hard enough before the sound of the youtube video paused, followed by some shuffling and the sound of his boyfriend's door creaking open.
There was a huff of air that came from Richie's nose as he smirked down at the bowl before him. He snatched it off the floor and closed his door. Eddie peaked around the corner just in time to see his boyfriend smile before closing the door.
Eddie waited until the last batch of cookies finished baking. He removed them from the oven and let them cool on the rack for a minute. Still warm he carefully picked 6 cookies from the still-warm batch and placed them on a plate. He grabbed two cups, filling them with milk and set up his little display on a tray.
He balanced everything surprising well until he realized he needed a hand to knock on the door that stood before him. A hand which he didn't have. His mind started thinking about the different ways to get Richie's attention right before the door slowly opened.
Richie stood before him. He had a couple of inches on Eddie so he smiled down at him, the corner of his mouth had a little cookie dough remaining, indicating that he enjoyed the dough. He opened the door up wider and said "You know you're the loudest tip toe-er ever, right Eds?" and there he was, Eddie's trashmouth.
Eddie entered his boyfriend's room, Richie moved to stand before his window, where the blinds were open, making Richie a dark silhouette. The shorter boy placed the tray down on his desk, where his laptop sat with the paused Youtube video.
Eddie quickly turned to face Richie and said "I'm sorry", he let out a sigh before continuing, "I was so tired from work, and I just needed a moment. I didn't mean to lash out at you cause I know you only wanna make me happy and I'm-" But before Eddie could finish rambling at top speed, a pair of lips collided with his.
The brunette kissed his boyfriend back, slowly moving his hands up to play with Richie's hair. "God, I love you" He whispered to Richie as he felt his lips smile against his own.
"I know Eds"
~
After a little bit more making out, the two finally settled down on Richie's bed. The darker haired boy sat cross-legged, back against his headboard and his boyfriend's head against his chest. Eddie laid on Richie with the plate of cookies carefully balanced on his chest, making it easily assessable for both of them. They laid there, enjoying the others company while they watched one of their all-time favourite stupid movies, The Hangover.
The room had grown dark as the credits began to roll. Eddie moved the now empty plate off his chest as he flipped over onto his stomach to face Richie.
"I really am sorry, you know" His eyes showing his sincerity.
"I know spaghetti, I could never stay mad at you" Richie smiled warmly down at Eddie before leaning in and kissing his boyfriend on the forehead.
#losers club#finn wolfhard#it chapter 2#richie tozier#bill denbrough#ao3feed#Reddie#beep beep richie#eddie kaspbrak#oneshot#gay#beverly marsh#it chapter 1#it 2017#it
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Hello again! :D I'm here because of our conversation earlier... where I asked you if I could request a fic where Jemma wakes up after some surgery and asks hilarious questions to Fitz while still not fully recovered from anesthesia.. may be an au, may be canon! It's totally up to you ♥
hello! Here’s your finished piece and I hope it’s kind of what you were looking for! Thank you so much for prompting me it - it was such a joy to write
bumblebees and wisdom teeth
{Read on Ao3}
or read below!
“No. Absolutely not. You must be out of your mind toeven suggest it.”
Fitz rolls his eyes as she turns her back for a moment– knowing better than to do it so she can see. His tone is calm, without a hintof frustration. “It was your dentist, Jemma, not me. And it wasn’t so much as asuggestion as she effectively told you that you needed your wisdom toothremoved.”
Jemma makes a harrumphsound, before throwing herself forcefully into the kitchen chair. “My teethare perfect.”
“I know,” hetells her, for the fifth time. “And so does she. But it’s hurting you. And youeither leave it or it gets infected and this becomes a much bigger deal.” Helooks at her imploringly. “You know this.”
A small smile appears, and he watches as she givesway. “That did sound like something I would say.”
For the first time since they’ve arrived home fromJemma’s dentist appointment this afternoon, Fitz allows himself a smile, too.As big and as brave as his wife is, he knows she has great reservations aboutthe dentist. It’s taken two weeks to try and convince the normally completelylogical Jemma Simmons to get over herself and make an appointment about thebothersome tooth.
“It won’t be so bad,” he tells her gently, able tocomfort now the stubbornness has subsided. “A quick operation.”
“But it’s only partially erupted,” Jemma moans. “Whichmeans they’ll have to dig around in there.”
“After everything you have faced, you can definitelyovercome this.” He watches her smile again, though it’s small. “And if you’revery good, then I’ll even get you some ice cream after it’s all over.”
She laughs at him, reaching over to kiss him gently.“That approach may work on our daughter,” she says silkily, “but I’m afraid Imight require something more than ice-cream.”
“Whatever you want,” he promises, kissing her again.
-x-
“Can I come, too?”
Sarah looks at him beseechingly, holding her miniatureladybird suitcase in her hands. Fitz stops folding the washing to ruffle herhair.
“We’ll all be going, kiddo. Mummy’s going to need uswhen the dentist is done with her mouth. But it’s only for a few hours so wewon’t need the suitcase.”
“Oh.” Sarah looks disappointed. “Okay.” She sets itdown on the floor. “When are we going?”
“As soon as mummy is done worrying about all of thethings she won’t be able to do for a couple of days,” he says, watching asSarah’s ‘thinking crease’ appears between her eyebrows. “Hey, why don’t you goget some things to do and put them in your amazing bumblebee bag, yeah?”
She runs off, clearly excited about the prospect ofgetting to use some animal themed luggage today. Fitz drops the t-shirt he’sfolding and pokes his head around the kitchen door.
“You ready to go soon?”
Jemma sits at the kitchen table, a pen gripped so hardin her hand that her knuckles have gone white. There are sheets of paper allover the table, all of the lists she has made to comfort herself. “It says twodays is enough time for recovery.”
“That’s what the dentist said.”
“The NHS website, too,” she hums. “But what do youthink?”
“I think we’ll see how you feel afterwards, okay?” Hereaches out his hand and, though with a bit of reluctance, she takes it.
“You’ll be fine, Jemma,” he says softly. “We’ll bothbe there the whole time.”
“Okay,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay.Let’s go get this bloody tooth removed.”
He grins in spite of himself. “That’s the spirit!”
-x-
“Oh wow! This is amazing!”
Fitz really only thought that the utter personality changesand complete silliness associated with wisdom tooth removal existed in thefilms, or was one of those things that was exclusively American.
“You are very handsome!”
But no.
“Are you single?”
It appears that it’s not. The proof of which iscurrently sitting on a chair in front of him, mouth puffed up with gauze, wheezingwith laughter at unknown jokes.
Jemma grabs his chin with her cool hands, and wiggles itabout. He tries not to laugh at the bewildered expression on her face. No doubtshe’ll remember it once the anaesthesia wears off.
“I think you’re incrediblyattractive.” She tries to roll her r’s, but it gets lose in the gauze. “Yourface is so symmetrical. I’ll bet if I checked, then you’d have the GoldenRatio.”
Knowing for a fact he doesn’t (because she’s checked,of course) he simply smiles and wishes it wouldn’t be frowned upon to record avideo in a hospital. “That’s a lovely compliment, Jemma, but I think it’s timewe get you home, now. Get you some sleep.”
Her elbow that he’d been about to take to help her upsuddenly retracts as if he’s shocked yet. Her eyes narrow, the crease betweenher eyebrows prominent. For a moment he’s overcome by the similarities between hiswife and daughter.
“How do you know my name?”
“You’re my best-friend and we’re married,” heexplains, patiently, opting for the short version. “If you let me help you up,we can get going and you’ll feel much better. I promise.”
“We’re married?!”She shouts, then winces, but doesn’t let the pain deter her. “Oh, I am verylucky indeed. A very lucky woman.”
“You know, I’m going to remember you said this.”
“Okayyy.” Jemma smiles up at him, glassy eyed, and offersher elbow up to him.
“Excellent, well done.” He helps her stand up, theturns his head this way and that. “Now we just have to locate Sarah and we canbe on our way.”
“Who’s Sarah?” Jemma asks sleepily, trying to lean herhead on his shoulder, and moaning a bit when his head swivelling doesn’t allowfor a comfortable stay.
“What kind of drugs did they give you?” He mutters, beforethe person he desires comes careening into the discharge room, brandishing asweetie from the vending machine.
“I got one for mummy and one for you!” Sarah exclaims,before noticing her mother and looking up at her, blinking owlishly.
“I’ll save hers for later,” she decides, stuffing thebumper pack of Starburst into her backpack.
“Good idea, kiddo.” He grins at her, then turns backto Jemma. “Right, let’s get going.”
“You are so pretty,” Jemma gushes, words slightly moreslurred than they were earlier. “Like a princess.”
Usually, Sarah becomes indignant at being likened to aprincess. Her face becomes all pinchy, and she tosses her toffee coloured curlsover her shoulder before walking away. If she’s in a particularly feisty mood,there can sometimes be shouting involved. He hopes that today isn’t one ofthose days.
Luckily, Sarah is a feisty but perceptive little beanand she simply loops her arm around her mother’s free one and leans her head inand says, “thank you.”
“And such lovely manners, too. You’ve been taught sowell.”
“By the best,” Fitz assures her. “Let’s go home.”
-x-
“Daddy,” Sarah whispers in the car on the way home. “Mummyisn’t going to be like this forever, is she?”
Fitz looks over to where Jemma has her head leaningagainst the passenger window, laughing uproariously at a dog, or perhaps theTesco delivery van, or the post box. He smiles a reassuring smile in the rear -viewmirror.
“Not for very long, kiddo. Don’t worry. Let’s justenjoy it while it lasts.”
-x-
“Knock knock,” he says, gently, pushing open the doorto the darkened bedroom.
“Ungggg,” Jemma groans into the pillow. “My head issplitting.”
He holds up a glass. “I brought you some water.”
She sits up, softly swiping hair away from herslightly swollen jaw. “My hero. Thank you, Fitz.”
“No bother.” He comes to sit next to her, handing herthe water with a paper straw in it.
She takes a sip, wincing a little bit, before lookingpast him, bleary eyes trying to focus in the dimness of the room. “Where’sSarah?”
“Downstairs making you a ‘get well soon’ card with hertoy dog. Expect a lot of paw prints next to her name.”
She chuckles, moaning and gingerly pressing her handto her jaw after she does so. He holds up a box of ibuprofen. “I brought these,too.”
“You deserve an award, Fitz.” She takes them with agrateful look. “I can’t believe what the anaesthesia did to me, earlier. I feelso embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t,” he laughs. “It was cute.”
“Did I absolutely terrify our daughter?”
He can’t imagine Sarah being absolutely terrified ofanything. The child practically asks the world to come and take her on.
“No, not even a little bit.” He takes her hand in his.“She found it funny.”
“Oh dear. Never again, Fitz. I mean it.”
“I think you’ve done your fair share.” He takes in herpuffy jaw and bleary eyes and still thinks she’s the best thing, apart fromSarah, that he’s ever laid eyes on. “And it’s done now.”
“Mhmm.” She leans against him, head fitting on hisshoulder. “Thank you for everything.”
“Always, Jemma. What else was I going to do?”
He feels her try to smile into his shoulder, before shelooks up, gently taking his chin in her hand.
“What a handsome face,” she giggles. “I can’t believe I’mmarried to it.”
“Yeah, I know.” He presses his hand over hers. “I can’tbelieve it either.”
#aosficnet2#jemcaulfields#fitzsimmons#aos#fitzsimmons fic#fanfic by moi#for olesya#thank you so much for prompting me!#it's silly and funny fluff#and perhaps not medically accurate#but the NHS website limited me#(i'm so sorry nhs website please forgive me)#<- it's like the bible in my family#if it says you're okay then you're okay#you only get a doctor's appointment if it says you need one#and usually not even then#your leg has to be like hanging on by a thread for the doctor's to be considered acceptable in my family#but anyways#a bit of sidetrack there#i hope you like it!
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Make My Way Back
Chapter 7: Where He Knelt
No warnings this time around. Just enjoy :) Chapter 6 here!
When they return to Lebanon, Dean feels a reinvigorated sense of motivation to engage in his life. He doesn't know what that means yet, but he knows he can only delay doing something for so long. He starts in the kitchen. He'd mostly been cooking them simple things with the assistance of Cas and Sam. Burgers he often overdid, mac and cheese, spaghetti, casseroles. Sam would generally make some form of side salad and Cas always contributed breakfast to the cause, despite the fact he didn't eat.
With his new plan in mind, Dean holes up in the cave and spends hours looking up recipes he wants to try. Cas helps him grocery shop and then Dean sets to his first recipe, chicken parmesan with a side of roasted asparagus and mushrooms. Sam eats two helpings. The next day he makes handmade pierogis. Even Cas tries them this time.
As he cooks, memories start washing in. Not full-fledged flashbacks like he usually gets, but rather hazy ideas, flavors, and smells. Sometimes he gets a memory of the entire cooking process, but more often than not it's just a lingering taste that leaves his mouth watering. He finds a blank journal in the archives and starts jotting down his guesses of what they are. Chicken pot pie, poutine, gumbo, bread pudding. Foods from all around America. He works his way through iteration after iteration of the flashbacks in the kitchen until what hits his tongue matches his memories. With diligent precision and love he documents every attempt in the journal, circling the final successful attempt. Where he does manage to remember, or Cas or Sam happen to know, he credits the recipe to the original maker. Those ones he goes to extra pains to modify the final recipes and make them his own.
He seems to know without thinking what the flavors and smells of his memories are. He knows ginger is the source of the potent tang and that cumin dominates the air once it hits a sizzling pan. His hands deftly handle whatever knife his recipe demands and he wonders if that’s leftover more from his old hobby or hunting. Early-February hits and Sam tells him he needs to slow down a little or they're never going to be able to finish it all. Dean starts to think a little harder about things.
Cas sits in the kitchen playing phone games with Patience and offering occasional words of encouragement when Dean gets frustrated. Sometimes, when he gets stuck he makes Cas try something and tell him if the molecules have the same ratios they used to. The angel teases him about feeling used, but he eats whatever spoonful he's fed and offers his knowledge with a grin on his face. Dean asks if he ever misses being able to actually taste food. Cas says 'not really,' but Dean watches him fall into a melancholy, far-away trance and he reminds himself to be patient because Cas will say something about it when he's ready.
~~~~
For Valentine's Day, Dean kicks Sam out of the bunker and he makes bacon cheeseburgers with a new recipe he's been perfecting. Cas tells him they're the best he's ever made. After dinner, they start watching a movie in the cave, but abandon it quickly when Cas straddles him in his chair. They make out like high schoolers and Dean thinks he might implode just from this until Cas unzips his pants.
"Cas, are you sure?" He tries to keep the eagerness out of his voice, to keep his tone patient and thoughtful.
Cas pauses a moment and purses his lips as he stares earnestly down at Dean's crotch. It's surprisingly adorable and Dean suppresses his laughter. "Just…second base?"
Dean does giggle at that. Cas, the powerful angel of the lord, anxious about a hand job. He's grateful they both are and he leans up and kisses the angel firmly on the lips in agreement.
They had nothing to be nervous about.
~~~~
When March opens, Sam announces he's going to help Jody and Claire track dark Kaia down and find out who she really is. He doesn't know how long he'll be gone, but he'll call every two days. If three days pass without word, something is wrong. It's the traditional way.
Dean feels adrift the day he leaves. He doesn't really need help anymore, and he hasn't in several weeks, but Sam leaving means he's really better. It means Sam is moving on. If Sam moves on, what is Dean left doing? The question haunts him all day and distracts him from his usual business. He overcooks his attempt at lunch, he sits in the tub until he's cold and shivering before realizing he should get out, and he flips through the entirety of Netflix before abandoning it entirely to read in the library. He's not significantly more successful with that.
The crux of the matter is that Dean knows he’s not ready to go back to hunting. If he keeps sitting around without a plan while he continues to gain back his strength, no one will question that he’s simply waiting to be ready to get his feet wet again. It’s easy to play it off as what he’s doing. The problem is, that isn’t what he’s doing at all.
“You’ve been quiet today.” Cas says as they sit at the kitchen table eating dinner. Dean had managed to cook it properly, this time.
Dean isn't sure who he's more nervous talking about this to, Cas or Sam. He wishes he could've had a chance to talk to Donna or Jody about it first, just to work through it all before the important conversations. But here they are and Cas has brought it up and he's not going to lie to him. He could. He could say he's fine and that he just misses Sam. It wouldn't be that different than Cas saying he doesn't miss food when his face had told a different story, but Dean is willing to wait for the truth on that matter. He has a feeling Cas's lie is more complicated.
"Sam's hunting." He starts.
Cas waits expectantly for a moment or two until he doesn't continue. "He is hunting, yes. I imagine you will be as well, soon."
Dean looks up at the angel, feeling how wide and scared his eyes are as he stares at him. His heart is pounding a mile and minute and his hands have begun to shake so he clasps them in his lap. He clears his throat.
"What if-" It's too hard to say while he's staring at Cas, so he looks down at his half eaten food. "What if I don't want to?"
"Oh." Is all Cas says for a moment or two. Dean looks up to find the angel regarding him thoughtfully. He doesn't seem upset or disappointed, just pensive. That’s good at least. "Is it because you don't remember how?"
Dean shakes his head, stomach sinking slowly. He hopes this doesn't end up the same as his conversation long ago when he'd tried telling Cas he wasn't going to get all the way better. "I remember, mostly. I've practiced shooting in the range and my aim is still mostly there. I've read my dad's journal front to back. I've even found a case or two just on accident. I could get back into it without too much trouble."
"But…you don't want to." It's not a question, but Cas still sounds hesitant, like he's unsure how he's supposed to respond. Dean looks back up from his lap and when he sees Cas, he thinks their expressions must mirror each other closely. Fragile, uncertain, lost. What do you get when you put a broken angel with a broken hunter?
"When I talked to Billie, in the veil, she told me if I could make it through this, I could get away from it. That my duty was done and I could just…live." His throat clogs up as he speaks and he feels a dull pressure closing down over his chest as the relief and trepidation of finally talking about this pours into him. Cas sneaks his hand under the corner of the table and wraps it over Dean's, where they're still clasped in his lap. "I didn't think I really knew what I did or didn't want yet, but this morning when Sammy left and didn't ask me to go with him, I was just relieved."
"You're worried we won't accept you as anything other than a hunter." Cas's voice is full of recognition and, to Dean's surprise, a little bit of eagerness.
Dean tilts his chin in an almost imperceptible nod. He feels a little embarrassed when Cas puts it so simply.
"Dean, Sam didn't ask you to go hunting because he didn't want to pressure you into it. Not because he thinks you're not ready to help."
"What?" Dean asks, his voice abruptly loud in surprise. "You've talked about this?"
"Of course. Sam's been wanting to get back to hunting for a while now and it's hard not to notice that your interests have been lying elsewhere." Cas looks meaningfully at the stove. "Sam doesn't mind. He knows your heart's not really in it anymore. It wasn't even before Michael."
"What about you?" His voice is quiet and he clenches and unclenches his hands nervously. Cas turns fully towards him and places his other around Dean's as well, stilling their motion in his tight hold.
"Dean, just as you would love me if I were no longer an angel, I will love you if you are no longer a hunter."
A small gasp slips through his lips at the angel's words and he lifts his head abruptly to stare.
"Cas! You said-"
The angel smiles serenely at him. "I know. And I meant it."
Dean's lips split into a wide grin and he feels his eyes prickle with the disbelief of it all. "Can you say it again?" He whispers.
Cas leans in and cups his cheek in his palm. "I love you." His voice is strong and confident and his eyes stay locked on Dean's, no hint of uncertainty or hesitation to be found.
"I love you, too." Dean whispers, his lungs constricting with the overwhelming joy of finally saying the words he's wanted to say for so long. He repeats it, just to hear his voice say them again. “I love you, too.”
“I’m sorry it took-“
“No apologies.” Dean interrupts with a shake of his head. “We can’t change what happened, but we made it here anyway.”
Cas's frown smooths and he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to Dean's lips. Dean likes these kisses best. The ones with no need, no haste, just the simple, slow pleasure of touching with nothing to accomplish. They rewire the meaning of intimacy in his mind, transforming it from a means to an end to a being all its own. Pleasure for pleasure's sake, not intended to erase the heartbreak of the day or hurdle toward release in a dark motel room.
They curl up in bed that night and watch a movie.
Keep Reading
Chapter 8 (the final) coming on Thursday, 10/11 per my schedule and in celebration of the season premier!
#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#supernatural#dean x castiel#hurt dean#caregiver castiel#post michael possession#season 14#angst with a happy ending#make my way back#keep the faith for me
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9 Ways To Increase Testosterone Naturally
In case you've been encountering indications like lessened sex drive, low energy, trouble shedding pounds or erectile issues, it's an ideal opportunity to consider some ways you can expand testosterone normally.
What is testosterone?
Testosterone is generally known for its "masculine" consequences for boosting seriousness and craving for power, however it assumes a lot greater part in the body than that. It's critical to the wellbeing of male sexuality and propagation by expanding drive, sperm tally, and sexual joy.
Testosterone even further develops the sex drive in females—it's a definitive charisma boosting chemical! Be that as it may, testosterone plays a huge part in generally speaking wellbeing and prosperity also. It influences bulk, hair development, bone thickness, and red platelet improvement.
Ordinary levels are basic for typical psychological capacity, temperament strength, practice perseverance and energy. A low testosterone level can be related with an assortment of indications, including diminished sex drive, erectile brokenness, discouraged temperament, weight acquire, decreased fit bulk, trouble with fixation, helpless memory, lessened intellectual capacity, joint pain, and an expanded danger of coronary illness.
You can have your T level tried by your PCP on the off chance that you have any of these side effects to decide whether they might be an aftereffect of brought down testosterone levels.
Why increment testosterone normally?
Since testosterone (T) assumes a particularly significant part in your sexual wellbeing and in general prosperity, you need to guarantee you're doing all that you can to normally amplify your testosterone level.
There are many items, enhancements, and refreshments available professing to support testosterone and further develop sex drive. Some (the majority) of these items don't work, and studies show that a large number of these enhancements can really have long haul, negative incidental effects including liver and kidney harm, chemical uneven characters, misfortune in bone thickness, and then some.
What you burn-through to assist your wellbeing with hurting it. So I've made a rundown of 13 simple, trustworthy, regular approaches to build testosterone and lift your sexual wellbeing and in general imperativeness.
1. Exercise.
The principal thing that regularly strikes a chord when the vast majority consider expanding testosterone is work out. They consider immense, solid men lifting 400lb hand weights at the rec center. Furthermore, this isn't completely off-base.
Studies show that focused energy practice supports testosterone both in the short-and long haul. Short time periods power preparing end up being more valuable in delivering regular testosterone than delayed exercise, vigorous exercise, or running.
Strength preparing can have this focused energy stretch impact on testosterone in case it's exceptional enough. The best approach to do this is to build the weight being lifted, and bring down the quantity of reps. Propel yourself harder, for a more limited timeframe.
Likewise, center around practices that work an enormous number of muscles without a moment's delay to additional increment the force.
Who knew deadlifts and squats were really regular approaches to expand testosterone? Propel yourself as hard as possible for 30 seconds, and afterward rest (without dialing back your pulse). Indeed, even 20 minutes every day of intense cardio exercise will support your testosterone and begin to fabricate sound, slender muscle.
Span preparing activity can likewise assist you with shedding pounds, which further expands testosterone levels, as per the Endocrine Society.
2. Eat great fats.
The possibility of a Ron Swanson "masculine" burger might have some reality behind it. Sound fats are a characteristic method to expand testosterone rapidly and viably.
Nonetheless, not all fat is acceptable fat. Studies propose that soaked unsaturated fats (SFAs) and mono unsaturated fats (MUFAs) are the best indicator of testosterone accelerations, while poly unsaturated fats can really bring down testosterone.
An examination by the Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism found that men who ate more than 100g of fat each day for about fourteen days had fundamentally more significant levels of free testosterone. This is on the grounds that fats diminish globulin, the chemical that ties to, and lessens.
Get some information about tracking down the right blend of fats in your eating routine.
Here are some normal approaches to build testosterone by burning-through sound, flavorful fats:
Meat
Grass-took care of hamburger is the main wellspring of testosterone-boosting protein with the perfect measure of sound fats. Ensure the meat is natural, since pesticides and bug sprays can bring down your testosterone.
Eggs
Eggs are viewed as the ideal protein since they have all nutrients and amino acids for human necessities (aside from nutrient C). They have for the most part SFA and MUFA, and the yolk contains significant degrees of cholesterol, which is a forerunner to testosterone creation.
Coconut
Perhaps the most exhaustive, normal approaches to expand testosterone is devouring coconuts or coconut oil. Coconut is a soaked fat that creates sound cholesterol while lessening muscle to fat ratio, boosting metabolic rate, and working on intellectual capacities—all of which can assist with facilitating indications of low testosterone.
Olive oil and argan oil
Cooking with and adding additional virgin olive oil to your food are regular approaches to expand testosterone. Olive oil is a mitigating and high in cancer prevention agents, yet it likewise contains raised degrees of oleuropein, a testosterone-adoring harsh.
One examination tracked down that Moroccan men who added olive oil to their weight control plans saw an increment in testosterone levels by 17%. This investigation likewise subbed Argan oil for olive oil, and the testosterone levels expanded by about 20%.
Add either—or both—to your day by day utilization for a speedy (and delicious) increase in testosterone.
3. Burn-through zinc.
Enhancing your eating regimen with zinc for just a month and a half can have stamped improvement in testosterone levels. Since zinc is a metal, concentrated enhancements can have serious incidental effects on the body. All things considered, settle on regular approaches to expand testosterone by devouring zinc-rich food sources:
Crude milk
Crude cheddar
Beans
Kefir from crude milk
Sardines
Anchovies
Cashews
Wild Salmon
Yogurt
Clams
Clams are so wealthy in zinc they can really help your testosterone in minutes. No big surprise shellfish are a steamy (and pungent) Spanish fly!
4. Increment your nutrient D level.
Nutrient D is vital for the improvement of the sperm cell and support of high sperm tally and quality. A ton of men who experience the ill effects of low testosterone manifestations find that they are inadequate in nutrient D too.
The most ideal approach to get nutrient D is by getting some sun (try to utilize sunscreen so you're not in danger for skin disease, however). Indeed, I am saying that taking a dip, playing ball, and getting away are incredibly normal approaches to expand testosterone.
In case it's cold or you tend to consume, however, there are other normal approaches to expand testosterone with nutrient D, such as devouring greasy fish (salmon, trout, fish, and mackerel), invigorated milk or squeeze, and egg yolks (back to those sound fats).
5. Lessen pressure.
At the point when you're worried, your body discharges cortisol. A University of Texas Austin study found that cortisol hinders the creation of testosterone. This can prompt long haul, low T levels, placing the body in an endless loop of pressure and decreased testosterone.
Lower your cortisol by overseeing pressure through unwinding procedures, similar to profound breathing or reflection. Make time to play around with your loved ones, and track down the loosening up strategies that work for you.
Devouring garlic can assist with bringing down cortisol, since it contains the pressure diminishing allicin, which permits the body to viably keep delivering testosterone. Unadulterated pomegranate juice can likewise bring down cortisol levels and improve testosterone by 24% all things considered.
6. Burn-through probiotics.
Probiotics are acceptable microorganisms that your gut needs to work appropriately, prompting stomach related wellbeing and by and large prosperity. Ongoing investigations have shown that probiotics might expand testosterone levels, testicular size and weight, and even forestall age-related testicular shrinkage. The justification this might be that probiotic organisms convert pressure related cortisol into testosterone subsidiaries, as found by Phillip Hylemon at Virginia Commonwealth University. Aged food varieties will in general have probiotics, similar to yogurt, sauerkraut, and blue cheddar. A blue-cheddar burger would really hit the spot.
7. Eat more ginger and onion.
Ginger and onion might be the secret jewels of these regular approaches to build testosterone. Ginger further develops nitric oxide check and blood stream, which places your body in the "temperament." In a University of Tikrik study, burning-through ginger raised testosterone by 17%. Another investigation found that adding onion juice to rat feed expanded testosterone levels by practically 200%. There aren't any investigations of the impacts of onions on human chemicals, yet with such critical impacts in rodents, it merits adding to your eating regimen.
8. Cutoff sugar admission.
Not feeling provocative get-togethers large cut of cake? That might be something beyond your tummy talking. Sugar prompts higher insulin, and insulin prompts lower testosterone. The more you cut high-sugar things out of your eating regimen, the higher your testosterone will be.
9. Cutoff liquor admission.
Liquor has been found to negatively affect testosterone levels just as raising estrogen and cortisol levels. Drinking liquor invigorates the change of testosterone into estrogen, which can additionally bring down your bone thickness and drive. In the event that you will in general drink intensely, this might be a secret reason for your lessened sex drive. The jumps in lager are profoundly estrogenic—to such an extent that it is being read as a treatment for menopausal ladies. Restricting sugar and liquor are normal approaches to build testosterone by simplifying way of life changes that will likewise work on your general wellbeing and personal satisfaction.
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This week’s episode of Fruits Basket was another crier. Near the end of the episode, the main character Tohru has a nightmare of the morning her mother died. In her dream, she is sleeping, and her mother tells her quietly that she’s leaving for the day. As Tohru watches her mother walk toward the front door in her mind, she begs her mom to stay home. She knows that if her mom leaves the house that day, her mother will die. But no matter how much Tohru pleads, the silhouette of her mother makes its way, step by step, undeterred, out the front door, which closes with finality behind her.
The episode ends with a voiceover of Rin’s thoughts as she sits on a hospital bed, eating some jelly that Tohru had made for her:
“You hide what lies beyond the door from all others, where you feel like you’re silently ending towards... a breaking point. If that happens, you can’t recover. I hope someone like him will come for her [Tohru] too. Just like Haru was there for me, someone who will gently open the door. You can’t help but yearn for someone like that. Because someone who knows how scary it is to be alone... [cut to Tohru waking up from her nightmare and opening her bedroom door] can’t help but to love others.”
Last week I wrote about how Rin is overlooked because she isn’t as obviously kind, and how Tohru and Haru were able to see Rin’s wounded-ness and love her deeply. This week, we see the love come full circle as Rin decides to stop pushing Tohru’s kindness away and trust her, even starting to love her in return. The two women are able to develop a deeper bond because they recognize the pain that the other is going through. Tohru saw through Rin’s vitriol and sharpness, recognizing that Rin’s wounds run unbearably deep, and embraced her in a warm hug. This week, Rin begins to see through Tohru’s cheerfulness and kindness, and recognizes that, underneath Tohru’s smiles is an unspeakable grief that would leave most people paralyzed. It’s a grief we are reminded of through Tohru’s nightmare, and a burden that Rin hopes that Tohru will not have to bear alone, that someone like Haru will be there for Tohru, to “gently open the door.”
I think I replayed the ending five times. Rin’s poetic dialogue overlaying the scenes of Tohru’s darkest nightmare, Tohru’s soulless gaze as she wakes up and stares out her bedroom door, as if in her half-asleep state she could catch the disappearing form of her mother... I think moments like these are what takes a charming story about high school romance and magical animal transformations and makes it into something you want to cherish forever and ever.
I wasn’t even planning to write about Fruits Basket again today. I was going to write about the feeling of coming home to my apartment after staying over at a friend’s house last night (which is why I haven’t posted anything in a while). But I watched the next episode in the meantime and needed to process, hehe, so here we are.
Coming home after an absence is one of my favorite feelings. I love my friends dearly and enjoy spending time with them, but there is usually a limit. Like today. I had *so* much fun with some of my favorite people this week, culminating in sleeping over at a friend’s house last night. At around noon today, two of my friends were going to spend the rest of the day together, but I felt it deeply in my body: I am tired, and I would like to go home. My lovely friends are all so empathetic about my limited social energy and don’t give me a hard time about it or take it personally (because it isn’t something to be taken personally! Even if I love you very much I need time to myself.) After announcing my desire to go home, my friend dropped me off, I ran a couple errands, then came home again, took a shower, changed into my comfy clothes and just about squealed with joy. Like snuggled into my comfy area and screamed because I was so happy.
I’m constantly thinking about how I use my time. The days are evil, my life is short, and I want to maximize the way I spend my hours. And this doesn’t mean I’m a workaholic or I refuse to sleep, because I strongly believe things like play, sleep, and daydreaming help make life worthwhile, if done in balance and moderation. And that’s what I think a lot about. What is the best ratio of work to play? Play gives me joy, but so does rigorous work. How about spending time with people vs. spending time alone? It takes time, energy, and presence to build meaningful relationships, and yet I can’t spend my entire life hopping from hangout to hangout and never leaving time for myself. There isn’t really a “right” answer to these questions, and much of it is moot, anyway, since I’m not the one with full control over my life and time - God is. I can come up with the most perfect schedule and it might work on most days, but at some point it will have to change. I can also say f*ck it I’m going to do whatever I feel like doing, and I will be left feeling lost and depleted and searching for something consistent and meaningful.
But to the extent that I can be intentional about my life and set boundaries, I was reflecting today that I want to continue fiercely protecting the time I spend alone at home. The more I stay at home, the more quiet time I have to read. The more I read (manga, novels, etc.), the more I feel the contemplative, imaginative side of myself developing. When it comes to anime, I usually default to watching instead of reading the manga because I’m lazy. :p But recently I’ve been picking up reading manga again (starting with sangatsu no lion after a friend recommended it to me & I ran out of anime episodes and needed to find out what happens after!), and something you get in manga that you don’t get in anime is the author’s reflections. Many times, authors will draw themselves (or bespectacled animal versions of themselves) into the pages of the manga and give updates about their life and work. I love this aspect of manga, because to me, reading is a form of socialization. Sure, I’m not having a conversation with someone embodied. But when I am reading, I am absolutely connecting to another person’s mind and soul. When I read Pachinko, I’m falling in love with the characters, but I’m also falling in love with the author, Min Jin Lee, because through her story I can see her values of humanizing empathy, of empowering love, and of the courage to live according to one’s values. When I watch Fruits Basket I am curiously enthralled by the emotional intelligence and sensibilities of Takaya. And when I read March Comes in Like a Lion, I get glimpses into Chica Umino’s life experiences, and I feel a kindred spirit. In one of the author’s asides, she talks about exploring Ginza on her own in the evenings, getting late night food, which reminded me of the many times I wandered the streets of Seoul and London alone, popping in to restaurants and cafes that piqued my interest. I also imagine Chica Umino spending long, quiet hours at her desk, drawing and creating the warm, larger than life world of Kiriyama and his friends. And I wonder... Would life really be all that lonely if I did the same? If I stayed forever in my house and created something that would warm the hearts of whoever chanced upon it? And that’s something that would give me so much joy... To give someone a hug through my work the way Takaya and Chica Umino have hugged me through theirs.
In reality it would probably be difficult for me to completely become a hermit because I really do love the flesh and blood people in my life, and I don’t want to lose my grip on my surroundings. But lately I feel my heart being pulled home, where I can roll myself into my blankets like a burrito and not have to utter a single word aloud. And maybe... After almost 8 years of on and off procrastination, I will finally finish that novel.
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'Help Wanted: Single Mother's in Need' by Melinda Polet
I was planning on...
Following schedule by writing for Tiny Home Sisterhood's blog at the end of the week, but...
This Christmas has seen things (everything) speed up faster than imagined.
Why?
Tiny Home Sisterhood is Hiring!
We are looking for someone who can...
Help us design the perfect logo for Tiny Home Sisterhood and someone who can help Lani and I with the pamphlets. I might be able to pull those two items off, but, it was suggested that to just put it out there is also a viable option. SO here goes!
We are looking for women who are owning their lives in a way that still helps the circle of light on the planet to expand.
Who are willing to work smarter, not harder. To ease just "one thing," to simplify our individual tasks by asking for help. Who are passionate about (not "everything!" We are human!) but, by something in their lives that has given them a sense of purpose that (to some, or maybe everyone) may seem crazy. Those are the women we want. Because all of us at Tiny Home Sisterhood have worked through the back and the front of crazy, and, we came out the saner for it.
I was reminded today of a credo I have followed for quite a while, lifetimes really.
"What we accomplish is not very important, but who we become by accomplishing is very important."
Which brings me to my next subject, the high holy days. Which we are in.
And every Christmas we vow to do it different, to not get caught up in the collective stress, to reach out and start a food drive, to serve at a homeless shelter. Most Christmases for me have left me falling short of a greater humanitarian goal other than to spread love, as much good cheer and warmth as possible, to be with my family (especially mom,) and, to get through it without feeling that I've missed out on any of the above.
It's like the show after months of rehearsal, every actor knows there is a quick slide down.
I realized that truly, what every mother wants for Christmas, what my mother wanted for her children, was just to have her children at her side.
It always pained her when I didn't.
This has been my second Christmas without her on the planet and, after her passing, while I was living in my van with my kids, vowing I would help the homeless, I have set up a home of my own, finding a solution to the problem, not by volunteering at a homeless shelter, not by donating to one, but, to build one.
The day after Christmas 2017, saw me one step closer to my dream.
I got to meet with Kimon, the angel who donated the blue VW van, and Fiona Griffith, who owns A'ama Organic Farm, where we will be guiding week long workshops on how to build your own sustainable home, and, to speak with Robert, who inspired me further. I got to go home to enjoy leftovers, with my kids, after the photo shoot in front of the van, only to find that the lawn guy came to cut the grass (included in my rent.) Now, this may seem like a first world problem if it wasn't for the fact that.....
I have a dog I am fostering and -lawn guys and property managers talk. It put me in a state of panic.
Although I have the dog situation taken care of, and, I am a good tenant and steward of the land, it triggered me. I may be kicked out, I may be homeless. For me, there is no greater fear. To be homeless, with my children, to have no leg to stand on. When we are grounded, we can build abundance. We can build bigger than we imagined.
It was the threat that caused me to reach out to Optimistic Vibe just two weeks ago.
I was tired of being threatened by attempting to do good. To have to leave "home" again, like a refugee, like I have done so many times in my life. The truth is, we will never be good enough, smart enough, talented enough, guilt ridden enough, shamed enough, lowly enough to supplicate to the energies of the shadow, the dark. This goes for many men too. It is an attitude of the old paradigm. It is the paradigm we were brought up with that we are waking up from.
Those of us that are Awakening are saying; "If I will never be good enough, smart enough, rich enough, talented enough, eager enough to simply be seen for who I am, then, I might as well just go my own way. "
As I was left with the slide down, after Christmas, the fatigue, I was reminded to stay true to my passion, because my passion is not crazy. It is what has brought me success in my life (the only success worth mentioning) the abundance in my life, the joy in my life, and, therefore, the light in my life.
I am reminded to stay committed to the light and to stop fighting the dark.
Many local women here work every day through the holidays, mostly for the hotels, for the tourists. We have a 5-1 tourist to local ratio. That leaves most of us working right through the holidays to pay our rent so that we can support our families.
So that we can help fulfill the dream of those coming here for 8 days to have the healing and light that they need to take back to the Mainland.
WE hope they do. But sometimes we are left wondering.
The support we are receiving for Tiny Home Sisterhood will no longer leave us wondering.
We are offering a wellness adventure that I have been conceiving since I moved here, and, it has been conceived through Robert John Cook. And, we are just beginning.
Tiny Home Sisterhood is just a small part of what is occurring globally, where building sustainably, sanely, without giving our power away is emerging, WHILE healing and giving and receiving love light and many many blessings. I believe that, by the time my girls are adults, the paradigm we, at Tiny Home Sisterhood, and on the globe, will be the new normal.
Won't you come?
Most of us were trained to give our power away. That is the old paradigm. Most of us became so wounded by power that we have had no choice but to wake up. That is a good thing. To wake up from the dream that we are all free, and to become truly free is what turns me on. It has what has driven me my entire life.
Robert John Cook woke that up in me, again today.
He reminded me that my movie does not have a fatigued, middle aged woman fighting Uncle Sam as the star; trying to save the world and becoming exhausted, unable to focus on her own needs.
The heroine of my movie, as Robert suggested, is so much bigger than that.
And Robert meant it.
Often, when we are truly seen, we are filled with a mix of excitement and yet, our worthiness issues come up. We are all living the same story, after all, on some level. I have learned, through many a painful lesson, that I am not alone. That all I have to do is ask.
I am not afraid that we will not be able to take Tiny Home Sisterhood to glory after glory, because finally, I have been given no choice.
So, in parting, I want to share what has come to me the past 24 hours, as this speeds up beyond what I could have imagined, filling me with courage, joy, and, hope, real hope.
Victims believe that they have no choice, while making many, none leading to true happiness. Mastery is about knowing that we have only ONE choice.
I know that we, as a global society are coming to that ONE choice.
Come one, come all.
In light,
Melinda
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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.
RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag ! good luck !
TAGGED. @sakanxde
TAGGING. @domininm @letsriddlemethislucifer @redbirdwandering and whoever else wants to. Also “tagging” my other blog for this ‘cause I wanna do it there too
BASICS.
FULL NAME : Kisuke Urahara
NICKNAME : Mr. Hat ’n Clogs, Mr. Urahara, Boss, Tenchou, Kisu, “that guy”, “you asshole”
AGE : 400-something
BIRTHDAY : December 31st
ETHNIC GROUP : Mixed. Asian and Caucasian
NATIONALITY : Japanese/Swedish/Soul? (it’s hard to pick and I’m still developing a hc for it but he very much looks Northern European to me. So Swedish or Norwegian or something)
LANGUAGE / S : Japanese, probably dabbles in other languages but not very fluent in them
SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Pansexual
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Panromantic
RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Depends on the verse
CLASS : Upper (developing hc for this) —> Exiled Criminal —> Upper. The Captain position is well respected.
HOME TOWN / AREA : Shihoin Family Manor in the Seireitei
CURRENT HOME : The Urahara Shop in Karakura Town
PROFESSION : Manager of the Urahara Shop
PHYSICAL.
HAIR : Short blond, always very messy, bangs hang in middle of face
EYES : Grey, can be different shades depending on the light. Has thin eyebrows
NOSE : long, slender, a bit pointy
FACE : Heart shaped with a pointy stubbled chin
LIPS : Thin (but very kissable~)
COMPLEXION : Fair
BLEMISHES : None
SCARS : None, but may get a few in future verses
TATTOOS : None
HEIGHT : 6′0″
WEIGHT : 152 lbs.
BUILD : When he’s in good shape he’s lean, almost a bit muscular (like in TBTP). But this isn’t always the case and in my main verse he has a dad bod
FEATURES : Very expressive eyes and eyebrows when they can be seen. Has stubble on his chin. Can easily be identified by his hair when he doesn’t have his hat on
ALLERGIES : None
USUAL HAIR STYLE : Messy, bangs in middle of face
USUAL FACE LOOK : Some sort of shady/mischievous expression, whether it be a smile or frown
USUAL CLOTHING : Loose green pants and shirt, black haori, wooden clogs, and that silly but iconic white and green striped bucket hat. Also often carries his fan and cane. In TBTP he wears the usual Shinigami uniform. Owns more stylish clothes, both “men’s” and “women’s” clothing, that he usually doesn’t wear because it’s not comfortable enough for him. If it’s nighttime and you’re lucky you might catch him in his sleepwear which is just a light robe, or a heavier one in the colder months
PSYCHOLOGY.
FEAR / S : Failure, losing loved ones
ASPIRATION / S : To make sure his life, and the world in general, runs smoothly
POSITIVE TRAITS : Extremely Intelligent, Humorous, Helpful, Kind
NEGATIVE TRAITS : Kind of a huge jerk, Manipulative, Deceptive, occasionally too harsh
ZODIAC : Capricorn
TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic
SOUL TYPE / S : Scholar
ANIMALS : Fox
VICE HABIT / S : Manipulation/Trickery
FAITH : Agnostic I guess?
GHOSTS ? : Yes
AFTERLIFE ? : Yes
REINCARNATION ? : Yes
ALIENS ? : Considers the possibility
POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Fuck the government, both Soul Society’s and the human world’s
ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Comfortable, not too rich or too poor
SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : N/A ?
EDUCATION LEVEL : Academy Graduate. Could very easily get a college degree and graduate degree in the human world but chooses not to. Maybe one day if he gets bored enough...
FAMILY.
FATHER : Alive. His name is Hitoshi. He’s Northern European. He’s stern but kind. Has not been in contact since exile.
MOTHER : Alive. Her name is Junko. She’s Japanese. She’s soft and bubbly. Has not been in contact since exile.
SIBLINGS : Yes, one. An older brother named Kota. He’s like Kisuke except more serious, less of a jerk, and not quite as gifted (which makes him a dreamboat honestly, he’s Kisuke minus the annoying stuff~). Has not been in contact since exile.
EXTENDED FAMILY : None
NAME MEANING / S : ?
HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : ?
FAVORITES.
BOOK : Probably something science fiction. But also loves the Harry Potter series
MOVIE : Honestly? Star Wars
SONG : Anything classic rock or jazzy
DEITY : None
HOLIDAY : Halloween
MONTH : October
SEASON : Autumn
PLACE : The Urahara Shop
WEATHER : Rainy
SOUND : Money, rain, clogs
SCENT / S : Baked goods, rain, fruity smells
TASTE / S : Caramel, chocolate, anything sweet
FEEL / S : Warm fluffy fur of an animal
ANIMAL / S : Cat
NUMBER : golden ratio/phi (1.6180339887...)
COLORS : Green
EXTRA.
TALENTS : Science, math, planning, predicting, comedy, managing money, being an ass
BAD AT : Grunt work, cooking, cleaning, hygiene, dealing with his emotions
TURN ONS : Dirty talk, biting, teasing
TURN OFFS : Crying, intense pain
HOBBIES : Reading, tinkering/building inventions, watching cat videos
TROPES : The Wonka
AESTHETIC TAGS : Green, stripes, science, cats
GPOY QUOTES : “Don’t take life too seriously. You’ll never get out of it alive.” -Elbert Hubbard
MUN QUESTIONS.
Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ?
A1 : Honestly it’d just be a documentary of Kisuke cooing at and playing with cats for an hour and a half, then ends with him sleeping with a pile of small kittens. The perfect movie. 5 stars, 10/10, 100% on Rotten Tomatoes, have an academy award, “a joy to watch” claim critics.
Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ?
A2 : Rock maybe? Idk.
Q3 : why did you start writing this character ?
A3 : Because he’s my favorite Bleach character and I love him lots.
Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ?
A4 : His mysteriousness and complexity. He’s also really funny and makes me laugh. Also tbh he’s just really hot. To me he’s one of the more unique characters in the series.
Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.
A5 : I don’t dislike anything about how I choose to portray him, but there are definitely some canon things that I greatly dislike about his character and would rather pretend they don’t exist *coughFINALARCcough*
Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ?
A6 : We’re sarcastic, blonde, don’t care to dress up, and like science and cats
Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ?
A7 : He doesn’t feel much about me as a person, but he doesn’t like that I’m in charge of him and is going to try to influence me however he can, for better or worse.
Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?
A8 : Shinji (@sakanade), Aizen (@domininm), Jewel (@letsriddlemethislucifer), Ryuuji (@redbirdwandering), Ayame (@all-of-the-muses), Yoruichi (@shunkokami) and of course his double (@musehoardiing)
Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ?
A9 : Kisuke himself, he’s such a wild and funny guy. My RP partners inspire me too. Reading about science, cats, and funny stuff gets me in the mood to write Kisuke.
Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ?
A10 : An hour-ish
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A Personal Review of Netflix’s A Series Of Unfortunate Events
Just as a disclaimer, these are my personal opinions on the show. I know that a lot of people loved it, and that a lot of people did not like it at all.
I’ve here listed what I’ve considered were the good aspects, the bad aspects, and the things I felt confused to see. As to the confusing aspects particularly, if someone has an answer for me -or even a theory- I’d love to read it.
The asoue fandom has evidently waited a very long time; and even though I completely understand the exhilarating feeling of joy we all felt last Friday, I think hype and enthusiasm can also give place to analysis and, while not as pleasant a thing, personal opinions, which are certainly not the same as facts.
THE GOOD
The Baudelaire siblings are my children and they must be protected at all costs.
Louis Hynes and Malina Weissman have good chemistry as siblings and seeing them act together and discuss plans and talk about their interests is a pure delight. Both of them are flawlessly cast. Presley Smith, as it’s expected from a baby, gets distracted very often and it’s somewhat distracting to see her looking around and making faces inappropriate for the situation taking place, but I really liked her nonetheless. Her little smile at Uncle Monty was adorable. Her saying bye at Judge Strauss broke my heart.
Violet’s self confidence. Will it work? “It will now.”
Klaus’ enthusiastic definitions of complex vocabulary.
The short dedications to Beatrice are so beautiful and well done. I love the background music, with the soft humming, and the sound of the typewriter keys.
Patrick Warburton plays a wonderful Lemony Snicket. Almost all of his scenes on screen are great. His deadpan delivery is great, his voice is great, his reactions are great. The little moments he narrates in his room are quite interesting, too. As much as I like watching him slip right into a scene in the Baudelaire’s story, I was very much looking forward to see him in his own timeline, on the run. His sigh before the Baudelaires learn the sad truth is perfectly gentle and bitter.
Neil Patrick Harris is a very convincing Count Olaf. I wholeheartedly loathed him. I like how his interpretation of the character is that of a bratty man-child used to having everything his way, and who is so overdramatic and vain he literally does not seem to care about anything but himself. His makeup was fantastically made and applied. Also, he put a nice physicality to the role, in the way he moved like he was slightly drunk, slightly hungry and like he owned the place at all times. His delivery was also quite spot-on -his Olaf voice is menacing and his other disguised voices are ridiculous but still quite distinct, which was good.
I began hating this Count Olaf so much, so early, when he first held Sunny up high.
Olaf! slapping! Klaus!!!!! Very effective on me. Also, during the second episode, Klaus still had the bruise on his cheek. Good. It kept my anger alive.
When the Bald Man made that remark of Violet being pretty I was immediately thinking, “Oh boy. They kept this.” They also kept the very, very, very unsettling remarks Olaf gives about Violet’s appearance and almost touches her hair once and then he said “I can touch what I want” and I seriously wished he was struck by lightning or that Sunny suddenly bit his ankle or something generally painful happened to him. It’s awful, it’s in character, and as much as I despise it I’m kind of glad they kept it there and didn’t hold back any punches.
Little Moment N° 1: Very near the beginning, when Klaus and Violet discuss the Proust quote: “Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind”. That scene was great. I really like both their pleasant confusion and how it a) displayed their intelligence, b) displayed their innocence, c) displayed their inability to understand grief at that particular moment.
The set design is no Rick Heinrichs, but it’s really good. I especially like the design of all the libraries (even if they were a bit samey), the Murnau cinema hall, the secret passageways, the Reptile Room, the Lucky Smells Lumbermill office and Dr Orwell’s office. The outside of the buildings, I’m not that much of a fan. Still pretty good. What little was seen of Prufrock Preparatory, it looked great.
The secret passageways. I loved these.
It was confusing, but there was something curiously beautiful about the untimely death of Gustav. His saying “the world is quiet here” is definitely a strange choice of last words, but maybe this is a thing in VFD. It served nicely to prove how being a volunteer is definitely a perilous career path.
K. Todd Freeman gave his all to his performance, and it shows. Sometimes he veered into almost too much of a useless, clueless stand-in for neglectful authority figures, but most of the time he was perfect for the role. I know how hard is to fake a convincing cough, so kudos to him also for his very believable sore throat. He is also amazingly good at talking really fast with really long sentences which is difficult to do and sound slightly spontaneous, so yep. A greatly done Mr Poe.
I know Eleanora Poe is an awful person, but I’m kind of happy to see how Mr Poe is so supportive of her, and they seem to love each other very much. I’m always down for that.
Jacquelyn won me over by sheer determination and commitment. Hope to see more of her, even though she proved to be just as deaf to the children’s questions and despair as countless other people.
Little moment N° 2: When Klaus turns the stove on, in the first episode, he stays there, looking at the fire, with wide eyes. He stays there, looking at it, while Violet puts the pan on the stove; and then she puts her hand on his shoulder and pulls him gently to the table. It’s a very small thing (Snicket is talking over it, and it ends in a matter of seconds), but Klaus’ distress and fixation on that stove fire felt strangely deliberate and very, very sad.
Sunny biting something with her face off camera -when she flattens the skipping rock, when she chops the parsley- the effect is so cute and funny? I wish that was more used.
“A home cooked meal is better than nothing. A roof over one’s head is better than nothing. (...) But being raised in a violent and sinister environment by a man more interested in one’s fortune than comfort and well-being is not better than nothing.“ Yes.
I love Joan Cusack’s performance. Strauss was such an insecure woman, and despite being so gullible and not listening to them when they tried to warn her, she loved the Baudelaires so much and wanted to keep them and help them, and was so kind... She provided a great emotional core to the second episode. I hope Cusack returns in case they film book eleven.
Aasif Mandvi made a wonderful Uncle Monty. He managed the perfect line between eccentric snake fan and caring, loving guardian. My only complaint about his performance was that he had not enough screentime.
Zombies In the Snow, good God. The fake cow. I loved it so much.
Larry, yes. Yes, thanks.
Klaus saying that plenty of boys enjoy playing with dolls... my nerd son.
Violet’s fear for his brother’s safety in the Miserable Mill, and her insistence to clear their parents’ names while being in Paltryville. She can’t afford to think their parents could have possibly been morally dubious. In the end, the parents were still the unquestionable heroes the children wanted them to be, but I like to think this was a bit of foreshadowing of the secrets revealed in the end.
The super extra 200 page letter Beatrice sent Snicket (if one freeze-frames it one can read that it describes how she sent it through carrier pigeons and which also details how they became engaged. I love that the prop makers took the time to write that down).
Cobie Smulders is the best secret spy, ass-kicking mother since Carla Gugino. A+ casting choice.
THE BAD
More of a general thing, but the style of the show felt all over the place.
Sunny is barely in the show. She acts as the distressed victim of Olaf’s plans twice (in the cage and in the luggage) which is one scene too many, especially considering the sensible and understandable erasure of her epic duel with Orwell. Her sole victorious moment was when she bit Captain Sham’s leg. She rarely participated in the other two siblings’ discussions. She was often sat aside, in a chair out of sight, while her siblings talked. Their siblings actively left her alone! She often feels like an extra weight, which is the worst thing a baby can be in a piece of entertainment.
The ugly Sunny speech subtitles. Why that font... why that color.
Some scenes with Olaf were unnecessary -his twirling with the dress, the interview with Mrs Poe, his talking to the troupe while spying on the children at Strauss’ house. I was made very much aware of how much Neil Patrick Harris participated in the creative process.
When the show’s style was being creative it most often succeeded. I hoped they kept it up, but most of it was only about Snicket. I wish they kept using title cards, like they did before Aunt Josephine and Captain Sham’s flashback, and iris shots, like the one used with Violet. If they had continuously using a stylistic choice, these few examples wouldn’t stick out so much. They could also have played around with the ratios, just to give an example, or kept all flashbacks in black and white. It would have been a nice way to incorporate the old-feel style to the show.
I enjoyed their performances, all in all, but the troupe constantly felt like comic relief. They were very seldomly menacing (mostly the Bald Man, who I am genuinely a bit scared of) or useful.
Not enough Reptile Room creatures. I need to see the Church Frog. And the Incredibly Deadly Viper could have been so much better. And it could have had more screentime with Sunny. I find it hard to believe that they became friends so fast.
I really hoped they wouldn’t put the Shirley disguise... Olaf could have perfectly had been a secretary without dressing up as a woman.
70% of the time I felt the costume design was lacking. Not so much that it was bad, but that it was boring and didn’t say anything at all about the character that was wearing it. There was nothing particular about how any of the characters were dressed. I like that each Baudelaire seems to have a certain color palette, but even then it’s not very well determined. Aunt Josephine’s clothes in particular were drab.
The background music can be a bit overbearing. There’s many times when I felt silence would have been better, or maybe something with less choir... And as much as I love the accordion soundtrack -because it is great, and it is fitting- it would have been better with a bit less of it. It made scenes feel “extra quirky”, if that makes sense, and while sometimes it worked, there were moments in which it was overdone.
I really did not care to see the Marvelous Marriage. It wasn’t funny enough to warrant being shown.
The CGI effects were so bad! I understand that they had to use recent pics of the adults to make sure they were easily recognizable, and that Sunny does a great deal of very unusual things that a real life baby can’t possibly do, so one can’t complain too much; but still, some things -like her whistling, or her hanging from the doorknob, or her poker playing, were both unnecessary and a bit unsettling. Also, Violet’s rock retrieving device at the beginning... Surely there had to be a practical way around that. Generally, if they felt the need to add something, one would wish they wouldn’t make an effort to make that addition hard to do without CGI.
The photoshopped picture of the VFD members. It was just bad.
Klaus may have had a bit too many speaking lines compared to Violet... just saying.
Weird continuity goofs... They’re details, but there were so many of them. Most of them around Sunny, which again, understandable, but still, there should have been a way around it.
Let! Klaus! also carry Sunny! Almost all the time, Violet does it!!
So Dr Orwell was Olaf’s girlfriend. I hope they find fresh ways to repeat that trope, because there’s two more characters that exactly follow this concept, and with the already repetitive nature of the Baudelaire’s misadventures this could become quite boring.
Sometimes the adults were so ignorant and blatantly oblivious to what was going on (especially with Mr Poe actively saying what a bad idea it was to act the way he did, like leaving the children with untrustworthy people or abandoning them in the empty dock) that it was not frustrating, it was cumbersome.
Aunt Josephine’s statue. What was up with that? Why couldn’t she just throw a chair through the window?
As effective -and boy was it effective- of a red herring it was, the Mother and Father B-plot felt unnecessary in the end. It could have been cut, and despite suffering from the lack of a Cool Spy Mom and a Tired Spy Dad, the story would have flowed better. Heck, it would have been better with more Jacquelyn.
Statue woman in the middle of the maze? What the heck? What was the purpose of that? Why did she need to talk to the Baudelaires? Why was she the only one who reached out to them? It didn’t contribute anything at all.
Have another actor to be Ike... Sonnenfeld is already visibly seen in the background of Strauss’ library as her father. It was so weird.
Why couldn’t Klaus start the fire with his glasses when he needed to, in the boat during the leeches attack? Mother’s binoculars starting the fire saved the children out of pure luck.
Similarly, the Reptile Room reptiles decided a very particular moment to attack Olaf and his troupe, which also made the ending of the episode seem like a matter of pure luck.
If luck saves the children in the end, then less emphasis is put on their individual talents and resourcefulness. Having them save themselves would have often been the cheaper production decision and the smartest narrative decision.
The Wide Window episodes had sometimes an overreliance on CGI, and it turned it into a bit of a pain to sit through. The house collapsing looked bad. Sunny dangling from the doorknob was bad, Klaus jumping around was bad...
The musical numbers. None of them were truly terrible, by themselves, but they felt out of place and unneeded. The first cringy one was mercifully short and at least served the purpose to show how much of a self-aggrandizing lousy actor Olaf is. The little song with the spoons he sings in the taxi as Captain Sham feels stretched out and annoying. And the last song, “That’s Not How The Story Goes”, which everyone (why Poe? Why Olaf?) sings... It was the most bizarre thing in an already very, very bizarre show. From Snicket in his school uniform, sitting on a cliff, to Sunny’s weirdly CGIed contorted face whistling (including Mr Poe cheerfully singing it, which almost made me think he was truly looking forward to the Baudelaires being even more miserable), it’s a really good song -the best of the musical numbers- but it was a wrong way to finish the first season.
Finally, I know that Neil Patrick Harris is the Star Power, but why must he sing the title song? Why couldn’t it be an instrumental? And as much as I like the way they managed to change each title sequence for each book, it would have been better to have more interesting visuals during the titles. It felt like a missed opportunity.
THE CONFUSING
The grandfather clock toaster? Couldn’t Violet’s talents be shown with a more interesting, useful invention?
What was up with the weird James Brown references? “I’m super bad”, what? A non-sequitur/inside joke between the siblings?
At Justice Strauss’ library, Klaus showed her that he had a small notebook with him, and said he had it with him at all times. He never actually used it. Why show it if you’re not going to use it?
Why are most of the henchpeople unusually and occasionally nice? Why do they act shocked and worried when Olaf kills and hurts (most clearly with the killing of Josephine and when he held Sunny up high)?
Strauss was last seen reading a book on secret organizations. Why does she have that book? Will she become a member? Is her family linked to VFD? How can that book be a thing, if the organization is supposed to be secret? Is VFD something that is well known? Is that book’s author a VFD member, or a Geraldine Julienne/Rita Skeeter kind of badly-informed and dimwitted investigator? Are there other organizations besides VFD that one should be concerned about? Is that book a standard secret VFD reading, or is it sold in average bookstores and available in city libraries? Just how available to the public is that book?
It was suggested Strauss is Jewish (what with greeting Poe and the children with “Shalom” and mentioning how cooking could be a mitzvah), and Olaf too (mostly for the klezmer-style wedding music and his little dance, but I’d find it rather out-of-character for him to be a religious man at all) and Dr Orwell too, though much less clear, for mentioning Olaf ruined a bat mitzvah. But the big question is, are the Baudelaires Jewish?
Who was that elder lady at the cinema and why was the camera so interested in her uninteresting life
Is the Bald Man as unquestionably terrible as he was in the books? “We should use the baby as bait” kind of confirmed it, but the question is more about the future role of the character, considering what happens is following books.
Where did Olaf get that very specific snake-bite-faking device? Is that a standard VFD contraption?
What in the world is Beatrice’s name doing engraved in the remains of Aunt Josephine’s house?
What was up with Snicket buying an orange vest?
Are Sir and Charles actually members of VFD?
Why did Orwell have literal skeletons in her closet? Did she kill people, took away their clothes and hair and skin and muscle and cleaned them and stored them in her closet?
In the little awfully photoshopped picture at the end of the last episode, at Prufrock Prep, Snicket and Olaf seem to be friends; even though Snicket said at the beginning of the first episode that Olaf’s “dreadful villainy haunted [Snicket since he] first met him as a young man.” Was it a goof by the showrunners, or a proof of the unreliable narrator Snicket can be?
Are the Baudelaire parents really the ones shown in other awfully photoshopped picture of the volunteers at Paltryville? Klaus recognized them, so there’s almost no way they’re not the Baudelaires. Are these actors the confirmed ones for the parents?
Aren’t the Quagmire parents wary of telling their children about their past in VFD? Weren’t they afraid of the known fate of some members of the organization? Do they believe VFD is doing good?
Were the Baudelaire parents active volunteers till the moment of their demise? Did they balance a double life, with the VFD missions and their homelife?
Does Snicket still trust VFD? Does he support the organization that gave him nothing but pain and misery?
Will the series portray VFD as noble? What happened with the aggressive training, the indoctrination, the kidnapping, the indoctrination?
Are the Baudelaire parents morally dubious? Will the show have the guts to put that on screen?
“Call me Ishmael”???????? What the fuck??
Here’s hoping the second season rights the wrongs, emphasises on the good, and answers some questions and creates new ones -hopefully all the right ones.
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As a Man Thinketh
New Post has been published on https://selfhelpqa.com/as-a-man-thinketh/
As a Man Thinketh
AS A MAN THINKETH
by
James Allen
Mind is the Master power that moulds and makes, And Man is Mind, and evermore he takes The tool of Thought, and, shaping what he wills, Brings forth a thousand joys, a thousand ills:– He thinks in secret, and it comes to pass: Environment is but his looking-glass.
FOREWORD
This little volume (the result of meditation and experience) is not intended as an exhaustive treatise on the much-written-upon subject of the power of thought. It is suggestive rather than explanatory, its object being to stimulate men and women to the discovery and perception of the truth that–
“They themselves are makers of themselves.”
by virtue of the thoughts, which they choose and encourage; that mind is the master-weaver, both of the inner garment of character and the outer garment of circumstance, and that, as they may have hitherto woven in ignorance and pain they may now weave in enlightenment and happiness.
JAMES ALLEN. BROAD PARK AVENUE, ILFRACOMBE, ENGLAND
Thought and Character
The aphorism, “As a man thinketh in his heart so is he,” not only embraces the whole of a man’s being, but is so comprehensive as to reach out to every condition and circumstance of his life. A man is literally _what he thinks,_ his character being the complete sum of all his thoughts.
As the plant springs from, and could not be without, the seed, so every act of a man springs from the hidden seeds of thought, and could not have appeared without them. This applies equally to those acts called “spontaneous” and “unpremeditated” as to those, which are deliberately executed.
Act is the blossom of thought, and joy and suffering are its fruits; thus does a man garner in the sweet and bitter fruitage of his own husbandry.
“Thought in the mind hath made us, What we are By thought was wrought and built. If a man’s mind Hath evil thoughts, pain comes on him as comes The wheel the ox behind….
..If one endure In purity of thought, joy follows him As his own shadow–sure.”
Man is a growth by law, and not a creation by artifice, and cause and effect is as absolute and undeviating in the hidden realm of thought as in the world of visible and material things. A noble and Godlike character is not a thing of favour or chance, but is the natural result of continued effort in right thinking, the effect of long-cherished association with Godlike thoughts. An ignoble and bestial character, by the same process, is the result of the continued harbouring of grovelling thoughts.
Man is made or unmade by himself; in the armoury of thought he forges the weapons by which he destroys himself; he also fashions the tools with which he builds for himself heavenly mansions of joy and strength and peace. By the right choice and true application of thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection; by the abuse and wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the beast. Between these two extremes are all the grades of character, and man is their maker and master.
Of all the beautiful truths pertaining to the soul which have been restored and brought to light in this age, none is more gladdening or fruitful of divine promise and confidence than this–that man is the master of thought, the moulder of character, and the maker and shaper of condition, environment, and destiny.
As a being of Power, Intelligence, and Love, and the lord of his own thoughts, man holds the key to every situation, and contains within himself that transforming and regenerative agency by which he may make himself what he wills.
Man is always the master, even in his weaker and most abandoned state; but in his weakness and degradation he is the foolish master who misgoverns his “household.” When he begins to reflect upon his condition, and to search diligently for the Law upon which his being is established, he then becomes the wise master, directing his energies with intelligence, and fashioning his thoughts to fruitful issues. Such is the _conscious_ master, and man can only thus become by discovering _within himself_ the laws of thought; which discovery is totally a matter of application, self analysis, and experience.
Only by much searching and mining, are gold and diamonds obtained, and man can find every truth connected with his being, if he will dig deep into the mine of his soul; and that he is the maker of his character, the moulder of his life, and the builder of his destiny, he may unerringly prove, if he will watch, control, and alter his thoughts, tracing their effects upon himself, upon others, and upon his life and circumstances, linking cause and effect by patient practice and investigation, and utilizing his every experience, even to the most trivial, everyday occurrence, as a means of obtaining that knowledge of himself which is Understanding, Wisdom, Power. In this direction, as in no other, is the law absolute that “He that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened;” for only by patience, practice, and ceaseless importunity can a man enter the Door of the Temple of Knowledge.
Effect of Thought on Circumstances
Man’s mind may be likened to a garden, which may be intelligently cultivated or allowed to run wild; but whether cultivated or neglected, it must, and will, _bring forth._ If no useful seeds are _put_ into it, then an abundance of useless weed-seeds will _fall_ therein, and will continue to produce their kind.
Just as a gardener cultivates his plot, keeping it free from weeds, and growing the flowers and fruits which he requires, so may a man tend the garden of his mind, weeding out all the wrong, useless, and impure thoughts, and cultivating toward perfection the flowers and fruits of right, useful, and pure thoughts. By pursuing this process, a man sooner or later discovers that he is the master-gardener of his soul, the director of his life. He also reveals, within himself, the laws of thought, and understands, with ever-increasing accuracy, how the thought-forces and mind elements operate in the shaping of his character, circumstances, and destiny.
Thought and character are one, and as character can only manifest and discover itself through environment and circumstance, the outer conditions of a person’s life will always be found to be harmoniously related to his inner state. This does not mean that a man’s circumstances at any given time are an indication of his _entire_ character, but that those circumstances are so intimately connected with some vital thought-element within himself that, for the time being, they are indispensable to his development.
Every man is where he is by the law of his being; the thoughts which he has built into his character have brought him there, and in the arrangement of his life there is no element of chance, but all is the result of a law which cannot err. This is just as true of those who feel “out of harmony” with their surroundings as of those who are contented with them.
As a progressive and evolving being, man is where he is that he may learn that he may grow; and as he learns the spiritual lesson which any circumstance contains for him, it passes away and gives place to other circumstances.
Man is buffeted by circumstances so long as he believes himself to be the creature of outside conditions, but when he realizes that he is a creative power, and that he may command the hidden soil and seeds of his being out of which circumstances grow, he then becomes the rightful master of himself.
That circumstances grow out of thought every man knows who has for any length of time practised self-control and self-purification, for he will have noticed that the alteration in his circumstances has been in exact ratio with his altered mental condition. So true is this that when a man earnestly applies himself to remedy the defects in his character, and makes swift and marked progress, he passes rapidly through a succession of vicissitudes.
The soul attracts that which it secretly harbours; that which it loves, and also that which it fears; it reaches the height of its cherished aspirations; it falls to the level of its unchastened desires,–and circumstances are the means by which the soul receives its own.
Every thought-seed sown or allowed to fall into the mind, and to take root there, produces its own, blossoming sooner or later into act, and bearing its own fruitage of opportunity and circumstance. Good thoughts bear good fruit, bad thoughts bad fruit.
The outer world of circumstance shapes itself to the inner world of thought, and both pleasant and unpleasant external conditions are factors, which make for the ultimate good of the individual. As the reaper of his own harvest, man learns both by suffering and bliss.
Following the inmost desires, aspirations, thoughts, by which he allows himself to be dominated, (pursuing the will-o’-the-wisps of impure imaginings or steadfastly walking the highway of strong and high endeavour), a man at last arrives at their fruition and fulfilment in the outer conditions of his life. The laws of growth and adjustment everywhere obtains.
A man does not come to the almshouse or the jail by the tyranny of fate or circumstance, but by the pathway of grovelling thoughts and base desires. Nor does a pure-minded man fall suddenly into crime by stress of any mere external force; the criminal thought had long been secretly fostered in the heart, and the hour of opportunity revealed its gathered power. Circumstance does not make the man; it reveals him to himself No such conditions can exist as descending into vice and its attendant sufferings apart from vicious inclinations, or ascending into virtue and its pure happiness without the continued cultivation of virtuous aspirations; and man, therefore, as the lord and master of thought, is the maker of himself the shaper and author of environment. Even at birth the soul comes to its own and through every step of its earthly pilgrimage it attracts those combinations of conditions which reveal itself, which are the reflections of its own purity and, impurity, its strength and weakness.
Men do not attract that which they _want,_ but that which they _are._ Their whims, fancies, and ambitions are thwarted at every step, but their inmost thoughts and desires are fed with their own food, be it foul or clean. The “divinity that shapes our ends” is in ourselves; it is our very self. Only himself manacles man: thought and action are the gaolers of Fate–they imprison, being base; they are also the angels of Freedom–they liberate, being noble. Not what he wishes and prays for does a man get, but what he justly earns. His wishes and prayers are only gratified and answered when they harmonize with his thoughts and actions.
In the light of this truth, what, then, is the meaning of “fighting against circumstances?” It means that a man is continually revolting against an _effect_ without, while all the time he is nourishing and preserving its _cause_ in his heart. That cause may take the form of a conscious vice or an unconscious weakness; but whatever it is, it stubbornly retards the efforts of its possessor, and thus calls aloud for remedy.
Men are anxious to improve their circumstances, but are unwilling to improve themselves; they therefore remain bound. The man who does not shrink from self-crucifixion can never fail to accomplish the object upon which his heart is set. This is as true of earthly as of heavenly things. Even the man whose sole object is to acquire wealth must be prepared to make great personal sacrifices before he can accomplish his object; and how much more so he who would realize a strong and well-poised life?
Here is a man who is wretchedly poor. He is extremely anxious that his surroundings and home comforts should be improved, yet all the time he shirks his work, and considers he is justified in trying to deceive his employer on the ground of the insufficiency of his wages. Such a man does not understand the simplest rudiments of those principles which are the basis of true prosperity, and is not only totally unfitted to rise out of his wretchedness, but is actually attracting to himself a still deeper wretchedness by dwelling in, and acting out, indolent, deceptive, and unmanly thoughts.
Here is a rich man who is the victim of a painful and persistent disease as the result of gluttony. He is willing to give large sums of money to get rid of it, but he will not sacrifice his gluttonous desires. He wants to gratify his taste for rich and unnatural viands and have his health as well. Such a man is totally unfit to have health, because he has not yet learned the first principles of a healthy life.
Here is an employer of labour who adopts crooked measures to avoid paying the regulation wage, and, in the hope of making larger profits, reduces the wages of his workpeople. Such a man is altogether unfitted for prosperity, and when he finds himself bankrupt, both as regards reputation and riches, he blames circumstances, not knowing that he is the sole author of his condition.
I have introduced these three cases merely as illustrative of the truth that man is the causer (though nearly always is unconsciously) of his circumstances, and that, whilst aiming at a good end, he is continually frustrating its accomplishment by encouraging thoughts and desires which cannot possibly harmonize with that end. Such cases could be multiplied and varied almost indefinitely, but this is not necessary, as the reader can, if he so resolves, trace the action of the laws of thought in his own mind and life, and until this is done, mere external facts cannot serve as a ground of reasoning.
Circumstances, however, are so complicated, thought is so deeply rooted, and the conditions of happiness vary so, vastly with individuals, that a man’s entire soul-condition (although it may be known to himself) cannot be judged by another from the external aspect of his life alone. A man may be honest in certain directions, yet suffer privations; a man may be dishonest in certain directions, yet acquire wealth; but the conclusion usually formed that the one man fails _because of his particular honesty,_ and that the other _prospers because of his particular dishonesty,_ is the result of a superficial judgment, which assumes that the dishonest man is almost totally corrupt, and the honest man almost entirely virtuous. In the light of a deeper knowledge and wider experience such judgment is found to be erroneous. The dishonest man may have some admirable virtues, which the other does, not possess; and the honest man obnoxious vices which are absent in the other. The honest man reaps the good results of his honest thoughts and acts; he also brings upon himself the sufferings, which his vices produce. The dishonest man likewise garners his own suffering and happiness.
It is pleasing to human vanity to believe that one suffers because of one’s virtue; but not until a man has extirpated every sickly, bitter, and impure thought from his mind, and washed every sinful stain from his soul, can he be in a position to know and declare that his sufferings are the result of his good, and not of his bad qualities; and on the way to, yet long before he has reached, that supreme perfection, he will have found, working in his mind and life, the Great Law which is absolutely just, and which cannot, therefore, give good for evil, evil for good. Possessed of such knowledge, he will then know, looking back upon his past ignorance and blindness, that his life is, and always was, justly ordered, and that all his past experiences, good and bad, were the equitable outworking of his evolving, yet unevolved self.
Good thoughts and actions can never produce bad results; bad thoughts and actions can never produce good results. This is but saying that nothing can come from corn but corn, nothing from nettles but nettles. Men understand this law in the natural world, and work with it; but few understand it in the mental and moral world (though its operation there is just as simple and undeviating), and they, therefore, do not co-operate with it.
Suffering is _always_ the effect of wrong thought in some direction. It is an indication that the individual is out of harmony with himself, with the Law of his being. The sole and supreme use of suffering is to purify, to burn out all that is useless and impure. Suffering ceases for him who is pure. There could be no object in burning gold after the dross had been removed, and a perfectly pure and enlightened being could not suffer.
The circumstances, which a man encounters with suffering, are the result of his own mental in harmony. The circumstances, which a man encounters with blessedness, are the result of his own mental harmony. Blessedness, not material possessions, is the measure of right thought; wretchedness, not lack of material possessions, is the measure of wrong thought. A man may be cursed and rich; he may be blessed and poor. Blessedness and riches are only joined together when the riches are rightly and wisely used; and the poor man only descends into wretchedness when he regards his lot as a burden unjustly imposed.
Indigence and indulgence are the two extremes of wretchedness. They are both equally unnatural and the result of mental disorder. A man is not rightly conditioned until he is a happy, healthy, and prosperous being; and happiness, health, and prosperity are the result of a harmonious adjustment of the inner with the outer, of the man with his surroundings.
A man only begins to be a man when he ceases to whine and revile, and commences to search for the hidden justice which regulates his life. And as he adapts his mind to that regulating factor, he ceases to accuse others as the cause of his condition, and builds himself up in strong and noble thoughts; ceases to kick against circumstances, but begins to _use_ them as aids to his more rapid progress, and as a means of discovering the hidden powers and possibilities within himself.
Law, not confusion, is the dominating principle in the universe; justice, not injustice, is the soul and substance of life; and righteousness, not corruption, is the moulding and moving force in the spiritual government of the world. This being so, man has but to right himself to find that the universe is right; and during the process of putting himself right he will find that as he alters his thoughts towards things and other people, things and other people will alter towards him.
The proof of this truth is in every person, and it therefore admits of easy investigation by systematic introspection and self-analysis. Let a man radically alter his thoughts, and he will be astonished at the rapid transformation it will effect in the material conditions of his life. Men imagine that thought can be kept secret, but it cannot; it rapidly crystallizes into habit, and habit solidifies into circumstance. Bestial thoughts crystallize into habits of drunkenness and sensuality, which solidify into circumstances of destitution and disease: impure thoughts of every kind crystallize into enervating and confusing habits, which solidify into distracting and adverse circumstances: thoughts of fear, doubt, and indecision crystallize into weak, unmanly, and irresolute habits, which solidify into circumstances of failure, indigence, and slavish dependence: lazy thoughts crystallize into habits of uncleanliness and dishonesty, which solidify into circumstances of foulness and beggary: hateful and condemnatory thoughts crystallize into habits of accusation and violence, which solidify into circumstances of injury and persecution: selfish thoughts of all kinds crystallize into habits of self-seeking, which solidify into circumstances more or less distressing. On the other hand, beautiful thoughts of all kinds crystallize into habits of grace and kindliness, which solidify into genial and sunny circumstances: pure thoughts crystallize into habits of temperance and self-control, which solidify into circumstances of repose and peace: thoughts of courage, self-reliance, and decision crystallize into manly habits, which solidify into circumstances of success, plenty, and freedom: energetic thoughts crystallize into habits of cleanliness and industry, which solidify into circumstances of pleasantness: gentle and forgiving thoughts crystallize into habits of gentleness, which solidify into protective and preservative circumstances: loving and unselfish thoughts crystallize into habits of self-forgetfulness for others, which solidify into circumstances of sure and abiding prosperity and true riches.
A particular train of thought persisted in, be it good or bad, cannot fail to produce its results on the character and circumstances. A man cannot _directly_ choose his circumstances, but he can choose his thoughts, and so indirectly, yet surely, shape his circumstances.
Nature helps every man to the gratification of the thoughts, which he most encourages, and opportunities are presented which will most speedily bring to the surface both the good and evil thoughts.
Let a man cease from his sinful thoughts, and all the world will soften towards him, and be ready to help him; let him put away his weakly and sickly thoughts, and lo, opportunities will spring up on every hand to aid his strong resolves; let him encourage good thoughts, and no hard fate shall bind him down to wretchedness and shame. The world is your kaleidoscope, and the varying combinations of colours, which at every succeeding moment it presents to you are the exquisitely adjusted pictures of your ever-moving thoughts.
“So You will be what you will to be;
Let failure find its false content
In that poor word, ‘environment,’
But spirit scorns it, and is free.
“It masters time, it conquers space;
It cowes that boastful trickster, Chance,
And bids the tyrant Circumstance
Uncrown, and fill a servant’s place.
“The human Will, that force unseen,
The offspring of a deathless Soul,
Can hew a way to any goal,
Though walls of granite intervene.
“Be not impatient in delays
But wait as one who understands;
When spirit rises and commands
The gods are ready to obey.”
Effect of Thought on Health and the Body
The body is the servant of the mind. It obeys the operations of the mind, whether they be deliberately chosen or automatically expressed. At the bidding of unlawful thoughts the body sinks rapidly into disease and decay; at the command of glad and beautiful thoughts it becomes clothed with youthfulness and beauty.
Disease and health, like circumstances, are rooted in thought. Sickly thoughts will express themselves through a sickly body. Thoughts of fear have been known to kill a man as speedily as a bullet, and they are continually killing thousands of people just as surely though less rapidly. The people who live in fear of disease are the people who get it. Anxiety quickly demoralizes the whole body, and lays it open to the entrance of disease; while impure thoughts, even if not physically indulged, will soon shatter the nervous system.
Strong, pure, and happy thoughts build up the body in vigour and grace. The body is a delicate and plastic instrument, which responds readily to the thoughts by which it is impressed, and habits of thought will produce their own effects, good or bad, upon it.
Men will continue to have impure and poisoned blood, so long as they propagate unclean thoughts. Out of a clean heart comes a clean life and a clean body. Out of a defiled mind proceeds a defiled life and a corrupt body. Thought is the fount of action, life, and manifestation; make the fountain pure, and all will be pure.
Change of diet will not help a man who will not change his thoughts. When a man makes his thoughts pure, he no longer desires impure food.
Clean thoughts make clean habits. The so-called saint who does not wash his body is not a saint. He who has strengthened and purified his thoughts does not need to consider the malevolent microbe.
If you would protect your body, guard your mind. If you would renew your body, beautify your mind. Thoughts of malice, envy, disappointment, despondency, rob the body of its health and grace. A sour face does not come by chance; it is made by sour thoughts. Wrinkles that mar are drawn by folly, passion, and pride.
I know a woman of ninety-six who has the bright, innocent face of a girl. I know a man well under middle age whose face is drawn into inharmonious contours. The one is the result of a sweet and sunny disposition; the other is the outcome of passion and discontent.
As you cannot have a sweet and wholesome abode unless you admit the air and sunshine freely into your rooms, so a strong body and a bright, happy, or serene countenance can only result from the free admittance into the mind of thoughts of joy and goodwill and serenity.
On the faces of the aged there are wrinkles made by sympathy, others by strong and pure thought, and others are carved by passion: who cannot distinguish them? With those who have lived righteously, age is calm, peaceful, and softly mellowed, like the setting sun. I have recently seen a philosopher on his deathbed. He was not old except in years. He died as sweetly and peacefully as he had lived.
There is no physician like cheerful thought for dissipating the ills of the body; there is no comforter to compare with goodwill for dispersing the shadows of grief and sorrow. To live continually in thoughts of ill will, cynicism, suspicion, and envy, is to be confined in a self made prison-hole. But to think well of all, to be cheerful with all, to patiently learn to find the good in all–such unselfish thoughts are the very portals of heaven; and to dwell day by day in thoughts of peace toward every creature will bring abounding peace to their possessor.
Thought and Purpose
Until thought is linked with purpose there is no intelligent accomplishment. With the majority the bark of thought is allowed to “drift” upon the ocean of life. Aimlessness is a vice, and such drifting must not continue for him who would steer clear of catastrophe and destruction.
They who have no central purpose in their life fall an easy prey to petty worries, fears, troubles, and self-pityings, all of which are indications of weakness, which lead, just as surely as deliberately planned sins (though by a different route), to failure, unhappiness, and loss, for weakness cannot persist in a power evolving universe.
A man should conceive of a legitimate purpose in his heart, and set out to accomplish it. He should make this purpose the centralizing point of his thoughts. It may take the form of a spiritual ideal, or it may be a worldly object, according to his nature at the time being; but whichever it is, he should steadily focus his thought-forces upon the object, which he has set before him. He should make this purpose his supreme duty, and should devote himself to its attainment, not allowing his thoughts to wander away into ephemeral fancies, longings, and imaginings. This is the royal road to self-control and true concentration of thought. Even if he fails again and again to accomplish his purpose (as he necessarily must until weakness is overcome), the _strength of character gained_ will be the measure of _his true_ success, and this will form a new starting-point for future power and triumph.
Those who are not prepared for the apprehension of a _great_ purpose should fix the thoughts upon the faultless performance of their duty, no matter how insignificant their task may appear. Only in this way can the thoughts be gathered and focussed, and resolution and energy be developed, which being done, there is nothing which may not be accomplished.
The weakest soul, knowing its own weakness, and believing this truth _that strength can only be developed by effort and practice,_ will, thus believing, at once begin to exert itself, and, adding effort to effort, patience to patience, and strength to strength, will never cease to develop, and will at last grow divinely strong.
As the physically weak man can make himself strong by careful and patient training, so the man of weak thoughts can make them strong by exercising himself in right thinking.
To put away aimlessness and weakness, and to begin to think with purpose, is to enter the ranks of those strong ones who only recognize failure as one of the pathways to attainment; who make all conditions serve them, and who think strongly, attempt fearlessly, and accomplish masterfully.
Having conceived of his purpose, a man should mentally mark out a _straight_ pathway to its achievement, looking neither to the right nor the left. Doubts and fears should be rigorously excluded; they are disintegrating elements, which break up the straight line of effort, rendering it crooked, ineffectual, useless. Thoughts of doubt and fear never accomplished anything, and never can. They always lead to failure. Purpose, energy, power to do, and all strong thoughts cease when doubt and fear creep in.
The will to do springs from the knowledge that we _can_ do. Doubt and fear are the great enemies of knowledge, and he who encourages them, who does not slay them, thwarts himself at every step.
He who has conquered doubt and fear has conquered failure. His every thought is allied with power, and all difficulties are bravely met and wisely overcome. His purposes are seasonably planted, and they bloom and bring forth fruit, which does not fall prematurely to the ground.
Thought allied fearlessly to purpose becomes creative force: he who _knows_ this is ready to become something higher and stronger than a mere bundle of wavering thoughts and fluctuating sensations; he who _does_ this has become the conscious and intelligent wielder of his mental powers.
The Thought-Factor in Achievement
All that a man achieves and all that he fails to achieve is the direct result of his own thoughts. In a justly ordered universe, where loss of equipoise would mean total destruction, individual responsibility must be absolute. A man’s weakness and strength, purity and impurity, are his own, and not another man’s; they are brought about by himself, and not by another; and they can only be altered by himself, never by another. His condition is also his own, and not another man’s. His suffering and his happiness are evolved from within. As he thinks, so he is; as he continues to think, so he remains.
A strong man cannot help a weaker unless that weaker is _willing_ to be helped, and even then the weak man must become strong of himself; he must, by his own efforts, develop the strength which he admires in another. None but himself can alter his condition.
It has been usual for men to think and to say, “Many men are slaves because one is an oppressor; let us hate the oppressor.” Now, however, there is amongst an increasing few a tendency to reverse this judgment, and to say, “One man is an oppressor because many are slaves; let us despise the slaves.”
The truth is that oppressor and slave are co-operators in ignorance, and, while seeming to afflict each other, are in reality afflicting themselves. A perfect Knowledge perceives the action of law in the weakness of the oppressed and the misapplied power of the oppressor; a perfect Love, seeing the suffering, which both states entail, condemns neither; a perfect Compassion embraces both oppressor and oppressed.
He who has conquered weakness, and has put away all selfish thoughts, belongs neither to oppressor nor oppressed. He is free.
A man can only rise, conquer, and achieve by lifting up his thoughts. He can only remain weak, and abject, and miserable by refusing to lift up his thoughts.
Before a man can achieve anything, even in worldly things, he must lift his thoughts above slavish animal indulgence. He may not, in order to succeed, give up all animality and selfishness, by any means; but a portion of it must, at least, be sacrificed. A man whose first thought is bestial indulgence could neither think clearly nor plan methodically; he could not find and develop his latent resources, and would fail in any undertaking. Not having commenced to manfully control his thoughts, he is not in a position to control affairs and to adopt serious responsibilities. He is not fit to act independently and stand alone. But he is limited only by the thoughts, which he chooses.
There can be no progress, no achievement without sacrifice, and a man’s worldly success will be in the measure that he sacrifices his confused animal thoughts, and fixes his mind on the development of his plans, and the strengthening of his resolution and self-reliance. And the higher he lifts his thoughts, the more manly, upright, and righteous he becomes, the greater will be his success, the more blessed and enduring will be his achievements.
The universe does not favour the greedy, the dishonest, the vicious, although on the mere surface it may sometimes appear to do so; it helps the honest, the magnanimous, the virtuous. All the great Teachers of the ages have declared this in varying forms, and to prove and know it a man has but to persist in making himself more and more virtuous by lifting up his thoughts.
Intellectual achievements are the result of thought consecrated to the search for knowledge, or for the beautiful and true in life and nature. Such achievements may be sometimes connected with vanity and ambition, but they are not the outcome of those characteristics; they are the natural outgrowth of long and arduous effort, and of pure and unselfish thoughts.
Spiritual achievements are the consummation of holy aspirations. He who lives constantly in the conception of noble and lofty thoughts, who dwells upon all that is pure and unselfish, will, as surely as the sun reaches its zenith and the moon its full, become wise and noble in character, and rise into a position of influence and blessedness.
Achievement, of whatever kind, is the crown of effort, the diadem of thought. By the aid of self-control, resolution, purity, righteousness, and well-directed thought a man ascends; by the aid of animality, indolence, impurity, corruption, and confusion of thought a man descends.
A man may rise to high success in the world, and even to lofty altitudes in the spiritual realm, and again descend into weakness and wretchedness by allowing arrogant, selfish, and corrupt thoughts to take possession of him.
Victories attained by right thought can only be maintained by watchfulness. Many give way when success is assured, and rapidly fall back into failure.
All achievements, whether in the business, intellectual, or spiritual world, are the result of definitely directed thought, are governed by the same law and are of the same method; the only difference lies in _the object of attainment._
He who would accomplish little must sacrifice little; he who would achieve much must sacrifice much; he who would attain highly must sacrifice greatly.
Visions and Ideals
The dreamers are the saviours of the world. As the visible world is sustained by the invisible, so men, through all their trials and sins and sordid vocations, are nourished by the beautiful visions of their solitary dreamers. Humanity cannot forget its dreamers; it cannot let their ideals fade and die; it lives in them; it knows them as the _realities_ which it shall one day see and know.
Composer, sculptor, painter, poet, prophet, sage, these are the makers of the after-world, the architects of heaven. The world is beautiful because they have lived; without them, labouring humanity would perish.
He who cherishes a beautiful vision, a lofty ideal in his heart, will one day realize it. Columbus cherished a vision of another world, and he discovered it; Copernicus fostered the vision of a multiplicity of worlds and a wider universe, and he revealed it; Buddha beheld the vision of a spiritual world of stainless beauty and perfect peace, and he entered into it.
Cherish your visions; cherish your ideals; cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts, for out of them will grow all delightful conditions, all, heavenly environment; of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will at last be built.
To desire is to obtain; to aspire is to, achieve. Shall man’s basest desires receive the fullest measure of gratification, and his purest aspirations starve for lack of sustenance? Such is not the Law: such a condition of things can never obtain: “ask and receive.”
Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become. Your Vision is the promise of what you shall one day be; your Ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil.
The greatest achievement was at first and for a time a dream. The oak sleeps in the acorn; the bird waits in the egg; and in the highest vision of the soul a waking angel stirs. Dreams are the seedlings of realities.
Your circumstances may be uncongenial, but they shall not long remain so if you but perceive an Ideal and strive to reach it. You cannot travel _within_ and stand still _without._ Here is a youth hard pressed by poverty and labour; confined long hours in an unhealthy workshop; unschooled, and lacking all the arts of refinement. But he dreams of better things; he thinks of intelligence, of refinement, of grace and beauty. He conceives of, mentally builds up, an ideal condition of life; the vision of a wider liberty and a larger scope takes possession of him; unrest urges him to action, and he utilizes all his spare time and means, small though they are, to the development of his latent powers and resources. Very soon so altered has his mind become that the workshop can no longer hold him. It has become so out of harmony with his mentality that it falls out of his life as a garment is cast aside, and, with the growth of opportunities, which fit the scope of his expanding powers, he passes out of it forever. Years later we see this youth as a full-grown man. We find him a master of certain forces of the mind, which he wields with worldwide influence and almost unequalled power. In his hands he holds the cords of gigantic responsibilities; he speaks, and lo, lives are changed; men and women hang upon his words and remould their characters, and, sunlike, he becomes the fixed and luminous centre round which innumerable destinies revolve. He has realized the Vision of his youth. He has become one with his Ideal.
And you, too, youthful reader, will realize the Vision (not the idle wish) of your heart, be it base or beautiful, or a mixture of both, for you will always gravitate toward that which you, secretly, most love. Into your hands will be placed the exact results of your own thoughts; you will receive that which you earn; no more, no less. Whatever your present environment may be, you will fall, remain, or rise with your thoughts, your Vision, your Ideal. You will become as small as your controlling desire; as great as your dominant aspiration: in the beautiful words of Stanton Kirkham Davis, “You may be keeping accounts, and presently you shall walk out of the door that for so long has seemed to you the barrier of your ideals, and shall find yourself before an audience–the pen still behind your ear, the ink stains on your fingers and then and there shall pour out the torrent of your inspiration. You may be driving sheep, and you shall wander to the city-bucolic and open-mouthed; shall wander under the intrepid guidance of the spirit into the studio of the master, and after a time he shall say, ‘I have nothing more to teach you.’ And now you have become the master, who did so recently dream of great things while driving sheep. You shall lay down the saw and the plane to take upon yourself the regeneration of the world.”
The thoughtless, the ignorant, and the indolent, seeing only the apparent effects of things and not the things themselves, talk of luck, of fortune, and chance. Seeing a man grow rich, they say, “How lucky he is!” Observing another become intellectual, they exclaim, “How highly favoured he is!” And noting the saintly character and wide influence of another, they remark, “How chance aids him at every turn!” They do not see the trials and failures and struggles which these men have voluntarily encountered in order to gain their experience; have no knowledge of the sacrifices they have made, of the undaunted efforts they have put forth, of the faith they have exercised, that they might overcome the apparently insurmountable, and realize the Vision of their heart. They do not know the darkness and the heartaches; they only see the light and joy, and call it “luck”. They do not see the long and arduous journey, but only behold the pleasant goal, and call it “good fortune,” do not understand the process, but only perceive the result, and call it chance.
In all human affairs there are _efforts,_ and there are _results,_ and the strength of the effort is the measure of the result. Chance is not. Gifts, powers, material, intellectual, and spiritual possessions are the fruits of effort; they are thoughts completed, objects accomplished, visions realized.
The Vision that you glorify in your mind, the Ideal that you enthrone in your heart–this you will build your life by, this you will become.
Serenity
Calmness of mind is one of the beautiful jewels of wisdom. It is the result of long and patient effort in self-control. Its presence is an indication of ripened experience, and of a more than ordinary knowledge of the laws and operations of thought.
A man becomes calm in the measure that he understands himself as a thought evolved being, for such knowledge necessitates the understanding of others as the result of thought, and as he develops a right understanding, and sees more and more clearly the internal relations of things by the action of cause and effect he ceases to fuss and fume and worry and grieve, and remains poised, steadfast, serene.
The calm man, having learned how to govern himself, knows how to adapt himself to others; and they, in turn, reverence his spiritual strength, and feel that they can learn of him and rely upon him. The more tranquil a man becomes, the greater is his success, his influence, his power for good. Even the ordinary trader will find his business prosperity increase as he develops a greater self-control and equanimity, for people will always prefer to deal with a man whose demeanour is strongly equable.
The strong, calm man is always loved and revered. He is like a shade-giving tree in a thirsty land, or a sheltering rock in a storm. “Who does not love a tranquil heart, a sweet-tempered, balanced life? It does not matter whether it rains or shines, or what changes come to those possessing these blessings, for they are always sweet, serene, and calm. That exquisite poise of character, which we call serenity is the last lesson of culture, the fruitage of the soul. It is precious as wisdom, more to be desired than gold–yea, than even fine gold. How insignificant mere money seeking looks in comparison with a serene life–a life that dwells in the ocean of Truth, beneath the waves, beyond the reach of tempests, in the Eternal Calm!
“How many people we know who sour their lives, who ruin all that is sweet and beautiful by explosive tempers, who destroy their poise of character, and make bad blood! It is a question whether the great majority of people do not ruin their lives and mar their happiness by lack of self-control. How few people we meet in life who are well balanced, who have that exquisite poise which is characteristic of the finished character!
Yes, humanity surges with uncontrolled passion, is tumultuous with ungoverned grief, is blown about by anxiety and doubt only the wise man, only he whose thoughts are controlled and purified, makes the winds and the storms of the soul obey him.
Tempest-tossed souls, wherever ye may be, under whatsoever conditions ye may live, know this in the ocean of life the isles of Blessedness are smiling, and the sunny shore of your ideal awaits your coming. Keep your hand firmly upon the helm of thought. In the bark of your soul reclines the commanding Master; He does but sleep: wake Him. Self-control is strength; Right Thought is mastery; Calmness is power. Say unto your heart, “Peace, be still!”
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Got Milk Decision Fatigue? The Pain and Politics of Soy, Almond, Oat, and Cow’s Milks
Last year, demand for Oatly, a Swedish oat milk popular at third-wave American coffee shops, outpaced supply. National shortages ensued. Oatly superfans were devastated, and apparently willing to spend $25 per 32-ounce carton on Amazon.
It’s tempting to write this off as a fluke or embarrassing display of disposable income. But the alternative milk industry has become a true juggernaut — too economically and culturally significant to ignore.
The number of creamy, coffee-adjacent beverages on supermarket shelves and in baristas’ arsenals is growing. In addition to cow, sheep, camel, and goat milks, others made from coconuts, peas, rice, soy, oats, and an array of tree nuts have arrived to entice and confound consumers.
Our cups and the market runneth over. Almond milk sales reportedly surged 250 percent from 2011 to 2016. Cow’s milk is in a “decades-long slump,” according to Supermarket News, but it still comprises 90 percent of milk sales. Meanwhile, alternative milks jostle for position. Some market researchers predict the overall alternative milk market will surpass $34 billion by 2024.
Having so many new options introduces a gallon of important questions. Does one alternative milk taste the best? Are they all expensive? Is almond milk terrible for the environment? Or is that cow’s milk? Which is the healthiest?
It’s never been more difficult to be a conscientious consumer, especially with so many competing priorities. We have access to endless information, but we often can’t verify it. Rules, regulations, and recommendations change constantly. A nutritional or environmental study published in 2013 might be invalidated by 2016. Opaque food conglomerates unveil new products at a startling clip.
All you can do is arm yourself with as much information as possible and make the right decision for you. This definitive guide to the completely undefinable world of milk is one step toward separating the oat from the chaff.
Nothing is black or white in 2019. Not even milk.
The Rise and Fall of Soy
“We took out soy when we found oat milk,” Steven Sutton, founder and CEO of Devocion, a coffee shop with locations in Brooklyn and Manhattan, tells VinePair. “And now it’s going crazy!”
Blue Bottle, the Oakland, Calif.-based coffee chain majority-owned by Nestle, also recently swapped soy for oat milk. They are part of a larger consumer shift away from soy in our ongoing search for the perfect milk.
Soy milk, our first alternative-milk crush, hit the U.S. mainstream in the late 1990s, when a medical study linked it to cardiovascular health. Americans embraced it with a convert’s zeal. By 2008 we were spending $1.2 billion on soy milk.
“There were all kinds of other health benefits attributed to soy,” Nadia Berenstein writes in Serious Eats. “It was supposed to reduce the risk of breast and prostate cancers, protect bones against osteoporosis, temper the symptoms of menopause, and supercharge weight loss.”
By 2015, however, sales had dipped to less than $300 million. New studies had raised health and environmental concerns. (“Is this the most dangerous food for men?” reads a 2009 Men’s Journal headline above a mountain of soybeans.) (It’s not.)
The damage was done. By the late aughts, conscientious consumers had started associating soy milk with unnecessary sugars, hormone imbalances, GMOs, and monocultures decimating the American Plains.
“There is concern about ‘anti-nutrient’ substances naturally found in soy, like phytic acid,” Joy Stephenson-Laws, founder of pH Labs, a national health nonprofit, writes VinePair in an email. “Phytic acid can make it difficult for the body to digest certain important nutrients, like magnesium, copper, iron, and zinc.”
Still, soy milk is not the black sheep we once imagined.
“Of all the alternative milks, soy milk has the highest protein content,” Stephenson-Laws says. “It is a good source of monounsaturated and polyunsaturated fatty acids which are usually good for cardiovascular health.”
The sugar content of soy milk depends on the label, and most brands offer unsweetened options. The ecological impact of soybean farming also varies enormously. Some commercial farmers are exploring new methods to better protect soil health.
“I have nothing but sympathy for American consumers who have to do so much research to figure out if they’re buying something ecologically sound,” Eve Andrews, who writes the Ask Umbra column for Grist, says.
Almond Joys
Before long, almond milk was starring in our hearts, minds, and latte art. From 2010 to 2015, Americans spent twice as much on almond milk than all other alternative milks combined, according to Nielsen data.
Almond milk appeals because it tastes familiar — the average American casually ate more than two pounds of almonds in 2012 — and is rich in vitamins and heart-healthy fats. Unsweetened varieties are less caloric than soy or cow’s milk, too, Stephenson-Laws says.
On the flip side, almond milk has less protein than cow’s or soy milk, and a lot of people have nut allergies.
It’s also got a really bad environmental reputation. “Lay off the almond milk, you ignorant hipsters,” Mother Jones titled a widely shared 2014 story in which correspondent Tom Philpott calls almond milk “an abuse of a great foodstuff.”
Philpott rattles off a laundry list of almond-related abuses, including how it takes 1.1 gallons of water to grow one almond, and that 80 percent of the world’s almonds are grown in drought-ridden California. Almond milk is more expensive per ounce than unadulterated nuts, Philpott says, but it has a fraction of the nutrients. Commercial almond milk has additives and stabilizers. Almond milk doesn’t love you, and never will.
It’s true that almond farming is terribly water-intensive, but industry analysts raise a counterpoint: A relatively small amount of almonds goes into each cup of almond milk.
“Per cup, almond milk is less water intensive than cow’s milk,” Emily Cassidy, now a data journalist at The World Resources Institute, wrote in 2018. It takes 10 gallons of water to produce one cup of almond milk, and 64 gallons to make a cup of cow’s milk. Oh, and drought-addled California is the top dairy-producing state in the U.S.
“Cow’s milk is always going to be more environmentally intensive than plant milk because you have to raise a cow and its food,” Andrews tells VinePair.
In addition to water, cows require land, fertilizers, and pesticides (which can also contribute to global warming). A byproduct of cow manure is nitrous oxide, “a climate-warming pollutant 298 times more powerful than carbon dioxide,” according to the Natural Resources Defense Council.
“The fact is that dairy agriculture produces a lot of methane and plant-based agriculture doesn’t,” Andrews says, “and the atmospheric methane situation is pretty serious, and looking worse by the day.”
Hello, Oats
Oat milk, the newest alternative milk du jour, has a lot going for it.
“Oat milk is delicious,” Stephenson-Laws says, adding that oats can lower cholesterol and blood glucose levels, and may contain anticarcinogens. Very few people have oat allergies or trouble digesting them.
Oatly, those Amazon users’ beloved brand, has no dairy, gluten, soy, or GMOs. According to Oatly’s 2017 sustainability report, it “generates 80% lower greenhouse emissions than cow’s milk. Land use is also about 80% lower.”
Of course, nothing is perfect. Oatly is “comparable to other milk alternatives in terms of sugar content,” Bonnie Wertheim writes in The New York Times, “but relatively high in carbohydrates and calories, with about double those that a serving of almond milk contains.”
It’s also far less nutritious than cow’s milk, which contains all amino acids required by the human body, Stephenson-Laws says, plus calcium, magnesium, potassium, riboflavin, folate, protein, and vitamin B12.
“You can’t really compare cow’s milk to plant-based milk,” Stephenson-Laws says. “If you are hoping to drink plant-based milk and get the same benefits as cow’s milk, this will not happen.”
To Thine Own Milk Be True
Ours is a nation weaned on superstores, and fashion that promises to take us day to night. We want one-stop shopping for peak nutrition and environmental responsibility. We want it to taste great and be affordable. Unfortunately, there’s no one milk that fits all.
“It depends on your value systems,” James Hamblin, staff writer at The Atlantic and author of “If Our Bodies Could Talk,” says. “If you worry a lot about optimizing your health, and it’s going to actually give you a good feeling to know that you got a slightly better fat-to-carb ratio in what you’re taking in, and you genuinely get value from it, that’s one thing.”
If, on the other hand, you care most about how your milk tastes, or how frothy your cappuccino gets, that’s another.
“I don’t think there’s a clear health recommendation for any one unless you have a specific dietary reason you need to avoid something, like lactose,” Hamblin says. “Or if you have an ethical problem with the farming of animals.”
If, on the other hand, you adore cow’s milk but are concerned about its environmental footprint, you can incorporate other climate-conscious choices in your life, Andrews says. Driving less, say, or eating less meat.
Just like the people who produce and consume it, milk contains multitudes. Sadly, Got nuance? doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, though.
The post Got Milk Decision Fatigue? The Pain and Politics of Soy, Almond, Oat, and Cow’s Milks appeared first on VinePair.
source https://vinepair.com/articles/best-milk-soy-almond-health-environment-guide/
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