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kaypeace21 · 3 years

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Analyzing the 5 plays in this drama club poster .From the bts pics of stranger things 4.

So... some of ya’ll know I'm going through the st s4 films given to us by the official st twitter + the films reffed in the show itself or mentioned by the Duffers in interviews .

So I decided to look at the plays mentioned here. Because even if we don't see the monologues in the show directly - the Duffers wouldn't name drop anything unless it inspired them in some way. Similar to films name dropped in the show. Tw : for some dark themes .

This is just a quick little analysis I decided to do since we probably won't get any new st content today (3/22). Nothing too deep. Just mentioning things that caught my interest especially cause these plays have a lot of narrative connections to the st s4 movies I've been watching.

Invitation to a march (Authur laurents)

Reminds me of the stancy/jancy love triangle. "A young woman is having second thoughts about doing the right thing and marrying a respectable , rich, kind, young man with good prospects.By way of a prewedding diversion, this woman becomes interested in the passionate but poor and entirely unsuitable son of a local landlord.Basically, the plot concerns the efforts of Norma Brown to choose between a conventional fiance who "puts her to sleep" but is wealthy (like what her own mother did) or go for this new-poor guy. The play is principally interested in how this youthful love triangle affects the three mothers involved (whether the kids like it or not)

12th night (Shakespeare)

- viola (el) wrongly assumes a family member (hopper) is dead. She dresses up as a man named 'cesario'. A girl named Olivia falls for 'cesario' (violet dressed as a man). "Finally, when 'Cesario' and Sebastian (violet's twin brother: assumed to have drowned - Will) appear in the presence of Olivia there is more wonder and confusion at their physical similarity. Taking Sebastian for 'Cesario', Olivia asks him to marry her, and they are secretly married in a church. Cough if Olivia is 'straight' cause she fell for Viola (as a doppleganger dressed like her twin brother).Mike being into el who multiple characters in s1 said looked like a boy and specifically like Will is...suspish and a hint he's not straight lol. just like Olivia they're both into guys . plus, this play just has a butt load of love triangles (ugh i hated that aspect). There was also romantically coded letters (which was in the s4 films) . One character is also thrown into an insane asylum and framed as 'insane'.'Pretending that Malvolio is insane, they lock him up in a dark chamber. Feste visits him to mock his insanity'. We all know the psych hospital will be narratively important- talked about it more here.

The seagull (Anton Chekhov-russian)

similar to how I believed s4 will show m*#even already broken up since the months between s3-4 : act 3 (s3) ends with Nina begging for one last chance to be with Trigorin before he leaves/moves away. They kiss and make plans to meet again in Moscow.And in act 4 there's a timeskip where it shows they've been broken up for a long time between acts- and its established they never actually loved eachother. Do i even have to spell out why this parallels the m*#even ending in s3? There is also a play within the play (this is common in a lot of the st films- they have plays- or a story within a story- which illustrate certain themes or emotions of the characters within said film : blackswan, children of paradise, highschool musical, Rushmore, book of Henry, welcome to marwen, never ending story, romancing the stone, wet hot American summer, etc).The play is Konstantin's latest attempt at creating a dense symbolist work. There is also alot of love triangles in the seagull. TW!: for se#ual ab*se/su*cidal thoughts/ inc*st (here and in other play segments). The seagull motif reminds me a lot of Jonathan's rabbit story.Konstantin romantically into Nina shows up to give her a gull that he has shot. Nina is confused and horrified . Trigorin sees the gull that Konstantin has shot and muses to Nina on how he could use it as a subject for a short story: "The plot for the short story: a young girl lives all her life on the shore of a lake. She loves the lake, like a gull, and she's happy and free, like a gull. But a man arrives by chance, and when he sees her, he destroys her, out of sheer boredom. Like this gull." This immediately reminded me of jon's rabbit story and some of the movies on the s4 list . Like in forrest gump- Jenny (who is poor) was se*ually ab*sed as a very young girl by her father. As a child she runs away into a field-away from her alcoholic father yelling at her -there she prays that she can "be a bird so I can fly far far away" .

Jenny as an adult struggles with this unresolved trauma- being with ab*sive partners, doing dr*gs, and having su*cidal thoughts . She as an adult when contemplating su*icide, jokes 'you think i can fly like a bird ?' while looking down at a bridge.God-i'm worried about jonathan (Jenny was also a musician sort of like jon). In another s4 movie example ' mystic river ' :(in the 80s) a preteen baseball playing boy is r*ped by men in the woods. He later says he wishes he could become an undead monster to not feel the pain of that experience - cause quote " if I'm not human anymore maybe the pain will stop" (Will) . slightly off topic but he also has another personality, imagines a alternate word that dissappears when he turns his head. And as a less direct animal parallel to the play - the boy from the film also imagined his perpetrators as monsters and wolves to cope.In 'getout' the photographer character sees a dead deer in the woods and it represents a parent/his own childhood tra*ma relating to his past. similarly in 'prince of tides' the 2 siblings as kids were ra*ed by men. The older brother remembered it and the younger sibling developed DID (so didn't remember but she would draw wolves- as the perpetrators/villains in her picture stories she created . In the film they also had an ab*sive dad and were very poor. She also tried k*ling herself multiple times-but started to get better after remembering the source of her pain and trauma. There is also the theme of multiple attempted su*cides in the play- and the play ends with yet another attempt- and the audience is left unaware of the artist's fate at the end of the play.

The tempest (Shakespeare)

Prospereo - (the perceived antagonist) is a wizard with monstrous looks, storm powers , and ability to create monster-dogs

He wants revenge on a man who tried ra*ing his family member & revenge on his other family member who wronged him years ago. I mean... pretty much my did theory.But in the end.Prospero decides to show his enemies the mercy that they did not show him twelve years earlier. He tells Ariel to bring the men to him, he will restore their sanity and then renounce magic forever.Prospero breaks the spell that the men are under .

Diary of a scoundrel (Alexander Ostrovsky-Russian)

- I suppose this could loosely relate to Jonathan? Glumov, is a young man from an impoverished family lacking status seeking entrance into society's pampered class. A 19th-century Russian scoundrel must scheme his way out of his meager life in a small apartment -whatever it takes.He has a quick mind and some talent for seeing through the hypocrisies of people around him ( Jonathan does make a lot of social critiques about society). That gives him some advantages. A tale of one man's mission to finagle his way into upper-class society and find a cushy job. Set in 1874, this social comedy follows Glumov, a Russian youth who begins his ambitious ascent to social esteem. He progresses by wit, guile and rhetoric. Pitting one stupid person against another, he soon gains his ends. To reach these goals, Glumov will lie, flatter, and cater to the vanities of the wealthy. Unable to contain his disgust with his victims, Glumov decides to relieve his unvoiced satirical comments by recording his schemes in a diary. But he is tripped up by his uncle's wife, to whom he has made passionate love on his way to success. At the end of the play, his diary is stolen and his duplicity exposed, but he can nevertheless suceeds. The author is much more critical about the high society itself than about the main character, so the play keeps attracting generations of directors by opening possibilities for political criticism while also avoiding naming names of the current rulers.The play's aim was to overthrow bourgeois tradition and establish a class-conscious art called eccentricism giving a deliberately comic portrayal of reality.

I suppose I notice some possible commonalities- besides s3 critiquing the wealthy/capitalism in comedic ways . jonathan since s1 has worried about his family's finances / had some resentment toward the rich . In some of the s4 movies ‘orphan’ & ‘ girl interrupted’ someone reads their diary out loud to get at them (in girl interrupted the winona character’s diary even had critiques of her new friends). Alot of movies also have someone (usually a teen/young adult) making a documentary about their life -which could narratively replace said diary? A few movies have a poor guy adjusting to snobby rich social circles (or being poor and then getting money)- titanic, kingsmen, karate kid, the craft , godfather, wardogs,into the spiderverse,flashdance, and many others . And movies like wardogs has a poor-young-character do shady things to finacially support his family . There’s also that whole uncle’s wife thing- which makes me uncomfortable for obvious reasons (but I’m just thinking of Lonnie’s creepy gf who was into him). A few movies had the guy’s step mom innappropriately hit on him- orange county & you got mail. And him trying to avoid her advances. Or...not to mention ... it may be a problematic coincidence /trope. But in enter the void -the guy who needs to finacially support his sibling/ does dr*gs -hooks up with his dr*g dealing friend’s married mom (who would give him money). Or in gilbert grape- the poor teen-who has to finacially support his siblings/single mom-has his endgame relationship be a girl his own age. But before that he h*oked up with a married woman -who would give him money. Don’s plum -young film guy-propositioned by older female film director (for dream job). Not even mentioning the other films that have the guy hooking up with toxic older women (like ‘the graduate’). Or analyze this-where the therapist accuses him of having an Oedipus complex (not touching that one... but the guy in ‘enter the void’ a 100% had one). It’s possible those movies were just- inspo for s3? A coincidence? Or s3 was foreshadowing for this in s4- but unlike s3 it will accurately be played as wrong and a sign of Jonathan recreating past tra*ma caused by Lonnie (cough like the photos) /being desperate for money. And not played ‘comedically’ like how it mostly was in s3. But shown as self destructive (for Jon) and immoral on the Woman’s end. Like... Billy and Jon are character foils. Both are older siblings into rock music, with ab*sive dads who shoved them into walls. Both lose it (and beat steve to a pulp when Steve accidentally triggers their daddy issues). In s3 it’s established womanizer Billy has mommy issues, than he tries ho*king up with someone his mom’s age, and the characters ref ‘back to the future ‘ and Steve incorrectly says it’s about “alex p keaton trying to bang his mom.” This could illustrate his subconscious issues with parental figures/adults cause of Lonnie’s possible past se*ual ab*se . One film the friend even says to the guy “you don’t have friends!” guy b: i have friends! him: no you have acquaintances! ADMIT IT! YOU’RE AFRAID OF MEN!I mean-Jonathan liked Nancy- but he initially hooked up with her cause he wanted to prove he didn’t have ‘trust issues’ from his dad. Also it’s prob a bit of a reach (and maybe a coincidence)- but the fact Murray in the same breath compares Steve (Nancy’s then bf) and Lonnie ... uh... if you think too long about it ... it’s very sinister . Especially because in s3: muray tells Joyce that despite her wanting to be with a nice guy, she’s curious about “the brute” Hopper despite him reminding her of a past “bad relationship”(aka Lonnie). Like- yeah connect some dots. Quite a few films (other than forrest gump) also have the character who (as a kid) was r*ped by their dad/parent- begin to do dr*gs/be pr*miscuous as adults since they never learned to properly cope with their trauma (’girl with the dragon tattoo’, ‘black swan’, and ‘magnolia’). Unfortunately the whole relative doing such things to kid-relatives is in at least 30+ movies.

Personally, i would be MUCH happier if Jon had a age appropriate romance- and had not a single creepy adult near him. A few movies actually imply Lonnie gets yet another ‘new model’ replacing his gf in her 20s with a new gf- who is ‘barely l*gal” and just turned 18. so there’s that possibility as well- that she’s jonathan’s age.I just want Jonathan-happy &safe. GOD. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

#byler #byeler #will byers #mike wheeler #Jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #joyce byers #jim hopper #murray bauman #stranger things #el hopper #s4 theory #stranger things theory

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breitzbachbea · 3 years

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📒💖

Emi, I'm kissing you on the mouth right now, you're so sexy. In general but also for taking the bait.

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about.

The Constantinople AU

This AU is from 2017 and came about because I watched a TED-ED video about Constantinople's walls, relistened to the Aladdin soundtrack and because I had earlier talked with a friend about how I had not really seen people make a genie a woman. I came back years later to explain it to my friend Jonah and add new stuff and this year I showed it to @amber-isnt-a-precious-stone to add even more things. It's one of my favourite AUs for sure.

Dramatis Personae:

- Herakles Karpuzi (APH Greece) as Son of the Roman emperor and heir to the throne - Sadık Adnan (APH Turkey) as Soldier in the Ottoman army and Imposter Prince - Dilan Taş (Human OC) as Jinn and Sadık's unsuccessful wingwoman - Athanasios Karpuzi (Human OC) as the Roman emperor and serial skirtchaser - Salvatore Vento (Human OC) as Advisor to the emperor and Fuckface McBadDad - Michele Vento (APH Sicily) as Herakles' childhood friend

The Happenings™:

- It's set in Constantinople in an alternate Universe, close to ours. It’s the late High Middle Age/Early Late Middle Age (depending on how you want to periodize. I am working with how the German Middle Ages are divided, which is arguably a very bad method for classifying Byzantine. But this is my silly Hetalia AU, not my term paper). Around 1300, I’d say.

- Athansios Karpuzi is the current Roman Emperor, which makes Herakles the heir to the throne. Athanasios is desperately trying to wed his son off to any available suitors to form new alliances, but two things keep getting into the way: 1. Herakles is thoroughly uninterested in playing along with Athanasios’ plans. He’s not a chess piece on his father’s board if he's got anything to say about it. 2. Salvatore Vento is Athanasios’ closest consultant and protests any marriage for whatever reason he can find. For the sole reason that he has been eyeing the throne for himself the entire time and wants to marry his own son, Michele, to Herakles.

- Like in my Hetalia AU "Like Father Like Son", Salvatore and Athanasios trust each other as far as they can throw one another. There is no genuine trust here at all, no sympathy, really, they just stick together because they know the other is useful. Have some assorted banter as result of this:

Salvatore: "Immortal what a name! What a title to bear! Although immoral would have fit you much better." [Athanasios’ etymology is “immortal”]

S: "Maybe you wouldn't have to struggle to find a suitable bride for your son if you stopped dragging every young woman within and from outside Constantinople to bed." Athanasios: "He's into guys too, problem solved." S: "Oh, yeah, me dumbass thought you needed stop whoring around, how silly of me."

A: "If he is into anything at all. But if I have another child, they might keep this empire going." S: "No legitimation to the lineage's claim to power like a gay loner and a bastard child." A: "Ah yes, I hired the man whose wife ran away with his son so he could berate me about family life. How I value your opinion, Salvatore." S: "She didn't run away." A: "No, she just hides and sends you people until she can get her divorce. I'm very inclined to give it to her."

S: "They're childhood friends! They'd make a great couple!" A: "All I can hear is what a great emperor you'd make, ruling on my corpse."

- So. Herakles is staunchly resisting any marriage to anyone and minding his business one day, walking along the great walls of Constantinople. He stops to look out into the surrounding area and suddenly, hears a noise. Confused, he looks down and sees someone scaling the wall. Sadık looks up and sees the most beautiful man he has ever seen … spotting him trying to get into the city.

- Sadık is part of the Ottoman Turks, who’re conquering the area around Constantinople these days. He’s some nobody in the army and thought he’d give it a shot and get into the city by himself to earn some fame (and money).

- Herakles is seriously impressed Sadık managed to actually almost scale the famously impenetrable walls of the city. Not impressed enough to actually let him in. So these two banter a bit, Sadık now distracted by this hunk in front of his nose. Herakles correctly assesses that he’s a Turk and says of himself that he’s the emperor’s son. Sadık: “Hey, hot stuff, if that’s true and it’s so impressive, why don’t you let me in as a reward?” Herakles: “Yes, of course. And then I’ll open the gates for the rest of your people, so that you can just walk in and take the city. What impossible thing do you want to happen next, a kiss on the mouth?” Sadık: “What’s so impossible about that?”

- Either way, Herakles threatens to sick the guards on him, which leads to a “Oh no you wouldn’t” - Herakles grins and definitely would, so Sadık has to retreat. (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha).

- He goes back to camp, having gained nothing but a crush. He gets in real trouble for rummaging around the booty, where he finds an oil lamp and WOULDN’T YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. Dilan, a Jinn, pops out and Sadık uses his first wish to get out of trouble. Once that is done and the two have a moment of peace, he's thinking about what to do next and his mind circles back to Herakles.

- Dilan: "Ah yes, they always want something with love ... so who struck you and what's the problem?" Sadık: "Well ... I don't really know if it's true but he said he was the son of the emperor. He certainly looked the part! And I didn't really want to wait for him to call the guards to confirm it." Dilan: "Wait ... so you want to get with the son of the Roman emperor?" Sadık: "If that handsome little shit didn't lie to me, then yes." Dilan: "Isn't that a little out of your ballpark?" Sadık: "What, is it out of yours? Can't help me in that case, magic lady?" Dilan: "Psht, don't make me laugh! I can make the impossible happen, just tell me what you need." Sadık: "I dunno ... I guess getting inside the city?" Dilan: "That's it? That's all you need? That's less than a no-brainer -" Sadık: "Oh yeah, if it's so easy then, save that second wish for later. I got past one of the walls already once, I'll figure that out without your magic." Dilan: "Alright, alright ... and what about the wooing of your sweetheart?" Sadık: "That we'll see to once we're there ..."

- Dilan and Sadık chitchat while they make it to Constantinople. Dilan spends some time in the lamp, because walking is boring, but she does tell him that she's pretty sick of being in there. So that's where Sadık learns about her wishing to be free. Dilan in turn learns that Sadık doesn't have such a rosy life either (especially because now he can't return to the army, after he basically deserted).

- So they get to Constantinople and decide to actually factcheck if they got the right guy - and if yes, some general information about the emperor's son. Luckily enough, a friendly trader/tradesman tells them a bit about the city and the imperial family. Dilan: "So, did you by any chance ever see the emperor's son?" Trader: "Oh, well, that's an odd question, isn't it? But since you don't seem to be from here, I can understand the curiosity. Well, let me think ... You often see him only from afar ... during a triumph where he had accompanied his father during the campaign I got to see him up close. What a regal figure there at the head of the troops!" Sadık is too lost in the vision of his crush all decked out in military gear on a horse. And then taking all that gear off and being a regal figure while he fucks Sadık into the sheets … Dilan: "Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda, we need something more concrete. Height, hairstyle, haircolour, what does the dude look like?" The trader/tradesman is a little baffled but does provide a description that lines up with who Sadık saw. So with that information, they start to wonder how to woo a future emperor.

- Luckily, now that the trader/tradesman thinks they're here for imperial gossip, he actually mentions the fact that Emperor Athanasios hopes for his son to follow his footsteps and is currently looking for a suitable match, so that Herakles can be of political use even while he's still in charge. So Dilan and Sadık get an idea how to get into the city and Herakles heart. Or his pants. Milestones are still up for negotiation.

- After the grand entrance happened, where Herakles definitely took offense at either "Heard your prince was a sight lovely to see" or "Heard your prince was hot, where is he?" because either question was accompanied by Sadık's flirty looks, Athanasios actually lets Sadık and Dilan into the palace. There he and Salvatore discuss the entire thing, aka if whoever Sadık pretends to be is a good match.

- While they talk political stuff and snark, because of course Salvatore is against it, Sadık continues to feel very smug in his new princely identity and makes flirty eyes at Herakles. Herakles is just like "ugh" and much more happily plays with his cats. Which tbh sounds like they're 16 or something, but they're not that much younger than in canon (I think they'd be 22 and 24 here).

- Hijinks ensue. Herakles tells his dad that he’s a Turkish soldier that tried to sneak into the city and Athanasios doesn’t believe him, thinking Herakles is now lying badly to not get married. Dilan and Sadık are developing a friendship that is best described as hoes being bros.

- Dilan: "Look, you like cats. Cats are furry. Hairy, if you will. You know who else is hairy? Sadık. He's juuust as hairy as a cat - shhhht, I'm wingmanning for you and it's working great, you can thank me later."

- At first, Dilan mostly employs her magic for some silly little things with Sadık to woo Herakles. It doesn't work very well. Herakles: "I know it's magic, that's not impressing me - Okay, it is kinda cool, but you're still a dick." Dilan: "But a dick with a cool sidekick, come ON! What else do you want me to do to make the nerd viable?!" Sadık: "You call that wingmanning?!"

- Once Dilan realizes dickbags Athanasios and Salvatore are, she also uses little magic tricks to continously make their lives worse. Ironically, this may be what finally endears her and Sadık to Herakles. (If you haven't noticed, he doesn't like his father very much and Athanasios doesn't care for him aside from being a political pawn).

- At one point, Michele shows up at court! Herakles is overjoyed to see his childhood friend, which he hadn’t seen in years! Sadık is absolutely not, because it looks like just when he and Herakles almost had something, this twat shows up and steals the show!

- Dilan: "Well, I can't make him not love this dude, but I could beat the dude up." Sadık: " ... keep that in mind."

- However, when Dilan goes to investigate what Michele is doing here (and wingwomanning again), this ensues: Dilan: "Hey brah, what's up, why so blue looking? Is it because your boo just told you you ain't his number one anymore?" Michele: "I, eh ... no ... May I ask who you are?" Dilan: "Just one of the servants of the insanely charming and powerful - and hairy - Prince who's here to marry the Prince. Yep, he's sooo gonna marry that guy." Dilan: "There was a whole musical number about it, you should have seen it, I was on top of my game." Michele: "Sure heard about it, you stirred up trouble here. Hope it helps ... I'm not saying that Herakles should marry someone his dad set in front of him, but it'd be nice if he found someone at last. He told me he was very lonely the last years ... I don't want to leave him behind just as lonely again." Dilan: "Yeah, it'd be - Leave him behind?"

- Dilan: "Good news! His loverboy is not here to stay! He wants to go to the west, he's just here because of his terrible dad!" Sadık: "Oh, that's good! Wait ... isn't his father that asshole of an advisor?" Dilan: "Yeah. Why." Sadık: "The guy who wanted to marry his son to Herakles since apparently forever?" Dilan: "Yeah, but his son is not going to marry him." Sadık: "I smell a trap 10 miles against the wind."

- There is no trap however. Herakles realizes that the crush on Michele is nothing but a childhood crush and has to be left in the past … and that he wants to move forward with Sadık. When he wants a conversation one-on-one, Dilan wants to make it a one-on-two, but Herakles asks her if she doesn’t want to keep Michele company in the gardens, it’s not gonna take long, an hour or two at most. Then she can also fetch Michele when they’re done, so that Herakles can say goodbye before he leaves for Sicily.

- Dilan thinks about it, finds it’s not a trap (and if it was, nothing she and her fists couldn’t solve) and goes in the garden. There she talks with Michele and makes the mistake to either show off her magic powers, tell Michele of TurGre’s meetugly (#Don’tSickTheGuardsOnMyAssYou’reSoSexyAhaha) or to be like: “Hey, do you wanna know a cool secret? Sadık isn’t a Prince, all of this is my doing. Pretty cool, eh?”

- Unfortunately, they’re not alone. Salvatore was searching for Michele in the gardens, to get his “fucking rotten brat of a son” to play along after all instead of disappearing once again. So he overhears this. Salvatore: "Oh, so Prince Sadık is not a Prince? That's a funny joke indeed and I'll laugh my ass off the hardest in the end."

- So just when Herakles and Sadık had time to talk about their feelings and confess and, also, you know, make out and fumble for good measure, they get interrupted. Literally when Herakles was finally stripped down to his tunic and Sadık slid his hand underneath it.

- Athanasios: "This is gonna be the last wall you breached, you little rat." Herakles: "Dad! Stop it!" Athanasios: "This man nearly ruined our dynasty. Arrest him." Salvatore: "Arrest the man indeed. Go and get the ex-emperor." Athanasios: "Ex-Prince. It's not the right time for your snark." Salvatore: "I'm not talking about that small fish. Guards - arrest this careless idiot who nearly ruined our city by letting a scammer into its walls! Clearly the emperor's been in on this and can't be trusted!" Athanasios: "You've lost your mind." Salvatore: "You've lost yours and it's actually the thing you'll miss the least when syphilis is going to eat away the last of your rotten brain in the dungeons. So get him! And that ottoman faker, too, just get the trash out of here."

- The scene ends rather dramatically, because I love the thought of Michele and Dilan rushing to their help, but they get held back. Dilan maybe gets restrained by some anti-magic stuff. And Dilan begs Sadık to use his last wish to help him. To solve this problem. But Sadık refuses, because he promised to use it to set her free. So Dilan is just livid and upset, distraught, yelling at him to let her do something while he gets taken to the dungeons.

- So now Salvatore’s in charge and setting his plans into motion. PR is of course the first thing that needs to be done, so there’s a speech to Constantinople’s masses: "But, as you know, I respect and regard the royal family, the entire dynasty, more than any of you! So I am not going to assume power, it'd be a crime against God himself who granted us this emperor, if I had removed him for anything but his unstable condition and his tragic mistake of almost letting his lineage being tainted! Not to mention that this would have been the end of our beloved empire, our city, suddenly overrun and ruled by those barbarians! No, of course I'll give my power to the true heir who was merely a victim to his father's incompetence. To prove I really mean it, I'm even going to give up my son to the Prince, to forever bind my loyality to the throne!"

- Michele: "I hold no more respect for you as father as I did when we left. I'm not going to play along your perverted plan." Salvatore: "Well Michele, if you don't respect me as father, then maybe you'll respect me as the Roman Emperor!"

- Meanwhile, in the dungeons, Athanasios and Sadık have some great chitchat. Sadık: "Guess that's some quality father and son in law bonding time, eh?” S:“Though I'm pretty sure your son would rather call me daddy than you." A: "Once this entire drama is over, I'll have you decapitated. Or just kick you back to your people and let them handle this." S: "Ah, but when I came here as a fake prince, your arms and gates were wide open. Should've listened to your son when he told you so."

- Here’s also some Salvatore content: Athanasios: "And now you strut around in my clothes. I'm surprised they even fit you fatass!" Salvatore: "Oh, the entire imprisonment is really getting to you, ain't it, emperor tightlips? Ah, I meant - ex-emperor tight lips. Now you've sunk low enough to insult me with such details. Is it because you have nothing else left now that you're off your high horse?" Salvatore: "I thought so. At least you're enough of a sound mind to not threaten me with 'once I get out of here' hot air. Because we both know you're not getting out of here in a lifetime anymore. And yes, I’m wearing your rags, since I’ve got no time to waste.” Salvatore to Sadık: "Actually, it's sad that you aren't going to be there to watch it. Although, I think a public execution would just spice the entire wedding festivities up, if I think about it."

- Ah yes. The wedding. Herakles: "You look great today, my love. Like a polished jewel." Michele: "Thanks. I'd never seen a man more handsome than you though. Truly, a prince with all his qualities seen right away." Both: -sigh- Ft. Dilan, who’s just watching the kids sadly and is trying to reassure them she got this, she’s gonna find a way, it’ll be fine!!!

- Herakles and Michele wonder why Sadık didn't use that wish. To which Dilan replies he said he'd free her with it, but she didn't believe he'd actually uphold that promise. And he shouldn't have because now she's useless and he's in trouble. (And Hera only falls more in love with Sadık, because being a good person is HELLA swoony.)

- Dilan also tries to cheer them up and I believe she can still do small magic tricks, she just can't get out of whatever shackles/confinement she is in. So when she isn't despairing or raging, she tries to cheer Herakles and Michele up with some silly little tricks. She shapeshifts into their fathers to make fun of them. Which leads them to an idea ...

- I have no idea what it is though. I only know that the grand final and resolution involves shapeshifting. If anyone who's better at plots wants to give me ideas, please do.

- However they manage to stop Salvatore's machinations, this is what follows: Salvatore gets thrown into the dungeons. Herakles decides to not let his father out and instead take the crown himself. He becomes emperor and marries Sadık. Sadık uses his last wish to set Dilan free. Michele goes to travel to Sicily, promising he’ll write letters to them and come visit some day (Dilan promises the same).

- The end of Salvatore and Athanasios rotting in jail together is SO satisfying to me, bc now that they are useless to each other, there is nothing left to do but be a pain in each other’s ass. They hate each other and they DESERVE EACH OTHER.

Sequel Bait:

- Before we get to the sequel bait, let me give you some prequel bait for a change. Here's a little "what if one of the many suitable matches for Herakles had been one of the Beilschmidt brothers" scenario. Plus free medieval history lesson:

- Now for the actual sequel: Three years come and go. Herakles and Sadık settle in their new rules as emperor and ... emperor's husband. (I don't know if Byzantine empresses were "put into office" in the same way the Emperor was. If someone is more knowledgeable about this than me, correct me).

- Their marriage is going swell, however both struggle in their new official roles. Herakles faces all the administrative problems and tough decisionmaking that comes with being a ruler, while Sadık struggles to be accepted by the people of Constantinople. Where Herakles tends to take care of the court, Sadık tries his hand at being a military leader.

- One morning, Sadık wakes up with Herakles in the room. Which should not be surprising, if it wasn't for the fact that Herakles had left the city yesterday. He's oddly nonchalant about it when Sadık asks him and also ... weirdly chipper? Eager? Kitschy in his flirting? He's at first flattered, but soon very confused by everything and wonders if either he hit his head real hard in his sleep or if Herakles fell off his horse when he tried to make it out of the city.

- Turns out none of it, because after some more eyelash fluttering, his "husband" goes POOF! and turns out to be Dilan, who's on the floor laughing. "You should have seen your stupid face! Really! Wait, I'll show you!"

- After Dilan is done shapeshifting into Sadık, absolutely overacting his reaction and argueing with him about it, they finally get to catch up. Turns out that Dilan was bored by travelling around the world and wanted to check in on her old buddy.

- She couldn't have chosen a more opportune time to do so. Once Herakles returns, he ... at first has a weird reunion with his husband. Sadık is kind of wary around him and starts to list his attitude and general personality traits/ticks as proof for ... something. Takes a while for Herakles to get the news that Dilan is back, too.

- Herakles is very relieved to hear that! He wanted to confide something in Sadık, because after he had returned to the city, someone had taken him aside. Natasa Simonides, an old and trusted courtly advisor, needed help. Recently, her husband Ibrahim disappeared and she's worried.

- Natasa also told Herakles a secret: Ibrahim is a Jinn, which is why his disappearance worries her even more. Herakles informs Sadık and asks Dilan if she knows anything, but she sadly hasn't heard anything either. - Before she can zip off and see if she can find Ibrahim, Herakles asks another favour of her - to educate Natasa's twins, Timothea Farah and Omar Veniam instead. Natasa thinks they may be able to find their father, but they don't know they're half-Jinn, so they'd need some guidance. Dilan happily agrees to be their teacher!

- My only more in-depth infos on Jinn and their children with humans comes from this Monstrum video by PBS Storied. I don't think Thea & Omar would need to be taught by anyone to be seers and how to be in communication with non-human spheres, but it makes for a better story.

- So Dilan is off to teach the kids while Sadık volunteers to go and search for Ibrahim. Herakles resumes his imperial role in the city.

- It's not really fun and as the people become more and more agitated with the status quo, more and more people "remember" that the old emperor is still around. Enough people are going "What's that kid knowing anyways?! All those highfangled ideas and useless reforms, for what?" that a select few decide to stage a coup by releasing Athanasios from the dungeons.

- Now, I still haven't decided if Salvatore also gets let out. The problem is that I really would begrudge him his freedom ... but I also begrudge Athanasios his freedom! It doesn't feel fair that one bastard gets to walk free and the other doesn't!

- Out in the field, Sadık isn't having much more luck. No Jinn in sight and the trouble he has with a few of the men that accompany him keeps him thinking about the acceptance problems again. He really wishes at one point that Herakles wasn't emperor at all. You can imagine how terrible he feels for these thoughts when news of the coup catches up to them. Be careful what you wish for and all that jazz. On top of that, he gets into trouble as well - betrayed by some of the men he had taken along. He gets stuck in some place like a cave or an abandoned house he was investigating ...

- Sadık finds a large sealed bottle and thinks 'Well, what's the worst that could happen?' He is greeted by a GIANT cloud of smoke instead of anything edible/drinkable. By the time the cloud is human-shaped, he already has a giant grin on his face. Sadık: "Hah! I have a sixth sense for this kind of stuff!" Jinn: "Greetings, mor-" Sadık: "Yeah, yeah, quick question, is your name Ibrahim? Or do you know one of your kind called Ibrahim who's been passing through recently?" Jinn: "My name is Ibrahim - " Sadık: "Great! You know a Greek lady called Natasa? I take that look as a yes. Okay, so first wish is to get us out of here, second wish we'll see, third is like freeing you from the whole servitude bit - You do the three wishes thing, right? Anyways, your wife and kids are wishing for dad to come home, so get us out of here, you'll get explanations on the way back."

- In the meantime, Dilan and her protégés, along with Natasa and Herakles, have been trying to figure out how to solve the problem at court. It doesn't help that the news of Sadık's troubles also reached them (I know the speed of spreading information may be historically hella inaccurate, but I need it for the drama). So Dilan is torn between helping her best bud and helping the rest at court. The Greeks cook up a plan and assure her that she should go and help Sadık, they've got this.

- The plan is to get Athanasios to do something incredibly stupid that would immediately turn the people against him. They exploit the fact that Athanasios likes to listen to words that fall from pretty lady's mouths. So Timothea flatters her eyelashes and promises to tell him something of a vision she had ... that the divine has something to tell him through her. (Don't worry for her, she may have to endure his fingers under her chin, which is infuriating and nauseous enough, but no more skin contact than this). Thea gets backed by her brother to lend it more credibility once Athanasios considers with his head and not his dick.

- And we can all appreciate that Dilan has been sent away, otherwise the scene would have been like this: Thea: "The spirits are talking to me about you ... " Dilan: "Mhm, mhm, indeed, I can hear them to. They're saying that you're a bitch!"

- Dilan in the meantime reaches Sadık, Ibrahim and those of his troop that haven't betrayed and abandoned him as soon as they heard of the coup. A little happy reunion before she immediately fills them in on what's happening.

- They come up with a plan themselves to finally get rid of Athanasios and the Simonides and Herakles have begun to sweat a little back home, because Athanasios mistake of listening to the twins' advice has bought them time, but not really solved the problem yet. Which is when Dilan and Ibrahim sweep in, concocting an illusion powerful enough to wrap up everyone in Constantinople and make Athanasios seem like the literal devil. Some mass-hallucination miracle bullshit, truly, to assert that he doesn't deserve the throne.

- Maybe for good measure, Athanasios disappears after the illusion is over. Dilan and Ibrahim have no idea where he went, they say with a smile.

- Another grand finale! The four lovers are reunited, Thea and Omar are overjoyed to have their dad back and he is overjoyed to have his kids back. When Dilan tells the Simonides twins that they did a great job, she's a good teacher after all haha!, Ibrahim and Natasa invite her to stay. Dilan says that they don't need her, surely, now that Ibrahim can teach them, but Ibrahim says he could use some help. Herakles also encourages her, saying that he'd love to have her at court - and Sadık also bullies her into staying. "What do you wanna do, see the world again? Didn't do much for your peanut brain the first time around, maybe hit the books together with Hera so that you'll be a passable teacher some day."

- Dilan and Omar also have evolved a crush on one another during this entire mess. That's what I'll leave you with - all well that ends well.

Also hey you! Thanks for reading all of this! Here's a little bonus content if you made it this far!

A wonderful fanart of Michele and Salvatore by my beloved friend C0FFINATED over on twitter!

Here's an amazing commission of the Greeks and Turks by @captkirkland ! I'm not sure if I'm allowed to repost the pictures myself on tumblr & you shoud reblog it from him anyways. Show him and his amazing art some love! From left to right it's Timothea, Herakles, Omar, then Dilan, Sadık and Havva (who's not featured in this AU, rip. Things would have worked to well with their brainpower).

Thanks for reading this! Hope you have a wonderful day!

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gabriel4sam · 4 years

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Seventy-two varieties of root vegetable and other tasty things to discover (now that the Sith are dead); a Gen Obi-Wan story!

Written for theObi-Wan Kenobi Gen exchange and beta-ed by the charming @texasdreamer01

Under the cut, the fic!

It was when he saw Ahsoka eyeing a beetle with keen interest than Obi-Wan decided it was time for an intervention. He had totally failed the culinary education of his own Padawan, he wouldn’t fail it in the same way for his Grandpadawan.

“You didn’t fail my education, Master, seriously-“

“-Shh, Anakin, I’m the one telling the story.”

The war was dying down, for no reasons the Jedi could exactly pinpoint. They were doing exactly the same things they had done for years, but this time the other side was answering their propositions of peace talks and, sector by sectors, the combats were stopping and tentative talks started.

The Senate was busy sending ambassadors left and right, companies were tentatively establishing commercial routes again, employment was going up and even Asajj Ventress was calming down, because after finally killing Dooku the only thing she apparently wanted was to roam the galaxy with a besotted Quinlan Vos trailing behind her like a besotted, if well-armed, puppy.

How sad it was that a previously undiagnosed heart condition had taken Chancellor Palpatine before his time, before he could see the peace and harmony he had so wished for.

“Padmé will laugh so much when she hears you called her blaster an undiagnosed heart condition.”

“The joint investigation between the Judicial officers and the Jedi was thorough, Anakin. Heart condition.”

So, Anakin liked to eat worms, Ahsoka wasn’t far behind, the clones had only eaten rations for all their lives, and once a strange mushroom in Fives’ case. That had prompted hours of talking to the wall and giggling about stuff his foot was telling him, the right because the left was apparently quite rude. After seeing that, and also the way Fives had been ill after, none of the vode had wanted to test anything that wasn’t a ration sealed in vacuum and with the same taste every time, no matter what was written on the package.

Time for an intervention.

Obi-Wan had called his old friend Dex and asked for the permission to borrow his diner during the closing day.

Anakin had whined that it was a little hypocritical of Obi-Wan, who survived on tea, sass and more tea, with sometimes some algae biscuits thrown in it when Bant could corner him long enough, to comment on anyone’s eating habits.

“I didn’t whine!”

“You really did, my dear. And you do on a regular basis.”

Dex had said yes and even offered his diner, and more importantly his kitchen, every closing day when Obi-Wan was on Coruscant.

So, Obi-Wan had chosen his first tasters.

Ahsoka, of course, for who he had started all of that. Worms and beetles and other crawling things were fine in a pitch, he had himself sometimes indulged when Qui-Gon Jinn’s latest nonsense had thrown his Padawan self in the middle of a jungle with no rations. He could also admit that with the stress of the war, he had let his responsibilities erase his body’s normal hunger, but it was no more a time of war. Time to eat like a civilized sentient.

Anakin himself. Young Knight Obi-Wan, struggling with grief and -he could see it now- depression, had let this feral child keep his slave days habits in term of food: Anakin ate everything that couldn’t move away quick enough, in a latent fear there wouldn’t be something to fill his belly later. It was honestly heart-breaking.

It could also be heart-healing: the way the younger Jedi always insisted for Ahsoka to eat first… Obi-Wan will fight for every child in the galaxy to have enough, not like Anakin couldn’t when he was younger and now that the war is finishing, he hoped they could make a difference here.

Padme, because now that the so-called secret marriage was out in the open, he hoped he could spend more time with the young woman and deepen their nascent beginning friendship. The galaxy really could do with more friendship.

And Rex and Cody, the two vode they were closest to. Once those two had come back to the barracks in better shape than Fives after his mushrooms experience, the other vode could probably be convinced to try something else than rations.

Aaylala, who had just taken her first Padawan and would spend a year of Coruscant to better learn each other, had already put herself, the Padawan and Commander Bly on what she called jokingly “Master Kenobi’s dinner waiting list”. She wanted to explore with them the food of her home planet and reconnect with her culture. Boil and Waxer could probably be convinced, too.

It meant the first experience had to be a success.

After his morning session with the Council, Obi-Wan had taken his afternoon off, that too being a new event in the Jedi Order. Most of the time, Bant or Anakin had too threaten to sit on him just for him going to bed. Everybody had sworn to never talk again about that time it had been so bad Master Windu himself really did have to sit on him for Obi-Wan just to take a nap.

“Speaking for yourself, Master, me, I’m never ever going to let you forget that one.”

He had slowly explored the closest market, feeling slightly nostalgic. Qui-Gon always had insisted food should be a fuel, not a passion. He had also said that taking pleasure in the taste, the smell, the hundreds of wonderful vegetables, fruits, meats, grains, offered by nature, that it was celebrating the joy of life, of the Force...

Obi-Wan realized he had forgotten that, in the despair of the war. Now, he took pleasure in choosing fresh produce for the people he loved. Around him, the market was bustling with life. People laughing, speaking, tasting, vendors celebrating their products… It was the season for one of the biggest food import of Coruscant. It was some citrus fruit which had the very rare peculiarity, a very rare one, to be edible for all known sentients. The smell was everywhere in the market, fresh and cleansing and Obi-Wan had taken a bite of one with a groan of pleasure the moment he had purchased them, the juice sweet and slightly acidic at the same time.

When he got to the dinner, he cooked with the same deep happiness of preparing something easy, nutritious and tasty for his family. He had decided to make it simple for the first time, not wanting to push the boundaries of Cody and Rex. Going from rations to a nine-course meal would probably be overkill.

Obi-Wan himself tended to a vegetarian diet, like Qui-Gon had, but he hadn’t always had a choice, and Ahsoka’s body needed an animal based died in a way human didn’t, so he had dismissed his all-time favourite recipe, a creamy vegetable pie a young Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi had learned from a young senatorial aid Bail Organa.

He prepared a stew which he had learned from Kit Fisto, with a lot of root vegetables and some river fish, aromatic bark from the Gold system and just a little touch of black salt. Soon, the entire diner smelled of Obi-Wan’s teenage years, when he and Bant did their homework and Kit Fisto prepared dinner.

Obi-Wan had a smile on his face, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. He should call Bant, soon. Perhaps she and some of their other childhood friends could come the next time….For dessert, he cleaned yellow, purple and red berries from Naboo, to honour Padmé, to be eaten with fresh cheese.

Nothing very complicated. Just simple food, to share and to rejoice in the new chance of the galaxy.

“To the peace?” Padmé proposed for toast at the beginning of the meal and all, they raised their glasses.

“To the peace,” they repeated in answer.

Seated between Cody and Rex, Obi-Wan explained sotto voce what exactly they were eating. He explained the planet of origin of every vegetable –

“Because everything has to be an occasion for a lecture.”

“Anakin, if you don’t stop, you will be in charge of the washing-up. And I used a lot of saucepans.”

Rex was very, very cautious with his first taste. He had been there when Fives had vomited everything he had ever eaten, and had been slightly alarmed once Obi-Wan had explained what a root vegetable was.

“Doesn’t seem very hygienic.” Was his opinion.

It changed after first taste and his plate was quickly cleaner than a ship before the admiral’s inspection.

Cody was more curious about why different sorts of vegetables had been designed.

“Waste of resources,” he decided, “one per species of sentient who wanted to eat them would have been sufficient.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t laughed. How could Cody, raised in the sterile environment of Kamino, know better about the extraordinary abundance of nature? In his own plate, he had picked a small section of one of the root vegetables he had chosen.

“This is a red stachys”, he explained, “the species comes from a planet all the way in the Outer Rim. It was only present on one of their landmasses, but as it isn’t attacked by fungus or insect pests, it’s now cultivated on all the planets and a lot of other agricultural worlds.”

Anakin made a face. He hated agricultural worlds, mostly for the smell. The desert boy loved his cities.

Obi-Wan smiled at his former Padawan’s face but continued:”Today, you can easily find seven, sometimes ten subspecies in Coruscant markets, but on the original world, where the people had centuries to select cultivars, you can find seventy-two cultivars. And it is only one of the vegetables you can find there.”

“Seventy-two!!”

Cody looked a little more at Obi-Wan’s spoon and the innocent little selection of vegetables swimming in the rich-tasting sauce.

“And every world…”

“Every world has its own food. Every ancient country, you could say. Every area. Sometimes every town has its own speciality.”

It was Cody’s turn to make a face. Not surprising: after years of ration, the abundance of possibilities seemed strange to his mind.

“It tends to be a little standardized today,” Obi-Wan admitted, “but a lot of people are working hard on preserving heirloom varieties and culinary traditions…”

Cody stabbed a bit of fish with his own cutlery and tasted it, chewing cautiously.

On the other side of the table, Padmé and Anakin were flirting. Anakin’s lines were terrible but Padmé’s own use of Naboo flowery poetry wasn’t exactly better.

Next to Cody, Rex and Ahsoka were whispering something about putting joy back in the Senate and something very suspicious about dye that Obi-Wan and Cody definitely weren’t hearing, because that one would be Commander Fox’s problem.

Cody tasted a yellow stachys, stolen directly from Obi-Wan’s plate because there were only red in his own plate. Then he tried again a red, pairing it with a green kidney-shaped pod.

“And that?” He asked, poking another pod.

“Magnolens. Seldom grown today, originated from the world of Glee Anselm.”

Cody seemed lost in thought, so Obi-Wan let him chew in peace, instead discussing literature with Padmé. They had all sworn they wouldn’t speak of work tonight, so every time they drifted to politics, Anakin interrupted them by stealing a kiss from Padmé.

It was a rousing and pleasant success.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked later, when she was helping with cleaning Dex’s kitchen. It would probably be neater than before their arrival.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Can I come to the market with you next time? And I think Rex would like it too.”

“Of course you can.” She gave him a sudden hug, surprising him.

From the kitchen, Obi-Wan could see the rest of them, Padmé and Cody lost in debate, Anakin just finishing his third helping of dessert. Rex had taken apart his own dessert, testing the berries one by one.

His former Padwan sensed their gazes and turned to them, a smile on his face. His eyes were clearer than they had been in years, and Obi-Wan felt pride and happiness swell in him.

“You would be very welcome, my dear,” He answered his Grandpadawan.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #Anakin Skywalker #ahsoka tano #the clone wars #commander cody #padme amidala #Captain Rex #my fics

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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I was a pre-teen in the seventies, which means that long before I hit the jaded age of fourteen when older men tried to use it to get me to peel off clothes, I was used to hearing “we’re all naked under clothes.” (Later on I greatly regretted most of these idiots hadn’t read Heinlein so I couldn’t say “nul program.” So instead I had to say things like “We’re also all clean under our dirt, so I see you don’t intend to shower ever again.”)

There were other just as crazy aphorisms that passed for “deep thought.” I’m honestly not sure what caused this, whether it was more people than ever being pushed to higher ed they weren’t really qualified for, but that made them want to sound “intellectual” or that the Soviets were diligently working with their wrenches to take apart the ability to think of the new generation. Or perhaps for whatever reason mass media and TV just encouraged a ridiculous wave of aphorisms that not only didn’t mean much but that aimed to destroy rather than build habits, patterns and ways of life that led to success.

You know, crazy stuff like “What difference does a piece of paper make to whether we’re married?” (Other than meeting potential obligations to potential children, and getting the buy in of both sets of inlaws and recognition of society that protects well…. mostly the woman who puts more biological investment in the relationship, none, really.) And “If it feels good do it!” and– Well, a lot of you are old enough to have heard all this cr*p growing up. And the younger ones, trust me, the current spate of crazy is well anchored in a barrage of crazy — to my certain knowledge — from the sixties and seventies.

I fell for some of them too. The unflappable Miss Almeida was not unflappable when this stuff came at her from someone she respected. So for a long time I bought my brother’s “romance is the opium of womanhood” long before I realized where the origin of that nugget came from, or that my brother — never having been a woman — was in fact assuming that without having romantic notions to encourage her to care about attachment and feelings, young women would be as “free” and sexually available as men wish they’d be. Of course now we know that’s the rankest and most absolute bull excreta, and that in fact women have — surprise! It’s not like we evolved to be the caretakers of children or anything — a different set of sex related hormones that encourage attachment to sexual partners and incidentally children.

But the excreta of “pseudo-profound-social statements is now everywhere, and yesterday I was hit in close proximity by two bits of crazy. And suddenly it hit me “And what is the alternative, precisely?”

…

Look, all of human civilization has been an attempt to suppress inter-personal violence, or at least keep it within bounds that don’t prevent us from assembling in numbers larger than clan or tribe. Almost any reading of the records of older cities will quickly come to the conclusion that people used to be a lot more interpersonally violent. They just were. Even in early modern England, well…. Let’s say men died young because they fought over the most stupid things.

And that was already a state-nation, where people identified with the nation was though it were a race, and had not only forgotten their early tribal affiliations but their micro-kingdoms (the regional association, which given travel in that time probably had a lot of genetic backing) before it was unified into “England.” So the fights were rarely tribal or regional (though there were family feuds.)

…

But we are built on a template of great apes, and the remains we find of hominins and other man-tribes show that their lifestyle was in fact close to that of great apes everywhere. And do you know what you call a baby chimp found by a genetically unrelated band? Snack.

So, sure, let’s assume that education — public or not — is a way for a culturally dominant “elite” to suppress generalized violence.

What is the alternative?

The left is assuming violence is justified and on their side, because of course their idea of social dominance, and the model they implement is to take control and rob everyone. But throughout history they are an exception, in fact. Even the “bad old kings” were trying to do the best they could for their tribe or micro nation. They often screwed up and followed their own desires, because human, but the idea of noblesse oblige is very very old in humanity. And most people at least try (Unless they’re all ‘et up with Marxism and self-righteousness, because bullsh*t means never having to say you’re sorry.)

Instead let’s look at it as meaning what it says “education” (by which we can mean everything we do to tame the toddler-beast and up through specific knowledge of how to get ahead in life) is a way to suppress inter-personal violence.

Well, yes. And we’re all naked under our clothes. And wearing clothes isn’t natural, maaaaan.

But what is the alternative? The civilizational process of mankind, from band to clan, from clan to city, from city to nation, accomplishing things that could only be accomplished by many people cooperating without violence is a process of suppressing unnecessary violence and waste of human life.

…

In the same way, later, while doing my instapundit link rounds, I saw an article about how 2 + 2 is colonial thinking imposed on non-white populations, and are alien and evil, compared to their native ways of knowing.

After I got my eyes from under the sofa, I took a deep breath and asked “What’s the alternative?”

Because, you know, I’ve heard this before, but I never thought about precisely what their nonsense would entail.

Sure, we’re giving up the internal combustion engine, bridges, anything better built than a hut made of rough stones, and probably — let’s be honest — crops. The horrendous thing is that this might be completely acceptable to them, since they don’t realize what supports their ability to live in relative comfort.

Let’s instead explore what this means at the interpersonal level and how much eschewing simple math would make living with other human beings impossible.

…

Humans have partly got this far, and now enjoy untold prosperity which had practically eliminated famine (until of course the covidiocy starved the third world) because “colonial thinking” defeated that of isolated tribes.

Or perhaps more cogently: those who won a clash between two populations generally (there are exceptions, like Greece and Rome and to an extent India and Great Britain, and perhaps to an extent America and Japan) imposed their mode of life on the defeated. Though they might culturally appropriate that which was worthy in the culture of the defeated.

…

Is 2 +2 a colonial way of thinking? Oh, probably. But that was probably way back when the colonization of the homo sap by the Neanderthal (culturally, that is. Well, that seems to have been the direction) occurred, because we have trade going that far back, and trade can’t survive without counting.

In fact, even though the concept of zero is also fairly sophisticated, we’ve come across very few tribes that don’t have a concept of counting, or a concept of numbers over 5, and those are usually highly isolated and tiny tribes. Because arithmetic is a darn useful skill, as is everything we’ve built on it from accounting to architecture.

And what’s the alternative? People walking around “Sensing” the numbers? Be real. That’s not native to anyone but the crazier tribes of Homos New Agicus, a tribe who uses cannabis in such vast quantities they’re sure to become extinct.

The alternative is never “death or cake.”

When idiots run around with blunt aphorisms, demanding you dismantle civilization, ask them what their alternative is. And stop them when they start talking of rainbows and unicorn farts, and ask them the exchange rate of the unicorn fart to the rainbow. Because if it’s a civilization, we have to know.

You want to eschew controls over violence? Basic arithmetic? Clothes?

Well, sure. I believe you’re ultimately free to do what you want, as long as you pay the price.

You’re free to take all your clothes off, and take off to the forest with your buddies, where you can live as though 2 plus 2 equals 20, or potato, or chicken.

We don’t care. Heck, you probably won’t live long, but if you do, you’ll be a fascinating ethnology-experiment.

What you won’t be and can’t be is able to shame us out of living our lives as civilized human beings, who have enough to eat and can trade a known quantity for a known quantity. Because you know, there really is no alternative. Not an alternative that allows humanity to survive.

And if you hate humanity enough you don’t want us to survive, I have an easy solution: You go first. After which the existence or non-existence of humanity stops being your problem.

#sarah a hoyt

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loadedtoast · 3 years

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36/F/NZ

I have grown weary of social media as of late. The kind of social media where everyone has an opinion regardless of its impact on others, where people can type things they wouldn’t say in person and perpetuate misinformation (I am pro-vaccination). I am also growing tired of the (barely) subliminal messaging I receive about diets and body image that troll my feeds.

But I am a social creature by my very nature. Aren’t we all?

My first blog title is a nod to my ASL (age, sex and location). It’s an ‘early internet thing’.

If you are my age, you will recall (hopefully) the advent of ICQ and MSN… The patience of waiting for dial up to connect – god forbid someone else was on the landline – after school so that you could connect with friends, strangers, potential cuties… The potential cuties however were (and still are) not always what they appear to be.

But I am not here to blog about dating. Or house prices. Or global warming, avocados or other woes facing the younger generations – am I still young?

I never thought I would say this. I want to talk about having kids.

I will declare upfront that I want for nothing. I am a reasonably successful, professional woman without kids. I own my own home (or at least half of it). I live a city lifestyle, am fit, healthy and have a wonderfully loving and respectful partner (you know, one of the types of guys that speaks up and isn’t threatened by independent and successful women) - A rarity for which I cherish more than the rest of the stuff I list above. I am sure I will write about it at some point, but he is the product of a single mother doing a fucking incredible job in the most challenging of circumstances. Hats off to her!

As I was saying. I want to talk about kids.

I have never wanted them. And now we (not I. We) want to dip our toes into the pool that an increasing number of 30-somethings decide to jump into …

I am grappling with so many things. Things that are unique to us females.

I spent my teenage years being actively taught more about how to cook, clean and be a good girlfriend than I did about my own body – stuff I am learning now in retrospect (also a probable, future blog). I went onto the pill as soon as I got my period. It was a ‘precaution’ (for whom?). I learned about my vagina because I suddenly needed to put something inside it (not for pleasure) to stop my monthly bleeding from causing me more shame than I already felt – because periods are a woman’s burden to be carried in secrecy, and to be joked about by guys when the emotions get the better of us… “on the rag?” “must be that time of the month…”.

I am now 36 and just starting to become woke (as the kids say it now).

My teenage years, I imagine, were not unique. I recall one sex ed class at high school (yes, just one hour) where we learned about sex leading to STIs (previously called STDs) and pregnancy. Pregnancy was the devil and needed to be prevented at all costs (health, time and concern - which the female generally absorbed).

We skipped the bit about consent, respect and two-way intimacy – I found out about those by trial and error.

I got through to my mid-20s and the rhetoric changed. Instead of those I looked to telling me babies were bad, suddenly, babies were all the rage. I had come out of university with my two degrees, ready for that promised career, and to travel and build the life I wanted.

I felt confused.

Now, I was never the ‘maternal type’. I wonder now if there is such a thing or if its just something that we are carefully manicured into thinking that it’s what we want all along. I never wanted baby dolls and prams as play toys. I wasn’t into pink and pretend kitchens. Instead, as a kid, I was into sports, horses and motorbikes. I climbed trees and played games that used my creativity and imagination.

So, when I reached my mid-20s and people started to ask me about when I wanted to ‘settle down and have kids’ I rejected the entire notion of it. I said I didn’t want kids. In fact, I was well known amongst my peers for saying I didn’t even like kids. Which to a point is true. I don’t like ALL kids. Some kids will not grow into good adults and I place the responsibility for that on nurture not nature. This may be controversial; however I wish to believe that we are all born into this world with the potential for good.

New-born babies were thrust into my arms, because you know, I will need practice… How come boys don’t have to hold babies? I felt awkward. Like I was rejecting something that I was ‘born and bred to do’. But I didn’t want it. Not then.

When I told people I didn’t want kids, they were shocked. Kind of like the shocked face of people when I tell them I don’t drink alcohol anymore – you know, culturally unacceptable behaviour by any Kiwi’s standards. This was quickly followed by, “Oh, you will want them one day… it will all change. Trust me”.

Patronizing much?

I can now say that I felt harassed in those moments. Let’s label it.

The questions and opinions I would get were unnecessary, unprovoked and unhelpful. I honestly wondered why everyone was so invested in my interest in procreating – more so than being interested in me as a person with my own wants and needs. I guess this was part of my training for being a mum. A call out to all the mums who work tirelessly – yes, work (you have a job and it’s the hardest job of all).

I stayed the course and purchased my own home, got a great job that I worked hard for (don’t we all work extra hard, ladies!) and I prepared myself for a life with no legacy (legacy, I learned from those closest to me, is achieved though children, not a career, when you are a woman).

And then I met this guy.

He wanted kids. I kept true to my long-held comms line (like the ‘no comment’) and said I didn’t. And then he did something that I will never forget…

He said it was my choice. My choice.

He asked me why I had made that choice – his right to do after disarming me. I said, without thinking, and for the very first time… “I’m scared”. Shit, no backing out of it now…

I was scared because alongside all of the rhetoric that is forced down our faces about motherhood were the truths. The home truths. The ones I had witnessed in person. I had seen and heard, that taught me all about the value of a woman when she becomes a mum.

Now – disclaimer – I am not saying that I never seen or heard good things about being a mum. But hell, I did see and hear more average things than good things.

I saw and heard about how all the females in my immediate sphere of trust had given their careers up (in the current trajectory that they were on or entirely) when they became mums. If they didn’t choose being a mum, they were falling short of society’s expectations. If they became a mum and chose a career over full time parenthood, they were ‘outsourcing’ their most important role - as a mum.

I saw and heard my mum take the lion’s share of parenting, putting herself last. I saw and heard her play the part of mum and dad while my dad built his career – for us. The career that was really for him – let’s be true, it was his dream he was pursuing, not mine and not hers. I saw and heard her be proud of others but not of herself. I saw and heard her cry, a lot.

FYI I am very proud of my dad and I love him to bits. He is human. So is my mum. They made choices, together, in parenting us, but those choices were not made by people with equal power in the relationship and subsequently the choices did not always (actually, very rarely) benefit mum as a whole person.

I saw and heard my mum find ways to make herself feel better. She was good at buying things she did not need or want.

I saw and heard my mum largely unsupported, doing a thankless job. A job that society places no tangible value on. If you become a mum, and take time out of the workforce (i.e. you leave your job) to raise a child, you are considered unemployed (i.e. you are negatively placed on the ‘books’ aka GDP – not an investment, not a value-add activity, but a cost – you know, that the Government carries).

Funnily enough, ‘unpaid work’ of which parenting falls into, is the single largest sector of our economy but it is unpaid and therefore under-valued. Mums and dads who parent, are not seen as contributing to the nation’s economy. Where does our future workforce come from again?

And then once my last sibling left home, so did my dad. My mum was alone.

Due to her lack of ‘work history’ she could not apply for a credit card – dad could. Mum oversaw the family business finances and ensured we were looked after but did not ‘take home a wage’. Dad did. So, as usual, mum missed out and just kept on missing out. I can’t help but feel incredibly shit for mum. For all women.

These things shape my views on becoming a mother.

As do my own personal experiences.

As bad as this sounds, mum made sure I was better off. I got an education; a good career and I was raised to be independent and to ‘hold my own’. Funnily enough, I don’t recall ever ‘learning’ to hold my own. It wasn’t a session at school, or a mother-daughter discussion. It wasn’t a workshop or a coaching session at work.

Sarah Everard.

I have been following, as many women are, Sarah’s story in the news right now. Well, I correct myself – it’s not her story. It’s the story of her demise, chosen by a man she did not know or chose to know. There is an international groundswell of rage erupting from women around the right to be safe.

I saw an article written about this, and I thought, “shit, me too” (excuse the pun). A woman had put words to all of the ways in which we just know how to ‘hold our own’… the keys between the fingers when walking to the car late at night, the text to a friend “text me when you get home”, the pretending to be on a phone call, or the running without music to keep vigilant and at the ready. And the worst… Literally having an escape plan in your head as you walk down a dark street, or past a pack of guys.

This is an everyday experience of practically all women. Everywhere. I don’t know how we know it; we just do. But we shouldn’t have to.

These things are relevant and ever-present when I think about and talk about motherhood. It is ingrained in me, and has been from a young age, to be prepared for the worst, to take personal responsibility for what could happen to me, and to be prepared for things that men don’t have to worry about (it’s not their responsibility after all).

The reality is that my partner and I bring a completely different world view into a conversation about having kids together. How could it not be?

I am honest with him. I am scared. I have so much to lose – things that I have fought so hard for. On balance, I know there are gains, but one tends to focus on the things familiar and previously experienced.

I have a career built on proving myself. I once spent three months (I was an HR Manager and not a shit one) negotiating with my male boss for a salary increase to be on par with my all-male leadership team colleagues, whose roles were not as large as mine. I had to prove why I ‘deserved it’. I got it in the end. And my male colleagues successfully argued for their salary increases directly afterwards as well… sigh.

I am scared because I don’t want to lose my career. I don’t want to fall behind, and I know I will.

While I have children, my peers will continue to work, earn money, earn Kiwisaver for their retirement (and therefore increase the interest accrued), be rewarded and promoted (and increase their salary)… I will not accrue any leave. I will not get a salary increase or increase my retirement savings. I will not get promoted.

I will more than likely come back to work part time, because my partner and I will make choices and my job is the more flexible of the two. I will start earning again – but less. I will increase my Kiwisaver and get rewarded again – but at a pro-rated rate. I will probably work just as hard squeezing a full time job into fewer days for less money, while also trying to be a mum (also a 1 FTE job).

I worked it out. Furthermore, I will be reducing my in-the-hand income while on maternity leave by 82% while receiving the Government’s maximum paid maternity leave allowance (while I can).

I work extremely hard, but I am privileged. I can see why mums feel torn. I can see why there are massive impacts down the line for gender equity. And I can also see how we have missed a beat here around putting families and children first in NZ and our stats show this… Check out our OECD education stats, our wellbeing stats, our child welfare stats etc… Having working mums is not the issue. It’s the lack of choice driven by negative financial outcomes that makes being a full-time mum the poorer choice (pun intended).

I am scared because I may find it too hard. I am 36. My energy is not what it was. I hear new mums don’t get much sleep. I currently work between 50-80 hours a week. I am not sure how to do both, well. But I am unsure how to be happy, just doing one of these things.

I am scared because I may change. I will have a new focus – this could be amazing, it could also be hard. My friends are career focused. Not baby focused. Will we still have the same relationships? Will I become boring? Will we have the energy to go away with friends on weekends? Who will babysit?

I am scared because my body will change. My body is 36. I look after it. I exercise and eat well. I am not ready to look at myself in a mirror and feel mournful antipathy. Ouch. I know. Women are great at self-loathing and body-shaming ourselves. We learn it from the media. And men. And sadly, also from other women.

I don’t have many friends who don’t hate some or all of their bodies. We are told and shown what we should look like – and men are also shown what we should look like. Porn has its place, but it is not real. Unfortunately, these images require personal trainers, personal chefs, fake tans, implants, botox, fillers, makeup, hairdressers etc… Women don’t get paid as much as men. It is expensive being a woman.

Babies can mean stretch marks, fat that doesn’t go away, sags and hormone driven changes that you cannot explain. It impacts your pelvic floor.

I have heard from other women these things negatively impact on intimacy in the bedroom. How could it not if you are feeling like your body has been replaced with one you don’t know how to rock? And if we don’t rock our bodies, how will our men get off on it?

I am scared that my relationship with my partner will become secondary to the needs of our child… and our individual needs to sleep and have ‘me time’. Our relationship is strong. It is built on respect, communication and trust. I know this after years of relationships where these things were in part or fully absent.

Are helicopter mums born that way or does a switch flick when they have kids?

I want my relationship with my partner to be #1, always. Of course, it is our choosing to make it so. However, I also know what it’s like to put in effort when you’re both tired. Our relationship functions now around shifts, commutes and long work hours. We have it sorted. Add a child and less sleep into the mix and I honestly don’t know how people do it.

We are best friends who talk a lot. So, I hope that’s enough.

I am scared because I don’t want to fail. I am a high achiever. A child is something you don’t want to fuck up. I haven’t done it before and yet I have no interest in having all of the women in my life (or as I have heard, also those not in your life) tell me how to do it. Advice on ‘breast is best’ is unwelcome, Karen… I see and hear how women are given advice. Often entwined with judgement. I then also see and hear men get praised for ‘doing it alone’.

I am scared because after all of this time, if I choose the title ‘mum’ over all else, what if I cannot even become one? This is a real fear and nothing is a give-in. Wanting it, does not make it so.

I am scared because I don’t want to find myself alone at the end of it. This scares me the most. I have seen how the most important woman in my life sacrificed everything and then when it was her turn, it turned out she was the sacrifice.

...

When I write this, the Devil’s advocate voice plays out in my head. “Oh, she is a feminist”, “she is just insecure” “is she really thinking of starting a family with a partner if she thinks he will leave her?”, “she’s a but angry – old chip on the shoulder”.

I am secure in myself. I have done stints in therapy – it’s a gym membership for the soul. I am liberal, yes. And a feminist – name a sound-minded female who isn’t pissed off about the additional hurdles in her lane on the track. My partner and I are solid, or we wouldn’t be talking about having children – talking is what adults do in a healthy relationship.

I am scared. In a way, it is healthy. If I was going into it thinking “I have this nailed” then I am probably delusional, naïve or just plain arrogant.

I am writing this because it is cathartic. It is a way to express the things I feel. And to share them as I expect so many other women (and men – yes, two men can have babies together too) feel.

#mum #parenting #newmum #career #firsttimemum #startingafamily

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irhinoceri · 3 years

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I read “I Am The Messenger” by Markus Zusak several years ago, sometime between 2002 and 2005 (because I know it wasn’t brand new when I read it but I’m pretty sure “The Book Thief” hadn’t been published yet) and at the time I loved the book. I thought it was amazing. I vaguely remember thinking the ending was a bit anticlimactic, that the resolution to the mystery of who was sending the cards felt unsatisfying, but I loved the rest of the book so much I felt like hardly mattered.

Well... gosh.... hmmmm. I have very complicated feelings now, because I listened to the audiobook, and though the narrator being Australian really gave it that perfect voice that I wasn’t able to achieve in my head when I first read it, it was a slog. I thought about turning it off several times because I just couldn’t.... stand.... it.

And it’s making me think again about The Literary Discourse posts about whether a story is good or bad based on the moral conduct of the main character. And while Ed is certainly not the most unlikeable character ever, the really problematic aspects of both him as a protagonist and a POV character leapt out at me in 2021 the way they almost completely went past me in the early 00s. I was younger, I was far more conservative, so even reading books with swearing and sex and violence in them felt kind of revolutionary to me at the time, but still. I am trying to remember what it was that I liked about it.

Part of the problem is the textbook case of The Friendzone that runs throughout the book re: Ed being in love with Audrey who considers him her best friend and refuses to have a sexual relationship with him, though she comes to him for emotional intimacy and the sort of borderline sexual intimacy of being barely clothed around him, getting drunk and sleeping with him (platonically) all while maintaining vigorous sexual relationships with other boyfriends, who mostly go unnamed because they don’t matter.

In the end, of course, Audrey finally relents and comes to him and they get together, which feels hollow to me because a far more satisfying outcome would be for Ed to learn to move on and find someone else, or at least to let Audrey go (which he ostensibly does, but then he is “rewarded” for letting her go by her finally being willing to start a sexual relationship with him). And I’m just going.... why can’t he let her go and that’s it? Why can’t it be that he lets go of the desire to have a relationship she is not willing to give, and it truly does free him? That is a wonderful feeling. I’ve been “in the friendzone” as a girl in love with guys who valued me as a friend but found me sexually unappealing, and never once did it turn out where they finally woke up one day to realize that the emotional connection we had was more important than the sexual chemistry they had with the girls they actually wanted to date. You know what feels like Growth? The point where you realize that you don’t actually Want to date that person anymore, and the point where you are free from the desire and the unrequited yearning.

I wish more stories with Friendzone plots had the guts to end the story that way. Even (or especially) in a case like this where she’s constantly telling him that he’s her best friend and the only person she loves and that’s why she’d can’t have a sexual relationship with him and coming to him at night for cuddling after she’s had E rated fic levels of sex with her “boyfriend” she doesn’t Love.... like jeezus I do feel bad for the guy in the Friendzone when the story is framed like that, you know? And this is probably how most incels think of themselves, as the long suffering Only True Gentleman who is Better than the Chad getting all the pussy (even while he’s overcome with lust whenever the Love Interest enters the scene and we have at least a few sentence describing her hips and legs and breasts).

Anyway, at this point this particular phenomenon has been debated, hashed out, disproven, what have you.... so to re-read a story where it’s so firmly romanticized and realize I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it the first time around it was an eye-opener. I was torn between disgust at the protagonist for his constant objectification of Audrey and disgust with him for allowing her to emotionally manipulate him for literal years while she fucked around and kept him her back pocket (thus the near perfect embodiment of the highly sexual yet unattainable friendzoner). I was never rooting for them to become a couple. I was always rooting for Ed to get over her or for her to leave him him alone.

The other thing that really got to me was how Ed was stalking literally everyone in the story, including a 15 year old girl whom he lusted after despite repeatedly saying he wasn’t a creep and he wasn’t doing it For Those Reasons.... but it was Okay because stalking people to help them was the point of the whole story.

(Quick plot beak down... after foiling a bank robbery, 19-year-old taxi driver (it was 2002 so he’s basically an Uber driver) Ed Kennedy starts getting playing cards with cryptic messages on them, in the form of addresses or clues to addresses, and when he goes and stalks the people who live there, he figures out some way they need help in their lives and helps them, thus growing in confidence as a person along the way.)

At the end he’s helped a lot of people and learned to be a better person, almost a la Bill Murray in Groundhog Day... and the only thing left is to find out who has been sending him the playing cards and orchestrating events all along. Without spoiling it, the answer is very unsatisfying and unclear. It’s almost a precursor to the narrator/character of Death in “The Book Thief” but far less defined and a bit more like “Stranger Than Fiction” in a boring way.

The other thing that kept driving my a little crazy was the fact that Ed was only 19. I felt like I was reading about a guy in his 30s. He just felt like such an Old and Jaded character, and granted some 19-year-olds have lived harder lives or whatever... but also he had his own apartment and full time job and a close knit circle of friends he met up with in person regularly... and yet it was hammered home again and again that he was a loser. A pathetic person who hadn’t accomplished anything in life and never would.

Granted, it was 2002 when this book was published. But a 19-year-old with their own apartment and job? In THIS economy? And THREE (3) IRL friends whom he gets together with on a regular basis??? Okay so he’s not having sex, big deal. This guy is a fucking success by any millennial barometer, though I suppose a 19-year-old in 2002 would be a Gen Xer?? Hmmmm no I turned 17 in 2002 and I’m a millennial so... whatever. Tangent.

Anyway, the whole book hinges on this idea that he’s a total loser and needs to learn to.... connect with people... and make a difference in the world.... and ok look I’m not saying he shouldn’t be aspiring to bigger things than being an Uber driver, but I have a 39 year old friend who is an Uber driver! And he’s a cool guy and a smart person and is valued by his friends! It’s Okay! To have! A service job! And also he’s going back to school and trying to get his life back on track and all, which is good, and I’m not saying Ed shouldn’t do the same thing or whatever. But I don’t know, this story just feels so much more like it would hit harder if the protagonist was in his mid 30s instead of 19. I just felt like telling everyone, the author included, to chill the fuck out and lay off Ed for not being the fucking poet laureate of Australia (is that a thing?) or surgeon general at 19 years old, a year after his alcoholic father died. I will say it again: JEEZUS.

Also also there’s a pretty disturbing rape plot where Ed must save a woman from her rapist husband, and I’m not gonna say that much about it beyond the fact that hopefully we, as a society, can progress past rape plots that revolve around an outside male observer. I mean, good on anyone who tries to help someone who is currently trapped in a domestic abuse situation, but the particular way that plot was handled in this story was just all kinds of gross and it gets even worse in retrospect at the end.

This post is not meant as literary criticism. I have an English degree and I know that this post would not hold up as a paper by any stretch of the imagination, it would get an F as a work of literary criticism, this is just me thinking about how I feel now versus how I felt nearly 20 years ago when I loved this book.

#word vomit rambling #personal thoughts

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thebachelordiaries · 4 years

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Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in.

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme.

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.”

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests.

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked?

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late.

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare.

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that.

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life.

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts.

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story.

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?

#The Bachelorette #abc #clare crawley #chris harrison #photo credit: ABC

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bethesky · 4 years

Text

Broken Bodies and Broken Minds

Ed Moustis

I wonder if other people can feel time like I do - like how I can feel how wet a single tear droplet is as it falls down my face second by second. In specific instances in life, these moments become proportionally more abundant to me. I cherish those moments that specificity and nonspecificity meet - where someone can experience everything and nothing all at once. It means that I can feel.

I felt a single tear slide down my left cheek. It wasn’t due to anything I felt. I cried on behalf of my mom. She stood ten feet in front of me and held back the sorrow of a thousand widows. I didn’t even know how to feel. I wish I did but the person I looked to for that guidance wasn’t here. I had been the odd one out my entire life. Being unique was supposed to be a good thing but I despised it. It was like I had always been a chameleon mimicking another’s reaction.

Based on her broken response, I knew what was happening. The first time that this happened, I fell into a black hole so dense that the only way to crawl out was by tooth and nail. There were battle wounds deeper than scars could show. The teeth and nails - they weren’t mine. They belonged to my friends and family that stuck by my side on the battlefield when they didn’t have to.

This time around, hearing those dreadful words was a tank shell that shot to the depths of my soul. The fallout was too large, my psyche shattered into another million broken pieces when I hadn't even finished scrounging up the pieces from the last time. This was the beginning of the end. The cancer was back and I would soon be deployed back into a war that I am not meant for.

After my doctor finished the discussion with my mother, his sorrowful eyes turned towards me. I would hate to be in his shoes - telling a sixteen-year-old boy that he would go back into hell. The demons he fought still cursed him and his last fight were futile - dying was for nothing. The first time his heart stopped was not the end of the war. The battle rages on and he will be sent to the front lines. Again.

Time was still. I began to experience a new level again. I noticed, my medical doctor has these exceptional specs in his eyes that made me feel warm. I had always been oblivious to their pungency. His words, as if bullets which left no visible battle wounds were undetectable to my brain. I knew I was going to go through this again - my brain was filtering the painful dialogue that accompanied the truth. Would it be another few years of chemo or a year's worth of surgeries? This drug of distress that I was on, it burned through me. His lips flopped around like a fish looking for water. My attempts to decode his foreign language were unsurprisingly useless. Even if I could understand what he was saying, I don’t think I would want to hear it. I had been using all the shrapnel from the tank shell to build an impenetrable wall that even my mother couldn’t tear down.

Once the doctor concluded his script, I noticed my mom approach me. She had always been so wonderful - a personal Joan of Arc by my side. The ferocity of this woman was simply unmatched by even an Amazonian warrior. Also, her vitality was that of a dragon. To mirror that further, she was as independent as a one as well. The troubling similarity between Joan of Arc, a dragon, and my mother was their extremely troubling tendency with being caught up in flames.

The first time I was diagnosed, my mother became a baron of light. She crafted her whole universe for me and I was the sun - that was until she fell into her own black hole. One son was crippled with cancer while the other was crippled from a car accident. Torn in two, like her life was one brilliantly, horribly crafted medieval trap, she crumbled upon the weight of two. The broken puzzle that was my family was limited to a post-war Joan of Arc, a collapsed sun, but more fittingly, a collection of black holes.

My mother grabbed my hand. I was drafted back into reality. As small of a woman as she was, I required her to use a pinch less of her strength for the sake of my hands. I made a prolonged look at her and her hand ironically tightened. A sense of relief flushed through me though. I wanted to control this twisted world and I couldn’t. I knew she thought that she was trying to comfort me. In my heart, I recognized that she needed me as much as I needed her. The equality of our relationship was comfortable enough.

In the auditory section, my brain still seemed to be malfunctioning. Once again, I sat in anticipation to see how my mother would react. As expected, upon the conclusion of the doctor’s final remarks, she approached him and wrapped her little arms around him. He gave a gentle, half-smile to me while she hugged him. I suppose, if I was going to be diagnosed with cancer again by anyone, I would want it to be him.

The white halls of the hospital were endless. I knew every twist and turn of this maze. I recognized the faces of too many nurses as I passed by. Children my age and younger flooded the floor. Those same children were fighting the fight I did - and will again. We were the children at war. The casualty rates were always too high and friends made here were in vain. The sudden loss of a fellow soldier would be too much of a burden to carry along with the rest. As we approached the exit of this underage morgue, a light stuck through the doors. It was always sunny when I left this bleak building. I wonder if I will see a light like this when I die someday. I hope I will. I didn’t see anything last time.

The chatter of the world came back to me and the noise pierced through my brain. It grew louder and louder until it quickly overwhelmed me. I tried to keep my reaction to a minimum to ensure that my mom didn’t attempt to cradle me. I had a subtle feeling, under my special circumstances, I wouldn’t mind that. I could never grow the strength to let that myself succumb to my feelings. Every day I want to collapse but then I’m giving in.

Like two brick walls, we walked over to the filled parking lot. It was only when in private, in the security of our personal chariot, that she began to speak to me. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could sense the movement of her eyes dart back and forth. She was searching for the right words to say - a needle in a haystack. I began to worry she might bring up what happened inside right away. I was not processing. It would make everything too real for me to handle. I knew my mother like the back of the hand and I was well aware of the conversation we were about to have; even if I desired otherwise. As anticipated she said, “Finn, how do you feel about the procedure next week?”

I slowly turned my head toward her. I usually heard vital words like “procedure” when I spaced out. How did I miss that? “The procedure?” My face looked extremely puzzled. As soon as I noticed it, she did as well. It was my grave error that I let that slip.

A despairing breath slipped out of my chemo-damaged lungs as she questioned, “Oh… you blanked out, didn’t you? I thought that you were going to work on that with Doctor Graham?” Hearing the doctor’s name zoned me back into reality. It was to no surprise she would bring up Graham. That genius of a man was an on-site engineer, my on-site medic, that would dig me out of the debris that I got lost in. He was capable of telling me of truths that seemed so far gone, yet were true, that even Schrödinger’s cat couldn’t find. My mom sought out treatment from him after my dad passed away in a car crash. It was that same car crash that made my brother into a temporary pile of jelly. She only could pick one topic to mourn for at once. She decided to choose my brother, Parker’s, injuries since I was on the final days of my tour. Due to the raging success that Doctor Graham had with my mother, my brother Parker and I see him regularly. I quickly snap out of my personal solar system and hear my mom speak to me, “Finn?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re working on it,” I said with bated breath, “What procedure?” I felt my body now firmly planted into the seat. My skin laid on my bones - a feeling only a cancer patient could appreciate. It wasn’t crawling. The thought of a procedure kept me slightly hopeful - something I rarely was. The tank shell that was shot into me earlier began to digress. The pieces slip back into me. A year of surgeries would be much better than three years of chemo. I have had plenty of procedures that called for me being surrounded by the brightest minds in the world - the one percentile of geniuses.

“They said that the procedure… it uh… it will… “ she stopped speaking. I couldn’t tell if she was choking up but the concept frightened me. My head was screwed forward onto the road. The hope I had mustered up lied in the balance of her next words. She had never had an issue breaking grim news to me and I had never experienced a situation so dark and brutal that my mother had stumbled over her words.

This was the woman that stumbled into her dying son’s room to tell him that while they were at chemo earlier this morning his dad and brother were t-boned by a truck that ran a red light. She spoke to me, with the stillness of a mountain to not frighten me, that my father, her husband since the age of nineteen, died on impact and my brother was in critical condition with lady luck favoring him not to make it. And, if he does, then he will never take another step in his life.

“Mom, what is it?” I asked quickly. I recognized my dimwitted curiosity. My naiveness took control while I should have been bracing. Whatever came next, I was sure I was strong enough for it. I was my mom’s sun. Nothing could be fiercer than that.

“The procedure is the only way to eliminate the remaining cancer threat in your body,” she slowly whispered.

“And? That’s wonderful! I don’t have to do any more chemo or worry about relapsing again!” I said. My words grew in strength after each breath. The debris cleared completely.

She immediately said, “The procedure has a ten percent survival rate.” The joy that came from my words was vanquished. The world stopped spinning. I flew a million miles per hour. My speed shredded my hope down to its finest atom. I had been alive for only sixteen years and six of those prime years were taken by cancer already. Now it was destined to steal my life. Even the suns have to die but at least they get to live a real life.

Time stopped when my Earth stood still. I had reached that same moment of singularity as earlier. Every lamppost, every sign, it spoke to me. I was attuned to the universe. Everything I had experienced on this Earth told me that I had already been unlikely my entire life and that, in this case now, there would be no difference in this procedure. Signing on to do this procedure is no different than making a deal with death. I wanted to be able to write my own destiny but it was road blocked by ten-percent. I would become nothing more than a statistic.

I was still in shock by the time we arrived at the house. Our car pulled up to the driveway and my mother ushered me by the arm into the house. My face was perfectly blank. She quickly sat me on the couch.

A life I would never have flashed in my mind. I would never get to walk arm-by-arm with my mother at my wedding. That though meant she would never get to see me get married. She would never see my children and become a grandmother. I could never give a remarkable, memorable best man’s speech to Charlie, the only girl that has ever shown interest in my brother, and Parker at their wedding.

Worst of all, I would never be able to kiss Robin. The only woman in my entire life that I am sure that I have ever loved. Leaving her will be the worst. Parker and I were supposed to marry those sisters. Robin is the fourth amigo in our broken bunch. We are all supposed to get drinks with Doctor Graham when we reach twenty-one to thank him for keeping us under his umbrella of helpful advice and correctly appointed sympathy.

As the memories of the future came and went, my mom was telling Parker. I was so convinced that he was going to rise from his wheelchair and hug me. His wheels were still on the living room carpet. He looked at my shaking hands on my knees where fingers were tapping like machine guns - bang bang bang. My consciousness was grasping at any reality that wasn’t this one. All feeling viscously vanished. I kept questioning “Do I even breathe anymore?”.

With all the courage that I could find, I stood up. Instantly, I stole the attention, any words that floated in the room settled in the air. My feet moved for me. I wondered if this is what robots felt. In a blink, I was in my messy, teenage room. I grabbed my alarm, set it for three hours from now, and I laid down. Doctor Graham always told me that a beneficial way to relieve stress was by sleeping. After testing so many methods, that was the one that spoke to me the most. My eyes shut. Just for an instant, I felt real peace. The image of darkness reminded me of death. I was not going to come back again. I was already undead and there is no resurrection for those who have come back once. Hopefully, it would be quick and painless. The thoughts panned to troubled and painful ones in a flash. I began questioning too much about the life that was stripped away from me. I didn’t want to go. How long until I’m not talked about? That’s when I really die.

An ethereal hand shot from the sky in my dream. I was pulled into my unwelcoming reality. The alarm blared. My hand floated over it to stop the blaring. I sat up on the bed and felt my body and the sweat that covered it. I had one week to live. For once, in many years, I felt real hope. I knew what I was going to do with my last week on this Earth. I would make a death list for my broken self to live out - a scrambled last-ditch effort to achieve the things in life I haven’t had a chance to do quite yet. I scrambled over to my notebook sitting on my desk. It flew open. I couldn’t tell if it was denial that struck me or something real. I could run away and perform all these tasks. A brave adventure awaited me.

As I wrote down my last will and testament, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. After trying so hard, I couldn’t keep fighting so reluctantly, I began to sob. I didn’t want to go! My brother heard me as soon as I hit the floor and rolled into the room. From seeing his fallen, fellow soldier down in the ditches, he used any strength he could muster to leap from his throne. He crawled through his trenches to hold me. I just cried; and he just cradled me.

For a whole hour, I was laying down there as my brother comforted me. He let me cry in his arms until all of the water in my system had been flushed out. He knew there was no point in telling me to stop. I had only one week to live. When the tears were finished, we both sat up against my wooden bed frame. We sat in silence for another hour. He was next to me and that was all that mattered - my battle buddy had my back. No words needed to be spoken because the actions were loud enough. After the time had slipped away, I helped him back into his cushioned chair. When I noticed that he was looking at my notebook, my face began to flush red. He couldn’t see that.

“What’s that?” Parker questioned immediately. He wheeled over to the notebook before I could walk over there. He was surprisingly fast in that chair.

“Nothing! Shit! Don’t look!” I pleaded. He skimmed the page with his finger. His chair was perfect reading height, unfortunately. I was expecting a long banter with him but when he was finished, he just looked at me in shock.

“Okay. But mom would let you do this,” he nonchalantly said. His words threw me off guard.

“I know. I was thinking of…”

He quickly interrupted me. I could hear the appalled tone in his voice, “Running away? Mom will find you.”

“I know. It sounds really stupid but I need this week. I need to live for once. No chemo. No cancer. Just me.”

“There is so much that could go wrong! You want to go to a high school party and go cliff diving and…”

“I’m doing it. I’m doing all of it. Me against the world,” I said with a smile on my face. I wanted to be a warrior like my mom - braving the world one step at a time. He wasn’t going to stop me.

“No,” he bluntly said.

“You literally can’t stop me,” I chuckled.

“Us against the world,” he sighed, “someone needs to keep you safe. If something happens to you, mom will kill me.”

I was surprised but seemingly not surprised at the same time. This wasn’t a solo journey. Someone would have to tell my story. A broken body and a broken mind running off to war together. This time I would be choosing and that felt freeing. I felt free.

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

a conspiracy theory - chapter 11

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary: Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 4206

read on ao3

Jean was sitting at his desk, feet up on it, throwing a foam baseball at the ceiling and catching it. It was a habit that drove Rebecca up a wall, but she was at a lunch with her parents, so it was driving Roy insane instead. The room felt empty if anything. Ed was gone as well, doing something with Alphonse, his younger brother, but should have been back minutes ago. Roy tapped his pen against the desk to a tune stuck in his head and bit his lip. The last 24 hours have been overwhelming. Now that he had answers he needed action.

“You’re trying to impress your girl,” Jean snickered from his seat, tossing the ball in the air again. “Save the Day Roy. We can call you that from now on to make you her hero.”

Roy didn’t respond, only tapped his pen faster against his desk. “I’m one answer away from a breakthrough. I can feel it.”

“So King Bradley has the sword,” Jean grabbed the ball, squeezing around it as he turned to Roy. “Now we have to get it out and deliver it back to Olivier. That’s easy right?”

Roy hummed as he thought.

“I can break into the office at night.”

He groaned loudly. “Really? After I told Edward to play it legal?”

His blonde co-worker laughed loudly. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Roy grunted.

“What did Riza say? King Bradley is bribing Raven?”

Roy nodded.

“Let Edward be the whistleblower that he feels he was destined to be. That can stop this ‘hitman’ business right?”

“I should,” Roy snorted. “But the attention would get to the Armstrongs,” he sighed. “Like Ed said, they stay out of the media's eye. I think they want to keep it that way.”

Jean nodded and went back to throwing the ball to the ceiling. “Have we even done a proper search through the system on this Kimblee guy?”

Roy nodded as he tossed his pen on his desk. “I ran him through the system. He’s been in trouble with the law a few times. Apparently he beat the shit out of a guy.”

“Nice,” Jean mumbled sarcastically.

Roy laughed in a cough. “He has a residence outside South City and one here in Central.” Roy leaned over on his computer and clicked a few times to bring up the report he had run. “He doesn’t have a good job history. It says he’s self employed. He was in the military for a few years. Our system wouldn’t access the military records and the process to get those records would take us weeks. But he hasn’t kept a job for more than two years and that was before he went to jail.”

“He’s a hitman,” Jean quickly concluded.

“I believe Riza… Or I believe her assumption.”

“But she said he’s on the books?”

Roy nodded. “And there’s no explanation to it.”

Jean nodded. “What? Are you afraid of him?”

Roy shook his head as he glanced at his shoulder holster hanging on the coat hanger by the door. He leaned back in his seat and rolled his sleeves up.

“Roy,” Jean sat up and turned to him. “You know that I’m behind you 100%, right?”

Roy nodded. “I’m not afraid of him. I just think that this has to be done carefully.”

“You should ask for more money,” Jean laughed.

“I’m tempted to, but she’s already sent me an email today asking me if I’ve found it.”

“Damn.”

The two looked up at the door as Ed walked in. “What,” he asked.

Roy grinned as an idea donned on him. “I was thinking… We need to figure out how deep Raven is in all this…”

Jean raised his eyebrow.

“I wonder if Raven has hired this hitman too.”

“Hitman?” Ed asked with a big grin as he walked through the door. “Everytime I come into this office it gets better and better!”

“Ed,” Roy reached back to pull his wallet from his pocket. “Get that software update.” He tossed his credit card to his desk. “I need you to hack into Raven and Bradley’s accounting systems and tell me if they’re paying someone.”

“I need more information than that. Do you have a banking account number?” It was like seeing a kid walk into a candy shop for the first time. Jean and Roy had never seen Ed move so fast as to buy the update of his hacking software.

Roy groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I can get Riza to give it to me,” he mumbled.

“If you can,” Ed said as he typed away. “That’d help. Until then, I can see what I can find.”

“If this is how you motivate, Ed, we should do this more often,” Jean laughed.

It made Roy’s stomach curl as he thought about it.

“So, who’s this hitman out to kill?” Ed tossed the card back to Roy.

“I think Senator Marcoh,” Roy answered slowly.

“No shit,” Ed’s eyes grew. “I told you they were corrupt.”

“If he’s the only one maintaining any opposition to Bradley’s further success, it makes total sense,” Roy leaned back in his chair.

Ed stopped typing and sat up straight. “Wait! They’re all part of the Gatekeepers!”

Jean and Roy looked at each other.

“If this guy needs the sword for a membership, what do you want to bet they’re going to have this guy kill him at the member’s party?”

Jean nodded quickly. “Yeah! The assassin can get him in a private space and no one will know who did it.”

“It’s perfect,” Ed exclaimed.

Roy looked at the two as if they were geniuses. “The people at the building could all deny it,” he said carefully. “They’d all have alibis because they were all together when it happened.” He pointed to Jean and then to Edward. “It’d be perfect.”

Jean nodded quickly. “That means we have to get the sword by the next meeting.”

“When I talked to Ling, he said it was this Saturday.”

“It’s Thursday.” Roy looked at his watch. “Thursday afternoon.”

“Time is against us,” Jean admitted, though it was already known.

Roy nodded to Ed. “You better get on that.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ed grinned as he turned all his attention to his computer.

Roy turned back to Jean. “I’m sure that the whole building is rigged with security sensors. Breaking into the building will not work.”

“Hey!” Ed’s head popped up. “You told me I had to do things legal? And you’re going to break into a building?”

“Shut up,” Roy grumped as he turned towards him. “Continue on your illegal hacking or I will take it away.”

Just like that, Ed went back to his computer.

“So, we need to get into Bradley’s office without being seen,” Jean crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. He grinned a toothy grin as he got an idea. Roy had seen this look before and it scared him on some level. “You have someone in the office as it is, Roy.”

“I can’t ask Riza to get it. It’s not only going to risk her job, but what if Bradley has her killed?”

“Seriously,” Ed’s head popped up. “How deep are we into this?”

Roy didn’t look at him. He just pointed at him and his computer.

“No,” Jean shook his head. “She can either distract him, or we can, and get the sword out.”

Roy snickered. “I have a wild idea.”

“I like wild ideas,” Jean rubbed his hands together.

* * *

Roy stood up and stretched. Looking up at the clock he saw that he had two hours to go home and shower before meeting Riza for dinner. He’d called and told her he had a plan and asked her to meet with him. It made him more excited to see her.

His body was sluggish after being stuck in his desk chair all afternoon. He’d been trying to rack his brain for more dots to connect but had come up blank. The case had gone on too long, and what had just been discovered and theorized was too much. It was a waiting game now until Ed found what he was looking for in the accounts. The kid had been practically bouncing with glee, so when Roy bid them farewell for the day, he wasn’t surprised to hear Ed was going to remain at the office and do some extra work with the accounts. It wasn’t very often that Ed stayed longer than his shift, but the excitement was one of a kind.

Despite his fatigue, Roy was looking forward to dinner. Strangely enough, he was able to convince her to go to dinner with him. Due to the conspiracy and security, Roy had suggested his house as a joke, but she was serious when she said yes. It was a safe place to review and converse on the plan tomorrow. Even though he was primarily doing it to share the plan with her, it was still dinner with Riza. After he’d interviewed her, he was desperate to talk to her some more about it. During her interview she’d been nervous about it all, and most of all, he just wanted to make sure they were alright.

Even after they’d discussed Bradley and his hitman, it wasn’t lost on Roy how he’d managed to find himself lost in her eyes. As his mind threatened to run away with him, desperately trying to reach a conclusion, he just had to look upon her face to calm himself down. After all, it was still spending time with her, and he wanted to savour every minute. What had started out as a simple coffee shop flirtation had ended up in her being dragged into his work. And yet, his emotions threatened to break him from the job. If she was now involved, he’d separate the two of them, submerging himself in only Riza, to be mentally with her 100%. Now it was complicated, and Roy hated it.

As he slid into the driver’s side of the car, Roy grimaced. Work seemed to always be interrupting their dates. He’d hijacked their last one and managed to convince her to come to the office, where she’d been overwhelmed by his insistence. He’d seen it in her eyes. Even if she’d been eager to help, it still didn’t sit well with him. He hadn’t been very considerate. As his shoulders drooped, Roy hoped that didn’t work against his favour in the long run. He vowed to himself that on the third date, a real third date, if she wasn’t sick of him by then, there would be nothing work related mentioned at all.

Stepping inside his apartment Roy hooked his keys on the wall by the door. His jacket followed soon afterwards then he stepped inside his living area.

He sighed loudly through his mouth. He had a lot of tidying to do. There were papers everywhere. Some were from finished cases that were all piled together, but he just kept putting off actually filing them somewhere. They shouldn’t even be in his apartment, they should be filed at the office, but he hadn’t gotten round to sorting through them yet. Picking up the pile from his coffee table, Roy carried them through to his home office. On his way back through he grabbed the dirty socks he’d kicked off the night before and tossed them in his washing basket. He couldn’t have Riza round for dinner and have his dirty clothes lying out.

It didn’t take him long to find some kind of order inside his home, and Roy quickly jumped into the shower with half an hour to spare. They were just ordering food in tonight since it was such short notice. He would have loved to cook for Riza, have her criticize it with her cooking knowledge, but he barely had any food in his fridge anyway, and had no time to prepare and make anything. She’d said she didn’t mind, but as the water poured over Roy’s head, he pouted. He should’ve been more prepared.

“Should spend less time at the office,” he muttered to himself, turning the water off with force. “Then you’d actually have food in the house.”

He’d chosen to go with smart attire for the night. He didn’t need it to be fancy, and didn’t expect Riza to dress up, but still, Roy wanted to make an effort for her. He donned black slacks and a white shirt, which he buttoned up to his neck. He chose not to go for a tie, as he didn’t want the end of it to be accidentally dipped into his food. Dabbing aftershave on his neck, he observed himself critically in the mirror.

His hair was getting too long. It needed a cut. He puffed air out of his mouth, shifting his fringe out the way of his eyes. His styling gel caught his eye, and Roy stared at it for a second. He could slick his hair back… He grinned to himself.

Riza knocked on his door at that moment, and in his excitement, he forgot about his hair gel. As he walked to greet her he forced himself not to lunge for the handle. His palms were sweaty and he rubbed them against his pants before reaching for the door. His throat felt dry and he didn’t know what to say… As if he’d never talked to a girl before. No other girl had done this to him. No other girl had actually taken his breath, taken his word, and left him to gawk like a fourteen-year-old boy. He cleared his throat, standing up straight, and turned the handle.

There she stood in the doorway, looking down the hall so only her side profile was on show to him. Roy noted the way her long hair tumbled both down her back and over her shoulder. Her fringe partially obscured her whisky eyes from his view, but that quickly changed as she turned to face him. A soft smile graced her lips and her expression softened. He didn’t miss the way she gave him a quick once over, and lingered on his face for a moment longer as her mouth parted only slightly.

As he set his eyes upon her mouth and noticed her reaction, the memory of their ‘almost kiss’ crept upon him suddenly…

Surprisingly, she’d dressed up more than he’d expected. It made him feel less self-conscious knowing that she’d thought the same way he did. She was wearing a flowing beige skirt that brushed her ankles and shifted as her hips moved. Her white blouse looked light, with the sleeves puffing out slightly, before cinching at the wrists. The neckline was open, exposing the skin of her throat, with her elegant neck on show.

Roy swallowed thickly and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Hello, Roy.”

“Riza,” he smiled brightly at her. He tightened his grip on the door handle. “Hi.”

* * *

Roy leaned on his dining table in his home while Riza giggled. “I love this plan. It’s kind of… wild.” The excitement was clear in her eyes. “Do you go on crazy adventures like this often?”

“Only once a month,” Roy quipped.

She snorted and shook her head fondly.

“I’m not even sure it’s going to work. If it doesn’t, we are all in for a world of hurt.” His tone took on a more serious note, but he had a sheepish grin on his face.

She leaned close to him, her hand on his. Roy stopped breathing as he felt the softness in her touch. “I hope that you’ll be able to protect yourself. Solf has been at the office lately. He’s been in and out of all the offices.”

Roy coughed quietly, trying to focus his mind on the topic and less on the aching feeling to grab her face and pull her into a passionate kiss. “I’ll be fine,” he assured.

“Good…” She opened her mouth to add something else, but decided against it. “Good. You better be,” she teased.

“Oh, yeah?” Roy smirked. “Is that a threat?”

“It can if you want it to be,” she shrugged carelessly with a coy smile, but Roy noted the look in her eyes. There was real concern there for him.

“I promise, I’ll do my best. Just for you.”

“Just for me?” she asked. He noticed an increased pressure on the back of his hand from her fingertips. Whether it was her subconscious or not, Roy didn’t really care. He couldn’t spare brain power for much else, all he could focus on was how soft her hands were. “That’s quite a claim.” Her voice had dropped lower, to a murmur, along with her gaze.

Roy followed her eyes, noticing that she was looking at the back of her hand, resting atop his. “Is it a problem if I make that claim?” His question was sincere.

Slowly, Roy flipped his hand over, moving it to grasp her fingers instead. His smile was easy, but he felt like his hands would start shaking at any moment. He held his breath as he lifted her hand to her lips, kissing the back of it.

Riza just stared at him as he moved as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.

Her cheeks were pink and she glanced away for a second, withdrawing her hand from his. She looked slightly embarrassed and Roy had to hold back a chuckle that he could get that kind of response from her.

“I don’t know…” She trailed off as she continued to look away from him with a blush. But then that worried look was back on her face, the same one he’d seen in his office.

“Are you worried about your part in all of this?” He tilted his head with concern.

“I’m worried about Kimblee. Not just for you, but…” She took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

“You said he’s been in and out of the offices. Has he approached you at all?”

She shook her head. Her spine straightened and she rolled her shoulders back. “No. He has no real reason to until…”

“Until something happens.”

Riza nodded, glancing over at him. “I… I do trust you, Roy, with this. That’s why I came to you. You seem like a good person and after meeting Rebecca the other day, I felt more confident in sharing the information with you all.”

“I’m glad. And I mean it about calling us anytime. We’re professionals, and we’ll offer you protection if you need it.”

“That’s good to hear.” A tiny smile crossed her face and she looked relieved. “I don’t think it will come to that, but… This is way bigger than I thought it would be.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “If I’d known what was really going on I would never have worked for Bradley in the first place. I mean,” she chuckled in disbelief, “I just ignored the fact that a hitman is on Bradley’s books, and hid the evidence.” She sat back in her seat, her posture screaming defeat. “And I still have to dismiss it.”

“But it’s to protect yourself,” Roy urged. “Don’t bring it up and don’t question it. Just do as Bradley says and don’t draw attention to yourself. We’ll sort out the rest,” he reminded her. “Just keep yourself safe. That’s the most important thing.” Roy swallowed. “That’s very important to me.”

Her eyes locked with his and Riza sat forward in her chair. At the same time, Roy straightened. She kept leaning forward, but at a slower pace, as Roy lifted his free hand, bringing his palm to cup her cheek. She inhaled sharply. His fingers slid into the hair behind her ear, and he marvelled at how silky smooth it felt. Lifting her hand, Riza hung on tightly to the forearm by her face. Licking her lips in anticipation, her eyes dropped to Roy’s own.

They were less than an inch away before they were jolted apart. Roy let out a frustrated sigh as his phone buzzed, the ringtone sounding loudly in his apartment. Riza pulled away with a sympathetic look, but she did squeeze his wrist. That was a comfort at least.

Removing his hand from her neck, he cursed every piece of technology on the planet as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Edward,” Roy greeted in a tone that told the teenager that this better be good.

“You are not going to believe what I’ve found tonight,” he cackled happily to himself.

“What have you got?” His tone was dejected. He glanced at Riza then placed the phone down on the table between them, putting Ed on speaker.

“Bradley is a dodgy dude!” he sang cheerily. The kid sounded like he was on cloud nine. “And is definitely working with Raven. Our dear Senator’s personal accounts show large sums of money being transferred from a certain Mr. Bradley. He’s definitely bribing him.”

“Edward’s right, Roy,” he heard Rebecca call out. She was still at the office? “We’ve been going through it all and there’s definitely been some shady deals going down.”

“There’s so much money that’s been moved over the last few months,” Jean’s voice sounded, “and I’m talking six figure sums, not just chump change. This is serious, and I think it’s what we’ve been looking for.”

��You’re all still there?” Roy asked.

“There’s been a lot to go through, and it's been exciting!” Rebecca called.

Roy glanced over at Riza. “See anything about an assassin?”

“Can’t see anything like that. There’s so many big figures though, that it could be any one of them. Did you know the Police Chief is being paid off too? A lot of effort to go through, especially for a reputable business like Bradley’s and such a well loved public figure like Raven.”

Roy snorted at Ed’s sarcasm.

“The accounts are easy to track though, if they’re public. It will take some time but I’ll be able to manage it. There will be a pattern somewhere.” Edward snickered. “I doubt they’ll miss the money if we want to have some fun. I could very easily move some money around so we could replace that damn 3D printer.”

“You will do no such thing,” Roy scolded through the phone, leaning forwards, as if it would increase the force of his words. Riza laughed quietly beside him. “It’s bad enough you're even looking at those accounts.”

He was quickly dismissed. “Stop worrying. You’ll end with another grey hair in that shaggy mane of yours.”

Roy grit his teeth tightly together. “Goodbye, Edward. Go home and get some sleep. We all know how cranky children get when they don’t get enough sleep.” He hit the end call button as soon as he heard Edward’s outrage beginning.

“That was childish,” Riza giggled.

“Serves him right for the grey hair comment,” Roy scowled at his phone.

“I can’t see any,” she stated softly. Roy turned his head to face her sharply, noting how she was looking at his hair. Roy only then realised he’d forgotten to actually slick his hair back. “I think you’re good,” she smiled. “Plus, that hairstyle is a nice look on you.”

“Were you pleasantly surprised when you first met me?”

“In more ways than just one,” she replied, winking at him. She stood from her chair and Roy felt his shoulder slump slightly, knowing what was coming. “I should get going,” Riza murmured.

“Okay,” Roy nodded, not letting his disappointment show. “Of course. I can walk you home, if you like?”

Riza shook her head. “You’re sweet, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got my car.”

“Text me when you get home? Just so I know you got back safe.”

“I will.” She smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you for tonight, Roy. Although it was talking shop… I still had a lot of fun.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows raised in amusement at his surprised tone. “I mean, you did?” He couldn't quite hide how earnest he sounded.

“It’s very interesting watching you work.” Riza cocked her head to the side, regarding him. “You can be very intense.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing,” he laughed nervously.

“Not at all,” she reassured him. “Just shows you’re passionate.”

“Good. And I promise that on the next date there will be no talking shop. Once is okay, but every time we’ve met up I feel like I always manage to steer the conversation that way.”

“You’re in love with your job, Roy, I get it,” she smirked with a mischievous smile. “I can take coming in second place. Just for you, though,” she winked.

“I’m not… I mean, I wouldn’t -”

“Goodnight, Roy.” A placating hand was pressed to his bicep in farewell, cutting off his stammered speech. “And thank you for everything. I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He swallowed, opening his mouth to reply, but was rendered mute and frozen in place as Riza leaned up to peck his cheek. She just smiled at him as she walked away, leaving him staring, dumbfounded, after her.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #snowdog49 #a conspiracy theory #emma writes #collab fic

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sarah-wants-to-write · 4 years

Text

Searching My Dreams for a Lifetime; Chapter Four (Criminal Minds)

“It takes courage to live, yes, but it takes true bravery to stand your ground in a world aligned against you.” -Jake Bonsignore

◊ Shira didn’t know which forest she was in, but she knew it wasn’t far from the city. They hadn’t driven that long. Whoever it was, they had taken care not to hit her head or break her glasses, which meant they knew about her EDS and Brittle Cornea Syndrome. Bound with her arms above her head, forced to kneel, she looked for any sign of where she was.

“Alison, listen to me,” she called out to the girl, bound to another tree nearby “it’ll be okay. You’re going to be fine.”

“How can you promise her that?” the Unsub asked, voice deep and raspy “and here I thought you were a genius.”

“I can promise her that because I’m here,” Shira countered, focused on the area of his face “and it’s been me you’re after, this whole time.”

“And yet it took you this long to figure it out?” he replied, the laugh in his voice grating at her. Yet she knew not to antagonize.

“What can I say?” she shrugged “You make for some fierce competition.”

As she spoke, she wracked her brain for every fan name she could think of, trying to remember his name. Minnesota. OBK. Who was…

Her blood ran cold, as she finally remembered.

“You did all this for me, Kolbeck?” she asked as he walked towards Alison, causing him to stop in his tracks “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered.”

“And here I thought you’d forgotten about me,” He turned, pulling his hood back so Shira could see him “you never responded to my letters.”

“A mistake on my part,” Shira replied, playing along to try and distract him “or maybe I was scared. You really were giving me a run for my money, Oscar.”

“Seems you’ve learned,” Kolbeck declared, walking over to Shira “just like me.”

The beat of silence, with him bringing the tip of his blade under her chin, had Shira resisting the urge to shiver.

“Pay attention, Doctor,” he told her “our fun is just beginning.”

When the team got to Kolbeck’s address, the house was dark and empty.

“Should have known he wouldn’t be here,” Rossi muttered, once they confirmed the house was clear “now that he’s got her, he’s not gonna wait.”

“Reid, Morgan, tear his office apart,” Hotch ordered, his desperation to stay calm almost visible “see what you can find to tell us about where he’d have taken Alison and Shira.”

“Shira’s abduction was about opportunity,” Emily declared as the others left “it was the first time she was anywhere close to vulnerable since we got here.”

“Takes guts to stage an abduction in front of a police station,” Rossi agreed “or desperation. After all, he still has Alison.”

“He wants to make her watch,” Emily replied “after all, he’s a fan of hers. Maybe he’s looking for her approval?”

“Or to show he’s better than her,” Hotch spoke up “prove to her that she isn’t the expert and genius that everyone makes her out to be.”

“Makes sense, if he’s a narcissistic misogynist,” Rossi nodded, watching Hotch closely “the idea of any woman being better than him is too much. Bet if we look at his history with the other victims, they’ll all have had interactions with him where he perceived them as acting superior.”

As silence fell on the three, Emily left to help the others, leaving Hotch and Rossi alone.

“We’ll find her, kid,” Rossi promised, seeing the younger man’s shoulders tense up “she’s strong, and smart. She’ll be able to keep him distracted. She knows we’re coming.”

“I just hope we don’t get there too late,” Hotch replied “for Alison’s sake, and…”

Their names were called, and both men rushed to the office, were the others were standing over a table.

“We found a map,” came Reid’s voice, moving so that Hotch could see it “it’s got the different crime scenes plotted out, but the organization is odd.”

Looking at the map, Hotch could see the pattern right away.

“Mannaz,” he declared “the rune for Man. There’s seven points. This one’s missing.”

He pointed to the spot in the middle, between the two lines of points.

“He’s focused on the mythology, he has to keep to the plan,” Rossi agreed “that’s where he’ll be.”

“Don’t close your eyes, Alison,” Shira called over, watching as the girl resisted the urge to pass out “stay with me! It’ll be okay!”

Shira tried to remember every detail, watching what Kolbeck was doing. He was taking blood from Alison to draw the sigil and runes.

“You know, there’s something I don’t get Oscar,” she continued, earning his attention from bandaging the other woman up “blood is a normal part of sacrifice, but why carve the symbol into each tree? Isn’t the blood enough? Or do you need to leave your scar where people can see?”

“See, more proof you’re not the genius people make you out to be,” Kolbeck taunted, pointing the knife at Shira “hypocritical of you to call someone out for making their mark.”

“At least I didn’t hurt anyone,” Shira growled, struggling against her restraints as he stalked closer “you could have done so much more, Oscar!”

“Didn’t hurt anyone?!” Kolbeck shouted “you coming on the scene destroyed any chance at a successful career! You stole that from me!”

“How can I steal something you never had?” Shira taunted, trying desperately to keep his attention on her.

Kolbeck’s slap to her face sent Shira to the ground, pulling her shoulder out of its socket and twisting her ankle.

“I was set to be a leader, the best!” he cried out, hands shaking in anger “but you, a young girl with no reputation, took the entire field by storm and stole that from me!”

“Then focus on me,” Shira hissed “she has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, I have something better planned for you,” Kolbeck smirked, pulling her up by her hair “why do you think the chains and hooks are here?”

Shira immediately knew what he was referring to.

“You want revenge,” she growled “you’ll use Hrafnkel’s fate, from the Freysgoða.”

“You’ll be hung from the ankles like the piece of meat you are.” Kolbeck grinned.

“I don’t think so, Oscar!”

The sudden sound of Hotch’s voice had Kolbeck pulling Shira up as a human shield, his knife to her throat. Trying not to cry out, Shira watched as the team emerged from the forest with police backup. Hotch and Rossi were the closest, guns trained on Kolbeck.

“Alison’s lost blood, but he bandaged her up.” Shira called to them, wincing at the pull to her dislocated shoulder and weight on her ankle.

“Let her go, Oscar,” Rossi spoke up “you wanted to make a name for yourself, you don’t want to die before you can see it happen.”

“I’ll be remembered forever!” Kolbeck replied, growling “the entire country will know my name!”

“Not for long,” Hotch countered “you die, your name will be in the news for a while, but then they’ll move on.

“Let her go, Oscar.” Hotch continued, and even in the dark, Shira could see his eyes shining in anger and fear. Shira could feel the knife pulling away, but she knew that he wouldn’t go quietly. She had to act, they needed him alive to exact justice.

Stomped on his foot, forcing his legs apart.

Backwards kick to the groin to incapacitate.

Elbow to the nose when he let her go.

A punch to the face to disorient, and for her own satisfaction.

Rossi and Hotch ran up behind her, Rossi handcuffing Kolbeck as Hotch caught Shira, removing her restraints.

“He was going to make me watch Alison die,” she declared, shock starting to set in “then he was going to turn on me. Make me suffer like Hrafnkel in the Freysgoða. Pierce my ankles and hang me like a piece of meat…”

“You’re safe,” Hotch promised “you’re safe, Shira. We got him. He won't be able to hurt you.”

She let out a strangled sob, nearly collapsing from the pain of her ankle and shoulder. Yet she did her best to keep from breaking down. She couldn't let him see what he did to her. She wouldn't let Kolbeck have the satisfaction.

Hotch could tell she was having trouble standing, holding onto him. He kept Shira upright, until Kolbeck was gone. Once Rossi had the man gone, Hotch led Shira to a tree root to sit down.

“Where are you injured?” he asked, kneeling in front of her, seeing the way her left shoulder looked out of place.

“Got roughed up a good bit,” Shira replied, quiet “when I was tied up, my hands were above me. He slapped me hard enough to send me to the ground, so the force pulled my arm from my shoulder. Twisted my ankle on the way down.”

“I can see the bruises,” Hotch muttered, looking at the blooming red marks on her face and wrists “anything else?”

“Just that,” she declared, shaking her head “he only got as far as taking blood from Alison, to mark the trees.”

“We’ll get your statement after you’ve been taken care of,” he insisted, looking Shira in the eye “you’re in no condition to be doing anything else.”

“I…I don’t think I can walk,” she muttered, cradling her left arm to her chest “wouldn’t be able to lean on you…”

Morgan had come over while they were talking, after paramedics had taken care of Alison, standing far enough back so he could watch. Seeing the gentle way Hotch handled Shira, Morgan couldn’t help wondering at how everything had played out.

“Alison said that she’d probably be dead, if it weren’t for you,” he spoke up, earning Hotch and Shira’s attention “said you distracted him enough that he left her alone. That was good work, Doctor.”

“Thank you,” Shira replied, smiling tiredly “I just knew I couldn’t let him hurt her more…”

“Save your energy,” Morgan told her, seeing how tired she was “Hotch, we can take it from here, if you want to go to the hospital with her.”

“Keep in contact.” Hotch ordered, waiting for Morgan to nod before turning to Shira.

“Put your good arm around me,” he told her gently “I’m taking you to the ambulance.”

When Shira leaned in, putting her arm around his neck, Hotch an arm around her waist and one under her knees, gently lifting her and holding her close. Morgan watched as Hotch took her away, meeting with the second group of paramedics at the tree line.

“White knight rescuing his lady,” came Emily’s voice from right behind him, causing Morgan to jump a little “she’s one hell of a woman.”

“Perfect fit for him,” Morgan agreed, rolling his eyes at her laughter “wonder where they’ll take it from here.”

To say that Hotch was beside himself would be an understatement. On the ride to the hospital, Shira had fallen unconscious. He sat unmoving in the waiting room, left there by the doctors as they checked her over.

“Agent Hotchner?” he looked up at the sound of the doctor calling his name.

“How is she?” he asked, standing and walking to meet the other man.

“She passed out from the pain and adrenaline crash,” the doctor explained, smiling to reassure Hotch “we were able to get her shoulder back in place, and her ankle is being taken care of. We’ve sedated her so she can sleep the rest of the night, so she can get her rest despite her pain. Thanks to you telling us of her EDS, we were able to make her comfortable enough in the bed, so hopefully she won’t deal with any more dislocations or subluxations.”

“Has she been taken to a room?” Hotch asked, shoulders sagging in relief.

“She will be soon, but visiting hours will be over soon,” the doctor replied “I’ll get her room number for you, and you’ll be able to see her in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Hotch nodded, reaching and shaking the doctor’s hand. Once he was gone, Hotch nearly collapsed into a nearby chair, elbows on his knees as his head hung low.

Why was all of this affecting him so much? He knew her, to be sure, but not so well that he’d be so torn up about her.

There was only one conclusion, but he couldn’t think about it. Not after what had happened to Hayley. The thought of Shira dying because of his association with her was almost too much for him.

He had to be there when she woke up. Hotch needed to know for sure.

Was she his soul mate?

◊

“You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.” – Sam Keen

∞

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #soul mark au #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch fanfiction #searching my dreams for a lifetime

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queseraone · 5 years

Text

Secret

From a Tumblr prompt: "Jay is a doctor and Erin is a nurse. They are married but nobody knows they are in a relationship and their coworkers find out." I put my own spin on this idea, hopefully you like it!

Thanks to my lovely ladies @suttonbradyy and @halsteadpd for putting up my millions of questions and all of their input.

Obviously I know nothing about medicine, sooooooo…

(Also thanks to Grey’s Anatomy for lots of inspiration - you might recognize a few things I borrowed from that show! And some Med characters too!)

Jay sighed, flopping back on the mattress and staring up at the ceiling. “I just don’t understand why you don’t want to tell people?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell people. I just… it’s different for me.” Noting the look of confusion on his face, Erin continued. “Okay look, if people find out that you’re sleeping with a nurse, they’ll high five you or think you’re a stud or some other sexist bullshit. But if people find out that I’m sleeping with a doctor? I can already hear the whispers—Lindsay is screwing a doctor to get ahead. That’s why Lindsay got that promotion. Lindsay is cheating the system. I just want people to see me for me, to respect what I bring to the table.”

“I can appreciate that,” Jay stood up, reaching for her and taking her hands in his own. “And I know how important your job is to you. It’s just going to be really, really hard for me to see you in the cafeteria or pass you in the halls and not be able to touch you…” Jay’s fingertips danced along her skin, trailing up her arms before settling on her face, drawing her ever closer. “…or kiss you senseless…”

Erin smiled against his lips, savouring the moment before reluctantly pulling back. “I know. I feel the same way, but—”

“It’s okay babe, I get it.” He pressed his lips against hers one more time before taking a step back and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as she got ready for work. His girl in scrubs might just be his favourite sight. She looked strong and powerful and so damn sexy. He would never get tired of that sight, thanking his lucky stars that their paths had crossed in the first place.

It was a total fluke that they even met. He was fresh from Afghanistan, completing his residency in trauma surgery at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital, and she was on loan there from Gaffney Chicago Med, helping to cover when most of their nursing staff was sidelined by a particularly brutal bout of food poisoning. Jay still liked to joke that a bad pot of chili was the best thing to ever happen to him, because it brought her into his life.

They were assigned to the same case—a woman was brought in with life-threatening injuries after being impaled by a falling icicle—and later found themselves seated side-by-side at a nearby bar after shift. After unpacking the intensity of the day, their conversations shifted to more personal topics as they laughed and drank together. It was no surprise that the night ended back at her place, and they had more or less been waking up together ever since.

There had always been an element of competition between them, playfully arguing about whose hospital was better. Sure, Lakeshore got high-profile cases and tons of publicity, but Gaffney had a state-of-the-art emergency department that rivaled some of the best hospitals in the country. And now that Jay was starting his fellowship at her hospital, Erin was excited for him to admit that she’d been right all along.

Jay was just looking forward to seeing more of his girlfriend. Working at different hospitals—often on opposite shifts—sometimes meant going days without seeing each other. So even though he agreed to keep their relationship a secret at work, he was still thrilled to be closer to her.

“You know,” he began, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “This whole sneaking around thing could be kind of fun.”

Erin laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, crossing the room to playfully swat his arm. “I’ll see ya.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

Collapsing into an empty seat at the nurses’ station, Erin was thankful to finally have a few minutes to update her patient files and hopefully wolf down a granola bar. She noticed that a couple of the other nurses were deep in conversation, throwing furtive glances across the ED. “What are you guys whispering about?”

“Have you seen the new trauma surgeon?” Doris asked, her voice hushed as she leaned closer to Erin.

Knowing full well who they were talking about, Erin pretended to be engrossed in a chart, casually shrugging her shoulders in response.

“Oh my god Erin, look at him! He’s so hot!” Monique gushed.

Erin stole a quick look across the ED, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to hide her reaction to the sight of Jay. ‘Hot’ did not do her man justice. She watched the fabric of his scrubs straining against his biceps as he worked on a patient, and if she listened close enough, she could just make out the sound of his voice as he gave orders to an intern.

Trying to remain calm—her plan to hide their relationship wouldn’t exactly be successful if she ran across the ED and jumped his bones in the middle of shift—she just shrugged again. After taking a long swig from her water bottle, she continued, her tone much more relaxed than she felt. “Yeah, I guess he’s kind of cute.”

“Kind of cute?” A wide-eyed April chimed in incredulously. “Erin, you need to get your eyes checked or something. That man is fine as hell!”

Fighting the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes—Jay’s ego was already big enough, she could only imagine how that kind of comment would go straight to his head—Erin continued, “Whatever, I have a boyfriend. So it doesn’t really matter if I think the new guy is cute.” She stood up abruptly, more than ready for the conversation to be over. “Anyway, don’t you guys have work to do?”

“I have been wanting to do that allllllll day,” Jay murmured against Erin’s lips after pulling her into an empty exam room.

Erin sighed blissfully, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips moved lower, kissing a trail down the column of her neck. Before she even had time to fully appreciate the feeling of her boyfriend’s muscular body pinning her against the wall or his strong hands roaming her body, they were interrupted by an obnoxious beeping.

“Son of a bitch,” Jay cursed under his breath as they both fumbled around for their pagers.

She groaned, knowing their moment was over before it even started. “You or me?”

“Me,” he grumbled, pausing as he read the message. “Incoming trauma.”

Erin wrapped her arms even tighter around his torso, burying her face in his chest and inhaling his familiar scent. “Noooooo.”

“Gotta save lives babe,” he grinned, leaning in for one last kiss. “Love you.”

“I think I’m going to go for it,” Monique proclaimed out of the blue a few days later.

They were gathered around the nurses’ station, taking advantage of a rare moment of quiet to load up on coffee. After all, five quiet minutes usually meant five hours of crazy was on the way.

April’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Ooooh, really?”

“Go for what?” Erin’s brows quirked up in confusion. Clearly she was out of the loop on something. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Monique is going to ask Dr. Halstead out.” And then, somehow mistaking the look of sheer horror on Erin’s face for misunderstanding, April continued, “Dr. Halstead is the new trauma surgeon.”

“The hot one!” Monique added with a wide grin. Grabbing a compact from the pocket of her scrubs, the young blonde nurse quickly surveyed her appearance in the mirror. Apparently satisfied with her reflection, she immediately popped it back into her pocket and faced her colleagues again. “Wish me luck!”

And then it was like a car accident—try as she might, Erin just couldn’t look away. Her eyes were trained on Monique, watching as the younger woman crossed the ED to where Jay was standing, reading through a patient file and jotting down some notes.

He looked up when Monique stopped in front of him, offering her a small smile. “Hey, did you need me for a consult?”

“Um, actually,” Monique began, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears. “I was sort of wondering if maybe you might want to… go out with me some time?”

Jay was completely silent, his mouth hanging slightly open as he tried to find a way to respond.

Erin swore she could feel his eyes on her, practically burning through her skin from across the ED. It took every ounce of self-control she had to stop herself from making eye contact with him. She focused on keeping her head down, feigning interest in whatever was on the computer screen in front of her.

She couldn’t react. She couldn’t say a word. Not without giving everything away.

It had been over a week, and despite a couple of close calls—like the time Erin instinctively reached out for Jay’s hand after a particularly emotional case, only remembering at the last second and awkwardly covering by knocking over a stack of files, pissing off the charge nurse in the process—they had been doing a pretty good job of keeping things under wraps.

But in that moment, standing there watching as her colleague hit on her boyfriend? All Erin could do was wonder what the hell she was thinking wanting to hide their relationship.

Still refusing to look up, she could hear Jay clear his throat loudly, and in her peripheral vision she watched as his hand moved up to rub along the back of his neck—a nervous tic of his. Even from a distance she could faintly hear him hemming and hawing, tripping on words as he tried to apologize and find a way to let Monique down easy.

After another minute staring at the computer screen, Erin saw Monique dejectedly plunk herself back down in an empty chair.

“He turned me down,” she explained sadly. “Apparently he has a girlfriend.”

Word about Jay’s relationship status spread quickly around the hospital—not that it mattered. It seemed like the entire nursing staff was infatuated with him, regardless of the fact that he was off the market.

And it was driving Erin absolutely crazy.

She knew it would be a challenge to work so closely with him while keeping their relationship a secret. But she never could have anticipated that it would this hard.

When she wasn’t being driven mad with lust—seriously, could he stop looking so damn sexy all the time?—she just wanted to scream for her colleagues to back the fuck off and stop ogling her boyfriend.

It was getting out of hand. She had never been the jealous type before, but there was just something about having to stand there and listen to everyone talk about how attractive Jay was (as if she didn’t know that already) that was making her lose her mind. One of these days she honestly thought she might smack someone.

She came awfully close to actually smacking someone a few nights later. Working overnight always brought out an interesting set of characters, and that night was no exception. After treating a sweet little boy who had fallen out of his new bunk bed, Erin headed into the next exam room, cringing inwardly at the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarettes filling her nostrils.

The middle-aged man waiting there was beyond drunk—it smelled like he’d bathed in booze—and he was practically falling off of the hospital bed. He glanced up at the sound of the curtain opening, looking her up and down.

Figures she’d get the creepy drunk again.

She’d only been in this man’s proximity for a few seconds, and Erin already felt like she needed to shower. Doing her best to hold her breath—his stench brought back memories from her childhood that she had no interest in thinking about—she approached him, plastering a fake smile on her face as she tried to ignore him leering at her.

“Hi there Mr.,” she paused, scanning the intake form for his name, “…Lowery. Is says here that you were found passed out on a park bench? Little too much to drink tonight sir?”

He managed to tear his eyes away from her body, looking up at her with a sleazy grin. “I’m fiiiiiiine,” he slurred. “Better now that you’re here sweetheart.”

Erin bit her tongue, fighting the urge to give him an earful. “Mr. Lowery, I see there’s a note here that you were bleeding when you came in, that you might have hit your head? I’m going to need to take a look and make sure you don’t need stitches, okay?”

She reluctantly took a step closer to him, pushing his greasy hair aside to examine the nasty gash across his forehead. He was definitely going to need stitches. She was just about to step away when she felt his hand reach around and grab her ass.

“Get your hands off of me!” she hissed, ready to deck the guy as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Hey!” A male voice shouted, loud enough to startle Mr. Lowery.

Jay.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he spit out, a look of blind rage on his face. “You’re here to be treated, not to manhandle our nursing staff!” Taking a deep breath—which Erin knew was in an effort to calm himself down—Jay turned to her, his face immediately softening. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. It wasn’t the first time a patient had gotten handsy with her, and unfortunately it probably wouldn’t be the last. “I’m fine, Ja—um, Dr. Halstead, nothing I can’t handle.”

Jay knew she could handle it; he just didn’t think she should have to. “I don’t have anything right now. I can take him from here.”

Erin nodded again. “Thanks,” she added quietly as she ducked out of the room, leaving Jay to stich him up.

“Hey babe,” Jay smiled feebly at her when they met at the L station around the corner from the hospital an hour later. It had been a long night, and they were both eager to get home and rest.

“Hey.” Erin was silent, keeping her head down as she fell into step alongside her boyfriend. Neither said a word as they climbed the stairs leading to the tracks.

When they reached the top—the train wouldn’t arrive for fifteen more minutes—Jay sighed, grabbing Erin’s hand and pulling her closer to him. “I’m sorry about before. I know you can take care of yourself, but the security guard was off doing who knows what and I just couldn’t stand there while that asshole put his hands on you.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still mad.”

“No, it’s not that,” she began, pausing as she pulled Jay with her to sit on an empty bench. “I just—wasn’t that kind of… I don’t know… making things—us—a little bit… obvious?”

“Fuck. I didn’t even think of that.” He leaned back against the bench, feeling foolish for not realizing how his actions may be interpreted. Despite wanted to shout from the rooftops that Erin was his girlfriend, he respected her desire to keep their personal life separate from work. He hated to think he might have compromised that. “I’m so sorry babe. But you know, I honestly would have done the same thing if it was April or Monique or Doris or any of the other nurses in there. It’s such bullshit that scumbags like that think they can manhandle you guys.”

Erin nodded. It was true, Jay was one of the good ones. There was no doubt in her mind that he would have intervened for anyone, it just so happened that she’d been stuck on that case. She smiled softly as she rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“We okay?” When he felt her nod again, Jay leaned down to kiss her forehead.

When Erin returned to the hospital for her next shift, she discovered that her concerns were in vain. Sure, the ED was definitely abuzz with talk of Jay stepping in with a bad patient, but miraculously there was no mention of her name.

Of course, Jay’s heroic behaviour only made the nursing staff that much more infatuated with him.

Frankly if she heard another word about ‘Hero Halstead’ she thought she might throw up.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Erin cursed under her breath, slamming the refrigerator door.

It had been the shift from hell—scratch that, the week from hell—and as far as she was concerned it could not be over soon enough.

A terrible late-night car accident had brought in a slew of victims, overwhelming the ED. Within a few hours, most had either been treated and released, or admitted and sent upstairs, so things were finally starting to quiet down a little—at least enough for Erin to get something to eat and catch up on her charting.

At least that’s what she had thought two hours earlier.

But instead of getting off her feet, she’d been running around like a madwoman. Apparently every single patient had banded together to drive her absolutely crazy. She had just cleaned up vomit for what was probably the twelfth time, only to get to the nurses’ station to discover that someone had eaten her turkey sandwich.

She just wanted to scream. Or throw something. Preferably at the asshole who stole her lunch.

Normally she wouldn’t get that upset about someone eating her food, but she and Jay had been on opposite shifts, which meant they had spent all of about five minutes together all week.

She was tired and cranky and missed her boyfriend.

And then right on cue, the elevator doors chimed and she looked up to see said boyfriend striding into the ED in his street clothes, looking happy and well-rested and sexy as all hell.

He smiled and said hello to a few people before glancing over to the nurses’ station, no doubt looking for her. They made eye contact for a split second—just long enough to say I love you, I miss you without words—and then he turned the corner toward the doctors’ lounge and was out of sight again.

Erin sighed dramatically as she headed for the vending machine. She leaned her forehead against the machine for a minute—internally debating between Doritos and a Hershey bar—before jabbing her finger at the buttons. The chocolate fell with a satisfying plunk, and she quickly snatched it up, taking a big bite as she made her way back to the nurses’ station.

When she glanced out the window on the way, she was appalled to see flakes of snowing falling from the sky. It was October. Some days she really fucking hated Chicago.

By the time she returned to the desk she had managed to rally a bit. She kept reminding herself that she only had to get through one more hour. Just one hour until she could go home and hibernate under her fluffy duvet for two whole days.

Her moderately good mood—if you could even call it that—disappeared immediately. There were a few other nurses at the station, and every single one of them was openly gawking at her boyfriend. Again.

He was chatting with his attending as they updated the OR board, and those bitches—bad mood was back in full swing—were drooling over him like he was a piece of meat.

Erin couldn’t deny that he looked damn good in his scrubs. He always did. But that day was like a whole other level of hot. Maybe it was just because it had been a while—damn the long hours and opposite schedules—but whatever the reason, she could already feel her blood pressure spiking at the sight of him.

Yanking her phone out of her pocket, she stormed down the hall in a huff.

Erin was pacing around the on-call room when there was a gentle rapping at the door. Before she had a chance to respond, the door creaked open and Jay poked his head around it.

“Hey,” he greeted, carefully closing the door behind himself. “You paged me? What’s wrong?”

“I need you.”

“Babe, you paged 911—do you need a consult or something?”

If she wasn’t so wound up, she probably would have laughed at his question. “No, I need you,” she breathed out, her voice husky with desire as she wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her lips against his. Her hands moved lower, grabbing the drawstring of his scrubs to pull him closer, her fingers quickly slipping beneath the waistband.

Jay grabbed her wrists, removing her hands from his pants and taking a deep breath as he stepped back. “Erin, we’re at work.”

“So? Haven’t you seen Grey’s Anatomy? People fuck in on-call rooms all the time. It’s practically what they’re for.”

Any hesitation on Jay’s part went out the window as soon as her hands found their way back, stroking him through the fabric. “Fuck,” he groaned as she pushed him down onto the bed, throwing her leg over him and straddling his waist.

The bedsprings creaked obnoxiously as they moved together, so when Erin climbed off of him to strip out of her scrubs, Jay took the opportunity to pick her up and push her back against the wall. As he thrust into her, he kissed her deeply, swallowing the cries of pleasure spilling from her lips. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, locking her ankles against his lower back, driving him to go harder, faster, deeper.

She came with a wild moan that sent Jay over the edge right along with her. Her body went lax in his arms as they both struggled to catch their breath.

“You’re going to kill me,” Jay panted, peppering soft kisses across her bare shoulder. “But wow, what a way to go.”

They were almost dressed by the time Jay’s pager started beeping incessantly. He straightened his shirt as he looked at the screen. “Shit, this really is 911!” He crouched down to tie his shoelaces before jumping up to kiss her quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta run babe. I’ll see you at home.”

They had developed a pretty perfect system to keep their personal and professional lives separate. When they worked the same shifts, they rode the L to and from the hospital together—usually with Erin half asleep and resting her head against Jay’s shoulder—then held hands until they were a block away from the hospital. She took the elevator; he took the stairs.

So despite the occasional close call or near miss, they had managed to keep their secret pretty well.

Until that day.

Jay had been in surgery for hours—the way bullets flew around in Chicago, he might as well be back in Afghanistan—and was just getting ready to close when an intern burst into the operating room. “What’s going on Schmitt?”

“Dr. Halstead, they need you in the ED,” the intern explained, unable to hide the shakiness in his voice.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Yes, I know, but… shots were fired.”

Jay’s blood ran cold at Schmitt’s words—Erin was on shift. “Was anyone hit?”

“I’m not sure. It’s locked down.”

Jay turned to the junior resident who had been working alongside him. “You okay to close up?” Before the young woman could even finishing nodding her head, he was already rushing out of the OR, yanking off his gloves and mask and running toward the ED.

Even though he knew it was on lockdown, he was still taken aback by the police presence. The halls were filled with officers, most dressed in full tactical gear as they gathered together to hatch out a plan of action.

He whipped his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through countless messages and notifications, desperately looking for any word from Erin. His heart pounded in his chest as he read her messages—she was in there. He didn’t know if she’d be able to answer, but he quickly typed a response asking if she was okay. He needed her to be okay.

When his phone vibrated in his hand a few seconds later, relief washed over him.

I’m fine, but Monique was hit. She’s losing a lot of blood, Jay.

Jay rushed forward, pushing past the throngs of people to where the police had blocked off the ED. “You need to let me in there!”

“Halstead,” Goodwin piped in, holding up a hand to stop him from going any closer, “you need to take a step back and let the police do their jobs.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Goodwin, but I can’t do that.” He turned to address the officer in charge, trying to keep his voice steady. “I need to go in there. There are innocent people back there—patients, nurses. And at least one of them is down.”

“Dr. Halstead, I assure you we have the situation under control,” the sergeant explained.

And then another round of gunshots rang out.

While most of the other people gathered in the hallway ducked or screamed, Jay pressed on. “With all due respect, it doesn’t seem like you have anything under control! There’s at least one person in there who’s bleeding out right now. I’m a trauma surgeon, I can help.”

“Sir, this is more than just a medical emergency. We can’t just put a civilian into a live and clearly dangerous situation. It’s against CPD protocol.”

“Fuck your protocol, my girlfriend is in there!” Jay bellowed, no longer caring who knew about their relationship. He just need her to be okay. He’d transfer to another hospital if he had to. Or flip burgers at a fucking McDonalds. He’d do anything, he just couldn’t lose her. “I’m not a civilian, I was in the military. I’ve been trained for these types of situations—and for worse ones. Now let me through!”

Maybe it was the desperation in Jay’s voice, or maybe it was just because they didn’t have any other options, but the police managed to negotiate with the shooter. He was just a scared kid, no more than fifteen years old, desperate to get treatment for his sick mother. Knowing he didn’t want anyone to die, they convinced him to let a doctor—Jay—come in.

“You sure about this?” The sergeant asked as he fastened a bulletproof vest over Jay’s scrubs.

Jay nodded resolutely as they held the door for him. He had never been more sure about anything in his life.

He entered the ED slowly, his hands held up in front of him, showing the shooter that he was not a threat. His eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail of his surroundings. Most of the exam room doors were shut with the curtains closed, as was standard practice in a volatile situation. But he saw a few patients and staff members sitting in the waiting area, visibly trembling in fear.

But there was no sign of Erin or Monique anywhere.

“Where…?” Jay asked the shooter.

The boy didn’t speak; he just waved his gun at the desk.

When Jay finally saw Erin, he wanted take her in his arms and never let her go. But she was otherwise occupied, her hands busy pressing against Monique’s abdomen, applying pressure to stop her colleague from bleeding out. Falling to his knees beside them, Jay lifted Erin’s hand from the wound, squeezing it in his own as he assessed the injury.

She definitely needed surgery. And soon.

Knowing that time was of the essence, Jay quickly explained to Erin what they needed to do to stabilize Monique. When his girlfriend nodded in understanding and began following his instructions, he turned his attention to the shooter, his hands once again held in the air as he spoke. “Hey buddy, my name’s Jay.”

“Shut up!” The kid yelled across the ED, waving the gun around.

Jay wasn’t phased by the weapon in front of him, he just continued, figuring that as long as the kid was talking, he wouldn’t be shooting anyone else. “Listen, I know you’re worried about your mom, but this isn’t the way.”

“She’s going to die!” He cried, tears flowing down his cheeks. “They couldn’t help her! It’s not fair!”

“I know. I lost my mom when I was about your age, and it sucks. But buddy, trust me when I say she wouldn’t want this for you. I know you’re scared, but I really need you to put down your gun and let me to get this woman into surgery.”

“No, no one goes anywhere!”

“If we don’t operate soon, she’s going to die. Killing this woman doesn’t help you or your mom. It doesn’t make things any better.” Jay could see the boy’s resolve breaking. “Please.”

Jay watched as they wheeled Monique to the OR.

He had managed to convince the kid to drop his weapon, and the police breached the ED seconds later, cuffing the kid as hospital staff checked on the other patients. Fortunately, no one else had been hurt.

Jay knew he needed to get down to the OR too, but before he followed Monique’s gurney, he turned to Erin, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly as he captured her lips with his own. It was the kind of kiss that said more than any words ever could—how much he loved her, how scared he was of losing her, how relieved he felt that she was unharmed.

And in that moment, even Erin didn’t care who saw.

“So you’re the girlfriend,” Monique stated, smiling sheepishly as Erin entered her hospital room the next morning. She had only been awake from surgery for a couple of hours, and news of Erin and Jay’s relationship had already spread around the hospital.

Erin nodded her head as she settled into the chair beside Monique’s bed, taking the younger nurse’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”

“Well I’m sorry I hit on your boyfriend,” Monique joked, wincing as pain shot through her side. “You’re a lucky woman.”

Erin nodded again, smiling as she glanced out the room and into the hallway where Jay was hard at work reviewing a chart with an intern. “I really am.”

As nice as it was to finally stop worrying about hiding their relationship, they did find themselves missing the added layer of privacy. It had been nice to have one thing that was just theirs.

So when Jay got down on one knee and asked Erin to be his girl forever, it was in the comfort of their own home, dressed in sweatpants on a quiet Sunday evening.

And when they got married a few months later, it was a quiet ceremony at city hall, with just their families present. Rings would get in the way at work anyway, so they wore them on chains around their necks, keeping their love for each other close to their hearts, safely hidden away under their scrubs.

Their little secret.

#linstead #linstead fanfiction #my writing #erin lindsay #jay halstead #linstead au #feels good to be posting again #but it's been so long i barely remembered how

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onedirectionfanfics · 5 years

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The Shamrock Social Club by @harryonstage

Somehow you land a consultation with Harry Styles, one of the most renowned tattoo artists on the west coast. He agrees to design your first tattoo and ink it on you himself, but over the course of your sessions together, mischief ensues…

This month’s featured story, The Shamrock Social Club, brought together avid Tumblr fic readers and Twitter stans alike in excitement and anticipation for each update. It tells the story of a girl determined to get a tattoo and her wildly attractive tattoo artist, Harry—fondly known as “tattoorry” among readers. Check out our amazing interview with the brilliant author behind this masterpiece below!

***

How long have you been writing for?

God, as long as I can remember. I have memories of being in middle school, feverishly writing stories in my composition notebook when I was supposed to be paying attention to the lesson. I was conjuring up elaborate worlds and characters long before I ever planned on sharing them with anybody—before I even realized what I was doing.

Do you have certain habits or rituals you have to do while writing?

A lot of my followers joke about this, but I do a lot of writing in the bath. I turn off all my notifications and commit not to check my texts for awhile, and I cannot write without a giant warm beverage, usually coffee or rooibos tea with honey. I put rainstorm sounds on my bluetooth speaker. The thesaurus app and google dictionary are open at all times. Also, part of the creative process definitely happens long before I ever actually sit down to write—I’m constantly jotting stuff down in the notes app on my phone if I’m out and about when I think of a line to work into a scene later. I have all these sticky notes with like cryptic, half-baked ideas all over my desk at work… I’ll pick one up and all it says is like “The clicks a skateboard makes rolling down the sidewalk” or “The feeling of having an orange peel beneath your fingernails.” And I refuse to throw them away, even if I have no idea what I was thinking at the time. I think most people who write do that to some degree, though.

The ever famous question: how did you come up with this idea?

Honestly I was on tumblr and saw a collage of women with dragon and snake tattoos. I began thinking about the type of person who would want that symbol on them forever, and why. Minutes later, I wrote that “Tattoo You, 1981” blurb on my masterlist—of course named after the Rolling Stones album released that year—and then that became the preliminary blueprint for what is now The Shamrock Social Club. I literally thought it was going to be a one shot at most, but here we are nearly fifty-two thousand words later.

Throughout your writing in this fic, you show a great deal of knowledge about the process of getting a tattoo. Is this from experience or something you learned from researching?

Both! I have a few tattoos. One of them is a stick-and-poke. It’s been awhile since I got my last one though, so I had to refresh myself on the aftercare process. I called the actual Shamrock Social Club a few times to gauge what a master tattoo artist there would charge for something as large as the snake. I also wanted to be sure it was possible for an artist to fill in a tattoo as they work through the outline the way Harry does in the story. The researching process of a fic writer is so funny to me… I wish my readers could see me alone in my room at 2:00 AM eating dry cereal, deeply invested in a fifteen minute Youtube video comparing different types of tattoo inks.

When does a story go from an idea in your mind to paper? Is there a process you go through before writing it out, or do you just get straight in it?

I have so much respect for the writers who can just like, wing it. I personally need to have a story mapped out in bullet points beginning to end before I even open up a new document on my computer. That way, I get more time to sit with it and meditate on how close to reality it seems, and it helps me finagle the order of events and decide if there’s any room for improvement. Also, if I think of a detail or subplot that’s not in my original outline, it’s easier to pop it in and visualize how it synthetically fits with the story.

In all four parts (51k words), not once do you give a name for the main character or call her ‘Y/N’. Was this a difficult task? What was the reason for it?

This is a hot topic right now in the fan fiction community! Sometimes it’s difficult, but I think it helped make the prose in this story more seamless to read. As someone who has written original characters as well as self-insert fics, I think a strong enough writer can make a character feel personable and unique and real without an elaborate backstory, and I don’t feel that it takes anything integral away from the creative process for me. If you can get an audience to root for a protagonist in a couple of chapters through their choices, dialogue, hopes, and motivations alone, to me that’s a much more successful story… I deeply respect writers who are like “write for yourself, not for others!” but that notion doesn’t really keep me up at night. To me, it’s obvious that I’m writing for myself if I’m writing at all, and I’m very comfortable with that fact. Imagine that you’re in school for creative writing and your professor gives you an exercise with a few simple parameters… it’s a bit like that. I still only write about exactly what I want, but undergoing the challenge of writing for an audience has 100% made me a better, more versatile writer. To me that does not feel like a loss, or a compromise. Plus, I think it’s such an interesting way to engage with a story—you are explicitly the protagonist, actively steering your own trajectory with every choice you make.

Was the character ‘AJ’ inspired by anyone you know in real life, AJ?

Guilty as charged. I do tend to Stan Lee myself and my friends into my fics. Aijia, Iz, Steph, Ellen… all of those characters are based on my actual friends. It started out as a joke—I literally just needed a name for the roommate character, but someone suggested I name her AJ and I was like… why not? I love having fun that costs nothing and hurts nobody! Annie and I wrote ourselves into Under the Same Roof, too.

This fic very delicately tells the story of a girl who’s been sexually abused in the past in some way and is on a determined mission to self-healing. A topic not many will brave, but you did. Why?

This is such a good question. Honestly I was on the fence at first. As I was drafting the first installment, Nobody Fucks with a Snake, I knew I wanted Harry’s character to turn her away from the shop at first before he decided to take a chance on her, but I needed a reason why. Like, I needed him to see a glimmer of something in her, and simply him being attracted to her didn’t feel compelling enough to me. I thought it would be really meaningful and it would raise the stakes a little if Harry saw this like… tenacity and determination in her. One of my favorite scenes in the whole story is that pivotal moment in his office when we see Harry really start to understand the gravity of her predicament and how much this snake means to her. He’s so affected by her vulnerability, and it speaks volumes about both of them.

In the drafting process, I was talking with my friend Tanvi who also writes fic, and she wanted to know if there was some reason why Harry’s character feels such a strong urge to help this young woman, and why he goes to such great lengths to respect consent throughout the story. Like, does he have a loved one who was sexually assaulted? Is this a more personal issue for him? I considered this, but truthfully, I thought this story would be so much more poignant and effective if there like, wasn’t some special reason. Consent is necessary. Sexual assault is inexcusable and wrong. It is as simple and as complicated as that.

What was it like writing on an issue that makes a lot of people uncomfortable (but is still so important)? Did you feel like you had a responsibility to fulfil?

As a writer, it’s an enormous responsibility to parse trauma and heaviness and sorrow in a way that doesn’t glorify the pain, especially if you have a younger audience. Most of my readers are in their twenties, like me. I read something recently about how it’s true that writers shouldn’t cover topics such as sexual trauma, eating disorders, or major depression as to avoid romanticizing any of these terrible, life-altering experiences, but that doesn’t necessarily apply to people who have been through these hardships and turn to art or writing as an outlet.

I have an eating disorder. It’s something I talk about openly on my blog—as an aside, you should definitely browse my recovery tag! Through fic, I’ve written about what it’s like to have an ED. I’ve also used fic to write about having a stalker, and in The Shamrock Social Club, of course I write about the complex relationship one has with sex and romance and dating in the aftermath of being sexually assaulted. I write to focus on the triumphs instead of the pain, and I always try to make these experiences awkward, ugly, and honestly gross when they need to be. Without divulging too much of myself online, I’m well equipped to know what all of those hardships feel like. In fact, I’ve read many stories, fan fiction and novels alike, that portray eating disorders, stalkers, and surviving sexual assault in a really misleading light, and I wanted to create something I felt like accurately represented how insidious and terrifying all of that actually is. Most of all, for me, writing this story was so much more about the main character overcoming her strife, and finally feeling like she has agency and control over her own body again. At its core, the Shamrock Social Club is really just the story of a fiercely determined young woman on her own path to healing, who happens to meet a boy along the way. The writing process was very, very cathartic.

Your story got popular not only on Tumblr but across Twitter as well in a short period of time—an amazing accomplishment. How did you react to your (well-deserving) popularity?

Jesus, the memes that have been born out of this story on twitter and tumblr are… beyond hilarious. And trust me, nobody lurks on twitter more than me. I don’t know if I would use the word “popular” about this story or even about myself though. To put things in perspective, suddenly being under a magnifying glass is still super strange and new to me. I literally had about 500 followers for most of the eight years I’ve been on tumblr until the end of 2018, which is when I started posting fic. I think about this all the time, I could write a dissertation on how baffling it is that people suddenly seem to give me heaps of attention and put me on this pedestal when deep down I know who I am and I know how tumblr works and I know it’s just as likely that people could be sending messages and giving praise to literally anyone else. Everybody has something to offer, I just got lucky. In the grand scheme of things, this story has only reached a very small pocket of the internet and there really isn’t anything about me that makes me more special than anyone else, I’m just a person who had a few people’s attention for a little while because I wrote a story. I’m very proud and grateful to have people reading my writing and it isn’t lost on me how fortunate I am that anyone does in the first place.

The one thing I will say though, is that it’s profoundly moving to me the amount of sexual assault survivors who have come forward in the wake of this story. Anonymously or not, people have been so open, and have shared so much of themselves with me. It’s amazing how alone you can be made to feel when you don’t have an example of someone who has been through the same struggle as you and come out the other side, even if it’s a fictional character, and I think this story ended up meaning a lot more to people than I ever expected it to. I can’t wrap my brain around how special it is that something I wrote could offer some small comfort to another person who has survived something so awful. The response this story has gotten blows me out of the water to this day.

Who came up with the name ’tattoorry’?

Honestly I don’t remember but “tattoorry” is shorthand for “tattoo artist Harry.”

Lastly, anything you’d like to say to anyone who read your fic?

Thank you for reading my writing. On principal, I think that if you find something that makes you happy and it’s not hurting anyone, then that’s worth celebrating. The people who have engaged with this story made into into something so much bigger and more special than I could’ve ever accomplished on my own.

Thank you very much, this was a lot of fun!

***

Thank you, AJ, for your time and dedication to these questions! Check out more of her work here!

***If you would like to send in recommendations for next months featured story, please do so here.

#1dff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec

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trashcanreddiefan · 4 years

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The 4th Annual Losers’ Club Christmakkah Celebration 1/2

Summary: The Losers gather for their fourth annual Christmakkah celebration, and this time Richie and Eddie get a Christmakkah surprise.

Word Count: 1500-ish for part 1. (This part ran away with me so I decided to split the fic into 2 parts.)

Warnings: Usual Trashmouth swearing.

Author’s Note: Post-Chapter 2. All of the Losers are alive in this fic, including Stan, because canon can suck it. Final part in the series, unless I get some other ideas. Part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here.

CROSS-POSTED AT AO3.

"Happy holidays," Richie sang along as he looped the Christmas lights around his and Eddie's Christmakkah tree. "Happy holidays, while the merry bells keep ringing, happy holidays tooooo youuuuuu!"

He paused as he heard the key in the lock, going to his record player to turn the music down.

He could hear the front door open and the sound of keys dropping in the bowl on the sofa table next to the door. "Rich?" Eddie's voice called out. "I'm home!"

"In here!" Richie called back.

Eddie walked into their living room. "Hey, babe." He looked up at the Christmakkah tree. "Starting the decorations without me?"

Richie shook his head. "Just putting the lights up. I knew you'd probably be tired after work so this way we wouldn't have to wait to get the ornaments up."

Eddie nodded. "Sounds good. Feel like Italian for dinner?"

"Mmm, baby, you know I'm always in the mood for some Spaghetti," Richie said with a wink.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and gently stroked a finger up Richie's arm. "Well if you play your cards right, you might even get a second helping tonight," he whispered seductively.

Richie's breath hitched. Holy fuck that's hot.

No matter how long he and Eddie had known each other (the 20-plus years of clown-induced amnesia notwithstanding), Eddie still managed to surprise him.

Eddie smirked then gave Richie a quick kiss. "I'm gonna go change out of my scrubs after I order the food. Want anything special tonight or just your usual?"

Richie mentally shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog of lust his husband had stirred within him. "Uh, actually yeah, can you add some gnocchi to my regular order? The cream sauce they serve them in is ah-mazing."

"Ok, sure thing."

Richie watched as Eddie left the living room. I hate to see him go, but I sure love to watch him leave, he thought, making a mental note to add that joke to his next routine.

As much as Richie joked about how hot Eddie looked in his scrubs, he was seriously proud of him. Eddie had earned a second bachelor's degree in nursing in only a year, graduated top of his class, was offered a TA position while he was pursuing his Master's degree, earned THAT degree in a year and a half, and had immediately been offered a permanent position as a nurse practitioner at the fancy clinic where he had done his clinicals.

Eddie was finally doing what he loved, and it made Richie happy to see his husband so happy.

He had just finished stringing the lights and was surveying his work when Eddie came back downstairs wearing sweatpants that were a bit too long on him and a comfortable, worn sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Mmm, Eds, have I ever told you just how hot you look in my clothes?" Richie sighed, wrapping his arms around Eddie.

"Maybe once or twice," Eddie replied with a wink. "Lights look good."

"I'm not sure if I have them spaced out enough," Richie replied. "It's our first official Christmakkah as a married couple, plus we're hosting the Losers this year. I want the tree to be perfect."

"No, I like it." Eddie sighed, leaning into Richie. "Just think, next year we'll have our first official Christmakkah as parents."

"That's so fucking wild." Richie ran a hand through his hair. "I still can't believe that we're gonna be dads."

Richie had never pictured himself having a family until after his niece was born, but the second he saw Olivia in Eddie's arms he thought, I want that. He had been nervous about bringing it up with Eddie because he wasn't sure if Eddie wanted kids, but luckily he had had nothing to worry about.

They had been babysitting Max, Bill and Audra's then 6-month-old son, while Bill and Audra were attending a film premiere and Richie had been watching Eddie softly singing to Max while rocking him to sleep. "Hey Eds," he said, "what do you think about maybe having one of our own one day?"

Eddie froze, then glanced up at Richie. "Is that something you want?" he asked casually.

"Yeah, I think I do." Richie bit his lip. "Is that something you might want?"

"Rich," Eddie had breathed. "I want nothing more than to have a family with you."

Both had agreed that they weren't getting any younger, so they had discussed their options, ultimately choosing to have a child via a surrogate.

They found out in early April that the procedure had been a success, so in just a few weeks Richie and Eddie would be welcoming a son.

They had discussed when and how to share their news, and since the Losers were gathering at Ben & Bev's for their son Burke's first birthday a few weeks after they found out they were expecting, they decided to surprise everyone there.

They had waited until all the other guests had left and only the Losers were remaining.

They were all sitting around outside on Ben and Bev's deck watching the kids play at their feet when Eddie pulled out an envelope and handed it to Bev. "Oh hey, Richie and I forgot to put Burke's birthday card with his other gifts."

"Oh ok, that's fine," Bev had replied. "Burkey, come see your birthday card from Uncle Eddie and Uncle Richie."

She set Burke on her lap, opened the envelope and pulled the card out.

Richie grabbed Eddie's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"For a special 1-year-old," Bev read. "Lots of love, lots of cake, lots of time to celebrate! Happy 1st birthday Burke -- love Uncle Eddie, Uncle Richie, and Baby Kaspbrak-Tozier."

Seven pairs of eyes looked at them in surprise.

"Yep, that's right," Richie crowed, pulling the sonogram out of his wallet. "I knocked Eddie up -- we're gonna be dads!"

After a group hug and round of congratulations Richie and Eddie shared the details -- biologically, the baby would be Eddie's and was due in mid-January. ("I want our kids to be cute, Eds, not look like Sasquatch," Richie had argued when they first started talking about surrogacy. Eddie had eventually agreed on one condition; that they at least try to find a surrogate that had similar features as Richie. They had lucked out in finding Sarah, who was a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman with similar features as Richie. If Richie didn't know any better he would've thought that they could've been siblings.)

Richie leaned down to give Eddie a kiss, tenderly stroking his thumb across his husband's cheek as he did so. "So how was work?"

"Oh, you know how it gets around the holidays," Eddie replied. "Everyone seems to be coming down with something. Which reminds me, you still need to get your flu shot. We don't want to run the risk of one of us getting sick and passing it to Sarah or the baby."

Richie smirked. "As long as you're the one to give it to me. I know how much you love to stick things in my--"

"It goes in your arm, you pervert," Eddie interrupted, shaking his head fondly. "But either way, come by the clinic tomorrow and I'll fit you in in between patients."

"Ok, I have a meeting with Steve and those people from Netflix about the new special at 10, so I'll swing by on my way home."

Their conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. "You get the food, I'll get the plates?" Eddie said.

"Sure, babe."

Richie answered the door, tipping the delivery driver generously. He brought the bags into the living room, where he and Eddie settled themselves on the sofa with their respective meals.

"So we had a kid in the clinic today whose name was Mandolin," Eddie said, taking a bite of eggplant parmesan. "Parents call her Lin."

Richie shook his head. Ever since they had started discussing baby names, Eddie would come home complaining about some of the unusual monikers people bestowed upon their kids.

Before Richie could even open his mouth to comment, Eddie added, "And no, we're still not naming our son Edison!"

"Actually, I was going to suggest Richardson," Richie joked.

Eddie gave Richie a playful shove on the arm. "We do need to decide on a name, though," he said seriously. "Especially if we want to personalize any of the decorations in his room."

They finished eating and got up to decorate their Christmakkah tree. Each ornament had been carefully chosen as a symbol of Richie & Eddie's relationship, including a microphone, a pair of rings, a tiny inhaler (a joke gift from Richie to Eddie) and their newest ornament, a personalized etched crystal with their names and wedding date.

After the ornaments were hung and Eddie had declared the tree perfect, they cleaned up their dishes and headed to bed, Richie dreaming of a dark-haired boy with his eyes and Eddie's smile.

#Richie x Eddie #Reddie #tcrf writes

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obscurehistoricalinterests · 5 years

Text

P.J. Ransone on finding himself through Generation Kill

Twenty-seven is a strange age in the most Joseph Campbell sense of the number, especially for the male persuasion. It is the time when you realize you’re not 20 anymore, that whatever clever antics you may have done at a younger age now make you cringe. You’re also coming up hard on 30 and I think you start to evaluate the path that you’re on. Twenty-seven is the age when rock stars die and become legends, but to me it marked the death of my youth, when my past caught up with me and punched me in the head.

I weighed 115 pounds, was about 30 grand in debt and had developed a pretty healthy heroin habit. I had a few accomplishments under my belt as far as my career was concerned: I had been in some successful movies and television shows, and a few almost-successful rock bands. I was “cool” (in my mind at least) to a handful of downtown Manhattan degenerates. Things got so out of control in my head, that at one point I remember being offended when my agency would send me scripts for roles as “the junkie.” Looking back, I was far from the person I wanted to be. I was quickly on my way to being a 30-year-old adolescent. Twenty-seven changed that.

I was involved in a five-year relationship with a wonderful woman who I loved very much. It had run its course. Or to put it more succinctly: she got fed up with my bullshit and finally decided to leave. Let’s face it — junkies don’t tend to make the best boyfriends.

This set off a chain of events that led me to sober up and step up to the table as far as being a man was concerned. There were a lot of things going on inside me that I hadn’t faced, or at the very least, refused to acknowledge for a long time. There were a lot of hard corners in me that needed to be softened. I had no idea what the results were going to be as far as taking some responsibility for my past, but the outcome has been pretty remarkable.

It’s funny what happens to you when you decide — or are forced to decide — to make positive changes for yourself, because in my experience it starts a nuclear chain reaction. Change is painful no matter what form it takes. I’ve learned that the only constant in this weird life is, in fact, change. If I’m not going through it, something is wrong.

I feel like I evolved into the human being I had hoped to become while living in Africa working on a miniseries for HBO called Generation Kill, based on the book by the same name written by Evan Wright about his time embedded with a battalion of reconnaissance Marines during the initial six weeks of the invasion of Iraq. The book is basically an apolitical, true-life account of what it’s like to be on the ground as an enlisted serviceman in modern warfare. Ostensibly, it’s a road-trip story. Writers David Simon and Ed Burns adapted the screenplays with Wright, and I had worked with the pair previously on HBO’s The Wire. When I arrived in Namibia — where I was to live for seven months while filming the show — I had no idea what to expect. I had landed the part of Cpl. Ray Person, the sped-up Marine who drove the point Humvee in Iraq in March of 2003. The role itself was much bigger than I had anticipated. The amount of work cut out for me had yet to sink in.

The day I turned 28, I was participating in a simulated night mission that marked the end of a boot camp that all the actors were required to participate in before we began filming. It was kind of unreal how much had changed in a year. Part of the catalyst for growth was the job itself, but much of the credit can go to the people with whom I got to share the experience. During this time, I became acquainted with two guys who changed my life.

Eric Kocher and Jeff Carizales are two Marines who fought together in OIF1 (Operation Iraqi Freedom). They had been brought to Africa to be military accuracy advisers during production, and their input was instrumental to the credibility of the show. Not only are they Marines, but they are two of the actual guys about whom Evan Wright wrote in his book. So here are these two dudes, reliving the drama of their lives, watching actors interpret their stories so that they are portrayed as accurately as possible. I think the word “trippy” comes to mind. I had no idea that I was going to end up loving these guys as much as I do.

Eric Kocher is imposing in the most terrifying sense. Imagine a shorter version of the Incredible Hulk with Tom Selleck’s face and a brain filled with an encyclopedic knowledge of military history and modern warfare tactics. By age 28, he had served in the Marine Corps for close to 10 years and done more than five combat tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. While on a combat mission in Iraq, his Humvee was hit by a rocket- propelled grenade that nearly blew his arm off. Another member of his team, who was in the back of the truck, lost both of his hands in this same attack. Later, he would tell me that he himself pulled out the pins that had been surgically implanted in his hands so that he could get back to combat sooner. When people ask about the insane scar on his right arm he usually tells them it’s from an old “skateboardin’ accident.” He is one of the funniest people I know. For as intense as his appearance is, he’s one of the most loyal and kind-hearted human beings I have ever met.

The other Marine I befriended was Jeff Carizales. He drove the same Humvee that Eric was in during the invasion in of Iraq. He is 100 percent Texan, through and through. He is the type of person who will insult you within seconds of making your acquaintance, only to test your resolve. It’s hard to sum up Jeff in anything short of an epic poem. When I first met him in a bar in Africa, I wanted to punch him in the face within about three minutes. He insulted my clothes, the city I lived in and my general way of life. We only started to bond after we opened up about the demise of both our long-term relationships and our mutual disdain for most actors. Certain anecdotes can paint a better picture. For example, while traveling in Europe recently, he would meet other international backpackers and tell these elaborate stories about what he does for a living. He liked to regale these people by telling them that he was a small-arms dealer training guerilla forces in northern Africa so they could overthrow their governments. The truth is, he is an engineering student at Texas A&M. When he flew home from Europe, he thought it would be funny to dress up in Chechnyan mujahedeen garb, thereby convincing airport security that he was a terrorist. Yes, this is the man I spent seven months with.

These guys introduced me to a side of life with which I had been unfamiliar. In some way, they reconnected me to myself. As a shit-bag junkie who lived in New York, I rarely came across servicemen unless they were sailors visiting the city during Fleet Week, in which case they were usually just in the way on my way to the bar. My father is a Vietnam vet, and my natural inclination towards people who would volunteer for that life could politely be described as “resistant.” I just never understood why someone would knowingly sign up for something that seemed so conformist, in my opinion. I was way off base in this assumption.

Let’s start first by saying that I don’t support this war or the reasons why we are over there. I am of the school of thought that we should clean up our own yard before we start to clean up someone else’s. Having said that, the people I have met who are in the armed forces are doing a uniquely un- American thing. It’s unique in the sense that we grew up in a country of excess, to the extent that in this post-industrial, post-sexual-revolution age in America, my generation gets to live off the fat of the land without developing a work ethic that generations before ours seemed to have had. In the age of short attention spans and reality television, Marines are a group of people that actually strive to go against that excess. As Wright points out in his book, “they have chosen asceticism and assimilation over the idea of being an individual” who can dream big and be the next American Idol winner. Out of this, it seems, comes maturity.

There is a school of thought that seems to imply that as Westerners, we have lost a certain amount of our identity because the rites of passage into adulthood are viewed as archaic. There is no tradition for sending boys out into the wild, not to return home until they came back men. To a large extent, the Marines seem to have experienced these rites, and for a short amount of time, I did as well. While living in Africa, Eric and Jeff forced me to grow up,to look at things differently.

We forged this bond by taking long road trips while filming the series. The production itself was grueling. We had six-day work weeks, but anytime that we would have more than 24 hours off, we would plan these insane adventures and take off on a whim with little more than half a tank of gas and a change of underwear. Most weekends we would drive 10 hours to Cape Town to blow off steam. On longer breaks we would look on a giant map of the continent, pick a spot and point our car towards it. We would have made Hemingway proud.

I can’t tell you how many times Eric and Jeff got me nearly killed, whether it was while we were breaking into Botswana, nearly drowning in the Zambezi river, or avoiding getting trampled by elephants. Our road trips got to be so infamous that the producers would send out memos specifically targeted at our little tribe, letting us know that we were an insurance risk. It’s generally considered a bad thing if one of your actors dies during production — from a business perspective, anyway. In fact, Eric and Jeff always wanted to know the location of the closest U.S. Embassy in case I did die so they could fly back to the states and not get sued by HBO.

During these trips, I really felt alive. My brother (who was with us on some of these adventures) pointed out that it was because these guys have truly lived. They have been around more death and destruction than I could possibly imagine or cope with, yet their vitality is undeniable. I don’t remember a time that my stomach didn’t hurt from laughing. I dealt with more insults and put-downs from them than anyone could imagine, but after a while I came to realize that they were forcing me to examine my shortcomings and actually do something about them. They have a fraternal bond that I envy. For a little while, I got to experience it. They treated me as a brother and tenderized me like a piece of steak, because, at the end of the day, they wanted me at my strongest.

Living in Africa with Eric and Jeff was the best experience of my life so far. The art that imitated life was imitated by life again on our road trips. The irony was that after a breakup forced me to re-examine myself, some of the most romantic moments I have had in my life were with these psycho jarheads — but not in a “gay” way.

It’s been a year since we started production on Generation Kill. I recently turned 29, and by the time this article comes out, the show will be airing. I talk to Jeff and Eric regularly. I miss them and that time in my life. Regardless of whether the show is popular or not, I am a stronger human being because of the experiences I had with them and what they taught me. I will have that for the rest of my life. This August, I plan on taking a motorcycle trip in Mexico with them. There is part of me that hopes not to return, knowing that it wouldn’t be any fun if those two weren’t trying to get me killed somehow every day we’re on the road. I think I can honestly say that while I do not support this war, I do support our troops.

- Source

#generation kill #genkill #pj ransone #hbowar #essay #article #eric kocher #jeff carisalez

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sailor-cresselia · 6 years

Text

Try and Re-Build

They can't stay here.

This version of Touto is so, so much better off then the one they left. (The one they... replaced? Repaired? … erased?)

But it hurts to be here.

It hurts so, so much to encounter these people, to even see the strangers carrying names and wearing faces that they met and knew, that they fought against and alongside.

They thought about meeting them, and trying again, at first.

But it would be cruel.

Not just for themselves, but for the others too.

Sento and Ryuuga both know full well that they wouldn't be able to separate their friends who lived there from the people who live here, and that’s not fair to these familiar strangers.

It's just too hard, seeing a laughing farmer and his friends, who never had to give up their humanity so their families could live, but who can joke and cheer and relax.

(And isn’t it strange that he still falls for the same girl?)

Seeing politician and his son, who hadn't been worn down and torn to pieces by a war, but are thriving and whole.

Seeing an engineer and a reporter who didn’t have their lives planned, but who got to choose their own paths.

(And isn’t it strange that the dynamics shift, but the choices are still so similar?)

Seeing a pair of goofs with a band, and a successful one at that.

(And isn’t it strange, that even after endangering him, they never thought to tell Tatsuya that Sento wasn’t Satou Taro, did they? They probably should have… but how do you tell someone that? And there was no time. Just one more mistake.)

Seeing a father who runs a booming cafe.

(And they never even knew him the first time around, did they? It was never really him back then.)

Seeing a daughter who goes shopping and sings karaoke with her friends and smiles, who doesn’t carry that awful weight and guilt of being used and tricked on her shoulders.

(And why couldn’t they have seen sooner that she blamed herself? Yet another mistake.)

Seeing a woman who got treatment and recovered.

(It hurts so much that she won’t know him – not this version of him.)

Seeing a man who never had to throw a fight.

(The monkey jokes are harsher looking back – and also couldn’t have been further from the mark.)

Seeing a scientist who openly loves his parents.

(Did she know it was him? Even when he didn’t know who he was, did she?)

(Did she know his father was still alive, too?)

~ ~ ~

Identities are a problem, too. Sento has one mans face and memories for another two, and Ryuuga has a fully-human double born seven months after him. They don’t (didn’t?) exist here – not in a way that fits the shape of this new world.

They have a phone that's a bike, and a mechanical dragon that hasn't woken up. (Ryuuga hopes it will, someday. He grew fond of the little guy.)

They've got two belts, and two bottles - one silver, one gold.

(Neither has tried using them. It feels like it would be bad luck to try, but that it would be even worse to get rid of them.)

Kiryu Sento and Banjou Ryuuga cannot stay in Touto, which is properly a city again, not a war-torn city-district-region-country hybrid.

WAS it a city in their world? They aren’t really sure anymore. Neither of them remember much of politics before the Skywall. Sento only ever really picked up (was given?) memories through Takumi's days in high school, and what happened after Katsuragi Takumi ‘woke up.’ Besides, Takumi was focused considerable more on science than… well, pretty much anything else. Banjou was 13 – he was just a kid! – when the wall went up, and a lot of his youth was blurred and smudged and faded by Evolt.

(Back home, it was Quite A Day when he realized that Misora was the only one there younger than him. Kazumin called him a kid for a week.)

~ ~ ~

They can’t stay here.

So. they leave.

They leave the city that they remember but don't know.

~ ~ ~

And finding work is hard when you don't have a past that doesn’t and can’t match the world you’re in, and everything down to the roads just isn’t the same compared to the ones you know/remember/knew.

History is one of the biggest differences.

~ ~ ~

They look up the history of the other Earth, to see how far back it diverged from their own. They go back 25 years, and there hasn’t been anything that returned from Mars. So that's a good sign, they guess.

(They hope.)

They go back further, to make sure they don’t say the wrong things, and start looking up cultural changes as well, to make sure they can pass for people who’ve been here all along.

They come across something weird.

It's an urban legend fansite, sure, and neither of them is sure how they actually GOT to that page. But that picture is…

It’s a photo from the early 1970’s – discolored by age and grainy from being digitized. It’s off center, and crooked, and looks amateur, but there’s no reason to think it’s not real.

A photo of two men on a cliff, doing posing next to a pair of motorcycles.

Wearing full masks and armored bodysuits.

And captioned as the “first known photo of Kamen Riders 1 and 2 together.”

~ ~ ~

So. That’s not something they had either.

~ ~ ~

The pair who fought as Build and Cross-Z dig deeper. And as they get closer to the present, more and more warriors of justice fighting under the name (title?) of Kamen Rider show up.

There's a period after the early 1990’s where the records sort of stop, and no new heroes show up for a while, but around 2000 the Riders start appearing again.

Some of them are rumors, and urban legends, but others are definitely on record as being real.

And they keep reading, and the closer to the present the more familiar things get.

8 years ago - rumors of a Rider in black with a partner who didn't QUITE pass for human.

7 years ago - a high school that focused on space and science, with sightings of a Rider in silver.

Ryuuga has been to that school, and been rescued by the warriors in those blurry, hastily shot photos.

5 years ago - an archived site for a dance competition that turned into monster fights that turned into battles between members in armor that then stopped reporting, then followed by accounts of describe a city turned into a war zone.

That first armored rider helped get Sento to Ex-Aid’s world. To what might be THIS world.

Neither of them have wanted to talk about the nagging worry they've both had the past month, living here on this other earth.

3 years ago - a temple that has never gone out of their way to confirm the rumors of a Rider in black and orange, but has never gone out of their way to deny them, either.

The concern about what happened that brought them here, alive. What brought them here when neither expected to come out of that last battle with Evolt.

2 years ago - news footage and reports from this worlds Seito, about a digital viral outbreak and the Riders that fought it - and the press conference covering the aftermath, led by a doctor with a face that appears in two sets of memories in one persons head.

The fear that “they didn't get it right.”

7 months ago - News articles about a resurgence of the virus and a giant mechanical hand reaching to the sky.

That “maybe they didn't fix anything.”

7 months ago - terrified social media posts about another earth in the sky, one that had a jagged red scar.

That “maybe they just left home.”

7 months ago - still frames from amateur videos of two Riders fighting a gear themed enemy.

That “maybe they just took themselves out of the equation.”

7 months ago – two riders, a constant and an unknown,

That “maybe they left everything behind -

7 months ago - a rider in gold, with a name and reputation to put to the mask,

“- left everyONE behind -

7 months ago - and a rider in blue and red, never seen before or since.

“maybe everyone else is gone and the people here - these same-but-different people we know-but-don't - are just the alternate versions, not merged or remade or saved, but just preexisting familiar faces that will never, ever replace the ones that I just ran away from and left behind to d--”

And Sento didn't even know he was talking until he couldn't get the words out, until he was choking on fears and doubts and grief and guilt, and sobbing at things that were “all his-and-my fault and he-and-I did this and brought so, so much suffering and then just ran away and I didn’t even have the decency to remember-”

And Banjou grabs him, holding him close in almost a death grip to keep this stupid, egotistical, terrified genius from shaking himself to pieces - physical, mental, emotional, whatever. And he’s shaking too, because he hasn't wanted to think about these possibilities, either.

Hasn’t wanted to think about how maybe they messed up – that he's the one who messed it up, because if nothing else, the other him shows that black-hole bastards or no, he is consistently a muscle-headed fighter, and if anyone that was there that day screwed up the creation of a literal world it would be him…

So, he keeps saying quiet, ragged reassurances to his best friend - only friend now that the others are strangers again - both of them red-eyed and hoarse and SCARED, because they just. Don't know what really happened in and after that gap in reality where space and time and energy were colliding and tearing apart. And that not knowing, that's terrifying, for both of them but neither have dared bring it up for just this reason. It’s so, so terrifying to have so much information and yet still have nothing but questions.

He doesn’t say it, but he can see. It's awful for Banjou, the not knowing. But not understanding isn’t really NEW to him – confused has kind of been his default state since they met and he hasn’t hid that at all – but Sento? Kiryu Sento had really only existed for a year before they met at a factory and a fight, and been manipulated and lied to and trying to find himself and coming up with nothing. He made so much of his identity out of his smarts and on Build and just kept hiding anything that didn’t fit the person he was or could have been or could be – that didn’t have a place in the puzzle of his past. He hid whatever he could fit behind the mask of a grinning nerd and the helmet of a warrior for love and peace.

Then they were thrown into war, and so, so many awful things had happened, and Banjou hadn’t said anything back home, hasn’t said anything here and still doesn’t, but he’d been seeing it for months. He’s seen his friend shouldering worry and stress and doubt until he broke and then hid that behind the same smile and behind his work and the fighting. The war dragged and grew and got worse and more personal and Sento had just kept taking it on himself and bearing it and breaking and kept going anyway.

This is definitely not the time for that talk. It’s even less time for anyone to bring up that half of those fights… that both of them kept going in with no plans for making it out after.

It’s not the time for that, but they’re at a park, the one they stayed in last night, and they should probably find somewhere else for this because they’re two sobbing wrecks who can’t explain this to anyone else. They can barely explain it to themselves.

“We're out of our element here, aren’t we? Listen, man, you can't lose yourself to this, okay? Who else'll be the brains of this outfit? Pretty sure we’re both screwed if it's me.”

He chuckles, half-hearted and hoarse and so, so tired. Looks like he’ll have to take the lead for a while.

“This is messed up. I know. So just… take your time and breath, okay? When you’re ready, we can go and… I dunno, find some of these other Riders, maybe? And we can try to get some answers.

“Just don't GO, okay? We're in this together, Sento, we have to stick together.

“We're all we've got."

#Kamen Rider Build #so it looks like i'm an asshole #because i want to write fix fic #but this came into my head instead #i was supposed to be working but it was a slow day #which is for the best because i was crying writing the first draft #i want to be nice to the boys but they won't let me #i want to help them really #but so much has changed for them #and it can't go back #i want them to be happy but i can't get them there yet #where did they wind up #that's the real problem #i will ride this inspiration train until it runs out of track

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