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sj-ficrecs · 3 years

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FIC REC SIX:

it’s been a min since I’ve done a new fic rec, so here we go. just a random collection of new stories (or new to me lol) that I’ve been enjoying! as usual, no specific order.

This is purely a fic rec blog, always reblogging fics I enjoy. usually Bucky x reader, sometimes Steve x reader, Chris Beck x reader, etc. So check out more I’ve reblogged on this page. :) See my past fic recs below:

PREVIOUS FIC RECS HERE !

Bucky x reader:

Reputation by @captainscanadian College!Bucky x Reader “There was a fine line between being study buddies and fuck buddies; a line that was never meant to be crossed until it was. All you wanted was to finish off your undergraduate degree, get a decent MCAT score and go off to medical school. But when NYU’s resident fuckboy offers to be your tutor, it seemed as though fate had a whole other plan for the two of you. His reputation precedes him, but you soon came to realize that there was more to Bucky Barnes than what meets the eye.”

107th by @baezen cop!Bucky x reader

“in which her hot cop neighbour asks for multiple favours and she can’t seem to say no to him”

Hearts in Secret by @jbbarnesandnoble King!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader “people always assume that princesses are free to do as they wish, to dress and act how they want to. In fact, it’s actually quiet the opposite.”

The Kid From Queens by @wkemeup Modern Army Vet!Bucky x reader (drabble from Sunrise) by @wkemeup

“Bucky and Y/n take a trip to Queens in search of the boy Bucky saved on the day that changed his life“

Black Lace and Property Damage by @bitsandbobsandstuff Bucky x reader

“With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.“

Behind Enemy Lines by @writingcroissant 40s!Bucky x reader

“Bucky Barnes falls off a train right into the midst of a nation he swore to fight to his last breath. But instead of Hydra, he just so happens to be found by a young woman who risks her life in order to save his.“

Broken Crown by @lionoflannistarth Knight!Bucky x princess!reader

“James Buchanan Barnes is a knight who is in love with his childhood best friend, the royal princess. Both of them think, and for different reasons, that the princess’ betrothal is the worst thing that can happen. Until…“

Better by @captainscanadian Doctor!Bucky x doctor!reader

“Dr. James Barnes has it all: a loving family, caring best friends, and a successful career as one of the best heart surgeons in New York. He has everything he ever wanted his whole life… well, almost everything. One thing he never thought he could ever have was Y/N Y/L/N. She may have been a lot of things, but he loved her because she made him better.“

The Wilds by @moonstruckbucky Lumberjack!Bucky x reader

“After a bitter divorce, you seek solace in the wilds of Alaska. Unbeknownst to you, it’ll change you in ways you could have never imagined.”

This Town by @no-champagne-socialist Bucky x reader

“Y/N has been included as one of Earth’s Mightest Heroes for so long, that she considers each and every member of her team to be her family. So when the Avengers are torn apart from the inside, she takes the road less travelled to one of retirement. Y/N finds herself settling into a life of exclusion, but also one of safety and comfort, when an old friend comes knocking, asking for a favour.“

If I Could Fly by @ceeellewrites Actor!Bucky x Actress!Reader Social Media AU

“Bucky Barnes is an actor with a small (just a tiny) celebrity crush on Y/N L/N, one of the industry’s well-known actress. Well, it’s just a celebrity crush, what could go wrong?”

Long Way Home by @captainscanadian Doctor!Bucky x doctor!reader

“If the doctors don’t fix you, then I’ll become a doctor and I’ll fix you, Bambi.” While Bucky Barnes did not remember the promise he had made almost thirty years ago, he still kept it.“

Waves by @buckys-darling Prince!Bucky x Reader “Prince James Barnes of Montiero despises the spotlight and has been hidden from the public eye for years. You meet a stranger at the bar on your girls trip to a remote island. What’s the harm in a one night stand?”

Leather Jacket by @mymoonagedaydream Biker!Bucky x reader

“Your genius business idea seemed to have attracted the wrong sort of people to your brother’s bar- at first“

Rookie by @sebastiianstxn Detective!Bucky x cop!reader

“it’s the start of something new for detective Barnes and the rookie y/n but figuring out their relationship ends abruptly when reader gets unknown calls“

The Cat’s Meow by @moonbeambucky Bucky x reader

“On an effort to rescue a cat you didn’t expect to also rescue your love life.“

Know it All by @moonbeambucky College!Bucky x reader

“Your grades and patience are tested when you’re paired together for a class project with the one person you cannot stand, Bucky Barnes.”

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rolandtowen · 3 years

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Kiss It Better

Sokka builds a blanket fort. Zuko info-dumps about ADHD and chronic pain. Fluff ensues.

Read it under the cut!

"Sokka?"

A mess of brown hair and blue eyes peers out from underneath a carefully constructed cocoon of blankets. Zuko's standing in their bedroom doorway, holding Sokka's medication organizer.

"When was the last time you remember taking your meds?"

"Hmm... Thursday?" Comes Sokka's voice, muffled by the blankets.

Zuko flipped through the pill pockets. "No, looks like Tuesday."

"How bad is that? What day is today?"

Zuko sits on the edge of their bed, close enough to hold Sokka's hand but not close enough to disrupt his carefully crafted fort. "Well firstly, today is Sunday." Sokka groans and brings his free hand to his forehead. Zuko presses on, squeezing his other hand. "Secondly, taking your meds is morally neutral. Forgetting doesn't make you a bad person, it just means we need to find a routine that works better for you."

Sokka nods and Zuko can see the gears turning in his brain.

"Can I ask why you're in a blanket fort? Is it your knee?"

As a kid with ADHD, Sokka played a lot of sports: hockey, basketball, even tennis. But football is what did him in - in his senior year in high school, an unfortunate tackle tore his ACL, dislocated his left knee, and created hairline fractures in his calf bones. The Dancing Dragons won the game, but Sokka spent the rest of his senior year recovering. After almost five years, all it takes is one bad twist during a rush in the coffee shop and Sokka's down for the count.

"What gave it away?" Zuko looks up from their joined hands to see Sokka smiling at him, his bitterness at his body softened by Zuko's presence.

"Well, for one, the heating pad was mysteriously absent from our med drawer - and you're also in a blanket fort." Zuko squeezes Sokka's hand. "May I join you?"

"But of course, my love," Sokka pulls back the comforter, slapping the empty mattress beside him. "By all means, come on into Fort Chronic Pain."

Zuko laughs, settling next to his boyfriend and curling into him. "You're ridiculous."

"That's why you love me." Sokka starts combing his fingers through Zuko's long hair. "How were your classes today?"

Sokka knows that if he can get Zuko talking about school, he won't be so worried about Sokka's knee.

"Are you trying to get me to stop worrying about you? It won't work." Sokka sighs.

"Maybe, I think your med school classes are interesting."

Zuko, for all his worrying, had passed the MCAT, graduated summa cum laude, and was now studying for his M. D. at the prestigious Beifong Medical School. Sokka hadn't doubted him for a second. Zuko never gave up and never backed down. The man could grapple with the Sun and win unscathed.

"-oned?" Zuko's voice comes from below him.

"Huh?"

"I asked, 'are you zoned'?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I-"

Zuko waves him off. "What's the last thing you remember? I can start over."

"I remember asking you about classes, and you wrongfully accusing me of trying to distract you."

Zuko snorts. "My favorite class by far has been Mental Health and Physiology. I think it's highly admirable that med schools are starting to integrate mental and physical health, and not teaching them separately."

"What kind of things have you learned?"

"Like, people with anxiety may present with back pain that doesn't correlate to an injury; the excess stress can really do strange things to your muscles - and we should still holistically treat patients without just dismissing them and telling them to relax."

Sokka nods. "That makes a lot of sense, baby. You're so smart."

"Oh, shut up." Zuko can feel his cheeks warm at the compliment. "But, we also talked about ADHD and chronic pain, which I thought you might like to hear?"

"Of course, turtleduck. Amaze me." Sokka rests his hand on Zuko's hair, running his thumb across the curve of his head. "Info-dump away."

Zuko takes a deep breath in. "Okay, so, there are significant studies that show that people with ADHD experience chronic pain at a higher level than the average population - there are a few theories as to why this might be. Many people with ADHD experience hypertonia, or muscle overactivity. This can make it really difficult to fully relax tense muscles, and increases chance of injury. Additionally, low dopamine is considered to be one of the causes of ADHD, and dopamine regulates chronic pain signals. Most of the research has only been done in the last decade, so it's going to be really exciting to see what new treatments develop - previously, dopamine wasn't really known to be connected to pain regulation at all." Zuko turns to look up at Sokka. "You never know, there might be an effective treatment for your leg in the next decade."

Sokka wants to be hopeful, he does, but he's been trying to treat his chronic pain for five years, and he's had limited success. Going to a chiropractor helped a little, the physical therapist gave him some great exercises for strengthening the tendons supporting his knee, and cutting back on inflammatory foods lessened the pain level whenever he entered a flare - but he still got flares. A hike could knock him off his feet for weeks; a rainy day could be agonizing. He just wishes there was a simple solution - but as much as homeopathic Karens in the coffee shop try to convince him, there's no one-step solution. No, Janet, as good as your essential oil blend smells, it isn't going to take the place of physical therapy, preventative care, and lifestyle changes. Just like for his ADHD. It takes dedication to a process of self-care to make improvement in either arena.

And if the off-schedule pill organizer in Zuko's hands is any indication, dedication to a process can feel fucking impossible with ADHD.

"Can I do anything to help?" Sokka looks down to see Zuko's amber eyes staring up at him, offering comfort no blanket fort could provide.

"Can you..."

"Yeah?"

Sokka swallows. "Could you, maybe... kiss it better?"

Zuko's eyes practically sing his answer: "Of course I can."

Zuko gingerly moves the heating pad from its spot on Sokka's left knee. He tips his head down, pressing a featherlight kiss to Sokka's kneecap. He murmurs something under his breath.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Zuko looks at him sheepishly. "I said, 'the patella'.

Sokka can't hold back the laughter that bubbles out of his chest. "You're using me for anatomy study?"

"Seems like a fair trade. You get kisses and I get to study at the same time." Zuko drops another kiss to Sokka's knee. "Both the elbows and the knees are constructed with hinge joints." Zuko presses a firmer kiss to Sokka's thigh. "This is the femur, the thighbone - the longest and strongest bone in your body."

Sokka opens his mouth to make a joke, but Zuko beats him to it: "If you make a joke about your dick, I'm donating you to my cadaver class." Sokka's jaw snaps shut.

Zuko drops another two kisses on either side of Sokka's calf. "Tibia and fibula," he whispers. "These are the ones you broke senior year."

"Only hairline fractures," Sokka corrects.

"Can you still feel it?"

Sokka shakes his head. "It's the ACL that still bothers me the most."

"Do you want some lidocaine?"

"Spirits, yes."

Zuko rummages through their nightstand, pulling the blessed tub of Icy Hot out of the top drawer, and spreading a thin layer over Sokka's knee. He traces soft patterns into his knee as they wait for the lidocaine to kick in.

"If you say 'patella' again, I'm going to smack you." Sokka eyes him from where he's leaning against the headboard.

"Of course not," Zuko takes Sokka's right hand into his and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Metacarpals."

"You fucker-"

"Don't get riled up and undo all my hard work." Zuko massages the palm of Sokka's hand. "Is the leg better?"

"Much better."

"So we still have the original problem."

"The meds?"

Zuko nods. "So I know you've been trying to take them as soon as you wake up..."

"But?"

"I think you should task-stack it," Zuko says, running his thumb absent-mindedly over Sokka's knee. "You should pair with something you do everyday."

"Like what?"

"You make yourself a wicked pour-over every morning. What if you kept your meds by the kettle and then took them while you waited for the water to get hot?"

Sokka face pauses, processing. "Huh."

"Would... would that work?"

Sokka smiles, beaming at him. "That's a brilliant idea, turtleduck." He opens his arms up, patting the space underneath him. "Come up here?"

"If you insist," Zuko quips. "Do you want me to make fried rice tonight? I can even bring it to you if you want."

"You're literally the light of my life."

Zuko laughs. "I'll take that to heart." He snuggles up under Sokka's chin. "Do you feel better?"

"So much better." Sokka pushes back Zuko's hair from his face and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "Thanks to you."

"Frontal bone," Zuko murmurs.

"Seriously?!"

Zuko cackles.

#mine #zuko #atla #sokka #rolandtowen #zukka #avatar #avatar: tla #autistic zuko #sokka has adhd #med school au #neurodiverse zukka #neurodivergent zukka #neurodiverse au #tw: medication #tw: medical

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deathonyourtongue · 3 years

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Calling on the Rain

Summary: What’s a first date without an interlude from Mother Nature? Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (part of the Yvonne/Ray/Arlo series which I’ve yet to name. 🤦🏽‍♀️) Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: All the fluff! A/N: This was a request from the lovely @livinglifeformemyselfandi ! Enjoy!!

Completing a PhD in clinical psychiatry at Cornell tended to leave one without time for any sort of social life. Lately however, Yvonne had found herself trying to carve out little bits of it here and there. All because of a guy.

Being 26 with an MCAT score in the 500’s, Yvonne had breezed through her undergraduate program, but with her time at med school coming to a close, the pressure was on. She could start applying for her residency positions next year, and while she was beyond excited, the major shift didn’t come without a healthy dose of fear. She needed some time to simply…be, and since she wasn’t a fan of being alone, finally accepting a date from the guy in her neuro class seemed like the best idea.

Arlo was from London, and though he’d explained it more than once, Yvonne still couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen to do his med program in the States. It didn’t matter however; the moment he’d opened his mouth, she was a goner.

The plans for the day were simple. A walk around town, taking in the sites, lunch at a little cafe that had an unbelievable dessert selection, and finally, a late show of a movie they’d both wanted to see.

Putting on a pair of Navy shorts, a cream tank top, and a matching pair of strappy sandals, she checked her hair and makeup one last time before heading out to meet Arlo in the common room. To say she was nervous was an understatement, but Yvonne knew that if she chickened out or cancelled on him again, she’d lose her shot with him and that was the last thing she wanted.

Arlo’s glance up at her put an ear-to-ear smile on Yvonne’s face, flustering her to the point where she had to keep her hand on the railing despite usually being okay without it.

“You look lovely,” he said as he extended his arm to her, Yvonne taking a moment to take him in before linking her arm through his. She was glad she wasn’t over or underdressed, and couldn’t help but smile a little brighter when she realized they matched.

“And you look very handsome,” Yvonne replied, her nerves easing a bit as they got moving.

“How’re you doing on your project?”

“Nope. Don’t wanna talk about it. Any topic other than school,” Yvonne grinned before playfully letting her head fall to his shoulder as though she were going to faint. Arlo laughed warmly, squeezing her hand as he thought about other topics. Never once did he ask her to move her head, and never once did Yvonne entertain the notion. After a few moments, his arm came around her, tucking her in close.

“Any topic other than school. Fair. What’s a movie that you can watch over and over again?”

“The second Mighty Ducks movie,” Yvonne answered sheepishly, pushing her face into Arlo’s chest as her cheeks caught fire.

“Didn’t take you for the sports type. I’ll keep that in mind come winter,” Arlo grinned, giving her a playful wink. It was his words that caught Yvonne’s heart in her chest however, the easy way he promised that they’d still be a thing at least until next winter. It intrigued her and Yvonne couldn’t help the excitement she felt at the prospect of actually having someone to be with.

“What about you?”

“Mine? I’m gonna have to go with...The Professional. Still holds up.”

Arlo held the door for Yvonne as they veered into one of the first shops along their walk, a place that sold a variety of different knick-knacks, from old skeleton keys to little frog statues, and even street signs. Though the aisles were narrow, they manage to stay side by side, Yvonne relaxing more and more into the warmth of his chest as they browsed.

“What’s one dish you’d never stop eating if there was an endless amount of it in front of you?” He asked as they checked out postcards, the majority related to their chosen alma mater.

“Ooh, good question! Fettuccine. Always. So yummy,” Yvonne answered, hoping her stomach wouldn’t growl at the thought of her favorite meal, especially since she’d skipped breakfast on account of nerves.

“Yeah, Fettuccine’s great. Personally, I’d be really sad if the world didn’t have pizza,” Arlo chuckled, letting her lead the way to the back of the store, where they had all sorts of games and toys, a few that harkened back to childhood.

Yvonne couldn’t help but reach for the magic 8 ball as soon as she saw it, her grin turning excited as she shook it.

“Will we enjoy the movie?” She asked, one eyebrow raised as she gazed up at Arlo, giggling when his expression mirrored hers. When the liquid settled, the window read a clear answer.

Outlook good.

“I hope so. Everyone can’t stop talking about it,” Arlo laughed, shaking his head before taking the 8 ball from Yvonne and giving it a shake of his own.

“Will my devastatingly smart and beautiful date find me up to snuff before the night is out?” He asked, making sure to keep his voice soft in the quiet store. Yvonne couldn’t help but cover her mouth to muffle her laughter when he showed her the answer.

My sources say no.

Arlo pouted, giving her his best puppy dog eyes, hunched shoulders and all.

“That’s not true!” Yvonne shook her head, giggling as she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, unable to help the little flutter in her heart when his already ruddy cheeks went a shade pinker. The blush was made even better by his smile, the genuine happiness bringing out a more youthful side to him.

Taking the eight ball back, Yvonne shook it vigorously while she thought of a question to ask. She wanted it to be something outlandish, a prediction that couldn’t be true in a million years. Something that would cement this as the best date she’d ever been on, were it to come true.

“Will it rain on our date? Maybe right at the very end so I don’t have to walk around with frizzy hair all day?” Once more her eyebrow went up, part of her hoping it happened, and part hoping it didn’t, if only because she’d just gotten her hair done two days before and she’d opted for a silk press. As gorgeous as it was, it wasn’t rainproof in the slightest, and Yvonne didn’t want it to get ruined.

Better not tell you now.

Shrugging, she smiled sweetly at Arlo before wiggling her eyebrows, eyes wide. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“That was…”

“Delicious,” Arlo agreed, taking Yvonne’s hand as they made their way out of the restaurant, having a little time--and a small walk--to the theater.

They’d both chosen the Fettucine--hers with chicken and his with steak--and a glass of wine, and though the cafe was somewhat empty given the time of day, it might as well have been last call, because Yvonne felt like there was no one else in there with her except Arlo and she couldn’t have been happier.

He’d paid without even asking, so as they approached a candy store, Yvonne all but pushed him inside, giggling like a mischievous kid as she did so. “My treat. Can’t go to the movies without a few essentials.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Arlo let her lead him through the aisles, picking out things here and there, wondering how much of it would be used as study fuel later on when they headed back to the reality that was med school.

“So we’ve got Reese’s Pieces, gummy bears, fuzzy peaches, Milk Duds, and of course, Junior Mints.” Yvonne explained her haul as they left the store, carefully putting each candy in her purse and shuffling things around so that nothing bulged inconspicuously.

“I’ll never understand why theaters get upset when people bring their own candy. It’s not as though we haven’t already paid for the tickets,” Arlo mused, gently shifting Yvonne out of the way of a cyclist who was careening down the sidewalk. Startled to be moved so suddenly, Yvonne was about to say something to Arlo when the gust of wind caused by the passing cyclist nearly took her off her feet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, one eye half shut as she tried to blink the dust out of it. Yvonne’s breath caught in her throat when she felt Arlo’s warm hands cup her face. “Open as much as you can, and I’ll try and blow it out,” he explained, keeping her face steady and waiting until he saw her brown eyes fully opened before letting a quick burst of air escape his lips.

“Better?” Arlo asked, ducking his head to meet Yvonne’s gaze.

“Yes, much better, actually. Thank you. Again,” she smirked, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek, this time unable to help but smooth her hand over Arlo’s blushing cheek.

Yvonne would later chalk it up to misleading marketing and the exhaustion of med school, but after sitting through the first half of the movie--and half a bag of gummy bears which she shared with Arlo--she found her eyes growing heavy. Before she realized it, she was out like a light. Far from being put off, Arlo carefully lifted the armrest that separated them and tugged her in close, letting her head rest on his chest as his arm cradled her gently. As the credits rolled, he rubbed her back gently to wake her.

“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing!” Yvonne groaned as she straightened herself out, realizing what she’d done. Arlo couldn’t help his big grin, finding her utterly endearing in her half-awake state.

“You didn’t miss much, believe me. I’ve half a mind to petition the movie studio for my money back, it was so boring.”

“Okay, so it wasn’t just me. Good. That makes me feel a little better,” she shook her head, remembering what little she’d seen of the movie and how she kept waiting for the action to begin.

“Ah, well, two out of three isn’t bad. Overall I think we did alright, no? As far as first dates go?” The anxiety and hope in his facial expression made Yvonne smile, knowing full well he was wishing on every last star in the sky that she would feel the same.

“I think we did more than alright. I think there’s second and third date potential there, mister.”

This time, Arlo blushed hard enough that he had to look away, though there was no missing the big, bright grin and the excitement in his eyes. Yvonne held him a little closer as they walked through the theater’s lobby, her own smile unwavering until she took a look outside.

“Oh my!” Arlo exclaimed, his expression a mix between true shock and more than a little amusement.

“Guess the 8 ball was right,” Yvonne answered, cringing momentarily before dissolving into giggles. “I just had to ask about rain, huh?”

“That just means you’re magic, love. True magic,” Arlo’s laughter sobered as he spoke, his blue eyes softening as he gazed down at Yvonne, looking for all the world like a man head-over-heels in love.

Pausing to think for a moment, Yvonne weighed their options; a taxi back to student housing (which would cost a fortune) or ruining her hair (which would also cost a pretty penny) on the first date with the first guy she’d truly been interested in since her childhood crush on her brother’s friend. Taking a deep breath, she took Arlo’s hand and tugged him through the door, knowing they were both about to get soaked to the bone.

“Love, what are you doing!?” Arlo called over the pouring rain, squinting against the drops and trying his best to pull Yvonne back into the building.

“Come on! I’ve always wanted to dance under the rain!” Yvonne answered, beaming at Arlo despite the drops that battered down on them.

Though he couldn’t hear it at first, when Arlo finally reached Yvonne, the soft sounds of music coming from a nearby restaurant were clear. Pulling her flush to his chest, Arlo took her hand in his and slipped the other around her waist.

Time ground to a halt as they slow danced, forgetting the rain, the cars going by, or even the people watching from inside the stores. There was only the rain, the stars, and the other person.

Their eyes met as the rain began to slow from a downpour to a sprinkle, and without a moment’s hesitation, Yvonne reached up on her tip toes and pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to Arlo’s lips, capping off the best date she’d ever had, ever.

Two things were certain to Yvonne as she and Arlo slowly parted from their kiss; she’d have to make more time to simply be, with Arlo, and she’d have to go back for that Magic 8 Ball soon.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years

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Breadcrumbs

It was Saturday night so you knew it wasn’t going to be a good time. I mean, someone would probably be having a good time, but that was usually the problem. I work as an EMT downtown and a “good time” didn’t always turn out right for everyone. Weekends in particular often saw a good number of drunken brawls, passed out Freshmen on lawns, people accidentally locked out of their homes and close to frostbite, and all sorts of mild concussions.

I had been dreading this particular day for the entire week. Madison is a college town, meaning that most of the population is young adults trying to get a degree in psychology or international relations or getting alcohol poisoning by the age of 22. It also meant that when things happened at the college, the rest of the city felt it.

It was the weekend after finals and we felt it. The night before had seen a tiny girl in a rainbow shirt puking in the ambulance three times (and on me) and a pre-law student having a nervous breakdown over their test results while I asked them over and over what they had taken. And at the very end of my shift around 3 am a frat boy tried to punch me and then cried, asked to call his mom, and fell asleep all in the span of ten minutes.

I was actually one of those students just a few years earlier with the same panic and sleep-deprived wildness in me. I tried my best to help with sutures and calming words and a very large puke bag. “Doctor” had been the dream job since I was old enough to google youtube videos of live-surgeries, but getting to “Dr. Braginsky” was a thing far in the future.

For now, it was just me and my crew and the frigid streets.

It was the regular gang that night for the Ford pick-up rig: Mary Keynes who was at least forty but drove like hell and texted her kids every few hours. She had been there longer than any of us and often regaled us with the story of how she left her husband and decided to make several “life changes.” Driving an ambulance was one of those changes.

And then there was the other paramedic on duty: Jimmy Newark. He wasn’t even that interested in medicine as far as I knew and worked as an accountant during the day. He told us he just wanted something to fill his nights and was a slow-talking calm man with a sad-dog look about him, like he had been kicked a few too many times as a puppy. I also knew that I only ever saw him really come alive was when he was staunching a head wound or trying to resuscitate an old lady from heart failure.

It seemed he got some weird thrill from it, but he was good at his job so I never said anything.

It was me, Mary, and Jimmy. We were pretty chummy at that point and worked well together and the first few hours flew by.

We picked up a kid with a badly sprained ankle after he took a spill on some black ice and visited two seniors who had taken some party drug that had them picking at invisible scabs and babbling. I didn’t think anything of it.

It was a ten hour shift and we were four hours in. Downtown was all lights and red faces and bad music coming from somewhere. I had my flash cards out. I had been studying for the MCAT for almost a year and a half by that point and being an EMT was good practice, but it wasn't a replacement for the actual book knowledge med school would take. And I kept getting nervous.

My hands are steady and there was no end to my fascination with the weird things of the human body, but thinking about testing into competitive schools like Johns Hopkins always got me a little stomach sick. I was getting that nervous sick feeling thinking about applications when we got the call.

It came in over the radio and Mary took it right away. I didn’t hear most of the conversation since I was absorbed in my own thoughts and figured it was something like a college student slipping on a beer bottle. But it was different.

“Right, Sherman Avenue.” We made a quick U-turn and turned on our lights just as I stuffed my flashcards away into a separate compartment as to not get in the way. “Good Samaritan call-in.” Mary said over her shoulder, “an injured man off Sherman avenue. Near the park.” Jimmy leaned forward, “Cuts? Broken bones?” “Didn’t say,” Mary said and made a sharp right turn. “He said it might be a homeless guy. That he just looked bad.” “Okay,” I said and mentally prepared myself for any of the “worst” possibilities. There was a relatively small homeless population in Madison, but they were the most vulnerable to violence and the worst of the Wisconsin winter.

We made it in good time to Warner Park and I looked up just in time to see the slate grey skies starting to release little tiny puffs of snow. “Oh great,” Jimmy sighed and looked up with me. “I left one my house windows open.”

I rolled my eyes and we pulled up to Sherman Avenue with a Goodwill across the street and dark stretches of park on the other. I sighed, “I don’t suppose there was a better tip-off for where this person actually is?” Mary stopped the engine. “Better get out and give it a quick sweep.” We usually only spend a little while looking for an injured person on busy nights like this, but Jimmy pointed first.

“There,” he said and jerked a finger up. “By the light.” There was an upright figure caught in the pure white light of the street lamp on the sidewalk and standing perfectly still. “Is he… hurt?” I asked and squinted and Jimmy was already out of the car. “What are you talking about?” He pinched his gloves on and was running, I got my own gloves on and ducked after him.

“Don’t you want the stretcher?” Mary asked, but I didn’t pause. The man looked like he was standing just fine by himself.

Snowflakes kissed my cheeks softly and I followed Jimmy’s hurried steps toward the figure. “Hold on sir! We’re coming.”

My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. It beat it in my ears with a hot sticky pulse and my breathing was feverish and far too fast for our light jog. I blinked once, twice, and then the man was farther away. Standing in the light of the next street lamp.

“Wait,” I didn’t like this. I turned to reach for Jimmy, but there was only air besides me. I slowed and looked left and right, “Jimmy?”

Soft snow landed on the tip of my nose and there was a red and visceral scent on the breeze. I took a deep breath of it and recognized the rusty hardened stench of old blood. The type that’s been left there to turn to copper and old musty globs.

I tensed from head to foot and when I looked down there were several tiny drops of blood spattering across the sidewalk. Leading me forward. They were wet and must have been what gave the air a putrid smell.

“Jimmy?” I looked around again, but the street was empty as the wind whipped through the branches of the park trees nearby. I turned to get away from this new eerie twilight feeling.

I took a step and the toe of my shoe dipped into a small puddle of blood. I jumped back, I wasn’t a stranger to blood but it looked darker than normal and seemed to sit...wrong. It was too thick and too shiny in the light.

I stood there as if transfixed, and a soft moan crawled through the space. It matched the wind itself and crooned almost sweetly. I jerked my head up and there was the figure again.

He was standing this time inside the park itself by a bench and tall beech tree. I scanned the area around for Jimmy one more time and then figured maybe he got ahead of me. The moan weaved through the air and I reached out a hand toward it.

“Sir?” The smell of cooking meat and winter chill filled my mouth and I covered my nose with my sleeve. The man stood next to the bench, unmoving, and I tried to be rational, there’s blood. Someone’s hurt. Do your job.

I walked quickly on autopilot to get closer to the stranger. Nothing about him came into sharper focus: he was still a faded silhouette among long shadows. I did notice however there was a light I hadn’t seen before.

It was so faint you might be able to convince yourself it wasn’t there, but it burnt pale and tinted blue around his form. An outline a very determined child might have painted around someone.

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the brackish scent once more as I drew closer to him. Spots of blood appeared as shiny pools on the ground. The moan was even softer now and barely audible.

“I’m here to help.” I heard myself say as I indicated the medical insignia on my jacket. The wind slapped me in the face and I winced.

I looked up and there was no one by the bench, but my gaze was driven deeper into the wooded park by a gentle light. And the figure.

I shivered and knew I needed to turn back, I needed it like water or air or a hug after a long day. But there was this smooth line of blood slithering toward him and I was walking. I tried to make it make sense- I couldn’t just leave the fellow and surely once I had him I could drag him back toward the ambulance and find Jimmy again.

I walked past the park bench and past the leafless trees and some of the slush left over from a storm a few days earlier. The snowflakes caressed my cheeks and I squinted ahead.

The moan was musical at this point and I almost started swaying along to it. I didn’t, but I found that I was still walking and walking.

The park passed by and my eyes were filled with the soft glowing blue light and the deep melodic groan that led me toward the earthy blood scent and faded outline.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away and barely noticed as the landscape opened up. The trees fell away and the wind died down and all I was left with was the smooth ground and shiftless dull winter skies. I was however aware of the crack. There was a crackling, electric sound alike to fireworks or eggshells being crunched on the floor.

The moan fell away altogether and it was quiet with only the crackling of the ground and the lovely blue light that seemed to seep inside me. A strange beckoning feeling followed. “Sir,” I whispered as I finally, finally, reached the outline, “You’re injured…”

That’s all I got out before the thing turned around and something stood before me. Featureless, blank skin and something in the middle of its face like a tearing, violent slash that you might describe as a smile. No eyes, no nose, but a jagged smile that split the face in two with the same sick crackling sound as the ground. Something shifted under me.

I gasped and looked down to see that I had stepped out onto the park lake and that’s when the utter cold swallowed me whole.

Cold and cold and freezing water engulfed my head and my vision went white. I tried to pry my eyes open, but the water was black and thick and there was only the barest hint of shine ahead. A shine like long teeth and something looming and huge just beyond me.

“Ah!” A yell like a battle cry erupted from above and I was being wrenched out of the water just as quickly as I had fallen into it.

I sputtered for air above ground.

“Don’t follow the glowing man.” A hoarse voice wheezed into my ear like a chant over and over. “Never follow the glowing man.” I passed out in a twinkling haze of shaking and murmuring.

----------------------

I was saved by a homeless man sleeping on one of the park benches by the lake. No one on my shift remembered me leaving or where I went. All I knew was that I had followed something thoughtlessly out onto the Warner Park lake and fell in.

I asked a nurse, once, if she thought there was something in that lake, but she just gave me a funny look and said that the lake wasn’t deep enough to house much wildlife. I shut up after that.

In the years that followed I never stopped trying to help people, but sometimes I hesitated now. When it was dark, hard to see, and drops of blood littered the ground. I stopped and listened for melodic moaning in the distance.

I didn’t see anything like it again, but working the ambulance wasn’t the same. I looked around corners too much and jumped too easily at different sounds. I took the MCAT as quickly as I could and things become easier in well-lit fluorescent rooms.

I do stop whenever I can though and give out blankets to anyone sleeping on the street and avidly tell college students and locals to avoid the lakes at night. And not to follow any trails of blood that lead you onward and onward into the dark.

---------------------

If you enjoyed the story I have a patreon for long term support and exclusive bonus content and a ko-fi for one-time tipping and $3 coffee trips, please consider giving to the artist if you can! Even a little helps 🤗

#horror story #supernatural #supernatural story #writing #original story #my work #blood/#creepy/

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sgmwesters · 3 years

Photo

╰ ❛ 💉 — › michael b jordan. cis male. he/him. . ╯ have you met benjamin morgan yet ? this thirty five year old sagittarius has been living in the seattle area for three days. he makes a living as an otolaryngology (ent) attending, which is best suited for their protective, empathetic, conflicted, and irrational personality. take me to church by hozier is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 25, gmt, she/her, no triggers

B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N

full name: benjamin joseph morgan.

nickname(s): ben, bj in college.

age: thirty four (34).

date of birth: 26 november 1985, sagittarius.

hometown: manhattan, new york.

current location: seattle, washington.

ethnicity: african-american..

nationality: american citizen.

gender: cis male.

pronouns: he/him.

orientation: ??? idek why i even include this at this point???

religion: atheist.

political affiliation: democrat.

occupation: otolaryngology (ent) attending.

living arrangements: lives alone.

language(s) spoken: english, german.

accent: none.

P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E

face claim: michael b. jordan.

hair color: black.

eye color: brown.

height: 6 ft 1.

weight: 188lbs.

build: athletic.

tattoos: none.

piercings: none.

clothing style: scrubs, smart casual otherwise.

usual expression: fairly stern, but he’s a softy deeeeeeep down.

distinguishing characteristics: dimples.

H E A L T H

physical ailments: torn rotator cuff in high school has left his shoulder somewhat fucked.

neurological conditions: none.

allergies: bee and wasp stings.

sleeping habits: fairly good sleep hygiene, sleeps well provided nothing is bothering him (maddie).

eating habits: usually fairly healthy, likes to look after himself.

exercise habits: as above, likes to look after himself.

emotional stability: sits happily at a seven, but has been known to dip in times of stress or emotional turmoil.

sociability: very sociable, likes to be around people.

body temperature: warm.

addictions: none.

drug use: none and is very against its use.

alcohol use: enjoys a drink, but doesn’t need it.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive traits: protective, empathetic

negative traits: conflicted, irrational

fears: not being able to keep maddie safe and healthy.

F A V O U R I T E S

weather: is indifferent about the weather.

colour: navy.

music: something with a heavy beat.

movies: the godfather.

sport: boxing.

beverage: fruit smoothie, bourbon.

food: hot dogs.

animal: anything small, soft, and fluffy.

H E A D C A N O N S

benjamin was born as the only child to regina and david morgan, a museum curator and ceo respectively in manhattan.

benjamin was raised in close proximity to his cousin madeleine spencer, to the extent where benjamin considers maddie to be more like a sibling to him than a cousin. this came from both of their parents busy schedules and similar lifestyles which led him to be brought up in this manner.

benjamin would like to think that his parents were happily married, but it was only as he got older that he realised the family set up that he had grown up with as a child wasn’t the same as everyone else’s. nevertheless, he figured that it worked for them as it was, and he still considers himself to have had a good childhood.

spending as much time in the spencer household as he did, benjamin sparked a genuine interest in medicine, looking up to his uncle, madeleine’s father, as a role model and idol for his future career in medicine.

benjamin was athletic in school, actively taking part in boxing and baseball. he hoped from early on in high school that he would be able to get into a good school on a baseball scholarship so he wouldn’t need to focus as hard on his studies, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year quickly killed that dream, and he came to the quick conclusion that he had to get his head in the books.

as much as he would hate to admit it, he knew that his parents pulled a few strings when it came to his offers for college, but the decision ultimately came down to him. during this time he had watched madeleine begin to spiral out of control, the concern for his cousin and arguably best friend only growing with each day that passed.

it was during this time that benjamin turned down the offer from harvard that his father had swindled for him, choosing instead to stay closer to the city in order to be nearby while madeleine got the help she had promised her parents she would get.

he was thankful for this decision as the realisation that she hadn’t been getting help came about following amelia shepherd’s overdose. while madeleine was in rehab, benjamin made a point of visiting her as much as he could, skipping classes if he needed to to make sure that she felt supported. she was basically his kid sister after all.

as madeleine got clean, benjamin took the mcats, scoring high enough to be accepted into john’s hopkins off his own back this time. as madeleine was seemingly doing well, benjamin decided to move that little bit further out, knowing he would be close enough if she needed him to return.

it was during this time that the two established their bi-weekly phone calls, no excuses allowed, his way of keeping an eye on her completely.

benjamin moved that little bit further for his residency to mayo, just as madeleine moved to switzerland for her masters. it made sense, he was happy for her and continued to adjust his schedule to make sure their phone calls went ahead as they needed to, suiting her schedule over his.he would often stay awake until the early hours of the morning just to speak to her.

his residency was fairly smooth sailing, despite a period of switching between services as he was indecisive about what specialty he was going to go into. he had always had his heart set on cardio like his uncle, but it only took one case with the ent attending to have him hooked.

as he came to the end of his fellowship, he debated the idea of having a second specialty (he’s a bit of a show off like that), but a nagging feeling inside of him told him something more important was coming.

his calls with madeleine weren’t like they used to be, years of regularity and consistency seemed to be falling apart, with nothing that he could do from where he was. he wanted to believe that this was part of the recovery, that she didn’t need him the way she used to, but he couldn’t be certain.

the night of amelia’s intervention, benjamin received a frantic phone call from madeleine and he knew then that things were not good. whether she was high or just drunk he couldn’t have been certain at first, it was only as she spoke about everybody leaving her the he snapped into action. she’d fallen off the wagon, and he’d be damned if he was going to stand by and let it happen.

benjamin packed a bag and hopped on the first plane to seattle, ready to hold an intervention of his own if he needs to. as far as he is concerned he’s here for maddie and nothing else.

2 0 2 1 U P D A T E S

turned thirty five cos that’s how birthdays work !!

after maddie decided to get clean, benjamin went with her to new york to ensure she fully embarked on her recovery. as much as seattle had only meant to have been a means to an end for benjamin, he found himself wanting to return.

he’s been keeping a low profile at the hospital, but is just kinda keeping things ticking over. he’s still ben.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S / P L O T S

i know i say they all deserve love but really ben deserves love

friends from med school/residency!!!

#━━ ✦ 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 ❮ biography ❯#newintros

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alostsock · 4 years

Text

Not now.

Indulging myself in plotless smart!Buck and secretlywenttocollege!Buck but also a lil angsty!Buck because... I have no self-control.

It had been a slow shift, and Hen and Chimney were sitting in the loft, Hen’s MCAT study materials spread in front of them. Buck came up the stairs, his latest book in his hand, and when he saw them his face lit up.

“Are you studying? Can I help? I love science!”

Hen looked up from her books briefly, giving him a tense smile. “Buckaroo... I want to say yes, but I’m really short on time.”

Buck frowned, confused. “Oh, of course. But I thought, Chimney’s helping, so I could -”

Hen gave him a sympathetic smile. “Buck, I love you, but this isn’t just cool science facts, sweetheart. Knowing that snails can sleep for three years isn’t going to help me with this.”

Buck’s face fell. “I know... I -”

“Right now we’re on organic chemistry,” Buck’s face brightened again, and he opened his mouth to speak, “so babe, please, some other time, okay? This stuff is hard.”

Buck blinked. “I... sure... yeah, okay. I get it.”

Hen let out a sigh of relief, coming up to give him a tight hug. “When all this is over I promise I will take you out for coffee and you can tell me all about everything you’ve been reading lately, okay?”

Buck gave her a strained smile. “Sure. I’d like that. I’ll uh... I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

Hen squeezed his shoulder gently in thanks, and went to sit back down at the table, turning her focus back to the material in front of her. Chimney gave Buck a sympathetic look. Buck tried to smile before turning his gaze away and heading to the bunk room.

Hen sighed as the door swung shut. “I hope he isn’t upset... there just isn’t time.”

Chimney patted her arm. “I’m sure he gets it. He knows you’re stressed. He just wants to help, that’s all.”

“I know. I wish this were something he could help with, though.”

---

Chimney knew that Buck had plans to have dinner with Maddie that night. His own shift ended a few hours after Buck’s, but he was hoping to catch him at their apartment before he left. He still felt guilty, remembering Buck’s downtrodden look as he walked away. He knew Buck was an adult, and that he would understand that they were tight on study time. He knew Buck would see, logically, that Hen didn’t have time to indulge his love of fun facts just then, but he still wanted to make sure that the kid was okay.

He was disappointed to find Maddie alone in their living room when he got home. Grabbing a beer, he sat down beside her with a sigh.

“Did Buck seem okay at dinner?” he asked carefully.

Maddie frowned, turning to face him. “What? Yeah, I mean... a little quiet like he sometimes gets when something is on his mind, but... he said nothing was bothering him, and he seemed otherwise okay. He ate, at least.”

Chimney nodded slowly. Buck tended to lose his appetite when anything was seriously wrong, so that, at least, was a good sign.

“Did something happen at work?” Maddie asked.

“I... not really. Nothing bad, I mean. Nothing work-related. It was a pretty quiet day, actually.”

“But...”

“But... I was helping Hen study for the MCAT, and he wanted to help, and I know he loves trivia and all that, but Hen hasn’t got much time to work on this stuff, you know? There just isn’t time to spare to indulge him, as fun as his fun-fact tangents can be.”

There was silence for a moment, and Chimney looked up from his beer to see Maddie staring at him curiously. She opened and shut her mouth a few times before slowly asking, “Why do you think he would go on a trivia tangent?”

Chimney shrugged. “I mean, I love that kid, you know I do, but... that’s what he does? Like, I know he’s not dumb, and that he likes to read, and that he’s got a truly wild number of interesting tidbits stored away, but... it just wasn’t the time for talking about how elephants can’t jump. We were going through chemistry stuff.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Chim... Buck majored in biochemistry.”

Chimney blinked. “What?”

“Yeah... he has an honours science degree. Biochem major, math minor.” Chimney’s jaw dropped. “He even wrote the MCAT... and did pretty well to be honest.”

“What?”

Maddie frowned. “You didn’t know?”

Chimney shook his head. “I didn’t even know he went to college. I think... I mean I think I remember him mentioning applying once, but he has never, in all the years I’ve known him, ever talked about actually going. I just... assumed he didn’t get in, or didn’t go.”

Maddie shook her head. “He went on academic scholarship. He’s just... he’s a little weird about it, to be honest.”

“Why? Like why would he never mention it? It’s something to be proud of, not ashamed... I’d be proud, if I were him.”

Maddie shrugged. “I am proud of him. He just doesn’t like to talk about it, I guess.”

Chimney paused, another question coming to his mind. “Wait... you said he did well on the MCAT? Why did he switch to firefighting, then? Don’t tell me that kid’s actually secretly a full-on doctor...”

“No, no, he didn’t go to med school. I... he, uh... didn’t have a great last year of college, didn’t apply to medical school like he’d been planning, and then as soon as he graduated he was off to South America, to do... God knows what, if I’m honest. I think he bartended a bit, partied more than a bit... He’d send the occasional text, but then we kind of lost contact...” because of Doug, went unsaid.

“Wow. I... I didn’t know.”

Maddie sighed, getting up to pour herself something to drink.

“He’s... a lot smarter than he lets on, Howie. Sometimes I hear people making jokes, making fun of him for being dumb, and it doesn’t seem to bother him, but it bothers me. Especially when he doesn’t stand up for himself, or worse, agrees and jokes about it himself.”

Chimney felt guilt flood through him. He wondered if Maddie knew that he’d made a lot of those jokes himself. He’d have to apologize to Buck, the next time he saw him. In the meantime, “I’m so sorry, Maddie. I was definitely one of them. I didn’t know, and I definitely didn’t realize it bothered you. ”

Maddie shrugged. “I just... I worry about him... a lot. I don’t like the way he talks about himself sometimes. Especially... especially knowing some of the things he’s struggled with, in the past.”

Chimney nodded, taking her hand in his, interlacing their fingers.

“I promise, never again, okay? I’ll talk to him, and I’ll look out for him. He’s your little brother, so he’s mine too. Although, really, he was before I even met you. I shouldn’t have done it, and I shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m so sorry.”

Maddie smiled at him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

#evan buckley #maddie buckley #chimney han #smart!buck #fic

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epochofbelief · 4 years

Note

sitting on the other's lap I guess this doesnt define too many things 😊

here’s an Elorcan scene for ya... NOT EDITED but thank you for the prompt🙃🙃slight Christmas vibes coming in this one but it’s just the setting for what needed to happen😈hehe

———————-

The mall had finally closed. Elide locked up the store, making sure every piece of jewelry was either in its place or removed from the display and put away. She pulled down the security gate around both sides of the store and then hefted her backpack over her shoulders to go in search of Lorcan.

December itself was still a week away, but the mall’s Santa Claus exhibition had begun several days ago. Elide wasn’t quite in the Christmas Spirit yet. She had laughed at Lorcan as he’d trudged home from working security around the exhibit every day that week. If Elide wasn’t in the Christmas spirit yet, then Lorcan certainly wasn’t. He complained about all the loud kids, the annoying parents who just wanted little Susie or Timmy to have an unlimited amount of time on Santa’s lap, the elf extras showing up late. Sometimes he complained so much that Elide had had to send him out of the living room of their shared apartment as she studied for the MCAT.

Her heels clicking on the tiled floor, the mall was mostly empty as she made one turn and then the next, coming to a sudden halt as her eyes found the Santa exhibit.

In particular, she came to a sudden halt when she saw just who was sitting on Santa’s enormous red couch.

Lorcan himself, still clad in his black security uniform, minus the name tag, sat there, a small little girl on his lap. He wore a fake white beard and a red cap with a pom pom on the end.

Lorcan was wearing a pom pom.

Elide nearly tripped several times as she drew closer to the exhibit, she was laughing so hard. She sobered herself pretty quickly as she reached the red velvet rope surrounding the area. The little girl was crying, she couldn’t have been more than four. And Lorcan, God bless him, was doing his best to comfort her while a bored looking teenage nanny or sister stared at her phone, oblivious. Elide waited patiently in the empty mall, setting her backpack down beside her to wait. Even all the elves had left. It was just Lorcan left there with the girl.

Finally the little girl grinned so wide Elide thought her face would explode. She wrapped her little arms around Lorcan’s neck and then bounced off his lap. Her nanny/sister/very young mother finally glanced up and smiled fondly at the little girl. They walked off together, passing Elide as she strolled up the red carpet.

She stopped just in front of the steps of the dais that the red chair sat upon. She placed her hands on her hips and merely cocked an eyebrow. Lorcan looked up at her through unfairly long, dark eyelashes, one of his hands rubbing his brow, his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Don’t say a word,” he growled.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Elide said. “There are just so many wonderful options for things to embarrass you. I can’t pick.”

He groaned and ripped the beard off. The hat remained.

“Care to explain how you got roped into this?” Elide said, trying and failing to hold back her very amused smile at seeing her so-called “macho” boyfriend dressed as Santa Claus and comforting adorable little girls.

“Santa showed up drunk today. They were short an elf already. None of the other elves are close to old enough to fill in as Santa Claus. The manager begged me and paid me well to do this. We need the money.”

Elide climbed the two stairs, coming closer to her boyfriend, a smile still tugging at her lips. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with the hundreds of children who would be disappointed that Santa didn’t show up today. Nothing at all to do with it.”

Lorcan sighed. “I have had a very long, hard day. Please let’s just go home.”

He made to rip off the Santa cap, but Elide was there before he could, her hand resting on his and preventing him from removing the hat. Now it was his turn to cock an eyebrow.

“Did I mention that you in that hat is kind of hot? And you taking care of little kids is even hotter.”

Lorcan stilled. Then leaned back in his chair.

Elide was smiling in a different way now, as she checked behind her to ensure that the mall was indeed mostly empty. And Lorcan was in charge of security for this section, so nobody would be coming around for a bit…

She sidled closer to him. Lorcan was watching her, his gaze suddenly predatory.

“You know, Santa hasn’t come to visit me for quite some time…”

Finally, he spoke. “Well then have a seat, Elide. Tell me what you want for Christmas.”

He gripped her waist and settled her gently on his lap. Her arms twined around his shoulders.

“Well, I want a pony, and a castle, and to be a princess…”

“Hmmm…. Don’t think I can do that this year, dear,” he said, one hand smoothing her hair and the other still wrapped around her waist.

“What?” Elide pouted.

“I had something better in mind…”

“What is it?” Elide’s act slipped a little, wondering where Lorcan was taking this.

“It’s something that I hope you want more than anything and don’t even know you need it that badly…”

Her gaze locked with his. “Lorcan…”

He reached around behind him and when his hand came back into view, a small black box rested there. Elide’s hands removed themselves from his hair, from around his neck, and came to cover her mouth.

“Elide Lochan… Will you marry me?”

Tears slipped from her eyes, the happiest tears she’d ever cried. All she could do was nod furiously as he slid her from his lap and kneeled in front of the couch, taking her hand as he did so.

“I love you. And I never want to be parted from you from this day on,” he said, sliding the ring onto her finger.

Her tears were falling thick and fast as he stood, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her fiercely. His hands slipped down after a moment, and at that moment a pointed cough rang out from behind them.

Lorcan turned, his hands on Elide’s hips. Elide’s cheeks burned even as she giggled and rested her forehead against Lorcan’s chest. Lorcan just nodded at whoever had coughed at them and pulled her behind the Santa display.

“Let’s go home, fiance,” he purred, unphased by the mortifying interruption that had just prevented things from perhaps going a little too far to be appropriate in a public place.

Elide’s small hand slipped into his as they walked out the double doors of the mall.

“I hope you know that this doesn’t relieve you of your obligation to get me a pony.”

Lorcan chuckled. “Anything for my future wife.”

#elorcan #throne of glass #writing prompt

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madamewriterofwrongs · 4 years

Text

911 Week Day 2: “You scared the shit out of me.” + Fun

Hen didn’t realize how far out of their way Karen had driven them until they were turning into the financial district on a Saturday evening; too busy talking and laughing with her wife to notice where she was taking her.

“Where are we going?” She watched the high-rise buildings and upscale restaurants slowly pass by with a curious eye.

“Just to dinner.” The way Karen kept her eyes on the road and a smirk on her face made Hen more than a little worried.

“When did we make plans for dinner?”

“When I booked us a table at this new place downtown.”

“What’s the occasion?” She knew she wasn’t forgetting a birthday or anniversary (she kept those dates safely stored away).

Karen pretended to look offended but paired it with a flirty smile as she continued to drive. “Can’t a woman just show some affection towards her wife for no reason?”

Absolutely, Hen thought, but that’s not what this was. Something was up and she couldn’t help but feel a little cautious about where her wife was dragging her off to. She could push, obviously, dig her heels in and make Karen tell her what was going on, but where was the fun in that?

She sat back in her seat and surrendered. “If you’re paying, you can show me whatever affection you want.”

Things were quiet for a few minutes as Hen stared out the window at the passing high-rises and restaurants. This whole area just looks the same, she thought. Hen was pulled out of her thoughts by the familiar ping of Karen’s phone. The woman grabbed it before Hen could even reach out, stopping at a red light to read whatever text message popped up. She replaced the phone without a word and drove into the intersection at the light change. Strange.

Even stranger, when Karen opened her mouth a minute later.

“You know I am so proud of you?”

“Okay...”

“I’m serious. You’ve worked so hard studying for your MCATs and you’re making this big career change. I know it wasn’t an easy decision but you never wavered. And even just the decision to become a firefighter. I wasn’t around when you were training but I know how intense that course is. Your intensity and dedication – the way you care about things so deeply – it is one of the things I love most about you and I am so proud of you.”

Hen was speechless. Where was this coming from? These were things Karen said to her on a regular basis but never in a long speech like that. Something was definitely up. Especially considering that this was the third time Hen had seen that particular restaurant logo.

“Am I dying?” It was mostly a joke but one could never be too careful.

Karen rolled her eyes, slowly pulling the car to a stop outside of the restaurant Hen had taken notice of. “What? No. I just want to tell you how much I love.”

“Yeah but we’ve been circling the block for, like ten minutes.”

“They just weren’t ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

“Come on.”

In lieu of answering Hen’s question, Karen turned off the vehicle and motioned for her wife to follow. Hen trailed after her, still with a mix of confusion and panic.

“Am I dressed for what you’re about to do to me?” Her attempt at humor was met with a knowing smirk as Karen opened the door for her.

“Surprise!”

Hen jumped at the sight of her friends and family gathered into the restaurant – actually, taking over the entire restaurant, she noticed. What was going on? She looked around at her colleagues and friends, at Denny and Nia, being held by a proudly smiling Chimney, and then around to the room they’d apparently booked for her. Around them, tables and chairs had been pushed together for a more family-style dining experience. The small table was obviously for the kids to sit at but it was still close. The walls were decorated with streamers and above them was a banner that read:

Congratulations On Passing Your MCAT!

She was not tearing up – she wasn’t – but she did find herself a little misty-eyed as she looked at the happy faces in the room. She hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone at the 118 about her score but apparently, word travelled fast.

Hen turned to her wife who was triumphantly enjoying her look of awe. “So I’m not dying?”

Karen laughed. “No, they just hadn’t finished setting up the banner.” When she looked pointedly into the crowd, Hen followed her eyes until she caught sight of Buck dipping his head in embarrassment.

“I got a papercut.” He complained.

Hen threw her head back, shaking her head fondly. “Don’t ever change, Buckaroo.”

Everyone began to mingle after that, hugs and kisses her exchanges; many ‘thank you’s and lots of laughter. The staff were all friendly and patient (a necessity with that bunch) and the meal was amazing. The party was in full swing before Karen finally got a chance to wrap her arms around her wife.

“I really am so proud of you, baby.” She murmured into Hen’s shoulder.

The paramedic (soon to be doctor) turned to kiss her gently. How had they both gotten so luck? Hen murmured “I love you” and everything felt right.

#911week2020 #hen wilson #karen wilson #firefam #give hen more love #cj writes things #911 fox #911 fic #henren

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wingletblackbird · 4 years

Text

The Population and Socio-Political Structure of New Rome and Camp Jupiter

This is borne of the increase in Percy Jackson content on my dash since the Disney+ announcement and my need to procrastinate studying for the MCATs, because stress.

This will have three parts below the cut.

Part I: Population and Implications

Where I discuss why the number of campers at Camp Jupiter is probably at least ten times more than what Riordan portrayed.

Part II: The Structure of New Rome’s Military

How this increase in population does or does not affect what we see in canon. Also why it is significant that Octavian is at the head of the first cohort and Percy goes to the Fifth.

Part III: Socio-political Implications

Where we discuss the dynamic in New Rome, why the senators should not be the centurions, and what Octavian’s motivations might be. Ultimately, why there is definitely a class divide between the old and new blood.

Part I: Population and Implications

In Son of Neptune, it is indicated that there are about a couple hundred children training at Camp. I would like to argue that this number makes little contextual sense. We are given to understand that Camp Jupiter trains its legacies for several generations. Additionally, Camp Jupiter has been around since, at least, the American Civil War. Given that, in the PJO series, it is indicated that some of the founding fathers were demigods, it is likely that the camps were around since the late 18th century or early 19th. When you do the math, a couple hundred kids just is not enough.

If we assume that when the camp moved from European soil to American soil not every demigod and/or legacy wanted to make the shift, there were only a few hundred soldiers at camp by the year 1800. Nonetheless, with the almost two hundred years between then and Son of Neptune, the number of potential descendants is significant. Additionally, there are a couple hundred minor gods whose children must now be claimed due to Zeus’s pact with Percy. This means that the numbers at Camp Jupiter must have gone up the same as Camp Half-Blood’s numbers did. There are around maybe 200 campers at Camp Half-Blood, potentially, as of HoO, but the exact same number at Camp Jupiter? Very unlikely!

If we assume a few hundred Roman campers as of the year 1800, and start multiplying their descendants, (up to around the fourth generation, or more if legacies married each other), as well as adding in the new demigod blood etc. I would argue that the peak population of people training in the legion to be around 4,500 in the early 20th century with numbers dropping towards the end of the 20th century. By the time Percy arrives, it is probably about 2,700 to 3,000 at maximum.

Contextually, not only does this make more sense mathematically, it also makes more sense in terms of the terminology used. Reyna calls herself the “Praetor of the Twelfth Legion.” Now, the title Praetor is an interesting one. Technically, the leader of a legion is the Legatus Legionis. However, for the sake of simplicity, as Roman history is vast, a praetor is the leader of an army. It is also a political role. This suggests to me that New Rome has one legion that makes up their entire army. Hence, Reyna is “Praetor of the Twelfth Legion.” It is the Twelfth specifically, rather than any other number, or no number, because that is a legion of legend. This also makes sense when she tells Percy that he has not seen the ��Legion in action,” because the legion is the whole army. I highly doubt there are more (even if it may have been implied).

I imagine Riordan reduced the numbers the way he did, to make the civil war between the camps seem more even, but in the context of the world he gave us, it makes no sense. The Romans would vastly outnumber their Greek counterparts. There is a reason New Rome has a population enough to sustain a small university. The previous civil wars between the camps did not happen in a vacuum; they were a part of larger conflicts. It did not matter that there were more Romans since they trained their legacies, because the Greeks had their own allies as well. The Romans and Greeks prior to their forced separation may not have trusted each other, but I imagine the war where it was exclusively camp members involved was fairly unique. Prior to it, the camps just backed or influenced larger political and military events.

Part II: How This Larger Population Fits Into the What we See at Camp Jupiter

Given the description of generally standard weaponry, and that this can be supplied to newcomers, as well as descriptions of the divisions and ranks, I assume that Riordan is basing his writing largely on the Roman Army after the Marian Reformations. Hence, that is the period of history I will be largely drawing from. It also makes sense in terms of how the gods reflect modernity, as it is this type of Roman military I feel is most commonly thought of by pop culture. Upping the population actually changes very little in terms of what we see in the HoO series.

The most basic group building up the army would be the contubernium. These would be a group of about eight soldiers who all shared a tent or barracks. I imagine this would be directly applicable to the breakdown of the cohorts in the standard barracks of ten in Camp Jupiter. People in the contubernium would be both rewarded and punished together. They would be led by a decanus who would likely be the most experienced member of the contuberium. This rarely translated to command in the battlefield, however, and was often reserved for camp responsibilities. The decanus was probably responsible for making sure their tent (barrack) were kept tidy and their fellow members were on track and on time. While I said the contubernium were made up of eight soldiers, there were often ten people total, as two other auxiliary members would be there to help with logistics or special skills. Since some soldiers could be specialised anyway, these roles could overlap. Specialised soldiers were immunes.

About ten contubernium would make up a centuria which would have between 80-100 people. About six of these would make up a cohort. And ten of those would make up a legion. Given that I estimate the population of the legion to be about 2700-2800 as of Percy’s arrival, (which is less than at its peak of 4500). Five cohorts actually works quite well, (...albeit with the more typical number rather than what Riordan indicated in Son of Neptune.) Incidentally, the best members of legion were expected to be in the First Cohort, with the least experienced in the Tenth Cohort. Since Riordan only had five cohorts in Camp Jupiter, it makes sense that Riordan made the Fifth Cohort the “Greeks and geeks.”

It also makes sense that you would have to be the rank of centurion to lead in a quest. Centurion was a very respected but flexible rank. They made up a good portion of the commanders in the army. The centurion with the most clout or seniority would be the primus pilus which would put him in command of the first century of the first cohort. S/he would lead the entire first cohort into battle. Without getting into complicated ranks, I will simply say that on average each centuria had six centurions of varying ranks. The first centurion of the first cohort would be the most prestigious with the sixth centurion of the tenth, or in the case of Camp Jupiter, the Fifth, being the least prestigious. We can assume then that Octavian, as “the most senior centurion” who was “at the head of the First Cohort”, is pretty special indeed.

There are some other notable ranks like optio which would be the second in command of the centurions. There was also tesserarius who helped the optio. There was one of each for each century. There were many other specific ranks as well, such as the person who holds the eagle, or blows the horn etc.

Part III: Socio-political Implications

I appreciated the fact that Hazel was mocked for carrying a cavalry sword, because a lot of the Roman hierarchy was, by its very nature, divided by class. Cavalry was very much the position of the wealthy. Eventually, the cavalry was typically supplied by allied or auxiliary forces and Rome did not much bother with its own. Under the Marian Reforms, you might be supplied the basic equipment, but Rome definitely would not be supplying the horses and food and special equipment you would need for cavalry. Also, the stirrup had not been invented yet so, you would often have to dismount to fight. Hazel might have a spatha, but it was very unlikely for her to be able to afford to be cavalry. She would have to supply her own horse and food for the horse and everything else!

This also leads to another interesting observation that Hazel is even carrying a spatha at all. Rome is supposed to supply basic weapons and armour for the new recruits, but they would be giving her a gladius not a spatha. I figure there are two reasons for this phenomenon. One is that thanks to the failed expedition to Alaska, a lot of Rome’s weaponry was lost. This means Hazel has to make do with less. You take what you can get. Secondly, this is not old Rome. Camp Jupiter is not an empire. They do not nearly have the same resources. This means that people who can afford to supply their own weapons probably did. This makes it much easier for the wealthy and established demigod families to advance. Hazel may have been able to afford a spatha and decided to at least get that.

Furthermore, we can observe that Percy is immediately placed with the “losers” of the Fifth Cohort, because he has no papers, no one to vouch for him, no money etc. It is also noted that “a good letter could get you...even special jobs like legion messenger, which made you exempt from grunt work.” This sounds like the immunes who historically could only get exempt from such work after serving for awhile. Clearly, at Camp Jupiter, if you already prove you are connected and specialized, it does not matter if you have served at all. Why would a son of Vulcan do grunt work when he can make weapons from the get-go?

This system means that you are at a disadvantage if you are new and connection-less. The Senate, who appoints a lot of the leadership, will naturally favour their children and allied families. I think we can see this in Octavian who is very proud of his legacy status. He is important and he knows it. He likes to show it off. I have no doubt that is how he got to be such a high-ranking centurion.

However, a consequence of the Marian Reforms meant that anyone could join the army, which did make the military dangerous to the ruling elite. I think we can see this divide in the praetorship. The population of the legion is significant in New Rome. If the Praetor or Praetors have enough loyalty form the legion, they could stage a coup against the entrenched elite. They also have political power in the senate. This creates an interesting tug of war.

We are told that the Senators in New Rome are the centurions. Quite frankly I think that is ludicrous. The laws, (or decrees, technically, possibly), that affect the entirety of New Rome, including business owners, families, retired veterans, a whole lot of adults, are not decided by teenagers, thank you. That is nuts. In Ancient Rome, the senators were appointed. They also, as a rule, had to be wealthy. I imagine in New Rome, they are almost exclusively from well-off legacy families. The exception to this would be the praetors. While they are teens in the HoO series, I would argue this is because of the war. I imagine praetors are often older, career soldliers.

We are never given much about Octavian’s initial motivations, but if I had to guess he is driven by a fear of being overrun by those of lesser wealth and status. Losing all that gold in Alaska only served to skew the balance of power in the favour of powerful legacy families who could afford new weaponry. However, the arrival of Jason Grace, and then the sudden claiming of all of these new demigods, means this power is lost a bit. There are more new and unknown demigods to rise through the ranks and gain favour. (Additionally, some powerful demigods like Nico may be able to serve as “ambassadors” in the Senate to represent the gods interests. Octavian may even do this for Apollo in his role as augur.)

Now, we know that Jason storms Mount Othrys and kills a Titan. However, Jason was probably centurion of the Fifth Cohort when that happened. He was not the highest ranking commander; he was one of the least. It was typical to place the least inexperienced members of the legion in the front; Jason and the Fifth Cohort likely were right at the front at Mount Orthrys because they were so undervalued. Jason turned things around. I doubt that pleased Octavian. He probably put Jason at the front and hoped he would die there. Instead, he becomes Praetor. Jason has the clout of Jupiter, possibly Juno, and the military to put pressure on the Senate. Worst, suddenly all these demigods are being claimed. I imagine the bond between Reyna and Jason is about how they worked hard to get where they are despite the opposition from the powerful legacy factions and their poor resources.

When Jason disappears, it is an opportunity, for Octavian in his prestigious position to angle for praetor to make sure these new-fangled demigods remain loyal to the true Roman ideals. He can make sure the army is loyal to him, as it should be in his eyes.There is almost certainly a duality between the new blood and the old blood in New Rome.

When Percy, Frank and Haze succeed in their mission, not only does Octavian fail to get the leadership position he wanted, there are also more weapons to distribute to the recruits now. This means that the balance of power is much more even for the first time in a century: New demigods can work their way up, or serve as ambassadors of the gods, while the old blood serves as senators and tries to manipulate the commanders of the Legion. Of course Octavian is not happy! He wanted to keep the new upstarts under-wraps and dependent solely on his favour.

#notstarwars #HoO #PjO #Camp Jupiter #Octavian #percy jackson #jason grace

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lonelyheartsclubhaze · 3 years

Text

Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

#fiction #newadult #new adult #contemporaryfiction #na #youngadult #ya fiction #yafiction #young adult books #ya books

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islitstillcool · 3 years

Text

What is the point?: Let’s start 2021 with an existential crisis.

Story time.

I teach a liberal studies class that I didn’t even take when I went to this same school. (I tested out with AP credits.)

So on the first day of class this semester, I asked my students why they were taking this class. I made it clear that “because I have to” is a completely acceptable answer. They did not disappoint in that category. In all fairness, that’s how a lot of my liberal studies and elective classes were picked as well.

Then it was my turn, and I had a far more articulate, thought out answer because I had the unfair advantage of knowing that the question would be posed ahead of time.

I teach post-secondary literature because storytelling is built into the human brain. It’s a universal activity. And in standard college prep K-12 we get taught all of this mainstream, pre-formulated literary theory. Now, that is absolutely necessary - to prepare you for the next step of then doing your own analysis.

We have to analyze stories all day long because of the aforementioned built-in story mode we have, whether the story is a movie plot, where your boyfriend says he was last weekend, or whether there are space lasers aimed at California. If you can’t process that information, you’re screwed.

Now, if we turn to my inner self, you will find not a confident woman of letters, but rather a terrified millenial who remembers when Tom sold MySpace for $580 million and still can’t believe that people give her money, actual US currency, to guide people in an activity that is overall beneficial but does not 1:1 correlate with a skill you’d find on an Indeed.com listing.

Yes, you are becoming a more complete human being with your gen ed requirements. Yes, you will be a far less insufferable employee and coworker. Good luck spinning that in your interview. I might have to turn you over to the Comm people for that one.

And what am I even doing? Modeling and giving opportunities for practice. Employing Socratic questioning. Exposing students to new things.

Hold on. I’m actually talking myself down. Cool.

I’m about to tell on myself a little bit. That Baurlein article? The angsty one bemoaning the loss of the idealistic, probably-never-all-that-real, mentor-mentee relationship? I feel that. I have a lot of difficulty with interpersonal relationships (unexpectedly deep moment), but man if I didn’t wish for more direct guidance in how to become what I wanted to be.

I was a little bit ready to throw hands with Drezner at the beginning of his rebuttal.

But he’s right. I know he’s right. The demographics have shifted, and we live in a very different social and economic landscape. It feels like the BA is the new high school diploma in a lot of ways.

Tiny digression: I found a job listing for a secretary position that required a BA and said something like “top 20 university preferred.” I died laughing and saved it. I’ll post it if I find it.

In our current world, post-secondary education is utilitarian, not a leisure activity. I remember reading The Help and being floored that girls would walk away from a university education to just get pregnant and organize toilet donations.

I just found out that my late grandmother went to college. If that woman ever had a job, I was never told. Meanwhile, in the year of our Lord 2021, I’m hyperventilating at the prospect of not immediately finding a job in my field. (CPCC, call me!)

My father is suggesting I learn computer coding. My mother keeps asking if it’s too late for med school. ($300 and four hours of my life “wasted” on the MCAT.) A lot of people theorize that my generation was the last one that went to college out of any sort of optimism. It’s bleak! I understand why I’ve got these kids reading Jane Austen purely out of obligation.

John Mulaney is not helping, by the way. (4:25 is your relevant clip. It stings.)

youtube

And after they read it, presuming they don’t lie to me and just Spark Note it, are we having a deep, meaningful conversation about the language and themes? Sure, if you consider an intimate gathering to be your thirty closest friends. Especially if only like three of those friends are chatty, and they’re all trying to talk to you instead of each other. In that context, the British mentor system described by Barre is a dream [and a source of anxiety (interpersonal difficulties, remember?)].

Every one of those anxious party guests has their own way of learning as well. Will I ever learn a Rubix cube by watching someone solve it or by reading an explanation? Absolutely not. I can make that unequivocal statement right now. I have to hold it, and I have to do it myself. But I still need a teacher. I just need the teacher to give me the steps and then step back and let me make a mess of the cube for a bit, step in if I’m going way too far in the wrong direction. The teacher is still necessary, though.

Maybe we need to go back to the one student, one teacher model. Like the Sith. That would really drive up tuition prices, though....

#education #pedagogy #teacher #crisis #english #john mulaney #lotr #rant #rubix cube #long #philosophy

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theawkwardterrier · 4 years

Text

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 38

AO3 link here

The campus is quiet over spring break, and Sam has resolved to force himself to take advantage.

He’s been asked to fill in at the library - they’re on limited hours and he’s not a regular work-study student, but his dad is basically best friends with Dr. Morris over there, and when they’d decided to do a shifting project while the students were away, he hadn’t exactly had other plans to use as an excuse. So, since he’s here, he’s decided that he won’t leave until he’s settled on something.

Leslie at the reference desk gave him a couple of career advice books and he carries them in his arms out onto Keyser Quad. It was cold yesterday and it’s supposed to be cold tomorrow, but today it’s mid-fifties and sunny. He squints a little coming out from the low light of the library, trying not to let himself get distracted already.

He’d looked at other schools, was accepted at some, and figuring in both his parents’ tuition grants, could have gone to even a good private one without much trouble. But he grew up playing under the desk in his dad’s office on the weekends and doing his homework in the hospital cafeteria with his mom in her scrubs, being the only kid in his class interested in college lacrosse. He was excited to come to Hopkins, to make it even more his own, to stay. His parents had been excited for him, and the school was so well-regarded in so many different areas, that no one had really objected to him coming in undecided. But now here he is, coming up on the end of his sophomore and he has yet to declare a major.

He’s a good student and he’s taken classes he’s liked - a basic level astronomy course as a natural science credit, Introduction to Comparative Politics with one of his dad’s colleagues - but nothing he can even come close to imagining doing for the rest of his life.

Sometimes he wishes that someone would just decide for him, but then he realizes how much he hates the idea, and instead wishes he would just feel it, whatever inside push that made his mom decide that medicine was her thing, that makes his friend Wen describe the life of a struggling filmmaker with some kind of odd, headlong relish. But no matter what he tries on for himself, he can’t make anything fit right.

He’s already flipping open the top book as he walks, skimming down the table of contents, and so he doesn’t notice that he’s brought himself over to the one bench on the vastly open quad that’s actually already occupied.

“You look like you’re trying to make a decision.”

When Sam looks up, the older man sitting next to him already has a smile on his face. But when Sam’s eyes meet his, there’s a slice of a second where the smile shifts to something a bit pained, a bit wary, strangely knowing. The next second, Sam wonders if he’s imagined it; it’s just a nice stranger’s smile again.

“Just trying to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life,” Sam tells him, giving a wide smile of his own, the kind that charms professors, parents on his campus tours, all the people at his grandparents’ church. Somehow this guy doesn’t seem to fall for it.

“That is a big decision,” he says, and it’s the calm observation there, the way he sounds like he’s cracking a conversational door if Sam wants to step through it, even more than the fact that they’ll likely never see each other again, that makes Sam close his book and turn to face him fully.

“Sometimes I think it would be easier,” he says, “if we had a family business. A store or a company or a tradition, ten generations of something that everyone would expect me to go into.” It’s not only the first time he’s said such a thing outside of his own mind before, but the first time he’s allowed himself to even think of it in such specific words. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, shakes his head. “I know it’s selfish, thinking that way. Plenty of folks would give a lot to have my sort of problems - I’m in a great school, my parents are supportive. I can choose practically anything I want.”

“But you aren’t someone else, and it doesn’t make it easier if you don’t know what to choose.” The man stretches long legs in front of him, hands patient in his jacket pockets. The calm understanding hits Sam in a way that nearly makes him want to turn his face.

Instead he asks, “How did you choose your job? Whatever you did.”

“I was a social worker for the state, working in the foster care system. Twenty years in the job. My wife and I adopted all four of our kids, and every time we went through the process, I knew that it would be impossible to bring all those children home with us. But it wore on my mind, thinking of them all, it really did. I stayed home with the kids when they were younger, but after that I went back to school, got my masters, started doing what I could to help all those I couldn’t bring into my own family.”

Telling a saint about my problems, Sam thinks. Smooth.

“It wasn’t as if I had thought of doing anything like that before, but then I ran into the idea and I knew it was the right one.” He shrugs, and for a sudden blink, Sam can imagine him younger.

Sam shrugs back. “Guess nothing like that’s happened to me.”

“Not yet, maybe,” says the man, but Sam shakes his head.

“And what if it doesn’t? I don’t have much time left to get--” He waves a hand around a little. “Inspired, or whatever.”

“Time, hmm?” With a tilt to his head, the man says, “Sounds like you’re putting quite a bit of pressure on yourself to have things figured out now. What if instead, you got things figured out for now?

“Like, for the next few months, or what? Because I have parents who like a little bit of a longer timeframe. And I don’t think they’ll be that impressed by my picking a major and then changing it next semester.”

A laugh. “So let’s go for something a bit more permanent. What are you interested in?”

“That’s pretty much the problem,” Sam says. “I’ve liked plenty of classes, but there’s nothing that really jumps out to me.”

The man shakes his head. “I didn’t necessarily mean classes. You’re thinking narrow.”

“I guess…” Sam runs a thumb over the soft-edged corner of the book in his lap. “I was a camp counselor, and that was cool. And we had to do CPR and first aid training there - I ended up getting EMT certified after that.”

“Really?” says the man, though he doesn’t sound entirely surprised. “Why?”

“I guess I liked the idea of being able to help people,” says Sam, ducking his head for a second. “It made my mom think that I was going to become a doctor like her, though.”

“And you don’t want to be?”

“I don’t think I’m that science-minded, man. I’ve looked at the sample MCAT questions. But it isn’t like there’s a paramedic major here.”

“You know,” says the man thoughtfully, “one of my sons-in-law got a degree in physics, even though he always planned on becoming an electrician. There’s no shame in learning for learning’s sake, if you have the means for it.”

“Bet he didn’t have my parents, though. They’re...They expect something from me. My dad was the first person in his family to go to college, and now he’s got tenure here. My mom worked her ass off - sorry - for years to get where she is. They want that to mean something.”

“I wonder,” the man says, “if you are holding onto a narrow definition of what has meaning. Because hard work, helping people, that seems to me like something that means a lot.”

Sam thinks of his mother coming home worn through and ready to go back tomorrow to help a new round of patients. He thinks of his dad explaining the ways that political science isn’t just theory, how it shapes lives without even being truly recognized. Slowly he says, “Maybe I could talk to them about it. See what they say.”

“I think that sounds like an idea,” says the man, smiling. “I’ve known a lot of parents in my time. I’d hope yours might surprise you - by being more open than you think, or bringing something new to the table.”

It surprises Sam, how much he likes the thought even as it scares him: just sitting down and telling his parents what he’s been thinking, hearing what they have to say. He shakes himself a little, looks at the fresh grass around them. “Thanks for talking that through with me. You’re pretty good at that.”

“I had plenty of people who taught me.” Once again his smile seems almost ready to tip into something else before he rights it. “And communication like that only works with someone who’s willing to give back from their end. So thank you.”

“What are you doing on campus, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My wife is giving a lecture soon. I’m just a little early for it. Thought I’d enjoy the weather while it’s here.” He checks his watch, stretches himself into standing. “But it looks like it’s time for me to head over.”

“It was good to meet you,” says Sam, extending a hand. “I’m Sam Wilson, by the way.”

The man takes his hand, shakes it, but doesn’t say anything for a second. Finally, hand still clasped firmly around Sam’s, he says, “Steve. And believe me, Sam, it was very good to meet you.”

More chapters here

#things left behind fic #Steve Rogers #Sam Wilson #pretty short this week sorry

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mtg-thrill-of-possibility · 3 years

Text

A Reflection on Magic, the Pandemic, and the Dark Side of Arena

Hello to all the readers who may stumble upon this in the search for new Magic content. I wrote this mostly to fill a void in my life that has opened up over the last year and more of a mental health thing than some form of Magic related advice but since it is about that, I thought they’d go hand in hand. I love Magic. Or at least I have loved Magic? It’s hard to tell. Like nearly everyone on this planet, I’ve been shut off from in-person Magic and it had/has me left down. I normally volunteer at my LGS and help them organize their tournaments and judge the events and generally whatever else they ask me to do because I really love Magic. I love playing with my locals who don’t spend hundreds of dollars and craft GP/MF level decks. I love watching a group of people playing draft chaff and off beat home brews and where adults and teenagers can compete with one another on that level. I enjoy sitting off to the corner on the store’s EDH night and listening to games and drawing tokens for games in my own corner while I wait for my own games or sometimes my ow turns. I also love traveling with my wife to cities and go compete in GP/MFs where we usually both scrub out of the main event by round 3 or 4 and then hit the vendors and side events as well as explore the cities for new restaurants. I miss Welcome Days where adults bring in kids and I show them the ropes. I love meeting adults who poke their noses in and ask me “Magic is still a thing? I played that in high school” and show them the changes. I can still remember the Theros Beyond Death prerelease last year and thought how much fun it was to not work the event for once and just play. And looking back, boy am I glad I entered the THB prerelease.

February was the start of the downturn. Our EDH night was slightly less full but I just figured it was due to the weather since the winter usually has a downturn in the attendance for every event. But then the rotating cast of 10-15 FNM players was 6; Pioneer on Saturday had 3. The next week, the EDH crowd was down to from the usual 6-8 pods to 2. FNM and Pioneer failed to fire. The news that COVID-19 was starting to creep into the Midwest prompted me to ask the store what precautions we wanted to take and when we were going to stop in general.

I work in chemical research and I have a background in pharmaceuticals and once (or twice) studied the MCATs and considered going to med school. I was definitely concerned but in February it hadn’t reached my state (yet) and I wanted the store to be ready for the imminent shutdown and continued downtick in participation (my LGS and I had been strategizing how to move up in events and the store ranking on the WPN). But it’s a red state. Science denial must be a recessive trait that the Midwest incorporated into its identity for a long time and I was told that I had some freedom but to not go crazy. I thought I’m a volunteer. I’m not spending what little money I have on stuff for you guys. So, I did the best thing I could think of for free, I started a Discord server. I was really excited at the prospect. I had just bought a webcam in case my workplace started working from home and thought how cool it would be to be able to organize events in Arena and talk through Discord when the store wasn’t available. I asked if we could hang up a flyer and tell all the Magic customers that they continue with tournaments and Magic if they joined the Discord I set up in the store’s name.

My LGS asked how much this was going to cost them and I said exactly as much as it costs them now if not a little less since we don’t need the store’s utilities or a cashier behind the counter in the after hours to work the tournament. They were happy and I got the greenlight. Things worked okay at first. Those with Arena accounts showed for a few weeks. Others I knew were interested were convinced that we were overly sensitive to the virus and FNMs continued to limp along with 4-6 people until everything ground down to a halt.

Come mid-March, COVID had finally reached the state and the city. Cases were light, a few hundred people tested each day, single digit cases detected but I again was worried. My workplace had already begun educating everyone on how to wash their hands properly and disinfect every surface and everyone was issued a bleach spray bottle with their name and a serial number on it. While the mayor and governor hadn’t ordered a shutdown yet, I advised strongly that the store go ahead and if they wanted to continue that I wouldn’t be there to assist until the curve was sufficiently flattened.

I’m not sure why but they trusted me and listened. I was glad and I pushed again for people to join the Discord server. Players were reluctant but I assured them that this may be the future for some time and if they get on now, they can still get the Ravnica intro quests and start building up their Arena collections. I got more on my side, we had 8-10 and got them all to try and hook anyone else they knew to join us. However, by the end of March, my workplace had moved to 100% virtual and with my extra time, I had begun to unwittingly shift the power dynamic in the store by accident. You see, I really love Magic. I was now working from home for a job that required me to have direct physical access to hundreds of thousands of dollars or sensitive equipment that need recertification when they get moved 12 inches down a work bench and dangerous chemicals I don’t want near me unless I know there’s an inspected chemical shower nearby. When the campus shut down, I got very bored. I did what research I could from my home portal, attended virtual conferences and webinars every day, but I had tons of down time. That meant watching my wife play Animal Crossing, playing with my dogs, marathon sessions of Civilization but most crucially, I also began grinding Arena.

My local meta had been defined by the understanding that none of us were really Arena players. I had played when the Kaladesh and Amonkhet closed betas were happening, but I was turned off by the fact that all my playing of those formats amounted to nothing when it launched with Ixalan and I would start from square one. Everyone in the group typically shied away from tier 1 tournament decks because to all of us, it was more fun to goof around with RG auras and Tilonalli’s Summoner decks than it was to grind Esper Hero or the new Uro decks. And the limitation that everyone didn’t have all the shocklands meant we were all playing on roughly the same card pools with some variation due to our play styles. So when I suggested we all start playing Arena to replace the tournaments, it worked because it meant we all played the same dumb decks we’d play in person with a few exceptions of having less than perfect mana bases.

But I would find myself grinding Arena everyday where my friends and locals were not. Even though I jumped into Arena at mid-March, I finished the Theros Beyond Death mastery at level 78 when Ikoria began to creep around the corner. I had just begun to get back into Magic when Fate Reforged hit and didn’t realize how much I love wedge color alignments over shards but boy did I love Abzan in Khans standard and now I was in love with Abzan again in Ikoria standard. Grinding the way I did meant I drafted most afternoons for the first month of Ikoria (and forced Temur every time) and started climbing the ranked ladder in the evenings. Ikoria would also mark the first time I spent money on Arena. I’m notoriously spend-thrift in video games and anything you can free-to-play I do religiously because you shouldn’t make a game grindable over the course of years if you give me that option. But drafting took gems and I really love drafting but most people at my LGS are too concerned about rares than learning to do it properly and a lot of younger players feel lost when I draft a zero rare deck and go 4-0 and collect my prizes. By the end of April, I would reach Platinum in constructed and Gold in limited. But now my LGS was far less inclined to play with me. I didn’t brag about any of my rankings but the skill disparity had begun to creep in as well as the difference in our collections. Having played so much Arena, I could see the tells the software gives away that paper Magic doesn’t. I learned to read when the game would hang up on the beginning of combat and end steps because they’re holding potential responses. I began to do the full control shortcut to bluff counter spells and removal. In paper Magic, if my opponent would sequence things wrong or tap their mana wrong, we’d make jokes and rewind it because it’s one of those human errors that we all make and redo it the right way.

But Arena was different; some learned the hard way to not trust the auto-tapper, some didn’t realize that the way they normally stack triggers in paper is backwards and too late to fix after a spell or ability resolved. And I couldn’t help them. And I let them make their mistakes because I can’t change Arena. If they use the auto-tapper and they realize that Arena doesn’t tap the Castle Vantress even though they couldn’t activate it anyway and they lose a dual source, I couldn’t help them. If they have the lethal Explosion in hand but forgot to hit Control in their second main so they can stack the Wilderness Reclamation triggers in their end step, I don’t concede out of pity.

In May, I try and keep the Magic going by suggesting that we shift the format to a draft limited but they’re unconvinced of the website that allows you to simulate an 8-person draft and then import the drafted card lists to Arena. Why? Because they don’t have the cards already and I’ve changed the dynamic. They know I’m much more skilled at Arena and Ikoria drafting. The news has also been reporting that the curve was flattening, and our state was lifting restrictions on gatherings. They want to play EDH and paper Magic, not this digital intangible game. I reluctantly agree but keep grinding on Arena anyway. My friends didn’t want to play Magic on Arena and I couldn’t understand why. I was getting burned out on drafting at this point and the drafts were harder to fire off a month and a half later, work was returning on a limited schedule where I was onsite 75% and virtual 25%, it really did seem like things were returning to normal.

In June I finish the Ikoria mastery and at this point my wife had begun to show more interest in playing on Arena and trying to get her account a little more stocked since our normal paper system is I aggregate everything we typically need and I make her desired deck and hand it off to her to wreck people on FNM but since I didn’t have to judge, I got to play and we couldn’t both play from my account at the same time. I casually start hers and I get the wild hair that maybe I should make a loaner account in the store’s name and if anyone says they don’t have the cards, they can borrow the store’s account for the tournament. I make the account but put the pipe dream on hold when Wizards announces that in-store play can resume with the Core 2021 prerelease. I could read between the lines and see that the curve was trending the wrong way and thought it was a bad idea but at my insistence, everyone would have to wear a mask at all times and hand sanitizer was available every 15 feet and the store had lots of space for players to spread out. The turnout was low which helped as well, and I had everyone who showed up at least aware that I was trying to keep the Discord going and that in case there’s another shutdown that there was another avenue for them.

Well, I got my wish because within a week of the launch of Core 2021, my state had regressed, and cases were exploding and gathering restrictions were sent back in place. Shortly after that, Wizards suspended in-store play again and with that I created the store’s Arena account. At the time, things were pretty good. The locals weren’t playing as much and my server was still fairly empty but most of the Magic Twitch community I interacted with had strongly adjusted to the new paradigm. EDH streaming was commonplace, I had my new Arena account to focus on building up as well as my own. Pro level events and Opens were being held on Arena and the expansion of Amonkhet Remastered gave me hope that Magic was on the mend. But I also think it was with Core 2021 that things started to slide into the negative for me. Grinding the second account was frustrating me a lot. The lack of human interaction was tilting me out for no reason. Some days the server would have me wait a whole minute (the horror?!) for a game and then my opponent would be the world’s slowest red player where everything seemed delayed. There would strings of games I would play where I couldn’t get a third land drop after a mull to 4 and other times where I’d flood out and would have won if it weren’t for generic whiny reason why everyone says they lose.

Maybe it was when I began to see that Arena is not Magic the Gathering as much as it is a video game that it began to really sour on me. For those of you who don’t play a lot of Arena and instead interact with humans over webcams is that Arena is designed for you to not play off beat home brews except in direct challenges with your friends. The game is meant for you to play the best combination of 75 cards and for you to help it machine learn through millions of matches what is and what is not the correct play pattern based on the available information you have. It wants you to play the very best decks in a format against the other best decks. I started to see this in Ikora standard when decks would scoop if you were on the play and went turn 2 Agonizing Remorse. Decks were and still are so linear that they can’t handle that kind of disruption or it’s a matter of the players know it’s faster to accumulate wins by scooping than grinding out a long game.

If you need evidence of whether or not this is true, you should play Arena now and see how often people scoop against the double Ruin Crab opener with a Fabled Passage back-to-back. Or if an opponent against your Lurrus Auras deck will time out when they know they can’t win. In paper Magic, when you drive 4 hours to a major venue, pay your entry fee, you never see your opponent rage scoop unless it’s Legacy and you know what your opponent’s on and you mull to zero so you can see what’s in their deck. You call a judge to your table if they start stalling. Nothing is more annoying that an opponent spamming “Good Game” at you through a match when it’s obvious that you’re not killing them that turn but they’re empty handed and have nothing relevant on board.

I’ll admit myself that what my wife calls “Wizard Chores” for the Daily quests, if I’m 1 red spell short of finishing a quest, I’ll log in for one more game and Boulder Dash my opponent’s creature or cast Shock to face and immediately scoop. Who is that helping? I’d spend the week at work in my down times thinking about what dumb cards I hadn’t played with from a set, start making a list, furiously find the cards on a Friday afternoon and grab dinner with the wife and then race to my LGS for FNM. Magic used to be something I only got to do twice a week with people in a shared setting and we’d unroll our playmats, shuffle up our jank, and laugh and generally have a good time for three to four hours. With Magic at my fingertips, Arena is a distillation of efficiency at spell slinging combined with the minor rewards system we’ve come to recognize the free-to-play traps to “encourage” us to play different things. If I want to play 100 matches in a day, all I need to do is sit at my computer long enough. If I want to play my old jank on Arena, I can’t even count on the Casual play channel to help since it’s always filled with people with 55 of the 60 cards that make the best deck learning how to play before they commit the wild cards for the deck.

Zendikar Rising has been a pretty dark point for everyone on Arena I believe. It seems like a lifetime ago that Omnath was printed and that I had immediately cashed in four mythic rare wildcards for the deck I would get to play with on Arena for 2 weeks before Wizards realized their mistake. Honestly before I had started writing this in the week before Kaldheim will hit Arena, I forgot that Omnath was part of the most recent set as all I can remember Zendikar Rising giving us is the extremely irritating Ruin Crab and Soaring Thought Thief. The few locals I had left on my Discaord server when ZNR released had lost interest in Arena since they enjoyed the Ravnica standard that was rotating out and Pioneer was not yet available for Arena. I’ve encouraged nearly everyone I know from my LGS to buy webcams since October given that the current state of the COVID world is not likely to go away and the new culture and channels that have opened up in the world to fill the void of EDH has some level of benefit even when in-person play resumes. Not many people play and I’ll search for an occasional game on the official Discord when the craving strikes. Some of my friends have been taking advantage of the webcam world and started playing older formats with me over webcam such as Pioneer and Modern to rekindle their love for Magic and the hope that we can start playing tournaments over webcam. Finishing up the ZNR mastery passes on my two accounts and my wife’s account has been giving me a much-needed break from Arena and honestly, it’s probably done the most to lift my spirits.

I’ve been taking a lot more time to reflect on why I love Magic and I plan on doing in the future. The first thing I know I’m going to do and stick to is not get a Mastery Pass for mt LGS store’s account. They don’t pay for all the work I put into the one already grinding multiple accounts is not good for my mental well-being. The second thing I know I am going to do is relearn how to have fun in Magic again. Not really hinted at in this article so far is the fact I love the art in Magic and I’m often inspired by my own crazy mind to illustrate my own works or reimagine my favorite cards with my own art. Since the release of Rise of Skywalker, I had been working on a personal project of creating a second expansion to the largely underground Star Wars the Gathering card game and ended up making 200 unique, draftable cards. I wouldn’t call myself an artist because I’m still learning and I don’t necessarily aspire to an artist but I would love to improve my skills and one day make a piece that’s so good someone wants on a card. Over the last two years, I’ve been deeply jealous of how amazing and hard working the Magic cosplayers are and that I should put my art to good use and make my own cosplays. And then there’s the playing of Magic. I miss the Gathering part of Magic. So this brings us to the bedrock of this piece. I hope to continue this blog steadily as time moves forward. I’m rarely ever satisfied or have my attention on any one project for too long but 2021 is a new year. And I hope that the title is a hint to the future. Whatever it is; whether it’s deck construction, art alters, or Magic cosplay, story, general discussion, that’s what I’m here for. It’s the Thrill of what I might work on next and I promise because I’m terrible right now at doing so, I’ll be sure to take pictures and try and stream when I can to keep myself honest about the whole deal. I hope you’ll all join me or at least join the Discord to yell at me.

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