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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years

Text

Slow Going

Sometimes the world shifted.

Or at least, it felt like it did; like he was on the deck of a boat being tossed about by waves, getting knocked off his feet the moment he’d found them steady. The silver-haired man whose face looked so familiar – his brother? – explained in a soft voice that it wasn’t the world, it was his own mind. Something about memory guns and relapses and memories and slow recovery. He couldn’t quite understand it. He tried, but it was like trying to put together a puzzle with pieces missing.

For the most part the world was stable enough. They lived in a house – his house, apparently. The man was his brother. The sweet-faced kids were his niece and nephew. Or… great niece and nephew?

Definitely great. They called him ‘grunkle’.

He knew that something big must have happened, back before he’d woken up in the forest a few days ago. Everyone here seemed so sad. It made his chest ache, a black stain of worry spreading through him. But no matter how much he asked no one would explain it to him. Or… maybe they already did, and he’d forgotten?

Maybe everyone was sad because they missed this ‘Stan’ character. The kids, his brother, and that weirdly familiar man-child who came around every day looked upset whenever he asked about the guy. Even though some of them called him by that name? Was it his name?

He groaned and sat up from his bed, abandoning any hope of getting back to sleep. Not with his brain being all screwy and this headache pulsing in his temples. The dull throbbing always seemed to spike up when he hit a particularly frustrating block – like when he’d spent ten minutes staring at a stranger only to realize the face staring back was his own reflection in the window. Or when he forgotten how to tie his shoelaces. The bad days came and went like waves on the open sea.

He groaned again, one hand scrubbing at his face as the other fumbled around for…

For?

His hand found a pair of glasses on the bedside table. That old guy wore glasses, right?

-a bright-eyed child with a book in one hand, gesturing excitedly, poking up his glasses when they started to slip down his nose-

Yeah, his brother, Ford. Must be his glasses then.

He pulled on a rumbled jacket and trudged downstairs, smothering a yawn in one hand. From the chill in the air it must be early, so he was careful not to make noise and wake the kids, who he was pretty sure slept in the basement or the attic or something. Were they still there at all? Still, there was a clattering coming from the kitchen. He followed it curiously.

His brother glanced up when he entered. The man – his name was Ford, he reminded himself – was doing… something at the stove. Something that was resulting in sizzling and a bit of smoke.

“Oh, Stanley, good morning. How are you?”

Stanley! That was his name, he remembered now. He got the feeling that he’d forgotten it before. Jeez, it was a bit embarrassing to forget your own name. Since when was he having memory problems anyway? He couldn’t… remember…

“Stanley?” Ford stepped closer, his eyes searching Stan’s face. “Are you alright? Are… are you having another episode?”

Stan shook his head and suddenly remembered the glasses in his hand. He held them out.

“Episode? Of what, Ducktective? No, I’m good. Are these yours?”

Ford’s eyes landed on the glasses and he bit his lip. “No, Stan, those are yours.”

Stan blinked. “…I have glasses?”

Ford gently took them from his hand, unfolded them and slid them over Stan’s face. The world sharpened around him.

“Oh! So that’s why everything was so blurry.” Now that his vision was clear he could see the mess of what he hoped were eggs sizzling in the pan over Ford’s shoulder. Well, less sizzling, more hissing and blackened around the edges. “Uhh – hey, Ford? What the heck is that?”

Ford brightened at the use of his name. Then he had the grace to look sheepish.

“Ah, yes. I was attempting to make breakfast – though it has been some time since I’ve cooked. I seem to be a little out of practice.”

Stan snorted and ducked past his brother to take the pan off the heat. “Yeah, no kidding. These eggs look more scrambled than my brain.”

“…they were supposed to be pancakes.”

This time Stan couldn’t suppress a loud laugh. “Alright, move over. Time to let the pros work.” He tipped Ford’s disaster-cakes into the bin with a flick of his wrist and pulled out a fresh bowl. “You’re gonna wanna mix the eggs and milk together before you add ‘em to the flour. And put that measuring cup away. When it comes to pancakes you gotta measure this shit with your heart.”

He found he didn’t have to ask where the flour was kept, or the whisk. His hands found them instinctively. Stan’s autopilot was on a roll as he chatted away.

And then he turned and caught a glimpse of Ford gaping at him. Stan hesitated.

“…what? I got something on my face?”

Ford shook his head quickly, a warm smile spreading across his face. “No. Please, continue.”

“Uhh… sure.” Stan shrugged before resuming whisking the batter. “You wanna pass me the ladle so I can fry these bad boys? And see if we’ve got any jam in the fridge. One of the scamps – err, was it Mabel? – she likes the stuff, right?”

“They both do.” Ford explained. “Mabel has a higher tolerance for sweets, though, so it’s an easy mistake to make. I – Stan, is that glitter?”

The surprise in Ford’s voice made Stan stop and look down at his hands. Sure enough, clutched in one fist was a jar of bright pink sparkles. When had he picked it up? Just looking at it made his head throb.

“I… I guess so. Why do I…?” He looked around helplessly. “I don’t remember why…”

Suddenly he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He was in a kitchen, cooking. Or he had been. How did he know how to cook? He couldn’t remember the recipe, or where he’d learned it.

Ford gently pried the jar of glitter from his hand, reading the label out loud. “Industrial strength edible glitter. I suppose this is how Mabel makes her cooking so… vibrant.”

How did he get here? Why did his head hurt?

“Do you remember a few weeks ago?” Ford prompted. “The biscuits she made were glittery. She made me come up from the basement for a formal tea party and gave us all pretentious names. I was worried the glitter may be toxic so I tried to run a few tests on them to make sure they were safe, and you told me I was being silly.”

…glitter. Biscuits. Pancakes. Stan winced and rubbed his forehead at another spike of pain.

“…right, yeah. The, um, the glitter.” Just like that, the world was coming into focus again. The boat righted itself. “I… lost a bet with – what’s her name? Mabel – and for the rest of the summer every pancake I made hasta be filled with glitter. Somethin’ about makeup for your insides.”

Ford smiled eagerly. “Stan! You remembered something without direct prompting!”

“…you told me about the thing.”

“About the glitter, yes, but not the bet! This means you’re getting better!”

Stan was still kinda confused, but it was hard to be crabby in the face of that sunshine grin. It made him feel all warm inside. Safe.

So he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, letting the headache fade into background noise. “Yeah, well. You’re still gettin’ glitter with these pancakes. A bet’s a bet.”

“Of course. I doubt even amnesia would save you from Mabel’s wrath if she found out you went back on your word. Do you happen to remember what she would have had to do if she’d lost?”

“Err…” Stan racked his brain. It sent another twinge of pain through him but it was worth it when his brother was smiling like that. “Somethin’ about that pig. I was probably gonna make her kick it out or somethin’.”

“You love that pig.” Ford said dismissively. Stan punched him lightly in the arm and it just felt right.

“You take that back! No way am I attached to a piece of living bacon!”

“Fine, fine. Then for the sake of your dignity; you love Mabel and she loves that pig. Ergo, you would not have made her kick it out.”

“Ah, whatever.” Stan flapped his hand. “Didja want these pancakes or not, mister smarty-pants?”

“I would love nothing more.”

Stan rolled his eyes at his brother’s fervent tone. It was just pancakes. Not like Stan had risen from the dead or anything. Ugh, drama kids.

But – it was nice. Stan wasn’t sure why the familiar-but-not-too-familiar banter filled him with a bittersweet feeling. His brother’s smile, the ease of working in a kitchen he could have sworn he’d never used but somehow knew like the back of his hand, it all just felt right.

Stan couldn’t remember what he’d woken up thinking about that morning, but he did know that he was happy. And wasn’t that enough?

#gravity falls #the stans #fic #my fic #my writing #oneshot

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loftec · 3 years

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what do u think about the new episode? because i personally fucking hate it :) i hate shameless, the only thing i care about right now is fic 😔

Same, my friend. I have been thinking about what to say or not to say about this for over a week and every time I've sat down to just type something out, I haven't been able to articulate anything. But I have so much to say, so I will try.

Now, if you (reading this, right now) are one of the lucky peeps who like this season and what it's got going for Ian and Mickey, so far... then maybe skip this rant. I honestly don't want to drag you down with my criticism. It's so ok to peacefully enjoy something without having to listen to people being crabby about the thing you love. Pax vobiscum.

That said.

(Crabby rant under cut.)

But if you're like me, kinda hurt and let down for the very last time, please stay a while. I'll tell you why I'm like this, and why I'm no longer angry, just disappointed.

Here's the thing, the first episode wasn’t any fun for me, but I quite enjoyed the second! It was the kind of low-stakes close-knit family stuff I want from a Shameless episode. Literally all they have to do to keep me happy is cram a bunch of Gallaghers into a kitchen and let them talk to each other for five minutes. I'm very easy to please. I like Sandy, I like what she does for Debbie's character. I like Tami, I like that Lip seems a lot happier. I like Liam, someone please take care of the boy. I like that Carl has a goal, and that he's all grown up. I like that Ian and Mickey are married and that they're a part of this family again. It’s a nice vibe, we’re having a party for Franny and it’s not perfect, but we learned something and we’re having fun. It’s fine.

On the whole, it’s nice. But for someone whose main priority is Ian and his significant other, it’s the same old bullshit all over again.

In seasons 1-5, I'm pretty sure Ian and Mickey only had like three conversations with each other that weren't plot relevant. But it was fine, it's en ensemble cast and Fiona, Lip and Frank got most of the A plots. Ian and Mickey had a lot of serious stuff going on, so the 5 minutes they got to do something each week had to be used dealing with all the shit they had to deal with. It's fine. This is fine. It's fine. I understand how TV works. We cut in on them in the middle of a conversation about Jean-Claude Van Damme, and I understand that they've spent the whole evening together and that they've talked about other things as well. Silly, inconsequential things, things people talk about when they like each other and want to be close and get to know each other. And when we're dropped in the middle of Ian, Mickey and Svetlana playing house in 5x1, I understand that it has been a period of time since we saw them last, and that things have changed. That they have talked about some things, and not talked about some things. And I happily played along and filled in all the gaps, I did the work; I imagined them together on a good day, on a calm evening lounging on the couch, on a lazy morning sleeping in. Quiet breakfasts, lively dinners. I imagined what they would say to each other, what they would talk about and what they still couldn't talk about. I did the work because it felt like it was worth it, because I knew that the story they were focusing on (Ian's illness and Mickey coming into his own) were worth it. That they needed every second they could get to tell the story of a mentally ill teenager and his abuse survivor boyfriend learning to love and support each other, and get better and grow up on their own terms.

I, the fool, kept thinking that one day. One day it would get better and they would get a break and the show would give them a minute, just a minute here and there, to be happy. Have a conversation that we could get in on. Have one good day for us to witness, and not just imagine.

Instead they broke them up for production reasons, for behind the scenes bullshit, for no reason at all, other than the simple fact that the show runners have never once cared about Ian and Mickey as much as we have. As much as Cam and Noel have. They had no qualms about rewriting a whole season's arc to make no sense in the last minute. They had no issues with throwing a beloved character in prison and leaving him there for a season and a half (which could have been good storytelling... if not every single Gallagher to ever get locked up had some lucky thing happen to spring them out again way before they’ve done their time). They had no problem with letting Ian say and do one thing one minute and then the exact opposite the next.

I think the thing that truly made me give up on the show at that time was the tattoo. We had such precious few things to work from when trying to understand these characters and we did our very best. We took the crumbs and we built a whole castle of cake. And one of the cornerstones, one of the first fucking things we ever knew about Mickey Milkovich, was that he could spell the name "Ian Gallagher". And if they wanted to give him a bad tattoo, they still could have. Maybe he did it himself and got it wrong because of the angle. Maybe there was a miscommunication and whoever did it on him got the name wrong. But no, they had to have him sit there and claim that he didn't know how to spell his boyfriend's name. It was so petty, so mean-spirited, such a massive fuck-you to anyone who dared to care and retain the things they'd previously told us about Mickey, I just had to stop caring about canon. I drew a line for myself around the canon I could understand as emotionally consistent, and ignored anything that landed on the other side of it. Perhaps not the best way to watch a TV show, but then I also stopped watching the show. So it worked out.

Anyway, this wasn't supposed to be about the first five seasons. But I'm obviously still bitter, and I wanted to explain why I'm well past the point of chasing after crumbs. Because it’s still the same bullshit, only now they’ve exchanged important, nuanced storylines about coming out and getting better for... I don’t know. Talking about sex and arguing about money.

Here is an incomplete list of loftec’s crumbs of disappointment, so far:

Ian and Mickey have been married for 6 (?) months, and the writers will have you believe they still have not had a conversation.

Ian is still relegated to C-plots (only now he's sometimes allowed in the background of an A plot, which is fun I guess but still not near what he deserves after all these years).

Meanwhile, Lip got two separate extended scenes detailing how he tricks his girlfriend into spending less money, in the first episode. That’s so much airtime spent on one point. In the second episode, he had a casual conversation with his baby! Ian and Mickey haven't had a casual conversation about anything since fucking never!

Ian and Mickey have talked about sex and money, so far. Nothing else. Important things, I'm sure. But let's compare this with Lip in the same episode. Lip and Tami wake up together, they get to be sweet to each other, talk about their lives and daily routine, they have a chat about coffee and someone they know who is having a hard time, then they get into the subject of their conflict du jour. Ian and Mickey get a weird allusion to how much sex they're having (so much sex you guys, just believe and it will come true!) and then they're arguing about jobs and money. For two whole episodes. Except that one time where they got derailed and accidentally talked about monogamy instead.

Monogamy. Something they haven’t talked about before. And apparently a word Mickey doesn’t understand, or know how to spell.

And it still feels so petty, because it's just. So specific. They could have chosen any of the magnificent character traits of Mickey's that they teased us with in the first five seasons, and this is the thing they pick? And then turn into a main character trait?? Mickey can't spell. Mickey doesn't understand words. Haha ha. And I'm not purposefully misunderstanding this scene, I promise. I understand what they were trying to do. I most certainly understand what Noel acted his ass off to convey. I am not here freaking out about Mickey wanting to be with other people, or Ian saying this or doing that. I'm not worried about them cheating or getting a divorce. I'm just really disappointed that this is where we are now.

That Mickey, who we all saw through and understood to be smart and loyal, quick on his feet and quippy as anything, has been reduced to this. I'm pretty sure he's had his hand down his pants in half the scenes he's been in so far. I don't know what that means, but it's like... a choice. And I don't like this choice. They could have had an insecure conversation about monogamy and money and we could have gone on this journey with them as they struggle with their inability to communicate and I would have been all for it, if it had been written with something more, anything else, something to break through the plump humor and crass approach to this marriage that Ian spent half of the last season trying to have a conversation about! But never got to, because the writers thought it would be funnier to have Mickey punch Ian in the face and run off with some guy, rather than talk to him!

Also, I know this is getting outrageously long, but the fighting. The fighting is another thing. Who here watched that scene in 3x9 where Ian tries to get Mickey to be honest with him and Mickey kicks him in the face rather than admit he's gay, and thought, hey! Guys being guys, am I right? Who here watched that scene in 5x10 when Ian punched Mickey in the face because he didn't know how to accept care from someone who loves him and wanted to feel a feeling, and thought; oh yes, this is just how they communicate! This is fine! I know I didn't. But sure, why not. It's a choice, I guess. They're just manly men, and manly men fight with their significant others. They beat the shit out of each other, no problem. This is not something we need to have a conversation about, not at all.

This is about writing. They easily could have written Ian and Mickey’s scenes differently. They could have had incidental bits of conversation, hinting at their lives outside of this conflict they’re having. They could have been in the background of someone else’s scene, just a quick gesture of something nice that would help flesh out the bits in between. They could have conversations and storylines about pretty much anything, and still bring up the question of monogamy and Mickey’s residual insecurities about Ian’s past infidelity. They could have been subtle about it, instead of writing a clown scene where Mickey acts like a clown and Ian doesn’t remember that he’s done a lot of shit in their past that they maybe need to talk about. Because they still haven’t talked about it? NOT ONCE? THEY WERE IN THE SAME CELL FOR MONTHS! AND NOT A SINGLE CONVERSATION WAS HAD. THIS IS FINE. I’M FINE.

I get it. This is supposed to be a fun show about whacky characters. It's supposed to be outrageous, the show runners and writers are choosing these things to get a reaction. I get it, and I don't like it and if you think this means that I should stop watching the show and shut up, then I agree with you.

But also, I love these characters and this community, and I want to like this season. Our last season. I want to watch it and still hope that Ian and Mickey will get to have a conversation about nothing special, just because they like each other, before it's over.

And if not, there is always fic. And you know I will be making them talk to each other in NTW until there are no words left.

#I want you to read this rant in hbomberguy's voice #please and thank you #would you believe me if I said this is the short version?#oh wow #i just scrolled up and realised how long this got #i'm sorry #don't read this #it's terribly silly and I should go to bed #Anonymous

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citylightsbooks · 4 years

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A Chat with Beth Lisick

Edie on the Green Screen is an irreverent love-letter to San Francisco, chronicling the story of a 90s "It girl" as she ages-in-place and confronts the Bay Area tech monoculture. The author, Beth Lisick, is also an actress, co-founder of the Porchlight Storytelling Series, and one of the sharpest, quick-witted people that we know. You can read more about Beth here. Edie on the Green Screen is her first novel.

On April 1st, 2020, City Lights planned to celebrate the publication at the bookstore. Given the “Shelter in Place” order by the city of San Francisco, staff retreated to their homes, and City Lights continued to work, remotely. Stacey Lewis, VP, Director of PR, Marketing & Sales, conducted a Twitter chat on April Fool’s Day with Beth reporting from her living room in Berkeley, CA. Here follows a transcript of that conversation.

City Lights: Beth!!! Where are you?

I'm in New York, kinda near Woodstock and Kingston.

What are you doing to stay sane?

I’m cooking a lot! And trying to go out on hikes. Hanging out with my husband and son and also my brother’s family.

For how long did you work on your novel?

This is embarrassing to say but I wrote the first words of it almost 10 years ago!

Are you in a writing group? Or do you share things with particular friends for feedback?

I’ve never been in a formal writing group but I have a few friends, writers and non-writers alike, that I will share things with.

Prior to working with the independent, Brooklyn-based 7.13 Books on Edie on the Green Screen, you’ve had books w/ Manic D Press: Monkey Girl & This Too Can Be Yours

Thank God for Jennifer Joseph and Manic D. I think today is Jen’s birthday!

Happy birthday Jen Joseph!! And Everybody Into the Pool & Helping Me Help Myself with Harper Collins.

My brief foray into mainstream publishing.

And Yokohama Threeway: And Other Small Shames pub’d by City Lights (hell YES!)

Ah! That felt niiiiiice.

What are some of the differences you noticed working with indie vs corporate presses?

A lot of it has to do with the publicity and marketing part. On mainstream presses I always felt like I had to convince them that I was worthwhile. Their budgets aren’t necessarily going to you anyway and I feel much more comfortable with my indie press relationships. More personal.

Can you talk about your publisher 7.13 Books and how you came to work with them?

My friend Alex Behr was published by 7.13 and she introduced me to Leland [Leland Cheuk, publisher of 7.13 Books]. He is from the Bay Area but lives in Brooklyn now. He understood my Bay Area vibe! He is committed to doing debuts, but since this was my debut novel, he squeezed me onto the roster.

For how long have you lived away from the Bay Area?

It will be eight years this summer! So long. But luckily I come back a lot for Porchlight and to see my friends and parents.

Your novel clearly pulls from your own experiences in the Bay. How did you recall the memories? Do you keep a journal?

I keep various notebooks and write notes in my phone. I also like to quiet my brain and sort of meditate memories or experiences into my consciousness. (clearly from Northern California)

I was thinking that. Did the physical distance from San Francisco give you freedom to write about it?

YES. Even more than I imagined. I had a lot more free time once I moved to New York because I didn’t know anyone. It was a nice way to get a different perspective. Being across the country.

Do you think it would have been harder constructing this story if you were still living here?

Yes. I had gotten myself into a place where I was so upset with the changes in the Bay Area that I was too crabby to write about it. The first drafts were very cynical and angry. It’s hard not to feel like it’s been taken over. I like to think that even though there are huge buildings and all that money and new people who don’t seem to care about the things I cared about, that those things will still surface.

I bet. I'm going to light some incense. Hope you don't mind.

Burn that sage, sister. By the way, I am using voice text because my Internet connection is kind of slow. Caveat for every typo or mistake!

I wish we could hear your voice.

My audiobook is almost done! It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to record my own audiobook so I’m really excited about it.

CL: Oh! I can't wait to hear that!!! San Francisco was, for many of us in the 80s & 90s, a place to continue “growing up,” as we could afford to do so. Edie, in the novel, is so relatable. What is it about her that makes her so stubborn to change?

Edie’s whole personality was shaped by bands and bars and art and a certain aesthetic that was prevalent in San Francisco in the 90s. When that disappears, she’s not quite sure what to do.

Sorry, I had to step away to wash my hands.

What song did you sing?

Rapper's Delight.

Hero!

No, you are my hero. And, you are truly bi-coastal, regularly coming back to SF to co-host the wonderful Porchlight Storytelling Series, and to see your family. What’s it like having deep roots on both coasts?

If I can’t be a true bisexual at least I can be bi-coastal. And I do love living in New York so I’m still glad that I moved. I like being so deeply from the Bay Area and knowing it so well. And I also love the anonymity of being in New York. No millions of old personal stories to trip you up or slow you down.

Or running into anyone you slept with. Speaking of the Porchlight, what have you learned about storytelling after so many years of organizing these events?

I think that's why I was able to write this book. I have learned so much from the way people tell stories at Porchlight. Not only structurally but as far as really paying attention to what feels authentic and what feels put on.

If you had a piece of advice to share with your younger self, what would it be?

Maybe to step back and listen even more. I was so energetic and enthusiastic about putting myself out there in my 20s but I learned so much once I shut up and chilled out a bit.

@Superprose1 asks: Curious ~ how does novel writing compare to memoir ?

It felt very liberating to me to write a novel after writing so much memoir. I didn’t have to worry about being accurate, I could just be truthful. I could try out different thoughts and feelings on another character without having to claim it as my own.

***

Speed round time!

Ready!

Write what comes to your mind when I say . . . Burrito

El Farolito

UC Santa Cruz [Both Beth and I are proud Slugs.]

Drum circle

“Law & Order” [Beth has appeared as an extra on the show]

Sitting in the jury box.

Hummus

Santa Cruz

Juice Cleanse

I’d totally do it.

Unknown knowns

Astral projection. I’m learning a lot about what a big hippie I am.

It's cause yer near Woodstock.

* * *

Pictures of you. I present: “Beth Lisick: This is Your Life”

OH GOD!!! Are there nudes?

Tell us what’s going on here.

I worked for @fruitguys for years as a banana mascot. I got to travel all over the country. This is me at the San Francisco Marathon.

That’s me and @captaindingbat [writer, actress, and author Tara Jepsen] doing our characters Carole and Mitzi. They only eat pancakes! This is a still from our web series Rods and Cones.

This is a still from a film I acted in by Kara Herold. Called 39 1/2. It shot for six years and I was 47 by the time it was done.

That’s me and Jan Richman when we went on the Richard Simmons fitness cruise! It was for a chapter in my book Helping Me Help Myself. I love Richard!!

Okay! You got me here! Where was this? Look how giant that headband is! And how did I get that amount of cleavage, which is huge for me.

This was at my gangster party many years ago. My roommate Marisa referred to your hairstyle as "the claw."

Wow. I remember that party now. I love seeing photos I've never seen before in outfits I haven't thought about in years. I must have been breastfeeding still.

Taken by Frazer Bradshaw at Sundance. It was his first feature film (and mine too) and it went to Sundance in 2008. It’s called Everything Strange and New. It’s really beautiful. We were backstage and there was popcorn on the floor so it seemed natural to be photographed with it.

* * *

I want to thank Beth Lisick—always my It Girl—for joining us!

Stacey! Thank you so much for doing this. I miss you and everyone at City Lights. Can’t wait to see you all real soon. Lots of love!

I’m going to leave you with a video of The Beth Lisick Ordeal, in their prime. Enjoy!

#BethLisick #CityLights #edie

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razieltwelve · 5 years

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Coffee (RWBY AU Snippet)

Note: This is in the same AU as Enforcer.

X X X

Pyrrha Nikos was the proud owner of a small cafe about five minutes walk from one of the city’s larger train stations. It was busy, but not so busy she couldn’t learn her customers’ names. She loved to greet each of them with a smile, and being able to brighten their days with a nice cup of coffee and a slice of cake was so much better than the life she’d left behind.

Well, the life she’d tried to leave behind.

One of the waitresses shouted out an order, and Pyrrha froze. She knew that order. In her entire life, she’d only met one person who ordered hot chocolate with that much sugar in it along with chocolate and hazelnut chip cookies.

“Amy,” she murmured. “Who ordered that?”

“It was a woman,” Amy replied. “She seemed really excited to be here, boss. It was a bit weird, actually. She kept saying she hadn’t eaten any of your cookies in ages.”

“What did she look like?”

“It’s funny.” Amy smiled. “She had silver eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen anyone with eyes that exact colour.”

X X X

Pyrrha waited until the morning rush was over before she ushered the rest of her staff out and closed the cafe. With her face set into as neutral an expression as she could manage, she sat down on the other side of the table.

“It’s been a while, Ruby.”

The other woman smiled sunnily. “It’s been ages, Pyrrha. Your cookies still taste the same! I get some from the All-Night Bakery, but yours are still better.” Ruby tilted her head to one side. “But it’s funny… people say this cafe has been here for months, but you never said you were back in town.”

Pyrrha paused to consider her next words very carefully. Once upon a time, she’d helped turn Ruby into one of the deadliest people in the world. She knew better than anyone that Ruby was not entirely stable. “I was turning over a new leaf.”

“A new leaf, huh?” Ruby frowned and munched on the cookie she’d been saving. “You mean you don’t, you know, kill people anymore?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“But you were so good at it,” Ruby replied. “Like… you were even better than me.” She giggled. “Although I’ve gotten better since then. Why’d you quit?”

“I… I was just sick of it all.” Pyrrha looked down at her hands. “I… I’ve killed a lot of people, Ruby. Far more than even you. I don’t know when exactly, but I stopped being able to look at myself in the mirror.”

“Mirrors are overrated,” Ruby replied quietly. “They never show you what you need to see.” She leaned forward. “I knew plenty of people who needed killing who could look themselves in the mirror just fine, Pyrrha.” Ruby shrugged. “So this is what you do now, I guess.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re happy doing this?” Ruby took another bite of her cookie. “You don’t miss going out on missions with me and the others? Those were really fun.”

“They were fun,” Pyrrha admitted. There was a part of her that still craved the visceral thrill of combat. She had been the best in the world, an assassin and mercenary whose mere presence often resulted in surrender from all but the most elite opponents. How many times had she risked death alongside Ruby and the others only to somehow emerge victorious?

“Weiss misses you too,” Ruby said. “We were good together, the three of us.”

Pyrrha shivered as memories came unbidden to her mind. Weiss was… complicated. In many ways, she was far less stable than Ruby. The civility and decorum she wore hid a core of raw, unbridled rage that burned bitterly cold. It had been fascinating - and intoxicating. More than once, Pyrrha had awakened beside Weiss and Ruby, their limbs entwined, the excitement from a successful mission giving way to something altogether more alluring.

“Are you mad?” Pyrrha asked quietly.

Ruby took a log sip of her hot chocolate. “I was really, really mad for a while. You’re my friend, Pyrrha, and friends don’t just disappear.” Her eyes narrowed, and Pyrrha almost reached for one of the knifes she concealed on her person. At this range, she should be able to strike before Ruby could shoot, but it would be close. “But then Yang reminded me about something. You see, back when we worked for Junior, we knew some other kids who lived on the street.”

“Is that so?” Ruby rarely talked about her past. As far as Pyrrha could tell, it wasn’t something she liked to dwell on. The only bit she really talked about was after she and Yang had met Junior. Everything before that was off limits.

“Yeah. A couple of them found normal jobs. Junior just let them go, and I always wondered why. But he said to me… not everybody can do the things we do. Maybe there’s something wrong with them or maybe there’s something wrong with us, but that’s just how it is.” Ruby looked at Pyrrha. “People change, he said. And that’s okay. If they’re really your friends, then just be happy for them. At least they’re not dead.”

“I should have said something,” Pyrrha conceded. “But I just wanted to leave all of this behind. That’s why I moved to this city. I just… wanted to start somewhere else.”

“Junior also said something else to me,” Ruby replied. “He said that the blood never comes off.” She stood and looked down at Pyrrha. “This is a nice place, Pyrrha. I hope you get to keep it. But you need to know… the White Fang is in town. They’re going to make noise. You’ve got plenty of their blood on your hands. If they find you…”

“I’ll do what I have to,” Pyrrha said. “And thank you for stopping by. Say hello to Weiss for me, but tell her I’m done. I’m out.”

Ruby smiled. “Oh, Pyrrha. None of us are ever getting out.”

X X X

Jaune smiled and handed Pyrrha the burger he’d bought from her favourite place around the corner. He liked to drop by after work, so they could go home together. Besides, the cafe had always had this nice, cosy air to it.

“What’s wrong?” Jaune asked.

Pyrrha shook herself. “I… met an old friend, actually.”

“Didn’t go well?” Jaune asked softly.

“Not exactly. I mean… we didn’t have a problem, but she just brought back some old memories. Not all of them were good.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He patted her hand. “Is it something I can help you with?” As one of the rising stars in the police department, he had connections of his own. “If you’re in any trouble…”

“It’s nothing like that.” Pyrrha leaned over and kissed him. “But thank you for offering -”

The window of the cafe shattered. Something clattered to the ground nearby.

Grenade.

Pyrrha grabbed Jaune and threw the two of them to the ground as she kicked the table over to shield them from the blast. An instant later, the explosion filled her world. Ears ringing, Pyrrha was vaguely aware of people charging into the cafe.

White Fang.

Moving on instinct, she scrambled for Jaune’s gun. He wasn’t moving. He… no. She had to focus. She grabbed his gun and rolled out of cover. An instant later, four of the White Fang were dead. One of her knives was in her hands, and she quickly gutted a fifth before kicking a piece of debris into the face of a sixth and shooting him in the throat. A seventh lunged at her, and she twisted out of the way. His knife went wide, and she jammed her own into his eye before running toward the van parked outside. It pulled away, and she fired, shattering the windows and then bursting one of the wheels. It lost control, spun, and then was crushed as it was struck by an oncoming truck.

Running back into the cafe, she rushed to Jaune’s side.

“Jaune!” The blond wasn’t moving. Frantically, she checked for a pulse. There was one, but it was weak. Hurriedly, she called an ambulance. She waited until she could hear the sirens before she ran. The police would have questions, questions she couldn’t answer, not yet, at least.

X X X

Ruby yawned and reached for her phone. In her arms, Weiss made a whining sound and bit her.

“Turn that off this instant,” Weiss ordered. She was still crabby about Pyrrha not coming back. Had it been someone else, she might have sent someone to retrieve her, but Pyrrha was… even now, Ruby wasn’t sure she could beat her.

“It’s Pyrrha,” Ruby said.

“What?” Weiss sat up. “Give me the phone!” She barked into the phone. “Pyrrha?”

“White Fang,” Pyrrha said. “They blew up my cafe. Jaune is… he’s in hospital.”

“I see.” Weiss took a deep breath. “And I assume you want us to retaliate.”

“Yes.” Pyrrha’s voice was cold. It was the voice Ruby had heard so many times on the training range. “I want your help.”

“I see. And what do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to kill them all,” Pyrrha replied.

“Well, that I can support.” Weiss paused for a moment, considering. “I shall send some people to help you. I trust that you will not object to my family setting up business in exchange.”

“That is acceptable.” Pyrrha hung up.

Ruby looked at Weiss. “That seems awfully convenient.”

“If you’re wondering if I set Pyrrha up,” Weiss replied. “I didn’t. As much as I would appreciate her coming back, there are limits to my perfidy. She is not someone I would willingly antagonise.” Weiss frowned. “But the fact that they attacked so soon after your visit… I may have to speak to Blake. We have a traitor in our midst.”

X X X

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Roman drawled. He would never have adopted such a flippant tone with Cinder if not for the comforting presence of his partner in crime.

“And you’re being paid very well not to question orders,” Cinder growled. She took a step toward him, only to pause as a stiletto knife appeared in Neo’s hands. It was such a little thing, but in Neo’s hands, it was exceedingly deadly. “Besides, our… links with the White Fang are only temporary. Once Pyrrha begins her counterattack, I doubt there will be any of them left alive. It will be a perfect opportunity to fill the vacuum.”

“You can fill the vacuum,” Roman replied. “I’m only getting paid to provide weapons, equipment, and transport. I’ll leave the fighting to you and yours. How sure are you that the White Fang don’t realise that you’re setting them up?”

Cinder laughed. “Those beasts? I barely had to do anything. I just mentioned that I knew Pyrrha’s location, reporting it as any good ally would. It was their decision to go after her. I can’t be blamed for their foolishness.”

“You’d better hope Pyrrha doesn’t find out you were involved and that the Schnees don’t make that source you’ve got talk.”

“The source has already been dealt with.” Cinder chuckled. “Emerald and Mercury are so good at tying up loose ends.”

“Well, good luck.” Roman got to his feet. “You’ll need it. Come on, Neo. Let’s go. We’ve got another shipment coming up tomorrow, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

#rwby #enforcer #fanfiction #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #weiss schnee #cinder fall #roman torchwick #neopolitan

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 5 years

Text

A mini rant

Read, or don’t. I just need to get this off my chest.

So let me explain a little about my job...

For twenty years (yes, 20), I have worked in publishing. I work as a graphic designer for a family-owned printing company. My responsibilities include laying out and editing papers, designing covers, centerfolds, etc.

I started this exact job in 1999 for a different company with ZERO knowledge of the industry. Besides the years of my childhood where I sat in the Art Department of a now-defunct newspaper called The News Tribune in Woodbridge, New Jersey, where my grandfather worked as a salesman, I didn’t know a damn thing about Photoshop, Pagemaker (yeaahhhh... not even InDesign yet) or Quark. But I lied through my teeth, got the job and taught myself everything I needed to know and then some. I worked my way up from a nobody to the Production Manager of the entire art department. I ran presses, I worked in the darkroom exposing negatives and burning plates for the roller press. I’ve taken an active role in EVERY aspect of publishing... soup to nuts.

I left the publishing industry in 2012 and transitioned into a freelance writer/designer so I could be home to raise my kids. Over the last year, I have been dipping my toe back into this tense world and more recently went back to work full time, though still from the comfort of my living room, doing what I used to do, just for a different company.

So when I am challenged by someone far younger than me, I get a little crabby about it. And here we are at the root of my rant....

I, now almost 42, who have spent 20 years honing my skills, knowledge, and guidelines for publishing, now has to answer to a 25-year-old know it all who constantly likes to test me, and push me to my limits.

The specifics of which are trivial, and incredibly childish, but also are damaging the integrity of how I learned to conduct myself as a professional designer. It's 100% infuriating to have to rely on someone who clearly has it out for you, to get your work done in a timely manner.

One of the core rules of publishing is - ADHERE TO DEADLINES.

We work on deadlines. We LIVE by deadlines.

Very. Strict. Deadlines.

This particular co-worker feels it is ok to miss deadlines, not provide certain information when I need it, NOR conduct herself in a way that one should given the position she holds within the company.

It's not a big company. There are literally FOUR of us. I just happen to be remote and NOT in the office.

Remember those deadlines? Yeah. Me too. I just wish SHE did. I’m sure though, HER work will be done on time. Just wish she wouldn’t sabotage me to make herself more right than she is.

I don’t know if she thinks I want her job (I don’t) or that I am trying to assert some kind of dominance over her (I’m not) because I’ve been doing this for almost as long as she’s been alive.

I guess my point is, don’t be a dick to your co-workers just to try and make yourself look or feel better. I’m just trying to earn some extra money to take a few trips and maybe get ahead on bills. But this (insert string of expletives here) is making what would otherwise be an amazing job and employment situation into a fucking nightmare.

I don’t use the word hate a lot in regards to people, but man, I am starting to seriously hate her.

#personal rant #work rant #publishing #we have fucking deadlines man follow them

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deans-baby-momma · 6 years

Text

The Padackles Link-Ch. 16

Chapter 15

A/N: I have never watch either movie mentioned so I have no idea if my portrayal is correct. Google helped by explaining the plots.

After I change JJ, I head downstairs to prepare her lunch only to be surprised to find Jensen in the kitchen readying a bottle. He already picked a jar of food and has it sitting on the table with a small spoon.

I lower his daughter into the high chair, making sure she is buckled in tightly before I reach for the jellied meal.Thankfully, he chose one of the more appetizing ones so I knew JJ will be no trouble to feed.

I go about scooping bite-sized amounts and feeding her. Jensen steps over, sitting the bottle on the table beside me.

“You know, I'm home now so I could feed her if you wanted to take some time to yourself,” he tells me.

“And miss this precious face? Nah, I'm good. I enjoy spending time with her,” I tell him just as JJ blows a carrot-flavored raspberry toward the two of us, covering my hand and wrist. “Plus orange spit up is good for the skin. Ain’t that right, miss messy?”

Jensen laughs and leans down kissing the top of her head. “Well, I will clean her up after she's finished Ok?” he says, handing me a towel to wipe off with.

“Yea, okay,” I say, looking at the toddler. “You hear that JJ? Daddy is gonna clean you up after. So make a big mess. Gotta break him in.”

Jensen's mock look of horror causes me to giggle as he then places his hand on my shoulder and leans down to my ear and whispers, “Traitor. I thought we were in this together.”

The feel of his warm breath on the shell of my ear sends shocks down my spine and I shiver. What is this man, this married man, doing to me? How has being with him affect how I react to him? The warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice, the mere presence of him has my body acting all kinds of crazy.

What had transpired just an hour before was nothing more than sex, right? Just two lonely people using each other to feel close. I'm sure he was just missing his wife, my friend, and just needed to feel close to somebody. And as for me, well I really don't have an explanation for it. Yes, I have always thought Jensen Ackles was an attractive man. Who doesn't? If you ever spent time with him and see how he protects and cares for not only his family, but his friends, you can't help but to be attracted. Not to just his good looks, but his fierce need to tend to those he cares for. Jensen Ackles was a nurtured and those he loves reap the benefits.

While Jensen was cleaning the mess that was his daughter after lunch, I went about tidying the kitchen. Wiping the high chair down, placing empty baby food jar in the recycling bin and rinsing the spoon and bottle in the sink.

As I reach to turn the water off, though, all hell breaks loose. Instead of the water flow simply shutting off, the knob breaks and,water starts spewing everywhere, drenching me, the counter and the floor. “Jay!” I hear his hurried footsteps on the stairs as soon as I yell his name.

“What?! What is--" his inquiry is cut short when he catches sight of me. Water dripping down my face, my hair and t-shirt drenched. He barks out a laugh and I just scowl at him. “Drea, you know we have actual showers upstairs,” he chuckles.

I put my hands on my hips and smirked at him. “Smartass! The fucking faucet broke.”

“I see that,” he says, smiling at me. “Go on and change. JJ’s in her crib playing and I'll take care of this,” he motions to the river that used to be his kitchen.

I walk by him and punch his shoulder. He grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. “Baby, if you wanted to get wet I would've helped,” he whispers and winks down at me. His comment catches me off guard and I don't realize his implication until his lips touch mine. I revel in the feeling of our mouths connected and freely open mine when his tongue swipes across my bottom lip.

He moans and pulls away. “I gotta get the water turned off before we float down the street,” his says, the tone of voice giving away his reluctance to stop kissing me.

I walk upstairs on pure automation. Walking into my room, the bed sheets rumbled, the duvet hanging halfway off just reminds me once again that today my life has changed. Today, I had sex with a man who is married to my friend. I should feel repulsed at myself. I should regret falling into bed with him. But I can’t. As much as I try, I can’t feel remorse; all I feel is alive. Almost four years after losing my husband at the ripe young age of 22, I feel renewed. I feel like myself again, Audrea Marianne Murphy.

I smile as I pull the shirt over my head, seeing myself in the mirror. My breasts and chest is covered in bites and marks. I can faintly make out finger shaped bruises on my hips where Jensen had held onto me as he pumped himself into my body. The thought of those actions make my panties damp. Jensen, I think to myself. What is he to me now? Before, I considered him a friend. My savior all those years ago when he was kind enough to stop on the side of the highway to help me with my car troubles. I think back to those days and chuckle. I was in such a state of anxiety and anger that I was downright crabby to him at first. He could have just as easily turned around and left me to fend for myself. Pulling on a clean, dry shirt I laugh out loud at the memory of thinking I was going to walk the 7 miles to the next town in the sweltering Texas heat. I silently think whoever is upstairs looking out for me for sending Jensen to save me.

After checking on JJ and seeing her happily babbling in her crib, apparently having a conversation with the pink bunny tucked into the corner, I make my way back downstairs to check on the water-logged kitchen. I am stopped in my tracks as soon as I enter the room. Laying in the floor, his torso hidden under the sink, twisting the connection nuts loose is Jensen. A shirtless Jensen. As he works to loosen the hardware the muscles in his stomach clenches causing all kinds of impure thoughts to flow through my mind. I whimper at them and he glances at me, smiling.

“Like what you see?” he winks.

“Eh, plumber’s crack isn’t a big turn-on for me,” I tell him, squatting down beside his legs and peering in.

“Drea, you are one,”he pauses to tug on the tightened bolt, “sassy lady. You know that?”

“I’m just me. You either love me or hate me.” I laugh, straightening myself as he crawls out and sits up.

“Is that right?” He quirks an eyebrow at me and I realize what I said. I can’t help the blush I feel crawl up my neck and onto my cheeks.

“Oh god!” I exclaim, face-palming myself.”I just have verbal diarrhea around you. Forget I said that, huh?”

He pushes off the floor and stands up, pulling me into his arms. “You’re so cute when you get embarrassed. I remember the first time we met, you did the same thing. It’s adorable.”

I relish in his embrace. Those muscular arms holding me, caging my body in to his. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his chest. We stand there for a few minutes, just holding one another. I know this isn’t going to last. Dani will be home tomorrow but I’m going to savor it while I can.

He loosens his grip and kisses the top of my head. “I have to run to the hardware store and get a new faucet. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

“God, Jay! It’s not like I’ve been living here for the last week by myself, taking care of the house and your daughter,” I laugh, looking up at him “I think I can manage it for an hour.”

“Well, excuse me for being a gentleman and asking,” he jokes playfully.

“Thank you for being a gentleman then,” I say, standing my tiptoes and kissing him. He deepens the kiss by slipping his tongue between my parted lips. God, this man can kiss!

He pulls away and looks at me. “Wanna watch a movie tonight after we put JJ down?”

“Sure,” I say. “What did you have in mind? I’ve watched more Disney this week than I have in all my life.” I laugh and he joins in.

“So Lion King is out?” he asked me, facetiously.

“Uh, yea.”

“I’ll run by the video store and see what’s new, okay?”

Sounds like a plan. Might want to get some popcorn too,” I tell him. I had noticed the last time I ate popcorn as a late night snack the box was empty. “Extra butter,” I inform him. “Popcorn isn’t popcorn without butter oozing out of it.”

“I agree with you there!”

He goes to get ready and heads out the door while I am once again changing JJ’s diaper. “You’ll be one year old soon, missy. You need to learn to use the bathroom like everyone else.” JJ giggles at me and smiles that toothy grin that I just adore. “Don’t be trying to use your cuteness on me, young lady. It won’t work.” I laugh as I nuzzle my nose into her cheek.

"Mah-ma.”

That one word, two syllables makes me freeze in my spot. Sure, JJ has said it a few times before but that was when Dani was here. Was she calling me Mama? Was me taking care of her while Dani was away confusing her little mind?

"No JJ,” I softly correct her. “I’m not Mama. I’m Drea. Dray-ah.”

“Mah-ma,” JJ giggles. “Mah-ma! Mah-ma! Mah-ma!” She keep chanting the word as I pick her up and carry her to the play pen I had set up in the front room. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want the little girl to stay confused or have Dani heartbroken that her daughter is calling someone else Mama. I decide just to wait and ask Jensen what I should do when he returns from his errand and finishes replacing the kitchen faucet.

An hour later, I’m sitting in the chair watching television when I hear Jensen return. He walks through, looks at his daughter and then me and asks, “How’s two of my favorite ladies?”

“We’re fine,” I answer him nonchalantly, watching JJ turn her head when she hears her father’s voice. I don’t see the look he throws my way as I return my attention back to whatever is playing on the screen. Jensen lays a plastic bag on the end of the sofa and continues on to the kitchen. “I got a couple of movies. I thought I’d let you pick what we watch,” he says over his shoulder.

“Ok.”

I hear cursing coming from the kitchen so I get up and walk in to see what the problem is. Jensen is once again laid out with his upper half under the sink, muttering under his breath.

Squatting down beside his outstretched legs, I ask him what’s wrong.

“Stupid nut won’t go on straight. I think it’s stripped,” he tells me.

I nudge his leg. “Let me in there. I might be able to help.”

He crawls out and hands me the offending fitting. I make my way into the space and using my fingers, twist the hexagonal nut onto the bolt and tighten as much as I can. I know that it will need to more than ‘hand-tightened’ so I maneuver my body back out and grin at Jensen.

“Just needed a woman’s touch. But you’ll need to use a wrench to secure it so that it doesn’t leak.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.” He doesn’t look at me as he goes to slide back under the counter. I listen for JJ and can hear her babbling and laughing so I lean against the bottom cabinets across from the sink and watch Jensen work. I muster the courage to bring up JJ’s earlier faux pas.

“Jay, can we talk?”

“Sure,” he tells me. “You wanna explain to me the cold shoulder you gave me earlier?”

“What? When?” His question catches me off guard. I don’t remember giving him the cold shoulder.

“When I got back. I asked how you were and you gave me short, curt answers like you were trying to blow me off.” By now he has finished with the sink and is sitting against the counter across from me.

“That wasn’t a cold shoulder Jay,” I tell him. “Something happened while you were gone and it has me anxious.

“What happened Drea?” He looks at me worriedly.

“JJ called me Mama.”

“That’s all?” he asks me chuckling? “So what?”

“I’m not her Mama Jay, that’s what! Are we confusing her, having me take care of her while Dani is away? Does she think I’m her Mama because she’s seen us touching?”

“Drea honey,” Jensen scoots over beside me and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “She’s a baby. She doesn’t comprehend the change between you and I. She’s too young. And as for her calling you Mama, when my nephew was an infant and Mac had to put him in daycare for awhile, he called his teachers Mama all the time. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“So, she isn’t going to think I’m her Mama and Dani is some stranger when she returns?”

Jay slips his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his chest. “No babe. She isn’t going to not know Dee when she gets back. And as she gets older, I’m sure she’ll have her own special name for you. Probably Auntie Drea.”

“But I’m not her aunt.” I dispute.

“Have you heard what Tom calls me?”

“Unca Jensen,” I answer. I had heard Tom call out for Jensen with that title a few times.

“Exactly. And I’m not really his uncle.” Jensen explains. “A wise man once said, ‘Family doesn’t end in blood.�� And it doesn’t start there either, sweetheart.”

I giggle and slap his chest. “That’s a tagline from your show.”

“Wait! Did you just admit to watching Supernatural?” he asks, excited.

“No. I might have seen the quote on social media and it was associated with something to do with it.”

“You’re breaking my heart darlin’.”

That evening Jensen took care of putting JJ down for bed while I went to my room to shower and get comfortable for our movie ‘date’. I washed my hair in the shampoo I had purchased for the simple fact that it smelled marvelous and shaved anything and everything I could. I know that this morning we had both alluded to something happening tonight and in that case, I wanted to be smooth.I wondered if Jensen had been serious about having tonight but I didn’t want to assume anything else would happen. What if it had just been a one-time thing? What if he regretted sleeping with me? Afraid of rejection I decided to just let whatever happens, happen.

Downstairs, Jensen is sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of beer on the coffee table.

“I got two different new releases. A scary one and one that the main character is a heroine. What ya wanna watch first?”

The scary one. If I watch it later, I’ll never sleep tonight!” I tell him, sitting beside him, close but not touching. He reaches out and pulls me next to him and whispers, “I’ll protect you.”

The scary movie ends up being “The Appearing”, about a woman who was possessed, uncovering a dark secret about her past and must face the demon within herself. I close my eyes through most of the movie while Jensen watches and has a running commentary on the special effects used and the storyline itself. I try to pay attention to his interpretation of the film but every time I open my eyes something happens and I have to close them again, snuggling into Jensen’s side. I was pleased when the ending credits rolled.

“You wanna watch the other one? Or are you too scared now?” He looks down at me and smiles.

“Put the damn disc in,” I tell him, determined to redeem myself. The menu screen for The Hunger Games Catching Fire pops up which thrills me. “Oh, I have been wanting to see this one! I watched the first one, one night at a motel in Indiana during my trip.”

“So it was a good choice then?”

“Yes! Thank you Jay!” I hop up on my knees and pull him down to me as he passes by me to take back his spot after inserting the previous disc in its case. I kiss him sound on the mouth.

I watch as Katniss Everdeen escapes the arena and the clutches of the Capitol just as Peeta falls victim to them, putting him in danger. But when Katniss finds out that her home district has been destroyed and it goes off, I literally yell at the screen. “What? You can’t end it like that!”

“Shh,” Jensen laughs. “You’re going to wake JJ.”

“But how can they stop it there? It’s not fair.”

“They do it that way to make sure people will watch the next one. It’s called a cliffhanger,” he explains to me.

“Because it leaves you hanging,” I nod in understanding. I stand up, pick up the empty bottles and popcorn bowl and take them to the kitchen. Walking back into the room, Jensen is ejecting the dvd and I tell him I’m headed to bed.

As I walk upstairs I wonder if he will come to my room tonight to cash in on my earlier promise of ‘more’.

Chapter 17

The Padackles Link taglist:

@xxdragonagequeenxx. @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sunskittlex @darlingpeanut @sis-tafics

#thepadackleslink #jensen ackles #danneel ackles #jensen x drea #jensen x ofc #jared padalecki #genevieve padalecki

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xnchxntmxnt · 3 years

Text

Chapter Two - Turtleneck Sweater

“So it’s...Elliot?”

“Yup.”

“Not a name I'm used to hearing, sorry.”

“Well, neither is Decius, but hey,” they shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve had a better reaction than others have.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize, Koushi, nothing you can do about it. I’ve learned to accept it.”

He smirked, nudging their arm with his shoulder. “Hey, at least I don’t get an ego hit anymore when you wear those basketball sneakers you loved so much in middle school. Nothing wrong with a dude being taller than me.”

Elliot laughed, taking a sip from his (new) monster. Since they knocked into each other, they started catching up (and he was nice enough to get him another monster). They hadn’t realized how long it had been since they last spoke, but it was nice to be in each other’s presence again. After all, the other was the reason they both made it through middle school.

It was safe to say, Elliot had missed his best friend. It had been too long since he and Suga got to spend time together.

Moving to Tokyo for their dad’s job left Elliot heartbroken and unsure of what to do—they weren’t exactly the friendliest person (understatement) and had trouble making friends in real life (also an understatement). Moving away from Sugawara was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, but in the last two years, it was almost like it didn’t matter

Which was a really, really bad way of putting it. But it was the best wait he could think to explain. Over the last few years, they’d grown apart and rarely talked despite being so close from the age of five on up.

Then again, he never did well in awkward situations. And things had been awkward when he left. He never wanted to overstep anything, so kinda stopped answering his phone. Not intentionally—he never ignored Suga—but would go a couple of hours without a reply, then the other would go a couple of hours. Hours turned into days and days turned into not knowing how to start a conversation.

Which, again, was his fault. At least partly.

“There’s always that,” he laughed. “Seriously, though, thank you for being so chill about this, man. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, El—if that’s who you are, that’s who you are, y’know? Oh, am I allowed to tell my bandmates? They’re good friends of mine, but I’ve talked about you a lot the last couple weeks.”

“Yeah, sure—wait, that’s why you’re here?”

In the ten minutes of them talking and sitting on the curb, neither thought to mention what they were doing there.

“Yeah! That battle of the bands thing! You didn’t see us yet?”

“Not yet, no—then again, any time I’m not playing or practicing, I’m more worried about writing. I leave it to Akaashi to get videos for me.”

“So you can overanalyze them later?”

“You get it!”

“Same dumbass I knew in middle school, then,” Suga laughed, pulling out his phone to check the time. “Ah, hell—told my friends I’d be back in 15 and it’s been almost 30. I gotta get going, but text me later, okay? We gotta catch up sometime this week.”

“We do! Yeah, I gotta head out, anyway, no worries. Text me when you’re bored and we can talk for a while.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stood, Suga offering his hand to help them up. They took it with a grin

“I��ll see you later, then,” he asked, keeping their hand in his. With one look, they knew what he was thinking. They spun him, then he spun them around, the two of them high-fiving among several different moves they came up with as little kids.

They broke away, laughing. After all these years, they still had it.

They said their goodbyes again and headed off in different directions. He thought a lot on his way over to Bokuto’s, though—Suga had grown up a lot in the last couple of years. One would say he was pretty. Definitely pretty, actually. Maybe cute.

Unfortunately, the further he walked, the more he thought. And the more he thought, the closer he came to the decision.

Ah, shit. Cute boy.

♬♬♬

Within a couple of minutes of walking, he arrived at Bokuto’s place to hang out before Akaashi and Hiraku came over for practice. They rarely exchanged small talk anymore—three years of extremely close friendship will do that to someone—and Elliot just followed him to his room.

“Had to come out again today.”

“Oh, fun! Not fun? I dunno, how’d it go?” Bokuto asked, flopping backward on his bed. He kicked his fluffy blanket to the bottom, leaving room for them to sit.

“Well...not bad, at least. Just a little weird.”

“I get the feeling you’re gonna talk for a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t have to—“

“Elliot, no, that was a joke.” He sat up, grabbing his hand. Bokuto smiled gently, reassuring him as best he could. “Tell me about it. What happened?”

They squeezed his hand gently, glad for the extra comment. It was a common process: talking/thinking about too much gender stuff -> overthinking -> a little too much anxiety -> self-doubt or crabby mood. As many mood swings that Bokuto had, they knew how to get the other to cool off. Both knew Akaashi was the best with them, but they made do with what they had.

“You remember I moved here after middle school, right?” Bokuto nodded, so they continued. “Before that, I was in Miyagi, all that fun stuff. Anyway. A really old friend of mine is in town for the battle of the bands and I got to talk to him today.”

“Was he shocked?”

“Oh, not really. I’ve always been a little ‘different’ when it comes to style—hell, I started shaving designs into my head when I was...I think ten? Maybe nine. But he said he was happy for me and if that’s who I am, that’s who I am, y’know?”

Bokuto smiled, squeezing their hand. “That’s awesome! Love it when that happens. Good for you for telling him, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Elliot said, smiling awkwardly at him. They took their hand back, beginning to pick at their nails (like usual when thinking too much).

Bokuto took their hand back and leaned over to his bedside table. He grabbed a marker and handed it to him. “Draw me something pretty. No picking.”

They laughed, hanging their head for a second. The laughter increased when he started poking their arm, screeching, “don’t! Hide! Your! Smile! Elliot!” between each poke. It was a nasty habit of theirs that they were trying their best to break, but Bokuto helped a lot with it.

So, they took the marker and started drawing.

About a half-hour and several games of Uno later, Bokuto had both hands full of doodles and designs while they talked about anything and everything.

Somehow, they managed to get onto the topic of love lives.

“Look, dude, I am determined! I’m gonna get a girlfriend by the end of high school! Or a boyfriend. Probably a girlfriend though cause I dunno about the guy's part. But it’s a possibility!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Bo,” they rolled their eyes. He was so in denial, really. They and Akaashi had a bet going.

He pouted. “Hey, well, you’re not doing any better than me! At least I like someone.”

“So you admit it!”

“Not my point!”

They laughed, running their hand through their hair. “I mean, if you’re that competitive, there might be someone…”

“AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???”

“Oh my god, shut up, Bokuto!” They swatted his arm (gently) and grabbed a pillow (proceeding to hide their face in it.

Bokuto only continued to pick on them for it. He tried taking the pillow from their vice grip, asking more questions and even tried rolling them off the bed, but they wouldn’t budge.

“Just WHAT am I your best friend for if you DONT tell me who you have a crush on??” he demanded, finally pulling the pillow out from under their arms. He then hit them with it before discarding it.

“Fine fine fine—if you want to know so bad, you have to guess.”

“But you’ll tell me if I guess correct?”

“No promises.”

“You’re horrible!”

“You love me. Take a shot at it.”

He thought for a moment, a starry, stupid look in his eyes. “OOH OOH OOH, DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON ME?”

“You’re disgusting.”

Bokuto clasped his hand over his chest, falling back on the bed like he’d just been shot. But very over dramatically. “You’ve wounded me!” Elliot kicked his leg and he shot up straight. “Okay, okay, okay, fine. What about...ooh, what was your friend’s name? Suga...sugaworo khaki?”

“Sugawara Koushi?”

“Yeah, that’s it! Him!”

Elliot sighed. There might have been some...feelings in middle school. But nothing they ever acted on. Not in a timely manner, of course. And now--shit, now he was gorgeous and all those crazy feelings from middle school were kinda coming back but also not really? Was he just thinking about this too much? Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit--

“You’re blushing, El--”

“Shut up.”

He smirked, nudging their arm. “Why are you blushing, Elliot?”

“You’re horrible.”

“So I shouldn’t mention Akaashi right now, either?”

He knew just how to push his buttons, didn’t he?

No, he didn't...like akaashi like that, but he had to admit that he was great. Really great. Like totally want to kiss him sometimes great. But he didn't like him like that. They were just really close friends and knew each other better than almost anyone else and talked almost 24/7 and they wrote music a lot even though Akaashi barely knew anything about music and a lot of his songs were about him--

“You’re still blushing.”

Elliot sighed. So he was gonna play dirty like that? Time to pull out his trap card. Which sounded stupid but it worked.

He composed himself, blinked a couple of times, and smiled evilly at Bokuto. “So, Bokuto--how’s Hiraku?”

“Oh, now you're the horrible one!”

They laughed when Bokuto hit them in the head with the previously discarded pillow. He knew what talking about Hiraku did to him--he got embarrassed and pouty until he talked to her again, then his adrenaline shot up again. Freakin dork.

Yes, this is how i actually think. Yes, this is how character elliot's brain works. Im getting slowly more nervous about this because people get to see how weird i am lol. Anyway, show of hands, who wants to talk about who you have a crush on bokuto

Also hahaha i am very trans gtfo if ur transphobic

Is it bad i expect to lose followers for this lol

taglist: @ellewords @shoyotime @i-reblog-storie @tama-jam

playlist

masterlist

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#selfship!akaashi #//ᴏʀɪɢɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ #ᴘʟᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ <3

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laurelevermore · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1- Going Undercover

My boss is a dick.

I looked at him from across his desk and smiled as sweetly as I could. "You called me, sir?" I asked politely in that sickly sweet tone.

Richard, my boss, was sitting on his high-back office chair with his elbows on the desk and his fingers intertwined together. If I didn't know any better, he looked like the Godfather. And it didn't help that his hair was platinum grey and he had a thin, black moustache that was neatly trimmed resting across his upper lip.

He looked like he could have been one of the Kray Twins' henchmen. He was definitely old enough. And he was crabby too.

His mouth twitched slightly to signal that he was smiling--if you can even call it that.

"I called you here because I have something to discuss with you," Richard said in that gruff voice.

Uh-oh. This couldn't be good, I kept thinking as I shuffled my feet. Whenever Richard said that it was normally followed by--

"I have some bad news," Richard said steadily.

And here it was.

"Was there something wrong with my last report?" I asked worriedly. "If there was, I'm sorry sir, I'll get it fixed straight away."

"No, no, no." Richard waved his hand dismissively. "It's not about your report." He paused to think about it for a while as if I had just reminded him of something. "Although, you could work on your words better. Something about the word choice wasn't quite right."

My smile didn't falter but I was screaming internally. Nothing to him was ever quite right.

"No," he continued, "the reason I called you here was because of that interview you were going to do with that band." He put two fingers to his temples to signal that he was thinking. "What were they called again? Bang--"

"Bangtan Sonyeondan," I said finishing his sentence a little too excitedly. "Or, BTS for short."

Richard had his eyebrows raised. "Yes. Well, I have some bad news to tell you, I'm afraid."

Bad news?

"Oh, please don't tell me they've cancelled the interview!" I exclaimed desperately. "I've been looking forward to it all this time. I'm a massive fan of them, you see." I showed him my phone case. It had the letters BTS in bold, black letters. "If they can't do it on the day, I'm pretty flexible. I can do it whenever they want me to. I can even change my flight dates--"

Richard put up his hand as if to signal me to shut up. He had a way of telling you things without actually saying anything.

"That won't be necessary, Minami," he says.

"My name's Mirei, sir" I corrected him. Where did he get Minami from?

Richard gave a grunt as if to acknowledge his mistake. "Yes, Mirei." He says enunciating my name slowly. "Well, as I was saying, you will still be flying to Seoul but you won't be doing the interview with..." he made circular motions with his hand.

"BTS," I say trying hard not to roll my eyes. But then his words just registered in my head. "Wait, what? I'm not doing their interview?" I could hear my voice rising in pitch. "Why?"

Richard was calm. "Unfortunately, our other reporter, who was meant to go undercover for us, has injured her leg and won't be able to do it anymore." He thought for a while then spoke again, "And since you're our only other..." he thought some more again as if he was trying to choose the right word. "Asian reporter," he said finally, "you're the only one who can pull off the job."

I was dumbfounded.

In the whole of the International Culture Department in the BBC, there was only a handful of South East Asian employees. I knew that I was part of the ethnic minority but, I didn't know it was literally just me and Hyemi-- the other reporter Richard must have been on about.

I took a deep breath.

This couldn't be happening.

I was literally a week away from flying out to Seoul and getting ready to meet all the BTS members. My biases. And now, suddenly, I wasn't even going to meet them. I was going to replace Hyemi and go undercover.

"But sir," I said desperately, "I'm not even Korean. How can I go and do an undercover job?"

Richard had some papers in front of him. He lifted one and studied it enthusiastically. His mouth twitched again. He must have been smiling. "It says in your CV that you studied in Seoul for a year."

I nodded. "Well, yes." I didn't like where this was going. "It was for my exchange year in University."

"Then surely, if you have lived in Seoul for a year then, your Korean must be proficient?"

Ah, damn it.

I agreed with him hesitantly, "My Korean is so-so."

I shouldn't have mentioned that in my CV. That will teach me never to stretch the truth in my CV again.

He grunted. "Then, you're perfect for the job."

"But sir," I said, trying again. "Who will do the BTS interview if I'm not?"

Richard leaned back in his chair. "The other Asian reporter will do it."

I stared back at him blankly. Richard wasn't just a dick, he was a dick that didn't even bother to learn your name.

I thought for a while and figured he must have been referring to Nikka. Apart from Hyemi and I, there was only one other reporter of ethnic origin. And that was Nikka.

Damn Nikka, that lucky bastard.

"Well, if that's all I'd like you to go and read the debrief," said Richard handing me a thick folder.

There must have been two-hundred pages in that thing! I accepted the folder, still in shock from receiving the bad news. But then I remembered one vital thing. What am I exactly going undercover for?

When I voiced my question to Richard he just grunted, "You'll be going undercover as a live-in housekeeper to report the daily lives of K-pop idols."

Undercover as a housekeeper? Me? Richard must be joking. There was no way I was going to be a housekeeper.

But then I remembered that Richard didn't do funny. He only did crabby.

"Who are the idols?"

Richard had two fingers on his temples again. He really sucked at remembering names.

"It was some K-pop group that the other reporter was a fan of. Ugh, she wouldn't stop going on about them." He rubbed his temples. "Thinking about all these names are giving me a headache."

I stood there, pondering on who Richard might be talking about this time. A K-pop idol group that Hyemi was a fan of? I didn't really talk a lot with Hyemi. Mainly because she and I hardly had anything in common. But then I remembered why we hardly talked. And that was because she belonged to a rival fandom.

No.

It couldn't be.

My voice was small."Is it...EXO?"

"Yes! That was it. EXO" confirmed Richard as if he had thought of it himself. "You will be going undercover as their housekeeper starting next week."

I stood there, speechless and in disbelief.

Lord, help me.

I, Mirei, an avid BTS fan, am going to live with my fandom's rivals.

And it was all because of my boss.

My boss is a dick, indeed.

Read the rest of this story on:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/133646483-our-little-dorm-mother-exo-fan-fic

https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1341959/our-little-dorm-mother-dormlife-lovetriangle-exo-exok-exom-kai-sehun-romancecomedy-chen-xiumin-chanyeol-lay-suho-exol-mother-unexpectedlove-exostans-funnylove

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/fanfiction/204425

#exo #exo fanfiction #romance comedy #fluff #kpop #korean fanfic #our little dorm mother

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mogdaze-blog · 7 years

Text

Midnight Rendezvous - Short Story for Halloween

It’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. That used to be me, too: a plucky little kid eager to take on any role he could get. I was more than willing to bust my ass in the meantime if it meant getting to do what I love, knowing that all the long hours and back-breaking work would be worth it in the end. When I got my big break.

Life has done a great job of beating that enthusiasm out of me since then.

Now, I’m a graphic designer. The work is interesting, don’t get me wrong, and it puts bread on the table, but it was never my real passion. Ever since I was a little kid, all I ever wanted to do was play pretend, and it’d been my greatest goal since then to do it professionally - even though I hadn’t scored a real acting job since the Nineties.

That’s why, when in mid-October I was contacted by my old agent, Sean Harrell, for the first time in a decade, I didn’t hesitate to pick up the phone.

“Travis! You son of a bitch, you!” He said in the cheerful, endearing way only a talent agent could get away with calling someone a son of a bitch, “shit, what’s it been, eight years? God, it’s crazy how time flies.”

“What do you want, Sean? I didn’t even know I still had you on retainer.”

“Once your agent, always your agent, baby,” he said with a laugh, “if you’re wondering why I’m so chipper, it’s because I just got handed a big, juicy opportunity for you, my man.”

The last alleged “big, juicy opportunity” Sean had gotten me was a commercial for breath spray running on a few major networks back in the day. I couldn’t get a date for a few weeks afterwards, thanks to my newfound reputation as “Man With Halitosis Number 3.” Sean was one gift horse who was occasionally filled with bloodthirsty Trojan soldiers, so I’d learned to look at his offers with a healthy sense of scepticism.

“What’s this big opportunity?”

“You’ve been offered a guest spot on a major talk show,” he said, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, “I’ve been speaking to the reps all morning, they’re practically begging to have you on.”

I scoffed and shook my head, though I knew Sean couldn’t see it. Even when I was acting, it was cult stuff - B-movies and little indie films where the work was varied but the pay was crap; none of them ever broke out of the indie circuit and made it big. In short, it was all nothing that Conan O'Brien or Jimmy Fallon would give two shits about.

“What talk show is this?” I asked.

“Midnight Rendezvous, with Julie Forrester. It goes out live to a few million people every week.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “because the reps told me that if I mentioned the name, you’d know it immediately.”

“Well,” I said, feeling irritated, “I guess they’ve got the wrong guy. Why would they want me, anyway? I don’t even act anymore, it’s not like I’ve got anything to promote.”

“Apparently,” Sean said, speaking uncharacteristically slowly, as though trying to choose his words extra carefully, “don’t get mad, but they want to talk about The Red Weekend.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you’d say that. They’re recording on the 31st.”

“Halloween? Oh, for fuck’s sakes, Sean. Could it get any tackier? Look, if they call again, tell them I don’t wanna talk about that stupid movie, and if that doesn’t get them to shut up, tell them they can take their offer, and shove it up their–”

“The pay, Travis. Let me tell you about the pay before you get all…heated.”

“What are they offering?” I grumbled.

“Fifteen thousand, for just a couple of hours on set. Still feeling crabby, Trav?”

Yes, I was, but I didn’t feel I could show it. Fifteen thousand for a few hours sitting on a couch in a studio, being asked questions about some stupid B-movie I starred in when I was in my twenties, seemed like a deal only a proud idiot would turn down. I may have been proud, perhaps unreasonably so, but I was no idiot.

“You sure these guys are legit?” I asked, not wanting to say yes right after hearing the number, “they’re not just gonna lure me out to some vacant lot, beat me over the head, and harvest my organs?”

Sean groaned into the phone. It was like we’d never stopped speaking. Truth be told, I’d missed the slimy bastard. At least he gave it all to you straight. When you spoke to Sean Harrell, you knew what you were in for.

“Look, Travis, there’s no way to ever really be sure they’re not organ traffickers - hell, I’m sure Kimmel fenced a kidney or two when he was starting out - but I can give you at least a strong 80% certainty that these guys are the real deal,” he said, “I spoke to the host for a little while, uh, Julie! She seems nice, you know, a personality. I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

“You said the exact same thing about that Fairweather woman, but that fell through, too. How do I know this is gonna be any different to that?”

“Oh, come on, Trav, that’s not fair. You know the Fairweather thing couldn’t be helped. Besides, it was ten years ago. This? This is now, and now I’ve got this offer on the table for you and you only. Do you think I would have called if I thought this was just gonna be bullshit? Hell no. So, what’ll it be, buddy, you in or you out?”

I gave a reluctant sigh, before finally saying, “fuck it, why not. Sign me up.”

“Great! I’m so glad you said that, Travis, because truth be told I’d already said yes on your behalf.”

“Jesus Christ, Sean.”

“What? It’s my job to make decisions in the best interests of your career, even if you don’t. I’ll keep in touch and feed you the details in the next couple days. It’s shaping up to be a real happy Halloween, Mr. Norton.”

“Don’t push it. Speak to you later, Sean.”

“Later.”

He hung up after that, and I was left with nothing but silence and my thoughts.

The Red Weekend. It’d been a while since I’d heard that name, and that was no accident. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that it was the movie that destroyed my credibility, and my acting career, so just thinking about it made my blood boil. Plot-wise, it was nothing special. Just a derivative 1985 monster movie cashing in on the slasher formula that was so popular at the time, with a few stolen shades of “Creature from The Black Lagoon.” A bunch of hapless teenagers decided to spend a weekend in a cabin on the edge of a lake, only to have their fun spoiled by a creature rising up and slaughtering all of them except one - who then goes on to turn the tables and slay the monster, avenging the fallen. Simple, cheap, and cheesy.

I played the creature from the lake, affectionately dubbed by the cast, crew, and all five-or-so fans of the movie as “The Bog Man.” If I took the role today (which, by the way, I wouldn’t) I’d have gone uncredited and collected my pay check, before moving on with my life. But I was star-struck, by the one person on the production team with what you might call genuine prestige.

Richard Upton Pavlović, the most iconic special effects artist you’ve never heard of. All the greats - Savini, Baker, Rambaldi, and a laundry list of others - all studied under Pavlović at one time or another, since he immigrated from Croatia in the forties. But he was a famously private man: nobody outside the business had ever heard of him; he was one of B-cinema’s best kept secrets. While the number of special effects artists who’d studied under him was vast, he only chose to work on a handful of different films personally: one of which, for reasons I doubt I’ll ever understand, was The Red Weekend.

The reason I took the role, and the reason I chose to be credited, was that in playing The Bog Man I’d be working one-on-one with Pavlović in the makeup room. It was my only chance to really interact with a living legend, before his death from a sudden heart attack back in 2007. Pavlović was a man with extraordinary vision. His one condition for working on a project was full creative control over creature designs, because he needed to be unstifled to truly work his magic. And it was magic: he could string together blood and gore with the best of them, sure, but when it came to monster design, Pavlović was the master.

When I met him in person for the first time, in a makeup trailer during a bitterly cold day in September, I was surprised by how small he was. Pavlović was a squat, wiry man with a silver horseshoe of hair and thick half-moon spectacles, looking like a cartoon shrew from a mid-30s Disney short. His design for The Bog Man was assembled in a thick stack of papers he carried in the crook of his arm, and started pinning around the makeup chair I was sitting on.

“Have you been under heavy prosthetics before?” He asked, with a soft, frail voice that still carried the echoes of a Croatian accent.

“No,” I said, “but I’m open to new experiences.”

Pavlović gave a quiet, good-hearted chuckle at my naïveté and continued pinning up his pictures. They were all hand-drawn pencil illustrations, some of parts of the creature, others of the entire thing. It was a huge amphibian, a little bigger than a human, with features somewhere between an axolotl and a triceratops, with the addition of a long, whipping tail. It was a hunched, slimy, pot-bellied creature with green skin and long arms ending in six thick claws. There was a strangely childlike nature to its head: wide and flat, largely smooth and featureless, with beady black eyes and three horns sprouting from either side of its head. In the illustrations with its mouth closed, it seemed more like a frog, with its lipless gob stretching from one set of horns to the other. When the mouth was open, it reminded me more of a shark, with multiple rows of switchblade fangs.

“What is this thing? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“It is Rugoba,” Pavlović replied, gravely, “haunter of shadows, devourer of man.”

“Did you draw all these yourself?” I asked, “the detail is incredible.”

“Some I drew, yes,” he said, unpacking his equipment now, “others I inherited, from family members back in the old country. Creatures in the movies these days, they’re too tacky, too homogenised. I like to draw inspiration from older sources. It looks better, don’t you agree?”

I nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to do.

What followed was nothing short of gruelling. Seven hours in the makeup chair every morning and every night, and layer after layer of paint, putty, latex, slime, and false skin was packed onto me, until I felt like I’d been shrink-wrapped. Pavlović was a perfectionist, and I can’t imagine anyone ever felt that better than me. The head was a mixture of latex and animatronics that I wore like a helmet, with extremely limited visibility. My hands and feet were bound and fitted with claws, and a multi-jointed wire wrapped in latex became my whipping tail, that moved of its own accord.

For all the layers they’d packed onto me, it didn’t do anything to insulate. During the shoot - a lot of which I spent emerging from water and chasing down drunk, horny morons - it was a miracle I never came down with hypothermia. Day after day after day in Pavlović’s makeup chamber of horrors, all for a film I knew nobody was going to see. It was only when I got the chance to see the first proper cut of the film that I started to truly understand all the mythos behind Pavlović’s supposed mad genius: when I watched the film, waiting to see myself in a hokey monster costume, prancing through the woods, I never got what I wanted. When I was on screen, there was no recognising me, because I was not there. It was only the Rugoba, as if it’d been ripped straight from Pavlović’s nightmares and spat onto the screen, hunting its prey.

I remembered performing all the actions I’d see on screen, but I couldn’t - no matter how hard I tried - see myself doing it. Pavlović had turned me into his monster, and he’d done it flawlessly. The movie, as anticipated, was hot garbage, with plotting and characters as thin as wet toilet paper, unbearable dialogue, and thoroughly incompetent cinematography. But the Rugoba? That, I think I can say without a doubt, was the greatest, most realistic monster to ever grace the silver screen.

However, there was another element of the Pavlović legend which made him a little less desirable to work with. Actors, in one regard, are a lot like football players: they’re a superstitious bunch. The little superstition that Richard Pavlović carried around his neck was that he was cursed: any film he chose to work on was doomed to fail, and if you were unlucky, that failure would spread its tendrils out to the cast and crew as well.

Ian Barker, one of my co-stars, once told me in confidence that he felt the whole production just reeked of doom to him, like some invisible axe was hanging over all of our heads, just waiting for the right moment to drop. Thanks to being in full Rugoba makeup for almost my entire time on set, not many of the cast interacted with me - I was the amphibian social leper - but Ian was different. He was at least someone I felt like I could talk to, even if most of what we discussed was Pavlović’s curse.

To me, it was all stupid, baseless hokum, but towards the end of the shoot, I started getting worried. Maybe it was the fear that rattled me, but after The Red Weekend, I never nailed another audition: not for movies, not for TV, not for Broadway. Sean netted me a few commercials after that, but for all intents and purposes, my serious acting career was kaput. Looking back, I probably never had the nerve for stardom anyway, but just thinking about that movie had the power to leave a sour taste in my mouth.

And this Julie Forrester wanted me to talk about it on live TV. Part of me, honestly, was afraid of what I’d say, under pressure, and under the intensity of all those studio lights. My best guess for what they were trying to do was a Halloween retrospective on the life and work of Richard Pavlović, monster movie maestro, and seeing as I was the last actor to officially work with him, my experiences held some weight.

In the end, if I could take home fifteen grand for a talk show appearance a couple decades after my fifteen minutes of mild fame were up, who was I to complain?

Sean got back to me a few days later, saying a chauffeur paid by the studio would be taking me from my bungalow on the edge of L.A. to the studio. It all felt a little much, considering my credentials, but Sean just encouraged me to put my feet up and enjoy it. After all, I didn’t know when I’d get another experience like this, if I ever did. Might as well soak it in while I still could.

It was about eight at night, and trick-or-treaters were already prowling the streets, when a black BMW parked in front of my home and dimmed the lights. It felt less like a talk show valet and more like a mafia hitman, but I walked up to the car nonetheless, and the driver rolled down the window. It was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing a classic chauffeur hat and a wide, inviting grin.

“You Travis Norton?” She asked.

I nodded.

“Hop on in, Sir. I’m Mary, I’m gonna drive you down to the studio.”

The car was comfortable, and there was a small bottle of champagne in a little icebox on the seat next to me, with a smiling jack-o-lantern painted onto it. The temptation was there, but I didn’t touch it - probably wasn’t wise to get loaded before a TV interview. Once I was belted up, Mary fired up the ignition and drove.

“Everything okay back there, Mr. Norton?” Mary said.

“Oh yeah,” I replied, “it’s wonderful. I feel bad for making you come out, I could have driven down myself.”

Mary laughed to herself in the front seat.

“Nonsense, Mr. Norton,” she said, “I’m honoured to have you in my car. I never thought that I’d be in the company of the star of The Red Weekend. If it’s not too unprofessional of me to ask, would I be able to have your autograph when we arrive? I’d just like to show my kids.”

“You let your kids watch The Red Weekend?” I asked, remembering its plethora of gory death scenes.

“Are you kidding?” Mary said with another hearty laugh, “it’s their favourite movie. They’re crazy for it.”

For the rest of the journey, I remained largely silent. Mary seemed nice at face value, but the more you spoke to her, the more you realised something was off about her. But it wasn’t just Mary that was a little odd: the car, upon closer, more sustained inspection, was strange too. The back windows were so tinted you could barely see out of them, and before I knew it, I was hopelessly lost. I’d lived in L.A. for most of my adult life, but the neighbourhoods Mary was driving us through felt totally alien to me.

The studio was like an anthill, pulsing with life, and dotted with more rictus pumpkins. Assistants and stagehands shuffled to and fro in steady streams, the pumping lifeblood of the whole big, complicated affair, as Mary pulled us into the parking lot. I got out of the car, gave a small, reluctant autograph in her pocket book - dedicated to her kids, of course - before being ushered away by another little detachment of stagehands. The place seemed to run with almost military efficiency, with everyone around me constantly checking their watches before moving at a quickened pace.

It was this aspect of a life in show-business that I never missed.

“Mr. Norton,” said a shrewd-looking studio rep who’d materialised from a crowd of scurrying assistants - he’d never be on camera, but his suit looked far nicer than mine, “I’m Michael. Splendid to see you accepted our offer. Please, follow me, I’ll see to it that you get to Miss Forrester.”

Ten years out of the media, and here, I was a babe in the woods. I blindly followed Michael further into the bowels of the studio, away from packed crowds of excited guests being corralled into queues. Most had won contests to be here, and the rest had probably paid their way in. They’d be the ones watching me, reminding me that I was being watched, not just by them, but by millions of others who’d all tune in to a show I’d never even heard of. It’d been a strange and eventful Halloween.

Before I knew it, in the haze of yelling directors and baking studio lights, I was backstage. They ushered me into a makeup room, where I was given the most minimal makeup job I’d ever seen, even more so considering my work on The Red Weekend for comparison. I was about half way through deciding whether it was a compliment when the door opened behind me, and a strange, kinetic energy seemed to fill the room, as though someone had just turned on a generator.

“Travis Norton,” said a shrill, excited voice coming from a shape I could only just catch in the corner of my mirror, “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. I feel like I need someone to pinch me.”

Julie Forrester, like most television hosts, was a font of untapped energy, constantly bubbling beneath the surface. She was a little shorter than me at about 5"8, decked out in a tasteful grey suit, with a broad smile that seemed to flash the majority of her paper-white, perfectly-aligned teeth. She’d been prepped and polished by countless stylists and makeup artists, because I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how old she was - you could peg me as a middle-aged bum at a glance, but Julie seemed to stand outside age, just looking in and smiling at the rest of us. Her hair - black, silky - was cut fashionably short.

“Hey Julie,” I said, with the awkward, feigned familiarity of meeting TV personalities, “thanks so much for having me on. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”

She gave an excited little squeak, like a teenager at a boyband concert. This was all feeling more and more like a big, sinister practical joke. Trick or god damn treat.

“Hearing you say my name is so surreal,” she said with a laugh - no, a giggle, “young me would have exploded at just the thought of it. You should know, I don’t normally do this, but with you I just couldn’t resist. You’ve been a hard man to track down, you know? Extraordinarily private, for a celebrity of your stature.”

I laughed back, acting like I was in on the gag.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “I have always been pretty low-key.”

“Are you a fan of the show?” She asked, clearly hoping the answer was yes. Julie reminded me of the kid in class who was always trying to impress the teacher - searching for some kind of validation from someone she perceived as an authority figure. You don’t get into this line of work unless validation is part of what drives you.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I thought about lying, about humouring her. It was only when I realised there might be a follow-up question that I decided to give her my slightly-sanitised version of the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t really watch much TV. But Sean, my agent, he told me this show was excellent, so I jumped at the chance to be a guest.”

Julie’s face fell slightly, as though my words had wounded her, but she stayed positive. Outwardly, at least.

“In that case, Travis, you are in for a real treat tonight,” she said, “I’ve got some great questions lined up, there’ll be a brief Q&A with some audience members - don’t worry, it’s all screened, so there won’t be any curveballs - and we’ll have a few fun little segments mixed in to break stuff up. Is this your first time doing a live TV interview? My researchers couldn’t find much footage of you online.”

“No, uh, this is my first time. I’m a little nervous, actually.”

She gave a friendly, comforting chuckle and patted me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine. You can pretend it’s only you and me, if that helps, but everyone out there loves you, Travis. They’ll be hanging off your every word.”

“I never knew The Red Weekend had such an ardent fanbase.” I said, trying to play off all the uncomfortable praise that seemed to be bombarding me from every angle.

Julie laughed again, as though I’d said something funny and missed it.

“Don’t be so modest, Travis, everyone remembers their first time watching The Red Weekend, it’s a rite of passage,” she said, walking towards the door, “if you need to do any last-minute psyching yourself up, now’s the time. You’ll be on in ten.”

The sudden, strange realness of it all hit me like a haymaker as Julie closed the door behind her. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t an actor, not anymore, I designed logos for small businesses and occasionally made a poster or two. The freakish contrast between the world I’d known for the last two decades and the world I was being pulled back into was jarring. It barely felt like I had time to blink, when Michael, the rep, was knocking on the dressing room door.

“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Norton, do come out and join me. Recording will begin soon.”

I gulped down my final misgivings like cheap scotch, and gave a long sigh. It was now or never, but truth be told, even for fifteen grand, “never” was looking more attractive.

The set was, in a word, generic. A large red couch sat across from a wide desk, bearing the title “MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS” in large but tasteful lettering. The background was the standard plywood fare covered in a large facsimile of the L.A. Skyline up in lights. Julie sat at her desk, beaming, while a skinny warmup comedian stood centre stage, making anodyne jokes about West Hollywood traffic to the softly-laughing studio audience. They sat in near-darkness, compared to the bleached whiteness of the set, but the longer you looked at them, the more you could make out all their shapes.

I took a seat across from Julie, not wanting to upstage the comedian, but the second I entered the view of the audience I felt a hundred pairs of eyes pierce me. For whatever reason, I was the centre of attention.

“This will be over soon, and we’ll get started,” Julie said with a wink, “this might be my most anticipated episode. No pressure, though, you’re gonna nail it.”

The warmup comedian was finishing his set, his brow now dotted with glistening beads of sweat, like the damp patches glaring through his cheap suit. None of his stuff was particularly funny - all broad observations and reheated takes, the TV dinner of comedy. Most of all, he just seemed surprised and giddy to be there.

“Thank you!” He said, “you’ve been a wonderful audience, but now I’m gonna hand you over to Julie and Travis, who I hear have got an excellent show for you tonight! Have a happy and safe Halloween, guys!”

He laughed as the crowd cheered, and then started to head for the exit, when Julie called to him.

“Josh!” She called, “you did a great job, really awesome stuff. Would you mind sticking around a few minutes longer? There’s a few last little things we need to do.”

Josh nodded politely and returned to centre stage, delivering a few more inoffensive little quips to the crowd, and receiving small bouts of friendly laughter in return. I didn’t notice at first, but Michael the rep had appeared at Julie’s side, and I caught the tail end of their conversation.

“Is the perimeter secure?” She asked him.

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, “we should be all good to go, when you’re ready.”

She nodded, and Michael disappeared backstage. Seeming to just arbitrarily come and go was Michael’s whole thing, I gathered, but before I could think about it any longer, Julie stood up and joined Josh, centre stage.

“It’s looking like we have a beautiful audience tonight!” She said, with the practiced, theatrical flair of someone who’d said this a million times, “and how appropriate, because I think tonight we may have my favourite guest of all time. Do I even have to say his name, folks?”

There was a cheer from the crowd. I gave an awkward smile, and Josh just stood there dumbly, next to Julie.

“I have been informed by the producers that all the perimeters are secure now,” she said, “so, with that in mind, it’s time to change.”

It happened so quickly, but it felt like it took a million years. The hue of Julie’s skin began to change from a pale pink to a deep, murky green, as her shape began to shift, bloat, and elongate. But, it wasn’t just Julie: the camera men, the stagehands, and the audience began changing too, all slowly warping themselves out of humanity and into something else entirely. Six claws, those big amphibian faces, those long, whipping tails and terrible jaws full of thousands of teeth.

If I wasn’t almost entirely sure it was all fake to begin with, I would have screamed until my lungs burned up into prunes in my chest cavity, but as it was I couldn’t summon a single sound. The host, the crew, the studio audience: they weren’t human, not even close. They were Pavlović’s monster. They were the Rugoba.

All of them except Josh, who stood next to the seven-foot-tall monster that Julie had become - still somehow wearing that sleek grey suit over her freakish new body. He was quaking in terror, only letting out occasional whimpers of fear. Both were standing in front of me, so I couldn’t get a good look at their faces, but beyond them I saw a legion of grinning Rugoba filling the stands. All here to see me.

“But, before we get this show on the road,” Julie said, her voice startlingly similar to when she still seemed human, “some free concessions for the first few rows. Remember to share!”

With a huge, clawed hand, Julie gave the quaking Josh a push. He pitched forwards, screaming, into the midst of the studio audience, and they set upon him in an instant with claws and teeth. Ripping, tearing, devouring. Those panicked yells soon just become bloody gurgles, and then nothing but the sounds of feasting, and of Julie’s laughter. When Josh’s head came away from what was left of his body, several Rugoba seemed to fight over its contents.

Had I not have been desensitised by spending my young adult years working in crappy, exploitative horror movies, I’d have thrown up. Instead, I just sat and watched, feeling like someone was taking a weed whacker to my soul. Human beings weren’t meant to witness things like this, and now, I was the only one here.

“Settle down, folks,” Julie said with a good-natured chuckle, “we’ll have more snacks distributed throughout the show. Everyone ready to begin? If you are, give me a big cheer!”

And she got one. The creatures that’d eaten a man alive a few seconds before just took their places, all looking as excited as their inhuman faces seemed to allow. The better part of me knew that I should have tried to run - I wasn’t paralysed by fear or anything like that, no, I just knew that if they were eating Josh but sparing me, there had to be a reason.

A Rugoba director, wearing an abnormally large headset to fit around his horns, called lights, camera, action.

What I assumed must have been the theme tune began to play, as Julie turned to me, a look of confusion spread against her wide, froglike face.

“Why haven’t you changed, Travis?” She asked.

That’s when it all hit me: why I was here, what all this was about. Pavlović - that mad, genius son of a bitch - his makeup job wasn’t just good, it was utterly flawless, a perfect representation of a creature his family always knew truly existed. The costume was so good, it even fooled Julie and the others. For all these years, they genuinely thought I was one of them.

“I can’t.” I said, without thinking.

“Why?” She asked in a harsh whisper.

I could tell the theme song was drawing to a close, and I needed to spin good enough bullshit to not get eaten by a talk show host. It wasn’t my best work, in hindsight, but what I said was:

“I’m a method actor, and I’m playing a human in my next role. I don’t want to compromise the integrity of the character.”

What I expected was getting a face full of gnashing monster teeth, but no, Julie just laughed and smiled at me. As the theme song played its last few notes, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she’d bought it. And with the audience’s undivided attention, Julie began her little monologue.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome to the good people at home! You know me, I’m Julie Forrester, and this is Midnight Rendezvous - the most popular talk show on Rugoba TV!” She said, before presenting her middle claw to the camera, “so pogo on that, Morning Chitchat. And boy, do we have a special guest for you tonight, folks, a guest quite unlike any other. You know him, you love him, it’s the one and only Mr. Travis Norton!”

The studio audience exploded into deafening cheers and applause, like none I’d ever heard in my lifetime. The response was so overwhelming, I nearly forgot I’d just seen them all eat an innocent man alive.

Julie walked back and squeezed herself behind the desk, making it look comically child-sized now.

“Now, Travis, I’m thrilled to have you on.” She said, leaving a pause for me.

“I’m thrilled to be on,” I said, my voice quivering, “sorry, I’m not used to all this attention. It’s a little overwhelming.”

She laughed again, and said, “now, in many ways, you’re a guest that needs no introduction - but I’m gonna introduce you anyway, because that’s how I make my living.”

The crowd laughed, and I decided to join in. Slime was dripping in liberal dollops from Julie’s massive jaws, coating the top of the desk. It’s a miracle I didn’t relieve my bowels just looking at her.

“I know I’ve been a fan of you for a long, long time, Travis. Having a Rugoba celebrity on the show is nothing new, of course, we’ve had plenty here: Björk, Kanye West, Ryan Reynolds…but Travis, you, to this day, are the only Rugoba in living memory who’s had the guts to show their true form on film,” she said, a genuine note of pride in her voice, “and I think that deserves another round of applause, don’t you, folks?”

More applause, and I forced a smile. It was becoming clear to me that this whole thing was just a tightrope act: I was a folk hero to them for now, but the second they realised I wasn’t one of them, I’d be devoured, just like Josh. In that moment, I wished that Richard Upton Pavlović was alive again, so I could have a go at beating him to death myself.

“If you’re wondering why Travis is looking so tasty tonight, folks, it’s because - and this is a Midnight Rendezvous exclusive - he’s going to be starring in a new movie soon. How exciting?” Julie said, playing up every word for the eager crowd of monsters just beyond the edge of the set, “he’s a method actor, so he’s trying to stay in character. Can you tell us a little about the film, Travis?”

Great. I was on the spot again, one lie leading to another. A good piece of advice to take to heart is that when you’re already in a hole, it’s best to stop digging, but I was already half way to China.

“It’s called Mirrors: Reflecting,” I said, completely pulling it out of my ass, “it’s a comedy-drama about a has-been actor who ends up getting way in over his head in a situation he doesn’t understand. It’s in pre-production.”

“Oooooh,” Julie said, “sounds exciting. Now, I’ll start with the question I think we’ve all been thinking since we first saw The Red Weekend: how did you find the willpower to never eat any of your co-stars?”

The general rule seemed to be that anything I found morally repugnant would get a big laugh out of the crowd. The Rugoba sense of humour seemed to be mainly based around terrible things happening to humans, so I chose my words as carefully as I could, given the circumstances.

“It’s, uh, it’s all about self-control,” I said, “you’ve just gotta tell yourself to stay in the professional zone, and that you can’t eat any of them, because it’ll, uh, compromise the production.”

“God,” Julie said, “check out this guy here, making me feel like a slob. You’ve gotta give me the number of your dietician after this, Trav. I ate mine last week.”

I laughed out of politeness, but I genuinely wasn’t sure whether it was a joke or not. For my own sanity, I chose to believe the former. The crowd found it hilarious, either way.

“Did any of your co-stars know the truth? You know, about who you really are?” She asked.

“No,” I cut in, worrying that revealing the truth would be a secret death sentence, “those dumb humans believed it was all just makeup. You know what people are like, easy to trick.”

Julie slammed a claw down on the slimy desktop and gave an over-the-top laugh.

“So true, Travis, so true!” She cackled, “in fact, half of the folks at home are probably enjoying a trick or treater as we speak. Halloween, what a holiday, it’s like getting free home delivery - and they bring your dessert in a bag with them! So considerate - who says humans aren’t good for anything?”

How many of these things were there? How many facets of society had they invaded, if they had their own TV shows? Sean said this show went out live to millions of viewers, and surely not all of them would be watching. There must have been Rugoba everywhere.

“Now, a couple more serious questions, before we get to the fun stuff,” she said, licking the slobber off her fangs with a long, purple tongue, “your filmography has some strange gaps. You get plenty of work in the eighties, and a little going into the nineties, but then a huge episode of silence until now. Why the return to film?”

It probably shouldn’t have rattled me, given what was going on, but it did. Somehow, the fear of failure ran even deeper than the fear of monsters, and Julie had opened the floodgates.

“It’s not been for lack of trying,” I said with a laugh that undermined my sadness, “it’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. I’m a graphic designer in my spare time. Just lately, I got lucky, and was offered another big break. It wasn’t what I expected, but I’m trying to play it out as best I can.”

The crowd gave a sympathetic “awwww” that felt good in spite of them being a horde of carnivorous beasts. Julie seemed similarly sympathetic, looking at me with those big, black shark-eyes that somehow communicated a warm depth of compassion you couldn’t imagine coming from a creature like her.

“Well,” she said, trying to reclaim the room, “I’m sure I speak for everyone in this room when I say that we’re glad you’re getting work again, Travis, you’re a talent like no other. That’s why I thought I’d get you a fun little Halloween treat.”

All the lights around us began to dim, as several excited “oooooohs” issues forth from the crowd. I could hear sudden movement backstage, and the scraping of metal against metal.

“But,” Julie said with glee, standing up from her desk and trotting to centre stage, “one person’s treat is another person’s trick, quid pro quo, that’s the way the world goes. Travis isn’t the only special guest we’ve got tonight, courtesy of some fine work from our producers.”

A group of Rugoba in dark uniforms dragged a huddled, chained figure onto the stage. He’d been either beaten or drugged, but whatever the case, the guy was totally out of it. Half-naked, covered in scratches where his handlers had been too rough. It’d been so long, but after a moment or two, I recognised who it was.

Ian Barker, my old Red Weekend co-star.

“As you all know,” Julie said, addressing the crowd, “the one blemish marring the perfection of The Red Weekend is the downer ending. The rest of it is such an uplifting story of Rugoba conquering and devouring humankind, as nature intended, until the character played by our new guest Ian Barker here slays our champion!”

The crowd entered a state of vicious booing, all directed at Ian, who was too dazed to even respond. He remained on his knees, with a heavy metal collar bound around his neck.

“But, today, as a Midnight Rendezvous Halloween special, we’re going to right that wrong, folks!” She said with a laugh of shrill, sadistic excitement, “our dear friend of the show, Travis Norton, will devour Ian Barker live for you and the folks at home, and all the wrongs will be right again. Is everyone excited?”

As the volume of the cheering went up, my heart sank. Before I could even think to stop myself, or formulate a plan, I was up on my feet and charging towards Julie with an excuse.

“Julie, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I have to stay in character, I need to seem human.”

Julie scoffed and shook her head - more for the audience than me.

“What? Humans eat other humans all the time! Jeffrey Dahmer, Andrei Chikatilo, and a whole bunch of others,” she said, “you don’t even need to change back. The producers got you this handy little tool.”

A fourteen-pound framing hammer was forced into my hands, crushing my last attempt at an excuse. Everyone but Ian was looking at me, as I stood there with the hammer, all grinning and egging me on with their eyes.

“You only have to eat some of the brains, it’s the best part anyway,” Julie said, “I’d hate to break you too far from character.”

Then the chanting began: kill, kill, kill. I don’t know who started it, but now there was no stopping it, not until I’d made up my mind. I gripped the hammer, hard, and looked at the back of Ian’s head. If I fessed up, and told the truth, would they kill him and me anyway? Did it make more sense to just kill him and get it over with, then try to live with the guilt afterwards?

Maybe it did make more sense. But that’s not what I did.

“Stop! I yelled, the hammer clattering to the ground, "and please listen!”

The room fell silent, and Julie started looking at me like she knew something terrible was about to happen.

“I have a confession,” I said, “you’re not gonna like it, but you have to listen to me, and hear me out. I’m not one of you, okay? I’m not a Rugoba. I’m a human being, it was all a big god damn lie.”

Julie stared at me, devastated, and said “wait, Travis, what do you mean? The Red Weekend…”

“The Red Weekend is a shitty movie that ruined my life!” I blurted out without thinking, “it was all special effects makeup, none of it was real. The guy just knew about you, somehow, and you’re what he based his design on. I was never a Rugoba. I’m sorry for misleading you all like this, it’s just a huge misunderstanding.”

In an instant, the crowd devolved from low, worried murmurs to riotous shouting. Julie tried in vain to comfort the yelling crowd, to stop them baying for my blood, but it was too late. I’d taken one of their greatest living legends, and torn it apart in front of them. I’d gone from being a hero to the devil himself.

Running was the first thing on my mind, but before the thought even properly formed, something had struck the back of my head - and everything went black.

***

When I finally came to, I was staring out of thick, iron bars into the furious amphibian face of Julie Forrester. The room was dark, so I could barely see beyond her, staring into the cage and mugging at me. She’d lost her grey suit, and was wearing a white outfit with a skirt instead, her whipping tail protruding from the back, lashing at the air.

“I bet you feel really clever right now, Travis, well done,” she said, her voice devoid of the lightness and humour I’d known it for, “you made me look like an absolute clown on my own show. I trusted you, I invited you on, and you just humiliated me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my thoughts still returning in brief snatches, “I really am, Julie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Aside from the whole ‘eating humans’ thing, I like you as a person. I wouldn’t want your credibility to take a hit.”

She ran her claws across the bars of the cage, and shook her head.

“Too little, too late, I’m afraid,” she said, “but you can still make it up to me, in other ways.”

“I want to, Julie, I really do.”

Julie pulled back from the bars a little and seemed to pace around the cage, her footsteps heavy and wet, but as regular as the ticking of a clock’s pendulum. It’d drive you mad if you listened for long enough.

“What you said earlier about the entertainment industry is true, Travis, even if the rest was all lies,” she said, her tone gravely seriously, “if you want to make a good living, one job won’t cut it. You need to be a real polymath to put bread on the table. Thankfully, I’m a Rugoba of all trades: Midnight Rendezvous is just one of the shows I host.”

“What’s the other one?” I asked, out of morbid curiosity.

She stopped, pressed her terrible amphibian face against the bars, and grinned.

“You’ll see,” she said, “you’ll see real soon, Travis. I’m gonna make you into something so much better…”

As Julie started to walk away from the cage, one by one the studio lights began to turn back on, cracking into life. The couch and L.A. backdrop was replaced by a homely-looking kitchen, fitted with a gorgeous array of utensils and hardware. Julie produced from the front pocket of the white apron she was wearing a long and magnificent chef’s hat, and placed it onto her huge, slimy head.

The words “COOKING WITH JULIE!” were emblazoned across the front of her kitchen unit.

My fear had already passed, all that remained now was that kind of dissonant, slaughterhouse calm that sets in when you already know you’re finished. All that’s left to do is wait. But, I took a strange comfort in knowing that this Halloween night The Red Weekend would finally be coming to an end.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, as the director called “lights, camera, action.”

#stories #horror #halloween #funny #monster girl

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attempted-writing · 7 years

Text

a day well spent

fandom: Homestuck setting: Earth C summary: Dave and Karkat spend the day together warnings: food, under age drinkin(?), a tonne of fluff pairings: davekat word counter: 3715 author notes: my second fic, sorry it took so long. korina is a kind of wood and i thought it would fit as a name for a background character. also, thanks to @ejusticeonthenet for helping me name the story

A gentle voice softly sounded in the bedroom as Dave woke up his boyfriend. Karkat slowly opened an eye as he saw sunlight drip though the crack between the curtains before burying his head in the fluff of the bed again. “MORNIN DAVE” a dry voice came from somewhere between the sheets. “mornin? Dude, its 1:35” the troll now sat up in bed and got distracted for a moment. He knew his boyfriend sat next to him on the bed but he didn’t count on him being that close to him and it left him flustered for a moment. After feeling himself go red in the face he said “SO? ITS NOT LIKE THER’S SOMETHING HAPPENING TODAY” Dave looked at him with a sly grin after seeing him blush like that. “eh, I thought “the weather ‘s awesome, let’s go have fun time with the dude I love most” but if you’re not up for it I just might have to ask Dirk” Karkat sighed and as he turned to his side he answered “5 more minutes” “heh, sure, but don’t forget that I’m knight of time” the only answer he got was a murmur from the sheets that sounded a bit like fuck off strider. “I’ll have your “breakfast” ready in a bit” Dave responded teasingly.

True to his word the sleepy troll came down the stairs a couple of minutes later. The smell of freshly fried egg wafted from the kitchen to the living room. Dave had started to learn how to cook after the dust settled. He had asked john for lessons who taught him how to make a couple of dishes, one of which was how to fry an egg. After that he and Karkat ate eggs for breakfast for a week straight because “he needed to practice”. Truth be told, he did get quite good at it. With a little smile Karkat walked into the kitchen “SMELLS GOOD, MAN” Dave looked up from the pan and said “thanks, honey”. Karkat quietly giggled “HEH, YOU NEVER CALL ME HONEY”. “oh no, I just needed the honey for a sec” Dave said with a teasing smirk “NICE SAFE… HONEY”.

After a healthy breakfast the two left their house and headed for the park in the centre of town. As they walked they talked, about the house, about their friends, the party Rose and Kanaya are throwing next week and other small talk until they arrived at a bench in the park. The bench was in a beautiful spot, under the canopy of a big old oak tree that stood behind it and with a view of a small river that slowly flowed between the fields and tree clusters. it was busy with a lot of people swimming, sun-bathing, children playing and couples picnicking. “WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HOT” Karkat said as he wiped the sweat of his forehead “ITS ALMOST LIKE IM BACK ON ALTERNIA” Dave looked at him through his old and trusty pair of shades. Ever since they arrived on earth C he had been taking them off more often. When that started happening Rose praised him to high heavens for gaining enough confidence to do so, but on an day as sunny as this one he gladly made an exception. “well it’s a good thing I talked you out of wearing that thick fucking sweater you initially insisted on wearing” he said without a hint of seriousness “HEY, THAT THING WAS VERRY COMFY ON THAT GODAMND SPACE ROCK, OK. WE CANT ALL-…” Karkat had started yelling like he usually did until he looked at Dave who just stared at him with an expression that told Karkat “it’s a joke, fucking chill”. To give his boyfriend this look Dave had taken of his sunglasses and was now holding them in his hand. “OK, OK, ILL CALM DOWN” “thanks dude, people were staring for a sec” embarrass Karkat looked around and saw no one even glancing there way. “OK, HAHA, VERRY FUNNY” the troll said looking at his boyfriend with a face of annoyance as he playfully punched him in the shoulder, who only reacted by giving him a playful and teasing giggle. Dave was still holding his shades in his hand and Karkat noticed that. “HE DAVE, CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?” he asked, Dave looked at him with a questioning look “yeah sure dude, what’s up?” “WELL… I WAS… WONDERING…” he started and Dave interrupted him as he stopped after one word for three times in a row “dude, whatever it is, it won’t be awkward unless you make it” Karkat looked at the ground for a sec, looked his boyfriend straight in the eye and asked “CAN I TRY ON YOUR SUNGLASSES”. Dave fell into a fit of laughter leaving Karkat as awkward as he made it “hehe, sure man, but hehe, why was that such a weird question” Dave asked still a bit shaky with giggles as he hands him the sunglasses. “WELL, I KNOW HOW IMPORTAND THEY ARE TO YOU, WITH THEM BEING A GIFT FROM JOHN AND HAVING WORN THEM THROUGHOUT THE GAME AND STUFF” he said as he put the glasses on his nose. Dave looked at Karkat and something was off. “THIS IS WONDERFULL, NOW I GET WHY YOU USED TO WEAR EM ALL THE DAMNED TIME” Karkat said with glee on his face… “wait, you’ve never worn sunglasses?” “EEH… NO… IT WAS THE TYPE OF STUFF ONLY BLUEBLOODS COULD AFFORD AND DURING THE THREE YEARS ON THE METEOR YOU ALWAYS WORE YOURS AND EQUIUS’ ARE ALL GROSS AND SWEATY AND BROKEN AND AFTER THAT I DIDN’T DARE PUT YOURS ON WHEN YOU WERNT LOOKING…” “aww babe” Dave said and Karkat looked at him with annoyance (Dave knew babe was his least favourite thing to be called and thus he called him that occasionally to “get his goat” as Rose put it). “Can I have em back now?” Dave asked after letting Karkat enjoy the thing for a bit. “SURE” Karkat answered with a smile and proceeded to not give the glasses back… “so, will you give em now” Dave said with an acted tone of losing patience in his voice “OH, FINE” Karkat answered annoyed as he handed the pair back to Dave “they didn’t really suit you anyway” Dave said when cleaning the lenses on his shirt “BULLSHIT, I LOOKED WONDERFULL” “no, not really”. Now properly annoyed with his companion Karkat raised his voice and said “FINE, LET ME TAKE A SLEFIE WITH THE THINGS ON AND SEND IT TO KANAYA, SHE’LL BACK ME UP ON THIS” Dave saw how determent he was and said “fine, but I keep em until she answers, if she agrees with you, they’re yours for the rest of the day” Karkat looked kind of shocked at Dave almost like he didn’t expect it to be this easy, or him to let him have something that was so valuable to him even if it was only for a certain amount of time. He eventually muttered something that sounded agreeing enough and Dave gave him the glasses. Karkat quickly ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look a bit better, put the glasses on his nose and took a selfie. “good, can I have em back now” Dave asked. “HMM, NO THAT’S NO GOOD” Karkat said to himself loud enough for Dave to understand, and he snapped another selfie, and then another, and another and that went on for a couple minutes. “do you need me to take a pic?” Dave said annoyed at this point. “OH FINE, THIS ONE WILL HAVE TO DO” Karkat said to himself, send the pic to Kanaya and as he went to give Dave the glasses his phone buzzed. It was the reaction from their fashion savvy friend. “Oh Dear Lord, No, The Shape Of Those Glasses Don’t Fit Your Face At All. With Your Face Shape You Would Be Better Off With Something More Square” those were the first sentences from the message but Kanaya didn’t stop there, she went on about, colour and materials and a whole heap of fashion related info. Karkat was kind of taken aback by it. Sure, he liked clear answers that didn’t beat around the bush and that this pair wasn’t the ideal fit for him but it still left him with a bit disappointed, and Dave saw that. “guess she said no?” “YEAH… HERE ARE YOUR GLASSES BACK” Dave took the aviators and put them back were they always had been. After a bit of silence he asked “what did she write” Karkat took his phone back out and started reading the message Kanaya had sent. “ok, let’s go” Dave said as he got up from the bench. “GO WHERE” Karkat asked as his boyfriend took two steps towards the main path. The boy turned around and with a smile so cute Karkat’s heart skipped a beat answered “to get you a bitchin pair of shades, of course”.

The two walked hand in hand to the end of the park were they found a small shop selling news papers, ice creams, sun-block and other things one might want for a relaxing time at the park. The two stood in front of one of the racks with sunglasses and started looking for something that would fit Kanaya’s description. After a minute or so they narrowed it down to three. A pair of fake black wayfarers, a pair that was half plastic with a faux tortoise shell look and half metal, and a pair of rectangular see-through with mirroring glasses. “WHICH DO YOU LIKE” the crabby boy asked and his companion answered “well not those, that’s for damn sure” he spoke as he pointed at the see through with mirroring glasses. “WHY NOT THOSE?” “Couse every time I look at you I don’t wanna be reminded of my own fuckin face. I’ve seen enough Daves for a lifetime” he added with a grin. “WELL OK, NOT THOSE I GUESS” “how about those” Dave said wile pointing at the half plastic model. Karkat put them on and looked at Dave “they work I guess” he said with a tone in his voice that sounded like he wasn’t sold on the them. Karkat looked at the little mirror above the rack. “OH HELL NO, I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING TOOL” Karkat said maybe just a little bit too loud. “guess that only leaves one, huh” “YEAH, I GUESS” the two agreed. Karkat put the wayfarer copy on his nose and looked at the mirror and then at Dave and they both agreed again and went to the checkout. “these please” Dave said handing the shop keep the glasses. “ah, yes, these sell like hot cakes” the man said to just start some banter with customers “they sell so well, a new shipping arrived this morning”. “oh ok, anything interesting with that shipment?” Dave asked politely. He was still kind of new to the “polite banter at the till” thing due to bro’s lousy attempt at raising a kid. After they arrived on earth C Rose and Kanaya had taken him clothing shopping a couple of times and after he was very rude to the personnel in the first shop they went to, the two girls gave him the speech of a lifetime. “oh yes, of course” the man answered enthusiastically “you see, the colours are always the first to go, so that’s what the biggest part of it is” now Dave moved closer to the man behind the counter and whispered something to him and the man nodded “yes I have those, I’ll be right back sir” and he walked off through a door. “WHAT DID YOU ASK” Karkat said to Dave who with a tease in his voice answered “you’ll see”. After a moment the man came back “sorry it took so long, they were all the way at the bottom of the box” he said as he put a pair of sunnies on the counter similar to those Dave just gave him but this one had a bright red frame. Karkat looked at the glasses and then to Dave… and back to the glasses and now to the shop keep. “just out of curiosity, how often do you sell this color to trolls” Dave asked while looking at Karkat “oh very often, in fact I think they are a lot more popular with trolls than with humans… is there a problem, sirs?” Karkat looked at the thing and back to Dave until eventually “SIGH, OK”. Dave looked at him with an adoring smile as he gave the man the boon dollars asked for the thing. With a grin on their faces and a greetings from the shop keep the two walked back into the park.

The two walked in a comfortable silence until they reached a fountain where Dave said “oh dude, this is the perfect spot” Karkat, kicked from his thoughts asked “FOR WHAT?” “a picture of course, we’re gonna need to show Kan we put her advice to good use”. It might have been a hobby of Dave’s years ago but he still took photography very serious. Karkat had never seen Dave quite this exited. He watched as his boyfriend walk around checking the lighting and walking back and forth between a couple of places ‘hey Karkat, mind getting over there for a sec?’ Dave spoke kicking Karkat from his adoring daydream. ‘OH, SURE’ he quickly answered trying to act as natural as he could and failing. He walked over to the spot that was pointed out and Dave started messing about with the phone until he said “ok, smile”. Karkat was rather uncomfortable. It just felt strange, this whole situation. He thought it would just be a simple picture with a simple phone and Dave was treating it as high art or something. While Karkat was zoning out again Dave had gotten up, drew a line in the dirt path were he had first been and walked over to him. Karkat snapped out of thought as Dave wrapped his arms around him. He started blushing a bit and a moment later asked in a hushed voice “eeh, Dave, why?” “Couse you were somewhere else” Dave said as he lifted his head from Karkat’s shoulder and looked him straight in the face as he felt his face go red. “will you now smile for the camera?” Dave asked still hugging the troll “…yeah …sure” he eventually replied. Dave walked back to the place he had marked, got on one knee and took a picture of the awkwardly smiling Karkat. After a couple of pictures Dave asked him to strike a pose. Karkat made a flexing pose as awkward as his smile. “next pose” Dave said and Karkat struck a new pose a bit more confident this time and his confidence grew every time Dave had asked for a new pose. This continued for a while until Dave said all t the good lighting was gone. That made Karkat look up and only then noticed the sun had crept behind the tall trees surrounding the fountain.

They walked to the exit of the park and talked about what to do next. “I was thinking we could go to a restaurant and score some food n’ drinks n’ stuff” “NAH, I DON’T REALY FEEL LIKE IT… THER’S A MOVIE ON LATER TONIGHT I’D LIKE TO SEE”. Dave looks at his boyfriend a bit disappointed “aww dude, I was looking forward to taking you out to dinner” Karkat sighs “OK, HOW BOUT THIS. WE STEAL TEREZI’S THING AND FLIP A COIN”. Dave agrees with a nod and hands Karkat a coin. Karkat flips the coin and as the piece of metal twirls through the air Dave says heads. Karkat catches the thing and shows the result, it came up heads. The two walk to the centre of town. Dave noticed that Karkat was deep in thought again “how bout you pick the place” the troll boy looked up at his matesprit and with a friendly smile he answered “SURE”. They strolled through a street filled with shops, cafés and restaurants and people looking through the store windows, having drinks right outside café’s and people having a good time in general. The pair walked until Karkat stopped in front of a sign that read

“Tony’s Italian cuisine

- Pizza 10$

- Spaghetti 8 $

- Lasagne 12:50

Bar open after 7 o’clock

No reservation needed”

Karkat looked at Dave and before he could get a word out Dave said “looks good to me”. The two enter the restaurant and took a place. “WHAT IS LASADGNEY?” Karkat asked Dave who looked up with a smirk and answered “Dunno, but lasagne is a pile of dough leaves separated with tomato sauce”. Karkat question wasn’t really answered by this but at least he now had some idea of what he could get himself into. A waitress appeared, introduced herself as Korina and asked for their orders. Dave decided on pizza right away, it’s one of his favourite dishes but Karkat hesitated for a moment until he asked her the same question he asked Dave. After an explanation that was a bit more in depth Karkat’s decision was made, he was having lasagne. The waitress asked “would you like a drink while you wait?” Dave looked at the menu one more time and said “I’ll have a beer” Karkat looked at Dave and said “I’m having what he’s having” a moment later she returned with two cold beers, foaming white on top and a pale yellow shining through the fogged up glass. The two talked a bit till the drink was half gone and the waitress returned with the food and after having warned Karkat that not just his dinner but also the bowl it was served in was hot, the two dug in.

After the plates were cleaned the two had desert with ice cream and when all the food was gone it was about 7:30. “wanna move to the bar” Karkat’s eyes shot up from the table straight to Dave’s eye’s. Dave had taken his sunglasses off right when they walked through the door of the restaurant and after having peeked into the red eyes of his boyfriend for a moment he answered “SURE”. The two did just that and sat at the end of the bar with Dave between Karkat and the wall which was adorned with beautiful pictures of the Italian country side. A waiter came over to them and took the order of two more beer. They talked about this and that until a couple of glasses were emptied and the two started to feel the effects of the drink. Karkat once again was lost in thought and Dave was just about done with that. “ok dude… you’f been, zoning out all vucking day… what’s up” Dave said as Karkat slowly turned his head to try and keep it from spinning. Trolls react differently to alcohol than humans, it effects the balancing organs earlier but on the other hand they don’t feel “drunk” quite as quick. Karkat sighed and with the same motion closed his eyes. “IT’Z NO USE SAYING IT’Z NOTHIN RIGHT?” a little smile played around Dave’s mouth when he answered “nope” “SIGH… FINE, FINE.” The crabby boy muttered “DO YOU… D’YOU EVER WONDER HOW ZHE VUCK YOU GOT WERE YOU ARE IN LIFE…” Dave looked at Karkat with a raised eyebrow but Karkat continues “AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT THE PEOPLE YOU’RE WIV… AND JUST… YOU JUST” Dave started tapping his fingers with annoyance but still Karkat hasn’t shut up. “AND THE THINGS YOU DO TOGETHER AND… THE LOOK ON THEYRE FACE WHEN… WHEN…” Dave has had enough of this useless muttering “spit it out Vantas”. Karkat tore his eyes from his boyfriends and looked at the 2/3s gone glass of beer in front of him “SIGH… HOW DID AN ASSHOLE LIKE ME GET THIS CLOSE TO AN AMAZING PERSON LIKE YOU” he spoke as his eyes started getting teary. Dave just sat there. Looking at Karkat with a happy, tender and intoxicated smile. Till one word escaped his lips “dude”. Karkat looked him straight in the eye and made Dave tear up as well. The two without saying one more word got up at exactly the same moment and hugged like they rarely did before. With this face buried in Dave’s shirt Karkat whispered “I just love you so vucking much” and Dave answered with a similar, shaky and tear riddled voice “I love you too man”. Some other patrons saw the hug and looked on endeared. The two employers who happened to be at the other end of the bar whispered to each other “oh that’s cute… we’re going to have to stop serving em aren’t we?”

But it wasn’t necessary to stop serving them because after the two had finished their glasses, payed the tab and left with their arms around each other’s shoulders. When they got home it was just passed 10 o clock. “it’z a bit early to go to bed isn’t it” Karkat looked up from taking off his shoes “WELL, ZHERE IS THIS ROMCOM I WANTED TO SEE… WE COULD WATCH THAT” “you know what, sure”. they sat themselves down on the couch with some snacks and something to drink that wasn’t alcoholic and when they got to the channel that broadcasted the movie they found it had only just begun. It was a troll movie so it was all new to Dave but Karkat had seen it 10 times already but it’s one of his favourites, so he wanted to see it again. the two fell asleep during one of the commercial breaks with Dave resting his head on Karkat’s lap and Karkat with his arm across Dave’s chest. Dave woke up in the dead of night. The movie was long over and the channel was now broadcasting infomercials. He looked at Karkat who was in a deep sleep. He turned the tv off, lifted Karkat off the couch and put him in bed, got in next to him and fell in a deep and dreamless sleep.

#homestuck #fanfiction #fanfic #dave #dave strider #karkat #karkat vantas #davekat #fluff #happy fluff #food mention #food

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bienready2122 · 4 years

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Culture Shock: When Moving From an Urban to a Rural Area

Provincial Real Estate is well known. Be that as it may, Think ahead and don't open yourself up for; Culture Shock; An Unnecessary Evil, when moving to a country region. Anybody CAN counteract a portion of the Culture Shock that may happen when they move to a provincial neighborhood!

Before you move to a provincial property - become acquainted with the people there and look to gain proficiency with the way of life of the region - the current culture - NOT the one you are familiar with and not the one you need to make it into.

Our organization just as of late sold one of the absolute best Homestead Properties I've at any point seen, at a low cost! Why? Since the new proprietor made himself so unwelcome in his new condition thus horribly distanced the neighbors that they in the end made him intolerably awkward. Along these lines, he never again needed to live there.

He is a discourteous tree hugger and chose to move from the city to a rustic network where huge numbers of the families return 400 years on a similar land. He was a city kid with a degree in ranger service, science and environment and had not a mind of individuals sense. His applied religion depended on viewing Walt Disney motion pictures; where the trees talk and man is abhorrent and creatures and plants are great Maid Service Las Vegas

He didn't need his new neighbors to chase deer, to cultivate the fields promptly toward the beginning of the day, to utilize agrarian synthetic substances or counterfeit composts on the harvests. He didn't care for the planes that showered the executioner bugs promptly toward the beginning of the day. He didn't care for the smell of chicken and pig fertilizer spread on the fields either. He stood up always, boisterously and forcefully. He made adversaries of about the entirety of his neighbors. He's gone now and I trust the new buyer, additionally from the city, won't rehash his social mistakes.

The vast majority of the people that live here are extraordinary and acknowledge they are in another place and try to turn into a section and work inside our social, social and monetary structures. The vast majority of our fresh introductions are magnificent and we have numerous as the populace here in southern Delaware is multiplying about like clockwork!

There is a minor loud scat of individuals, just a small few, who come and detest it here. However they left where they were to come have a superior life around there. We see it constantly. Local people call them ecological whackos, tree huggers, bug kissers and much more regrettable. These are the individuals who have taken in about nature from Walt Disney, Nature Channel, Discovery Channel and Sierra magazine. What's more, yes they frequently have advanced educations. They don't know that the truth is not quite the same as their motion pictures, readings, classes and dreams. In this manner such a large number of them escape the city and afterward look to uphold their obliviousness and miseducation on those in the network they have joined. They attempt to menace others and attempt to get them to concur with the principles, guidelines, ideas and reasoning they deserted in the city. NOT a decent arrangement in the event that they need to have a lovely spot to live. Huge numbers of these people contemplate nature, trees, plants, creatures, the earth and everything else; than those whose families have lived in amicability with earth's life structures for a considerable length of time or even hundreds of years here. Ideally my coarse speech above has intrigued you to peruse and learn here, instead of at the in the end cruel hands of a provincial network in the event that you don't focus on what is here.

It is shrewd to visit the zone you intend to live a few times before you move there. Join the congregation, bolster the Volunteer Fire Department, purchase gas at the nearest service station, buy your lager or wine at the nearby alcohol store, become acquainted with each open territory and visit the public venues and humanitarian gatherings in the zone. Above all talk with people and disclose to them you are thinking about a move into the zone and approach them for counsel. Visit the Lions Club, Sertoma, Elks, Rotary, Red Men, and so forth., and look to learn as opposed to instructing. Tune in as opposed to talking. Ask, don't tell.

There is nearly nothing, on the off chance that anything, the newcomer can show local people nearby things. On the off chance that you should attempt to show local people something; in the event that you attempt to instruct them about your aptitude where you originated from, what you were paid to do previously, about the activity and territory you fled (on the off chance that you can discover any individual who cares) - you are on an off-base course and will shorely wreck.

Clearly, in the event that you are one of those individuals who left such urban stuff, you are one who doesn't generally think that its everything that important either. Else you ought to have remained there. What's more, you can wager that is actually what your neighbors will think in the event that you move into a rustic territory and take a smarty pants and I'm-so-a lot more brilliant on the grounds that I-originate from-the-city demeanor. They might be peaceful, or even pleasant in your quality for some time, however that kind of a frame of mind will cause just hostility in people around you. Also, they will discuss you, quickly to one another and your terrible mentality will go before you and be about difficult to address later.

Discover what the network needs and needs from new or imminent individuals, for example, yourself; truly discover, don't figure or accept and let pre-judgment well enough alone for the image. We've had various people who have moved here to showcase specialists or PR specialists or Graphic Design specialists. Not one of the few dozen I've met throughout the most recent 30 years is still in

business and none of them are even still here supposedly. The administration they were planning to charge large cash for was not needed at any cost, not by any means free.

One of my clients from somewhere in the range of a quarter century back - moved from San Francisco into a "little (pop. 800) pristine, provincial, interesting, beautiful town - populated with salt-of-the-earth and sensible people" as she discussed them from the outset. The couple I talk about had gelded their child, really they had a specialist do it, so his voice would not change with age - all so he could sing in a world acclaimed ensemble.

They needed to begin preparing local people to construct a "Kid's Choir". They were incensed that the neighborhood school region would not bolster a kid's ensemble that they were sure could be the jealousy of the world, in the event that they could simply tell everybody the best way to do everything. After a year they discussed "the awful little town brimming with dumb crabby uninformed good-for-nothings, shanties, shacks, old trucks, fat toothless men, red necks, gossipy ladies, uneducated Rubes and ingrained hicks whose thought of culture was a lager and burger in a pickup truck.". The San Franciscans are gone now as well. Their name only from time to time comes up, and when it does, it isn't in an amiableness or a decent vein.

I am in the matter of selling provincial land, backwoods and homes. I love the individuals who effectively live in the few zones where I work. I love the clients I work with. More often than not, the newcomers fit in well with the previous network. A few, not very many, of my clients move in and ruin the zone for themselves and for a brief period, for those effectively here. The main explanation is that they have not scholarly of the REALITY of provincial, nation life in the specific network before they buy there.

It is frequently, in actuality normally, unrealistic to lease before purchasing in a specific zone; so it is incredibly, insightful to look a long time before you jump into a rustic network on the off chance that you didn't grow up there. Regardless of whether you grew up in a provincial region and afterward didn't keep in contact with loved ones there since, you may discover you never again fit in. Be that as it may, you can relearn those traditions you abandoned, on the off chance that you truly need to "come back to your foundations". What's more, in the event that you've never lived in the territory, you can get familiar with the ethnicity, the traditions, and figure out how to be a decent neighbor.

In the event that you look to fit in and add to the network, as indicated by what IS truly required and needed in that specific network - you may well appreciate a kind of paradise on-earth in your new home.

One individual strikes a chord who came, adored and was all around cherished. He was a military radio master who had ventured to the far corners of the planet, profited, lived in DC and Northern Virginia for a considerable length of time. Gone to the best, quickest, and most costly capacities in the zone and after retirement chose to move to our provincial hotel zone. He moved here at the stature of the CB furor, when nearly everybody of the country people had a CB and needed it to work better or required one appropriately introduced in their home or vehicle. He did everything complimentary for any individual who inquired. He was after all resigned. Each time I visited him he'd load up my Wagoneer with eggs, products of the soil from the homesteads, plantations and nurseries of those he'd made a difference. I helped him with making the contacts he needed to make and with getting authorizations to private "angling gaps" away from everything. He was a trick and discharge angler and would in every case tidy up all waste around the angling opening, before he even began angling there.

One neighbor kept this present man of his word's grass cut and revealed to him he get a decent cussing in the event that he inefficiently purchased a lawnmower. Another neighbor wouldn't take a nickel for changing the brakes on his vehicle. Another neighbor fixed his rooftop for nothing. A few of the women in the area would prepare some additional supper for him, a few times each week, and bring it over. He was welcome to eat some place in the encompassing network consistently. Furthermore, he was requested accounts of his reality voyages and the extravagant gatherings he went to. He was fit, and quite affluent as he lived just, had been paid well and contributed well during his working years.

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sigyn2012 · 5 years

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Happy birthday to me, I guess

Tomorrow is my birthday and while I won’t share my age, let’s just say that I thought I’d have a lot more accomplished in my life by now. I thought that I’d be married with children and that I wouldn’t be stuck in poverty and that I’d be living somewhere where winter is only 1-3 months long, instead of the 8-10 months I grew up dealing with. I also thought that I’d have a good job and that I would’ve been to several countries by now. Instead, I’m single as all get out and as soon as a potential husband finds out that I have autism, they either head for the hills, treat me as though I’m about to give them the Black Death, or they go into full blown rage mode and try to kill me. My family isn’t happy that I’m not married either because they see me as a burden on them and in constant need of being taken care of because in their minds, I’m still three years old and therefore need constant supervision and when I’m married, they won’t have to deal with me anymore and that I’ll be taken care of when they die(some of them have even suggested that I be dropped off in front of some rich guys house or a mobsters house and see if I get taken in so they don’t have to deal with me anymore). I’m also very well aware that my biological clock is ticking away like no tomorrow and that it’s ear piercing as we speak(also there are significant restrictions on whether someone with a disability can adopt a kid in every state so that option is out)and that if I’m going to have children, I’ll have to do it soon. Financial wise, it’s a living joke because in order for me to get any kind of help, I have to be in poverty and the places I’ve lived in have been terrifying to certain extents. I also have to go through a rather lengthy legal battle in order to no longer have a conservator and when your existence is being used against you, it’s an epic uphill battle at best. Job wise, I have skills in the clerical field, cashiering skills, and the self-advocacy skills; however, I have to get degrees in order to progress in the clerical and self advocacy fields and if you’ve ever worked in retail, you can understand why I don’t want to be a cashier ever again. The skills I learned from the sheltered workshop were cleaning items for shelves and cutting buttons off of shirts and last time I looked, there isn’t a huge clamoring for either of those skills in the job market. I may have to bite the bullet and get a bachelors degree in either administrative assistant, sociology, or social work if I want to do anything more in those fields. Traveling wise, my biggest obstacle with that is the one obstacle that most people have and that’s money. I also have to deal with my family feeling that I need extensive supervision at all times and that because of the self-advocacy things I do, I’ve technically been on vacation. When I go off somewhere to do things for self-advocacy, I’m working 99% of the time and if I’m lucky, I’ll get a half day or something to go out and do something and because things that I’d like to do cost a lot of money, I don’t get to do things. The only time I was able to actually do something was when a self-advocacy thing was in Orlando Florida in 2016 and that was built into the conference so that people could do something; I got to see Cocoa Beach and Walt Disney World while I was there. I’m hoping that I can get a chance to do some traveling at some point in the future. In regards to where I live, yes, I did choose to come to North Dakota, however, my overall hope is that this is a stepping stone and that I’ll be living somewhere else within the next 1-3 years and I have a few places that I’m looking at: the Chicagoland area, Cincinnati or Columbus Ohio, Cocoa Beach Florida, Buffalo New York, the Boston area, the Phoenix area, Palm Springs, Indianapolis, Louisville Kentucky, Maryland, Albuquerque, Charlotte North Carolina, Nashville, Dallas, the Salt Lake City area, and Wyoming. I’m hoping that I can get a tie-in with a job or that I meet my future husband and therefore we move for that reason. If I’m still in North Dakota in the next three years, I’ll most likely stay here because I figure that I’m supposed to be here and I’ll make things in Bismarck and that Bismarck will be plan B. I know it seems like I’m a perpetual wet blanket and that I’m some whiny crabby person who deserves to die alone, however, I’m stating how I feel about things so that I don’t end up like a number of people in my family in which they held their emotions in for so long that they became completely unhinged or they had a massive heart attack and died. I’m also hoping that someone out there will be understanding of me, not think that I’m some sort of otherworldly being that needs to be killed, and actually wants to get to know me and see other aspects of me.

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kayawagner · 5 years

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Quick Quirks

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Some games have quirks, traits, aspects, and other goods along those lines baked right into the game. I’m mainly thinking of GURPS, Hero System, Fate, and Savage Worlds. There are plenty more games that I didn’t list here that have some way to customize and define your characters beyond “I’m a dwarven barbarian with an axe.”

This article is more for those gamers playing the games without these baked-in features of the game, but it can also assist the games that do have these structures.

As a player, I’ve found that my characters are more enjoyable (and memorable) if they have a quirk or three. I generally don’t do more than three because then the character gets annoying to play and to be around. I may even adopt new quirks or allow an old one to be overcome (or simply fade away) as game progresses because of in-game activities.

As a GM, I love adding one quirk (maybe two if it’s a major character) to NPCs that I want the players to remember. It’s a mental hook for them to hang their memory on. They may not remember that “Ragnar” was the fellow with the McGuffin, but they’ll certainly remember “the fellow with the bad limp and comb-over hairstyle.” These mnemonic clues can ease the game for players. This is especially true for those campaigns that may have long gaps between sessions (like a monthly game).

So, let’s get on to some tables you can roll on to generate some quirks. As always, random generation tables are going to produce some really odd results, so use them to spark your imagination. In other words, don’t take the results literally…. Unless that really works for you and your group.

Physical

To find a physical quirk, roll a d4 to determine which list to use. Then roll a d20 on that list.

Adaptable

Aggressive

Animated

Antsy

Careless

Cheap

Colorful

Comical

Conventional

Creative

Cultivated

Debonair

Destructive

Dignified

Disciplined

Energetic

Excessive

Extravagant

Fanciful

Farsighted

Fastidious

Flamboyant

Flashy

Flexible

Formal

Gentle

Glamorous

Grandiose

Gregarious

Hardworking

Hyper

Idle

Inactive

Industrious

Inflexible

Intense

Irritating

Lackadaisical

Lazy

Loutish

Meticulous

Militant

Nearsighted

Nervous

Orderly

Organized

Ostentatious

Peculiar

Plain

Polished

Pompous

Precise

Professional

Proper

Provocative

Pushy

Resourceful

Respectable

Restless

Rough

Savage

Sensual

Shallow

Showy

Simple

Sleazy

Slothful

Slow

Sluggish

Sneaky

Sophisticated

Swaggering

Threatening

Tireless

Unassuming

Unblemished

Uncouth

Vain

Versatile

Weak

Mental

To find a mental quirk, roll a d6 to determine which list to use. Then roll 2d20 on that list.

Absent-Minded

Academic

Adaptable

Adventurous

Alert

Ambitious

Analytical

Apathetic

Argumentative

Arrogant

Artistic

Bewildered

Bookish

Boring

Bossy

Braggart

Brainy

Bratty

Bright

Broad-Minded

Bullheaded

Calculating

Callous

Carefree

Careless

Cautious

Charitable

Clever

Close-Minded

Colorful

Composed

Confident

Considerate

Contemplative

Controlling

Conventional

Cooperative

Corrupt

Crafty

Cranky

Creative

Critical

Curious

Dauntless

Deceptive

Decisive

Dedicated

Deep

Defiant

Dense

Dependable

Determined

Devoted

Diligent

Disciplined

Dishonorable

Disorganized

Distracted

Doubtful

Down-To-Earth

Driven

Droll

Dutiful

Eccentric

Eloquent

Enthusiastic

Exact

Fair-Minded

Faithful

Faithless

Fanatical

Fearful

Flighty

Focused

Foolhardy

Forgetful

Frugal

Generous

Gentle

Gossipy

Greedy

Gullible

Hardworking

Hasty

Headstrong

Heartless

Heedless

Hesitant

Honest

Honorable

Hospitable

Hostile

Humane

Humorless

Idealistic

Illogical

Imaginative

Impolite

Impulsive

Inactive

Indecisive

Industrious

Inflexible

Ingenious

Inquisitive

Insecure

Insightful

Intense

Introspective

Introverted

Inventive

Irresponsible

Keen

Knowledgeable

Lackadaisical

Learned

Logical

Long-Winded

Loyal

Manipulative

Materialistic

Meddlesome

Meditative

Meek

Melodramatic

Merciful

Meticulous

Militant

Mischievous

Miserly

Modest

Naive

Neurotic

Nosy

Obedient

Objective

Obliging

Oblivious

Observant

Obsessive

Obstinate

Open-Minded

Optimistic

Orderly

Organized

Orthodox

Patient

Peaceful

Perfectionist

Persistent

Pious

Polite

Possessive

Positive

Practical

Pragmatic

Precise

Prejudiced

Proactive

Professional

Proper

Prudent

Prying

Radical

Rash

Rational

Realistic

Reasonable

Rebellious

Reckless

Refined

Relaxed

Reliable

Resentful

Reserved

Resourceful

Responsible

Restless

Restrained

Reverent

Rude

Ruthless

Scatterbrained

Scheming

Secretive

Sensible

Shallow

Simple

Skittish

Slow

Snooping

Speculative

Spineless

Stingy

Structured

Stubborn

Studious

Submissive

Subservient

Systematic

Thick-Headed

Thorough

Thoughtful

Thoughtless

Thrifty

Tolerant

Truthful

Two-Faced

Uncertain

Uncooperative

Uncouth

Understanding

Unreliable

Unstable

Untruthful

Vain

Verbose

Versatile

Vigilant

Visionary

Vulgar

Wary

Wasteful

Watchful

Weak

Well-Mannered

Wicked

Willful

Wily

Windbag

Wise

Wishy-Washy

Witty

Workaholic

Emotional

To find an emotional quirk, roll a d6 to determine which list to use. Then roll 2d20 on that list.

Abrasive

Accepting

Affable

Affectionate

Aggressive

Agreeable

Aloof

Amicable

Amorous

Amusing

Annoying

Antagonistic

Antisocial

Anxious

Appealing

Appreciative

Arrogant

Assertive

Audacious

Authentic

Bellicose

Benevolent

Big-Hearted

Bitter

Bloodthirsty

Boisterous

Bold

Boorish

Brave

Bubbly

Calm

Carefree

Caring

Caustic

Cautious

Cheerful

Childish

Chivalrous

Clingy

Cocky

Cold

Colorful

Compassionate

Composed

Compulsive

Conceited

Confrontational

Congenial

Considerate

Contemptuous

Content

Constrained

Courageous

Courteous

Covetous

Cowardly

Crabby

Critical

Crude

Cruel

Cynical

Daring

Dashing

Dauntless

Deep

Demanding

Demure

Dependable

Depressed

Destructive

Detached

Devoted

Dignified

Diplomatic

Direct

Disciplined

Discourteous

Discreet

Disdainful

Docile

Doting

Dour

Earnest

Easygoing

Ebullient

Edgy

Egocentric

Encouraging

Energetic

Entitled

Envious

Erratic

Evasive

Excessive

Excitable

Extroverted

Exuberant

Faithful

Fervent

Fickle

Finicky

Flippant

Flirtatious

Frank

Free-Spirited

Friendly

Frigid

Frisky

Frivolous

Fun-Loving

Funny

Fussy

Gallant

Garrulous

Gentle

Genuine

Gracious

Grateful

Gregarious

Grouchy

Guarded

Gutsy

Happy

Happy-Go-Lucky

Hateful

Haughty

Helpful

Heroic

Hopeful

Humble

Icy

Ill-Tempered

Immature

Insolent

Intense

Jaded

Jealous

Jovial

Judgmental

Kind

Lighthearted

Lively

Loving

Macho

Magnetic

Mean

Mercurial

Merry

Meticulous

Militant

Moody

Morbid

Nagging

Narcissistic

Negative

Nervous

Neurotic

Nurturing

Ornery

Outgoing

Over-Confident

Overbearing

Oversensitive

Paranoid

Passionate

Pensive

Peppy

Persistent

Pessimistic

Petty

Phony

Playful

Pompous

Private

Protective

Proud

Provocative

Pushy

Quarrelsome

Raucous

Relentless

Resolute

Respectful

Romantic

Rowdy

Savage

Scornful

Sedate

Selfish

Selfless

Sensual

Sentimental

Serene

Shifty

Showy

Silly

Sincere

Sleazy

Sly

Sneaky

Sociable

Sour

Spirited

Spiteful

Spoiled

Spontaneous

Spunky

Sulky

Superficial

Swaggering

Sympathetic

Tame

Temperamental

Tenacious

Tender

Threatening

Timid

Touchy

Trusting

Trustworthy

Uneasy

Uninhibited

Unruly

Unstable

Upbeat

Vengeful

Vindictive

Volatile

Weak-Willed

Whimsical

Whiny

Wholesome

Withdrawn

Zealous

A side note: Yes, I’m aware that 2d20 on a “linear list” isn’t a fair chance for each item on the list, and I didn’t cultivate the list to make oddball quirks more or less likely. I just decided that it’d be easier to lay it out the way I did rather than a d12 followed by a d20, which would be more mathematically fair. It would also give us a chance to use those rarely-rolled d12s. Ah well, such is how I have things done.

I hope you’re able to use this list of quirks and traits in your various games!

Quick Quirks published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

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warriormomma · 6 years

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“Learn to live above your circumstances”

My father in law has been sending me daily bible verses, and daily devotions, and I have really enjoyed reading them. The other day he sent me one, and in the text there was a part that read “Learn to live above your circumstances.” That statement right there stopped me in my tracks, and I continued to read those words over and over. How easy is it on a day to day basis to get wrapped up in the stress of the every day life? Especially when things don’t go the way WE think it should, how often does it stress us out and we whine or complain about the situations going on in our life? I’m just as guilty of it as anyone else I know that. It seems that even more so in this last year, I've been really guilty of it. You know that old saying “Whatever can go wrong will go wrong?” I seem to find that even more true if you own a ranch, or cattle, or livestock of ANY kind! I don’t know about you, but on our place it seems like every day is a new day with things like that, and there is ALWAYS something going wrong! It could be a water tank leaking, horse getting hurt, corrals falling down, tractor not wanting to run, any of us that own a ranch know how these things work. On a normal day, if I've had too many of those kinds of things going wrong, it would make me crabby, and I would be wondering “Why can’t things just go right for a change?” I’m sure we are all guilty of thinking things like this at some point or another, am I correct? Since all of this has happened with Wacee, I guess my perspective on life is changing a little, all those day to day mishaps that would usually stress me out, I laugh at now. I’m not saying it’s not OK to let these things upset you, or frustrate you, but I think when life is handing you circumstances that can bring you down, this is when you need to learn to live above them.

While we were in Kalispell still with Wacee, our Doctor told us that during the biopsy, they would have a pathologist in the surgery room with the oncology team, so that if he seen any signs of cancer at all in the microscope, that they would go ahead and administer a first dose of chemo in Wacee’s spine to slow this mass down. So sure enough when those ugly cancer cells appeared that’s exactly what they did. That afternoon when Wacee was recovering from the surgery Dr. Lyle came in and told us that we would be traveling to Denver, the very next day. She said that because of the size of this mass, we needed to be down in Denver immediately in case Wacee’s kidneys weren’t going to be able to handle the stress of the mass starting to break down. She said that they were worried that Wacee was going to experience what they call “Tumor Lysis.” See, the good thing about Wacee’s cancer growing as fast as it did, is that it would be very responsive to treatment, but that also was possibly going to be a bad thing. “Tumor Lysis” is when the cancer cells all break down so fast and too big for the kidney’s to process, and there was a chance that Wacee was going to have to be put on dialysis because of it. So Sunday morning, February 11th we flew to Denver right away in the morning. Now, because of that peace, and feeling God’s presence the night before, I was still trying to remain as positive as possible for my boy. There was still though those thoughts of “Why Wacee,” and “How are we going to handle all of this?” I still couldn’t help but feel angry, and have selfish thoughts about all of this. I can tell you one thing though, it only took one day in the Pediatric ICU to change my feelings on this. We got off our plane and the ambulance took us directly to the Children’s Hospital in Aurora, and we had a team waiting for us to take us to our new room in the PICU. The moment we checked into the desk the first thing I heard was “Wacee Simenson, yes we have been hearing lot’s about you for three days, we’ve been anxiously waiting for you to get here.” As we walked down the halls, I was seeing things that I hope and pray we never have to see in our own children. It didn’t take long for me to realize that as bad as this seems right now, things can actually be worse. I was also still a crying mess, and every time the doctors came in to try and talk to me I would cry, for most of the day I continued to cry. Then something changed. I was having to tell the story about how we came to find all of this for what feels like the 100th time, and it started to make me cry, and Wacee rolled over and looked up at me with a look on his face that stopped my tears immediately. He could tell that by my tears, and shaky voice that it wasn’t good, and he was scared, and the more I cried, the more scared he got. So after that look I knew then that I was going to have to put my big girl pants on and toughen up for this boy. He needed me to be strong. He needed me to pull it all together and get down to the matters at hand. Crying around and moping around asking why wasn’t going to get him better. I learned in a hurry, that if I was strong, he would be. If I continued to tell myself and him that things were going to be OK, he would start believing it, and he could start fighting it himself. I then learned a new routine, to help us both out. I would get up really early in the morning before the nurses changed shifts, and I would sneak down to the shower, and get my tears out in there. I would let myself have that moment and relief that I needed for a while, and then I would be able to go about my day stronger, and more prepared to handle the things that came out way. This is where I learned the importance of “living above your circumstances.” Life isn’t fair, we all know that, and sometimes, life can really be tough. This is where God gives you your chance to shine. Are you going to continue to worry, stress or complain about how things are going for you, or are you going to push through, and give it everything you got? I know right now complaining about our situation doesn’t do any good, crying all day and stressing out doesn’t change our situation, so why dwell on it? Focus on the good things, even if there is only a few, and give it all you got. You never know, there might be someone out there, who would give anything to be in your shoes, or to have your “circumstance.”

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge him, and He shall direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6

#teamwacee waceestrong warriormomma

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everyone-is-lovelyy · 6 years

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What’s your deepest fear? I’ve been faced with some serious fear the past few months of my life. My fear of losing the people close to me, especially my parents, has seriously escalated since my father has had a stroke. I am trying to deal with it but I think I am almost irrational at points and it really controls me in an unhealthy way. Secondly, I do have this fear of wasted potential. I am aware of my qualities, or am becoming more aware of them, and even though that’s, on the one hand, great, it’s also nerve wrecking because I constantly feel like I am not doing as much as I could be.

Share a memory that makes you smile every time you remember it. What has been coming back to me a lot in the past few weeks has been memories from Cinque Terre. Remembering sunbathing on the large cliffs, reading Lydia Davis and then jumping into the sea. Eating fried kalamari while exploring the villages. It’s quite a jumble really, but all of the memories from that weekend are wonderful. One specifically, when Petar and I were returning to our B&B, which was situated in a tiny village close to Cinque Terre. Truly tiny, the entire village spanned about three blocks. We were desperate to have a proper sit-down meal, however nothing was open seeing as it was past 9 in the evening - which for a small Italian village means it’s time to call it a night. We were wandering and just about decided to return to the B&B and wait it out until breakfast when an old Italian man yelled us over. He was closing his pizzeria soon but offered to keep it open so that we could have some dinner. We sat on the balcony, had pizza and so much wonderful, cheap, white wine and the owner would occasionally come join us and speak in the broken English. It was magic. What was the last thing you google searched? Oh god haha. How to spell romantic in French. Are you a dreamer or a do-er? A dreamer. But I want to be a do-er. Still in development. Share one of these dreams of yours. Not being scared of contacting local organizations and companies, asking for internships. Taking the initiative even though I may get rejected. Quite a rational, adult dream ey? Has anyone told you they wanted to fuck you recently? Yes. What are your views on gay people? What kind of views can any normal human have? Would you ever have sex with a member of the same sex? Yes.

Have you ever just felt like giving up? Yeah, it’s easy for me to fall into those pits. Is there anything you are holding back from telling somebody? Nope. Well there are certain, small things. But I don’t consider them secrets really seeing as they are entirely private and only affect myself. Do you think the last person you kissed has feelings for you? Yeap.

Do you wish someone would show up at your front door right now? Haha why not! It’s always a nice surprise :)

Do you get high a lot? Not really. I enjoy getting high but it’s a hassle to get my hands on drugs here and I’d much rather spend my money on other things. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night? Petar, we fell asleep mid conversation. Is there anything you are hiding from yourself? Sort of? There are things I am aware of but am trying to hide from myself but am very aware I am trying to hide from myself? Are you an emotional person? Yes, I’m a sensitive person. How do you feel right now? Calm, a bit tired, and happy to be spending some time alone :3 Would you ever get a tattoo? I have 5 and would like a few more, and to fix one I already have. Are you satisfied with what you currently have in life? Objectively, yes. I think I am doing quite well for someone that just finished university. But...I always want more. Are you one of those people who can’t go without their morning coffee? I prefer my morning tea but have ran out so lately it’s been shitty instant coffee at work. What was the last photograph you took? I believe it was a snap of sushi? Heh

What was the last hot food you ate? A donut with sprinkles and white icing! Have you ever seen a meteor shower? No! How often are you optimistic? It comes in phases. Generally, I am a pessimistic person but I actively try not to be. Would you say your thoughts are generally rational and logical or irrational and illogical? Oof. It’s such a destructive mix. For things related to my career and education, my family and my friends, I am logical and rational. When it comes to more emotional aspects, regarding relationships or my perception of things in my life, I am irrational as all hell. Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? Not at the moment. Are you the type to pay attention to detail? Yes. That’s my favorite thing about Belgrade actually. To you, what is especially distracting? Quite a typical answer I suppose but social media. Largely, Instagram. I know everyone adamantly claims it should not have any effect on your self-perception of self-worth but it does, it really does! What are some things that are important in your life right now? Yoga, I can tell I’m getting back into it and I try to find time to do some yoga everyday. Devoting my time to people that fill me with energy. Lately, that’s been my family mostly. My boyfriend and a few selected friends, like two. But that’s okay. Having time for myself is the most important to me right now, it focuses me and motivates me to keep doing what I want to do. And the money I’m earning. It’s important to me because it feels great to take a financial load off of my parents and because it is providing me with a chance to save some money to travel a bit. When was the last time you did some major cleaning? About two weeks ago. Sorted through old clothes, drawers, old papers and folders. Have you ever thrown anything away, and regretted it later? Not really. Are you the type to regret things, or live and learn? Live and learn, as cheesy as it is. How often do you feel like you need time to yourself? Literally all the time. This week has been a good balance because I’ve only made plans to do things that I truly want to do and have devoted a bit of time everyday to read, work out and relax. Do you like being around other people? Why is this? It depends. Certain people get on my nerves quite easily so I really need to make sure I don’t spend too much time with them. I’m an emotional sponge and it’s easy for that to take me away from myself. With that being said, if I really enjoy someone’s company, I love being around people. Do you feel like anyone “gets” you? Who? Yes. My Mom, it’s always easy to talk to her. She understands me better than anyone. A few friends, sadly most of them don’t live here but even a short chat or Skype with them means a lot to me because they truly understand me on a much deeper level than most people here. And my boyfriend, thankfully that has become a given. What would you be most likely to do with a friend, today? Exactly what I did! We went for a walk and for dinner :) When are you most likely to be crabby? If I haven’t gotten a good nights sleep and there is a day of work ahead. How about upbeat and cheerful? Weekends when I wake up earlier of my own accord and then I suddenly have so much more time to do things during the day. Who challenges you the most? In what way? Courage. Or lack thereof. And indecisiveness. Who seems to hold you back? In what way? Me. Myself. In every way. According to the Myer-Briggs test, what personality type are you? I did this a while ago but completely forgot! I should do one again. What has been preoccupying your mind today? Just whether I will be able to find an internship that I am actually interested in and how much I will blame myself if I don’t.

What was the last opportunity that you passed up, and why? I passed up (not formally yet, but yeah) the opportunity to continue this job for another year with a pay raise. Would you rather have a quiet day at home, or be on the go? When it’s this awful weather outside then most definitely a quiet day at home :3 Do you think you made a good impression on the last person you met? Yeap, I think so How do you feel about people who neglect their pets? Don’t fucking have them then. Should there be an application process for having children? Maybe a psychological screening of some sort. Anything else would be to dystopian and would backfire. But perhaps a psychological screening, just to ensure that the people having/adopting the children in question can care for them and emotionally support them. I reckon that would be next to impossible to test though, not to mention how would anyone come up with a general rule as to what it means to be a supportive parent. It must be different, obviously individually, but also culturally.

Are you able to ask for help when you need it? Nope. Not even a little bit. I am so fucking stubborn. How intense is your anger? Have you ever hurt anyone/yourself? It is awful, I can’t handle being angry very well and just end up bursting into tears. But when the anger actually does come out as actual anger, I could probably tear an entire house down. I go rampant. What is something red that you like to eat? Strawberries! Do you ever have trouble getting lighters to work? Nope If someone drinks, would that lower your opinion of that person? No, I don’t really care. What if they did drugs? Once again I don’t really care but I feel a bit concerned for people that do it all the time. The same goes for drinking though, I suppose. More so for drugs Do you know anyone who is abusive? Are you abusive? I do, I know a lot of people. And I think I do have a streak to me that can sometimes begin to act emotionally abusive when I am in a bad relationship. Which is something I try to understand often, it’s not a side of myself I like to think about. Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? Yes. If your best friend wanted to cheat on his/her partner, you would say? It depends on their relationship, the context, on a hundred different factors. I wouldn’t encourage it, just because it’s a mess, emotionally and otherwise but I wouldn’t judge either. Who do you know that gives very sound advice? My mum and my best friend. What do you think makes a person weak? Cowardice. What makes a person strong? Empathy, the courage to stand up for others, a sense of humor in times of hardship.

Name one thing that you think defines you as a person? I am gentle towards others. And I’m a goof.

Who do you go to when you need comfort? Generally Willa and Ksenija. Willa gives me honest advice and is sympathetic to anything I am going through which is oftentimes what I need to hear and feel before I try to go ahead solving whatever problem is in front of me. Ksenija can be harsh, but she has a dose of humor that comforts me immensely.

Is there anyone/thing with whom/which you like to cuddle? My puppy and kitty. They will sleep with me tonight Do nightmares still bother you? I can shrug them off more easily now but I still get a bit shaken up by them At what age did you start to feel like a teen, and not a kid anymore? Around the age of 17

Are you or were you in a hurry to grow up? Not consciously but now that I reflect on it, I was in such a hurry to grow up and did a lot of things to early and before I was supposed to. I wish I had prolonged this childhood innocence for a bit longer. What is a fear you have about living on your own? That someone will break into the apartment and I won’t know how to face them on my own. Who was the last person to completely fascinate you? Yesterday, I finished reading My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferante (definite recommend!) and the narrator of the story, Elena Greko, was completely fascinating to me. What a great and realistic character.

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