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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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LOST TIME (part 3 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Her hands skimmed lightly over the inlaid table tops and felt the textures of the brocaded silk upholstery. Her eyes took in the carvings and inlays on the furniture and the hand carved moldings, unique to each room. She drifted from chamber to chamber as delicately as a ghost, and as silently. Her camera hung from her neck by its strap, forgotten. She was as taken as I had been by the nature of the beauty here. Her head tilted slightly at times, as though she was listening to something that I could not hear.

Somehow, the library managed to survive all of the changes of ownership apparently intact. Some of it was actually written on scrolls. The other books were mostly quite old. It would not have surprised me to find that some of them were medieval manuscripts or perhaps translations of something older yet. I had not had the time to look at them beyond the merest glance.

If I had even the slightest idea of where to begin, I had no doubt of my ability to read it. I have never yet found a written language from Europe, Asia, or Africa that I could not read and write as well as speak fluently. As I told Lois, part of my income comes from helping archaeologists to make out old texts and inscriptions.

Lois spent a lot of time in the library. She stood with that listening aspect for a short bit, then she pulled a book from the shelves as though she knew exactly what she was looking for. She set the book on an old-fashioned reading stand and opened it with that small amount of leafing that indicates complete familiarity with the contents. She read for a few pages, sometimes more or less, then replaced the book. Then she went on to the next. She spent several hours in this pursuit, finally looking up, eyes bright.

“Vandervekken, are you as hungry as I’ve gotten to be?”

“Now that you mention it, yes,” I replied.

Lois led the way to the kitchen, and held the door for me, looking as pleased as a conjurer who has just performed a clever illusion. The table was set for two. There was a selection of cold cuts, a woven loaf of bread to pull apart, melted butter to dip it in, a bowl of salad with a cruet of dressing and a bottle of wine just cool enough to sweat.

“Was it you that set up the food and got things done for me?” I asked, slightly floored by the thought.

“No . . . though I did choose this menu. I hope that you like it. I really can’t tell you very much more yet. Now, let’s eat.”

“Not until you tell me one thing,” I stated. “You were with me all the time, so how did you do this?” I gestured at the table set with food.

“I didn’t. The house did it,” she replied. “I just suggested the menu. Now, please let’s eat first. I have found out a few things out that I don’t understand. I’ll tell you what I can after we eat.”

Dinner passed quickly. The food was excellent but the atmosphere was a bit strained. I was feeling puzzled, more than a bit jealous, envious of Lois’ apparent knowledge. I did compliment the food but my attempts at small talk all fell flat due to my own mood.

As we cleared away the dishes, I asked in a brooding voice, “What can you tell me, now, that you couldn’t before?”

Lois looked a bit hurt, which made me instantly contrite. I hastened to add, “I didn’t mean that tone of voice. I really do want to know.”

“I really don’t know much. Capt. Vekin appears to have been involved in some sort of sorcery. He made the house to look after him. It’s sort of alive. It is trying to communicate with me so that I can talk to you. I can almost hear it but not quite like a voice.

“It gives me hunches. That’s how it guided me to those books in the library. If I understand any of what I have learned, the house likes you and will provide for you. It wants to reach you desperately, but something is blocking it. It can only reach your feelings.

“Anyhow, all I am sure of is that the floors are terribly important. We already agree that painting them over was a crime.”

“Why can’t the house undo the painting, then? The same way that it fixed the rusty fence or the yard?”

“I don’t know why. I did find out that it can fix what happens to it, but not what is done to it. I guess that intent is the key. Rust happens, termites happen, the yard grows, it will take care those things itself. The floor painting was done deliberately. I guess that’s the difference. We have to undo it.”

“WE . . .” that almost stopped me in my tracks. After a moment, I asked cautiously, “What do you mean, exactly?”

Lois seemed almost scared as she answered, “I know that you’ve been a loner since your memory loss . . . I’ve been a loner, too. This afternoon . . . I got sort of attached. I had a hunch about . . . I like both you and this house. The house seems to want me to help you. More important, I want to be with you . . . if you’ll let me.”

I felt like I had been hit on the head with a sandbag. After a bit, I got my breath back enough to say, “Gaea! Yes! Let’s start on those floors and see what happens.”

“It may not be easy to do, you know,” she replied, relieved.

“Let’s take Lilitu back to town to get paint stripping stuff and tools!” I enthused.

“Flocking Bay rolled up it’s sidewalks at 9:00,” she said tartly. Then added, “I have a heat gun for paint stripping and shrink wrapping back at the Voice. We could try that and a scraper.”

“You’re a wonder!” I cried, hugging her impulsively. To my surprise, she hugged back, and kissed me. I kissed back. All in all, it was about ten or fifteen minutes before we went to get the paint stripping gun and scraper.

We started in the front hall, just at the door. Lois was indeed right. It was not a simple thing to do. Oh, the mechanics were simple enough. All that we did was apply heat to a few square inches until the paint started to lift and bubble, then scrape it off. The problem was simple. It would not scrape off at all if Lois tried it.

Only I could actually remove the paint. The moment that the heat from the gun hit the paint my head began to hurt like it was on fire. Scraping the paint away felt like having a blood clotted bandage ripped slowly off of a still unhealed wound. I could not have done it alone. It was an agony even with Lois’ support, hugs and sympathy.

The first of the patterns that we revealed was one of knots, rivaling the finest Celtic work. When I tried to trace the lines it was almost impossible. They writhed in and out in the most peculiar way. The part that I was tracing was always in focus, but the intersecting lines could not be held in focus or even in view.

Trying to unravel the one small knot that we uncovered gave me even more of a headache until, instead of trying to trace it, I looked at it as a whole. Suddenly, the pain stopped. In it’s place was a memory. “Ebla,” I said in wonder, “how could I have forgotten you, Empire of Roads and Trade?”

“Ebla?” asked Lois. “What is Ebla?”

“Ebla was a smallish city just to the south of Asia Minor. We now call it Turkey. The kings of Ebla collected tribute from Ur, Babylon, Egypt, the Indus valley, Jericho and the many cities of Canaan. Even the wild Sythians paid them. They were wealthy. They had little land of their own, and never attacked their neighbors.

��Ebla did not rule by fighting wars. They built roads and trade routes. Ebla paid the mercenaries who protected the trade from bandits. If someone did not pay their tribute, Ebla closed the roads, routing the vital trade around them until they gave in.

“Ebla collected tolls for the use of the roads. They shared the money with the kingdoms that their roads crossed. Often a kingdom's share of the tolls was greater than the tribute that they paid.

“After more than a thousand years of peaceful trade, greedy kings and merchants sacked Ebla. The poor fools never quite understood why the bandits suddenly flourished and the trade upon which they depended for a thousand years died. Ebla was destroyed more than 3,500 years ago.”

Lois said quietly, “I never even heard of them before. Where did you learn of them?”

“I lived there. They called me Lord Wanderer. I built their first roads and helped to set the policies that kept the peace and created the trade.

“You are right. We have to go on. The rest of my life is under this paint. My memory, my sorcery. The length of my life is not an accident. The one greatest good that came from losing my memory is a thing that I just learned. I can share my life, if you will be the one to walk the halls of time with me.”

“Where you go,” said Lois quietly, putting her hands into mine and looking into my eyes, “there I will go also.”

Startled, I said, “Lois, did you know that ancient Roman women used to say that when they got married?”

She flashed me smile and replied, “I had a more than a hunch that they did. It was in one of those books that our house showed me.”

-THE END-

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#LOST TIME #Part 3 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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prof-zimbrane · 5 years

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The Face of Love

Summary: They’ve done almost all the dating cliches in existence, they’ve been in an established relationship for a while now but there are still secrets between them. Secrets pertaining to a certain someone’s true appearance. Zim loves Professor Membrane and he’s sure that the feelings are mutual but should he risk it?

Word Count: 7443

AO3 link

Yo, here’s a Zimbrane fic for the upcoming Halloween. It’s got body horror?? I guess so read with caution. It’s nothing too bad. Believe me, I bet it’s something you won’t expect ;)

It’s my first fanfic?? ever I guess so please be gentle and if possible, give me feedback on how I can improve cuz I love this pairing and I wanna write more for them ;-;

Zim’s current love-slave has everything Zim ever wants in a partner. Professor Membrane is brilliant, tall, good with weapons, and has caused Dib more anguish and doubt than Zim could ever cause.

Zim knows and has seen what Professor Membrane can accomplish. Combined, they’d be the greatest gift to the universe in all its existence. But there is this… oddity to their relationship.

Most couples would’ve already known how the other really looked like, appearance wise (actual personalities are sometimes never revealed), at their current stage. Yet somehow, Zim has never seen his partner’s face.

Sure Zim hides his appearance, but unlike Professor Membrane, Zim is pretty sure he has a lot more to lose, given his “foreign” heritage and occupation as an invader and all.

But Professor Membrane must be human, right? Whatever horrible thing he’s hiding under his lab coat and goggles couldn’t be the worst Zim has ever seen. Zim isn’t superficial enough to stop loving someone based on their appearance, height notwithstanding, hell humans are already ugly enough to Zim yet he still decided to pursue the scientist.

Maybe Professor Membrane was scarred or disfigured? Or maybe he’s so horrifyingly ugly according to “human” standards that he has to hide it. Dib does have a rather large head after all and Gretchen’s the only one Zim knows (has been told) that seems to like Dib.

There’s nothing wrong with asking things from your partner. In fact, it would only be fair for Zim’s burning curiosity to be satisfied. If Zim wants to find out how Professor Membrane looks like, then he will find it out. He is Zim, nothing is out of the question. But is he ready for it?

He could leave things as they are and continue like normal, or he could confront Professor Membrane and find out what’s hidden underneath. But would it be too soon? They’ve done all sorts of couply things together already, according to Zim’s “dating humans” guide list he devised when learning about human affection that one dreadful time with Tiq? Taco? T something, he still misses his robot bee, Robbee never even completed his first mission, but that’s irrelevant now.

They’ve gone to an expensive eating establishment (Zim paid with Earth monies but those monies were outdated cents and quarters), they’ve watched the sun set and looked at the stars (one of Zim’s favourite moments), they’ve watched horror movies in the cinema (they were more horrified by the actions of the teens surrounding them though), and they even did a “Netflix & Chilli” (Zim still believes that the alien Jim is a loser for losing his leaders to a space anomaly).

They’ve even passed through several stages of physical affection. It started out with staring, then casual pats, they’ve even skipped straight to hugging before hand holding. They haven’t begun eating each other’s faces yet but Zim still finds it repulsive and another factor in the brutishness of stinky human courtship rituals.

Today was one of their date nights. Their plans only included dinner at Zim’s base. Though, Zim hopes that Professor Membrane will acknowledge his amazement at Zim’s awesome cooking skills and be willing to show his face once and for all.

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Dinner went off splendidly. Although the turkey had an unfortunate extra ingredient added to it, in the form of a dysfunctional, hyperactive robot. Professor Membrane thankfully thought of it as a pleasant surprise, meant to showcase Zim’s brilliance.

But now comes the hard part. Zim has to convince the Professor to stay for a while longer. He can do this.

Zim mustered up all his courage and held Professor Membrane’s hand as he was about to say his goodbyes.

“Wait! Stay a bit longer! I still have much to do with you!” Zim looks desperately into Professor Membrane’s shiny goggles, he HAS to find out what was underneath or else he’ll be restless for the entirety of their relationship, which would definitely affect his plans.

“What? We didn’t plan anything else for tonight though. Dib and Gaz should be fine but this is rather sudden.” Professor Membrane looks at their clasped hands and Zim’s hopeful expression.

“What is it that you want exactly? Are we going to your lab again?” He questioned.

He’s been helping Zim out with his inventions, spending a lot of hours just tinkering together in harmony. Science has always been a delight to do but with Zim, it feels like he’s experiencing it for the first time ever. He’s regained some of his wonder and childish curiosity with Zim’s input and feedback.

Anxiety was visible through Zim’s body language. He was hunched over, his eyes hurriedly shifting from left to right and back. He exhaled.

“I want to progress our relationship to the next stage,” Zim admits, “it’s just that, all we’ve done so far is hold hands and cuddle. Not that I hate it! If you ever stop then I will go to your house at night and replace your roboarms with bamboo skewers!”

Zim lets go to cross his arms and glare.

“Well, it is true that we’ve been taking it slow. I could say that part of it is my fault for being unfamiliar with this... relationship thing.” Professor Membrane muses. Is Zim dissatisfied with what they currently have?

“I’m sorry Zim, am I going too slowly for you?” he asked.

“No not at all! You satisfy me plenty. I admit that I’m also new to what we’re doing right now.” Zim quickly denied.

Professor Membrane feels relief. As a scientist, he can deal with all sorts of fields but relationships were harder to understand.

“That’s good, I treasure you and our love together. I don’t usually get to have a lab partner who’s not an employee of mine.” He confesses. He’s grown too attached.

“Great! As for the reason I am keeping you here for,” Zim paused.

He was in the right to ask for things. He shouldn’t feel worried.

“I’m demanding that you show your face to me.” Zim said resolutely. He looked expectedly at his human.

Professor Membrane felt panic. He should’ve expected it. He didn’t think it would be now though.

“My face? There’s nothing to see! It looks quite boring underneath.” He tried to play it off.

Zim looks dejected and hurt. Professor Membrane ignored him, that hurt.

“But I don’t even know what you look like. I don’t know the colour of your eyes or the shape of your face or even if you have weird lips. How can I be sure that you’re not a new person every time we meet? Are you even the original Membrane that I confessed to? You’re not another weird clone right?” Zim accused. Starting a chain of repeated lines.

“I’m not…” Professor Membrane answered.

“Are you?”

“I’m not…”

“Are you?!”

“I’m not...”

“Are you?!!”

He had enough. While he may love Zim, he doesn’t enjoy this continuous back and forth, even if it is somewhat cute.

“ZIM!” he shouted, “I swear by my 24 degrees that I’m not a clone. I’m the only original Professor Membrane in this reality.”

“Then why are you hiding your face from me? Don’t worry! I don’t mind if you look hideous. Just show me your trust.” He tried to look harmless but inside, Zim is worried that he’s asking for too much. Something is telling him to trust Professor Membrane in return.

Professor Membrane remained silent for a while. He’s debating internally over whether he should show Zim his face.

But eventually he relented to Zim’s request.

“Alright, I’ll show you but do you have somewhere else where we could do this? Your kitchen-lavatory room is not what I have in mind for sharing personal secrets”

They looked around. Gir, still in the turkey, was taking care of his many pig friends. The camera Dib installed is still visibly there, recording their conversation. Zim should remind the Computer to disable it or have it record a non-stop footage of Floopsy Bloops Schmoopsy.

“Urghh, I guess it’s fine.” Zim groans out. “Join me in my basement.”

He leads Professor Membrane by the hands through a closet that goes underground. It was different from the other places of Zim’s underground level. Here is where he kept his more Earth friendly technology.

It looks somewhat similar to Professor Membrane’s own lab in his basement, except with what appears to be a waiting area, with a sofa, a soda vending machine and a receptionist desk. But the only life there were bundled in the cobwebs of the receptionist’s chair. The receptionist is apparently out for smoke break.

They settled on the comfortable purple sofa. Anticipation was in the air.

“Well? Show Zim the goods!” Zim holds out his arms in a ‘gimme’ gesture. He can’t wait to see what all the fuss is about.

Professor Membrane takes off his goggles first to reveal his eyes. His fingers then undid the upper half of his lab coat to reveal the bottom half of his face. Underneath his lab coat he wore a tight, black turtle neck.

It’s not what Zim expected. He was shocked. His previous expectations were crushed like humans should be underneath his boot.

There’s nothing wrong. Professor Membrane’s face looks like any other humans. If Zim were human, he’d even consider Professor Membrane’s face to be ridiculously good-looking, even by celebrity standards. But Zim wasn’t a human so, to him Professor Membrane’s face was as ugly as all the rest of the human species.

Even Professor Membrane’s eyes are nothing extraordinary, except for the glowing blue light that the irises emit and the pupils that expanded and contracted like camera shutters.

Zim actually found himself feeling slightly disappointment, since there was nothing special to look at.

“Is that all you have hidden there? Why even bother wearing your coat and goggles so conservatively?” Zim says annoyingly.

“That’s just my fashion sense.” Professor Membrane says chipperly.

He laughed disconcertingly, a drawn out “Ha ha ha,” as if he were watching a comedian embarrass himself instead of delivering actual jokes.

He’s trying to placate Zim. Professor Membrane was acting strange. His lips seem to be delayed by a couple of nanoseconds when he speaks. If it weren’t for the many modifications Irkens had to endure, Zim never would have noticed.

“Your eyes are different though. They’re not brown like the eyes of the Dib-beast or the little Gaz-monster.” Zim is judging Professor Membrane.

Zim’s nicknames for his kids were odd but somehow, they sounded charming to the Professor.

“I had them replaced when my vision was failing, you know how humans are with all the limitations of biology.” He hand waved his difference away. Zim is still not satisfied.

“Let me see them closer.”

Zim leaned on Professor Membrane. He’s holding Professor Membrane’s face in his palms as he stared deep into his human’s eyes. Zim always thought that human eyes were freaky, with their milky white sclera. But Professor Membrane’s eyes were pretty. He had long lashes and the electric blue glow they emitted reminded Zim of Tallest Miyuki’s calm gaze that captivated the hearts of her people.

Zim observed the rest of his face, Professor Membrane’s nose looked regal and fit him perfectly. Zim also notes that his features were perfectly symmetrical, another contributing factor in human attractiveness, although this time it also extended to Irken beauty standards. Finally, there was something both races had in common.

Before he realized it, his gaze then went down to the scientist’s lips. They looked soft and had a perfect curve to them. But they were pressed tight, stiff and unmoving.

He was removed out of his stupor when Professor Membrane uttered a word, Zim’s name, from his perfectly shaped lips. Such perfection was otherworldly, it shouldn’t exist. There weren’t any blemishes or other hideous imperfections on his skin either.

“Zim? Zim! While I do find your attention flattering, don’t you think you’re too close?” Professor Membrane said in a hitched voice.

Professor Membrane’s eyes revealed his current emotions more than the rest of his face. Despite the nervous tone, his face remained stoic, his wide-blown, erratic pupils betrayed him instead.

Zim hadn’t realized, but he’s moved so close that he was kneeling on top of Professor Membrane. They’ve cuddled before, it’s true, but never this close, and never face-to-face with Professor Membrane’s exposed, hypnotic eyes.

It was the first time Zim didn’t feel revulsion at seeing a human. His past self would’ve spitted at him and called him a filthy xenophile for feeling whatever this is. But Zim putting himself before his empire was nothing new, although it still hurt him to acknowledge it.

“You’re actually not too hideous. I am pleased.” Zim tried to sound dismissive, but it’s clear that he is affected by his lover’s appearance.

“I’m glad my face pleases you then, my celestial lover.” Professor Membrane said warmly.

His expression was light. A smile graced his lips. That made something flutter in Zim’s innards.

But he began feeling another rare feeling, guilt. What is it with all these feelings now?? Zim is too great to be bothered by that. Yet, should he reveal his actual face? Would he be dissected or worse vivisected if he did? He doesn’t want to live out the rest of his life stuck in a tube. His partner was related to Dib after all and his passion for science is, at times, obsessive.

Zim was distracted from his worries by a sudden pressure on his lips. They were soft. His love was kissing him. That was Zim’s first kiss. Not just Zim’s first kiss on the lips but first kiss in general, and it had to be lip-to-lip.

Before he could respond to Professor Membrane’s actions, the Professor drew back with a sheepish expression.

“I’m sorry Zim, I didn’t mean to kiss you like that.” He mumbled.

Professor Membrane’s arms, which were previously stuck to his side, lifted to caress Zim’s head.

“I couldn’t help myself, you’re really cute Zim. Was it too soon?” He asked.

“No it’s fine. I liked it. I liked it a lot.” Zim felt dizzy. He was embarrassed to admit it to himself, but it was the truth.

“There won’t be any cannibalism though right?” asked Zim. Worry appeared on his face again but more exaggerated than before.

“What if there was, what if I admit that I want to eat you up?” Professor Membrane said teasingly. He’s amused by his love’s thinking.

“If anyone does the eating it would be Zim!” he exclaimed. “My love-pig is no match for my razor sharp teeth.”

Zim shows off his pink, zipper teeth. Another odd thing about Zim that captivates the curious mind of the Professor.

“Perhaps, we should test it out with a little experiment?” Professor Membrane’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“What kind of experiment?” Zim questioned.

“An experiment where we find out who’ll consume the other first.” He challenged Zim.

“It will definitely be me.” Zim grinned, showing off his teeth again.

This time, it was Zim who acted first. He pressed his lips tight against his human’s. Zim’s antenna tingled underneath his wig, if he hadn’t stuck it tightly with adhesives before, they would’ve sprung free from their confinement, he’s learnt his lessons during Earth’s many challenges.

Professor Membrane held Zim tighter towards his body. As if he never wants to let go, as if he’s afraid of losing Zim.

Zim’s hands were still occupied with exploring every inch of Professor Membrane’s face. He wants to burn his love's features into his hands, forever imprinting their impressions into his memory.

But, during Zim’s explorations, he began noticing a long depression near the outer reaches of Professor Membrane’s face. It wouldn’t have been noticeable, if Zim hadn’t been an Irken. Irkens had really sensitive skin, that’s why they cover themselves up so much.

He paused his kissing to get a better feel for Professor Membrane’s face. The depression circled the outer cheeks, over the eyebrows and seemingly ended between Professor Membrane’s upper and lower lip on both sides.

“My love? What are you doing?” Professor Membrane stuttered out. Yet, Zim’s previous observations about the stoicism of his features seemed sprung out more than ever.

“There is something you’re keeping from me. I can sense it beneath my fingers!” Zim accused Professor Membrane.

He stood up from his previous position to pace around the room, never taking his eyes of his lover. Zim moved like an interrogator in a prison. He won’t stand any lies.

If Professor Membrane could emote more, he’d have despair written all over his face. His right hand began covering the bottom part of face, in a nervous gesture.

“Zim, my love, there’s nothing wrong. Come back to my arms. Whatever you felt must have been due to your unfamiliarity with my face.”

Still seated, he leans towards Zim with his arms spread out.

“Oh no! Don’t lie to me! I know what I’ve felt, I’ve seen how you move your lips. Why don’t you trust me?!” Zim recoils.

Zim’s never trusted anyone before but he expects trust from them. Zim has always believed himself to be a genuine person, sans his human disguise, and to have his character or actions questioned really pissed him off.

“You’re right Zim,” he relented “I am hiding something. I’ve only shown this to a few of the people I know, and it’s always ended in them disappearing. Not even Gaz or Dib have seen me without this.”

There’s something chilling about the way Professor Membrane says it. It was like Zim stepped on an old landmine, waiting to see if it’ll end in a disaster or not. He’s not sure about what Professor Membrane meant by disappearing but he doesn’t want to question it. As a part of the Irken Elite and as an Irken soldier, he can face anything.

“Don’t worry, whatever secrets you hold won’t be enough to scare me away. I love you, I’ve never loved anyone before.” Zim’s voice was soft, remarkably different from his usual screeching.

How many times has he said those words? Aside from his first sentence towards the only parental unit Zim ever knew, he’s only said it to Professor Membrane.

Again, Zim is doing something uncharacteristic. Was he trying to ease Professor Membrane’s discomfort with this entire thing? Trying to convince himself to be brave? Or was it just love that made Zim say that. Could a human really make Zim question himself that way? What kind of person is Professor Membrane to hold this much power over Zim’s heart.

“Please, don’t look away.” Professor Membrane pleaded.

He walked towards Zim, the height difference more noticeable now that they’re standing in front of each other. But that difference disappeared though, when Professor Membrane kneeled in front of Zim.

It was like one of those Earth movies that Zim watches, where one of the members of a couple kneel down to ask for a union. But instead of reaching into a pocket for a small rock, Professor Membrane reached for the sides of his face.

Slowly, he revealed what’s hidden underneath. Zim was right. Professor Membrane was disfigured. What he didn’t expect was the severity of the disfigurement.

In all of Zim’s time on Earth, with his countless research on human biology, he’s never sliced off anyone’s face. But even then, it wouldn’t have looked like Professor Membrane’s current features. His face was a prosthetic.

He has no face, no barrier protecting his passageways from the outside world. The only remaining parts of Professor Membrane’s face were his lower jaw, his temples, and his eyes.

Looking closer, Zim could see that the glow of his eyes was concentrated on the front part, the only part that is visible with Professor Membrane’s face prosthetic. The other half was encased in metal, connected to his organic parts with wires.

It was fascinating actually, seeing the mucosal tissues of a human. There was so much pink, pink like the lifeblood that flows through every Irken’s veins. His tongue was resting on top of his lower jaw, it was weird seeing it disappear as it nears the throat, going down the oesophagus.

Zim could also see a marriage between the organic and mechanic, as metallic parts are there to support and cover some of the exposed meat. Where there should be the nasal passage, was an artificial tube.

The edges featured tiny magnets, probably to hold Professor Membrane’s faceplate. Zim has seen much in his lifetime. He’s seen how cybernetics could replace almost anything but it was always visible if something is unnatural. Yet, Professor Membrane’s face, or at least his prosthetic, was good enough to fool Zim.

It was better than a hologram, that only mimics and changes appearances visually. It was something turned physical. Zim should feel disgusted, but instead he was more amazing than Zim could ever imagine.

The Professor’s technology was even more intertwined with his biology than Irken technology is with Irken bodies. While almost everything is genetically enhanced or modified, the mechanical aspect of Irken’s only constitutes their Pak, which is located outside of their bodies, attached to their spine.

“Love, speak. Do I scare you?” When he talked, his voice projected out from his throat. He had a voice box implanted. His tongue and lower jaw aren’t enough to make the appropriate vocalizations.

It was at that moment that Professor Membrane tried to cover up his gruesome anatomy with his faceplate but Zim stopped him. Before he could attach his face back on, Zim snatched his prosthetic.

Zim says in a low tone, or as low as he could try, he still sounds loud.

“No, you don’t scare me. Your current appearance doesn’t even disgust me. Instead, you intrigue me. I’ve never seen a human like you before.”

“In fact! Everyone else is disgusting compared to you.” He said louder, almost giddy-like.

“You’re brilliant! A genius worthy of Zim even! You merge technology so wonderfully, I want to see more!” There was audible excitement when Zim spoke.

“Zim, you don’t have to attack me with compliments. Is that really what you think?” Professor Membrane whispers, it’s hard to talk without his prosthetic. He uses a voice box but the movement of his artificial lip over his real lip was enough to make him believe that he is producing sound the natural way. It hurts.

Zim is studying the face prosthetic Professor Membrane designed. It was animatronic. The movement was controlled with nanotubes and circuitry connecting to small motors. If Zim wasn’t concerned about offending Professor Membrane, he’d rush to his underground labs to study it.

He feels a surge of affection, this is his human, no one else’s but Zim’s. Even other aliens don’t compare to his partner. Some were even too stupid to be alive, but somehow they live.

“Don’t be foolish, foolishness doesn’t suit you. You know that I adore you.” Never has Zim uttered something so soft before.

“I love you for your mind,” he kisses his lover’s forehead, “your strength,” he kisses his lover’s robo arms, “your height,” he kisses the hair scythe, “and everything else about you.” he leaves a big kiss on Professor Membrane’s prosthetic and Professor Membrane’s lower jaw.

Professor Membrane was stunned, his lower jaw dropped down and his electronic eyes emitted an even brighter glow. Zim hands Professor Membrane the prosthetic.

“Now cover up your holes before the germs invade you. I will not be having my lover be sick due to some pathetic Earth virus.” Zim looks at his lover. If he could, he would kiss the Professor’s soul, so only Zim would remain in the scientist’s heart.

Professor Membrane, places his face plate on with a ‘click.’ He lifts Zim up in his arms as he stands from his kneeling position. Zim shrieked as his feet lost contact with the ground.

“I was right to love you, Zim!” The Professor was gleeful.

“You’d be stupid if you rejected me.” Zim’s smugness at being loved reached an all-time high.

Professor Membrane twirled Zim above his head and hugged him close.

“You remember how I said that I never showed this to my children?” Professor Membrane hummed into Zim’s wig.

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell them.” The Professor begged. His request surprised Zim.

“The Dib really doesn’t know? Wonderful! You have nothing to fear! I’ll keep your secret. You must really love Zim then!” Zim laughed maniacally.

Zim was so euphoric, his legs were moving back and forth.

“I’m glad I showed this side of mine to you. I like to imagine that, if I had an actual face, it would look similar to my prosthetic.” The current richest inventor and researcher on Earth sounded defeated.

The feeling returned. The feeling called guilt. Here he is, in the arms of his lover. His lover who doesn’t even know that Zim is from an entirely different race, sent to conquer his beloved Earth. It was a heavy feeling.

Is Zim actually empathizing with this human? He feels wrong, dirty, for taking advantage of someone like Professor Membrane. It was like he was spitting at the Professor’s intelligence.

There is no turning back from this relationship. At least, no way of turning back on his love. If Zim were to break things off, or just disappear, he’d end up with a broken heart. He still doesn’t know why it would hurt but just the thought makes his squeedilyspooch twist in angst.

He wants to continue whatever this is. He wants to feel light, feel acknowledged, feel loved. But if this really were mutual, then Zim would have to reveal his Irken self and be exposed as the enemy he is.

The Professor is still holding Zim up. He seemed content having Zim in his arms. Cuddling and nuzzling him. This is a comfort unmatched by any other.

Zim doesn’t want this to end, he’s ruined almost everything else good in his life. The Tallest haven’t contacted him in ages and the Massive and Irken fleets still remain missing. It’s lonely being the only Irken on Earth. Every other Irken is fleeing from the colonies they’ve conquered.

If Zim were to meet his demise, then he wouldn’t mind it being at the hands of his love, his equal. He breaks out of his lover’s grasp. He knows what to do.

“With all these secrets we’re sharing with each other, I believe that it is only fair for you to cast your eyes on my amazing self!” Zim acts confident, he can do confident, he can be cocky about his real looks. After all, he is handsome in all ways except height.

“Yes Zim, you are an amazing specimen.” The Professor looks at Zim fondly.

“You don’t get it! Focus more on my actual features. I know this disguise is amazing but you, as Zim’s equal should be able to tell where I differ from the rest!” Zim said angrily.

“Ok? Well, you have no visible nose or ears, you’re green and you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” His eyebrow lifted up in confusion as he spoke.

“Yes, yes I know my attractiveness is intimidating. But do you think I’m too attractive? Out of this world even?” Zim expects him to say the truth. The full truth. He’s not sure if he’s ready to be the one to confess things.

“You’re the only I know who looks like you.” Professor Membrane doesn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t you think it’s strange? The Dib always accuses me of being an alien.” Zim is stalling. He hopes that the Professor will find out on his own, so Zim wouldn’t have to admit it.

“I know my son is a handful, I’ll tell him to be more considerate of your skin condition.” The Professor said, exasperatingly, he doesn’t know what to do about his son.

If Professor Membrane thinks that that is what Zim is asking for then he really needs to join a reading the atmosphere class. Professor Membrane can be really blind at times.

“NO! The Dib-beast is right! I’m an alien! I’ve always been an alien. I come from the planet Irk. What you saw a few months earlier was real.” Zim said it. He can’t wait for Professor Membrane to find out his identity, it might take decades.

He takes off his contacts, his wig, and his goatee and threw them to the ground.

“I’m the alien you fought that day!” Zim points to himself.

“Look at my pink solid eyes, look at these antenna. Don’t you think I’m an alien?” He becomes more frustrated as he pointed out each strange thing about himself.

“Oh Zim, don’t worry about your appearance, I’ll always find you attractive. Your eyes are lovely by the way. You don’t have to call yourself an alien.” Professor Membrane still refuses to see what’s right in front of him.

Zim tugs off his gloves and boots.

“I have three fingers! I have two toes! Is it getting into your brain yet? I’m an alien.” Does the Professor want Zim to degrade himself further? Should he perform a little song and dance to the tune of the Irken Empires anthem?

“Those things could be congenital defects. I’m glad you’re comfortable enough with me to share your insecurities.” Professor Membrane’s attempts at being understanding are pathetic.

“Unless, you’re doing this because you hope to scare me off?” His voice takes on a worried tone, completely unwarranted in Zim’s opinion.

“You stupid, dumb, idiotic human!” Zim screams out.

Zim removes his shirt. He never intended to turn this into a sort of striptease, a term he learnt from a drunk guy who decided to ‘put on a show’ for more booze monies. Zim is glad that Gir dunked him in molten butter and popcorn because that display really disgusted him.

He drags the Professor down to have a seat on the floor and positions his Pak towards Professor Membrane. He also extends one of his spider legs. Hopefully, this will be enough to convince him of his extraterrestrial origins.

“Look at my Pak! Touch it with your robo hands! What you’re looking at is high quality Irken technology.” Zim is tired.

Professor Membrane is transfixed. He’s never seen something like this before. The Pak wasn’t stuck on superficially, it actually goes into Zim’s back. Studying it for a while, he realizes that it’s not made from materials found on Earth and it’s more advanced than anything he knows, something that shouldn’t be possible.

“I am a member of the Irken race. An intergalactic race who’s currently trying to take over the universe. I am an invader brought to Earth to take it over for Operation Doom II.

We modified ourselves biomechanically to be the ultimate species. The Pak you’re studying right now is where the entirety of Irken history and knowledge is contained. It is better than your human brains and computers. It holds my personality, my tools and my intelligence.” Zim explains.

“It holds all that information? You know the entire history of your race?” Asked an astonished Membrane.

“Several thousands of years of knowledge and more, regarding some other races and planets.” Zim didn’t think that Professor Membrane would focus on that, he thought he’d be held up on this conquering Earth thing he spewed out.

“Can you take up more information in your Pak?” The inquiries were calm, rational. As if Professor Membrane was doing a survey.

“Our Paks were designed to hold at least 1 billion years of storage.” That is a fact that still makes Zim proud of being an Irken, not many races can brag about having so much storage space.

In the scheme of things, 1 billion years is nothing compared to the expected lifespan of the universe, but it is more than enough for effervescent species like humans and Irkens.

Professor Membrane does the unexpected once again, he hugged Zim fiercely, ecstatically. Zim looked behind him, the stoicism of his prosthetic is nowhere to be found, an absurdly large grin was present on his face.

Was this a trap? His grin reminded Zim of the times Dib would smile before doing something horrible to Zim or before promising to do something horrible. That manic glint in Professor Membrane’s cyber eyes was heightened with the rapid closing and opening of his shutters, like a camera taking pictures.

Zim expected shock, Zim expected denial, Zim expected hatred or even understanding if things were more positive. But this elated expression on his lover’s face was something Zim did not expect. It was like he actually got the twelve cases of Uranium-38 from Santa on Christmas.

“Thank you Zim, I believe you. Without you I would’ve never had this chance.” Professor Membrane finally spoke out.

“What?” Zim asked.

“You’re amazing, Zim. Special. I’ll never regret meeting you.” The Professor was stroking his antenna in an overly possessive manner. This aggressive petting was something Professor Membrane never did. If Zim had any sensation on his one special, not defective, antenna, he’d be blushing from head to toe.

This really makes Zim wonder if Professor Membrane is planning to study his insides and dump him in a laboratory to be studied. But this time, Zim is prepared. He’ll face all sorts of tests, as long as he can stay by the Professor’s side.

This sort of devotion was only ever reserved for the Tallest though but they’re gone, possibly forever and the only leader Zim wants to have is Professor Membrane.

“Love-pig, I give you permission to use my body in whatever way you want.”

Zim accepted his fate, he willingly gives himself up for experimentation. He tries to break free from Professor Membrane’s vice grip to face him. It’s hard to have this discussion with his back against Professor Membrane’s chest.

The Professor paused his ministrations. Zim feels a sudden spike in Professor Membrane’s heartbeat and temperature.

“Zim, what do you think I’ll be doing with you?” The Professor is bashful. He doesn’t want any more misunderstandings between them.

“Aren’t you going to strap me on a table and use your various tools on me?” Zim was puzzled.

Professor Membrane still looks at Zim confusedly.

“I’ll let you cut me up but I’ll tell you where it’s safe to cut open because I still enjoy living and I expect to remain alive in your care until you can’t learn anything more from me. But don’t think it’ll be a short study! I am much more knowledgeable than you. I know more… knowledge!! than you. Things you humans can’t even begin to imagine!” He made his peace.

“Oh. NO! No Zim. I would never experiment on you like that!”

Professor Membrane’s outcry was unexpected.

“You’re more than anything I could ever dream of. You’re the answer to my loneliness.”

Was that it? Was Professor Membrane simply impressed with Zim’s true self? Was he in awe of Zim? The Professor might have reacted the same way if he met any other Irkens but it doesn’t matter to Zim. It is Zim Professor Membrane is reacting to, and not anyone else.

“Yup! Zim is the best! Too bad you’re a pitiful human and not a superior Irken.” Zim is back to his confident self.

“Let me apologize Zim. Please forgive me. I know you told me to trust you, but I haven’t been completely truthful.”

The Professor shrinks into himself, he’s ashamed.

Zim is more surprised. What else could Professor Membrane be hiding? Is it something on his body? While Zim was shirtless, gloveless and bootless, Professor Membrane still has his full coat on, only with the upper part undone. It’s not fair.

“I guess I should reveal my full self as well.”

He removes his face plate again, but instead of seeing the insides of a human head, there’s a hole. A black hole. Dark in colour. Not even his eyes remained.

Zim looks in. He sees everything and nothing, he sees the beginning and the end of humanity. He’s experiencing bliss but agony as well. There is so much information being downloaded in Zim’s Pak that it’s whirring frantically, trying to compile and organize everything. It was a sight he’s never seen before. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking at to be honest.

It’s addicting. He watches the smooth black void swirl with light splotches of what appears to be stars. There are nuclear fissions happening. It was like Professor Membrane contained a small galaxy on his face, with a black hole as its centre.

If Zim were sane he’d have lost his sanity but all he could feel is delight instead of horror. His scientific side is curious, he wants to know what, why, how it’s even possible.

Zim knows he should feel terrified. He’s dealing with something other, something inhuman. Professor Membrane is no ordinary being. He is like one of those Lovecraftian gods that humans make fiction of.

“Can I touch it?” He can’t call it a face, it held too much to be a face.

“Yes, but be careful,” Professor Membrane’s voice emitted from the void.

Zim briefly wonders what happened to the modifications Professor Membrane made. He hopes they’re not gone forever, it’s another part of his lover that Zim has learnt to cherish already.

Zim reaches for Professor Membrane’s actual ‘face,’ his hand gets sucked in. Terror filled Zim as he struggles. He’s afraid he’s being sucked in to be consumed by the void. Maybe Professor Membrane will consume him after all?

Before he can be pulled towards the centre of the hole, arms surround him and he is being held in place. Today is not the day Zim dies.

“Zim! I told you to be careful!” that voice appeared again. The voice of Zim’s daydreams and fantasies. Professor Membrane is still with him. Zim forgot for a moment.

“Hah! Don’t be silly my love! Nothing can beat the Almighty Zim!!!” He’s come down from whatever kept his mind in the clouds.

While being fastened by Professor Membrane, Zim decides to reach his arm out. Self-perseverance is a trait that Zim possesses but sometimes, he just wants to act out his impulses.

He feels something squishy and wet. Zim grabbed whatever that was. When he retracted his hand, he discovers that he’s holding onto a baby octopus. He puts it back in to grab something else. A teacup filled with hot tea. Typical. This time he doesn’t put his hand back in, giving the tea to Professor Membrane.

“What’s all that inside you?” Zim asks, he shrugs off the weirdness, it’s an ordinary Tuesday for him. A turbulent Tuesday but still a Tuesday.

“The combined knowledge of mankind.” It’s uncanny hearing Professor Membrane’s voice.

“What are you anyways?” If his lover isn’t a human, then Zim could gleefully continue their relationship without feeling too much guilt.

“I still like to consider myself as a human.” That dashes Zim’s hopes but considering Professor Membrane’s credentials, he’s still proud of being able to call himself Professor Membrane’s lover.

“But a human who’s been in existence as long as mankind has been. I don’t remember my origin, if I were to imagine myself as a child, it would be how I currently am, only smaller.” It was hard for Professor Membrane to admit that he’s forgotten important parts of himself.

“Irkens are only alive for a millennia of your human time.” It hurts Zim to realize this.

He always expected that he’d outlive his partner when the time comes but it might actually be the other way around. He doesn’t want to think more on it. He wants to move away from that topic.

“Is Professor your real name?” Zim has found out that Professor is a title, like Frylord or Invader or even Tallest is. So he was confused when looking at Professor Membrane’s documents to see that Professor is written as his first name.

“I’ve been called many things throughout my existence but the name that sticks out the most is Thoth.” Professor Membrane reflects back. That was something he can remember.

“Anyways, I want to discover more and your existence made me realize that mankind has restrained my full potential.” The Professor said.

Delight fills Zim. Is Professor Membrane willing to turn his back on humanity?

“With you telling me about your extraterrestrial origin, I was able to find proof of the existence of life in other worlds. The probability always existed but I never had any concrete evidence.

And the knowledge humans collected on space is so insufficient that they don’t really tell anything. Other information, like what Dib usually talks about, can be easily considered as hoaxes, quick to exit the minds of the populace.” He continued saying.

Every dismayed admittance of the inadequacy of humans and their discoveries makes Zim happier and happier.

“There are still many things to discover, that’s why I became a scientist, mankind’s knowledge is limited and information found can easily be lost forever.” Professor Membrane concluded his little speech.

Humans really are pitiful. Zim wished he could have landed on Earth ages ago, to forge a path for faster development. Hmm. Maybe he should consider doing it now, with Professor Membrane by his side.

“You’re not keeping anymore secrets from me are you?” To count, Zim has been shocked an entirety of three times in the span of this date. He checked the time with his Pak. Two and half hours have passed. This makes for a surprise every 50 minutes.

“No more secrets, my love.” Professor Membrane places his prosthetic back on his face. Zim sees the moment the void disappears and dissipates to turn back into the fleshy opening.

“We both showed our true faces to each other.” Zim said. His trust in the Professor is absolute. They’ll never have to hide themselves ever again in each other’s presence.

“We did. I’m glad we did. Thank you Zim.” The voice came out of Professor Membrane’s mouth, where voices are supposed to come out from.

Inspecting Professor Membrane’s face prosthetic, Zim acknowledges that he loves all of Professor Membrane’s faces. His kissable lips opened to say something. Zim wants to punch himself for thinking that way.

“You’re the only one to survive seeing my true self. Everyone else died from brain hemorrhaging or lost their minds to never recover.” He said nonchalantly.

“Good! Give Zim all the praise!” Zim takes any chance he can get to be praised. “And all the kisses!! Those were nice.” Professor Membrane delivers a quick peck on the lips.

“You deserve all the kisses from me,” Professor Membrane agrees, “I had a wonderful date.”

A realization hit Zim. Date night still didn’t end. And when date night continued after dinner, it usually meant that they would be spending time tinkering and working on one thing or another.

“Let’s work on making your prosthetic move smoother. I have just the right Irken tech to show you in my other working area. You’ll love it.

I modified it of course to make it less stupid but it should give you a fully functional ugly human face with feelings. It’ll hide your beautiful insides unfortunately but that’s living on Earth for people like us.” Zim rambled on, already thinking up of different things to do.

“Does it look anything like your disguise?” Professor Membrane loves Zim but a fake goatee, a wig and contacts don’t make for a good disguise, he confessed to himself.

Oh dear. Dib was right. Zim’s disguise was bad. Dib was also right about Zim being an alien. Professor Membrane promises to himself that he’ll believe his son more from now on.

“What? Unfortunately no! All the other disguises hid way too much of my handsomeness and it would be a disservice to everyone for me to hide it!”

Zim went on a tirade, “The Earth will be even more MORE sadder and uglier if I looked exactly like you humans. Gross. Be happy you get to see my full handsomeness in my true Irken self. There are many who don’t get the opportunity that you have.”

Zim gestures to himself. He’s still half-dressed. Professor Membrane hands Zim the rest of his outfit before things turn awkward. After dressing quickly, Zim once more is leading Professor Membrane by the hands into his labs, the cooler ones with all the alien tech.

‘Zim, never change, my lover from the stars.’ Professor Membrane thinks to himself fondly, as he is being led away. His various faces may not allow for much expression but he is smiling internally, full of love.

#zim #professor membrane #zimbrane #zapmr #pmazr #fanfic #mine #happy halloween folks!#i guess this could be considered my first serious-like attempt at fanfic #my regret is immeasurable

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buddy-and-eric · 5 years

Text

Blame The Eagles, Man

Chapter 2 - Best of My Love

Summary: Eric’s back in Buddy’s company and he just can’t get a handle on himself.

Words: 2,677

Ships: Beric? Eric x Buddy

The darkness of the impending night was just beginning to settle over the town, slowly but surely Eric’s shadow faded into the blanket of night air. It chilled him just standing there. Though Point Place was anything but a frightening area. The scariest thing that ever happened around the burn out town was that Jimmy kid trying to knock off the 7/11 a few months ago only armed with a water gun.

But the distant sounds of buzzing bugs was enough to make his skin crawl with a ghost of an itch. He was standing there, looking put off, staring at the Vista Cruiser like he was scolding a child. His original plan was to fiddle with the car or something but he couldn’t even pretend to know anything about what the problem was. ‘This definitely wouldn’t happen to Batman & his Batmobile-’

The loud thump of the passenger door closing sent Eric nearly a foot in the air. He slapped his hand to his chest, feeling a bit of relief as he realized no one was in fact coming to murder him. Instead it was his cheeky looking friend. Which might've actually been worse.

Buddy moved with a bounce in his step to Eric’s side, looking over the car. “Jumpy tonight, huh Eric?” He laughed, putting one hand around to pat Eric’s back.

Eric rolled his shoulders back, awkwardly coughing as he brushed his curled fist across his mouth. He stretched his arms behind himself like he was getting ready to yawn. “Nah, no. I was just....” Eric looked around at the dark trees around them and swallowed “So you think somethings wrong with the car?” He played it off with a little laugh and scratched under his chin.

The two of them had come driving through the spookiest corners of Point Place with the intention to get burgers from the ‘haunted’ Fatso Burger where the furniture was mysteriously moved every night. But really, that place just had poor management and never locked their doors and Mr. Kebler wouldn’t offer the Supernatural Soda discount anymore (Which was just all the flavors mixed together) if he didn’t still believe the ghosts were there somewhere. Buddy seemed really set on getting one of those and Eric wanted to see his disgusted face again. It’d been a full week since the last time when Kelso laughed so hard that Piggly Wiggly cream soda shot outta his nose. That made Eric instantly regret inviting Buddy to the basement for the first time in a long time.

His friend looked over the car and rolled his lips together, the glaze of intense observation went over his eyes. He turned to Eric with a simple smile that made Eric’s chest tighten. “The Cruiser...” Buddy trailed off as he leaned in the drivers side window.

Eric let his eyes droop slowly from the mixture of sleepless nights and a comfortable laziness he always seemed to have around Buddy.

“She’s just- um....old.” his voice was strained and he could tell he was wiggling around some stuff in there. “So she just needs a push sometimes.” Buddy attempted to start the car two more times before it finally caught and started smoothly. The man bounced back out with that grin again and laid his hand on the car’s roof. “Probably needs to be looked at further but that’s good enough for now.”

Buddy had a thing for cars. That was something else new that Eric learned about him throughout this friendship. Not only did he appreciate them but he knew a heck of a lot of shit about them too. Which is another reason why Eric couldn’t believe how much the guy loved the Vista Cruiser.

“Maybe we should head back to your house, y’know?” Buddy gestured to the car, think it’d be best to play it safe and get it home as quick as possible.

Eric deflated a little. Partly because he was not in a good place at the moment to mix Buddy with his other friends again. But also because he really wanted to get Buddy that stupid Supernatural Soda thing. “Oh no, a good man keeps his word, Buddy.” He smirked and put on some kind of accent (maybe British? He wasn’t very good at them). “I intend to spoil you tonight.” He wagged his finger at him and Buddy chuckled. He grabbed Eric’s finger and pushed it down.

“Please. I’m spoiled enough.” a shrug rolling off his shoulders.

“Maybe in your sense of the word but you haven’t been spoiled by a Forman yet. This family spoils with things like a fun trip to a fast-food chain every once in a blue moon.” He threw his arm playfully around Buddy and walked him over to the passengers side door. “And if you’re lucky...” He leaned over and opened the door. “They might’ve actually refilled the ketchup dispenser.”

Eric slowly shut Buddy’s door and came around and hopped into his own. Buddy watched him with amusement. “I don’t like ketchup.” His nose scrunched up and Eric let himself admire the face before he rolled his eyes.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

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

The flickering lights of the Fatso Burger were burning into Eric’s eyes and giving him the slightest headache. The orange and yellow wall details were no help and it seemed to make the glare worse. But it wasn’t bothering him that much. Friday was upon Point Place and the teenagers were out and about in the most ‘exciting’ areas without having to feel that deep sense of dread for school the next day.

And sitting across from Buddy was always nice. Though, Eric still picked at the peeling paint on the side of their booth table and avoided his eyes anyway. That Tuesday seemed far away in his mind but it was just two weeks prior.

He’d stayed kinda far off from Buddy recently and not for the first time. Maybe he was just too nervous about being around him these days but either way, he felt shitty about it.

“So um...” He was going to ask. “I usually ruin things by opening my big mouth but...” Eric trailed off, wiggling his eyebrow a little and holding his hand out. Maybe he was hoping Buddy would just get what he was trying to say but if he didn’t even know...how on earth would Buddy?

Buddy slipped his straw in and out of his drink slowly and created the most annoying sound on earth, at least to Eric. “But what?”

Eric sighed and slapped his hand down onto the table.

“Have you talked to Donna?” Buddy interrupted, sensing the coming conflict. “I haven’t really heard from you in a while and that’s fine, Eric. Things are awkward with you and I understand that.” Buddy shrugged and Eric felt his shoulders cave in from pure relief and admiration. “But if I know you well enough, and I think I do, I’m sure you haven’t made much progress on the whole...” It was his turn to trail off “Talking about this out-loud situation.” Was what he decided on.

And that was exactly true. “I-uh...well. I’ve thought about it a whole lot.” He immediately tried to justify himself but Buddy just smiled.

“Work it out with me, Eric.” He gestured to himself with a smirk and took a long drink of his soda even though it tasted like a disaster. His nose scrunched up again and Eric rolled his lips together to keep from smiling.

“I just...I like you a lot, Buddy.” He fell backwards against the booth seat in exasperation. “But Donna...we’ve got a lot of history.”

His friend nodded.

“I mean, I-we...” he scratched behind his ear and tried to work it out before he spoke again. Donna was his first crush. The girl next door who could always hang out like she was one of the guys. He liked that about her. He always had.

“And you know, Eric-” Buddy started and broke the man out of his thoughts. “This shouldn’t just be about picking me or Donna.” He rolled his eyes but in a friendly way. “It’s just about figuring out what makes you happy. Makes your...” He flung his wrist out in front of his lower stomach in an oddly suggestive way.

Eric chuckled and raised his hands. “Wow, Buddy. That’s inappropriate dinner talk. I am shocked-”

“Shut-up, you turkey. That’s not what I meant to do-” Buddy laughed but turned his face from Eric’s view as his cheeks turned pink. “I’m trying to say that you just need to figure out what you want from a relationship and the kind of person that would make you happy. Don’t just go back and forth between the two of us...if that’s even what you’ve been doing anyway. Ok?” He turned back and pinched the back of his hand.

Eric nodded and sort of retracted within himself again.

“How have you been thinking about it?” Buddy wondered if that phrasing was a little too weird but Eric seemed to perk up a little.

“Donna, she’s-” He sipped his own drink, letting the straw float lazily away afterwards. “My best friend. The first girl who would give me the time of day. I use to walk her home from school everyday and she’d carry my books just to make fun of my skinny ass arms.” He wiggled his arm out for emphasis and laughed, eyes glazing over a little.

“We just clicked.” He shrugged. “It only makes sense that we’d end up like this.”

Buddy narrowed his eyes in thought and rubbed his hand gently down his thigh. “When you think about your future, is Donna the girl your with?”

“Sometimes.” He answered with honesty. “She used to be.” His right eye twitched as he tilted his head. “I-uh-um....I do my best for Donna.” He looked surprised at his own words and it interested Buddy.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I...don’t really know. I’m not sure. This is ridiculous. You wanna refill?” He stood up all jumpy-like and pointed to Buddy’s drink even though free refills were not allowed and he didn’t even have the money for that.

“Nah. But maybe some napkins?” Buddy was hoping that’d buy his friend enough alone time to calm himself down. Eric nodded and took off.

Buddy took the time to think about the last few months, eyes floating about the fast food joint like it held all the answers to his questions. He wanted to do right by Eric and help the poor guy out because it pained him so badly when he was in that same position. With any luck, he could help Eric find peace.

-”Mr. Kebler said he’s out of napkins and I’m gay.”

Buddy spit out his drink....splattering it all over the table. ‘A bad time to be out of napkins, huh?’ He thought. The white counter-top was streaked in soda and was already starting to drip over the side, Buddy cringed at the gross sight but didn’t have time to dwell on it. “What the hell, Eric?” He hoped that didn’t sound harsh but there was no way in hell Eric could just up and figure out his identity on the way to the Fatso Burger counter.

Eric shuffled on his feet before lowering himself slowly back onto the booth chair, arms up and careful not to touch the sticky table. “That’s gotta be it, man.” Eric’s voice sounded rushed and nervous. “Don’t you think?”

Buddy frowned. “I can’t tell you that, Eric. You have to figure that out for yourself, I told you.”

Eric looked put-out and tired. “The guys know your gay.” he blurted and Buddy’s eyes widened briefly and he crossed his arms.

“You told them?”

“No, no, no. I mean- well, maybe I confirmed Donna and Hyde’s suspicion-”

Buddy frowned, leaning even further away from the table.

“But Fez was the one who said it, not me.” Eric insisted, remembering how his friend had just known. “Kelso didn’t believe it. Said that if you were then you'd have been all over him.” He chuckled nervously under Buddy’s heated gaze.

But Buddy’s heat didn’t last too long. After a second or two, he was back to that easy-going small smile. “He’s not my type.”

“And what is your type?” Eric asked with innocence as he munched on a fry.

Buddy gave him a look as he rubbed his palm down from his chin to the base of his neck. “I don’t think that’s gonna help this conversation at all.”

Eric knew what Buddy was getting at. He’d already asked Buddy a few times if he still has feelings for him. Though it was hard to tell when he was getting on the bright boys nerves, he was pretty sure he was edging it a little too close now. He was hoping that question was ambiguous enough but it obviously wasn’t. He frowned. “I always thought Donna and I had...like movie love.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“In a way.” He shrugged, suddenly looking very pained. It was a look that Buddy knew had been on his face several times when he was knee-deep in the questioning phase. “Yeah, it’s movie love. I’ll admit it.” He waved his hand out and Buddy opened his mouth but never got a word out. “Just not the kind I thought. It all comes back to the fact that I feel like I’m playing a damn part, Buddy.” He scrunched up his eyes with anger.

“I like Donna because I think I’m supposed to.” He half-whispered that to himself and Buddy nearly felt like he was intruding.

“I think...” He spoke with an earnestly kind voice. “I think you should talk to Donna.”

Eric glanced up at him again. His eyes were filled with anger and confusion. “Do I have to?” He rubbed his hand against his forehead.

“If you really feel that way, then yes.” Buddy sighed and slid out of the booth to stand on Eric’s side. He softly shoved his shoulder and took the space next to Eric who was too busy to really care.

“Damn.” Eric shook his head.

“Yeah...” Buddy trailed off, trying not relive all those painful memories where he’d sat awake at night trying to figure out why he couldn’t force himself to like girls.

“It was Luke.” Eric mumbled, miserably.

“What?”

“Luke. Star Wars.” Eric shrugged before thinking to explain. “I think maybe...that was my first real clue. Y’know after you....” He dipped his finger into a small Supernatural Soda puddle. The only thing supernatural about the night thus far were the ghosts of Buddy’s past.

He smiled gently. “Why don’t you take me home now?”

Eric looked up quickly, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

“You’ve exhausted yourself. I’ve seen no ghosts...” Bucky teased, gesturing to the empty restaurant. “And you’ve got a lot of thinking to do, y’know?” he softly pinched his friends arm and Eric rolled his eyes.

“Well, this was fun, huh?” He let Buddy slide out and he followed after him. His keys dancing around in the palm of his hand.

“I gotta feeling the drive home is gonna make the night.” Buddy smiled and climbed into the passenger seat.

The Cruiser started up on the first try and the radio kicked on. Almost magically, The Eagles ‘Ol’ 55′ dissolved into the air. Eric had to laugh.

“I always liked Han.” Buddy chimed and Eric shook his head.

“Han? Really. Luke’s the hero, man.” He felt a joy pass through him and tried to allow that to mask his absolutely horrendous dread of having to talk to Donna.

The night air was calm, The Cruiser had started successfully, The Eagles were on, he was talking about Star Wars with someone who matched him, and he finally felt as if he’d made a dent in this odd journey.

Plus, Buddy seemed happy enough.

At least he had tonight to pretend that he had things completely figured out. He’d worry about the rest later.

#sorry this is short but #here is chapter 2!!#should there be more???#let me know #beric #Eric's Buddy #Eric Forman #eric x buddy #buddy morgan #Topher Grace #joseph gordon-levitt #that 70s show #my fanfiction

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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669.

What is the wallpaper on your computer screen? Why did you choose it? >> You know, it’s set to shuffle but I feel like it’s always on the same thing every time I get this question. It’s a shot from the movie Interstellar. Is there a pattern on the pants you’re currently wearing? Which one? >> No, there’s just a NASA logo on the left thigh. Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? >> I’ve never been to a baby shower and I can’t imagine a reason why I’d ever be at one. Who is the person you text the most in your life? What relation are you? >> Sparrow. She’s my spouse. Mexican food, Chinese food, Italian food, French food or American food? >> Mexican food is my favourite of the ones listed.

Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? >> Sure. My sense of sexuality has gone through several states of flux. It’s never been set in stone, for whatever reason. Does your mother annoy you when the holidays come along in the year? >> --- What is the color scheme of your absolute favorite fast-food restaurant? >> --- Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? >> I don’t think of them in terms of sexiness. A lot of people have had tattoos or piercings that I found nice to look at, though. Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? >> No, because most people I encounter are taller than me. Do your siblings bring people around that your parents don’t approve of? >> --- Is there carpet or hardwood floor in your bedroom? >> Carpet. Do you check the texture of things first or the smell of them? >> It depends on what the thing is. Have you ever broken the arm or head off of a trophy? How did you do this? >> No. Do you believe in superstitious things such as breaking a mirror? >> No, but I do believe in not breaking mirrors because they’re a pain in the ass to clean up. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? >> I mean, I haven’t heard anyone do this in years. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for? >> Maybe they did one when I had an abortion, I don’t remember. Do you like those ‘end of the world,’ ‘Armageddon’ movies? >> Nah. They’re very “seen one, seen ‘em all”. What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? >> Black. Ever been choked severely on something during lunch at your school? >> I don’t think so.

Do you remember who you sat next to in Kindergarten? Who was it? >> I remember nothing about kindergarten...... Has anyone ever compared you to an animal? Which one(s)? >> Maybe. It probably wasn’t a flattering comparison, though, so I’m glad I don’t remember. Has anyone, including yourself, forgot it was your own birthday? >> I don’t think so. I mean, obviously people who aren’t especially close to me are going to forget, but they’re not expected to remember, so I don’t care. Chocolate or strawberry birthday cake? Choose one. >> Neither, thanks. Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? >> I eat more vegetables than fruits. I don’t have favourites. Do you abbreviate things way too often? Do you get called out on it? >> I abbreviate things when I feel like abbreviating them, idk. Why would anyone “call me out” on it, it’s not fucking illegal. Ever been in one of those church Christmas plays before? Why/why not? >> No. Because...? Obviously it just wasn’t a part of my life. What is the funniest conjunction you use throughout your day? >> I’ve... literally never heard of a funny conjunction. How do you even... Have you ever thrown a roll of toilet paper at someone before? >> No. Does the dentist calm you or does it tend to stress you out? >> Of course it stresses me out, it’s invasive and involves strangers touching me. If you had to choose, which is the worst movie you’ve ever seen? >> I wouldn’t bother choosing. Have you ever found yourself talking to an inanimate object? >> Sure, I talk to my plushies and my computer all the time. Do you like movies that are originally based on children’s books? >> Sure, sometimes. Is your hair more thick or thin? Is it more curly or straight? >> Thick and curly. Something on the human body that grosses you out the most: >> I’d rather not even think about it. Do you like meeting new people? What’s your most common greeting? >> I don’t mind it, if I’ve got the energy for it. I don’t have a common greeting, I just say hi or whatever? IDK. Ever think of what it would be like to be a mermaid or merman? >> Not extensively. If you had to choose, which celebrity would you date out of all of them? >> --- Do people feel sorry for you for no reason? Have they ever? >> I don’t know? What is something that bothers you about most surveys in general? >> I’m not really bothered by anything in surveys, aside from maybe an occasional flash of irritation (like when I get a bunch of questions disparaging slang usage or so-called “internet speak” or whatever). Who would you take with you on a stranded/deserted island? >> Bold of you to assume I have any interest in being on a deserted island. Do you have your own personal boom box in your bedroom? >> No, but I have a record player. Would you survive if zombies were to take over the world? Why or why not? >> Probably not. Because reasons. What would you say is the worst part of high school period? >> The social hell, in general. For me specifically, also my inability to, like... do schoolwork in some classes. I can’t really explain exactly how/why I was so bad at school, which is also partly why I couldn’t get any help. What is your favorite color of apple? Red, green or yellow? >> Red. Ever want to be a doctor? Is it because of all the hospital shows? >> I’ve never wanted to be a doctor. What do you think of all these reality shows that try to alter personality? >> I don’t know what you mean. Where are your favorite pair of shoes in the whole world right now? >> --- Do you live anywhere near a mall? >> Yeah, there are two malls that are both a relatively short drive away. Do you like drawing smiley faces or do you think they’re overrated? >> I literally have no opinion. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? >> --- Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? >> I’ve never babysat a child. Do you ever have those ‘ah ha!’ moments? Do those annoy you? >> What kind of moment is that? Do you hardly ever remember where you put things at? >> I usually remember, but sometimes I don’t. What’s your favorite lunch meat, if you even like any in the first place? >> Turkey or chicken. When is the next time you’ll eat a cupcake, if you know when? >> I don’t know when. I don’t usually eat them. Where did you last buy socks from? What do those socks look like? >> I don’t remember. Do you ever lay in the grass and look up at the sky, just because? >> I’m sure I’ve done it on a few occasions. When do you normally go to sleep on the weekends? >> The same time I go to bed any other time -- around 10p. Have you ever met someone with the same ‘biggest fear’ as you? >> --- Do you ever have movie nights with your significant other? >> Not really, because she doesn’t often have the mental energy or... desire to, I guess? watch movies. I’m the big movie watcher in this household. But occasionally we’ll go out together to see one. Would you rather write with a pen or a pencil? Why is this? >> Pen. I just like the way it feels more. Do you like candy bars? Are you trying to slack off of them? >> No. What is your favorite number? Is it significant with your life? >> 9/19. I mean, I guess, yeah. Are you afraid of being kidnapped if you go outside at nighttime? >> No. Has your mother ever called your school because of your grades? >> My father has. Which of course then led to two people teaming up to berate me about my “laziness” and “not living up to my potential” or whatever the fuck they assumed about me. In the next twenty minutes, what will you be doing and where will you be? >> As long as this survey is, I might still be doing it 20 minutes from now. If not, then I’ll be making/eating breakfast. Do you like showers or baths better? Why did you choose your choice? >> Shower. I just hate baths. Are you a controversial person? Do your views oppose others? >> I don’t think I am a controversial person. Of course my views oppose others’, not everyone thinks alike... Have you ever thrown a surprise party for someone? Who for? >> No. What would you say your average word per minute time is on the keyboard? >> I’m not sure. At least 60, I’d assume. What is your least favorite class in school? Why is this? >> --- Do you bite your fingernails or tap them on desks? >> No. Have you ever wanted to be in a band? What position exactly? >> I did when I was a teenager, but like... not seriously. I just was really into rock music, lol. (I wanted to be the singer.) Who is your role model or hero in life if you have one? >> --- Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? >> --- Do you find any of your friends’ parents creepy or really mean? >> --- Do you ever have to wash your clothes at someone else’s house? >> Well, we do our laundry at Sparrow’s parents’ house because we don’t have a washer/dryer in-unit. (There’s a laundry room in the building, but they’re coin-operated, and doing laundry at the Wayland house is free...) When is the next time you’ll go to the library? Why is this? >> I don’t know. I usually borrow e-books. Do you like fiction or non-fiction books more? What’s your favorite? >> I like both. Do you constantly have to be told to shut up? By who? >> If someone constantly told me to shut up, I wouldn’t fucking hang out with them. Do you know how to play pool? Are you any good at it? >> I know how to play, but I am not skilled at it. Do you treat others as you’d like to be treated? Have you always? >> I try to treat others with at least basic respect and compassion. Sometimes I miss the mark, because I’m not perfect (and I have a lot of issues), but I try. Were you a really mean kid or a sweet and quiet kid? >> I was a quiet kid, but more on the sullen side than the sweet side. Are you someone who likes to get in arguments or fights a lot? >> No. Conflict is very taxing for me physiologically, so I try to pick my battles accordingly. How do you make sure people know you don’t like them at all? >> I don’t bother making a big deal out of it. It’s just not necessary and leads to more issues/drama. Also, who cares? Would you say you’re someone who likes to cuss a lot? >> I mean, maybe. I don’t think I cuss a whole lot, but maybe I do, idk. Do you keep secrets from your parents that you don’t keep from your friends? >> --- What is your father’s best friend’s name? Do you know them personally? >> --- If you had to, where would you get a tattoo at? Why? >> Anywhere. How much was the cell phone you have at this moment in time? >> A couple hundred, I think. Would you say you hang out with people the majority of your life? >> No? What would you do if you woke up randomly with purple hair? >> Be really confused? Do you ever look in the mirror and name all of your flaws for no reason? >> Sometimes, if Can Calah doesn’t stop me. Are you getting sick of the reality show Survivor? Why? >> I mean, I don’t watch it, so. Do you usually explain to people why you do the things you do? >> I’ve stopped with this for the most part, unless they explicitly ask. I’m tired of making unnecessary justifications for myself. If you don’t like something I do, you don’t like it. That’s fine. Ever submit a video to America’s Funniest Home Videos? >> No. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had? >> I don’t know. Are you someone who likes to eat Poptarts? What’s your favorite flavor? >> No, I am not someone who likes to eat Pop-tarts. Ever have a dream you’re being abducted by aliens? Was it scary? >> No. Do you like people who are loud or people who are quiet? >> I like quieter people. Does personality weigh out the sense of ‘good looks?’ >> --- When is the next time you’ll see someone who is pregnant? >> I don’t know. Do you hate it when people copy the things you do? >> This doesn’t happen to me. Where is your favorite piece of electronic equipment? >> I’m using it. Where is the person who ‘owns your heart’ at this moment in time? >> --- Has anyone ever told you that you’re good at cooking? >> I don’t think so. Would you say you’re a fast texter, or are you pretty slow? >> I guess I’m fast enough. What is your favorite flavor of Doritos? What do you drink with them? >> I hate Doritos. Do you have any enemies who you think are dangerous? >> I don’t have enemies. Do you ever try to squeeze information out of people? >> No. Does it freak you out when the police drive by your house? >> The cops aren’t usually driving around this apartment complex. Are you someone who tends to take a whole lot of naps? >> No. What is your favorite nickname you like to be called? Why do you like it? >> “Rev”. I have no idea why I’m attached to that, I just am. Do you already have your outfit for tomorrow planned out? >> I don’t plan my outfits. What is the color of your favorite pair of pants? What brand are they? >> --- Has your favorite song ever been featured on a commercial? >> No. Do you ever promise pc4pc on Myspace then never return the favor? >> No. What is one song right now that really gets on your nerves? >> --- What would you say was the best year of your life? Why? >> --- Do those annoying infomercials ever draw you in to buy things? >> Nope. Have you ever been pulled over by the cops for speeding? >> I don’t drive, so. Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? >> ---

#surveys #survey #random survey #a long boi

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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Analysis: Trump Cease-Fire Deal Cements Turkey’s Gains in Syria https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/17/world/middleeast/trump-pence-syria-turkey-ceasefire.html

In ‘Cave-In,’ Trump Cease-Fire Cements Turkey’s Gains in Syria

The agreement, announced by Vice President Mike Pence, may stop the killing in the Kurdish enclave in northern Syria. But the cost to American influence is expected to be high.

By David E. Sanger and Eric Schmitt | Published October 17, 2019 | New York Times | Posted October 19, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — The cease-fire agreement reached with Turkey by Vice President Mike Pence amounts to a near-total victory for Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who gains territory, pays little in penalties and appears to have outmaneuvered President Trump.

The best that can be said for the agreement is that it may stop the killing in the Kurdish enclave in northern Syria. But the cost for Kurds, longtime American allies in the fight against the Islamic State, is severe: Even Pentagon officials were mystified about where tens of thousands of displaced Kurds would go, as they moved south from the Turkey-Syria border as required by the deal — if they agree to go at all.

And the cost to American influence, while hard to quantify, could be frightfully high.

In the 11 days between Mr. Trump’s fateful phone call with Mr. Erdogan and the trip to Ankara by Mr. Pence and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo on Thursday, the United States has ceded ground in Syria — including American bases — to the Russian-backed Syrian dictator, Bashar al-Assad. And it has shaken the faith of American allies that, in a time of stress, Washington will have their back.

“This just looks like a complete cave-in by the United States to everything the Turks demanded,” said Eric S. Edelman, a former ambassador to Turkey and a senior Defense Department official in the George W. Bush administration. “I don’t see what the Turks gave up.”

In fact, if the sanctions imposed against Turkey by the Trump administration are lifted, as Mr. Pence said they now would be, the Turkish leader would pay a far lower price than Russia did for its annexation of Crimea in 2014. The sanctions imposed on Moscow then are still in place.

But there are other winners in addition to Mr. Erdogan, who has routed the Kurdish groups he views as terrorists who were living in an American protectorate.

Chief among them is President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia, who gains vast influence in a strategic corner of the Middle East where, until 2015, he had almost none. Now, he is a player, and already is filling the territorial and political vacuum that Mr. Trump left after he agreed to get out of the way of the Turkish invasion of Syria, which a small contingent of American Special Operations forces were there to prevent by their very presence.

Iran was also a winner. It has long used Syria as a route to send missiles to Hezbollah and flex its muscles across the region. That, in many ways, is the most perplexing part of the president’s decision to withdraw, because it runs so counter to his “maximum pressure” campaign against Iran’s clerical leaders and the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps.

And Mr. Assad, who was barely clinging to power after the Arab Spring in 2011, and whose military facilities Mr. Trump bombed in the opening months of his presidency in 2017, has a new lease on life. The Americans are gone from the one corner of his country they once occupied.

Mr. Trump has a different view — no surprise, given the bipartisan critique of his failure to stop Mr. Erdogan during their phone conversation, or threaten sanctions before the invasion, rather than after the facts had changed on the ground.

“I’m happy to report tremendous success with respect to Turkey,” Mr. Trump told reporters after his vice president and secretary of state announced the deal. “This is an amazing outcome. This is an outcome, regardless of how the press would like to damp it down, this was something they were trying to get for 10 years.”

Mr. Trump’s joy may reflect a very different worldview than that of his military, his diplomats or the Republican leaders who say he has damaged America’s reputation and influence. While his party, and Democrats, accused him of betraying allies and aiding Russia, Mr. Trump insisted he was simply making good on a campaign promise to bring troops home from “endless wars.”

On Wednesday, as Mr. Pence and Mr. Pompeo were flying to Ankara, Speaker Nancy Pelosi was challenging the president on whether there was any strategic logic to his withdrawal from Syria — especially if it resulted in freeing detained ISIS fighters who might now attack in the region or on the United States.

On Thursday, recounting her heated discussion with the president at the White House the previous day, she said she asked him how his strategy fit with his announcement last Friday that nearly 3,000 more troops were being deployed to Saudi Arabia. The president responded that the Saudis were paying the cost of that deployment — suggesting that Mr. Trump was happy to commit troops to the highest bidder among American allies, rather than make an independent judgment about their strategic importance.

Republicans also challenged the agreement reached in Ankara.

“The announcement today is being portrayed as a victory. It is far from a victory,” Senator Mitt Romney, Republican of Utah, said on the Senate floor Thursday. “Given the initial details of the cease-fire agreement, the administration must also explain what America’s future role will be in the region, what happens now to the Kurds and why Turkey will face no apparent consequences.”

And Mr. Romney noted, “The cease-fire does not change the fact that America has abandoned an ally.”

At the Pentagon on Thursday afternoon, senior officials scrambled to understand how they were supposed to carry out the agreement Mr. Pence and Mr. Erdogan had negotiated.

Several civilian and military officials complained that the broadly worded deal left large policy and logistical gaps to fill, with many questions about how to carry out commitments by the two sides that appeared to contradict the fast-moving situation on the ground.

With the withdrawal of about 1,000 Americans already underway, the officials asked, how would those departing forces conduct counterterrorism operations with the Turkish military, as Mr. Pence insisted they would? Would the Syrian Kurds fully comply with a pullback agreement they had little say in drafting, and in which they were the clear losers?

Their questions did not stop there. How large and how deep is the buffer area inside Syria that was supposed to give Turkey a safe zone between its border and the Kurdish fighters? The original safe zone that the United States and Turkey envisioned was 75 miles long and roughly 20 miles deep. But it was upended by Mr. Trump’s acquiescence to the invasion, and now Turkish forces have pushed beyond that.

And what about Mr. Assad’s forces and their Russian allies — to whom the abandoned Syrian Kurds reached out to after the American abandoned them?

It also remains unknown whether Turkey will be required to withdraw all or some of its forces sent across a sovereign border into Syria. (One official said a reason Turkey agreed to the deal on Thursday is because the Kurds have put up more resistance, and Turkish forces could not advance south any farther as a result.)

Several Pentagon and State Department officials and military officers who have worked on Syria policy or deployed to the country’s northwest expressed shock, outrage and disbelief at the administration’s second major capitulation to Mr. Erdogan in less than two weeks.

These officials said Mr. Erdogan was the big winner, and appeared to have gotten everything he wanted.

Military officials said they were stunned that the agreement essentially allowed Turkey to annex a portion of Syria, displace tens of thousands of Kurdish residents and wipe away years of counterterrorism gains against the Islamic State.

********

Shelling Continues in Syria, Hours After Cease-Fire Deal

A day after Vice President Mike Pence announced a pause in the battle between Turkish and Kurdish forces, gunfire could also be heard in the region, raising questions about the deal’s feasibility.

By Patrick Kingsley | Published October 18, 2019 Updated 8:23 AM ET | New York Times | Posted October 18, 2019 |

ISTANBUL —The leadership of the Syrian Kurdish fighters accused the Turkish military and its proxies on Friday of violating the terms of a truce in northern Syria that was brokered a day earlier by Vice President Mike Pence, raising questions about the feasibility of the cease-fire and whether the Americans can enforce it.

A spokesman for the Kurdish forces, Mustafa Bali, said on Twitter that Turkey continued to pound civilian areas and a hospital, despite the announcement on Thursday night by Mr. Pence that there would be a five-day pause in the fighting.

Responding to the claims that Turkey had violated the truce, President Recep Tayyip Erdogan denied that any fighting was continuing.

“I do not know where you get your information from,” he told a reporter after leaving Friday Prayers at a mosque in Istanbul. “Conflict is out of the question.”

The question of exactly when the cease-fire would begin was left unaddressed in both the text of the agreement released by Turkish and American officials, and also by Mr. Pence during his comments to the news media on Thursday.

But shelling continued in the Syrian border town of Ras al-Ain, and gunfire could be heard by journalists just across the border in Turkey. The continuation of the deadly conflict provided further evidence of the United States’ diminished influence, showing that the American military, having evacuated its troops from northern Syria, had no practical ability to enforce the cease-fire.

The truce agreement had already amounted to a near victory for Mr. Erdogan, who outmaneuvered President Trump, since it gave the assent of the United States to a Turkish sphere of influence in northern Syria and further diminished the United States’ role in the region.

The Turkish authorities said on Thursday that they would adhere to the five-day pause in hostilities to allow Kurdish fighters to withdraw from Kurdish-run areas in northern Syria that have been occupied by Turkish forces in the past week. But the Kurdish militia’s spokesman said their soldiers were still under fire in Ras al-Ain.

Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, who was in Jerusalem on Friday to meet with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel, did not respond to repeated questions on Friday about whether the cease-fire had been violated. A day before, he and Mr. Pence had announced the agreement in Ankara, the Turkish capital.

Asked about the cease-fire agreement, Mr. Netanyahu said only, “We hope things will turn out for the best.”

On Thursday, Mr. Trump described the deal during a speech in Dallas as “an incredible outcome,” and wrote on Twitter that it was “great for everyone!”

Syrian Kurdish fighters promised on Thursday night to adhere to the cease-fire and to withdraw from an area of their territory that the Turkish military has occupied in the past week, including around the key Syrian border town of Ras al-Ain. Turkey also said it would begin a five-day pause in hostilities to allow Kurdish fighters to evacuate.

But shelling and gunfire could be heard in Ras al-Ain, the Turkish news media reported, and smoke could be seen rising from the town from the Turkish settlement of Ceylanpinar, which is less than a mile away across the border.

Turkish-led forces also prevented a convoy of international aid workers from gaining access to the town to treat people wounded in the fighting, according to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, an independent war monitor based in Britain.

Ras al-Ain has been the site of the fiercest clashes since Turkish troops invaded Kurdish-held areas of northern Syria nine days ago. On Friday, Kurdish health officials said they were investigating whether six civilians in the town had been hit by chemical weapons during Turkish airstrikes. Photographs shared by the Kurdish Red Crescent, a medical charity working in the area, showed at least two children with burns on their faces.

The Turkish government has denied the claim, along with other accusations of war crimes. Its Defense Ministry said on Friday that the Turkish Army had continued its offensive “on the basis of humanitarian and moral values, and of international law.”

But Amnesty International, a global rights watchdog, on Friday accused the Turkish military and Arab militias fighting under its command of carrying out “serious violations and war crimes, including summary killings and unlawful attacks that have killed and injured civilians.”

In a statement, Amnesty’s secretary general, Kumi Naidoo, added: “Turkish military forces and their allies have displayed an utterly callous disregard for civilian lives, launching unlawful deadly attacks in residential areas that have killed and injured civilians.”

At least 218 civilians in northern Syria have died since the invasion began, according to the Kurdish authorities. A further 18 have been killed in Turkey by Kurdish mortar attacks, the Turkish government said.

Turkey wants to force out the Syrian Kurdish militia that has used the chaos of the conflict to establish an autonomous region across roughly a quarter of Syrian territory. The militia is an offshoot of a guerrilla group that has waged a decadeslong insurgency in Turkey. The Turks view the group as a terrorist organization.

Since 2014, the group has operated under the protection of the United States military, which partnered with the Kurdish fighters to help sweep the Islamic State from the region and, in the process, allowed the Kurdish militia to control most of the land lining the Turkish-Syrian border.

But after Mr. Trump abruptly ordered the withdrawal of United States troops from the border this month, ending their protection of the Kurdish fighters, Turkish forces invaded with the aim of establishing a Turkish-friendly zone, roughly 20 miles deep, along the border.

The deal announced on Thursday by Mr. Pence and Mr. Pompeo effectively gave American assent to Turkish territorial ambitions in part of the area, handing Turkey a huge diplomatic victory and completing the sudden reversal of a central plank of American policy in the Middle East.

It was sealed without the involvement of the Syrian or Russian governments, to whom the Kurdish authorities turned for protection after the American evacuation and the onslaught of Turkish-led forces.

Hwaida Saad contributed reporting from Beirut, and Lara Jakes from Jerusalem.

Fighting continued in northern Syria between Turkish and Syrian Kurdish fighters on Friday morning, casting further doubt on the feasibility of a cease-fire announced on Thursday by Vice President Mike Pence and Turkish officials.

The cease-fire deal had already amounted to a near victory for President Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey, who appears to have outmaneuvered President Trump, since it gave the assent of the United States to a Turkish sphere of influence in northern Syria and further diminished the United States’ role in the region.

The continuation of the deadly conflict in a Syrian border town on Friday raises further questions about whether the American government has the ability to enforce the cease-fire since it is not a party in the conflict and no longer has troops posted in northern Syria.

Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, who was in Jerusalem on Friday to meet with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel, did not respond to repeated questions about whether the cease-fire had been violated. A day before, he and Mr. Pence had announced the agreement in Ankara, the Turkish capital.

Asked about the cease-fire agreement, Mr. Netanyahu said only, “We hope things will turn out for the best.”

But the deal was sealed without the involvement of the Syrian or Russian governments, to whom the Kurdish authorities turned for protection after the American evacuation and the onslaught of Turkish-led forces.

Hwaida Saad contributed reporting from Beirut, and Lara Jakes from Jerusalem.

********

The Navy Wants to Push Out Problem SEALs. But Trump May Get in the Way. ( Trump has infected every facet of the U.S. Government. 😔 SAD)

A push to strengthen discipline in the SEAL teams has been stymied by one member’s support in the White House.

By Dave Philips | Published Oct. 18, 2019 Updated 7:06 AM ET | New York Times | Posted October 18, 2019 |

Spiking drinks with cocaine, shooting Iraqi civilians, strangling a Green Beret: The Navy SEAL teams have been rocked by one high-profile scandal after another in recent months, and the leader of the elite commando force, Rear Adm. Collin P. Green, has vowed to clean house.

Admiral Green has come down hard on misconduct, fired two key leaders and made an unusually public admission that the Navy’s secretive warrior caste has an “ethics problem.” At the same time, though, he has steered wide of the SEAL at the center of one of the grimmest episodes, Special Operations Chief Edward Gallagher, who was charged with shooting civilians, murdering a captive Islamic State fighter with a knife, and threatening to kill witnesses.

Chief Gallagher was acquitted of murder charges this summer, but evidence that he had engaged in a range of other misconduct, including theft and drug use, had come to light during the investigation. Admiral Green and other Navy leaders were planning to demote him and force him out of the SEALs — sending a message that such conduct had no place in one of the country’s premier fighting forces.

None of that has happened, though, because one of Chief Gallagher’s most vocal supporters happens to be the commander in chief. President Trump has repeatedly intervened, and has posted so many expressions of support for the SEAL on Twitter that the Navy now sees Chief Gallagher as untouchable, according to three Navy officials familiar with the case. Any talk of punishment has been shelved, not only for the chief, but for two other SEALs who had been facing possible discipline in the case, these officials said.

Mr. Trump helped Chief Gallagher get released from confinement before his trial, and personally congratulated him on Twitter when he was acquitted.

“People want to hold these guys accountable,” said one Navy officer who was involved in the punishment deliberations. “But they are afraid that if you do anything, minutes later there will be a tweet from the White House, and the officer in charge will get axed.”

The officer, like others interviewed for this article, asked that his name not be used because he feared retaliation.

The president has previously made it clear that he believes the country should tread carefully when calling American troops to account for acts of war. Only last week, he announced on Twitter that the White House was reviewing the case of Maj. Mathew L. Golsteyn, a former Army Special Forces soldier charged with murder in the death of a Taliban bomb maker in Afghanistan. “We train our boys to be killing machines, then prosecute them when they kill!” Mr. Trump wrote.

The issue in Chief Gallagher’s case became apparent to Admiral Green’s team in August, when the chief’s lawyers — including one of Mr. Trump’s personal lawyers, Marc Mukasey, who joined the defense team two months before the June court-martial — had tried and failed to persuade Navy commanders to suspend any punishment. Soon after that, the president brought up the Gallagher case at a meeting with the Secretary of the Navy and the Chief of Naval Operations, according to a senior Navy official.

White House officials strongly denied that the Gallagher case was discussed. But hours after the meeting, the Chief of Naval Operations announced that he would personally take over the Gallagher case from another admiral, who had indicated that she planned to punish the chief.

The Navy had also planned to discipline two other SEALs who had come under investigation in the Gallagher case: Lt. Jacob Portier, who was charged with not reporting Chief Gallagher’s actions in Iraq; and Special Operator First Class Corey Scott, a platoon medic whose testimony at the chief’s trial prompted the Navy to open a perjury investigation. But on the same day as the White House meeting, the charges against Lieutenant Portier were dropped and the investigation of Special Operator Scott was ended.

The intervention from Washington left Navy leaders with a dilemma: Not punishing Chief Gallagher and the others would undermine efforts to restore discipline in the ranks, but punishing them only to be publicly reversed might make things even worse.

“All that’s off the table now,” said a Navy Special Warfare officer who was briefed on the most recent deliberations of Admiral Green’s team about the matter. Navy commanders grew concerned that if they took away from Chief Gallagher the Trident pin that signifies membership in the SEALs, only to see the president give it back again, the officer said, “it sends a message that the commanders aren’t in control.”

While taking no action against Chief Gallagher, the Navy recently fired two senior leaders of the team on which Chief Gallagher serves, SEAL Team 7, which has had other recent incidents of misconduct. The command cited a “loss of confidence that resulted from leadership failures.”

The two leaders, Cmdr. Edward Mason and Master Chief Hugh Spangler — both decorated career SEALs with unblemished records who took command of the team after Chief Gallagher had been arrested — filed a complaint with the Navy’s inspector general over their firing. They said that they had become “expendable scapegoats” in the admiral’s fight against an anti-authoritarian “Gallagher effect” that was threatening to spread through the force.

With his new, protected status, Chief Gallagher appears to be trolling Navy leadership.

A few days after the demoted leaders filed their complaint, an Instagram account belonging to Chief Gallagher and his wife started selling T-shirts emblazoned with the phrase “The Gallagher Effect.”

Another recent Instagram post from the account referred to Admiral Green and another top Navy leader as “a bunch of morons.”

And in a photo posted on social media by a former member of his platoon, Chief Gallagher is seen gripping a hunting knife similar to the one Navy prosecutors said he used to kill a captive fighter from ISIS, which is also known by its Arabic name, Daesh. The post, which was “liked” by Chief Gallagher’s account, included the hashtags #WeDon’tHaveAnEthicsProblem and #NoOneCriesOverSpilledDaesh.

Timothy Parlatore, a lawyer for Chief Gallagher, said the Instagram account is administered by the chief’s wife and does not reflect the chief’s views.

The original criminal charges against Chief Gallagher, 40, stemmed from his fifth combat deployment with the SEALs, when he led a platoon fighting ISIS in Iraq in 2017. In a text message sent to his supervisor before deploying, he said he did not care where the Navy sent him, as long as there was “sure action,” adding, “We just want to kill as many people as possible.”

He ended up in an advisory role largely behind front lines. But several men under his command told Navy authorities that he remained fixated on killing, and said they saw him shoot civilians with a sniper rifle and stab a captive teenage ISIS fighter in the neck. Their reports eventually led to the war crimes charges filed against the chief.

After Chief Gallagher was arrested in 2018, his family appeared repeatedly on Fox News, insisting that he had been wrongly accused. Soon Mr. Trump became a supporter, praising Chief Gallagher’s “past service to our country” on Twitter. Mr. Trump directed the Navy to release the chief from pretrial confinement in the spring of 2019 and ordered paperwork to pardon him before his trial in June.

During the trial, the Navy’s case against Chief Gallagher fell into disarray as a key witness, Special Operator Scott, changed his story on the stand and prosecutors canceled the testimony of other witnesses, fearing they would do the same. A jury made up largely of seasoned combat veterans found Chief Gallagher not guilty of nearly all counts.

After the acquittal, the president congratulated him on Twitter saying, “Glad I could help!”

But Admiral Green was worried about the message that the Gallagher case was sending to the rest of force. In July, he sent a letter to the SEAL teams warning that the spate of incidents of drug use and violence in the SEAL teams showed “we have a problem,” and that leaders “must now take a proactive approach to prevent the next breach of ethical and professional behavior.”

In Chief Gallagher’s case, though he had been acquitted on the murder charge, Navy officials were considering administrative punishment for other possible misconduct uncovered during the investigation.

The Navy had found unauthorized grenades, stolen equipment and illicit drugs in his house and in his work locker, according to the Navy’s criminal investigation report. When investigators seized the chief’s phone, they found text exchanges suggesting he was illegally using the narcotic painkiller Tramadol, as well as marijuana and ecstasy.

Chief Gallagher has denied that he did anything unlawful in Iraq, and his lawyer, Mr. Parlatore, said the purported drug and equipment offenses had already been investigated and had been deemed insignificant.

The part of the case taken over by the chief Navy officer in Washington concerns the minor charge on which Chief Gallagher was convicted in the trial — posing for a photo with a corpse. The officer hearing the case had recommended that the chief be demoted by one rank, with the possibility that he could be further reduced to the lowest rank in the military, E-1. The regional commander overseeing the court-martial, Rear Adm. Bette Bolivar, had the authority to adjust or overturn the conviction and sentence.

Chief Gallagher’s legal team pressed Admiral Bolivar to suspend his punishment so the chief could retire from the Navy with full rank and a clean record. Admiral Bolivar replied in a letter Aug. 1 that she found the chief's conduct reprehensible and had no intention of suspending his sentence.

That was when the chief’s legal team informed the Navy that they would “take their case to Washington,” according to a Navy official with knowledge of the exchange. On the same day that Admiral Bolivar’s letter was sent, the Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. John M. Richardson, along with the Secretary of the Navy, Richard V. Spencer, went to the White House for a meeting with Mr. Trump.

A senior Navy official said the two men had not expected to discuss the Gallagher case, and were surprised when the president brought it up, expressing his displeasure that prosecutors had received commendations for what he regarded as a botched handling of the case.

Though White House officials insist the case was not discussed, within hours of the meeting, Admiral Richardson took the Gallagher, Portier and Scott cases from Admiral Bolivar.

Charges against Lieutenant Portier were dismissed that same day, and the investigation of Special Operator Scott was halted. Neither man responded to requests for comment.

Mr. Parlatore said he had not contacted the White House and had no knowledge of any intervention by the president. He said he welcomed the president’s involvement if it happened because his client was threatened with punishment for minor misconduct that is often overlooked in the SEAL teams. “If the president has a deterrent effect and can prevent retaliation, we’re thankful for that,” he said.

A new Chief of Naval Operations, Adm. Michael M. Gilday, took command in August, but has not changed course. His final decision in the Gallagher case is expected by the end of October.

Admiral Green was not available to discuss the case, according to Cmdr. Tamara Lawrence, a Navy spokeswoman, who added that “it would be inappropriate to speculate on any administrative actions, as no decisions have been made.”

On the night of the leadership demotions in Team 7, Chief Gallagher made an unauthorized appearance at a “Patriot Awards” gala in Nashville, alongside Mr. Trump’s former national security adviser, Michael Flynn, who pleaded guilty to lying to the F.B.I. Both men accepted awards from the country music star Charlie Daniels.

“What an honor,” a post on Chief Gallagher’s Instagram account said.

Maggie Haberman and John Ismay contributed reporting from Washington.

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habibialkaysani · 5 years

Text

The Devil in Star City (Laurel/Nyssa; T) - Part III

Ships: Laurel/Nyssa

Summary: “My name is Laurel Lance. When I was eight years old I was in a car accident that left me without sight. But in the process, my other senses were heightened.

By day, I am a defence attorney, ready to fight for justice in the courtroom on behalf of those who the law has failed. By night, I am someone else. I am something else.

I am Daredevil.”

Part I

Part II

A/N: I feel like it's been a while since I've updated this and I know why - I've been sidetracked with my original project and also RL has been kicking my ass. Anyway, this chapter has a fair amount of discuss about addiction and alcoholism, so if those are triggering subjects for you, please read with caution.

Read at AO3

The Wildcat boxing ring had been disused for years, so Laurel was surprised to hear the quiet murmur of voices as she approached. Chairs were being scraped into place, telling her a meeting was about to happen.

It had been a long day, one of those that seemed never-ending, involving tedious document production and listening to the tinny tones of shitty music playing as she waited on hold yet again. She’d had a lot of those - long days, that is - and it always caught people by surprise when she let them know she was still interning even after she’d passed her Bar exam.

But she knew they were getting close, that she and Joanna might finally be able to get their dream jobs at Landman and Zach if they stuck around just a little while longer. It was just that now they were closer to the finish line, Laurel was wondering if she really wanted to cross it.

When she'd finally called it a day (night, even) at around eleven, she had found herself toying with the bottom drawer of her tiny desk. She'd known what was inside, hidden beneath manila envelopes and endless heaps of documents - a bottle of scotch, sent to her by courier from a particularly rich and particularly grateful client. Laurel had insisted she couldn't accept a gift, but that hadn't stopped her keeping it at the bottom of her drawer anyway. She hadn't had a drop - that was kind of the point, a way for her to prove her strength of willpower, if only for herself.

And it wasn't that she thought she was going to slip. Not really. More that she needed to be around other people - those who weren't Joanna or her priest.

There was movement behind her and Laurel fought the urge to whip around quickly into a defensive position. It seemed Lia's training from years ago was built into Laurel, down to her very reflexes - no matter how hard Laurel had fought it.

“Hey, you okay there?”

“Yeah,” Laurel said automatically. “Just looking for the meeting that's supposed to be happening here.”

“Well, you've come to the right place.”

Laurel made a point of quickly reaching for the doorknob herself, holding it open for the woman, who took the hint and stepped inside. Laurel followed.

“Wow, it's been years since I've been here and yet it smells exactly the same.” Laurel shivered - less because of the cold, more because of the goosebumps erupting on her spine as she took in the familiar aroma of sweat mixed with spilt sand of punchbags split open. It wasn't that that smell was especially pleasant - more the fact that this place was tied to Laurel and the turbulence whirling in her brain otherwise known as emotions - in too damn many ways.

But then she took in a deep breath - she wasn't going to get sucked into old memories. That wasn't why she was here tonight.

“You’ve been here before?” the woman asked, and the question helped ground Laurel into reality again, thankfully, reminding her of her purpose.

“Yeah. My dad - he used to box here. He would bring me along with him, let me do my homework while he trained.”

“I see.” There was a pause of hesitation. “I haven't seen you here before. Mind you, we don't get a lot of the fancy types here. Or at all.”

“Come again?”

“It’s midnight and you're here in a suit. Are you… a businesswoman or something?”

“Lawyer,” Laurel said, and she understood now that for once it was her clothing and not something else that made her incongruous to her surroundings. “Well. Intern, really. But hopefully a lawyer someday.”

“Nice.”

“And I finished late at work today.” She offered no other explanation and yet the woman didn't seem to question this.

“Right. I'm Mia, by the way.”

“Dinah,” Laurel replied.

“Good to meet you, Dinah.”

Five minutes later, the room was full and the organiser, Harleen, cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming. I see we have some new faces tonight. Would you like to start us off and introduce yourselves…”

“Tommy,” said the man nearest to Harleen. Then Laurel felt Mia nudge her arm slightly.

“Dinah,” Laurel said. “My name's Dinah. I'm an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Dinah,” the group murmured back.

“Okay, welcome, Dinah, Tommy. Do either of you have anything you want to share?”

Laurel took a deep breath. “Mind if I go first, Tommy?”

“Be my guest,” Tommy replied.

“Yeah. So - this isn't my first meeting. Far from it. I just - I - I haven't been to a meeting in a while. At least a year, actually. I figured… if I've been sober almost that whole time, what's the point, right?”

“Congratulations on your sobriety, Dinah,” Harleen said. There was a murmur of agreement from the people around her, and for a stupid, fleeting second Laurel thought she actually deserved to be congratulated.

“Thank you,” Laurel said sincerely. “It hasn't been easy. But I found that if I ever felt the urge to drink - it helped to go to confession. I'm Catholic… and I don't always feel or act like it, but when I went to church it felt like I could get something heavy off my chest. And, I don't know - maybe I thought that if I went to church, it meant I didn't have to go to a meeting. After all, having a priest isn't so different from having a sponsor. The only difference, really, is that my priest pretends not to know who I am when I see him at Mass that Sunday. That's part of confession. The anonymity is something of a pretence. It's less so here.

“Anyway… when I started on the programme, one of the first things my sponsor had me do was make amends with people I had hurt as a result of my addiction. I remember her being surprised that there was only really one person I could think of, my best friend, who’s also interning at the firm I'm at. My sponsor, she asked me - about family. Other friends. There must have been other people, not just one. But there weren’t. I mentioned it to some others at my meetings downtown and they seemed envious. Like that somehow meant I had my shit together or that I was well-adjusted.”

“You don't think that's true?” Harleen said.

“I know it's not,” Laurel said without hesitation. “If anything - I was jealous of them in a way. Because the real reason there was only one person on my amends list is because… no one else was close enough to me to get hurt by my drinking. I learned years ago to not let anyone in. To push people away even when they do care. Jo - my friend - was the only one to stick around. And -” But she broke off now, Nyssa's beautiful damn face shimmering in her mind's eye. “Anyway,” Laurel finished somewhat lamely, “thank you all for listening.”

“Thanks, Dinah. What about you, Tommy?”

From beside her Tommy cleared his throat. The whole time she had been talking, Laurel could hear him shifting in his chair, like he couldn’t get comfortable. “Tommy. Alcoholic.”

“Hi, Tommy.”

“It's been - a week since my last drink.”

“That first week's always the hardest,” Harleen added. “But you made it, Tommy. You should be proud of yourself.”

And there was something quietly amazing about the solidarity that surged through the group as Laurel heard the people around her nod vigorously, echoing the familiar sounds of assent and encouragement. She wasn’t sure what about it amazed her - just that here was a bunch of people with otherwise little in common, but who shared the same struggle and faced a hard choice that had to be remade every day, every second, sometimes.

“It's just hard, I guess, sometimes, when I'm at work. I work at an office. Nothing fancy, really, but there's a big drinking culture in the there. And it's not really the kind of culture or environment that has addicts in mind.”

“Hear, hear,” Laurel said under her breath, not thinking that Tommy heard her until he chuckled.

“No one at work knows. About the alcoholism, I mean. For so long I was denying that it was even a problem because to everyone else it seemed like I had it under control. And now I know it's an issue - well, I get the feeling if my boss knew, I wouldn't have a job anymore.”

“If that does happen, you know that’s illegal, right?” Laurel said - audibly this time, and she could sense the heads swivel towards her at that. “Sorry,” she said after a few seconds of silence. “You probably already knew that. And I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Carry on, Tommy.”

“I guess the hardest part about sobriety to me isn't me going cold turkey on the booze - though, trust me, that's not to say that part is easy. Far from it. It's more… the loneliness. So many of the real conversations I've had with my friends, the ones that matter, have been over a beer. And now I just am making all these excuses, and my best friend, he knows something's up, but I haven't told him.”

“Why not?” Mia asked.

“I just know things will change with us. Like he'll feel the need to walk on eggshells around me and I don't think I could handle that. Not from Ollie.”

Another voice from across the circle now. “Give it time. You'll get there.”

When the meeting was over a little while later, Laurel knew Tommy was lingering. He stayed behind and helped Harleen put away the chairs, and Laurel stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, just out of Tommy's sight. To her surprise, it seemed Tommy had only stayed behind to put away the chairs - Laurel could tell that he wanted to say something to Harleen, but he didn't, except for a quiet “thank you”.

Perhaps ill-advisedly, Laurel chose that moment to step forward and it made Tommy jump.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Laurel said quickly.

“No, I'm sorry - I should have watched where I was -”

“Please don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Exactly what you’re worried people will do with you if they knew you came here. Don't tread on eggshells around me. Please.”

She knew Tommy was nodding, and he quickly said, “Okay. Understood. Were you… waiting to talk to me, or something?”

Laurel shook her head at first - she'd wanted to talk to the organiser, Harleen, but now she wasn't so sure. So after a second she nodded. “Yeah. Just wanted to - apologise for interrupting earlier.”

“That's okay. For the record - I do know it's illegal for them to fire me for being a drunk, but that doesn't mean they can't use it against me if I ever disclose it to them. Especially if it affects my performance at work.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm just the secretary.”

She tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t quite mask it. Thankfully, he chuckled too.

“Yeah, I know. Not what you’d expect.”

“No, it’s not that.” Laurel knew that Tommy didn’t believe her, though, and then she conceded, “Okay. Maybe part of it is that. I guess I just -”

“- expected me to be suited and booted like you?”

“The job is nowhere near as glamorous as you might think. But yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, hey. Who knows - maybe in another lifetime I wouldn’t be coming from such humble beginnings.”

Briefly they were interrupted by Harleen clearing her throat from behind them.

“Sorry, guys - I don’t wanna be annoying but I’ve got to lock up here. It’s getting late.”

“No worries - thanks for today,” Tommy said.

“Yeah,” Laurel added. “Thanks, Harleen. We’ll get out of your hair. 'Night.”

“Goodnight,” Harleen returned with a smile in her voice.

It was then that Tommy held out his arm. Automatically Laurel took it, almost without a second thought, and Tommy's resultant intake of breath was clearly audible as Laurel let him guide her out the door.

Moments like these made Laurel wonder if this kind of close contact counted as familiarity or intimacy, when to an extent it was the manufactured variety and so didn't really count. It wasn't like Laurel needed a helping hand, not with her amplified senses - but then again, maybe that was why she let people guide her from room to room.

Now, for instance, Laurel had no trouble noting the precise offbeat of Tommy's heart and his careful breathing when Laurel accidentally (or on purpose) inched closer to him or nudged against his side.

“Do you live far from here?” he asked, and again, Laurel tried to hide her laugh but couldn't quite manage it. “I don't mean like that - just, I figured I could hail you a cab?”

Laurel sighed. “Sure.” Tommy shuffled a little on his feet then and she couldn't help but add, “Hey, word of advice? Don't be like me. Don't close yourself off.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I never said it would be easy. But sometimes - sometimes you have to take a leap of faith and just… hope for the best. And if your friend Ollie is a decent person, he'll understand. He might even be able to help you.”

“How do you figure?” Tommy said, clearly unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Reaching down, Laurel moved her hand so it was loosely around Tommy's wrist and then enclosed his hand with her own.

“Now that bit is easy. Staying clean is hard. But having someone or something you love to stay sober for? That makes it a little less so.”

She could hear a cab approaching and quickly hailed it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Laurel replied.

“Who do you stay clean for?” Tommy asked, just the car came to a stop a few yards from them.

Laurel couldn't help but smile. “I'll let you know if I ever figure that out.”

Tagging: @therewas-a-girl @pinkletterday @snarkysnartes @sophiainspace @stungunmilly2 @blackcanary567 @lexnacker @themessytwentysomething @homosexual-hairflip @heartless241

#lauryssa #laurel x nyssa #laurel lance #arrow fanfiction #daredevil au #mattelektra au #mine #my fic #alcoholism tw #addiction tw #otp: dinner's on me #tommy merlyn #merlance #otp: this is different #harleen quinzel #fic: the devil in star city

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the-skooma-den · 5 years

Photo

Aight! part 2 to my whole shebang on my eso main syke! Part 1 is here and it covers the basics of who/what she is. This one is how she goes through the main plot, all thats under cut

And here is a directory to both posts about her, as well as the ones about her siblings

Were gonna do this bullet point style .also just assume the main plot quests are going on at the same time, the “main” quest remains relatively unchanged aside from her relationship with Abnur Tharn, who is her grandfather, which although it sounds important really isnt because she hates him.

Pre main plot: Mostly covered in the previous posts

Her time before the main plot, as a member of the brotherhood. At the time of her kidnapping she was mentally a wreck and moments away from a mental break. She was on a lot of drugs and was drunk pretty often, it was a very bad scene. On top of that morally speaking was pretty ambiguous if not downright evil.She was actually infamous in the brotherhood for her ruthlessness. (It’s actually a common story to tell the new recruits about the time she slit a babies throat in front of its mother because the mother got in her way). Overall unsympathetic and completely apathetic to worries of the world around her.

It’s worth noting that deep down she was already ashamed of herself, which fueled a lot of her unhealthy behavior. She doesnt see much wrong with how the brotherhood operates in general (she was literally raised in their cult so not much surprise there) But her earned reputation as being brutal was not one she was proud of

Eventually she was drunk one night and was captured and sacrificed by the worm cult, thus starting the main plot

Cold Harbor: She was in cold harbor for a long long while ,she’s not actually sure how long she was there. It felt like years, but when she got back to nirn she had only been missing for about 6 months, and some of the injuries she couldve sworn were there for a months looked only hours old when she escaped. Her experience there haunts her for a long time,pretty much the rest of her life, but she does her best to deal with it. Her time here cause her first real shift, because now she cares about something. Even if it’s just caused he pissed her off. She’ll stop at nothing to stop Molag Bal even at the cost of her life. Which might not really be an issue in the first place, as thanks to her lack of a soul she is essentially immortal. Whenever she “dies” her body falls to the ground and her concienness is left to wander nearby while it magically heals (unless the body is completely destroyed, then she ends up at a wayshrine a while later)

Cold harbor is where she got her most prominent scars. The shackles around her neck (mostly on the back of her neck) and wrists and lashes on her back. All of her piercing were ripped out as well. Her hair is extremely matted and overall shes just gross and uncomfortable She also has 2 neat and precise stab wounds above her heart from manimarco.

Khenarthi’s roost/ Auridon: After Razum-dar drags her out of the ocean looking like hell, She’s so dazed from ya know,dying and coming back to life that she doesnt bother coming up with any kind of character or disguise, she barely even has the mind to come up with her fake name,Syke.

When he dredged her up he immediately brought her to healers and though they had to work pretty quickly they fixed her up well. They cut off all the matted bits of her hair (which she later fixed into her little Mohawk thing), they healed up all her tears from the piercings being ripped out. They also healed up the wound from the shackles and whips the best they could ,they couldn’t do it all the way through but they made sure it wouldn’t get infected at least, but there was no way to stop it from scarring.

She actually does know who Raz is even though they’ve never met, she’s just heard of him. She figures “Hey getting the support of the Queen and her spy force would be useful” so she goes along with it and helps him. She manages to conceal the fact she knows who he is pretty well, but he is still suspicious. (which to be fair a women who was recently pretty clearly a prisoner falling out fo the sky and clearly being a experience fighter and mage isn’t exactly normal). She proves herself dangerously competent, extremely useful (and also kinda hot) so Raz asks for her help on Auridon as well.

Only a few notable divergent from the main plot of things happen while on Auridon. The first is that after she is appointed as an Eye of the queen she asks the queen to speak privately for a moment and while no one knows 100% of what they spoke about, the main thing is that this is when Syke explains the whole “I have no soul and am planning on killing Molag Bal to get it back” thing. As his invasion is starting to really mount up by this point the queen promises to support the endeavor whenever it happens so on so forth.

The second is an extra moment between Raz and Syke after the quest at Mathiisen. Basically She looks at Raz and realizes since she’s met him like 4 of his friends have died. She’s not very good with people or emotion but, well they may not really trust each other but they still like each other…and she’s at least pretty sure they're friends,all his other friends are kinda dead, she figures she might as well TRY to comfort him. This ends up with them getting absolutely smashed in the local inn and is basically an excuse for exposition because Raz knows almost nothing about her at this point. He does end up learning quite a bit about her, including that she’s from a little town north of silvinar (which honestly, kinda obvious. She has a pretty strong east bosmeri accent even after living away from there for years and years), and that she’s at least somewhat noble with little to no interest in claiming her titles. She greatly downplays HOW noble she is. He returns the favor and tell her he’s from a little farming village and She immediately guesses what part of Elsweyr hes from, shes spent a lot of time there in her youth, and she could identify that southern Anequina accent anywhere. After this she takes to jokingly calling him Farm Boy…if only in private. They also learn more about each others families, though it mostly amounts to funny stories about their younger siblings.

They wake up horribly hungover (and naked) the next day and go on their separate ways for a bit. (aka, he goes to meet up with the Queen on their way to the festival in skywatch, Syke goes and does some sidequests and then they meet up during the festival. The plot continues)

Last little side note here is her addiction to skooma and other drugs. Dying, spending a long time in spooky terrible ghost hell prison, and then kinda but not really coming back to life has some pretty funny affects on a person. She didn’t get any kind of magical cure for her addiction, she was basically just forced to go cold turkey for god knows how long. She’s in an ok enough mental space to at least refuse skooma, but she still hits the alcohol pretty frequently.

Valenwood: Valenwood is where things get a little conflicted with her personal life, Namely because of her sister, Nia. (more on her in part 1 but quick summary, she ran away almost 10 years ago and faked her death,and then showed up with the bosmeri noble members of their family completely denouncing her, their mother and the rest of their family)

So while Syke is off doing the main quest in Valenwood, Raz puts together that one of the Dominions biggest supporters among the Bosmeri Nobles matches Sykes description of her sister. Raz decides to tell said Noble about the whole thing and she confirms that, that sounds a LOT like what happened between her and her sister. Raz learns a bit more about the whole family drama he has somehow stumbled into, including the whole “Nia ran away Thing, but doesn’t learn much about Syke specifically. Just that her and Nia are actually cousins, they have different last names and that she’s pretty much always gone by fake names or nicknames (and that Nia is working of the correct assumption that Syke wouldnt appreciate her real name being revealed)

Nia at this point, does not regret leaving and knows it was what was best for her, but defiantly regrets how she did it. Raz informs her that hes actually going to see Syke at Marbruk and invites her along to try and apologize to Syke.

Raz is expecting some heart felt reunions and tearful apologies and is of course surprised when Syke didn’t even let Nia say two words. She saw Nia, was stunned enough that Nia took off her mask without struggle but before she could get even 2 words out Syke decked her. Hard

So Raz talks to Nia (once she wakes up) and learns some alarming things from her. Mostly why Nia ran away in the first place (she didnt want to be a member of the dark brotherhood and being a impulsive teenager who figured that faking her death was the best option) and that yeah, Syke is not just a member of the brotherhood, but a really notable one,and also a lot about her …disturbing reputation in it. Not to mention the fact she’s a bit higher up on the nobility scale then she originally implied…by like a lot. She is pretty close to inheriting several thrones and important titles, and is by the way, Abnur tharns granddaughter.

Raz, of course, runs to the Queen to deliver the information that yeah, their extremely efficient new recruit is a member of the brotherhood, and is the granddaughter of the man who tortured her. The Queen already knows. Syke isnt dumb, she figured this might come up eventually and told the Queen first chance she got (remember that conversation in Auridon?). Ayrenn agreed to continue letting her be an Eye,with the understanding that if Syke ever moved against the Dominion she’d be killed on the spot. As for the Abnur Tharn thing, well Syke never really knew him. At the time of the Auridon conversation she had never met him, and you can’t really hold a person accountable for the actions of a relative she never knew… Course Syke had at this point met Abnur tharn multiple times but even someone with zero social grace like her understood that this was not the time to mention it.

Raz is pissed at Ayrenn and Syke for not telling him any of this, Syke is pissed at Nia for…everything she’s done for almost 10 years, and Ayrenn and Nia are getting along surprisingly well (and lowkey are kinda dating). Nia follows Syke around for the rest of the main Dominion plot, Syke is not happy about it but damn Nia’s hard to shake. Nia is as stubborn as her sister and If Syke won’t forgive her then she can at least try and help get her sisters soul back.

The Raz and Syke thing gets resolved before the end of Valenwood after another brief conversation where it really hits Raz with the pure amount of shit Syke’s been through and is still going through.

Yeah hes still mad, but shes desperately trying to apologize to him and honestly sometimes you have to cut a person some slack. Whatever her reasons for joining in the first place she is genuinely loyal to the Dominion (if she wasn’t those giant golden wing tattoos on her back were a real stupid move). There’s no way around the fact he’s a little intimidated by her now, for several reasons really. And it sucks and it hurts her but you can’t really blame him.

The main plot counties as it does, though I like to think they get a slight break at the end to actually enjoy the celebration appointing the new Silvinar and Green Lady for a couple days before things go to shit and she has to run out to reapers march.

Appearance wise, shes starting to replace her Piercings and she’s getting tattoos to cover her scars. Golden Laurels around the shackle marks and Golden eagle winds to cover the whip marks on her back. She really believes in the Queen at this point and thinks Ayrenn is the best bet Cyrodill has, to the point she’s decided to represent it on her body.

Reapers March: (technically part of Valenwood I think but i figure it deserved its own part) Even more shit hits the fan now, cause being declared an important figure in a completely different religion isn’t something that’s gonna help a crisis of faith. So a few things happen here.

A third member joins the party, Syke’s little adoptive brother Jo’Thera, a Khajiiti Necromancer and fellow member of the brotherhood shows up. He was besides being her little brother, easily Syke’s best friend. He knows She’s been unhappy for a long time now and when she disappeared he was the only one who didn’t just assume she killed herself. The moment he heard a rumor that a woman who sounded a lot like Syke was running around the Dominion territory he took off after her. (side note, the reunion between him and Nia isn’t as violent as her and Syke’s, its just bitter and cold and sad). He was never really all that loyal to the brotherhood, he was mostly in it for his family so when Syke explains the situation he’s just fucking ready man, ride or die. Fuck it lets go off the grid, tearing credit cards and shit if she’s out then he is. (She’s not actually out yet, leaving was never in the question for her. She desperately wants to get back to her famly she just wants her soul back first. He’s just supportive) and Syke is considerably happier to have him along then she was Nia (who while ostracized by her siblings, is still following along). He kinda creeps everyone out, cause on one hand he’s a perfectly cheerful friendly man. On the other hand he’s a necromancer assassin. It’s just an unsettling combination...It doesnt help that he aware hes creepy and finds unsettling people extremely fun.

So of course Senalana happens. She lets Raz live, so he is of course extremely mad. and thats a whole damn thing. It’s not to different from what happens in game, just imagine afterwards it’s more of a real argument rather then Raz just yelling at her, also its longer. And also imagine some more romantic tension between the player and Raz .LIke they aren’t really dating yet, but they've defiantly banged multiple times and theyre both lying about not having feelings for each other

She does have a good reason for letting him live outside of their growing romantic relationship. She doesn’t really believe in the dominion so much as she believes in Ayrenn and Razum-dar. She’s seen to much of the Dominion from the inside and out to really think well of it, but she knows Ayrenn. And she knows Raz. If someone has to be emperor/empress of her home she’d prefer it to be Ayrenn. However she is also convinced the Ayrenn won’t be able to do that without Raz specifically, Syke has seen them work together and at least from Sykes point of view if one loses the other then any hope the Dominion has of winning this war is fucked.

Anyway that whole argument ends up in a shouting match at the end of which Syke takes the circlet,disappears for a few weeks, hides it her own damn self and then continues on the main quest.

This is the main reason why it really took Raz and Syke so long to get together, if it weren’t for this they would have been together before Syke went back to coldharbor easy. This complicated things a bit, made them both think

Syke chooses Shazah as the Mane and was really torn up by Khali’s death. This only real difference between this and the canon quest is that she actually threatens Shazah towards the end of it, like full on knife to throat, right after watching Raz and Ayrenn die. Basically saying that if any of this comes to pass, Syke will hunt down the traitors first, then Shazah. And if it comes to it she’ll take the Ruby throne for herself (one of those moments that everyone remembers that she is a noble woman, even if she doesnt use the title. and also that no one but her really knows just how high up she is). Shazah asks her if she loves him. (him being Raz, she did just watch Syke sob over his body, then only tear up a little at Ayrenns corpse). Syke doesn’t Deny it, she doesn’t say anything. They just keep moving.

(Also Raz and the rest were being kept updated on what was happening during the whole ceremony and up until this point it was basically a mix of dark humor about their own deaths and sympathy for the girls having to go through it. At this point it goes dead quiet, eyes turn to Raz, and im not gonna extend this further by adding a pic of the surprised pikachu meme but in spirit its here and representing Raz’s face)

The main plot keeps on rolling till it’s time to storm cold harbor. She does go in alone though, despite her siblings insistence, she refuses to put them in danger of losing their souls to.

She has one final conversation with Raz before she goes, they admit nothing cause theyre stubborn bastards but they do apologize to each other

Cold Harbor: There’s really not much different here about how syke goes through it. The only things of note are that she’s terrified for the whole thing and also makes friends with a few of the other reoccurring characters, namely Darien, who i think shows up earlier then he actually does in game because he basically ends up her sidekick through the whole thing (though he might say otherwise). She is suitably distraught when he disappears. She helps out in the search for him whenever she can spare the time after that.

The Dlc start to happen about a year after the main quest (that year is when all the things like that mages and fighter guild happen). At this point her hair does keep going grey but once the stress of “I have no soul and i’m going to fight a god” goes away it slows down a lot. The worst of her scars are already covered by tattoos and her favorite piercings have already been replaced, so this point any additional piercings and tattoos are just for fun because she likes them.

as for the last 2 drawings,One is just her in game look,I thought it be fun to put in here. the other is just a reminder that she almost always wears a mask and that variations of this mask are the only thing most characters will ever see of her.

#my art #skooma rambles #Syke #eso #the vestige #Lordy this got long #im happy with it though #i might go even further into certain events later just becuase #this is so much fucking fun for me #also yeah apparently a part 3 for the dlc is coming

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slateroofpress · 3 years

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Myth, Sonnets, and Immigration: Susan Glass Interviews Broadside Winner Armen Davoudian

Susan Glass is our blogger with interviews of fellow poets, literary journeys, and all things poetical. In this blog post, she talks with Armen Davoudian, who won the 2019 Slate Roof Glass Poetry Broadside Prize for his poem "Ararat."

Armen Davoudian is the author of Swan Song, which won the 2020 Frost Place Chapbook Competition. His poems and translations from Persian appear in AGNI, The Sewanee Review, The Yale Review, and elsewhere. He grew up in Isfahan, Iran and is currently a PhD candidate in English at Stanford University.

S G: Thank you for talking with me today. In “Ararat,” I hear and read a recurring theme in your poetry, the tensions between a myth and its various retellings, or between a myth and a reality — tensions underscored by parallel tensions within a speaker. In "Ararat," we have the tensions between the raven and the dove, and a shadow and an image almost touching. There's also the dove's olive branch that splinters, and can never be carried back.

It's hard to return home after absence, to find ourselves or our homes exactly as they were before we left. Were you thinking about these tensions when you wrote "Ararat," and how they play out in your homeland and in your life?

A D: Thanks for commenting on the tension between myth and reality. Ararat, the mountain, is an important symbol in Armenia, and for Armenians. I am ethnically Armenian, so it's been a present image since childhood. The mountain itself used to be in Armenian soil, but now it's in Turkey. So there's symbolism and tension around it. Ararat is traditionally seen as the place where Noah's ark landed. I've always been interested in that story and the story of the flood as a kind of allegory for immigration. We leave one world behind, and wash up on the shores of a new world.

Purchase the broadside "Ararat" at http://slateroofpress.com/contest2019b.html#poems

S G: The speaker in "Ararat" identifies as "prodigal."

A D: Right. The Prodigal Son is another Biblical story, and in that story he does go back home and is accepted with open arms. But maybe that's one of the tensions between reality and myth. In the real world you never really can go back. The place has changed and you have changed.

S G: "Ararat" is a sonnet, as is "Black Garlic," the poem that opens Swan Song (see https://bullcitypress.com/product/swan-song-by-armen-davoudian/).You handle the sonnet form with flexibility, and delightfully surprising word arrangements. What intrigues you about the sonnet?

A D: I find poetic forms musically appealing. With the sonnet, there's an asymmetry between its two unequal halves that attracts me. The sonnet was a courtly love poem that originated in the 13th century. But I feel that it's perfectly suited for the story of immigration and displacement because of that division in the middle. There's also a long tradition of the political sonnet going back to Milton. I'm interested in how this tiny form can fit such huge personal and political subjects within itself. Big ideas and feelings in a small package.

S G: Yes. It welcomes and forces our attention on to the issues at hand because of that paradox.

A D: I think so. One of the distinguishing characteristics of poetry is its brevity, and brevity as possibility. It's not a shortcoming, it's a possibility. Brevity allows you to do different things. It's transferable. It's portable. You can hold it in your mind and in your mouth. You can't memorize a whole novel, but you can memorize an entire sonnet.

S G: What you are saying about the power of a sonnet's brevity reminds me of how Seamus Heaney could take the immensity of the sectarian violence happening in Ireland, and fit it into the tiny sonnet form.

A D: Heaney’s sonnet sequences have been really important to me. I admire how he fits a family story, the sequence about his mother, for instance, into this tiny form. And I like the way he fits food into his work, the way food is so sensual for him, like his references to oysters and potatoes — pregnant with meaning, but in a way that doesn't cancel out its physical properties. You can still taste it even though it stands in for a whole range of meanings.

S G: Attention to food comes through in your work too. I'm thinking about "Wake-up Call," and the tender attention you pay to tea-making, and breakfast preparation, and the speaker who is both present and yet absent. I feel as I read this poem, a lifelong homesickness, longing, tenderness.

A D: Thank you.

S G: I know that you are a fluent speaker, reader, and writer of Persian, Armenian, and English. This allows you access to a plethora of images, metaphors, and mindsets. In which language do you compose? Dream? Are some of your poems better suited for one language than for another?

A D: I grew up in a small, diasporic Armenian community in Iran, so I learned Armenian first, even though the language of instruction in school was Persian. And I learned to read and write in both Armenian and Persian. But now I write exclusively in English. I also translate from Persian, and more recently from Armenian. I'm visiting my parents in Los Angeles right now, and here I speak Armenian. Persian has become an almost exclusively literary language for me, and these days I only read it or write it. So I sometimes feel out of touch with it as a living language. I'm comfortable living in and with English now, though I occasionally must think about what is the correct preposition (at college, on campus). But I think it helps sometimes to be a little alienated from what you love, or from the tools you're working with. It helps sometimes to see them as an outsider.

S G: So as you move through your daily life, what language are your thoughts in?

A D: Mostly in English. I'm in grad school, so I'm thinking about grad school stuff. But if I'm cooking a Persian meal, I'm thinking about the ingredients and the recipe and the preparation in Persian. And if I'm remembering something my granddad said, that will be in Armenian.

S G: Several of your poems address political strife using direct, emotionally engaging language that insists we pay attention. You make us feel what too many news blasts and too much information would rather smother. I'm thinking of your lament about former president Trump and the many children stranded at the U.S. Mexican border. You write: "they are wrapping them in Mylar / and putting them to sleep where they used to house ammo." Then you juxtapose the word "ammo" to a mother calling, "te amo, te amo." You make what's political human. How important is this to your writing, and does it figure in your current projects?

A D: Thank you for asking that. We live in a time of bombardment and desensitization. You read these things in the news and at some point they stop moving you. But I don't think this applies to political realities only. When I think of one of my favorite people ever, my grandfather, and the fact that he's dead, I can say that and it doesn't stir any kind of emotional response in me, until I put it in a poem that does excite emotion. So I think that's how I feel about the political reality too. Unless you're in it, it's distant. I feel like it's our job as writers to make it present and make people feel it. One of the ways that I try to do that is by pointing out those weird linguistic coincidences (“ammo” and “te amo”). We have this tender confession of love on a mother's part, and the exact opposite in that "ammo."

S G: I listened on YouTube to a presentation called “Don't Look Away,” a literary series sponsored by the International Armenian Literary Alliance. You participated as a reader. I imagine you are actively involved? Can you share a bit about the organization and its work?

A D: Yes, I’m a member of IALA. It was founded recently as an organization for Armenian writers throughout the world, of which there are many, because the Armenian diaspora is huge. A lot of Armenian writers live outside of Armenia, and it's been a great way to connect with them. They offer a mentorship program for younger Armenian writers, too.

S G: Would you like to talk a bit about the work that you are doing at Stanford? Are you writing? Are you teaching? What is it like to balance your writing and your studies?

A D: I'm doing a PhD in English that does involve teaching. I'm studying modern poetry in English mostly, and I'm writing my dissertation on a literary device called metanoia, which means self-correction. It's a rhetorical term for what some poets do where they'll say one thing, and then retract it, or rephrase it. It can be something as simple as writing "the sky is light blue," and then writing, "no, it's dark blue." But instead of deleting one of these assertions, you keep both of them in the poem. This doesn't happen just on a lexical level. It happens more generally when poets doubt themselves or second guess themselves.

And I find this happens to me as I write poetry. I tend to have a hard time making my mind up about things. So much in the world is ambivalent or ambiguous, and I want to know things clearly as I write, but of course that can't always happen. So in some ways, studying this device, metanoia, has been helpful. It helps to know how other poets handle this problem of trying to write out of uncertainty.

S G: Yes. We'd like to be able to move as we write from uncertainty to certainty. But too often it feels as though we are writing into deeper uncertainty.

A D: One poet whose work I've studied intensively who I think exemplifies this self-doubt is Elizabeth Bishop. Bishop is often seen as this poet who made perfect little lyric poems. But I don't think we have truly grasped how loose and free and prosaic they are.

S G: You are reminding me of her poem, "Manners."

A D: Yes. She and her grandfather are riding in a horse-drawn wagon, and her grandfather says that she must say hello to everyone they pass. It’s the polite thing to do, even though I think that as a lesbian writer, she would have a lot to disagree with in terms of what is “mannerly” to do and what isn't, what is accepted and what isn't. But at the same time, she sees her grandfather's manners as one of the ways he manages to be nice to people, to keep his footing in the world. But she feels really divided about it, and the poems issue from that sense of division, and self-division. That's been instructive for me.

S G: Yes. That speaks to your work. I'm thinking particularly of your poem, "Coming Out of the Shower." It's a poem rich in double meaning ("mama, I'm coming out") as in coming out of the shower and coming out as a gay man. But I also love its sensory richness, and how the speaker says that he's using his mother's shampoo, and will smell like her for the rest of the day.

A D: I use Dr. Bronner’s shampoo usually, which smells like mint. But at some point it just starts smelling like nothing because you get used to it. Other people may smell it on you, but you can’t — not anymore. So using someone else’s shampoo is suddenly a shock to this senselessness. It's almost a perfect metaphor for poetry, how we get used to the world and to language, to the point where they cease to move us, until and unless a poem shakes us out of it

S G: Are you teaching right now?

A D: I'm putting together a proposal for a course next year on the sonnet. I'm excited about that. I want us to look at the form from Petrarch to Terrance Hayes. I'm interested in how the sonnet has survived many centuries to work so well today.

S G: Can you describe your own writing process and your writing space?

A D: I've moved so often — I guess that's part of being a graduate student. I try not to attach myself to a particular place or desk or chair. I don't want to feel like I have to wear a certain pair of pants in order to write. I try to write every day, first thing in the morning, for 2 hours, with coffee. I have a set of books that I keep with me, Seamus Heaney's books among them. When I get stuck, I read a poem by someone whose work I admire, and the flow usually starts again. Some, like Gertrude Stein, are experimental poets and writers who provoke me. I don't write like they do, but they help me get started. They make language opaque again. I notice it again. It's there to be worked with and through.

S G: Whose work do you enjoy reading?

A D: I think I became sure that I wanted to be a writer when I read Proust, first in Persian and then in English. I appreciate his sense of the importance of memory to life. I also gain from him a sense of what an artist's life looks like. I appreciate the importance of erotic tension in his work – desire, love, jealousy. For similar reasons I am drawn to James Merrill's poetry, his love of form, music, memory, and childhood. Then there is the poetry in Persian. The Asian American Writers’ Workshop recently compiled a list of 100 works of Persian literature in English (https://aaww.org/100-essential-books-by-iranian-writers-poetry-hybrid-works-anthologies/). I've always wanted to teach a course on the poetry of exile, so I read poets whose work addresses that.

S G: What are you working on now?

A D: I'm working on my first full-length book of poems. It starts with a crown of sonnets called “The Ring.” My dad had to get his wedding ring re-sized, but he ended up buying a new ring and he gave me the old one. The sequence is about that exchange, that passing down of a memento, and what that means since I probably won't have the kind of traditional marriage that ring was made for.

S G: Has it been challenging or ambivalent or tender to talk to your mom and your dad about being gay?

A D: Yes. They had such a different upbringing in a different place, but still they've been very loving and open. Sometimes I feel like it's taken away one of the tensions that used to drive my poetry!

S G: Will some of the poems from Swan Song find their way into your new book?

A D: About ten of them will. This new book has two long sequences of sonnets, so I'm hesitant to put in any more.

S G: Thank you so much for talking with me today. Is there anything I haven't addressed that you'd like to talk about.

A D: Just thank you so much for the beautiful broadside! My parents were really happy to have it. My mom has framed one and it's in their living room. Thank you for this conversation.

S G: Thank you! I look forward to hearing you read on April 12.

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its-glum-and-dumb · 7 years

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It’s All Coming Back To Me Now

Okay, so this fic wasn’t all my idea. I cowrote this with @thevioletsunflower and it’s a sequel to this fic by @alltheheadcannons so some of the credit must go to them as well. I’m only responsible for what Spot says and most of the non-dialogue bits from everyone. Also, I should note that this fic takes place about a year to a year and a half after the originals. I was picturing the 1992 cast but you can picture whoever you want. Enjoy! :D

During the strike, Race and Spot end up in charge of something together, probably because they both sell in Brooklyn, and when they're left alone, Race just sort of awkwardly looks at the ground. "I know you's mad at me. It's okay. I'll ask Jack to trade my job with someone else. You don' have ta work with me if your uncomfortable."

Spot glances over at him for a second, smacking him on the arm before going back to what he was doing. "Would ya shut your mouth? I ain’t mad at you. I just. I couldn't be around you."

Race looks up at him with tears in his eyes. "But why? What did I do that made you need ta cut me out of your life? Was I that bad?"

Spot turns to face him so fast that he would have fallen if he'd let himself. "Get that thought out of your head right now. Alright? It had nothing to do with you." Turning away again, he leans into the table with his hands gripping the edge as he just stared at the table, begging his walls to not come down.

"Then what?" he demands, trying hard not to let the tears from years of heartbreak come to the surface. "Why would you stop talking to me without even telling me why? What happened?"

"Let it go Higgins. We's got work to do!" He ignores the boy's questions in favor of doing the job that was required of them.

That's enough to make Race break. "Let it go Higgins" was one of the last things Spot ever said to him years ago when he was cutting him out of his life. And hearing them again is too much for him to take. He sits down and pulls his knees to his chest, ducking his head to hide his tears from Spot. But the ragged breathing is unmistakable.

Spot looks over to see him on the ground and frowns a bit, going down to sit next to him. "Tony... Hey. What's goin on in that head of yours?" Reaching a hand out to gently rub the boy’s back in an awkward manner. Spot Conlon does not show affection so he's not sure how to comfort the boy he once called his best friend.

Race swats his hand away. "No! You don't get to pretend you care about me! I loved you and you completely cut me out of your life, and you wouldn't even explain why! You just abandoned me without so much as telling me what I did so I could fix it! And a backrub don't fix that!"

Spot reels back in surprise, instantly retracting his hand. "You... You loved me?" He had suspected that the boy shared at least some of his feelings, but he didn’t know how deep it went.

"Yeah, you asshole! Not that that ever seemed to matter to you!"

Spot sighs a bit as he looks at his lap. "I's sorry, Tony.. Really. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just..."

"You just decided you didn't care about me anymore and left me to fall apart without a word of explanation!"

"I've always cared about you, Higgins. Always. How could you doubt that?"

"Oh, I dunno, how about the fact you ain't talked ta me in over a year!?"

Sighing a bit, he pulls the boy up to a standing position and pulls him into the nearest empty building before closing the doors. "I. I didn't have a choice."

Race crosses his arms. "Oh yeah? How 'bout the choice ta keep seein' me? Or the choice ta explain why ya dumped me? Seems ta me ya had lotsa choices!"

Spot frowns deeply and stays quiet, running his hand through his hair and closing his eyes. "You don't… You don't understand."

"No! No I don't! And I never did! So just fuckin' talk ta me!"

Able to feel himself getting close to exploding, he tries in vain to keep calm but he ends up snapping anyways. "I fuckin' killed someone, Race! I killed a boy. He had a family and a life and I, I took that away from him. Because of me, there's a family that now has a hole and I, I couldn't take it. Didn't exactly help mattas that what we had is illegal. I was barely keeping it together as it was and I just, I couldn't live with myself if the boy I loved ended up in jail or dead. So I had to distance myself so that you wouldn't get in trouble. I had to toughen up and put my walls up so that no one found out. It had nothing to do with you. Okay? I just, I had to. If we had stayed together, we would have gotten something worse than what he did to us. I couldn't take that, so I forced myself to stay away from you."

Race sighs. Hearing Spot talk like that made it really hard to be mad at him. "Spot, we's talked about this. Killin' that guy wasn't your fault. It was self-defense. It don' mean you're a bad guy."

Shaking his head, he squeezes his eyes shut to keep away the tears. "But I am. I didn't have to kill him. And I was barely keeping it together at that. If you had ended up dead, I wouldn't have been able to live with that. I didn't want to take the chance. I'm so sorry Race."

"You woulda died if ya didn't kill him. Either way somebody woulda been dead. An' everybody was glad it was him an' not you."

Frowning still, shaking his head and just changing the subject. "Look, Race. I's sorry I didn't give you an explanation. You certainly deserved one."

"Yeah. I did. How hard is that to slip into a conversation? 'Heya Race, nice weather we been havin', by the way I'm dumpin' you cause I think you're too good for me.'"

Cracking a small smile as he looks up to make eye contact with him. "You are, ya know. You are too good for me. I's an asshole."

"You is. That ain't how ya treat a guy ya care about. An' I coulda dodged the cops as well as you. That's a stupid reason ta drop a fella."

"Yeah, well. It seems like a good idea at the time. Besides, I had the rest of the newsies to worry about. I couldn't very well do that if all my worry was going towards you."

Race rolls his eyes. "Ya don't gotta worry 'bout me. I can take care of myself."

Chuckling softly to himself at that. "Race, you couldn't even get yourself off the fire escape. I know you's tough, but what if we had gotten caught again and they tied you to another pole or fire escape or something and went to kill you after taking me out of the way. Granted, it wouldn’t have been as easy as it was for James, but it still could’ve happened. You wouldn't have been able to do anything and I'd have just had to watch. It would’ve be torture. Trust me, us being apart is better for everyone." Looking down as he says that, it's clear he's trying to convince himself as much as him.

“Bullshit. Loads of people do this without gettin’ caught. We coulda done the same!”

Sighing a bit at that, he looks up at him. "Yeah? How well did that work out for us last time?"

“Now we know what not ta do. We wouldn’t have got caught again.”

"Racer, you're not getting it! It's illegal, what we had. I don't want to be the reason that you end up in jail, okay?"

“Well then you should just ignore me and let me think ya hare me! Problem solved!”

Stepping a little closer to the boy, he looks up so he can look him in the eyes. "You think I like being away from you?? I don't. Okay? It's freaking hell. But it's the safest thing for us. It's just not safe for us to be together."

“Well it wasn’t exactly safe for us to be apart without knowin’ why we was neither!” Race snaps back.

"I don't understand you Racer. Why are you all for jumping back into something that could very easily get both of us killed? Don't you's get it? We's not allowed to love each other like we do! And it's too painful for me to be around you and not be able to do what I want to you. So, call me selfish, but yeah. There you go." Spot continues to make eye contact with Race, refusing to be the one to break it.

“I ain’t wantin’ ta jump back in! I want ya to admit we shoulda never stopped! I don’ wanna date ya now! I’s still mad at ya!”

Feeling his heart drop a little at that statement, he puts up another wall to keep it hidden, making his tone into a sarcastic, teasing one. "Oh, you don't wanna date me, is that it? You's ova me?"

Race glares at him. “It don’ matter if I wanna date ya. I ain’t gonna because you’s an asshole!”

Smirking a bit at the taller boy, he scoffs a bit. "I was an asshole back then and you already said you loved me." Softening his gaze, he takes a slight breath. "But fine. I shouldn't have cut you off. I was wrong, yes, but I stand by my reasons. I was trying to protect you. If it helps at all, it was just as hard for me. I didn't know what was going on with you, I didn't know if you were okay, or what. I thought about you every day, Tony. Every day."

He can start to feel tears in his eyes again. “Then why didn’t you check on me? At least to know if I was alive or dead!

"I couldn't! If I had gone to Manhattan to check on you, I never would have left. You were my addiction, Race, and I had to quit cold turkey.”

Race swallows hard and looks down at the floor. “I- You were the best part in my life. And then you were gone. And I didn’t know why.”

Spot sighs at that. He can tell Race is getting close to tears, so he just reaches out and wraps his arms around around him, pulling him in for a hug. “You were the best part of my life too... It killed me to walk away from that. There were so many times that I had to stop myself from running to Manhattan and kissing you senseless. I had to convince myself you were better without me otherwise I would have. But I was wrong. I was wrong to think that we were better apart, okay? We, when we's together, it's magic. I love you, ya hear? I always have."

Race can’t help himself. He starts crying into Spot’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He missed this so much. Despite all the crap he’s been through, he can’t help but feel better with Spot’s arms around him again.

Closing his eyes again, he just opts to hold him close as he bites his lip to stop himself from crying. The efforts don't last very long after Race starts crying though as Spot can feel the tears rolling down his cheeks after a minute, leading him to just tighten his grip on Race.

“I missed you,” Race manages to choke out between sobs.

"I know, Race. I missed you too..." Hating that his voice had cracked a little, he tries to hide it by placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Race can’t help but smile at that. He wants to hate Spot so much, but right now all he can do is cuddle even closer.

Gently rubbing his shoulder, Spot smiles softly and keeps holding him since he's perfectly content to stay how they are, using one of his hands to wipe at his eyes before putting it back around him.

“I don’t wanna still love you,” Race murmurs into his shoulder.

Smiling slightly at the development, he shifts so he’s looking down at the boy. “Tell me about it. I couldn’t stop if I tried. If I wanted to. You’s under my skin man. The fuck can I do?”

Race can’t help smiling at that. “Things is complicated.”

Once he sees the other boy’s smile, he can’t help but let his get a little bigger. “They’s always gonna be. We’s two boys that love each other in a time when people think we’s criminals for it.”

“An’ you don’ wanna risk it.”

“I didn’t, no. I was scared Racer... I almost died because I’s in love with my best friend. And if I hadn’t fought back, he would have killed you too.” He paused at that, considering whether or not to continue, “I, I don’t know if I told you, but before I tackled him and killed him, he was heading towards the alley to go after you. And you wouldn’t have been able to do anything but scream and kick because you were fastened to the ladder... I hate that there’s always this threat hanging over us. But y’know what?” Looking into the boy’s eyes, he smiles happily at him. “Sitting here, holding you like we did back then.. I’s not scared anymore.”

Race stares at him. “Are ya sayin’ what I think your sayin’?”

Plastering on a cheeky grin and gently runs his fingers through Race’s hair. “Depends. Whaddaya think I’s sayin?”

“You's tryin’ ta get me ta date you again.”

Steeling himself out of instinct, he pulls his fingers out of his hair. “No. I’s simply sayin I ain’t scared. I don’t wanna date you..”

Race nods and looks down. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Oh.”

Resisting the urge to do something to convince him otherwise, he continues. “Why? What were you hopin I was sayin?”

“I dunno. I’s still mad at you. You hurt me bad. But… I missed you loads.”

“I missed you too Racer, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to change what I did. It’s not what I want but it’s still safer for us to not be together.”

He nods. “Yeah. Can we be friends still?”

Fighting his brain that wants to yell that he wants more, he gives a single nod. “Of course. And maybe one day we can work up to being how we was. But for now, this is the safest option..”

Race smiles. “I’d like ta be your friend. An’ Jack’s gonna be happy ‘bout that too.”

Smiling happily again, he places a friendly kiss to the top of his head. “Can I at least tease him an tell him we’s back togetha first?”

Race smiles. “If ya want.”

Once he hears that, he stands up and holds a hand out for you. “Shall we go find him then?”

Race takes it and stands. “I think he’s at the theatre with Davey.”

“Perfect! Lots of witnesses. Let’s go.” With that said, he starts towards the door, opening it and letting you walk out first before following close behind.

Race walks beside him on the way to Medda’s. He’s glad to be with Spot again, and even happier to have answers.

Once we get there, he whispers in his ear outside the door. “Just go with it.” Reaching out and wrapping his arm around your shoulders as we walk in, knowing the theater is a safe place from before, gently kissing your temple once we’re inside.

Jack and Davey were poring over a sheet of handwritten notes, but Jack looked up when the door opened. “Race! Spot! We didn’ expect ya til later!”

Spot grins and keeps his arm around his friend. “Yeah. We’s finished early.” Davey notices the arm and nudges Jack, whispering something to him about it.

“You seem awful chummy for guys who ain’t seen each other in years,” Jack comments, trying to stay light and not let suspicion creep into his voice.

Spot smirks at that. “Yeah, well, we’s worked it out. We’s all good now.”

“I see…” Jack says cautiously, looking over to Race for confirmation. Race just gave him a wide smile. Years of poker had made him great at controlling his facial expressions in convincing ways.

Davey smiles happily at that, speaking his congratulations before going to talk with some of the other newsies about stuff for the strike.

Spot smirks and gently kisses Race’s cheek before guiding him over to a couch against the wall and sitting down on it.

Jack follows them to the couch. “When you say you’s worked it out, you mean… what exactly.”

Spot grins cheekily at the Manhattan leader. “I mean, we worked it out. We talked and now we’s back together. What’s not to understand, Jacky-Boy?”

Jack chuckled in a way that could only be described as sinister. There was no way he was letting this happen after what this relationship, more like the ending of this relationship, caused. “No. No you’re not.”

Spot instantly loses the cocky look on his face in favor of glaring at the boy. “Whaddaya plan on doin bout it, huh, Jacky boy? This don’t concern ya.”

“Race, go see if Davey needs any help,” Jack says, not breaking eye contact with Spot.

“But- “

“Now Race!”

Race jumps to his feet. He knows Jack would never hurt him, but he also knows he’s never seen him quite this angry, and it scares him. He gives Spot a nervous look from behind Jack’s back as he hurries away. Spot, never one to back down, maintains eye contact with the Manhattan leader, a cold stare evident in his eyes as his friend walks away.

Jack bends down so his nose is almost touching Spot’s. “I ain’t scared of you, Conlon. I know you’s used ta people runnin’ ‘round tryin’ ta keep on your good side, but I ain’t gonna do that. You almost killed one of my best friends. An’ if ya think I’m gonna forget that any time soon, you’s wrong.”

He wasn’t about to let Jack know that something he said got to him. ‘You almost killed one of my best friends’. Almost killed. What? Never shifting his demeanor, he stays completely still and relaxed. “You’s forgetting he was my best friend too. Listen, shit went down and I didn’t have a choice. I explained this all to Racer, so’s I sure as hell don’t have ta explain it ta you. So I’d back off Jack. Cause us being at each other’s throats is only going to upset our Racetrack and I’s not one to back down from a challenge. And Jacky boy? That was a challenge if I ever heard one.”

Jack doesn’t back down. He knew that the fact that he was clearly on the verge of fighting the Brooklyn leader, plus the intense vibe the stare-down was giving off, had everyone in the room watching. They all were a little very scared of what was going to come of that. “I don’t care about no sob story why ya broke my boy’s heart. I care ‘bout him near breakin’ his damn HEAD open on the pavement cuz of what you done. An’ you ain’t gettin’ the chance to do that again. If you touch him. If you talk to him. If you so much as glance in his direction again, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your body. How’s that for a challenge?”

Spot just laughs at Jack’s threat, choosing to block out what he said about Race nearly killing himself. He’s gotta be overreacting. Right? “Calm down Jack. Racer and I is good. Nothin bad is gonna happen. Besides, you lay a hand on me and you’ll have a full on war throughout New York. That what you want? I don’t think either of us want that considering we won’t be the only ones affected. What about the rest of our newsies? Jacky boy, you’s gotta think with that head and not ya heart. Race knows what happened and that’s all that matters. Don’t believe me, ask him. Now, I’m going over to my boyfriend. This conversation is over. Nice chattin with ya Jacky boy.” Gets up at that and goes over by Race before Jack has a chance to stop him, walking calmly and making sure everyone knows that he wasn’t affected by his conversation, getting over by Race after a couple seconds.

Jack gives Spot a death glare before going to a back room and slamming the door behind him. Muffled crashes and curses could be heard through the door.

Race listened, his mouth slightly open. “What’d you say ta him?”

Shrugging a little, looking at Race. “He was saying things like what he’d do if I hurt ya an I told him if he did anything to me, he’d have a full war through New York. Then I told him the conversation was over and I left. There was some other minor stuff thrown in but that was the end of it.”

“An’ he got this upset about it?” A loud crash seemed to punctuate Race’s question and he flinched. “This ain’t funny, Spot. We gotta tell him it’s a joke.”

Nodding a little at that, he looks over to the room. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right back. He’s real mad and I ain’t bout to have ya get caught in that.” Without even letting you reply, he just starts walking casually towards the room where crashes can still be heard from the other side. Inside the room, Jack had managed to topple a whole rack of costumes, and was currently in the process of pulling every book off the shelves and kicking them against the wall. Opening the door, he feels one of his eyebrows lift in surprise. “Damn Kelly.”

Jack turns and glares at him. “What do you want, Conlon? Here to gloat some more ‘bout how there’s nothin’ I can do ta stop ya killin’ my friend? Or are ya gonna burn down the lodging house now? Or maybe poison Medda’s tea?”

Giving him a bit of a look, he wills him to shut up before speaking. “I came here to talk. Now are ya gonna shuddup and let me do that?” Spot nods in acknowledgment at the fact that Jack had indeed stopped talking, digging his cane into the ground. “Good move Jack. Listen, we wasn’t completely honest. Racer and I, we did work things out. But we’s not togetha. We decided it was safer for us to just be friends, despite the fact that I don’t want that and I’m pretty sure he don’t neither. Now, that being said. You goin on your stampede has a whole room full of pretty freaked out guys. I’d suggest goin out there and lettin the fellas know you’s ain’t dead.”

Jack stares at him. “You lied ta me?”

“It was a joke, Kelly. My idea. We was just messin.”

“A joke. This is a joke to you? A boy near jumps to his death an’ your makin’ jokes?!”

Hating that that comment made him wince, he looks Jack in the eye. “I’ll never joke about that. Not young boys dyin, or almost so. I jus wanted to see what ya’d say to us bein togetha. But we’s not. Probably never will be. Look, Jack. You need to know, somethin serious happened before Race and I fell out. I didn’t have a choice, or at least it didn’t seem like it back then. Either way apparently, I was putting him through pain in one form or another. So when I say you don’t know what ya talkin bout, I mean it.”

“Maybe so. But there’s stuff you don’t know too. You didn’t see him slowly losin’ the twinkle in his eyes as the weeks dragged on without you callin’ on him. You didn’t have to watch him starvin’ himself an’ smokin’ those damn cigars til he could hardly breathe. You didn’ haveta listen to him cryin’ himself ta sleep every night. And fuck you, you weren’t the one beggin’ him not ta jump while he stared at you with those empty eyes an’ ya didn’ even know if he could hear ya. You weren’t there for any of that. So don’t you go talkin’ ta me ‘bout no ‘somethin serious happenin’’. You don’ even know what that means.”

“Jack, you’ve gotta understand,” He had to pause for a second to take a deep breath. This was all getting to him but he’ll be damned if he cries in front of Jack Kelly of all people. “I never planned on doing that to him. I loved him. He was the best thing I had and I know you won’t understand but that’s why I had to let him go. I had to. To protect him. I needed him to move on from me and that just wouldn’t happen if we was together. I wanted to check on him a lot but I knew if I did, I’d never leave, so I didn’t. I, uh.. How much did he tell you about the day I became king?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “What’s a leadership nomination got to do with any of this?”

“Jack Kelly, I’s about to tell you something I ain’t told no one. The boys in Brooklyn know some of it because they were there but they don’t know it all. Can I trust you not to go spreading the news like it’s a headline?”

Jack looks at him suspiciously. “Why’s ya gonna tell me about it if it’s so secret?”

“Because ya gotta understand it all before you go thinking i’s gonna make the same mistake twice. Now can I trust ya or not?”

Jack considers this for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Sure. You can trust me.”

Nodding in response, he takes a moment to steel himself as a way of making sure he won’t get all emotional when he tells the story. “So, before I start. Do you know how new kings get elected in Brooklyn?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “This gonna be a story ‘bout how ya wiped one too many noses an’ they all started thinkin’ you was their mom? Cuz yeah, Conlon, sure, I ain’t gonna tell nobody you got a heart.”

“Stop joking, you bastard. I’s serious. In order for a new king to come to power in Brooklyn, they have to kill the former king.”

Jack freezes, staring at him. He wasn’t expecting that. “You- you killed a guy?”

“Before you go getting all panicky, yes. I did. The former king, James, he didn’t approve of his newsies being gay. The first time I saw him lose it was when he killed a guy the same age as me at the time. The kid was 14 when James killed him for being in love with a boy. So when Race and I started fooling around we did everything we could to not call it a relationship because if we did, it would be hard to hide and even harder to walk away from. Well, one day, James finds us. He loses it. He punches me hard enough to stun me for a couple seconds, which was long enough to take his belt and fasten Race to the ladder of the fire escape. Once Race was secure and left to do nothin but scream, James picks me up and carries me over by the river. After throwin me to the ground, he’s spouting nonsense comments as he beats me half to death. Before I know it, I’s lifted off the ground and held over the water. The only thing that keeps me from giving in as I fall to the water is that I heard Race screaming. It lit a fire in me or somethin and I got enough energy and strength to fight back. I grab the bridge and pull myself up only to see James heading back to the alley, likely to finish off Race, and I ended up killing him. I went over to let Race know I was alive but I don’t think either of us have been truly okay since. So after that day, I decided I was gonna do whatever it took to make sure that never happened again. No matter how much it hurt me. So I walked away from the one person that saved my life. It absolutely killed me to do it but I didn’t see any other option. I couldn’t risk getting in that situation again. So yeah. Now you know. Any questions?” He looks over at the other boy, suddenly very thankful that he was able to keep it together and not get emotional.

“You killed a guy cuz you thought he was gonna kill Race.”

“That was the main reason at the time but as I looked around after the fact, I realized that I basically ended a reign of terror. If I hadn’t killed him, he could have killed so many others. Like me, Blink, and Race for example. Who knows how many boys were hiding in fear? But yes. The reason why I killed him is because I couldn’t let him hurt Race. Even if it meant I died in the process. I didn’t have much strength left, as a matter of fact, I was nearly dead as it was. One solid hit and I was dead. But I kept going. For Race. And I know it don’t seem like it but when I walked away from Race, it was for the best.”

He nods. “Then I guess you understands why I wanted to kill you. We got the same reasons.”

Nodding in understanding, he speaks softly but firmly. “I do yeah. I understand your reasons and hell, some days I may have let you. But I figured I’d let you know the consequences of doing it. So you didn’t accidentally start a war.”

Jack laughs, suddenly realizing something. “Wait. So if I’d actually killed you I’d have been king of Brooklyn?”

Spot just gives him a blank stare. “Now who’s making jokes? But ha! You’s funny. As if I’d actually let you kill me.”

“As if I’d let you stop me!” Jack teases back.

Spot grins faintly at him, thankful that the conversation strayed from being very heavy to going back to teasing. “Jacky boy, you wouldn’t even get started. But I should go let Race know you didn’t kill me and you have a room to clean up. Have fun!” Stands up and moves to leave the room, heading towards the door.

“Hey Spot!” Jack calls after him.

Spot turns to look at the boy, only half facing him and half facing the door. “Yeah?”

“Ya didn’t deserve to have ta kill a guy to save yerself. An’ I get why you stopped seein’ Race. But not tellin’ him was still a crappy thing to do, and if you do that again, I don’t care what your reasons are. I’m not gonna forgive you again. So if you’re in, you’re in. Got it?”

Giving a small smile and a nod to show he understands, he moves towards the door again. “Got it.” He reaches out and opens the door before walking back out into the main area. Spot had just come out of the room from talking to Jack. He got the boy to calm down and explained everything while also learning something unsettling. What Jack told him, it wasn't sitting right with him. It was making his head spin and scaring him at the same time. Spot Conlon wasn't supposed to feel like this. He didn't realize that he had gotten by Race until his voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Spot? What happened? Is he still mad at us?”

Not wanting to worry the boy, he gives him as real a smile as he can manage. "He's not mad. We had a nice chat. I explained everything." He turns to Davey as he passes them. "Hey mouth. Whaddaya need us to do?"

Davey looks around. “You could make some signs if you want. You know how to spell strike?”

Spot nods, giving him a menacing look. "Course I do. I got brains, remember?" As Davey walks away, he turns to Race. "C'mon. We got signs to paint."

Race frowns. “You okay? You’s actin’ weird.”

Spot looks at him, giving him a slight smile. "I's good Race. I's Spot Conlon." Reaching down to pick up a bucket of red paint, he grabs the nearest clean brush and sits down by a board, dipping the brush in and starting to paint.

Race frowns, but sits down next to him, starting on his own sign. Spot finishes his sign pretty easily despite the fact that he was constantly glancing over at Race when he wasn't looking.

Race notices the constant glances and frowns at him. He knew something was up when he noticed the look on Spot’s face when he came out. “Spot what’s goin’ on?”

"Whaddaya mean Racey? We's paintin signs for the strike." He knew what he was talking about but he didn't really wanna get into it. It was too painful to think about.

“Ya keep lookin’ at me. An’ you’s actin’ all nervous.”

Busted. Shit. "I'm just glad we's talking again is all. I's not acting nervous."

Race looks down at the ground when it hit him what was going on. “Jack told you ‘bout the thing on the roof, didn’t he?”

Spot freezes a little, not making eye contact either, trying to play it off like he didn't know. "What thing on the roof..?"

“Spot,” he says quietly. Sighing softly, he gently twirls the brush in between his fingers, not wanting to answer and give himself away that he did in fact know. He hated that Race could see right through him. “Spot, if you knows you gotta tell me. I gotta know if you knows or not.”

Sighing again, deeper this time, he nods. "Yeah, Racer. I know." He was planning on leaving it at that. He wasn't sure if he was ready to hear the details behind the fact. Race nods silently, staring down at his sign. Spot ends up just blankly staring into space, not even paying attention when Davey comes up to them to see how the signs are coming. Instead, he just stands up, takes your hand and leads you away, leaving a very confused Davey in their place. Race follows him nervously, not sure what Spot is going to do or say to him. Spot gets him into the other dressing room in the building and shuts the door behind them before just starting to pace awkwardly, clearly trying to think of something. Race watches him in silence, feeling absolutely awful. Spot looks up at him after a minute and it's evident that he's holding back tears. "It's true, isn't it? I mean, it's gotta be. Jack, he wouldn't make that up?"

He nods. “Yeah. It’s true. I ain’t proud of it. But it’s true.”

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, he rests his hands on his hips as he looks at you. "I know the answer to this but I want to hear your version. Why? Was it, was it because of what I did?" Race can’t say anything, so he just nods. Spot sighs again, coughing slightly into his hand as he moves over to the couch in the room. He can feel his legs getting weak so he sits down to keep himself from collapsing. He doesn't know why he's acting like this, he has no right to be so upset. It's his fault this happened, anyways. So he just tries to calm himself down, his head buried in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees.

Race watches him from the other side of the room. “I’s sorry…”

He looks up at that, rather quickly. "You's sorry?? Why is you sorry??"

“You feel bad cause of something I done.”

“Race, come here.” Gently patting the spot next to him, he does his best to keep his resolve from shaking. Race obeys, pushing through his pangs of guilt to sit beside Spot. Spot looks over at him, hoping he doesn’t say the wrong thing. “I only feel bad because I know that it’s my fault you nearly flung yourself off a building.. And I, I can’t even accept that. I just.. I need to know what exactly was running through your head. I mean, we hadn’t even said I love you, so I didn’t know that what we had was so important to you..”

Race stared at the ground as he spoke. “I only never said it cuz I knew you didn’ feel it. An then you left an’ that proved it. You never actually cared about me at all. I was jus’ a soft pair of lips you could kiss now an’ then. But to me you were the best part of my life. An’ then you were gone an’ I didn’ know why, but I thought it was my fault an’ I hated that you were gone, an’ I hated whatever I did ta make you leave, an’ I hated that I cared so much when you clearly didn’t. An’ everything hurt. So yeah. I tried to make the hurt stop. But then Jack found me.”

Spot frowned a little at him, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around him. "Racer, I. You's gotta understand something. I was a scared kid that didn't understand what his heart was tellin him. I was getting these strong feelings for this boy that could get me killed. All I knew was that you were the only good thing in my life. I looked forward to our meetings each time and seeing you, usually with ya hat over your eyes, trying to catch a few more minutes while ya waited, it. It put a smile on my face. I loved you Race. I loved you and I didn't know how to handle it. After James, what he did, I panicked. Like I told ya, it had nothing to with you. I just ran from my problems back then instead of facing them like I do now."

“Yeah. I was runnin’ too. That’s what brought me to the roof. An’ Jack- he told me you wasn’ worth endin’ my life over. You was just some jerk an’ if you didn’ even care ‘bout me then why should I let ya end me? An’ that’s the way I got through.”

“I am just a jerk and I ain’t worth dying over. He was right about that. But he was wrong to say I don’t care about you. You’s the only thing I care about.” Race stares down at the ground trying hard not to cry. Spot sighs softly and just wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. “C’mere..” Race leans his head on Spot’s shoulder. The tears start to push past his eyes despite his best efforts to keep them in.

Spot frowns slightly and gently kisses the top of his head in a friendly way, not really knowing what to say. "Jack still thinks about it," Race says quietly. "He don't say he do, but he talks in his sleep sometimes."

He can’t say he blames him. What with Jack’s voice playing over again in his head from when he told him and picturing Race on that rooftop, he doubts he’ll ever forget it. After a minute, he figures he should say something so Race doesn’t know that he was thinking. “Yeah?”

He nods. "I hurt him. An' I hurt you. Everybody's hurt cuz of me."

Shaking his head at that, he looks at Race. “Not because of you. None of us would be hurt if I hadn’t been a fuckin idiot and walked away from the only thing good in my life.”

"But I shouldn't have let Jack see me like that. I shoulda done it when he wasn't around. Then he wouldn't have to keep thinkin' about it."

“He’d’a been thinking about it no matter when you did it. Can’t you see that? You have a whole family of people that care bout ya. Even if we’s not blood, we love ya, Race.” Race curled in on himself a bit at that. He couldn't think about that. He just couldn't. Frowning a little at that, Spot mentally kicked himself. He should have known it would have affected Race like that. “I’s sorry, Race. I didn’t mean to upset ya.”

"I know I messed up bad," he says quietly. "I's really sorry. I weren't tryin' ta hurt nobody."

“I know Race. We’s all just glad you’s okay.”

"Even though I's done bad stuff?"

“Even then. I can’t speak for anyone else, though I’s sure they’d agree, but I don’t want to live in a world without Racetrack Higgins causing trouble. Okay? You’s the only good thing I have in this world and I don’t want to lose you again. Not when I have you back. At least, in some form. There ain’t nothing you could to to make us hate ya Racer. Nothing.”

Race can't help but smile at that. "That means you ain't gonna leave again, right?"

Smiling at that, knowing he got through. “That’s exactly what it means. Now I know I have to do something to make you trust me again, so you name it and I’ll do it. Scream out that I’m in love with you and take a soaking from an entire region? Step down from Brooklyn and move to Manhattan? I’ll do it.”

Race looks at him incredulously. “But you love Brooklyn! You wouldn’t leave it!”

Laughing softly, he looks down at him in return. "I would if it meant getting your trust back. Brooklyn is just a place. I mean, it's great, being king but I'll give it up in a heartbeat if you wanted me to."

Race looks down at the floor. “But how do I know? How do I know I can trust you?”

Spot sighs a bit and just gently cups Race’s face in his hands, pulling him in and kissing him deeply. He knows this probably isn’t the best idea but doesn’t know a better way to prove he’s not going anywhere. Race makes a small panicked sound and pulls back. “Spot what the hell?!”

"I'm sorry Racer. I had to do something to prove to you that I mean what I say. I didn't know what else to do. But I have to admit, I've been wanting to do that again since the last time I saw you. I'm in love with you Racer. I know it's safer to be friends but damnit, screw safety. I want to be able to hold you and kiss you whenever. I want things to go back to how they were. I know it'll probably take time because I screwed up and now you don't trust me, but see, Race. I's willin to do whatever ya want to help with that. Anything."

Race stared at him for a moment, processing everything he’d just said. Then he reached out, finding Spot’s suspenders and pulled him in for another kiss. A tiny part of his brain was still panicking, telling him this was dangerous. But a bigger part knew that he’d never really stopped loving Spot, and god his lips felt even better than he’d remembered…

#sprace #my stories #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #newsies #angst #im so sorry hannah #my god that was long #7322 words #yikes

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gloriapace1993 · 4 years

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Zeolite Cat Urine Surprising Cool Tips

If your cat's attention from your garden is an unpleasant smell and also protects from ticks and is full of energy and your cat litter training process go smoothly and to protect the cat's skin.The reasons commonly cited when cats have found that the furniture you can be affected with fleas have to keep him off the turkey or chicken here's a Christmas present there are a number of steroids and other household objects.Specific designs should fill the box and avoiding automated cat litter or food, used an insecticide around the house to serve as a way to deal with this behavior is presenting itself so you can not solve the cat from spraying.This occurs especially if he does happen to bite me.

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Cat Peeing In Water Bowl

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Cat Urine Under Black Light

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#Zeolite Cat Urine Surprising Cool Tips #Male Cat Spraying In Litter Box

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tkwadeblog-blog · 7 years

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"Fairy Tale Spotlight: The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Further Discussion)" by T.K. Wade

The previous blog led to some very interesting discussion between me and my friends. This may have happened because I am currently working on a novel which features my own version of the famed Piper. I want to address some of the things mentioned in these comments and further the discussion of this fascinating fairy tale.

My friend Donald White, a brilliant writer in his own right, made the following comment:

"This is very much a story about two wrongs not making a right. The people were indifferent to the piper, so he takes their children. No matter how wonderful the place is that he takes them, it still makes him nothing more than a kidnapper."

Donald's statement is not wrong. From his personal human perspective, he cast judgement on the piper out-rightly without a second thought. Most people on planet earth would do the same. I am sure the people of Hamelin did likewise because they saw that the Piper had committed a more egregious crime then the one they had inflicted upon him. (A mass kidnapping in comparison to a breach of verbal contract. No contest. The kidnapping of children is worse.) By the laws of this world, Donald was correct in his opinion.

However, there is a chance that the Pied Piper was not human at all. He could be a demon or some sort of human hybrid. If this is true, that human morality, laws, and everything he consider normal do not apply to his way of thinking. He very well could have been doing something just and believe in it as greatly as we believe in our own ways. What he is doing may still be adverse to our society and may even require us to intervene; however, that does not exactly put the Piper in the wrong. I will concede to Don if the Piper is indeed human.

My friend, Chris Buffuloe, commented thusly:

"I've only heard of the story through children's cartoons, so the crippled child who did not get to go was surprising and sad. Fascinating that the Piper's motive is vengeance but he still seems to care for the innocent children, he never really gave them a choice in the matter either. Love the mysterious quality of it all, and a lesson to be learned; If a person with talents does you a great service don't turn your back on them when the bill arrives."

Chris did not know about the crippled boy who did not make it into the magical land. This may be because many adaptations of the story drop this because it seems cruel from an authorial perspective to do that to the child. It was a bit like slapping Tiny Tim in the face rather than giving him a giant turkey at the end of "A Christmas Carol." I do not have a problem with the ending change of these adaptations. Both versions work perfectly. But then Chris goes on to assume that the children, although cared for, do not get a choice. The answer seems to lie in the cripple child himself.

The only two to come away from the Pied Piper's influence was a single rat and a crippled child. In both instances, they forever go through life telling the world of the amazing music of this wonderful man, the Pied Piper. The rat tells his rodent brethren that he was so in love with the melody that he simply could not help it. And the boy goes on to explain how wonderful all those sights were within the mountain before it closed on him. He did not seem to hate the Pied Piper for it. To him, it was an unfortunate accident.

The boy's account is very sincere and does not sound like brain washing. This very well could denote that his efforts to follow the Pied Piper was his own choice rather than the hypnosis of a magical instrument. The sight he saw within the mountain furthered his conviction. He saw the Pied Piper as an actor of good in the world and dearly wished he could have hobbled faster so that he could have lived with him forever. If this is true, then Chris' assumption that the children had no choice is dispelled.

My other author friend, Shawn O'Toole, made the following comment:

"The Piper was a demon holding to the mathematical "morality" of cause and effect: "tit for tat" if you will. He initiated a cause but was not reciprocated with the appropriate effect. True to his angelic heritage he crunched the numbers for the appropriate result. His attitude towards the children was consistent with math. They were a future variable SUBTRACTED from the original equation that through [sic] things out of balance. ALSO: angels and demons alike are emotional but unabashed in acting according to those emotions. His concern for the children was that they were unrealized potential. Children are ALWAYS viewed as "potential" by angels and their offspring."

Shawn right-off claims that the Pied Piper is a demon. Demons are a lot like animals but simply more complex and intelligent. They work off of programming. Every action has a reaction depending on what is important to that particular demon. If this is true, then the Pied Pipers reaction to not being paid his dues was a righteous retaliation from his point of view. "No money? Then you don't get to keep your children."

Shawn also mentions that the demon would only see the children as unrealized potential which would fit solidly into his claim that their growth as human beings would be stunted by their parent's own personal inefficiencies. The demon would dislike wasted potential and so make sure that the children are taken out of their hands. "Mathematical morality." He crunched the numbers and made a call. And he had the power and ability to do it too.

I really appreciate all the comments I got for the previous blog. I hope you enjoyed this one as well. "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" is one of the most startling legends on planet Earth, and it deserves a hefty discussion. I am glad I could help out with it a little.

#The Pied Piper of Hamelin #fairy tales #spotlight #information #discussion

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theteenagetrickster · 5 years

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How Indianapolis R&B singer Andrew Young built global fan base online

Indianapolis R&B singer Andrew Youthful entices followers in countries where he's never carried out

David Lindquist Indianapolis Celebrity

Published 9:35 AM EST Nov 22, 2019

Indianapolis songs followers understand Andrew Young as a long-running R&B singer that carries out around the city and also maintains a regular DJ post degree residency at Broad Surge's Landsharks nightclub.

Outdoors Indiana, on the internet listeners are gravitating to Young's popular music. He's scored 25,000 followers at Spotify as well as 10,000 followers at Instagram.

There's little bit of overlap, however, in between people who join Youthful's series and also individuals that pay attention to his center audios. It could even be illustrated as a production gap. Regional fans who pertain to programs are 35 as well as much older, he said. Young's Spotify statistics alter younger, with ages 24 to 37 bring in up his best listener demographic.

Young mentioned he falls to the task of handling pair of occupations in one.

" I live to perform popular music 24/7, constantly," he mentioned. "It is actually a way of living. It is actually a service. It is actually everything."

Andrew Young launched his rendition of Toni Braxton's "Un-Break My Heart" this month.

Picture provided through Andrew Youthful

Exactly how he constructed a worldwide complying with

The Lawrence Central Secondary School as well as Steward Educational institution alumnus introduced his vocal singing profession by seeming on TELEVISION's "Star Search" talent competition in 1989. Young gained his very first matchup in the male vocalist group prior to being actually bordered out the complying with week.

Today, flows as well as downloads are a solution of musical success. At Spotify, Young's tracks have been streamed greater than 1.5 thousand times. This summer season, song promotion firm DistributeKings.com delivered Young an oral plaque buildup to commemorate 1 thousand downloads of his tune "Til completion of your time" featuring Indianapolis rapper Skypp.

Disperse Kings is a report pool that services club DJs worldwide.

" You want those DJs to play your stuff," Youthful said. "Individuals hear it, and afterwards they go to my Spotify brochure."

His Leading 5 areas for Spotify audiences: Indianapolis; Cape City, South Africa; Istanbul, Turkey; Chicago; as well as Atlanta.

As an online artist, Youthful changed his process in the last few years from "single vocalist followed by tape-recorded important keep tracks of" to "band innovator."

He stated the earlier presentation became an obligation.

" They started contacting me the 'Karaoke King,' although I never did karaoke," Young claimed.

The singer constructed a sustaining actors, incrementally adding a drummer, supporting vocalist and also guitarist up until a full band supplemented Young onstage.

He likewise added keyboards to his private repertoire.

" It must evolve," Youthful claimed. "I wished people to take me very seriously."

He creates much more than 200 appeals every year, consisting of private activities, weddings and also reveals at clubs connected with well-liked gathering bands the Doo, Toy Manufacturing Plant as well as Living Evidence.

On Nov. 30, Young will title a Thanksgiving holiday weekend series at Royal Pin Western Dish, 6441 W. Washington St.

He enjoys mentioning the popular music field is actually "95 percent company, 5 per-cent skill."

" I work doggedly," Young claimed. "It is actually all about that networking hookup factor. I am actually continuously doing it. And also searching for the second best way to market my popular music."

The art of analysis

Although advertising and marketing procedures have actually modified, Youthful's music viewpoint hasn't alternated. He mixes R&B as well as hip-hop along with equal importance on old-school and also new-school strategies.

Young can easily surprise when choosing songs to deal with. Consider his rendition of Gem Jam's "African-american," the emotional focal point of the rock band's 1991 launching album.

" I would like to put my spin on it," Young claimed. " I desired individuals to experience one thing different when it's just a piano as well as a voice singing along with passion."

Youthful's current singular is his rendition of "Un-Break My Soul," the 1996 chart-topper for Toni Braxton.

Creating his own popular music

A new period of successful initial music arrived when Indiana manufacturer Brent Lindsay invited Young to vocalize on a demo keep track of being actually readied to accept R&B star Maxwell.

When Maxwell declined to document " Mind, Physical Body, Soul," Young stated the song as his personal. Lindsay then assisted Young apply an EDM appearance to a song entitled "Songs Don't Stop."

After several SiriusXM terminals offered spins to "Mind, Body System, Spirit" and "Music Don't Quit," Youthful signed a circulation take care of the Grove, a subsidiary of Sony Songs Amusement.

He attributes the Plantation for placing his songs in brand-new spots like Asia and also Africa.

" Probably 30 per-cent of my adhering to on Facebook remains in Brazil," Young mentioned. "I get information in Portuguese regularly. I attacked the convert switch."

When it began

On "Superstar Look," Youthful performed Freddie Jackson's "Bind Tonight" to win a sphere of the syndicated TV show. A depiction of James Ingram's "There's No Easy Technique" adhered to, yet the Indianapolis teenager failed to innovation to a third incident.

Host Ed McMahon presented Youthful through pointing out the singer required authorization to skip football practice to do on "Star Explore."

That bit of trivia is actually correct. Young went to House boy on a scholarship split between placekicking responsibilities for the regulation football staff as well as vocal dedications to the university's classic choir.

He stated the classical training remains to spend returns.

" I have the capacity to perform a three-hour series and still possess a voice," Youthful mentioned.

After "Celebrity Look," broadcast station WTLC dedicated airplay to Youthful's cover of Al Eco-friendly's "Let's Keep Together" in 1990.

" Although I have actually been in this service a really lengthy opportunity, I still presume I possess a much bigger future yet," he claimed. "I'm still aiming."

Andrew Youthful

>> > > WHEN: 9 p.m. Nov. 30.

>> > > WHERE: Royal Pin Western Bowl, 6441 W. Washington St.

>> > > ADMISSION: Free.

>> > > INFORMATION: Check out andrewyoungsing.com.

IndianapoLIST: Infatuated along with Indianapolis? Subscribe to our email list

Call IndyStar media reporter David Lindquist at 317-444-6404. Follow him on Twitter: @ 317Lindquist.

Released 9:35 AM SHOCK THERAPY Nov 22, 2019

This content was originally published here.

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

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oh my god you're nirejseki and you're taking prompts? ohmigod. ok what to ask for. wait wait. i just finished daredevil s02 and i, unsurprisingly, liked the punisher. because gruff buff grumps who are constantly lowkey in great agony and highkey ready to blow everything to hell? awesome. so i was wondering if you could write something with frank and mick/chronos? coldwave and frankmatt would be welcome but pairings are unnecessary. i just want those two to interact and others to deal with it.

Awww, thank you! :D I’m glad you enjoy my fics.

There’s no others to deal with it, but here’s Mick/Kronos meeting Frank :)

Also for @pvnisher who convinced me to watched daredevil season 2 in the first place.

ao3 link

————————————————————————————

“That’s a lot of dead people.”

“You’re real observant, ain’t ya?” the guy sneers.

Well, he tries. He’s bleeding out pretty bad, but he’s trying to crawl towards his pack.

Sarcastic city boy with the pain tolerance of a mule, snarking even as he bleeds out into the pavement.

Kronos sighs and walks over, kneeling beside the man and running his hand-held time manipulator over his injuries. It’s an inferior version of the Pilgrim’s manipulator, works too slow and too narrow to really be of any use to anyone, and that’s why they binned it. Kronos had rescued it because slow or not, he can think of a few uses for something that reverses time in a localized spot.

Like healing a bullet wound, for instance.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” the guy howls.

It’s not a pleasant sort of healing, but it’ll do.

After the first burst of pain passes, the guy struggles to sit up, cursing up a storm of profanity and threats, until -

“Hey, I ain’t bleeding.”

“You’re very observant, aren’t you,” Kronos says dryly.

“That doo-hickey of yours is a cure-all,” the guy says, marveling at his closed up flesh. He’s got plenty of scars underlying it.

“No, the other one is,” Kronos says absently. “This one is portable, though.”

He stands.

“Hold up, will you?” the guy says, climbing to his feet. “Who are you, anyway? And, heh, what Renfair are you heading to? Or from?”

Kronos blinks at him. Renfair? Renaissance fair, his brain informs him. A Renfair is -

- cooking the turkey legs until they’re done right because he doesn’t want to poison anyone, prodding at them with a stick, a leather doublet unlaced halfway down and hanging free - ahistorical for sure, but the lady in charge of costuming had taken one look at his chest and okayed it -

Kronos shakes his head to clear it. “I’m not going to a Renfair.”

“Then what’s with the armor?”

“It’s to protect me when people try to resist,” Kronos says.

The guy, who’d been smiling a little, vaguely friendly, stiffens. “Resist what, exactly?”

“Whatever my masters order,” Kronos says. He shrugs at the guy’s incredulous look. “It’s that or the chair, and I ain’t doing that again. Ever.”

“The chair,” the guy echoes. “Electric?”

“More like electroshock,” Kronos tells him. He’s not sure why. “Except you can feel your memories disappearing as they rip them out of your head.”

“Torture,” the guy says, nodding. “And you can’t just go?”

“They’d go after me,” Kronos says, rather than saying he wouldn’t. Why is he even having this stupid conversation? “And then after everyone I cared about. Ever.”

“Fuck that,” the guy says, looking offended.

Oh.

That’s why.

Sarcastic killer with the pain tolerance of a mule and an accent with no class -

Reminds him of Len.

Brings the Mick Rory of him too close to the surface.

Kronos shakes his head. He needs to go before anyone sees this moment of weakness.

“Want me to take ‘em out for you?” the guy offers just as Kronos starts turning away.

Kronos turns back and stares. “You’re nuts,” he says.

“Yeah,” guy says. He sniffs a bit, smirks. “Guess I am.”

“You don’t know what you’re up against here,” Kronos tells him. “You’re outclassed.”

“Been outclassed before.”

“Not like this.”

The guy shrugs. “I’ll take my chances. These people sound like they need to be punished.”

That has the sound of a mantra. Or a catchphrase. Still in progress, though.

“No,” Kronos says slowly, bemused. “But thanks for offering.”

The guy nods.

Kronos feels moved by that little piece of Mick Rory that lives inside of him.

“…you want a lift to where you’re going next?”

“What the hell,” the guy says. “Why not? But I’m bringing my guns. And my dog.”

“Sure,” Kronos says. “Why not?”

———————————————

“You know, when you said lift, I was thinking of a car,” the guy, still nameless, says. “Maybe a van. Or a truck. I could see you with a truck.”

“I’ve never owned a truck.”

“Still, gotta say,” the guy says. “Wasn’t really seeing spaceship.”

Kronos looks at his ship. “It should be visible now that it’s uncloaked,” he says, bemused.

The guy barks a laugh. The dog barks happily in agreement.

“What the hell,” he says again. “Man, Red’ll never believe this.”

“You know the speedster?” Kronos asks, concerned.

“Speedster? I don’t know no speedster, unless you mean a Land Rover or a motorbike -”

“Then - you said - Red?”

“Y'know. The Daredevil?”

“Oh,” Kronos says. “In New York.”

“You’re not from New York,” the guy says, very definitively.

“Central City. Well, Keystone originally. Gem Cities.”

“Don’t they have a speedster there?”

“They do. He wears all red, too.”

The guy nods, understanding.

“So where am I dropping you off?” Kronos asks.

“I was gonna say I’d ride with you in any direction you’ve got,” the guy says. “But clearly I’m going to have to be more specific.”

Kronos nods.

“How far can this go?”

“Anywhere I need it to, within reason.”

“Huh. Afghanistan within reason for you?”

“Sure.”

“What about an army base?”

“No problem. I can drop you off on the roof.”

The guy looks wistful. “Nah,” he says. “No exit route.”

Kronos check his messages. “I have a job I need to do,” he says. “But if you don’t mind waiting until that’s done, I can drop you off and pick you up, then put you somewhere else.”

“I can wait,” the guy assures him, crookedly smiling. “Don’t you worry.”

Kronos revs up the ship. “Okay,” he says. “Funny, you mentioning Afghanistan. Do you know anything about the First Gulf War?”

“Sure, plenty. Why?”

“We’re going there.”

“We’re -”

“Strap in,” Kronos warns him, and makes the jump.

—————————————————————————

“Tihs,” the guy says. “Siht si tihs. Tahw eht kcuf?”

“Time travel side effects,” Kronos tells him. “Close your eyes, count to ten, then open 'em.”

Guy does.

And then -

“You can travel in time?!”

“Yeah,” Kronos says. “So?”

The guy’s throat works. “Time travel,” he says. His eyes are distant. “You - can you go see people? Specific people?”

Kronos shrugs. “Not everyone,” he says, think of - Len - people he’s not allowed to see.

“Oh. Okay. Uh. Maybe - could we -”

“After the job,” Kronos tells him.

The guy nods jerkily and goes quiet.

Kronos knows that kind of quiet.

“My family burned in a fire,” he says abruptly.

“Bullets,” the guy says hollowly. “All of 'em. My little girl.”

- Len smiling at the ice rink, pointing out Lisa - my little sister, he says proudly -

Kronos shakes his head. It pains his head to think of Len - he’s not supposed to feel good things about Len, only anger and hate -

“Hey,” the guy’s standing in front of him all of a sudden. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

Kronos blinks and shakes his head. “What’s okay?” he says harshly.

“Your nose started bleeding. You think something your bosses don’t want you thinking?” the guy’s voice is very calm, very even.

Kronos nods slowly. “My -” Best friend. Lover. Husband. “He -” Betrayer. “I -”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I’m supposed to hurt him,” Kronos says. His lips are numb and buzzing. “He hurt me, so I’m supposed to hurt him. I’m not enough yet, though. They put me back in the chair because I don’t hate him enough -”

“I don’t think I like your bosses,” the guy says.

“Yeah,” Kronos says, swallowing a few times. “Sometimes I don’t like 'em either. Not supposed to say that, but it’s true.”

The guy nods solemnly. “Something to think about,” he says vaguely. “What’s your job, anyway?”

“Ginny?” Kronos asks.

Ginny makes a whole show of unfurling her hologram every time he calls upon her. Kronos appreciates it: he hates surprises, how the Gideons of other ships just speak out of nowhere.

The guy looks pretty impressed, too.

“A straightforward retrieval mission,” she announces. “A time pirate removed an important shipment from the timeline, but perished in the process. The shipment needs to be returned to its track. There is no need for you to eliminate the individual this time.”

“They make you kill people for them,” the guy observes.

“Sometimes,” Kronos grunts and gets up.

“You need help?”

Kronos considers it for a moment. “You don’t need to get caught in the Time Masters’ shit,” he says eventually. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” the guy says.

“You can ask Ginny if you have any questions,” Kronos adds. The guy reminds him of Len. If he remembers Len correctly - “Ginny, answer anything he wants, then erase the questions.”

The guy smiles. It’s surprisingly sweet.

And just a little wicked.

“I like you,” the guy says.

Kronos grunts and goes to work.

————————————————————————-

He comes back dirty and tired and hating sand, but history is back on track.

The guy looks disturbed.

“What?” Kronos asks.

“Asked about the Time Masters,” the guy says shortly.

Kronos nods. “Out of your league,” he reiterates.

“Yeah,” the guy says, but he sounds disgruntled. “I guess. For now.”

Kronos has to try not to smile.

This guy would get along great with Len. Never met a challenge he didn’t want to throw himself at.

“Yeah,” he says. “Who’d you want to see?”

The guy goes pale.

“It’s okay,” Kronos says.

“It’s not okay,” the guy whispers. “It’ll never be okay.”

“Tell me,” Kronos says.

The guy tells his story, short bursts and stuttering and choked up. It’s an awful story, too. Painful and pointless. Dead wife, dead daughter, dead son, and for no reason.

“I said no,” the guy says dully, his eyes glinting until he only seems half-present. “I said I’d read it to her tomorrow. Her favorite story. A couple of pages, and I couldn’t be bothered -”

“Did you go to sleep?” Kronos asks.

The guy blinks out of his daze, frowning. “What?”

“That night. You go to sleep?”

“Yeah,” the guy says, puzzled. “Why?”

Kronos nods. “We can’t change the timeline,” he says.

“Yeah,” the guy says, swallowing. “Ginny explained. It’s important not to mess it up or the Time Masters come for you.” There’s a spark in his eyes that Kronos doesn’t trust. It’s too much like Len.

“They’d put me in the chair for even thinking of helping you,” Kronos says.

The guy deflates a bit. He really is just like Lenny - he’d fight anybody, sure, but he wouldn’t actually cause someone else’s torture just for the chance. If he thought he could kill them, maybe, but not for the chance. “Yeah. There is that.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix the little things,” Kronos says.

The guy frowns at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Ginny can make a gas to help you sleep,” Kronos says. “Past you, I mean. And your wife. Then you - current you - can go wake up your kid, later that night. Read her the story. Kid that age won’t question Daddy coming back around. But you can’t interact with your past self at all, not without a timequake, so it’d be a quick in and out. You want that?”

The guy swallows like he can’t breathe, gulping air like he’s drowning, fist clenched on his chest and rocking back and forth in agony entirely internal. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah. Shit. Yeah, I - shit. If that’s an option - shit. Yeah. I want it.”

“You’ve got to keep yourself together, though,” Kronos says. “You can say you love her and all that, but no hints about not going to no carousel, or I’ll know.” Kronos taps his message screen. “You’ll be my next target.”

The guy nods tightly.

“And you’re good,” Kronos says, thinking of the giant pile of dead bodies. “You’re good, but even if you beat me, even if you beat the next guy that comes, you can’t beat the Time Masters. They’ll attack you in the worst ways - they’ll drown you as a nine year old that time you went swimming, where you can’t stop them; they’ll shoot your wife in the head three days before you met her; they’ll take everything that means something away from your life before you ever have it.”

The guy nods. His eyes are still bright. “They’re gonna get what’s coming their way one day,” he says.

Kronos shrugs. It’s always possible. “Not today. You wanna do it?”

“Hell yeah. Won’t this get you in trouble?”

“This course of action fits the technical definition of time pirate,” Ginny says cheerfully. “Might I advise: don’t get caught?”

Kronos snorts and takes off.

They land in a park not far from the guy’s house. The guy’s shaking like a leaf in a way he hadn’t been at anything at all, up until now; this one act terrifying him a lot more than anything else.

Kronos straps a zapper around his wrist. “If you forget to come back,” he tells him, and goes around himself to the master bedroom with the sleepytime gas. He takes extra precautions to keep it dead quiet - guy like that isn’t someone to be messed with, clearly, and Kronos isn’t going to underestimate him even before he started his vendetta.

It works, though, and Kronos returns to the rendezvous point and waits.

And waits.

A second before he starts reaching for the remote for the zapper, the guy staggers out of the house. He looks blind, or drunk, or possibly on the edge of some emotional breakdown.

Kronos goes over and gently takes his arm, leading him back to Ginny.

“Gin,” he says, since the guy’s still dissociating. “Think you can get a read on the past self from here?”

“Of course I can,” Ginny says haughtily. She’s a bitch, but that’s what Kronos likes about her. “And it’s Ginny. I’m not an alcoholic liqueur best served with tonic.”

“Think we can..?”

“Certainly. There’s only one injury that is potentially problematic to repair - a shot to the head. Very well publicized - indeed, the skull on his armor is a visualization of an x-ray of that injury. It has gained notoriety and thus relevance to the timeline, and if anyone discovered the absence -”

“Fair enough,” Kronos says. “If he consents, fix all the underlying but the head. He might want to keep some of the scars.”

“Boys and their scars,” Ginny sniffs. “In your absence, I have taken the liberty of repairing the guns, grenades, and other assorted weaponry.”

“You’re the best, Gin.”

“If you rename the ship 'Tonic’, sir, I will dump you out of an airlock.”

Kronos smirks.

It takes another ten or twenty minutes or so, but the guy eventually moves out of sheer shock and goes into the crying part of shock recovery. Kronos leaves him be; some things are private.

It’s at least an hour later that he feels the touch on his arm.

“Thank you,” the guy rasps, low and deep and voice wet as his eyes. “Thank you for giving this to me.”

Kronos shrugs. He doesn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t for him, not really, but for that precious, loved-yet-hated figure that lives in his memories. Another sarcastic shit with an absurd tolerance for pain and an itchy trigger finger, and a little girl who ruled his heart.

“She was so happy,” the guy says. “She was - shit. It’s been years for me, and so many deaths in between, but every day I’d think about her. Started to think maybe the shrinks were right and I was idealizing a bit. But no. She’s just as goddamn perfect as I remembered her. She’s - she’s everything.” His hands, shaking, abruptly steady. “And they took her from me.”

“I’ll take you to the base you wanted,” Kronos says. “But I’d recommend you let Ginny take a peek at you.”

“Oh?”

“She scanned your younger self. She can repair underlying issues - muscle tears, friction, aging. Won’t impact your instincts anyway, and you can keep the scars that are important, but a bit of extra flexibility and stamina can’t hurt.”

The guy raises his hand to his head.

“Can’t fix that,” Kronos says apologetically. “Gin says it’s too big a change. Might be noticed. The rest is all under the skin and you didn’t get that many scans of your body, so we can probably sneak away at least one bone break as having healed up perfect.”

The guy nods. “You trust her?”

“Yeah.”

He goes.

Kronos drops him off by the base and waits, playing with the guy’s dog as he does. It’s a good dog.

“It’s done,” the guy says from behind him. Alarms are blaring, the guy has a bag in his hands, and he’s painted like one of the Queen of Hearts’ roses, except it’s starting to brown already. “We shouldn’t stick around.”

“Anti-aircraft missiles would be a problem, even for us,” Ginny says.

Kronos nods and goes to the pilot seat. They take off right before a missile hits.

“They really don’t like you,” Kronos observes.

“No shit,” the guy says. “Good dog, isn’t she?”

“Very good. My partner always preferred cats, y'know. Probably because he was one, big old asshole cat -”

Kronos stops as a wave of pain overcomes him, his skull firing off a thousand waves of hatred and pain to remind him why he never talks about Lenny.

“Hey, hey,” the guy says, holding onto Kronos’ arms. “I got you. This the guy you’re supposed to hurt?”

Kronos nods mutely.

“What’s his name?” the guy asks.

Lenny.

Len.

Leonard.

Beloved. Husband. Partner.

Kronos’ mouth moves futilely, unable to squeeze out a word.

“Leonard Snart,” Ginny says for him. “Of Central City. A historical contemporary of yours.”

“Okay,” the guy says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He pats Kronos on the back as Kronos straightens up. “You’re a good guy, you know? You haven’t even asked for anything from me.”

“You remind me,” Kronos croaks. “Of -” He trails off.

“Even the killing bit?”

Kronos shook his head. “Never liked killing,” he says. “Do it if he felt he had to, if people were hurting or threatening to hurt us, but the second anyone gave him an excuse to stop, he did. Dad made him do it. Was a cop, y'know. Dirty.”

“I hate dirty cops,” the guy says contemplatively. “I get you.”

Kronos shakes his head free of cobwebs. “I should get you back before the Time Masters notice I’ve made a detour.”

“You do that,” the guy says, going to the other seat and strapping himself and his dog in. “And hey - best of luck getting out from under them.”

Kronos doesn’t think that’s a possibility, but he appreciates the thought.

They land halfway across the country from where Kronos picked the guy up. “Been about four hours, local time,” Kronos tells him. “Bit too fast for you to get here, so if you want to be safe, I’d wait another few hours before heading out again.”

“Get some sleep and shit,” the guy says. “Gotcha. Thanks.”

Kronos opens the door for him and hands him his ridiculous bag of guns. Ginny pipes up to inform him of some additions she’s made to them.

Guy’s shoulders look like a burden’s been taken off of them. Kronos isn’t sure if it’s the removal of the chronic pain or having seen his daughter again that did it.

(He wishes he could make Len sit in the chair and take a round of Ginny’s healing, but he’ll never make anyone, no matter how hated-beloved-hated he is, sit bound in a chair every again.)

The guy stops just at the threshold. “Hey,” he says. “Just occurs to me. We never really got around to introducing ourselves.”

Kronos shrugs. “Names are the first thing they take.”

“Not mine,” the guy says. “I’m Frank. Frank Castle. And you?”

Kronos opens his mouth to give his designation.

“I used to be called Mick Rory,” he finds himself saying.

The guy nods. “I hope,” he says seriously, “that the next time we meet, you’re calling yourself that again.”

And then he goes.

“You’re wanted back at the Vanishing Point, Kronos,” Ginny says apologetically.

“Yeah,” Kronos says, shaking his head and closing the door. Enough nonsense - time to go back to work. “Yeah, let’s blow this joint.”

For one idle moment, he wonders if there’s any chance of him seeing Frank again.

Nah.

What’s the likelihood of that?