#but I’m glad Charles is distinctly Charles

[cuddleswinchester]

DOS discussing Charles’ accent.

#aka dos voice reveal #he’s so delightful to me idk if I’ve mentioned that before 🤔 #DOSposting #mashposting #David Ogden Stiers #I was surprised he had to push for the accent! that seems like it would’ve been on the blueprint #they loved him so much just the way he was :) #but I’m glad Charles is distinctly Charles #I am full of emotions #never forget he had a stutter 💜

[maximoff-pan]

57 with Peter Maximoff? 'cause your writing about him makes me soft 🥺

Prompt:

57. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

Character: Peter Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Word Count: 1.4 k of (hopefully) tooth rotting fluff....like maybe you’ll need a dentist after reading???

A/n: Anon, you’re way too sweet! And honestly, writing about him makes me soft, so I really hope you enjoy! (I know I did writing this)....Anyway, I also want to note that this (the beginning), does not perfectly (or even close to perfectly) follow the plot or script of days of future past. I just somewhat mimicked it....It doesn’t have a ton to do with the movie, but just in case anyone is confused, that is what it’s based on. I also had to check the timelines, so I think they’re right. It says that Peter is born in 1955 and DOFP takes place in 1973, so that’d make him approximately 18. I’m sorry if that’s wrong, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

You distinctly remember the first time you met Peter Maximoff. And thinking back on it now, you’re not sure there’s a world in which it’s possible that you could ever forget it. You’d both been so young, barely 18, and yet, as conflicted as you’d felt when you’d first laid your eyes on him, there was an instant connection between you. It was unbelievably undeniable...something not even Charles could explain when he’d met the pair of you.

You’d both met Charles, Hank, and Logan on the same day. You’d only known the three mysterious men for a few more hours than Peter had, them picking you up from your home because your mutation was integral in breaking Erik out of the Pentagon. (Personally, at the time, you didn’t see why your mutation of invisibility would be so helpful....but Charles more than insisted. So you just said, ‘sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and went along with them...for the adventure of course). Unfortunately (or fortunately, you’re not quite sure), your next stop was to convince some teenage speedster to join you....hence, you meeting Peter.

“You’re not cops.” Was the first thing you heard out of his mouth.

His voice had taken you back. He’d managed to sound both arrogant and insecure, all in one utterly short sentence. How on earth could anyone manage that? On a first judgment, this boy gave you mixed feelings. Was he an ass? Or was he just scared...nervous, or maybe both?

Logan simply scoffed, his arms folded across his chest. “And what makes you say that, kid?”

“Rental car.” Peter tutted, a glimmer shining brightly in his eyes. “And you really expect me to believe some rando teenage girl is working as an officer for whatever joke of a police force you claim to be a part of? I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” You spat at him.

The grin that plastered itself on his face was vomitous. “You’re excused princess.”

That nickname made your blood absolutely boil, and your skin crawled with frustration. You turned to Logan bitterly. “And we need this klepto ass clown why?”

“Unfortunately, his mutation is exactly what we need.” Hank broke in, speaking for Logan.

Honestly, if Logan could’ve made the choice that day, he would’ve left Peter behind. He thought you and your mutation were enough, that unlike Charles and Hank, Peter was not a necessity, he was just a fucking nuisance. He much preferred you....but he was stuck with both of you.

If he had been able to make that decision, at the time, you would have agreed with Logan wholeheartedly. Peter annoyed you to no end, and from the moment you met him, he continuously tried to rile you up. But today? Today you’re very much glad Logan had not been granted permission to make that decision. If he had, then you’d never have met Peter. You’d never have met the love of your life, your husband, and the father of your children.

You never would have been truly happy. But thank god Logan hadn’t made that decision....thank god....

Now? Now you’re happily married. You’ve put your X-Men days behind you, trading them in for teacher’s positions at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Soon, you’ll even be teaching your own children, twins James and Eleanor, and baby Wyatt (in that order, oldest to youngest)...but for now, they’re still too young to be learning at Xavier’s. For now, you’re spending your last few months on maternity leave, before you head back to teaching.

Home life has been crazy, two toddlers and a new baby will do that to you. And Peter has been your absolute rock. (You’ve also been his, which he tells you everyday, but you never seem to believe it)...

You live right off campus, so Peter’s commute to work is practically nonexistent, which means he’s able to be at home with you fairly shortly after his work day ends. (It’s literally a lifesaver), and Peter loves being at home with your kids. There’s honestly nowhere he’d rather be....except maybe cuddled in bed next to you, the house completely quiet from children screaming or babies crying.

“The twins go to bed okay?” You ask your husband as he tiredly walks into your shared bedroom.

“Define okay.” He jokes. You tilt your head, shooting him a look of uncertainty. “In all seriousness,” he starts, “probably the best bed time this week.”

Peter’s beaming with the pride that he could get his children to actually behave and go to sleep at a godly hour, and it warms your heart. You can see it in his being, just how much love he has for them.

“I’m glad.” You smile. “Wyatt’s down. Out like a light.” You gesture to the baby sleeping in the crib next to your bed.

Peter’s eyebrows raise, a mischievous grin on his face. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“That’s definitely not what I thought you were going to say.” You laugh softly. “I was expecting something more along the lines of... ‘let’s have sex.’ Instead, you ask your wife, let me remind you in case you forgot, your wife, if you can have a simple kiss? Ladies and gentlemen, I married the most wholesome man on the planet!”

He responds with a laugh of his own, your antics more than amusing him. “So you’re saying, we could’ve had...” he pauses for a moment, feigning innocence and whispering, “sex?”

“We could’ve.” You shrug. “But you passed up on it.”

Peter throws you a goofy grin, eyeing you up and down. “I’m still taking that kiss though.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

“Mhm.” He finally leans in, placing his lips softly on yours. At first the kiss is gentle, but as the seconds pass, the intensity grows. You don’t know when exactly that it happens, but suddenly you find yourself on Peter’s lap, basically straddling him. Your mouths move in harmony, harder and faster than a few moments prior.

He lets out a groan of approval as you rake your hands through his long (ish) silver hair. Taking this as your opportunity, you deepen the kiss, propping yourself off of Peter’s lap, and pushing him further into your bed.

His hand grips your arm, securing his other arm around your waist and flipping the two of you over, him now on top. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. It’s like the perfect storm of anticipation. You both want to take things further, desperately, but the universe decides it has other plans for you (not allowing you a moment free from parenting), when your son begins to cry.

“Peter.” You murmur into his mouth. And as much as you don’t want to stop whatever this is, you also don’t want the wailing baby to wake your other children.

He pulls back reluctantly, letting out of sigh of frustration, as he watches you crawl across the bed and scoop Wyatt out of his crib. The crying stops almost instantaneously, and you both feel some sort of relief flood through you. If there was any plus side to come from this, at least Eleanor and James hadn’t woken up.

“It’s alright baby boy.” You coo as Peter watches you lovingly. “Mama’s got you.”

“Daddy’s here too.” Peter nearly sings at your baby son. “And he loves you very much.”

“Mommy loves you more.” You tease, speaking in the same sing song voice your husband had just used.

Peter scoffs. “I don’t think so.” He sings back. “Mommy and Daddy love you equally.”

“Oh I’m sure they do.” The sarcasm in your tone is evident, and at that, he reaches over to gently tickle your sides, careful not to disrupt your position with Wyatt.

You release a gentle string of giggles, feeling Peter’s fingers halt their actions. “I surrender! I surrender.”

“You see that Wyatt?” Your husband asks your son. “Your Mommy has me absolutely whipped. I couldn’t be a happier man.”

“And I a happier woman.” You pause, leaning down to whisper in Wyatt’s ear, just loud enough for Peter to hear. “Besides, your Daddy’s been whipped by me since the second he first saw me.”

Peter simply shrugs, grinning down at his little family. “You’re not wrong.” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he hums lightly. “Your Mommy’s definitely not wrong.”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximoff x you #xmen x reader #xmen imagine #xmen imagines

[gerec]

AU-gust 2020 Prompts

1. Fantasy AU - Cherik 2. College AU - Cherik, Xavierine 3. Soulmates AU - Cherik 4. Angels & Demons AU - Cherik 5. Post-Apocalyptic AU - Cherik

6. Hospital AU - Cherik

It takes Erik four days to work up the courage to ask the cute doctor out on a date, and only after a lot of convincing by his ex-wife coupled with his mother’s gentle nagging. With Magda getting discharged today it’s really the last chance he’ll have to speak to Dr. Xavier, short of breaking his own leg so he can get himself admitted into the man’s patient, gentle care.

Chasing away his nerves, he makes his way over to the Nurse’s Station, where the doctor is drinking his coffee and chatting amiably with the red headed Nurse Cassidy. Seeing him there with company almost stops Erik in his tracks, but then Cassidy’s eyes dart in his direction before he says something to Xavier and walks away.

“Charles?”

Looking up from his phone, Charles turns towards Erik and gives him a thousand watt smile. “Oh! Erik, hi! Are we all packed and ready to go?”

“Almost. Mama’s just helping Magda get sorted, though all the paperwork’s been signed.” Come on, you can do this, he thinks, just spit it out, Lehnsherr! “Do you…I mean…I just wanted to say…”

Arching an eyebrow at him, Charles prompts, “Is something the matter, Erik? Do you have more questions about home care for Magda’s leg?”

“No, no I’ve got all the information I need thanks,” he sputters, which is just…sad really. Magda would laugh herself sick if she could see how badly he’s making a mess of things with the handsome doctor. “I just…want to thank you again, that’s all, for taking such good care of her after the accident.”

Charles smiles again, and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re very welcome. She was a wonderful patient, and I’m glad to see her on the mend.” Then, after glancing at his watch and frowning a little, he says with a sigh, “Right. I’m sorry but duty calls, Erik. It was good to meet you, my friend, and I would say ‘hope to see you soon’, if I didn’t think we’d be courting a bit of bad luck for you and your lovely family.”

He’s never going to hear the end of it if he lets Charles get away without even trying; not from his mother or Magda or even the twins who’ve come to adore the man that makes their Mom feel better and sneaks them lollipops from his coat pocket. “Wait! Charles wait…can I take you out for dinner some time? If you’re not too busy?”

He can’t make out the complicated expression that flashes across Charles’ face; only that he’s decidedly not happy about Erik’s offer. “There’s no need to thank me by buying me dinner,” he says awkwardly, “I was just doing my job.” A thank you dinner—? “No, no,” Erik says with a frown, “I’m asking you out on a date. You said you liked sushi, so I thought maybe we could do that? Sometime when you’ve got an evening free?”

And that somehow makes things worse and not better, because Charles flushes red, his previous discomfort morphing quickly into anger. “You have some nerve, asking me out on a date when you’re a married man with a family! I don’t know what kind of person you think I am Mr. Lehnsherr, but I am not going to help you cheat on your lovely wife. Goodbye!”

“Wait what? I’m not—”

“Oh man, what’d you say to the Doc?” Cassidy asks, as a helpless Erik watches his crush practically sprinting away from him down the hall. Why would Charles think that he and Magda were still married, when they’ve been divorced now for over two years? “I thought you were going to ask him out?”

Erik groans. “I did ask him out. He thinks I’m married.”

Cassidy laughs. “Well sure he did at first. Remember when they brought her in from the ER and you came up here yelling and demanding to see your wife? I remember, because he was definitely checking you out until the wife thing came up.” Then he cocks his head at Erik and frowns. “But you cleared it up with him didn’t you? He’s been talking about you and your kids so much I thought you two were a sure thing.”

Thinking back now, Erik can clearly see where he went wrong, and why Charles would believe that he and Magda were still together; he distinctly remembers saying ‘my wife’ loudly at the Nurse’s Station, just so they wouldn’t give him the runaround and refuse to give him updates on her condition. And Erik’s been staying with the twins at Magda’s since the accident and calling it ‘home’, not to mention how well he and his mother get along with his ex and how they’re always joking and ribbing each other, like they’ve been doing since they were kids…

“Fuck.” Erik’s royally botched things up this time, and with the only person he’s been attracted to – the only one he’s actually considered dating – since the divorce. “I can’t believe I--- Fuck.”

“Tell you what.” Cassidy grabs a piece of scrap paper and jots down a phone number, before grinning and shoving it in his hand. “I’ll clear things up with Charles for you. Give it 24 hours and then call him and ask him again.”

“Thank you,” Erik says, “I owe you one.”

Cassidy claps him on the shoulder and gives him a shit eating grin. “Just make sure I get an invite to the wedding, Mr. Lehnsherr, and sit me next to one of your hot lady friends.”

#gerec writes #cherik #hospital au #au-gust 2020 #august writing challenge #day 6 #modern au

[skylarmoon71]

Peter Stone x Reader- Chapter 3

“(Y/N)!”

Your eyes sprung open and you jumped in the bed. The sound of beeps going off around you made you groan. You were gently pushed back unto the bed, and someone came in, flashing a light in your eye. “Can you tell us your name and date of birth.” you squinted, still trying to get a good image of your surroundings.

“I’m (Y/N), (L/N), I-I was born on the twenty six of June.” The person in front of you finally moved the light. You could make out the female who was no doubt a doctor.  She ushered her nurse out, checking your vitals. “Welcome back Ms. (L/N). I must say you’ve recovered quickly. Most of my gunshot victims sometimes take weeks to wake up. You got out of surgery just a few days ago, I’m impressed. “ You still felt partially disoriented. 

“What day is it?” 

“It’s Wednesday the fifth, is there somewhere you have to be other than recovering.” you gave a half smile at her comment. “No, I just need to see my Lieutenant. I’m a cop working with the-”

“Special Victims Unit I know. Your team has been in here nonstop asking questions. I finally got them to go home when they found out you’d made it through surgery okay. They’ll probably be back bright and early to nag my nurses again.” you sighed, relaxing in the bed. “Do you remember much of what happened?” you shook your head at her question. 

“Well, that’s not uncommon. In cases like these it takes a while for our brain to catch up. You may get small bits and pieces as time passes. Don’t be alarmed if you start hearing voices. It could be your brain trying to construct the events of the last few days. Your friends came in and talked to you on more than one occasion. So if you start getting flashes just let me know. “ 

“I will.” She checked through a couple documents. “Everything seems okay. It’s after one. You should get some rest. As soon as they get here I’ll let you know. Just rest. You’ve been through a lot.” you nodded, pulling the sheets up. 

“Alright. Thank you doctor.” she smiled kindly. “You’re welcome.” she exited, sliding the door close. You sank into the sheets, trying to even out your breathing. You closed your eyes but all you could hear was shots being fired. You opened your eyes with a whimper. You could still feel the sting of the bullet in your skin. You were sure it left a mark. You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to think of something else, something better. 

“Hey, I remembered you turning me down, so since you can’t go to the race, I figured I’d bring the race to you. “ 

Your eyes opened again at the voice in your head. 

“Was that...Stone..” 

Your eyes shut again, but you could hear him talking. It was so weird. You finally came to the conclusion that maybe he was talking to you for the past couple days while you were unconscious. “So this is what she meant.” You welcomed the sound of his voice, his words slowly lulling you to sleep. 

“I’ll be right here when you wake up (Y/N). You still have to make up for those weeks of hostility.” 

That was the last thought that flashed through your mind as you gave into sleep. 

~~~~

“What are you talking about? She loves my cooking.” Carisi’s voice rang through the halls. “No one is saying she doesn’t. Sneaking it passed the doctors, that’s going to be challenging.” Rollins informed. They both turned when they heard someone clearing their throat. 

“Detectives.” the doctor spoke. “Doc, how is she?” The female ushered them to your room. 

“She’s coming along nicely. I advised that you not stay long. She’s strong, but still human. I don’t want her pushing more than she needs to. “ Rollins nodded. “Sure thing, we’ll try and make it quick.” They moved to the side opening the door and as soon as you made out their faces your eyes lit up. “Guys!!” Carisi grinned, coming to your side and giving you a side hug. You returned it, Rollins pushing him away playfully to get a hug of her own. “ 

“How are you doing, doctors feeding you well.” 

“Not as well as your cooking Carisi, I can’t wait to get out of here.” Rollins smiled, happy that you seemed back to your old self. 

“Well everyone is glad you’re okay. Liv almost drop kicked a doctor when they refused to give us an update on the surgery.” just imagining it made you laugh. 

“Fin sends his regards, so does Stone. He was really worried you know. “ You didn’t expect that. Yes, you and Peter worked out a few bumps, but apparently he’d grown closer that you realized. He was the main reason you got any sleep that night. You looked at your lap in thought.

“I’m fine, tell them not to worry.” 

“Trust me, even if we do they still will. “ That was true. 

It was quiet in the room for a second. The question you were dreading to ask. 

“Mr. Charles...did he.. “ Rollins looked away. “He didn’t make it. The first bullet he took struck you, luckily it went right through. Jason wasn’t as lucky. The second took him out. And Mr. Charles he..they had no choice.” you swallowed. Three lives over, just like that. Four if you included his wife, who now had no one. “I understand.” you hands gripped into the sheets. 

“Well I know you guys are probably still on the job. You can come by later. “ 

“What! We just got here.” Carisi protested. You nudge your head in the direction of the transparent door. The doctor was standing there impatiently. “If you stay any longer she might put you too in here too.” you joked. 

“Alright alright.” Carisi leaned over pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be back later. Rest up.” Rollins conveyed the same, both of them leaving. The doctor entered as they exited. 

“Any changes, how are you feeling. Any aches or pains?”

“Aside from the throbbing in my stomach I’m fine. I have a feeling that’s normal doctor.”

“It is. You are very lucky the bullet went through you. It also missed your vital organs by mere centimetres. In the future I’d advise steering clear of flying bullets.”

“Duly noted doctor.” 

~~~~

You weren’t too sure how many hours had passed. What you did know is that you needed to stretch your legs. Your body felt like jelly. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea getting out of the bed, but it wasn’t like you planned to go on a tour around the hospital. You just need to move a little. 

You were sure to check and see if your doctor was close by. When you didn’t spot her you kicked off your sheets. You raised up, twisting your body, back facing the door slightly. You inched a foot off the bed, about to put down another. 

“I’m no doctor, but I’m positive you should be lying down.” you froze, looking over your shoulder. 

“Counselor, to what do I owe the pleasure.” you were trying to play it off, like he hadn’t just seen you trying to escape your bed. You pulled your feet back on the bed with a sigh at his amused look. 

“Go ahead, laugh at me. I know you want to.”

“I would never. That would be very unethical. Especially to someone that saved my life.”

“Please, I didn’t save your life.”

“No? I distinctly remember you shoving me roughly into a wall. I’d like to think you did that to save me and not just for the pleasure of causing me pain.” 

“Maybe it was a bit of both. Not that you can prove it.” you grinned. He smiled softly, taking a seat on your bed. He dropped his briefcase on the chair at the side, looking you over. 

“How are you doing? “ 

“I’m okay. The doctor says I’ll be out of here in a few weeks if I get enough rest.” 

“And stop trying to sneak out of bed.” he added. 

“Yeah that too.” you laughed. A comfortable silence settled. For a while neither of you said anything, until you spoke up. “Barba called me.” It had been a while since you really mentioned his name. Peter looked a bit proud that you weren’t struggling to talk about him anymore. 

“Yeah, what did he think about your little stunt.”

“Oh he really gave me an earful. After he was down lecturing me about the stupidity behind putting myself in obvious danger he asked how I was holding up.” The conversation you had with the ex district attorney brought a smile to your lips. 

“Sounds like Barba.” Peter chuckled out.  He shifted a bit closer, his hand closing over your own. He looked up at you, and your heart increased slightly at the way he stared at you. The feel of his hand around yours wasn’t helping either. “I’m very glad you’re okay (Y/N).” the sincerity of his words struck you right in the chest. 

“So am I..” you voiced. For a while you weren’t sure if you would be. What you were sure of was Peter being there. Everything was filling in and you remembered asking him to stay with you. And he did. He was there. You squeezed his hand softly, smiling at him. 

“I was going to wait until you were better to show you these, but I think you’d prefer to see now.” Peter reached into his pocket pulling something out. You were stunned at the tickets in his hand. 

“No way...but those cost way more than both of us make combined!” It was complimentary tickets to one of the most recognized track runners. You were absolutely obsessed with the sport since you ran in high school. He just shrugged. “I know people.”

A grin spread from ear to ear. “Heck yeah!!” He looked satisfied with your response, laughing lowly. “The race is in a few months, by then you should be fully recovered. I got two, so you could take whoever you want. I’m sure you have other crazy fans like yourself to enlist. “ 

He handed them to you. You just gazed at it, still barely believing it. 

“Will you?” His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Will I..?” you gestured to the tickets. “Will you...come with me..” you sounded a bit hesitant, like you were afraid he’d say no. His features softened at the invitation. 

“I’m flattered, but you don’t have to invite me. I’m sure you have a lot of friends who would enjoy it more than I would. “ 

“You’re right, I do. But I asked you.” That surprised him. 

“Does she actually want me to come..” the hopeful look in your eyes answered his question. And here he thought you were just trying to be polite. The thought of you actually wanting his company made a pleasant feeling rush through his body. “I’d love to.” you smiled almost immediately. “Great, well you hold onto them. I’m really bad at those things. I’d probably lose the tickets on the day of the race.” He laughed at that, taking them and tucking it back into his suit pocket. 

“I’ll be looking forward to it. “ 

“So will I Counselor.” the rest of your time together was filled with light conversation. You were really going to give your all into getting better, if for nothing else than getting to know Peter more. You needed to make up for the weeks you lost out on. And you had a feeling this race would be the start of a very good friendship.

#peter stonexreader #peterstone #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #OliviaBenson #carisi #amandarollins #fin tutuola #crime #angst #rafealxreader #love #hurt #fear

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1822 Tuesday 23 July

6

12 3/4

Good bed, very clean and comfortable, and slept well - Rainy night, and rainy morning - yet no prospect of doing any good by waiting, and off from Bala (the White lion Inn, John Ellis) at 7 25/60 - the upper road to Corwen only ten miles, but have come the lower (14 miles) thro’ the vale of Edeirnion, on account of the scenery - Beautiful vale - the Dee nearly close on our right most of the way - winds most beautifully, flowing gently between its low banks occasionally prettily wooded - what a contrast to the torrents to which we have lately been accustomed to. A beautiful vale - But it rained all the way to the last of the 2 turnpikes about or near 1/2 mile from Corwen, and our view was sadly spoilt by the thickness of the weather and the gig-top up -

Did not know the town or the Inn again - could scarce believe it the same place we stopt at on Sunday-week - (page 44). Left Bala at 7 25/60 and got here in 2 20/60 hour at 9 3/4 - Breakfast immediately -

(Llangollen - King’s head, new hotel - Mrs Davis. 2 3/4 p.m.) Left Corwen at 11 35/60 and got here in 1 1/2 hour (10 miles government-made road, most excellent in spite of having been almost deluged with rain) at 1 5/60 - the vale of Corwen beautiful certainly, but, as I have repeatedly told my aunt would be the case, it now seemed tame after the scenery we have seen - yet the vale of Edeirnion pleased us, even in the rain, and we prefer it to that of Corwen which saw more distinctly - as we had the top down all the way - a drop or 2 of rain just after setting off, and a shower for about the 3rd mile from Llangollen - heavy rain just after we got in -

Mrs Davis received us at the door, and came into our room to answer our inquiries after Lady Eleanor Butler - Mrs Davis was called up at one last night, and they thought her ladyship would have died - she was however rather better this morning - the physician does not seem to apprehend danger, but Mrs D- is alarmed, and spoke of it in tears - Miss Ponsonby too, is alarmed and ill herself  on this account - pain in her side - “She is a lady” said Mrs D- “of very strong ideas; but this would grieve her too” - Mrs D- has only known them 13 or 14 years during which time she has lived at this house but she has always seen them “so attached so amiable together” - no two people ever lived more happily - they like all the people about them are beloved by all, and do a great deal of good - Lady Eleanor had the remains of beauty - Miss Ponsonby was a very fine woman - Lady Eleanor Butler about 80 - Miss P- 10 or 12 years younger - the damp this bad account cast upon my spirits I cannot describe - I am interested about these 2 ladies very much - there is something in their story, and in all I have heard about them here that added to other circumstances makes a deep impression -

Sat musing on the sopha scarce wotting what to do - irresolute and moody - thinking of Pi [Mariana] low about her I cannot shake off the impression of what she said at Chester about delicacy in calculation delta’s [Charles’] life Mr Powis etc I know not how it is I am shockingly low altogether - Mrs Davis being going to inquire after lady Eleanor Butler my aunt and I walked with her to wait for her giving an answer to our inquiries - the physician there - strolled about for 10 minutes, and not being gone and it threatening to rain, returned and only just got in before a tremendously heavy shower - then sat down and wrote the above of today - I feel better for this writing - In fact, come what may, writing my journal - thus as it were throwing my mind on paper, always does me good -

Mrs Davis just returned - brought a good account of her ladyship and a message of thanks for our inquiries from Miss Ponsonby, who will be glad to see me this evening to thank me in person - shall about go 6 1/2 or 7, just after dinner - this is more than I expected I wonder how I work my way and what she will think of me Mrs Davis wishes me to give all the comfort all I can and not to mention that I know of her having been called up last night -

(9 p.m.) Dinner at 6 before dinner about two hours upstairs washing cutting my toe nails putting clean things etc At 7 went to Plasnewydd and got back at 8 - just an hour away and surely the walking there and back did not take me more than 20 minutes - shewn into the room next the library the breakfast room, waited a minute or 2, and then came Miss P- a large woman so as to waddle in walking but not taller than myself - in a blue shortish waist-cloth habit, the jacket unbuttoned shewing a plain plaited frilled habit shirt - a thick white cravat, rather loosely put on - hair powdered, parted, I think, down the middle in front, cut a moderate length all round and hanging straight, tolerably thick - the remains of a very fine face - coarseish white cotton stockings - ladies’ slipper shoes cut lower down, the foot hanging a little over - altogether a very odd figure - yet she had no sooner entered into conversation than I forgot all this and my attention was wholey taken by her manners and conversation - the former perfectly easy, peculiarly attentive and well bred, and bespeaking a person accustomed to a great deal of good society - mild and gentle, certainly not masculine, and yet there was a je-ne-sais-quoi striking - her conversation shewing a personal acquaintance with most of the literary characters of the day and their works - She seemed sanguine about lady Eleanor’s recovery - poor soul! my heart ached to think how small the chance - She told me her ladyship had undergone an operation 3 times - the sight of one eye restored - couching by absorption - I said I believed it was neither a painful nor dangerous operation - she seemed to think it both the one and the other - mentioned the beauties of the place - the books I had noticed in their rustic library - she said lady E- read French, Spanish, and Italian - had great knowledge of ancient manners and customs, understood the obsolete manners and phrases of Tasso remarkably well - had written elucidatory notes on the first 2 (or 4 # I think) books of Tasso, but had given away the only copy she ever had - contrived to ask if they are classical - “no!” (said she) thank god from Latin and Greek I’m free” - speaking of translations she mentioned La Cerda’s (I think it was) as the best according to some + bishop friend of hers of Virgil, and Cary’s as being most excellent of Tasso, literal and excellent for a beginner, and which she should recommend to any one wanting assistance - She somehow mentioned Lucretioius but it was “a bad book and she was afraid of reading it” - I asked why - He was a deistical writer - I mentioned Dr John Mason Good’s translation adding that I believed he (Dr Good) was not a high church man - “no! She knew he was heterodox” - I observed that she might think all the classics objectionable - “yes! they wanted pruning; but the Delphin Editions were very good - as people got older, she said, they are more particular - she was almost afraid of reading Cain, tho’ lord B- [Byron?] had been very good in sending them several of his works” - I asked if she had read Don Juan - she was ashamed to say she had read the 1st canto - She said I had named Mr Bankes - and asked if it was Mr Bankes Cleaver - I thought not, did not know him; but he was the most particular friend of a friend of mine - it was Mr Bankes the great Grecian, said to be now the best in England since Mr Porson’s death - She did not think he had ever been there did not know, did not remember him - she asked if I would walk out - shewed me their kitchen garden - walked round the shrubbery with me - She said she owned to their having been 42 years there - they landed first in South Wales but it did not answer the accounts they had heard of it - they then travelled in North Wales, and, taken with the beauty of this place, took the cottage for 31 years - but it was a false lease, and they had had a great deal of trouble and expense it was only 4 years since they had bought the place - Dared say I had a much nicer place at home - mentioned its situation, great age, long time in the family etc She wished to know where to find an account of it - Said it had been their humble endeavour to make their place as old as they could - Spoke like a woman of the world about my liking the place where I was born, etc said I was not born there - my father was a younger brother - but that I had the expectation of succeeding my uncle - “Ah! then”, said she, “you will soon be the master and there will be an end of romance” - Never! never! said I - I envied their place and the happiness they had had there - dared say they had never quarrelled - “no! they had never had a quarrel - little difference of opinion sometimes - life could not go on without it - but only about the planting of a tree - and, when they differed in opinion, they took care to let no one see it” - At parting, she shook hands with me and gave me a rose; I said I should keep it for the sake of the place where it grew. She had before said she should be happy to introduce me sometime to Lady Eleanor - I had given my aunt’s compliments and inquiries said she would have called with me but feared to intrude, and was not quite well this evening - she (Miss P-) gave me a sprig of geranium for my aunt with her compliments and thanks for her inquiries - Lady E- was asleep while I was there - Miss P- had been reading to her “Adam Blair” the little book recommended to me by M- at Chester - I had told Miss P- I had first seen an account of them in La Belle Assemblie a dozen years ago, and had longed to see the place ever since - She said some people had been very impertinent, particularly Dr Mavor who had in some way displeased (laughed at or something) their old housekeeper to whose memory they have erected a monument in the church yard - and it seems the ladies have a particular objection to Dr M- but Miss P- appears to have lost her teeth, and occasionally mumbles a little, that, as a stranger, I did not always perhaps quite understand her - It seems 2 of the Cromptons and their brother (of Esholt) were lately sketching the place - the ladies sent them chairs - went out to speak to them (for they were retiring fearing they had offended the ladies) formed an acquaintance and wanting to know something aobut the Derwentwater family which the C-s could get to know, there has been a correspondence - Miss P- said she had not answered their last letter, but meant to do it - Lady E and Miss P- seem great pedigree-people antiquaries, topographers, etc -

The Ladies of Llangollen: Miss Ponsonby on the left, Lady Eleanor Butler on the right - Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

I came away much pleased with Miss P- and sincerely hoping Lady E- will recover; to enjoy a few years more in this world - I know not how it is, I felt low after coming away - a thousand moody reflections occurred; but again writing has done me good - went to and returned from Plasnewydd in a gleam - showery afternoon and evening - I mean to dry and keep the rose Miss P- gave me - ‘Tis now 10 1/4 - sat talking to my aunt came upstairs at 11 10/60 forty minutes siding my things in the imperial - used the syringe with cold water three times today great deal of discharge -

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/6/0031

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #1822 #the annes go to Wales #the ladies of llangollen

[nicholaswilde]

Mission 48

Seblaine Week 2019, Day 1 

Theme: Accidental Dating/Marriage

Summary: Ambassador Blaine Anderson has just left Earth on a long-term mission for the Intergalactic Diplomacy Bureau. The goal? Establish positive relations with the mysterious inhabitants of a planet three million light years away. He gets a little bit more than he bargained for. - PG, just under 3,000 words

Intergalactic wormhole travel was always a bit dizzying. This was his 13th journey from Earth, but Blaine still found himself fighting off nausea as the small, spherical ship jettisoned through space-time. The human body simply wasn't built for this kind of chaos.

He was anxious, too. It was his first long-term diplomacy mission, to a planet they'd only recently established communication with. Instruments and tech had bent sent ahead of him, to report vital measurements like temperature and breathability of the atmosphere, but Blaine would be the first human being to step foot there. He would stay for months, learning what he could, establishing connections, acting as the sole representative of his entire species as two advanced worlds worked out how they could benefit from the other.

The mysterious inhabitants had offered very little information about themselves except to assure that Earth's diplomat would need not worry about language translation and could expect many of the comforts of home.

It was a vague but encouraging invitation. Blaine could only hope for the best. His success would mean peaceable relations for years to come. His failure could mean anything from being demoted back to an assistantship to all-out planetary war.

No pressure.

Blaine clutched the rigid armrests of his seat as the vibration rose to a frenzied pitch. Despite a half dozen safety restraints and a design meant to cushion his body from the worst of it, Blaine felt his bones start to rattle beneath his skin. He gnawed at his mouthguard, clamped his eyes shut, and-

Just when he could take no more, the ship exited the wormhole. The sensation was like the snap of a giant rubber band, followed by profound stillness. He was still moving, of course, drifting toward the planet ahead of him at a casual 17,000 miles per hour, but the final descent was a walk in the park compared to the past 4.5 minutes he'd spent hurtling through the very fabric of the universe.

At touchdown, the restraints automatically released. Blaine sat up, rolled his shoulders, pulled the silicone from between his teeth, and rattled off a quick message into the slim comms device at his wrist. "This is Blaine Anderson, ambassador deployed for long-term diplomacy with Mission 48. I'm on the ground."

Even with their most advanced systems, the transmission would take hours to reach Earth, and any response would take just as long. Blaine was alone here, and the airlock door was opening.

He shouldered a heavy bag filled with his worldly possessions and stepped out onto the platform below. As his eyes adjusted, Blaine's first thought was that this planet bore remarkable resemblance to the one he intimately knew. Their closest star fought to shine through a dense ring of gases in the outer atmosphere, leaving a sepia hue to the natural light around them. But there was grass, a treeline, the sound of something like birdsong.

Most jarring and familiar of all, however, were the locals here to meet him. Four of them standing abreast, a few feet away. They were indistinguishable from humankind, right down to the modern, business casual outfits they wore. Blaine was about to ask if he was in the right place. Maybe the ship's autopilot had routed him to a planet with an already-established Earth embassy.

"Welcome, Ambassador Anderson. We are very glad to have you here."

Definitely the right place.

Blaine swallowed down the strangeness of the moment and stepped forward, offering his hand and a few pleasantries to each of them in turn. He was met with smiles and firm handshakes. Curiously, every introduction featured a recognizable Earth name beginning with the letter S. There was Sybil, Stewart, and Susan.

The last of the group introduced himself as Sebastian. He reached for the strap of Blaine's bag, pulled it from his shoulder, and passed it off to one of the others to carry. Then he stepped closer and spoke in a low, almost apologetic tone:

"I hope you do not mind the intrusion, but while we researched Earth customs to prepare for your arrival, we worked to familiarize ourselves with you as well." Sebastian glanced down at himself with a critical eye and pursed lips, then met Blaine's gaze once more. "I chose this form with your preferences in mind. I hope it pleases you?"

"I--" Blaine gaped momentarily. A fish out of water. "It's, uh- It's perfectly fine. Wonderful," he stammered. "Thank you."

He was gorgeous, truth be told. A sharp jawline. Keen eyes the color of moss, except when the light hit them in a particular way and revealed hints of hazeled grey and gold. Short hair with an effortless, backswept style. And though Blaine didn't let his eyes wander, his imagination didn't have to do much work to fill in the finer details of the stranger's lithe body beneath the blue button-down shirt and tailored pants.

In physical appearance, Sebastian ticked every box of Blaine's "type." Fantasy incarnate. A man made just for him. What sort of research capabilities did this race possess to be able to pin down such intricate--and private--information from a single human being nearly three million light years away? The 19-page dossier Blaine had stuffed among his possessions was looking more and more pathetic by the moment.

"Your expression suggests you have a question?" Sebastian offered, a kind smile on his face.

"You can change appearance at will?"

"Yes. We can even appear differently to different individuals simultaneously. Our kind identifies one another through-- Humans might call it consciousness? A mental link?" Blaine nodded, understanding. "Which means shifting appearances are of little consequence here. But do not worry; we've each assumed a specific form that your eyes will perceive as unchanging."

"Wow." It was all Blaine could say, lost for words once again, but Sebastian seemed satisfied. Rather pleased with himself, in fact.

"We’ll be meeting with all the major leaders soon, but in the meantime, I would love to show you around."

Blaine waved his hand, inviting Sebastian to lead the way. "Please do."

Still grinning like a schoolboy, Sebastian turned on his heel and linked their arms together like they’d known each other for years, not moments, as they started off down the landing platform and into the unknown.

They bypassed the ground vehicles stationed nearby for a tree-lined walking path instead, angling lazily toward the city center some half a mile away. Two giant, winged insects zipped past them and landed in the grass nearby, chattering away. Not birdsong after all, Blaine realized.

Like the humanoid locals and wannabe birds, the next few hours continued the theme of near-familiarity with a twist. Blaine was definitely not in Kansas anymore. He saw buildings with decorative fountains in their courtyards. A viscous, shimmering liquid cascaded upward and crashed into suspended pools that hovered in the air like gravity's rules didn't apply to them. He saw locals pause as he passed by, no matter how subtle they tried to make their staring. Many of them seemed to have trouble mastering the expressive abilities of their new human faces. They walked around with half-grimaces, perpetually wagging eyebrows, clownish smiles.

"Would you like anything to eat?" The first time Sebastian asked the question, Blaine thought nothing of it, politely declining in favor of furthering his study of a sign posted on a shop door, written in indiscernible runes. 

The second time Sebastian asked, Blaine thought maybe he'd just forgotten the first occurence. 

The third time Sebastian asked, within the span of an hour, Blaine gave him a quizzical look.

"Do you eat frequently here?" he asked, searching for some explanation. Maybe his presence had already interrupted a slew of mealtimes.

"No, no," Sebastian corrected. "Quite the opposite, actually. We don't."

"At all?" Blaine was dumbfounded.

"No, not at all." Sebastian smirked, almost blushing, as if the discussion of digestion was some strange taboo. "But I can assure your needs will be met while you're here. If ever you're in the state called hunger, please let me know."

Blaine nodded, huffing out a breathy laugh at the absurdity of it all. "I'll do that. Thank you."

Their exploration ended in the heart of the city center, at a building of spectacular scale and riveting architecture. Sebastian identified it as the local hub for politics, law, and public events. Curious statuary decorated the facade--depictions of bipedal creatures whose shape Blaine had never seen in all his travels. Thin, almost reptilian faces, hunched shoulders, six-fingered hands. He wondered if this was the true form of the man beside him or if the art was simply an equivalent to Earth's own misshapen, gothic gargoyles. He didn’t ask.

Sebastian led him inside to a large amphitheater. Representatives and leaders from more than two dozen other localities had come to meet the man from another world. Like those he'd already met on the landing platform, every collection of dignitaries offered him a set of distinctly human names. Each locality had chosen a different starting letter, to boot. Charles, Cynthia, and Cameron. Luke, Landon, and Laura. The general public was here, too, filling out every seat and overflowing to stand in the aisles.

Blaine had a place of honor on stage, with Sebastian on his left. 

Speakers came and went, orating primarily in English for Blaine's benefit. As expected, every speech centered on unity. Joining together. Peace and prosperity. Standard diplomatic fare.

But the rest of the ceremony was a little bit strange. He received gifts after each speech, all piling up quickly beside his chair. Unidentifiable trinkets, books written in the runic language, items of clear sentimental value to the people of this world. The planet's leaders shook his hand again and again.

They shook Sebastian's hand, too, which struck Blaine as odd.

There was cheering, applauding, stamping of feet. Blaine felt compelled to stand up several times to accept the applause--the only way to quell the crowd's excitement.

Whenever he stood to wave or bow or otherwise acknowledge the frantic adulation, Sebastian stood, too, which struck Blaine as odd.

The final speaker used the planet's native tongue. The entire crowd stood up, suddenly solemn and quiet. Sebastian stood, too, so Blaine followed suit.

Sebastian took his hand, entwining their fingers, which struck Blaine as odd. He was beaming with excitement, and perhaps a little anxiety. The speaker turned from the podium to face them both, said something with a warm smile and sense of gravitas.

The crowd cheered. The dignitaries applauded. Blaine smiled. Sebastian smiled. And just like that, the event was over. They slipped out through a backstage door to an empty room where a table had been set up with a pair of decorative drinking glasses and an array of decanters filled with beverages. The inhabitants didn't eat, but it appeared they drank.

Sebastian poured them each a glass. Blaine made a toast to lasting goodwill and introduced Sebastian to the custom of tapping drinks together.

"I have to hand it to you," Blaine told him with a laugh, "That was the most enthusiastic diplomacy meeting I've ever attended, in any galaxy."

Sebastian fell uncharacteristically still and silent. His face grew blank, then puzzled. "Meeting?" he asked. "I thought the human term was 'marriage.'"

Blaine coughed on his drink, wheezing, "Marriage?"

"Yes…" Sebastian spoke slowly, unsure. "The union of two individuals from faraway places. It's a custom that has been used to strengthen diplomatic alliances throughout Earth's history, yes?"

Blaine's head bobbed, automatically, yes. The internal, unofficial motto of the Intergalactic Diplomacy Bureau was 'when all else fails, go with the flow.' His brain was too busy shorting out to do anything else. There were no guidelines for something like this.

"Blaine?" Sebastian touched him on the shoulder, his beautiful eyes searching and concerned.

"I'm sorry, would-- would it be alright if I excused myself? I'm feeling a bit tired." An excuse, but not a lie. As the dossier had estimated, the days were clearly longer than those at home. Blaine was starting to feel the strain of his journey.

"Yes. I can show you where you'll be staying."

As before, Sebastian took Blaine by the arm, but his grip was decidedly less earnest. They didn't have to travel far. A room had been put together for Blaine on the top floor of the building, furnished like any decent studio apartment he'd find on Earth, sans kitchen, with an attached bathroom.

"I hope it pleases you?"

"This will be perfect. Thank you."

Graciously, Sebastian left without any prompting. Blaine couldn't even be bothered to close the door now that a king-size bed was staring him down. He dug into his bag, already delivered, and quickly set an alarm on one of the half dozen technological thingamajigs he'd brought along from home. Then he hit the pillows.

Even sleep was a practiced skill for planetary ambassadors. One never quite knew how frequently rest opportunities would occur within an extraterrestrial timeline. Mere minutes of meditation were all took for Blaine to slip away.

Three Earth hours later, he was up again. Blissfully, the sharp shock of an unexpected marriage had been softened and dulled by sleep. Now it felt faintly like a dream or an utterly ridiculous romantic comedy.

Blaine ran a hand through his hair. He should send another report back home. It had been too long already. He unbuckled the comms device from his wrist, twiddling it between his fingers as he started a transmission and began to speak.

"This is Blaine Anderson, reporting in from Mission 48. Approximately," he checked the time, "12 Earth hours underway; local time and duration still unclear--will make a point to clarify that soon. Only one major event to report. Um."

Blaine hesitated, then laughed, beside himself. "I'm a married man? I... Holy shit. Apparently the inhabitants did some deep research on human customs, and arranged marriages was one of the major items that stood out to them? Shortly after arrival, I met who I thought would be my guide--an emissary--and within a few hours, we're at a meeting with all the major planetary leaders in attendance. A meeting slash wedding."

Blaine shook his head as he recalled it. Go with the flow.

"At any rate, things aren't exactly playing out how we anticipated, but I'd say, overall, the mission objective to secure lasting, positive relations between our two worlds is off to an extremely solid start. And Sebastian, the emissary," Blaine couldn't quite put the word 'husband' on his tongue just yet, "is... He seems very kind. Eager to--"

 A gentle knock sounded behind him. Blaine turned his head to see a familiar face peeking past the open door.

"I'm interrupting?"

"No, no. Please, come in. I can finish this later." Blaine paused the incomplete transmission and tossed the comms device back into his open bag. Sebastian had come in, but only just. He hovered at the edge of the room. "Is everything okay?" Blaine didn't need a mental connection with him to know the answer. While he'd been sleeping, Sebastian had been stewing.

Sebastian looked at him plainly. "I worry we misinterpreted the purpose of your visit. I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable."

If there was one thing Blaine could get behind with his sudden, new relationship, it was Sebastian's tendency to be completely transparent. There would be no hidden grudges left to fester, no secrets to untangle, no problems he wouldn't be willing to discuss. If his last boyfriend of five years had been even half as forthcoming, Blaine mused, they might've lasted.

"I'm not uncomfortable," Blaine assured him. There was no reason to beat around the bush. He suspected Sebastian could glean hints of information from Blaine's mind just as easily as humans interpreted nuanced facial expressions. "A little surprised, sure, but..."

Suddenly, Sebastian looked more like the foreigner in a distant land.

"Come over here," Blaine suggested. "Sit down with me?"

Sebastian obliged, settling on the edge of the bed, so close their shoulders brushed. Blaine took one of his hands, cupping it between his own. The pad of his thumb rubbed a gentle path over Sebastian's knuckles. Keen empathy and compassion had earned Blaine his respected position in diplomacy. It was second nature to him to reach out, to connect.

"Humans have used marriage as a diplomacy tool. That's true. It’s helped bring families and empires together. Prevent wars, seal political alliances." Blaine spoke softly, trying to explain without patronizing Sebastian or discrediting the efforts of the planet's leadership. "Nowadays, though, at least in most places on Earth, marriage is seen more as a private, social bond.” His voice softened. “What I mean to say is, most people don't get married on the first day they meet. They get to know one another first."

"We can get to know one another," Sebastian offered.

"Of course we can. I'll be stationed here for the next year, at least."

"Three hundred and sixty-five Earth rotations."

Blaine laughed. "Exactly."

They sat in peaceable silence for a minute. Two minutes. Then Sebastian said, "There is one marriage custom I'm particularly curious to try."

"What's that?"

Sebastian pulled his hand free from Blaine's grip, reaching up instead to touch Blaine's face. They looked at each other. Despite all the oddities surrounding him on this alien world, Blaine felt his stomach start to coil and wind, familiar, eager anxiety stealing over as Sebastian leaned in close.

Their lips touched. Blaine sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

Sebastian had clearly done his homework. He was an enthusiastic study and wasted no time in pressing further, coaxing Blaine's mouth open, slipping just the tip of his tongue between Blaine's teeth. Blaine's reservations collapsed like a house of cards.

He reached out with both hands, finding Sebastian's jawline and tracing it up. His fingers dug into Sebastian's hair. The texture was unnaturally soft, irresistible.

Sebastian's body gave a discernible shiver as he pulled out of the kiss. Blaine opened his eyes. Sebastian's own, just inches away, stared back with heated intensity.

"It does elicit pleasure," he said, like he'd made a scientific discovery. "That's remarkable."

Laughter bubbled up out of Blaine like a spring.

#seblaineweek2019 #seblaine #seblaineaffairs #// I DID IT. BAH. it ain't perfect. kinda rushed and glossed over in places that i'd rather be slower but. #i'll take it. oof #my fic #glee fic

[cryptoriawebb]

About Deadpool 2...

I said I would talk about it...and then I ran out of time. So I’m gonna do that, now!

Spoiler alert!

So...I liked this movie a lot better than the first, but I still didn’t find most of it funny. I know why it is funny, I can point all the jokes out, but I didn’t start laughing until much later. Deadpool caters to a different type of humor. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just not me. 

However.

The characters, the action, the cameos and the very X-men feel overall I loved. Best new additions? Domino, Cable, and this reboot-timeline version of Yukio. She’s so adorable! And don’t get me started on the JUGGERNAUT! Heavy use of CGI or no, I have waited over a decade to see a Cain Marko that actually acknowledges his relation to Charles.  I don’t even care if Deadpool exists in its own continuity until proven otherwise I’m counting it canon. THANK YOU, Deadpool team for confirming Charles’ horrible upbringing. Weird thing to say, I know, but up until now no one in the XMCU’s bothered to emphasize his personal tragedy. It’s important the audience--any who might be unfamiliar with the X-men story outside the films--know it isn’t only villains whom tragedy makes. 

Speaking of tragedy, I find it funny the Deadpool films draw from classic cliches, but somehow manage to keep them fresh and distinctly, well, “Deadpool.” I quite like his relationship with Vanessa and also liked how the film went beyond what one might expect of “death and revival” with a healing mutation. Reminded me a little of Jack Harkness, honestly. It also served to keep Deadpool’s humanity intact and in turn kept him from devolving into nothing more than a walking pop-culture reference. 

As far as the pop-culture references go, there were times I felt the script went a little over the top with them. Even more than the first film. I’m not the world’s biggest Deadpool fan so I’m not sure how often he does this outside the movies but within said movie context I much prefer occasional sprinklings as opposed to a heaping platter.  It threatened to disrupt the flow of the film once or twice, even if this is more a comedy/satire. Same with breaking the fourth wall. That said, I adored the DC references. And the post-credits scenes ;)

(Although if I’m being honest, I do still like Origins and the tragic spin on Wade’s character even if it was an abomination of the Deadpool everyone loves.)

And I cried a little inside, seeing that archived footage of Hugh. I will miss you, Wolverine. 

Let’s see, what else...

Oh yeah! The characters!

Great to see Negasonic again (Ellie, I think her name is?) Kinda wish she played a larger role, but her appearances didn’t disappoint and her powers are still SO COOL. Also love the “moody goth x pink-haired bubbly girl” trope. It’s adorable. Like I said, I adore this new Yukio even if her new incarnation differs from her original timeline counterpart. I loved original Yukio’s quirky but serious nature, and her relationship with Logan. Maybe that’s what it is, I’m still not over Logan and all these references in the film further remind me he’s not coming back.  That isn’t Yukio’s fault. I do love this new version, I do. She’s adorable and so is her interaction with Wade. I have to wonder, though...can she still see how people die? Or is new “Pinkie Pie” Yukio strictly a lightning mutant? I wish Fox paid more attention to its timelines...Deadpool or no Deadpool.

Domino was amazing. I didn’t really know much about her, going in, despite knowing of her. Couldn’t have picked a better way to handle or cast her. What a cool way to interpret her powers! Luck truly be the Lady~

As for Cable...I was so afraid he’d become a parody of the character I knew. When I was younger, he fascinated me as a character and I retain a soft spot for him. My gosh though he was AWESOME. Stayed the serious-Terminator-badass the entire time. Desperately hope we see more before Fox’s final day. Please. I love Cable and I’d love even more to see him cross paths with the X-men. Especially Scott. 

Colossus was...the same. No real comments there. I like how he pairs next to Wade as the goody-goody straight-man but I prefer his original actor XD; I guess it doesn’t much matter, new-wonky timeline. For all we know, Piotr was able to grow up in Russia now, hence the accent.

I loved the villains too, apart from Cain. Black Tom Cassidy (what is he, Sean’s nephew or something now??), poor Russel (a neat take on the to-be antagonist idea) and I gotta tell you, as a long-time fan I am LOVING all these references to the Essex name. Been a long-time coming! And to know there exist other “Mutant homes” besides Xavier’s school...it’s heartbreaking but fascinates me all at once. This new world where mutants aren’t so hush-hush. Damn! I wonder though...do the X-men know of the Ice Box? Makes you think... (By the way, that cameo scene, oh my gosh that was great. I wouldn’t want to deal with Wade either, guys.)

Gotta love the “formation” of the X-force, too. Of course Deadpool would start it and of course everyone would die XD; What a great way to sneak in cameos. I only wish Chris Evans’ Torch made it past the script drafts. I am glad kid!David made it in, though (according to my research after the film. You know that was intentional...the real question is do we now consider it “canon” or is this but another breach in reality? ;) )

There really wasn’t all that much I didn’t care for, apart from the excessive...what I’ll call “Deadpool-ness.” Silly complaint when it’s his movie but I said my piece on that. The only real moment I feel might’ve served from a slim-down was his dying sequence at the end. I get what they were trying to do, and it was funny at first; after a while, though, it started dragging. Maybe that’s just me. I don’t know. 

Overall, I really did love it, I want to see it again and I am definitely adding this to my collection when it’s released on DVD. 

#deadpool 2 #deadpool #dead pool 2 #movie reviews #movie thoughts #deadpool 2 review #wade wilson #negasonic teenage warhead #cable #domino #cain maro #juggernaut #nathan summers #xmen #xforce #colossus #yukio #returnedtothecrypt

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps: Part Two, Chapter Four

Part One: One | Two | Three | Four Part Two: One | Two | Three

AUGUST 3, 1863 FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

Downstairs, two new arrivals are standing in the entrance hall, waiting for them. Standing in the parlor doorway is a grey-haired man about the same age as William Mulder, puffing away on a cigar that's filling the entire room with its stench. Across the hall from him, closer to the bottom of the stairs, is a tall, buxom young woman with shining dark hair, wearing an expensive, fashionable gown- and the exact sort of ridiculous little hat that Mulder had mentioned only moments ago. This, Scully surmises, must be Diana, a guess that's confirmed when Mulder breaks into a wide smile at the sight of her.

"Diana!" he exclaims, almost jogging down the last few stairs. Diana smiles warmly.

"Fox, Darling," she says, taking his hand and allowing him to kiss her cheek. "It's so wonderful to see you! I'm sorry that we weren't here when you arrived, but we had an urgent errand that just couldn't wait."

"That's all right, you're here now," says Mulder, and Scully resists the urge to gag. Mulder seems to remember her at that moment, and he turns back, motioning for her to come forward. "Diana, this is my good friend, Lieutenant Daniel Scully, my aide-de-camp." Diana looks down at Scully, proffering a limp hand to be kissed.

"Good to meet you," Scully says, hoping that she sounds something approaching sincere. "Mulder has been talking my ear off about you for months." Diana smiles thinly.

"Has he, now?" she asks. "I believe I remember him mentioning you, too, in one of his letters." Mulder chuckles nervously.

"More like all of them, I think," he says. Diana raises her eyebrows, looking at him with gentle reproach.

"Fox, I had no idea that you were bringing someone along with you," she chastises him. "Why on earth didn't you say anything?"

"It was sort of last-minute," Mulder explains.

"Come now, Diana," says the man with the cigar, crossing the entrance hall to them. "It's not as though we're short on space. There's always plenty of room in our house for guests. And besides, you know as well as the rest of us that Fox prefers to do everything spur-of-the-moment." Mulder doesn't look nearly as happy to greet the man as he was to see Diana, but nonetheless, he's perfectly cordial when he shakes hands with him.

"Scully, this is my father's friend, Charles Spender," he tells Scully. “This is his house.” Spender shakes hands with her, and Scully finds it difficult to keep from shuddering at the clammy, sweaty feel of the man's grip.

"Thank you very much for having me at your home, Mr. Spender. I'm very sorry about the short notice." Spender looks at her appraisingly, just long enough to make her uncomfortable.

"And are you a Virginia runaway, as well, Mr. Scully?" Spender asks her. "A rebel against the rebels, as it were, like our Fox here?"

"Father, stop," says Diana, but there's not much conviction in her voice. Scully notices Mulder clenching his jaw.

"No, my family is from Pennsylvania," Scully replies. "From West Chester."

"Near Philadelphia," Spender says. "I know it well."

"I visited Philadelphia with you once, didn't I, Father?" recollects Diana, curling her lip. "I found it such an awful, smelly place. So dirty, compared to Washington, and especially compared to Fredricksburg." Sully grits her teeth.

"I suppose I should be glad that I'm not actually from Philadelphia, then," she says, putting extra effort into keeping her smile on her face.

"Why don't we all go sit down and have some lunch?" suggests Mulder hastily, taking Diana's arm and steering her across the entrance hall. Scully follows, hoping very hard that she will not be required to sit next to Diana. She's been looking forward to a real meal for a very long time, and somehow, she suspects that relaxing enough around this woman to be able to enjoy eating will be difficult enough without being forced into closer proximity to her.

Scully needn't have worried, however; she's seated next to Mulder at the long dining room table. Samantha is quick to take the seat at his other side, and Diana is forced to settle for sitting across the table from him. She doesn't look happy about it, and even though Scully knows that she's being petty, she can't help but be at least a little bit pleased by this.

As soon as everyone is seated around the table, a veritable army of smartly-dressed, dark-skinned servants appear and begin laying out the noon repast. Scully does her best to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head, to keep herself from drooling, as dishes of foods she's long forgotten the taste of are placed before her. There's chicken, its crisped skin braised with fragrant herbs, and a bounty of vegetables, and loaves of thick-crusted bread still hot from the oven, and even butter, real butter, something that hadn't always been on the Scully table even in the days before the war. Whatever the wartime food shortages for civilians in Virginia may be- and Scully has heard that they're fairly severe- Charles Spender has clearly found a way around them. Scully loads her plate to capacity, not turning down a single thing that's offered to her.

"So, tell us about yourself, Daniel," asks Teena Mulder, as she holds up her goblet for a waiting servant to fill with wine. "Did you attend West Point? Bill so badly wanted Fox to attend, but Fox, of course, was dead-set on Harvard."

"No, Ma'am," says Scully. "I wasn't quite old enough to be attending college when the war began. I enlisted as a private about five months ago."

"Goodness, you must be quite young indeed," says Teena.

"Eighteen years old in February, Ma'am," Scully replies. That much isn't a lie; her age and date of birth had been the only part of her enlistment paperwork that had been fully accurate.

"And what does your father do?" Teena asks.

"He can't be more than a tradesman, if you only entered the army as a private," interjects Diana. "Even Fox managed to start out as a sergeant, didn't you, Darling?" Mulder looks distinctly uncomfortable at Diana's rudeness, and busies himself with spreading a thick layer of butter onto his bread.

"My father has been in the Navy since he was fifteen," answers Scully, determined not to give Diana the satisfaction of seeing her offended. "He's now a captain."

"And he couldn't secure you a better position than being a private?" asks Diana. "How strange. I would think that being the son of an officer with an honorable reputation would have helped pave the way to a better rank for you."

"Diana," says Mulder, a quiet warning in his voice. She bats her eyes at him, all innocence.

"What, Fox?" she asks. "I'm only curious. For all I know, the Yankee army does things differently than we do in the South. In our army, a father who has already advanced in rank could write a letter of introduction for his son, to help him along."

"I suppose that I could have asked my father to do something like that for me," says Scully, "but I preferred to make my own way. I would much know that rather any progress I make has come about as a result of my own hard work and determination, rather than rely on my father's reputation. I prefer to earn all promotions myself."

"And believe me, Scully has earned the one that he's just gotten," Mulder puts in, before Diana can interrupt again. The pride in his voice makes Scully smile. "I wouldn't be here right now, at this table, if it hadn't been for him."

"Is that so?" asks Teena, eyes wide. Mulder nods emphatically.

"He saved my skin more than once in July, at Gettysburg," he says. And Mulder relates the story of Scully calling for the men to stop shooting when he had ventured beyond the wall in search of ammunition, and of how Scully had shot the Confederate officer who had aimed his pistol at Mulder's head right at the end of the fight. By the time he's finished, all eyes at the table (with the exception of Diana's and her father's) have gone from suspicious to grateful, as they look back at Scully.

"It appears that we all owe you a debt of gratitude, Lieutenant Scully," says Bill Mulder gruffly, speaking for the first time since sitting down to lunch. "It's been hard enough for us to lose our son to your army. It would have been far harder to lose him for good."

"Fox, you've never told me in your letters that it's that dangerous out there," says Samantha, staring accusingly at her older brother.

"It's a war, Samantha," says Diana dismissively. "Of course it's dangerous." Samantha glares at Diana, but says nothing. Mulder reaches over and pats his little sister's shoulder reassuringly.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Sam," he tells her. "Scully does a pretty good job of keeping me in check. I don't think that anyone or anything is ever going to get by him."

"Still, Fox, you shouldn't take such chances," Samantha chastises Mulder.

"Sometimes I have to, Samantha," says Mulder gently. "It's all part of being an officer, part of looking out for the men under my command."

"But I promise you, Samantha," Scully interjects, "the more risks he takes, the tighter I'll be holding his reins. I see it as my solemn duty to get your brother home in one piece when all of this is over." Samantha smiles warmly at Scully. At the edge of her gaze, she catches Diana rolling her eyes, but Mulder, unfortunately, is looking at his sister, and doesn't notice.

When the meal is finished, the servants re-appear to clear away the empty dishes and the leftover food. It feels odd to Scully not to jump up and help- at home, clearing the table after dinner had always been her responsibility. Her mother had cooked every meal, with her daughters' help, and when it was finished, Scully had cleared the table, Melissa had washed the dishes, and Scully had then dried them and put them away. She realizes that it's likely that none of the people sitting at this table have ever washed a dish in their life.

"I think," says Diana with a weary sigh, "that I'm going to go upstairs and have a nap." Mulder is surprised.

"Diana, I just got here," he protests. "I thought that maybe we'd have some time to sit and talk."

"You'll be with us for a week, won't you, Fox?" she asks. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up. I was hoping you would take me to the theater a time or two while you're here. Father never has any interest in going with me, and he never allows me to go on my own."

"I should think not," says Teena. "A young, unmarried lady, out in the town, unchaperoned?" She shudders. "People would talk, and you know how I abhor gossip."

"Unless it's gossip about other people, that you get to pass along," grumbles Bill, and Samantha and Mulder both snicker. Teena pretends not to have heard anything her husband has said.

"Bill, dear, I think a nap sounds good to me, as well. I'm sure you and Charles have plenty to do this afternoon."

"There are some matters in town that need seeing to," agrees Charles Spender, whom, Scully suddenly realizes, has not said a word since taking his seat at the head of the table when they had all sat down to lunch. "Will you accompany me, William?"

"Of course," says Bill, pushing back his chair from the head of the table and standing. Mulder stands, as well.

"Would you like Scully and me to come with you?" he asks hopefully. Bill and Charles exchange glances, eyebrows raised, and the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifts, a definite feeling of awkwardness settling over everyone.

"No, Fox, that's all right," says Bill, with an air of forced joviality. "It's nothing that would interest you, and anyway, I'm sure you and Lieutenant Scully are tired from your ride here this morning. Charles and I will be back in time for supper tonight."

"Oh," says Mulder, deflating visibly. "All right, then." Bill and Charles leave, the latter withdrawing a fresh cigar from his coat pocket and lighting it before they've even left the room, leaving a whiff of smoke behind them as they close the dining room door.

"Come, Diana," says Teena, standing as well, and taking Diana's arm. "It's the perfect warm afternoon for a nap." She and Diana follow the men to the door. As they reach it, Teena stops and turns. "Samantha, dear, will you be joining us?" Samantha Mulder, still seated defiantly in her chair, tilts her chin up obstinately.

"I'm going to stay with Fox and Daniel," she says. "They've come all this way to see us, and it certainly doesn't seem right to leave them sitting down here by themselves." Teena chooses not to respond to this, and a moment later, she and Diana are gone. Scully can hear their footsteps on the staircase out in the entrance hall. Next to her, Mulder heaves a sigh.

"Clearly they're all overjoyed to see me," he says, shaking his head. "Why did they even agree for me to come and spend a week here, if none of them can even stand to be in the same room with me?" Samantha lays a hand on his arm.

"Forget about them, Fox," she says. "Let's you and me take your friend Daniel on a walk around the neighborhood, all right?" Mulder smiles at her, and Scully says a silent thank-you to God that her friend has at least one good, kind person in his family to come home to. She can't imagine receiving a welcome this cold at her own house, not even after disobeying her parents and running away. Certainly, they'll be angry when she finally shows up again, and there will be plenty of raised voices, to be sure, but Scully knows that there will also be joyful tears and embraces, things she's yet to see any of in this cold Fredericksburg mansion.

Samantha goes upstairs to her room to fetch her parasol, and Mulder and Scully wait for her in by the front door.

"I wonder why Father didn't want us to come along with him?" Mulder wonders aloud. "Usually, my father likes me to shadow him in all of his business dealings, so I can learn how to manage his holdings and be ready to take everything over smoothly when the time comes."

"Maybe the business he and Mr. Spender need to see to isn't related to your family's plantation," suggests Scully. "You said that Mr. Spender is active in politics. Is it possible they're attending a political meeting? Because if that's the case- if they're on their way to meet with a bunch of Southern politicians- they couldn't very well come strolling in with two Union officers trailing behind them, could they?" Mulder appears to be mulling this over.

"I suppose that could be it," he concedes. "Not to mention...." He scowls darkly. "It would be one hell of an embarrassment for Father, to be sure, to have to introduce me to all of his Confederate cronies as his son, colonel of a regiment in the Army of the Potomac."

"It's his loss, Fox," Samantha reassures him, coming back down the stairs to join them. "And your gain, really. Now, instead of spending this lovely day in a dark, stuffy room somewhere, choking on Mr. Spender's disgusting cigar smoke, you and your Lieutenant Scully get to enjoy the sunshine while escorting a bright, lovely young lady around the neighborhood." Mulder grins down at his little sister as she takes his arm.

"You clearly haven't learned all that much more about humility than you knew six months ago," Mulder observes, and Samantha's cheeky smile only widens. She pulls her brother toward the front door, and Scully follows them out onto the porch, down the brick front path, and through the gate, out onto the sidewalk. Once there, Samantha extends the arm not held by her brother, and Scully readily takes it.

The early afternoon is sunny and warm, but enough of a cool breeze is blowing to keep the day from turning truly oppressive. Even so, Scully doesn't envy Samantha Mulder her corset and heavy dress. Scully herself might be wearing a wool jacket, not to mention several layers of tightly-wound linen around her chest, but she would still wager she's more comfortable right now than any other woman out walking the streets of Fredericksburg today.

"So tell me what it's been like at home, since I left," says Mulder, as they reach the end of the block and turn right. "Have Mother and Father been complaining about me the entire time, or only during Sunday dinners?"

"They don't talk about you at all, for the most part," sighs Samantha. "I don't know if it's because they're still too angry, or if it's because they're afraid for you and they don't like to think about it any more than they absolutely have to."

"My money's on the first one," grumbles Mulder. "It took three letters home before they would even agree for me to come and visit them this week. I'm still surprised that Father didn't just retreat back to the plantation on his own and have you and Mother visit with me, without him."

"He doesn't seem that angry," ventures Scully hesitantly. She doesn't know William Mulder, but there have been none of the cold silences and cutting words that she'd thought she might end up having to sit through.

"It's early yet," says Mulder. "And also, he's just met you. He won't want to behave like too much of a bastard in front of a perfect stranger... at least, not yet."

"Fox, language," Samantha chides him.

"'Bastard' isn't a swear, Sam," Mulder says.

"No, it's not, but it's not a particularly nice word, either. And plus, it's not even accurate. Our father knows who his father was. If you want to call Father something uncouth, call him a blowhard, instead." Scully lets out a snort of surprised laughter before she can stop herself, and Mulder looks down at his sister, eyes popping out of his skull.

"Samantha!" he exclaims. "Where did you hear a word like that?"

"Eavesdropping on some of the officers that Father has had to dinner, back at the plantation house," says Samantha. "That's not the worst I've heard, believe me."

"Oh, I believe it," Mulder says, shaking his head. "Father would lock you in your room for the next twenty years, though, if he heard you using words like that, so you'd better watch yourself." The trio continues in silence a bit longer.

"Do you prefer staying here in town, Samantha, or in the country, at the plantation?" asks Scully, casting about for something to talk about.

"The plantation, to be sure," says Samantha. "It's much quieter. Whenever we're in Fredericksburg, people are constantly coming and going... and Mr. Spender is always here, with his stupid cigars. And Diana is always with him."

"It’s his house, Samantha. And what's wrong with Diana being around?" asks Mulder, clearly offended. Scully, on the other hand, suddenly wants to throw her arms around Samantha.

"She's different when you're away, Fox," Samantha tells him. "She talks to me like I'm eight years old, like I'm too stupid to understand anything that's going on."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating, Sam," says Mulder dismissively, but Samantha shakes her head.

"I'm not, Fox, I promise," she says. "Diana keeps telling me that I'm far too young to have any political views of my own, that I only say the things that I say because I've heard you say them, and you're my big brother, so I'll always believe everything that you tell me."

"Fifteen is plenty old to have formed your own opinions, I think," says Scully. "Especially when it comes to issues like slavery. Mulder, didn't you say that you were uncomfortable with the idea when you were much younger than your sister is now?"

"That's exactly what I've tried to tell Diana," Samantha says, smiling gratefully at Scully. "I've told her that even a child can distinguish right from wrong, and fifteen is plenty old enough to know how I feel about this. But she always just says that I'm being tiresome, and that I should go and find something to occupy my time, and to leave her alone."

"Sam, Diana doesn't care about politics at all, she never has. You already know that. You probably were being tiresome, going on and on about a subject that's not interesting to her when she just wants to relax and enjoy some time in the city."

"Slavery isn't a political issue, Fox! It's a moral issue and you know it! How can anyone not be interested in treating other human beings with respect and dignity?" Samantha angrily jerks her arm away from her brother's. "I don't see how you could want to marry someone like that, someone who can see a human being whipped and worked to death, and just shrug it off and go back to her needlepoint."

"Enough, Sam," says Mulder sternly. "Nobody's saying that you have to like her, but you do need to respect my choice... and if it's not too much trouble, it would be nice if you could respect Diana, as well."

"Oh, I will," says Samantha coldly. "Just as soon as she learns to respect me in return. I'm not a little child anymore, and I would like to see her recognize that." She glares at Mulder. "And it would be nice if you would stick up for me just a little bit here, Fox. Is it really all right with you for someone to talk down to me the way that she does, or is it just all right because it's her?" Mulder heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

"I'll talk to her, all right?" he asks. "I'll remind her that I was just as opinionated as you are, when I was fifteen, and I'll ask her to be a bit kinder."

"You can ask her," Samantha sighs, "but I doubt she'll listen. Not once you're gone again, at any rate." Mulder clenches his jaw, but says nothing. And as much as Scully's less noble side is enjoying this, she senses it's time to change the subject.

"Listen, Samantha," she says, "I was hoping that you could do me a small favor." Mulder cocks an eyebrow at Scully, confused, and she smiles wickedly at him. "I've been hoping that maybe you might be able to furnish me with one or two embarrassing stories about your brother when he was younger. You know, something that I can pass around the ranks, just to make sure that our new colonel isn't taking himself too seriously." Samantha's eyes immediately begin to sparkle with mischief, and Mulder pales considerably.

"Scully, please remember that when we get back to camp," he warns her, "I could very easily have you assigned to chopping down trees, or digging ditches, or clearing brush, or whatever other unpleasant and back-breaking labor detail I can come up with." Scully grins.

"I know that, Mulder," she says. "Which is precisely why I'm going to need ammunition on hand, just in case." Samantha, being the quintessential little sister, is only too happy to oblige, and by the time the trio has returned to the house, Scully is equipped with enough mortifying tales of a younger and more impulsive Mulder to guarantee that, if she so chooses, she'll be able to blackmail her way into all of the easiest assignments until the end of the war.

#X-Files Fanfic #my fic #By the Dim and Flaring Lamps

[rtirman-blog]

41 An Easy Way Out

Back to school I went. Actually, I made two trips to South Bend.  The first was a brief trip to meet with Dean Baldinger, find a place to live, and to check on a lead for a job.  Even though I made good money selling ice cream, I was not good at holding on to it.  Income was an essential. The second trip was on The Pennsylvania Railroad, my usual transportation from home to school.

 I remember telling you about John Murray, my best friend at home, who, before reaching his teens, burned his legs, horribly, jumping over a leaf fire while wearing fuzzy western chaps. Well, the insurance settlement gave him the cash to purchase a blue,1958 Chevy Impala convertible.  So, in the summer of 1959, he offered to drive me out to Notre Dame and back.  His Catholic upbringing played heavily in his decision to drive me.  I believe many Spanish pilgrims would have skipped Majorca, if an ocean hadn’t separated them from the land of Notre Dame, God’s favorite place…and football team. The miracles of football have always been attributed to the presence and efforts of the Holy Ghost.  It made sense John wanted to take me out there. Probably, it was the last thing we did together.  It didn’t matter what I showed John.  He was overwhelmed with the gold statue, atop the Golden Dome, of Our Lady of the Lake…Notre Dame du Lac-the actual name of the University.  

Truthfully, I have a shaky memory of when different things happened on that trip.  I remember feeling very suspicious of the Dean’s constant support and encouragement.  What I began to think was the Sisters of the Holy Cross, Sister Peter in particular, were behind it all…or maybe even Father O’Brian.  Most likely, credit goes to St. Dean Baldinger, who encouraged us all.  I was welcomed back, and he told me to select my courses at registration.  

 Next, we traveled to the home of Mrs. Agnes Tomlison, a tiger of a woman at eighty-six years, who could look at you with that same piercing eye as Sister Peter, and lick her lips the same way as my special angelic nun.  My friend Don Tanguay, who had lived there the previous year, recommended me as a good Catholic student whom she could trust.  When I interviewed, that lie continued.  I also told her I was Catholic.  She then took a few rocks in her rocking chair, gave me a piercing eye while licking her lips, agreed to my living there, and got up from the chair to show me the room.  It was upstairs.  She then gave me a vital responsibility.  Each morning as I leave for school, I am to look to see if the living room shade is up or down.   If it was still down, that meant she was dead, and I should call her son.

 Before John and I left to return to New York, I checked to see if there were any jobs on campus that would fit my schedule. I can’t remember how I got the info, but Louie Rappelli was setting up a pizza parlor, and he needed students.  I went over to the building in which he was located and talked with him.  He owned another restaurant, on Notre Dame Avenue, which I frequented. So, he was glad to see me, and promised me a job when I returned to school.  Back to New York we went, and back to Good Humor for me. That was a real successful trip. Now all I had to do was register for my classes.

 My educational situation was really not too bad.  I had just a couple of science credits to graduate with the degree in science promised to me by the Dean.  I just had to take enough course to reach the 132 credits needed for graduation. If I kept my nose to the grindstone, I would be an alumnus on June 4, 1960. Naturally, medical school was not in my future, but graduating was clearly in view.

 When it was time to return to Notre Dame, Mother, Joe, and Al took me to Penn Station.  We got to the platform just as the conductor yelled, “All Aboard.”  Quietly, Al said to me, “Don’t come home without a G--Damn degree”. I picked up my baggage and walked toward the entrance to the train.  Just as I boarded, I could hear Al yell these unforgettable words, “Take education, it’s easy!”   So, when I got back to school, I visited the education department.  

 Get this! All I had to do were education classes, and I could graduate with my science degree (as long as I met those requirements) and apply for a State license to teach all math and physical sciences in Secondary Education.  The courses I needed were as follows: Principles of Secondary Education, Materials and Methods of Secondary Education, Tests and Measurements, Educational Statistics, and Practice Teaching.  I signed up for Geology and Lab, Intro to Analysis, Calculus I and II to meet the science requirements.  I was short five hours to reach the 132 credits to graduate.  I took care of that the day I signed up for courses for my final semester. I decided to take five hours of piano.  I went over to the Music Department to see if a piano teacher would take me on.  To my disappointment, all the piano teachers’ schedules were full.   I guess my disappointment radiated from my being.  A very nice man, who saw my sad face, asked if he could help.  I told him about needing 5 hours to graduate and my plans to take piano, but the piano teachers had no openings.  He asked me if I would be okay with 5 hours of violin. I jumped at that opportunity and signed up for the 5 hours. He was a professor of violin.  His name- Charles Biando.  Little did I know, Mr. Biando was considered the primo violin teacher in the Midwest.  Clearly, without question, he was simply helping me to graduate.  Everything I played that semester sounded like “Mary had a little lamb”.  I did learn how to not screech the violin.

I’m not too sure whether I made a turnaround academically, and became a better student; or perhaps, Al was right- Education was easy.  I enjoyed visiting the public schools and observing classes, in all disciplines.  As I learned about theories of teaching and learning, I wondered about the kind of teacher I would be, and how I would relate to students and to other teachers.  By the end of that first semester, I found a student teaching position at John Adams High School in South Bend.  Mr. Volney Wier, head of the Mathematics Department, would be my supervising teacher.  He taught, Algebra, Trigonometry, and Solid Geometry.  My supervisor from Notre Dame, Dr. Jerry Fargin was to observe me, and then, discuss with Mr. Weir my progress.  Both teachers would contribute to my final evaluation.

 My primary job was to teach trigonometry.  At first, I observed that class for about a week before I took over the reins.  Mr. Wier’s style of lesson plans fit me to a tee. He did not make elaborate plans. Each day, he would look in the book to find the topics to be covered, and he would make a list of those topics.  I liked that, and I did mine the same way.  I would list the topics, and I would make darn well sure I understood all the topics before teaching them to the class.  Once the bell rang to start each class, we would first go over the homework that was due.  Then, I would present new topics to the students, assign homework, and give them class time to get started on that assignment.  I enjoyed the students, immensely.  We solved problems together, and had a few good laughs doing it.   I can distinctly remember thinking… wow, this is fun! I can’t believe I can get paid for telling others what I know!  

 Ironically, I also learned that I could get paid for not telling students what I know. One day, I had to teach Mr. Wier’s Solid Geometry class without any preparation. The class consisted of five seniors and me.  I had them put their assignment problems on the blackboard, after which, we would review each problem, together.  I basically kept my mouth shut as the five of them asked each other questions and fully discussed the problems.  I learned a lot just by watching and listening to them.  When the bell rang, they thanked me for one of the best classes they ever had. Yes, if I was getting paid, I would have been paid for that performance.

The day Dr. Fargin made his required observation of my teaching, he made it a surprise visit.  My lecture was really short and in my eyes, him showing up that day would make for a disastrous experience.   After going over the homework, I was to teach them about radians. I told you about the second time I took the New York State Regents exam in Trigonometry.   I missed one question on the entire exam - it was on radians.  I told the students because of my experience learning about radians, I decided to give them a very brief lesson, then assign them lots of problems to solve for their assignment, which they might complete by the end of the period.  Dr. Fargin saw me teach for ten to fifteen minutes, and the rest of the time, he watched me move around the classroom helping the students.  I was certain, this did not look good.  He would probably have to observe my teaching, again… and I would still end up with a crappy grade.  However, the next day, on campus, another education student, whose name I cannot remember, saw me in the Student Center.  “Hey Rich”, he yelled, “you should have heard Dr. Fargin talk to our class about his observation of your teaching.  He raved about you?  He said you were masterful.”  Dr. Fargin was impressed by my honesty with the students and the appropriate response to my own experience, i.e., the brief lecture followed by me walking around the room helping those students in need.  My Practice Teaching final grade was a well deserved A+. That happened the second semester about six weeks before graduation

That was the Spring semester.  But, I would like to back up to the first semester of that year to tell you a few important memories.  I’ll start with Mrs. Tomlison.  Daily, she got outside to sweep the front steps. The front door was at least a story and a half higher than the street.  There had to be fifteen to twenty steps for her to clean.  What a marvel of a women! Even on a windy Fall day, she’d have her coat, her babushka, and the broom, sweeping those steps clean.  Another memory I have of her was her love of soap operas, especially “The Edge of Night”.   If I was home by 4 PM, I’d sit with her and watch that show. I thought it made her happy that we did this together. The greatest memory of Agnes Tomlison was her desire to leave this earth and enter God’s Kingdom.  Every Saturday night, she would get all dolled up in her most beautiful dress, lie down on her bed, and ask God to take her.  Each Sunday morning when she woke up, you could hear her disappointment resonate throughout the house- ”Goddamnit!”  I heard God finally welcomed her ten years later- she was 96. I’ll bet St. Peter needed help with the steps in front of the Pearly Gates!

 It should be clear to you that my academic life and my future were successfully merging.  My classes were going well, and I was gaining confidence in myself.  My job at the new pizza parlor was great.  I was making minimum wage plus free meals.  I suppose, when I look at it, I was smoothly sailing as a student toward graduation and a future. That didn’t mean my mind had matured beyond my ability of doing stupid things. On a Saturday late in the football season, I received a call from Jim. He and Tom, now both alumni, were in town and wanted me to join them for supper and fun.  But I had to work.  Tom thought of a scheme that would make our reunion possible…and I went along with it. He called Louie Rappelli, my boss, and pretended to be a doctor from St. Joseph’s Hospital.  He told Louie that I was in a car accident, and although I had no signs of physical injury, he wanted me to stay in the hospital overnight.  Yeah! I was free to join them.  I cannot remember anything about that evening, but what happened the next day was unforgettable.  I walked into work and was greeted by Louie with “Get the hell out of here!” I lost my job. Maybe Tom wasn’t very convincing, or, more likely, it was a super, stupid thing to do.   I now needed to find a job-FAST!  And that’s what I did.  I landed a sales job with Cutco Cutlery, a division of Alcoa.  I would talk with young gals and talk them into buying knives and other kitchen utensils for their hope chests.  Believe it or not, I was fairly successful.  I made enough to keep my head above water. Also, to this day, I am sold on Cutco products.

[rowingchat]

US Masters Rowing National Championships – Day 1 musings

Charles Sweeney reports from the big event….and muses on life, rowing and streams-of-consciousness 

I wasn’t supposed to be here, at the Masters Nationals, in Oak Ridge Tennessee, with my crew, the Capital Rowing Club. 

Literally the day after last year’s Nationals, in Worcester, Massachusetts, a nagging back problem blew up into a sciatica case that damn near crippled me and crashed not just a very successful season but a personally important one.

I’d spent a few years trying to hammer myself – in the pejorative, rowing sense — into the boats that won races and went to the Charles. I worked hard and I was pretty strong but, apparently, I just wasn’t that good at this rowing thing. 

And last season started out the same as the others:  bitter, frustrating.

I remember one practice.  Elena, our assistant coach/coach’s wife/Olympic Medalist, who narrates and critiques each practice nonstop in a Russian-accented voice that jumps from operatic praise to severe scolding in an instant, jumped on me like a terrier on a rat and tore me up so long and so hard that I was literally looking around trying to figure out how to get out of the boat in the middle of the river and stomp away from the team, forever.

And there were so many spring mornings where I’d get home and I just wanted to stamp into the shower and wash the stinking Anacostia River and the sweat and shame off my body, and my girlfriend Laura  would be lying there quizzing me like a mom to her kid after a bad day at school, “so, how was it, honey?”

I suck. Rowing sucks.  Life sucks.  That’s how it was.  I don’t want to talk about it.

But, like the peasant turned into a newt by the witch in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I got better.  I started getting into good crews.  Guys would say things like “you’re rowing pretty good this year.  I mean, last year you kind of sucked, but this year you’re not so bad.” They could have put it nicer, but I took in the spirit in which it was offered. I even started rehashing practice voluntarily with Laura.

I felt like I had finally earned the respect of guys who I respected a great deal.  That was probably more important than winning, and the winning was pretty fun, too. 

And then it all blew up in a day.

By late winter, I was convinced I’d miss this season or be so sloppy and slow when I finally made it back that that no one would miss me if I went instead with Laura to Sun Valley, where she had a conference this week. And we could backpack and fly fish the Sawtooths instead of rowing.  When they asked, I said I was “tentative, probably not” for Nationals.

But I finally started erging gently in late winter and then went gently back on the water in May (conveniently missing all that crappy early spring weather.  But that’s not why I waited.  No, really, it’s not).  People seemed glad to see me, which was heartening.  Also in May, Laura got drafted into another conference in San Francisco (where she is today), screwing up the Sawtooths jaunt.  In June I started racing.

A cabin in the woods for Masters Nationals

And now I’m here, in the town that produced fuel for the atom bomb and birthed America’s peaceful nuclear program – promising clean plentiful nuclear power generated so cheaply that there won’t even be any point in metering it. (I was driving back to my cabin in the woods after racing today and there was a mist rising from the river and I thought “Should I be worried about this?” “No,” I figured, I’m sure the government would tell us if there was something we needed to know about.)

There was a mist earlier, too, this morning, coming from the sky, so they postponed racing for a few hours and I ate a humongous breakfast and typed a little, then drove into a generic section of Knoxville to get my yuppie bearings by picking up a map at the REI (an upscale camping store) and checking out the Whole Foods, whose fish looked sub-par.  No Simpson’s three –eyed lake trout, either, despite the nuclear thing. 

I’d heard a rumor that Ace Hardware had eclipse glasses, so I could look at the eclipse coming through the Tennessee hills Monday and not go blind, but they were hoarding them — the line formed outside and the sale started at 4 o’clock, when I was supposed to be on the water. Oh well.  They tell you that lots of things will make you go blind and I’ve done most of ‘em, so we’ll see what happens Monday. 

I dropped off my erg and discovered another 30-minute lightning delay and that the guys at the next trailer were playing hideous whiny Pearl Jam-type music at a significant volume.  So I fled down the road and around the corner to the firing range I’d come across.

First, I read the safety rules and signed a document stating that I was of sound mind, had no felony or domestic violence convictions or drug addictions, and was not currently subject to a restraining order. Then, I watched a short safety video. Now, I’m good to go for a little target practice tomorrow. 

The next-to-last thing Coach said to me today was “when you go to sleep tonight, think about finishing high – blades on the water.” But really, this East Coast urban liberal will be thinking “revolver or automatic?”

Finally, about 4:30, I started getting that pre-race adrenaline, doing a little erging, seeing how I felt.  I always feel like something’s wrong.  Like I didn’t warm up right and my back is waiting to explode. Or I should have eaten a better lunch and now I’m weak. Or I have cancer and it’s showing itself by attacking my thigh muscles.

The first race was the Mixed D class. I love racing in the mixed boats because, with the women, the boats set better and it’s generally a nicer row.  And it’s just fun to row with people you don’t normally get to row with – nothing gets you closer to your teammates than racing with them, and my teammates are pretty cool.

I hate rowing with the women because I think that they secretly (sometimes not so secretly) think that the men are just a bunch of artless muscle-heads.  And I’m the team poster boy for artless muscle heads, though not as muscle-y as I might like (especially when I’m wearing my uni rowsuit) and I feel like – especially from five seat – I’m confirming the worst fears of the four mean girls immediately behind me.

The winsome foursome rowing behind me are incredible rowers with years more experience and way more big wins at the highest competitive levels than I have, and I knew that if we boys could work enough artistry into our muscling to keep the boat reasonably set, we all might come away with some hardware.    

Allison reminded me not to spazz out at the start (she said it nicer than that, our women are only “mean girls” in my paranoid imagination) and we got off the line in third, not bad for us. Chinook, who’s always tough, had us by a seat and Ashville had them by two more. 

It was like “Ashville?”  We’d never rowed against them, that I can recall, and certainly never gunned down to the line for a photo finish with one of their boats.

I wanted to like Ashville.  Seems like kind of the place you want to move to when you chuck the rat race and open a little steak frites joint with unisex bathrooms to piss off the conservatives and host traditional acoustic mountain music Tuesday nights and acid jazz on Thursdays.  You know: work, camp in the Great Smokey Mountains and row for a club that wins a few big races.

But not this race.  Not against us. We caught them at the halfway point and slowly walked past.  It was Chinook we had to fight off in the end, finally putting them away with our monster sprint which was actually only like four strokes long because our cox misjudged the finish line and it wasn’t ten seconds after she yelled “take it up” the horns went off. If she’d called the sprint a little earlier we might have won by more than eight tenths of a second.  But, no harm, no foul.  Besides, we’re all afraid of her, so what are we going to say?

Sue was back for the next race, the men’s E-8.  We won a race earlier this summer with the E boat lineup and the coach said “good win – you’re defending national champions, remember” which was a thought I‘ve always found slightly surreal.  I’ve never been “defending national champion” in anything and a few years back, when I read the Capital Rowing Club website before coming back to the sport, I read “competes on a national level” and decided to go out for the less gung-ho club team.  But, there it was.

There were some changes from last year. I was coming back from the injury, another guy had a baby and a third guy had been creamed by an idiot while cycling to practice and was out.  But we rowed the new lineup regularly and you could really feel the boat coming together, rowing pretty well.  I like rowing with the old guys, the geezer boat – eight of us raging against the dying of the light but with a certain élan.   

And this year, maybe because I’d expected to have such a lousy season, I was more attuned to the boat as a whole — to being part of a lineup rather than a guy whose first priority was trying to fight his way into the lineup.   The boat felt good.

Ashville lined up next to us again, a boat with a distinctly thuggish look which made me want to move there and join their club even more, steak frites and acid jazz or not.  Boats where the guys mostly look like dive bar bouncers not only win races, I suspect they’re fun to drink with after.

But it was Western Reserve and Riverfront Recapture who jumped out on us, taking seats at the start — as someone always does, dammit! But, if we didn’t row as pretty as we’ve rowed in practice, we rowed pretty good and caught ‘em — as we often do.  And with Sue calling the sprint at a more appropriate distance from the finish we raced into a two second win over two strong crews. 

It must have been sometime in January and I was laying off the hydrocodone [opioid pain medication] and my back hurt and I was out of shape and bitter and the weather was cold and I was looking at unemployment because I worked in government and the government was changing, and I was stomping around and whining that “next season is fucked, just fucked!”  And Laura, who probably also saved my life after my wife, Stephanie, died, gave me this look she saves for when I’m just being stupid (she’ll take a little whining, but she hates stupid) and just said “no, no it’s not.”

And she gently encouraged the self-rehab and the cult gym workouts that seem to help your body’s balance and, eventually, the erging even when it was inconvenient to her and when she had to listen to tedious analyses of the day’s workout.

And the guys, our team, welcomed me back and did the hardest thing: showing up every morning tired and sore and determined to work to the edge of exhaustion and row better every day — and forge eight of us into one boat. 

And women’s and mixed boats medaled in two other events, a great start to this year’s racing.

And Guennadi and Elena – who have patiently coached me up over six seasons and once again showed their talent for bringing out our best when it matters most. 

And seven months after I though the season was busted, I was in Tennessee, doing that asshole thing of strutting around with two medals on my chest, showing off and enjoying what a friend of mine calls “the clank factor”  and feeling a little amazed and very grateful.

It was a great day – for the team. 

The post US Masters Rowing National Championships – Day 1 musings appeared first on Rowperfect UK.

Related posts:

World Championships Day 2

World Championships Day 3

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#rowing #crew #rowperfect #Rowperfect (On-Demand)

[gcthamqueen]

Title: she’s like the den mother of hell.

Summary: “If Perse is here in the ass crack of nowhere Connecticut in the middle of winter, what does that tell you about what’s happening in the Netherworld right about now?”

———

A year after the events of the musical, a freak day of scorching sun in the middle of a Connecticut winter lands the queen of the Netherworld in the middle of the Deetz-Maitland household.And they thought letting Beetlejuice stay with them would put an end to the majority of their supernatural weirdness.

Link: [ao3]

***************************

chapter three: she never stays for long.

Persephone settles in as the family’s latest supernatural guest.

“Hopefully these should fit you,” Delia said as she took the clothes from Lyda out on the landing while Barbara helped Persephone into the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bath, “I might be a little taller though so the pants might be a bit long.”

“Anything that’s not this,” Persephone replied as she gestured to her ruined dress and leggings, “Will do just fine.”

Twisting to one side, she pulled the dress carefully up to one side, pulling a face as she got a good look at how deep the cuts were for the first time. Barbara crouched on the floor next to her with the first aid kit, making a small tutting noise.

“We can definitely clean these up, but in all honesty, I think they might need stitching. Whatever did this cut pretty deep.”

“I think I might be able to stop the worst of it. This is gonna sound really weird, but do you have a plant you don’t really care about by any chance?”

“I might have just the thing,” Delia smiled, disappearing down the hall to the master bedroom before returning with a somewhat wilted looking spider plant, handing the pot over to Persephone.

“Usually this is my mother’s speciality but since it’s winter, I might be able to just…”

Holding a hand over the plant, a soft golden light formed in Persephone’s palm and the plant seemed to wilt as though rapidly dying. As she focussed on the plant, the cuts on her side seemed to close up enough to the point where the slow ooze of ichor stopped, before she pulled back, offering the plant back to Delia.

“I think I can fix that up once I’ve rested, but thank you.”

“Charles should be home soon, I’ll go downstairs to let him know we’re going to have a guest,” Delia smiled before disappearing back down the hall, Lydia moving to close the bathroom door and sit on the floor as Barbara began gently cleaning the wounds.

“It’s certainly an interesting household you’ve got here,” Persephone said, giving Barbara a slight smile, “Two ghosts, a demon and…three humans?”

“Yeah, Charles is Delia’s husband.”

“And my dad,” Lydia piped up, “You’re not like...mad about it, are you?”

“About what?”

“The Maitlands and Beej being here.”

“The Handbook did say we were supposed to go straight to the Netherworld when we died,” Barbara offered.

“Oh that thing?” Persephone asked, “I wouldn’t take it as total gospel. I’m not sure that particular part has been properly updated since...yeesh, I wanna say about 1840? Back when the spiritualism movement was getting big. A lot of newly-deads took to following around mediums telling them all sorts of stuff they really shouldn’t have been and we had to try and nip it in the bud. The paperwork for it all was a nightmare.”

“So you’re not gonna take them to the Netherworld yourself or anything? Beej was really freaked at the idea of your husband finding out you were here.”

A flicker of an emotion Lydia couldn’t quite place flashed across Persephone’s face before it was gone just as quickly as she flinched in response to Barbara applying a bandage.

“Hades likes rules and order, but I promise you, nobody’s forcing anyone to go to the Netherworld right this second. It’s always going to be there for when people are ready to move on, be it as soon as they pass over, once they’re done with any unfinished business on this plane, or any length of time in between.”

Seemingly satisfied with her explanation, Lydia nodded and shot Persephone a smile as Barbara gathered up the first aid kit.

“We’ll leave you to get cleaned up. There’s toiletries and things in the cabinet you can use, and Delia’s probably started on dinner when you’re ready to come down.”

As she was left alone in the bathroom, Persephone waited for the sounds of Lydia’s footsteps to disappear down the hall before stepping over to lock the door, turning back to the mirror once she was sure she would be alone. She looked a mess, hair tousled in all directions and the dark circles around her eyes only seemed to be heightened by her paler winter complexion.

Examining the bruises around her throat, she let out a small sigh before pulling on the silver chain around her neck that had miraculously survived the attack until she was holding the chunk of aquamarine crystal at the end of it. Closing her eyes and focussing on it for a moment, she allowed the magic she’d ingrained in it centuries ago to reach out for its intended target, before pulling her mind back to the present, turning her attention to the prospect of a nice warm shower.

The clothes, as predicted, were a little large, but Persephone was more glad to be out of her own battered and bloody clothes than worrying about the size. The shower had been exactly what she’d needed to relax, the warmth easing much of the tension from her muscles. Pulling her damp hair into a loose braid over one shoulder, she picked up her ruined clothes and folded them up. She could probably fix them once she’d had a chance to rest, but that would have to wait for now.

Heading towards the stairs, Persephone could hear various voices talking as she reached the landing. Limping her way downstairs, she found the family setting the table for dinner, Lydia helping the Maitlands set the table as Delia plated up pasta, talking to a man she could only assume was Charles. Beetlejuice was floating in cross-legged over the coffee table with a pint of ice cream, making her pause for a moment at the odd sight outside of domesticity of the rest of the scene before he noticed her watching and shot her a distinctly chocolatey grin, making her let out a small snort of laughter.

“Ah, this must be our guest,” Charles smiled as she reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping over to shake her hand, “It’s a pleasure, Miss-“

“Just Persephone is fine,” she replied, “And same to you, Mister Deetz. I’m very grateful for you all helping me like this, though I can find somewhere else to lay low tomorrow.”

“Probably shouldn’t, Seph,” Beetlejuice piped up, gesturing with his spoon as he spoke, “Anything that tried murdering you of all people will be keeping a keen eye out for any sign of you, ‘specially if you try and head back down below. You’ve practically got a giant neon target on your back.”

If anyone had been paying close enough attention, they would likely have noticed the way Persephone seemed to bristle at the nickname, though it was quickly brushed off.

“I wouldn’t want to impose-“

“Oh no, you’re really not,” Delia exclaimed, “It’ll be a bit of a squeeze since we haven’t quite finished the other guest room yet but we can set you up down in the den.”

“She can have my room.”

Almost entirely in sync, the Deetz and Maitlands whipped around to stare in amazement at Beetlejuice as he scooped up another mouthful of ice cream.

“...what? C’mon it’s not that weird. You’re the one wanting to set the queen of the Netherworld up on the couch, Darla.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bedroom, Beetlejuice,” Persephone sighed, “The couch is fine.”

“Nope, choice has been made, Your Highness,” he replied, grinning at her as he clicked his fingers, “My stuff’s already down there. You get the bedroom.”

Opening her mouth to protest again, Persephone narrowed her eyes at Beetlejuice’s smirk, deciding against escalating this whole thing into some petty argument that was likely to still end up with her taking the bed.

“Fine. It’s appreciated. And thank you all again for your hospitality. If it makes you feel any better, I did cloak my exit from the Netherworld so it should be next to impossible for anyone to find out I’m here. I don’t want to bring any of this to your doorstep when you’ve all been so kind.”

“You can do that?” Adam asked, “Cloak, I mean. So people don’t know where you come out of the Netherworld?”

“It’s an old trick a friend taught me a long time ago,” Persephone grinned, “Technically it works both ways but sometimes a girl’s gotta break a few rules to sneak off in the middle of summer to visit her husband.

———

By the time the meal was over, Persephone was admittedly exhausted, the chaos of the day catching up with her all at once. Barbara had left the table a little early since she and her husband weren’t eating to make up the bed since Beetlejuice had transported all of his bedding down into the basement, and by the time she had made her way upstairs, she was ready to sleep, even if it was relatively early in comparison to the rest of the household.

Shrugging out of the sweatshirt she’d pulled on after the shower, Persephone moved to fold it and set it on the dresser, before noticing out of the corner of her eye that one of the pillows seemed to be on the floor rather than the freshly made bed. Bending down to pick it up, she threw it onto the bed without paying it much mind as she sat down to pull off her boots and climb into bed. Adjusting the pillows so she could lie comfortably on her uninjured side, she was so tired that she barely even noticed the familiar scent of earth on the pillow she’d picked up from the floor before she was finally drifting off into a proper sleep.

#beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fanfic #that beautiful sound #My writing

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Swami of Sedona

Okay, So I’ve written this post over again twice and it keeps deleting entirely- lessons in non-attachments I suppose.

I feel myself being scrubbed clean here. I didn’t full expect it to feel so wholly soothed. Yoga is such a sacred practice and an all encompassing practice. Yoga Asana (the movements/poses) is only a part of it- and really only exists to make meditation more easily. The other, equally inportant aspects are Satsunga (meeting as a group, singing), Pranayana (breathing work) & Karma Yoga (self-less service). We’ve been reading through the Geeta (the last chapter) and exploring ideas of self-inquiry. Meaning who is the “I” that we refer to when thinking of ourselves. So it is explained- the eyes see the objects, the objects are perceived by the mind and intellect. And yet, there is something else there perceiving the mind. The higher consciousness interacting with our very thoughts- willing them existence & non-existence if we harness of the power of which. I’ve felt such complete clarity & peace when I get glimpses of this true reality. It’s very special. I suppose there are still things that drag me back into the human experience- but that is our duty too. It’s a funny balance to explore enlightened theory, and then still loving what life has brought me on the earthly plain. Tomasic thought is those base, depressed thoughts. Rajastic thought is those of desire (lust, etc). Both interfere with the blissful state of our true selves & we must learn to purify our very thoughts. Like the law of attraction- our very thoughts attract our karma- But I’ve known this for a long while being a pretty capable witch. Now I know, this is probably a little far out there for some people- but those same teachings are the foundation of Mindfulness practice that therapists try to impart on their patients. It never felt fully possible to me, until I saw this from the other perspective. Swamiji says that the biggest infinity exists within the mind--- And I can totally see it now. (Don’t worry, it’s not a cult & I’m still intending on returning to the outside world).

Swamiji is, in fact, quite a lot like Dumbledore. He studied Quantum Physics before following the enlightened path. (The tradition we are studying in is that of Swami Sivananda). He is strict, but warm & his laugh booms as if it’s coming from another dimension. I’m slightly intimidated by him, but I think that is coming from a knowing that when I interact with him he will challenge the way I interact with my own thoughts- even in seemingly mundane circumstances. For example- we are taught to say “when I took this body” instead of “when I was born”, as well as seeking to the greater “i” instead of the human self. The reasoning for this being not to entertain the thoughts/misconception that we are our bodies or our minds, but instead the consciousness observing the mind and the body. Taking back the seat as the master, or Guru, instead of the mind & body which is simply the puppet. We also greet eachother by saying “Om Navah Shivayah” which means “Oh salutations to the auspicious one!” ...or the shorter “Om”. 

There are SO many chants to know- and I’m not close to knowing all of them. They’ve filled my head while I clean, and walk & read & meditate. My favourite is the maha mrityunjaya mantra- which is the “great death-conquering mantra”. (also---- I keep pulling the death card in tarot, which I just remembered.)

The past few days we’ve had quite a lot of snow-especially when considering this is Arizona. I feel Canada following me & poking in little hellos. This means my karma yoga has become a lot of house work- mom type stuff which I was resenting. I respect the role that I will play here, though, and it is a push for me to take more responsibility for these things in my own personal life. It’s felt good overall to flex these muscles. I do feel deeply appreciated & respected for this work (even though that’s not what it’s about). It does mean we are up from 5:30am to 10pm without much of a break- 6am satsung, 8 am yoga, 10am brunch, 12pm study (Geeta), 1pm Karma Yoga, 5:30pm dinner, 7pm Satsung (or staff night, which we watch movies--- one time it was even the Matrix!). It makes it a little difficult to sneak away to do things for myself, like book tickets, pay bills & write this. It has been extremely rewarding- the break & sense of peace I’ve been searching for this whole time. Such a true relief. 

We’ve driven into Sedona almost everyday (we are technically in the town just outside called Cottonwood). Any viewscape from this part of the world could easily be a postcard- but Sedona in particular is distinctly picturesque. The mountains look like sunsets & even through storms the skys shine in the brightest blues I’ve ever seen. The Mountains create a strange illusion of infinity- both so big, and so small in contrast with the sprawling sky & desert surrounding them. The sidewalks & roads are all red too, made from the sand of the area. I was kinda craving picking up a good rock- but Wendyana warned me it’s bad luck, unless I ask permission & it says yes & I leave a piece of hair. Chocolate tree is a vegetarian & waste-free restaurant in town owned by one of the Ashramites named Radika. The other day we did soup for the soul, but we’ve also gone a few times for dinner after extra yoga classes in town. Sedona is a mecca for New-age-y types. I’ve had so many conversations about aliens & faeries & things. Even though I’m kinda like that too, it almost freaks me out & then I go back into my experience all over again. Grounding in consciousness. 

My experience has been challenged over the past few days. The Ashram- being a monastery is usually an entirely peaceful, respectful, restful place. We’ve had a few people take refuge here- all kinda being disruptive- talking loudly about “sex-drugs & rock and roll” kinda stuff while we are trying to maintain Mauna (the practice of silence). Micheal in particular has been challenging for me. he’s such a name dropper & talks so much about heroine use- which is particularly triggering for me. I know Gopala is also challenged by these things as he is recovering from an addiction. My Karma yoga has turned into a lot of waiting on them (because they can’t leave until the snow does). I mean- being asked by them to clean & fix things for them & cook for them. It’s annoying, but that’s coming from my own ego. Especially when Lawrence exclaims “What service!”, followed my Micheal straight up insulting the traditions. But the lessons are “bear insult, bear injury” “be kind, be good, be compassionate & realize”.  It’s hard to maintain high vibrational thoughts when someone else’s ego is so huge & palpable within the space. I mean even Gabriel, who does practice Asana’s doesn’t really “get it”. “it” being the rest of the yoga practices. Swamiji- though he wasn’t necessarily referring to him- but warned us against what he called “spiritualized ego”. That is to say, people who spread dogma & “wisdom” with out ever doing the work themselves (or ever doing it seriously). I’m feeling that & it comes up as one of the things that has challenged me over the last year in my encounters with people. It’s not the people that have low energy in particular, it is those that have twisted what is goodness into self-serving practices.  Boastfulness just really rubs me the wrong way. I was quite enjoying it over the first few days how it seemed who we were/are outside of the ashram was slightly inconsequential. Even though I am very proud of my life & the magic in it, I liked being able to live outside of it for a while.  It’s just funny. I can chuckle about it though & still feel very light.

My roommate Wendyana reminds me so much of one of my favourite teacher’s in high school named Mrs. Bourdon-king. She’s theatrical & lovely & gets a bit carried away. She recited a whole story (that she wrote) called ‘Wanda-lou from the land of Woo’. I really want to get a copy of it for a friend of mine. We’ve been sneaking tarot reading, palm readings & divining through dices- It’s not really a part of the Hindu tradition. Last night she was bitten by a brown recluse spider which caused quite a stir as we were readying for bed. Rukmini & I have been discussing going for a walk to learn about the plant medicines in the Sonara Desert- and that incident kinda confirmed that we should do that. Although, we will have to wait for the snow to clear. (it’s usually shorts weather at this time).

Rukmini was also an initial challenge for me, but I can love her & respect her for what she does. She’s just very particular, but I understand through empathy why- she’s kinda the momma bear here. With so many in & out I can imagine that too is challenging. We’ve been able to come into a pretty beautiful harmony though & I’ve been really glad for that. The dynamics will soon shift as Gopalaji will leave for California & I will take up more of his role. I’ve been able to spend a little more time with Dharmajan (who has spent nearly all his time building the temple with Charles). Dharmaji is an old school hip- you can tell there is no BS about him. He works hard & leads by example, but has a soft, open heart & a knowledge of something bigger than him. He is probably one of the souls I’ve connected most to along this journey, though he is still generally a man of fewer words. 

I feel ready to ask Swamiji for a name & a mantra. I’ve only been here for a week, but the wisdoms made sense to me instantly- it was like I’ve known them my whole life, without being articulated in this particular way. I’ll have to see what he thinks. I have hope though. We are also having our first Puja tomorrow when Gopala’s mother comes to visit. 

In other news, I’ve booked my ticket for Amsterdam- so my interary is pretty settled now. The tulips will be bloomed & it’ll be King’s day (as well as mine & both my sister’s birthdays) which will be fun. It’s stirred other Wanderlusts, though, Including Scotland, Wales & India, foremost. I’m not sure if I’ll have enough money to decently explore California at this point, and may end up staying at the Ashram for longer. I have to go to LA, because I’ll visit my uncle & fly to mexico from there. I will have to be satisfied with that. It’s always been my dream to drive the coast from Dawson city to San Diego, so if anything, the trip to LA will just feed my will. Sometime over the next few years, I’ll do it, I know. 

[geniuszone-blog]

New Post has been published on Geniuszone

New Post has been published on https://geniuszone.biz/why-people-love-blogging/

Why people Love Blogging

People weblog for lots motives. Originally, I started my weblog the cease of 2013 as a creator platform.

  But as time passed, I realized my weblog furnished tons extra than a creator platform and it wasn’t all about the numbers. Blogging served a distinct and extra profound reason. I might even say that it’s modified the way I have a look at and live my lifestyles.

That’s why in case you’re considering starting a elementary reading blog, I’d distinctly advocate it. That is, in case you’re blogging for the proper motives.

  If you’re starting a blog spot to get wealthy or even to eke out a living, well, don’t assume it. Monetizing a weblog is fantastic difficult these days. In truth, after three years, I’m nevertheless not making a living from my blog. By the way, don’t consider all the hype from human beings promoting online guides that try and persuade you blogging is an excellent way to make passive income. Make no mistake, writing and selling a blogosphere is a ton of work. There is nothing passive about it.

  In reality, it’s so easy to get pissed off when you first create a blog on blogspot. As a technically-challenged person, I had to analyze WordPress. Then, I spent quite a few time selling my weblog and searching for a target audience. Something else I knew little about. As with most bloggers, I quickly have become obsessed – and depressed – with the numbers and what number of traffic, subscribers, and Facebook followers I had on any given day. Turns out building up readership for reading blogs takes a LOT of time, effort, and endurance.

  So Why Blog?

  Some people may additionally disagree with me, however, I think running a book reading blog should not simply be approximately being profitable, drumming up the commercial enterprise, gathering a massive following, chasing reputation, or looking to promote books.

blogging

Blogging can function an innovative channel to voice ideas, mind, evaluations, ideas, and feelings. On top of that, writing a blog gives a remarkable possibility to encourage and contact the lives of different humans in a fantastic manner.

  How Blogging Changed My Life

  My weblog has honestly seen me thru many America and downs those beyond few years. I’ve written about happy moments like a ride to Chicago with my husband to have a good time our anniversary, an afternoon spent playing in the snow with my grandchildren, watching Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones at Desert Trip, and a quick weekend trip with my youngsters to San Francisco.

  I’ve also poured my coronary heart out even as caregiving for my Mom who suffered from Lewy Body dementia and wrote approximately her eventual dying. I shared my angst while my mom-in-law died from ovarian most cancers and my son went through a painful divorce and custody struggle that same 12 months. (Ironically, quickly once I started out writing a blog approximately happiness, I had the worst 12 months of my existence.)

  Yes, I love reading, which affords a welcome respite from my troubles, but writing is my real escape, outlet, and ardor. When I write, I become so targeted, my problems fade away for awhile, giving me a far wished spoil. In fact, if you’re truly an author, trust me, it’s far a lifestyles-long dependancy!

  The technique of placing my thoughts and emotions into writing has delivered me consolation, in addition, to assist me to relive happy moments.

  As I’ve written about my existence, my blogosphere helped me reflect consideration of what is vital to me and decide if my lifestyles are headed within the right route.

people

Since I cannot write approximately each event, idea, notion, and feeling, blogging affords a type of filter out, clarifying my lifestyles. My blog sites for beginners have helped me recognize what is most meaningful to me. I’ve observed alongside the manner that every now and then it is the only moments that make me the happiest.

  Embracing Creativity

  As a professional author, my weblog gives me the exquisite innovative freedom to specific myself. Not to pop anybody’s balloon, however, writing sounds more glamorous than it’s far in fact. For the maximum of the beyond 25 years, I’ve written articles on topics that magazines, newspapers, publishers and customers select for me.

  True, I’ve written two young grownup books, tour articles, humorous pieces, and function stories on charming funny fat people that were a laugh. On the opposite hand, in order to make a living, I’ve also written articles that bored me to tears. I’ve tackled technical articles – and one technical e-book – that gave me an Excedrin a headache and drove me nuts. I’ve written on demand, meeting other human beings’ cut-off dates, writing late into the night as my mind is desperately attempting to name it quits.

  Don’t get me wrong. I may also sound whiny, however, I completely comprehend that I’m darn fortunate to have made a living at something I love. I would not have had it some other way.

  The point is, my blogosphere magazine is my toddler. I write on subjects I’m inquisitive about and feel enthusiastic about and desire my audience will experience as properly. My weblog lets in me to stretch as a creator, discover, test, and strive new things on every occasion the inspiration hits. Writing professionally has given me the discipline to submit a weblog each week, but I write my blogs after I pick. And accept as true with me, that’s now not on the crack of sunrise or 10:00 at night! That is steeply-priced.

  So, the ones are a number of the approaches blogging has changed my life. But, as I stated earlier, the huge bonus is that running a blog can change other people online’s lives as properly.

love

Some people have left remarks letting me realize that I even have in a few small way stimulated them or supplied beneficial information and that constantly brings me such joy. Writing a blog has supplied a possibility to connect with readers and other bloggers, which has been so profitable.

  What type of blogs has validated to be maximum popular? It’s usually interesting to peer what resonates and hits domestic. My top ten blogs in order of recognition:

  1. Five Ways to Become a Happy-Go-Lucky Person

  Every 12 months, that is my pinnacle-performing weblog by using ways. Merriam-Webster defines glad-cross-lucky as blithely unconcerned and carefree. Synonyms include affable, laid lower back, low-stress, and mellow. I wager we all need a number of that!

  2. Golden Boys in Concert: Bobby Rydell, Frankie Avalon, and Fabian

  I changed into asked to do a book review of Bobby Rydell’s autobiography. This brought about an interview, unfastened tickets to his Golden Boys live performance with Frankie Avalon and Fabian, and a backstage bypass to meet Rydell in man or woman. This become a nice perk that got here from running a blog! The day they posted my live performance evaluate on Rydell’s Facebook page, my site visitors elevated by using 3000% for the day. No joke!

  3. Keep Laughing with the Seven Dwarfs of Menopause

  This blog has held a top-3 spot because I began running a blog. Hey, it is either laugh or cry via menopause, and would not we all choose to laugh?

  4. Staying Positive Despite Problems

  Everyone has problems that make us experience powerless and defeated, so I’m not surprised this weblog made the pinnacle ten. I provide 3 easy tips on how we are able to manipulate our outlook and still pick to be satisfied notwithstanding our troubles.

  5. What Are Your Life’s Happiest Moments?

  If your appearance back to your existence, which moments would you rely upon as your happiest? What would be your largest regrets? That’s the question one examine requested contributors elderly 70 and older. I proportion the consequences of their insightful answers on this weblog.

  6. Why Older People Are Happier Than Baby Boomers

  Aww, my first actual blog that got my blog off the floor. The concept for this blog was based on research that display, in popular, older human beings – or even the more youthful technology – are happier than us baby boomers. One examines confirmed there is a U-formed happiness curve with the early 50’s as the lowest factor of well-being.

  7. Happy as Easy as 1-2-3

  “I need my day to experience like there are boundless splendor and possibilities and joy to be felt, found, explored, and expressed. And you already know what? I can and so can you,” I wrote. This article was given observed on Stumble Upon, bringing me my 2d (after the Rydell live performance overview) all-time report the high quantity of visitors for in the future.

  8. Staying Happy Through Menopause

  I wrote this article after Hot Flash Daily hired me to write funny articles approximately menopause to release their new website. I had never written humor before, but had a blast doing it for them! I fortuitously shared all of it – the sizzling warm flashes, insane insomnia, demanding forgetfulness, and loopy panic assaults that ensued for years. Yes, YEARS!

  9. Finding Happiness with Grandchildren

  This blog becomes a clean one to jot down. To be wished and wanted with the aid of those pleasant little beings is an outstanding deal with and privilege. Like many humans, I find that the rewards of a circle of relatives life best grew richer and greater fulfilling as every new grandchild changed into the bearing.

  10. Five Happy Snoopy Quotes

  Okay, this one amazed me a bit. But hi there, do not we all still love Snoopy? Now that I write a happiness blog, I’m impressed with how a whole lot knowledge Charles M. Schultz cartoons contain on the situation.

  I cherished writing a majority of these articles that proved to be popular with readers. With that during my mind, what’s my primary recommendation to all of you who’re thinking about running a blog? Write approximately your passions. Let your blog educate you lifestyles training. And, finally, experience the process. Then you could love running a blog as lots as I do!

[kirbysag]

Killed the Cat (21-2-17)

           I started down the crooked staircase. From the light of our flashlights, dust motes danced in the air. More sprang up every time we moved, and god forbid we bump into something on accident.

           “Bloody hell, keeping the camera clean is going to be a fuckin’ mess of a job”

           I could distinctly hear those two struggling at the top, behind me.

           “Well, you should’ve brought the lens cleaner, shouldn’t ya have?”

           “Yeah, yeah, I know. Probably.”

           Ed chortled. “Probably? This place has more dust stuffed into it than me old nan’s lingerie drawer, and ya say we probably should’ve brought the lens cleaner?”

           “Well, how was I supposed to know the place was going to be a bloody dust swamp, Ed?” Charlie retorted.

           “If ya’d read the emails we’ve been sending out for months, that should’a given ya ample opportunity to go to yourself, ‘You know what, Charlie?’ ‘Yes, Charlie?’ ‘I think we should bring the lens cleaner, Charlie!’ “Oh, and why’s that, Charlie?’ ‘Well, ya see, Charlie, ‘finding’ ghosts via the magic of editing in post is made exponentially more difficult by the presence of dust on the lens, so maybe we should bring the cleaner so we don’t lose our fucking jobs, ya wanker-“

           “Come on guys, that’s enough.” I called from downstairs. Turning back up to look, they were trying to maneuver the tail end of the camera through the thin slit at the top of the staircase. We hadn’t planned to do any kind of secret-door scene, but hey, it was here. Best to just record whatever the fuck we wanted and would think might make good material, then send it back in with a note to Editing. They’ll be able to make something good out of it. Probably.

           “Do you fucks need help with the camera?”

           “Ooooh, no, Paul! We are just fine and dandy up here! No problems at all! You’re our role-model, Paul! You’re the star!”

           “Shut up, Ed.” I called.

           “Yea, shut up, Ed.” Charlie agreed.

           “Don’t you fucking start on me, Charles. Next thing you know I’ll get carried away and surprise you and ya drop the fucking camera. It’s coming out of your paycheck, if that happens.”

           “Whatever, mate.”

           They continued to lug the bulky camera down the staircase. Whoever had designed the secret door behind the bookcase had clearly not taken into consideration the proper dimensions. Those were very important when trying to hoax your’ way through paying the bills. They didn’t even think about us ‘ghost-hunters’.

           How inconsiderate.

           Looking around the room, I didn’t see anything of note. It was a short, wide area. I almost had to stoop down, the ceiling was so low. Charlie would certainly be uncomfortable, what with the camera. Other than the walls of the room looking oddly dim, it was empty.

           I called back up, “Hey guys, looks like there isn’t anything down here. We’re going to have to get creative with the spooks.”

           Ed snorted again. “No we don’t, that’s Editing’s job. We just have to look like we know what we’re talking about, throw in some terms here and there, and react to nothing like death is around every corner. Right Charlie?”

           Charlie huffed. “Yep. Did this thing get heavier since last time?”

           “Oh, toughen up. Let’s just get down here, film whatever, then we can leave. You can trust your’ good pal, Ed.”

           They were useless.

           I started going through possible scenarios in my head. Unlike Charlie and Ed, I actually quite liked my job, even if it was just c-list acting. I paced around a bit, trying to think of what we should do. Would this be another EMF recording incident? A sudden temperature difference? Maybe Ed should get possessed in this scene, that might give Editing what they want.

           Then it hit me. Shadow people! Of course! The audience eats that stuff up! It’s easy, Editing can just put some moving shit on the walls without us noticing, then we recording the voice-over from the script-writers after they get the scene from Editing. That should work.

           I went over to one of the walls, trying to think of what a good shot might be.

           My feet echoed in the small, low-ceilinged room for a moment before I felt a little jolt.

           It was like that feeling you get when you remember a task that needed to be done ten minutes ago. It was like waking for a second time.

           Weird.

           I shook it off, and started walking towards the wall.

           Except, I didn’t get there.

           I couldn’t rationalize it. Not to myself. I could see the wall of the room, it was right there, just a few feet in front of me. But whenever I walked towards it, it never seemed to get any closer. I could clearly see and feel the ground moving under me, but the spot where the ground met the wall looked strange, somehow. Like something was obscuring it.

           There clearly wasn’t anything there, but I just couldn’t process it.

           I decided to take a run towards the wall.

           The same effect. The ground moved beneath me, and the wall stayed the same distance away.

           This was fucking weird. This was terrifying, and we had to leave.

           But this was it. This was the proof, the video that would make us richer! More widely known than Elvis, richer than a televangelist super-star! This was our big break!

           I didn’t stop running while thinking this. Shortly after, I felt something brush against my head. Something hard, and cold.

           It was the ceiling.

           I turned around towards the staircase to call out to those two, to tell them the new and holy shit to get down here!

           But the stairs looked to be about far away. About 100 feet of darkness separating me from them.

           Was the ceiling lower than when I first started?

           I began walking back to the stairs while calling my friends names. “Ed!! Charlie!! Guys, get your’ asses down here!”

           No answer.

           “Guys!”

           Still no answer.

           Looking at the stairs, I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. In fact, they might’ve even been moving further away.

           The ceiling was definitely lower than it was before. I had to haunch my neck. I could no longer move upright.

           “Guys!” I shouted, a note of fear coming into my voice. It was like running in a nightmare. I couldn’t get there, I couldn’t get back, I couldn’t make it!

           I was sprinting now, hoping to outpace the movement of the room, but for every stride I took, the stairs seemed to take one slightly larger away from me. The ceiling came down lower and lower.

           I didn’t have any choice. I had to try. I had to keep moving.

           …..

           I was crawling now. I could no longer kneel. I could feel the weight, the endless weight crushing down from above me. I could barely move now.

           And then, I stopped being able to move altogether. Like a turtle on its back, I was pinned completely to the floor.

           I felt my side start to strain. My lungs were in pain, trying desperately to keep inflated.

           I spent a long time like that.

           It felt like days. The ceiling inching down.

           Eventually, something popped. I’m not sure what it was, but I was glad it did.

           It wasn’t much longer till I lost feeling in my entire body. My vision swam with spots. Then I didn’t have vision anymore. Then smell. Then hearing.

           There was a moment where I could feel myself decay around myself and within myself.

           Then I slept.

…..

           “Argh, fucking careful, ya twat! Don’t drop the fuckin’ thing on me!”

           “Geez, sorry Ed! If we could go a little faster, please?”

           “Ugh…”

           They were on the stairs. They were moving the camera down. It had been less than a minute since Paul had last called up to them. Ed had decided to help after Charlie’s complaining, taking the front end of the camera while Charlie held the back. The two of them had to maneuver it down the winding, zig-zag staircase like they were in the couch-mover’s championships.

           Eventually, they made it to the bottom. They set the camera down, and stepped into the room.

           “Paul?” asked Charlie.

           “Oh, fuckin’ hell- Paul, you’d better not be playing a prank on us again! I swear to fucking god, if this is like that time in- “

           Charlie grabbed Ed’s arm. “I see him.”

           He motioned to a figure lying on the ground some feet away, up against the back wall of the room.

           “Paul?” called Charlie. “Are you alright, mate? We’re down here if you want to start recording.”

           “What the fuck is he doing?” asked Ed.

           “I’m not sure. Paul!”

           Ed and Charlie stepped towards Paul, leaving the camera on the floor, recording, behind them.

           “This isn’t fuckin’ funny Paul, come on!” shouted Ed.

           They then noticed something very peculiar as they walked towards Paul. No matter how far they went, his limp form against the wall never seemed to grow any closer.

           After a few more steps in silence, with a strong, ever-growing fear, they felt the ceiling brush their heads.

#writing #stories #horror #claustrophobia #ghost hunters

[smehsblog]

Death - It comes to us all

Life is finite, and its a reality that came knocking eight months ago. 

Just two days ago I turned 29, it was just another day at the grind. People remembered, people forgot but I was happy. Glad that I had made the milestone of 29, because for some that is forever an elusive goal. 

Kathleen Ann-Marie Buckley. I first met her when she was 13, she was the shy ginger kid that watched me as I loaded the calves into the bobby pen on the roadside as she waited for her bus. We’d have those meetings twice a week. She never said much, just watched. Little did I know that I was going to meet those beautiful eyes ten years down the track.

In 2012 I joined St John. Katie, with her infectious laugh and smiling blue eyes was an inaugural part of the team, you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to work it out. Her name covered most shifts that had to be covered -  during school hours nine til two. Katie had had a son. She worked her life at St John around him. We became her other family - her real one sucked. After a very wobbly start, her life was now going in the right direction - Katie was going to be an EMT.

August 2015 I will never forget. I had an hour before I had to pick Madie up from school, I rang my friend to say I was coming round for a cuppa. I will never be able to unhear the utter devastation in her voice. Katie had died. Our beautiful Katie had slipped away in her sleep at the age of 25. At St John our station was reeling, it was surreal.

Funerals are hard. Half of the Lighthouse Function Centre was filled with Katie’s green uniformed family, she rode her final ride up in 224 - there were a lot of ticked boxes and signatures required for that one, the siren wail ripped through the silence from the bottom of Mount Wesley, we had formed a guard of honour, the tears were silent as the entire St John contingent stood to attention. 

I had been to four funerals prior to Katie's and I remember them distinctly. At the age of 22 months I lost my maternal Grandad. I did a stellar job at his funeral though, showing everyone the ginormous poo I had manufactured in my nappy - its one of the only things Mum remembers, the tiny blond child waving the poo nappy, running around his coffin. The next two were my school friends both taken within months of each other in car accidents. Both of Maori decent and both laying in state on their Marae. I was ten years old. The wailing broke me. I didn’t attend another funeral for 18 years. There were definitely funerals I should have attended. But I couldn’t. I was terrified.   

This week just gone I lost my Poppa. His mind was well but his body had given up and on the third of March, five days shy of his 84th birthday, he left us. Thomas Charles Powdrell was a brilliant man, anyone who can navigate a farm via rushes in different shades of grey is a winner in my book. He loved us, his “non biological grandkids”. The ones that tore through his house in the summer, keen on fishing and eating everything except smoked fish eyes - no matter how he dressed them up. His funeral was nice as far as funerals go. Grae had picked the dahlias from his garden to lay on the casket - it made it bright and cheery. I had a speech written, I never said it. I should have stood up there and let the tears fall from my face and my voice become strained under the grief that wracked me, but I didn’t. Poppa meant so much to me and I didn’t tell anyone.

Grief is a horrible beast. Nothing can prepare you for the turmoil that follows a person leaving whether they are unborn or 100, they leave an imprint, regardless how seemingly insignificant. The small mannerism that you see in someone else, the smell of their perfume, the same car, shoes or coffee brings the memory back like a ton of bricks. It crushes you into oblivion and it seems like you are back standing at the place where it all started. Katie’s death for me was no exception. St John Dargaville was Katie, every time I looked at that green uniform, drove past the station or heard a siren guilt wracked me. All the unanswered questions, the things left unsaid and the unfairness of why at 25 she had to die when she had spent the last 8 years trying to save people from that fate.

Life, on the face of it, really is the longest thing you ever do, but there is no measure as to what length of time is deemed yours. There is some truth to live each day as if it was your last - shame it isn’t practical.