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mego42 · 4 years

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while I was not specifically prompted, @foxmagpie posted a fic request that made my brain go hmmmmmmmm, so I went ahead and pretended it was a prompt for me because I do what I want.

i want to read a fic from rio’s POV of 2.10 when annie reached out to him both because i think annie trying to arrange a business proposition would be hilarious but also because i suspect that rio thought beth was either orchestrating things or that it would be a way to get her back and i wanna get in his head about it

can we meet

All in all, it's a pretty standard text. Rio could probably scroll through his phone and find at least 15 others at any given point. More if he didn't dump his phones every week or two. Even more if he didn't have Mick filtering most of the bullshit for him.

But that's the thing, he does have Mick, which means when these kinds of texts make it all the way to him, he knows who they're from and what they want. The problem here is he doesn't know who the fuck this is or what they want or, most importantly, how the fuck they got this number.

And that last part especially is a big enough fuckin' problem that he shuts his laptop and scoops up his phone, swiping through to call and see who it is.

"Hello?"

He doesn't immediately recognize the voice that picks up, though it pings something. He waits, still not saying anything, figurin' he'll either place it, or they'll give themselves away. It's fuckin' unbelievable the kind of shit people will say if he just keeps his mouth shut and waits 'em out.

"Is this…" The voice trails off, and he's right on the cusp of placin' it, can feel a face bubbling to the surface when it continues in a whisper. "Gang friend?"

The fuckin' sister.

Rio's mouth snaps shut so hard it sends a pang through his jaw, and he's pretty sure she heard his teeth click together over the phone.

There are motherfuckers who would kill—hell, who have killed—for his number, and here's this suburban bopper callin' him up like she can summon him or some shit. Like she has the right.

And isn't that just like Elizabeth, makin' her sister call? After her pretty little fuckin' speech, that prim, butter wouldn't melt it's over, leavin' his cut on the goddamn nightstand like he was some kind of hired help.

His phone case creaks, giving slightly under the force of his grip, and he forces himself to relax. He leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk, tryin' to figure out how he wants to play this.

He fuckin' knew it.

He's not about to pretend the victory isn't at least a little sweet underneath the bitter rage just thinking 'bout their stalemate brings to the surface. He knew Elizabeth wasn't gonna walk away. She couldn't, she didn't have it in her.

It isn't enough, though, knowing he was right. It's barely a dent, a scratch, a fuckin' scuff in the debt she owes him, the mountain of shit he's gonna make her pay for.

"Hello?"

He hasn't said anything yet, and it's makin' the sister antsy, he can tell. There's a static, scratching noise, and he realizes she's put her thumb over the speaker or something because he can hear what she says next, but it's muffled.

"Are you sure this is the right number?"

Something in him bottoms out—he's not exactly tryin' too hard to identify what. The bright, bitter flair of satisfaction's gone as quickly as it came, leaving a dark, hollow space behind.

The sister's actin' out then, going rogue. Elizabeth knows damn well what his number is. She hasn't exactly been too shy 'bout usin' it whenever she needs a payday loan. Or other services for that fuckin' matter.

He can't help but laugh at that, but it's a harsh, biting sound. The audacity must be genetic.

"Okay, now I know you're there. Stop being a dick."

He should hang the fuck up, now that he knows who it is. Hang up, block the number, forget all about that bitch and the sister. It's probably the smartest thing to do, all told.

Except. Except she fuckin' owes him, and Rio hasn't gotten to the top by letting debts go unanswered.

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

Rio adjusts a potted bromeliad's alignment on the corner of his desk, running a finger along the edge of one of the tall, spikey leaves. Mick had dropped it on his desk one day with no fanfare, only snide commentary about Rio needing to take a vacation, and maybe this'll get him thinkin' 'bout it.

The annoying part is, it's not like the disrespectful fucker's wrong. Rio knows damn well he's let himself get far too twisted up in Elizabeth's bullshit. Offerin' to deal with her problems, lettin' her get away with all kinds of amateur hour bullshit like bringing her fuckin' kids on drops. He never should've let her strong-arm him into cuttin' her in. It's not like she's the first person to try, should've dealt with her like he would anyone else, string her up and don't give her the option to not tell him where his shit is.

Hell, further back than that, he never should've followed her into that motherfuckin' bathroom. Should've kept it business, should've never found out how soft those miles of pale skin really are, how far that delicate pink flush can spread, how unexpectedly dark and rich she tastes.

Disgusted with himself, he shoves up out of his chair, pacing around the tiny, concrete floors of the control room currently serving as his office in long, loping strides.

He should take a week. Tie things up, take Marcus to Disneyland, or some shit. Get some fuckin' distance. Perspective.

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

Rio can hear some kind of groan or somethin' from the background. Probably the friend. She was the only one of the three of them who ever seemed to really get what kind of waters they were swimming in. How deep they were and what kind of monsters lurked beneath the surface.

"Yeah, that ain't really how we do things."

"I know, I...look—" He has to yank the phone away from his ear when she sighs, loud as shit, right into it. "Something...I mean, um. I know Beth quit, but, uh…"

He tunes her out, the way she's going, she'll be stutterin' her way around to her point about a half an hour from now.

She wants a fuckin' favor, a hookup. They always do. Not just these bitches but everyone. Once you're at the top, all people want is a piece; it's only a matter of whether or not they're gonna beg for it or try to take it. Every now and then, they try to earn it.

It’s one of the things he'd liked best about Elizabeth from the jump. Yeah, sure, she was arrogant as shit, struttin' 'round in those heels like she understood the rules the world played by. Like she could twist anything and everything' round her pretty little fingers and get away with whatever the fuck she wanted as long as she batted those big, blue eyes just right.

But she was willin' to work for it. She might’ve expected to be awarded a piece just because she worked hard and that was the fair exchange for her effort. And isn’t that a trip? The idea of livin’ in a world where fair meant somethin’. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna get down in the dirt and scrap for it.

Her problem is—well, one of 'em, he doesn't even have enough warehouses to house 'em all—she looked out at her tidy little garden and thought that was the dirt. She didn't want to accept there's a whole other subterranean playing field underneath all of that.

He'd seen it though, the thing with teeth and claws she had locked up inside her. It'd come out in flashes and splinters, peaking through the bars of the cage she kept it in, eyes flashing, tail lashing, and he couldn't help it, the urge to see what would happen if he pulled its tail. Let it loose.

Rio stops pacing, coming to a halt in front of one of the huge paneled windows in the exterior wall of his office, leaning up against the edge and looking out. The panes are dingy, giving his view of the Michigan winter sky a bleak, barren cast. Not that it needed any more of one. This warehouse sits on the edge of a train yard, the miles of rust and concrete below reaching out towards the horizon. All grey and dirty red, broken up by the occasional patch of strangled grass or vibrant streaks of neon tags left behind to defiantly mark the artists’ passing.

"...I guess what I'm saying is, you know, you still have options in this, um, market. If you catch my drift. I'm hoping that we can figure a way to continue this mutually beneficial arrangement…"

The sister's still going, so he ticks through his options.

He'd have preferred Elizabeth came crawling back all on her own. That'd be ideal. He hadn't decided yet if he'd initially shut her out, make her work for reentry, and then make her pay, or go straight to the main event. It would've depended on the circumstances, what was most advantageous at the time. All good plans are flexible. He’s learned the hard way to always take contingencies into account.

She would've, though. Come crawling back. It was only a matter of time. She's had a taste now, she'd let herself go just enough, she wasn’t gonna be able to pack herself back away in that soul-sucking suburban box of a house, of a life. Not for long.

Beyond that, there was the money. She might've thought she had enough, but four kids, three mortgages, and a moron with a talent for squandering every last thing he's given? That's a lot of financial upkeep.

'Sides, even if she thought she was in the black, he was still keepin' tabs on all of them—it wasn't even personal, just good business, they were too new, too green, too unpredictable to go without the extra surveillance—and he knew that wasn’t the case across the board. Elizabeth might've been in an okay spot for now, but the sister and the friend sure as shit were not, and if there's one way to get Elizabeth to jump, it's come through her people.

And on the off chance that all of that failed to come to fruition—always a possibility, she's stubborn as shit and not above gettin' into some kind of dumbass, fucked up mess to keep from backin' down—he's got his little landfill insurance policy tucked away on ice if he ever needs to really force her hand.

"So, what do you say?" The sister‘s finally run out of steam.

Rio runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and tucks it in his cheek.

Now that he’s really thinkin’ about it, this might actually be a better option than any of the ones already on the table. There's no way the sister and the friend are gonna pull some shit all the way off, not on their own. He knows how to read a room, it’s been the thing that’s kept him alive more than once, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt, the two of them aren’t half as effective on their own. They don't have Elizabeth's steely determination, her gift for spinning bullshit into gold. Not only that but there’s too much friction there. They need Elizabeth to grease their wheels. He can toss 'em some piddly shit that don't matter and let 'em get tangled up. Give 'em enough rope and all of that.

And hey, it's not like he came after her—them. If anything, he's tryin' to help. He’s givin’ them the same opportunity to earn some money, build their own side hustle. He's practically the good guy here.

The thought makes him laugh, this time like it's actually funny.

"Okay, well, thanks for that. You know, you don't have to be rude. I just thought—"

"Park. 2 pm."

"What? Oh! Seriously? Okay, great. Wow, that is...phew. That is a load off, you don't even kno—"

Rio cuts her off, locking his phone and tucking it back in his pocket, then tapping his fist against the window.

Three seagulls are down in the warehouse parking lot fighting over scraps of something. Even all the way up here, he can hear 'em cawing, screamin', tearin' into each other for the same piece of the pie. After a minute, one of ‘em rips whatever it is away from the other two, swallows it and takes off. The others follow a beat behind, and he watches the three of ‘em fly directly overhead until the building obscure his view.

Either Elizabeth'll come to him, or this will give him a new string to tug, somethin' he can use to yank her right back under his thumb. He'll get her right back where he wants her and then he'll— He'll—

Well. He'll just have to see.

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #beth x rio #brio #brio fic #(kind of anyway)#my fic #wheeeeee i can still do a prompt fill!!!!#apparently the trick is to do them when i'm supposed to be working on something else #anyway back to dean pov #hope this somewhat scratches the itch?#confession i haven't watched 210 in actual ages so i have no idea how canonically accurate this is but i did my best #gg 2x10

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entitycradle · 3 years

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A Tree Without Wind

Content warnings: mention of, discussion of, threats of, and plans to commit suicide. Panic attacks, disassociation, and paranoia are described, sometimes in detail. An eating disorder is alluded to. Characters are horny for each other but there’s nothing sexually explicit.

I promise the ending is hopeful. I genuinely am not trying to trick you, I know what this sort of thing is like, I want to respect your capacity while still being truthful to the experience and allowing tension in the story. If you’re in the right place for it, click that button.

A TREE WITHOUT WIND

I was nine years old the first time Phoenix told me he was going to kill himself. Is that too brutal? Sorry. It's where this starts. We were outside, in the morning before it got too hot, kicking around a ball in the scrubby grass. We used the long shadow of the I34Q tower to make the rules--you can't use your hands if you're in the sun, that sorta thing. It was fun because the boundaries of the shadow were always moving with the shape of the tower, and because the tower was a little scary. Phoenix lost a game and just said it, frustrated, "I'm gonna kill myself." I laughed.

When I was that age I loved looking at the shadow of the tower, because it made so much more sense than the real thing. You'd look at the dark, fuzzy stain on the ground and you could imagine it was some sort of antenna, or house, or marker. But then you'd look at the structure itself and your eyes would glaze over trying to figure it out. Unevenly rotating, stacked polyhedral structures, dark gray but covered with a rainbow film like an oil slick. Irregular pieces would be transferred between different sections with no apparent pattern. It smelled like someone you'd never met. The tower was doing something but no one was ever clear on what. That's how it is with I34Q stuff, I think.

I'm stalling. It was some stupid shit, he must've picked it up from some awful caster or something. As a kid Phoenix liked that sorta thing. He'd watch videos of mean people cursing and laughing and he'd laugh with them. I preferred my cartoons, or the I34Q casts, as weird as they were. Later I repeated what he said when I found out my dad was making squash for dinner, "I'm gonna kill myself," and my mom told me off pretty hard. Kept me from saying it again, at least in school and at home. Phoenix kept at it though.

- = -

Phoenix and I got put in the same dormitory when we went to T-school. Do they call it T-school in other places? It's the thing where 4Q tanks (as in I34Q) come and take a bunch of eleven-year-old kids to stay at "training" facilities. No one I've asked knows what T-school is actually for, same as the towers, same as all the 4Q stuff like I said before. An organic shape attached to the ground heads a classroom, gibbering except for the occasional english sentence (Phoenix said he also recognized some Cantonese). Mrs. Lough, who apparently also lives in the facility, tries to teach "formalist english," which is like english but the rules contradict themselves. You take notes on the behavior of a tank filled with inky fluid for four hours a week. One day a three-legged machine packs up your stuff and shepherds you to the gate.

I was ejected a year and a half after Phoenix. I went home on the bus and met him at burger king that afternoon. I caught a glimpse of him from outside. His hair was in long, tight braids. I felt self-conscious about the uncontrollable smile growing on my face. "Aco!" he said through a grin as I opened the glass door. A green poster advertised a meal made from "water beads," an I34Q plant thing.

"Dang," I said, grinning as I sat down. "Dang."

"You make it out? Fuck you to 4Q?" He'd stopped eating to greet me. His grin looked as uncontrollable as mine. Phoenix's nose was wide and flat, also like mine.

"Fork you, 4Q." I still felt nervous about cursing. I was fourteen. "How ya doing, Phoenix?"

"I'm good, I'm good. High school is interesting."

"Oh, man..."

"It's actually like, fucking nice to understand what's happening. But now there are actual smart kids and you actually get punished when you, y'know, mouth off. I'm like, I gotta get around to--" He swiped with his hand, bent his neck, and made a cracking sound with his mouth. I laughed. "Don't worry, I'll show you around. Maybe we'll have a class together."

- = -

We did have a class together. High school with Phoenix was fun, because I got to have a proper crush on him. Pining, sexuality, youthful obsession, yards and yards of it. It was weird, we kinda drifted--Phoenix hung out with kids that I was afraid of, I hung out with kids who played too many videogames. As our familiarity waned, I started seeing him differently. A foreign, adult desire began to penetrate me, replacing childish affection. It took me a while to realize that's what was happening.

It was a shame our familiarity waned, though, because Phoenix was really struggling, and I didn't see it. His friends were mean, when they weren't outright abusive. Not a lot of people liked him. I learned later that he started hurting himself when he was sixteen. Little cigarette burns, and then cuts. He got put on meds at seventeen--the wrong meds, for a year. He went to a psych ward when he was nineteen. His family did not have the money to pay for an extended stay. I still don't know exactly how that worked out. I do know he went into debt after his second stay two years later.

I wasn't doing too well myself, after I hit twenty-two. Something in me broke I guess. So when Phoenix told me he was going to travel to the Santitos digger and throw himself off a cliff, it didn't take me very long to ask if I could go with him.

- = -

"I... I didn't..." He paused for a long time. Ten seconds of silence feels unbearably long in a conversation, and I was quiet for fifteen. My teeth held each other tightly as his thoughts whirled. "I didn't..." He looked me in the eyes. There was an intensity to both our gazes. He'd stuck his jaw out, just a little. "I guess I did. I was, kinda, hoping you'd say that."

"Fuck," I said, looking away and down. "Fuck." I put a hand over my eyes, gripping my face as tears came.

"I'm gonna die," he said, beginning to smile and looking up. I felt the discomfort I'd felt since we were nine.

"Yeah, I wanna go, I wanna go," I said, pulling my hand away midway through and looking back at him with a force I didn't recognize.

He looked back at me and said, "I'm gonna die, and you're gonna die with me."

- = -

The Santitos digger is in northern California, in the Redwood national park. People have figured out the basic idea of what the digger is doing, unlike the towers or the T-schools: the digger is making a big hole. I'd heard that in some places it had dug more than a mile, almost straight down. Don't ask me how the digger would've done that. Don't ask me why it's called Santitos, either, since it's pretty big and not very saintly. Maybe it was the name of a town. Getting to the digger from Prince George County was about fifty hours.

"I figure we could do it in three days if we really fuck-you-pushed-it. But I'm planning on five." I craned my neck to look at Phoenix's cracked phone screen, where he'd pulled up the route.

Gas is expensive because 4Q takes most of it. Basically no one flies. Even in Phoenix's hybrid, it would be a thousand dollars to get to the west coast. But it's not like we'd need the money afterwards.

"We'll eat along the way," he continued. I bit my thumbnail. "I'm not picky, we'll just stop at wherever they won't run us out of town."

We'd sleep in the car. It was April, so temperature wouldn't be a concern. I packed a change of clothes, a water bottle, my meds, and a box cutter I'd stolen from my last job.

The next morning, he pulled his blue, dented '38 prius in front of my apartment building. I saw the car arrive out the window. There was an anxious pit in my stomach that deepened when I opened my front door. I didn't want anyone to see me. This is it, I thought, this is it, this is it. I repeated that phrase down the stairs. My landlord could fucking charge rent to my corpse, I could give a shit. This is it, I thought. That final T stretched to enrobe me. The sky was gray and wet. The sensation wasn't enough to rip me from my inwards reverie. I was about to get in the back of the car when Phoenix spoke. "That ain't it."

He was leaning out the window, regarding me coolly. "Morning. Shall we go?" I walked around the car and got in the front seat.

- = -

Virginia is beautiful once you get into the mountains, forested and rolling. I told Phoenix, "Once I read the Appalachians are millions of years old, and used to be taller than the Himalayas."

"No shit. Was there like an Everest? Where's the old Everest?"

"I don't know, I never heard anything about that. But yeah the continental plates looked totally different. And then things changed and the rain and wind and plants broke them down."

"Hah. Fucking awful. Just being broken down like that. I mean, it's better than what 4Q did to Everest."

I was quiet for a moment. "That's... the worst thing they did, right?"

"I dunno, dude, I think taking kids from their families is worse."

"No, right, right. But like... Everest was like... like everyone knew about Everest. When I was really little I had this big book about mountains and I read the bit on Everest so many times. And now it's like... they made it about them. And people lived in the Himalayas before 4Q came! It forced everyone out and carved a bunch of nonsense into it. A forever reminder that we're below them."

"Hah, literally. Hmmm. I still wouldn't say worst, but, I get what you mean. I'm so numb to it. It's good some people still care." Phoenix shrugged. "I mean I dunno. It doesn't matter much to me, at this point. But from an outside perspective it's good."

That first evening was alright. I drove Phoenix into a beautiful sunset. You hear the phrase "rode off into the sunset" and you think, what a nice ending, but it's not really an ending. If you're the cowboy you keep riding, and eventually the sky darkens and you have to set up camp and eat and sleep and wake up the next morning and eat and go riding again. A feeling of dread and desperation fills me when I think of surviving alone like that. Maybe I'd get used to it. The trip to Santitos was an attempt to write a story with a proper ending.

We didn't stop until we crossed into Illinois. We parked on the shoulder of a country road. I used the light in the car to look at the atlas we'd bought for when we didn't have cell service, and laughed. "We've been in five states today. Pretty good. Keep it up and we'll have visited every state by June."

"What the--?" Phoenix snorted, laughing. "You mean if we visit five states a day. Asshole."

I always giggled when he snorted and called me an asshole. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"Fucking dumb. Doesn't even work. You'd have to wake up in a different state than you fell asleep in." He caught my eye. The smile felt intimate, mutual. Born of sleepy exhaustion from a shared journey. I looked at the divot between his nose and upper lip.

I realized something. "Shit, I forgot to bring a blanket."

"Poor baby. You cold?"

"Hmm. I guess not really."

"Oh, you know what I do have..." He leaned towards me and reached toward the back seat. I watched his shirt stretch over his chest. Phoenix retrieved a big gray sweater. "Feel free to stretch it out."

My fingertips touched the back of his hands as I took the bundle. I did that on purpose. His skin was warmer than I expected, as skin always is. We tipped our seats back. Not the most comfortable, though the sweater would help, hopefully. I checked out Phoenix to see him on his side, looking at me and smiling. I let my own smile relax into me as I watched his eyes. His irises were a rich, beautiful brown. His skin was the color of cardboard in your childhood memories. I loved the way his smile wasn't symmetrical, wider on one side than the other. I carefully resisted scanning my gaze down his body. I actually saw his eyes flick down my form, instantaneously. His eyelids half-lowered, and then, horribly, what seemed to be a great tide of sadness overtook him. I watched him hold it back. I watched his smile mix with growing grief and fear, then bow to neutrality. He covered his gaze with his eyelids, breathed in, breathed out. "All right," he whispered, then opened his eyes. The gaze was gone. "Time to sleep." He sat up and turned off the light.

The sweater had a very particular, subtle smell to it. I guess it was his smell. I was desperately horny, yet blasted to pieces. A heady mix.

"I think I could fall in love with you, if things were a little different." He broke the silence, fifteen minutes later. "I probably would. But I'd cling to you like a fucking baby. And you're here, right?" He paused. For a response? I didn't give him one in time. "That's what I mean, codependent hell. I'd only be alive for you, and you'd only be alive for me, and then the second anything goes wrong we'd be right back here except I'd, fucking, direct all my shittiness at you... and you'd blame yourself."

I was quiet. "Ain't... ain't being codependent better than dying?"

"Hah! But that's what I'm saying, it doesn't change anything, it just leads us back here."

I fumbled for something. "Yeah but if it could... like stave it off..."

"Why is that good? The world is fucked, Acoatl, totally and truly fucked. Things don't get better from here, for me, for people. Should I beg? Stay here in misery out of some misplaced sense of morality? We're doing the only thing that makes sense."

I stayed quiet, not unconvinced. Sleep came, eventually, uncomfortably, anxiously.

- = -

The International Astronomical Union provisionally called it 8I/2034 Q1. I had to look that up. The eighth interstellar comet discovered, identified in 2034. I don't know what Q1 means. The name was briefly changed to 8I/Pasarati, for the research group that had discovered it, but by that time I34Q was clearly accelerating non-gravitationally and on an Earthbound trajectory. 8I/Pasarati is still in orbit, technically. You can see it through a telescope, it's like five miles across. But I34Q is the name for all of it, the craft that came to the surface, the life it brought with it, the structures it built, the war, all the consequences. No one can make any sense of it, except the one thing everyone knows: something else controls the world now.

- = -

I just barely remember waking up to switch seats in the morning, and then desiring nothing more than to return to sleep. Eventually Phoenix nudged me awake. "Hey." We were parked somewhere in Missouri. I'd slept all the way through the night and Phoenix's turn to drive. At least twelve hours, depending on when I actually fell asleep last night. I'd missed the big arch in St. Louis.

Phoenix was curt and reserved as I drove. I thought he was still thinking about last night, or angry at me for leaving him alone on his drive. Then he tilted his head back and began to gag. "My... heart..." Tears streamed down him face.

"Phoenix." I glanced back and forth between him and the road. There were abandoned cars on the shoulder; I couldn't pull over. "Phoenix, Phoenix, um."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop." He bent, heaved, and emitted a yowling, harsh retch. Nothing else left his mouth. "My heart..." He was breathing hard. A panic attack, I realized, stupidly too late.

"Do we have..." Panic attacks can be interrupted with certain intense sensations. The general goal is to increase awareness of the environment, focus the mind on the current moment rather than the future or past. Holding an ice cube can help. There were no ice cubes. I reached into the back seat for my water bottle, which would at least be cool. A truck behind us laid on the horn. I swerved back into my lane. "Sorry." Phoenix dry heaved again. It was a uniquely distressing sound.

I searched for the hazards, feeling useless. Far too much time passed before I found them and started slowing down. A different truck laid on a different horn. I was able to slip in a gap on the shoulder between an abandoned pickup and a rusting minivan.

I led Phoenix onto the tall grass beyond the asphalt, where he collapsed onto all fours. His torso flexed as he heaved. I put a hand on his back. "Phoenix, look at the trees." There were bushy, broken trees lining the sides of the highway, a vibrant green against the blue and white sky. "The, listen to the road." No, the road was stressing me the fuck out. "Listen to the grass waving, feel it." Stalks crumpled in his fists. I twisted my head and saw the tip of an I34Q tower peeking up over the treeline. "Look, a tower, just like when we were kids." Over the next few minutes, his breathing slowed, his heaving stopped. But the tears stayed. He sobbed away the panic. I read somewhere that tears actually contain different chemicals depending on the emotion causing them. Something to do with hormones I think.

He apologized to me. I would've done the same thing. I've done the same thing. So I got it, but felt indignant at having understood--he didn't need to apologize!

We got back on the road and listened to static on the radio. Sometimes the edge of a station would pass by, and we'd get fuzzy country, or christian rock. I changed it whenever there was a sermon. Sermons always come back to 4Q and they're always awful. The 4Q broadcasts are actually better than sermons about 4Q. They're kind of like static, anyway, totally unintelligible. We encountered more of them than I expected. Maybe static itself is a 4Q broadcast. I don't think that's right, I think static is like cosmic background radiation. But maybe 4Q has changed it somehow, like it used to be white noise and now it's blue noise, a different random distribution but still random.

"I'm off my meds," he said, as we rolled into darkness. The moon was a crescent, low on the western horizon. He spoke flatly and calmly. "I didn't even bring them with me. I thought you should know."

I hesitated. I wanted to voice this diplomatically. But then, we'd be dead in four days, anyway. "Is that why you had the attack?"

"No. I panic even on meds." That made sense. I remembered a few times in the past year when he'd canceled an event with little notice, or left early. "But I'm not a person right now, and that's definitely because I'm off my meds."

"You're not a person right now?"

"Yeah. It's called depersonalization. Also derealization, which is when nothing is real. Or that's how it feels, as I'm told. It's pretty freaky if I'm honest. You don't get the same emotional reaction from stuff. It feels like you're watching from somewhere else." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down. "You're not you. You're not even real." He whispered. "Pretty freaky."

"Can I--do you--"

"Ahh, I'm coming out of it. Some of it is just recognizing that you're in it." He drew a knee up to his chest and shook his head. "Uhh, could you. Could you hold my hand. Touch helps."

I gripped the wheel with my left hand and held his palm with my right. It was warm and sweaty. I wish I could say that was okay. I felt miserable. I wanted to feel happy, holding his hand, comforting him. I didn't.

Sleep came quicker that night, though still uncomfortable, still anxious.

- = -

I slept late, again. I hadn't touched the chicken sandwich I'd gotten from a drive-thru last night. It had awful 4Q stuff on it anyway. I hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours, so I was pretty hungry, but I had no actual desire to eat. I'd deal with it later.

My own panic attack must've seemed similarly unbidden to Phoenix, though I felt it coming about an hour beforehand, and tried to stave it off. We were on I-80, driving through the hypnotizing flatness of Nebraska. Every ten or fifteen minutes I kept seeing this scarlet structure. It was like a giant, bloody caricature of a water tower, a skinny, triangular column maybe ten feet across and at least two hundred feet tall, supporting an enormous squashed sphere more than twice as wide as the column was tall. I'd watch it rise from the horizon, far too big. I'd never seen them before but guessed they must be 4Q. I started thinking we were somehow traveling in a loop, that my sense of direction was faulty and we were passing the same structure in the same field over and over again. Then I started thinking about how crazy that sounded. But I couldn't stop the thought.

I wanted to pull over but I couldn't stop anywhere in view of the structure, because it was watching me. Of course it wasn't, but I couldn't stop the thought that it was. Hell, maybe it was. Maybe only the mad can decode the purpose of I34Q stuff. I felt how hard I was breathing and glanced over at Phoenix, wondering why he hadn't said anything. He was staring down. He was probably disassociating again, I realized later, but at the time all I knew was that I was alone.

I get angry at myself after my attacks. I feel so stupid. Phoenix apologized to me that night, which made me feel even stupider. I couldn't wait to get to the Santitos digger.

- = -

The next day was bad. Quiet, lonely, and frustrated. A further reminder of the reasons. I saw patches of 4Q purple grass climbing up the Rockies. We both took long shifts and entered Redwood park just after midnight.

- = -

I read a story once about a man that was falling in the dark. He was falling so far that he would die instantly when he hit the ground. He realized that his brain wouldn't have time to process the impact, or even the few moments before. And he couldn't see the ground. He couldn't see anything. All that was left in the world was him and his death. I wondered if Phoenix had read the same story, and was hoping for a similar effect, coming here at night. Of course, we got it wrong. There were clouds, burgundy with light pollution, and every few minutes a star would gaze through; an unearthly glow was cast up from distant pieces of the digger.

Some parts of the digger looked like the towers, spinning and shifting. Some parts looked like exposed microelectronics, cables sutured to shiny terminals of minute complexity. Some parts were just made of asphalt blocks, cream-, gray-, and lime-colored pebbles tightly embedded in dark tar. Distant redwoods, many damaged by fire, ringed the horizon. The Santitos digger was less an object and more a place.

I felt wordlessly close to Phoenix as we scrambled over asphalt, looking for a pit. We touched each other frequently in our effort, to assist, to communicate. We'd have to give each other boosts, lift each other up, look for alternate routes. This place was not made for people.

Finally we came upon a deep canyon. I had half a mind to walk off the edge immediately. But both Phoenix and I stopped to regard it.

I couldn't tell if the rumors were true. You could only see maybe a hundred yards down before the walls of the abyss disappeared into ink. Or, not ink--not blackness, either. People are black. This was something else. The most prominent features were the semi-perceivable red blotches left on my optic nerve after gazing at one of the digger's glowing sectors. The unknowable told me nothing. It just revealed the flaws of my being. Maybe we would achieve our effect after all.

"This is it," I said, elliptically. The beginning is the end. If you take out the 'h' that phrase is a palindrome. "That was the first thing I said out of the door before I got into your car on Saturday. If you take out the 'h' the phrase is a palindrome. The beginning is the end. This is elliptical. This is it."

"That ain't it." He was regarding me coolly.

I laughed.

He was angry. "Are you fucking kidding me? The point of this thing, the whole fucking point is you do it in your right mind. You're letting your madness make the decision for you. You have to make the decision!"

I found that extremely funny. I laughed harder.

"Shut up! Fuck!"

"What's a right mind?" I asked, still grinning. "There's no such thing anymore. Even when it was a thing, all it meant was the most socially-acceptable, capital-promoting mind. Now? The world doesn't fit us anymore. The human condition is inconvenient to its purpose. 4Q can't even train us. The right mind is a dead one. You want a right mind, go ahead." I gestured at the abyss. That's what I did.

He stepped forward. He stepped forward. A foot hung above the end.

I don't know what I would've done if he had lowered that foot, changing his balance, tipping him forward. Jumping in after him wouldn't have felt right. Maybe I'd have gone back to those red eyes in Nebraska and begged for them to torture me. Maybe his idiosyncrasies would have been repelled by the unknowable, flowing away from his body and into me, and I'd be lost forever in a derealized paranoia. Maybe I'd have gotten in the car and driven back home.

His foot remained, hanging, the edge a gallows. "Suicide is about pain. It's the ultimate response to ongoing distress. I never wanted you to be normal. I just didn't want you to be in pain. In a twisted way, I guess I thought, if this was your way of dealing with pain, I wasn't going to stop you. That is your right. I feel like that has to be your right." His balance was incredible. He remained still, a tree without wind. "But you can be abnormal, you can be a bad fit for the world, you can be utterly broken, and you can still live without pain." We're both crying. Tears descend into the pit.

| ' , |

I do think madness is the right way to understand I34Q. I feel this mysteriously. I wonder what it would be like if I tried going to T-school while embracing my altered states, living in them. I suspect Phoenix would have more success, being more comfortable with unreality. Not that either of us would participate in whatever hegemony 4Q perpetuates. More that we'd figure out what it wanted, and how to resist. I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe other people are, too. We need to find each other.

Phoenix and I wandered north. We found this incredible queer community in Oregon, with actual traditions and mechanisms to deal with communal trauma. I can't say anything about the world, the world is unknowable. But I think there's hope for us.

Phoenix and I are together, now, in a way I can't quite name. We did finally make love. That was beautiful. But we don't live together. I make love to other people, sometimes, and he does the same. Sometimes I'll go a week or two without seeing him, without notice. Sometimes I'll go a few days without even thinking about him. I love him, and I tell him that, and he says the same to me, though both of us have admitted that we don't know what that means.

We still panic. I still get paranoid. Phoenix disassociates. He's been using the state to make art. I think about I34Q and write down what I think. I'm pretty good at eating regularly, even if I don't feel like it. I don't know if we're living without pain. I think maybe that's a pretty tall order. But I don't want to kill myself anymore. So I think that's pretty good.

[Ed.: have this little treat. It takes me about the length of this playlist to read the story.]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5VD5lJJqNUJsITPj3Rg8Sn?si=d262096479104d4f

#fiction #short fiction #science fiction #aliens #madness #suicide #panic attack #disassociation #paranoia #eating disorder #hopeful ending

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onepdumpsterfire · 4 years

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Hospitality

Sabo . Reader

I’ve been stressing out lately. Work keeps piling up more and more, and life keeps moving on without letting me catch my breath. Therefore, after much begging, my grandparents lent me their cabin for the weekend, just to get sorted out again. Located right at the edge of nowhere, surrounded by the serene silence of the plains that were once filled with laughter. The cabin is as beautiful as I remember it. Inside, memories spill into every crack and dent that were made by time.

I push the flood of memories as I walk up the stair to the bedroom. Reminiscing can wait for a while, I’m gonna take a small nap. Fuck knows I need the rest after the constant all-nighters I’ve had to put myself through for work. I don’t even unpack, crashing right onto the bed as soon as I was close enough. The world can wait right now.

No schedules to follow, no work time limits, or project deadlines. I can take as long as I want napping. For these 2 short days, everything is irrelevant. As it should be, and yet I would like to know who the flying FUCK IS WAKING ME UP AT THE ASS CRACK OF DAWN.

Begrudgingly, I make my way back to the living room. The insistent knocking didn’t cease until after the door was widely open. “What do you want,” I annoyedly spat out at the….. Bleeding stranger. I’m zapped awake in an instant. “Holy shit, dude. Are you okay?!” I yelled at the bent over blond in front of me.

“Yeah…” The man looked surprised by my presence. “Mind if I come inside?”

“Y-yeah, it’s fine,” moving aside, I made way for him. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“NO! No ambulance. We’re too far out, anyway.”

That certainly doesn’t raise any red flags. What was he doing all the way out here, and how the hell didn’t I notice him coming in. there’s nothing surrounding this area but an old mill. Still, though, that’s half a mile away! What was he doing in the middle of nowhere?

The man limped over to the sofa, “I can take care of this anyway.”

“And if you don’t? That’s a lot of blood, I don’t want a dead body hanging at my place.” I close the door behind me as I go to stand by him, changing my voice into a lighter tone, “at least if the ambulance is here, they can take your body away if you don’t make it.” I give him an innocent smile as I nudge his shoulder with my hand, a sign to tell him I was only joking.

He chuckled, tying a piece off cloth he ripped from his shirt onto his wounded leg. “How cold,” he looked up at me, “my name’s Sabo, by the way.”

“Y/n,” I walk over to the kitchen, ‘It’s true though. They either make it in time or they take your body away from here.”

“Ouch, you’re colder than ice,” he adds another layer to the makeshift tourniquet, “what’s colder than ice?.... Dry ice, maybe?”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m looking for a first aid kid. I’m not that cold.” I start to open cabinets loudly to emphasize my point. “Ah yes, my bad.”

“They’re usually in bathrooms and kitchens, right?” I stride over to the bathroom, “It wasn’t over there, so I’m gonna check here.”

“Nope, not here either,” I chime over my shoulder, deciding to check somewhere else, yelling over to him that I still haven’t found it with every room I scavenge.

“You don’t have to tell me every time you don’t find it,” Sabo shouts from the other room.

“No no no,” I peak my head out of the room to look at him, “that’s a very important part.”

The blond snickers at my serious face, “ah okay, I will suffer in silence then.”

“Greatly appreciated, thanks.” I saunter over to the hall closet, telling him it wasn’t in the guest room either.

I was trying to avoid looking in here considering that my grandparents use it to store any useless crap they can’t find a place for. It shouldn’t bee in here, but I have to cover all the bases. Dusty boxes litter every area of the floor, climbing all the way up to the ceiling. I sigh heavily, taking the first one down as carefully as I can.

After a few minutes, I come across a box labeled ‘emergency’ on the top. I pull it from the pile, finding the kit shoved all the way at the bottom. Wow, so it WAS in here.

“Found it!” I walk back over to where Sabo still sat, shrugging my shoulders, “Closet, who would have thought.”

Sabo extends his hand, “Thanks, I can patch myself so don’t worry about it.” Alright, then. Handing him the kit, I take a seat on the adjacent sofa to him. “How’d you end up like this?” l ask him, averting my eyes as he shimmied his pants down to have better access to the wound.

“You know what they say about cats and curiosity, haha…” He awkwardly tries to push the question aside. “So how long have you lived here?”

No. you’re not getting out of this one that easy. “And you know what they say, ‘satisfaction brought it back’. So spill it.”

“Touché.” Sabo made himself busy by looking through the kit, stomach grumbling all the while. I practically grew horns when I heard it.

Leverage.

“I could extend my hospitality and get you something to eat,” he looked up at me, eyes as big as saucers. “... For a price.”

“Still so cold.” He feigned hurt.

“Hahaha c’mon I wanna know,” I bounced over to his side, peering at the wound. “Hunting accident? There’s nothing to hunt here though,” I looked up thoughtfully, “a car wreck further down the road? Or are you one of those weirdos with weird interests.”

“Ouch, ‘Weirdos with weird interests,’ that hurts.”

“So that’s it!” laughing, I bump him with my shoulder, “No, seriously. Pleeeeaaaasssse tell me”

“Hmmm… get me something to eat and I’ll think about it.” he sends me a quick smile before returning to his leg.

“My house, my rules. You tell me first.” I don’t really plan on holding this over to him forever. I make him something even if he doesn’t give in, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep pushing. “After all, you could be a murderer burying a body in the middle of fuckwhere.”

“What about you? Living in the middle of fuckwhere doing fuckwhat.” He bumps me back, “you could be a murderer too.”

“You probably have a hoard of corpses in the basement.”

“Touché. I’ll make you a sandwich.” I walk over to the kitchen, keeping the conversation going as I make his food. He’s actually a pretty cool guy, if it wasn’t already apparent by how he just went along with my jokes. Eventually, he did tell me he was fixing up the old mill when he fell from his ladder onto some sheet metal he’d stacked. His phone had died and his car got a flat further u the road and ambulances were too expensive to get one sent over. He couldn’t pay for that, especially after his car had a flat. (Not to mention the expenses for getting his leg treated at the hospital.) The reason he was out here was because he is broke. The money he would get from fixing up the mill was what would help him pay off some debt that he has.

Sabo had come over to the cabin because he’d seen it earlier and wanted to get a phone to call for someone to change his tire, and by the time he’d gotten here, the bleeding wasn’t as bad as before. It looked bad because the blood had soaked into the clothes; not like it wasn’t good either. The cut was still deep-ish and ran down his outer thigh; it will definitely leave a scar after it heals.

Moving on from why he was out here, we got to talking, finding things in common with each other and such. I even offered to change his tire with he spare in the closet, from his description it should fit. He agreed to my help, we went over in my car after the food and some pain killers. By now the sun was out and shining on a beautiful Saturday morning. It would have been nice to be out this early if it wasn’t for my car’s battery dying halfway there.

For god’s sake. Life can you give us a break? Now we have to push my car to his so he can jump-start mine and so I can change his tire.

It’s gonna be a long day.

#re-reading is for chumps #i say as i post something i definitely didn't re-read and will probably regret later #one piece #one piece imagines #one piece sabo #sabo the revolutionary #revolutionary sabo

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conversationswithcole · 4 years

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Quarantine Blues

It is 3:45 p.m. on Tuesday here in New York and I am outside for the first time since yesterday afternoon. The birds are chirping, the sun is strong and I’ve been in my bed all day, which is in the basement so when the blinds are closed I refer to it as the dungeon. I wouldn’t even be outside right now if my Dad didn’t scream my name one hundred times to get up and get some fresh air. He was so sick of me ignoring him that he referred to me as Nicole and he NEVER calls me that. I don’t even think I can recall one time in my entire life that he has called me anything but Nic or Nikki. I was so sick of hearing him yell at me from the living room I came outside just to shut him up. But now that I have been out of my bed and in the sun for a half n hour I want to thank him; I needed that push.

The weather that we have had this Spring is bizarre. Two weeks ago it was 75 and sunny, not a cloud in the sky, with a UV index of 8 and half the population of Long Island looked like bright cherry tomatoes for the next week. The following Saturday it felt like we traveled back in time to mid January and it was SNOWING because temperatures dropped into the thirties. It’s certainly not helping to soften the effects of the quarantine blues.

This quarantine sucks. There is no sugar coating it, at least not for me. Yes of course there have been some small positives and moments of joy that have come out of this but overall it just plain sucks. It has been hard not to feel guilty about complaining when things could be worse, but honestly I hate that saying, because yeah sure things could always be worse but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel negatively about what is going on. I saw a post that read, “We are not all in the same boat, but we are all in the same storm”. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Whoever came up with this analogy hit the nail on the freakin’ head. In my opinion it is the best way to describe what this global pandemic feels like.

Grief is hard enough to navigate, especially in the first year after losing your loved one. Trying to adjust my life to it’s new normal without my little brother while also adjusting to the new normal of a world in quarantine is like having a knife in a gun fight.

Exactly a year ago this month I had developed such irrational anxiety after so many years of build up that I felt like I was losing my mind. I had spiraled into this dark place and it was extremely terrifying. I had been going to therapy for a few months at this point but was still feeling like I had to do more. At first, I was highly against taking any sort of medication to help deal with my anxiety and high functioning depression but things had gotten to a point where I felt like I did not have a choice. I know I am one of the few lucky people who find the right therapist and the right medication on their first try, but that doesn’t mean it was easy.

I began going to therapy mainly to help me to deal with the trauma of my home life. Living with an addict had a tremendous effect on my mental health which directly affected other parts of my life outside my home. Addiction is not only an addicts disease, it is a family disease.

Since my brother’s passing there have been thousands of different thoughts flowing through my mind. Some days in quarantine, when I am feeling extra lonely, and both of my parents are at work, I wish he was here with me. I wish we were quarantined together so that we could spend time doing things like playing Guitar Hero or listening to music while burning incense. But then I think to myself, is that really what it would be like? Or is this just a fantasy of what you would want it to be like if you could choose it? The reality of the matter is, that’s not how it would be. Growing up my brother and I were best friends. Only a few years apart in age, I had friends whose siblings were my brothers friends and when we came home every day all we had was each other. My older siblings have about a ten year age gap between us and they spent the majority of their childhood going back and forth between our house and their mother’s home. We were close even after I went away to college and the distance between us slowly came about the deeper he fell into his addiction. By the time he had passed our relationship was in turmoil. I had reached the point of resentment and full on rage. After five years of standing by his side and trying my absolute best to help him and everything my parents and I had done for him I couldn’t fathom the fact that he still was choosing to do this to us.

Realistically if things were exactly the same as they had been right before my brother passed and we were sentenced to this at home lock down, it would’ve been a fucking nightmare. Imagine being stuck inside your home with a heroin addict in the midst of one of his worst drug binges thus far? I’m hoping that you can’t imagine this but if you can, or are currently going through it, I am praying for you. It would’ve been torture for everyone, including my brother.

I function my best with a consistent and healthy routine. I like to have a set work schedule that does not change at the last minute. I like to plan out my days at the beginning of the week so I can be the most efficient. Right before this quarantine I was in such a healthy place. As healthy as you can be while grieving, but nonetheless I felt good. I had my routine down pact. I was training for my first ever half marathon, things were going really well with work and babysitting, I had my schedule set and I planned out my training and my free time around that. I was making great money and finally putting a real dent into my credit card debt. I was excited for all of the things that were planned for the near future. Between losing all of this overnight AND the loss of my brother just six months prior, I was crushed.

Before I started writing last month I had been speaking my thoughts and feelings via my Snap Chat story, which gave people an opportunity to respond directly to my videos. I received a ton of messages from people that felt similar to how I had been feeling since this pandemic flipped the world upside down. They shared what works for them and I appreciated that they took the time to reach out. This is the beauty of conversation.

Connecting with others makes it that much easier to take a deep breath and realize that you are allowed to feel this way and more importantly that you are not alone. Life is literally like a roller coaster, it’s full of ups and downs and twists and turns and sometimes it happens so fast you don’t even realize it’s happening.

Today was most definitely a down day. I did not want to get out of bed for anyone or anything and I took a two hour nap before noon even hit. This is an overwhelming and confusing time for the entire world, and we all need to be there for each other because everyone is going through this storm just on their own boat.

We should all work on being a little kinder to ourselves and to remember that it is totally okay to not feel totally okay.

As for me, I’ll be taking my ass back to my bed in the dungeon for the rest of the day because I’m not okay today and that is okay.

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blanddcheadcanons · 5 years

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I hope that you’re okay, and know hat whatever happens we’ll support you!💜

Can I be brutally honest? I'm really happy you're concerned and again I'm safe I'm just upset and sort of fluctuating. What I am is I'm functioning. I go to work where my coworkers love me and laugh at my jokes and I do what I think is meaningful work in a community of library patrons that are mostly nice. But I just don't have any peers that I can do anything recreational with. And I used to and it was so fun and I took it for granted.

Church was great and really helped me recover from being institutionalized. Plus I learned to feel that thing in your brain that makes you feel connected to god. Now I don't believe in god and lost that feeling. I miss that feeling but I don't miss the doctrine that doesn't make sense or the bigotry that was instilled in us.

College was mostly amazing for me. I'm so proud of my degree. And compared to my friends I'm not in that much debt. God bless the Federal Pell Grant. (you won't hear my father complain about that government handout) I met some amazing people and grew and learned so much. Like when I was a kid I used the campus as a place to socialize and now that's gone. School's over. I'm supposed to socialize and party like an adult. Does that mean I have to drink? I hate alcohol.

I've always been a believer that you don't need to be popular to be happy. You just need a few good friends and that's really enough. Better in some ways. But if you stop texting them and ignore them like me it's understandable if you haven't seen them in a while.

I was never even upset at them. No drama. Nothing like that. Even though I know they like me and I have fond memories with them. I would just feel anxious about communicating with them. And after getting used to texting them late that soon turned to just not responding. And that was easier. The longer I waited the easier it was to forget about reaching out to these friends that mean a lot to me.

I thought it was justified. It made sense. I'm starting a career I really love. But now after learning more about my long diagnosed illness. I realize why I shut down when I should reach out to my friends. Weirdly enough it's the same reason I am such a people pleaser at work. It even explains my love of making people laugh. I suffer from a symptom called Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. As I understand it when I perceive I've disappointed someone I feel this intense mental anguish. Like I see tiny innocuous criticisms as these big giants flaws in my worth as a person. It's like very sudden too.

Like for instance when I first started my job I made a lot of mistakes and didn't know what I was doing. My boss would correct me and sometimes she'd get annoyed but all in all she understood I was learning and now I don't make those mistakes. The woman who hired me was strict but it meant a lot that before she moved away she told me she made a good decision hiring me and I'll fit in here. But basically she'd approach and inform me of what I did wrong and tell me what I should have done and why I should do it that way. Pretty standard stuff right? No punishment or anything just an instruction. But in my head I'd just feel this intense and sudden self-loathing. There's also this physical sickly warm feeling that just makes me feel like I'm in danger or something. (and I don't mean to shock anyone but I'm just being honest) I'd rashly turn to suicidal ideation where I'm not planning to actually do it but I like fantasize about doing it. And I don't like feeling that way. So I'd just sort of scream in my head to try to think of something else and just do my job until I did enough things right and made enough people happy to just forget it. And it honestly fades away fast. In a couple minutes really.

What that does to a guy like me, is right now in my life is I love making people happy. I love making them laugh or saying things that shock amaze and surprise them. But you can't please everyone all the time. Someone's always gonna be upset or seem upset. And I consistently take it too personally. But yeah that's how I act at work where I go to be professional and get paid. But I've slowly been training myself to just let my personal life atrophy. You can't disappoint people if you don't talk to them. And the thing is I know that's bullshit. I've been social I've had fun. I've left friends' houses feeling better than I arrived. Glad to get out of the dent on my mattress.

But I did a good thing today. There's one guy I still talk to regularly. Mike at my local comic shop. He's an older gay man who I think of as a father figure. He's a joy to talk to. He has that same serving spirit I do. After talking about comics bullshit I decided to open up about how I've been struggling socially and mentally. He was so kind and understanding that when I got in my car I had to just start crying. It was a good cry. Not a suffering cry. Honestly the same way I'm crying now. I see that the walls between me and my friends were constructed by me and I plan to tear them down.

I realize I sound unstable now but I'm just emotional. I promise to make appointments with my therapist and my doctor. I already planned to go to attend my college friend's wedding. That will be good for me. Later I'm running a book club that will be stressful to plan but fun to do. So far two of my coworkers promised to attend because it's scheduled when they're off. I still can't believe I will be paid to do that. But right now I'm just gonna clean my room and watch tv. So things will get better. I love you. I love myself. I deserve to have fun with my friends.

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andrewgibney · 4 years

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40 before 40 - update 2020

On the 2nd of January 2018, I posted my 40 before 40 list on Tumblr.

Even then I knew I probably wouldn't complete them all, but it would be fun to try. I few things have changed from the original as my interests have changed or moved on, but the bulk is the same.

The reality is I am definitely not going to manage all 40, there's probably more chance of making it a 50 before 50 and giving myself another five years to do these, with 10 more added. That bridge will be crossed come September 2021.

I've still got 19 months left. Money is probably the biggest issue. We've got loads of house issues to sort and traveling is not a priority.

Go back to NYC - DONE (1) - We spent an amazing 12 days back in that amazing city last year.

Take Catrin to Paris

- Not done and unless we can pop over for a quick weekend, this one is on the backburner

Visit Tennessee - Unlikely. Would have loved to go for my 40th, but again, traveling is on the minimum

See the Northern Lights - Imagine if we had the funds to get there, but then didn't see them. Gutted.

Get debt-free - This is a new one and probably the toughest one to achieve.

Go to FIVE new Zoos - Only one more Zoo to go, this should be easy

Visit Scottish islands

Visit 5 new countries - 4 done (Slovakia, Austria, Czech Rep, Sri Lanka) - Cuba was meant to be the fifth, but Thomas Cook put an end to that. Italy doesn't really count because I went skiing there.

Wrestlemania - Don't even watch WWE anymore, but think this would still be awesome. Just to see the events around it too.

See the Phoenix Suns live - Sad, but unlikely

NFL game at Wembley - DONE (2) - Watched the Titans lose to the Chargers

Go skiing

- There are slopes here, so still possible

Run 5k again - DONE (3)

Run 10k again - DONE (4)

https://twitter.com/Gibney_A/status/1147813082326024192?s=20

Finish half-marathon - DONE(5) - Manchester race was done. Impressed myself by running without stopping and getting under 2:30:00

Well. That went fairly bloody great. #mcrhalf @ManchesterHalf pic.twitter.com/cUCXoT2iYT

— Andrew Gibney 🦄 (@Gibney_A) October 14, 2018

Finish a marathon - I've penciled in the Yorkshire Marathon in 2021. It's the month after my birthday, but that still counts.

Break deadlift PB of 135kg - Easily got myself back up to 120kg, so don't see this being a long-term issue. More a problem of buying the plates for my house.

Weigh 14st - Currently 16st 2 - but 7 pounds down this year. Progress

Climb a Munro - Could still happen. Need to look at options

Squat 100kg - Hopefully buying a squat rack this year, so can work on this. Think I was up to 65k when I was last lifting.

10k tough mudder - Just a case of booking one I think. Shoulder is in a much better place.

Play American Football - Need to look into this more

Read 20 books - Eight down. Catch 22 put a huge dent in my momentum. One every two months would still beat this.

Try 1000 different new beers - Passed the 850 mark. This is the one target I'll probably smash haha. Typical.

Wrestling training

- Hoping to take part in FutureShock's trainee program this year

Make my own beer - My dream is to brew a beer with Beatnikz Republic, perhaps something to do with the podcast

Bake my own doughnut - Bats eyelashes at Siop Shop in Manchester

If you've not been to @siopshop in the @NQManchester you're missing out. Best doughnuts in the world. And trust me, I've put in a lot of research. pic.twitter.com/bzsyQe3XdP

Swim with an animal - DONE (6)

- In Sri Lanka we swam with sea turtles. Easily one of the most amazing things I've done.

Write book - The idea for my book on wrestling has been hatched and is somewhat underway.

Learn a new skill - Decided that on nights, when it's quiet, I'm going to teach myself photography. Then look at getting a cheap camera to practice.

Cooking class - Looked at a few places in Manchester. Really want to do this with Cat.

Build a sandcastle with Catrin - Determined this will happen. No reason it won't

Build a snowman with Catrin - Just need a good amount of snow, which we've not had.

Be in the audience for a TV show - Should be plenty of opportunities for this, since we are in Manchester.

See a new sport live - Could really do with some ideas for this one.

Bake Catrin a cake - Was meant to do this as part of her birthday. Lazy on my part.

Legoland - Maybe Windsor should count. Denmark looking unlikely

Get five tattoos - I'm up to two, the new Star Wars one joined my arm in New York. Got ideas for at least another four. Just need to find the right person for them.

Newest addition to my left arm. Amazing work from Shannon at Red Rocket Tattoo in NYC.@starwars #StarWars #rey #KyloRen #riseofskywalker pic.twitter.com/SsRcMkGP4M

Audition for Star Wars

- With all the Disney+ stuff coming up, maybe the opportunity for this will come up

Add to the Gibney family - this is the plan for 2020.

This is looking like a 30/40 job still.

I'd take that!

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bakusbabygirl · 6 years

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Dead Girl Walking Pt.4 (Mobster!Tom Holland x Reader)

Innocent and young (y/n) stumbles upon a scene that should have been left forgotten. She then gets roped into a world of drugs, guns, and fighting for her life at every second. Going against all her morals and everything her dear old daddy taught her she sticks around to find out what all the excitement is about. Even if the mobster king doesn’t want her there.

------

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

“Are you crazy?!? You just leave the apartment when someone could have stolen all your jewelry!” Lydia was shouting at you for ‘abandoning the house’.

“Look I have the situation handled. I called the cops, gave a description, and checked all of my important belongings.” You lied right through your pearly whites. You couldn’t believe that you were lying to one of your closest friends, yet here you are.

“Well thanks for freaking me out this morning and making me rush out on the hot guy from this morning. Luckily for you and me I was able to get his number before I left.” Lydia wiggled her phone in your face. You giggled and pushed it away from being in such close proximity.

“What’s his name?” You ask her.

“His name is Grant and he’s gotta be six foot. He has such soft black hair and loving blue eyes. He’s just so big. In more ways than one but that’s not what I’m getting at. I think I’m in love.” She sighed dreamily placing her hand on her palm.

“Wow Stan must be a man with a plan,” you tease.

“I genuinely despise you,” she sighs again but this time it’s filled with disappointment.

“You got any plans for today?” Lydia’s Head swivels on her palm.

“Maybe just do some chores, go for a walk, call up Brooke to see if she’s gonna come visit.” You stretch and stand all in one go, mentally preparing yourself for chores.

“I’m leaving then. I’d rather not get guilt tripped into helping you with laundry.” She fake smiles with a knowing glance. You did that once to her and she didn’t come to the apartment for a month claiming you ‘betrayed her’.

“Yeah ok, you whinny butt. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m not around.”

“That’s the only time I can be stupid,” Lydia shouts back from the door before a clicking sound emminates from the west side of the apartment.

It had been a week since your run in with the nutorious UK Mobster. You hadn’t breathed a word from what happened that chillier winter night at the club; figuring you got yourself out of the whole ordeal in general. That was until you saw the said man at your local Saturday morning market.

You were wearing a sun hat and a pair of glasses to cover up from the bright morning. It was still the end of winter beginning of spring time so it wasn’t unbearably hot. It was so far a great day for you. There were dogs of all kind on leashes and you couldn’t help but pet every one of them.

You were searching through a pile of tomatoes to try and spot the ripest one until a strong force pounced at you. Peaking over your shoulder you find a beautiful blue staffy running around your feet. The second you spotted her you fell in love with the adorable puppy.

“Why hello precious!” You softly spoke to the dog in the voice everyone uses to talk to them(you know the one). She jumped up on you licking your face right away. You giggle and push her far enough away to where you can hold her but close enough to keep her in your grasp.

“Now where are you suppose to be?” The puppy yips at you in an adorable manner. You peer around for anyone rushing your way, looking for something, or someone frantic but you couldn’t find anyone who fit those characteristics.

“How about a name,” you mumble to yourself looking at the name tag attached to the puppy’s collar.

“Tessa! Is that your name?” You read off the name tag and she got all excited wanting to lick your face again. Glancing back down you find ‘if lost please contact 555-347-8764’. You whip out your phone and type in the number. Bringing your phone up to your ear, you stand at full height taking a look around. You take hold of Tessa’s leash and start to walk to the other end of the huge market place.

“Hello, this is Tom Holland speaking.” Your words get caught in your throat. There was no way that this dog belonged to the same person you never wanted to see again.

“Hello?” He spoke again.

“Tom?” You asked back just to make sure you weren’t hearing things.

“Yes? Who the hell is this?” He practically growls.

“Woah cool your tits man. It’s (y/n). Did you, by some chance, loose a dog? Her name is Tessa. She’s a blue staffy and unless I dialed the wrong number...”

“You found her! Thank goodness. Where are you right now?” He demands.

“I’m right next to the popsicle stand,” you look around to try and find his mess of curls yet came up short. The call ended with one click to his side. All you could assume was that he was on his way over.

“It’s ok girl, daddy’s on his way over.” You smile down at her. Tessa looks up at you with her adorable eyes and a smile on her face, her tongue lolling out to the side.

“Do you want a treat? I always bring them for the other doggies.” You kneel down once again pulling out a plastic baggie full of dog biscuits. She surprisingly sits and waits patiently for them and accepts them with glee. You pull out a water bottle taking a sip to cool yourself off. Tessa looks at it longingly and you giggle at her mannerisms. Tipping the water into your cupped hand, Tessa takes it as an invite to have some. She finished once you poured the rest of your bottles’ contents into your hand.

“Thirsty huh?” She yips again yet this time not at you but at the shadow covering her small frame. You turn and have to look up to find the dashing Tom Holland standing there above you with a small smirk on his face.

“Out of all the people this wonderful dog belongs to, it had to be you,” You sassed up at him. Tessa stayed put at your side glancing between Tom then you, then back to Tom, then back to you. You stand to your full height and pass the leash over to the Mobster.

“And out of all the people at this market, she just had to run to you,” ‘two could play at this game’ he though.

“A thank you would be nice enough after finding your poor dog running around.” You snap turning to walk the little way to the popsicle stand.

“Tessa saw a stray pussy cat and chased after it. She may be on the smaller side but she has a hell of a lot in her.” Thomas defends himself against your attack. He quite enjoyed this playful banter you two were having much to his surprise.

“Good morning! Is there a chance that you have any wild blueberry and lemon popsicles left?” you ask the older woman sitting behind the little popsicle cart. She smiles up at you and reaches down to grab just that.

“Thats gonna be four dollars sweetie.” You dig around in your unruly purse.

“Thank you so much. You two have a great day,” You snap your head up to see the woman putting a five into a little pouch. Your eyes ping over to Tom, only finding a small smile on his face while looking at the lady.

“You did not,” you stood there sort of astounded at the mobster king that had just payed for your frozen treat. It wasn’t much money in any sense. The think that had bewildered you was that he seemed to have done it without thinking twice. He had taken care of you without blinking an eye.

“Darling it isn’t that big of a deal. I could buy you a million of those and not even put a dent in my fortune.” Tom had a boyish smile set on his face. Your eyebrows raised as your whole face brought together and awed look.

“I don’t care if you were to have all the money in the world Holland. I don’t like being in debt to someone.” You shove the money into his pocket but he swiftly took it out and slipped it into your purse. For a split moment you had forgotten who Tom was. His demeanor was so casual and natural that if you didn’t know him you would have just thought he was a regular guy on the street. Yet you knew him and it slightly bothered you that no one else here does. Tom had them all fooled. Every last one of them. If the mobster with the crown was a frequent visitor, just like you were, he at one point and time had you fooled too.

You bent down one last time to give your love to the blue staffy before turning to leave. Tom had lost you in the crowd of bustling people not long after. Tessa whimpered at the lack of your presence triggering Thomas to kneel down to give his puppy a pet. His hand ran over something that was wrinkled and it’s stuck between Tessa and her collar. He pulled four one dollar bills from Tessa’s coat.

Part 5

Taglist: @reganmarler @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @spider-stud @thefuriousquake @iedanii

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lifeisstrangeshortstuff · 7 years

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Headcanons: As Hogwarts Students

I wrote the original and saved in my drafts as a surprise, but when I accidentally deleted my account, it was gone as well. But anyway, I’m a huge, huge Potterhead, and since I’d been feeling really down lately, I wanted to write a little bit about this - hopefully it’ll make some you guys happy as well~ Slytherins represent! <3

I wrote this assuming everyone knows the traits of the Hogwarts Houses, but in case you don’t, I’ve put them at the very bottom.

Disclaimer: My own interpretation - I saw that my view is different to most.

Max Caulfield - Ravenclaw, half-blood

It was difficult to sort Max because she could technically be in all the houses. (Gryffindor) She was brave to attempt to intervene between Chloe and Nathan, and arguably courageous to try to help everyone. (Hufflepuff) Altruism tends to underpin most of her actions, and she can be selfless enough to sacrifice a possible love for Arcadia Bay. (Slytherin) She’s resourceful and determined “with a certain disregard for the rules.” However, I decided to put her in Ravenclaw because I felt like these were very player-determined, but a core part of her character is her creativity and originality. As Victoria noted, she may be shy, but she isn’t afraid to be herself (individuality and eccentricity). She would be a bit of an outcast because her grades aren’t up to par, but I think this would be her house.

Wand: Willow, phoenix feather

Chloe Price - Gryffindor, muggle-born

I think she has a little bit of Slytherin in her (in that she can be self-preserving (wanting to steal funds for the disabled to pay off her debt) and like Max, has a “certain disregard for the rules”), I think she most fits a Gryffindor. She’s brave to the point of recklessness and has a short temper, sometimes not considering her actions and their consequences, but still heroic since she was willing to sacrifice herself for the town in the final episode. I don’t think her grades would be very good, more out of not caring than being incapable. However, she might do well on the Quidditch team, because her competitiveness can be put to use and it’s quite an aggressive activity. She’d probably be a Beater.

Wand: Yew, dragon heartstring

Warren Graham - Gryffindor, pure blood

I was tempted to put Warren in Hufflepuff because he’s hardworking, dedicated, friendly and very loyal to Max, willing to step in when she’s in danger, but he’s not the most impartial, neither would a Hufflepuff view Kate’s video “one… and a half times.” And even though he shows traits of a Ravenclaw with his intellect, I decided to put him in Gryffindor because of his almost defining traits of heroism, recklessness, chivalry, and courage. Heroism and chivalry, because he wants to be Max’s knight in ~slightly dented~ armour, trying to save her when it seems like she can’t handle it. However, fighting Nathan when he has a gun or in general (since his family is influential) is a reckless, but courageous, move. Even though I think his grades would be all-around good, he would excel in Transfiguration (canonically, a very scientific subject), potions and herbology, but possibly fall short in Muggle Studies. He would most definitely take the N.E.W.Ts. He’s probably once dreamt of being a Keeper but was too shy to pursue that.

Wand: Cedar, unicorn tail hair

Kate Marsh - Hufflepuff, muggle-born

I think it would be difficult to make a case for Kate to be in another house since she suits Hufflepuff so well - dedicated, fair, patient, kind, tolerant, loyal, modest and friendly… She’s almost a textbook Hufflepuff, especially when she’s recovering. I mean, she even gave her get-well balloons to the other kids in the hospital and had the kindness in her heart to forgive Victoria Chase. I think she’d do very well in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology - subjects that allow her to care for creatures or plants. I think Victoria and Nathan would definitely pick on her for being muggle-born, made worse when she was slipped a Confusing Concoction during an outing to Hogsmeade.

Wand: English oak, unicorn tail hair

Victoria Chase - Slytherin, half blood

Victoria Chase screams Slytherin, with her ambition to have a large career as a photographer, as well as cleverness and determination as she is shown to be academically-motivated, reading ahead of classes. She is resourceful and cunning, even if her attempts aren’t always successful - trying to get close to someone who has already made it big in her desired field, even threatening blackmail. She is also shown to care deeply about companionship, evidenced by her family-like friendship with Nathan. Even though she makes fun of her own clique at times, she’s shown to care about their problems, like when Taylor said that Victoria was there for her when Taylor’s mother was getting back surgery. She’d work hard for her grades, but I think she’d excel at History of Magic and Charms. When Nathan used to be on the Quidditch team, I think Victoria would’ve gone out to cheer him on. She’d be ashamed of her heritage, wanting to be a pure-blood, and it would be a closely guarded secret between her and Nathan.

Wand: Larch, unicorn tail hair

Nathan Prescott - “Slytherin”

I don’t really think Nathan would be in Slytherin, but I think his family would have come from a long line of Slytherins, so he would feel pressured to be in that house. He shows traits of the Slytherin house, like fraternity (shown by his close friendship with Victoria) and cunning, since he was able to manipulate Kate. Self-preservation is also evidenced, although, in the worst light - he puts down other people as a way to cover up his own insecurities. I think he’d truly be a Ravenclaw because it suits his more solitary nature, as well as his macabre but unique, individual and unconventional creative style. His grades may be due to his parents paying off the school because he’d lose interest halfway throughout his education. Even so, I think he would’ve gravitated towards Potions and Astronomy. He might’ve been on the Quidditch team at one point, but quietly left the team after complaints about his inability to function in a group due to outbursts. His sister, however, is remembered in the awards display as a star Chaser.

Wand: Hawthorn, phoenix feather

Mark Jefferson - Ravenclaw

Even though I think he most definitely became a Slytherin later on, due to his cunning, leadership skills, shrewdness and resourcefulness, I feel as though he was sorted into Ravenclaw when he was younger. Intelligent, creative, original, talented and motivated, he would excel in his academic pursuits, particularly Potions, Charms and History of Magic. I have no doubts that he snuck into the restricted section of the library out of curiosity and indulged in something darker. The fact that he was initially sorted into Ravenclaw also helps, since he knows of Slytherin’s negative reputation. He might’ve been in the Quidditch team when he was younger (I picture him as a Seeker), but later left because he wanted to focus on other aspects of school.

Wand: Aspen, dragon heartstring

House Traits

Gryffindor: Bravery, nerve, chivalry, courage, daring, recklessness, heroism, short tempered.

Hufflepuff: Dedication, hard work, fair play, patience, kindness, tolerance, unafraid of toil, loyalty, impartial, modest, inclusive, friendly.

Ravenclaw: Intelligence, wit, wisdom, creativity, originality, individuality, competitive (among own house), eccentricity, talented, motivated.

Slytherin: Resourcefulness, cunning, ambition, determination, self-preservation, fraternity, cleverness, leadership, astuteness.

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whitedragonsnowflake · 7 years

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What is this crazyness!

Days like today are why being home makes me crazy.

As much as I don't like to admit it the priestess of Lathander that was sent to heal my mother is actually a rather nice woman if a little overzealous. At least I hope she is. I really hope that we just got off on the wrong foot and can remain civil. She did heal mother and I owe her and Lathander a huge debt of gratitude. Perhaps not enough to join the religion but perhaps I should at least ask Vailym about how I would go about thanking him properly. I will ask him once he, Belian and Reginald return from the vineyard with Father.

Speaking of Mother... she is back to her old self again. I don’t think I have ever felt this happy in my entire life. I realize how much being away has actually made me miss home. I hope that once they giant problem is sorted out I can return to Baldurs Gate under better circumstances and spend some real time with her and Father.

And everything was going great up until this point. Mother was sleeping peacefully, the house was quiet.... and then Asher showed up. That was pleasant. He brought wine, I am not entirely sure why, and thanks to Alistar I never got the chance to find out. I swear that man was put on this earth to drive women crazy. And not just in the pleasant way. I swear if he dented the front door I am going to dent his head. and as if that was not enough Mother woke up and Alton turned Alistair into a GOAT. A GOAT!!! Thankfully Beth managed to talk Asher into going for a walk with her and I was able to convince Alton to return Alistair to himself. Though I think It may have wounded his pride a little. In the end, though I had a lovely time baking with Alton and my Mother. I am gonna miss her when I have to leave.

Now I have a date at the Rat Queen tomorrow afternoon. You know it's a real shame that Alistar is such a cad. Why do I have to be so attracted to the bad boys? Ah well, just keep telling yourself he is just using you Sil and don't get attached. Remember how much it hurt when Ghost left you.

Also I hope Beth is ok. She didn’t come home last night.

#d&d #D&D shenanigans #d&d character #Character Blog #ooc

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carrioncrows-readers · 3 years

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You've never murdered anyone before -- but when your father dies and your assets are seized by a competitor, you consider getting your hands dirty. You hoped that the local gang leader could provide the means to your salvation, but the thing about Jacob Frye is that he is full of unfortunate surprises.

Content Warnings: terminal illness (cancer), parental death, attempted coerced marriage

You’ve never murdered anyone before. But there are some lines in life that demand crossing — and you are going to cross this one.

It’s not murder if you get someone else to do it for you. Right?

Those are the thoughts in your mind as you walk into the shoddy pub, sagging into the cobblestones with creaking pine beams, gray shingles slowly decaying under the constant, torrential abuse of London’s rain. The bruisers outside eye you up and down, taking note of every sterling silver bauble and high-end scrap of fabric; wolves watching the lamb that willingly wandered into the den. You ignore them, chin tilted up. You walk like Father taught you — glide, don’t step. Shoulders back.

Father. Knowing he’d be ashamed of what you’re planning hurts more than remembering that he’s dead.

The pub is smokey and dark, London’s shadows creeping in to press down what precious little light survives in the alley with hard hands. They belch coal sludge into the ground floor and smearing the walls in long streaks. The gas lamps flicker, spilling amber across the places where the shadows don’t reach, piggybacking off the haze of cigar and pipe smoke — smothering the floor in shades of rusted brown and gold. The ceiling is so low — pockmarked with bullet holes and bloodstains that just wouldn’t come out with the fourth attempt at scrubbing them off. It smells acrid — the unwashed bodies of the working class co-mingling with tobacco and lager — the floor creaks. You’re to a corner table with two chairs as the walls close in on you — one for you, one for your prospective business partner.

Jacob Frye is an intimidating man — while not particularly tall, he’s undoubtedly broad, and his personality takes up a room. Everyone retreats to the edges of the doorframe while he props his boots up onto his dented table, smiling with all his teeth. You think, distantly, about how strikingly bird-like his face is. Not in an unhandsome way, but there’s something about the hook and curve of his chin that reminds you of a laughing crow. You notice that his vest is bespoke a little too tight against his chest (on purpose, most likely) as he reaches his arms up and folds them behind his head. The fabric hugs the soft curvature of his muscles and belly in a way that most of your fellow upper-class hob noses would consider vulgar. You notice that he’s bereft of knives and firearms. It is not a show of faith. His underlings are armed to the teeth beneath their quilted tweed jackets.

You had expected someone older; but, then again, only someone young and brash could topple the Blighters and build an empire out of their red-slick bones in less than a year. When you contacted Frye with the promise of payment, he had said he’d humor you. The grin he keeps on his face is evidence that he finds this whole meeting very funny indeed. Seeing you squirm, out of your element among the rotting underbelly of London’s silk pelt, being drooled over by people who would gut you for their next paycheck.

You pull out a briefcase full of money and open it with little flourish, pushing it Mr. Frye’s way and watching his face light up. You suppose that’s humorous enough to warrant some respect.

It’s all the savings you have left; doctors, funeral expenses, solicitors, and Morvell have seen to take the rest. You are carrying the broken scraps of your life and giving them away to a man who could care less about them outside of their face value.

When your father first fell ill, your family was already deep in debt. The doctors told you that the initial diagnosis was tuberculosis. You spent all your reserves on medicine and physicians, hospice care. You increased the wages for the staff as you ordered them to stay in the makeshift barracks you set up in one of the dining rooms to quarantine. Every day you wasted your hours at his bedside, hoping that perhaps his aging body could beat out the infection. As the months dragged themselves across your eyes, you spent more and more. You sold your jewelry, your heirlooms, your silvered candlesticks. At the same time, your family business floundered and strangled itself right under your nose despite your desperate attempts to keep it alive. Still, you tried.

He died in his sleep after you had bid him goodnight and exhaustedly shuffled yourself to bed. The same doctors told you later that there was nothing you could have done. When they opened him up, his marrow had putrefied. Leukemia.

Thomas Morvell had, of course, swooped in to gnaw at the scraps. Barely a week after Father’s death, he had come to collect. You had nothing to give him, besides the business — already bled dry thanks to him, picking at it like a vulture while your father was on his deathbed — and your name. He told you in no uncertain terms that he was going to take everything from you. But you could save yourself, the last member of your family line, by marrying into the Morvells. Perhaps you could even inherit your company back.

You have never thought about killing anyone before. But that night, after you’d screamed Morvell out into the street with a tirade that didn’t do you any favors, you lay awake thinking of all the ways you could do it. Your hands were clean. You would make them red before the month was over if you had your way.

“I hear you are in the business of murder for hire, Mr. Frye.” You watch as Frye’s face droops so fast you fear a stroke — confusion, and then a hard sort of blankness that reminds you too much of steel. He snaps the briefcase shut, nearly on your fingers, and leans across it.

“Where did you hear that I wonder?” It’s a question and a demand at once. You can’t help but feel like the shuffling behind you is guards moving to block the exit. You cannot tell what he’s thinking behind that face, and it scares you. It’s practiced, and that scares you more. Instinct kicks in, and you mirror his expression perfectly. Just like Father taught you, your hands folded in your lap, your gloves feeling too heavy against your sweaty hands. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him — you overheard his lackeys more than once talking about what a great killer he was, how deftly he split throats, and how beautifully he cracked skulls. Anyone with ears walking past a pair of his green-clad street clowns could overhear their glowing reviews of his leadership and murderous hands.

“I was under the impression that this was public knowledge,” you say, as calm as you can. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t waver; you’re slowly building immunity to negotiation after these past few months. “I have heard rumors from members of your Rooks, you know. Stories of your,” you pause, “legendary prowess, let us say, with a — what was it? Wrist shank? Quite riveting to hear, you can imagine.” Frye makes the fatal mistake of breaking his composure to glance behind you, and you don’t have to imagine the wincing; you’ve won.

There’s a self-satisfied smile that cracks through the mirror as a hairline fracture.

Mr. Frye turns his attention back to you.

“I’m afraid you’ve misheard,” he says. “I will have some of my associates escort you back to a carriage.” Your stomach turns to lead and sinks into the floor.

You’ve lost.

“I don’t believe you’ve seen what’s in that briefcase, sir-” You reach for it, and Jacob Frye covers it with a palm. It’s a dangerous display from someone who’s won a game they didn’t even know they were playing.

“I have seen,” he says, “and I’m very sorry, but I am not interested.”

You can’t help it — your face scrunches up, rage and anguish and humiliation all at once as you snatch your briefcase back. “If you won’t do it then — then I’ll do it myself!”

You hate that he doesn’t laugh at you. You hate — hate — that his face softens into something that disgusts you, tears you open, and makes you want to scream. Pity. Amusement would have been better. Being beaten, robbed, and thrown into the street while Frye and his underdogs laughed in your stupid, clean, unbloodied face would have been preferable treatment.

“Don’t do that to yourself. I promise you: you’re not the type.”

You get up and leave with your briefcase in tow. You don’t even bother to wait for a carriage — you walk, enraged, until you get somewhere you can hail a driver to take you home. When you get to your empty house, you feel like the weight of it will swallow you whole. You betrayed it, and now you’re going to lose it. The darkened foyer is the throat to the dog you can’t afford to feed.

You collapse against the front door and wail until your heartstrings are frayed. You cry your voice ragged. You cry until you’ve cried all the tears you have left in you. Then you sit, sniffling and still, with your temple pressed to the wall until you can gather the energy to fall into bed with all of your clothes.

The following week, you sit in your near-empty study and stare blankly at the papers in front of you. Morvell goes on and on about marriages, apologies, and half-veiled threats. You don’t register anything. You can only stare at the words on the pages and try to wish them away; you want it all to be a nightmare.

Nightmares would be better.

Your assets, liquid and non-liquid, are to be seized — including your home, stocks, bonds, and inheritance — pending signatures until further notice or otherwise from Mister Thomas Gleeson Morvell. Should you sell any assets before that time, you are to turn over your profits to Mister Morvell to pay off your substantial debt by order of Her Majesty’s Justice of the Peace, so help him, God. Your other debtors have decided to consolidate their owes under Morvell, who will take great care in making sure that any loans are repaid in full.

You curl your fingers into the fabric at your legs. Morvell’s made it very clear — the only snowball’s chance in hell you have of getting your birthright back is to marry into the Morvell line. You imagine what it would feel like to take your letter opener and sink it into his eye. You’ve read that there’s a bone behind the socket; would it be soft and yielding before you hit bedrock, or would it pop like a grape? How easily would the knife twist in your hand?

You are so, so full of hate that when Morvell leaves, you consider following him until you find a dark enough alley that you can — what? Beat him with your soft, unburdened hands? Laugh him to death?

No. You need someone else for this, or you need to teach yourself to shoot at something that’s not a fox. To cut something that’s not gentle, scented paper and wax. You need Frye.

The next day you find a tell-tale flash of green on the hat of a street boy, and you offer him more money than he’s earned in two months to tell you exactly where Jacob Frye hides out. You don’t expect him to tell you about a train. You suppose it fits. He tells you which station the behemoth will dock next, and you take a carriage there to wait, wait, and wait. At first, you sit on one of the benches, watching the tracks obsessively. You get up to pace as people give you a wide berth while you wear a hole in the floor, circle the tracks like a shark, and make yourself a nuisance.

It takes hours — but eventually, you see the train. It’s a hulking beast of dented cold iron belching smoke into the sky. Your only clue that this is Frye’s train is the steady trickle of green-coated Rooks hopping on and off from the platforms. You don’t even bother to sneak in — you walk up to the head car, the spot where first-class passengers would usually make their homes. It’s almost muscle memory for you.

Jacob Frye doesn’t greet you warmly — in fact, he grabs you rather roughly by the arm and all but drags you further into the train, looking at you like you’re a bad omen. His other hand is stuffed with money; you almost want to laugh at it, the irony.

“How the hell did you get here,” he hisses.

“A train full of Rooks is not very subtle,” you say, yanking your arm away from him and rubbing the spot that he touched, hoping it doesn’t bruise.

“Bullshit. I rotate the patrols — there’s no more of my gang coming and going off this duke than there are any other in London. Someone told you.” He searches your face, but you’re very good at what you do — London high society has trained you to keep your informants close to your chest.

“There were no other passengers. You might want to start taking fare if your best defense is ‘there are some Rooks on other trains sometimes.’” He scoffs, and the floor starts to rumble under your feet. In a fit of pique, he slams the doors to the car shut, locking you away from the rest of the train and escape. You realize then just how bad of an idea this was. Your heart starts to play rat-a-tat against its cage.

“Why did you even come here?”

“I was hoping you would reconsider my proposal.” He stares and then laughs in that disbelieving, half-scoff way you only hear when a conversation partner thinks the other is an idiot. You tilt your chin up.

“No,” he says; he gently scoots you aside to open his safe — strangely bold of him, to let you see the combination, but you realize a moment later that you don’t. His arm is oh-so-subtly blocking the lock, and for the first time, you see what they mean by wrist shank. His bracer is a beast of gold, red, and leather. He could hide the crown jewels in there if he wanted — you’re not surprised that’s where he keeps his knives, too. You wonder if the insignia stamped on the back of his palm is a family crest or just code.

The safe swings open.

“Then teach me! I’ll pay you for that too — but I am not leaving this train until you agree to either one.” You glance to the inside of the safe out of curiosity and nearly fall over. You’ve never seen so much money in person — and not just money, papers too; envelopes, letters, a theater mask, for some reason. Stacks on stacks of pounds, and he pulls out a smaller bundle and adds to the pile before tying it off with twine and shoving it back in. Your stomach does flips doing the calculations. He won't take your money. He doesn't need it. You have to offer him something else, something more precious, but you have nothing. You are nothing, you think, wanting to curl in on yourself and die as Frye slings an arm over the top of the safe and plants his other hand on his hip. He taps his foot, hangs his head. A bit overdramatic, but you appreciate the posture of a man thinking. Eventually, he cranes his neck to look at you.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine. Who do you want dead?” You’ve never felt so happy. You can’t keep the grin from your face — whether this means he’s going to kill the bastard himself or teach you to get your hands bloody, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to get revenge on the person that ruined your life by the end of the month.

“Thomas Gleeson Morvell.”

Jacob Frye stares at you with widened eyes and a hard line for a mouth. Then he shuts the safe, locks it, and directs you to sit. And sit you do, for the next hour. You wonder, briefly, what it means; but you're drowning in the kind of giddy nervousness that only goes hand-in-hand with conspiracy to care. When the train pulls into the next station, Frye grabs you by the arm again and this time doesn’t let you shrug him off, all but dragging you to a carriage. Your elation dies in the cradle. You scream when he shoves you in, hoping someone hears or sees — anything.

No one does.

#dig yourself a hole #t #general #multichapter #ac syndicate #jacob frye #AND THUS IT BEGINS. sorry god sorry jesus

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kennethherrerablog · 4 years

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Financial Planning Guide For 2020

The key to living a rich life is taking control of your money.

You don’t have to have a six-figure income or own a business to build wealth. All you need to do is have smart money-saving habits and plan for your financial future.

I’ll teach you how to think about money in a different way than you’re used to.

Unlike most money “experts” out there, I won’t sit here and tell you to stop buying coffee at Starbucks or start cooking rice and chicken for dinner every night. Financial freedom means you have control over your decisions.

For myself, I know when to spend extravagantly and I know where to cut ruthlessly.

If you follow the tips and resources that I’ve outlined in this guide, you can say goodbye to money frustration.

Finance Planning 101: Basic Things to Sort Out

Financial planning isn’t about penny-pinching, massive budget spreadsheets, or working 90 hours per week to make ends meet. It’s about having the right systems in place to build wealth.

I don’t want to spend all my time thinking about money. I want to do the work upfront, put it on autopilot, then get back to living my life.

For some people, living rich means being able to travel and spend more time with their family. Others live a rich life by hiring a personal chef or buying designer clothes. But before you can get to that point, you need to sort the following things out first:

Money Mistakes

Avoiding money mistakes can save you hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not millions, throughout your life. Half of the battle is understanding what not to do with your money.

Mistake #1: Debating minutia — Focusing on minor and insignificant financial details without taking action will not get you rich. Saving $0.60 buying store-brand cereal instead of Cheerios won’t make a difference. Instead of debating about the best interest rates or hottest stocks right now, just set up a no-fee bank account with automatic savings and investments. Then allow your money to grow for 30+ years.

Mistake #2: Relying on willpower — So many people rely on willpower to prevent themselves from eating out or buying new clothes. Even if you save $2 per day on coffee by making it at home, That $730 at the end of the year isn’t significant unless you’ve actually put it aside and invested it.

Mistaking #3: Waiting — Procrastination is killing your money. Starting as early as possible is the best path to financial freedom. If a 25-year-old invests $100 per month for 10 years at an 8% return rate, their account will be worth $200,061 by the age of 65. If their co-worker starts investing $100 per month at age 35 for 30 years, their account would be $149,036 at age 65. Even though the second person made contributions for 20 years longer, they still finished with $50,000 less because they longer to start.

Automation

One of the main reasons why people fail to save money is because they rely on their future motivation. Moving money from a checking account to a savings account or investment account takes effort.

Setting up an automated personal finance system for your bills, payments, and savings will eliminate those manual tasks and allow you to focus on the things that truly matter. Automation is so flexible, so you can set it up to meet the needs of your situation.

I personally hate detailed budget plans. Having to constantly review all the transactions, categorize everything correctly, and review tiny budgets for obscure categories drives me crazy.

I’d much rather break everything down into a few core categories that’s simple to follow.

That’s what we call a Conscious Spending Plan.

To establish a conscious spending plan, you’ll look at the major areas of your spending:

Fixed Costs: 50-60% — Things like rent, utilities, car payments, and health insurance should be roughly 50% of your take-home pay.

Investments: 10% — Set aside 10% of your income for things like a Roth IRA and 401(k).

Savings 5-10% — This money can be used for a down payment on a house, vacations, and unplanned expenses.

Guilt-free spending 20-35% — Leave what’s left for things like eating out, drinks, clothing, and going to the movies.

Once you establish your spending recommendations, you can automate your finances accordingly. Here’s an example of what your automation could look like:

2nd of the month — Part of your salary goes directly into your 401(k) and the rest is direct-deposit into your checking account.

5th of the month — Automatically transfer funds from your checking account to a savings account. Automatically transfer funds from your checking account to your Roth IRA.

7th of the month — Automatically pay bills from checking accounts and credit cards. Automatically pay off credit card bills from your checking account.

Once you automate these payments and savings, you’ll know exactly how much money is left for you to spend each month. That’s where the guilt-free spending comes in. Spend freely until you’ve used up what’s left. You’ve already taken care of your investing and saving. Now you won’t have to think twice about buying a sandwich for lunch or getting that $5 cup of coffee.

Hidden Income

Most people don’t realize that they are throwing away “hidden income” each and every month. This is the next thing that you need to get sorted out.

Tapping into hidden income can be as simple as making a phone call. These calls can save you thousands of dollars every month.

You just need to put your negotiation skills to the test on fixed monthly costs:

Car insurance — Instead of choosing a car insurance once and never looking at it again, pick up the phone and negotiate your rate. All you need to do is analyze your current plan, check your coverage options, and shop around with different providers.

Cell phone — Compare your monthly usage (talk, text, data) to other plans offered by various network providers. When you call your cell phone carrier, start by asking what plans can give you a better value. If that doesn’t work, you can use the competitors’ plans as leverage.

Bank and credit card fees — Yes, you can actually negotiate fees from banks and credit cards. Getting an overdraft fee waived or lowering percentage points on interest payments can save you thousands over time. This can help you pay off your debt faster as well.

When you’re negotiating these costs, don’t make it easy for the customer service representatives to say “no.” Rather than asking, “can you lower my monthly bill?” phrase it as “what other plan options do I have?”

Be prepared to walk. In most cases, people are afraid of negotiating car insurance or cell phone plans because they don’t actually want to cancel the service.

In reality, threatening to cancel gives you the best leverage. Even if it means escalating the conversation to a supervisor, your plan won’t actually be canceled until you say the final word.

Investing

I know lots of people who are scared to invest money in the stock market. But there is definitely a winning formula to being a successful investor over time. This is arguably the best way to build wealth.

Stop focusing on trying to buy the hottest stock today and selling it next year for maximum profits. Trying to beat the stock market is not a viable investment strategy.

You should also ignore all of the media coverage about an impending financial crisis or stock market collapse. If you truly believe that the market will grow and recover in the long run, you should continue investing during all market conditions.

The three most significant factors for successful investing:

Start as early as possible.

Invest every month.

Go with index funds.

A regular investing account is good to have. I’m referring to accounts offered by Fidelity, TD Ameritrade, ETrade, or whatever. But these are taxable accounts. So when you sell a stock, you pay taxes on gains. Those taxes are even more substantial if you sell in less than a year.

But retirement accounts (401k, Roth IRA, SEP IRA, etc.) give you the most significant tax advantages. Max out these accounts first.

Eliminating Debt

If you have a negative net worth, the thought of investing or saving money can seem inconceivable. So the first thing you need to do is eliminate your debt once and for all.

There are five steps to get out of debt fast:

Step #1: Figure out how much debt you have.

Step #2: Determine what needs to be paid off first (based on interest rates).

Step #3: Negotiate a lower APR (annual percentage rate).

Step #4: Figure out where the money to pay your debt will come from.

Step #5: Start making a dent in your debts.

Like most areas of money, getting started right away is the best thing you can do. Even paying an extra $20 per month to start can make a huge difference over time.

Here’s a simple explanation to showcase the power of making larger payments. Let’s say two people each have $5,000 in credit card debt at 14% APR.

Person A pays $200 per month. It will take them 32 months to pay the debt, which will incur $1,313.96 in interest payments over that time.

Person B pays $400 per month. It will take them 14 months to pay the debt, which will incur $436.46 in interest payments.

The second person saved nearly $900 on interest fees by doubling their monthly payment payments. Imagine how much money you can save by if you have $10,000 or $20,000+ of debt just by paying extra each month.

Earn More Money

The best and fastest way to enhancing your financial power is by earning more money. You can budget, plan, and cut costs all you want. But if your income doesn’t increase, you’re path to financial freedom will always be limited.

There is a limit to how much you can save, but there is no limit to how much you can earn.

These are the three easiest ways to make more money:

Get a raise.

Earn money on the side using skills you already possess.

Start a new business.

What could you do with an extra $1,000 per month? What about $5,000 or even $10,000+? The only way to find out is by seeking ways to increase your income.

Financial Planning Advisors: Pros and Cons

Lots of people feel overwhelmed when it comes to financial planning, which is understandable. So it’s not uncommon to seek help from a financial advisor.

I know plenty of people who have had huge success working with a financial planner. But I know others who didn’t have as much luck.

Financial Advisor Pros:

You don’t have to learn all this stuff yourself.

Can get your money in the best accounts to save on taxes.

Save time by having an advisor manage a portfolio for you.

Create a personal wealth plan for your specific situation.

Can add an extra barrier to your money, preventing you from making a rash decision.

Financial Advisor Cons:

Costs associated with hiring an advisor.

Possible conflict of interest. Some advisors are also brokers, getting kickbacks on sub-standard products that they sell you. Make sure your financial advisor has a fiduciary duty to work on your behalf.

Tough to find the right financial advisor for you. Like all experts, it can take some trial and error to find someone who’s truly good at their craft.

Whether you decide to work with a financial advisor or not is entirely up to you. Just make sure you shop around and do your due diligence before making a long-term commitment. A good option is to look for a few and try them out on smaller projects for an hourly fee. That’ll give you a better sense before you have them manage your entire portfolio.

Financial Planning Guide For 2020 is a post from: I Will Teach You To Be Rich.

Financial Planning Guide For 2020 published first on https://justinbetreviews.tumblr.com/

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samuelfields · 4 years