#need to be able to see each individual seam and detail on the front of her pants thanks

[queermasculine]

if there's ever going to be a big bad butch slasher for real, my only demand is that they have to film her from the dicksucking angle at least once in the course of the movie. maybe even twice

#need to be able to see each individual seam and detail on the front of her pants thanks #thought about a wallet chain or a carabiner dangling in full view too but no that'd be too obscene

[banashee]

Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

-

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

-

 A Second Chance

 Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

 It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

 Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

 By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

 Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

 Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

 Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

 Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they  shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

 “I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t…  sleep with people. In, well, in      that     sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

 A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

 “One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I      said     to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

 “Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

 “She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I      know     that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

 Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally   arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

 Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

 Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

 Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

 But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

 The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

 How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

 If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

 He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

 “Let me take care of you.      Please    - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

 Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

 Martin and Jon  have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

       Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

 So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

 Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

 Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

 Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

 Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

 While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

 The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

 Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

 They start to live, instead of just surviving.

 It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

 A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

 “...Jon?”

 “Yes, Love?”

 “I had no idea we had      so much     stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

 “We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

 “....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually       do     things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

 “Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

 ‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

 “...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

 “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

 Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

 (“By      colour    ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the       fuck    . You’ve worked in a      Library    for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

 “Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

 It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

 The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

 There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

 As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

 On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

 It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

 Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier-  it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

 The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

 “...Just five more minutes.”

 “Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

 All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

 He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

 “I love you, too.”

#Archival Pride 2021 #banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #JonMartin #Post mag200 #TMA season 5 spoilers

[project-runway-rankings]

Season 2 Episode 14- Floundering Finale

It’s no secret that I think these designers stumbled to the finish line this season.  Unfortunately, Daniel, Chloe, and Santino really didn’t step it up going into the finale and we got three fairly underwhelming collections. None of the collections A) felt like full collections or B) had any surprising wow pieces.  This made it feel like I could take any look from one collection and throw it into the other and it would fit in.  Everything was just “fine”.

3. Daniel V.

Oof what a disappointment this was.  Daniel seemed to be the preordained winner of the season, but this collection was just a conglomerate of mall wear with a few “fancy dresses” with ugly appliques. There were certain flashes of brilliance, but he had too many starting points and never really went anywhere with any of them. It was such a shame to see Daniel fall so hard, but guess what?  We all done known this!!! He wasn’t that great on the season and this collection showed that.

Serving you Blanche Deveroux realness.  Tacky floral? Check.  Shoulder pads? Check.  Fit and flair? Check.  Congratulations you’ve made your first grandma jacket!  

The skirt is nothing.

The boring daughter of the woman in the first look.  I can get that top at J.Crew, Gap, Macy’s, literally any department store.  There is no design here.

This is a cute coat, and had he run in this direction I think he could have eeked out the win because the judges really loved him.  The collar is wonderful and it is impeccably made.  the silhouette is gorgeous, too.

And we’re back to mall wear.  The only part that is remotely designed are the shoulder straps.  Yawn.

I agree with Michael Kors, I want to rip that thing off of her chest.  The pleating on the bottom is cute but still boring.

Had this shirt been a mini dress I would have loved it, but it isnt.  The top is cute, but once again the skirt is nothing.  I also hate the two together, especially with the boots.

Where did this come from?  It has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of his collection.  Had this been in the same cool tones I would have given it a pass, but changing the pallet and design details is too much.  I actually really like the pants but, as we know, I hate the under boob scoop.

Oh look! He took my advice and made his shirt and skirt a mini dress for his thirteenth look.  This is cute and totally in line with the best pieces in his collection.  It isn’t shown here but I love the cowl neck back to these pieces.  I would have switched this piece and the previous piece in his lineup for a smoother transition.

I want to like this but I just can’t.  Each piece individually is cute but all together it gets a bit costume, like someone on a Disney show.  Had he gotten rid of the purple sweater, which is a nothing piece already, it would have been much more successful.  But again with the damn chest patch.

There were strokes of greatness in this collection. I absolutely love this top, it is so soft and delicate, the best parts of Daniel’s designs.  The pants are wonky but at least there is design there.

J. Crew Outlet

I like it but once again it does not fit with his collection.  No where else has he played with transparent volume or monotone multi-piece looks.  I like that he played with volume and top and on bottom, but was able to balance it out by keeping it body con in the middle.

This dress is horrendous from beginning to end and not what I would want to leave in the mind of the public and the judges. The patch needs to go, but past that there are many more issues.  The color is so blah and the two browns do not mesh well.  All of the detail in the back looks very western, like cowboy boot or saloon door details.  Mess all around.

2. Santino

Santino created a lot of beautiful dresses for his finale collection, but he showed very little range.  It was quite boring and after a while and a lot of the pieces began to blend together.  That being said, there were no truly bad pieces in his collection but it didn’t feel like a full runway show to me.

This is a gorgeous gown but it doesn’t give me the oomph I need from an opener.  The proportions are great and make the model look super tall and I love the fabrics he chose. It’s just a bit safe.

This is cute and fun.  I love the leather pants, they add an edge to an extremely saccharine look.  The top is cute as well, I just wanted some more oomph again.

Everyone on Project Runway has created this dress, and it’s normally in a quick or unconventional challenge.  I don’t need this in a 13 piece collection.  Love the color though.  Why this was in the middle of his maroon and pink looks I will never know.

Yawn.  At least the blue dress was made well. What is up with the hem.  

It’s a beautiful slip dress with a wonky back.

For the 13th look it was more designed than any of the previous 3 looks.  Still, it needs even more.  Maybe if the lace was in a different tone than the dress?

This one I love. The jumpsuit is nice but the star here is the cape.  It falls beautifully around her shoulders and arms and scoops around her neck wonderfully.  The only problem is that this should be a low point in a collection in terms of amount of design, not a high.

She’s a majorette. The dress is ok but that jacket is hideous.  The horizontal lines are cutting her off at too many places.I

I love the sudden pop of super saturation.  It’s the same cut on top as many of his other dresses but I enjoy the mix of fabrics.  I wish he had continued that into the skirt.

And then this comes out of nowhere in the collection.  I kind of enjoy it just because I was so bored by everything else.  I don’t think he used the right fabric for the skirt or sleeves, it has too much structure for what he wanted.  I would have loved to see more of this leather work in his collection, but overall it’s a bit too Ren Fair.

I. Love. This. Fabric.  He only used it in 2 pieces but I would have loved it in about 5 or 6.  And he knows how to work with it.  The way it flows around her body and drapes down is amazing. The pleating is amazing. I need Santino to stay in this lane because this is where his strength lies.

His blue dress but in puce.  I like the lines of the trim though and it seems much better executed.

Yes yes yes yes yes yes.  He should have opened with this look and gone from there because this is by far the best look in the collection.  The extra drape in the front is such a beautiful and understated edition.  I just love it, possibly the best look of all 3 collections.

1. Chloe

Chloe deserved to win just because of the lack of imagination of Daniel and Santino.  Still, it isn’t the best collection in the history of the show.  

She had the best opener of any of the finalists.  It is fun, cool, and most importantly, interesting. It’s a new take on a classic coat dress.

I haaaaate this print.  I have never been a fan of dark green and pink and the floral looks dated, even for 2005. The actual dress is cute and a lot of girls would rock that silhouette.

The same ugly fabric but in a much more boring silhouette.

I’ve been on the fence about this dress, but I’m coming down on the side of quite liking it.  The pleating on the bottom are something I’ve never seen before and I like the folding detailing of the shoulder.  The fabric and sleeve length make it a bit grandma but overall its a success.

This is cute. The fabric could have easily gone grandam but the cuts make it young and fresh.  The dress is cute but the shrug is amazing.  The way the two pieces make a cutout in the back is sublime.  She did a great job with volume in this collection.

This look I don’t like as much.  It’s a little too stiff and stuffy and doesn’t match the easier fun attitude of the previous looks.  The tuxedo stripe is problematic, she tried to be different by angling it to the pockets but it doesn’t work.

The same boring dress Santino made twice.  The fabric is way too thick and stiff, it looks like maternity wear.  You can tell this was her 13th look.

From the waist up I like it, a chic little cocktail dress.  The color is also extremely rich.  The fit and flair leaves a bit to be desired just because I’ve seen it so much.  I wish should have taken the pleating from her 4th look and added it to more pieces, maybe this one.

In my opinion, the printed pieces in her collection were the least successful.  The lace up top looks costumey and the shirt hits the model and an odd length, accentuating her hips.  

Upon closer inspection it may not be a print but a lace overlay an odd choice considering the abundance of solids and lack of lace in the rest of her collection.

I have no clue where anyone would wear this dress.  The front is too stuffy for a cocktail party but the back is completely inappropriate for the workplace.  I love the power of the cobalt blue though, she looks powerful.  The seams on the front make her look extremely tall and lean.

I am really not responding well to the print’s that she chose.  This looks like random islands or a deconstructed globe.  Aside from that it is the same basic empire waist dress I’ve been harping on, but this time in a maxi.

I don’t mind the print as much here because a lot of the focus is on the gorgeous cobalt blue.  The sleeves and back make this dress.  The rest is a bit underwhelming.

This is a strong second to last dress, but I would never use it as a closer.  This shows a restrained and edited design eye but doesn’t scream “this is who I am as a designer”.  I really have no issues with the actual dress, and the back is fantastic.

A well deserved win for Chloe, even if it was by default.

#project runway #projectrunway #project runway season 2

[strainofthestress]

Fanfic: Somebody to Share it With Ch. 9

Nexus Memorial Garden, 0630 Hours

It was a simple memorial – a single wall, eight feet tall, sitting along two adjacent walls of the memorial garden. Made of polished steel, names and dates were inscribed in neat rows starting from one side and reaching for the other, having filled up only the first half of the first side. A pedestrian path followed the wall, lined with lights which illuminated the inscriptions from below.

The memorial was created after the uprising, once the dust had settled and loved ones had been found, when bodies were recovered and cries of despair shared. The entire process was treated with a universal solemnity, the uprising making veterans of them all. Pieces of the station were taken from the debris, melted down and forged into a single, continuous piece, pre-built and bent to specification. There were contests for the design of the gardens which took up the rest of the memorial garden; the winning design was a circular flower bed with paths running a crosshair through it, flowers from all the species’ home worlds mixed among each other in a demonstration of the solidarity which a new galaxy necessitated. Atop the wall was inscribed a passage from a letter found on a Turian rebel soldier’s body after a battle:

“May the memories of those lost be the foundations of futures built.”

It was later discovered that the soldier was killed by his own brother, a recruit of the then-growing security forces. That detail was never officially revealed, but had since become part of the station’s local lore.

As the simulated sun rose above the horizon, a single figure stood in front of the wall, dressed in a plain shirt and pants, no flower, no letter, no token of memory or appreciation as littered the seams at the base of the wall. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up at one of the most recent names, moisture building in his eyes as they threatened to tears.

A Turian approached from the figure’s left side, doing everything she could to be quiet, somberness never her forte. As she approached the human, she looked up with him, reading the name which stood among so many others.

“Alec Ryder, Human Pathfinder; 2129 – 2819”

She spoke, softly, the dual tone of her voices similar so as to sound as soft as possible.

“Death makes equals of us all, but sends our actions to eternity.”

Ryder looked towards her, blinking frantically as he tried to keep his eyes dry. His voice cracked, slightly, as he spoke.

“Huh?”

“Old Turian proverb. My dad used to say it all the time. The full version is ‘Run towards the battle and fight with valor, for death makes equals of us all but sends our actions to eternity.’ Seemed appropriate.”

“Yeah, Dad would have liked that.”

A short silence as the station sat on the precipice between night and day around the two. Ryder spoke again.

“I miss him.”

“I didn’t think you knew him terribly well?”

“I didn’t. And, I think that’s why. Dad was never terribly good with kids, my sister and myself included. When I was younger, I always dreamed of being old enough that he and I would be able to stand as equals, speak to each other without the hang-ups, the awkwardness, the friction. I came to Andromeda, and I thought I had honestly found that. And then…”

Ryder’s breath caught as he lost the battle with the moisture in his eyes, sniffling slightly to try and keep his composure, his eyes shutting while a single tear ran down his cheek.

Vetra looked towards him, reaching out to him in every way but physically. Her face was a perfect portrait of Turian concern, her body language oriented towards Wes as she turned more towards him instead of the wall. She recognized the names on it, some of the ones preceding Alec’s were friends of hers. But Vetra didn’t keep friends, not the way other people did. To her, friend was synonymous with useful. That is, until The Tempest. Until Ryder.

She looked to the wall and saw more lost opportunities than lost friends. She could empathize if she wanted, fall into the trap of imagining the pain which each name on the wall brought to countless people in an already hostile galaxy. But that was a rabbit hole nobody on the station got caught in. Maybe once they knew they would survive they could truly mourn their dead as a group, a community. Until then, though, they would carry their loss individually, see only the names they needed to on the wall, for their own sakes, for everybody’s.

Ryder spoke, again, his voice cracking as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I don’t… I don’t think I really let it sink in, at first. That he was gone. When Mom died it took me a few months to really accept that she was… is… gone. And that was when I wasn’t doing much. But here… Dad dies, I become pathfinder, and next thing I know we’re saving the lives of everybody in this galaxy. But now that I think about it, now that I really let myself…”

Wes stopped, his eyes closing as his chest began to heave in poorly concealed sobs. Vetra’s Turian ears could hear his ragged breath, the small cries which were hidden with pursed lips under his sobs, the sounds of a grown man trying to believe that he isn’t a young boy anymore. Wes took his right hand out of his pocket, reaching forwards and touching his dad’s name, not bothering to look up to find it, not needing to.

Vetra took a step closer as Wes continued to cry, tears dripping onto the floor in a soft stream, small droplets forming smaller puddles on the ground beneath him. She watched as he became a boy again, a lonely ten year old watching his father leave for another length of time he couldn’t comprehend, for another mission he couldn’t understand, torn from him no matter how many times he begged and cried and did all his chores and made daddy as proud as he could. She watched as he became a teenager once more, staring silently at the floor as he denied as ardently as he could how much the empty seat at the table bothered him, how much the absence at his school games ate him away when he looked over to see his mom and sister, waving as enthusiastically as they could. She watched as he stood on the threshold once more, his father drifting out of his grasp by means more permanent than a hover car this time; as he realized that there was no return trip from this one.

Wes closed his lips tighter, mustering all he could to pull his voice back together, glancing quickly to the side to Vetra, daring to show her his blood shot and weary-red eyes before he spoke.

“I… I wish he were here. We need him… I need him. He always had a plan, always knew what to do.”

Another sob, another one held back only by patience and will. Vetra took another step forwards, a hand extending to rest on Ryder’s shoulder, a show of support and solidarity in the typical turian way. He continued.

“But, more than that… more than any of that… I just wish I had more time. There was so much I didn’t know, so much we never talked about. Mom, Sarah, all of it. He was never there when she was alive, and when she... left... well I think it broke him a little. All I wanted from him, when we got out here, was a chance to put it back together. To be the son he wanted, and have the Dad I needed. But now…”

Again, Ryder’s voice broke at the thought and he let his chest be carried by another round of sorrowful sobs. Vetra stood, awkwardly, her hand still on Ryder’s shoulder. It was uncommon for Turians to show so much emotion period, not to mention to individuals they had known for less than lifetimes. She looked around, slightly, as if to gain some insight as to help her friend from the plants around, but Ryder’s breath continued, and she continued to watch as he broke a little further with each moment.

Her heart screamed, as loud as Ryder’s sobs would be is not held back, as she watched her friend – more than friend – fall to pieces in front of her, standing helpless as it happened. It reached a fever pitch. She reached out, pulling Ryder into the best approximation of a Human hug she could muster. The height difference provided difficulties, Ryder’s head ended up squarely on the top edge of her breast plate, but she held him as tight as she could, as tight as she had wanted to, as she felt his chest rise and fall in her arms.

Wes was startled by the move, not expecting such comfort in a place, a galaxy, where he had concluded that comfort was a luxury not afforded to those who blazed the trail, but it was far from unwelcome. His breath calmed slightly as he felt Vetra’s arms around him, felt her warmth through the soft-suit under her armor. Softly, she spoke, the vibration from her subharmonics spreading through his body.

“I know, Wes. I know. I won’t pretend to be good at this whole… feelings and comfort thing. And I know that’s a lousy way to comfort somebody. But here’s what I am good at: judging character. And if there is anybody with a more upstanding character, with more potential to lead this whole circus to greater heights than it had ever imagined… I have yet to meet them. You’ll make it. You don’t need him to set the path anymore.”

Wes nodded in the embrace, struggling to keep speaking.

“I… I know. But, I want him. Dammit I want him, Vetra. I want him, I want Mom. I want Sarah. I want this whole damned galaxy to stop giving us opportunities and hope only to take them away three seconds later! I want it to be easy for once, just for once, to not have to make the decision which dictates who lives and who dies! I want…”

The resentful anger and passion which he had built up dissipated as his shoulders hunched farther forwards and Wes hit the bottom of his emotional well.

“I want to go back home.”

Vetra looked down, startled, having never heard Wes say something even remotely similar to that before. Her face was instantly furrowed with concern as Ryder avoided her eyes, staring intently at the ground as the repurcussions of what he, of what the human pathfinder, had just said hit him. He pushed slowly away from Vetra, his motions filled with the lethargy of a man who had conceded, who had gone up against everything two galaxies could throw at him and come up short, defeated, a lonely warrior in the sands of time and battles past.

Without warning, he turned, walking away brisk steps carrying him quickly out of the memorial garden as Vetra watched, dumbstruck, only running after him a few moments afterwards, once her wits found her again.

Apartment 7113, Tower 5, Nexus, 0703 Hours

After chasing Wes through the Nexus, she eventually came face to face with the closed door of his quarters, his real ones, not the stateroom on the Tempest. Well, I suppose it depends on what you define as real, doesn’t it? She pressed the doorbell, punishing the poor panel as she tried to follow him, tried to help him out of desperate love. The soft chime went off inside the room, echoing through what she could only presume was a somewhat large room, met mutely with deafening silence. She tried for minutes, pressing time and again, the chime becoming as close to a continuous tone as the programming would allow. Eventually, however, she stopped, dropping her poor hand to her side as she turned around, sinking down to the ground with her back against the door.

She sat, and waited, staring at the wall across from her as she thought about what had just happened, what had just been said, what change had just come over Wes. People passed by, giving her strange looks which she didn’t, couldn’t notice. All of her but her body was in that apartment, with him.

After a quarter of an hour the response chime sounded and Vetra shot up, standing up as the doors opened with a hopeful hiss, revealing a standard nexus apartment in which a single occupant sat. The furniture was the typical mix of soft grey and stark white with the occasional blue accent, none of it moved since it was originally placed by the appearance of it. There were no hangings on the wall save those that were given with the unit, and Vetra noticed even the kitchen looked barely less than new.

The only thing in the apartment that wasn’t standard issue was Wes, sitting on the couch in the middle of the apartment, staring at a photograph in his hand. Vetra walked slowly over, sitting down next to him looking at the photo as she did so. It was one of a young Wes and Sarah, both hugged tightly by a smiling pair of parents. Vetra pivoted her head, considering Wes’ face as he stared at the picture. His expression was blank, passionless, as neutral as it could possibly be; and that, more than anything else, worried her. Without prompting, he began.

“Look at me. A pathfinder who wishes he were home. How rich is that.”

His voice was laden with cynical disgust as he tossed the photo onto the coffee table in front of the couch, the pristine frame and glass showing that it was not a picture which was used to this kind of treatment. Vetra spoke softly, carefully, with the softness of a woman walking through a room of sleeping demons.

“What brought all this on?”

“After we got back from the thing with your sister, I took some time to go through the eidetic triggers I’ve found. Seeing Mom, Dad, when they were young it… got to me. I don’t just watch them, I feel them, like being a passenger in somebody else’s body, somebody else’s mind. And, in this case, that somebody is my Dad.”

“So you were reminded how much you miss him?”

Wes physically flinched at the last pair of words, nodding slowly with pursed lips before continuing.

“Yeah. One thing led to another, you got to sit through the ugliest parts, and now I’m the pathfinder who just wants to go home.

Vetra  reached out, taking Wes’ hand as she spoke.

“Wes, it’s okay to…”

“No, Vetra, it’s not!” Wes’ raised voice started Vetra as he yanked his hand away, thrusting his hands into his pockets before taking them out, combing his right hand once through his hair before crossing both his arms in front of him. He paced while he spoke, angrily gesturing as he practically yelled at Vetra.

“It’s not okay! I’m a pathfinder, for god’s sake. If I miss my Dad, fine. If I miss my mom, yeah, that’s okay. But wanting, and saying, that I want to go home?! That’s just damn right inexcusable. I’m supposed to set the course for these people, for all of them. You know what that means? Huh? Because if you do, let me know, because I have no goddammed clue! But what I do know, what I do know, is that it doesn’t mean wanting to just run back home like a scared little kid. What I do know is that it means I have to want to be out there, everyday, finding them new places to go. Because if I don’t, we all die. And yet…”

“And yet, here you are wanting to go home.”

“Yeah! Some pathfinder that is. ‘Oh, I miss my mommy, oh my daddy is dead now.’ Look at me! How many other people on this station have lost their families, huh?! How many others came to Andromeda for a new future with somebody only to get them ripped away by the Scourge, or the Uprising, or the Kett? And are they out their wasting time getting sad? No! They’re doing their jobs, like people should.”

Vetra’s voice rose in tone as she began to get annoyed with Ryder’s self-belittling tirade.

“Wes you’re too hard on yourself you should..”

“No, Vetra I shouldn’t! If I let up on myself, we don’t make it. Dad knew that. He got it. Sometimes, I wish I was more like him, because for how much I hated him when I was younger for never being home he got his missions done, he saw them through. Maybe I should do that to, huh? I don’t know. I just don’t know! But I do know that Alec Ryder was the Pathfinder we wanted, the Pathfinder we needed. He was the father I never had, and I was going to get him as one now. But you know what?” he laughed, manically. “That’s not going to happen! Nope! By dad, hope you enjoy being dead! And it sucks! Yeah, it sucks hard! So now I’m left having never gotten to know my dad, Sarah’s in a coma, we’re all barely surviving out here, and you’re left with a second-rate…”

“Enough!!!”

Vetra stood up, yelling as she did so. Her mandibles flared with unconcealed anger as she walked towards Wes, grabbing him firmly by both arms and giving him a strong shake as she did so. Her voice was loud, hard, angry with a specific love woven into her words.

“I would never tolerate anybody else talking to you that way, and I don’t know why I’m letting you. So stop it. Now.”

“It’s not your responsibility to tolerate anything on my behalf!”

“No, it is.”

“How? How on earth can it be your…”

“Because I love you, dammit!”

The words were out of Vetra’s mouth before she knew what she was saying.

The two stopped, staring at each other as they both felt their pulses pounding. Moments passed as eternities in their minds as they both absorbed what had just happened, what was just said. The room sat at a sudden still as though time had been frozen.

Eventually, Vetra spoke, her voice kept metered with all her will power.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to stop tearing yourself up about something you can’t control. You feel the way you do, big whoop. You’re going to sit down on that couch and you’re going to tell me exactly how you do feel.”

As she spoke, her vice-like grip on Wes’ arms wheeled him around, setting him heavily down on the couch. His eyes were still slightly vacant, as if he had seen the very nature of the world change before his eyes. Vetra sat next to him, doing everything in her power to keep what little cool and control she had left after her outburst.

“So, tell me.”

Wes shook his head, physically startled by the prompt. He let out a large sigh as his eyebrows sank on his head and he cradled his chin in his arms, resting his elbows against his knees. Slowly, cautiously, he began.

“I guess… going through Dad’s literal memories made me realize just how much about him I don’t know. There were some things in there, some pictures and journals I found in his cabin, about things I didn’t even know he was involved in. And if it were months ago, I would just ask him about them. But having questions without the possibility of answers only makes it more apparent that you don’t have answers.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts again as Vetra watched him attentively, her eyes squinted as she hung on every word.

“Knowing that I’ll never see him again it’s… tough, you know?” Vetra nodded. “It makes me wish I could re-wind time, go back to a simpler one when I could ask all these questions and we were still a family. I guess that’s what I mean when I say I want to go home. I left the milky way with a family of three. As of right now, I’m the only one standing. I would never have known until now, but that makes you feel awful alone in the galaxy.”

Softly. “I know.”

A small human chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you do. Who am I to complain about absent parents, right? But I think that’s what I mean. That I want to go back to having a family again, a place, a clan. Add onto that all the stress of being Pathfinder, and you’ve got yourself a nice little toxic Wes Ryder cocktail.”

Vetra nodded, staring intensely at Wes’ face as she monitored both his expression ad his vitals, checking both for signs of lying. Seeing deceipt in neither, she accepted the answer, sitting a little farther back in her chair.

“Wes, it’s okay to want all that. And it’s okay to be stressed. But you’re not alone. The Tempest crew – it’s like a family. We’re all there for each other. I know this is a lot for you to work through, and that you need some time on your own. But while you do, we’re there, I’m there, for you.”

Wes looked up, smiling weakly as he nodded at the turian.

“Thanks, Vetra. That… that means a lot.”

Vetra stood, turning to leave.

“I’ll leave you to think things over. Promise you won’t keep beating yourself up over this?”

“Promise. Oh, and Vetra?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

All the heart attacks in Andromeda caused less skipped beats than that one statement.  

Andromeda Initiative Messaging System V2.6

[Vetra] (1900) Hey

[Ryder] Hey

[Vetra] How’re you doing after this morning?

[Ryder] Better. Still pretty messed up, but a lot less so. Thanks for talking some sense into me.

[Vetra] Somebody has to. Not beating yourself up anymore?

[Ryder] It’s an ongoing thing. But not for that, no.

[Vetra] I guess it’s progress.

[Ryder] I don’t mind too much. So yeah.

[Vetra] (1915) So are we going to talk about this morning?

[Ryder] What do you mean?

[Vetra] Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you know exactly what I mean.

[Ryder] Really, you’re going to do this over text? We’re literally less than 10 meters away from each other.

[Vetra] Yeah, I am. At least here I can re-read and edit things before I hopelessly blurt things out.

[Ryder] Fair enough.

[Vetra] I like to think so.

[Ryder] (1930) So did you mean it?

[Vetra] Wow, that message took a full 15 minutes to write?

[Ryder] Just 15 minutes of revisions and re-reads.

[Vetra] Well played. Well played. How’s the space weather looking?

[Ryder] Thanks. Stop Dodging. Did you mean it?

[Vetra] (1940) Yes.

[Ryder] Now look who’s taking the long time to type.

[Vetra] Shut up.

[Vetra] Did you.

[Ryder] Yes.

[Vetra] So what now.

[Ryder] I don’t know. Go on dates?

[Vetra] Doesn’t that seem a bit serious?

[Ryder] I want you to read over the past half an hour of texts and tell me it isn’t already serious.

[Vetra] (1942) Okay, fair enough.

[Ryder] You actually read over all of them, didn’t you?

[Vetra] Don’t know what you’re talking about. Look who’s doding now.

[Ryder] Fair enough. I guess, if both you and I were telling the truth, then this is worth exploring.

[Vetra] Leave it to a pathfinder to make love sound like an expedition.

[Ryder] You love me.

[Ryder] Wait

[Ryder] Poor word choice on my part. Sorry.

[Vetra] Don’t be, seemed entirely appropriate, actually.

[Ryder] Fair enough. So… dates?

[Vetra] Can’t really think of a better place to start.

[Vetra] Anything you want to get out of the way before you ask me out?

[Ryder] Not really. I mean, you took me pretty much entirely by surprise this morning. Not like I prepared a speech or anything.

[Vetra] Joined the club. I didn’t even mean to say that this morning.

[Ryder] No? How long have you known?

[Vetra] Dinner and a few drinks, then we’ll go over how I fell in love with you.

[Vetra] Does it feel weird to see it aloud like that to you too?

[Ryder] Gotta admit, yeah, it does. Wanna agree to keep that word put away until we’re a little more… sure, of things?

[Vetra] Good idea. Let’s do that.

[Ryder] (2003) There’s a levo-dextro diner on the Nexus that just opened. Wanna try there tomorrow night.

[Vetra] You’ve got yourself a date.

[Ryder] The Pathfinder Project of the Andromeda Initiative: The galaxy’s most expensive pick up line.

[Vetra] Haha.

[Ryder] (0330) One more thing?

[Vetra] Ryder. It’s 330 in the morning. What?

[Ryder] With regards to how serious we keep things, want to keep them light? Like, if either of us decides this isn’t what we thought, we can leave with no repurcussions? And in order to find that out, we can see other people if we want?

[Vetra] Yes

[Ryder] Just Yes? Is that a “Yes, I like that” or “Yes, that’s tolerable”?

[Vetra] That’s a “Yes, it’s 330 in the f*cking morning, now go the hell to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.

As Vetra drifted back to sleep and Ryder returned to his studies, neither had any intentions of trying to see anyone else, and both felt a warm glow in their chest which hadn’t been there for a long time.

#fics #fanfiction #male ryder #vetra nyx #vetra romance #vetra x ryder #Mass Effect #mass effect fanfiction #mass effect andromeda #me: andromeda #Andromeda fanfic

[mouthful-of-knowledge]

'From the Doctor With Love' Written by Margaret Tadusz

(Chapter Two: Breakfast Fit for a Timelady) Romana stood in front of the mirror wearing the one of a kind dress she tailored herself. It was sure to catch the Doctor's attention. She twirled around to check for any loose threads or tears in the seams. But there were none. It was close to perfect as could be. The dress hugged her hips and torso just enough to show off her curves. The flowing material created a hypnotic feeling in her mind when she stared at it for too long. She had fashioned two, unnoticeable, pockets on each hip of her dress. Romana thought they might come in handy when having to carry small knick knacks. White with detailed, blue, floral print. The dress was an exact match for her body type and so it fit like a glove. Comfortable and appealing to the eye. Romana was more than pleased with the outcome of her design however, she thought, even though the dress was nearly perfect, it was missing something. "What does it need?" She went over to the closet, found her pair of plain white flats and wiggled them on. "Now what? A hat? Scarf? Purse? No, not a purse." She argued with herself. Turning to her dresser on top of which sat a beautifully hand carved oak jewelry box, from 1927 Earth, that housed many trinkets and bobbles she had acquired over the years. "I know just the thing!" Romana squealed with a smile. Carefully opening the box, she rummaged through what looked to be more than what should be able to fit in such a small container, finally pulling out an old necklace with a silver chain. Romana examined the familiar pearl locket that hung from the unpolished chain for a moment before putting it on. "There we are. Hair looks fine. Dress in order. Shoes on. Locket around neck. All set." Romana listed as she sashayed out of her room and closed the door. Something quietly crinkled under Romana's feet. She raised her left foot to find a pink rose petal smooshed to the underside of her sole. "Why is there-" She saw a few more petals leading down the corridor, sighed and peeled the flower petal from her shoe. "Another mess for me to clean up." She began picking up each petal individually which surprisingly didn't take as much time as expected. Not before long, Romana found herself in the kitchen with an armful of pink rose petals. The Doctor spotted her out of the corner of his eye and turned his head towards her. "I see you've found your way " "You left these in the corridors." She interrupted disposing of the wilting petals into the TARDIS organic waste receptacle unit. "Yes, I did. They were for you." The Doctor blushed. "Really? For me to clean up?" "No, just so you could find your way to the kitchen." "You don't think I could find the kitchen on my own? Do you really think I'm that ignorant?" "No, I just thought it would help move things along quicker wait that came out wrong " "So now you think I'm slow?" "No, I just just" He sighed at a loss for words. "It was supposed to be....uhm... thoughtful." "In what way are dying plants strewn about the floor, thoughtful?" "It just is! It was meant as a kind and thoughtful gesture. I just wanted to make you feel special..." The Doctor trailed off as he rubbed his neck. "Allow me to rephrase my question. Who thinks dying plants strewn about the floor are thoughtful?" "People of many Earth cultures think trails of flowery remains are thoughtful." The Doctor mumbled staring down at his feet. Romana sighed. "What have you brought me to the kitchen for anyway?" The Doctor looked back up at her and grinned. "For breakfast of course!" He motioned to the table set for two and swiveled to face the stove. "Go ahead, sit down." He turned off the burner and made way for the table holding a plate full of pancakes in one hand and sugar free syrup in the other. She sat in the chair opposite of the one with the obvious scarf and coat hanging from it. "Doctor, you didn't have to go and do that. I could've made my own breakfast. I'm very capable. In fact, I often make you breakfast!" "Exactly! That's why I thought I would make you breakfast for a change." "Oh, how kind of you." "I know it is." He smirked. "You're definitely not modest though." Romana giggled. "Here you are, your favorite, blueberry pancakes! A wonderful breakfast for an even more wonderful Timelady." The Doctor beamed with a charm that no one could resist. He plated two pancakes each for Romana and him. "Doctor, I've never even tasted blueberry pancakes before." "Oh....well, you'll like them. Probably." Romana playfully rolled her eyes and proceeded to cut her meal into reasonably sized pieces. "May I ask as to what brought on all of this?" The Doctor stopped mid bite in hesitation. "I only wanted to show my appreciation for you." "Well, now I feel guilty." She continued not even glancing up at him. The Doctor snickered with a mouthful of pancakes. Romana fixed her eyes on his. "Don't laugh at me." she snapped bitterly. "I'm trying not to but, you're making it next to impossible to do so." he informed her, doing his best to swallow the tickle of laughter creeping up his throat. "There's no such thing as impossible, only improbable." "Would you eat your food before it gets cold?"  "Well if you would stop addressing me then I could eat!" "So you just want to sit in silence for the remainder of breakfast?" he asked, slight confusion swirling in his voice. "Yes! I would like that very much!" "You know what then, fine." The Doctor sat back in his chair, arms crossed. For he had already ate his share. "Good!" Romana continued to eat at an appropriate pace but, the Doctor was growing impatient. He opened his mouth to speak however, Romana shot daggers at him from across the table. He restrained himself from uttering a word because he knew, if he said anything, it would only start another argument. Before long, she finished and the Doctor spoke. "Was it to your liking?" "The meal or you managing not to talk for ten minutes while I ate?" Romana retorted as she left her seat to place the dishes in the sink. "I meant the pancakes. Were they satisfactory?" he inquired secretly seeking her approval. "Yes, indeed they were. You're not exactly known to be a master chef. How did you make them?" she probed as she began to wash the dirty plates and utensils. "I used your cook book." The Doctor turned to see Romana at the sink in her handmade dress. "Don't do that!" "What is it now?" "I'll wash the dishes." The Doctor offered kindly as he stood up, squeezed his way past the island and leaned over the sink. "Let's wash them together." "Why don't you go get ready to leave?" "I am ready to leave." Romana spun in her dress to emphasize that she was already clothed properly. "What do you think?" She waited for him to respond with one of his signature witty compliments. "You're wearing that?" "Yes...Don't you like it?" Romana frowned slightly, she'd thought that the Doctor would've been more enthusiastic about her dress, after all, she wore it for him. "It's neither here nor there whether or not I like it. All that matters is that you're happy!" He smiled coyly. The Doctor was entranced by the sight of her, he thought Romana looked stunning in the dress. He liked it even more so than she did. But he wouldn't ever admit to that. If he did, his cards would be on the table, revealed for her to see. "Could you do me a small favor, Romana?" "Yes, what can I do to assist you?" "Could you go into my room and fetch me my hat, please?" "Surely." "Thank you." Romana turned on her heel and started to his living quarters. The Doctor watched her as she left. As soon as the sound of her footsteps vanished, he quietly set down the dishes and washed off his hands. Not noticing he was wiping them with a dish rag. The Doctor shuffled over to his scarf and coat that hung off the chair, he was sitting on only moments before, and reached into his right hand pocket looking for a note. "Where is that infernal piece of paper?!" He squawked frantically searching for the note that had inscribed on it, how the Doctor felt for Romana. "Nothing but lint in this one!" He then shook off his hand and reached inside his left pocket. An open jelly baby packet that settled but nothing else. "Where did I leave it?" It took him a minute to come to the conclusion that he left it on his nightstand. He face palmed at the realization of his major mistake and whispered to himself. "Damn!" The Doctor grabbed his coat and scarf and booked down the corridors towards his room.   

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who fandom #lalla ward #romana #Romanadvoratrelundar #tom baker #thomas stewart baker #fourromana #four and romana #classic who #classic doctor who #fourth doctor #4th doctor #whovian #whovians #superwholock #fanfiction #superwholock fanfiction #fanfic #doctor who fanfic #ship #fluff

[hottytoddynews]

Dr. Chandrashekhar Joshi is leading the fight against a disease that has revaged Native Americans across the country.

Juantina Johnson was speeding southbound toward Meridian for her daughter’s dance performance when she noticed a mother and daughter retreating from a car stranded alongside the bustling highway.

“As a single parent I know how tough it is, so I pulled over,” Johnson said.

The family, members of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians, were commuting more than 50 miles to Anderson Regional Medical Center when their car suddenly slowed, then came to a sickening stop. They had been making the hour-long trip for an appointment with a specialist the reservation’s outdated health center couldn’t offer.

Johnson lent a hand, a ride, and a can of gas to the family to help get them back on their way. She never made it to her daughter’s performance.

“I didn’t feel that bad about it because I helped a family that really needed it rather than my 4-year-old daughter who wouldn’t really remember me being there any way,” Johnson said.

Many other Choctaw families, on limited income and facing health issues, have had to make the agonizing decision of whether to spend money on gas to travel almost an hour away for an appointment or to skip it altogether.

“Truthfully, that is so many of their stories,” said Johnson, the Choctaw Health Center’s chief medical officer.

“Those are the kinds of stories that really broke my heart and showed the need to bring specialists to the Choctaw Health Center.”

The new health center has a larger diabetes unit to tackle the tribe’s most serious health concern.

Years later, a new, bigger, better-equipped Choctaw Health Center, which opened in March 2015, is doing just that. Mississippi’s Choctaw, almost wiped out by European diseases centuries ago, further thinned out by federal removal to Indian Country, then ravaged again by the worldwide flu pandemic in the early 1900s, now boast state-of-the-art medical technology, consistent staffing, and a slew of specialists.

Today the tribe can offer a badly needed, much larger dental clinic with an oral surgeon, a bigger diabetes unit to battle the tribe’s single most serious health concern, and an impressive array of other services — cardiologists, optometrists, mental health counselors, WIC, pediatric dental and primary care units, 20 inpatient rooms, a vast pharmacy, a women’s wellness center, an audiology unit, pain management clinic, pulmonology clinic and more.

“In the old facility we were busting out at the seams,” CHC Deputy Director Mary Harrison said. “Here we have room for the patients and their families to be comfortable.”

The old and cramped one-story facility with baby blue walls and orange carpets, built in 1976, was built to serve 4,000 patients, less than half today’s tribal population. Its waiting rooms were so packed that sometimes people had to stand shoulder to shoulder. Some offices were the size of broom closets.

Now patients flock to a modern, three-story building with sleek, timeless colors and wide-open areas that offer more and better care, a monument to just how effective Choctaw-run health care for the Choctaw can be.

The project, on an old stickball practice eld, was a joint venture between the tribe, U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Indian Health Service (IHS). Chief Phylliss Anderson negotiated with IHS, which normally runs medical facilities on reservations, to agree to pay the tribe to operate the facility.

“The chief said we know best how to run it for our own people,” said tribal spokesperson Misty Brescia Dreifuss.

“We knew what it felt like to run out of room and so we planned this building so we would have room to grow,” Acting Health Director Tina Scott said.

Transitioning into the new center was like buying a new home. It doesn’t happen within a day, but after stepping over the threshold for the first time, it’s hard to think of anything other than the endless possibilities of what can happen within these walls.

Even the wallpaper speaks of Choctaw culture. Basket-weaving textures and diamond-shaped details frame large windows. Here, patients and staff alike have room. There are large lobbies on every floor and each patient has his or her own individual room— a bed, a couch where family members are encouraged to stay the night, and a bathroom large enough to do a cartwheel in.

“Patients have choices of where they want to go and we want to make it easy for them to choose here,” Johnson explained. “Now we are able to have patients see multiple specialists here rather than have to drive all the way to Meridian or Jackson.”

Once specialists see the facility, they’re much more eager to set up shop there.

“Build it,” Scott said. “And they will come.”

Physical expansion has also led to an expansion of opportunities. The health center is now able to control its own funding, create contracts with providers to bring in specialists, and “catch up with the norms.”

For example, “we’ve been able to have consistent staffing so they know the patients and their needs better,” Scott says.

One of those staff members is Gail Wilson, who works on the second floor in the dental unit.

Wilson, the dental assistant supervisor and long-time employee, is proud of her 16-chair clinic. She shows it off with a beaming smile.

“At the old hospital we had a four-chair clinic that could fit into our new lobby,” Wilson said.

Dr. Timothy Adams, a podiatry specialist, conducts an examination.

The place is busy, busy, busy. Most chairs are full and dentists scurry from patient to patient. People pour in for routine exams and cleanings, an oral surgeon visits every week, seeing about eight to 10 patients each time, and stickball mouth guards are molded in large quantities.

In the old laboratory, employees were crammed in like sardines, always bumping into each other. Now, the lab is four or five times larger and tasks are cranked out with ease, like making 75 mouth guards in a single morning.

The clinic is manned by 23 staff members, including five dentists and 14 dental assistants.

Wilson said if the center could secure more dentists, they’d be ready to expand immediately.

The tribe’s population is about 10,800. But as an IHS facility, the health center also serves those who are members of federally recognized tribes and their dependents.

The center also offers a spacious diabetes clinic, where the staff finds itself on the front lines of a long-term war against an epidemic that has plagued tribes across the United States. Diabetes has become such a problem that President Barack Obama extended a special diabetes program offered under the Indian Health Care Improvement Act. It provides $150 million a year for support programs.

Darlene Willis and Dr. Chandrashekhar Joshi are two of many workers striving to help the Choctaw battle the reservation’s leading health concern.

About 1,900 Choctaw have been diagnosed with the disease, especially type 2 diabetes primarily caused by lifestyle habits—poor diet and lack of exercise. About 1,600 of those are classified as active, meaning they receive services at the center at least once a year.

U.S. health care officials report a 16.1 percent diabetes prevalence rate among Native Americans, as opposed to a 12 percent Mississippi rate and 9 percent national rate. The statistics don’t adequately describe the human carnage – amputations, kidney failure, blindness, heart disease, death.

For a long time, diabetes statistics among the Choctaws were murky, but the extent of the disease has become more obvious because on the reservation the tribe is like a captive audience, making screening highly effective. At least the tribe knows what it faces.

Willis, who has been the diabetes prevention coordinator for 18 years, said when she started, only about 55 people on the reservation had been diagnosed. With more efficient screening, more people are being diagnosed and advised on ways to better their health.

The number of diabetics has remained high for decades. Things have improved in recent years but it’s a slow, long-term siege.

“Change is going to be hard. Change is hard for these people,” Willis admitted. “They’re going to do what they do. They’re going to eat what they eat.”

Traditional Choctaw foods such as fry bread and fried chicken are major perpetrators in the poor diets that trigger the disease. The diabetes unit works to teach patients the benefits of a healthier low-fat diet, nutrition, exercise, and complete lifestyle change. But Joshi says all the preaching and cajoling in the world can’t solve the problem unless patients decide to change their ways. The toughest part of his job, he says, is fixing general attitudes toward diabetes.

“People do not change because somebody tells them to change,” Joshi said. “The only solution that is left is you have to make them want to do it. Change is going to happen very slowly.”

Joshi, who has been practicing medicine for 41 years with almost 30 dedicated to the reservation, has been lovingly dubbed an “honorary Choctaw” by the staff and has big dreams for the tribe and its future.

With a growing grin, Joshi admits his dreams are not practical but he still dreams them. He describes an ideal reservation that is virtually car-free to promote walking and exercise, healthy foods on sale at the grocery store, junk food sold at inflated prices, and more.

He has genuine hope for what is to come.

“I have never really had negative thoughts in the respect that nothing will change, that things would remain the same,” Joshi said. “Sooner or later. It will take time. It will happen.”

By Lana Ferguson. Photos by Chi Kalu. 

LEFT TO RIGHT: Ariel Cobbert, Mrudvi Bakshi, Taylor Bennett, Lana Ferguson, SECOND ROW: Tori Olker, Josie Slaughter, Kate Harris, Zoe McDonald, Anna McCollum, THIRD ROW: Bill Rose, Chi Kalu, Slade Rand, Mitchell Dowden, Will Crockett. Not pictured: Tori Hosey PHOTO BY THOMAS GRANING

The Meek School faculty and students published “Unconquered and Unconquerable” online on August 19, 2016, to tell stories of the people and culture of the Chickasaw and Choctaw. The publication is the result of Bill Rose’s depth reporting class taught in the spring. Emily Bowen-Moore, Instructor of Media Design, designed the magazine.

“The reason we did this was because we discovered that many of them had no clue about the rich Indian history of Mississippi,” said Rose. “It was an eye-opening experience for the students. They found out a lot of stuff that Mississippians will be surprised about.”

Print copies are available October 2016.

For questions or comments, email us at [email protected].

The post The Choctaw: Taking Care of Their Own appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

#hottytoddy #olemiss #oxfordms #oxford ms #mississippi #university of mississippi #the grove

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Working In The paving products Industry Can Be Disastrous If You Don\’t Follow These 7 Rules!

It is a basic possibility and virtually a considered one of a form. concrete paving slabs – My Web Page – It is this type of variety that enables it to set itself aside from other materials. Interlock is among the finest materials to withstand the harsh winters. Interlock paving bricks supply quite a few advantages in terms of availability. These interlock bricks are broadly available. They are often easily arrange and it can be easily transported to any residence. In the case of very massive construction projects, an interlocking paving brick production facility may be arrange at the construction site to provide essentially the most value effective provide answer. One other price saving issue is achieved by using only person to lay the paving. These paving bricks are designed simply in order that it may be laid by just one person, which suggests you can also make it a do it yourself venture at dwelling.

Use this to align the other trusses right into a straight line.

Make one of these for every mark you made on high of the top monitor of your walls. These trusses shall be screwed to the highest observe every 24 inches. Will probably be simpler to place up the first one in the front and the final one in the back. This can mean you can stretch a string across on the peak of the trusses. Use this to align the opposite trusses into a straight line. Now, in evaluate, you should have a hat channel screwed down to each truss and down from the peak of the trusses each 24 inches. Step one to doing it yourself will be to get some plans. After you have your plans and have checked with your constructing department for any requirements, you are ready to begin constructing. Discover a great location , and bear in mind of any underground pipes or electrical wires. If you build on prime and a few day they may need repair, it is going to be tough to get to. Additionally check for any puddles, you might have to raise the ground, or add gravel. By doing this you may be defending the inspiration from any decay or rot. After getting checked with your constructing division, and found a great location, you might be prepared to start constructing. Examine your plans, and go over your materials checklist. Take your time to measure and minimize the elements. Subsequent begin assembling, in no time your mission properly be accomplished, good luck.

Similar to several things in life, digital locks could be found in a variety of sizes and styles. You will discover three major types of digital zarszerviz. The very first and most favourite electronic zarszerviz is 1 that tends to make utilization of a keypad with numbers and/or letters on it. POWERAGGREGATES.IE These zarszerviz demand a go code on buy to grow to be unlocked. These electronic locks are far far more tough to bypass or select than their normal key lock counterparts. Unless you’ve obtained the particular go code, you can’t unlock the door. A friend informed you final week, though, that labs are heavy shedders even on the better of times. Clearly you are going to want some strategies. There is a tendency to need to increase a shedding dog’s bathing schedule but this, in reality, will not be normally a good idea. Extreme bathing and shampooing can strip oil out of your dog’s skin and truly improve shedding. A healthy dog does not need to be bathed even once a month. In actual fact, if your dog is an enthusiastic water dog (and most labs are) it’s possible you’ll not need to bathe him greater than four or 5 instances a year.

This may guarantee that you are able to understand and apply them. All of the materials you will have are found at your native home improvement retailer. All you must do is take your shed plans, which is able to inform you the precise supplies you want, and go decide them up. After you have gathered your supplies, select a stage piece of ground that’s giant enough to accommodate the total measurement of the shed you plan on building. Your shed plans will provide you with detailed directions and illustrations on how to build a shed. Observe these instructions to construct your own professional trying shed in a matter of some days. Once you build your individual shed, chances are you’ll discover that it was so easy that you wish to do it as a aspect job for others.

The type that carries the identify “shed roof” most likely is not the most popular, although it’s much less sophisticated, and simpler to build, than the opposite two. Any such roof only has one side that slopes, normally from the entrance facet all the way down to the back aspect. Often, it can slope from one facet to the opposite. The hipped roof has 4 sides of the roof all sloping down, with eves all the best way round the underside facet. The gable type roof has a extra open look. With this type of roof, you will notice the form of an the other way up V. Different varieties of roofs are the gambrel, or barn style, a Dutch hip roof, a flat roof, and a mansard or French model roof.

Vintage Engagement Ring, Diamond Engagement Ring, Three Stone Engagement Ring, Bridal Ring, 14K White Gold Gia… http://fb.me/GZL4HdsM

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https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.jsIt was not yet full, however sufficient through it is cycle to convey the animal instincts in him to the floor. He was perfectly nonetheless, watching because the door to Neko’s bedchamber opened and she slipped in with no more sound than what a shadow might make. He smiled. She regarded virtually, hungrily over at him. He pushed the covers off of himself and stood up. He was sporting loose cotton pants that tied round his waste, and his chest was bare. His scars have been tough to see within the moonlight, but his tone was not. If there could possibly be a blessing for being a werewolf, it was that one’s body was virtually perfectly contoured with muscle.

Nevertheless, in case your brick patio is already installed and running rampant with weeds, listed below are some ideas to help you succeed in brick patio weed control. First, to make your brick patio weed management plan successful, implement your plan earlier than weeds flower. This retains weeds from going to seed and helps make a brief-time period plan final for an extended time. For the next tip and different ideas that involve weed dousing of 1 type or another, use a piece of cardboard or scrap of Plexiglas to protect nearby plants. Probably the greatest methods to kill a vegetable of any sort is to cook it.

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That’s where the tiny particular person grains that make up the original stone are modified, on this case into larger grains. The result is that the original stone is remodeled, into marble. Marble has a protracted tradition of being used in sculpture. This is due to a number of reasons. Marble is a comparatively mushy pure stone, making it straightforward to carve. Marble formed from pure calcite can sometimes be translucent, and mild can penetrate the stone barely. This makes sculptures seam to glow when illumination is shone on them. In contrast to some stones, whose minerals kind in layers, marble’s inherent grains do not are likely to arrange themselves in straight traces. When a stone which is formed in layers is chiseled, giant chunks tend to interrupt off at random, making it tough to manage what the final statue will seem like.

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[maximumtyphoonharmony-blog]

Sewing Necessities For Beginners

If you have ever imagined sewing a wardrobe for yourself but don't feel confident reading sewing patterns, this class is merely for you. Even the total beginners were rattling away on the machine within a few minutes, and Laura was calm about our many tangled threads, machine jams and complete balls-ups (at one point, I managed to sew the relative back hand sewing stitches of my dress to the front, which Laura helped me type with an unconvincing ‘Oh, I really do that all the right time!'). Luckily my mom had a sewing machine and knew how to sew but didn't do much of it so I really did not learn from her but had the tools I had a need to get it done for myself. When someone compliments you on your cool threads you can proudly say, Thanks, I made it! ” Sewing in addition has brought me a closer connection to my space and things that I own. It requires a whole lot of concentration how to sew and patience, both which I'm frequently lacking. A good starter reserve is Sew Fast, Sew Easy. There will be times, however, when you must rely on the markings which you have transferred from the design to get the sewing collection right. For basic sewing projects, it serves me quite nicely. It's an in-person course at Needlework , which is an adorable sewing and craft space in Hamilton. Blind hemming stitch: This interesting stitch takes a little easy sewing projects for beginners of practice to perfect for beginners, but with a little bit of practice you will be able to sew hems on clothing making use of your sewing machine with virtually no indication of the stitches showing on the front. When you are starting to sew first, you'll be probably to use thread created from polyester, natural cotton, or a mixture of the two. You could learn something niche in your preferred section of sewing. for a lifetime. Tips and Tricks for hand sewing. This will act as a guide while how to sew clothes you sew, and can help you straight keep you seam. 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Nordic Inspiration: Ull&Eik Dining Sofa Collection from Thorsonn

Thorsonn introduces the Ull&Eik dining sofa collection, a cozy and contemporary space to eat, talk, read or just relax. The Ull&Eik dining sofa is a smart comfortable piece of furniture that can be the perfect accessory for homes where a lot of storage is needed. Thorsonn is a company created as a collaboration between a husband and wife team, Halvor Thorsen and Jennifer Valone Thorsen, based in Oslo Norway.

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The collection is characterized by a design of pure lines and refined details that create original and elegant interiors with large possibility to combine with other various elements within a smaller space according to individual choices. A storage sofa system designed to transform your house, without the house noticing. The sofas are designed and made in Norway.  The drawer fronts, shelves and tables are made of solid oak that is available in oiled or stained finish, while the seat is filled with a special sandwich of foams and covered with a wool blend from Gudbrandstalens, another Norwegian company.

The post Nordic Inspiration: Ull&Eik Dining Sofa Collection from Thorsonn appeared first on Furniture Fashion and requires written authorization to be republished on another website.