#shes big shes fat shes old and shes stubborn as a bull | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitchfitch · 10 months

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Idk, more rambles about plant elf and big polar bear wolf monster.

Maelgwn, polar bear wolf monster, hates spring. He would never say it out loud, but he detests the season to a truly unreasonable degree.

He dreads it's arrival far more than winter's because winter has already taken everything that it can from him. He feels spring exists just to remind him of that.

His sort hibernate. It's this massive communal thing, all the packs come together in one deep cave to share body heat and wait out the part of winter where the sun never rises. Hes old. Age makes hibernation more and more dangerous every year that passes.

That's part of why he hates spring so much. Winter has taken everything from him, he just needs it to take him too.

Years and years before he would ever give a shit about a king in red whose skin danced with living vine tattoos, Maelgwn had a wife, Amalabairga. She was... Everything. Strong and brilliant and a stubborn workhorse who would lead her people with the same vigor and ruthless determination that she did everything with until her very last breath. They weren't perfect for eachother, But Maelgwn thought it an honor to call her his queen, and a blessing he would never be able to repay to call her his wife.

They weren't perfect, they were both stubborn bulls who bashed heads constantly over the pettiest things. Anyone who didn't know them would assume they despised each other. Anyone who did know them would laugh themselves to pieces over the idea of those two being anything less than absolutely smitten with one and another.

They had pups. Four of them from the same litter. They were so little even when they were already a few years old. They never thrived like they should. The years they had been born into were too harsh, food too scarce and the winds too cold. Maelgwn and Amalabairga adored them more than words could describe.

Everyone besides them saw it coming long before they did. They were blinded by their pride. They were in denial. Neither of them could accept it.

A harsh fall gave way to a harsher winter. The storms came too early. There wasn't time to stock up or put on fat. The winter den wasn't as crowded as it should have been. The sudden freeze blocked off some of the sub packs' routes. It was going to be a horribly cold winter, and they weren't going to have the body heat of an entire pack to keep them warm to the end of it.

There were healers who stayed awake the entire winter to look after the people within the den. To move pups who squirmed too far from their parents back to their sides. To remove the bodies of those that couldn't survive the whole season.

Maelgwn only got to say good bye to the strongest of his four pups. The others went too quickly for the healer to be able to wake him in time. Amalabairga didn't even get that much. Maelgwn often teased her for being a heavy sleeper. He would never do that again.

Neither of them processed it until spring came and the ground thawed enough to lay their frozen pups to rest. Because that's the thing. They could both leave the depths of the cave to sit in the mouth beside their babies, where it was so far below freezing their breath would fill their muzzles with ice on every inhale. the way the four of them were laid... they just looked like they were sleeping, blanketed in fine frost, but still like they would wake along with everyone else come spring.

The healers were used to fighting parents who were in denial. Grief and the disorientation of hibernation could do perfectly reasonable people to do insane things. Like try to stay in the mouth of the den where no living thing could survive for long, or bring their loved ones back to where it was warm.

None of them had expected their king and queen to be the sort to want to lay down beside their lost pups. Both of them had always been so bold and sturdy and stubborn in their refusal to give up. It didn't feel like giving up to either of them. A part of them promised their pups would wake up if they were just kept warm to spring. That was what was supposed to happen after all.

Spring came, and the pups didn't wake. Four new graves amongst thousands more. They didn't even live long enough to earn their names.

Spring gives to summer, Shocked grief turns to rage. It wasn't fair. They did everything right. They were Good Leaders. No one would debate that. They were good parents. They did Everything Right. And it didn't matter in the slightest in the end.

Summer gives to Fall. The years hunts were more than fruitful. They had plenty. If their pups had only made it one more year. Their rage at the situation Needs an outlet. They turn on each other. If Maelgwn hadn't suggested they linger at this hunting ground, if Amalabairga hadn't let them swim in that river. If he hadn't, if she hadn't.

They both new they were being unreasonable lashing out at eachother. Nothing they could have done differently would have made that winter any less cruel. They needed it to be eachothers fault. They needed it to be their fault.

Winter came again. Maelgwn thought he could still see them sleeping in the mouth of the cave. All hibernation long he dreamt of his pups and his wife and of springs they never got to see together. in the rare few moments he would wake to stumble to the underground river to drink, he would dread the next time he opened his eyes. Spring could never come, and he'd be glad for it.

Spring refused to stay its march.

Maelgwn woke to an empty nest. Amalabairga was gone.

Her body wasn't in the mouth. The healers swore they didn't see her go. She was just gone, like she had never been there to begin with.

It would be years until he found out what became of her. The new joy she had found beside a man who could lay her aching heart to ease in a garden that bloomed year-round like it knew nothing but spring.

Maelgwn was never a good match for her, even if they both burned brighter beside one and another. Nothing he could have done would have made her stay even if she did love him every bit as much as he loved her. they were always too similar.

She left him with her responsibilities. Her crown. He was king now, even if he refused to take the title.

So much changed. He got older. He saw many more winters, and through every single one he dreamed of all the mistakes he thought he had made, and all the ways he would do it differently, and all the springs he wanted to see with his pups and their mother. And all the springs he would wake up too without them.

Maelgwn hates spring. Winter took everything from him, and then spring had the gual to remind him of that.

#hi this was supposed to be about Erasyl letting Maelgwn love spring again but tbh i think this one should just be about Maelgwn's grief #child death tw

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starman-john-tracy · 3 years

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Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Eleven

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Twelve]

Once it becomes very clear that John is asleep - and not about to wake up and catch them talking about him - Star slumps. One hand grips the edge of the bed until her knuckles are bleached white and the other snaps up to clamp over her mouth, cutting off a ragged, slightly hysterical laugh.

“Ooh my god, I think I’m going to be sick… I can’t believe that worked, oh thank god.” When she pulls her hand away, still grey faced, she’s grinning at Virgil. “I didn’t think I was going to be a match.”

“Me neither.” Virgil huffs, deeply worn down by all the anxiety he’s been through recently, “Geez…”

“Well, that’s one good thing at least,” Star says. Virgil opens his mouth to remind her it's a choice, that she doesn’t have to do this, but Star’s already shaking her head. “Don’t start: of course I’m going to do it. There’s no way I wouldn't.”

Virgil just flashes her a tired, grateful smile, the words for just how incredibly grateful he is escaping him for the moment.

Star unclips the monitor from her finger, tosses it to the side, and eases back until she’s lying down on the bed with her head in her hands. She already knows the next words out of her mouth are about to start an argument, and they haven’t even told the other brothers yet.

“I feel fine, Virgil, so when can we get started?”

She peeks through her fingers, and to say Virgil doesn’t look convinced is an understatement.

“As soon as your blood work starts coming back clean.” He narrows his eyes at her, she might be able to bluster and bluff her way through how she feels, but the statistics don’t lie. “And that’s not just for your benefit, John needs the healthiest stem cells he can get, to reduce the risk of them being rejected.”

He pushes his hands hard against his knees, bones crunching back into alignment as he gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. Star knows it’s the truth, but she can’t help but feel like she’s being played, and that it was a low blow anyway.

“I need you to eat your vegetables, take your tablets and get a lot of good quality sleep.”

“Jesus,” She groans, pulling a face at Virgil. “Now I know how annoying I must sound to John.”

Virgil just pats a hand the size of a dinner plate down on her shoulder.

“I know it’s frustrating to wait, but in the long term, this is the best thing for him. Gordon’ll be down for his shift soon.” He adds, his eyes flicking over to John to check he’s still sleeping soundly. “Are you alright to keep an eye on John while I go up and update the boys with his treatment plan. They all need to be aware of what’s going on, so we can keep the Island as clean as possible.”

It doesn’t escape Star’s notice that Virgil wants to tell the other brothers their developments without her there, but she can’t quite bring herself to care mind. He doesn’t mean to intentionally exclude her, he just needs someone down here on babysitting duty.

Even with the tiny chance of a match, they should have tested her first, gone down by age or something, at least then Gordon and Alan would have been spared; even if that wouldn’t have kept Virgil off the table, and even though Gordon would have complained endlessly about the handful of days separating their birthdays. Sure, she might not have been the one to take off John’s helmet, and John looks set to spend an hour lecturing her if she mentions what happened on the station being her fault again, but she can’t help but think about how it is her job to keep John safe. That was what her freedom was spared for, and he’s her best friend, and they keep ending up in these messes.

“Yeah, I can watch him. Not like he’s going to be causing any problems,” Her eyes dart to John’s sleeping face. “Touch wood. And can you ask Fish Sticks to bring me a snack when he comes?”

“Yeah, will do, anything in particular you fancy?” Virgil looks, somehow, even more tired than John. It’s starting to worry her, even though Virgil is usually one of the Tracy’s most likely to take care of themselves instead of working themselves until they drop- looking at you, John.

“Come here,” she gestures at him until he complies with a sigh, grabbing his shirt once he’s within arms reach. No matter how compliant and relaxed Virgil tends to be, Star is pretty sure she’s about to get a resounding no. “Can you please take a nap? Or something? I’m worried about you, Virg, I think you need to take a break.”

“Hmm.” It’s hardly an agreement as he folds his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in close for a good, firm hug. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He lets what he thinks is a good point hang heavy in the air between them, “John’s health is just so delicate right now, and the family needs updating and…”

Star sighs, thoroughly frustrated by the damned Tracy stubbornness, as if unaware she herself possesses a similar trait. She lets Virgil have his hug without complaint, even if it isn’t entirely what she meant. Her arms come up to wrap around his middle and giving him a squeeze, careful of the still sore biopsy site.

“Let Brains do something, or delegate. I’m sure even Alan can manage to disinfect the house, even though his room is a biohazard.” She rubs a hand between his shoulder blades. “Hell, set me to work. It’s what I’m here for. Just stop doing this all yourself, like this is all your responsibility, or I will make you take a break.”

He sighs again, hot and heavy, into the top of her head, where he’s rested his mouth against her crown.

“...I’ll get something to eat and catch a few hours, but the hard time I’m having is nothing compared to what he’s facing,” He tilts his head a John, still sound asleep, “I can’t let him down.”

“Yeah, and he’s got all of us looking out for him,” Star murmurs in response, all traces of the underlying danger in tone usually, in place for anyone but John, gone from her voice. “This is me looking out for you too.”

She pulls back a little so she can see him, unsure how he’s going to respond. Virgil is so very different from John, and Star spends so much time with John alone, she’s nervous she’s going to overstep boundaries she’s forgotten are there.

But Virgil just smiles warmly at her, the expression soft and fond.

"Now you really sound like part of the family." He points out, a little teasing but mostly incredibly sincere, as if he's really, truly pleased to fit her into the mad, chaotic family dynamic they've got going on down here on Tracy Island. Of course, he could just be grateful that she's offering her blood to save his brother's life but… there's a look in the young man's eyes that makes it very clear that it's more than that. "Thanks, Star." He reaches a hand out to give her shoulder another warm squeeze - the man is far more tactile than his sleeping brother, and it's a nice change to not have to chase him for it. "Just you look after him, like you always do." His fingers chuck her under her chin, as if she really is his little sister, "I'll be alright for a couple more hours on my feet, then I'll head to bed, alright?"

“Yeah, yeah,” Star grumbles, only half joking and shoving him away by his arm, a light grin on her face. “Off you go there, rip off the band aid, take the bull by its horns, all of that. Call me if you need backup, I may be able to call in some favours if you need to hide from the law.”

Virgil is smiling at her, a fond tug on the corners of his lips that must run in the family, because Star is ever so in love with the expression on John. Virgil bids her farewell, still limping and tired but happier than he had been with four negative tests, and Star is alone with John.

She sighs, rolling to her side on what she is sure is about to become her bed, to gaze across the room at the sleeping astronaut.

There’s something we can do for him, she tells herself, when her eyes snag on IVs and monitors and bruises littering his skin. We’re not done for yet.

Very little happens until the next morning. The grim but hopeful news gets delivered with no problems and a little circle of avidly listening Tracy’s. There’s a lot of questions but Virgil is nothing if not diligent in his explanations, and he seems happy to try and reassure them all as much as is possible, in the situation. John sleeps peacefully through the night, fighting the radiation poisoning in his cells with good old-fashioned R&R. Scott finds Virgil passed out where he’d collapsed on the sofa, just as sound asleep as his brother downstairs, and had found a pillow and a blanket to fling over him, quietly thankful that Virgil isn’t as tall as he or John are, as if either of them had tried the same thing, they’d have a crick in their back for days. Gordon pops in to take over the shift from Star, bringing her a couple of roughly made ham sandwiches (he must have put them together himself), a packet of crisps and a warm, slightly flat lemonade - just in case her stomach needs settling after.

The morning dawns altogether too bright and cheerful, the sun like a big, fat tangerine lazing on the horizon, and it brings Scott down to the beach for his daily jog, only to find Alan sat out by the tide - staring miserably into the sea and chucking in small pebbles, letting them to be nibbled up by the lapping waves. Ever the perceptive big brother, he takes the kid to see John, and so his and Star’s morning starts with a slightly rude awakening as John gets a warm ball of Alan Tracy bundled up against his side.

“Come on Allie, don’t wake him!” Scott hisses, but it’s altogether too late for that, and John strokes his fingers sleepily through his little brother’s hair. All in all, it’s not the worst way he’s ever woken up.

“Jesus Christ,” Star grumbles before her eyes are even open, woken by the sound hissed ‘whispers’ that are too loud for that time of morning. She’s ditched the sweater at some point, leaving her in a tank top and sweatpants, and one bare arm snakes out from beneath the sheets to scrub at her face. Bleary blue eyes peer out from her bird's nest of lank hair, landing on the gaggle of Tracy’s across the room. “Oh my god.”

John is smiling sleepily at his brothers, then at Star, looking none the worse for wear for his rude awakening, especially compared to yesterday. Star is more than happy to keep up slightly grumpy appearances on his behalf. She manages to push herself into a crumpled sitting position in the centre of her bed, frowning sleepily at the clock, and then them. Her skin crawls, like she’s intruding, which might have something to do with the frosty not-look Scott gives her.

John gives her a breathless chuckle.

“Good morning.”

Star scowls, not heat behind it for him.

“This isn’t morning, this is the ars-“

“Language,” Scott scolds, looking meaningfully at Alan. “Please.”

Star raises an eyebrow. Alan finds it hilarious.

“You good there, Johnny?” Star asks, clambering out of the bed and stumbling over to where he’s nodding sleepily. She runs a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, “I’m going to take a shower before Virgil considers me a biohazard, and probably steal some coffee. You alright here with Alan?”

He nods again.

“Alright. I’ll be back.”

Star tries not to be too obvious about the stiffening of her shoulders when she hears Scott move to follow her out of the room, or the way she tracks his movement.

“I… uh… owe you an apology.” Well that’s not exactly what she’d been expecting to follow her up the corridor. Scott Tracy is loitering, stiff and awkward and thoroughly unused to apologising, a little way behind her - as if he thinks she might lash out at him and he wants to be well out of range. “For my behaviour, uh, you know, earlier.” It’s very vague, as if to prevent him from having to come out and explain, like a toddler, what the bad thing he did was and why it was bad. “Virgil explained what happened better and, um, what’s happening now,” Now that she’s the key to saving their brother’s life. “So, uhhh, I’m sorry. I guess….” His nose is all scrunched up, like that was hard. “Um, you know, I’ve been on a lot of rescues,” Scott doesn’t exactly laugh, but it’s clear he’s trying to make the conversation lighter. “Gotta admit, the two of you have been up there with some of the most… scared, when it comes to each other.”

Star nods slowly, chewing on her lip.

“I mean, he’s… I’d do anything for him. I quite literally love him more than life itself.” Scott looks distinctly uncomfortable about that declaration, “But it’s also… different. Up there, I mean. If an alarm goes off down here or someone is hurt, you’re more likely to find them than not, and you can get them help. Up there, an alarm goes off and you don’t find whoever you’re with quickly, there’s a good chance you’ll never see them again. Hell, if there’s a hull breach or a leak or some kind of glitch… there's just never a lot of time, or help. It’s just us, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, not that we really have days either.”

“I… yeah.” Scott seems to be struggling with all-the-ways-his-brothers-could-die-in-space, but to his credit, he shakes it off pretty quick. “Sorry, I should let you go, I just… wanted to make sure you were ok.” And that might be the most honest thing he’s said to her since touchdown. The Ex-airforce pilot might have a terrible quick temper and a fierce overprotectiveness when it comes to his siblings, but he can see when he’s wrong about someone and maybe Carmen Daines isn’t all as bad as her paperwork had made her seem. Not that he’s been snooping on her GDF file because he… yeah ok he definitely has. But it was for John’s benefit really, so he doesn’t feel all too bad about that.

He’s read some pretty… grim things in that should-have-been-confidential file.

But the girl in the too-big jumper with wild brown hair and knobbly knees in front of him has just offered up her own bone marrow to save his brother’s life.

So she can’t be all bad.

“Uh, I should leave you to your shower, Carmen.” He waves a hand around airily, a lopsided half-smile on his face like he’s just done a great thing, and righted all the wrongs in the world with his apology, “Take care up th….”

Star is almost about to accept it, until that one, pesky little word came up. It stopped her in her tracks, a physical jolt like electricity that didn't come when it was spoken by John, and no one else knew or dared try.

The name.

“I’m sorry,” Star smiled sweetly, words dripping venom. “Apology… almost accepted. But call me by that name again and I’ll break your nose.”

Scott blanches white at that. She means that very literally and he’s not the kind of man to assume that just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she hits hard. Both of his hands shoot up, defensive.

“Ah!, Uh, sorry. Star?” He tries again, tentative, wondering if he dares ask why no one uses her real name. It seems like a nice, solid name to him at least. “Doesn’t John call you, um, that?” He points out, confused and, if he doesn’t lie to himself, a little afraid of a girl half his size.

Star smiles slightly at him, like somewhere in the back of her mind she regrets the threat, but still wouldn’t take it back if she could. Part of her, the part that doesn’t feel entirely real, like she’s a name on a page and not a real person, wants to tell him everything for the sake of being known. It would bring the total number up to four, if you counted Colonel Casey, which seemed ridiculously low considering the infamy that had followed her around in the life before this one.

“John’s allowed to, because he knows better than to call me that around other people… at least I thought he was, but he can be forgiven for the odd slip.” She eyes Scott off, eyes raking up and down from where she stood on the staircase, a handful of steps above him. “There’s a reason I don’t use it. That name belongs to someone you would be killed for knowing, and not by me. There are very dangerous people in the world who are hoping I am dead, but still sleep with one eye open just in case I’m not. Because-” There’s a thickness to her voice that surprises Star herself, and she has to look away from Scott’s wide-eyed staring. “-they ruined- they ruined the life that I had, and they know I could do the same to them. So it’s safer for everyone involved if we all just pretend the owner of that name doesn’t exist.”

Star isn’t sure what Scott had been expecting, but she’s pretty sure it wasn't that. His face alone says that when she turns back to him, and she has to snort. His eyebrows have practically disappeared up into his receding hairline.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she slouches against the banister, looking down at the man. “But I am going to ask why you know that name. Because I know why Virgil knows it, and I know why John knows it, but I don’t know why you do.”

“Uh.” Says Scott again, very eloquently, as if suddenly realising he’s probably in big trouble. “It got, um, mentioned once.” He rolls his shoulders through a shrug, lying through his teeth because god forbid she finds out he’d been snooping where he shouldn't. Evidently though, he missed a lot back then. “Might have been John… in his sleep?” He offers, sounding like he can’t quite remember, when really, he’s making it up as he goes along. The idea that John might have been calling out for her in his sleep, while she was snoozing, is a heart wrenching one. Especially as it’s a downright lie.

Scott Tracy has bluffed some of the best councils in the world, for IR and for Tracy Enterprises. His power to lie is one he wield much, much lighter than his brothers ever would.

Must be a corporate thing.

“Speaking of John, I should probably get back and see what Alan’s up to…” He waves his hands around dramatically, excusing himself, “Enjoy your, um, shower?”

There is no good scenario Star can conjure up in her mind as to why John would be mentioning the name Carmen in his sleep, and the idea is tangled up with the speed with which Scott threw his hands up. She can’t stop thinking about it, not digging through John’s clothes for a clean sweater to wear with her own pants, not in the shower, not when she’s braiding her damp hair back again in the hopes of keeping the mess it was this morning from happening again.

To her, and anyone else who knows, she supposes, the name Carmen is something violent and wild and so terrifying she hates it. But John uses that name like its synonymous with Star, like it’s something soft and precious to him to have the privilege, so does that mean-

Virgil is slouched at the breakfast bar when Star wanders past the kitchen, falling asleep over his mug of coffee. She considers him for a moment, picking a loose thread on her sleeve, before deciding to just bite the damn bullet.

“Hey, Virgil?” She asks softly, but he jumps at her arrival anyway. “Can I ask you something?”

He grunts something that might have been a yes.

“Do I scare people? Do I scare you and… John?”

Virgil moves his face from where it’s smushed against the hand propping it up, and raises an eyebrow, running his fingers backwards through sleep-mussed hair.

“No?” He sounds tentative about that, like he’s worried he might not be awake enough right now to say the right thing. A fist scrubs sleep from his eyes, “Where have you got that idea from?”

He gives her an appraising look, up and down, taking in the baggy sweater (emblazoned with a NASA logo in a way that strongly hints it’s been stolen) and her pale face and damp hair.

“Are you alright?” The eyebrows crinkle, and he pats a big hand down on the bar stool beside him. “Hop up, I’ll make you a coffee.” She looks like she needs one, “Or, uh, a tea?” He seems suddenly uncertain, “What would you prefer?”

Star raises an eyebrow at the offer, and the fact he’s told her no earlier. “Am I allowed coffee?”

She hauls herself up onto the offered seat, watching Virgil blink tiredly on his way around the kitchen.

“John’s not, and it’d be best if you keep off the caffeine the day or so before the transfusion, but your heart rate was looking good last test, so there’s no reason that today you can't have something, if you want. No offense, but you look like you could do with it. There’s fruit tea or a milkshake if you’d rather though.”

He potters around the kitchenette, collecting mugs and filling Grandma’s old electric kettle. The coffee he’d made for himself had long gone cold during his snooze and it gets dumped unceremoniously down the sink so he can replace it with a fresh, hot cup.

“Now, what’s got you all worried about how scary you are?” He asks, distracted, but listening all the same. John’s not the only Tracy who's a great multitasker.

“I think I scare Scott,” she tells him in a way of explanation. “He was apologising and it was almost going well for him, and I really didn’t mean to tell him I’d break his nose but-“

She takes a breath, mostly in awe of the complete and utter dazed confusion on the brunette's face.

“Scott knows my real name. Did you tell him it?” She doesn’t sound angry, just… wondering.

“No?” Virgil’s eyebrows go through a violent wiggle of emotion, leaving them high on his forehead. “I make a point of calling you Star, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable… or to threaten to break my nose.” She gets a look with that comment, “But I even document your medical records under your pseudonym, it’s just what we all know you as, so I don’t think Scott would have picked it up from me.... I can’t imagine John would have told him either though,” Virgil frowns, “unless he overheard you guys.”

“John doesn’t use it often enough…” Star muses, counting back all the times she’d heard him say it, most of which occurred on Thunderbird Five, and rest when they were alone. Virgil slides the hot mug across the table, and Star wraps her cool fingers around the warmth. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, was just curious.”

She sits in silence for a moment, gazing into the dark brew like it might be convinced to give up all of life’s secrets. Eventually she gives up, in favour of peering up at Virgil.

“Still strikes me as odd.” He comments, considering.

Star chews on her lip. With Virgil’s confirmation of confidentiality, she knows how Scott knows her name, and she’s not sure how bothered to be by it, or what else he saw.

“So how are things looking? Does a normal heart rate mean we can… get started?”

Virgil continues frowning, but it drops away as he’s distracted by her eagerness to get stabbed with big needles. He laughs, all teeth.

“Not quite yet.” He reaches out and pinches her skinny arm, making a point that she needs to get some nutrients in her first, “I got some more tests that still need to come back clean, there’s more than your heart I’m worried about.” He looks ever so apologetic.

“And anyway, John got to start on the chemo conditioning first.” Virgil runs his fingers through his hair again - she’s starting to notice he does that a lot when he’s stressed. “I’m reluctant to begin when he’s already so ill, but it’s the sooner the better, in the long term. We’ll probably give him the first transfusion later today. I want to get him back to his own room first though, so he’s more comfortable. It’s a horrible process and it’s going to be a really stressful time, so the less he has to see that medical room the better, I think...” He takes a long swig of hot coffee, eyelashes fluttering as the caffeine hits his system.

“Grandma’s up there deep cleaning his room for us.” He smiles wearily at Star. “Once she’s done, do you want to help me get John up there?” Virgil wants to preserve his brother’s independence while he can, and won’t force him to use a wheelchair while he can still walk, but John’s balance has always been a tricky thing, so an extra pair of hands on his side would definitely help.

Star nods absently, staring in the deep dark depths of her coffee like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. It won’t be the first time she’s hauled John around, whether from lack or sleep or food or injury; but being arguably good at it doesn’t mean she likes it any better. The image of sick John in his room makes her chest give a savage squeeze of anxiety. That’s not where he’s supposed to be, maybe when he’s had a little too much gravity or a handful of stitches, but not when he’s dying.

But she knows John would prefer it, and whatever makes him happy wins.

She takes a long drag of her coffee, and tells Virgil, “yeah, of course I do.”

She pushes the half empty mug of coffee across the table and stands, only wobbly the tiniest amount. “I take it there’s going to be a lot to bring with him, and I think they’re having a party down there, so we should probably-“ she makes an awkward gesture in the direction of the stairs, as if looking for permission, “-go?”

Virgil laughs at her keenness; it warms the cold, tired parts of him that, though he’d never admit it to anyone, just want to give up and go to bed. He downs the rest of his coffee in one, enjoying the burn. There’s a heavy, satisfied sigh as he slams the big mug back down on the tabletop.

“Alright, you win.” He smiles, flicking open his Comm. “Grandma?” They both watch the little holographic representation of the woman startle as John’s bedside holocomm flashes on, “Are you ready for us up there?” She’s got big yellow rubber gloves on and a pinafore over her purple jumpsuit, the wispy grey strands of her hair all twisted up in pin curls.

“Virgil!” Her voice is full of scolding, but it softens when the idea of John being brought up comes into the mix. “Yes dear, everything is dusted and disinfected.” She sounds very proud of the accomplishment. She’s had to put a lot of his things into storage boxes though, just to keep the amount of objects that could be holding germs to the minimum, and she feels a sort of weary melancholy about it. It makes it feel almost like he’s already gone, and she’s having to pack up his things. Ruth shakes her head, forcing those thoughts out. “John won’t even recognise how clean it is up here!” It’s a joke, but her voice wobbles at the end in a way that makes Virgil’s heart clench.

“I’m sure he will, Grandma.” He says, very soft, but he knows that with the amount of time John spends in space, his bedroom is probably as unfamiliar to him as the med room is anyway. Maybe he won’t even notice the changes she’s made. “Thanks for this. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be up there with Johnny boy.”

There’s a warm FAB on the other end, and her mop-armed figure flickers out. Virgil slings an arm around Star’s shoulders.

“You need anything to eat before we go down?”

The answer should probably be yes, but Star shakes her head anyway, loose strands of her fringe brushing up against Virgil’s chest from where she’s pinned beneath his arm. Her stomach is tying itself in knots at everything, and she honestly doesn’t think she’d keep anything down if she had to eat and then move John… which is unlikely to be an entirely pleasant experience. She feels very small standing next to him, in a way she doesn’t next to John, even though he’s almost a good head taller than his younger brother. Leading the way to the stairs means Virgil can’t protest, so that's what she does, taking them back the way she had only just come from, following the sound of voices.

Both Scott and Alan are still there, and miraculously John is still awake, smiling lazily around the room and whatever Alan was chewing his ear off about. When he sees her, she smiles back.

“I’m here to perform a prison break,” she tells him, “how about it?”

#Radiation Poisoning RP

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ubernoxa · 4 years

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The Token: A GNR FanFic

Chapter 3: You’re Insane

(Masterlist)

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist.

Chapter Summary: Betsie confront Michelle aka Duff about how stupid her plan is. Michelle realizes that keeping up the charade might be harder than she originally thought

Taglist: @smokeandmirrorz

“Are you fucking insane,” I looked up into the bathroom mirror to see Betsie standing behind me. She knew who I was no doubt about it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied before drying my hands.

“Give it a break Michelle, I locked the bathroom door, so it’s just you and me in here. You don’t need to keep up the act,” it was clear that Betsie had seen right through my act, but here was no way I was admitting it.

“Michelle?” I continued my charade hoping she would leave.

“Don’t play dumb bitch, I know your eyes! Don’t forget I’m the one who would do all of your eye makeup when you were apart of Pixie,” she shot back while I remained silent staring her down. Maybe if I don’t talk, she would leave?

“Oh fuck this,” it was in the moment that Betsie jumped towards me and placed her hand on my fake dick.

“Is that a sausage,” I pushed her off of my before he could continue messing with it.

“Well yeah, I’m a guy so I have a dick,” I replied trying to keep it nonchalant. Spoiler, I was failing. I wasn’t ready for someone to lunge at me and grab it.

“Jesus fucking Christ Michelle, I know it’s not real because it’s currently sliding down your leg,” she shouted back. For the first time all night I was glad that the music was loud.

It was there in the bathroom that I admitted my defeat and pulled my pants down to fix my sausage that was currently sitting at my knee.

“Didn’t know you were so religious,” was the only comment I could muster as I fixed myself. There was something wrong with adjust my sausage in front of Betsie, and by something I meant everything.

“Cut the crap, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dressing as a guy to join a band. After I ‘left’ Pixie six months back I’ve been apart of 5 bands. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being treated different than any other male bassist ....People don’t take female musicians seriously, you know that. I just don’t understand why they treat me differently. I’m just a musician no different than them.......this was actually Walter’s idea,” by now the two of us were sitting on the countertop talking.

“He seriously recommended you to do this?”

“Why? You don’t think he would recommend it?” I quickly shot back earning a giggle from Betsie.

“I would pray he wouldn’t. He the most sane out of the three of you,” without thinking I let out a quiet snort.

“I like to think I’m pretty sane,” I teased back causing laughter to fill the bathroom.

“What?” I quickly questioned only earning more laughter from Betsie.

“You? Sane? You have a sausage taped to your fucking thigh! Sane people don’t do that,” she gestured towards the sausage.

“He meant it as a joke, but it actually worked. It was the easiest band audition I’ve ever had. We didn’t play music until like two to three hours into it. It’s different you know. Being a boy musician versus being a girl. I feel like I’m actually apart of the band, not just the token girl. They weren’t dicks when I started playing, and we just had fun!” I sent Betsie a warm smile to only receive a frown.

“You know this is wrong..right? This won’t work! I get you’re able to hide your boobs and shit, but they will find out one day. This is going to blow up in your face, and you won’t recover from it. Enjoy it while it lasts, but one day you’re going to slip up. Everything you’ve worked for will disappear, and you will forever be known as the girl who dressed as a guy to get in a band. Guys will hate you because you pretended to be one of them...they’ll probably think it’s weird as fuck. The girls though..we will never forgive you. You’re betraying all of us. You’re sending the message that a girl can’t make it unless she is a guy,” I immediately cut her off.

“I’m showing the guys that I’m just as good, maybe even better than them. I can play the drums, guitar, and bass, but you don’t see ANYONE coming and knocking on my door asking me to join their band. You wanna preach how I’m betraying girls everywhere? You wanna bring up how I’m not ‘loyal’ to the other female musicians on the strip? Take a moment to look in the damn mirror, and think about what you and Pixie did to me when I was forced to leave the group,” before I could continue, it was her turn to interrupt me.

“We didn’t force you...”

“Oh really? Don’t get on that bull shit! You kicked me out and then spread shit about me. Do you know what it’s like when you show up to an audition and everyone thinks you’re a whore? Do you know how differently guys treat you? Pixie destroyed my reputation with the bullshit lies y’all spread. Don’t you dare give me crap about how I’m betraying the girls of the strip. Y’all betrayed me a long time ago,” I shot back. Silence filled the bathroom as neither one of us was going to break eye contact.

“You can’t just throw us all in a group and blame me for what was said about you too!” Before she could continue, I interrupted her again absolutely don’t with her bull shit.

“When you sat quietly and did nothing while they spread those rumors about me, that’s when we stopped being friends. Actions speak louder than words. Your action of doing nothing spoke volumes,” I shot back.

“They would have kicked me out of Pixie, Michelle.”

“Oh shit! They would have kicked you out of the band? Pixie has never done that before! That sounds terrible...so sorry to hear,” I sarcastically replied. I wasn’t bitter, I was pissed.

“I don’t give a damn what you think of me. All I want to do is to play my bass. I want to do what I fucking love, no matter the cost,” I added breaking the silence.

Betsie nodded her head before she headed towards the door. It must have been clear to her that there was no way she could talk any sense into me that would result in me changing my mind. Before she left, she turned to me and asked, “What are you going to do if you actually make it big? You know you can’t keep this charade up forever.”

I didn’t answer. Not out of stubbornness, but because I didn’t have an answer. The truth was that I had no fucking idea.

“Just promise me you won’t forget who Michelle is,” with that final statement she left me alone in the bathroom as I pondered what the fuck just happened.

After carefully splashing some water on my face and trying to calm myself down, I was left with one question. Could I trust Betsie with my secret? As I stared myself down in the mirror, still not used to my own reflection, the answer was yes. Not because I trusted her or knew she would never betray me or some shit like that. The answer was yes because that was the only answer. I had to keep the charade going. I had to keep being Duff.

————————-

I stood in my uncle’s coffee shop sporting a brown wig as I took orders from the next customer.

The wig was rather annoying and created several problems for me during my work shift. The first was that you could tell it was a wig by the fake hairline, so I had to wear a hat at all times. The second propblem was that it was hot as hell under that wig and my head was sweating like no tomorrow. The third was that I could only pull it back in a low lose pony which sadly was the hairstyle I spotted throughout middle school. Also known as the highly debatable worst years of my life, but who know that might soon change. It all depends on if Betsie opens her big fat mouth about me dressing up as Duff.

“Did you do something to your hair Mic? It looks different?” I perked up at my Uncle’s words.

“Just dyed it. I was tired of the old color and Macy offered to do it for free,” in my defense it wasn’t a complete lie, so he shrugged it off and went back to his office to work.

“What did you really do to your hair?” My coworker Derek quizzed once my uncle left.

“Dyed it a color he wouldn’t approve of,” I answered the questions just like I practiced with Macy maybe it wouldn’t be too hard.

“Ohh how very punk rocker of you. The wig looks realistic thought, where’d you get it?”

“Stripper friend of Macy. How’d you know it was fake?”

“I saw you take you hat off to scratch you head. The hairline is a dead giveaway. Don’t worry your secret is safe with me,” he whispered before heading to the back room to do inventory.

I peeked up at the sound of the door creeping open. Great, just what I needed. I watched as Axl and Izzy cautiously walked into the small coffee shop.

I was thrown for a loop as I watched them get in line behind an older woman who was a frequent customer who seemed to be holding her purse a little bit tighter than she was moments ago.

“Be careful of those two boys behind me. I think they’re up to no good,” I smiled at the older woman and promised that I would make sure everything was going to be okay. I looked around the room and like clockwork my uncle offered to make her order. There was no doubt in my mind that he had a crush on her

“Can I help the next customer please?” I put on a fake smile as Axl and Izzy stepped forward.

“Is this a joke?” I crossed my arms as the pair stood in front of me.

“What I’m not aloud coffee?” Axl protested as he seemed determined to keep up the charade.

“Only paying customers are aloud it,” I turned to Izzy before continuing, “What are you here for?”

“Did you dye your hair? It looks different,” I took a deep breath as I nodded my head. There was no way Izzy knew I was wearing a wig.

“Yeah, Macy offered to dye it, so I thought why not. I could use the change. Now cut the small talk, why are you here?”

“We’re looking for Duff, thought you might know where to find him,” Axl admitted after a couple seconds of silence. It was weird seeing him cooperative.

“Yeah, I know where to find him. I live with him. What’s up? You kicking out of the band or some shit?”

“No, he’s one of the best bassists we have had in our band. We have a gig coming up and we wanted to tell him our new practice schedule,” Axl continued before he handed me a piece of paper. I bit my tongue hard at his comment. Interesting on how yesterday he said Michelle was only mediocre.

“Does he have a job?” Izzy’s words pulled my attention from Axl. I didn’t know why, but he was staring me down. I didn’t like it, not one but.

“Yeah, works for Walter’s father. Walter was nice enough to get him a job so he could feed himself,” I was rather proud of how casually I was able to respond with another rehearsed lie.

Izzy remained speechless, but nodded his head. By the way he was staring my down I thought he was trying to look into my soul or some shit like that. Long story short, I felt uncomfortable.

“Will he be able to make these practice times?” Axl asked breaking the awkward tension between Izzy and me.

“From what I’ve heard, he will be working mornings, but I don’t know if that is his entire schedule,” I shrugged back. I was relieved to see that the practices were all in the afternoon which worked perfectly with my work schedule.

“Practice starts tomorrow, so just have him stop by. He knows the address,” Axl and Izzy began to walked towards the door, but before they left Izzy stopped.

My heart sank as he turned around and walked back towards the counter. Luckily I was just cleaning and there wasn’t another customer.

“Do you have a pen and paper?” I raised a brow at his question.

“Yeah,” I calmly replied curious to see what he was up to.

“Don’t worry, it’s just our number so Duff can call us if he can’t make the rehearsal,” Izzy said as he seem to write a lot more than a phone number on the paper.

“See ya,” Izzy said before hurrying to join Axl who was still receiving several glares from customers.

Once they left, I opened the note which caused my heart to sink.

Duff,

Below is our number if you can’t make it to practice.

*insert number here*

- Iz

Also, blonde was a good choice Michelle, brings out the color in your eyes.

Fuck. He knew.

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senseandaccountability · 4 years

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Fic update: ‘I can see us gather at the gates’, part 8/32

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Female Trevelyan/Iron Bull Rating: M for future updates Summary: He doesn’t trust mages, she doesn’t trust Qunari; it feels oddly fair. A former Circle mage and an estranged Qunari spy get entangled in each other’s lives over assorted Thedosian drinks. Chapter summary: Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. Notes: I scream into the void with this fic but there you go. :D

Chapter 8: Dragon Piss (Fallow Mire) (AO3 link)

He’s just a kid, unhorned and soft - fat as a qalaba, Vasaad says, racing him to the outskirts of the jungle where the rocks form challenges and the sun never reach - and they climb the old trees and even older stone. They stumble, kids always do up there and that is the very clever reason they are not allowed to go. But they're just kids, far from clever. They stumble and fall and Vasaad is lucky, gets caught on a few softer corners and tree branches; Ashkaari crashes. Everything after is blurry and gentle, the edges softened by potions.

“What were you supposed to do today?” Tama asks, without removing her hand from his arm.

Slowly, grasping for his memory, he begins to rattle off the tasks and duties; they’re as many as his fingers. Maybe that’s the point, to make them remember.

“So why did you run to the jungle?”

Ashkaari has no answer that Tama will want to hear so he drags it out, pretending to think while her touch remains. "You must take better care of yourself," she says sternly. The Qun hates wastefulness and dead imekari is a terrible shame. For her, for them all. He doesn't want to make Tama look bad. He will remember. For several months, at least.

x. “Welcome back,” Armaas says. His commander, the voice in the field. Hissrad can’t remember being gone, but his body is full of pain. A broken rib, a punctured lung, a long, deep wound running from his left shoulder blade to right side and he has to sleep propped up on his stomach in the infirmary. He learns that he has been out for days. He learns, too, that they're right about his commander. Doesn't lose a single man, they say. He leads from the front and shouts you back from the dead if he has to. The intense pair of eyes that follows Hissrad's every move here certainly looks like it belongs to someone who could. Years later, on Seheron, he’ll look into those eyes again before his axe falls down over Armaas's neck. Your soul is dust, Tal-Vashoth, he'll think but he won't be sure ever again. x. “Your blocking is still shit,” Hissrad manages from where he lies propped up by pillows and blankets and a wasted bedroll. Even his horns hurt. “Your plans are still shit,” Vasaad counters. “You’ll be the death of me, big guy. Can’t believe they gave you command.” “Maybe you were the only other option.” “Maybe they just want to let Seheron kill you so they don’t have to,” Vasaad says and there’s warmth and mockery and bone-hard truths in the joke. Hissrad grins. It must be the hundredth time one of them gets wrecked in battle, yet every single one feels like absolute crap, everyone worse than the others. Hissrad has carried Vasaad’s skinny ass across half a jungle, cursing into the skin on his back - don’t you dare, asshole - and Vasaad’s dragged him out of burning buildings, pits of poison, traps laid by mages and rebels and they’ve always survived. They’ll always survive until one of them fails. x. Their newest Viddathari may be little more than a twitchy kid but he’s got hands strong as iron, knows curses in several tongues and he refuses to leave Hissrad’s bedside until Hissrad gets well enough to carry him out and lock the door. “Hey!” the kid protests but Hissrad is determined. His right arm may still be broken and the bone-deep wound along his side smarts like fuck but malnourished elves are tiny. “Sorry, Gatt,” he says and pats the elf’s head. “Can’t recover with an audience.” x. Boss is heading towards the building where they expect to find the clan leader of the Avvar, her jaw set and her determination cut in stone, as if she’s gone and become a brawler when Bull wasn’t looking. They have my soldiers. She had been very closed-off this morning, grim and focused, barely had time for a briefing before they set out and her tone is still clipped whenever someone brings something up with her. “Surely you are not challenging their chieftain in battle, darling?” Vivienne’s voice betrays nothing but Bull is willing to bet she isn’t looking forward to having her day ruined by a bashed-in skull. “It will be fine.” At first it almost is. As fine as it ever is, fighting in someone else's stronghold, lacking every advantage of the enemy. But for a while they can make up for what they lack in strength with what they possess in terms of sheer determination. Until they can't. “Take out their mages!” “Let’s not,” Bull growls, carving his blade into the spine of an attacker. In the corner of his eye he can see the Avvar leader rushing forth, his greataxe in front of him, ramming into their flimsy line of defense and Bull curses, trying to wrestle free from the archers he’s stuck with but it takes too long. Vivienne shouts something, Boss shouts something back and when Bull finally shoves the last dead archer from his blade, there’s no time left. He pushes the mages back, hears them swear at him and then, things become a little blurry. --- He wakes up in darkness. Total, throbbing darkness and his first thought is that he’s lost his other eye. That would definitely be shitty. “Bull, can you hear me?” He does, he can. But when he tries to speak, there are no sounds emerging from his body. Great, now he’ll be both blind and mute. What a gift to send back to Par Vollen. Maybe they can put a ribbon on his horns. He feels her hands on his chest, magic flowing out of them and into him and it’s soft, like a warm bath but then she twists it, angles it so he gasps for air instead, crying out in pain, and immediately it stops. She’s leaning over him, judging by her breath against his neck, her voice closer to his ear now. “I’m sorry.” The pad of her thumb brushes over his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bull, but I have to do that again. I’m trying to find what’s wrong.” Less talking, more healing, he thinks. She does the same magical crap again. And again. The pain is just as sharp, just as staggering. He feels like he’s losing his mind. There’s something broken that won’t mend, something stubborn that won’t budge. “Hurry,” Vivienne says somewhere nearby. “He’s bleeding quite a lot, darling.” “I know. Can you… shit.” Boss’s touch leaves him and if he could speak, he would have asked for it to return. Magic or not, her hands are soothing and if he’s dying here, he’d like to feel calm about it. Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. A burning, painful kind of overrated that he could do without. In the end lies glory, so the Qun claims. Perhaps that's right, he just can't see it. But then again his eyesight never really recovered from losing one eye. Even bad jokes are wasted on death. The last thing he hears is Boss, her voice increasingly desperate, telling him to stay with her as she pulls at the threads of his flesh with her magic, forcing it to close over his wounds. --- He drifts in and out of consciousness and sleep and through it all he can hear her voice. In fact, she never stops talking. She’s quiet when she’s nervous and she talks when she’s afraid; he knows this about her. He knows this about her and in this particular setting, it twists its way into the back of his mind, lingers. As the pain torments him and whatever draughts and spells he’s been exposed to do their thing, he hears her mutter her way through what sounds like magical theory in Orlesian. Between a nightmare and a potion-induced episode about ghouls he can discern sentences from a book on the Inquisition of old - he knows because the nights in camp get long and sometimes there's nothing to do but read the only thing someone like Cassandra or Boss has carried with them. He prefers it when they bring Varric’s crappy but hilarious smut novels over the tedious ones on human history, but he’ll read anything. "You can't take blows meant for me," she tells him because - as he’s come to understand - she truly has no idea what front-line bodyguard means, its concept as foreign to her as stealth or frivolity. Bull replies in grunts and monosyllabic words. “Don’t die on me, you stupid man,” she whispers to him as he drifts out of sleep momentarily, blinking as the sunlight from the window falls across her features. It makes her look on fire, lit with the sun itself. If he had been an Andrastian, he’d probably be praying by now. “I’m sorry,” she says and he’s feeling more awake by then, though not awake enough to argue through the lack of strategy with his boss. He keeps his eyes closed. Feels her hands running over his chest, then quickly brushing against his forehead. She’s got the lightest of touches; it leaves some kind of mark. “This is on me. It’s my fault. Please, survive.” --- He wakes up, properly now, to her sleeping form. The room is dimly lit but his senses have returned, making it possible for him to discern the actual shapes of everything around him. A pile of medical supplies by his bed, a couple of books, a warm blanket and a goblet of what looks like water. Outside the only window in the room, darkness has fallen. He feels sluggish and heavy, unused to his own body. And there’s a sense of oddness somewhere below his chest. At first he can’t tell what the sensation comes from and blinks, prepared for all sorts of bad news as always after being knocked out in battle. You never know what limbs you’ve lost or what new impairment you’ve suffered, any warrior could tell you that. But this, Bull realises rather quickly, this isn’t him. It’s Boss, sleeping with her face pressed into his belly, her arms spread out over his upper body and her hair tickling his chest. Small puffs of warm breath dampen his skin as her body rises and falls over his; there are soft snores and sleep-sounds and there’s an intimacy to the scene that snakes its way into his chest, the unfamiliar outline of it at once thrilling and strange. It’s definitely… something. All the gentleness in her, everything about her that she keeps hidden as they work methodically side by side to push this damn world back from the brink of destruction, is suddenly visible in the way she’s sleeping, unarmed, undone. Her hair is loose, strands of it cascading over his flesh; her neck is bared and looks more inviting in the candlelight than he’s ever seen it before; lacking its usual multi-layered outfit, her body sleeps free and soft, curved around him, around itself, the generous shape of her ass almost impossible not to reach out and touch. It’s the intense privacy of the moment, he thinks. The intimacy of sleep coupled with the fact that she had worried. About him. He pretends to be asleep when she wakes, startling herself, bolting upright like someone’s caught her in the act which effectively ruins his. Bull can’t hold back a laugh, even though it hurts deep inside him, all the way up along his ribs. Boss flushes bright red, cursing under her breath. The tension in her body is so acute, so severe that it practically cuts through the air. For a brief moment he wonders if she’ll set something on fire. Then, when she forces herself to look at him, he can see nothing but relief in her eyes. It hits him, like a hammer. Maybe it hits her, too, because she scratches the back of her head and looks away. She takes a step to the side. Another one forward. Glances at the doorway over her shoulder. “I’m - this-” she exhales slowly. “Not a word, Bull.” He remains exactly where he is, watching her and grinning - because it seems to infuriate her in a subtle and delightful way and also, mostly, because he can’t help himself. “My lips are sealed.” He gestures towards his mouth, ignoring the pain the motion brings. “I won’t tell a living soul that you snore like a bronto, Boss.” “You’re an ass.” Then, quiet and already half-way outside the room. “I’m glad you live.”

#iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x trevelyan #the iron bull #fanfic #anne trevelyan #iron bull romance

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lllvllls-blog · 5 years

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⋆ ◦ ° ☾ cismale + he/his — have you seen vincent janko? they sure have been hanging out at valdez county park a lot recently. they are thirty eight years old known as the raging bull, and they currently work for the cobras as a soldier, which they’ve been doing for nine years. a bisexual capricorn, they are determined + practical, as well as detached + stubborn. knitting needles, smashed terracotta pots, gauze bandages.

this is so long im so sry it’s mostly so i dont fKN FORGET MY BRAINS A SIEVE

HISTORY

this my most anti-social + rage-filled muse so we’ll see how he do... v v v loosely based on jake lamotta in the raging bull film. their personalities are actually a bit different ANYWAY

raised around violence, saw ppl responded to it + listened when used so grew up with the kinda mentality where violence was the only answer

not a great relationship with parents, lack of communication, abusive. vince’s parents married too young, fell out of love quick, took their frustrations out on each other and on their kid who never listened

so kept to himself at home but released aggression at school. a Big Fat Bully rip just picking on ppl all the time - not the weak ones but the strongest

got into a lot of trouble, juvenile diversion, detention etc. hefty fines bc of vandalism, assault etc. then eventually juvie for a short while for assaulting his probation officer. a mess.

age 15, his mum (civilian) left his dad (cobra) and his dad remarried to a fellow cobra. his new mom wanted their own kid but couldn’t so adopted serah. ENTER: actual angel, light of vince’s life. the lil 3 y/o was his everything ok. not only did serah’s arrival soften his dad up a lil but vince had less reason to be angry about things too.

tho their parents were v absent, vince had no problem taking care of serah. in fact he was so happy to do it, even skipped school to spend time with her

stayed out of trouble for serah, joined a boxing club which tamed him a lot, saved his anger for the ring. lost a lot at first but once he started to pick things up the cobras began to take notice as he quickly became the winning bet

doesn’t feel pain like normal people. can just charge + charge + charge @ people no matter how many punches to the head.

didn’t graduate high school but agreed to fight for the cobras + help them fix games for some extra dolla. enjoyed the money as paid back parents, became independent, and begin to save up to move into a house with his gf + financially support serah

never took the initiation tho. always rebelled against his parents and refused to join the cobras despite their wishes. didn’t like the thought of ppl telling him what to do. just wanted to fight, win, go back to his gf + sis with a fat wad of cash

around the age of 23, he enlisted in the army with a bunch of his friends due to ~patriontic~ reasons but before he left married mimi who came from savage parents + eventually initiated when she was 18. had been dating her since he was 16. this was another reason why he swore not to join as a cobra

finds out she’s pregnant whilst he’s away. wasn’t planned. thought of kids scared him bc he never believed he’d be a good dad (spoiler alert: he right)

comes back during leave to meet a lil bb rosie (age 25). elated but terrified. more than the war. goes back to afghanistan, hates not being there. so fucks up his own left ear, sent home with a medical discharge. deaf in one ear. called an animal.

he’s obvs not the same as before, disoriented and a lil traumatized. also wow vince is not the best parent. has sm of his dad’s awful traits that he hasn’t unlearnt but is Trying.

tried to do a normal job as a construction worker but just got into fights all the time, kept getting fired. was convinced to go back into the ring. so he did. but things were different.

he didn’t get the same sense of relief from mindless violence. just needed the money. impact of the war - no release from shooting a gun and taking an innocent person’s life. being a solider was a job in the same way as a fighter. work, work. unsatisfied hunger.

ANYWAY vince’s last fight (age 27), huge odds. cobras told him to lose. his friend bet on him to win against vince’s advice. friend had bet a lot of money. so won the fight. next day his wife was killed.

he thought it was the cobras. turns out it was the savages, they thought she was a snake. not only that but the cobras lost a lot of money. they wanted him to pay it back. he refused to initiate. but serah was pregnant as well. he needed to support the fam + didn’t want no dramaz.

so continued to fight. but now he didn’t know when to stop, didn’t know his limits. began to beat his opponents to death. did the odd job here and there - intimidation, repossession, torture. only to pay off his debts + lowkey protection for his fam

age 29, parents die. livid. paranoid. took cobra initiation for official protection. also a way to hunt down his wife and parents’ killer + get vengeance.

SUMMARY: ex cobra fighter, ex us military, widower, a decent brother (serah’s), trying to be a decent father, now cobra soldier. (all u have to know tbh)

PERSONALITY (?) ish

nine years later, not over it. still angry. still hunting for the savages that killed his loved ones. might even be dead but subconsciously it doesn’t matter to him, convinces himself they’re still alive to cope with guilt. give his life a kind of purpose he thinks is achievable.

it’s pretty obvious to ppl he’s only in the cobras out of his own interest, protection and vengeance. he doesn’t exactly see other cobras as ‘family’ and his jobs are all done solo. just sticks to himself, gets shit done and doesn’t want anyone to bother him.

tryna be a good brother and a good dad and a good husband. crazy overprotective. don’t fucc with them, he’ll kill you. more brawns than brains. not a lot of morals. full of hate and rage. always sounds angry. even if amused. doesn’t talk much. speaks in grunts n gruffs n glares. talks weirdly, goes off tangents a lot.

not book smart but v street smart. don’t bullshit him bc it’ll just piss him off.

once he sets his mind to something that’s it, game over. dont try and change his mind.

ALSO tryna be a better man for his fam. goes to therapy (rarely!!), cut down on drinking A LOT tho sometimes has his moments, smokes privately. works out a lot, does DIY a lot, but also taken on hobbies that require a lot of patience like knitting, gardening, fishing.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

childhood friends - vince had a lot more space in his heart for people outside of his family when he was younger. he was more sociable, approachable. wasn’t exactly a social butterfly but had a group of friends etc. that he deeply cared for

kobra kidz on the block - vince’s dad and step-mom were both cobra members. so people he grew up with due to their affiliations? old time friends, old time enemies. frenemies. anything. vince was very vocal about his disregard for the gang tbh. could’ve boxed together etc.

annoyance - a younger chara that just won’t leave him alone lmao. maybe a cobra, maybe not. could be anything.

baby sitter - vince has a daughter called rosie who is 13 y/o. she’s a lil hard nut and hard to control (wonder who she takes after) but anyway he def needs one of these. he’d rely on them a lot.

family/friends of mimi - mimi, his late wife, was a savage. they dated from 16 to her death at age 27. she grew up around savages. she joined out of peer pressure and vince never shied away from telling her fam how much he doesn’t like them. so ppl that opposed her, maybe orchestrated/participated in her death. could be fun.

lonely - vince has only been in love with one woman + still isn’t over her but it’s been nine years and a man has needs. so someone he fucks bc he’s lonely. this person probably knows it too. maybe they’re also lonely.

ex-fling - same sitch as before but the person ended it bc vince was so detached and cold. or maybe they grew feelings and broke it off. either way, vince unintentionally hurt the other person and *charlie puth vc* they don’t talk any mo

garden patch friends - vince has rly gotten into gardening ok. has a little garden patch near where he lives in the suburbs. plants veggies, some flowers. so maybe they have similar interests or have a patch nearby and *gasp* vince can actually talk more than a sentence at a time

#outlaw.intro #// this is unnecessarily long #and has drained my brain #but if anyone wants to plot hit da like #also if u have d*scord pls holla cos #tumblr ims are @@@@@

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astroprojections101 · 4 years

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The Signs as Characters from ‘BRIDESMAIDS’

Annie Walker - Taurus

Bridesmaids is a hilarious and groundbreaking female-driven comedy about addiction and friendship, two things Tauruses know how to do very well. They are loyal and committed people whose reputation as the most boring sign of the zodiac is forgiven for also being the best friends you will ever find on this fucking planet, and they KNOW this dammit!! They wear their friendships like purple hearts, but it also means they can easily get stuck in a rut and indulge in self-destructive habits like fucking terrible people and matching red shoes with red nail polish when the waves get rough. Not to mention it could take years (or a very messy rock bottom) before these bulls get the wake up call they need to make a positive change in their lives, as evidenced by Annie failing to do any of this until Melissa McCarthy literally bites her in the ass while watching Castaway, a movie I am SURE she has seen at least five times.

They can also be territorial and possessive. While Annie may seem like that down-to-earth, low-maintenance girl who side eyes women that wear $8,000 evening gowns to an afternoon engagement party, on the inside she is a red-faced toddler crossing her arms and stamping her feet because Mom won’t let her play with the iPad. Or, in this case, because her best friend since CHILDHOOD (seriously, who still has friends from childhood? TAURUSES, bitches! + people from the Midwest) is getting married and has, like many grown ass adults sometimes do, ~made another friend~. Suddenly, Annie is forced to, without prior knowledge or consent, confront the bull’s biggest fear: change. Which is a big fat scary no no for a masochistic Taurus who would rather pursue subpar fucks than make baked goods with an emotionally literate Scottish bae. Tauruses like Things As They Are even when they don’t, and Annie Walker is no exception. We stan a true Taurus queen.

Sorry, Libras. Branding the antagonist of the movie as one may seem counterintuitive for a sign whose entire identity revolves being nice and fair to EVERYONE and liking EVERYONE and getting along with EVERYONE, but that’s exactly why Helen Harris III wins the coveted title of Passive Aggressive Shithead Who Reminds You of 30% Of Your High School: everyone loves her, everyone wants to be her, and who can blame them? As a wise Jeff Winger once said, nerds go to space to impress the people who wore leather jackets in high school.

And Helen Harris is beautiful. She can pull off wearing an $8,000 evening gown to an afternoon engagement party (almost) without coming off like an asshole. Helen Harris can book spontaneous bridal salon fittings. Helen Harris could eat that fucking cookie (Annie could never). Even if it means gaslighting a woman out of a wedding party, getting bullied by bratty white kids or marrying David Wallace, Libras don’t know who they are without the bliss of knowing their personal brand of outward bullshit is loved and admired by all, even if that means suppressing their true feelings until their next tennis sesh at the Milwaukee country club. Helen proves this when she ugly cries to a woman she socially tormented for the better part of a year, and also proves this when she arranges for Annie’s emotionally literate Scottish bae to pick her up after the wedding. You can’t convince me otherwise.

Lillian - Virgo

It’s easy to put Virgos in that Friends Who Have Their Shit Together box, even if underneath that facade they are literally dying inside. But this is what I love about Lillian, who is yes, obviously a Virgo. Lillian is getting married to the man she loves. She curated a bridal party that genuinely knows and loves her. She gets someone like Helen to simp for her. So yes, she is that classic Virgo who doesn’t judge you for not having your shit together but also would never, ever forgive herself for sinking that low.

But Lillian also manages to laugh when she comes out wearing that Abominable Snowman of a wedding dress. She shits on the street and lives to tell the tale. She is able to make hard choices and set boundaries with her best friend. Lillian doesn’t judge people out of insecurity, because she knows who she is and accepts it.

I’d like to think there is a Virgo out there, punishing herself because she applied to three jobs instead of two that day, who sees a Lillian and realizes there is a future where she can be a #BossBitch without committing her entire life to proving it to herself and others. I’d like to think there’s a Virgo out there who sees Lillian and realizes she doesn’t have to let her friend copy her homework answers for the fourth consecutive math test because no, she isn’t responsible for her lazy friend’s inability to study ahead of time. Lillian is the representation Virgos desperately need - not just because she is a badass woman, but because she is happy. She is a role model for all of us, and you can’t get more Virgo than that.

Megan - Aries

This was a hard one. On the one hand, Megan is weird. But let’s be real, an Aquarius could never be entrusted with the codes to every nuke buried underneath the United States. They would take those codes and use it to yeet Mark Zuckerberg out of his 100 million dollar Palo Alto estate within the first hour of signing their W-2 form. No, Megan may be unapologetically Megan as shit, but it’s not because she’s an Aquarius. She’s bold, and forward, and unapologetically Aries.

Which is odd, considering that an Aries and a Taurus together is, well... an unlikely friendship combo. Both signs are strong-willed and stubborn as hell, but in a way that makes them want to declare war on each other’s egos, not inspire the other into becoming better people. But then again, maybe that’s why their friendship works. Where Annie throws an empty compliment at an overdressed woman she’s already decided she hates, Megan expresses a desire to climb a man five minutes upon meeting Annie. Where Annie sits on a couch watching Castaway instead of addressing her issues the way 35 year old women probably should have learned to do by now, Megan bites ass and reminds her of this this. Where Annie HOLDS IN VOMIT UNTIL SHE HAS DRIVEN MILES AWAY FROM A BRIDAL SALON, Megan shits right into that refurbished marble sink without a second thought. Get where I’m going with this? Megan does what Annie doesn’t, which sometimes is exactly what a Taurus needs to get out of their rut of self-pity. But of course, Megan doesn’t just exist to provide emotional labor to lazy Earth signs. She is an individual truly living her best life, and we love for her for it. Aries women slap like no other.

Rita - Scorpio

Brutally honest and a sexual goddess. What more can you expect from an unhappily married Scorpio? Rita is bold, sexy, and dramatic, who knows how to pack the punches so quick and dirty she can turn a Disney-obsessed woman child into a drunken bisexual as she sips her martini on a first class ticket she bought with her asshole of a husband’s tax fraud money. After all, who else besides a Scorpio would tell a woman she hasn’t seen since high school that her very own flesh and blood masturbated a blanket into oblivion? Scorpios are dark, brooding, and know when they are being taken for granted. Nowhere is this better exemplified than when Rita spills the piping hot tea on her shitty family that can’t see her for the goddess she truly is. Rita, you deserve better.

Becca - Pisces

Erin Kemper has a long history of playing maladaptively naive characters, but I will bet my next unemployment check that Erin based her performance of Becca entirely off a Pisces description she found on Cafeastrology.com. Because there is literally nothing more Pisces than Becca. The hair, the clothes, the willingness to go through hospital levels of self-sanitization for her husband so that she can finally bone? Trying to convince herself she’s also too tired so that she doesn’t have to admit to herself that her husband is an emotionally and sexually unavailable failure of a man who can’t give her what she needs until she experiences a sexual awakening 2,000 miles up in the air with her Scorpio biffle??? Yup. Pisces to a P.

Rhodes - Cancer

Aww, Rhodes. So sweet. So awkward. Why did they have to make you a cop?

Can we talk about why it is that almost every leading man who is emotionally mature and secure in his masculinity ALWAYS seems to elicit Cancerous vibes, even if they’re clearly not a Cancer? Actual Cancer men, take note. Rhodes pursues respectfully. He calls, even after Annie doesn’t call back. Rhodes attempts exposure therapy on a woman he has had sex with once. Rhodes WOULD get ghosted by 80% of the women he meets on dating apps (including Annie, let’s be real), and we love him for it. Because cancers are just that loving and loyal! So yes, we can excuse him for getting a stick up his butt sometimes when someone drops a perfectly biodegradable vegetable on the ground. He more than makes up for it.

Annie’s mom - Gemini

Geminis are either terrible or the best people you’ll ever meet, and Annie’s mom is one of the rare few that falls into that in-between category of chaotic good, adorable Gemini doing her best not to drive everyone she’s ever loved away with what little self-awareness she has about her Gemininess. Annie’s mom is bubbly, chatty, and queen of the chisme. She uses logic to justify calling her ex husband’s wife a whore, and talks like she has a doctorate degree in the unsolicited advice she offers her daughter. Until at least, she’s introduced to a sweet man, and all that logic and wordiness melts away into a gooey puddle of all those emotions she likes to think she’s above.

Bryn - Aquarius

There are a lot of stand out heroines in this movie, but none of them beat the comedic genius that is Bryn, an incestuous roommate Annie probably dug up from Craiglist’s seventh circle of hell. Aquari are trail blazing, unconventional, and friendly enough to distract you from the fact that their brain cells came from aliens. Bryn is no exception. Even an impulsive Aries would look at the opportunity to get an offensively tacky tattoo in the back of a van and think, “I’ll get Starbucks instead.” But an Aquarius thrives on making people uncomfortable with their Society Has To Catch Up To Me complex, and Bryn is no exception. After all, if they’re not scandalizing their depressed roommate with xenophobic tattoos and baths with their brother, then who even are they? A sheep, that’s who.

13 year old - Sagittarius

This specific breed of popular mean girl is either a Gemini or Sagittarius. I have nothing to back up this claim, but watching that horrible girl verbally spar her way into getting a 35 year old woman fired from a jewelry store is enough to turn me into a believer. That’s why it was so hard to pinpoint a sign for her. On one hand, this girl is probably responsible for the social anxiety of at least a dozen ex-BFFs. She also clearly knows how to use words to make someone wish they had never been born, so I can accept that this insecure adult’s worst nightmare has a few placements of mercurial badassery in her chart.

But the truth hurts, and no one knows how to finesse the truth like a Sag, who either doesn’t know what they’re doing when they tell a customer service rep they have no boobs, or they know exactly. Anyway, don’t project your friendship drama onto an undeveloped Sagittarius child, Annie. Or tell them they’re going to be pregnant at their prom (yikes). You do not know what you’re getting yourself into.

Annie’s Mystery Man - Capricorn

The sports jacket. The pipe. The vibes. This guy probably cured cancer back in the day and still hated himself for not figuring it out until he was 30. You could also totally tell he was sizing Annie up to see if she met his expectations of People Worth His Time (she didn’t). Capricorn man, you are right. None of us deserve you. RIP Hugh Dane.

#astrology #zodiac #bridesmaids #taurus #aries #gemini #scorpio #signsas

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noonmutter · 7 years

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Final Acts

(( Fair warning: This got really long at about 3600 words. ))

Deliverance Point was abuzz, more so than it had been in a while. Everyone was feeling that mix of excitement and bone-chilling terror that preceded a major change on the battlefield. The Tomb would crack open any day now, and everyone was ready, and no one was ready. Most of the time, this problem was addressed by drinking, going to a brothel, gambling, and in some cases, deserting.

He’d gone with option three, and had come out actually profiting a little bit, but it didn’t really help all that much. Of course he’d cheated, but so had everyone else at the makeshift table; winning wasn’t the point, the actual game was whether you could keep the other guys from guessing your trick. Fair games were dull and people who took offense at basic loaded dice rarely had enough money to be worth the hassle anyway.

Option one came afterward, once he had the coin for it. His tolerance was far too high for going to bars unless he was willing to go broke until next pay day, especially bars catering to soldiers. He needed a lot of drink to get a buzz, but at least the mixed nature of the forces on the Shore made price gouging dangerous territory. You could get away with that sometimes, but not when a too-sober Tauren paladin was standing in front of you with six friends and a mug half full of water.

Option two... he wanted option two very much. He was lonesome, and there was an abundance of company to be found on the floating city, one short flight away. But he was spoken for, and he wasn’t a dishonorable man where it mattered. Even if he’d been willing to entertain the idea for more than a few minutes, he knew Shedwyn would be crushed. And then castrate him. And then Leon would probably show up and kick his head in...

Terry didn’t respect the deserters, but he understood them.

His reverie was broken by a poke in the side, and it took him a moment before he thought to look down. The goblin courier scoffed at him, then held up a clipboard and a package of simple brown paper and twine. “Sign here, mac.”

“Sign?” Terry couldn’t recall the last time he’d had to sign for mail.

“Yeah, sign. Y’know, pen to paper, scribble somethin’? Usually yer name. I ain’t picky, whatever’s fastest.”

Already tired of listening, Terry took the clipboard and scrawled something that might have been his name, but had even odds of being a bunch of swear words. To judge by the goblin’s expression, he interpreted it as the latter. He hung around a few seconds, looking expectant, but Terry had already started walking away. With an irritated sigh of “Cheap friggin’ Gilneans,” he took his leave.

Rather than returning to the hustle and noise of the Point proper, Terry walked out past the edges of the More-or-Less-Safe Zone. His personal campsite wasn’t too far from the point, but far enough that he could avoid most of his night terrors. Some of the dreams were stubborn and came to him regardless, but he chalked that up to general fatigue.

Sitting down in front of his tent with a soft grunt, he took a proper look at the package and clucked his tongue in disapproval when he found the address was printed, rather than handwritten. The sender’s address wasn’t one he recognized, and he hated not knowing where things came from. It didn’t stop him from opening the thing, but it made him somewhat wary. Turning it over to find the knot in the twine, his nerves settled when he found a letter held flush against the box, addressed “Terry - Read First” in Vember’s tidy hand. He didn’t recognize the wax seal holding the envelope shut, though.

Dutifully, he set the box down without unwrapping it and broke the seal on the letter. Although some of the phrasing sounded like Vember, the handwriting was not hers. It was even cleaner, almost like a printed script, and clearly painstakingly pored over to minimize spatter from the quill and avoid mistakes. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the writer had been using a ruler.

“Terry,

I hope this letter finds you at an opportune time. If you are not already, I would suggest that you be seated and, knowing you, alone. Following the events of our initial raid on the lab in Gilneas, a large number of notes and materials were recovered and sent to the Kirin Tor for further study. Among them were a series of objects revealed to be data storage devices, the functionality of which is best left unwritten.

The Kirin Tor were recently able to translate the information on these devices to a less primitive medium, and upon review, deemed it nonviable for research purposes and returned it to us.

Enclosed, you will find a Draenic crystal recording device, in which one sequence has already been stored. Upon realizing what it was, Vember and I determined its fate would be best left to you to decide. Please be assured that we did not play the recording in its entirety, out of decency and respect.

You are free to keep this device and the data on it, and I have included instructions on how to operate it. It is also possible to delete the data, or to record over it if you deem it necessary.

Respectfully, Lady Neun Shadhemir Vember Marlon Shedwyn Mair Lias” Just below that, in Vember’s own handwriting, was a single line:

“You have my word that I will not breathe a word of this to your brother. But you should. - V”

His hands were trembling once he’d gotten through the second paragraph. By the time he’d finished reading it, he nearly lost the slip that explained how the device worked in his rush to open the box.

The device itself was...underwhelming, a pleasant but bland quartzlike rectangle about eight inches across with a faint bluish sheen to it. Arcane energy arced between it and his fingertips for a moment before settling to an almost imperceptible warmth in his hands. It took him a few minutes to figure out he was holding it upside down, but once that was sorted, getting it working was a matter of seconds.

On activation, the device glowed bright blue, and most of the flat surface shimmered before turning a deep, pure black. The display was wobbly and unclear at the beginning, but clarified after a few seconds, until he was able to discern a set of hands--his hands--opening a door...

“Wha’ d’you mean you shot ‘im?!”

“Only in th’ leg, mate!”

“WHY DID YOU SHOOT ‘IM?!”

Diggs’ face was white as the hunter, barely out of his teens, pushed back his antlered hood and rubbed frantically at his scarred mouth. “I-I-it were a--there was a bloody--’e was a madbeast, Terry! Y’din’t say nuffin’ bout ‘im bein’ one o’ those!”

[Eyes wide, Terry mumbled “Oh god” to himself, but did not stop watching.]

Terry swore for the hundredth time in the last minute and a half, picking up his own rifle and moving his rucksack next to the doorway. He was glad he was already dressed. “You bloody nit, why were y’even carryin’? Y’were just sposed t’ watch ‘im!”

“Don’t put this on me, bruv! Yer th’one din’t fink t’mention I might be starin’ atta ‘ell’ound!”

The impact of Diggs’ back on the wall was loud, and he let out an undignified yelp when he felt something pop. Terry’s grip on his shoulders was like steel--angry steel--as he got in close and snarled, “Leon could be dead right now, you fuckin’--”

“What th’ bloody ‘ell is goin’ on in ‘ere?!”

Terry’s blood ran cold all over again as dad’s voice rattled both their brains. The man could really boom when he wanted to, and the tiny Duskhaven cabin they’d been given already amplified every footstep. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Diggs bolted into the night the instant he could, leaving Terry standing alone, rifle in one hand, pack by the door, as his parents came inside. Bettany reached out to stop the fleeing man, but missed by a wide margin when he actually juked around her.

[A weak, mournful laugh. ”You cowardly prick.”]

They’d been away at their own party, but it was the old-folks’ party, so they were dressed a bit nicer. Mum’s hair was still done up the fancy way she liked, and she’d managed to keep her one good dress pristine for another day. Dad’s suit was already trying to split at every seam again, after a dozen trips to a dozen tailors. He already dwarfed his wife, but that suit made it even more obvious just how big he really was.

[Terry wished, as he watched the scene unfold all over again, that the suit didn’t fit because his dad was fat. It would’ve been easier to deal with him if he was fat.]

Graeme set one huge hand on his wife’s shoulder and stepped around her, not letting her get between him and Terry, though she’d already started to try. Bettany knew what was coming and her expression had shifted from confusion to determination almost immediately. The younger Ambroce stared up into his dad’s face [Terry noticed the way the image seemed to pinch at the edges; he’d been trying to look stern, and ended up scowling instead] as he came close enough to make out every stray whisker around the bush of a beard he wore.

I can still do this. It’ll still work. Just please, please, let it work fast.

“We’re leavin’. T’night. I already sent Leon a’ead.” The focus shifted for just a second to Mum’s worried frown, then back to Dad, just in time to catch his mouth twitch at one corner. When Graeme didn’t say anything beyond a low harrumph, Terry continued, voice audibly quivering this time. “I’m takin’ mum with me. It ain’t safe ‘ere.”

“What was tha’ rat bastard friend o’ yours screamin’ about b’fore ‘e ran like ‘e stole somethin’?”

“I--’e was--sposed t’ be... guidin’ Leon through th’--”

Graeme wasn’t having it, scoffing and beginning to pace back and forth across the narrow hallway while keeping his eyes solidly on Terry’s face. “That slag was Leon’s guide outta town? Th’same dipshit ‘o wanted t’ fight Kormac stone sober an’ couldn’t tell th’ dif’rence between moss ‘n’ poison ivy?”

Rather than trying to defend one of the weakest lies he’d told in his life, Terry bulled ahead, raising his voice to be heard over his dad’s. “We’re already packed in too tight, there’s more people filt’rin’ in ev’ry day, an’ there’s things in th’ woods out ‘ere! We ‘ave t’go b’fore there’s no way t’get gone!”

“I am not leavin’ my ‘ome be’ind just so you kin feel like th’ big man in th’ouse, boyo!”

Again, Terry’s eyes shifted to mum, looking to her for help. She just barely nodded her head to him before stepping forward, reaching for Graeme’s arm. “Love, it’s not safe ‘ere. ‘E’s not wrong about th’woods. You know tha’ better’n anybody ‘ere.” She was trying to force him to look at her, but he wouldn’t stop pacing, and eventually swatted her hand off of him.

Terry growled under his breath, moving closer to the door and holding out his hand. “I’m not doin’ this all over again. I’m--we’re leavin’, with or without you.” He held out his hand toward mum, but her eyes narrowed and then went wide. “Is that blood?”

Terry looked down and saw the dark red smear across his palm. It must’ve gotten on him when he’d shoved Diggs around. Saying nothing right away, he pulled a handkerchief from his shirt and began wiping it clean.

“Terry, what ‘appened?” Now mum was rushing forward, grabbing for his hand and intent on inspecting him for damage. He managed to dodge her once and once only before she whapped him over the back of the head and took his hand anyway. “It is blood!”

[”Don’t say it!” Cringing in almost physical pain, he knew what was coming.]

“Nothin’ t’worry over, it’s not mine.”

That, of course, was not the right thing to say, causing both of his parents to stop moving and look straight at his face. He knew what he’d done as soon as it’d left his mouth, but there was no taking it back. Bettany didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Graeme had crossed the room to shove Terry back a few feet.

“Whose blood is it then, boy? What’ve you done?”

“Dammit there’s no time fer this shit! Leon’s waitin’ fer--”

[Now, of course, Terry knew why he hadn’t seen it coming; he’d been talking, angry, panicked over his brother bleeding out somewhere in the woods. But it was plain as day on the screen.] As soon as the word ‘Leon’ reached his ears, Graeme’s eyes flicked down to focus on the rifle Terry still held. The stubbly parts of his beard began growing, and his eyes shone yellow for just a second.

Terry was still talking when Graeme picked him up and threw him across the room, and Bettany was shouting at her husband to stop by the time he’d gotten back to his feet. Face already becoming distorted and dark, Graeme paid her no heed. He was a walking cacophony of cracking bones and fleshy squishing as he stalked toward his fallen son, and growling--actually growling, bestial, impossible--from somewhere in the depths of his enormous chest.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

[He nearly dropped the crystal when Graeme lunged forward, a monstrous wall of black hair and yellow teeth. This part, he still remembered very clearly. He remembered thinking he was going to die, and that if he didn’t, he was going to turn into the same thing. He remembered thinking that mum was right there. That Leon was still outside, probably dying.]

The first few seconds were brutal and bloody, as a man pinned by a raging worgen always was. When he raised a hand to shield his face, one of Graeme’s claws went straight through his palm, nearly gouging his eye anyway. At one point, he’d managed to draw a bowie knife, but all that did was give the beast something to chew on and scrape up his muzzle with.

[Terry was confused. This wasn’t right. He’d had his rifle. He’d had his rifle, and they’d grappled over it, and he’d used it to block the worst of the damage--]

BLAM.

Graeme toppled sideways with an unmistakably canine yelp of pain. Terry turned his head to see Bettany holding his smoking rifle in shaking hands, eyes streaming, expression hard. She was clearly holding herself together as tightly as she could, and just as clearly, it wasn’t quite enough. “Graeme. Get up. Please.” When no response came, she cocked the rifle and took a single step forward, half-shrieking, “Give me back my ‘usband, you devil-dog bastard!”

He turned again, stunned, to look back at the thing that had been his father. As he took in the sight of the hulking brute laying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood with a gaping hole blown out of his side, everything shook for a few seconds. There was a distant rumble like thunder, but not quite the same, and the wolf finally stirred. Terry started to sit up, but fell down almost immediately with an agonized gasp. The sound shook Bettany out of her momentary lapse in control and she started toward him, only to stumble and drop the rifle when the world shook again.

This time, there was a shrieking sound, like trying to twist a wet branch until it snapped, amplified by ten million times and only growing louder. [Even muted by the playback from the crystal as it was, the sound was an assault on the ears. Still he watched, transfixed.]

He could barely see straight for how wildly the world around him shook, but he was able to see the black wolf rise. They both looked up when they heard splintering wood above them, and both saw the hole forming in the roof. Graeme looked at Terry for a moment--barely a quarter of a second--and bellowed something [he could almost make it out over the din] as he ran forward to shove Bettany out of the way. The beam fell scant seconds before the rest of the roof, and then the entire world tumbled into roaring darkness around him.

It suddenly went silent, not even white noise, and stayed that way for a few seconds before the display flickered again. Grey text, numbers, and alchemical symbols began scrolling across a solid blue pane, too numerous and rapid to read. The variations began to dwindle until it was just repeating two words: “ERROR” and “SOURCE.” At the very last moment--the last frame--of the feed, another single line flashed and then disappeared. It took a few attempts to freeze it long enough to read.

“SRCMEMDUMPT101 COMPLETE. EDIT MODE? Y/N”

Terry spent almost an hour rolling the recording back, playing it again, listening as hard as he could, rolling it back, playing it again... It was too damned loud and the controls on the bloody thing weren’t fine enough to isolate the voices from the noise. In spite of himself, Terry had picked up and run all the way back up to the Point, bothering every Draenei he passed in hopes that one of them would know how to manipulate the recorder.

Once he’d nearly gotten his ass kicked for bothering the same guy a third time, he forced himself to go back to his campsite. Nearly willing to admit defeat, he caught a glimpse of his commstone sticking out of his bag.

First step: Call Darlain.

...That was the only step he had, really. He was just kind of banking on her knowing somebody who could do it, or knowing somebody who knew somebody. Thankfully, one step was all he needed; the dwarfmum pointed him to Nirahsa, a name he didn’t recognize until Darlain finally fell back on ‘Draenei woman who says ‘yes yes’ a lot.’ Driven by an almost mad need to know, Terry shelled out for a portal jump to Stormwind, rather than using the mail or, gods forbid, waiting till later. He figured nobody would miss him for a few hours.

Nirahsa didn’t have a lot of reason to want to do him a favor, and he knew that, but he was desperate, sincere, and willing to pay her every coin he had to his name if she’d do it. He assumed it reminded her of Leon (actually, she just also didn’t have a lot of reason not to do him a favor). Whatever the reason, she finally relented and told him to come back in an hour. It was a diversion from her actual work, but she needed to take a break anyway, and easy work like that counted, right?

He still insisted on paying her for the work, especially once she handed him written instructions on how to use the little remote she’d put together for him. Had he been in his standard state of mind, he would’ve asked how much she had watched, but his concern was firmly on finding privacy to pore over the recording again. Terry did have enough sense to make sure he sent a message to Shedwyn, telling her he was back in town and to find him at the barracks.

Once he got there, he settled in to get to work.

[With Nirahsa’s tweaks, he was able to mute the background noise almost completely in a matter of minutes. It was with some trepidation that he pressed ‘play’ once again. He wasn’t quite expecting the voice amplification to work as well as it did; it was picking up things that weren’t even shouted. The sound was distorted from the effects applied to it, but functional.]

Graeme rose and grunted in pain. As the wolf’s head lifted to take in the sight of the building in the beginning stages of collapse, he growled “No” to himself. Then, he looked at Terry, and began to run.

[Yelling with almost no sound around to muddy it up, his voice made the crystal vibrate noticeably in Terry’s hands, almost startling him enough to drop it.]

“I’m sorry, Terry! I’m sorry! I love you! Find--”

Whatever else Graeme had hoped to say was cut off by another yelp and a scream as a beam almost as big around as he was slammed into his back, and the feed ended shortly after.

Terry didn’t watch it again, dropping the crystal on his cot and staring at nothing. At some point, his eyes began to water, but he didn’t move save to blink and breathe. When it finally progressed to tears, he didn’t make any attempt to wipe his face. In the next hour, he only moved once: to pick up his pillow, bury his face in it, and scream until he couldn’t anymore.

Just after dusk, Terry’s boots made soft squeaking sounds as he walked slowly through the damp grass. He came to a stop at the foot of the lilac-strewn graves, took one breath, read his father’s headstone, and froze. All the preparation he’d made in his head--things he’d rehearsed a dozen times over, words he wanted to say--dropped away in an instant, bringing him to the ground with his head hung so low his chin nearly touched his chest. His hands rested limply in the grass by his knees, and he wept unrestrained.

All he could bring himself to say were three tiny words, tearing themselves free of his painfully tight throat, filling the little clearing with ache and regret inbetween wracking sobs.

“Me too, dad.”

( @darbiebot @nirahsa @shedwyn @vembermarlon @neun-deserrat )

#and so arrives terry #fathers' day #mum #dad #mum and dad #HEY WHO WANTED TO BE SAD TODAY #I SURE DID #tw: blood #I GAVE MYSELF FEELS #AGAIN #my writing

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gageef · 7 years

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Uncle Negan : Part Ten

*****IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE PREVIOUS PARTS YOU SHOULD PROBABLY DO THAT BECAUSE I PROMISE IT WILL BE 100% BETTER AND WILL ALL MAKE SENSE.******

MASTER LIST

negan imagine / negan x you / negan x reader

warnings: language

“C’mon, Rick! Aren’t you gonna fucking say hello?”

Time froze as you looked around the block, soaking in each and every detail of the situation. Everyone in Alexandria had crawled out of their homes to see this evenings entertainment. Rick and Daryl sat feet away from each other in front of you, both in an obvious shock. You exchanged fear with Tara as you could see her scheming in her head what she could do to keep you all safe. Negan continued to lock you into his prison of a body, one arm looped firmly around your neck with the other pressing a hand gun into the right side of your skull. You closed your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself down. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5..” you counted down to yourself, “Come on, just make it to 10.”

“Look at that.,” Negan’s voice scratched at your ear as he whispered his taunts just to you. “Finally reunited after weeks of asking me to bring him back and now they won’t even fucking look at each other. That? That’s power.”

“6...7...8...”

His gun pressed harder into your head, “I think we should give those shits a little nudge, don’t you?”

“8...9...-”

“Al-fucking-right, Alexandria. Fasten your seat belts and listen up closely because we are about to play a very shitastic game I like to call, ‘answer my question, or I’ll blow someone’s fucking head off.” You suddenly felt sick as your eyes darted to the crowd, trying to watch everyone at once. “Let’s start with...” he trailed off as he squinted his eyes, scanning the crowd before landing on Eugene. “Mullet man. Arat, let’s get a shotgun on this fat ass.” Rick pressed his head to the concrete as he heard the gun cock on his friend behind him. Your quivering, heavy breaths filled the night as you saw Eugene break down into tears causing a chain reaction from those around him doing the same. “Question one goes to the lucky lady who refuses to leave my arms.” Placing his chin in the crook of your neck his stubble pierced your skin sending chills throughout your caged muscles, his grip becoming even tighter. “Do you love Rick?” Looked down at Rick who slowly lifted his head off the road, his head facing you but his eyes darting anywhere else but there.

Taking a few deep breaths, you responded frankly, “Yes.” Negan looked between you and Rick, adding a dramatic pause to the game you couldn’t decide if he had planned out or not.

“Question 2. Arat?” Pushing Eugene to the ground she locked the gun behind the next head. Aaron. “Rick. Do you love your wife?”

Rocking back and fourth on his knees, he quietly stated, “She’s the best thing I’ve found in this world.”

Your jaw dropped as the water works syndrome hit you, sending sporadic tears down your cheeks.

Negan lowered the gun while leaving his arm, his voice mellowing out creating a calm before the storm. “Did you hear that folks? Damn that is..that is just, that’s fucking great. That warms my fucking heart. Isn’t that such a crazy ass concept: ‘love’. The light in the shit storm, the memory you can’t delete...” You felt his arm drop to his side as he fumbled with his pockets. You had noticed a small rectangular object in his pockets before, almost looking like a phone which you knew would be almost impossible to be usable in the new world.

“HEY!” Carl broke Negan’s trailed off ramblings as he ran into the bull pit, his wide eyes assessing the situation.

“Thanks for showing up, kid. Now we can really fucking begin.” Negan ceased stumbling with his pockets, returning focus to the obvious important matters at hand. “Let’s get some action on that pretty dark haired woman over there, the one with the nice titties.” Arat then positioned herself behind Tara, making you weak at the knees. You exchanged looks as she remained confident in the face of death. She was like a sister to you and while seeing anyone killed today would break you, seeing her die would kill you for months to come. “Alright, Dix. I haven’t heard enough of your talking today.” He walked the two of you closer to Daryl who had remained stationed on the gravel since he came out of the truck. “A few weeks ago you had the pleasure of walking in on this fine lady and I. You made some claims, said some shit, made a fucking scene of yourself. I can appreciate that. I get it.” Your head rolled back as you slowly put together where he was going with this. “What was it you said we were doing? I’m getting old and my memory is sad as shit sometimes. And of course out good friend Rick wasn’t at the fucking scene, so I’m gonna need you to bring us allllll up to date on what happened.” He sat motionless, his stubbornness getting the best of him. “Let me remind you of the rules for this little game were playing. You don’t answer? I’ll blow her head off. You give a wrong answer? I blow her head off. So this whole fucking silent stick up your ass cover you got going on? Not your best decision. I’d think you would’ve learned after Lucille banged...oh hell. That Asian guy? Whoever the fuck he was, she fucked him real slow and sensual just for you!--”

“I walked in on them. Rick I-I saw them. Laughin’ and shit with the baby, sleepin’ in the same room.” Daryl spoke softly as if he was trying to only let Rick be the one exposed to this information, but naturally that wasn’t going to work for the big boss.

“Alright, okay. Here’s what I’m gonna do. You got 5 seconds on the clock, and you’re gonna say exactly what you said in my room or Arat’s gonna fuck that woman’s head like a virgin.” You saw Arat put her finger on the trigger, almost expecting Daryl to fuck this up.

“5, 4, 3-”

You strained in his arms, itching to scream out what he said. God, please Daryl just fucking say it. FUCKING SAY IT!

“-2-”

“I said you were fuckin’ and that he was never going to forgive you.”

Negan slowly backed up with you, pretending to look confused.

“But hang on, they just said they loved each other? Does that make any goddamn sense to you?” Resuming his grasp around your neck from behind, he walked you closer to the hostages on the ground. “But wait, now I’m starting to fucking remember.”

Shit.

“You and I had a conversation, didn’t we? Back when you decided to take advantage of my services,” With his every word, Rick cried his way further into his hands, “I offered to have my men take you home. To this fine ass town called Alexandria! But, but ya said something that I can’t quite remember. Something about...Rick, maybe?” You couldn’t stand his taunting any longer, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to say it aloud. “Oh honey, I know you heard the rules. Making me repeat them would be a choice you could fucking regret for the rest of your god damn life.” He motioned towards his right hand woman once again. “Arat, down in front on that feisty one we dealt with a few weeks ago.” Rosita fought as two saviors helped to keep her hostage with Arat, the ticking time bomb behind her. “How’s that memory now, any fucking clearer? Cause I have a feeling when that ‘holy shit’ feeling settles in, if it hasn’t already, is going to be pretty fucking shocking. Don’t make me as you again.”

You had to do this. You had to say it, or people would die. There was no escape, there was no option B, this was it. Wheezing in one more glass of air, you closed your eyes and began your confession. “I--I told you that..that Rick and I..” You looked up at the sky, searching for help and strength from anything to get you through this, the tears slowly resuming. “weren’t married and that...that we weren’t married and Mary, Mary i-is his but-”

“But the baby was...”

“Only his idea...” You barely got the words as you quaked in his grasp, unable to look at Rick.

“And what did I say when I offered you could stay.” His voice became low and stern, drawing out every word with more and more emphasis, his rage teetering on the edge.

“I’m not holding you against your fucking will.” You whisper made it to Rick and back as you felt the people of Alexandria closing in on you with their hatred.

“Huh.” He leaned into you, “And I’m the one he wants to kick out.” He laughed as he addressed the crowd one more time. “Alright you shitheads, we have one more question for you tonight.” He locked his head onto Rick. “Rick, Rick, Rick. Always the man of the fucking hour.” Knocking your knees out, you fell to the ground on all fours in front of him, both of you scheduling peeks at each other so it wouldn’t occur at the same time. Negan squatted behind you, completing the circle that looked like it was about to partake in some fucked up story time. “Now just a bit ago I asked you if you still loved your wife. I now realize that may have been insensitive, seeing as though you two are not exactly on the same fucking page with that. But I’m gonna ask you again and I really want you to be honest with me, alright? Just put your balls right on the fucking table so we can all see them.” he paused, “Do you love your wife.”

That was it. “God please, no stop i-”

“Hold on there, Princess. I do believe that fucking question was not for you.” He situated the gun on your head once more before turning back to Rick. “You know I won’t ask this shit again.”

Between sniffles and sobs, Rick dug his nails into the pavement before letting out a broken, “Go to hell.”

Taken back by his bluntness, you felt your jaw drop slightly as Negan barely had the same reaction. Standing up he rubbed his gloved hand over his face sweater, the stubble scratching his leather creating the only sound amidst the silence. “You know, Rick,” He stated with a sign, “I don’t have to, but she does.” With one whistle, you heard the shotgun echo throughout the streets as Rosita’s body tumbled to the ground, her life and brains blown right out of her.

“You could’ve stopped that, Rick, you cocky son of a bitch!” You started to feel lightheaded as his words began to sound like tattered lines of string flowing in and out of your system. “Now where is that baby?” A savior came over placing Lucille in his arms. “I want to see that fucking angel.”

“NEGAN!--”

He locked onto your jaw, choking you as he held you up with his one hand, Lucille in the other. “I said you fucking owed me, didn’t I? I’m a man of my fucking word.” He turned to the crowd yet again, “Uncle Negan’s ready to fucking play.”

LEFT ON ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER. SORRY NOT SORRY AT ALL.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK PLEEEASE AND WHAT YOUR LIKE TO SEE HAPPEN! REALLY I RESPOND TO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING

ALSO THERE’S AN EASTER EGG FOR ANOTHER FIC IN HERE, READ IT HERE

@killjoycametofuck @fuck-yeah-lets-do-negan-ff @superwholoki @deeindarkwonderland @angelfuzzy2 @countryfire2 @laaadygisbooornex3 @bands-messed-me-up @narcoleptic-moose-winchester @lilred91 @knowurenemies @buckybarnesisalittleshit @the-walking-dead-smut @bowieisawizard @ofmiceandmel666 @opheliadawnwalker3 @the-walking-dead-imagines457@liljanajahwe @khyharah @isayweallgetdrunk @kellyn1064 @chrisevansthedoritobastard @robert-d-j-bernthal@namelesslosers @knowurenemies @jmackie1983 @awalkinghurricane @the-walking-dead-imagines457@bowieisawizard @straightestgay-voice @eliselulu23 @kawaiirepublic@killjoycametofuck @ali-pennell @missawkwardmarvel @chloelouisemaate @concertxjunkie @badsongwinchester @the-saminator @thejulietfarciertlove @thedeadwalks @namelesslosers @sleepyxsam @eliselulu23

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eggnogdoubt38-blog · 5 years

Text

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

It’s okay to give yourself a break.

This is something I’ve been reminded of over and over again since the beginning of the year. In a recent newsletter, I shared my struggles with injury and overtraining and opened up about why I decided to take a big old exercise break starting in January 2018. It felt so wrong to do that at the start of a brand new year, let me tell you! I was so nervous to send that newsletter issue out, but the response was fantastic, and many of you said you’d been going through something similar. It never ceases to amaze me how supportive this community is!

The themes of my year have been self-care, healing, and gentle movement while I work through some ongoing health issues, and so far I’ve been sticking with them. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not doing “enough”, as it’s easy to get caught up in fitspo or the latest workout fads on Instagram. It seems like others are always working harder or in better shape. Same goes for career stuff. It’s just too easy to get sucked into that mindset of feeling like there are always 10 things I could fix, or that I’m always 10 steps behind where I “should” be. Hello, rat race! And I’ve realized that buying into that means that I’ll never be happy with where I am. It’s awesome to have goals, but feeling like I’m always behind (especially when I’m trying to make positive changes in other areas in my life) isn’t a relaxing way to live.

A lovely reader named Amanda commented recently, saying, “…part of the reason I’ve always loved your blog is because you’re not a robot who just pumps out recipes…you tell us a bit about what’s going on in your life.” I could’ve cried reading Amanda’s note, as it was just what I needed to hear that day after feeling so much guilt about how the year had gone so far. Sometimes we just need the reminder that we’re allowed to have weeks, months, or years that just feel off, but the bright side is that they make us hungrier for those weeks, months, and years that feel GOOD. It’s the best kind of motivation once you get that wake-up call.

I’ve always been an all-or-nothing type of gal, and it’s something I have to be mindful of all the time…it’s in my nature to go big or go home. It’s not in my nature to approach things in a gentle (sane) manner! I am a Taurean bull, afterall—charging, stubborn, determined to accomplish my goals at almost any cost. But often that cost tends to be my emotional or physical health. I charge ahead with my eyes set on the goal and I’m usually okay with the collateral damage if it’s “just me” that takes a hit. I’m strong and can handle a lot, so for most of my life that’s how things have worked.

Eventually something has to give though…it always does! My health issues this past year (see this post and comments) have been a huge red flag. And for once, I’m listening closely even though I don’t quite understand the root of it yet. I’m taking time for me. I’m trying to heal myself. I’m going to doctors appointments. I’m on a temporary allergy elimination diet (hence the lack of recipes lately!) and I’m getting long overdue tests done. I’m not burning myself out.

The silver lining is that setbacks, whether health or otherwise, do eventually force us to stop and examine everything. I know the other side will hold a deeper appreciation for feeling like myself again. And when I get back into my beloved sweaty workouts (which I actually do love), I’ll strive for more balance and patience rather than seeing how many classes I can cram into one week. I will continue to follow social media accounts that build me up with positive inspiration and avoid the others like the plague. I’ll be okay with where I am and respect the journey rather than feeling like I’m failing.

So yes, it’s okay to give yourself a break.

You don’t always have to be in go-go-go mode.

You don’t have to feel behind everyone else.

Where you are right now is exactly where you are supposed to be—even if it’s uncomfortable.

Well, that’s this week’s reminder for anyone who needs it. :) Sort of a thought dump going on today! I’d love to hear if you’ve ever been through something similar, or maybe you’ve been working through things this year too?

Unrelated but definitely worth mentioning: these rich and fudgy balls are FANTASTIC and we can’t stop making them!!! Haha. I hope you love them too.

Vegan, gluten-free, grain-free, no bake/raw, nut-free, refined sugar-free

By Angela Liddon

This is the ideal snack when your sweet tooth needs something fast, but you also want the staying power of healthy fats and protein! Bursting with hemp hearts, these nut-free chocolate protein balls are nutritional powerhouses filled with protein, omega-3 fatty acids, iron, magnesium, and more. Just like your favourite little black dress, they can be dressed up or down depending on your mood. I love rolling them in hemp hearts, shredded coconut or cocoa powder. For an extra luxurious energy ball, I simply dip the balls in melted chocolate and then chill them until the coating is firm. Recipe adapted from my Raw Chocolate Truffles in The Oh She Glows Cookbook Bonus Bundle.

Yield 6 large or 12 small balls

Prep time 10 Minutes

Cook time 0 Minutes

Chill time 20 minutes

Total time 10 Minutes

Ingredients:

For the balls:

1 cup (160 g) lightly packed pitted Medjool dates*

6 tablespoons (55 g) hemp hearts

3 tablespoons (15 g) unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

2 tablespoons (11 g) shredded unsweetened coconut

1 tablespoon (15 mL) virgin coconut oil

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

3 tablespoons (30 g) chopped dark chocolate (optional)

1 to 3 teaspoons (5 to 15 mL) water, if needed

Topping options:

Shredded coconut

Hemp hearts

Unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

Melted dark chocolate

Directions:

Place the pitted dates in a food processor and process until a ball forms.

Add the remaining ingredients to the processor (hemp hearts, cocoa/cacao powder, coconut, coconut oil, salt, and chocolate, if using) and process until thoroughly combined and almost smooth. The dough should be sticky and shouldn’t be crumbly when you form a ball. If it’s not sticky enough, add 1 to 3 teaspoons of water a bit at a time, processing after each addition.

Line a plate with parchment paper. Lightly wetting your hands if needed, shape the dough into balls and place them on the lined plate. Roll each ball into your desired topping(s) until completely coated (if needed, lightly wet the ball before rolling so the toppings stick).

Freeze the balls for 20 minutes until firm or simply enjoy right away!

Store the leftovers in the fridge or freezer for a quick burst of energy whenever you need one (seriously, that would be all the time in this house!). The balls will keep in an airtight container in the fridge for a week and in the freezer for 4 to 8 weeks.

Let's get social! Follow Angela on Instagram @ohsheglows, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Snapchat, and Google+

Source: https://ohsheglows.com/2018/08/21/easy-chocolate-hemp-protein-balls/

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

0 notes

kristinsimmons · 6 years

Text

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

It’s okay to give yourself a break.

So yes, it’s okay to give yourself a break.

You don’t always have to be in go-go-go mode.

You don’t have to feel behind everyone else.

Where you are right now is exactly where you are supposed to be—even if it’s uncomfortable.

Unrelated but definitely worth mentioning: these rich and fudgy balls are FANTASTIC and we can’t stop making them!!! Haha. I hope you love them too.

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

Vegan, gluten-free, grain-free, no bake/raw, nut-free, refined sugar-free

Yield 6 large or 12 small balls

Prep time 10 Minutes

Cook time 0 Minutes

Chill time 20 minutes

Total time 10 Minutes

Ingredients:

For the balls:

1 cup (160 g) lightly packed pitted Medjool dates*

6 tablespoons (55 g) hemp hearts

3 tablespoons (15 g) unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

2 tablespoons (11 g) shredded unsweetened coconut

1 tablespoon (15 mL) virgin coconut oil

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

3 tablespoons (30 g) chopped dark chocolate (optional)

1 to 3 teaspoons (5 to 15 mL) water, if needed

Topping options:

Shredded coconut

Hemp hearts

Unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

Melted dark chocolate

Directions:

Place the pitted dates in a food processor and process until a ball forms.

Freeze the balls for 20 minutes until firm or simply enjoy right away!

Tips:

* If your dates are bone dry, soak them in boiled water for 15 minutes and then drain very well. Use an old towel to press out the excess water. If the “dough” is too sticky to shape, add some shredded coconut and process again.

For a fun twist, try changing up the flavours by adding peppermint or orange extract!

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Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

0 notes

bestnaturalsecrets · 6 years

Link

It’s okay to give yourself a break.

So yes, it’s okay to give yourself a break.

You don’t always have to be in go-go-go mode.

You don’t have to feel behind everyone else.

Where you are right now is exactly where you are supposed to be—even if it’s uncomfortable.

Unrelated but definitely worth mentioning: these rich and fudgy balls are FANTASTIC and we can’t stop making them!!! Haha. I hope you love them too.

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

Vegan, gluten-free, grain-free, no bake/raw, nut-free, refined sugar-free

Yield 6 large or 12 small balls

Prep time 10 Minutes

Cook time 0 Minutes

Chill time 20 minutes

Total time 10 Minutes

Ingredients:

For the balls:

1 cup (160 g) lightly packed pitted Medjool dates*

6 tablespoons (55 g) hemp hearts

3 tablespoons (15 g) unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

2 tablespoons (11 g) shredded unsweetened coconut

1 tablespoon (15 mL) virgin coconut oil

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

3 tablespoons (30 g) chopped dark chocolate (optional)

1 to 3 teaspoons (5 to 15 mL) water, if needed

Topping options:

Shredded coconut

Hemp hearts

Unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

Melted dark chocolate

Directions:

Place the pitted dates in a food processor and process until a ball forms.

Freeze the balls for 20 minutes until firm or simply enjoy right away!

Tips:

For a fun twist, try changing up the flavours by adding peppermint or orange extract!

via Oh She Glows

#IFTTT #Oh She Glows

0 notes

susantregre · 6 years

Text

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

It’s okay to give yourself a break.

So yes, it’s okay to give yourself a break.

You don’t always have to be in go-go-go mode.

You don’t have to feel behind everyone else.

Where you are right now is exactly where you are supposed to be—even if it’s uncomfortable.

Unrelated but definitely worth mentioning: these rich and fudgy balls are FANTASTIC and we can’t stop making them!!! Haha. I hope you love them too.

Easy Chocolate Hemp Protein Balls

Vegan, gluten-free, grain-free, no bake/raw, nut-free, refined sugar-free

Yield 6 large or 12 small balls

Prep time 10 Minutes

Cook time 0 Minutes

Chill time 20 minutes

Total time 10 Minutes

Ingredients:

For the balls:

1 cup (160 g) lightly packed pitted Medjool dates*

6 tablespoons (55 g) hemp hearts

3 tablespoons (15 g) unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

2 tablespoons (11 g) shredded unsweetened coconut

1 tablespoon (15 mL) virgin coconut oil

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

3 tablespoons (30 g) chopped dark chocolate (optional)

1 to 3 teaspoons (5 to 15 mL) water, if needed

Topping options:

Shredded coconut

Hemp hearts

Unsweetened cocoa powder or raw cacao powder

Melted dark chocolate

Directions:

Place the pitted dates in a food processor and process until a ball forms.

Freeze the balls for 20 minutes until firm or simply enjoy right away!

Tips:

For a fun twist, try changing up the flavours by adding peppermint or orange extract!

from Oh She Glows https://ift.tt/2LcQipL

#Oh She Glows

0 notes

foursprout-blog · 6 years

Text

Why I’ll Never Regret My (Awful) Audition to Be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/health/why-ill-never-regret-my-awful-audition-to-be-a-dallas-cowboys-cheerleader/

Why I’ll Never Regret My (Awful) Audition to Be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader

As a high school cheerleader, one of my favorite perks was the body. Growing up, I’d always been slightly pudgy, but the extra pounds magically melted off once I started cheering. By senior year, I was a size two, and my prom dress needed to be tailored closer to zero. Some of my neighbors thought I was anorexic, but I loved to eat everything from hero subs to Cap’n Crunch. My extreme weight loss was simply the product of a suddenly sky-high metabolism and cheering at practices and games.

My newly concave stomach followed me to college, where I proudly wore crop tops and skimpy bikinis. Even the discovery of alcohol and late-night Papa John’s at my self-professed “party school” didn’t do much to derail my svelte shape.

That is, until after graduation, when the realities of a desk job and lack of exercise caught up with me. I’d gotten out of school and onto a rollercoaster that would take me on a 15-year ride of gaining and losing the same 20 pounds again and again. (At one point, I was 45 pounds heavier than I’d been in college.)

I tried every means possible to reclaim my former form, from the Curves diet to Weight Watchers to Nutrisystem to juice cleanses. I even took part in several infomercial focus groups and adopted a rigorous workout regimen and the lean diet required to participate. My attempts almost always succeeded temporarily, but like a stubborn rubber band, my weight always snapped back to its new, higher “anchor” number.

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Though I’d lost my fit cheerleader physique, I hadn’t lost the desire to cheer. After college, I spent a few years dancing for a semi-pro team in Chicago, but I secretly yearned to take the floor with the Luvabulls, the Chicago Bulls dance team. This desire followed me when I moved to Los Angeles, where I longingly eyed annual audition calls for the Clipper Girls and Laker Girls.

Next year, when I have a better body, I promised myself. Not surprisingly, I found myself making that same promise every year—and never hitting that magic number on the scale.

So naturally, when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team reality show debuted on CMT, I was hooked. I couldn’t get enough of watching these women endure the rigorous training camp and—if they were lucky—receive their reward of those coveted white boots at its conclusion. I became intimately familiar with the organization’s impossibly stringent standards, from a dangerously lean figure to Rockette-worthy high kicks.

My husband often teased me about my about my guilty pleasure. (“Watching the DCC again?”) It was clear: The DCC had been indelibly added to the wish list that the Laker Girls, Clipper Girls, and Luvabulls already occupied. Except the DCC somehow seemed different—their big, flirty style of dancing was closer to my own, and they didn’t mandate technical dance experience like many other pro squads. Maybe I could actually do this… if I could get the body.

When I turned 35, a sense of urgency struck—it was now or never. Ten long years had passed since I’d begun my annual “next year” resolution. I was well aware that I was far above the age (and weight) of most NFL cheerleaders, but the story of 40-year-old Bengal cheerleader Laura Vikmanis gave me a glimmer of hope. It was time to hit the gym and go for it—or let go of the dream for good. So I booked travel to Dallas for the May auditions, figuring that would make me accountable for follow-through.

I was on a mission.

I began exercising six times weekly, throwing myself into Pilates, Zumba, Spin, yoga, kickboxing, and weightlifting with a vengeance. I took burlesque and hip-hop classes. I enrolled in a weight-loss challenge at my gym, which tracked my measurements and body fat percentage. (Let’s just say it was considerably higher than the DCC average of 12-15 percent.)

At my audition It was harder to get my diet in check. With every indulgence, I felt increasingly guilty and worried. I knew all about the catty comments made by the audition judges and the way the reality show worked. “I just don’t want to be in the fat montage,” I said to my husband, picturing the sports bra and booty shorts I’d have to wear on national television.

When the scale hadn’t moved much by April, it was time to employ extreme measures: I resurrected the lean protein diet I’d learned from the infomercials; I stepped up my exercising, working out daily—sometimes twice or several times; I turned down business lunches and dinners, knowing the caloric avalanche that accompanied. I had already given up alcohol, but I started adding aloe vera juice and protein/flax smoothies into my daily regimen.

The scale finally dipped, and not a minute too soon—tryout week had arrived. My anxiety escalated as I scrambled to achieve the look. I ordered compression tights for the illusion of thinner legs. I booked a colonic for a flatter stomach. I purchased water pills to ensure minimal bloat. I spray-tanned for a more contoured look.

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Somehow, I arrived in Dallas two pounds from my goal weight, with an acceptably flat-ish stomach. I felt like I actually might be able to wear a midriff in front of the masses.

When I arrived at Cowboys Stadium for the audition, 400-plus girls were already in line. It was an attractive pack, with former Pro Bowl cheerleaders, college dance team captains, and even high schoolers on the verge of graduation. I was one of just a tiny handful over 30—including a 56-year-old who aspired to be the oldest DCC in history, and a 62-year-old grandma who’d undergone thyroid surgery and realized “life was too short” not to chase your dreams. Like me, she’d kept her decision to audition a secret from almost everyone she knew.

The day went like this: Hit the “fluff and puff” area for beautification, hear a pep talk from fearless leader Kelli Finglass, and then hit the tryout floor in groups of five for the carefully cultivated panel of judges (including a tanning salon owner and the DCC fitness guru).

When my group’s turn came, we stood in front of the judges under the relentless glare of the hot CMT reality show lights. This was the moment. I tried to stop my leg from shaking as I introduced myself on the microphone, then stepped back as the music began.

I purposefully launched into my freestyle combination and swiftly made rookie mistake No. 1: My hair got caught in my lip gloss and completely covered my face. My cheer career had trained me never to stop for snafus, so I kept going even though I probably resembled Cousin It.

Though I’d lost my fit cheerleader physique, I hadn’t lost the desire to cheer.

I then committed rookie mistake No. 2: completely blanking on my choreography. I went into full-blown panic mode and ended up doing an unflattering squat and some other, equally uninspired moves.

As the music wound down, we stood in front of the judges for final scrutiny. My hair continued to stick to my lips. I scurried offstage, bewildered and mortified. My many months of preparation had culminated in… that?! I managed to sit through the rest of the groups and make peace with it. At least I’d gotten out there—at that point, all I could do was laugh.

After the audition, a CMT producer requested an interview in one of the stadium suites. My mind raced—I knew how the show worked. I was going to be the older “hot mess” candidate who’d completely flubbed her audition. I decided to take them up on it, figuring I could redeem myself and give them some footage beyond a flailing mess of an audition.

When the semi-finalist board was revealed, I wasn’t surprised to see my number missing from it. My spirits were still somewhat high as I said goodbye to new friends and took one last look at cavernous Cowboys Stadium. I drove back to my hotel in a daze and immediately passed out from mounting exhaustion and disappointment.

I awoke a few hours later, completely disoriented and half unsure whether the whole thing had been a dream—then the panic washed over me, as I pictured looking ridiculous on reality television. Despite all of my hard work, I’d managed to neglect the one simple thing I needed to survive the audition in style: They hadn’t seen the real me, the person who loved to dance and excelled at it. Sure, I fit into skinny jeans, but did it matter?

Then it hit me: I’d been so obsessed with my body for so long that I’d lost sight of my real purpose—honoring my lifelong love of dance and enjoying one last hurrah. My fixation with my weight had overcome me. In the end, I’d gotten the look that I wanted, but my audition couldn’t have gone worse.

Sure, I fit into skinny jeans, but did it matter?

That was the healthy dose of perspective I needed (along with a juicy Texas burger). With the DCC audition experience checked off my bucket list—for better or worse—I decided to grant myself a pat on the back and move on. And thankfully, the reality show gods took pity on me when the show premiered, as I was nowhere to be seen on screen.

The experience helped me realize that while I may not be waif-thin—and no longer pro dance team material—I’m a lucky woman, with a supportive husband, a fulfilling job, and a life she loves—curves and all. And that alone is more than enough.

For me, that’s the spirit.

Jen Jones Donatelli is a freelance writer and editor who recently relocated from Los Angeles to Cleveland, Ohio. She is also the author of the Team Cheer fiction series and a contributor to numerous dance- and cheer-related publications. Say hi on Twitter at @creativegroove.

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