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heauxplesslydevoted · 3 years

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Then & Now (Ethan x MC)

Summary: A particularly difficult case forces Ethan to confront a blast from his past

A/N: This popped into my head and I had too much fun writing it. I will loosely incorporate some of the themes from book 3 and make them better, but this is mostly an AU.

A/N 2: Yes I’m writing another multipart fic while actively ignoring my others. The muses spoke and I had no choice in the matter. Enjoy!

~v~

“Would you like some more coffee, Dr. Ramsey?”

Whatever line he was reading in his textbook blurs as does his vision. Ethan looks up at the face of the newest member of the team, a young resident, Isabelle. He takes the cup, not missing the way her eyes light up as he does so. What is it with residents and their incessant need to kiss-ass and be people pleasers?

“Thank you, Dr. Proctor.”

“Of course! I figured we’d need all the caffeine we could get our hands on with this case.”

Ethan doesn’t respond with words, only offering the young woman a hum in acknowledgement. Instead his eyes land on his coworker, Harper Emery. “Harper, has your team been able to come up with anything new?”

“Nothing,” Harper replies with a resigned sigh.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’ve run as many tests, MRIs and CT scans as I could, and none of them came back with anything conclusive. We’re officially back to square one.”

Ethan hasn’t been this stumped in years. A week ago, a patient came to Edenbrook after waking up without being able to feel anything from the waist down. A young, relatively healthy 25 year old with no extraordinary medical history, no recent reports of any TBI, nothing. He assumed with Harper–one of the nation’s greatest neurosurgeons–on the case, that this would be a simple fix.

As painful as it is to admit, he’s wrong.

They’ve gotten nowhere with the case, they’ve made no progress, and to make matters worse, he has Leland Bloom and the board breathing down his neck because it’s been years since the team has spent more than a week on a case, so a week with no news reflects poorly on them—on him, as the team’s leader specifically.

The last member of the team, Tobias, clears his throat. “Did he ever mention getting into a fight? Maybe he took a hit to the head, and just doesn’t want to admit it?”

“Maybe, but like I said, none of the CT scans or MRIs showed me anything out of the norm,” Harper says. “I can always ask him again.”

“That’d be ideal–”

Ethan’s sentence is cut off as the door to their office is thrown open, and in walks Leland. “Hello, team!”

The most senior members of the team stay silent, but Isabelle gives a slight wave. “Hello, Mr. Bloom.”

“Dr. Proctor,” Leland greets in turn. “Nice to know at least one of you has manners.”

Ethan checks the time on his watch. “What are you doing here, Bloom?”

“Last time I checked, I owned this entire building and I didn’t need to ask your permission to be here.”

“We’re nearing midnight,” Ethan adds. “What are you still doing here, and not at home? I’m sure Mrs. Bloom would enjoy seeing you.”

Leland ignores the mention of his wife Caroline, pretending like she wasn’t mentioned at all. “I just stopped by your patient’s room to see how he was doing. And then I decided to drop by to check in with you guys. Are there any updates on the Miller case?”

“I’m not discussing patient information with you,” Ethan says.

“Well, I am your boss.”

“And until you go to medical school, graduate, become a doctor at this hospital, and join in on this case, I don’t have to tell you anything. You may own this hospital, but I do not have to discuss my patients with you.”

“Okay, so you guys have no new information,” Leland concludes.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, this conversation giving him a headache even though it just started. “We were actually in the middle of a brainstorming session before we were interrupted, so if we could have some privacy again, that would be much appreciated.”

Ethan’s tone causes Leland to drop the veneer of kindness, the smile dropping from his face only for a second before he catches it. He looks away and sniffs haughtily. “Fine. I’ll check in with the patient tomorrow for a status update, since it’s clear I won’t be getting it from my employees. Thankfully, his father and I go way back.”

“I can’t stop the patient from divulging his own information.”

Leland glances around the room one more time, his gaze lingering on Ethan a bit longer than it does on the other occupants. “Goodnight, doctors.”

Once Leland leaves, Harper turns towards Ethan. “You act like it would literally kill you to be nice to him.”

“Be nice for what? Bloom thinks we owe him undying loyalty and infinite ass kissing because he bought the hospital. He’s pulled a lot of nonsense since moving into this position, but he’s not worth breaking any laws over. My patients deserve their privacy.”

“And I agree, but the extra hostility isn’t needed. The last thing we need is World War 3 with you and Bloom tearing down the hospital. Just be nice.”

“Okay, are we getting back to work or calling it a night?”

The rest of the team glances around each other. Pulling an all-nighter with Ethan while he’s in a foul mood sounds like a nightmare.

“We’re calling it a night.”

~v~

Ethan ends up falling asleep in the office, finally dozing off around 5 o'clock in the morning, surrounded by a mountain of books and the harsh light of his computer screen. The sleep is short lived though as the sound of his pager wakes him up.

He jumps up with a start, and checks the time on his watch before checking his pager. He only managed to get two hours of sleep, but he can’t dwell on that. The page is a 911 alert to his patient’s room.

“Shit!”

He takes off to the 4th floor where his patient is housed, thankful that the early morning hour means the hospital is not yet flooded with people.

Isabelle, Harper, and a nurse are already in the room when Ethan finally makes it. “What’s going on?”

“He had a seizure,” Harper explains.

“How long did it last?”

“Around 50 seconds. We administered lorazepam into his IV.”

“Could this be a new symptom?” Valencia asks. “Or something else entirely?”

Harper shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to take him down to radiology for another CT scan. Hopefully this next one can actually yield some results.”

Ethan nods. “That sounds like a plan. In the meantime, Dr. Proctor, add seizures onto the list of symptoms to broaden our search criteria. Maybe that’ll help.”

“Gotcha.”

“We’ll reconvene when Tobias comes in and once we get the new CT scans back.”

There’s a knock at the door and Ethan bristles when Leland’s loud voice calls out to him. “Dr. Ramsey, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

“With all due respect, I’d rather not.”

“It wasn’t a request, doctor. Hallway, now.”

Ethan shoots Harper a look, and she gives him a quick sympathy smile before he and Leland step out into the hallway.

They move a few feet away from the patient’s door, out of earshot before Leland lays into Ethan. “How in the hell is the patient actually managing to get worse under your care?”

The question actually takes Ethan aback. “You can’t possibly be saying his condition is my fault?”

“I’m saying he’s been here for a week now, and he’s no better off than where he was. You don’t have any information to give him or his family. Do you know how many phone calls my assistant has had to field because they want to get him transferred to a different facility?”

“We are giving him the best care possible, Leland. Just because you and his father belong to the same country club or whatever, does not mean there’ll be some instant diagnosis or treatment that he can buy...or steal. We need to do our due diligence.”

Leland is smart enough to know when a dig is being lobbed in his direction. His eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say, Ethan?”

“Exactly what I just did. Besides, why do you have such a vested interest in my team and what we do? I’m sure you have other businesses and people to micromanage these days.”

“You guys don’t make me any money yet remain my biggest cost. The least you can do is be efficient and answer my questions when I ask.”

“And like I told you last night, I know you own this place. You never let me forget it. But you buying this hospital does not mean I am here at your beck and call, now does it mean I have to be governed under anything that isn’t set forth by the American Medical Association. Now, me team is the best this hospital and this city have to offer, so back up and let us do our jobs.”

“You guys are the best?” Leland chuckles humorlessly. “Act like it. Or I’ll find someone else who can.”

The threat causes Ethan to pause. “What does that mean?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dr. Ramsey. Loud and clear.”

~v~

“You idiot! Why on earth would you get into a fight with Bloom in the middle of a hallway?”

Ethan doesn’t try to school his bored expression as Tobias paces the entire length of the office, huffing and puffing as he does so.

“I didn’t get into a fight with him,” Ethan amends. “It was an exchange of words.”

“A loud exchange of words,” Harper adds. “In front of our patient’s room, might I add.”

“I had plans for this day to be productive, but the minute that man opens his mouth, I just–”

“We get it, you don’t like him,” Tobias interjects.

“Disliking Leland is an understatement.”

Isabelle stays silent, unable to find a good place to cut in, despite having questions. Ethan’s dislike of Leland Bloom is the hospital’s worst kept secret, but the contention has always been passive aggressive at best. And as a second year resident, she doesn’t have any background knowledge on why the relationship is the way that it is.

“I don’t like him either, but you don’t see me needling him in front of the nurse’s station!”

“Sure Leland is...obnoxious at times, but I don’t understand any of it,” Isabelle says, finally speaking up. Ethan looks at her as if he’s just now remembering that she’s been in the room the entire time. “What happened that caused this much animosity?”

Leland’s kidney disease wasn’t a major secret. Most medical personnel that worked at Edenbrook and the larger Boston area remember the huge media blitz, and all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding his hospitalization early last year. And the official story is Leland got a kidney from a family member who wished to keep their identity a secret from the public, and everyone ate it up.

Only a handful of people know the truth. That a few well placed phone calls and dollars exchanged got Leland to the top of the donor list within a day, stealing a second chance from the true person at the top of the list: a 14 year old girl.

“So long as there is breath in my body, Leland Bloom and his ilk will never get an ounce of respect from me, and I’ll just leave it at that,” Ethan says cooly. “And that’s all you need to know, Dr. Proctor.”

“Okay.”

“I’m just saying man, Bloom is petty,” Tobias adds. “Men like him, who think the rest of us should bow at their feet, don’t take kindly to getting told off, especially in public. Underneath the billions is a tiny ass, fragile ego. Can you just keep a low profile and be quiet for the next day or two, so Bloom doesn’t dismantle this team?”

“I’ll be as cordial as Bloom is,” is what Ethan settles upon. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

The only thing that can rival Ethan’s intelligence is his stubbornness. Tobias knows it’s the best he’s going to get out of Ethan, so he relents. “Okay.”

“Good. Now can we get back to work and stop talking about Bloom?”

His team nods and Ethan sighs in relief.. They still have a chance to turn things around and actually have a good day.

They fall into a productive routine, tossing around different theories, sharing research and narrowing down ideas. Too bad that only lasts for about half an hour before there’s a knock at the office door. A few seconds later, Naveen pokes his head in.

Ethan smiles because part of him was expecting Leland to show up again. “Naveen, this is a nice surprise! Don’t tell me you’re ready to get back in the saddle.”

Naveen laughs good-naturedly at his mentee. “Not quite.”

“Well what brings you down here?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a second, Ethan,” Naveen says.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It’s not about me, it’s work related. Team related news, that I wanted to tell you personally,” Naveen explains, fully entering the office. “Is there any way I could steal you for a few minutes?”

“If it involves the team, I think we can have the conversation here. Is this about my...spirited discussion with Leland?”

“No, it’s about the case you’re working on.”

“Now I know we don’t usually work on cases for this long, and we’re working on it.”

“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Leland has some concerns about how long it’s taking you guys to treat this patient, and he told me that he wants to outsource some extra help to speed things along.”

“No thank you.”

“He’s already made phone calls. I’m just here to give you a heads up about who he picked.”

“A heads up?” Ethan scoffs and rolls his eyes. Who on earth could Leland think of reaching out to that Ethan would need a warning about? “Who is he asking for? Mendoza from MK? Catherine Morgan from Stanford? The Boogeyman?”

“I don’t think I’ve reached Boogeyman levels of infamy. Well, at least not yet.”

The voice makes the hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stand up. It’s a voice he hasn’t heard in close to three years, one that he thought he’d never hear again.

His eyes snap up, locking with the large brown ones staring back at him, and all of the breath leaves his lungs at once. The last time he looked into these eyes, they weren’t full of humor like they are now, but pure fire. His chest constricts, inhaling suddenly the most difficult task in the world.

The entire room goes silent, everyone watching as Ethan and the woman stay locked in their staring contest. Isabelle’s eyes dart back and forth, hoping someone can clue her into what’s going on, but Naveen, Harper and Tobias offer zero assistance.

Isabelle takes the quiet time to appraise the stranger. She’s petite, almost a foot shorter than Ethan even with her sky high Jimmy Choos on. The second thing that catches her attention is the mess of dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders, and the amused smirk on her face, like a cat that got the canary.

The woman breaks eye contact with Ethan to look past his shoulder. “Harper, Tobias, hello. Long time no see.”

When he regains the ability to speak, Ethan grits out, “Naomi, what on earth are you doing here?”

“I got an interesting call from Leland Bloom this morning, saying that the diagnostics team was in dire need of some assistance on a particularly difficult case. Within the hour, his private helicopter was picking me up.”

Ethan takes a sterling’s breath and silently counts to 3 before talking again. “I’m not working with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. Not unless you quit.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Drama was never a good look on you, darling, I was always better suited for it.” She turns her attention to the young resident gawking at her, turning on her megawatt smile. “You’re new. I don’t know you.”

“Um, n-no you don't. I’m Dr. Isabelle Proctor.”

“Isabelle,” Naomi repeats slowly, letting it roll off of her tongue. “What a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m Dr. Naomi Ramsey.”

The last name catches her attention. Her eyes flicker over to Ethan’s face, catching the way his jaw ticks as female Dr. Ramsey talks.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head as I talk, so I’ll clear things up for you right quick,” Naomi continues. “No, the last name thing isn’t a coincidence. I’m Ethan’s ex-wife." She sticks out a hand for Isabelle to shake. "Nice to meet you.”

~v~

Tags: @openheartfanfics @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @cecilecontrera @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey @uneravine @choicest

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc

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hikarinon · 3 years

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Ushijima, Kuroo, and Kageyama’s love languages/love habits towards their s/o pt.3

headcanons of hq!! boys love habits/love languages for you

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI 《

On daily basis, his way of showing you affections are very delicate

A simple forehead kiss before practice

Kisses on your knuckles before parting

But, God the way he smiles every time he does this literally screams just how much you mean the world to him

But we can’t deny that Ushijima Wakatoshi is one of the people who has a tight schedule going on for him

He isn’t the type of person who would be able to give you weekly dates or constant Friday night dinner. But if he has the time, he would.

Like even though he would ask you out for a dinner three weeks from now, he would absolutely not cancel it.

He’d check beforehand if there were any meetings or matches on that specific date to make sure he’s free.

But if a sudden interview comes up, you bet his ass he wouldn’t think twice about declining it.

But despite that, he will call you every night.

Needs to make sure his queen is still alright and is drinking enough water

Your voice is just so soothing for his heart, but enough to make his insides fill with butterflies

He’d put the speaker of his phone near his softly, yet loudly thumping heart just for you to hear

“You hear that, love”

“You’re the only one who can make my heart act this way.”

KUROO TETSUROU 《

He has a habit of treating you like a princess

“Hang on bro, my princess is calling”

“Yes princess?”

“Of course princess, whatever you want”

“Aww princess, I miss you too.”

Even though he’s a busy man, you’ve never actually felt left out by him.

Like, how can you if he treats you like the royal highness every time hes got the chance to.

But he is still a snarky jerk though fr.

In high school you would literally be eating some bread peacefully, and he would suddenly hoist you up from your butt out of nowhere, so that you couldn’t escape from his grasp even if you wanted to.

“My princess radar told me that your highness needed a long smooch, yeah?”

He also lowkey likes to get mesmerized by you.

When the both of you would just silently busy yourselves with a book, he would find the time to stare at your lovely being.

No matter how elegant or messed up you would look while reading something, his eyes would just find themselves falling into deep thoughts about you that he secretly kept for himself

“I’m just sitting here thinking of you, and wanted to tell you that I love you.”

I guess he’s keeping his fantasies of you all to himself.

KAGEYAMA TOBIO 《

Hugs

Like really really tight hugs where he just squeezes you so fucking tight for a few seconds and finally relinquish with a long sigh

At the beginning of your relationship with him, you’d be the one to initiate hugs though, cause he was super shy.

Not anymore though

Now you would constantly feel a sudden weight fall on top of your shoulders, just to find him wrap his arms around you.

There would be times when he would just come up to you from the back and plops on to you with his hands hung over your shoulders, chin resting on top of your head, whilst sipping on some milk he just bought.

You’d move your head upwards to confirm it was him, and he’d just look down at you and be like, ‘hm?’

There would also be times when he would squeeze you so hard from the front, just pressing the both you together, closing any remaining gaps.

Usually he would do this after some match, and he’d go straight up to the audience seats the second he was allowed to

and just hug you in silence as you hug him back with sweet praises that just lit up his heart

“The way you make me feel is undescribable”

“You mean indescribable?”

“.………. yeah that.”

pt.2

pt.1

masterlist

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yetanotheremptypage · 2 years

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I posted 247 times in 2021

139 posts created (56%)

108 posts reblogged (44%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.8 posts.

I added 709 tags in 2021

#my fics - 129 posts

#kanthony - 103 posts

#bridgerton - 102 posts

#kate x anthony - 95 posts

#my ships - 93 posts

#no escaping your love - 81 posts

#take my hand wreck my plans (that's my man) - 37 posts

#thanks for the prompt! - 27 posts

#kathony - 21 posts

#writing - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 106 characters

#caps lock on and off because my left shift key has not worked since 2015/2016 and the right one is too far

My Top Posts in 2021

Can I say thank you for not slathering Siena? People love to make her the villain in fics and it makes me so sad all the hate she gets

My thoughts on Siena are...complicated. You didn't ask for an explanation, but here we go anyway.

I knew nothing about Bridgerton prior to watching the show; I'm not even sure I realized it was a book, much less a romance, much less a series that would cover eight different love stories. I had no idea Kate Sheffield even existed.

But right off the bat, I was not invested in Anthony's relationship with Siena.

I don't know why. It's certainly an interesting angle to explore, a titled nobleman and an actress, an opera singer, in a time when they were seen as little more than prostitutes; duty over love and lust, all the tensions (and tropes) that come with it. And yet, I felt very little. I understand her role in the first season, I understand how it sets up season 2, but she was never a character I felt attached to and their relationship never one I wanted to root for.

I started writing “no escaping your love” on a whim. I never expected it to take off . I didn't think I would get Anthony and Kate's dynamic quite right. I still feel like I don't have it quite right, nor do I feel like I fit Siena into it well. But here’s my rationale on her, her relationship with Anthony, and Kate:

Kate is an insecure person. The idea of Siena, of a beautiful woman that Anthony loved, is something that, particularly in the very beginning of their marriage (especially if they use her in the study incident in the show), I think does...if not upset her than at least ruffles her feathers, because how can she ever compare?

But as her relationship grows, as she grows more secure in herself, Siena’s not a threat. And I highly doubt that Siena would *ever* be some sort of homewrecker; she uses Anthony and the other men of the ton for security as much as sex or love. A married man is a liability, and Anthony is devoted to his family. It was never a question of loving each other “enough”; his relationship with Siena is full of conflicting priorities and confused feelings. I doubt there is a universe where they would ever be truly, truly happy together.

Kate and Siena have nothing to prove to each other. Kate does not “win” and Siena does not “lose.” Siena is in circumstances that will never be compatible with Anthony’s, but this does not negate any feelings they may have had for each other.

Obviously, the “Hard Choices” AU is set in the modern day. Kate and Anthony meet under different circumstances in a different world, and Siena is in a different world. But the core of their dynamics remain. Anthony and Siena are ill-matched in circumstance, in drive, in needs; Anthony and Kate are well-matched in all three (and have equally shit communication skills).

Does Siena deserve to get hate or be portrayed as a villain: absolutely not. And can she be happy for Anthony and Kate even though she “lost”? 100%.

28 notes • Posted 2021-08-10 21:02:21 GMT

no escaping your love #72: the case of the shredded waistcoat

(Read 1-71 here.)

#34. “It’s okay. I bought two.”

Kate was doing her best not to panic.

She’d been married to Anthony for not even two weeks, and she’d already gone and ruined it. Or, well, Newton had.

Her beloved dog had gotten into Anthony’s dressing room and found his brand new waistcoat that had literally just arrived from the tailor. She’d heard him wax poetic about it just the day before.

And Newton chewed it all to bits.

Anthony was going to send Newton away, she was sure of it. He already hated the dog. It would just be an excuse to get rid of him, wouldn’t it? Never mind that Newton probably only got in there because a valet or maid left the door open. Not that she wanted one of them sacked, of course, but it wasn’t Newton’s fault!

Not entirely!

The only time she’d ever seen Anthony bordering on properly angry was after the Serpentine incident—which, of course, also involved Newton. And she’d heard whispers, since being inducted into the ton’s married ranks. Of husbands who shouted too loud, who had too much to drink, who took liberties. And while she knew, deep down, that Anthony would never strike her, Anthony would never do anything of the sort…all she could think of was Mary’s first husband.

“What are you doing?” Anthony said, sounding understandably perplexed. She spun around from where she’d been surveying the damage, trying to formulate any sort of plan. Anthony was looking at her with that sort of devilish smirk he got when he was about to tease her.

“I’m so sorry! Newton got into your dressing room and your new waistcoat is—” She cut herself off, gesturing. Anthony’s expression clouded and he came over to join her, admiring the damage.

Then he did perhaps the most surprising thing she’d ever seen: He shrugged.

“That’s okay. I bought two.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I need quite a lot of waistcoats, you know,” he said with a bit of a scoff.

“You’re not mad?”

“No?” He frowned. “Should I be?”

“No, no! I’m just… surprised. Your reputation precedes you in regards to your...frustrations with Newton.”

He avoided eye contact as he picked up the shredded remains of the waistcoat. “He’s grown on me just a bit.”

“Oh really? Then perhaps—”

“He’s not sleeping in our bed, Kate.”

It was worth a shot.

33 notes • Posted 2021-09-25 16:04:01 GMT

their wedding day? or their honeymoon?

no escaping your love #29: the days of wine and roses

(Read 1-28 here.)

#38. "I like your laugh."

When planning his honeymoon, Anthony had never accounted for anything other than fucking his wife in every room of the house. Unfortunately—or perhaps rather fortunately—Kate was not content with just this. She wanted to learn the grounds, the staff, the tenants. She wanted to learn about him, about his favorite meals (they’d already covered how he took his tea, after all) and favorite memories and what on Earth it meant, on a practical level, to be married to a viscount, his role and responsibilities, how and what and where he invested, what she was meant to do other than entertain when called upon.

And as much as he told himself he shouldn’t, he told her, every last answer to every last question she had. It was only practical, after all, that she knew the properties their children would one day inherit, a day that would come sooner rather than later. That she was able to tell their son, “Did you know, when your father was your age, he used to slide down that bannister with his brothers?”

So if it meant they spent just as much time wandering the grounds and the village as they did fucking on any surface she’d have him, then so be it.

He did truly enjoy it, though. She made him laugh, and challenged him, and even her damn dog was growing on him, though he’d never give her that satisfaction. If this was how he was to spend the rest of his days, he was quite sure he would die a quite happy man.

He’d goaded her into picnicking by the lake for their luncheon, and she’d goaded him into letting Newton join, so now here they sat, by the water’s edge eating meat and cheese and watching Newton sniff about the flowers.

“I’ve never seen him quite so happy,” Kate mused. “He must truly love all the plants out here.”

“Just as much as he likes sleeping in my bed,” Anthony grumbled, almost entirely in jest. Only almost, as it quite frequently meant he could not defile Kate with her precious dog perched across their feet. As expected, she let out a laugh, not the tittering of a debutante but full and real. It had quite quickly become on of his favorite sounds.

“I like your laugh,” he said, just another crumb of the few that he could truly give to her, the ones that would have to sustain them both as this marriage continued to its fast-approaching end.

She smiled at him, brighter than the sun, and took his hand, squeezing like she knew all he could not say, and she didn’t care at all. He held back like his life depended on it—and in a way, it truly did.

35 notes • Posted 2021-06-24 21:19:18 GMT

Can i see kathony pregnancy fluff with 18? Like Kate falls asleep during a concert (like princess Diana) and anthony takes her home and they snuggle or something like that?

no escaping your love #52: the symphony (Read 1-51 here.)

#18. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Anthony felt Kate’s head fall onto his shoulder as the orchestra crescendoed and he turned as much as he could to take a look at her. She’d insisted, despite the nausea that had kept her chained to the chamber pot for half of the morning, that she was well enough for the concert tonight. Against his better judgement, he’d acquesised, even when she’d spent half the carriage ride with a death grip on her bench.

She didn’t look much better now, though slightly less green, and he honestly couldn’t tell if she was awake or not. If she wasn’t asleep yet, she was damn near close. Discreetly, he checked his pocket watch, thankfully on his free side: it was quarter to nine. He’d take her home at the interval, then, which should be arriving any moment if the conductor’s frantic arm movements were any indication.

As the applause rang out, he nudged her awake and whispered her name, earning him a slurred, “Wha?” in response. He helped her to her feet and turned to apologize to his mother, who was already waving them off.

She spent the carriage ride buried in his jacket, breathing deeply and he rubbed his hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. He’d thrown open the carriage door before it was fully stopped and helped her down quickly and, energy returned, she ran up the stairs to the house and to the nearest chamber pot she could find.

“Could you send up some tea?” he asked the footman, “The mint?” He nodded, and then Anthony went off after his wife.

She’d chosen their room, apparently, and her lady’s maid was fussing about, trying to pull pins out of her hair even as Kate coughed pitifully into the pot.

“Thank you, Hannah. I can take it from here,” he said. She nodded, curtsying, and departed. He took the spot on the bed next to Kate and she immediately leaned against him.

“I think I’m done. Your child better be worth all of this. I’d really like to be able to ride in a carriage without losing my stomach.”

“My child, hm?”

“It can be my child when it’s not acting out,” she replied primly, setting the pot down on the floor. He scoffed, but was prevented from responding by the arrival of their tea. He thanked the footman and fixed Kate tea as she finished taking down her hair.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better,” he said, coming up to stand behind her. She took the cup and he picked up her hairbrush, slowly moving it through her waves and tying it into the best braid he could do, which wasn’t much but had always been passable for his sisters.

“Why, Viscount Bridgerton, if I didn’t know any better I might say that you cared for me,” she replied before she took a sip, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. He shrugged even as a smile overtook his face.

“Perhaps I do.”

Lady Whistledown devoted a whole column to what could possibly have made the Viscountess Bridgerton fall asleep in the middle of the symphony, but neither of them cared.

40 notes • Posted 2021-07-26 16:00:51 GMT

Taylor Swift: Okay, so we’re obviously gonna do cardigan, since it’s nominated, and then maybe willow, the other single?

Jack Antonoff: We do august or I walk

1291 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 03:23:54 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #I don’t have Spotify so this is my wrapped

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tinyshe · 3 years

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Story at-a-glance

There are 10 steps that every tyrannical government has followed. We are now at step 10. Once the 10th step locks into place, there will be no going back

The 10 steps toward tyranny start with the invocation of a terrifying internal and/or external threat. From 2001 onward, that threat was terrorism, which was used as the justification for stripping us of our liberties

With the declaration of COVID-19 as a global pandemic, we entered step 10, where emergency powers and laws are used to strip remaining freedoms from the people, censorship is enacted and certain kinds of speech is criminalized

We must get involved and fight to enact state legislation that protects against continued erosion of freedom and reestablishes rights and liberties

The Daily Clout platform was created for this purpose. It allows citizens to lobby already drafted, turnkey bills to their legislators

This is the article in full:

Naomi Wolf, a former adviser to the Clinton administration, is a prolific author and Yale University graduate. She also received a prestigious Rhodes Scholarship that allowed her to complete her Ph.D. in English and literature at Oxford University in 2015. Eight years before that, she wrote a book called “The End of America,” which is the topic of this interview. “The End of America” was published in 2007. At the end of this article, you will find a playlist of three videos in which she reads select chapters of the book. You can also download the first and last chapters for free on the publisher’s website, chelseagreen.com.1A Prescient Warning Already in 2007, Wolf warned us of where we were headed. In her book, she points out that would-be tyrants are found on both sides of the political spectrum. We must not get locked into generalizations about political affiliations, because they simply do not give us a truthful picture of who the enemy is. While Wolf and I could be said to be on opposite sides of the political spectrum, Wolf being a long-time progressive while many would view me as a conservative, our views are in perfect alignment when it comes to the issues of protecting American freedom and liberty.We are [now] at Step 10. I've been trying to warn people, tirelessly, as much as I can, that we are at Step 10 and that once Step 10 locks in, there is no going back. ~ Naomi WolfIn “The End of America,” Wolf lays out the 10 steps toward tyranny. These steps have been followed by virtually all would-be tyrants, be they on the political left or right. They were followed in Italy in the '20s, Germany in '30s, East Germany in the '50s, Chile in the '70s and China in the '80s. “They all took the same 10 steps, and they always work,” Wolf says. “I warned people that when you start to see these 10 steps, you have to take action, because there is no way to recover once things go too far without a bloody revolution or a civil war. We are [now] at Step 10. People have said, since I wrote that book in 2007, ‘Tell us when we're at Step 10.’ I've always said, ‘Things are bad, they're getting worse, but there's still hope.’ We're literally at Step 10 now. I've been trying to warn people, tirelessly, as much as I can, that we are at Step 10 and that once Step 10 locks in, there is no going back.”We’re in the Final Step of the Implementation of Tyranny.The 10 steps toward tyranny start with the invocation of a terrifying internal and/or external threat. It may be a real threat or an imagined one, but in all cases, it’s a hyped-up threat. From 2001 onward, that threat was terrorism, which was used as the justification for stripping us of our liberties. Ultimately, that wasn’t effective enough.“There was still freedom in the world. People were not saying, ‘ISIS exists; therefore, I'm going to give up my First Amendment liberties, my Fourth Amendment liberties, my Second Amendment liberties and so on.’ Sadly, this medical crisis — which is now not a pandemic in many states and countries, it's an endemic; it doesn't meet the formal definition of a pandemic — was the perfect excuse for leaders to usher in Step 10,” Wolf says. The last and final step in the implementation of tyranny, Step 10, involves the creation of a surveillance state where citizens are spied upon, and critique of the government is reclassified as dissent and subversive activity. Step 10 The surveillance state is now being rolled out in the form of vaccine passports, while certain kinds of speech are said to be dangerous and freedom of speech is being criminalized. Needless to say, the mainstream press is an important part of this scheme. “The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation have essentially bought up the western press and coerce them, bribe them, into following the party line, brought up by the CDC and so on,” Wolf says.“Toward the end of the steps, which is Step 10, is emergency law, [which is a] subversion of the rule of law, also called martial law. We're here. I'm [in] New York State. We're under emergency law. Every 30 days, I get an email saying that tyrannical Governor Cuomo has extended emergency powers, even though in Columbia County where I live, there are only eight deaths a month with COVID, average age 85, which is older than the average American life span. It's not a pandemic where I live, but I'm living under emergency law, which means the legislature has no power. The governor can do whatever he wants. It’s the same in Massachusetts, same in California — 49 states, all states except Alaska, are technically under emergency law. This is terrifying. You get what you're seeing, which is governors deciding, or the federal government deciding, that you can't assemble, you can't worship, you have no medical choice, the coercion of vaccine passports, your child can't go to school, your young adult can't get a college education if they don't agree to an experimental vaccination. You get suspension of the right to property. You can't run your business — 110,000 restaurants have closed. You get a suspension of freedoms of speech. People are being deplatformed left and right and there are movements in Congress to criminalize what had been First Amendment protected speech. You get the invocation of martial powers and there's no end to it. Literally, with Massachusetts emergency law, I have no rights. I have no ability to lobby the governor. With New York’s emergency law, I have no representative with the power to end emergency measures. The governor has to end emergency measures, [and] he's the one who benefits from them. It's catastrophic. We're seeing a complete takeover of American rights, freedoms and bodies by Big Tech, which is up double digits to triple-digit billions since the pandemic began. China has moved in to … establish its role as the global superpower under the guise of this pandemic, buying up community groups, elected officials and the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, which are flooding K through 12 education … community groups [and] universities with money to engage in COVID education — which means a strict party line [narrative] that is aimed at destroying what's human about us and what's free. That's it in a nutshell. It's unbelievably terrifying.”What the COVID-19 Passports Are Really AboutWolf was recently interviewed by Fox News’ Steve Hilton (above), in which she warned that mandatory COVID-19 passports will spell the “end of human liberty in the West”:2,3 In essence, they’re a precursor to the social credit system that has already been implemented in China. The vaccine passes have already been rolled out in New York, where Wolf lives. Surveillance is nothing new, of course. We’ve been digitally surveilled for years, through social media platforms, Google and all manner of “smart” technology. Since the early 2000s, Google and Facebook in particular have been data mining online users. These data, then, have been applied to deep learning computers, giving them unprecedented ability to predict the type of messaging triggers that will create the maximum amount of fear — and thus compliance. There’s also every reason to assume that this information has also been shared with people like Bill Gates, who largely controls the World Health Organization. If it wasn’t for the WHO, we would not be in this situation, because it was the central organization with the authority to declare a global pandemic, and keep it in place long past its natural expiration date. They actually changed the definition of “pandemic,” removing the requirement of mass casualties, and if it wasn’t for that, COVID-19 simply would not qualify as a pandemic. The Pandemic Is Hypothetical at BestWolf points out that COVID-19 dashboards, such as Johns Hopkins’ COVID-19 tracking project that mainstream media keep citing, cannot tell us anything about who’s actually getting infected, or who’s dying. We don’t even know if they are showing real or made up data.Wolf, being the CEO of a tech company, builds digital dashboards based on government data, so she knows what she’s talking about. You have to have the raw datasets. Since none of the dashboards provide the raw data, nothing can be verified. “Basically, they can dial up cases, which are positive PCR tests, or dial them down,” she says. So, the entire pandemic narrative is unverified.We do know, however, that the CDC has shifted influenza and pneumonia deaths to COVID-19 deaths, and tens of thousands of Americans die from these conditions every year. When lawmakers in Minnesota audited death records, for example, they found a 40% over-attribution of deaths to COVID-19. Then there’s the PCR test scandal. Not only have laboratories everywhere been using excessively high amplification cycles resulting in staggeringly high false positive rates, but they also do not account for duplicate tests. If you get a positive test, and test once a week until you test negative, each positive test result you obtain is counted as a separate “case.”“We literally can't know if there's been a pandemic, there's so much faulty attribution, inflation of numbers, and so on,” Wolf says. “Those numbers, I can't stress enough, have never been audited ... We have to do a freedom of information request in Britain to take a look at the raw data sets that are being fed into the Office for National Statistics, COVID dashboard. We looked at where the data were flowing from for the Johns Hopkins dashboard, which again, was used by every major university, every major news outlet. One of the data providers was a hedge fund! … I know something else about APIs. It is virtually impossible to, in real time, get hundreds of thousands of reports from hundreds of thousands of doctors, hospitals, CVS and Rite Aid, feeding into a live digital dashboard. I keep asking the developers to show me, ‘How did you do this? It's virtually impossible.’ There's no answer, there's crickets. Literally, we don't know if the dashboards are just dialing up and dialing down infection rates. Everyone's taking for granted that these must be real numbers, but there's no evidence that they are real numbers. I'm willing to stand corrected if there's a FOIA and we see the raw data sets. But right now, it is a hypothetical pandemic.”Collusion by Tech CompaniesTech companies have also engaged in what Wolf likens to criminal collusion. She explains:“In March of last year, for the COVID-19 response project, Zoom, NASDAQ, Nintendo, Microsoft, Amazon — all the people who benefited from the lockdown — coordinated so that wherever you go on the internet, across platform to platform, you see these alerts about COVID-19, warnings about COVID, instructions about COVID, and of course, censorship … if you run afoul of the narrative about COVID. I run a tech company. The question, when you run a tech company, is how do you get people to not do things in the real world, and do things on your platform? That's the business model. If people are gathering in churches, gathering in real school rooms, if they're going for walks together, go on picnics, having dinner parties, going to clubs, that's an opportunity lost to Microsoft and Google and so on. But if they can drive you indoors, terrify you from being around other people, or make it unlawful to be around other people through these emergency powers that restrict assembly [then they can profit] … Digital learning curriculum were turnkey, ready to go. Suddenly, it was like, ‘Oh, kids have to be at home and do distance learning.’ That's a $300 million industry for just one company that creates digital curriculums. They're not going to let go of that. I think we are in a small loop of six tech companies [and] the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, having bought legislators in China, who's up 32% while the economies of the West have crashed, and that's the fight that we have to fight.”The Legalization of Tyranny. Few people realize that dictators such as Mussolini and Hitler came to power in legal working democracies. They became subverted and rules of law were rewritten in such a way as to allow these leaders to legally take over. That's one of the primary dangers we now face in the U.S., because at the end of step 10, the leader obtains the legal authority to become a tyrant.“This is especially true of the National Socialists,” Wolf says. “They kept passing a set of laws called the Enabling Acts that are very much like the laws that are being passed now. They criminalized certain speech, created a surveillance apparatus for citizens … and they did this lawfully. They were elected, and they passed restrictive law after restrictive law. Then, once democracy was fragile enough, it really only took six months for thugs to beat up opposition leaders, union leaders, the outspoken and clergy. After that, everyone was too scared to speak. We're seeing the same thing happen now, but faster. It's very scary that China has created a white paper — the World Economic Forum has it on its website — that maps how biofascism, as I call it — vaccinations, the managing of people's bodies, biometrics and health — is being launched as a way to control civic engagement, governance, private life, assembly and every other aspect of human life, to bring about super-fast totalitarianism. That's why focusing on legislation is something I've been doing with my company DailyClout, very seriously, because if we don't pass laws immediately to make unlawful some of the things we're seeing, there will be no more hope for us.”Using the Legal System to Save the Law. One strategy of totalitarianism that must be fought through legislation is the requirement of vaccine passports. “Once these are launched … people like you and I, Dr. Mercola, will be switched off of society. ‘Oops, my vaccine passport is positive. I guess I can't go food shopping for my family.’ ‘I said something critical of biofascism on Dr. Mercola's show, so now my child can't get into school.’ Just as in Israel, people who are critics are being surveilled [and] marginalized from society. It has turned into a two-tier society. If you choose not to get vaccinated, then you're really in a marginalized minority in an apartheid state. The more we know about these vaccines, the scarier it is to have coercion that is social. It's also illegal. In America, we have the Americans with Disabilities Act. It means it's illegal to even ask me anything about my medical status. You can't ask me if I'm pregnant. You can't ask me if I'm disabled. You can't ask me if I have diabetes or HIV. You cannot ask me anything. By definition, these intrusive measures are unlawful. We have to use the law to save the law, basically. In Michigan, there's an edict from the governor that 2- to 4-year-old children have to be masked. This is child abuse. Science doesn't support it. Unlawful, tyrannical laws are being passed across the country under the guise of emergency measures, and stupid people going along with it, like in Congress, I'm embarrassed to say, because I voted for Biden. We have to fight before we are living in fascist regime where every move is tracked and we're marginalized from society.”The Courts Are Our Last Hope, And They’re Now Under AttackOne area in which “The End of America” excels is helping you understand is that the United States was founded by people who had repressive societies. Their goal was to prevent such a repressive society from emerging again. The founders had to personally reckon with criminalized speech, arbitrary arrest, state sanctioned torture and even murder.So, at great personal sacrifice, they signed the Constitution. Had they lost the Revolutionary War, they would all have been executed, so the stakes could not have been higher. As a result, our founding fathers constructed a carefully balanced system to make sure no tyrant could ever come to power. We’re now facing a scenario that could obliterate that delicate balance, namely the Biden administration’s call to “pack the court,” i.e., add, in this case four, additional Justices to the Supreme Court. We’re now facing a shift in our legal structure that will allow for the legalization of tyrannical reign and “legally” override the carefully constructed governmental balance between the legislative, executive and judicial branched that has previously served to prevent tyranny in the U.S.This three-tier branch, constructed to safeguard our freedoms, is under direct attack, and this is NOT a partisan issue. Not by a longshot, and everyone needs to wake up to this fact. It’s an issue of freedom versus tyranny.“Absolutely,” Wolf says. “Sadly, this is clear. That's why I'm saying progressives have to wake up … I worry very much about the role of China in this, because I think we've seen that some people connected to the Democratic Party have close ties with members of the Chinese Communist Party. That is just established fact. I'm not saying that the tyrants are on the left. In Britain, it's Tories cracking down on liberty, holding the country under house arrest. In Australia it's conservatives, in Canada it's Trudeau, a liberal. This isn't partisan. But in America, we do have to face the fact that this administration is drunk on power and has some bad actors aligned with it, including Silicon Valley. They are crushing conservative voices, kicking them off of public platforms in addition to voices critical of the COVID narrative. They're also moving at warp speed to use their own phrasing about something else to lock in power in a way that is against everything our founders set in place — the most beautiful, delicate system of checks and balances any human beings have ever created; an ideal of people all over the world who want freedom and balanced accountable government. Yeah, packing the Supreme Court is a horrific tampering with some of the last checks and balances that we have … I can't believe I keep saying thank God for the conservatives on the bench. But these days, I have to say it, and I'm ashamed. But thank God, because they were the ones who in California said ‘No, you cannot keep people from assembling to worship. That is a violation of the Constitution.’ They're our last hope. The courts are our last hope. It is catastrophic, and I see other scary movements against accountable democracy that are being put forward by this administration. Among them, President Biden is not saying to the blue states: ‘You have to give up your emergency powers. You have to open up. You can't control people in their homes, you can't force people to have vaccinations and you can't keep people from assembling and worshipping.’ These are all violations of their constitutional liberties. He's not saying that. That's a complete failure of leadership, if not worse. My people have to rise up and face it. Conservatives have to face cleaning up their own houses … What's at stake is everything, and we all have to unite across party lines and save our Constitution and make these people accountable, whatever their party [affiliation].”Urgent Call to Action The good news is, the would-be tyrants have not won yet. That said, we have no time to spare. We have no time to remain idle, hoping it will all just go back to normal on its own. The answer is peaceful mass civil disobedience.“There's hope in mass peaceful civil disobedience … when things are really dire,” Wolf says. “My favorite story is about the singing revolution of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, in which they were under the grip of the Soviet Union, a massive tyrannical monolith. They all decided to just peacefully gather on a highway that extended the length of their three countries and sing. They kept peacefully disrupting business as usual in their cities, making it impossible for work to continue, for traffic to go on. They sat down, they linked arms and they sang. Over time, they just wore down the Soviet Union. That's a beautiful model. Same thing with Dr. Martin Luther King. His was a peaceful revolution of civil disobedience.”This strategy is time-consuming, however, so be prepared to stand your ground for as long as it takes. It can take months, years even, when you have nothing else in your arsenal. Peaceful disobedience is the primary strategy in armed countries as well. As mentioned, we must also rally behind legislation that prevents the alteration of laws that safeguard our freedoms.Join the Five Freedoms Campaign!To that end, Wolf has started the Five Freedoms Campaign, which you can find on her Daily Clout website. The campaign focuses on creating legislation to preserve key freedoms and prevent emergency laws from infringing on our freedom to assembly, worship, protest and engage in business. Legislation is also being crafted to open schools, remove mask mandates and eliminate requirements for vaccine passports.“We've had overwhelmingly high levels of support,” Wolf says. “I hope your followers will also join us. We hired a really distinguished lawyer who is drafting model legislation. She has finished the new vaccine passport bill and we've gotten state legislators in Maine, New Hampshire and Michigan to sponsor to pass that legislation. I'm sending out the request for 47 other state legislatures to adopt this model legislation. Contact me, I'll come out, I'll speak to your legislature. We'll do a rally, we'll do a press conference, as we're doing in Maine on April 27. We've got to pass these bills. Then she's going to work on an omnibus bill to make all five freedoms inviolable so that no one can pass mask mandates as they did in Michigan today. No one can force vaccine passports as they're doing in New York, so that we can get our freedoms back.”Wolf and her team are making this interactive process as easy as possible by posting good model bills on dailyclout.io, and proactively drafting much-needed bills. Many state legislators are not lawyers, and they don't have lawyers at their beck and call. Citizens can now send these model bills to their legislators, knowing that they’ve undergone legal review and are ready to be passed. You can also go even further than that:“You can tell us the bill you want. We can upload a campaign for that bill. We can hire our lawyer to draft a model bill and then you can pass it. What we've been doing is gathering names and zip codes, so that we can add real voters to this piece of model legislation in real states and send it to real state legislators and say, ‘Look, the supporters are all there. All you have to do is pass this.’ It's a fantastic intervention in the political process, restoring real democracy. It's why we founded Daily Clout, but it's beautiful to see hundreds and hundreds of people from all walks of life rushing to give us support and resources, to become members and give us donations, which we appreciate, so that we can keep our lawyer busy creating these draft bills. It's not just for this issue. Once we get our rights and freedoms back, whatever [citizens] want, we can draft a bill for you, and you can [call on your legislators to] pass it.”Limiting Emergency PowersAnother facet that needs to be addressed is governors’ emergency powers. Some states have been locked down under emergency power for more than a year, which is insane, considering we’re not in an emergency and haven’t been for many months. These emergency powers need to be limited in some way, as they are at the heart of all this unlawful behavior. As explained by Wolf: “Emergency law basically suspends the Constitution of the United States. As I've said elsewhere, the Constitution doesn't say all this can be suspended if there's disease. We've been through typhus, cholera, smallpox, HIV, Spanish flu, polio, tuberculosis — disease after disease, without ever having emergency law extended without review month after month. We've had world wars fought without emergency laws. We were attacked on our soil without emergency law being declared in New York state after 9/11. There's no justification for it. It's against everything we believe in. It's unconstitutional.” So, one of the five freedoms Wolf’s campaign focuses on is the restriction of emergency laws. New Hampshire has become the first state to pass a bill that accomplishes this. It reforms emergency law such that the Governor’s emergency powers cannot be indefinitely extended without review by the legislature. They also passed a bill that guarantees freedom of worship, and another bill that ensures emergency law cannot be invoked indefinitely in any future crisis.4“We've now passed along our model ‘No vaccine passport’ bill to the New Hampshire legislators,” Wolf says. “If they can do it in New Hampshire, with our help, with your help, they can do it across the country. But we need to get that model legislation out to every legislature and mobilize that grassroots movement to pass the end of emergency law. I mean, look what's happening in New York State. It's insane. Fourteen state legislators are trying to get Governor Cuomo to end emergency law. But as our laws are written, Governor Cuomo has to be the one to end his own emergency law. There're a huge amount of lobbying that has to happen for these legislators to understand that there are eyes on them, that they're accountable. I'm going to be reporting and … hopefully millions of people will be following and helping to pass these laws to get back our rights.”Daily Clout Empowers Citizens to Lobby for Freedom. To be clear, the Daily Clout is not a lobbying group. YOU are the ones lobbying your legislators. Daily Clout simply provides the needed assistance so that you can do that easily and effectively. “It's such a beautiful effort, because you'd have to come out and say, ‘The people of New Hampshire have no right to pass their own legislation’ in order to oppose an effort like this,” Wolf says. “We're not a special interest. It's just the people. It's the people of New Hampshire, people of Maine, passing their own legislation. I do hear, consistently, that Democrats won't help, that in many states with their democratic majorities, it's going to be difficult if Democrats don't reach across the aisle and add their names. I'm sending out the call to Democrats to support this legislation. I'm going to warn everyone, speaking as a former political consultant, that the party that embraces the restoration of freedom is going to be the party that wins in 2022 and 2024. There's no question about that. This is going to be a winning issue. People know something is terribly wrong, but they don't know what to do. This is a completely unprecedented assault on liberty. With my many years in national politics, I know what to do. This is why we developed Daily Clout. If you show up with a turnkey piece of legislation and some turnkey supporters, that's a very quick fix for a really catastrophic crisis that has a legislative solution. As long as there's still legislatures, we can pass good legislation at the state level. At the federal level, it's going to be harder, because there isn't any balance right now. I'm very inspired there's so many people serving at the state legislature level who are really decent citizens, who are not partisan hacks. People who really ran to help their neighbors and help their communities and who are not wholly owned by China, Big Tech or whatever, and who want to do the right thing. I could be wrong, but in two weeks [since we launched the Daily Clout site] we've already been invited to address state legislators and draft legislation for three, and that's without any marketing budget or anything but platforms like this, where I say it's available. We started Daily Clout because citizens didn't have a platform to be effective at lobbying for their own issues. This is a turnkey platform that does that for them. I designed it that way. I designed it, as a former political consultant, knowing that the way things are set up, ordinary citizens don't have a seat at the table. There is no easy way to engage in civic action.

This makes it easy, makes it digital and people are using it.”How to Use the Daily Clout Site.So, how do you get involved? First, go to dailyclout.io and sign up to become a paying member or free subscriber. You will then receive an email explaining how to use the Five Freedoms Campaign.

Presently, there is a model “no vaccination passports” bill that you can send to your state legislator.There’s also a feature called BillCam, where you can see who your state legislator is by entering your zip code. Daily Clout will also email you links and explain how to find your state legislator. If you provide your name and zip code, which will remain confidential, your state legislator’s contact information will be included in the email.“We're creating a widget right now to attach your name and zip code to the model bills so it goes right to your state legislator, showing that the bill already has support,” Wolf explains. “But in the meantime, you can look up any bill on BillCam. Those are bills that have already been introduced or passed. There are ‘No vaccine passport’ bills, for instance. We're showcasing them on BillCam. It's already set up, so you can just tweet it to the sponsor, tweet it to representative. You can Facebook it to your community. It already goes through social media and you can show support by ‘voting on it’ in the widget on BillCam as you share legislation with your community.”Once you’re a subscriber or member, you’ll get regular updates about happenings around the U.S. and community events. They’re also installing a widget that will allow you to meet with like-minded people in your state who want this legislation passed. Lastly, you can write to Daily Clout and ask them to draft a bill. A lawyer will then be assigned to draft it for you.“Right now, we're focused on the Five Freedoms Campaign, but there is that functionality. You can write a blog and explain the bill that you want. You can send us a video and explain what your issue is, and all of this goes to shining a light on the legislators. They're not used to having a light shone on them. That really does drive outcomes. Those are the steps that you can take,” Wolf says. We’ve already seen how effective this strategy can be, with New Hampshire passing three bills to protect citizens’ freedoms. “I never want to take credit away from legislators working hard to pass bills, but I know that we helped,” Wolf says. “I know that our lawyer has been in close touch with some of those state legislators in New Hampshire and provided language that we pay for, so that those legislators would have a turnkey bill to act on.”Hundreds of people also wrote to New Hampshire’s Governor Christopher Sununu, urging him to lift the mask mandate, which he recently did. Knowing that the Daily Clout would report on the outcome of that campaign, he not only felt the political pressure, but he also knew he had support from his constituents. So, please, use this unprecedented opportunity to get involved, in any capacity that you can. Your freedom, and that of future generations, hinge on our getting involved and fighting for it. Last but not least, to understand where we are and how we got here, I strongly recommend reading “The End of America.” In the video below, Wolf reads select chapters from the book. You can also download the first and last chapters for free on the publisher’s website, chelseagreen.com.5

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kvetchlandia · 3 years

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Richard Meltzer Lester Bangs Passed Out on Meltzer’s “Highly Uncomfortable Living Rm. Chair,” 104 Perry St., Apt. 4, West Village, New York City 1972

On December 14th, this December 14th, Lester Conway Bangs, while probably not the greatest writer of his generation, arguably its most vital so far to die, would have been 36. Haunted and driven by demons, so- called, a cheerless many of whom/what/ which — or their kindred ilk — he directly sought, found cum stumbled upon, or was inadvertently ensnared by on the demon picnic grounds of Rock and Roll, he never made it to 34.

Following the lead of a handful of babes in the rock-critical woods, one of which I'll admit (if sometimes reluctantly) to having been. Bangs at the dawn of the seventies played as prominent a role as anyone in both expanding the expressive boundaries of rockwriting as a form and giving it a voice that played the newer, more mannered and cautious, mass-market rockmags like Rolling Stone and Creem — the latter of which he even edited for awhile — as on the dime as it had played the catch-as-catch-can, limited-edition fanzines whence it came. Though he also served as the burgeoning genre’s most prolific scribbler, a mission he sustained with relative ease for the bulk of his days, it is to the man’s lasting credit that he rarely delivered copy on anyone’s dotted line. In fact, he probably “got away with more’’ in major- publication print than all his rockwrite brethren combined, conceivably (however) because it merely simplified matters to have a single Designated Outlaw, one entrusted with a blanche enough carte — and unmonitored options galore — to spike with “authenticity ’’ a rock-media stew of bogus Freedom and ersatz Candor.

Retrospectively cliched or not, there was an existential purity to the sheer commitment evinced by Lester’s prolonged wallow in (and about) the rock- and-roll Thing-in-itself. It was, in many ways, the critical headbang to end all critical headbangs; it would be hard to even imagine, for instance, a professional art-film bozo, a jock-sniffing sports jerk, or a food-review lunatic more uninsulatedy gung-ho vis-a-vis x — either as primary experience or typewrite wankery. His patented shameless multipage gush, coupled with an unswerving advocacy of certain conspicuously over- the-top rock genera (Velvet Underground offshoots; Heavy Metal; Punk Rock), made him a must-read favorite with both cognoscenti and dipshits alike, and he came as close to encountering idolatry per se as any non-musician in R&R. A good deal of which — natch —could not help hitting the self-consciousness fan, but while a man’s life was ultimately undone in the process (“I’m Lester — buy me a drink! ’’), the integrity of his art/craft was essentially unaffected. For, while he might have been a tad too glib-messianic those last couple years, he was by no stretch of things an opportunist, never really giving a hoot for what in squaresville would be known as a career. (Or, perhaps, unlike his role model Kerouac, he simply didn’t live long enough for that, too, to be strenuously tested.)

In any event: dead, cremated, literal ashes. California born (Escondido ’48), bred (El Cajon, ages 9-23), and traveled (I first hung with him in San Francisco, last in L.A.), Lester bought the big one on the opposite coast — his final home, the fabled Apple — April 30/82, ostensibly from a hefty pull of darvon employed, in lieu of aspirin, to placate the flu. Since his death, variously interpreted as a mile-radius teardrop’s once-in-a- lifetime terminal burst, a joke and a half on both himself and his precious chosen whole damn Thing, and — by occasional uncouth louts — the final glorious triumph of his excess, the spectrum of Bangs-in-ongoing-print has dwindled from monochromatic /sparse to colorless/ nonexistent. Of the two books in his name which appeared during his lifetime, quasi-coffeetable numbers on Blondie and Rod Stewart, neither a particularly representative Lestorian effort (or even particularly good: the former admittedly hacked out “in two days on speed,’’ and looking it, i. e., ad hoc and forced; the latter disowned as a clumsy, if innocent, foray into “writing as whoring’’), both are either out of print — officially — or on the back burner of barely having ever been in same, at least as regards this coast, where I’ve yet to see either in bookstore one. Nor have two posthumous whatsems. Rock Gomorrah, cowritten (early ’82) with L.A.’s Michael Ochs, and a projected collection of unpublished fragments scrounged from Bangs’s apartment a day or two after his death, gotten more than inches off the publishing ground — the former for reasons which if herein revealed would get me sued but good, the latter because, in the words of editor Greil Marcus, “the stuff is less tractable than I thought at less than 5000 words or so.’’ Also stalled, and/or abandoned (and/ or nonspecific pipedreams to begin with) : all known plans to reissue out-of- print Live Wire LP Jook Savages on the Brazos, recorded, Austin, TX, Dec. ’80, by Lester Bangs & the Delinquents, lyrics and vocals by guess who. In fact, the only anything by L. C. Bangs readily available where availables are sold is his liner copy for The Fugs Greatest Hits Vol. I, released by PVC/Adelphi some months after he’d croaked, for which he (or rather his atoms) later copped a Grammy nomination, and for which, reliable word has it, he never was paid.

Well, I’ve been proven wrong; it hasn’t been easy recollecting Lester in even half a toto in so much tranquility. Didn’t seem like such a bad idea back when obits were appearing left & right and at least two- thirds of ’em smacked of revisionism at its well-intentioned worst; having ridden the range with the guy, having been as intimate with his daytime/nighttime revealed essence — I would bet my boots — as anyone in or out of various possible beds with him, I had fiery goddam galaxies to say in his behalf that were simply not being said, at least not in print by his designated peers; and, although my no longer living in New York couldn’t help but delay my shot, remote and after-the-fact seemed like the ticket, y’know anyway, for some major necessary rerevision.

But here it is two, two and a half years gone & more, and whuddaya know if all the raw goddam pain (at the loss of, yes, a brother) and jagged fucking anger (at a waste of life, life-force, and relative inconsequential like “talent” and “genius”), an unbeatable duo which for weeks, weeks, months gave the Lester totality so cosmic a shape, scale and intensity, have by their own inevitable burnout given way to the contemplation of standard-issue mere data, of the skeletal remains of a larger-than-life life which have come to make sense (or not) in too neat, too linear, a manner. Well — hey — fuggit: Even if grocery lists, chalk diagrams and hokey storytellin’ are the forms ongoing life-as-life has imposed on the mission, there’s still a heap of essential Lester information that could use, uh, exposure to printed-page light.

What too many write-biz intimates sought to do in the wake of his death was debunk the Lester Legend (solely) by reciting evidence that his bark was worse than his bite. While I’m sure he’d have “wanted it done” (i.e., have the saga-as- litany scraped of treacherous barnacles, or at least of their treacherous vogue), I can’t imagine the projected post-life intent of such a wish as in any way entailing cosmetic overhaul, especially in the service of moral/experiential object lessonhood. Lester’s day-to-day transaction with post-adolescent life-as- dealt was — let’s be conservative — 94 % anything but pretty. If he’d have wanted his entire whatsis to serve up viable scenarios for intimates and non-intimates alike (gee, would the Pope prefer to be Catholic?), there’s no way the deal’d come out even provisionally Lester-functional without interested non-intimates having retroactive access to as hefty an eyeful of the not-so-pretty — in all its hideous, non-Clearasiled blah blah blah — as intimates galore regularly managed to cop and, in their various personal ways, have already learned from. To deglorify an earlier incarnation of shit (which the man himself was clearly hellbent on doing in his waning days on earth) you’ve got to at least speak its name — loudly! — for the whole entire planet: c’mon now, one & all. A solemn responsibility (I call it) which, credibly/incredibly, the smelly sumbitch’s closest associates have, to this day, all but refused to consider.

To wit: For every time anyone saw the defanged, declawed Lester teddy bear rear its cuddly li’l head (see obits 2, 3, 5 & 7) the man was uncountable times the asshole, the buffoon, the sodden tyrant; been those things myself — in semi-prior lifetimes — so I know. Back in ’73, for inst, the soon-to-be-dead Lillian Roxon gushed shameless love for the s.o.b., in New York on Creem business, ordering up a Lester button and leaving it in his hotel box; response to this purest of offerings was “What’s that fat cunt want from me?” About a year later I get this call from Nick Tosches requesting that I please take Lester, who’d shown up at his door on acid, “off my hands”; took him to a party at John Wilcock’s place, during which he verbally brutalized Wilcock’s wife (in green Fingernails) for being a “hooker,” snapped at an affable Ed Sanders for being “the only alkie in the counter-culture,” and had nothing more to say to Les Levine’s Asian girlfriend (wife?) than “Yoko is a lousy gook”; further into the night, at Vincent’s Clam Bar in Little Italy, he literally bellowed ( more than twice), “There’s a lotta tackin’ wops in this joint.” And how can I forget the way he treated me and Nick, his closest approximate friends f'r crying out loud, as our wonderful editor while at Creem? He’d call us each up at 3 a.m. to urgently solicit various (rather specific) reams of pap, needed via Special D toot sweet; we’d climb outta bed, peck away bleary-eyed to whack out the closest possible takes on what he’d claimed he wanted, whereupon he’d reject ’em with a vengeance (“I won’t print beatnik shit”), then run thoroughly like-minded i. somethings — under his own byline — or with our words, usually verbatim, laced throughout. Just a few “examples,” dunno if they sound like big stuff or small, in any event typical Lester, with plenty, plenty more where they came from — y’know times n-plus-many.

In spite of such anticommunal upchuck, or quite possibly because of it — post-adolescent of a post-summer-of-love feather & all that — I did have deep affection for the bastard during my final years in New York; he could really piss me off (and I, I’m assuming, him) but bygones were always eventually ditto. In those days I generally shared his affection for The Edge, and might even’ve gone extreme slightly ahead of him; in January ’72, this is true, he actually dubbed me “the Neal Cassady of rock and roll.” But by fall ’75, when I split New York to at least simulate an escape from the Frantic and Hyper (and he subsequently arrived, ostensibly to embrace same), I was feeling the first stirrings of apprehension re my own prolonged massive intake of Edge Substances (emotional, cultural, but above all chemical) and was on the verge of an early series of attempts to, y’know, cut down, to maybe get off my collision course with all sorts of walls, both metaphoric and real. Lester, meantime, seemed on a rapid upswing in the intake dept.; what had so far served as mere horizon or frame for his trip, or at most been its semi-essential fuel, was now lunging headlong for the foreground of his life ... or should we call it the twin foregrounds (life as Mythic Construct; life as physical/emotional/cultural Hard Mundane Reality).

Hey, the guy was beginning to scare me. Certainly as an advanced — or rapidly advancing — version of what I no longer wanted to be and could (possibly) imagine once again becoming, but more as this vivid, palpable spectre of specialized human decomp not just out there but right there: a pal & a buddy headed (willy nilly?) for the sewer. From late ’75 immediately onward, on those unlikely occasions when separate coasts — underscored by far fewer rockwrite junkets — any longer allowed for it, I was usually unable to handle being in the same room with him, knowing I’d have to witness whole new increments of what could really no longer be passed off as anything but (gosh) misery and (dig it) horror. Where in the earlier ’70s it was almost cute — once in a while — the way Lester would stumble into classic self- directed drunk jokes (like the time he called me from the Detroit airport to tell me he was headed for an Alice Cooper show in London, presumably England, only he’d drunkenly got it wrong and was on his way to London, Ontario), there was this half-week in ’79, for inst, during which he hung out at Michael Ochs’s house in Venice with no daily design but to get skid-row-calibre gone and stay there, that was just fucking grim. Looking an unhealthy as I’d ever seen him, basic shit-warmed over with an ngly bump on his forehead (which he claimed he was “treating with Romilar”), he refused to eat without an Occasion. When, one evening, Michael and I pretty much dragged him to a Mexican restaurant, he refused to actually step inside until he’d fortified himself with the cottons from six Benzedrex inhalers — the local pharmacist was out of Romilar — busted open on the sidewalk with a shoe.

Washing down their remnants with a Dos Equis as his enchilada sat there staring at him, he quoted (or claimed he was quoting) Sid Vicious: “Food is boring.”

So, inevitably, when Billy Altman rang me up from N.Y.Clearly on a California morn, to let me hear it straight from a friend — “instead of from a creep” — my immediate response to no more Lester, steps ahead of all the pain & anger & whut, was holy fucking shit, the fucker finally did it; it’d been in the real-world cards for long-long times for Lester to cease to be. Though even on his gonest days he was no way a classic cornball suicide-romantic — heck, I don’t really think he was all that clinically suicidal (big-sleep fantasies never overtly/covertly lured him, not even metaphorically, from the darkest sub-basement of his World of Dread; nor was Danger, though he often nonstop lived it, itself the merest tickle of a ripple of a thrill for him, a context before the fact) — he’d sure staged more corny, frightful dress rehearsals than Jim Jones plus Judy Garland (squared) for simply ending up dead.

Biggest of which I ever saw was January ’81. I’m at Nick’s place in New York, en route back to L. A. from Montreal, when who should pay a surprise visite but Mr. Bangs, cassette in hand. It’s a tape of these tracks recorded during an Austin romp I’d heard about second or third hand (he’d planned to “live there forever,” it was said, ’til a night in the local drunk tank — on top of who knows what else — totally changed his mind), and in the course of the next 12-15 hours he played it, for us and at us, many times. Also during this stretch, after boasting, rather proudly, that he no longer drank, he managed to ingest at least 36 cough- suppressant tablets (three 12-packs of Ornical — we weren’t always watching) washed down with sizable slugs of bourbon, as there was nothing else but water to wash ’em down with.

All stages of this ordeal, in which Nick and I were little more than foils for surge upon surge of what we’d come to regard as typical Lestorian bathos, were hardly bearable in the state we were in (after far too many “nights with Lester,” going back to the days when we even could dig it, we’d opted for a change to take this one straight), but the morning-after phase was literally one for the books. On the umpteenth playback of what was soon to hit the racks as the Jook Savages LP, Lester insisted that one particular vocal was pure Richard Hell (in Lester’s cosmos an a priori yay); my dogtired no-big-deal of a response was it sounded existentially neater than that, more on the order of Tom Verlaine (a Lester nuh-nuh-no). Suddenly hair-trigger sensitive — in a performance-trigger vein — he tapdanced back with “Then I might as well go sell shoes in El Cajon.” Next cut he compared himself to somebody (very contempo) else, prompting me to comment, for non-pejorative, sleep- denied better or worse, that his vocals (across the board; in general) had the same basic flavor as those on such country-western parodies as Sanders' Truckstop or the Statler Brothers’ Johnny Mack Brown High School LP. Affecting grievous offense, as if any of his b.s. actually mattered (the Lester of ’73/’74 — in any chemical state — would merely’ve giggled), he took things up a full notch of indignant/sarcastic: “Well I guess I’m just no fucking good. ”

But he wouldn’t stop playing the crap, not with every cut looming as a supercharged occasion for kneejerk call- and-response, a challenge for him to goad Nick and/or me into goading him, in turn, into mock-self-deprecatory one-liners ad nauseum — a dress rehearsal, as it were — his puke-stained sweater seemed appropriate — for his triumphant appearance on Johnny Carson, which he had no doubt the worldwide success of his Blondie book would imminently require . . . along with a shot of his mug, cleanshaven, on the cover of People (over which he whined “fear” of besmirched personal image).

Ultimately Nick and I, weary of further compliance in so shoddy an interpersonal number, old buddy or not (and/or old bud in particular), found ourselves laughing in his face; enough was enough, and the sight of this bumbling mammal going gaga for an audience of two-who-knew- better was kind of otherworldly amusing. The object of our yuks, however, took it as us laughing with him: Great Moments in Standup/Audience Rapport! Swollen with illusory (or whatever) whacked-out self, Lester then proceeded to announce his program: (1) to save Rock & Roll; (2) to become president (presumably Oi the U.S. of A.); (3) to move to England and in turn save their Rock & Roll. As mere dipshit goals, nos. 1 and 3 meant topically little to either of us — geez, we’d all but buried the Anglo-Am mainstream as even an idle, y’know, sometime hobby or whatnot — but (2) hit us firmly, instantaneously, in the breastplate.

Lester’s neurons, no recent model of health to begin with, had made the short-circuit of Lester Bangs . . . [tenor saxophonist] Lester Young . . . (latter's nickname] Pres . . . Pres/U.S.A. per se!!!

Guffaw, guffaw — we guffawed — though I guess we could've gasped (or shuddered). Then: a heavy silence, as cosmic (or whatever) as it was awkward, filled presently by the man himself:

"Hey! I'm gonna buy some import albums! I'll get a whore I know to lend me her charge card! Cab fare too!" And he was off; no amiable nudging, no “Get the fuck out of here" could take the place of timeless vinyl hunger. Gone at last — and we gave him (in all solemn, empirical, non-jive reckoning) six months to live.

But of course he fooled us, by (nearly) a whole damn calendar year. Surprise, surprise: but an even bigger surprise was the extent to which he managed to actually turn things around — well, almost — during that extra annum, especially during its. and his. final months. Not only was he still among the living, not only did he no longer seem conspicuously earmarked for premature exit — the Lester with whom I spent a rather refreshing week in February '82 gave every indication of having already gone beyond mere survival (as an issue) and appeared, astonishingly, to be thriving on the theme.

In L.A. following his mother's eventually fatal stroke and staying with his 56-year-old half-brother in Studio City, he accompanied me one night to a low-stakes poker game attended by members of the Blasters, the perfect setup, you’d figure, for Lester to revert to type. But no, he just minimally fun-&- games'ed it like anyone else — no lookin' for opportunities to “be Lester," no showing off for rock-roll peers either verbally or intakewise. no diving for the evening's jugular and letting 'er rip — and after two beers (!). without so much as a grimace, he declared he’d had enough. Postgame he engaged Phil Alvin in a lively musical dialogue, but at no point did fightin' words fill the air, or were axes even poised for grinding. The pair agreed to exchange tapes — a wholesome friendship in the making — and next day Lester complained (true, true) that reefer had been smoked.

As the week wore on in consistent, low- key fashion. I was struck by the fuckload of inner capacities the guy was perceptibly calling on, left, right and center, to extend his defiance of Death to the domain of just plain living, capacities I hadn't caught sensory evidence of — all previously told — for more than 11 minutes total. A far cry from anything as cheaply benign as, let's say, more frequent eruptions of "Lester washes the dishes" (see obit 04), what I got to witness was kind of on the order of a whole new Lester, one who'd finally found a non-lethal, functionally less jagged (though in no way “benign") rhythm for his life. Engaging him in tight quarters with more open-heartedness per se than I*m sure I’d ever mustered (sharing an Edge does not always make for brotherhood-by-numbers. let alone by pure, unedited inclination), I willingly submitted to his rap/rant and bought its tenor if not its verbatim transcript; by the time he returned to New York, his mother still hanging on. I’d seen and heard a New Lester series pilot that could credibly have played — prime time — on the Pro- Life Network.

For starters, he’d learned to slow down, to proceed apace through a given experience without easy reliance on everpopular on-off switches. He'd gotten far more selective about the company he kept, seeking out, for the first time in his known adult life, social interactions stressing soulwarming interpersonal comfort over thrash-trigger me-you tribulation. A good deal less insistent upon strapping each day to an emotional chopping block (as recalled, for inst, in that old chestnut of his, “I need to be in love!"), he'd begun to let his life embrace emotional motifs of greater duration and resiliency. And. as stuff like this fed back to his theoretic apparatus, even Lester's ideas (as stated) began to display an unexpected day-to-day congruity; no longer, it seemed, would he write an anti-racist wowser for the Village Voice in one breath and scream, "Fuckin’ niggers!” at Village Oldies the next. Lester-as-flux had had its thoroughly engaging run. and for this to give way to a “maturer” unpredictability was not the worst of possible outcomes.

Even the drastic reduction in Lester’s intake of physical poisons bore little trace of on-the-wagon-or-bust — y'know, as if any day, minute, second the tension of it all would cause him to snap right back with equal vengeance — particularly with its status as but part of a whole-body package that included both eating at regular intervals and a radical olfactory modification: He now took baths. (One afternoon in ’74 Nick and I met Lester at some ritzy midtown hotel. Though he’d been in the room all of an hour, the smell was like a dog had died there, and been left to rot, weeks or months before. Consequently, we vetoed his offer to call down for drinks on Creem’s tab, suggesting, to his consternation, that any dump of a bar would be more, uh, whatever. Many of his heterosex liaisons had foundered on the rocks of precisely this issue.)

In terms of cultural orientation, no longer was he monomanically enslaved to rock & roll (-or-perish). For virtually the first time since the sixties he didn’t need, burningly, brand new Big Beat LP’s in his mail slot each (and every) day; the state of the Art, wobbling on a multi-year terminal gimp, no longer served as his external psychic barometer, his armband of first-person pride (or shame); having finally produced Music of his own, to severe personal specifications (regardless of the giggles it inspired in jerks like me), he no longer needed to prove anything with it or through it. Crucially, though some would probably like to deny it. he no longer saw Rock’em-Sock'em as a viable metaphor for his (or any, kindred or otherwise) state of being, viewing it as the all too easy — and ultimately, revoltingly, unsatisfactory — crystallization of (mega-numerous) blank and scattered lives. Lester's break with rock-roll mythos as his be-all/end-all of etc., which I have no doubt (had he lived) he’d've sooner rather than later made official, was as profound, and profoundly moving, as his break with the Myth of Lester. As one committed jackass who’d made the same painful transition — goodbye, Rock-Automated Self! — I knew how tough a bond the chronically intermingled personal/cultural can be to crack (and my heart went right out to him).

It also warmed my cockles, considering his record in the mere civility dept., to see him relate (graciously) to his half- brother’s wife, this unaffectedly pretty 21- year-old rural Mexican the macho blusterer, a stuntman by trade, had recently acquired, maritally, while on location Down South. Though she knew pun near zero English, my first sight of her she was watching some random English-language crap, while hubby rested for a shoot of the Fall Guy series, on the tiny TV in her fussy suburban kitchen; materially cozy for the first time in her life, she seemed lonely, disoriented, far from home. Silent and solemn, she visibly stiffened — shyly? menially? — at the intrusion of Lester, my girlfriend Irene and me. only to be put at ease by Lester introducing us, without missing a beat, as, well, friends of the family. Like it mattered to him that she feel like family — and thus shared in all aspects of etc. — and for a moment the loneliness left her face; she smiled broadly, shook (or at least took) our hands, went back to her tube.

But what came off as so genuine when he was dealing with his family, his friends, kind of sputtered into the ether when he tried to branch it to the family of Man. Whenever he got to talkin' Hard Humanism, which had all the earmarks of being his preoccupation of (Rock- replacement) record, he’d make these broad, lecture-ish, relatively flavorless statements which often didn't wash.

Never wholly credible 'cause once again he seemed to be performing — without booze/etc. but surely with a script — he’d say thus & such about human courage and folly that not only had an artificial ring, it tended to run in direct opposition to what had clearly been his experience. Even his word choice sounded stilted, alien, not his own; when he spoke of "women" he could easily have been reading straight from a column in Cosmo.

A lot of which suggested a Lester so hellbent on being a good boy once and for all that to merely work overtime cleaning up his own act was scarcely sufficient; he had to render a transpersonal commentary that made his good intentions “universal,” even if the topical universality he’d taken an option on was simply the first he found it comfortable song-&-dancing a provisional connection to. There were moments when his bill of particulars made me uneasy, realizing that to intellectually challenge any of this would be like kicking mud on some kid’s newest/truest pastime, 'specially when it was one so socially redeeming, so non- self-destructive. one which, for all intents and purposes, I basically shared with him anyway. What really counted was the miracle of Rock Tough Guy #1, after 15 years of rocknroll plug-in and little else, during which he'd come to thread that needle upside down (and asleep), to the point (even) of smugness, flipness, pomposity, out on a goddam limb over something else: a neophyte at last! (I could dig it.)

Anyway, finally, on the last night of Lester's stay — which worked out as our last time together, period — we did something we’d previously never found the appropriate nexus for: trading rants (in earnest) with blank tapes a-rolling.

For something like five-six hours we went apeshit re such topics as: the sellouts & prejudices of mutual colleagues; novels and novelists; New York as (quite possibly) the coldest outpost on Emotional Earth; the usual standard rockish garbidge (plus some un- and some non-). We also hit on shrinks-we- have-known, with Lester's rap on this rooty-toot of a subject being the single one, from the four-and-a-half hours I’ve so far transcribed, which most tellingly nutshells the excruciating self- examination he had to've undertaken — and undergone — just to be sitting around discoursing as fluidly as he was, to’ve transcended whatever the fuck en route thereto:

“Like I went to a psychoanalyst, one in New York and one in Detroit, for a total of, I dunno, three-and-a-half years. I finally concluded, I mean yeah I’m insane, I’ve got my problems, my sicknesses are fucking me, yeah, I’m sure they both probably helped me, y’know, I know the last guy in New York, it's like everybody I know was totally appalled by my drinking and drugging, well like you, right, and everybody else had the same reaction, y’know, except my shrink. He’d say, ‘No, that's alright.’ I went out to this, he had a country retreat, a whole bunch of us would go out there on weekends. And the first time I went there like I got drunk on Friday night, and Saturday morning I got up and washed down a bottle of Romilar with a bottle of beer while sitting on a slick rock by the stream. I got this great idea for something I wanted to write, I stood up on the rock in boots like these and whoosh, went like that and smashed, see it, the scar on my nose? That's how I got it, smashed my face open.

“And he thought my druggin' and drinkin' was great, y'know? He said, in fact he kind of told me I'd be not as great of a writer if I gave all this stuff up. And I said, 'Yeah, but look at all these people, they rot away, they end up like self- parodies like Kerouac and Burroughs and all that sort of shit.' And he said. 'No. no, not everybody's like that.' I said, How could I someday be 55 years old and have to take a handful of speed to sit down at the typewriter?' Well he said, 'People do it. heh heh heh!' Well both my shrinks, especially this guy, they had real great humanist compassion and empathy and all that, but I know what both of 'em did, and in the long run in essence they were no good for me, because they were getting off on me being there. It’s like they’re so bored, one housewife alter another, 'I don’t love my husband, I don't know why.’ Then they get someone like you or I that's actually interesting, that has ideas, and so it's fun time for 'em. I mean if I hadda follow this guy’s advice I’d be dead, uh, pretty soon.”

Hmm: one effing eery end-of-quote as, alas, all is now dust — reactively acquired caution or no. Possibly possibly possibly, any tonnage of prudence would inevitably have proven insufficient for the autopilot courses he was still, evidently, all too capable of flying. Or, reversing horses and carts, maybe his tortured shell was already jus’ too beat-to-shit, with even a radical lessening in his scale of abuse being too little — archetypally — too late. And then there’s this pharmacological biz about purified cells succumbing to doses they’d have been more than up for when poison was all they knew. (And can we ignore the Wrath of Influenza?)

Even if, to some bitter-enders, his death remains as shrouded in formal “mystery” as those of Eric Dolphy and Warren G. Harding, all-of-the-above can't help but provide a not-unlikely profile of how Lester came to die. Throw in a few more mainline Causalities (cultural: rock-roll glut, esp. coupled w/ too literal an intoxication with Kerouac, Celine, et al; primalpsychological: a childhood more woeful than most, his Jehovah's Witness mom — pushing 50 when she had him — mind-setting, almost singlehandedly. a chronic “inability to cope"; geographic: the Apple, even when it wasn't absolute Edge Central, affording him. given his makeup, scant opportunity for inner peace) and you'd easily have an explanation that 'd hold up in a court of his cronies/cohorts/camp followers.

But if Lester was the pawn, victim, and (indeed) fellow traveler of such easy- Aristotelian a-implies-b, he was also, in those last fitful months, a scatterer of all such shit to the winds, a man who showed his true destiny muscle by throwing all the elements out of on-the-head mythopoetic sync just when they threatened, conspiratorily, to reduce him to merely another Jim Morrison. Jimi Hendrix. Mr. Kerouac. Screamingly, courageously, he committed himself, as wholly (really) as possible, to a counter-causal gameplan which even if flawed — and accidents, y’know, happen — did actually manage to defuse (at least where I live & breathe) the mythic oompah of any time-delayed rat-trap he may subsequently (or previously) have fallen in. If there's anything almost pleasing about the timing, the anti-drama, of Lester's death, it's the monumental Mythic Disjuncture factors he'd set in motion were thereby — implicitly, explicitly — to forever effect.

LESTER’S (WRITERLY) LEGACY — “One of rock’s most colorful characters, Bangs made his reputation as a pugnacious, participatory journalist who was not above picking fights with rock stars in pursuit of a good interview." So wrote one voice of prevailing wisdom, Patrick Goldstein, in the May 9/82 L.A. Times; nothing — latter part — could be farther from the truth. If Lester (the writer) more than once battled Lou Reed into (and beyond) the wee hours of etc., it was not to get a story, it was to live a story: to encounter all the rock-related being his writerly credentials (as a wedge) were able to afford him (as a person)'. Nor was he in any way enthralled by the sickening spectacle of stars being stars; artists, maybe, but stars, fug 'em. When he as mere citizen found himself face-to-face with the pose, pretense, and professional guardedness of such gaudy, extraneous creatures, Lester could not (for the life of him) deal with such crap but to cut right through and speak, directly, to the mere citizen in them, or (failing that) force the situation into functional self-destruct — before the fact of anything so dispassionate as actually “writing it up."

That his eventual write-ups tended to display utter contempt for the entire food chain of music-corporate life, often biting, intentionally, a grimy hand that could not’ve been more willing — his mighty Credentials & all — to feed him, heck, fatten him, was but half the take-no-shit of Lester's essential statement as a writer de rock; forcefeeding the stuff, his stuff, the stuff-as-writ, to the only marginally less corporate (or grimy) running dogs of rockwrite publishing was at least as pugnacious a gesture of this-is-what-I-am/this-is-what-I-do/take-it-or-be-fucked. Since the extent of his success in shoving it down so many otherwise unyielding editorial throats may have had less to do with his willful intent than theirs — camouflage, for inst, for their being life-deep in major-label record company pockets — its significance at this juncture is, at most, merely ironic; the reciprocal influence, in any event, of his ease at getting published upon subsequent moments of raw critical-expressive spew was procedurally nil. In fact, what may most enduringly matter about Lester's approach to his chosen profession, way ahead of dandy journalistic touchstones — "courage," “integrity,” “pride in craft" — that he ate for breakfast like so much broken glass (but which, really, you can still get from Nat Hentoff and Howard Cosell), is the “anti-professional," forcibly non-dehumanized square-one struggle he by design submitted to — and could not. with any kernel of his humanity, avoid - in order to pump out critical prose of any scale of note. (Pugnacity with form; with ritual creative context; even — especially — with roleplaying writerly/critical self.)

That he was ofttimes a great writer/critic, so-called, was but icing on the cake. That scant few others, on the hottest days of their lives, have even approached him — or particularly cared to, considering the requisite gravity and passion of the chore he’d set — probably says as much about their investment in lesser quals of cake as it does about the relative inadequacy of their writerly follow-through. Rockwriting is, and nearly always has been, the trade of simps, wimps, displaced machos, brats and saps; of, in Lester's own words, “ass-kissers of the ruling class”; of fuddy-duddy archivists with cobwebs on their specs; of pathetic idealizers of a lost youth no one has ever (even approximately) experienced or possessed; of sycophantic apologists for chi-chi trends, musical and extramusical alike, without which (so they've always claimed) “rock is dead”; of binary yes/no cheeses with the cognitive wherewithal of vinyl, shrinkwrap, the physical column- inch. Rockwritin' Lester, like anyone else in the trade, was certainly each of these things from time to time, though (probably) none of 'em, singly or in tandem, for longer than the odd off review. Sadly, though his untradelike comportment surely tantalized mere tradefolk while he lived — at least in terms of Style — and even begat a not-half-bad (early-’70s) clone in “Metal Mike" Saunders, his actual abiding sway among such clowns, beyond the occasional liftable riff, was — as it continues to be — infinitesimal.

Finally: the twin silly questions (1) where a still-living Lester might hypothetically've taken it (i.e., beyond the rockwrite fishpond) and (2) what such imaginary newstuff could/would conceivably’ve meant to his basic audience. Second one first. Okay, that Lester's rockstuff generally read so hot as personal testimony is one thing; for it to have been perceived by so many as being eminently, genuinely about something — something rather specific, in fact something "rear’ — is something else. When you get down to it, the gospel of Lester's radical about-ness rested largely on a big hunk of readerly illusion, the illusion of a functional one-on-one between the guy’s fertile imaginings and the psychic infrastructure of rock & roll as dealt; there could be harsh discordance, of course, but as long as a firm relationship could (for whatever readerly vested interest) be consistently inferred between Lester’s mindgames and rock’s g-g-games per se, you at least had the stamp of a viable — if totally simulated — one-on-one. But, really/truly, while Lester’s psychic playground may surely have been one drastically twisted maze, its actual correspondence (sympathetic, hostile, whatever) to rock's own labyrinth, one so airtight and dank as to make his seem like wide open etc., was far too often naught but a matter of readerly convenience. Everyone loves a cipher, a living/ breathing anagram or two. even some — hey — with flaws more rampant than Lester’s, but for the man’s writerly service to’ve been gauged (almost solely) vis-a-vis his reliability as a stand-in cipher-of- x, y’know for readerfolk too lame — or lazy — to suss out x themselves, is the real tragedy of the trip, particularly when the first-&-final glue of most folks’ attachment to his writing was never much more than their own desperate attachment to an x they could, and should, have been accessing more independently (and less desperately) to begin with.

So, anyway, here's the rub. Had Lester lived long enough to both sever his own desperate rock connection — officially, in sheets read by his fuckheaded fans, simply by writing other stuff — and, furthermore, to back it up with an equally official rejection of the Fount of Neurosis from which he'd sung its tune (and they'd listened), it ain't really much of a longshot to imagine him losing a huge percent of the fuckheads — certainly the most gung-ho among 'em — in, well, no time flat. And, c’mon, how much of an immediate, uh, new audience was he likely to yank in writing up (as he insisted he would) such transcendently pivotal mere-humanistic trifles as the dearth of love (as we know it) in scene X or Y . . . how this set of new-age culture jerks uses that set of new-age culture jerks as props in regards to bluh . . . New York editors who pull rank (pshaw!) along collegiate lines [a hard-hitting exposé] . . . or, I dunno, something about shams and follies in clothes and/or grooming?

Plus, well, though, um — (even if) — then again: Aside from loss of ad hominem authority due to the fickle scumbait nature of the pop-world Beast, aside from the fact that many of his generic partisans would prob'ly now be targeted, topically and even personally, in scathing printed-page rants, aside from the limited run such goulash (Sensitive Ties His Laces, w/ Brass Knucks & Footnotes) has ever had — hey — can ever/will ever have . . . aside, aside, aside — the most glaring fact fact is how few times, as of his death, he'd as yet even aspired to the heights (or whats) or non- rock journalism. Four-five-six, some number like that, in the Voice and wherever else, all of ’em still pretty much rockwriterly appendices to the rockwrite “adventure," meaning he had a good ways to go before he'd’ve got the wings/chops/ legs for a total-pulp plunge (or at least a regular shift) at full oldtime capacity (but with newtime thrust and content). Which would’ve been no fall from grace no matter how you scope it — give the boy time (for fuck sake) to stumble and bumble and get it right — but how would any possible Lester have dealt with a (previously amenable) shithook book co. like Delilah telling him not now, sonny when he handed ’em a ream of copy on (let’s imagine) friends who’re fuckups? Personal persona limelight Lester had learned to live without — but writeperson limelight? (It would not’ve been easy.)

Okay, he's dead. All this brand new grief and hardship never befell him; never will. But words on pages remain: What is their lot? Lester's standard fare was so paradigmatically “of the moment" that he was the rockmag shootist. But books of the stuff? Nah; it’s kind of nebulous how even his best mag outings will wear when inevitably (??) anthologized. For someone so public in his orientation, both as input and output, he was — don't laugh or even smirk — one of rock’s more precious and fragile "private moments.” Private moments you can always document — coercively, of course — but try and play ’em back and. well . . . we'll all see, I reckon.

LESTER LEAPS IN — Y’all know all by now how Lester leapt out of New York; lemme just finish with how he leapt in. His first night in town, just a visit, fall "72, he stayed with me and my girlfriend Roni, West Village, 104 Perry St., apt. 4. Arriving semi-direct from JFK, he split pretty quick for the nearest grocer, returning with three six-packs of Colt 45. What he did for the next day and a half — all he did — was wade through 18 big ones, half quarts, as follows: start can, drink fast, get tired; fall out, dropping remainder; awaken following can’s impact with floor; stagger to fridge for fresh one; repeat cycle. What he mumbled or muttered during any of the 18 pre-fallout phases I simply do not recall.

So like hey y’know wo hey hey wo-wo hey, OLD SPORT: love ya, hope I didn’t cramp yer style, g’bye.

--Richard Meltzer, “Lester Bangs Recollected in Tranquility” Dec. 6, 1984

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prosopopeya · 3 years

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New Year’s Meme

this survey has been a tradition among my friend group for YEARS, but i haven’t filled it out since 2015 apparently. i’m not entirely sure why except 2016 was the year a lot of stuff changed for me, namely in that i finally got out of school in some form and started a new job, but i also had a few health problems that kept plaguing me (thyroid medicine being off, vitamin d) and my anxiety was all over the place. so here we go i’m doing it again and feel free to do it too if you want!!

1. What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? tried on wedding dresses. taught virtually. dealt (poorly) with drunk teenagers. performed in a pep rally. wore face masks all the time. i’m going to lump in living with someone. jon moved in october 2019, but i don’t think i did this quiz last year so. taught ap.

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year? i don’t really like resolutions. they put too much pressure on me and i am a fragile person when it comes to setting expectations and living up to them. i did want to try to read more this year, and i maintained that until the pandemic, and then just kind of gave up requiring myself to do anything but live.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? i don’t think so. a coworker did.

4. Did anyone close to you die? jon’s cousin committed suicide in march or april. the circumstances were pretty upsetting. um. andy died in february, very suddenly. andy was my high school boyfriend for four years with whom i had a very... he scarred me in a lot of ways when it comes to sex and consent. it’s taken me a long time to unpack all of that. and i struggle with how much any of that was his fault or just bc he was a stupid kid too. our mutual friends had nothing but nice things to say about him on fb. anyway. he would guilt me into saying he’d kill himself if we broke up, and jon’s cousin killed himself over his girlfriend. so that was a complex part of the year.

5. What countries did you visit? none. literally the week before the quarantine, we went to asheville to visit jon’s cousin.

6. What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? maybe a different job? or at least some peace at doing mine.

7. What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? march 13 we cancelled classes and had a technology training day; the 15th we had another one, and then we were virtual the rest of the term. it was such a sudden shift and while i so loved working from home tbh, it was such a relief after a supremely shitty january/february work-wise, i still had a lot of keyed-up, stressful days centered around transitioning to being the senior upper school spanish teacher. i hate it!

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? writing 50k in the month of november. i have literally never done that before and actively reject nano as being typically unhealthy for how my mind works, so it was nice to do it entirely by accident.

9. What was your biggest failure? mishandling the drunken teenagers on that field trip in january.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? i sit crosslegged in my virtual teaching chair and i did it so much that my ankle hurt for the entire summer.

11. What was the best thing you bought? we put a deposit on our elopement in ireland. jon’s wedding ring. (i didn’t buy my wedding dress.)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? my best friend at work who keeps me sane and is represented by benny in my au, which other than the fact that he is not my sidepiece, is perfect he is crucial to my survival at work and i love him so much. (also he is gay and the french teacher so the benny parallels just keep coming). everyone who tore down a statue in virginia (and other places, but especially monument avenue). everyone putting their lives on the line during this pandemic.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? guess! but aside from all the obvious, i found out a friend of mine at work voted for trump. my work bff and i had been trying for years to sway his politics, but that had us both deciding to give up on him.

14. Where did most of your money go? food, ALCOHOL. god., our savings account. i did a pretty excellent job saving this year, though a good deal of that is because jon moved in and makes more money than me, and also we split all the bills.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? my wedding dress but strangely only when i went to try it on after it came in bc after the purchase i was so sure i’d made every mistake possible. my wedding band. wellbutrin changing my whole life. and, last but certainly not least, the gay angel and the bi(lingual) hunter. i wouldn’t have survived nov-dec in school without that distraction. the election.

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2020? the entirety of taylor swift’s oeuvre this year, maybe specifically “this is me trying”

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: i. Happier or sadder? happier, i suppose, perhaps contrary to what should be the case, but wellbutrin is a hell of a drug. ii. Older or wiser? wiser. ii. Richer or poorer? richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? reading. cleaning. exercising.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? stressing. chaperoning.

20. How will you be spending Christmas? so, an update; last year was the first year i didn’t go to my mom’s for christmas. i was supposed to see her for thanksgiving last year, but she basically told us not to come bc she wasn’t feeling up to it (cool!), and we went to jon’s for christmas and my mom’s for new year’s.

this year, obviously we couldn’t go to my mom’s. instead, we rented a little cabin by the lake. it was perfect; it was really really nice inside, the beds were SO SOFT, the pillows were the best things i have ever laid my head on, like i took off the pillowcases to try to find the brand. we had a little tiny christmas tree with tiny ornaments from walmart that we decorated. the 23rd, we went and picked up our wedding bands. we slept two nights in the (cold) back bedroom so i could wake up and look out at the lake. it snowed for christmas. :)

we opened presents on christmas eve, per jon’s family’s tradition. on christmas eve, we also went to his family farm and sat outside and hung out a little. every year his family does like a secret santa sort of thing and i got my first present in that exchange, which is notable bc jon and i are not yet officially married. i got a remote control car -- jon’s idea bc i couldn’t think of anything, and he was so delighted to hear that i loved playing with rc cars when we went to the beach as a kid.

christmas morning we facetimed my parents and opened some presents together. then jon and i marathoned mandalorian (after spending the previous few days watching several die hard movies), and then we watched wonder woman 1984 which was a bad movie.

21. How will you be spending New Year’s Eve? ok LAST year for new year’s, we were in a hotel room, so that was nice, bc it meant minimal stress with my parents. i had always wanted to go to this restaurant near us that has a special new year’s menu, so we did that. the night before or after i think we went to cheesecake factory, which was also amazing.

this year currently i’m tumbling and he’s playing pokemon, and in a bit we’ll try to time it so we finish schitt’s creek in time for the new year.

22. Did you fall in love in 2020? i re-fell in love with supernatural so that was nice.

23. How many one-night stands? 0. i submit we should randomly change question 23 each year to something more relevant to any of our life experiences.

24. What was your favorite TV program? what did i even watch this year. schitt’s creek. mandalorian. i mean obviously we know supernatural. the circle. are you the one (the queer season). pose. unsolved mysteries. we’re here! perry mason. watchmen. oh maybe that mcdonald’s monopoly fraud documentary. avenue 5. i’ll be gone in the dark. of those i think my favorite maybe is... pose or we’re here.

OKAY UM. on my 2014 version of this there were a bunch of questions about tv shows that i’m putting back in if only for the memories:

25. Which TV shows did you start watching in 2020? the haunting of bly manor, which we still need to finish. derry girls.

26. Which TV shows did you let go of in 2020? HERE’S WHY I WANTED TO RESURRECT THESE. here was my answer in 2015: “supernatural. goodbye, my sweet prince.” CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING BELIEVE

27. Which TV shows did you mean to get into but didn’t in 2020? Why? so far, queen’s gambit and that one on hulu with catherine the great. EVENTUALLY. 28. Which TV shows do you intend on checking out in 2020? fleabag. queen’s gambit. 29. Which TV show do you think you might let go of in 2020 unless things significantly improve? idk i drop things pretty regularly if they don’t entertain me 30. Which TV show impressed you least in 2020? GUYS HERE’S MY ORIGINAL 2015 ANSWER: “supernatural. :(”

anyway back to the rest of the quiz:

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? every person who refuses to listen to facts and information.

26. What was the best book you read? killers of the flower moon: the osage murders and the birth of the fbi, or the his dark materials series.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? well i knew about tswift so i’m not going to count her albums. i will count this song that jon played for me once in the car that got stuck in my head for two weeks straight and led me down into a great related-songs spotify playlist: through the roof ‘n underground.

28. What did you want and get? a wedding dress and a very specific kind of wedding band. a gay angel. a christmas getaway. animal crossing.

29. What was your favorite film of this year? idk i don’t know how many films i saw this year. maybe mucho mucho amor: the legend of walter mercado

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? i was 32. we went to an escape room with a BUNCH of people -- work bff, my old work bff and his wife (old bc he quit and we’ve fallen out of touch :(), the cool new physics teacher and his fiancee, and the aforementioned trump voter and his wife, before we knew... we went out for brunch/lunch after. it was pretty great!

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? not having to chaperone that school trip in january. dean being bi in english as well as spanish. cas just ilke, appearing in 15x20. not having to physically go back to work this fall.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? no! real! pants!

34. What kept you sane? jon. supernatural (in a way?). animal crossing for a while. wellbutrin! i haven’t really been able to detail this yet, but finally i did something about tumblr and my therapist making me think about adhd. my doctor gave me wellbutrin (bc i lack any official diagnosis and was on anxiety meds anyway, and he was like let’s try this!) and it’s fucking. it’s a fucking godsend. surprisingly enough, my students. trying to provide them a safe space has been a calming thing for me.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? jensen ackles’ silence. misha collins again, i guess.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? the summer was so fucking intense. i guess though it was me trying to exert my influence in a responsible way with my students without trying to try to make them feel uncomfortable but then one kid was a vocally upset trump supporter after the election and i had to try to defuse that situation.

37. Who did you miss? my old work bff. several old friends that i’ve fallen out of touch with bc i have no object permanence.

38. Who was the best new person you met? people i met through the spn resurgence!

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020: if you manifest it in an au, it will come. no really though. maybe that expectations are only as important as i make them out to be.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year: usually i have a hard time coming up with anything for this and i default to looking at my most played songs of the year. my most played song of the year received each and every one of its plays within the month of november and you can guess why. anyway see if this works

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met - the night we met, lord huron

#happy new year #annual meme

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gh0stiegirlie · 4 years

Text

Synopsis: You have been a pro-hero for the past three years, and a damn good one too (although, you don’t think so). When you and Ground Zero are assigned on a stakeout case together to capture a member of the Dark Akumu, which is currently Musutafu's most threatening Villian League, it changes the entire course of your career-- and your life.

Length: 1.6k words

a/n: YOOOO the bitch is back better than ever after two years, and super into my hero academia. this is going to be a multiple parter series, so I hope this is a great lil pilot!

pt. 2 ->

The feeling of civilian eyes analyzing your every move is nothing new; You are a pro-hero, after all. However, the feeling of Ground Zero glaring daggers into you as you enter the sheriff’s office is a new-- and rather unsettling --experience.

“Welcome, Ether.” Sheriff Chie greets and gestures for you to take a seat in her office’s beaten-down spinny chair. “I have a very special case for you tomorrow night.”

“I’m all ears,” you shift awkwardly in the chair, trying to get comfortable. The number of times you and other heroes have sat in this shitty chair and listened to the Sheriff explain a convoluted plan to capture a villain was innumerable. Although, you guess the number is in the hundreds. At least.

“We’ve had a lesser-known pro-hero go undercover, and they were able to join the intermediate group of Dark Akumu. They’ve disclosed that during pro-agencies weekly wrap-ups with their heroes this Friday, they will be attacking several meetings. But, they can’t attack without supplies.” she continues pacing around her office, although she has nowhere to go. Her office is an inadequate size for the amount of time and effort she puts into her job, and every hero here knows she deserves a bigger space for her ideas of grandeur to fester-- and a raise in her salary, too. But since pro-heroes are the ones publicly capturing villains and doing the true “labor”, you’re the ones who receive the fame, glory, and money. Police officers no longer receive the credit they deserve, and some even believe they're no longer necessary. But Sheriff Chie is an example of why the police industry is still breathing within the tight confinements pro-heroes wrapped them in; they love representing and protecting the quirkless people of the world, and society needs that. Even if it doesn’t realize it. “Tomorrow night, the Dark Akumu will have their leader's right-hand man, Youkai, collect a shipment from a smaller underground group.” She slams her hands down on his desk with enthusiasm and points at you. “That’s when you and Ground Zero come in.”

You push yourself away from the desk in shock. “Katsuki Bakugou?” You exclaim, spinning around in your chair to face the door. You stare out the small window into the police department. “I haven’t spoken to him since high school…” you trail off, remembering his bitterly cold gaze from a few minutes ago. It looked like he was trying to ignite an explosion inside your intestines. After a few moments of reflecting, you turn to face Sheriff Chie. “Why us?”

“Your powers aid each other well,” she responds simply. “The two of you will stakeout until both parties arrive for the trade. The combination of your compatible powers with the element of surprise,” she grins, “you two will be unstoppable, and capture Youkai in a matter of seconds.”

“It’s a great plan, Chie, really. All your plans are.” you begin, “But I think you’re underestimating our foes here. Yeah, they only have one villain collecting the supplies, but still. This is currently Musutafu’s most threatening villain league. He's not going down without a fight. And by fight, I mean a full-on battle.”

The Sheriff scoffs. “You underestimate yourself, Ether. Ground Zero holds more confidence in you than you do,” she explains with a wink. You turn away once more, so she can’t see the pink blush encompassing your cheeks.

“You know Bakuguh—uh—Ground Zero and I haven’t spoken since U.A. Even then, we scarcely interacted. Except for a brawl or two.” You twirl a piece of h/c hair that fell out of your high ponytail. “It’s true that our quirks complement each other. So how come we’ve never been paired up before? Why now?” You question.

Chie simply replies with a shrug. “There’s never been a need for two of the most powerful modern heroes to pair up; Now there’s a demand for that exact role. And you two have been selected to fulfill it.” You shift in your chair uncomfortably and avoid Chie's imploring brown eyes. She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Cmon, Skylar. I understand you have a… difficult past with Ground Zero, but I’m asking you as a protector of people and as your friend to please try and look past that. At least for one night. The city needs you. ” Sheriff Chie pleads, and she’s right. You hang your head in your hands before running one through your hair. Then, you spin around with perfect posture and a humbling smile on your face. You respectfully nod your head at Sheriff Chie.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. You’re right. I’m sure Ground Zero and I are old enough to move on from our past together and instead focus on our future. Thank you.”

The Sheriff's proud grin is contagious, and you can’t help but smile in satisfaction with her plan. As you are about to leave the office, Chie stops you. “Before you go! I want to talk to you as your friend, not a sheriff.” You walk over to her desk and lean in close. “Hero Ground Zero was also somewhat… displeased, when he heard you were his partner. Just... Try not to fall... deeper, into his bad side. He'll lure you in, but you have to be smarter. And you are.”

“But... does he even have a good side?” You joke, and Chie chuckles.

“I know, right! With every passing second he spent in my office he looked more and more like an angry balloon ready to pop. I think his head just holds tons of hot air that he can only release by yelling at someone or punching something.”

“It felt like he spent all of high school searching for a reason two do one of those things! Someone could walk by him the “wrong way” and he would get offended.” You laugh, holding tightly onto your aching sides.

These are the moments with Sheriff Chie you cherish; the one when you two aren’t head sheriff and pro-hero, but Chie and Skylar. Normal people, normal friends.

After laughing over Ground Zero's unnecessarily aggressive attitude towards literally everything to the point of rolling around her modest office and bumping into shelves and knocking down paperwork, you decide it’s time to leave. You hug on the way out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at three pm sharp. I’ll briefly explain the mission again, and you two will be on your way shortly after.” You nod, and as you walk away Chie calls out from her office, “Oh! And we’ll be providing some spicy food!! The least we can do for our favorite heroes.”

You giggle and shake your head, sending a quick wave in Chie's direction as you continue to the exit. Before you leave, you glance at the spot Ground Zero was sitting in earlier. All that remains of the hero is a minor burn from his butt, presumably after growing impatient from sitting down for too long. Surprisingly, you smile at the thought. Ground Zero must not have changed much since U.A. While part of you dreads working alongside that hothead of a hero, another half appears eager to see what he's like as a pro.

It has only been a few years since you graduated with Bakugou and the rest of class 3-A at the age of seventeen. You're only twenty one now, but you feel like you've lived through three lives since high school, not three years. While the school had prepared you well for the fighting villains part of pro-hero life, they hadn’t prepared you for the physical and emotional consequences. As mentioned, you're barely twenty-one, but you're a regular at the doctor and chiropractor. You bare a heavy burden of having to execute everything perfectly all the time; no room for casualties. Because of this stress on saving every person, along with all your brand deals and sponsorships, you hardly maintain a life outside of work. While you love what you do, you miss meeting with friends at a coffee shop in the morning only to shop at the mall until midnight. You miss cuddling up with your Midnight plushie at 10 o’clock and watching superhero documentaries till the crack of dawn. Now, you are the one protecting those friends lounging around in coffee shops and malls, and the hero starring in documentaries. You truly love it all; You love digging your nose deep into Chemistry books and studying chemicals to create new toxins. You love protecting essential workers from the terrors of those who use their quirks for evil, and consequently beating the shit out of those people. But sometimes, you wish you were another bystander.

As a kid, you watched in awe as the heroes fought tirelessly, day and night, to always flawlessly beat the villain. But actually doing that, especially without complaints, is more difficult than you ever comprehended.

You park your Toyota Supra outside one of your perks of being a top ten pro hero. Currently, you live in a 1286112000.00 yen mansion and recently bought a 5358800000.00 yen estate. You were to begin moving next week and considered holding a little gathering at your new home in Tokyo as an excuse to hang out with your pro-hero 3-A classmates.

When you lock the front door, that’s when the isolation consumes you. Vast linoleum halls and long vinyl walls form a repetitive, meandering maze in your home. The only company you have are the halls that are starting to fill with donation boxes. There is one similarity between you and this house you are preparing to abandon; You both are empty on the inside.

You shuffle your way onto your velvet sofa and turn on the TV, ensuring to avoid the news. While mindless cartoons play in the background, you take out your phone and read every Google result for Ground Zero.

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clevercatchphrase · 3 years

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2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

ON TO 2021!

I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

Good night.

#long post #new year's resolutions #year review #year retrospective

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its-always-the-witching-hour · 4 years

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Chapter 1 of Apocalyptic AU - Sanders Sides

This is way longer than I intended it to be, and it’s only chapter one. I don’t have a name for it yet, but I’ll come up with one soon.

Word count - 1643

Pairings - None (yet)

Warnings - (Spoilers) Zombies, blood, guts, the undead, being left alone, death, disease, summoning rituals - Tag anything I missed

Characters - Virgil Sanders, Deceit (Devan) Sanders, Remus Sanders

Next chapter

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Everyone had called his parents crazy, and conspiracy theorists, but now they probably wished they had listened to them. It was month 4 of the apocalypse, and Virgil was probably the only survivor. The outbreak had started with what seemed like a new disease, one that was extremely contagious but harmless, and put the infected person into a sleepwalker like stupor that lasted for days. At first, things just continued like normal, with people still going to work and school, and traveling around the globe, but Virgil’s parents hadn’t bought it. They had locked him from the outside and inside in a bomb-proof bunker, stocked with enough food to last a person a year. They refused to join him, though, and instead attempted to figure out where the disease had originated from. The days down in the bunker were long, but not that boring, due to the fact that there were at least three charging points for electronic devices on each wall, and a tv to keep connected to the outside world, not to mention the bookshelf with all of Virgil’s favorite books in it. He thought that the whole thing was an over-reaction at first, but still got some pleasure out of it, mainly because he now had a valid excuse not to turn up to school, as he was locked in his crazy parent’s basement. Then the disease went into its second stage.

Everyone who had been infected once, or was still suffering from it just collapsed onto the ground. Scans of the bodies showed that their brains had just stopped functioning, and nothing that was done could bring them back. There were too many funerals that week. A week after every dead body was buried, stage three started. People walking past or paying their respects to the dead reported scratching sounds from the graveyards. The government and police dismissed it as a Halloween prank – as it was October at the time – and stated publicly that there was no point looking into it further. Then, the voices started. At first, it just sounded like the wind ripping through the leaves of trees, until people realized that there was no wind, and hadn’t been for weeks. The unexplained chattering noises became the root of many dares that week, and police had to stop many people, young and old, from doing stupid things like digging up the bodies, or chanting so-called ‘summoning rituals’ and trying to connect to the ghosts of the dead. And then, about a month after the disease was first discovered, all hell broke loose, literally.

A report to the police had told them that a man was walking strangely along the pavement outside their house, and they suspected that they were illegally drunk in public. However, when the police arrived, they found a man covered in dirt, mud and grass. Both of his hands had sizeable splinters sticking out of them, and a few fingers dangled as though they were broken, but there was no blood. He walked with a shambling gait, looking like he had broken at least one of his legs. One policeman approached him, to see if they needed to call an ambulance, and the rest, well the rest was recorded by a camera crew doing one of those police documentaries for TV. The horrifying video, which was aired on every station in the world, started off with the policeman approaching the man and asking him ‘Are you okay’. When the man didn’t respond, the policeman tried again, each time moving closer to the man, until he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. With a creepy, unhinged look, the man turned slowly towards the policeman, who seemed happy to get a response out of him at last. The man flew at the policeman, shoving him to the ground and sinking his teeth into his arm. The policeman screamed in agony, then his head flopped back against the pavement.

After that video, Virgil’s parents re-enforced the door with twice as many locks, and for once he was glad that his parents always thought the worst was going to happen. Even days after the video came out, Virgil was still having trouble sleeping, so at 3am, when it happened, he heard everything. It started off with a banging on the front door, but nobody took any notice of that, because their house was pretty old, and weird noises appeared almost every night. As soon as the groaning and mumbling bubbled up, Virgil knew his parents were going to die. He huddled under the weighted blankets of his bed, silent tears running down his face as he listened to his parent’s screams. A couple of times, the zombies banged on the door to his bunker, trying to find a way to get in, but it was built too well. They left around 5am, leaving Virgil alone in a now broken home.

That happened 2 months ago, and Virgil hasn’t heard a thing since. The TV in his room doesn’t work, because there is nobody left to air anything, and the electronic generator has been slowly running out of energy. Every book on the shelf has been read for at least three times, and food and water levels were running low. He knew that his slow and painful death from starvation or dehydration was about to begin. All he could do was just try and ration the remaining supplies he had left, and sleep. When he heard the noises, it was no wonder he thought the zombies had returned. Then, he heard their voices.

“Try this one.”

“I can’t it’s locked.”

“Oh. Well this one is empty. Looks like someone beat us to it.”

A pause, then, closer to the door of the bunker,

“Hey, look at this. What do ya reckon it is?”

“Pictures of… paranormal activity?”

“Woah. This one’s really cool. Look at all the organs on the floor.”

“I think I know who lived here…”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Those weird scientists that were convinced that the world was going to end soon.”

“Well, looks like they were right after all.”

A small bout of harsh laughter with no humor behind it caused Virgil to retreat further back into the safety of his bed, his heart pounding.

“Hey, didn’t they have a kid?”

“Yes, a son, I’m pretty sure. He went to our school, I think, but we’ve never seen him around because when anything remotely strange happened, his parents locked him up for days. Wait Remus don’t –”

A loud crash echoed through the house as ‘Remus’ knocked over something.

“I’m fine, stop fussing Dee. Was there a door here before?”

“A what?”

“Look, it’s like a safe door! But with a thousand more locks!”

“Interesting. Perhaps there’s more food inside.”

“Or bodies!”

“Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only one left alive apart from you.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“Aw, you know you looooove me.”

“Quit being weird and help me open this door.”

Virgil could hear them unlatching locks, and then, alarmingly, the door to his bunker began to shake. He let out an audible gasp, thankful that he kept the inside of the door locked in fear that the zombies would figure out how to open the outside locks.

“Huh, I think it’s locked on the inside as well.”

“But how, unless…”

There was a moment of terrified silence for Virgil, then the voices started speaking again, not to each other this time, but to Virgil.

“Hey, if there’s anyone in there, we won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, we’re nice people, really, and also… we might be the only other people left.”

“Please open the door, if you need it, we can help you.”

Taking a deep breath, Virgil realized that they were his best chance at surviving, even if it meant leaving his safe haven, he would have to go with them. Steeling himself for what would lay behind it, he opened the door.

Standing in front of him were two boys of a similar age to him. One was wearing an interesting black cloak around his shoulders, fastened with a golden chain. The shirt he wore under it was plain grey, and he had jeans on. Half of his face was covered in dirty bandages, and he had a slightly surprised look, as if he hadn’t expected the door to actually open. The other boy had a dark green parker jacket on, and shorts, which made an interesting combo. His hair was extremely messy, with twigs and clumps of dried mud in it. He had a wide-eyed smile, that almost made him look crazy. Virgil regretted opening the door immediately.

“Hey…” the one in the cloak stepped forwards slowly, wincing as Virgil backed up nervously at the movement. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to hurt you. I’m Devan, but you can call me Dee, and that idiot over there is Remus.” Remus gave an energetic wave as he peered past Virgil into the bunker.

“I-I’m Virgil,” Virgil whispered, “and don’t bother looking in there for food; it’s nearly run out. I do have some medical kits if you need it.” He directed the last one at Dee, who touched the bandage on his face self-consciously.

“That… would help.” He admitted, sending an exasperated look at Remus as the energetic one glanced over at Devan, worry clear on his face, “I’m fine, Remus. It just… hurts sometimes.”

“Okay, but you need to let me know if it opens up again. I can help you, ya know.”

Unsure of what to do at this moment, Virgil retreated back into his bunker, then came out moments later carrying a bundle of blankets.

“Here,” He mumbled, offering the bundle to the other two, “This will hopefully have enough stuff to keep us going.”

“Us?” Devan asked.

“Yes, I’m coming with you.”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #zombie warning #zombie apocolypse au #tag this as dukedon'tlook or twdeceit and I'll steal your knee caps

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alwayschoosechocolate · 4 years

Text

Sugar-sweet confessions (kth)

Genre: fluff, dating

Paring: reader x Taehyung

Word count: 3300

Baking cookies sounds like a safe and cozy way to spend a date with Taehyung, but such a domestic scene might awake some strong feelings in you.

Taglist: @spookidema @jessicarhb

A/N: A little christmas baking with Taehyung to warm all of you on this cold day (it’s cold here at least). That’s 2 stories out of 7 - what do you think so far? If you want to be added to the tag list for this little advent calender of drabbles, just let me know!

Next drabble will be up this sunday! The schedule and themes of the stories can be found in the master post for the drabbles. My other stories and drabbles can be found in my masterlist

“Okay, do we have everything?”, Taehyung asked, looking up at you with sparkling eyes and his signature boxy smile from the kitchen counter, which was currently overflowing with ingredients for Christmas cookies. Spending the day in the kitchen baking and listening to Christmas music had always been your favorite part of the holidays and since you and Tae had been dating for a little over a month now, you had deemed it a perfect Christmas date for the two of you.

“Hmm. Almost,” you hummed with a cheeky smile, moving to his side and feeling the butterflies flutter in your stomach at how naturally he turned towards you and opened his arms when you approached. “We just“ - you circled your arms around his neck - “need“ - and raised yourself on your toes, smiling at how his grin got wider as you got closer- “one more thing.” Closing the distance between you with a soft kiss, you immediately felt his arms tighten around your mid as he pulled you closer and smiled into the kiss, causing you to giggle slightly as you broke away.

“Ah, if you start with this I can easily come up with a few more things we need,” he laughed at you, eyes filled with mischief as he snuggled his head against your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck and across your exposed collarbone, where your sweater had slipped off your shoulder.

Squealing out a soft laugh at his wandering tongue and hands, you meekly tried to push him away.

“No, stop. Tae, please,” you begged in between laughs as he lightly tickled your sides, pulling back to observe your reaction. “I really wanted to bake cookies today. Please, I’ve been looking forward to this all week!”

With your pout on full display, Taehyung could do nothing but chuckled happily at you as he pressed a short kiss to your lips, before loosening his grasp on you.

“Alright, alright. What can I do?”

Looking over the recipe you had found online, you tasked him with mixing butter with sugar, while you started mixing the spices that would go in later. As you both busied yourself with mixing the batter and the sticky sweet smell of cookie dough filled the kitchen, you hummed along to the music playing in the background. Or you hummed. He sang from the bottom of his heart and with so much feeling even Mariah Carey wouldn’t be able to top it.

Your hands came to a stop when he hit yet another high note flawlessly, making it impossible for you to keep your eyes on the task at hand. You raised your head to observe his movements as he danced to the music, batter long forgotten as he picked up a spoon to use as a make-do mic and turned towards you.

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know,” he sang with a boyish grin, moving towards you and pulling you onto his improvised stage. “Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you,” he continued, making you laugh as he guided you around the floor in his dance, all the while never loosing eye contact with you.

Following his lead, you let him twirl you around the room as his voice carried the notes so effortlessly through the air. Even as it changed to a slower song, he still sang along, slowly moving the two of you across the floor in an elegant dance, that your feet seemed to remember from previous life. With his hands resting comfortably on your hips, you let your own travel up to the nape of his neck, slightly tugging on the hair there, earning you a warm smile from the beautiful man in front of you, before he carefully leaned in for a slow, comfortable kiss.

Letting him sweep you away, your normally chaotic mind seemed to have quieted down to only one thought.

“Taehyung – Taehyung – Taehyung,” looped through your mind without end, as the man took your breath away. Quite literally. When you broke away, you were both gasping for air.

Sheepish eyes meeting for a glance, you both broke out in laughter.

“Yes,” you croaked out, voice somehow swallowed, as you turned back towards the kitchen. “Where were we?”

“Well, I think I’m done whipping the sugar and butter,” Taehyung glowed, as he showed you the bowl with a proud smile. “What should I do now?”

Checking the content of the bowl you sent him a pleased smile, making his glow even brighter.

“Could you find the eggs? They are somewhere on the table,” you chuckled, gesturing towards the unorganized mess of ingredients, as you turned to the recipe to read through the remaining steps as you heard Taehyung go through the things on the counter.

“Wait, what’s this?”, he asked, making you cast a glance towards him, to find a look of pure confusion on his face as he held up the package of slice-and-bake-cookie dough, you had bought, making you snort out a laugh.

“Well, I remember you told me once that you weren’t a very good cook, so I just thought I would have a back-up plan in case we completely messed up the dough,” you laughed, covering your face with your hands as you took in his hurtful expression.

“I can’t believe you actually thought I was that bad,” he pouted although his eyes were playful, and a smile was lurking on his lips. “This is betrayal on the highest level. It doesn’t matter what you do after this, nothing will ever make up for it,” he shrieked in feigned outrage, making you roll your eyes.

“Ya, I know you love being dramatic but calm down,” you laughed, grinning wider when he rewarded you with a blinding smile across the counter for laughing at his theatricalities. “You did very well on whipping the sugar and butter, babe,” you smiled, slipping in the pet name without even thinking about it, making your cheeks heat up and Taehyung smirk. You had yet to reach a point in the relationship, where calling each other pet names came naturally. In the bedroom sure, but somehow that habit hadn’t moved beyond those walls yet.

“’Babe’, huh? Well, thank you, beautiful,” he grinned at you shamelessly, when you widened your eyes in response to his nickname for you.

“Yes, okay,” you spoke rushed out, busying yourself with the baking project in an attempt of calming your racing heart, which was currently beating in tune to Taehyungs name - ~Kim ~ Tae ~ Hyung ~ Kim ~ Tae ~ Hyung.

“Okay,” you repeated, trying to ignore his snickering from the other side of the table at your flustered state. “So could you help me mix all the ingredients together?”

“Nope. I am an absolute catastrophe in the kitchen, you said so yourself,” he deadpanned, face now serious and only a flicker of the playfulness hidden in his eyes. “I will stay out of the way, so I don’t mess up the cookies.”

Looking at him in exasperation you couldn’t believe what you were hearing or how you should react to it.

“But, I wanted to do this together,” you mumbled under your breath, too caught up in the feeling of hurt lurking in your heart to realize that he was playing you. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

“Okay, I’ll just mix the batter and then it needs to chill for about an hour in the fridge before we cut and bake them,” you spoke with an edge to your tone, more to yourself than to him, as you gathered all the different ingredients in the big bowl and started mixing it together with quick movements. Mumbling under your breath about how he was impossible to understand, you suddenly felt a pair of arms snaking around your midst.

“Maybe,” he spoke softly right beside your ear, as he nibbled on your earlobe. “Or maybe I’m just prioritizing what’s more important. And in my book, you beat Christmas cookies by far and I am not gonna let you doubt that.”

Mesmerized by his deep voice and the way his strong arms were cradling your safely against his chest, while his mouth took advantage at the exposed skin as you dropped your head back to rest on his shoulder, he managed to lull you completely out of time and place.

“Weren’t you going to mix that?”, he teased with a soft squeeze to your hip and a nod to the half-mixed ingredients in the bowl, snapping you out of your trance and back to reality.

“You were distracting me,” you mumbled in a drowsy tone, making Taehyung chuckle softly behind you as he hooked his chin over your shoulder to see the content of the bowl as you picked up the wooden spoon once more and continued mixing.

Despite the ridiculously easy job at hand, he still made it nearly impossible for you to focus as he stayed glued to your back and even started pressing soft kissed op your neck again. When you moved to reach to the saran wrap to put over the bowl, his body swayed with yours, constantly keeping your bodies connected. He even walked with you to the fridge when you put away the dough and the second you closed the refrigerator door, he reached down and swept your legs up to carry you bridal style, tearing a little scream of surprise from your lips.

“And now we cuddle for 55 minutes,” he exclaimed in joy, as he carried you off to the couch with an ecstatic smile.

“That’s a very specific window of time,” you laughed as you snuggled closer to his chest and enjoyed him taking charge. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I need 55 minutes for cuddling, and then I need 5 minutes of you talking me into letting you go, so we can finish baking the cookies.”

Before you even had time to answer, he placed you softly on the couch and was hovering over you, eyes dark and his smile wide.

“What if I can talk you into letting me go in less than 5 minutes?”, you teased, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and smiling softly when you saw his eyes fluttering shut in content.

“I really doubt that. Honestly, I think you’ll need a lot more than 5 minutes,” he countered, moving further up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your face, completely caging you in.

His weight on top of you, the smell of his cologne and the way his fingers were playing with your hair, while his eyes drank in your features made your heart swell and your breath hitch in your throat. He always made you feel like his entire world revolved around you, and nothing else mattered to him when you were with him. You had only spent one night together, when he claimed that he would never be able to sleep properly without you by his side again.

“You make me feel safe, Tae,” you spoke softly, the words spilling from your lips before you even knew you had them on your mind. Chuckling lightly at your own boldness, you met his honest eyes and happy smile and simply shrugged your shoulders. “I do mean that, but please don’t run out on me now, because you think I’m crazy.”

Shaking his head at your words, he dipped down to connect your lips in a deep kiss, letting his actions speak instead of his words.

“I was going to say something even crazier, so don’t sweat it,” he panted, when he broke the kiss a few minutes later, moving over to lie next to you instead and pulling you closer to him.

“What were you going to say?”, you whispered, as your fingers danced softly along the soft skin of the arm, he had draped across your stomach.

A comfortable silence stretched between you, despite the question hanging in the air. The Christmas music was playing softly in the background and the smell of butter still hung in the air.

“You look really cute today,” he finally spoke, voice muffled against your sweater.

“How is that crazier than what I said?”, you laughed, feeling him chuckle softly beside you.

“It’s not. Because it’s not, was I going to say, but I lost my courage,” he admitted, turning his face further in your sweater to hide his embarrassment, but the sound of your laughter made him peek out again to catch your face complete scrunched up in laughter and your eyes emanating a love, he thought had been only his to carry.

Maybe it wasn’t too early to tell you, he thought to himself, as he watched you calm down and felt your fingers entangled themselves in his hair, making him hum in pleasure.

“Well, when you find your courage again, please do share,” your silky voice spoke, breaking through the hazy curtain of sleep already settling over the two of you. “I’m almost certain I have an even crazier confession to top it.”

Maybe you wouldn’t think he was moving too fast, if he told you. Smiling to himself at the possibility of a positive outcome of his confession, he slowly slipped into a comfortable sleep, feeling your ribcage rising and falling below him.

Awoken by your soft voice and caressing touches along the side of his body, Taehyung groaned softly. Only half-annoyed at being awoken, he had to admit that waking up to your presence was almost better than the dreamland he had been running through. For once reality was better than dream.

“Sorry, babe,” you cooed, slipping in the nickname more casually now and enjoying how easily it rolled of your tongue. “The dough is ready to be baked.”

Peering down at the man lying on your chest, you couldn’t believe it was actually real. The way his eyelashes lightly kissed his cheeks, the soft pout to his lips as he slowly woke up, the silky strands of his hair between your fingers.

Spending a few minutes softly coaxing him out his dreams and back to the living room, you finally got him to walk back into the kitchen with you. Granted, he was hanging off your back like a koala still half-asleep, but you didn’t entirely hate it.

As you took the dough out of the refrigerator and started kneading it a bit to make it easier to work with, you hummed along to the music still making up the background noise to your little domesticated Christmas scene.

Taehyung, still too drowsy to sing along, settled closer against you, nuzzling his face against your neck, as he felt your voice play with the strings of his heart, bringing out the most beautifully crafted tune he had ever heard. Feeling your muscles work under his fingers, he lightly let his fingers travel down your arms until they met yours against the sticky buttery dough, you were working on the table. Not uttering a word, he let his fingers fall into the spaces between yours, feeling the contrast between the cold dough and your warm hands as you both kept your fingers there for a moment.

Afraid of breaking the sugary sweet bubble of comfortableness surrounding you, you carefully let your head rest against his chest behind you, feeling his heartbeat against your back.

“You know, that thing I wanted to tell you earlier?”, he inquired in coarse voice still laced with sleep.

You hummed in affirmation, not trusting your own voice at the moment.

“I’m in love with you.”

Blood rushing in his ears, he was hoping for the best but expecting the worst as he awaited your response, his heart dropped to the floor, when he heard you groan in irritation.

“You’re really doing this me?”, you asked in frustration as your heart picked up it’s pace, still beating in tune with his name.

“You don’t feel the same way,” he sighed in defeat, retracting his hands from yours, only to have you grab them and wrap them around yourself.

“Of course, I do, you idiot. But everything smells like butter, and I just want to kiss you and touch you, but I have dough everywhere,” you whined, earning you a soft chuckled from the man still clinging to your back. “Did you really have to tell me like this?”

“I didn’t plan this,” he spoke softly against the soft skin of your neck in relief of your words, his heart overflooding with love. “I just couldn’t help it. I knew I had feelings for you, but seeing you like this, baking and singing, so relaxed and carefree. I just…” His voice trailed off and the silence stretched between you as he guided your hands back to the dough and you felt your heart swell in your chest in anticipation of what he would say. “You just looked like home. My home.”

“Okay, screw it,” you exclaimed and spun around in his embrace, holding your hands up in front of his surprised eyes. “How expensive is the clothes your wearing right now? Cause I need to kiss you, and more right now, but I can’t afford replacing it if…”

The second his lips met yours, you already felt his hands wandering your backside and lifting you up to sit on the counter right next to the baking mess. Deepening the kiss, he sighed in response, when he felt you wrap your legs around his and pull him closer, but something was missing.

Pulling back from the kiss, he found you heaving for air, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glazed… and your hands still held up and away from him.

“Why aren’t you touching me?” he whined, making you look up at your hands as if you hadn’t realized that you weren’t.

“Well, you didn’t answer my question,” you countered with a lazy smirk, still in a half-dazed state.

Snorting out a laugh at your words, he reached up to cup your face and press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I already told you, that you mean more to me than the cookies,” he laughed, still holding your face between his hands and caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“But what about your clothes…”

“Yah! I’m trying to be romantic here, woman,” Taehyung exclaimed in frustration although he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at your stubbornness. “Will you stop being so impossible?”

“Yes. Sorry,” you laughed sheepishly with him. “I just don’t want to ruin your clothes with all this butter.”

Grabbing your hands forcefully, he placed them on his chest, wiping the excess dough off on his shirt. He sent you a challenging look and cocked his eyebrow at you and for a second you couldn’t tear your eyes away from where the butter was already ruining his shirt.

Then the absurdity of it all got to you and you snorted out a laugh. Hearing Taehyungs laughter join yours, you meet his gaze with loving eyes, giddy love coursing through your body at the sound of your laughs harmonizing.

“Now will you just touch me? I need you to show me that you feel the same,” he demanded, a laugh seeping through his assertive tone, making you smirk at him as you let your hands travel up to his neck to pull his lips to yours and connect them in a deep kiss.

His hands settled on your thighs, grabbing your flesh as he leaned further into the kiss, sliding one hand up to grab your hip, while your hands held onto his shoulders, expensive material long forgotten. Sliding his hands under your bum, he easily lifted you into his embrace to carry you out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.

“Wait! Babe, the cookies,” you whined, although you didn’t actually care at this point.

“You bought the slice-and-bake for a reason, right?”, he smirked at you as he dropped you on the mattress. “Looks like I ended up ruining the cookies anyway.”

#christmas drabble #taehyung #kim taehyung #Taehyung fluff #bts imagines #Bangtan imagines #bts scenarios #bangtan reaction #bts fluff #bangtan fluff

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halberdierminister · 4 years

Text

I have been here for an entire year.

Within one week straddling late March and early April 2019, I found out that I got passed over for the dream job I was certain I had in the bag, that the writing I submitted to Steam Ticket wasn't going to get published, and the job I had been doing for nearly two years and had seriously begun to loathe was firing me.

I did not recover from this smoothly.

Instead, I didn't find a new job, and months of being short on rent and bills caught up with me very quickly, and I was threatened with eviction. Luckily, a few of my friends were willing to help me with bills so that I did not get evicted, and another friend was willing to let me stay at her house once I had to leave the apartment until I had somewhere else to move to.

That move would be to my parents' new house outside of Sauk City, Wisconsin. They offered to let me stay with them on a few conditions. These conditions are here reproduced without any editing: You will daily look for a job Maintain a first shift sleep-wake schedule No video games No gaming equipment No anime or comics No occult books No hard rock music If friends come to visit, you will remain chaste in our home. We expect your help as we settle in, and that may vary as to tasks You will keep your room clean So over the course of the move, I sold my PS2 and my N64 and gave away my PS4 and my Xbox 360, though I kept the hard drive. I tried to sell my Gamecube, but it wasn't in good enough shape for anyone to buy. I kept my Nintendo Switch, my New 3DS XL, and my PS Vita, figuring I could keep those hidden enough as handhelds. My PSTV I had lent to a friend months previously. I also sold nearly all of my physical video games, my soundbar and my television set.

On June 19th, 2019, with the help of the friend who had housed me and now owned my old PS4, I moved from La Crosse, Wisconsin -- the city I had lived in on and off since 2008 and permanently since 2014 -- to my parents' house. On the way, we stopped in Madison, Wisconsin so I could rent a storage unit. In there I put a bunch of stuff I wouldn't need at my parents' house, including almost everything that they would have objected to. In went my Magic the Gathering cards. In went my anime wall scrolls. In went my comics and manga and Gamecube and remaining physical console games and books like "The Ethical Slut" and "Werewolf: The Apocalypse" and "Things Not Seen" which isn't even about magic or the paranormal but my mom still decided to steal it from my room once many years ago and hide it in the tool shed with my Harry Potter books and Bionicle trading cards. I also felt I should keep my Legos and stuffed animals in there too. But it wouldn't be long before I could find a full time job, get my own place, and get these things back where they belong. Except I have been here for an entire year. I was never supposed to be here this long! I really wasn't! I worked a hell of a lot. Daily looked for jobs. Even found a few. Overworked myself just about to the point of breaking. But just as I finally got a full time with benefits that would help me build a groundwork for the future… well, people realized that there was a global pandemic going on and shut down stores. My company laid off everyone who had been there 90 days or less. And I mean completely laid off with absolutely no promise of a return. My boss said that if they manage to get to a place where they could hire new people again, they would love to have me back. But she also said that she doubts that they will be in that position any time in the foreseeable future.

So.

I am still here. Which is not to say that it has been a complete wash. After all, as devastating as it was to lose my job, I cannot imagine how much more devastating it would have been if I had been living on my own and had to worry about rent or food. It really is too easy to dwell on the feeling of failure that comes from realizing I have been here for an entire year. I suppose I had better take stock of all the good things that have happened and that I have accomplished since I moved in. 1. I finished my writing portfolio, a project I started for a class in 2013 and had been absentmindedly poking at since then.

2. I rebuilt my entire resume from the ground up. 3. I read a total of 54 books in 2019. Not bad for only having read 2 the year before. 4. I started volunteering at the Sauk City Public Library, which has been fun and fulfilling. 5. I have been hired at Target, Madison College, PrePlayed and Half Price Books. I even managed to work several weeks between 40 hours and 65 hours, something I didn't think I was capable of. I may not have those jobs anymore, but being hired four times in a year is nothing to sneeze at. 6. Except I haven't been hired four times. I have been hired five times. The library was so impressed with my volunteering that when a position for Library Assistant opened up, they asked me specifically if I wanted it. Though I originally turned them down in order to work at Half Price Books, I was pleased to find that it was still open once I had lost my job and once libraries were re-opened for curbside checkout. So I asked and they hired me. It's only part time, but it is far better than nothing. 7. I have read a total of 66 books this year and we are not even at the halfway point. 8. I have finished writing two long-form fics: the poem fic The Revelation of Takaya According to Jin and the literal actual novel A Legitimate Businessman. In fact, at least 30,000 of the words for A Legitimate Businessman were written since I moved in here. That's some pretty hardcore proof that I can actually write an actual novel, something I assumed I just did not have in me. 9. I have paid off thousands of dollars in debt. All that remains is two friends and my student loans. I do not expect to pay off my student loans. 10. Through working at PrePlayed, I acquired for free two PS2s, an Xbox 360, one or two more Xbox 360 hard drives, and a Wii, which I gave to a friend. I have acquired at low cost two wireless guitar controllers for Rock Band, a PS3, and all the controllers and cables I needed to make these and my gamecube work again. I also got a bunch of games and a Gameboy Micro. On Black Friday, I purchased a steeply discounted new PS4 Slim. All of these now reside in my storage locker, except for the Gameboy Micro and the PS4, which are hidden in my room alongside my handheld systems. My hubris may be showing, but so far I have not been hit with a consequence. 11. I bought myself a new ukulele as an upgrade from the one I bought in 2011. It has a built in tuner, a neck strap, and a jack to plug into an amp. 12. I am now paying my own cell phone bill, which I have done reliably for an entire year alongside my storage locker bill. 13. I have gotten three works published this year so far and may still yet have a few on the way. 14. I've made more through Redbubble in the last year than I ever have before. In the process, I have learned a lot more about graphic design. 15. I may not be writing every day, but I am writing MOST days, something that was certainly unthinkable even last year, let alone two years ago. So. There still is lots of work to do. I still need a full time job. I will likely need to rebuild my entire resume from the ground up AGAIN. I still want out of this place. I still need a way to be authentically me. But my parents have been supportive and caring, even with their restrictive rules. And the environment has probably been less restrictive than I imagined it would be. But there's so much I still want to do and so many things I still want to be that I do not feel I can do or be here. In exactly three months, I will turn 30. I truly, truly, truly hope by that time I will have a concrete plan to get out of here. But I guess I have still done a lot.

#i guess i've made it work as best as i can i guess

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lieutenantcupcake · 3 years

Text

I never did my usual survey thing at the beginning of 2020 so I’ll never know how 2019 was. Whoops. I guess here’s the one for the last year, for posterity.

1. What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? Earned a graduate degree. Experience a pandemic.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I have no idea. I don’t think I made any. This year I wanna be more creative, but only in ways that will make me happy.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Jonathan and his wife had a bb.

4. Did anyone close to you die? No.

5. What countries did you visit? lol

6. What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020? I’d like my confidence back. I don’t think I had realized that I’d gained some in my first two years of grad school until my new advisor kinda made me lose it all.

7. What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? March 131st. j/k Time wasn’t real so idk maybe Halloween when Sarah, Elizabeth, and I had a tea party in a historic cemetery and then watched RHPS on Sarah’s porch and ate Pho.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? MFA, I guess. Though it felt/feels fake because graduation and celebrations didn’t happen.

9. What was your biggest failure? Letting shit get to me. To be fair tho, not letting shit affect me probably would have been unhealthy. Basically my thesis was fucking depressing as shit and not fun and I’m really glad I got to wing the last few months of grad school because of the pandemic (but I’d would rather have had a completely shitty time the whole time without the pandemic).

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? No.

11. What was the best thing you bought? A new computer.

14. Where did most of your money go? Rent. Fuck landlords.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? When it looked like Bernie was going to do well in the primaries before the DNC fucked everything up for him. Again. Getting into a relationship?????

16. What song will always remind you of 2020? Idk probably something from Punisher.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

17. Thinner or fatter? Fatter?

18. Richer or poorer? Poorer

19. What do you wish you’d done more of? Telling people to fuck off.

20. What do you wish you’d done less of? Overthinking

21. How will you be spending Christmas? I got to be at my parent’s house after quarantining for over two weeks, so that was nice.

22. Did you fall in love in 2020? Too soon to say, but it’s something.

23. What was your best costume of the year? Probably Nadja from What We Do in the Shadows. I also liked my mostly closet Harley Quinn costume.

24. What was your favorite TV program? DS9! I watched all of it over the end of 2019/beginning of 2020, and tried to watch all Star Trek, which was really fun.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? Probably some politicians. I definitely dislike a lot of people I didn’t before.

26. What was the best book you read? I read like 2/3rds of one book this year lol.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? I guess Phoebe Bridgers? Or was it discovering that I actually liked Taylor Swift with Folklore?

28. What did you want and get? A cute boy who likes me?

29. What did you want and not get? To actually see that cute boy irl. I guess technically we saw each other like Jan 2nd or 3rd last year, but that barely counts.

30. What was your favorite film of this year? I really enjoyed Birds of Prey. I’m bad at watching movies on my own. Oh wait, I def saw Parasite last Feb, so I’m changing my answer to that.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? 33. Heather, Kenny, and I had drinks and ordered appetizer combos from BDubs and Applebapple. For a quarantine birthday, it was pretty good.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Not having a global pandemic? The DNC not fucking Bernie? But besides that, my thesis not being a clusterfuck.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? Goth athletic wear. Not enough tracksuits for health goth tho.

34. What kept you sane? Heather. Playing 430 hours of Destiny 2.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Went on another Hugh Dancy kick, but that’s about it.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? I worked for the Bernie data entry team which was really fun and did some text banking too. After he suspended his campaign I kinda gave up on politics, but still went to every BLM protest/march in Athens.

37. Who did you miss? Literally everyone I know. Especially Bianca.

38. Who was the best new person you met? Didn’t do a lot of meeting people this year. I enjoyed the brief period of time before my internship shut down with my supervisor. I ran an errand with him at one point and his car started playing a podcast he was listening to previously and it was William and Alaska from Drag Race and I was like 👀

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

I've been running around in circles Pretending to be myself Why would somebody do this on purpose When they could do something else? Drowning out the morning birds With the same three songs over and over I wish I wrote it, but I didn't so I learn the words Hum along 'til the feeling's gone forever

#end of the year #survey

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

THE HOUSE, (part 2 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

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THE HOUSE

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

Written 1990

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

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Next, I began to check the walls for hidden panels or the like. The walls of the parlor, sitting room, and kitchen were smooth with elaborate flocked paper. The wainscots were all of solid, if elaborate, woodwork. That left the study, dining room, and library. I set eagerly to work. The paneled walls of the study proved depressingly solid.

I was delighted when I finally found the basement stair in the library. A bookcase camouflaged a hidden door with the spring catch concealed as one of the few knots visible anywhere in the wood of the house.

Flashlight in hand, I ventured down the short flight of stairs. The basement proved to be small and bare. It had mortared stone walls and a cement floor. There were no hiding places, even the space under the stairs was empty, no rats, no dust, and no cobwebs … Slowly I went back up the stairs to the library.

I put away my flashlight and went to the study to look at the land records again. The papers revealed that the house’s first buyer was George Oates. His brother and sole heir sold the house seven years later. His name was Harold.

As I am something of a bibliophile, I decided to give the house’s library a detailed look. I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not one book was published later than 1866. Many were far older. Some of the books went back to the 1400’s. Mr. Wickes was apparently somewhat dishonest, intellectually. He had signed and dated the flyleaf of each book, for example, “Hiram Wickes, acquir’d 1565.” Some of the dates went back to 1540 in books published from 1483 to 1497. He would have to have been over 300 years old, if the inscriptions were true.

Hiram was heavily into the occult. There was little that did not pertain to the various occult ‘sciences.’ Even the books in foreign tongues, and there were many, had illustrations that indicated that they belonged to this awesome collection of lore. The impression was that Hiram had read all or most of this collection. His marginal notes were in a wide range of languages, often not the language of the book in question. From scanning the shelves, I deduced that there were over twenty five hundred books in the library.

My near drenching of the day before had taught me that it was wise to take my car into town. Mrs. Alderman greeted me at the slightly shabby old counter that served the library for a check-out desk. “My goodness, young man, how did you get on when the power went out? I have a gas range, ‘cause you never can tell when, hereabouts, the power might go.”

“I’ve got gas where I’m staying, too,” I told her, “I made out okay.”

“Well,” she said knowingly, “the radio says it’ll be another two-three hours before we got power again. Why don’t you go sit by that window? It’ll give you light all morning.”

I thanked her and turned at once to the death certificates. Bingo! George Oates, his wife Wilfreda, daughters - Caroline and Charity, and son Harold (named for George’s brother in Boston), had all been declared legally dead, seven years having passed since their disappearance, and all reasonable attempts at contact having failed. Now, the reason for that malevolent plaque came into focus.

Turning to the letters, I started with the earliest. The Post Office had saved Hiram’s mail in the hope that it would yield some clue to his whereabouts. This practice was followed in the disappearance of all subsequent owners of the house. Hiram’s mail was of considerable interest to any who might know a bit of the occult and something of rare books, as I did. The first letter follows:

My Dear Hiram:

It is with the utmost concern that I read your last communication. You were always my most talented pupil and are a valued associate. I pray you, please, reconsider the rash course that you are now contemplating.

Remember, your copy of Alhazarad is not a good one. The edition of 1784 contains many minor lacunae. Before you attempt anything, consult also the Pnakotic Manuscripts and collate what you learn there with Von Junst.

I know that reading the Pnakotic Manuscripts is a difficult and time-consuming task. Never forget that the source of your present wealth and mine lies in those ancient pages. There is much wisdom there for those with the courage to seek. Everything must be checked against other knowledge.

To call upon Him Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered for so trivial a task is a sure way to serious mishap. Remember, your Alhazarad is incomplete!

In concern for your welfare,

I remain, Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

Unfortunately, the authorities were unable to trace the mysterious Richten or his address. Arkham, Mass. is, of course well known to all scholars and bibliophiles as the home of Miskatonic University, with its astounding collection of rare books of occult lore.

I had never heard of the Pnakotic Manuscripts but the other items mentioned in the letter were familiar to me. Alhazarad could be none other than the author of the infamous Necronomicon. The 1784 edition survives only as a fragmentary copy in the vaults of Miskatonic University. Von Junst could only be the almost as infamous Black Book. This book also survives in only a few priceless copies. Two of the best ones lurked in the vaults of the rare book collection at Miskatonic. They were separate editions, published a century apart.

Another letter, about a week later than the first, was a bit more specific. Richten started in much the same vein as before but went on:

Calling so mighty a being for so trivial a task is absolutely insane. I know that you enjoy tidiness. Who does not? Yet He Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered is not a mere servant and can be disastrously literal, even when all else is done perfectly.

Binding Him, as you have, cannot please Him. What you have learned from the Necronomicon and the Pnakotic Manuscripts has enabled you to compel Him to bring you gold. The first time that He did was almost fatal. Remember, being able to compel is not the same as being master.

For your own safety, Do Not Do This!!!

Wishing you the best,

Your friend and former Master,

Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

There were also, unfortunately, not translated, letters from Korea, China, India, the 0ttoman Empire, Germany, France, Morocco, and several places in South America. Apparently our Mr. Wickes had been something of a polyglot and did in fact read all of the languages of the books in his library.

It appeared that a careful search of the house, attic to basement, was in order. If there were any chance that I might find a copy of either the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could turn a fine profit. Either book in almost any condition, was worth in far in excess of mere $45,000.00 that I had paid for the house.

Turning to the newspaper clippings, I found mostly stories of the disappearances of people who had bought the Wickes place. The George Oates family was only the first. They were not alone. The clippings gave some flesh to the legal death declarations. There was another detail to add to my list. No trace was ever found of the possessions of any person who vanished.

Electric wiring had been installed. Several times. It too had vanished without a trace. After each disappearance, the house was exactly as it had been when Hiram Wickes vanished. Even if the furniture and books were sold or even burned, everything always came back.

The Reverend Orville Olson piled all of Hiram’s books and furniture on the lawn and burned it all. He then exorcised the whole place of the “evil ghost of Hiram Wickes.” To prove that the evil was gone, he spent the night in the house. The burn scar on the lawn and the Reverend Olson both vanished. The furniture and books returned.

I made careful tracings of the strange gold coin in the file and made longhand copies of such of the letters as I could and included all of the oddments that I knew of Hiram Wickes and the Wickes house, and prepared the lot for mailing. I addressed it to Professor Gordon Wetherbee at Miskatonic University.

He was a sort ‘uncle’ to me. He and my father had been close friends since long before my birth. That friendship had been extended to me as I grew and was largely responsible for my love of books and learning. I did not know all or even a fraction of what ‘uncle’ Gordon knew or did but I trusted him absolutely.

I did know that his research had taken him all over the world. He knew more of the occult than any other man of my acquaintance.

One set of clippings caught my eye. “BOY GOES MAD!!” Curiosity piqued, I read on. In essence, the story was this:

It was a fine day in April, 1896. Willie Asphel, age 10, was in the mood to get into trouble. He sneaked off to the Wickes place to break windows. Apparently he missed the house with the first stone, as there was no crash of glass or thump of stone on board. He took precise aim and watched carefully where the stone went. Ever after, his hair was stark white, his eyes crossed, and even after he stopped raving, his mind was never fully normal. He demonstrated a talent for seeing into closed containers and the like.

He died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of fifteen.

The power which had failed last night, came back at 3:30 p.m. I felt a need to digest the tale of Reverend Olson and young Willie Asphel, so I left the library. I walked up the street in the sunlight. Cobbles could be seen here and there through old cracks and holes in the paving. Stepping around the occasional weed, I followed the sidewalk to the Post Office. There I mailed my letter to uncle Gordon.

Thoughtfully, I retraced my steps. My car awaited me. No sooner had I got into it than a gust of wind slammed the door. The impact caused the glove box door to fall open. Inside were five gold coins exactly like the one in the file

To say that I was stunned by this occurrence would have been an understatement. A breeze plucked at my right hand, almost as if it were guiding me to the gold. The moment that I took the gold in my hand, the breeze died away. Only then did I notice that my car windows were closed.

My first response was to say, “Thank you, whoever or whatever you may be.” I drove home slowly, mulling over the day’s events. The clouds roiled overhead like fighting dogs.

Once home, I got my flashlight and went straight to the attic. At the stairs, my light would not shine. Somehow, I must have left it on when I last put it away. Irritating.

I had lots of candles down in the kitchen. For a prize like the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could search by candlelight. An obsession to find those books seized my spirit.

I hurried down to the kitchen and set up a candlestick, which I took back to the attic. The soft glow of the candlelight revealed the same boxes and trunks that I had seen before. There were still no dust or spider webs to be seen. I heard what sounded like a hundred rats on the floor below. A glance out an attic window showed that night had fallen. The ‘spectral brigade’ never started before dark.

The boxes and trunks contained the curios, mementos and journals of travels on six of the seven continents (only Antarctica was not represented.) Glancing through the journals revealed that although Hiram was meticulous at recording detail and observations, he was also quite secretive about the object of his searches and research. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

Some of the boxes contained disturbingly carved stones and other artifacts. Many of these were only disquieting to look at but a few were truly mind twisting. A number of the journals contained finely drawn sketches in ink of architecture that Escher would have loved, had it not caused actual nausea when studied too closely. Many of the drawings were of ruins but they still retained their otherworldly power. Their geometry was subtly skewed from any earthly construction. There was little else, aside from literally thousands of the above mentioned journals. Valuable to the right collector perhaps but not the precious books that I was seeking.

I tried the second floor next. Both bedrooms, the bath, and the large room that I had dubbed ‘the work room’ all proved to have no secret hiding places. If there were any hidden doors or concealed panels they defied me.

The ground floor was next. I started with the kitchen. The parlor got a once-over walls and ceiling. (I had done the floor when I searched for the basement.) The same was done with the dining room, sitting room, and study. Then it was the library’s turn.

Looking at the wall to wall, knee to ceiling, cases of books with their sliding ladders, I despaired of finishing my search that night. There were over twenty five hundred volumes on those shelves.

I stared at the sea of brown leather backs, some stamped with gold, and decided to start at the right of the door and work my way around the room. Each book had to be inspected to be sure that it was not concealing another book in innocent appearing binding. Many of them were valuable in their own right but none could compare with the Necronomicon or the Black Book.

I did not get far before I was too tired to continue. The books that I was seeking had waited for century and a third. They could wait until morning.

The next day, my inspection of the library resumed. Here, at least, Hiram had achieved order. The books were shelved by subject and author, regardless of language. There was precious little of outright fiction though many were obvious foolishness in the light of modern knowledge. At ten in the morning, I stopped, arms aching and eyes swimming. I was less than a quarter of the way through the herculean task.

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#THE HOUSE #part 2 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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