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preemshots · 3 years

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the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC.

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post.

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore.

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077.

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand.

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team.

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on.

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives.

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing.

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke.

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC.

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story.

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy:

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it!

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives.

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power.

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different.

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka.

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka.

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it.

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading!

#cyberpunk lore #johnny silverhand #spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk game #lore post

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artificialqueens · 6 years

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Gone Tonight (Trixya) - Pichitinha

A/N: back by unpopular demand, it’s me! This is a bit different from what I usually post but it’s still full of cliches! I hope you like it even if some parts might feel a little unrealistic (it’s fanfiction y'all). You can as usual find it on AO3 and I’m here on @pichitinha

When Trixie is faced with the facts, she does her best to ignore them. They aren’t pleasant, they are the very opposite of everything she wants to be aware of right now, and she really isn’t going to entertain her crappy reality becoming crappier.

She’s never seen so much chaos in the city before. She’d left work maybe an hour later than usual, the last song she was working on taking a little while longer than she expected, and the storm she was met with outside scared her to death. She knew things were bound to be bad, but not to the level she’s seeing now.

It’s been an hour and a half and the rain seems to only be getting worse. Traffic is a mess and public transportation is completely unreliable and she’d decided half an hour ago that waiting would only lead to waiting all night, so she might as well just try to leave and get anywhere else other than the studio she was crammed in with several of her coworkers.

No ubers or taxis or anything want to take her to where she wants to go. Her apartment isn’t that far away, but it’s on the other side of town and apparently the bridge was blocked.

She called all of her friends, asked all of them for shelter and having the ok from all, she said she’d try to go and would let them know where she was headed once she finally got a cab.

The bridge to the other side is also blocked.

Apparently she’s pretty much stuck in a very small radius of the city with no access to anywhere else and she doesn’t know what to do. She’s managed to get a taxi and she asks the driver to just take her to a hotel. He tells her he will if she really wants to, but that he can assure her they won’t have a vacancy - he’s been dropping people off all night.

She lets a bit of rain fall on her face as she talks to him through the car window and she uses that to let a couple of tears fall as she goes back under the roof and takes her phone with shaking hands. She only knows one person that lives in that area. On a normal day it’d be a ten minute drive, today it might be an hour, but it truly is the only place she could even consider going. She takes deep breaths, tries to calm her now fast-beating heart, and presses call. Part of her wishes she won’t answer.

“Trixie?”

Her voice is, as Trixie expected, confused. Surprised, even.

“Katya, hey. How are you?”

“Uh, good. I’m good. How are you?”

It’s awkward and formal and Trixie can feel her gut twisting already. She almost regrets doing this, but the she remembers she has no other option.

“I’m ok. I’m… I’m stuck at the studio and all the bridges are blocked. I can’t make it home.”

“Oh?”

Given her tone, Katya still doesn’t get what Trixie wants. She’ll have to say it.

She takes a deep breath and tries to fish some courage right from deep within.

“All the hotels in the area are booked. I… you’re literally my last option.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She leaves out this horrible laugh, clearly forced and not funny at all, and Trixie realizes how rude she was - especially when she’s asking for such a big favor.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You did.“ Trixie’s sure there’s a smile on her face, but it’s definitely humorless. "But that’s okay, I get it. Do you wanna crash here?”

She doesn’t. But she also doesn’t have any other option.

“Unless you can’t. Or don’t want to. I’ll figure something out.”

“I thought I was literally your last option?”

Trixie is quiet, can’t find the words, thinks back of the old crappy chairs at the studio and thinks that maybe she could just sleep there.

“I-”

“I’m kidding. Of course you can stay here. I’ll text you the address and I’ll fix the couch for you while you’re on the way.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Trixie’s heart skips a beat. Before she can even think of responding, though, Katya is ending the call.

“See you in a few, I’ll order chinese.”

And then the tone is dead and Trixie feels like she is a bit dead too.

Katya texts her address like she promised, but Trixie doesn’t even glance at it. She hates herself, but she knows it by heart, has never been able to forget it. The taxi driver she was talking to earlier is still there, and he opens the door when he sees her exit the building. She’s extremely grateful.

She tells him where they’re going, knows all the references and places around and feels a bit sick at how nostalgic it all is to her.

It takes them half an hour, but soon she starts to recognize the neighborhood and knows they’re close. She closes her eyes and tries to calm herself down, feels her hands shaking a bit and her breathing uneven.

It’s just Katya, she tells herself. You’ve slept on her couch several times before. It’ll be fine.

Her phone vibrates with a message from Shea when they are just a couple of streets away.

Shea: you figure out what to do?

Trixie: … yeah

Shea: where are u staying?

Trixie sighs and looks up, sees the last corner before they reach Katya’s street fast approaching.

Shea: … ur staying at katya aren’t u?

Trixie: it’s the only place available

Shea: ok. i’m here if u need anything

Trixie: what could you possibly do all the way there in chicago?

Shea: call and interrupt if anything that shouldn’t happen, happens

Trixie sighs but before she can think of replying, the driver calls her up, “We’re here.”

She pays him and exits quickly, finds shelter at the reception where she tells which apartment she’s visiting. She waits as they call Katya to let her go in, and texts Shea.

Trixie: nothing’s gonna happen

Shea: that’s what you said last time

Trixie lets her fingers hover on the keyboard, types a few letters and then deletes them. She doesn’t know what to say. She really doesn’t want to to relive all of this now.

“You can go up, ma’am,” the receptionist informs her and she makes her way to the elevator, her heart beating out of her chest as she tries to pull herself together.

She hasn’t seen Katya in three months. Before that, she hadn’t seen her in six months.

It has been nine months and she isn’t over it yet.

The door to the elevator opens when she reaches the tenth floor and Trixie has to put on a normal face sooner than she expected, because Katya has the door open and is leaning on the frame, waiting for her.

Trixie doesn’t miss the way a deep breath leaves Katya’s body, as if she was not ready to see her.

Trixie isn’t either.

“Hey,” she says for lack of a better thing, doesn’t know what else she could possibly put into words right now that would be light and normal, and not deep and heavy like she feels.

“Hey,” Katya replies, nods weirdly before moving to the side and giving her passage. “Come in.”

Trixie thanks her quietly, makes her way past her and tries not to let her wet hair drip everywhere.

“I found a few clothes that might fit you, if you want to take a shower? I’ve left some towels in the bathroom.”

“Uh, yeah, a shower would be great, I’m kind of cold.”

Trixie smiles a bit at her offer and immediately feels like she overshared with the cold information. It’s not much - it’s isn’t anything, really, small talk she might do at a bus stop - but she feels like she didn’t have to - shouldn’t - share that. It’s odd.

“Oh, I’ll turn up the heater.” Katya starts moving immediately towards the little table besides the couch where she apparently still keeps all of the remote controls for the house.

“You don’t have to, it’s fine-”

“Trixie, go take your shower. I’ll warm up the house and wait for the food. I- I ordered the same as you always did, I hope that’s ok.”

Trixie can feel the pang in her chest like a knife. She remembers, of course she does, they’d eaten together so very many times before. And that’s what hurts the most, the weight of their history together, the ghost of the laughter and hushed conversations they shared in the past, the heavy silence that’s been sitting on Trixie’s head for the past nine months, an empty space where Katya’s voice used to be.

“Yeah, that’s ok.”

She nods and Katya nods back and they just stand there, quietly, looking at each other from opposites sides of the room without anything to say or do. It’s pathetic, but at least Trixie’s not pathetic alone. It fills her with some twisted guilt the fact that Katya’s discomfort gives her some satisfaction.

“Uh, I’ll go shower now,” she announces eventually, when the tension in the room is too much to bare and she knows Katya will end up breaking and talking about things, which she definitely doesn’t want. She turns around quickly, doesn’t give her time to react, and makes a beeline to the bathroom.

The scent of Katya’s shampoo hits her as soon as she’s inside, closing the door quickly behind her. She closes her eyes for a second, tries to find a breath inside of her so she won’t go insane.

She remembers the first time she slept over at Katya, back when Katya still lived in Boston and she was visiting. They’d been friends for a few months then, met through friends of friends, and she had booked a job in Boston and asked Katya to host her - or maybe she had booked a job in Boston because she wanted to ask Katya to let her stay there, but that doesn’t matter, not anymore. She remembers realizing she forgot her shampoo and using Katya’s every morning before the waffles filled breakfasts, and she remembers getting faint smells of it for a few weeks afterwards every time she’d wear an outfit she’d worn in Boston.

She opens her eyes, urges herself to ground herself in the present. It isn’t much more helpful, this bathroom is one she’s much more familiar with, and the thought makes her turn to the bathtub and search for the red dots that have been there since Katya accidentally dropped nail polish one day and never bothered to clean, always saying she’d do it “next week”. It’s still there.

She turns on the water and while she waits for the cold droplets to become hot, she removes her damp clothes. She avoids the mirror, is weary of how she looks right now - not in appearance, per se, like it or not Katya’s seen her in her worst days, but she fears for her expression. She doesn’t know what her face is telling Katya and she’s scared of finding out.

She stays under the water for longer than she should, urging it to wash away her worries and her heartache. She knew that coming to Katya would be a bad idea, but she didn’t think that she’d feel like that after mere minutes of interaction.

She takes her time drying her hair and body, looks at the loose shirts and shorts that Katya had put on the counter for her until she finds the one that looks to be more comfortable. They smell like the brand of fabric softener that Trixie had convinced her to start using and it’s with that feeling that Trixie realizes that nothing about this night will be easy, even if they eat in silence in separate rooms and pretend the other isn’t there. Memories linger on the walls of Katya’s place, and even if they didn’t, Trixie’s mind has that in check as well. She’ll just have to toughen up and go through this, however the night might unfold.

She exists the bathroom just as Katya is closing the door with the food in hand, and for a brief moment Katya smiles at her and it’s just like it was a year ago, when things were good and easy, not broken like they are now.

She clears her throat and sits down on the table and Katya follows her in silence. It’s weird and mechanic, they’d usually eat on the couch or the living room floor with the TV on on some movie or show that they’d only pay attention to for five minutes before getting distracted. She wants to say something, to cut the silence that seems to hurt her more and more at each passing second, even if she knows that talking will hurt just as much.

“So, how have you been?” Katya ends up asking, her face clearly as uncomfortable as her own. She tries to remind herself that no matter how much she resents what Katya did, she’s the one that put them in this situation tonight. She’s part to blame as well.

“Good. Busy.” She doesn’t really know what else to say, if she’s honest. She has been busy, has been focusing more and more at work every time her free time gives her time to think. And she has been good - well, ish. She’s been as good as she could, since Katya left. But she can’t say that.

Truth is that Trixie knows that what affects Katya about the situation is guilt. She’s not sad about what happened - she can’t be, she’s the one that did it - but she feels bad for Trixie. And Trixie hates that it affects her this much, hates that it’s been months and months and she can’t let it go. She hates that Katya pities her.

“That’s good.” Katya replies after a long silence, like she finally accepts that Trixie won’t say more. “I’m glad you got the job at the studio, I know how much you wanted it.”

She should, Trixie gushed about it to her several times in the past, told her how much she’d love to work there, how that was her dream job and she’d do practically anything to get it. She thinks back to those time and can now see that Katya was always supportive but never enthusiastic. She knows why, now.

“Yeah, I’m glad things started falling into place.”

Katya opens her mouth then, but closes it after a second. She looks back at her food and Trixie realizes that as long as they’re talking, as long as there are words leaving their mouths, she has less time to focus on Katya’s face and wonder how she feels. And that’s good, so she makes an effort.

“What about you?”

Katya considers her, takes her time in chewing her food and swallowing it down with her juice. It looks like she’s trying to decide on what to say, and Trixie worries for a moment about what she will hear.

“I’ve been… I don’t know. Not good. Not busy.”

Trixie nods, feels her mouth go dry. She’s being honest, she’s opening the floor for discussion and Trixie doesn’t want to enter that, she doesn’t want to allow for a scenario in which they could potentially talk things over. Trixie’s not ready to talks things over. She doesn’t know if she ever will be.

“Oh?” Is all she manages to sound out, can’t find it in herself to even be polite and ask her why. Katya responds anyway, though, always much less worried about societal conventions. And Katya probably does want to talk it over. She always does, and that’s one of the issues, isn’t it?

“You know I like to keep busy and all so I thought it’d be fine to take the reigns and be my own boss and book shootings whenever I want. But I’ve been slacking lately. I want to be busy, but- but I haven’t been feeling good and that doesn’t help.”

Trixie understands that. She only started overworking herself a few months ago, because at the beginning she was the complete opposite, calling in sick several times and just overall not giving all of herself.

She knows why she’s like that though, she knows why she was broken and needed time to heal. Maybe she doesn’t get why it hit her so hard, but she gets why she was heartbroken.

She can’t figure out why Katya’s like that though. Not after she went after everything she wanted.

“Do you miss Europe?” Trixie asks before she can stop herself, finds it to be only plausible reason. She’s never understood why Katya came back, if she’s honest.

Katya shrugs, acts much more nonchalant about it than Trixie would’ve expected. “I miss certain aspects of it. But not really, I’m much better here.”

Trixie bites her lips, doesn’t want to speak without thinking again. Why is she back? Why did she leave?

“Have you visited your parents since you came back?” Trixie decides to shift the focus a bit, knows it’ll be safer to talk about her family - and knows specially how important it is to Katya.

Katya smiles lightly at that. “They were actually here two weeks ago, they went back to Boston last saturday.” She stops, considers again, and averts her gaze. “They asked about you.”

Trixie swallows. “How are they?”

“Oh, you know them. Excited about life, worried about the future.”

“That’s you.”

“True.”

They laugh a little and for those small seconds it’s almost like they’re okay. But then the laughter dies down, way quicker than it would have in the good ol’ days, and silence is their only company again.

They’ve both finished eating so Katya gets up and starts clearing the table. Trixie gets up, unsure, starts moving to help.

“No, it’s fine. You can sit down, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Trixie doesn’t want to be rude and leave her to take care of the mess by herself, but at the same time she’d love a few more minutes to herself, to maybe try to pull herself together again. Looking at Katya she thinks that’s exactly what she wants as well.

She agrees and sits down, gets her phone for the first time since entering the house and the only new message she has is from Shea.

Shea: sorry trix, u know i worry. hope everything goes well, pls call me if u need ok?

She sighs and locks her phone again, sets it down on the little coffee table. She might be a proud person but right now, if there was any way Shea could help, she’d ask. Unfortunately, there isn’t.

She looks around the place with attention, tries to place the details she can notice are different. She has on different curtains now, but that’d been way overdue anyway so she’s proud of her for finally buying new ones - even if they are horrific.

Then her eyes fall on her shelves and her heart skips several beats when she sees herself. It’s in the back, sort of hidden by other pictures and paintings, but it’s definitely there, a picture of the two of them that someone - she thinks maybe Jinkx, but she isn’t sure - had snapped on the beach without them noticing. Katya looks happy in that picture - and so does she. She was happy, she remembers it vividly.

She diverts her look, tries to focus on the other pictures that are displayed. All of her friends are there, some of them repeated several times, and even though she knew that Katya hadn’t cut ties with anyone when she left, it stings to see it. She isn’t mad at them for talking to her and she isn’t bitter about it either, what truly gets to her is that for years no one knew Katya better than she did, and now she’s met with the knowledge that Katya’s life went on when they stopped talking and that probably several things happened that all of her friends know and she doesn’t. She feels clueless, excluded, doesn’t know what to do with all the space in her brain that’s still there waiting to be filled with every tiny detail about Katya.

And then she realizes that that probably goes both ways, that maybe her friends talk to Katya about her - she’s fairly certain Katya didn’t have a “no Trixie talk” rule like she did for Katya - but definitely not that much, not as much as she’d tell Katya otherwise. There’s no way Katya knows what she’s been up to, these are a few months of her life that Katya probably will never know about. She can’t pinpoint exactly how she feels about that, but it for sure isn’t a good feeling.

Katya comes back into the room right then when Trixie’s about to have a crisis and the jump scare that she causes is enough to ground Trixie again.

Until she realizes that they’re together again and that things are still - obviously - weird.

She sits down at the other end of the couch and they both look in the direction of the turned-off TV, shoulders straight, posture correct. It’s late enough that they could technically just go to sleep, but Trixie knows she hasn’t slept before midnight in at least five years and Katya is most definitely the same.

“Do you work tomorrow?” Katya asks eventually, probably tired of the quiet - or the noise in her head which is usually ten times louder when no one’s talking - but without looking at Trixie.

“No, I only work Saturdays if we’re running late on a project or something. Do you? Cause I’ll be out really early!”

“No, no, don’t worry.” She looks at her then, sighs audibly and forces herself to relax her back on the couch. “I had a yoga class but that’ll probably be cancelled because of the storm.”

Trixie nods, knows that she’ll for sure wake up to the sight of Katya doing yoga somewhere in the house, knows that she needs the movements to ease her morning anxieties, especially now that she quit smoking.

Unless she picked it up again. The thought leaves Trixie breathless and she doesn’t know why.

“Are you still… hm… an ex-smoker?” She tries to phrase it as best as she can.

Katya smiles a little, seems proud. “Yeah. My last cigarette is still the same one as it was last time.”

Trixie smiles for real for the first time that night, remembers how hard it had been for Katya to quit - remembers how hard Katya had tried for her. “I’m proud of you.”

And maybe those had been the wrong words because Katya averts her gaze immediately and Trixie’s sure they’re watering a bit.

“Thank you,” she manages to say and Trixie gets a bit choked up, too, maybe because of everything and not just how emotional Katya sounds.

“Katya…” she starts but closes her mouth before she can figure out what to say next. She regrets it immediately, knows that she just opened the gate for precisely what she didn’t want and can feel her heart speeding up and her breath getting irregular.

It’s too soon. It’s been nine months, but it’s too soon.

“I always thought that you knew why I did it,” Katya says, like Trixie knew she would. She didn’t know what she was gonna say, but she knew she was gonna say something. Knew she was going to dig into the wound with the alcohol soaked cotton that everyone tells Trixie is necessary but she’s been avoiding at all costs in fear of the pain. “But since I came back, I’m starting to think you don’t.”

Trixie doesn’t want to engage, wants to tell her that she’s tired and they should go to bed, wants to lie down and think about it while she tries not to cry because she is pathetic. And yet, a small part of her yearns to understand what happened, wants to hear Katya explain, wants to see if there’s anyway she has a patch that will fit perfectly into the void she’s left on her heart. And this part is really loud.

“I don’t. I really don’t.” The words leave her mouth choked up and she’s horrified when she realizes that tears are pooling in her eyes and dropping faster than she ever wants anyone to see it happening.

“Oh, Trix,” Katya says and starts moving closer, but Trixie raises her hand, stops her. She’s full of pity on her voice and this is the last thing Trixie wants right now. She feels sick to her stomach, can’t believe it all went downhill so fucking fast, can’t believe she’s crying out her heartbreak to the person who had broken it. “Sorry,” Katya apologizes for trying contact, goes back to the other end of the couch but keeps her figure turned to her side.

Katya gives her time and she takes it. She lets the tears fall, lets her breath get ragged and her chest feel impossibly tight as she tries not to focus on how stupid this is, on how Katya must think she’s ridiculous for acting like this. She buries her head on her hands until her sobs subdue to hiccups and only when her eyes are dry does she take a long breath and looks back at Katya.

Her face is stained with tears.

“God, Trix, you need to understand-”

“I do understand,” she cuts her, feels the weight of her emotional breakdown winning over her need to know. She’s so tired of feeling like this, she just wants to pretend nothing’s going on. “And it’s fine.” It isn’t, really, nothing about this is fine, it hasn’t been since the day she left. But Trixie can’t blame Katya for not loving Trixie like Trixie loved her. Trixie resents her leaving the way she did, but she doesn’t blame her for their fall-out. Trixie always knew that this was a possibility, that letting herself fall for someone she knew so well - and therefore knew how she was - would very likely end in heartbreak. So it isn’t fine, but Trixie doesn’t want Katya blaming herself for not loving her back. Not much could have been done about that, and Trixie knows it. “I get it, I really do, and I don’t blame you. You aren’t the first one on the list. But I need you to understand why for me it’s impossible to ‘be friends’ or whatever it is that you said on Violet’s birthday. I hate to think that our friendship is over but I can’t. Please understand that.”

Katya looks taken aback and Trixie looks away. She knew that eventually they’d talk it out, that they had to, and she also knew that for her that would only lead to reascending something in her chest that she had fought for a long time to diminish. All of their friends kept telling her she needed closure, that she really should talk to Katya, that it would be good for her. Oftentimes they’d act like they knew something she didn’t, but she’d made it clear that talking about Katya was not something she wanted so they respected it. Now she’s there, following their advice, and it’s like the hole in her chest is brand new. She fears the prospect of yet another nine months tirelessly working to close it. She doesn’t know if she has it in her.

“Trix…” Katya’s voice is quiet, earnest. She moves closer and this time doesn’t stop when Trixie flinches, even if she stills keeps a couple of inches in between them. She seems to not know what to say and Trixie can’t blame her. She’s in an awkward position, Trixie wouldn’t know what to do if she was her either. So she takes this opportunity, embraces the fact that she’s already cried and said more than she thought she would, and goes on. Maybe it’ll be easier if she gets everything out.

“You were my best friend.” It’s a quiet statement and it reverberates in the room, followed almost comically by a loud thunder. She doesn’t know exactly why she’s saying it, what she’s trying to convey here - because Katya knows that. She nods, even, looks at Trixie as if she’s waiting for her to say more. Trixie feels there’s more she needs to let her know, but she has no idea what. Has no idea how. “It’s been hard without you. As a friend, I mean. No one else in the world knew- knows me the way you do. Even after all these months, unless you suffered memory loss, no one else even comes closer. You know everything about me.”

“I do,” Katya states before Trixie has time to continue. “I haven’t forgotten anything, how could I? And the same goes to you.” She chuckles a bit, even if it doesn’t sound funny at all. “Who else would it be?”

“You knew me,” Trixie accuses, then, even if she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to be the bitter ex, she wants none of this to ever have happened at all. But it’s too late now, it did and the words are out. She’s constantly stuck between completely understanding Katya’s actions and feeling bitter and betrayed by them. That’s why she didn’t want to talk - she knew she’d fuck it, and she also doesn’t know what she feels.

But Katya is nothing if not understanding - and again, she knows Trixie. She doesn’t seem surprised at all at her words. “I did. And I fucked up.”

Trixie bites her lips, feels her eyes tearing up again. This is not what she wants. Katya’s back to the guilt and pity and that’s not what she wants. But what does she want? She doesn’t know either. She wants this dull pain in her chest to finally subside, she wants to feel free of this and start over, she wants to be herself again, but she has absolutely no idea of what to do to get there.

She wants to not have fallen in love with her best friend. She wants to never have acted upon her feelings. She wants to never have loved her so deeply.

But she can’t change that now, can she?

“I don’t want you to feel bad.” This much is true. Through all the pain and the hardships there are few things she wants more in life than for Katya to be happy. However that might come to be.

Katya snorts, shifts a little and her thigh scrapes very lightly against Trixie’s. She shivers, tries to push past that, but it’s the first physical contact they’ve had in nine months. When Katya had gotten back and they met at Violet’s party Trixie had simply nodded at her, too frozen on her spot to even shake hands. She feels the ghost of her skin lingering, wishes something so minor wouldn’t affect her so much. “How can I not, Trixie? I know I did it all wrong, I know I hurt you and I think about it everyday. I hope you know this already, but I truly am sorry.”

Trixie gets up then, needs air and knows she can’t go out in the balcony because it’s still raining heavily, she can hear it against the glass. She takes a deep breath, tries to remember the breathing techniques that Katya taught her all those years ago and then when she remembers Katya touching her back and stomach to guide her, she tries to forget it. “Uh, I need some water.”

“Of course.” Katya starts getting up, but Trixie denies quickly.

“I can get it. I-I’ll be right back.”

She moves quickly to the kitchen, feels like the walls are closing in on her and hopes against hope that she won’t have a panic attack. She’s never had one before but she knows the signs. She refuses to let it happen over a heartbreak. A heartbreak that happened nine months ago.

She finds the glass and fills it with water mechanically, barely thinks about what she’s doing and where she’s moving, and when the familiarity of it dawns on her she closes her eyes forcefully again. There really is nowhere safe in this place.

She leans against the sink, sips the water slowly, tries to even her breathing with each gulp of water she takes. She thinks about the time when the rain stops and she gets to leave, thinks about what will happen then. Will this be it? Will she never talk to Katya again? The thought is like a double-edged sword because she doesn’t know what answer to that is more frightening.

Trixie knows, of course, why this is harder than it’s ever been before. Why this time she can feel the pieces that her heart broke into, why it’s hurting and hurting and it never seems to heal. She’s thought about it endlessly over the course of these months, tried not to but found it impossible.

She’s never dated a friend before. She’s always met someone through someone or at a bar or online. She always met them with the intent of dating.

Katya had been her best friend for seven years when she first noticed how she felt. By that point, well, she already loved Katya more than almost everyone else in her life. Maybe platonically or maybe not, but she did. Katya was already someone she could never see herself without.

She should’ve listened to Shea, and Kim, and Pearl and pretty much everyone else when they told her that it was a bad idea. It really had been.

“Hey,” Katya’s voice scares her enough to get her to drop the glass on the floor, tiny pieces of glass flying around and one of them landing on her foot, making a tiny cut. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Trixie dismisses. She can barely feel it, leans down with Katya to try to get the bigger chunks. “Sorry for breaking your glass.”

“It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was.”

Trixie feels they aren’t talking about the glass anymore.

They put all the pieces they managed to gather away and turn to the sink to wash their hands, side by side. It’s silent as the water runs and they take turns slowly.

Katya clears her throat. “You said… you said I wasn’t the first one on the list. What does that mean?”

Trixie dries her hands, can’t look at Katya as the words she feels pathetically weightning her down leave her mouth. “You weren’t the first girlfriend who didn’t love me back.”

Katya freezes so fast, so true-to-the-word full freeze, that Trixie glances back at her for a second, worried. She’s staring at Trixie, looks heartbroken and at a complete loss for words. She blinks rapidly, eyes searching through Trixie’s entire face for seconds on end.

“You’ve spent the last nine months thinking I left because I didn’t love you?”

Now it’s Trixie who feels at a loss, maybe more heartbroken than before. Katya asked that as if she was wrong. Her heart is beating at a mile per minute.

“I’ve seen you jump from relationship to relationship, three months each, for years. I’ve stood there as you said time and time again that you don’t believe in love and forever. I knew where that was going, Katya, I don’t blame you for that.”

Katya fully touches her then, envelops her upper arm with her hand. She isn’t gripping at it, it’s a light touch that Trixie could easily free herself of. But she doesn’t, stares at the hand and back at Katya’s face several times, alarmed by her sudden movement and her expression. “God, Trixie, I did everything wrong.”

“Kat-”

“Let me speak, please. You don’t have to, but I’d love if you’d listen. Just this once.”

Trixie nods then, Katya’s hand still on her arm, her bony fingers digging lightly into her flesh. Katya looks lost, a bit, uncertain of what to say, and Trixie’s worried that whatever it is will just break her further.

“I left for you. I wanted to travel and to photograph the world and to live freely and you wanted a nice job and a family. You were fast-tracking towards your dream job, you were house-hunting hand-in-hand with me. I wanted to love you in Rome, and Paris, and Lisbon and you wanted someone that wanted to settle down. I wasn’t ready.”

“I wanted you,” Trixie barks back, can’t stop herself. Katya’s words are buzzing in her ears, but she won’t let her throw that last sentence like that. Trixie didn’t want someone, Trixie wanted her. She’d made that perfectly clear.

“And I wanted you.” Katya’s eyes are honest and Trixie knows she isn’t lying because she knows her. There’s a lump in her throat and her skin burns where Katya’s touching her. But she still hurts.

“You left.”

“I left.”

They stand in silence, eyes interlocked, both clearly fighting back tears.

“I couldn’t give you what you wanted, Trixie. The easiest way was to go.”

“That’s exactly what you said back then, we want different things. You didn’t know what I wanted. We dated for five months, Katya, I never asked you for forever.”

Katya denies with her head, looks up when a tear forms up anyway. “That isn’t it, Trixie. I wanted forever with you, too, I just wanted it in a different way.”

“You never asked me. You never gave me the choice.”

“I know.”

Silence falls again, and this time it stretches. They don’t move, don’t look at each other, do nothing but take deep breaths and pretend - to the other, to themselves - that they aren’t crying.

“You didn’t have to leave. We didn’t have to break up, I would have understood that you wanted to travel, we could’ve been long-distance, I might even have gone with you for a few weeks or visited or- I don’t know.” She runs her hands through her hair, exhaustion screaming inside all of her limbs. “It’s like… it’s like you didn’t fight for me.”

“I was scared. You know me, you know I panic and let anxiety have the best of me. But you know me, so tell me you can’t see how much I regret it, how much I regret every week that passed that I didn’t try to make things right.”

Trixie looks her in the eye, and she can feel how Katya is urging every bone in her body to remain still and stare back, truthfully. It’s quiet and it’s heavy and the tension is clear.

And then there’s a thunder and the place goes dark.

“Shit.”

Katya squeezes her grip on Trixie’s arm, grounds them both together in the pitch dark of the place as it appears the whole neighborhood has powered out.

It’s in the quiet of the darkness that Katya finds the courage Trixie knows she’s been searching for.

“I don’t know if it changes anything. And I don’t know if it’s good or if it’s bad or how it’ll make you feel or even if I have a right to say it. But I still love you. I love you just as much, maybe even a bit more, than I did the day I left.”

Trixie doesn’t even try to hold the words in, knows she wouldn’t be able to. “I love you, too.”

She feels Katya getting closer, can feel her warm breath on her face and as her eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness, she thinks she sees the contour of Katya’s face.

“I know what I did was wrong. I thought about coming back several times, but I thought you’d be better off without me. I shouldn’t have left the way I did, but I swear I thought that was the best for you. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you, Trixie. That’s why I came back.” She pauses. One second, then two then three. “I thought I knew what I wanted, but in reality everything falls second to you.”

Trixie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if there’s anything she could say. This is so, so much for her brain to handle. She feels exhausted from the night already, feels like all the emotions she could’ve possibly had overloaded her. But she stays still, feels Katya’s warmth in front of her, her other hand now ghosting its fingertips on her arm. She loves her. Nothing’s gonna change that and she knows it. Her words echo in her brain.

“Can I kiss you?”

Katya asks softly, doesn’t move an inch as she waits for an answer. Trixie knows that if she said no Katya would immediately back off and give her space. More than anything, first and foremost, Katya is a genuinely good person. That’s one of the reasons Trixie loves her so much.

That’s also one of the reasons that instead of replying, she’s the one that closes the gap. Her hands find Katya’s face and pull her in slowly, their lips meeting tentatively, calmly. Trixie can feel warmth spreading through her entire body, like spring has just come and blossomed all of the flowers. The familiar feeling sets on her chest, the smoothness of Katya’s lips are like coming home. She feels all the cliches and the songs from romance movies circling inside her, she feels like this is what she’s been waiting for the past nine months.

In a way, it is.

They kiss slowly, innocently, neither moves their hands from where they are currently, but Trixie pulls her in a little more and puts her right foot back at that, trying to ground herself better.

And she manages to step on a remaining tiny shard of glass. “Ow.”

They break apart, breathing not heavy but uneven, and search for each other’s faces that they still can’t see in the dark.

“You ok?”

Trixie nods before she realizes she won’t see. “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

They stay there, locked in an embrace, until the sound of the rain on the window is louder than their breathing. The clock on the wall is ticking and Trixie revels at how in sync it is with her heart.

“We should go to bed,” Katya suggests, and Trixie gulps to herself. Maybe Katya hears her or maybe she just knows, but she adds, “We can both go to my bed and just sleep. Or I can go to the couch or you can to the couch. Whatever makes you comfortable. I just think we should rest.”

Trixie agrees and they start moving through the dark apartment, their hands clasped so they won’t lose each other and also so they won’t lose each other. Katya hits her knee on the bed and hisses, but then she sits down on it and pulls Trixie to sit besides her. They move in the dark, the moonlight filtering in through this window making it a little bit easier to see, and soon they’re settled on the pillows, Trixie on the same side she always slept whenever she and Katya shared a bed both before and after getting together.

Katya finds her hand again, squeezes it, and Trixie looks at her. She waits for a few seconds, hopes the moon will allow her to at least see Katy’s eyes, and it does. They’re shining.

“Give me another chance?” Katya whispers into the night, the words flowing over to Trixie’s already calm, sleepy brain.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, squeezes Katya’s hand back before closing her eyes. “We can talk more in the morning - if there are waffles.”

She falls asleep immediately, doesn’t know if Katya replied or not.

But in the morning she finds Katya doing yoga - and there are waffles.

#trixya #pichitinha #angst #hopeful ending #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au

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gikairan · 2 years

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I viewed a flat for the first time today and now i'm torn.....

Like, i dont think the location of this place is right for me. Its just a tad too far from amenities for someone who doesnt drive. Its like a 20 minute walk to the supermarket? And the nearest mini is 10 minutes away. So I think a lot of my groceries are going to have to be delivered if i was living there. .... Buuuut thats also kinda actually a right timesaver for someone living on their own?

But because this location is kinda tucked away from it all, its... actually pretty nice? I got there early (public transport being unreliable in my town lately...) and theres a tinnyy little public garden with a single bench I waited on and it was... nice. The road basically exists JUST for this development- it ends with the block of flats I looked at (The flat actually looks down across the entire road), so no ones going to be tearing through at all hours. The only reason to be there is because you live there, or you know someone who does. It seems quiet and peaceful. Its not a large building. Which means not a lot of neighbours. And basically no-one next door... just the lift. So thats... honestly a huge plus.

The train station i'd use to get to the office occasionally will be... a single train from start to finish. No changes. Its also significantly cheaper than the trains I WAS getting pre-pandemic bc its in a totally different zone.

Space wise.... I mean i'd like something bigger. I think i could make it WORK, but it would be a squeeze. Theres not really much storage space after all. The markets kinda bonkers right now though, so its weighing up whether to go for this now, and wait for the bubble to burst to find somewhere bigger, or wait for the bubble to burst while living with my parents still.....

Buuuut theres this other place thats being developed right now. Its right on the high street, therefore... right at the amenities. And not a 20 minute walk away from the supermarket either. It looks like it might be slightly bigger too? I enquired, and i can afford it. In fact, this one is potentially cheaper. ..... i just havent heard anything back. In 3 weeks (:. I need to do some nudging, but I'm not sure if the silence has been "its not ready yet".

Hnngg i just dont know (┬┬﹏┬┬)

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monkeyspawnskydiamond · 3 years

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Don’t ask me to feel sorry for my rapist - Nina Funnell

Nine years ago I threatened to kill a man. I did not know his name or anything about him. And yet when I threatened to kill him, I meant it.

To this day I still wonder what would have happened if, by some fluke, the box-cutter had made its way into my own hand.

I wonder if I would have pressed the cold blade against his throat, as he had done to me just moments prior. I wonder if I would have found it in me to stab him as he lay there on top of me, strangling me, bashing me, indecently sexually assaulting me.

I still don’t know.

What I do know is that by threatening to end his life, I saved my own.

I know that if I hadn’t wrestled him for the box-cutter, if I hadn’t screamed and kicked and thrashed about like a wounded animal, I might not have survived the night.

I do not say this to imply that women who have acted any differently in sexual assault situations have done the wrong thing. On the contrary, a different perpetrator might have killed me on the spot for fighting.

So my story is neither cautionary nor instructive. It’s just my story and there is no way to tell it without including certain details.

I was 23-years-old and an honours student at the University of Sydney. I’d woken up that morning and showered like I would have on any other day. The only thing that was different about this particular morning was that it was the day of my honours presentation — a day I had been working towards for months. It should have ended in celebration and elation.

Instead it ended with me at a police station.

I’d gone out for some drinks after class had finished (yes, I was drinking, as women are permitted to do from time to time) and I was making the 20 minute walk home to my parent’s place in Sydney’s lower north shore.

I was a few hundred metres from my front door when I was suddenly attacked from behind.

A solid-built man I had never seen before had seized me. He held a box-cutter blade to my throat and began dragging me into an adjacent park.

I didn’t see or hear him coming as I was listening to music from earphones. (Later I would be told that this was just one of the many reasons why I was to blame for his decision to attack.)

He then said point blank: “I am going to kill you”.

He punched me in the face and the force of the blow was so powerful that it knocked me off my feet and onto my back.

I lay in the dirt, immobilised by fear, as he moved on top of me. They call this the “freeze response” and I have since learnt that most sexual assault victims experience this sort of shock and paralysis.

Then I felt the life being choked out of me. His hand was on my throat, my trachea was being crushed, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was also vaguely aware of a deep pain beginning to grow in my shoulders and back.

Hours later at Gladesville police station I’d be photographed and swabbed. I’d be asked to go into a small room and remove my top. Once in there, I would examine my body in the mirror and find what would soon become dark bruising across my back — bruising that was apparently caused by large, protruding tree roots that had been grinding into my back while the weight of my attacker’s body pushed my flesh into them.

During the assault though, I didn’t process that sort of detail. All I could think was “How can this be happening to me? Is this for real?”

Then my mind went somewhere else altogether. I shut my eyes tight and an old, forgotten memory played like a video before my eyes. I remembered being a young girl, maybe six or seven years in age. I was standing in that same park and I was watching my older brother play soccer on the field. I remembered how at half time, I’d eaten quartered oranges with him and it had made me feel special that he’d included me and talked to me with his older friends around.

That was it. That was the simple memory that I shut my eyes and held on to. It seems odd, doesn’t it? That a man is trying to rape and kill you and you think about eating quartered oranges with your big brother.

I’ve since been told that my brain was valiantly trying to protect me from the trauma of what was occurring to me. In transporting me to another time and place — a safer time and place — it was trying to shield me from what was happening.

And yet, just as quickly as I’d slipped into that dissociative state, I slipped back out of it again. And when I did, I found myself looking directly into my attacker’s face which was only inches away from my own.

His grasp was still on my throat. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain across my body and I remember thinking: “I don’t want to die. Not like this”.

****

When it comes to sexual assault, women are forever being asked “why didn’t you say no?” or “why didn’t you fight back?”

As though a rapist would ever listen.

As though victims are the ones who should be responsible for preventing the violence we experience.

If you really want to know why most women don’t fight back, it’s because of one of two things: we are either immobilised by fear, or we assume that fighting back will make things worse. This is, after all, something that has been drummed in to us all from a very tender age.

But that night I did fight back, not at first, and not because I am courageous. The only reason I fought was because adrenaline took over and I had nothing to lose.

My mind had eventually caught up and computed that I was in a kill-or-be-killed situation. And if I was going to die anyway, why not fight the f***er? Get his DNA if nothing else.

I began thrashing and resisting, and then I exploded yelling “I’m going to kill you first”.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ll never forget the look of shock and surprise on his face when I said that. What I don’t remember, is exactly what happened in the next few moments.

Again, this is not uncommon. The nature of trauma means that survivors often have memory gaps or recollections that don’t add up. One counsellor explained that if your memory is like a filing cabinet system, a traumatic event will effectively toss all the files onto the floor, mess them around, and then shove them back in.

Some files get lost. Others get out of order.

She also told me that she’s never once met a sexual assault survivor who had perfect, chronological recall.

Such is the nature of trauma.

And yet I’ve also been told that if I ever do go to court, defence lawyers will almost certainly try to use my memory gaps against me.

I can look forward to some smug lawyer arrogantly trying to discredit me by painting me as an “unreliable witness”. The fact that I’m even classified as a “witness” frustrates me to tears. I wasn’t sitting outside my body, eating popcorn watching this happen from the sidelines. It was painful. It hurt. I didn’t “witness” violence, I endured it.

I’ve also been advised that in addition to my memory gaps, the fact that I had been drinking that night will almost certainly be used against me.

I’ll be painted as licentious. As slutty. As stupid. As a liar.

But to be very clear, my memory gaps are not evidence that I am lying. To the contrary, they are evidence of the traumatic nature of the violence I have experienced.

So here is what I do remember from that point on. I remember a sudden feeling of lightness on my chest and an awareness that there wasn’t a heavy body on me anymore. I have no recollection of climbing to my feet but I do remember being in a standing position and noticing a small amount of blood on my hand. I remember wondering if it was my blood or his (this would later turn out to be a defensive wound.) Then I remember picking up my bag and reaching for my mobile and dialling triple 0.

****

I wasn’t technically raped that night. And boy do people love to remind me of that.

“I know what happened is bad and all, but he didn’t actually, you know, get it up you, did he?”

This was the question put to me by a male manager at my casual job, a week after the assault took place. My bruises hadn’t even disappeared but the implication was clear: if there’s no P-in-V, it’s not so bad, is it?

Sure, I’d been indecently sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, strangled, told I would be killed, and held at blade point. But in a phallocentric world, sexual violence isn’t measured by the trauma the victim experiences, but by the perpetrator’s assessment of the event: and if the penis didn’t get its way? Then what right should I have to expect the same supports and police resourcing that a “real rape victim” would get?

This wasn’t the only insensitive comment people made.

“You’re a pretty girl, you know. You could take it as a compliment that he selected you.” (This piece of unsolicited advice was kindly offered by a female journalist working for a women’s magazine).

“You have to admit Nina, you were pretty stupid for walking home alone”. (This gem was offered by an old friend I went to school with.)

One woman asked in all seriousness: “Do you ever think this might not have happened if you had a closer relationship with God?”

Another woman took the time and trouble to email me to inform me that she had real pity for me until, that was, she learnt that I had been “doing all the wrong things”.

Since then, I’ve been told it’s my fault for drinking. My fault for listening to music. My fault for travelling alone (as though women should only ever venture out in public if they are in the company of a chaperone).

People have called me a liar and an attention seeker.

I’ve had one stranger persistently request that I share the police photos taken that night with him.

I’ve had other strange men send me messages of sympathy, immediately followed up with a sunny little dick-pic. For condolence, I guess. (No, I do not want to commiserate with your boner).

I’ve had schools ask me if I will come speak to their female students about the “risky situations” that women put themselves in (no, I won’t, don’t ask me again).

I’ve been asked whether the problem lies in girls “not respecting themselves” (and here I was thinking that my assault happened because my attacker has no respect for women, for me, or for my right to live a life free of sexual violence.)

I’ve also had someone suggest that the poor guy probably “just had no money, otherwise he would have gone to a prostitute”. As though sexual violence isn’t about power and control at all, but a man’s simple desire to have certain sexual needs met.

Over and over I have been asked the questions that so many other survivors have also been asked: “What were you wearing? How much did you have to drink? Don’t you know how stupid you were being?”

And each and every one of these questions (and so many more) serve to silence women. They do this by deflecting attention away from the actions and choices of perpetrators, and by insinuating that women are responsible for the violence we have experienced.

And finally there was this remark made by some clever chap who wanted to discuss my attack online:

“What a conceited bitch for thinking she’s even worthy of rape. The guy just probably wanted to give her a good bashing in which case job well done.”

Charming stuff, isn’t it?

Of course, this is only a fraction of what women deal with when we speak out publicly about sexual violence. And in many ways my own assault was easier to speak out about than many others. That’s because I was assaulted by a stranger and there was physical violence involved. But most victims aren’t assaulted by strangers and rarely are there physical signs of violence, and this makes it even harder to be believed.

And this is why so women stay silent. Why so many choose not to report.

It’s also why perpetrators feel so entitled to keep on offending: because our society continually affirms for them that women are in the wrong. That women are untrustworthy. That stranger-danger rape is the only “legitimate rape”. That women make-up sexual abuse in order to assuage sexual regret. That the word of a man is worth far more than the word of woman.

Over the last week I, along with so many others, have read the extraordinary victim impact statement made by the young woman who was raped by Brock Turner behind a dumpster at Stanford University.

Her words resonate deeply.

In addition to exposing the systemic victim-blaming that occurs when survivors disclose, she has also elucidated all the ways that perpetrators attempt to minimise responsibility, shift blame and discredit victims.

Her analysis of how some media will humanise perpetrators (by including references to their skills, hobbies or interests) while reducing victims to nothing more than invisible, silent “others” is equally compelling.

And in her words so many survivors the world over have found recognition and comfort. They’ve also found the courage to speak out and own their status as survivor.

I suspect this is because she is radically rewriting ideas about victimhood.

In the cultural conscience, victims are often presented as broken, voiceless and downtrodden. At best, we are pitied. At worst, we are despised and devalued as “damaged goods”.

Yet though her victim impact statement she has debunked those stereotypes and advanced a new image of a survivor who is intelligent, articulate, analytical, insightful, bold, brave, reflective and persuasive.

Her words are resilient, strong, and hopeful. She reminds me that even though my assailant has never been caught, and even though I am yet to have my day in court, recovery and hope is possible, and above all, I am not alone.

https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/rendezview/dont-ask-me-to-feel-sorry-for-my-rapist/news-story/36d4af5f0cc287ba53eeb163bbe28841

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drews-diary · 3 years

Text

21.08.19

today’s diary entry is gonna be weird. also hi, its been a while. a few days ago, i learned that the fourteen year old i tutor has a boyfriend. and while that is a perfectly reasonable age to have a boyfriend i just cant get over the fact that someone born in 2007 is already capable of typing let alone dating. I remember when my friends little brother who was also born in 2007 was crawling around and cried cuz he hit his head on the table. but to be fair that didnt really bother me too much as i always felt as though i was stagnant and things around me were the ones always changing.

But then today i was listening to taylor swift’s old albums cuz i was feeling nostalgic and i listened to fifteen from the fearless album that came out back in 2009 and i realized that she released that song when she was around twenty which means she probably wrote in when she was in her teens writing about how she knows so much more than she did back when was starting high school that she wish she could tell her younger self. and i remembered listening to that album as a child and expecting myself to feel the same by the time i became an adult. yet here i am at 21 no thoughts head empty. and i realized that even if i met 15 year old me there is next to nothing i would want to tell her because i still feel like i am more or less still the same ignorant uninformed person. the only thing i would tell her is to stop fucking around and focus on school.

i feel like i dont have as much experience as the other people around me. I never used to care that i’ve never been romantically involved with someone, but i always thought it would happen eventually when i got to college but a three semesters have passed and i have yet to take a single class on campus.

to be completely honest the only reason i am even fever writing this right now is because i had a ice cream blending cold brew from starbucks this evening because i had to get up excruciatingly early for class registration (which i completely failed at) and had three tutoring classes today meaning i didnt have time for my daily afternoon nap so the coffee was the only thing making sure i didnt fall asleep during my last class. I purposely dont drink coffee regularly so that i can use it like a magic potion when i need it and the caffeine hits me like a bus. it has been six hours and i am still wide-eyed i should not have gotten a grande. today was also my first time trying coldbrew so there’s that. i was kinda grateful for the effects because it made sure i was awake for today’s episode of hospital playlist but now i kinda wanna sleep since i didnt get much last night and i would like to make sure i dont miss my class tomorrow morning, i have to get up at at least ten, but here i am typing this.and i think i am just going to keep going.

my family moved recently, and for the time being my entire room is surrounded by bookshelves because my brother’s bed is too big and we cant fix any bookshelves into his room and i am only using a mattress topper thing for the next few months. this is because i finally convinced my mom to let me throw out that horrid bed with the curved head and foot board with the flower decorations that always dug into the back of my head, neck, and back when i was trying to read. so that is the situation in my room until the end of the year when hopefully my brother’s whole situation will be over and we can finally go furniture shopping and switch rooms. (we are also currently living in each other’s room because his permanent room aka my current room cannot fit his fucking gigantic boat bed. actually i really love that bed i wish he was still young enough to use it its so cute.

i find our new neighborhood unsettling. like its probably because i got so attached to our old house that we lived in for nine years but i dont know. the place we moved to is a location that i used to spend some time in when we first moved to korea but i literally havent been here in nine years as mentioned earlier, and i am slowly piecing my memories of the geography as well as blending it with the incredibly limited knowledge i have of the nearby surroundings that i built riding the bus and when i was learning to drive because the school that i went to is kind of near our new place. anyways to get back to the subject this new neighborhood is full of too many happy families with these little kids that run around with their sticky little fingers flailing around. like hello we are still in the middle of a global pandemic i swear to god parents of little kids will go loose their minds when their children get sick yet they let them just run around spreading their disgusting little disease to the rest of us. ugh i hate kids. but thats besides the point the reason i think the new neighborhood feels dystopian is because all of the families, children and the elders too (why are there so many elders like i dont hate them or anything most of them are fine but like where are they all coming from?) look so happy. where are the depressed high schoolers and burnt out college students? my brother and i dont seem to have any friends in this bitch. anyways so the sheer amount of happiness that seems to radiate around me reminds me of books and movies like the giver you know or like the uglies series where you start off in this utopian-esque world until you find out that it is actually fake. its unsettling.

okay now i am kind of tired good night. wait also the public transportation at our new place fucking sucks i know it’s pretty good by regular standards but i am used to subway stations, convenience stores, cafes and bus stops all being 30 seconds away from the entrance of my building. okay the bus stop took more like two minutes but whatever. and buses used to come every five minutes but now i have to walk at least ten minutes to the nearest subway station and the bus stops only have three buses and even those take so fucking long to arrive and they dont even arrive when they say they will they are always late which is why i end up fucking walking twenty minutes to the subway station because that way at least i can guarantee that i am not going to be completely late. unreliable ass buses.

fuck there’s a lot i dont like about my new neighborhood. oh wait we are also far from malls now i have to walk like half an hour to get to the nearest mall when at our old house i only had to walk ten minutes and the mall close to our new house is worse than the old one. this one’s movie theatre isnt even famous. but dont get me wrong i guess there are things i like about our new place like how you can call the elevator from inside the house or how there’s a gym and the fact that i now have ac in my room. i am just being a brat because i really loved our old house. it was perfect. even if i felt as though i was being burned alive during the summers sometimes. i also like my new blinds that let in light in the shape of constellations.

i dont currently have a desk in my room so i dont know what im going to do when school starts again in a few weeks i guess i’ll have to take my lecture on the floor or maybe on the kitchen table idk.

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gnomesagetion · 6 years

Text

Missing Gears Chapter 6

Things always go wrong when something good happens. For example: The Thunderbirds were just starting up when Gordon Tracy was the only survivor of a holfoil crash. An engagement of a Tracy son and an ex FBI agent when someone is out to get International Rescue. But sometimes good things come from the bad things in our lives.

Read on: Fanfiction.Net AO3 Wattpad

Over the next two months, Naomi and Virgil’s wedding came along. All of the guests had replied with yes. International Rescue had been set up with a message saying that they would be unreachable for two days either side of the 14th of July due a special date in the calendar. Virgil had chosen his suit out and so had his brothers. Everything was ready but the dresses of the Bride’s party and the flowers. In the middle of June, Virgil had two weeks in Thunderbird 5 rostered. John had organised the rotation and everything else to Naomi’s benefit. He was pretty sure that he was the only one of his brothers who knew that Naomi had yet to get a wedding dress. Selecting two weeks in the middle of June, he had spoken to Lady P to come over to America to take Naomi, Tin Tin, Ohana and Naomi’s friends dress shopping. He had done it with Naomi’s permission of course. Naomi was not someone he wanted to be on the bad side of. The plan was this; Virgil would go up to Thunderbird 5. John would return from space. After having some food and water and a little rest, he would then fly Naomi, Tin Tin and Ohana out to California. They would be meet by Naomi’s friends and Lady P at the airport. John had been informed that Siobhan, one of Naomi’s bridesmaids, had connections to a high end bridal dress shop. All while Virgil thought that Naomi was going to visit her uncle and aunt. And that’s what happened.

Naomi hugged her fiancé. “You have fun up in space,” She told him. “Want a picture of the Southern Cross?” He joked. “Nah. I have this amazing picture of it already,” Naomi smiled. “Have fun at your Uncle and Aunt’s,” Virgil kissed her before heading down to Thunderbird Three’s Hanger.

Naomi was writing up the last part of her proposed act when John came out of his room. She saved her work and shut her laptop down. “Are you ready?” She asked. John nodded. He yawned. “Do you want a cup of coffee before we leave?” Naomi asked, sympathising with her soon-to-be brother-in-law. John nodded again. “Well sit there and I’ll go make some,” Naomi commanded. A few minutes later John was nursing a cup of hot coffee. “Thanks Naomi,” He told his soon to be sister-in-law. “No problem – and I can get Gordon to fly me out to LA if you’re still tired,” Naomi said “No, I’ll fly you. Everyone else thinks that we’re flying out to Kansas,” John said “I’ll be fine,” “If you say so John, I’ll go load the luggage and find Tin Tin and Ohana,”

The flight was a smooth one. Not as smooth as Naomi’s flight from America to Tracy Island the first time, but still pretty smooth. They landed in LA. John said goodbye to the three ladies before actually flying to Kansas. Someone had to keep up appearances. Tin Tin, Ohana and Naomi were greeted by the bridesmaids. “Ohana and Tin Tin, these wonderful people are Megan Greenwood, Caitlin Falconer, Siobhan Coulson and Emma Wood. Megan, as you know is a doctor, Caitlin has a successful restaurant chain, Siobhan is a Biology teacher and Emma, last I heard, is still doing a music degree,” Naomi introduced her bridesmaids to the two females who had a lot of input in the Tracy family’s island life “Guys, this Ohana Kyrano and her daughter Tin Tin. They live on Tracy Island and work with the Tracy’s,” Naomi’s friends and the Kyrano’s got to know each other. “We should get going,” Siobhan spoke up “My friend’s shop closes at two and she said she could keep it open another hour just for us,” “If you’re telling us that you want to get going,” Naomi told her friend “Then you haven’t changed one bit since college,” “Actually – my friend text me a few minutes before your plane landed,” Siobhan laughed “Plus aren’t we missing someone?” “All the wedding party is here though,” Emma frowned “We have the bride, the Maid of Honour, the bridesmaids and the flower girl,” “We’re missing Lady Penelope,” Tin Tin spoke up “She should be here,” “Sorry I’m late,” A feminine British accent spoke up “Parker had a terrible time trying to find a park here,” The wedding party turned around to see a fashionably dressed woman with long blonde hair followed by an older man who was dressed smartly. “’Orrible parking this airport does,” The man agreed “Miss Kyrano, Mrs Kyrano. Lovely to see you again,” “You too Parker,” The Kyrano women replied in unison. “Lady Penelope and Parker are good friends to the Tracy Family. Both Virgil and Scott assure me that she has excellence taste in clothes which is why I invited her,” Naomi introduced her friends to friends of her future family “They were not wrong – you look wonderfully amazing Lady Penelope,” “Thank you, Naomi,” Lady Penelope smiled “Our ride is awaiting ladies, I believe we need to get going,”

Linda Irwin was in the same high school class as Cameron Muter. Admittedly, she had hooked up with him during a few parties. Drunk. Sober. Tipsy. It didn’t matter. She lusted after him. Then college came. Or in Cameron’s case, the Navy or something water based organisation. They went their separate ways. Linda still lusted after him. She hadn’t seen him since high school graduation. At she hadn’t until two weeks ago. Cameroon looked much older but still looked has good looking as ever. It would be lying if Linda had said she didn’t want to take him right there and then to the alley behind her store. Making small conversation, Linda asked what had brought Cameron to the store. Was it to book a slot for his daughter so she could be beautiful for her wedding day? Cameron shook his head. Maybe it was for his future bride? Again, Cameron shook his head. He said his cousin’s daughter was friends with Naomi Winchester and he was double checking the date and time for the fittings for her. While there were obvious repercussions for sharing this information with outsiders given the nature of the bride’s new status in society, Linda saw nothing wrong with sharing with Cameron. She told him everything about the fitting – the number of people expected at the fitting, the time of the fitting and even which dresses Linda and her co-manager Jane were thinking about showing the party. Cameron thanked her for her time and left the store. Now she was waiting for that party. They were five minutes late. And so was Jane. “Sorry, sorry,” Jane apologised, coming to a stop next to Linda “My bus was late,” Public transport. Always unreliable. Always a good excuse. Linda huffed. “Just remember to lock it up tight. We have priceless dresses in here. Miss Winchester may choose a dress tonight and we do not want the Tracy bride to have her dress stolen,” “I have it under control Linda,” Jane said, “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had the rich and or famous come into our store,” Jane smiled sweetly. Linda rolled her eyes and left. Linda ran into a group of people coming into the store. “Watch where you’re going,” She hissed and pushed through the group.

Naomi came out of the dressing room for the third time. She did not like this dress. Too much poof. “No. Take it off,” Tin Tin said straight away “That is not you,” The rest of the group agreed. Naomi turned to the rack of dresses. She skimmed through the dresses. Naomi picked one from the rack. “I think this is the only one I want to try left,” She smiled and took a deep breath. Naomi went back into the dressing rooms. 10 minutes later, she came out. The dress she had chosen was tight fitting around the torso and waist and slowly became less skin tight as it went further down. It was strapless but the wedding party could see the white bra straps. “I think this is it,” Naomi declared “Just needs some straps but this is it,” “What about your scar?” Caitlin asked, “You never used to wear anything shorter than ¾ sleeves at college,” “Things have changed since college Kit,” Naomi smiled “And Virg and I decided on the date to be the same as the crash. And as much as I hate the crash, if the crash didn’t happen I wouldn’t have meet any of you guys. I wouldn’t have meet my best friend. I wouldn’t have meet my fiancé. I wouldn’t have meet the rest of my life,” “I’m so glad you liked it. We’ll get someone in at some point and we add the straps for you,” Jane said, smiling.

Cameron Muter was not above using Linda Irwin’s lust for his own advantage. The day after the Tracy bride’s fitting he popped into her shop again. He said his cousin’s daughter had left something behind after the fitting. Linda had no problem taking him to see the dress. It turns out that someone else had in fact left a clutch at the fitting so the employee with the group had kept the dress and the clutch together. This gave Cameron the perfect opportunity to place a bug into the dress. Eventually the bride would retrieve the dress and the bug would pick up location and sound. It would help The Voice with everything that was going down.

#Thunderbrids Are Go Fan Fic #The Broken #My Writing #Probably an AU #Missing Gears #Chapter 6

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sundaywhiskey · 4 years

Text

on why you should vote for Bernie Sanders

The Sunday Blunt is a 2020 election survival effort of researched, brief-ish, minimally edited rants on America’s hellish political hellscape and related hell. I’ve not been shy about my support for Elizabeth Warren in the Democratic primary. Today she suspended her campaign for president, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not writing this in tears. My hands are a lil shaky. Honestly I feel like I’m going through a breakup. It’s fine. Ultimately Warren was a prepared, fearless warrior for the progressive cause, but not the cause itself, so to honor the righteous work she’s done in this race, it is only necessary that I urge everyone still to vote to cast their ballot for Bernie Sanders. There are a few considerations all of us weigh to some degree when casting a ballot. Personally, I vote based on shared values; that’s why I didn’t cast a strategic ballot in the California primary and stayed true to my heart by voting Warren. Actually, I cried then, too, when casting my ballot. My boyfriend joked that’s “The American Dream,” but honestly... kind of. At the bare minimum, we want to believe in the vision of America that our candidate represents, and that’s reasonable considering these fuckers *do* work for us. These campaigns, as cursedly long and tedious as they are, are literally job interviews. I imagine those who stay home on Election Day feel unheard and disenchanted and probably disenfranchised by the political system. They wouldn’t hire any of the options. A progressive candidate could turn out more voters by illustrating an America that isn’t a return to the status quo, but something better for all of us. For no small or invalid reasons, most Americans want better than what we’ve received so far. I’m one of those Americans. Actually, I can confidently assume a majority of people reading this are one of those Americans as recent polling shows 70% of us support a pretty radical change in Medicare 4 All. I say radical, but what I mean is moral. America’s current healthcare model (and the one Biden vows to protect under the misnomer of “Public Option”) maintains healthcare as a business where multiple industries make a shit ton of money off of you and me getting and staying sick. This includes the pharma industry, the insurance industry, and the hospital industry. And because industries on a whole incentivize profits, nobody is working on behalf of Americans’ health. If Americans are healthy, nobody makes money. Which is truly wild because our Constitution very clearly and early on identifies the pursuit of life as an inalienable right. Meanwhile, there are 27 million uninsured Americans (like ya girl) and nearly 44 million under-insured Americans buried alive both metaphorically and literally by medical debt or postponing (or altogether not seeking) necessary care. I fall into that latter group. Shit’s not right, and any proposal that falls short of guaranteeing health insurance for all Americans and dismantling the profiteering of our illnesses is a disingenuous slab of garbage, I’m not sorry for saying so. There are lives on the line. Voters also vote with their pocketbooks. I’m not in love with this strategy but I’m broke so I get it. We’re justifiably protective of our tax dollars—it’s money we earned but can’t control. Who the fuck likes that? And considering the undertaking, it’s no question Medicare 4 All would be expensive, and voters want to know if restructuring the current model will flatter their bank accounts. So will it? The short answer is literally nobody knows. My primary care doctor (a dreamy old fellow named Dr. Horowitz who wears bowties and still sees me without insurance every three months for medication refills, although usually I go every four months when I can’t afford it) tells me the first step of the transition to single-payer will be nailing down cost. Right now, one doctor might charge one patient $20 for Advil while another might charge hundreds because the patient is in a different hospital or a person of color or just because they can. (This isn’t an exaggeration, it happens every day, ask for itemized bills.) So anybody who claims to know how much Medicare 4 All will cost is lying, which means nobody can confidently tell you how your taxes will be affected. We can predict, however, how much the current system costs you. Obviously, there are premiums and co-pays and deductibles and medication costs and, like, a zillion other ways you’re charged. Need to call an ambulance? Depending on the distance, you can ride in this life-saving transport for between a couple hundred to a few thousand dollars. Wanna have a baby? Ten thousand dollars. Diabetic? Despite outrage on both sides of the aisle, two bottles of insulin can cost upwards of $700 a month and prices are still rising. And even though we live in a dystopian hellscape where we can GoFundMe our healthcare costs, 90% of campaigns don’t get fully funded. Can you believe even that isn’t a solution? Which means I guess there’s only one thing we can do and follow the advice a rich, retired, Medicare-receiving man swirling iced white wine on a catamaran once gave me: Make more money. No, I’m kidding. We need to elect the only candidate with a god damn humanistic solution to this very real and urgent crisis, shit. Obviously, and much to my dismay, a vote for Bernie is not a vote for universal healthcare. Before we can even have that conversation, we first have to get our preferred old white man in the White House. Look, I’m not a pundit, but I pretend to be one in every Facebook status and conversation with my mother, so I’m going to answer the question on every political strategist’s voter’s mind: Can Bernie beat Trump? The short answer is yes and with better odds than Joe Biden. The long answer is holy what now!? who would have the answer to that question? Can you tell the future? Can I tell the future? Can Rachel Maddow tell the future? In all seriousness though, I absolutely do get it. There is no denying that the threat of four more years of the Trump administration will have a devastating and long-lasting effect on our planet and every single global citizen. It’s bad, my dudes. That said, voting for political strategy is my least favorite way of voting. For starters, it’s an unreliable barometer based on nothing but guesswork and confidence in your own thoughts. But more importantly, it is insincere and doesn’t communicate to Democratic politicians what standards and values we’ll hold them to. Again, we employ them. If we want to be sensitive about our tax dollars, we should be mindful of which representatives build their whole damn lifestyles off of them. We shouldn’t be voting for politicians who have built a career on passing legislation and otherwise making decisions that degrade people of color, women, and the LGBTQ+ community or lead our country into war. However, if you arreeee going to vote strategically, here’s why Bernie: Centrists don’t win elections. As much as Hillary was very much a woman and sexism very much played a role in her electoral defeat, so did the fact that she’s a moderate. That’s (partially) why there was no President Kerry or Gore or Romney or McCain: Each of those candidates painted a decidedly more status quo America compared to their more extreme opponent. Whoever we elect needs to engage and energize voters. Two things are for sure: 1. Republicans fucking love to vote. (They also love to suppress the vote, but another day, my friends.) 2. Progressive policies are popular and poll better than Trump’s policies across the board. The Democratic Party is a big, welcoming tent where everyone can hang and be protected and represented... when we elect the right officials. Unfortunately, many people the Democratic Party seeks to help (and need to reach in order to win) still don’t see themselves represented in the current political landscape or find solace in moderate policies. Biden’s campaign promises a return to 2016 when, y’all, if you can believe it, I still wasn’t insured. Bernie Sanders is the only candidate in the race whose policies address the needs of marginalized groups we’d need to turn out in November. If we can draw one lesson from Elizabeth’s campaign, it’s that politicians should be listening to the individual circumstances and needs of their constituents. Elizabeth did this in every selfie line and phone call to small-dollar donors and meeting with marginalized groups. At her speeches, she kept the lights on her audiences bright so she could see the people she was talking to. Elizabeth fundamentally understood that this never was about her being president but about the good she could do for each of us once she got there. There’s no question that Bernie has understood this his whole life. The president isn’t the leader of our land, but rather a representative hired to do the work of the American people. I believe then that it is our duty to elect the candidate who would do the greatest amount of good for the greatest number of us. Without a doubt, Bernie Sanders is that candidate.

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sapphicscholar · 7 years

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hey i was wondering if you could do one where sanvers has a teenage daughter and she's really down and the offer motherly advice to her and then they have a dance party, you can include kara in this as well if you want :))

Hey! So, I don’t typically write parent fics (not that there’s anything wrong with parenting, but it’s definitely not for me—I’ll happily be the quirky lesbian aunt who always gifts books that are probably years above appropriate grade level, thank you very much!), but I realize I never actually said that, so I’ll make an exception. I combined this with another anon who had asked for “Sanvers + teenage daughter + sex talk?” Hopefully I managed to make them both work for you two. Also, like pretty much everyone, I’m borrowing from the comics and naming their daughter Jamie. It was that or Gertrude, tbh…

Posted on AO3

Alex hadn’t meant to yell. Honestly, she hadn’t. But Jamie was 16 years old. And her boyfriend might seem nice and earnest, but Alex was always going to be a little suspicious, a little protective of their girl. And finding two condoms in the pocket of her jeans in the wash…well, it had thrown her. Because she still had trouble thinking of Jamie as a teenager, as someone who wasn’t really the baby she’d once been anymore.

But now Jamie was acting very much the part of their teenage daughter, having slammed and locked her door, leaving Alex feeling terrible and useless all at once—a feeling that only increased when Maggie got home. She knew they had agreed to be a sex-positive household, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to be the parent that yelled or shamed her kids about any kinds of sexuality, but when push came to shove, she couldn’t help but think that 16 was so very young, that maybe her baby could wait until she at least got to college.

“Where’s Jamie?” Maggie asked, hanging up her coat as she came through the door, depositing bags of groceries onto the table before coming to join Alex in the living room.

“She’s, uh, she’s in her bedroom,” Alex sighed. “Locked in her bedroom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…”

“What happened?” Maggie wasn’t particularly surprised. As much as she tried to be a supportive parent, there were always going to be some clashes between parents and their teenagers as they found limits and tested boundaries. For instance, Maggie had remained steadfast in her insistence that no, Jamie could not get a car as soon as she got her license when she had access to her mothers’ car for emergencies and otherwise had perfectly fine public transportation to get almost anywhere in downtown National City.

Alex sighed, dropping her head into her hands. She suspected that moments like these were what had started turning some of her auburn hairs a shocking white color. She wondered how much longer she could wait before she had to do something about it. “When I was doing laundry, I found condoms.”

Maggie frowned. “They’re definitely not ours?”

Arching an eyebrow (after all, when was the last time they’d even had that kind of sex?), Alex shook her head. “No, they were in her jeans. You know I check the pockets ever since the red lipstick incident.”

Maggie shuddered at the memory. She’d lost a couple of good white button ups to that lipstick. “Right, yeah. So…why is she locked in her room?”

“I may have said something about it…” Alex trailed off, her guilty expression making the end of that sentence rather obvious.

“What happened to this being a sex-positive house, Danvers?” Maggie sighed. She knew Alex always meant well, but they’d been pretty adamant about certain things when it came to decisions about parenting, and this was one of them.

“I know! It’s just…Maggie, c’mon! She’s 16! Do we really want to encourage that already?”

“She’s 16 and in a relationship with a boy we don’t hate. Maybe I’m not ready to think about our kid growing up that fast, but this isn’t the worst case scenario, ya know? And I think we should talk to her—maybe she’ll still make her own decisions, but she can hear our perspectives in a non-judgmental way.”

“I know,” Alex groaned. “And I know I didn’t handle it well. Right, I could’ve said something positive.” Alex tried to think of one. “Like how she thought to get condoms at all!”

“That’s true!”

“But…she’s 16.”

“She’s 16,” Maggie agreed. “But I lost my virginity at 17.”

“Not helping,” Alex grumbled.

“But I had no idea what safe and healthy sex was supposed to look like, Alex. And I think, as awkward as those conversations would have been, it could have been really helpful to have had them at all.”

“Does that mean you’re volunteering to talk to her?” Alex asked.

“I suppose she might be happier to see me than you right now,” Maggie shrugged. “But you’re not off the hook forever.”

“Fair enough.”

—

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Jamie yelled through her closed door.

“It’s me,” Maggie responded. “C’mon, I want to talk to you. Just for a few minutes.” After a pause, the knob twisted and clicked unlocked, though it remained shut. “Does this mean I can come in?” Maggie asked, wanting to let Jamie feel like she had some measure of control.

“I’m not stopping you,” Jamie mumbled.

“Hey, hon. How are you?” Maggie asked, letting herself in and shutting the door behind her.

“You wouldn’t be talking to me like that if you didn’t already know.”

Maggie sighed. “No, you’re right. I do have some idea of what happened. But I’d like to hear it from your perspective too. I just got to hear from Mom.”

“She yelled at me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Told me I was too young and shouldn’t be worrying about these things just yet.”

“Well, I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear, but I know your Mom isn’t mad at you. She’s worried and scared about her baby growing up too fast.”

“It’s not like I’ve used them,” Jamie mumbled.

Maggie tried to keep her face neutral, not wanting to look relieved and have Jamie think that sex was something to be ashamed of in the slightest. “We’re both very proud of you for thinking about safe sex.”

“Mom didn’t sound proud, Mama,” Jamie retorted.

“I know,” Maggie admitted. “But she told me later that she wished she had mentioned it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” After a pause, Maggie continued, “Do you want to tell me about why you got them?”

Jamie shrugged. “Some of my friends did. And, I don’t know, Jacob and I have been dating for a while.”

“You know that you don’t owe him anything, right? Just because you’ve been dating for a while—it’s your decision—both of your decisions. If one person doesn’t want it, that means it doesn’t happen.”

“I know, I know. I do remember the whole consent talk.”

“It’s worth repeating.”

“Mom has repeated it about 20 times.”

Maggie bit back a grin. “Your Mom is a smart lady.”

“But she’s still judging me for thinking about having sex.”

“She’s not judging you,” Maggie insisted, shaking her head. “She’s absolutely not judging you. It’s just…sex can be a really big step. And maybe it doesn’t always mean a lot, but it’s often better when it does.”

“Are you really going to talk to me about how to make sex better when I’m not even supposed to be having it yet?”

Shrugging, Maggie answered: “Just because we’re not encouraging you to have sex at the ripe old age of 16 doesn’t mean we don’t care about giving you all of the information you need. You can always ask questions. I mean it,” she added, looking Jamie in the eyes. “I don’t care if it’s awkward. I don’t care if it’s about something as basic as the mechanics or something about your feelings. I’d still rather have you know that no matter what your question is, I’m here for you, okay? And maybe you want to talk to me instead of Mom for now, but I promise she’d also rather you were well-informed than going off of what can be some really unreliable stuff out on the internet or even among your friends, okay?”

“Have you even…I mean, no offense, but would you…would you even have answers?”

“Of course I’d have answers,” Maggie scoffed. “About what?”

“Sex with men.”

Maggie paused, considering the question. “Well…I have a general understanding…”

Jamie bit back a laugh, trying not to think about the fact that she was even acknowledging that her parents might have a sex life at all.

“Look, I know she can be a little bit…tougher when it comes to these things, but your Mom probably has more answers than I do when it comes to those things.”

“Really?” Jamie looked slightly incredulous.

“Yes, really,” Maggie retorted, playfully knocking her shoulder against Jamie’s. “We both know Mom and know that she’ll probably be as awkward at answering as you are at asking those questions, but I’ll give her the heads up, okay? And, like me, she still wants you to have all of the information we didn’t have, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jamie nodded.

“Now do you want to come downstairs? Aunt Kara is coming over with some ice cream tonight.”

“Not yet, if that’s okay.”

“Take as long as you need, but make sure that you eat dinner, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jamie nodded. Before Maggie could leave, she called out: “And, Mama? Thanks.”

“Anytime, Jamie. I mean it.”

—

Later that night once Kara had arrived, Maggie headed back upstairs after finishing the dishes, always wanting to give the sisters a bit of time together on their own. Knowing Jamie had only appeared briefly to get a bit of dinner, Maggie headed down the hallway after enough time had passed. “Jamie,” Maggie called from outside of her door.

“Yes?”

“Aunt Kara is here. I bet she’d love to see you.”

Jamie popped her head out of the doorframe. “Do you think Mom told her…you know, about today?”

“No, she wouldn’t do that, I promise. Trust me, she feels badly about how she reacted, and she’s not going to say anything to try to embarrass you to Kara.”

“Okay,” Jamie sighed.

So together they headed downstairs with the promise of homemade cookies waiting for them. Only what they found was so much better than cookies. Because in the middle of the den, Kara had, in a last ditch effort to cheer Alex up, dragged Alex to her feet, insisting that they perform the dance routines they’d learned together in high school to Grease, which was playing on the television.

Maggie could only wait so long before cackling with glee at the sight of Alex strutting around like Danny Zuko. Alex immediately froze, though Kara just integrated a spin into her routine and waved happily at Maggie and Jamie, not missing a beat as Sandy began singing once more and Kara joined in.

“You gonna just watch or are you gonna come join us?” Alex challenged, figuring this could be the first step in opting for engagement over embarrassment.

“I guess I’m coming to join you,” Maggie laughed. “Should I grab our leather jackets?”

“Nah, it gets too hot,” Alex answered in a tone of voice so matter-of-fact that Maggie had to assume she and Kara had tried at least once already.

“You coming too, kid?” Maggie called out to Jamie, who was still trying to figure out whether she should be more horrified or amused at the sight in front of her. Finally she shrugged, figuring as long as her friends didn’t know it was probably okay.

Which is how she found herself suddenly being swept into the group and swung along to the songs, letting Aunt Kara and her Mom teach her and her Mama how to hand jive during the prom scene and laughing at her Mom’s struggle not to say anything during any of the scenes about high schoolers having (or not having) sex. But then a song would start up again, and that was all it took for Aunt Kara to drag her Mom back out to the center of the room, demonstrating once more what nerds they really were. But then her Mama would offer a hand and have her up and dancing along despite not having a clue what the moves were. And after enough time, she found that she didn’t care so much, found that she was actually giggling, found that she was suddenly being spun around by her Mom and not shying away out of embarrassment or pushing back out of anger, but letting it happen, letting the stress of their earlier fight melt away.

#sanvers #alex x maggie #jamie sawyer #parenting #kara danvers #prompt fill #fanfic #ao3feed

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ankyouweek · 7 years

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The link we share - Part 2

((Submitted for the Big Bang event))

Rating: General Audience

Characters: Sugaya Sosuke, Mimura Kouki ; minor appearances of other characters

Relationships: Sugaya/Mimura ; mentions of other relationships

When Sugaya woke up in the early morning at the sound of someone rummaging through his kitchen, it took him a moment to understand what was wrong.

There was a problem, that much he was sure, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it through the mist of slumber. He was awake, and according to the hour on his phone, this was a disagreement in itself, but he felt like that wasn’t exactly what troubled him.

It eventually came to his mind that the noise, discreet but too audible to ignore, wasn’t normal. Was there someone else ? He hoped that wasn’t a robber. He was quite comfortable, rolled up in his warm blanket, he didn’t want to deal with this kind of problem. Were this belonging that worth getting up ?

In the middle of his considerations, the clatter of something metallic falling on the floor resonated, followed by a soft “Crap”.

Wait. He knew this voice.

Oh, that’s right. Mimura. Staying here. He did recall something like that. No robber, then.

Eventually, he got up, not without difficulties, and joined his friend in the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Sugaya greeted sleepily.

“Good morning. Did I woke you up ?

-Not at all.” A yawn interrupted him before he could ask a question. “Having trouble finding what you want ?

-A bit, but it’s no longer a problem. I thought you would get up later, so I was looking for something to cover your breakfast.

-My breakfast ?” He asked sheepishly.

To be honest, it’s been a while since the last time Sugaya ate a proper breakfast, probably last time he slept at his parents’ house. He woke up too late to bother with it most of the time, and after living alone for so long, cooking became an hassle more often than not. Thinking of meals, preparing the ingredients, watching the dishes… There was nobody to judge him if he spared himself the effort, and convenience stores bentos were quite well-thought and cheap enough, and having noodle cups sometimes couldn’t hurt. Out of consideration for the late Korosensei’s advices, he tried to prepare himself something at least once every two days, even if it was a simple curry or sandwiches, but doing that as soon as he woke up ? That was too much. Nakamura once suggested, over the phone, that she send him some cereal boxes as an alternative -‘Seriously, I don’t know what we don’t eat this stuff in Japan, they have so many flavors overseas !’-, but he preferred an empty stomach to the idea of the sugary treat.

The meal he had in front of him could hardly be called impressive. Outside of the rice, straight of the cooker, a few bits of rehydrated seaweed and tofu swam in a miso soup he knew was instant. The pickled plum and half-moon slices of radish were from the convenience store, and there was no meat or fish besides the egg roll. According to the standards of Japanese breakfast, this wasn’t really much.

Nevertheless, Sugaya appreciated the intention. He wouldn’t even have thought about it if Mimura didn’t think about preparing a part for him, and the act was superficial, but he felt like the day started at least a little better than he was used to.

…Something was missing, though.

He ignored the already seated Mimura who raised an eyebrow at his attention when seeing him go to the fridge.

As the plan was for him to live there for two weeks, he had brought with him, among other things, some perishables products he would rather not expired once back at his home. Due to that, the small polystyrene containers that Sugaya sought were pushed far away to the back of the fridge. Maybe it was an intentional move : when Mimura saw what his friend brought back at the table, he used a rather horrified tone.

“You aren’t going to eat that ?

-It’s not poisonous, you know ? There are even people that eat it without liking it, just for the health benefits.

-It’s nattō.” He insisted on the word as if it was an argument. “Anything that smells like that can’t be good for the body.

-Actually, it doesn’t smell that much anymore those last years. Something to with different practices.” He recalled an article explaining the lack of ammoniac gas in recent packaging, but to be honest, he didn’t memorise much of it.

“It better not, or I’m not letting you eat that at the same table as me.” Mimura’s face was so serious, Sugaya almost chuckled at it.

“You would kick me out of my own kitchen ?

-…Maybe not. But I would be very tempted.” Admitting defeat, he switched subjects. “By the way, I will probably come home late tonight, so don’t wait for me for dinner.

-I figured it would be the case. Don’t worry, I’m used to eating late.” Sugaya started his meal after a quick “Thanks for the food” and took a few sips of soup. “I will probably finish another painting in the afternoon, if I send the photos and participation fees today, I might go buy some groceries while going out to the post bin. Do you need anything ?

-No, I’m fine, thank you. Weren’t you supposed to make two more paintings ?

-I could actually send just one work, but this exhibition is well known, and I don’t know when will be the next time I can participate to another one.”

Nowadays, Sugaya had enough of a reputation for him to not spend so much time on promoting his work, and he started to have recurring clients, but this was still an unreliable source of income, and he also wanted to create and sell personal works, independent of commissions. He could, eventually, ask to be in an art gallery, but those etablissements would take more than half the money from the sales. Exhibitions were a safer bet, provided his work was judged good enough to be chosen, and for that at least he didn’t worry much.

“Alright, good luck for finishing then. Do you need money for shopping ?

-No need, I’m not buying a lot anyways.” He didn’t have a car, so he couldn’t transport much groceries in one go. “Maybe next time.

-Alright, don’t hesitate to ask. The paids for last week have been delayed due to budget problems, but I have some cash on hand.”

Sugaya blinked a few seconds before remembering that Mimura’s job was paid to the week and not the month.

“Don’t worry, I will tell you if I need anything.”

–

The following days went around peacefully. Sugaya would return to bed pretty much as soon as he was alone in the house, and the morning hours he didn’t sleep through were spent slowly, without him getting much done be it in the way of house chores or professional work, relegated to the afternoon.

While the deadline for the exposition had passed, it was far from his only one ; he had put his other jobs on the side, knowing their own time limits were far away enough to concentrate on the imminent one. He should probably be happy to get as much work, and in a way he was : other artists his age were rarely as lucky, as he could tell from his acquaintances he kept from art school. Still, he wished he could get a break, especially knowing that, sooner or later, a month would come where he would wish for any job opportunity. Even after getting used to the irregularity of his job offers, it was stressful.

As a compromise, Sugaya went on walks daily, a sketchbook and a pen on him, under the pretense of ‘seeking new material’. Sitting all day in front of his supplies wasn’t good his creativity, after all, sketching buildings and bystanders, installed on a public bench could help refuel it, or at least make sure to train his basic skills of perspective and anatomy. Still, he couldn’t get out of his idea the idea that he was just searching for an excuse to procrastinate, and that he would eventually fall back on the same situation of having too much work to do at the last minute. That made it hard to enjoy fully his moments outside.

Thankfully the evenings distracted him from his problems, and he looked forward those moments where he and Mimura would share how their day went or chitchat while washing the dishes.

Sugaya had, early in the week, mentioned never having seen one of the drama shows in which Kayano had participated. This, apparently, was considered a terrible crime ; as ‘punishment’, after he and Mimura each took their evening bath, they both installed themselves on the couch to watch a few episodes of a show in which the actress starred as the lead role. A good drama, surely, not that he would be too aware of that ; his focus scattered easily when he had to sit without something to occupy his hands. But Mimura seemed to have a lot of positives things to say on it at least, making a profusion of comments, be they on the quality of a music, an anecdote he heard on the production or how a line reference one of the actors’ precedent roles. The man was clearly so passionate about it, illustrating some of his statements with hand moves, the blanket he covered himself with falling from his shoulders. Now that was interesting to watch.

Those kind of mundane moments were… pleasant. Something he could get used to. He was aware he was probably only thinking that because he had yet to experience the drawbacks of cohabitation ; were this situation lasting too long, he he would probably start to be bothered. For a few days, though ? It was nice.

And, honestly, he would accept more annoyances, if it allowed him to ride along on car travels. Definitely more enjoyable than wasting 3 hours in public transportations just to visit a friend.

‘Enjoyable’ might not be the most suitable term, actually. Usure was showing on the second-hand vehicle, and the seats proved themselves slightly uncomfy. Nonetheless, the heater permitted him to doze off peacefully on the sound full of the static the radio sputtered.

“You should think about buying a new coat.” Mimura said after a few dozen minutes of driving silent.

“…Why the sudden advice ?”

It’s not like Sugaya couldn’t understand where the idea came from. The days were becoming chillier, that was a fact he noticed during his daily walks outside. He just couldn’t see why was this pointed out now.

“You’re sniffing a lot today. Well, not a lot, but enough for it to be notable. You don’t have a cold, do you ?

-I don’t think so ? I didn’t notice I was sniffing more than usual, either.

-Anyway, be careful. I know it’s hard to find clothes your size without ordering online, but at least wear a scarf and some gloves instead of pulling your sleeves.

-It’s hard to draw with gloves, though.

-And it’s even harder to draw while sick.” He then softened his voice. “Sorry, it’s just… There are more people getting ill lately, and you can be a little careless with those things, I don’t want you to catch something serious.”

Sugaya didn’t respond. He appreciated the worry ; at the same time, he wanted to argue on the use of ‘careless’, but he knew this wasn’t a groundless accusation. There were many things he didn’t take time to think about, and he had to admit his health hadn’t always been his priority, especially since art school.

Still, he felt that Mimura was unnecessarily fussy about it. It would be really unpleasant if he were to fall ill, but it would be unlikely for it to be truly serious to the point of seeing a doctor. Or talk to Takebayashi over the phone, at least, a less costly alternative.

He wondered if this difference in concern was in part due to their jobs. For Sugaya, being sick could potentially bring all kind of complications due to deadlines but nothing he never had been able to handle. For Mimura, however, one person sick in his team could make the whole organisation very messy, especially when a replacement couldn’t be found. A few days of work missed had a different kind of value on such a big production, when this much money and so many people were involved. At least, that’s what the artist supposed.

Or maybe it was the other way, maybe this kind of worry was one of the many things that was why Mimura was made for this job in the first place. Even when they were boys, he thought his friend seemed more socially attuned. It wasn’t that Sugaya himself didn’t care about others ; he was more than happy to help those who asked, and liked to think he was a nice person. But sometimes, he didn’t take into consideration how his actions could impact those around him. Like how, years ago, drawing on the blackboard during two lessons would bother the students who would have to clean it before the teacher came. How drawing fellow students in detail could make them uncomfortable when they discovered it. The things that made his obsession for art not just, according to teachers, an obstacle in studying, but put on him the image of a troublemaker.

“I can’t find a place to park. You don’t mind walking a bit ?

-If I say no, will you carry me ?” Mimura rolled his eyes at the remark.

“I could stop in front of the entrance and let you get out of the car, if you don’t mind going alone while I search for a place.

-Oh. I would like that, actually.

-Alright. You remember the apartment’s number ?

-Yes, don’t worry about that.”

It wasn’t Sugaya’s first visit to Isogai’s place. Ever since he helped repainting his living quarters as the guy moved in, the number of times he came here could be counted on one hand. It left on him an impression of warmth, a welcoming place similar to its owner.

However, that wasn’t why Sugaya remembered so easily the flat’s number. Third floor, apartment thirteen. No one who lived through the moon explosion could forget such a number combination, similar to the memorable date. Especially not those who took part in a just a memorable assassination a year later.

-That’s right, there were so many children who never saw that slightly odd crescent moon nowadays. What a weird thought.-

Isogai had thought it amusing. That he would be reminded of one of the best adult influence in his life, when his family was essentially moving away from his father’s presence, abandoning his old apartment.

‘If it was only for me, I would not have been able to move, but the heating problems are bad for my mother’s health… My sibling, too, I kinda want them to each have their own room… They try to hide that they want to bring friends home, you know ? They didn’t tell me, but I guess they’re afraid of their reactions. If I can spare them to be bullied at school, then even that expense isn’t much.’

Such an ikemen, to do so much for his family…

The one that opened the door of the place for Sugaya wasn’t, however, a member of the household. Well, no, he was, in his own way ?

“Hello,” greeted Maehara, “nice to see you. Did you ditch Mimura on the way ?

-Hello. Nah, I don’t want to go back by my own means. He’s just trying to find a place to park.” He promptly removed his shoes while talking, looking at all the pairs already there. He was far from the first to come.“How are you ?

-A bit busy right now, I’m trying to make sure Isogai relax for his birthday, but he keep wanting to help me. What about you ? You seems to be sniffing, do you-

-I’m fine, it’s okay.” Maehara too ? He hoped he wouldn’t hear about it all day. “Is everyone already here ?” The event was supposed to be strictly between alumnus from class E, and Isogai’s family left the apartment till evening.

“Not yet. Seems like Nakamura and Kataoka are still overseas too, and Karma is… well, himself. He will probably show up later, though, even him wouldn’t miss this.” He went to the same university as Isogai, and the both of them had gotten rather friendly. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to verify something in the kitchen before Isogai decides to go take care of it himself.

-Sure, do you need an hand ?

-It’s fine, it’s fine, just make yourself comfortable !”

As they walked from the entrance to the living room, Maehara left his side to slip through the people, most of them turning their head at the new guest. Sugaya waved at them without approaching, searching through the groups the ones he was the most familiar with. Okajima was talking rather enthusiastically at Itona in a side of the room, all under the careful eye of Chiba. Probably. In his presence at least. The man still grew wide bangs that hide a good part of his face, and only the shape of his mouth let other guess that whatever was being said, he would rather be listening to something else. Sugaya had a vague idea what the conversation could be about ; he rather preferred to leave them be, and sought someone else.

Thankfully, he found an acceptable target alone near a table full of drinks. Kimura smiled at him as he saw him move toward him. However, as soon as the artist was near, his face twisted into an expression of worry as he noticed something.

“You’re ill.” He said without even greeting him.

“…I’m not. Probably.” Sugaya sighed, well aware of the problem.

There have been one constant through the entire life of Kimura: if he came into contact with someone having a cold, then it was certain he would catch it. Hardly a winter passed without him getting ill - and it would last him almost till spring, when it would then be the turn of pollen allergies. Yes, he truly was unfortunate, and so became very cautious of everyone with a nose a little too red, with sneezes a little too frequent.

Sugaya thought about teasing him, but he knew how much that sucked to spend months coughing with a runny nose, and reluctantly went to meddle with another group. When it came to friends he was close with, out of those present, Fuwa was always agreeable, especially now that she stopped trying to get him to become a mangaka ; it was natural then for him to intrude on the discussion she was having with three other women.

“-even with all the work they do, some are still expected to do house chores, you know ? A fair share of them continue to be mangaka while having an happy family life on the side, but there’s a lot of retirement too !

-No, I understand that part, I’m not saying there’s no pressure from others, I’m just saying that’s marriage itself isn’t such a negative experience.” Whatever was the subject of the discussion, Hara seemed quite passionate about it. Kanzaki, however, was content enough with listening, and was the first to notice the addition to the group.

“Good afternoon, Sugaya-san.

-Oh, hi Sugaya, didn’t see you there !” The others interrupted themselves to greet him. “How are you, you seems-

-I’m fine, thank you.” He replied immediately, suspecting the incoming observation to be what he heard already multiple times in a row. “What were you talking about ?

-We were discussing the- wait, it’s better to let Hayami tell you the news.” Hara turned her head to the silent woman, a smile on her lips.

“…Me and Chiba are getting married.” Hayami told the information quite casually, far from the excitement one could expect from such an announcement.

“Oh ? Congrats. That’s… surprising.”

Because the two former snipers of the class maintained a close bond, and Hayami encouraged Chiba to found his own company and worked with him, the relationship between those two was sometimes joked about. But they had denied previously being a couple, saying the dates they went together were awkward, and the way they acted toward each other just felt too professional. Even now, while announcing such an event, Hayami didn’t even use Chiba’s given name.

“Well, our parents were getting pushy about an arranged marriage and neither of us wanted to met a bunch of strangers til they’re satisfied. Plus, it’s quite advantageous legally, and it’s cheaper to just live together.

-…So it’s just pragmatism ?

-Not ‘just’,” corrected Fuwa, “this might be the smartest reason, I would be tempted to do the same… My parents, too, they keep saying a woman after her 25 is just leftovers and I should start thinking about building a family… Seriously, what’s wrong with concentrating on my job ?-They’re just worried about you.” Hara declared. “They’re probably afraid that you won’t be able to find someone decent if you don’t search now. Even I, sometimes I’m worried for some of you, you know ? Kanzaki, for example, you have such bad luck with men, what if you end up married to someone who turns out to be awful ?

-I appreciate that you’re worrying for my sake, but please don’t.” Kanzaki gently smiled. “I don’t plan to marry any man for now.

-What about Kayano ?” asked Fuwa. “I mean, you see her a lot, you must have talked about it with her. She must also prioritize her career, right ?” Kanzaki nodded.“Kayano-chan is working hard, and it would be really tough for her to marry.” Sugaya was surprised at the choice of suffixes, coming from Kanzaki. Rather than weakening, the friendship between the two women truly had grown, but he hadn’t suspected to that point.

“That’s a shame.” Hara sighed. “It can’t be helped when having such a demanding work, and I understand that being nagged by your families doesn’t help having a good opinion on marriage, but it can be a beautiful experience, you know ?” Her eyes fell on the ring on her left hand.“It’s easy for you to say that,” Fuwa replied, “you planned to be the perfect wife since Kunugigaoka. And even then, you didn’t stop your job to be a housewife, now did you ?

-I had planned to, but… knowing all that’s left to do and how everyone at the company pile up the overtime hours, I can’t feel at peace leaving them alone…

-As expected of Hara-san.” Sugaya couldn’t help but smile at her personality, as did everyone in the group -even Fuwa, who looked slightly exasperated.

He thought for an instant that he missed an occasion to tease her on her married status, but he was too used to her old family name, it came unconsciously even after multiple years. It just was too confusing to call her ‘Yoshida-san’ when the name only brought her husband in mind. Thinking about it, he could hardly see himself call Hayami as ‘Chiba-san’, either.

…It didn’t help that those name changes made him conscious of how much time had flown compared to their teenage years.

“What about you, Sugaya ? Not planning on getting married yet ?” Hara asked.

-Err, that’s not something I really thought about.”

He had been there for the wedding of some relatives, or even Hara’s, but it never crossed his mind as a thing he could happen to him. Even as an aunt teased him on when will it be his turn, as his sister wore the white dress, he just thought he would see when he… when he thought it would be time for him to consider the possibility, maybe ? It was for the distant future, shapeless and blurry, and so not something to linger on.

“Could it be, your parents never talked to you about it ?” Kanzaki wondered.

“No ? It might be thanks to my sis, they were worried enough with her case. She once came home with her ‘long-time boyfriend’, a guy she never told us about, and married him like, two months later. So I guess they must be relieved I’m taking my time.

-Even so, at your age… That’s surprising they don’t mind.” A sigh escaped her lips. “That, or I’m too used to the elders of the nursing home being invasive of my life.

-No, I think it’s unusual too.” Fuwa replied. “You’re lucky, I wish it was as easy for me. Maybe I should marry someone out of convenience too, but I like being independent…

-You might have to make compromises sometimes, but there are advantages to being married, too.” Hara argued, though her voice was gentle. “For example, it’s nice to have someone near you to take care of you when you’re feeling down.

-…You don’t need to be married for that, though.” Hayami mentioned.

“That’s true, good friends are here for that too. Especially the motherly ones like a certain someone.” Kanzaki smiled at Hara, whose cheeks turned slightly pink.

Sugaya was glad for those last remarks. He liked the reassurance in the implied knowledge of those sentences ; that the 28 of them, the whole group of former assassins, would be there for each other when they needed it. He liked knowing that this feeling was mutual, that their bond was still as important as it was in the past, and that he could count on them if he ever got in trouble.

…Not that he planned to.

Of course.

Remembering his thoughts he had two days ago, Sugaya couldn’t help but think he almost deserved it.

When he felt warm and tired yesterday, he hadn’t been that worried. He had just hoped he had wrongly guessed the reason for this problem. But, as he was now covered in sweat, unable to leave the bed, he had to admit.

Despite all the warnings, he still got a cold.

Of course.

He didn’t felt he had been really careless, though. Maybe. Or it was already too late when everyone asked him about his health. It was hard to ponder about it in detail. His mind was already used to wandering on something else when he stuck too long on the same thing, but now that he got a fever… He was unable to focus on anything.

Yet he wasn’t able to sleep. Maybe because he was too uncomfortable, the blanket sticking to his skin, too hot, or because he had already slept for so many hours. It was useless to try, no matter how much he wished for it, bored as he was.

Being sick really sucked.

On his night table, the screen of his phone, tilted due to the lamp placed behind, regularly lit up and down as Ritsu periodically checked on him. She had tried to distract him with some music, and it might had worked for a while. That is, until some weird songs came up. Something Chiba had handed him. An indie Japanese punk band. Something like that. His head still hurt from it.

Trying to read would be even worse. The book by his side was left unread since forever. The picture of Dorian Gray. He had borrowed it from Hazama, who spoiled him gleefully with a 'I’m warning you though, the artist die at the end’. How was he supposed to read it knowing that ? And unlike what he had thought from the summary, it had little to do with painting. How sad.

He had nothing else to do but look at the ceiling. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t bore itself to sleep.

…He wished Mimura was there.

The man had told him this morning he would try to get home early today. Sugaya had thought his friend might try to tease him for falling ill, or at least show some annoyance as he didn’t hesitate to do in such situation. Yet, nothing. Just firmly pushed him to go get some rest. According to Ritsu, he had already asked multiple times during the day for the state of the artist.

It would have been nice to call him, even if Sugaya knew better than interrupt him at work. He wanted to be a little selfish and have the other’s attention for himself. Let him speak over the phone of everything and nothing at the same time, just to hear his voice till his eyelids closed by themselves.

It was strange, in a way. If Mimura hadn’t spent those last days here, he probably wouldn’t have such thoughts. Being reminded how enjoyable could it be to live with someone can make someone less tolerant to solitude, was it this sort of feeling ? Ha, probably not. It was hard to keep a continuous line of thoughts while sick, so he couldn’t come up with any other possibility, but that couldn’t be it.

That couldn’t be the case, because Sugaya would soon be alone once again.

That could absolutely not be the case, because then… when life will go back to its usual…

…He would feel really lonely, wouldn’t he…?

Cold.

There was something cool and humid against his forehead. Refreshing. What was…? When he touched it with his fingertips, it had the texture of a towel, yet it’s as if it was just covering something harder.

A washcloth…?

“Slept well ?”

As he opened his eyes, Sugaya turned his head to the unused side of his bed, toward the familiar voice. Mimura was sitting on the floor, a pile of papers in his hands, with the giant sketchbook the artist usually kept on his bed now installed against the wall. Tidying up the room, probably. Because he had tendencies toward waking up in the middle of the night with a brilliant idea that couldn’t wait morning, Sugaya had accumulated doodles after doodles, that he didn’t always stored away once morning came ; as he didn’t move much while sleeping, the mess that spread even over the blanket didn’t bother him much.

“Wait…You’re home ? …What hour it is ?

-It’s already past ten. I’ve been here for a while.” He could almost hear the hint of a laughter in the man’s voice. Even though he had so much trouble falling asleep, to think this would happen… “How do you feel ? You think you could eat ? I prepared some rice porridge.

-I’m not really hungry.” He sat down, taking the washcloth to look at its content - cube of ice, unsurprisingly. “I can try to eat a bit though.

-It would be better for you to recover, yes. I will bring you a bowl. Do you need a tray ?

-No need to bring me anything, I can-

-stay in bed, as should any sick person.

-I’ve already been in bed all day, I can still get up for a meal. And a bath, I kinda need that with all the sweat.” Sugaya complained. “Besides, I was thinking… we could still watch an episode tonight ? Like usual ?

-Alright, alright, you win. Ah, but we don’t need to be in front of the TV to watch anything - especially if you’re going to fall asleep midway.

-What you’re suggesting, then ?”

The suggestion, as it turned out, was to use Mimura’s computer, the laptop between them at knee level as they were sitting on the bed. In the pitch-black room, the dimmed-out screen played the same episode as they watched yesterday, as Sugaya only remembered somehow half of it - and wasn’t more successful this time, to be honest. The moments where Kayano- where Haruna Mase appeared stuck out from her acting, bringing chills to her former comrade as her face conveyed emotions he could barely understand from the pieces of context he had.

He didn’t mind how the story didn’t make any sense for him - as long as he wasn’t required to actively participate and didn’t get an headache from the display of colors and sounds, he would have watched pretty much anything. Having someone by his side, and doing something together. That’s what he had longed for during the whole day.

It’s only as the end credits rolled that he noticed how Mimura was asleep, despite being still seated, the blanket under him and his arms crossed on his chest.

He must have been really tired. There was no way he wasn’t, given his work. But he accepted to stay awake a bit later, or at least intended to, just to spend some time with Sugaya. The man appreciated the gesture.

Gently, he tapped him on the shoulder, till his friend woke up, blinking as he was remembering where he was.

“Slept well ?” Sugaya smirked at being able to return the question he was asked some hours ago, even if the sentence was too common for Mimura to link the two events in his drowsy state.

“Only a bit.” Even his voice was full of sleepiness, the words half-muttered. “Sorry. Didn’t meant to.

-No problem, it’s fine.”

Neither of them moved, both of them watching the computer, now showing its screen saver- a black and white illustration from some recent drama show. Sugaya didn’t want to put an end to the night, not when he knew that another set of hours wide awake awaited him ; and Mimura was probably too sluggish to feel like standing up.

“…Your bed is comfy.

-Probably more than the couch anyways.

-Pfft, right. Next time I need to borrow a futon instead, my back will thank me for that.

-Is it that uncomfortable ?

-It’s… okay. But I wouldn’t exchange it for a proper bed.”

They fell back into silence, but they couldn’t only drag the moment for so long. Eventually, Mimura would need to go to sleep - even if that was on the couch, it would still be appreciated to survive the long day of work tomorrow.

Yet, Sugaya couldn’t bring himself to push him. Even if it was only to listen to his breathing, feeling his weight stopping the blanket from being pulled, the warmth in the space between them… It eased him. The presence near him was comfortable.

After a few minutes, he suggested.

“Sleep with me.

-…I’m sorry, what…?

-Sleep in my bed.

-No, the bed part I could guess, it’s the… no, nevermind. You really mean sleeping, right ?

-Well, if you’re up for a deep philosophical conversation I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t recommend it.

-Right. What I was thinking. But… you’re serious ?

-I waited for you a whole day, is it that weird that I want you to stay with me ?

-You…”

Mimura didn’t complete his sentence, instead pondering the situation. After a few minutes without a word, Sugaya even wondered whether he felt asleep again, but then came an answer.

“Alright. For this night.

-Great. Do you need a blanket for yourself, or…?

-Unless you can’t share, I’m not getting up for a blanket.

-Haha, fine.” He let the man settle in a more comfortable position, before finally telling him. “Good night, Mimura.

-Good night.”

#Fic #Main #submission #Ansatsu Kyoushitsu #Assassination Classroom

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seatercarrental-blog · 4 years

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sealnarcisa · 6 years

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Kyle Woodward’s final blog post from Southern Africa. My visa issue finally got resolved, albeit with quite a lot of effort and frustration on my part. Unfortunately they couldn't swap my business visa for a tourist visa while in the country and the only way to fix it was to leave the country and come back in. Luckily Zimbabwe is just a 10 minutes drive to the border. It also just happens that the Zambia/Zimbabwe border is right at Victoria Falls. The border bridge is a tourist attraction, where people zip-line across the gorge and bungee jump off the bridge. Walking across the bridge with Victoria Falls as a backdrop was an unexpexted and surreal moment, and i made sure to take my time walking across both ways. It was a much needed stress reliever. The Falls are so close to you as you walk toward the Zimbabwe border post that the mist creates a perpetual light rain. Having not seen or felt rain in 2 months I was very confused at first. Since i got my necessary tasks done on Friday, I decided to go see the Falls properly all day on Saturday. I was going to be a tourist for a day, so exciting! On Saturday I had a relaxing morning and got a shuttle to the Victoria Falls Park entrance. I met another friend from the same hostel, and we hiked all the trails together. The Knife's Edge trail leads you out on a narrow peice of land thats been carved away by the Falls over time. It's the closest you can get to the Falls, and when you get out onto the edge you are completely soaked in a matter of seconds. Its like walking into a category 1 hurricane: the force of the water falling into the gorge creates a powerful uplift of air that shoots the trailing mist straight back to the top of the gorge, creating a barrage of wind and rain. There is no escape, and we willingly walked out to meet it in our bare feet and cheap ponchos. It is one of the best 20 bucks ive ever spent, and somehow my passport didn't even get wet. On our way down a separate trail to the bottom of the gorge, we were ambushed by a massive male baboon. We learned quite quickly that its not wise to carry food or drinks out in the open in this park because of these guys. We dropped our bottles of soda in order to avoid being mauled. It was actually terrifying in the moment but we laughed about it later. It was pretty funny watching this baboon open our soda bottles, dump out a ton of orange Fanta and sit there slurping it off the ground. On Sunday I went to the bus station at noon to catch my bus back to Sesheke, only to find out that the 12:00 bus i had purchased a seat on had left at 10:30 just because it got there early. It was another lesson in how things work out here: Disorder and unreliable public services create enough inevitable inconveniences in day to day life that society has adapted in order to provide quick and easy solutions. One of the bus company managers immediately took my money back from the attendant and drove me in his own car to the outskirts of town where a bunch of vans wait all day to give rides at the same or cheaper rate. He paid the van driver my bus money, I hopped in, and within a half hour we were on the way to Sesheke. We even got there right around the same time my bus would have. I met up with Michael and one of our enumerators in the afternoon and we drove back up to Sioma District for the night. The next day we drove the 1.5 hour journey into the bush to Makande. The drive seems to take forever as we creep along through a narrow sandy track, dodging trees and trying not to get stuck. Even with a 4wd truck it's not easy to get to by any means, yet people live here the same way as those right on the tar road in Lusu, Kaale, and Kalobolelwa. It's a remarkable thing seeing these communities operate with little to no outside aid. The idea that one can create and maintain their entire livelihood from the surrounding natural resources is so foreign to me, as I presume it is for many other 'Westerners'. Your health (ability to perform manual labor) and work ethic (determination to do so) hold greatest weight in village life. Lin, Michael, and I split our enumerators into teams of 2 for the first day of household surveys, then the second day Lin and I finished the rest of the surveys and did reference samples while Michael worked on resource area mapping. It went by so quick that I found myself scrambling on the last day to take a few pictures to remember this experience by. My pictures are mediocre at best, but Im pretty sure I won't ever forget this. Our last night camping in Makande was so fun. We ended the month of work talking, joking, singing, and dancing around our campfire, trading ideas, experiences, and standing on common ground. We also chased this weird goat around that kept walking into our camp. It was the funniest thing ever. No matter how far we chased it away from our camp, it would eventually wander back and stand there just staring at us. If they make another Disney movie based in Africa (shout out Lion King), this goat needs to be the typecast dumb animal comic relief character. The long weekend was spent back in our home sweet home, Sesheke. Michael needed to finish resource area mapping in Lusu, and Lin and i decided to collect more reference samples in Kalobolelwa, so we decided to set up at our usual campground in town. We took one of our enumerators along who wants to study environmental science, and he absorbed all the vegetation and GPS stuff like a sponge. It was a really fun day just walking around, seeing different landscapes, and talking about plants. Since we were officially done with the Zambia field season by the end of that day, we got to be lazy the next day in Sesheke. We walked around the market, bought some food and gifts, learned how to play Zambian rules Checkers, and had a good dinner in town. This past Sunday turned out to be a really special day, and may turn out to be one of the most important for future research pursuits in Zambia. Henry from DNPW allowed us to come along with him into Sioma-Ngwezi NP, where they are working on re-introducing wildlife the next 4 years. They created a fenced-in 100 hectare enclosure for the animals which they use to acclimate them before releasing them into the park. They had about 180 impala and 32 buffalo that they transported there a few weeks ago, and we got to come along on their weekly check up. We got to stand in their pickup truck bed as we patrolled inside the fence perimeter, trying to spot and count all the buffalo and impala. Michael and I came up with another research idea pretty organically as we chatted about the wildlife re-introduction process and the ways they currently monitor wildlife numbers in the park. The folks at DNPW and WWF sound quite keen to begin some research collaboration this coming year with us, and I'm glad Michael and I prioritized time to build those relationships. On Monday we said goodbye to Lin as she headed back to Botswana, then Michael and I drove to Livingstone. Having been in Livingstone last weekend, I already knew what it was like, so it was really great seeing Michael be totally blown away by all the city people, restaurants, shops, and 2 story buildings. We had fun wandering around, getting lost, and eating a ton of really good food. We have a special place in our hearts for Sesheke, but it is by no means a city. The fact that Sesheke ever felt like a city to us speaks to how much time we have spent in remote areas of rural Zambia. We felt like the Zambian village children this time, amazed to see so many white people in one place. I'm writing this on my flight back home and reflecting on all of the new and unique experiences I've had these past two months: flying drones in the Chobe river floodplain in Botswana, digging ourselves out of the sand more times than i can count, being immersed in village life and the language, playing sports with village children in Kapau and Makande, crossing international borders on my own, learning to drive stick in Zambia, and many others. They've all offered an opportunity to learn, challenge my own paradigms, and grow into a more worldly and introspective person. Southern Africa has given me so much, and I am eager to give back in any way an academic researcher can. I am so grateful to Dr. Pricope and all of the KAZAVA collaborators for supporting me and allowing me into their network. Michael gets a special shout out; we started out as two unacquainted grad students working on the same project, but by experiencing all the challenges and joys of a productive field season, we became both an unstoppable duo and great friends. I'm excited to pursue some of the research ideas we have developed in Zambia together. Lastly, for anyone who has not yet stepped foot on the African continent, this is my 5 star recommendation. It turns out Africa is huge and offers so much to the new traveller: the diverse cultures, the wildlife, and spectacular landscapes. I've only seen small parts of 3 countries, but I'm obsessed now. Africa will be high on my list for travelling the rest of my life, and I will do everything I can to get family and friends to experience it as well. Kyle Woodward.

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