#been ruminating about this for the past few days and after today? i think i need the serotonin

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #20:

Dump's International Airport

My famous brother's always been a big deal.

I remember his first peewee soccer game. Both teams just ran after him in a pack while he scored goal after goal. "Dear Lord Baby Jesus," I asked, "why is my little brother already a bigger deal than me?"

Nothing's happened ever since to disabuse me of my inherent secondary status. Just check him out today. He's in a killer band and I can't sing Happy Birthday on key; he blogs about Pharaoh Sanders and Sonic Youth for the mad rushing crowd while I blog about him for you twelve people; he's interviewed 2/3 of Crazy Horse, Richard Thompson and Robyn Hitchcock (twice!) and my cat won't even listen to me; he has a glorious head of hipster hair on top of his six foot frame; my bald spot swells and shines far beneath his stately chin.

Even so, there are a few things we have in common, and at the top of that list is the firm conviction that James McNew is a very big deal. A good drinking game would be chugging every time my brother and I mention his name while together. You'd get plastered.

Odds are we'll ruminate on McNew's status as the best musician in Yo La Tengo (even though we revere Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley), next we'll wish he'd make a new solo record, then I'd insist we talk about our close encounters with James (my brother occasionally shares a byline with McNew on Aquarium Drunkard or elsewhere, usually when they're both talking about the Dead, and when he interviews McNew they sound like old friends; I like to wave and shout James's name from the pit, hoping he'll remember the time I helped him move his amps after sneaking into YLT's soundcheck in '95 at the Alligator Lounge; James always politely nods then resumes his job of shredding everyone's soul to pieces with his furious musical chops; humble guy, James).

For the uninitiated: McNew emerged from a parking lot ticket hut in the early 90's and began recording solo music sporadically under the name Dump; he put out three classic full records in the 90's, and since then has issued a collection of Prince covers and a few other sporadic releases, the most recent of which was only released on tape in Spain. That's right, I'm writing about a guy who issues his music only to Spaniards who still have tape decks; I guess we'd better add "obtusely" in front of "humble" when describing McNew.

Meanwhile, he's spent the past 30+ years as the cornerstone of the world's greatest, still-operational, rock band, Yo La Tengo.

If you need any proof that they are the gnarliest group of rock nerds this side of Sterling, Mo, Lou and what's his name, or doubt that James is their pillar of obtusely humble virtuosity, check this out (and please note I was standing next to the dude with the camcorder when this insanity went down; I'm still reeling from the experience, and I still have the setlist):

Please note, I think my expert moving of McNew's amps earlier that same day was a prime contributor to this all out sonic assault on everything Stephen Stills stands for on the band's part. Ira Kaplan appears to be wrestling a giant man-eating octopus while Georgia and James slay the beat.

On his own McNew can be fragile and tender, sounding like a shivering adolescent rather then a human behemoth (when seen from pit and James looks like he's 6'6 / 325; some of this is because Ira, and especially Geogia, are fairly miniature humans, but most of his heft comes from his God-like approach to every instrument you can imagine; he also happens to be a big dude).

Listen to him warble on Into Fall from '94; yes his guitar has a touch of wobbling hippo, but everything here is precious, and McNew shows us he's a later-day Brian Wilson. All that's missing is Wilson's budget, torment and sister-in-law lust:

But McNew can also produce music that's straight up violent, write rock anthems and lay down shambolic funk. In other words, he's a one man Yo La Tengo, masterful in every possible mood.

International Airport, a vinyl-only EP from 95, puts every one of these qualities concisely forward. We open with Words, a droning prayer that sounds like Lou Reed slipped out of a dull stint in rehab so as to sit in on the demo sessions for The Cure's Faith. A song like this should not be interesting. But it's awesome, and when the guitar shoulders in late we tremble and get excited about what lies ahead.

Side two features everything from an a cappella Kinks song sung out the window that comes complete with polite city applause, to a brutal, call the cops on your psychotic neighbor, track Laurdine.

But it's the 12 minute title track, which fills most of the A Side, that raises International Airport, which I bought upon it's release for probably $6, up to Dollar Bin hall of fame status. All hail this sprawling ode.

McNew opens the track with a Casio riff, taking his time. Bass and drums rise only gradually until, around the two minute mark, we suddenly realize we are taking off, the international terminal long gone as a second riff expands and swerves about the first, like joint eagles protecting their nest. It's lovely flying, and we have to remind ourselves that McNew is responsible for everything here. Had McNew taken this song to YLT, I don't know what more his band mate Hubley could have done on the drum track, and I have a hard time remembering that it's McNew, not Kaplan, who's wrestling the octopus this time around. Seven minutes into it we expect things to fade out majestically but McNew instead steers his increasingly interstellar song through a cosmic, psychedelic carwash, the keyboards, then guitars, sounding like angry droids with laser cannons.

Wow.

When McNew's vocals enter at the 11th hour/minute to serenade us and wave good-bye we wish he'd take us with him wherever he's going. But sadly, we're not invited. Rather, James is probably hanging out with my famous brother as we speak: two humble and deeply masterful dudes.

#Youtube #james mcnew #stephen stills still sucks #gloom and doom from the tomb #yo la tengo #aquarium drunkard #prairiewolf

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

Diversion

post never again | angst | nsfw | 3.5k words | ao3 | @xfilesbingo prompt "secret" | tagging @today-in-fic

Ever since the disastrous night in Philly with Ed Jerse, there had been an uneasy truce between Mulder and Scully, where they unspokenly agreed to not to discuss the ordeal. Scully was all too happy with that arrangement because during their last conversation, Mulder was a complete dick about the tattoo and the desk and her life choices and how they somehow affected him (which was baffling to Scully). A few days after she was back from her mandated sick leave, Skinner had another out-of-town case for them. Scully was relieved that she and Mulder wouldn’t be stuck in their basement office, which had been silent as a tomb these past three days, but she didn’t relish the close quarters they would spend together on the plane and in the rental car.

At least with a case, they could investigate their own avenues and stay out of each other’s way. Once they arrived in Branson, Missouri, Scully performed the autopsies alone and spent as much time as possible in the lab, testing compounds that were found at the scene of the crime. The quiet was nice, for once, but she couldn’t help but notice Mulder’s absence; his color commentary always provided some entertainment that was now missed.

They definitely hadn’t spoken about Ed Jerse at all, except for one brief phone conversation the night before they were set to leave DC. Scully’s phone rang around 11 pm, when she was getting ready for bed.

“Scully,” she answered, even though she already knew who would be calling her this late.

“Scully,” she heard repeated back. Mulder’s voice was slightly slurred. Had he been drinking? she wondered.

There was a long pause and Scully was ready to hang up the phone when Mulder finally asked, “I just want to know why?”

Why what? She wanted to spit back. Why do I want my own desk? Why do I want a life outside of the X-Files? Or, the one thing she wanted to say but wouldn’t even let herself think: why wasn’t it you?

But since she couldn’t - wouldn’t - say any of those things, Scully simply sighed, “Mulder.”

“You didn’t have to - I mean, you could have…” he thankfully cut himself off without elaborating.

This was a conversation she didn’t want to have right now, especially if Mulder had been drinking.

“It’s late, Mulder. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she stated and ended the call before he could respond.

The next day, Mulder didn’t mention their phone discussion at all and Scully figured he really was drunk and didn’t remember. It was better that way, anyway.

However, throughout the case, during her many hours spent alone in the lab and the morgue, she couldn’t help turning his words over and over again in her head: she didn’t have to… what exactly? Was he trying to say she could have gone to him instead of Ed? Scully didn’t know if that was just wishful thinking on her part or if Mulder actually thought that was a viable option. Was he really offering himself to her? Didn’t he know that would only make things worse?

But now that the idea was in her head, she couldn’t stop ruminating over the things left unsaid between the two of them. It served as a nice distraction from the nosebleeds that seemed to be increasing in frequency and severity and Leonard Betts telling her that she had something he needed. Scully was never good at keeping secrets and it was only a matter of time before Mulder figured out what was going on with her, but she wanted to delay that as long as possible. Besides, for all she knew, there was nothing to tell.

Scully was worried that the stress was getting to her, though. Whenever the pressure built up inside her, she felt the urge to “blow up her life,” as Missy described it at one time. When she was younger, and she was stressed about school or worried about her father’s deployment or fighting with her siblings, she would steal her mother’s cigarettes or get drunk at the park at night with her high school classmates. It was also part of the reason she joined the FBI. Scully was already considering the career switch but when she found out that Daniel was married and she was complicit in his deceit, she knew she needed to make a drastic change in her life.

Luckily, Mulder and Scully had wrapped up the case fairly quickly (unsurprisingly, the serial arsonist of apartment complexes and corporate offices was the property owner looking for an insurance payout) and there was nothing left to do until their flight home the next morning. It was Friday night, and while it was unusual for Scully to have almost an entire weekend free from work, she was looking forward to it.

Instead of eating dinner together or watching a movie as Mulder and Scully had done at the conclusion of other cases, they went to their separate rooms without speaking. Scully had been glancing at the connecting door all evening, expecting Mulder to come bursting through with some ridiculous story or theory. She knew both sides were unlocked: even at their most dysfunctional, they still wanted to be available to each other.

Since they hadn’t been home in a few days, Scully decided to call her answering machine to check her messages. She listened as her mother invited her to the church cookout the following weekend and the dealership notified her that her car was due for an oil change. The last message was a reminder for her oncology appointment on Tuesday. Just a few short days away. Scully took a deep breath, but didn’t feel like she got any air. She knew the appointment was coming; she scheduled the damn thing herself. But now it felt real. As her mind raced and her breathing turned shallower, Scully’s eyes swept across the room, trying to name five things she could see, four things she could hear… she didn’t get very far before the hotel room felt like it was closing in on her. She had to get out.

Scully went to the connecting door, knocked once, and then pushed into Mulder’s room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching a baseball game.

“Can I have the car keys?” she asked, referring to the rental they had for the case.

He turned around, apparently surprised that she was in his room.

“For what?” he questioned casually, before going back to watching the game.

“I want to go out,” Scully said, feeling like she was asking her dad to borrow the family car. She resented the implication that she had to ask for permission.

“Out?” he scoffed, still not looking at her. “That didn’t work out so well the last time.”

“Excuse me?” she asked between gritted teeth. She couldn’t believe he was talking to her this way.

He stood up to face her. “I’m not letting you go out, get drunk, and fuck some guy, just for him to knock you around afterwards.”

Scully’s jaw dropped open, aghast at the words coming out of Mulder’s mouth. She already knew he wasn’t pleased by her recent behavior but to hear him speak so crudely about it struck a nerve with her. Her earlier panic turned to righteous anger, which quickly dissolved into… something else. Scully could feel the electricity crackling between them and it wasn’t just from their current fight. It was four years worth of tension, of intense eye contact, of arguments, of saving each other, of trusting each other. Scully realized she could get what she needed here, in this room.

“Fine, I won’t go out,” she conceded.

“You won’t?” he asked, looking astonished that she acquiesced so quickly.

Scully stepped closer and she could have sworn she heard him gulp.

“I don’t need to. Right, Mulder?” she asked, feeling almost predatory as she took another step towards him.

“I, um, Scully -” he stammered.

“Right, Mulder?” she repeated, this time a whisper because she was now right next to him. “I don’t have to find some other guy…” she trailed off, bringing her hand up to touch his face. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to tell me?”

Mulder seemed to come back to his senses a little, because he grasped her wrist before it could reach its destination. The action eerily reminded Scully of Ed and she hated to admit that it turned her on even more than she already was. She was close enough that she could smell him, end of the day sweat and cologne and of course, sunflower seeds. Scully wanted to see if he tasted like he smelled, so she closed the small amount of distance between them and experimentally licked his neck. She was ready for him to push her away, but instead, his arms came around her waist and pulled her closer in, his hands roaming her body over her clothes.

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped around each other but not doing much, until Scully moved back so that she could maneuver Mulder to the bed; it was easier to manage their height difference if he was sitting while she stood between his legs. Mulder was oddly deferential and allowed her to lead, which was unexpected. She wasted no time returning to the task at hand, but this time she wanted to actually taste him. Scully twined her fingers in Mulder’s hair and when their lips finally met, Scully had to hold back a moan. Everything so far was even better than she imagined and was serving as a nice distraction from what was going on in her life. After a few moments, Scully pushed him so he laid back on the bed and began to unbutton her blouse as she straddled his hips.

“Scully,” he started but she interrupted: “No talking.”

Mulder seemed to understand what she wanted and didn’t speak again, so she kept undressing. She tried not to look Mulder in the eye because she might start crying if she looked at his wide, guileless expression for too long. Scully had already decided this could be quick; she was so desperate for release and wanted a break from her racing thoughts. But when she reached down to unzip Mulder’s pants, he seemed to have had enough of passivity and flipped her on her back so that he hovered over her, deliciously pressing her into the mattress. Her hand went back to his fly, but Mulder intercepted and stopped her before she could go any farther.

Every time Scully tried to speed up the process he deliberately slowed his pace. When she tried to touch him, he held her hands down. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he gently pushed her back onto the mattress. Eventually she gave up, allowing Mulder to carefully remove her clothing, kissing new skin as it was revealed to him, until she was naked and he was left wearing just his boxers. Scully felt her mind start to pleasantly buzz, the worries and concerns that plagued her earlier replaced with only the feel of his fingertips and lips. When he saw the healing bruises on her torso, he gently traced the outlines of them, a look of concern on his face. She smiled at him to let him know that it didn’t hurt, in fact it felt nice to be touched so tenderly.

Mulder moved down her body and Scully gasped when she felt him lick her expertly. It appeared his oral fixation extended beyond sunflower seeds, she noted with some humor. In the past when a man had gone down on her, she was usually stuck in her head, a bit self conscious about how she looked and how her body was reacting. However, this time, she completely gave into the sensation of Mulder’s tongue on her clit and finger stroking her g-spot. Her orgasm was slow approaching and then hit her like a freight train. While she recovered, arm flung over her face and breathing heavy, Mulder crawled up the bed to lay next to her. He traced a line from her bellybutton to her clavicle and didn’t appear to be in any rush for his own pleasure. Scully reached down and tugged on the waistband of his boxers, wordlessly asking for more. Mulder hesitated for a split second, but then complied with her request after she stroked him a few times through the fabric.

When he finally pushed into her, Scully’s mind turned to static in the best way. She didn’t have the bandwidth to do much else aside from dig her fingernails into his back, but Mulder took charge. He rocked into her like the tide, slowly ebbing in and out. Earlier she had been hoping for something hard and fast but now realized that Mulder had the right idea by insisting on a slow pace. He left kisses on her neck and hitched her left knee up to her shoulder and bit her earlobe and it was all too much for the second time that night.

When it was over and they both had finished and lay panting on the bed, Scully turned on her side away from Mulder and wondered somewhat wistfully if their tryst had been a mistake. The problem was that it was good. Really good. Too good that it was impossible to pretend it never happened, mostly because she already wanted to do it again. The sex was a lot better than with Ed, which Scully would not admit even at gunpoint; Mulder’s ego was big enough. Not only was the physical act itself better, but the fact that it was with Mulder meant that it was already ten times better than with a stranger. She wasn’t going to admit that she was in love with him, because she didn’t need that complication in her life right now, and she already had a lot of practice tamping those feelings down.

Mulder was still breathing deeply beside her. The mattress shifted and he placed his hand gently on her side.

“I know something’s going on with you. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just figure it out another way.”

Those were the first words spoken since they fell into bed and they sounded loud and foreboding in the quiet room. Scully squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to flow. She was glad Mulder couldn’t see her. How was he able to read her so well?

“Go to sleep, Mulder,” she pleaded, voice cracking a bit. He left his hand on her waist for a moment before squeezing once and then pulling away.

Once his breathing evened out and Scully could tell that he was asleep, she gathered her clothes and snuck back to her room. She locked the door behind her.

–

The next morning, Scully got dressed in a suit, even though they were flying home. She applied her make-up carefully, made sure every strand of hair was perfectly in place and hid the bloody tissues in the trash so no one would see. At 9 am, there was a knock on the connecting door and Scully rose from the table where she was sitting to let Mulder in.

“Our flight leaves in two hours; are you ready to hit the road?” he asked.

She nodded and went to grab her luggage. When she turned back to Mulder, he opened his mouth, likely about to say something regarding the night before. She shot him a look to convey, “Don’t.”

Their communication wasn’t as lacking as she previously thought, because he understood her perfectly and didn’t say a word. They didn’t talk on the way to the airport or during the flight or at baggage claim or as they left the airport. It was Saturday afternoon and Scully had almost two whole days before she had to deal with Mulder again.

She spent the rest of the weekend catching up on chores and meeting her mother for lunch. She deleted all the messages on her voicemail without listening to them again and tried not to think about her upcoming appointment or Mulder, which proved to be very difficult. She wondered how he would react if she showed up at his door. It was tempting, very tempting, but she restrained herself. There was no point in making the same mistake twice.

—-- Monday rolled around quickly. Scully wanted to be the first one in the office; she felt like she would have the upper hand that way, so she arrived at 8 am. Mulder must have felt the same way because he beat her there. He was sitting quietly at the desk, two cups of coffee in front of him. Scully paused at the doorway, her mouth suddenly dry.

Mulder glanced up and beckoned her into the office. “Come in, come in,” he encouraged, standing up to take her bag. “I got you coffee.”

Scully noticed it was from the expensive cafe she really liked. She was a little confused as to why Mulder was being so nice.

He handed her the cup and started talking, “I wanted to apologize for my behavior these past few weeks and for what I said Friday night. I was way out of line and it was totally uncalled for. You should be able to do what you want without judgment from me.”

Scully was shocked. She never expected this kind of apology, though it was what she was looking for after Philadelphia. But after she basically used him on Friday night, she was starting to think this all was a big mistake. His demeanor was hopeful and she knew he wanted something from her, something she wanted to give him, but couldn’t, at least not right now.

When Scully didn’t say anything right away, Mulder opened his mouth to continue. What else was he going to say?

She put her hand out, “No, please, stop.”

Scully didn’t want to hear any more heartfelt apologies, she didn’t want to look at Mulder and remember how his touch had left goosebumps all over her skin on Friday night and everything else they did. She had to get out of the office. She went to grab her bag and coat.

“Scully, where are you going? Will you please sit down and talk to me?” he begged.

She wished she could. “Mulder, I can’t. I have to go,” she responded and rushed out of the basement office.

Scully went straight to Skinner’s office and left a message with Holly that she was ill and would be back at work tomorrow after her doctor’s appointment. Then she drove home.

Unsurprisingly, Mulder called her five times on her cell phone and left two messages on her home answering machine until Scully unplugged it. She didn’t want to talk to him, so she called his apartment line and left the same message she gave Holly. She knew he checked his home voicemail frequently at work, so when her cell phone stopped ringing that was indication that he heard her message. Scully just hoped he didn’t come by; she would deal with him tomorrow and would explain everything then. She took a few deep breaths; she just had to hold on until then and everything would be fine. —--

When Scully received the news, the only person she could think to call, that she wanted to talk to, was Mulder. Even after everything that happened between them, she still needed him, which frightened her. Because of everything that happened between them, he deserved to know first.

Mulder brought her flowers, but he didn’t take the news quite as she expected.

He stared at her for a long moment, long enough that Scully thought she might have to repeat herself because maybe he didn’t hear.

“You knew?” Mulder finally asked, chest heaving. He sounded like he was out of breath.

“No,” Scully said defiantly. “I didn’t know.” She was annoyed that she just received life-changing news and he was giving her a hard time.

“But you suspected?” Mulder pressed. “You’re a doctor, Scully, you knew something was wrong and you didn’t tell me. Even when I asked you repeatedly, you still wouldn’t tell me.”

He began pacing around the room, the glow from the lightbox casting a white sheen on his figure. “You let me - we…” he was having trouble getting the words out.

He stopped abruptly, facing her again. “How could you do that?” he asked, his face pale and eyes wide.

Scully’s earlier defiance vanished. She now realized that she had been cruel to give him what he wanted, what they both wanted, and then take it all away.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she choked, trying not to cry.

He took two big steps over to her and grasped her by the shoulders.

“Dana,” was all he got out before he pulled her to his chest roughly, arms tight around her.

“It’s going to be okay.” His voice was thick, like he was holding back tears as well.“I’m going to figure this out. We’re going to fix this.”

Scully didn’t respond, but remained in his embrace, her cheek brushing the rough wool of his coat. There was nothing she could say; he was the believer after all.

#this fic gave me brain worms #i think it was the smut #so sorry if it's bad but i couldn't edit it anymore #LOL #the x files #txf #txf fic #msr #xfiles bingo

[quitefair]

Hi.

If you’re reading this, I’m not on the Internet anymore.

Lmao that’s drastic… okay fine, I guess I’ll start from the beginning.

Ever since COVID I guess, but if I really think about it, it’s been going on for longer than that – I’ve felt that my brain didn’t really belong to me anymore. I used to enjoy being in my own thoughts, used to be comfortable in just allowing myself to be still and silent and ruminating on all the weird and wonderful things inside of my own head. This is most likely because of my (diagnosed) primarily inattentive type ADHD and (undiagnosed) autism, but it was honestly just a good ol time inside of my head.

Fast forward to today. I can barely stand to be alone in my head. I’m constantly craving stimulation, constantly searching for the next big rush of dopamine. I’m currently medicated for my ADHD, which is doing wonders for my concentration and performance at work, but I still felt that something wasn’t quite right. That something had changed in the past few years.

I used to get deeply excited over holidays. Used to be excited over the little things – like going to the movies or going out for dinner with family or friends. Used to feel so engrossed in the next best book or movie or TV show that I consumed, used to have that excitement fuel me for days, weeks, months. How I used to deeply analyse them and pick apart symbolism and themes over that longer period of time.

The last trip I went for, and the first big family vacation in like 5 years was absolutely fantastic. I had a great time and really enjoyed myself. And yet. There was that deep seated undercurrent of what I can only describe as anxiety. That there was something there that I couldn’t quite chase. Something that didn’t allow me to be fully present with my family, fully present in the beauty of the Cornish seaside, just… fully present.

This permeates my daily life at home and work as well. Yes, my work is busy and demanding, high stress and non-stop. And yet I know that on certain days when the work is lesser and that I actually have some space and time, I will still feel like my head is going to explode.

 The reason for this? Yeah. It’s social media.

Sure yeah, there’s a lot of other reasons for it. But I’ve been thinking and thinking about this for going on almost three years now. And nothing else comes close to answering the question of why.

I read Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport in like… 2020? The book mentions something called a ‘digital declutter’. At the time of reading it, I assumed it was the same as a ‘digital detox’ – something I was all too familiar with. I have done digital detoxes in the past – completely abstain from all social media for a set period of time. I downloaded Freedom (I’ve paid for it so I have the full benefits, but there are other alternatives like Leechblock as well) and set about blocking things so I could not access them. These worked out great – I ended up feeling refreshed after a while and once I got back to things as usual, I was feeling great.

But that was the problem. Getting back into things.

The three rules for Cal’s 30-day Digital Declutter are as follows:

1.     Take a break from all optional technologies

2.    During the break, explore and rediscover activities and behaviors that you find satisfying and meaningful

3.    At the end of the break, come back to those optional technologies and reintroduce them into your life, but:

a.     determine the value it serves in your life and

b.    how specifically you will use it to maximise its value

I used to go into my past digital detoxes very suddenly and spontaneously (thanks ADHD), and sometimes yeah, I’d stick to it. But I’d always end up just falling back into those old toxic habits. Which were obviously not that great for me and led me back to square one. The Digital Declutter on the other hand was something different. Something that would lead to permanent effect and potential change in lifestyle.

Once I took some notes (and yes, this is the first time I’ve taken notes from a non-academic book in my entire life), I started to figure out what exactly would entail a Digital Declutter.

Firstly, I had to list down all optional technologies. Cal defines these as any ‘new technology’ – i.e., apps or websites or any related digital tools made to entertain, inform or connect. He considered these technologies optional unless its temporary removal would harm or significantly disrupt daily operation of personal or professional life. There was some discussion regarding video games and television/streaming video, but highly encouraged people to consider these a part of the optional technologies.

He also highly encouraged people to figure out what was ‘convenient’ vs ‘critical’ technologies when listing down things that would be blocked for the month ahead.

The second thing was that prior to starting your Digital Declutter, you need to find high quality analog activities that you used to enjoy before being sucked into the void of social media.

This was honestly the biggest problem for me in the past – I would just cut off all social media, and then end up sitting staring at the wall and feeling more depressed than before. If you don’t fill the time you used to spend on optional technologies with anything else, you will quite obviously fall back into old habits pretty quickly.

I’ve already made a list of things to do in the next month – the biggest thing is helping my family prepare for our first big Deepavali party since COVID, so that’s probably going to be occupying most of my time. I’ve already spent the most of the last weekend cleaning up my copious abandoned musical instruments in preparation for this. But I’ve also got a list of other things to do when I’m sat in my room alone, ruminating and being depressed.

(Reading is a big one – I bought so many books while I was on holiday in the UK ((objectively UK bookstores are better than anything I can find locally)). Then there’s painting the bajillion Warhammer figurines I have lying around my room, and I’ve already bought paints for them in preparation for this. There’s also practicing the piano and guitar and the countless other aforementioned abandoned musical instruments that could be time-occupying activities for my frazzled brain. There’s also exercising and cleaning up my extremely messy room and writing… god I feel like writing so badly but the Internet has fried my brain so bad that I feel like I can’t even write a single word that I like.)

Reintroducing social medias will be at the end of all of this. I can already kind of predict what I’m going to maintain and what I’m going to continue abstaining from. Twitter and Facebook and Instagram are giving me big abstain vibes. Tumblr has always been a source of comfort because of its very old school Internet layout and tagging system – which is why I’m choosing to post this here instead of anything else. At some point I am going to force myself to learn html and make my own website (yes that’s going to be a thing) and maybe I’ll just fuckin blog from there instead. But that’s for later Meera to think about.

Anyway, I went this entire 1200+ words without mentioning when I’m going to be doing this. I’m doing the entirety of October 2022 by the way. No Tumblr, no Twitter, no nothing. If you want to contact me – there’s Whatsapp (if you know me IRL and/or you’re special enough to me that you know my number) or email (if you know me well enough you can ask me for my email and we can trade letters like we’re sickly children in Victorian England and I’m dying of consumption). But I’m starting this on October 1st (Saturday). If I’ve been scarce on these social medias it’s because I’ve been preparing for this and also fuckin busy at work as per usual.

So yeah. That’s that. See y’all on the other side I guess.

#meera talks

[mikathemuse]

Blog Post #2

This picture shows you a little in terms of my writing process. Today, earlier in the day, I was allowed to go to Starbucks and spend a few hours; sitting around, people-watching, snacking, sipping, and reflecting on what was going on in my life. All this together made me want to write a love poem, or maybe it was a goodbye letter. Editing will lead me to my final decision on the final product. I'm going through yet another breakup. So that's what my mind and heart are geared towards right now. Even though it's over, I'm still quite lovesick. I share this because of what we learned in the book's first section this past week. It taught us a little about how poetry can be a means of communication; as the book states, it is not the most direct or usually the most appropriate. The point is that it gets the point across even if it is not conveyed in a precise way. When I write poems, I don't write them for an audience; I write them for my future self to look back on. I don't consider my future self an audience member. But after reading the chapter, I thought to write as though talking to a stranger. And it changed my delivery. Instead, I got to write as though someone willing to let me spill my emotions about the breakup was listening. We've all been there. Even after talking to every friend and family member about what happened, why, and how we still want to get more out. We still want to speak on it, to ruminate with the company. But then you've exhausted all the listening ears we have available. I won't bore you with what I came up with thus far, but that is what I got from this chapter. I still have another person willing to listen to what I have left to communicate. So, being a poet means communicating emotion or at least what's happening around or to you. As far as meaning, I can convey what a relationship meant to me in poetry better than talking to my mom or bestie or therapist.

In terms of talent, I'm not sure I agree with the idea of it being the capability for hard work. I think of talent as more of the natural inclination towards the word, which comes out in a way that the audience perceives as good. Thus talent will be subjective. For instance, I have been told I have a talent for three things; writing, languages, and dramatics. And I disagree when it comes to writing because don't find myself geared towards it. In school, I am more obligated to write, so I knock it out because I have to. In languages and dramatics (let's say acting), I am personally motivated to work on those two things. No one has to tell me to work on my vocal exercises or voices. And no one has to tell me to practice my linguistics because I want to be able to communicate with as many people as possible.

#advancedpoetryfall22

[theghostpinesmusic]

So, when I first started writing about Goose jams regularly, I had a huge backlog of Euro tour shows to watch, and I thought it would be fun to occasionally write about a notable jam from the tour as I worked my way through the shows. Then I got to the end of the tour, weighed in on a few jams from Goosemas as well, and now...there's no more new Goose for the foreseeable future, for what seems like the first time since I started listening in 2019.

I'm going to survive, probably: it's actually been really fun diving back into other music over the last month-plus since Goosemas. I've caught up with some artists I used to love that had sort of fallen off my radar (Fleet Foxes, Wilco, Tallest Man On Earth), tried a few things I'd been meaning to try that I bounced off of (Dawes, Mt. Joy, Lord Huron), discovered some great new stuff (that Andre 3000 album is legitimately good), enjoyed some other jam bands (Spafford, JRAD), and remembered that I do, in fact, love Phish. And that's just in a month of listening!

While Goose's break from touring might mean that the scope of the jams I write about will broaden (I'll definitely share some Phish clips soon, and maybe some Spafford stuff), and it will definitely mean I write less of these posts than I have been lately, I do want to take some of the band's time off to return to some of the jams and shows that have had the biggest impact on me over the last four years.

This band has not only constantly grown and improved over the last four years, they've also blasted out such a nonstop barrage of content over that time that a) it's been hard to even hear/see/absorb it all once, let alone ruminate over much of it, and b) now that the fire hose has been off for a month, the prevailing attention-span-addled fan's attitude seems to be that Goose is done, and it's time to move on to a new fire hose.

To be clear, I'm not writing these posts to argue with some internet strawman, but once you engage with enough of these people often enough, their negativity sort of burrows into your brain and sets up shop (at least if you're me). The best counter to this, I've found, is to stay off social media and write stuff that makes me happy instead.

So, in that spirit, expect to see the occasional "archival" Goose post for the next few months as I revisit jams from the past, both from shows I attended in person and from shows that I just like a lot.

We're going to kick things off with "Rosewood Heart" from the 2/3/22 Wonder Ballroom show, which I attended. Because I haven't covered "Rosewood" yet, I'll have to talk a little about the song first.

And, because this show happened in early '22, I'll have to briefly talk about COVID-19. COVID first, I guess.

So, I could fill (and occasionally have filled) virtual pages of this blog with my thoughts on my experience of COVID-19 and the various ways in which it (mostly horribly) divided my life into thirty-eight years Before and (as I write this) four years After. But I want to focus on the jams today, so suffice to say that 2020 through 2022 was rough for me, like it was for many people.

In tough times, I often turn to music for perspective, escapism, catharsis...you name it. And of course, during 2020, new music was in short supply. Live new music was, basically, not happening. Honestly, as much as I love Goose for their songs and their jams, I think part of the reason I fell so hard for them during this time was because they were the only band still playing. That not only meant they were still putting out new music, it meant that you could watch a livestream of, say, Bingo Tour, and see evidence that someone out there was still doing something besides sneaking to the grocery store at 10pm and hand-washing their tomatoes. This is why, to this day, 3/27/20 is still one of my favorite Goose "shows." It's a good show, but under the circumstances at the time, being able to livestream it made me feel like maybe the world wasn't literally ending.

To cut a long story short, things slowly got better. I saw a bunch of shows in the summer of 2021: Phish at the Gorge and Shoreline and JRAD at the Frost and the Hollywood Palladium. It was a bit freaky to be around such large groups of people at the time, but my mental health was such that I also couldn't imagine not going. Standing out under the sun on the Gorge lawn was sort of the first time I'd felt normal in a year and a half at that point.

Of course, all of those shows were outside and it was easy to socially distance on the various amphitheater lawns (the Palladium is an indoor venue, but it wasn't sold out and it was easy enough to wear a mask and stay out of other people's bubbles during the show). The Goose shows I had tickets for in the spring of 2022 - the first headlining shows of theirs I would ever see and my first in-person Goose show since 2/20/20 - would all be indoors. What's more, in the months before these shows, following the halcyon days of summer '21, more and more concerts had become superspreader events, and frequently shows and entire tours were getting cancelled either because the performers themselves got COVID, or because the band couldn't justify the risk (to themselves and to their audience).

In summer '21, seeing Phish and JRAD had felt like reassurance: not all of my old life was gone, after all. But getting to see four full Goose shows in person in February of '22 felt like a possible step forward into a life beyond whatever the last year-and-change had been.

I was, of course, totally terrified for weeks before the shows that a) someone in the band would get sick, b) I would get sick, c) the tour would get cancelled for safety reasons, d) my car would break down, e) the weather wouldn't cooperate and I wouldn't be able to cross the mile-high pass to Portland, which frequently becomes a death trap during winter storms...

...and so on. It almost seems silly now (and is sort of hard to explain) how desperately a lot of people clung to this or that one good thing they had to look forward to during those times, and for me, for most of early 2022, it was those shows. I had lost so much over the previous year, it sort of felt inevitable that these shows wouldn't happen, that there would be some tragicomic denouement to the one thing I had allowed myself to look forward to.

But everything worked out!

My first show of the run was in Bend, on 2/2. This was a bit poetic, as my first (and only) Goose show before this had also been in Bend (the 2/20/20 one). It was a great show, but the venue was way oversold, so my wife and I hung way in the back, where we could approximate social distancing, and we wore masks the entire time. Of the two Wonder Ballroom shows on 2/3 and 2/4, conventional wisdom is that 2/4 was better, and the band clearly liked it better, too, as they posted the entire show on YouTube...but, I found 2/3 to be way weirder and more interesting for my money, including the "Rosewood" that I'm actually, finally going to get to here shortly. My last show of the run was at the Neptune Theater in Seattle, which was an absolute scorcher of an "encore" show...suffice to say, I went home happy.

While I certainly wouldn't say that this "Rosewood" was the best jam of the entire run (in my opinion, it's in about fifth place), there's a great video of it, and like I said a million words ago, I haven't written about a "Rosewood" yet.

Despite my ranking-language in the previous paragraph, I try to avoid rating and ranking art these days ("Comparison is the thief of joy," and all that)...but if you put a gun to my head and commanded me to pick a favorite Goose song (this is a weird situation, why are you doing this to me?), there're pretty good odds that I would choose "Rosewood." It's an older song of theirs (first played in 2015!) but also always sort of a rarity (only played fifty-five times total over eight years). There's a version of it on their first album, Moon Cabin, which doesn't sound a ton like the current iteration of the band (because it's not), but still gives you a nice snapshot of what makes the song great. In short, it's got some of my favorite compositional flourishes (especially on bass and keys) without being overly compositionally complex, the lyrics do that thing Rick does so well where they allude to a sort of mythological or existential lesson without getting so abstract they lose meaning, and...it's just a real pretty song, you guys.

So, finally, this version in particular. I was stuffed into an oversold Wonder Ballroom in Portland with hundreds of other fans, I was trying not to whack anyone with my poster tube, and I had already sweated through my mask, but I was pumped to hear my first live "Rosewood Heart."

It might just be me, but I feel like this version draws out the introductory noodling a bit longer than usual, before the drums kick in earnest at 0:52. We move quickly from ethereal swells of sound to cascading piano and guitar lines before Rick comes in on vocals. You'll notice immediately during the softer parts of the song how fucking loud the audience was throughout the show. Please go to a concert only if you plan to listen to the music. There are many other places in the world where you can talk.

I love how the feel of the song changes with the bridge section at 2:22. Trevor's bass parts here are particularly great. The piano break at 3:04 is also fantastic. The jam proper starts after the song's vocal outro, at 5:52.

Rick starts off with the lead, and the first thing I notice listening back is how much tinnier and thin his guitar sounds than it typically sounds during a '23 show. This isn't necessarily a good or bad thing in my opinion, but he's almost got a '09-'10 Trey Anastasio effect (what we jaded Phish fans called "the whale call" at the time) going on here. I like it way better when Rick does it, actually.

This beginning section of the jam has a really jazzy feel, because of Rick's playing but also the beat Ben is laying down and the scattered piano chords Peter is playing. It's pretty abstract compared to your "usual" Goose rock jam, which is neat.

Rick starts building some momentum at 7:40, and the band picks up the energy to match his shredding. There is an absolute Wall Of Cymbals here that is just great. Post-peak, there's a few minutes of high-energy shredding before Rick steps back at 10:00, setting the stage for the next jam space.

After a short, spacey interlude, Peter starts developing a riff (do you call it a riff when it's on piano?) on piano. Along with some great, nuanced drumming from Ben, this sets the stage for the next portion of the jam. This almost-but-not-quite-disco jam is a great example of what I often think of as Goose's "default" 2022 jamming style. Basically, Peter homes in on a particular "sample" that he plays over and over on keys for a few minutes while everyone else plays around him. It's something that happens a ton during many of the band's twenty-plus-minute jams from this year. I don't know if it's a matter of Peter not wanting to or being able to lead jams in other ways (he's a fairly new keyboard player, as per my understanding), or if this is just a reflection of the band's electronica influence (see songs like "Creatures" and "Into The Myst,") but they got a lot of mileage out of the approach during this year, to the point that I enjoyed it at first, but was getting a little tired of it by December. They'll come back to it occasionally these days, but to my ears, Peter's approach to improvising on keys is way more varied than it was two years ago.

All that said, the keys "sample" does provide a great foundation for this jam, as long as you're not being a grumpy, jaded fan about it. Rick adds a lot of flavor on rhythm and melody guitar, the percussion dropping in and out adds variety, and Trevor builds a nice, comfy wooden fence around the whole thing to keep it reasonably contained.

Things slow down a little at 17:10, when the bass drops out and then the drums switch up. Rick changes his playing shortly after to something that sounds a ton like "Atlas Dogs" in a cool way and the lights even change to something a bit more nightmare chic to reflect the jam's dark turn.

This second build really feels like it's driven by Trevor, and I'm here (there?) for it. The camera's focus on Jeff tearing it up also brings into focus what the percussion contributes to the energy. Rick, of course, comes in at the end to cast out all demons and nearly destroy the FOH camera setup.

The video fades out at the end as the jam wraps up, though in "real life" this was a transition into a great version of "Indian River."

If you've read all the way to the end of this, God help you. I didn't mean to write this much, but writing about music is a) fun and b) a way to procrastinate doing the writing I'm actually supposed to be doing. So, thanks for enabling me!

I'm not sure what I'm going to cover next, but I'd love to rewatch/revisit some of the other '22 shows I attended, especially the Dillon shows and NYE in Cincinnati, so...maybe that's next?

#goose #goose the band #music #live music #jams #jam bands #tour journal #writing #traveling #Youtube #covid 19

[cassandrajoybellbittner]

*Warning Adult Content*

A NEW SIDE TO AHOTE - Chapter 13

Alek

"Do you want to go inside?"     

Ahote's question could be completely innocent but his body language made me read it differently, it was so much more than a simple suggestion and I had a feeling of where this was going.  

It made me nervous.     

I didn't reply to his question, instead, I tore my eye away from him and fixed them on the flowers below.

It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep with Ahote.

I did... I really did but I was worried that something had sparked in him to suddenly want this.

If I knew anything about Ahote it was that he wasn't hasty and ruminated over his thoughts for days before deciding on something.

This seemed too sudden.     

"Is everything alright?" the worry in Ahote's tone made me look up at him.

I bit my bottom lip, feeling bad for making him panic.

His face was flushed and he looked panicked.     

"Everything's fine," I replied, reaching out to hold his arm.

His eyes moved to my hand that was touching his skin before it looked back at me.

We shared a knowing gaze and I could see the lust from before return in his eyes.

As much as it excited me it also left me puzzled.

I wondered if he was on heat and was masking his scent.

I couldn't think of any other reason why he would suddenly be like this.     

"You should come inside before you freeze to death."

I smiled at Ahote's continued attempt to get me inside the house.

Sure, it was a little chilly because it was still early in spring but I was far from being cold.     

"Alright," I replied, deciding to go inside.

I knew for a fact that once I got anywhere near him, he would keep edging me.

His roundabout way of going about things was cute.

I was used to him being blunt about what he wanted and how he wanted it but I guess spontaneous Ahote was a little shyer about his decisions.   

 Ahote gave me a smile when he heard my answer.

He took his hands away from the window sill before disappearing into the kitchen.

I headed for the front door, realizing that he was planning to meet up with me.

As I waded through the crowd to get to the stairs leading to the front door I got a few nods of acknowledgment as well as some smiles here and there.

It made my chest feel warm and it in a way reminded me of the times I would group up with some wolves during my travels before disbanding later on.

We didn't know each other too well but we were acquainted enough to at least acknowledge each other's existence when we met later in other regions and countries.     

Throughout the time I've been here, I still felt out of place but the trip with the hunters made me feel more welcome.

Within the three days of the hunting trip, I had bonded with the wolves and the seemed to be impressed by the knowledge I brought along with me from being a Kappa in my previous pack.

Lapu also warmed up to me during the time and he had pulled me aside earlier today to have a talk with me.

Lapu had given me a hard time when I first got to Peace River but after our talk, I could say that I understood his perspective more and to have his blessing to be with Ahote made the situation ten times better. 

I chuckled a little as I shook my head.

I had wanted to talk to Ahote about that but he hadn't been paying attention.

The one thing I've noted that is taken seriously here was family.

Although we were gone for three days, the hunters spent most of the time hunting talking about their families.

I would admit to feeling left out because I didn't have much to talk about but I had been edged to talk a bit about my former park and my parents and friends from before.

I'd lost everything but it was nice to dwell in the memories of the past... the memories before things became unbearably lonely.     

"You took your sweet time," Ahote whispered when I walked past the door.

He had been standing to the side of it and had now positioned himself in front of me with folded hands.

His doe brown eyes twinkled under the red fluorescence light and he had a teasing smile on his face... flirty.

He closed the space between us before moving in to give me a hug.

I noticed how the fingers of his hands traced my back through my clothes and I felt the feeling bulge press between my thigh for a millisecond before he pulled away.

I blinked when he chuckled a bit and took my hand, leading me through the crowd of mostly Omega female wolves that had just witnessed the scene.

I don't think I've ever experienced Ahote flirting and the thought suddenly made my chest feel full and my heart rate quickened.

Here was the man I wanted... wanting me back... in full force and putting it on display.

I guess I was used to a shyer unsure version of him that played push-pull with our undefined relationship and my emotions.     

"Where's Elan?" I asked as Ahote pulled me past the small prayer room that connected to the many hallways.     

"He's asleep. You'll meet him in the morning," Ahote mumbled as we walked through the hallway that led to his room.

I felt the beating of my heart in my ears and the sound of my blood pumping through my veins when Ahote pushed his door open and pulled me into his room with him.

He didn't waste any time and he turned immediately to take a hold of my face before pressing his soft lips against mine.     

I had expected things to play out exactly like this but it wasn't enough to subdue the shock that taken over me when Ahote moved to kiss me.

I let out a low grunt, reaching out steady him from the small of his back before turning the both of us until he was pressed against the redbrick walls.

He let out little mewls that got lost in the sound of our tongue meeting and breaths hiking.     

He put a hand between our chests, letting his palm brush me through the thin cloth before letting his palm settle on the belt of my jeans.

He let it sit there as he pushed the material of my shirt up a bit with his lean fingers, playing with the little blonde hairs I had in the area as he pressed his knees upwards to tease me.

I swallowed down the moan I was about to let out, coughing up a shaking sigh instead as I leaned in to kiss him with a feverish passion.     

"Are you in heat?"

In the middle of our rendezvous, I still shut my sex preoccupied brain to ask the important question.

Ahote just blinked, looking at me with a little frown that seemed to be his way of saying no but I refused to accept nothing but words as answers.

"Are you?" I asked again, making him mutter a little no as his face deepened in color.

He licked his lips, leaning forward so that he could kiss the stubble of my beard.     

"I didn't see you for three days," he said as if it explained his sudden change in behavior.

I didn't want Ahote to do something he would regret later.

Pushing my way into his life and forcefully occupying space wasn't something I wanted to do, at all.

"I want a baby."     

If I was lost in my thoughts before, I certainly wasn't when Ahote said those words.

I pulled away from him, shocked, to say the least.

I took a few steps back until the back of my legs met the wooden bed frame.

I sat down, looking at Ahote who was still leaning against the wall.

He didn't look deterred, in fact, he looked surer of this than of anything he had ever been sure of.   

"Today I looked at you in the crowd and I thought that... that I wanted a baby," he said, keeping eye contact with me.

"I..." he started but paused as if he had decided against telling me something he was going to.

He looked away, staring down at his nails as he picked at them.     

"Of course, it's not like that would happen now, I'm not in heat if that's what you're worried about..." he trailed, seemingly rambling to himself.

"And it doesn't mean I'm going to just insist on having one with you. I don't necessarily want one with you. It's just an insist you get as an omega if you really like someone, you know."

Ahote kept rambling in an attempt to explain himself and I guess my silence wasn't helping matters.

I would talk but I was just too shocked to form any words.

"I know it's weird and probably unnerving but..."     

"Ahote."

The man looked at me with uncertainty.

He looked scared... like he had just noticed the gravity of his words.

If only he knew that deep down, I had more obscure fantasies.

I wanted kids. I wanted a family.

These are things I've always thought about but when I imagined a mate by my side and the children I would have the faces would be blurred but now I saw Ahote and I saw his little boy Elan and that's why my senses were flooded with happiness and I couldn't stop myself from playing back the words Ahote had told me.     

"Come here," I said, tapping the space beside me on the bed.

He stared at it and after some hesitance, he strolled over before taking a seat on the space beside me.

We both sat in silence for a while.

I turned to him, staring at his tensed-up figure.

His shoulders were stiff and he had his legs brought together and fisted hands rested on his lap. 

I reached out to take a hold of his hand, rubbing it until he loosened the fist and let me entwine his fingers in mine.

His fingers were leaner... softer and I loved everything about the feel of them.     

"I just wanted to make sure where things were going was where you wanted them to," I said, trying to address the scene that had played out.   

"Lapu and I made up, I'm not sure if you heard me when I told out by the window," I said, still talking in a soft voice as I rubbed a circle into his palm.

I wanted to ease Ahote up... make him feel less tense.     

"That's great," Ahote finally said something in reply, joining me to change the subject. 

"Though, I'm not quite sure what he would think if he woke up the next morning and got a whiff of us."

Werewolves could smell every and anything on each other and there were few things that were as strong or similar in scent to sex.

If you had sex with someone everyone within a smelling radius from you in the next twenty-four hours knew.

Ahote chuckled at my joke and I smiled, happy to see the frown leave his face.     

I moved in and watched at Ahote turned to face me with wide eyes.

I gave him an assuring smile before capturing his lips with mine.

We kissed for a bit and Ahote's hand found a way under my shirt as one of my hands went to steady his back as the other pushed strands of his long dark hair away from his face.

He was wearing it freely today.

No tied pieces, no braids, no nothing.     

Ahote bucked against me when I moved a hand between us to touch him between his thighs.

His face got redder and his eyes had gotten wider and more lustful.

"Alek."

"Hmm?"

"I have to tell you something," he said in a breathy voice as I rubbed over his bulge one more time before moving to unzip his pants.

He didn't say anything after that and I assumed he had forgotten what he was about to say or he was waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.     

"What is it?" I asked after a while, slipping my hands into his underwear and watching him buck again.

He was more or less sitting on me now.

He held on to the fabric of my chest as I touched him and the little whimpers he made had my heart racing and my wolf pacing.     

"I've only ever had sex two... no, three times," Ahote said the last part in a short breath, shaking in my hands when I moved a hand under his shirt.

I let my hands feel his cool skin for a while before tugging upwards and helping him take it off.

"It all happened so fast, I can't really remember what I did... what he did. Everything happened very fast," he continued talking, falling into his habit of over-explaining things.   

"I want this. I want this a lot but I'm not sure if you'll enjoy it too because I don't know how to do anything," he continued saying as I kissed his jawline and moved lower until I flicked my tongue over his nipple.

He sucked in a breath and I peppered his chest with kisses.

I didn't say anything in response to Ahote's words since it seemed more like he was venting and just needed my ears, not my input.     

I raised my head, picking him up before laying him on the bed and hovering over him.

I started taking off my clothes took and I saw a look of both fear and anticipation take form on Ahote's face.     

"Are the things we got that day here?" I asked,and Ahote nodded, immodesty understanding that I meant the condoms and lube from the convenience store when we took the road trip.

I got up from the bed, heading over to his drawers to receive them before heading back.

Ahote had curled up into a little ball before I got back... hugging his knees to himself.

I sat at the edge of the bed, rolling a condom on myself since Ahote didn't look like he was ready to help me with that.

When I was done, I opened the bottle of lube, shifting closer to Ahote before touching his waist. 

"You'll have to spread your legs a bit for me, alright?" I whispered, wondering where his self-asserting performance had gone.

He didn't say anything but he turned, laying on his back before pressing the soles of his feet on the mattresses and spreading his legs.

I could hear his heart beating, it was loud and fast like the flapping of a small bird's wings.

I was trying my best to avoid anything that would be too risqué.

Ahote had lived here all his life, had sex with one person who didn't take time to experiment with him and would probably be shocked beyond comprehension if I moved into foreplay that he wasn't familiar with.

I kept reminding myself that there were going to be other opportunities and I could limit myself just this one.     

I pressed a finger against him, easing it inside before making for a stroking motion.

He eased up to me quickly and I was soon able to go for the second and third.

I've had sex with humans and other Rogue wolves here and there... men and women alike.

Omega men just had an easier time adjusting to things but that didn't mean I wouldn't help Ahote ease up first.     

He was shaking and bucking his hips as he let out low moans.

I used my free hand to stroke him, keeping eye contact as I gradually moved to kneel between him, I brought both my hands to hold on to his waist, positioning him properly before easing myself into him.

He tensed up for a while but then eased up, reaching out to hold my hands and run his fingers over them as I hovered over him.

I leaned in, pressing a kiss on his lips as I started moving.

If I thought Ahote's moaning was cute before, I thought they were one hundred times more endearing now that he was tightening around me with every thrust and doing most of the moaning against my ears.     

Things didn't last very long.

I guess just the experience of being inside Ahote caught me off guard but he didn't seem bothered by it at all.

Ahote looked content.

He kept running his hands over my back and face.

I wasn't moving anymore but he seemed just fine grinding on me and working on things himself.

He came too eventually and at the moment we shared a drowsy smile with each other I knew we had both committed to something we couldn't step out of now.

[spaciousreasoning]

A Recap of Sorts

While the Parish Administrator took her post-Easter vacation, I filled in for the morning hours this past week, twiddling my thumbs much more than I might have imagined. Primarily, it turned out, because the bulletin-creation duties have been taken up by another member of the parish.

The days began with a quick stop at our favorite coffee emporium, usually accompanied by a nosh of some sort. On Thursday, however, I departed home early to drop off the car for some minor repairs and took the bus. After disembarking, I walked to the coffee station, then caught another bus closer to church. Thankfully, the rector offered me a ride to pick up the car over the lunch hour.

After wrapping things up on Friday, Nancy and I did a little bit of shopping in preparation for last night’s dinner with our neighbor, David, who is just back from an extended visit with his husband, who is working on his master’s degree in piano at a school in Oregon.

Over salad and pasta we did a bit of catching up and discussed plans for the future. He returns to Oregon later this month, while a new pair of renters inhabit his town home. Once David’s spouse is finished the spring term, the two of them will spend their summer in Mexico City.

Nancy and I will likely make our way to Oregon in late July or early August, in order to be present when her daughter turns 50 in mid-August. Before then, if it seems possible, we might try and get to Santa Fe for a long weekend to enjoy a performance of “Tosca,” the only show on this season’s schedule of any interest to us and long one of Nancy’s favorites.

During this early morning’s wandering about in the bloggish archives that precede the current presence, I have once again encountered a picture of my life that surprises me. Sure, there are recitations of events, such as appear above, but also plenty ruminations of a sort created by the use of language I don’t manage to recreate lately.

Of course, much of it was in response to the events of the day, and we have done our best lately to avoid any contemplation of current events. Despite dipping daily into the New York Times for the games section, a dive that takes us briefly by numerous discouraging, frightening, or horrific headlines.

Vast swaths of the past have gone unrecorded on the personal level, something that is happening again in this space. The urge to render our life in textual meanderings is not always present. Inspiration is a tricky thing, even when fingers on a keyboard seem to operate without intervention from a brain.

Now, however, the several hours of insomnia are ready to end, with my return to bed at about the same time the morning sun begins to make its appearance in the east. At least today’s forecast high temperature falls several degrees short of the century mark. We already breached that point a few days ago and, thankfully, it has not returned. Yet.

There’s even some rain in our future, though the weather never turns out quite like we think. Mother Nature is nothing to be trifled with. We wind up simply taking what comes and being grateful when we wake up with our minds and bodies intact.

#recap

[serraic]

[ PAIR UP ] Single people get dressed up and paired off with other single people, this is the season of love and baby animals and the older adults won’t tolerate a humbug Singleton. If you already have a special someone, then dive right into the singing and dancing together!

As if he'd not enough of the old buggers back home bothering him about this... But now he had the old crones of Fodlan to contend with as well.

"Is this really. Necessary?" he inquires, to which he gets a resounding 'yes, yes! Of course!' in response. "No Singletons allowed!"

And with that, they shove Hector in Serra's direction. The dancing's already in full swing, but that's the way of it tonight: people come and go, and on and on it continues without missing a beat.

"... Ahem," he starts. "... I imagine you're being heckled as well, huh? Do you think they'll leave us alone if us two 'Singletons' play pretend a few minutes?"

Really, tonight is an absolutely sour night.

There’s a beautiful, dazzling ball as part of the Midsommar event, and not only is Serra ruminating in last night’s failure of a ruined dress, but she’s absolutely, utterly, and completely alone. The adults are teasing, openly, what she knows to be her most regrettable feature. She’s alone, here, tonight, at this ball, because she’s Serra, and she’s only ever been alone. She had no friends growing up — no confidants — no people that held her in special regard. Even Erk, who was her widely believed first friend, was happy to be part ways with her after Elibe was saved from destruction, and she’d seen neither hide nor tail of him since. This loneliness, this emptiness, pervasive in its nature, clinging to her desperately, is part of why she took her vows — because she knew no one, ever, would be crazy enough to want her. Perhaps it’s the teasing voice of the children she grew up with. Perhaps it’s the stern chastising of the nuns that were meant to’ve raised her to hold herself in high regard. But she knows — as desperately as she wishes to ignore, to pretend, to obscure, to self-aggrandize, that something about her is simply... unlovable.

After all — if no one held her when she was an infant, why would anyone hold her now? If no one saw worth in her when she was at her smallest, and sweetest, and quietest, why would today, tomorrow, or the next day be any different?

This, one should note, is a viewpoint she fights well and hard against. I’m beautiful, she tells herself. I’m amazing, and awe-inspiring, and any would be lucky to have me on their arm. I’m only getting better, and more beautiful, and more fantastic. This is what she tells herself every day — and how she holds herself — but it does not release her from the bonds of her past so much as it delays them digging their claws into her back.

Now, of course, the claws are well and fully dug. Serra, in a beautiful orange, silk dress, is on the verge of tears. Every time someone passes by and teases her about her being alone, she gets a step closer to crying, a step closer to leaving.

She should leave. What’s even the point of being here? Just to be mocked? Just to be reminded how utterly empty she is, and always will be? There’s no point to this, no point to any of it, no point to—

Ahem.

Serra looks up, through bangs just long enough that they’re beginning to obscure her eyes, to see... Hector. He may as well be Saint Elimine herself for all the regard Serra has, for a moment, staring at him, stood there as though he’s a literal knight in shining armor. He’s a handsome man... and tonight, his eyes are set on her.

Maybe... that could be enough. For just one night — maybe it would be enough to pretend that... someone did love her.

“It’s not much pretending, when we’re so close already, is it?” She’s smiling, eyes that were shimmering in sorrow now closed to hide such, and she crosses the few steps to stand in front of him. “It’s a good excuse, though! To pretend you were bullied into coming over to me... hehe... you were probably waiting for the right moment all night, weren’t you, Hector?” She’s teasing him — enough to make any man leave — you see, now, why it’s impossible to love her, don’t you? “If you’re asking me to dance, though, you better ask me outright! It’s impolite to make the lady do the asking, you should know!”

#toamidsommar2022 #a dance #braveryinblue #v: blue lion #[ i......... am so sorry.... if you do reply feel no need to match length i just........................................................... #i couldn’t shut up. i couldn’t. i COULDN’T. ]

[justmystic]

Reminisce antonym

The opposite of subsequent is occurring first or before. New Year’s Day is the holiday that occurs subsequently after New Year’s Eve. 7) D The word subsequent means occurring afterward. This is not the opposite of misunderstand. Rawlins said, “ We are reminiscing for the next couple of days and doing these throwbacks on a daily basis to really take people back to a place where they were last year and where they would have been, had there not been a pandemic. (E) is incorrect because reminisce means to indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events. I want to reminisce in my comments about the last time I spoke with Stephen Juba. The words can be found written horizontally, vertically, diagonally, forward, or backward. dsynonym Similar Words remains reminiscence reminiscent remonstrance remonstrate renounce renunciation roaming roman god romance romancer running running away running out. Then find all 16 words in the Word Search. Synonyms for the word Reminisce, all found 4, antonyms 0. First, think of the antonyms and write the. Stars Jackman ( Wolverine ), ( Jean Grey ) were reminiscing during a casual chat via Zoom. Antonym Word Search B elow are eight common pairs of antonyms. 459 Synonyms 35 Antonyms more 3 Broader 1 Narrower 99 Related List search. Today I love the song Reminiscing by the Little River Band from 1978, that song is older than some people I know. Best antonyms for reminisce are forget, ignore and overlook. Girl, you know if you were at homecoming right now, you ’d be pregaming just to walk around campus and reminisce with your closest girlfriends. onym name anonymous (without a name), pseudonym (false name), antonym (against name word of opposite. Rumination is the compulsively focused attention on the symptoms of ones distress, and on its possible causes and consequences, as opposed to.7 answers Top answer: ruminateRumination (psychology)Rumination is the compulsively focused attention on the. Jones, she reminisced of the old Civil War days as follows : " I was born in Buckingham County, Virginia, and later during the Civil War, I lived in Gilmer County, W. memorial of a person or event), reminisce. Synonyms Words related to reminisce recall the. remedy remember remembrance reminisce reminiscent remiss remission remit. Synonyms Synonyms for reminisce to renew an image or thought in the mind. Please be sure to visit, share a story, and reminisce over a beer or few in the iconic Geove staple before it 's gone ! antisemite antisemitic antisemitism antithetic antler antonym anus anvil. īuratai while reminiscing on how their friendship started said, “ I have known Ahmadu Musa Kida since 1985 when I was a young officer serving in 26 Battalion, Nigerian Army, Elele near Port Harcourt. Mark was reminiscing about the parting with Steve.

#Reminisce antonym

[surgerythoughts]

First post 8/2/22 6:28AM

This is just a personal diary to get me through my long years as a general surgery resident. I hope to share some of the lessons I've learned as well as other nontangible values and ideals that I've kept close to me on my journey toward becoming a surgeon.

I have COVID. It sucks, but I'm lucky that I have medications, am triple vaccinated, and have people around me checking in on me and getting me food and stuff. I can't stop coughing, so I can't sleep. Thus, I decided to blog since I have nothing better to do during quarantine.

Here are some lessons I've learned in the first month of residency.

Lesson 1.

Be present in the moment...which is easier said than done. My mind vacillates constantly, and it is impossible for me to follow anyone else's train of thought on an auditory level. I think the reason I did well in school was that I learned nearly everything visually. I think it might have something to do with English being my second language, but that might just be an excuse. At work, I'm learning that I need to constantly be attuned to my seniors and everyone else around me. It's been a rather tough adjustment, given that I'm the type of person who daydreams frequently and lives inside of my own head. It's a work in progress and I'm excited to develop this particular skill.

Lesson 2.

It's hard not to like everyone I meet and see the most beautiful things about them; I am a people person. I love being around others and am an extrovert by nature. I tend to see the best in others and I always assume the best in everyone, even when the facts point the other way. It is a great quality in that everyone is a friend at first, and I am one of few people that relatively pass little judgment onto others. But sometimes, it can be detrimental to my well-being simply because I keep investing my time in people who do not enrich my life with a healthy relationship.

I should be jaded and cold, after everything that I've been through. Other than the lack of deaths in my immediate family, I really have endured magnitudes more than most have and have been able to pick myself back up and march right along- as if nothing had ever happened. It's gotten to a point where I've made so many mistakes and gone through so much that I don't even need to process it anymore. The past, the pain, all of it simply exists with me and it neither bothers me nor scares me. My past defines me, just as they do for everyone else, in the sense that these experiences have shaped me into who I am today. Theoretically, had I never gone through xyz, would I be a better person today? Or is it the converse, that I am a better person as a result of accepting that the painful lessons served as a nidus for positive change? I tend to ruminate on the good times rather than the bad, resulting in my having to go through yet another recapitulation of trauma or unnecessary stress. And yet, it seems as if I never learn from my mistakes, because I always see the best in people.

I wonder about the pain that you've been through and how it's made you a better person. I think about the suffering that my drug-abusing patients have gone through, cycle after cycle, and admire them for their tenacity to try yet another time. I always spend the extra 30 minutes a day trying to convince my meth-abusing patient to stop using because his or her life is worth living and they have a lifetime to look forward to-- one in which they are not enslaved to their addiction. Nothing will make me give up on my perhaps childish and naïve, but very necessary hope for everyone who is struggling out there. Because if your own doctor, friend, sister, daughter, or lover gives up on you and doesn't make the extra effort, how will it be possible to live a life that is still meaningful after death?

#loopy #sleepless nights #surgery

[sssavannnah]

weekend recap/update:

This weekend I started the To Be Magnetic manifestation class and pathway membership after winning the lowest discount code on their wheel of discount code fortune.

I don’t usually fall for these types of things, these classes that promise transformation within, where the result are not visible. However, after my little period of bad luck, I felt a power in myself that said I can handle a big shift. Something in me switched after Mexico. The call to pursue my creative gifts, the message that I have everything I need right in front of me, blared at me like a lighthouse. The program seems to be backed up by hefty science and doesn’t follow the guidelines of other woo-woo manifestation guides that just preach positive thinking and pretending to live a life you don’t have. Something inside me said it’s time to manifest, so I I listened.

So far, I really like the program. The exercises are very practical and give me a sense of ease around life. I already feel more trusting in my actions and of what I want to achieve. The ‘Unblocking’ challenge starts this week; its a six-week long challenge that is supposed to help you retire your neural pathways to make it easier to call in manifestations into your life. I’m curious to see how this goes and am trying not to be skeptical.

*

Saturday night I went to dinner with Kelsey, a longtime friend from my hometown who just quit her job to work on her jewelry-making business full time. The night was everything I wish for the next few years of my life to be; filled with productive and expansive conversation, good food and wine, a relaxed yet energizing ambiance. Having Kelsey as a friend is like having an older sister; it was so reassuring to hear her advice on my fragmented love life and her faith in my talents and abilities as a writer. After leaving her that night, I was reminded of everything I’m capable of and the type of love I deserve to experience in life, both romantically and platonically.

*

I popped on over to the Union Square green market today, as I haven’t been in a while and am trying my best to shop as local as possible (it tastes better anyway). Afterwards, I went to Namaste, a crystal/tarot store on 14th street that has been there forever. It’s kind of corny, but it’s trustworthy and not gimicky in the goop-millennial type spirituality that’s taking over the media. It’s been there for at least a decade, and you can go in and browse as you please without being bothered.

I was on the hunt for a goddess oracle deck, the yellow boxed one specifically as that’s the one I’m used to. They didn’t have it, so I got another one that is 52 cards (the same amount of cards in a playing deck) and a guide book with the history of each goddess archetype. It felt right - if I were to make a goddess deck, it definitely would be this one.

I wandered around the store, glossing over the crystals. I’m not a big crystal person, but the Tiger’s Eye for some reason, mesmerized me. I love the subtlety of the brown and amber swirls - it’s warm and grounding. I decided to go with a bracelet. Jewelry is something that makes me feel safe and may be one something I’m most intentional about in my wardrobe. I put it on immediately after I bought it.

I wet to Washington Square park after and posted up under a tree. I’m working on a new book concept - a book of letters. I have been ruminating about a certain letter all day, so I pulled out my notebook and began writing. Not even two sentences in, a man came over to me and asked me a favor. He works for We’re Not Really strangers and was making a video for their social media. He had kind eyes and a gentle presence. I accepted his request, asking him what he needed me to do.

“You’re going to write a letter to your ex,” he said. I laughed and told him I was already writing a letter to someone in my past, and explained to him how I haven’t been in a concrete relationship so it would be an ex lover. He gave me the option of writing a letter to my dad instead, so I went with it. He filmed me writing which made me very nervous. I also wasn’t sure what direction to go in with the letter. My dad and I don’t have a bad relationship, and are pretty close. As I was writing, I was thinking about my what my dad would say if he actually read it, if he heard me read it. A part of me doesn’t want to know. I know he would cry - it would touch a certain point of vulnerability in him that despite it being a positive letter, would feel uncomfortable for the both of us.

He filmed me reading the letter back to him, and then we chatted for a few minutes. He was from LA and will be in Paris this summer, but hopes to try out living in NYC this fall for a few months. I told him he should, because the differentiation in the seasons are good for the ebb and flow of life.

*

Tonight is the Sagittarius full moon. I am a Sagittarius. I feel I am stepping into my power in this next season of life. I’m realeasing the limitations I place on my self and am embracing my fire.

#to be magnetic #manifesation #we’re not really strangers #WNRS #nyc #Washington square park #update #journal