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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

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comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover.

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes.

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation.

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders.

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction.

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you.

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder.

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend.

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly.

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you.

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things.

It all just felt… messy.

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead.

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him.

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth.

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

He’s not sure what to say.

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it.

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving.

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way.

He hates this.

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him.

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said.

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces.

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you.

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand.

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying.

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect.

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him.

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways.

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

You nod, “Yeah.”

May

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement.

You’re really fucking pissed off.

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other.

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last.

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar.

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him.

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you.

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head.

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks.

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions.

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink.

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain.

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you.

You shake your head, “I don’t!”

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink.

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll.

“Don’t say that,” you relent.

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious.

“Nate!” you protest lightly.

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you.

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice.

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him.

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours.

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head.

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see.

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat.

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door.

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar.

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again.

He looks down.

Shit.

Fuck.

It’s a text from you.

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes.

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you.

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you.

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself.

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him.

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too.

But he doubts it.

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos.

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways?

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him.

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly.

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that.

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier.

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds.

Sabbatical.

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break.

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change.

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself.

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter.

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right.

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while.

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back.

You feel lost.

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it.

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter.

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too.

Soon-To-Be Fall

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer.

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late.

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz.

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through.

‘Carmy.’

Carmy is calling you.

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about?

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker.

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little.

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos

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sayafics · 10 months

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Just For A Moment - Part 5

Hello my beautifuls <33

Sorry for the really late update, I have been slammed with family events and have more in a weeks time 💔💔

But I do hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm going to try and update more often before I go MIA for a few days for wedding related stuff (not mine, silly😭)

This is a POV of Aurora's experience after she left and why she came back, enjoyyyy!!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

Masterlist

When Aurora had made the choice to leave the Intelligence department, and then Chicago, she didn't have it in her heart to discard the items that connected her to her life there.

So as days went by, her phone continued to ring and vibrate with a bombardment of messages and calls, one after the other. She didn't have the courage to silence them, nor the anger within her to turn off her phone or throw it out.

Instead, she bought a new one as she watched her phone continue to light up as weeks went by.

She tried not to read the messages, forced herself to avoid the voicemails left for her and soon they began to die down.

As weeks went by, the need for answers from friends and colleagues grew weaker as they accepted the fact she didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to explain herself or talk about the pain she had gone through.

Aurora threw herself into her work, hoping one distraction or the other was enough to pull her mind away from the horrors of her last few weeks in Chicago.

Soon her phone would only ring once a day, every day at ten o'clock. It was Jay, it was always Jay.

A part of her, selfish and greedy, found herself looking forward to those calls - entertaining the idea of picking up and hearing his voice, listening to the sounds of his breaths, seeing if he still felt guilty, seeing if he wanted her the way she found herself still wanting him.

That was the worst part.

After all he had done, there was a part of her that craved Jay - that needed his voice in her ear, his hands on her skin, his praises and his confessions, his love and his pain. There was a part of her which longed for him, that continued to yearn for him even though she had all but ran away from him.

Perhaps that was why she picked up.

It was 11:37pm when the phone rang. Jay's call had come at 10pm and been ignored. Still, he left a voicemail that went unheard, Aurora was too fearful of the pain his voice would cause her that her ache for it wasn't enough to make her want to listen.

No, this call was from Matt Casey, the firefighter she had given her phone number to so they could arrange a time for him to help her with some construction work on her property back in Chicago.

Maybe it was loneliness or perhaps pure desperation, or anger and spite which fuelled her actions, but she picked up at the third ring.

There was silence on both sides, the only sound being light inhales and deep exhales as both parties decided on what to say.

"You picked up."

His voice sounded surprised.

"Hey, Matt."

Her voice was soft, but cautious. She was unsure why Matt Casey of all people would call, but she was also not sure why she had picked up so quickly.

"Hey, Aurora," he sounded relieved at the sound of her voice, "how are you?"

She shrugged, despite the fact he couldn't see her, "better." It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

He didn't need to know she cried herself to sleep every night, that she spent every waking moment thinking about Jay, every lucid breath angry at him, and every calm second grieving what had been lost.

Casey sighed as though he could hear the lies in her words, but chose not to push, "everyone misses you here," he waited a breath, for a response, for a sign of regret she had left or a hint of longing, but nothing.

"Jay misses you."

Aurora inhaled sharply at that, by now she had only been gone just over a month, and the mention of Jay brushed viciously against a raw and gaping wound.

"I'm sorry," his voice was quieter now, speaking his words slower, "Kelly's worried about him. We all are."

"Jay's not my problem," her voice was shaky, but she forced her words out with conviction.

"I know."

There was nothing more to say, "I gotta go, Matt."

"I'll talk to you later."

It wasn't a question, and a part of Aurora was kind of glad for that.

"Bye Matt."

"Bye Aurora."

Their phone calls continued like that for the next few months - Casey would call Aurora every other week, keeping her up to date on things happening, telling her everyone missed her, giving silent encouragements for her to come back to Chicago. And every time, he would try and bring up Jay, to express his worries and the fears of others as Jay wore himself down with guilt and anguish. But every time Aurora would find an excuse to end the call, and pretend Matt had never said anything at all.

Jay's calls still continued, every day like clockwork he would call at ten o'clock, and still Aurora would not answer.

It had all come to a head when her phone rang in the early afternoon. She had finished a gruelling case recently, and had taken to hibernating in her quaint and scarce apartment as she readied herself for weeks under another alias.

The ringtone sang loudly as she stepped towards it, it was too early for it to be Jay, and too soon after the last call for it to be Matt.

Voight.

She thought about not picking up, but Voight wouldn't have called if it wasn't important.

Was it about Jay? Was he okay? Had he been hurt?

She took a calming breath, forcing her hands not to tremble at the troubling thoughts as she answered the call and brought the phone to her ear - "hello?"

"Aurora."

Voight's voice hadn't changed, he still spoke in his baritone rasp, slow and authoritative. A part of her was comforted by it, warming at the sound of a familiar voice she hadn't realised she had been missing.

"Did something happen to him?"

She couldn't help it, couldn't control her fears. It was the first time Voight had called her, and the idea that something bad could have happened to Jay being the reason why gnawed at her.

"He's safe," she let out a sigh of relief, hoping it was quiet enough to be ignored, but a part of Voight perked up at the sound as he continued, hoping his words wouldn't scare her off - "he's struggling though."

"That's not my problem," her voice was a quiet whisper, eyes closing as the words were repeated to her by someone other than Matt.

"I know," he was cautious with his words now, "but that's not why I called."

She was curious now, eyes opening as her brows raised in question, "hm?"

"I got a case."

"And I quit."

Voight sighed at her retort, "as an officer of the CPD. I don't need an officer, I need an undercover agent."

Aurora paused at that, curious as to why Voight would go to all this trouble to ask for her help when there were plenty of experienced undercover operatives within the CPD itself - Jay included.

The truth was, Voight knew someone else could help with the case. But over the years Jay had spent working in Intelligence, he managed to wedge himself into Voight's life with ease. After the death of his son, Voight's reliance on Jay's presence had grown stronger. In some ways, Jay was like a son to him.

So perhaps out of his own form of selfishness or an unprecedented amount of protectiveness, he wanted to help Jay.

Voight could see how Jay was breaking, could see the light fading from his eye as his prayers and pleas went unanswered. He could see the way Jay was losing weight, the way his eyes grew darker with lack of sleep, how he was angrier, and easily tired, how he was in denial and desperate.

He also wasn't in the dark with how Aurora was doing, her father frequently keeping in contact as he spewed his worries about how his daughter was throwing herself into her work, alienating herself from friends and family. Aurora was doing the exact thing she had told her father she wanted to run from. She was losing herself in the lives she lived, working a career that drained her.

Jay and Aurora were both suffering, both exhausted and tired. They both needed each other, but the pain that had been inflicted on them was too much for them to face, and they found it easier to avoid it through their own vices.

Jay's was alcohol, whilst Aurora's was her work.

And the paternal heart of Voight could not bear to hear and see the two torture themselves any longer.

"Why?"

Aurora's question broke him out of his reverie, so he spoke, "why not?"

She groaned in frustration, "Voight, I swear to God. Please. I can't come back."

"You don't want to come back. But I have a case, I need you."

It was true, she didn't want to come back. Fearful of what she would see if she did.

Would Jay have gone to Hailey for comfort? Would they have fallen in love? Was Hailey the one for him? Was Hailey enough for him in a way she wasn't?

They were questions she had forced herself to leave unanswered.

"I'll send you the case file. Have a look, and get back to me," Voight paused, listening to the shallow breaths on the other end of the phone, "the team's not the same without you. Jay isn't either, and I know you aren't. This could be good for you both. Think about it, kid."

Voight ended the call before she could reply, before she could think or before she could say no. She stood there with the phone still pressed to her ear, standing in baited silence even as her laptop pinged with a notification of a new email - the case file.

Still, she stood and thought.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, but soon, she was forced to blink herself back to reality. Her eyes were pulled towards her laptop, already open and waiting for her to investigate.

Aurora probably should have ignored it. She should have gone on about her day and left Voight's request unanswered.

But the agent in her, the officer, and the soldier drilled into her bones forced her to drag her feet towards the device and pull up the files she had been given.

She had a lot of thinking to do, and a very hard decision to make.

***

A few hours had passed since Voight's call, and for the first time in several months Aurora picked up her phone to make a call.

Her finger automatically selected 1, ready to speed dial the one person she was avoiding, simply out of instinct.

She forced her eyes closed as she took laboured breaths, calming herself before she opened her eyes and searched for a specific contact.

Matt.

She liked to think they had become friends during the last few months, and she hoped that he would help her now more than ever. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. A part of her wanted to hear encouragements to come to Chicago, and the other wanted him to warn her never to come back.

She wants him to tell her she should find happiness where she was, but she was afraid she never would.

Matt picked up on the last ring, and the pair spoke for a long time. Aurora was surprised - there were no encouragements nor any hints she should stay away.

Matt focused on what she wanted to do, what she felt was right. The truth is she wasn't sure, but looking over the case, she knew she could do some good.

There was a new gang in Chicago, distributing laced drugs to minority areas, causing children as young as ten to be hospitalised and on the brink of death. Voight wanted her to be the one undercover, to get close to who they thought was in charge, to get a confession, or to find some evidence. Anything to get this gang on its knees, to cut off the head of the serpent from where it was rooted.

The call was heavy, Matt reminding her that she would eventually have to see Jay, possibly even work with him. She didn't think she could do that, she thought her throat would clog and her eyes would water, that her mind would panic and she would run again.

Another part of her thought she would turn a blind eye to his actions for a moment of solace in his arms, even if just for a moment longer.

She was conflicted, she was struggling.

And she knew Matt could sense it, even if he couldn't see her.

"It would be great to have you back in town. I know 81 would be happy, I'm sure CPD would be too."

"Maybe. Doesn't mean it won't be hard."

"Nothing is ever easy, especially not in this line of work."

A bitter laugh escaped her, "not in this life, you mean."

Matt sighed through his nose, a silence emanating through the phone, "don't let this break you."

"What?" The words had been unexpected, causing her to sit straighter as she listened closely.

"What Jay did. Don't let it be what breaks you, don't let it stop you from being happy even if you have to come back here to find it."

Aurora let out a shaky breath. She hadn't thought that way before. She hadn't realised that was what she had been allowing to happen, she had been allowing herself to break whilst she lived in misery, staying away from her friends and from a life she truly enjoyed.

Yes, Jay hurt her in a way that was so damaging that she felt the need to flee. But that didn't mean she couldn't go back, or at least, it didn't mean she couldn't try.

She was still wary of the pain and agony she would face when she had to see him, had to hear his voice and face the possibility that he was happy without her.

But she had to try.

At her silence, Matt prompted further, "I'll be there every step of the way. If you come, and if not, I'll still be here."

Her eyes burned at those words, she watched the lines of their friendship begin to blur as she listened to his words of support.

Matt had been there, had been a listening ear, a helpful advisor, and a beloved friend.

She was not sure if she wanted him to be more, but she knew she appreciated his friendship and his support.

She continued to stay quiet, but Matt was undeterred, "I'll see you soon, Aurora. Goodnight."

He spoke as though he knew what her answer already was, spoke as though he knew she was coming, and he was ready to be there in any way she would have him.

Aurora glanced at the clock, wondering how it was gotten late so quickly.

9:58pm.

Oh.

"Goodnight."

Aurora ended the call, and the seconds ticked by quickly as another call replaced the one she had just ended.

She let it ring, until it went to voicemail.

Only this time, she listened to it. She ignored the rest, piled in her voicemail box, waiting for her attentive ears, and played the one Jay had left only seconds ago.

'Rory,' his voice was scratchy, as though he hadn't spoken for quite a while or hadn't drank water in hours. In truth, Jay's preferred form of hydration now was alcohol, 'I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know what to do.'

Jay's voice grew heavier with tears at every word, guilt weighing him down as he spoke, a debilitating weight began to fester in Aurora's sternum as she listened to his anguish - 'I can't find you. But I need you, please come home.'

Aurora thought it would end there, hoped that his other voicemails were similar babbles of mumbling and slurred apologies from drowning himself with alcohol to hide from his shame. But Jay continued with renewed vigour, his voice light as he reminisced about quiet moments he shared with her, 'we're working on a case. We've almost solved it. I just know it. You would've liked this one. It was a homicide - you always liked those. Said it reminded you of Sherlock Holmes. I read the books you bought me about him, after so long. You were right, I couldn't put them down. I fell asleep on the couch so many times whilst reading, would've missed work if it wasn't for my alarm too,' a strained laugh escapes him.

'I can't go into that room anymore,' her heart sinks as she realises which room he's speaking about, 'not unless I have to. I can't. Not when I know the last person in that room wasn't you. Not when I know I won't be able to sleep without thinking of you. Come back to me,' he spoke with a broken whisper, 'if you're ever ready to have me, ever ready to trust me. Come back home, to me. I'll always wait for you.'

Tears were now streaming down her face, eyes clenched shut as she tried to hold them back, but her shoulders shuddered with stubborn sobs. It was his last words that broke her, that tore down the walls she had placed between herself and her home for so long, that wiped away the distance she had drawn.

'You're enough. You've always been enough. I was just too blind to see it, but I know it now, and I see it now. You're enough.'

There it was. The reply she had been waiting for, all those months ago, out in the open when she had left him to stew in his guilt and misery.

She was enough, but was Jay too late?

***

Aurora tried to tell herself it was Matt's words of encouragement that brought her to this moment. That Matt was why she was here, and that every glance towards the windows and door wasn't in search of him.

She had accepted Voight's offer, unaware of his hidden agenda, and returned to Chicago within the same week.

She had gone to new lengths to avoid the temptation of listening to Jay's voicemails, hiding her phone deep into the depths of a suitcase she left abandoned in the house she had run from all those months ago.

That brought her to this moment now - refamiliarising herself with her surroundings and her friends by making a stop at Molly's. Matt was already waiting for her, with open arms and a hearty smile.

He knew she would come, and he was proud of her for doing so.

He stayed with her the whole time, a protective hand at her back and an ever-present guard at her shoulder as she spoke to old colleagues and faded friends.

But even he did not miss the way her face fell as it tracked a familiar car racing away from Molly's. He didn't miss how she became quieter, more reclusive in the moments which followed.

But he stayed by her side, a compassionate friend ready to help her deal with the brutal emotions that she fought with.

Matt Casey was a good man.

***

Aurora had come into the station the next day, greeted by cheers and welcoming hugs from all who recognised her - even Voight had embraced her tightly, a hug so warm she was left thinking about how long it had been since she had hugged her own father as she relished in the feeling of a heartfelt embrace.

Her presence had been received gracefully by all, except one person - Hailey.

Aurora kept her distance from the woman, not even sparing her a smile as she limited herself to Voight's office and Kim's desk whilst she reacquainted herself.

The desk she used to own still laid bare, but it was clean and tidy - free of any dust, as though it was cared for meticulously, ready for her return should she decide so.

She had passed through the police department several times over the next few days, preparing herself for the operation she would work undercover on. And on every single one of those days, a part of her dreaded seeing Jay whilst another longed to look into his green eyes one more time.

But he hadn't come, and she soon found herself thinking she wouldn't see him at all. That he would avoid her until she left, that all his words in that voicemail were truly drunken rambles, and he didn't mean a word.

She felt stupid, felt naive and desperate for wanting to see the man. For wanting to see his reaction, to see if he would cry, if he would yell, to see if he would embrace her gently or grab her roughly against him, holding her tight as though she'd slip through his fingers like dust.

Aurora wasn't sure what she wanted.

Aurora wasn't sure if she wanted Jay.

Aurora wasn't sure if Jay Halstead was a good man.

But she knew a part of her would always crave him, and the broken pieces of her heart would always search for his.

She knew she wanted to see him.

What do we think?

I hope you guys enjoyed it <33

Also, thank you to everyone who had been commenting, liking, and reblogging this series. I appreciate you all, every like, every comment, and every reblog means the world to me.

Jay and Aurora will meet again in the next chapter, and ofc Hailey will find a way to weasel herself in :/ what do we think their reactions are going to be?👀

#jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #jay halstead angst #jay halstead x hailey upton #hailey upton #hank voight #chicago med #chicago one #chicago #chicago fire #matt casey #matt casey x reader #matt casey x oc

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eric-the-bmo · 1 month

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Blood and Silicon ep19: A Few Stops Before We Go

[Summary: The boys prepare for the road trip to Chicago. Blake has a Moment, while Percy and Leo talk about religion and later fail with impulsivity.] @kentuckycaverats @sanguineasylum @zwoelffarben

CW: Self-harm, brief discussion of suicide (in terms of faking one's death) [yes ik this is a horror game, but im still putting those warnings here] ----

It's around 10:30pm; Blake asks Harrison for an extension of the trip, since Leo might need a while to process and grieve. He bargains for the extension to be a week, since he's had a wild month, and Harrison calls Leo over- Leo, who was busy writing in his notebook for planning what to bring on the trip, walks over, and they ask for his opinion. He agrees it's for the best (though in all honesty, he wouldn't have thought to ask for it by himself). Harrison says Leo's been trying hard; Just get it over with, then have a week to recuperate on the city outskirts. It's not good to linger in Chicago- don't come back there or deal with your mortal family once this is over.

They then discuss the way to fake his death via car crash. ["Well," Leo says. "Considering I have no experience faking my own death, I might need some assistance."] Both Blake and Percy aren't the most experienced with that though (Blake had simply gone missing), and they talk about getting a body double. Leo reveals he's got an eye tattoo on the back of his neck, and it turns out Blake knows some tattoo artists in Chicago (he might also be able to get into contact with someone who can help. Harrison asks if Leo had any issues in life others might know about- Leo admits he had gotten out of a bad relationship and can be kind of impulsive, so they settle on faking a suicide where he drives his car off into the water.

Circling back to the previous topic, Harrison says if they can't figure out how to get a body double in time... he gives them a number to call as a last resort, but if they call it the Camarilla might figure out they're there. Leo's expression changes as he realizes The Camarilla?? Runs his home city???? He takes out a cigarette.

Harrison drives off and Blake and Leo head over to Pauline to update her; she's not going with us, so we exchange goodbyes and "please be safe"s. She tells Leo that faking his death will be for the best, and that she and Blake will be there for him. They part ways; Leo makes a "see you next year" joke.

Blake calls a tired Wes and asks him to get a new phone for him, in the guise of him pretending to need to get a phone for a friend's Christmas gift. Wes agrees. Then Blake breaks his phone due to the whole "Hunters can track us" thing, and calls Nelida on Percy's phone. He tells her, in code, that there's Hunters around and to lay low for a while, stay out of downtown/their territory; she's incredibly confused at first and asks if he can visit later tonight to explain.

["Probably not. I got family to visit up in the warmer area for the holidays; You know how it is." "...What the hell are you talking about."] Blake says they can talk after New Years, and she says he better have a story for him when he gets back. They hang up.

Leo texts his sister that something came up with his plane ticket, so don't worry about picking up from O'Hare, but he'll make it to Christmas dinner. He waits a bit for a response (there isn't one, she's probably asleep), then follows suit in breaking his phone- but it takes him a few tries and he doesn't look cool at all while doing it.

Blake gets his bowie knife back from Leo, and the coterie gets taken back to their places to pack and prepare. Percy pays his rent for January early, packs some things, and thinks about getting another weapon. ["I've got a collapsible hatchet or acollapsible spear you can use," Blake offers. "Oh! That's rather funny, an ancestor of mine used to use spears." Percy says. "I'd be happy to take yours off your hands for a moment."] Leo packs some things as well, notably the presents and his vampire hunting kit- Upon a comment Leo makes about it, Blake is all "stakes don't have to be high-quality, you can also just use a chair-leg" (and Leo is offered by Percy to be taught how to do so). Percy asks if Leo knows how to use a gun- he doesn't, but reasons it'd be useful to learn, so it's agreed to teach him at some point during the roadtrip.

With everyone else taken care of, the coterie is driven to Buck's garage (a touchstone of Blake's) so our resident Gangrel can pack his things. Blake tells the others to not touch anything.

["You can look, you can maybe touch- But you don't take, and you don't leave." "I am not a petty thief, Blake," Percy states, "but of course." Blake looks at Leo- The Malkavian puts his hands in his pockets.]

Blake leaves the garage, puts his bike into a side garage, and heads off into a tunnel system to go back to his haven. -----

With the two other men by themself, Leo asks Percival about the Antediluvians. He learns they're the "apex of each clan," described by an anxious Percy, such as how Caine is the apex of all of them- and Leo, being an atheist, is thrown for a loop & is a bit incredulous over the statement that Cain from The Bible is the first vampire. Percy, in his own way, is all "well hey, we're vampires. Werewolves and warlocks exist. Why not stuff from the bible?" The prayer he did earlier is tied to his belief in Caine; upon Leo asking, he learns Percy was raised Protestant. He also learns Noddism is the study of this origin belief. [Percy: "Some people believe the wildest things [about Noddist lore]." Leo, deadpan: "Yeah, they sure do."]

Leo asks for tips on how to deal with the Camarilla. Percival advises to avoid interaction, and to not buy into any promises they'll try to make. Then Percy asks that if Leo's from Chicago, why didn't he know the Camarilla were there, or even what they are- didn't his sire tell him? Leo doesn't look at him, as always, and says there just wasn't time; He had to leave quickly.

Percy asks if Jeremiah has any affiliations with the Camarilla; Leo doesn't know, & says J might not talk to Percy even if he does manage to find him. The Ventrue says it's fine if Leo is hesitant to speak about his sire- it's fine to be suspicious of others, but don't be too closed off.

["You're never going to get far in this life by yourself." "...Well," Leo shifts his weight. "I'm sure I'll have company somehow."]

With the conversation dying out, Leo digs through his pockets for cigarettes and offers one to Percy. ----

Blake finally gets to his haven, activating one of those wall-mounted singing fish that's up near the entrance- Wes is startled awake from the couch and asks when the fuck Blake got that; about a week ago, Blake responds. He receives a new phone like he requested and fills Wes in on what's going on and what happened tonight as he packs some things- Wes is concerned about the hunters, and Blake implies it's been a while since he's dealt with them and trails off for a moment. Wes also has a fun reaction to finding out the fledgling Blake works with is from Chicago (and Wes says it's nice Blake is helping Leo out with the trip). They both tell each other to stay safe. Wes asks if he needs anything else, so Blake feeds on him a little bit before leaving. He pulls up his hat and hoodie as he leaves.

As Blake heads back through the tunnels, he can't help but think too much about everything going on; things are too similar. He feels almost sick, and leans against the wall with a mind swirling with repetitive memories and thoughts ("He's not here/It doesn't matter"). He activates his fangs and bites into his right arm, hard enough to get a point of aggravated damage. There's a moment of relief; not from the act or sensation of it, but because he did what needed to be done: punishment. He patches it up with a medkit, and makes his way back to the coterie.

---

Meanwhile, Percy is telling Leo that he personally doesn't view Caine as a God like the Church of Caine does. He recounts the story of Zillah to the Malkavian, citing that if Caine was a god, he would have known to not get tricked by the Crone. He belives Caine had this story written to have his childer remember the warnings against embracing for love- which are, as Percy states, that 1) Love withers upon the Embrace, and 2) There is an intrinsic horror in the bond. Leo briefly wonders if there were other loves Caine had, omitted from texts, or if she was the only one. The conversation circles back to Antedilvians as Percy briefly tells Leo a small handful of their supposed names; Saulot and Malkav, for instance. Leo goes back to the Zillah story and asks how Percy chooses to interpret the love withering; Percy states there's an imbalance between humans and Kindred.

["You have to find your own love afterwards." He's fiddling with his ring.]

Blake returns at this point, putting a fake license plate on his car, and leaves a note for Buck. He states he's heading out of town for a bit, so he borrowed some stuff, and he puts the note where he'd be able to see it.

The coterie packs their things into the jeep; Percy gets Kyra's spear as promised, and Leo is surprisingly gifted Kyra's pocket knife. Leo thanks him, but mentions he has no knife experience; he's a bit better with his fists, though, and Percy reveals he was a fairly popular boxer back when he was alive. Leo's a tad impressed. Blake presents Leo with three carved stakes for his hunting kit, and we all get into the car.

We head to a fitness center upon Percy's request, since he's at 3 Hunger, and he asks if anyone would like to come with- he's used to feeding with a pack. Leo offers to keep watch so Blake can stay with the car; he reassures the Gangrel that they can handle it (Percy adds it's a learning experience), and exits the car. Blake pulls Percy to the side before he heads off: ["Now as far as I know, just a heads up: I don't think your types usually hunts in packs."] Percy doesn't say anything about that. ----

Leo goes invisible to follow Percy as the two men eventually get past the front desk and into the gym's locker room; Percy's brought a gym bag as part of his cover. He waits until he finds a guy that matches his preferences (and Leo is impatiently wondering why he hasn't fed yet??)- and he finally finds one. He tells Leo to keep watch, and Leo confirms he heard this by tapping his shoulder. With a bad-ish roll, Percy's future victim sees him head towards his direction. Percy, who gained an extra Hunger along the way, acts as if he's going to open a locker nearby before grabbing him and starting to feed.

Leo soon realizes Percy isn't going to stop, though, and after a few fruitless efforts to get him to stop by tapping his shoulder, he decides the next best course of action is to punch him. Percy whirls around to look at him with frenzied eyes, absolutely more Beast than himself in this moment, and a part of Leo's brain absolutely panics; with a suddenly-awful headache he decks the Ventrue across the head. He does this again and Percy finally pulls away, regains himself, and apologizes for the slight frenzy. He sets his victim down on a bench, calls 911 with the guy's phone, and halfheartedly tosses it next to him. Leo has a million thoughts a minute running through his head over this whole thing, but stays relatively quiet. ["Don't linger on your feelings." Percy's trying to make his hair less disheveled. "You don't have to talk about it to me. Talk about it to Blake if it's going to bother you." Leo makes eye contact, staring daggers at him before looking away. "Let's just get out of here, yeah? We've been in here long enough." He turns invisible to sneak back out again.] ---

Blake is hanging up a call and sees them return: Percy is disheveled, and Leo looks shaken and kinda upset. He's tapping his fingers a lot. Blake asks what happened as the two of them get in the car, and Percy says they can talk while he drives. Blake is Concerned and turns on the car, muttering how he knew he had a bad feeling about letting those two head off, but nooo, no one listens to him.

[Percy finally speaks up. "If Mr Leo isn't going to tell you," He says, "I will for the sake of transparency. My Beast took the better of me; I took a little more tha-" "Ahbupbup- I thought we were gonna talk about it on the road!!" Blake peels out of the parking lot as Don't Fear the Reaper plays from the radio. "Let's make some headway!"]

Notes/Commentary:

WAgh ty Harrison for the extra week for Leo to grieve aaaugh

Leo canonically will Only use emojis if the person he's texting also uses them. His text to his sister had a little christmas tree emoji <3

We packed so much stuff....

LEO WITH GUN LEO WITH GUN HAPPENING SOON! Surely nothing bad will happen because of this. We're gonna get a Leo training montage probably /silly

BLAKE LORE??? CRUMBS OF BLAKE LORE???

I Cannot stress enough how good the tunnel/arm moment was. His player did an AMAZING job describing it all im Obsessed

Percy mispronounces Saulot since he's only ever read it btw, that's such a nice detail

Props to Percy for quoting the Book of Nod?? hello??

Love how Leo had a knife but decided to hit Percy instead. Ultimate Panic Mode said "taking out the knife is too many steps. Punch him" /lh

The locker room scene is also making me Insane btw, yall have no idea. There was also a huge vibe dissonance bc Life is a Highway was playing in the background.

Props to Leo for actively making eye contact, lets go king

This road trip is gonna be TENSE at first lmao, leo continues to go through The Horrors <3

#i actually had a lot of fun this session! I hope i can keep it up for next time! <3 #eric finally speaks #blood and sliicon #vtm chronicle #Leo West

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maramirror11 · 7 months

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Neon Wings

These are just my thoughts on this AMAZING series and I don't have someone to dump this so here we go.

Spoiler warning for both The Neon Barbarian and Neon Wings.

I've never done this and English grammar isn't my strong point.

I wasn't expecting a sequel for TNB. But the world was too interesting to not make more. So, I was surprised that NW went in a different direction. It's Raven's story and it SHOWS.

I love how the audience is able to witness Raven's past and compare it with the present.

I enjoy making the backstories of Listeners based on the little information we have. However, it feels different to just hear about their past from BE THERE to understand what they went through.

Because for me the two series are one big story. Of course, you can see one and not the other. Still, it hits different when you see both.

I like the idea of Crow not going back. It'll defeat the purpose of the story. (Don't get me wrong I LOVE CROW, I MISS HIM). Yet, if he comes back, it'll be awkward since Raven is different. Time has moved on and he will be stuck in the past again.

For me, Raven changes from being someone open to knowing new people to becoming this person with emotional walls. In both she's still kind and a badass, but it's different.

It took her TWO days to give Ivan the pie unlike with Crow that it took a few hours to invite him to her house.

One of my favorite parts of this series were the moments Raven had a panic attack. Sure, almost every video has loud banging or shooting noises.

But with these ones, you can FEEL how UNCOMFORTABLE she is. How there is nowhere to run, no way to get the sound quiet down. How the sirens and shooting noises never left her head as she just stayed there, incapable to do something.

The way music is used is another favorite part. Out of Touch means so much for her, both good and bad. I forgot the music was playing WHILE Crow was being shot.

That's why in her nightmare, after Ivan gets shot, it sounds a distorted version. It's the story repenting itself all over again.

Just for her to claim the song while they fight against Luke. Love the detail. The final song Chicago was *chef kiss*. It's a new song for a new life and it fits PERFECTLY.

ALSO, THE FIGHTING AND SOLO SCENES OMGGG. You KNOW what Raven does and what they do to her, from hand to hand combat to guns.

Also, there are many scenes where she doesn't interact with anyone and still understand what happened. Like when she goes back home from the incident and just drops to her couch/bed.

Lemme talk about Ivan. I was surprised with Ivan's attitude. He is always calm and never actually cursed. I thought that his reaction to Raven's old job was something he was OK with but couldn't participate.

He's so kind with everyone and his struggle NOT TO drop facts about the things he likes is relatable. HE'S SO AFFECTIONATE WITH RAVEN AND PALOMA, I LOVE HIM.

At the end, he curses and gives effective strategies to kill the other mercenaries. On top of that, he ended up shooting someone, so I think I didn’t give Ivan enough credit.

The fact that he has a kind heart, doesn't mean he's not brave enough to protect the ones he cares about. They became The Power Couple. Relationship Goals indeed.

It was a hard task to give Raven another love interest since Crow is so loved by the fans. And I admit it was handled very well. For both Crow and Michelle.

I appreciate how Michelle is not a competition. For me, she had the right to be upset at the beginning. It was a dangerous and new situation. She just wanted to protect her family.

Probably Ivan talked to her and explained the situation better, since Michelle doesn't blame Raven again at the end.

My question right now is, WHY Raven took Ivan with her??? He can't run and doesn't have that much experience in combat.

Maybe they felt safe with each other. I mean, Raven IS a mercenary and fought 3 armed guys alone. Also, why was she so open to listen to Luke? He knows most about Para M and would benefit from her death. I still need to give it more thought.

There are still some things that kept me thinking about the other stuff that weren't shown. One is that Danny is never brought up again. I understand that she was not as important as Crow in the story but STILL.

She died saving her identity from Louis and now Raven takes care of her cat. I just wonder if Danny was for Raven, another victim of the circumstances or they were friends.

Also, the disaster that created the super genits (i'm sorry if I wrote it wrong) is never brought up again. But I think it's because it takes place far away from the original incident. Something that is never stated as well, are Danny and Crow buried somewhere?.

Lastly, I always keep this writing advice in mind. Characters of a story can't be the same at the beginning and at the end. The scene that brought me that thought was when Raven got shot. I'm pretty sure she couldn't hear Crow's words before this moment.

Seeing him one last time and being in the situation she wanted for so long, it shows how much she grew. Raven from the beginning would've accepted to die.

But she couldn't, there was something worth living for. Raven had her closure with her past and now it's ready for the future. IT MADE ME EMOTIONAL 😭.

Now Raven can live her life again the way she wants. She leaves her old name and life behind. Not seeing the next sunrise but to enjoy it as well.

It's like those stories even if you get spoilers, it's not the same as experience it.

That's all.

#escapedaudios #escaped audios #hits a sensitive spot to me #neon wings #the neon barbarian #I forgot to add this #Does Raven still have Crow's tapes?#Raven became the fandom wife #There was a lot of effort and care in this story #From the VAs performance to the editing #Any story that touches on the idea of finding joy for the future hits a sensitive spot to me #el Escapado se pasó #él se levantó un día y eligió la violencia #como hace prácticamente todos los días

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sade-alicious · 2 years

Text

summer reading list except byler edition (all AO3) - im still reading new fics btw so there’ll be updates on this post (updated 10/22)

——————

a dream always the same

Mike learns more about himself in four months than he has in fourteen years and comes to realise that he's fallen in love with his best friend.

A four part historically accurate coming of age story set between July and October 1985.

this one is my number one, its set between the battle of starcourt and when the byers move away, its from mikes pov and not short of amazingly written, it includes all of the canon events in the show towards the end of the s3 finale but manages to tie them in really well, absolutely read this

——————

over a bridge of time

Hawkins isn't the same without Will. So Mike goes to visit him in Chicago.

Set during Thanksgiving in November 1985.

this is a sequel to adats, same thing goes for this work, but be warned, this is the second (but not last) completed work in a series, so its gonna end on a cliffhanger/unresolved problems like the first fic

——————

the red envelope

Will writes a letter to Mike, confessing everything. Unknowingly and stupidly, he lets Mike take the envelope home, forgetting just the amount of secrets inside. At the end of the letter he tells Mike to meet him at Castle Byers Saturday at two, to tell him yes or no. Because of course Will had to ask for Mike to be his boyfriend at the end of the letter. So now Will has two choices, somehow get the letter back, or wait at Castle Byers praying for a miracle?

this one is good, it has an interesting concept and was “will they or wont they?” for me. u can read the sequel, but i really dont like because 1. smut (ew, but dont worry only the sequel has it) 2. it follows a will byers has powers trope, and i dont care for it

——————

touch like velvet

It was easy for Will Byers to fall in love with Mike Wheeler.

The trouble came when he had to pretend it wasn't real.

this one is an au of will and mike not meeting until they’re 17, there is no upside down and el isnt a lab experiment but instead a normal person. will still has the rest of the party, but its sort of split in two. will, lucas, and dustin are all bsfs, and el and max are gfs who are coworkers/friends with mike. this one i truly recommend so so much. its a lengthy slowburn, but it is unfinished and updates slow

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im tearing you asunder

The world ends, and then some. Mike and Will find each other again, amidst the debris and distance.

someone made AMAZING fanart based off of this which ill link here. but anyways this ones really nice, mike isnt an asshole and actually treats will like a friend. its a lead off of the s4 finale and ive been obsessed with those fanfics rn. (if you have any recs please comment them🙏)

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kiss it better

Mike and Will, through the years and in between the lines of friendship and something more.

i LOVE young mike and will and this one has plenty. it has byler scenarios over the course of their friendship from 5 to 18 which shows their relationship evolving the years. its a great concept in it of itself. but yeah, please read this one

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let me lead

this one just has a snippet of the fic so ill try to explain. basically this is a lead off of s4, so pretty much everyone thinks this is their last night alive, and to which mike says “screw it” and invites will over and confronts him about some things

so for my opinion, they wrote it in a scenario like, if i dont say what i think/feel now…when will i? which is great because it helps move things along quickly, so its not exactly a slowburn but they write everything in just under 6k words from el breaking up with mike, to an angsty fight, to byler confessing in a way that doesnt feel rushed

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pictures of you

Will is the last one left at Mike's house after a day playing DnD.

Mike brings out an old box, full of memories of their past.

ugh this one is short but its so good. it does a lot in under 3k words and is a great byler first kiss scenario

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a game of truths

Mike and Will play a game of truths.

this one is amazing, like the rest of the fanfics ive listed. its one of the more byler centric ones. most of it is just mike and will talking and having their moments. its really cute (esp with young mike and will) and does byler justice without writing two long paragraphs of them just making out.

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8/14/22

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where is my mind?

On November 6th, 1985, Will Byers crashed his bicycle while riding home from the Wheeler household, damaging his head and waking up two days later with no recollection of who he was.

Plagued with the absence of his memories and a dark haired boy who refuses to tell Will his name, all Will Byers has to do is remember. That's the hard part.

this is by the same author that wrote “touch like velvet” and they’re a GENIUS. this one like the other fic, its an au aside from the upside down where will just suffers from memory loss instead of getting kidnapped and everything, but its really cute because its like no matter what will and mike still love each other

——————

static re-connection

A miles-apart, oblivious mutual pining, emotional summer vacation disaster-fest starring Mike, Will, and one incredibly unreliable radio connection.

miscommunication trope at its FINEST. once the angst started it hurt, the confession is great and we get plenty of mike and nancy sibling moments👍

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i never find out ‘til i’m head over heels

Wherein Mike believes he’s being obvious, Will doesn’t know what he believes, and the pair of them could use a lesson or two in effective communication. Somehow all of this has both nothing and everything to do with five years' worth of school dances.

this ones great but also kind of funny because will’s being the oblivious one instead of mike. its light angst btw so u dont have to worry abt your heart being ripped out of your chest.

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10/13/22

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head over heels

On their way to Hawkins, the group decides to stay at a motel for the night.

Mike and Will get a moment alone to talk.

i was praying for more byler scenes in volume 2 whether be at a gas station, motel, or literally anywhere else so this fanfic gave us what we deserved, but yea its really cute def recommend !!

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undertow

Will has never had his first kiss. Mike is happy to lend a hand

as you can tell its gonna be a mike teaching will how to kiss and those are always cute even tho ive only read two successful versions of this scenario. also madwheeler🫶🫶 its really fluffy and cute at the end so this was also a good 3am read

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force of gravity

Will loved ordinary things, an uneventful existence was something he craved. Sadly, when Mike Wheeler walks into his life, Will’s easy going path snaps right in half. A passion he could never imagine overtaking his whole being.

It was too bad their friend groups hated each other and his sister had a huge crush on the musician. Off limits.

Fantastic.

you already KNOW i had to include this one, its too good not too. and you probably already heard of this if not read it bc its like the most popular fanfic among the byler ship/fandom (it might as well be a fandom at this point) right now. but yea the amount of times when i thought they were gonna have a normal conversation but then start argueing is INSANE. hella angst. fluff if you look past the bucket loads of angst and just GO READ IT IF YOU HAVENT

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10/22/22

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to hell and back again

After Mike unwittingly stumbles into a series of interpersonal bombshells, he immediately sets out to find Will so he can find out what, exactly, that painting meant, and why Will lied about it. Unfortunately, Mike is obsessively obstinate and relentless to a fault, and he'll go to the literal ends of the earth to get the answers he needs.

Or: Mike and Will's Apocalypse Romcom Spectacular

this one is actually super underrated and i havent seen many people talking abt it, and the author has been updating the fic recently too. but ANYWAYS im on chapter 11 rn and its really giving apocalypse byler, what we’ve ALL been praying for for season 5🙏 but other than that its really good so far but OML MIKE NEEDS TO GET HIS PRIORITIES STRAIGHT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THINGS GOOD HE IS SO DOWN BAD ITS LAUGHABLE

#byler fic #byler fic rec #byler

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cryptidsnackpack · 2 years

Text

Wanna Go to Prom?

Robin x Fem!Reader, Reader is Bi. Fluff.

“Hey Robin, mind braiding my hair?” You plopped down heavily on her striped duvet. Robin looked up from her open History book. With a wry grin she grabbed the yellow scrunchie from your outstretched palm.

“You know I suck at this. Don’t you want someone who can like- you know actually braid, or French braid or-”

“I like the way you do it. It makes it lucky.” She let out a huff, but dutifully began brushing and sectioning out your hair. It was true that Robin’s braids were pretty horrendous, but you loved the intimacy of the act. Feeling her fingers thread through your hair, hearing her hum to herself. Today it was “Lovergirl”. Fitting.

It had taken you a long time to piece together the feelings you harbored for your best friend. You’d had plenty of crushes on girls in the past, but it taken some open and honest soul searching to realize that’s what they were.

You would have never acted on those crushes. Hawkins was small and the idea of trying to explain that you were bisexual was unthinkable. Not to Robin though. You knew she’d understand, she’d come out to you a year ago. She hadn’t cried, but you saw her eyes well up when you hugged her after.

“Wanna go to prom with me?” The words tumbled out of your mouth. Her fingers stopped their work, and she gave you a questioning look in the full length mirror attached to her closet door.

“Unless you have someone. It’s okay if you do… I just thought. You know it’s our last prom and I want to spend it with someone I love.” Oops. Maybe she’d think- friend love? Yeah. You and Robin had said I love you before. Usually, it was during a life and death experience involving Russian spies and interdimensional beings but. Like you’ve said it before.

Except Robin knew you. Knew you better than anyone. She saw your wide fearful eyes in the mirror, grabbed you by your shoulders, and slowly turned you to face her.

“To prom? Like, a date date?” Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. Steve’s voice popped into your head, “nothing to it but to do it”. You grabbed her hands. Warm, little chapped, smudged with ink.

“Like. I want to buy you a corsage that you’ll pretend to hate. I want to take you to Enzo’s. I want you to stare at the menu for thirty minutes, unsure of what you want. And no matter what you get you’re going to eat half of mine anyway because, “it looks better”. I want to see you in a pretty dress that you’ll complain about the whole time. I want to see you dance, terribly, because I love you but God you can’t dance.” Robin’s eyes were big and glassy, her grip on your hands tight. Her bottom lip wobbling. You continued.

“I want to sing Chicago songs to you on the drive home, even though you say you hate them. I want to come home and make a blanket fort. I want to kiss you goodnight and wake up to you the next morning.”

Seconds stretched out before you. Then there was a flurry of movement. Robin wrapped her wiry arms around your neck and kissed you with such force you were flung backwards onto the floor. You wrapped your legs around her instinctively.

She pushed off you abruptly, straddling your lap with wild hair. Mouth open, trying to form words.

“You-” she pointed an accusing finger. “How long-”

“For a while. There just never seemed to be a “good” time to tell you. So, I finally realized a good time didn’t exist. Does this mean you’ll go to prom with me?”

“You” she cupped your face gently, a small laugh dances from her lips to yours. “Are an idiot. Of course, I’ll go to prom with you. Except-” she pulled away from the kiss.

“Except I don’t want pink carnations for the corsage because they kind of make me think of funerals and-” You kissed her fiercely.

“I promise, no carnations.”

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #stranger things #robin buckley x fem!reader

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badwritinghabit · 10 months

Text

Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Ao3

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, Carmy panicking

Word Count: 2,501

Summary: Sophie and Sydney bond over dealing with Carmy's bullshit. And Sophie and Carmy get close in the kitchen.

Sophie started building a friendship with Sydney, the sous chef in Carmy’s kitchen. Their short time cooking together at The Beef acted as an introduction and when Sophie ran into Sydney at a farmer’s market, they reconnected and ended up spending the afternoon together. They wandered the market and eventually decided to chat over coffee and pastries at a coffee shop nearby.

The two bonded over their experiences in restaurants, exchanging stories. Sophie learned about Sydney’s catering experience and her time in culinary school. Sophie shared about her time in San Diego, how she missed California but had to admit Chicago had its own charm.

Sydney updated her about the restaurant. Carmy and the crew at The Beef had found money Mikey was hiding in cans of tomatoes. And they were planning to rebuild into an entirely new fine dining spot, with a window to keep hold of their roots and still sell their famous sandwiches.

Sophie was happy for them. Carmy had talked about his dream to help Mikey turn the restaurant into the Bear for so long. Syd was also excited to be working in a restaurant more fitting of her experience. She deserved the role of CDC and Sophie was thrilled for her.

“I needed this,” Sydney sighed into her coffee mug, looking at Sophie after she vented some of her frustrations. “Carmy is driving me insane.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s been even more unresponsive lately. And I know after his brother– I mean, I can’t imagine.” Sydney had quieted. “Tina was telling me how close they were. How Mikey had been a little unstable but no one ever expected–” she trailed off and Sophie went cold.

“Richie told me he had passed but I didn’t realize.. he- Mikey killed himself?” Sophie asked, feeling her heart start to race.

“You didn’t know? Oh shit. I assumed since you and Carmy were friends you must’ve– it was all over the internet too. With the Beef. There was a couple articles. And Carmy being Carmy…” Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, feeling guilty for spilling something she worried she shouldn’t have.

“No it’s okay, Syd. Carmy and I hadn’t really talked since he went to work at Noma. And I hadn’t really kept up with his career,” Sophie regretted not trying harder to keep track of where he had ended up.

“It’s hard because I know it explains some of this. I can’t blame him. But also, this is my future too. I can’t risk my career if he isn’t all in. And he keeps leaving me hanging.”

“You are absolutely right. Even if he has a reason it doesn’t make it okay for him to abandon you,” Sophie agreed, head still spinning with the news of Mikey’s suicide. “Damn, sorry Syd. I wish I could help. I don’t think me talking to him would be any help though.”

“Did something happen between you? It seemed like you two were talking and now you’re avoiding each other,” Syd said, leaving it open for Sophie to respond.

“It’s a long story. We had a bit of a disagreement,” she paused. “But I wish I knew about Mikey. My dad– uh. My dad also took his own life. A few years before I met Carmy actually. So I know what it’s like,” she said, softly. “Should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He has other things on his mind,” she explained.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sophie,” Syd was instantly sympathetic and Sophie nodded. “I’m sure you and Carmy will work it out,” Syd smiled at her encouragingly.

Sophie hoped she was right.

---

It seemed as though Sydney must’ve said something, done some urging, because Carmy called Sophie a few days after they spoke. He asked her to visit, to come see what they were doing with the new restaurant. And to discuss their decor decisions. He said she had the better eye for art and design. She disagreed, Carmy was one of the most detail oriented people she’d ever met. But she did enjoy it and it was a good excuse to put what happened behind them.

Her visit was fairly short and Carmy was quiet, as usual. She learned a little about the stress of kitchen prep, getting all of the permits, making sure the new space was up to code. She met Carmy’s sister Sugar and offered her help where she could.

She still felt a little awkward around him, a little annoyed at him and herself. But she wanted Carmy’s restaurant to be successful. He deserved it.

She left before they could ever interact without Sydney or Sugar also there.

---

Weeks later, Sophie received a call. Carmy’s voice sounded through her phone. “Soph. I– I know this is sudden. But I have an idea for a dish and I was hoping I could cook it for you.”

“A new dish for the menu?” she asked, confused.

“Yes. I had this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. Could I come over? I want you to try it.”

“Oh– of course, Carm. Tonight?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” he sounded unsure. As if he just realized he was making a strange request.

“Yeah. That would be fine. You can come over whenever.”

Carmy called when he got to the front door and she found him outside, looking slightly flustered, holding a giant bag of groceries. She grinned at him and led him upstairs.

“I won’t get in your way but let me know if you need help. Or a taste tester,” she said. She walked back to sit on the couch and tried to work a little on her laptop.

Something about the sounds of Carmy cooking in her apartment made her feel at peace. Like all of the nights in New York, shuffling around in her tiny apartment, cooking into the early hours of the morning. She missed it. The comfort of just having him around. Eventually she stopped pretending to work and found herself just looking over at him while he cooked.

“This feels a lot like New York, doesn’t it?” he asked, as if he could feel her attention on him.

“I was just thinking about that”, she admitted, walking over and leaning against her kitchen island to get a better view of his cooking. She hummed. “Do you remember that night we made those god awful ginger prawns?”

Carmy laughed, loudly, caught by surprise. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“My roommates were so mad. Our apartment smelled terrible for a week.” She shook her head with a grin.

“This smells amazing though. Almost like–” She stopped for a second when she saw the chicken and herbs in the cast iron skillet on her stove. “Chicken Paillard?”

“It is. A little bit of a twist. Because you used to be obsessed with potatoes. And bacon lardons.”

“This is like our lazy sunday dish.” She was astonished. “But French.”

“A little French. A little Danish. Mostly just– our dish. It’s what I want the Bear to be. All of the things I love.” Sophie blushed at the softness in his voice.

He had started plating it, his hands sure as he placed the chicken over the salad of greens, roasted veggies, and crisped polenta– alongside the small caramelized potatoes. An herb and lemon scented pan sauce carefully poured over the top. He turned and handed it to her.

She bit her lip but took the plate and looked it over. Devouring the details, the mix of colors, the golden potatoes and the bright greens and the crispy, browned chicken. She took a bite.

“It’s amazing,” she said, knowing she was blushing. After another moment of thought, she looked up at Carmy with wide eyes. “I remember these potatoes. The Danish recipe.” He had cooked them for her the night he told her he was applying to Noma. She remembered so clearly sitting and watching him cook for her. Sad about his possible departure but happy for him. He was so excited. And he deserved good things.

This dish was all of it. It was New York. It was them, sitting in the kitchen at 2am laughing over complete nonsense because they were so exhausted they had become giddy. All of the quiet joy they had found amidst the chaos. She took another bite. Then she slid the plate over to him. He reached over and took a bite as well, looking at it thoughtfully. “You’re too talented for your own good,” she said, voice too intense for what she meant as a way to play off how much it meant to her. For him to make this dish.

He smiled at her, his own cheeks flaring pink. “I’ve been so fucking lost. Making the menu for The Bear. Syd has helped a lot but we’re both just taking swings wildly, trying to make something memorable. But for some reason this afternoon I couldn’t get our chicken dish out of my head. And I wanted to make something that felt like that. I wanted it to feel like your kitchen in New York.”

Her heart pounded. She was getting caught up in him again. She didn’t want to mess it up. She knew what he was going through. With Mikey. Didn’t want to make things worse for him.

“It’s perfect,” she blinked and looked away, trying to cut the tension. “But you improving on our dish feels a little like that terrible Bobby Flay show,” Sophie joked, lightly. He huffed out a laugh before looking at her with his unbelievably emotional eyes. “I think this is my new favorite dish,” she said, thoughtfully. His eyes lit up and she decided to tell him just how much she loved his cooking– had always loved his cooking. “For years my favorite has been that veal saltimbocca you made for us on our last night in New York,” she admitted quietly, hoping he didn’t feel odd about her obsession with his food.

“That was your favorite?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Are you kidding me? It was simple but perfect. Back to basics, that’s what we talked about back then, remember? I was so annoyed with fine dining then, turning everything into foam. I feel like that conversation, that dish changed my career. It has stuck with me ever since.” She realized she had rambled, gotten too passionate, and bit her lip.

Carmy had stepped closer to her. “That day– those dolma you made? I tried for months to get that recipe right,” he said to her, eyes burning into hers. She felt the air leave her lungs. It had changed– the energy between them. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, nervous. “And those caneles– I get a canele every time I see it on a menu now.”

She blushed, feeling nervous energy shoot up her spine as he stood in front of her, hands on either side of her hips against the counter. “I remember wanting to make something so you wouldn’t forget me when you were off traveling the world,” she responded softly.

He was standing so very close and shifted even closer, she moved slightly, making space between her legs so that they were on either side of his hips. Her heart pounded. He moved his hands and the feeling of his palms on her thighs burned through her jeans. “It worked.” It was a whisper.

And then his lips were on hers, the taste of lemon and smoke still on his tongue from the dish. He was soft and gentle, hands unmoving on the outside of her thighs. But she wanted more. She lifted her hand and tangled it into his hair.

Her thoughts had found her here numerous times before but none of it compared to the reality. The feel of his lips against hers. His hands as they smoothed up from her thighs to her hips, pulling her against him. His hand traveled up the curve of her back and cupped the back of her neck, fingers entwined in her hair. She was burning, every inch of her he touched suddenly alight.

And then it was over.

He pulled back and she found herself looking into his eyes. Something had changed. He was pulling away again.

“Wait.” He stepped back and pushed a hand to his forehead. “Shit, I shouldn’t have.” He was panicking, eyes wide. Gripping his hair, he turned and cursed to himself.

She reached out to him, still breathless. Her brain struggled to catch up but something kicked in, seeing Carmy’s clear distress. “Carm, it’s okay. I know you are about to start a restaurant. Not a good time to make things complicated,” she said, quickly changing to comforting mode. She was still thrown for a loop, her lips and fingertips tingling from the kiss. But she was worried about him. “It’s fine,” she said, again. Trying to mollify whatever feelings he was having. Remembering what she learned about Mikey. Knowing he must be so fucking exhausted with it all. She didn’t want to be another problem.

“No.” He shook his head, hands running through his hair. “Fuck. I ran into Claire. From high school.” She recognized the name, of course. The two had talked about their childhoods and she came up. “We ran into each other and then I helped her move some furniture. And she took me to a party.” He had let go of his hair and it fell across his face. He looked disheveled and broken and apologetic. She realized what was happening. He was choosing Claire. Then why did he kiss her?

Her heart raced. Shame burning the pit of her stomach. But she forced herself to respond. The embarrassment and hurt could come later. “Oh that– that’s good, right?” She asked, her voice sounding much more clear and confident than she expected, even with the stutter. “I know what she meant to you,” she said when he remained silent.

Why did you kiss me? She wanted to ask. Wanted to rewind and have him take it back. It wasn’t fair to do this to her. Make a dish for her. For them. Kiss her. Then say he was with someone else.

“I’m–fuck.” His hands were shaking. “Fuck I’m so sorry, Soph.” He walked over to the table and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going.” And he ran out the door.

She stood there in the kitchen as he left. Eventually she turned to look at the plate of food. Their relationship on a plate. Their hopes and dreams as young chefs. The little safe friendship they had built. She grabbed the plate and threw it into the trash.

She felt tears streaming down her face before she realized she had started crying. She walked over to her couch, grabbed her cellphone from the table, and called Mallary.

“Hello?” her sister’s voice answered almost immediately.

“Mal,” Sophie’s voice wavered, a sob escaping before she could help it.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“He kissed me.”

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audio-luddite · 3 months

Text

Pure Digital versus Pure Analog

From where I sit they can both be pretty good.

Right now I have a TELARC CD spinning. It is pure FN digital. Recorded in 1980 in Atlanta Georgia on a Sound Stream digital tape system. (16 bit 50 kHz! oh dear not CD rebook) The insert says no compression, no limiting, no equalization. How much more pure do you want?

It is my Carmina Burana disc. Chorus and Orchestra doing big music. I hear nothing wrong with it. The treble is way past what my old ears can detect. The Bass is seismic. And yes the ARC Cl60 is on duty so the drums have great texture and I cannot explain how great a chorus of human voices sound.

It would only be better if I understood Latin and Old German from the 12 Century. Then the songs about bad luck, lost love, and not getting the girl while getting drunk would be so in tune with the 20th century experience. (that was my century). I imagine the 21st century aint that different.

The sound is splayed across my wall. Some feels outside the angle of the speakers, but most is stretched clearly between the geometry of their location. It has height which is weird but it is an amazing illusion.

I got no complaints. Well maybe too many mikes so the mix was tricky. The venue space is "complicated".

I think from outside adhering to the dogma of pure this or pure that puts a frame of reference that people will use to throw cold water on the experience of great art. Wow that drum was HUGE.

I will be following this with a pure analog recording. I got lots of those. Where infinite resolution and purity of an analog signal falls down is limiting and equalization. We shall see. They are different.

Analog actually has infinite resolution you know. If the recording is simple you get intimacy. If it is not well other stuff.

Next up Jazz.

Ok a different purity. Organic? Forgive me in that I have had enough wine to not be a legal motor vehicle operator. But I get a real nice feeling with this one. Jazz at the Pawn shop. From the age before digital. Nagra IV tape decks with a simple mix and just let run. There is no info on mastering or equalization but it is acknowledged as a good one.

The space is good. And yes there is clinking of glasses and silverware. Really cool and natural details. Good? Yes! The music is fine and for purists the performance is not up to New York or Chicago, but damn this is Sweden people!

That vibraphone is spooky.

If I had access to 96kHz DSD I could say bits slay, but I don't. My analog front end is much better than my CD player, but hey to each their own. Oh and I have each.

The main thing is the music.

#audiophile #high end audio #audioblr #cheap audiophile #turntables #audio technica #Telarc Digital

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gummybugg · 5 months

Note

hello! i really like character making and character design :]

i'm wondering if there's anything in particular that inspires you. and who/what jumpstarted you into creating your own characters and stories

-🌈

(This one's gonna be a bit all over the place, sorry about that I got a bit excited)

So hi! I really love character creation, it's one of my favorite things to do :')

i'm wondering if there's anything in particular that inspires you

Music like the Beatles, ELO, Queen, Will Wood, indie, punk rock, and really whatever I get when I hit an interesting recommendation (I'm eclectic)

Video games: Persona series, Fallout, Hypnospace Outlaw, Undertale, Sally Face, umm also indie horror games are generally where it's at for me

Jojo's bizarre adventure, one punch man, neon genesis

I was a theater kid at some point and am inspired by Chicago, Cabaret, Cats, Rock of Ages, and Rocky Horror for their wackiness/vibes

Webtoons/comics: Paperteeth!, After Dark, I'm the Grim Reaper, Lovebot, Space Boy, Solid State, The Prince of Southland, Yuna and Kawachan, Electric Bones...

Besides media, I am inspired by people I interact with (which can help me build character relationships) and qualities I pull from the inside. Also, I have had a strong interest in psychology for a long time, so my stories are very character-centered. I also like throwing in a funny edge to most things I create because I don't like being serious 100% of the time. I like to experiment with irony a lot, as you do.

I'm inspired by ideas I wish people talked more about, what'd I liked to have seen as a child, untraditionally beautiful characters, wacky characters, and characters flaunting who they are because they're proud to be themselves. I love unfixable characters who learn to find worth, characters who are overly complex, characters who fall from grace, blah blah blah. Or sometimes I just write characters for fun and with no real motive, who gain a purpose later on by chance. But not all stories need lessons or purposes or morals or whatever. Some things are more fun when they're just existing because they can. I feel like my wip Crater City is like somewhere in between having a purpose and having none at all.

Other things that help inspire oc: drawing them with random art generators, scrapbooking their very own page, filling out oc interviews, participating in writeblr events/games, spending a whole day listening to their playlist, forcing myself to write one scene with them in it, pinterest-ing, creating a blog/journal/site about them, etc.

who/what jumpstarted you into creating your own characters and stories

I started writing as a small child and would create illustrated "stories" based on real events that happened in my life but lowkey exaggerate them because I was like 6, hehe. Or play with barbies or legos or whatever and that's its own thing right there. Then I moved on to big boy things like writing in notebooks about girls with horribly made up names that mysteriously resembled Disney princesses' names because I'm bad at naming things (see: my webkinz pet named "the blue whale").

I'm not sure what jumpstarted character creation for me, I guess it was always this ✨️💕thing inside me all along 💕✨️. I think it was because I was a quiet child and kept to myself, which meant a few friends and a lot of introspection at a young age. But I was/am inspired by things all around me. Things that make me feel nostalgic, bittersweet, or whatever other emotion that's hard for me to explain because emotions are weird for me.

As a child, I created ocs based on who I wanted to be more like. Ex: an outgoing hero with bold hair, a strong anti-hero with a bit of edge, an adventurous hero who easily befriends others, etc, etc.

As a teen, I created ocs fueled by spite ("I can make better ocs than half of you seasoned authors even if I'm just a kid") and also my knowledge of the dsm-5. I think I was inspired most by my trauma, so yeah, that'll do it to you. I still dig deep down for some inspo from my Deep Dark Past™, which has helped me understand myself and ocs better, who would have guessed? But this doesn't exempt me from research.

As an adult I am motivated to write because of the impending doom that we all die some day so I better wrap it up before something happens to me and I lose my ability to write by some chance I'm out of college and I have my whole life ahead of me and have no more boring essays tying me down :'DD

#thanks for the ask!#writeblr #writing #creative writing #writing things #writing community #i think thats everything #i had to rewrite this many times #because of how off track i kept going

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leslie-lyman · 2 years

Note

Les! I just saw your call for asks! (I literally am the worst at being a human these days). How was your trip? How was the flight?

It got me thinking about Pero and Tess. We know they travel together but what is like the first time Pero gets on an airplane? Is he fascinated or horrified? Does Tess explain the mile high club to him? Does he enjoy the terrible snacks?

I love you, you fabulous beautiful kind human 🖤

Caaaaaaaaaaaat ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

My trip was excellent!! Completely exhausting, but I’m so glad I went even though I was so anxious about it. AND I got to spend a day at Tokyo DisneySea, so that made everything worth it.

We also went out one night for drinks in Golden Gai, which is this TINY area of about three alleyways in the Shinjuku neighborhood of Tokyo that somehow survived the bombings in WWII and so is an amazing time capsule of pre-war Tokyo architecture. Today it houses over 200 bars, most of which seat only 3-8 people max! It was incredible. Some pics for u:

The flight wasn’t as bad as I’d feared; on the way over, there wasn’t anyone in the middle seat next to me, which gave me more space. And on the flight back I got upgraded to business, THANK GOD. So I slept pretty well! (Even if I’m now fighting a cold I picked up somewhere along the way.)

As for your other questions…I think about Tessa taking Pero on a plane for the first time basically every time I fly now and I love you to death for asking about it!!!!

Tessa would do a lot of prep with Pero. She’d be more nervous than he would be; not necessarily about him being on the plane, but about going through security. Moira, with her broad powers of manipulation, has magicked up a set of identification documents for Pero. But if he gets pulled aside by TSA, what if they ask him questions he can’t answer? What if something happens and Tessa can’t be by his side to help explain things and Pero doesn’t understand what’s going on?

So they practice. Tessa shows him every video on TSA’s website explaining how airport security works, then every video she can find on YouTube about it so he can see in advance what the procedure will look like. Then she has him explain the process back to her to make sure he’s absorbed each step. They run through all sorts of scenarios like they’re engaging in the world’s least-sexy role play: what if Pero gets pulled for secondary screening? What if they have to pat him down, or swipe his hands for residue? What if his bag gets extra screening? What does he do and where does he wait if any of those things happen to Tessa?

Then they move on to the actual flight itself. Again, thank god for YouTube and the many, many travel vloggers on there extensively documenting their flying experiences. Tessa can show Pero exactly what it looks like to be on a plane, from takeoff to landing, and can show him videos that explain how planes work and what different sounds and things mean better than she ever could. But of course, watching a video of being on a plane and actually being on a plane are two different things…

They do a test flight, the shortest Tessa can find: Chicago to Indianapolis. Henry drops them off, then drives down to Indy to pick them up. Tessa breathes a huge sigh of relief when they get through security without a hitch. Pero is quiet as they wait at their gate, which isn’t unusual for him, but he’s more nervous than he lets on. He won’t show it though, a combination of the ingrained effects of stoic toxic masculinity and Pero’s general desire not to contribute to Tessa’s worries.

Tessa springs for first class, which is a bit ridiculous for so short a flight, but it’s more comfortable, less claustrophobic, and, importantly, means it’s just the two of them in their row. Pero takes the window seat. Tessa feels more acutely than ever before the weight of Pero’s trust in her. It’s one thing to say the things you see on tv aren’t real, trust me, or this medicine is safe and will cure your headache, trust me, or you’ll like this food, Pero, trust me. Flying is terrifying even to people who grew up with it as part of their lives; how much faith does Pero have to have in her to believe her when she tells him that this is safe, this will work, this is normal? Tessa’s eyes trace the lines of Pero’s profile as he stares out the window as they taxi and she cannot believe how much love she has for this brave, brave man.

They take off, and Pero is surprised at how loud it is. He reaches for Tessa’s hand and the only sign of his nerves is how tightly he holds onto her. But he stays glued to the window the entire time, completely in awe and unconvinced that there’s no magical component to making this work.

What would William think of this, he can’t help but wonder.

Only the snack cart is enough to distract him from the view. Tessa had warned him that airplane food would disappoint him. And it does, but that doesn’t stop him from trying one of everything.

They land in Indianapolis and Pero decides landing is definitely his favorite part.

But he would do it again, he tells Tessa. It certainly beats spending weeks on horseback.

Thank god, Tessa thinks. This means now we can go to Spain.

As for the mile-high club…

Pero hears some vlogger make a passing joke about it on one of the videos they watch.

“What does that mean? Mile-high club?”

He does not expect Tessa’s ears to turn pink with embarrassment, but they do, and his question has her squirming where she’s curled up against his side on the couch. Before, he was curious. Now he’s intrigued.

“It’s, um, slang,” Tessa says, not meeting his eye. “If you’re a member of the mile-high club, it means you’ve had sex on a plane.”

Oh now there’s a possibility Pero had not considered.

“And are you, mi amor?” he asks, not wasting an opportunity to tease his flustered little witch. “A member of this club?”

“No!” is her emphatic reply. “I’d absolutely die of mortification if I got caught, and it’s not like it’s easy to get away with. Besides, the only place to do it is in those tiny airplane bathrooms that are barely big enough for one person, let alone two.”

Pero hums as he considers, trailing the hand not wrapped around her shoulders up the smooth skin of her thigh, pushing the hem of her dress higher. He watches her pupils dilate, and is sure that if he keeps going he’ll find her panties already damp for him.

“Even so,” he says, fully planning on tugging her down the hall and bending her over their bathroom sink, “we’ve prepared for every other kind of scenario on this journey. We should practice for this one too, don’t you think?”

#answered asks #sometimes leslie responds to things very late #Les loves Cat

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sutton-ho · 1 year

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New to the WNBA, I'll tell *you* who to root for

I noticed a bunch of posts, especially on reddit, from new fans to the league looking for advice on who to support. Luckily I already have years of experience forming snap judgements and comitting to spite and adoration at the drop of a hat, so instead I thought I'd tell you about the teams from the view point of someone who as seen every game this season but also had never seen basketball before last friday. I knows 0 things but I have Opinions. Buckle up ya knuckle puck chuckle fucks let's feel some fucking feelings!!

Villains

Las Vegas Aces: The players for the Aces seem pretty cool and I like how they let the other team have some success in the 1st quarter before they crush them. But STAND UUUUUUP ALL VICTIMS OF OPREEEEEESION FOR THE TYRANTS FEAR YOUR MIGHT! DON'T CLIIIIING SO HARD TO YOUR POSEEEEEESIONS FOR YOU HAVE NOTHING IF YOU HAVE NO RIGHTS!!!. There's no coming back from violating labour protections, you're a cartoonish villain now.

Minnesota Lynx: The Aces were the easy choice for villain, but I've decided based on an inadequate sample size that I don't care for the coach of the Lynx. Spending all your time screaming at the refs instead of talking to your team is gross to me. Especially satisfying to cheer against because her coaching isn't exactly leading to victories.

You could do better

New York Liberty: Such fun basketball to watch but their home court is grey with seafoam accents that screams through the screen into the itchy parts of my brain.

Seattle Storm: The Storm play by play announcer seems like he's watching a stats feed through an old timey teletype instead of being in the same room as people doing shit that's rad as hell. Perhaps he's a mermaid and simulates human speech through sound clips of other boring cis het white dude announcers. The firefox tab I was streaming in warned me about AI generated content every time he spoke.

Respectable Choices

Indiana Fever: Aliyah Boston is cute as a button and good as heck. The Fever seem so young and full of dreams and optimism. A great team to root for if hope still lives in your heart. Sadly I'm a recovering Oilers fan so it's medically inadvisable for me to get invested, but I want nothing but the best for this team.

Chicago Sky: The Chicago Sky sure are a basketball team. I don't have a lot of strong feelings except for Courtney Williams, whom I adore. I do also love Marina Mabrey and the focus faces she makes.

Washington Mystics: I really enjoyed their home opener. They were so coordinated and used the power of friendship to beat a super team. I personally don't love the home fans booing every free throw - then it's less special when you boo a player you really hate or a bad foul call!

Atlanta Dream: This is the team that ousted an openly racist owner. I didn't think it was possible to get justice against ownership like that until they did it, and I will always be pulling for them. Rhyne Howard leading their come back against the Aces was so exciting even if they fell short. Also their home PA sometimes plays the smoothest music I've ever heard in an areana while they're on offence.

LA Sparks: Solid contender for best all around graphic design. The little stars on their shorts! Clarendon will steal your heart and while you're distracted Canada (the player, not the country) will steal the ball and go zoooom.

Dallas Wings: Arike Ogunbowale is small but zooms around the court and then defiantly sinks 3s. It's so fun to watch and her superfan brother agrees. Dangerfield is even tinier and Sabally scores with poise. Super fun to watch.

RIDE OR DIE

Connecticut Sun: I don't know the difference between Connecticut and Cincinatti (Americans please don't explain it to me), but I love this team with all the best parts of my heart. I have actually teared up about the stretch passes between DeWanna Bonner and Alyssa Thomas. The whole team has a deeply endearing earnestness. I have an emotional journey watching them every time.

Phoenix Mercury: I love this team with all the best and worst parts of my heart. It is grounding any time someone else is angry about the same things as you, and healing when they do dope basketball with that anger. Britney Griner is an electrifying prescence and can make me laugh of cry at the drop of a hat. Diana Tuarasi is fun like Arike Ogunbowale except she traded up from being fast to being old. They build a defiant energy that means I hardly notice when they lose because it feels like a victory.

#wnba #for my darling love #I was joking about this and she liked it so I wrote it down #and she wants to find it later so here I am making a post #very out of character for me xD

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haakhai · 8 months

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Immigrant mom out thousands amid credit card dispute with Green Card assistance company

CHICAGO (CBS) -- A Naperville mother came to the United States in search of a better life. Her job is going great. Her son is doing well. She likes her community. But she's worried after a recent attempt to improve her immigration status left her feeling threatened.

She immigrated to the U.S. and asked we only use her last name – Sinha.

Most days, she's typing away at the computer, on the clock as an IT specialist, off the clock researching ways to get a Green Card so she and her son can stay here for good.

"I was thinking in those terms as a mother. What should I do to make my family's life easier?" she said.

Sinha left India on a temporary work visa. She applied for a permanent work visa called an EB2 in 2017 and is still waiting for that to process.

"People say that it might take a lifetime to get the Green Card," she said.

So the Naperville mom is switching gears, trying for a different type of Green Card that seems to be processed faster, nicknamed the Einstein Visa. Officially, the EB1A visa is meant for people with extraordinary ability.

"I feel that being 16 years in this IT field, I have a lot of things in my bag," Sinha said.

To spruce up her application, Sinha contacted the people behind The Next League Program. It's essentially a visa coaching service.

The company's LinkedIn page also features videos boasting about success with so-called Einstein Visas.

"There were reviews on his brochure, but there was no [independent] review online," Sinha said.

Sinha decided not to proceed with coaching but had already paid a $2,000 deposit that the company said was non-refundable.

So she initiated a credit card dispute through Capital One and received a temporary credit for $2,000.

Then things took a big turn. Ranjeet Mudholkar, the creator of the Next League Program, sent her an email informing Sinha the company would "initiate legal proceedings" because of the chargeback.

He warned they're filing "police complaints" and possible "civil and criminal" suits.

"I was shocked. I was not expecting that kind of an email from someone who is so educated," Sinha said.

The email went on to say her actions – a seemingly simple credit card dispute – could have "severe implications on your immigration status."

"I was having a fast heartbeat, and all those things. That's how my body reacts to stress," Sinha said.

She was so stressed that she panicked and paid Mudholkar $2,500 over Zelle to make the problem go away. She said he promised to pay that back to her if the Capital One chargeback was reversed.

"I was scared for myself and my family," she said.

Immigration attorney Suzanne Seltzer said, "I can't imagine the police are very much interested in this."

Seltzer also doesn't think a credit card dispute is something U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services care about either.

She considered that email an empty threat on a vulnerable person.

"I have 30 years' experience doing EB1A," she said. "This is something that's very dear to my heart, and when I hear someone being exploited, it's disturbing."

Mudholkar did not see it that way. He exchanged multiple emails with CBS 2, standing by his choice to warn the woman about legal implications of disputing a charge that's non-refundable.

He proposed a "solution": her money is "rightfully due to her" and the company will "promptly issue her refund" if she signs an affidavit saying she "inadvertently withdrew from The Next League Program."

"I did not sign it. You see, 'inadvertently,' it's not true," she said.

Sinha said she's now "working on my efforts" to try to get a Green Card.

She's down a bunch of money but not out of motivation.

After CBS 2 reached out to Capital One, it flip-flopped, and Sinha won her credit card dispute. The bank refused to explain why it took a TV station to return her money.

However, she is still out the $2,500 she sent to Mudholkar via Zelle.

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ashlyn77 · 6 months

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week 14

For this week's blog I decided to focus on the prompt of Multimodal discussion. For this topic, and discussion, I chose to interview my parents. Both were born, and raised, in the City of Chicago, in different, yet nearby and similar neighborhoods in Chicago. The questions I mainly asked them were focused on the difference of growing up in one of the small neighborhoods outside of the “downtown” part of the city, the difference between those neighborhoods and the Chicago Loop, as well as those differences compared to where I was raised, which was in the western suburbs, outside of Chicago. Some of the challenges I faced while doing these interviews were having them go into detail and explaining their answers, memories based on landmarks which have changed drastically over the years, and finding a convenient time that we were both free and available to have a longer conversation. After working through these small problems I noticed a common issue in my questions, between both my Mom and Dad. Their age at the time of the memory that pertained to the question I was asking, or my age at that time. Once I realized the role this particular fact played in my interview, I fine tuned my questions and chose a set age/time frame for each portion, the interviews with both parents went much more smoothly. Some of the questions I decided to ask them were about the general demographics of each neighborhood, what they remembered as far as crime and safety as children growing up in Chicago in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Additionally how those memories and statistics compared to their experience when they moved to the suburbs. I also asked them about their individual school experiences, as well as which they preferred: living in the city or in the suburbs. I also asked why they chose to leave the city and move to the suburbs after I was born. I think the main difference I saw when I was asking my parents these questions was that I could tell my mom liked living in the suburbs way better and my dad did miss a lot of the city's aspects. I think the main thing I excelled in during this interview was having questions where it was easy for them to explain and tell me stories to get a better idea of what they were talking about. Some things I would change next time for an interview would be anticipating a factor like age during their memories for specific questions to keep the interviews and answers cohesive.

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fredbsmith · 8 months

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The Return from Tiburon

A Memoir

I. Familial Racism

Our small town in Western Colorado had not a single African-American resident and yet most of our family discussions over the dinner table were infused with racist sentiments, generally—but not exclusively—directed against African-Americans, who were invariably referred to with the infamous and execrable “N” word.

The setting here is the decade of the 1950’s, the Eisenhower years, when I was a child. The national news of the day generally included stories about the civil rights movement, and it was my mother’s and stepfather’s opinions about the leaders and activists in the movement that usually started off the discussions. A common theme was that these people were loudly and raucously demanding various rights and privileges without being willing to accept the responsibilities that came with them.

My mother would often explain to me and my younger sister that the reason she and my stepfather so often dwelt on this topic was largely for our benefit. We were being protected now by living in a small town filled with people of our own kind, but we would undoubtedly, at some time in the future, go into the outside world and come into contact with all sorts of people. We should know that these people with dark skin who lived mostly in cities were dangerous to be around and we should avoid engaging with them in any way. They were not only less intelligent, less morally responsible, and less diligent than us, but they were also inherently violent and hated people with white skin.

My sister and I, like all good children, believed that our parents had our best interests at heart and that we should follow their instructions should we ever come across a Black person. In our young minds, we put such persons in the same category as the mysterious malevolent stranger who would offer us a ride in his car that we were also so frequently warned about. When we thought of these various kinds of grown-up people that were dangerous to us, we felt a certain amount of fear, but we never experienced the scorn for Black people that was so evident in the way our parents spoke of them. It was never clear at the time why our parents had such hatred in their hearts for Black people.

Thinking back on those days now, as an adult, I understand better. My stepfather came from a family of poor Southern whites, a disadvantaged group whose members frequently experience feelings of low self-worth and compensate by telling themselves that they are at least of higher intrinsic value than a Black person. This belief dates from the ante bellum South when enslaved African-Americans were believed to be less than fully human.

My mother’s story is a little more complicated. She grew up on the south side of Chicago. Her father, an immigrant from Bavaria, had risen from poverty to become the owner and sole operator of a dry goods store on South Cottage Grove Avenue, farther north and closer to Chicago’s downtown than the family’s residence. Her father’s store survived the first years of the Great Depression but went bankrupt when the neighborhoods surrounding the store “turned Black,” as the saying went, in the later 1930’s. “Turning Black” occurred when a single Black family would buy a house on a residential block, and their white neighbors, panicked at the thought that their property values were going to drop precipitously, would sell their houses as rapidly as possible, hoping to minimize their losses. Within months the entire block would have been sold to Black families, many of them recent arrivals from Southern states. Unscrupulous real estate agents made fortunes from commissions earned by turning neighborhoods this way. Because the new families were strangers to each other, the old sense of cohesion and shared history in the neighborhoods would be lost, and they became susceptible to crime.

My grandfather, who was then only in his late forties, died a few years after losing the store. His health was poor as a result of having contracted the more virulent form of malaria during the years he had spent in Louisiana before moving to Chicago.

My mother may have absorbed some Southern attitudes from her father, including the generic one that affected my stepfather. More likely, I believe, she might have blamed the failure of her father’s business, and even his death, on the societal catastrophe whose most visible element was the influx of Black people into formerly stable white neighborhoods. Ultimately she projected this blame onto Black people themselves.

II. Redemption

In the late 1950’s our family took annual week-long vacations to cities. One year it was Denver, the next Salt Lake City, and the last was San Francisco. My parents felt it would be good for my sister and me to have a chance to see all that cities had to offer in the way of culture, history, international shops and restaurants, and the like, aspects of civilized life we never encountered in our provincial environment. Cities were potentially dangerous, of course, but this limited amount of exposure, under constant parental supervision, seemed safe enough.

We knew to keep our distance from people of other races who might be near us on the sidewalks or in the shops and museums when we roamed the cities.

We always traveled to our destination city by car. Once ensconced in our hotel, my parents left our car in the hotel garage for the rest of the week, because they didn’t like negotiating city traffic or dealing with problems of parking in congested areas. We usually did a downtown tour by bus on the first day of our itinerary and then Mama would plan day trips on our own for the rest of the week, using whatever types of public transportation the city had. My stepfather would often beg off on these day trips to catch up on sleep in the hotel room. He did almost all the driving on the treks from our home town; he would drive all night while the rest of us slept in the car. (The night driving minimized traffic snarls and avoided the daytime heat. There were no interstates back then, and our trips were always in the summer in an era when cars with air-conditioning were only for the wealthy.)

We had become expert explorers of cities by the time we made the trip to San Francisco. Mama learned from the hotel’s desk clerk at check-in that the municipal buses there had recently adopted a fare policy that required you to have the 25-cent fare in exact change when you boarded a bus, so she immediately went to a nearby bank to convert some large bills to rolls of quarters, which she carried around in her purse for the duration of our stay. We crammed numerous excursions into the limited numbers of days we had at our disposal in San Francisco; we did the cable car ride to Fisherman’s Wharf, of course, and bus rides to the Presidio and Embarcadero, and we combined bus trips and ferry voyages to Sausalito, Angel Island, and Tiburon, across San Francisco Bay.

An episode on our return trip from Tiburon, just Mama and my sister and me, remains imprinted in my memory to this day.

We disembarked the Tiburon ferry, which had carried few passengers that trip, and walked to the bus stop in front of the Ferry Terminal. This was a terminus for the bus line, and the schedules the bus drivers observed required them to wait ten minutes at the stop to collect all the arriving passengers from the most recent ferry. We were the first ones on the bus. Mama deposited the requisite quarters for our rides in the fare box next to the driver’s seat as we got on, and she asked the driver if he could alert us when we were approaching the street near our hotel. The driver was a uniformed black man with a gruff manner, a bit scary to us children, but he agreed to alert us, and we took the inward-facing bench seat at the front of the bus opposite the driver so that we would be sure to hear him when he called out our stop.

A few minutes passed, and then the next passenger boarded, apparently the only remaining ferry rider from Tiburon who was taking this particular bus. It had taken her much longer to make the walk to the bus stop than it had taken us. She was a sad-looking Black lady, stooped in her posture, carrying a tattered shopping bag. In my visual recollection of her, she’s a woman who has obviously had a hard life, possibly a domestic worker employed by wealthy suburbanites and returning from a stint of live-in work to her own home, a cold-water flat in the inner city.

The Black lady held out a dollar bill to the driver.

He glared back at her with a look of undisguised contempt. “What’s this? Lady, you gotta know you can’t get change on the bus anymore. There’s a new rule. You gotta have exact change to get on the bus. I’m not gonna make change for you. Those days are over. You gotta know that. It’s been in the papers and all. On the radio. Everybody knows that.”

He paused. She continued to extend her hand with the bill, but it was now shaking.

“Look here, Lady. I’m onto you. I know who you are. You and your kind. You show me you have money and you have every intention of paying your fare, but you just happen to have forgot—it just slipped your mind—that you have to have the money in exact change now. Such a minor detail! And you expect me to be gracious about it, and say of course, such a trivial thing, forget about it, take a free ride now and pay the next time, that’s OK. And then you do same thing the next time, to the next driver, and you get free rides all over the city.”

He paused again, then motioned with his thumb for her to proceed past the fare box to the seating area. She was shaking all over now. “Lady, you win. I gotta start my route, and I don’t have time to deal with this. You get a free ride again this time. But you should know that I see through you. You’re a cheater and a con artist, and it’s people like you that are costing the city and the bus system a lot of money.” He slammed the door shut and drove the bus out into the street to begin the route.

I have sometimes, these many years later, thought about this terrible confrontation on the bus and asked myself why the three of us had sat watching it so passively. Mama could easily have defused the situation by standing up and paying the woman’s fare herself; she had a big supply of quarters in her purse and we could certainly have afforded it. I think the answer is that we were totally stunned by this ferocious verbal attack on the part of the bus driver. People living in small towns like ours never displayed such strong emotions in public. It just wasn’t done.

The lady slowly walked back to the passenger section of the bus as it began to move and then collapsed into the bench seat opposite us, behind and out of sight of the driver. She hung her head and began to cry, at first silently and then audibly. Her sorrow was palpable.

And then something truly amazing happened. My sister and I were astounded to see Mama get up from where she was sitting next to us, walk across the aisle of the bus, and sit down next to the weeping woman.

Mama leaned over toward her and said, very tenderly, “Oh my dear. My dear. Men can be so cruel, can’t they?”

The woman raised her head and turned to Mama. “I’m not a cheater. I didn’t know I had to have change to ride the bus. I haven’t been back to the city in a while. I just didn’t know. I didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t know about this exact change rule.”

“Of course you’re not. Of course you didn’t.”

More words were exchanged, but too softly for my sister and me to hear.

After a few more minutes, the woman seemed more composed, the tears abated, and my mother returned across the aisle to sit with us. We sat in silence the rest of the ride and the driver notified us appropriately when we reached the stop for our hotel.

That night, in the hotel room, my sister asked Mama about the woman on the bus. “Mama, why did you talk to that lady on the bus? I thought you didn’t like Black people. I thought you said they were dangerous and that we shouldn’t ever talk to them.”

Mama was uncharacteristically silent for a moment or two and a look of guilt spread across her face, as if she had been exposed betraying her own principles. Then, as the memory of the recent event began to replay in her mind, her expression became one of anger. “No one should ever be talked to that way. No one. Ever.”

That was it, she had no more to say about it.

The lesson my sister and I learned that one day in San Francisco was more meaningful than anything we had gotten from all the lectures over the dinner table at home in Colorado.

#memoir #mother #racisim

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simplicius-simplicissimus · 9 months

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Alaska - Experience of Solitude and a Resume (Erfahrung der Einsamkeit und ein Resümee)

Anchorage

Just as the ancient Greeks had a great influence on the Romans, the USA today serves as a role model for many “Western countries”. However, the roots of US culture lie in Europe - because the founders of the USA came from there. Through American movies we know the American “way of life” better than the other way around. On the train from Chicago to Seattle I once met an American woman who uttered the following sentence - after I explained my itinerary to her: "You see more of America than many Americans do." But the same applies to some Germans too: We like to see the world, but often see little of our own country. Through my job I have also traveled a lot in Germany and often noticed that there are regional differences in mentality and culture. The central element that binds us Germans together is our common language - even if it is often subdued by dialect. It is similar in the United States. Through common language we can exchange our thoughts, feelings and visions.

My trips to the USA were certainly inspired by the USA's role model function - but also by former classmates and work colleagues who had similar travel plans in mind. A work colleague (at my first employer, which I already reported on) wanted to travel the USA with friends for six months - even “all the way up to Alaska”. The focus was more on the landscape and nature. When I asked him about American cities he answered as follows: “Cities are cities - I can also travel to them in Europe. And perhaps, there they are even more interesting historically and culturally.”

However, unconsciously he planted a thought in my mind: Alaska! At that time I was still thinking: “What does he want in Alaska?” Later I bought a nice illustrated book about Alaska and began to understand. But you only „really understand” once you’ve been there:

Experience of Solitude

Silence...Our ears, accustomed to shrill sounds in the daily hustle and bustle, need some time to perceive the gentle nuances that surround us in nature. Because the supposed silence has its own language: the gurgling of the water, (….) the quiet chirping of the birds. A constant crackling and cracking in the undergrowth. Animals that remain invisible.

Expanse….refreshing for the eye (…). In the light of nature, the view becomes sharper; no printed paper restricts it. The eye can wander uninhibitedly, trace the soft contours of the hills, delight in the play of colors, and can decide more consciously for itself when to open or close.

Solitude….a test of the mind. Cut off from all the distractions that increasingly make people of our time their slaves, lesser things in nature gain in importance. People have to be at peace with themselves and accept themselves and their surroundings in order not to despair.

-Juergen Hampel

„Alaska…where men are still men…and women win the Iditarod (famous sled dog race)!“

Genauso wie die alten Griechen grossen Einfluss auf die Römer hatten, hat die USA heutzutage Vorbildfunktion für viele „westliche Länder“. Wobei die Wurzeln der US-amerikanischen Kultur wiederum in Europa liegen - weil die Gründer der USA von daher stammten. Durch amerikanische Filme kennen wir den amerikanischen „Way of Life“ besser als dies umgekehrt der Fall ist. Im Zug von Chicago nach Seattle traf ich einmal eine Amerikanerin, die folgenden Satz aussprach - nachdem ich ihr meine Reiseroute erklärte: „Du siehst mehr von Amerika als mancher Amerikaner selbst.“ Dasselbe trifft aber auch auf manchen Deutschen zu: Wir schauen uns recht gern die Welt an, aber sehen oft wenig vom eigenen Land. Durch meinen Beruf bin ich auch in Deutschland viel herumgekommen und stellte dabei oft fest: es gibt regionale Unterschiede in der Mentalität und Kultur. Das zentrale Element, dass uns Deutsche verbindet, ist die gemeinsame Sprache - wenn auch oft untersetzt vom Dialekt. Ähnlich ist es in den Vereinigten Staaten. Durch gemeinsame Sprache können wir unsere Gedanken, Gefühle und Visionen austauschen.

Meine Reisen in die USA wurden sicher durch diese Vorbildfunktion der USA inspiriert - aber auch durch ehemalige Klassenkameraden und Arbeitskollegen, die ähnliche Reisepläne im Kopf hatten. Ein Arbeitskollege (bei meinem ersten Arbeitgeber, von dem ich bereits berichtete) wollte mit Freunden ein halbes Jahr die USA bereisen - sogar „bis hoch nach Alaska“. Im Vordergrund stand da eher die Landschaft und Natur. Als ich ihn auf amerikanische Städte ansprach, antwortete er wie folgt: „Städte sind Städte - die kann ich auch in Europa bereisen. Und sind geschichtlich und kulturell vielleicht sogar interessanter.“

Unbewusst hat er jedoch einen Gedanken im mein Hirn gepflanzt: Alaska! Damals dachte ich noch: „Was will er denn in Alaska?“ Später kaufte ich mir einen schönen Bildband über Alaska und begann zu begreifen. Aber „richtig Verstehen“ tut man erst, wenn man dort war:

Die Erfahrung der Einsamkeit

Stille….Unser Ohr, in der täglichen Hektik an schrille Laute gewöhnt, braucht etwas Zeit, um wieder jene sanften Zwischentöne wahrzunehmen, die uns in der Natur umgeben. Denn die vermeintliche Stille hat ihre eigene Sprache: das Gurgeln des Wassers, (….) das leise Zwitschern der Vögel. Ein stetes Knistern und Knacken im Unterholz. Tiere, die unsichtbar bleiben.

Weite….Labsal für das Auge (…). Im Licht der Natur gewinnt der Blick an Schärfe, kein bedrucktes Papier engt ihn ein. Das Auge kann hemmungslos schweifen, die weichen Konturen der Hügel nachziehen, sich im Farbenspiel erfreuen, kann bewusster selbst entscheiden, wann es sich öffnet oder schliesst.

Einsamkeit….eine Prüfung für das Gemüt. Abgenabelt von all der Zerstreuung, die den Menschen unserer Zeit immer mehr zu ihrem Sklaven macht, gewinnt in der Natur nichtigere Dinge an Bedeutung. Der Mensch muss mit sich selbst im Lot sein, sich und seine Umgebung akzeptieren, um nicht zu verzweifeln.

-Juergen Hampel

My 5 journeys to the USA (meine 5 Reisen in die USA):

Journey 1: Boston - New York - Washington - Niagara Falls - Chicago - Seattle - Olympic NP - San Francisco - Lake Tahoe - Yosemite NP - Sequoia NP - Kings Canyon NP - Highway 1/Big Sur - Los Angeles - San Diego - Las Vegas - Yellowstone NP - Grand Teton NP - Mount Rushmore - Black Hills - Badlands NP - Fort Laramie - Rocky Mountains NP - Arches NP - Canyonlands NP - Bryce Canyon NP - Grand Canyon NP - Joshua Tree NP - San Diego

Journey 2: Atlanta - Charleston - Savannah - Orlando - Kennedy Space Center/Cape Canaveral - Miami - Everglades NP - Florida Keys/Key West - Miami

Journey 3: Boston - Cape Cod - Acadia NP - New York - Philadelphia - Chesapeake Bay Bridge - Colonial Williamsburg - Great Smoky Mountains NP - Shenandoah NP - Washington - New York

Journey 4: Boston - Acadia NP - all New England states - Boston

Journey 5: Anchorage - Redoubt Bay - Denali NP - Seward - Kenai Fjords NP - Anchorage - Alaska Marine Highway/Inside Passage - Seattle/Tacoma - Port Angeles - Olympic NP - Kalaloch Lodges - Seattle/Tacoma

Seward

-Simplicius Simplicissimus

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