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callmemana · 10 months

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All Grown Up:

Summary: The Kazansky and Kerner’s watch their daughters graduate from High School.

🚨warnings🚨: fluff, soft Slider and Iceman moments.

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In honor of our baby Mousey graduating HS in a few weeks!

It was a hot afternoon in May on the Miramar base that the Kazansky family were currently stationed at.

Ice and Dragon couldn’t be more proud of their daughters as the couple and the Kerner’s sat by one another to watch this big moment in their children’s lives.

The tight friendship between their parents had been carried on to the Kazansky sisters and the Kerner girl.

When both women were told that they had a low chance to have a baby, it pained them to know that they wouldn’t be able to experience the same things as other couples on the base.

But by what seems like a wish upon a shooting star, within a month of each other, Rachael and Jade found out that they were pregnant.

Tom and Ron were very helpful during the pregnancies and tried to be there for every appointment and when the men couldn’t, the women would be each others support systems.

They were all thankful for this day, the girls because they could finally follow in their parents footsteps and join the Navy and the couples because it showed that their babies were growing up.

The girls were all dressed in their official Navy Officer uniforms, hair slicked back in the mandatory bun, and the Navy chords laying on the back of their necks.

Nerves shot up their backs as they waited in the line before walking out to the football stadium that held the awaiting parents.

Baylie Kazansky, the eldest, started the hand holding train with the two other girls behind her. As the leader, she made sure to care for the younger two.

Raven was in the middle and the youngest of the group, the older girls protected her at all cost and wouldn’t let anyone hurt their Mousey.

Last but not least, was Amanda Kerner. The only child of Slider and Whiskey, but saw the Kazansky’s as her second family.

All the girls had ‘graduated’ in the second semester of the school year and gone to bootcamp between then and now.

Today made it official and would get their diplomas that they worked so hard for during the four years of high school they finished.

The music started and the line moved to the door, one by one all the students came outside and sat in order, just like they practiced earlier in the day.

A speech was made by the Salutatorian before the Principal and the Vice Principal made their own.

A moment of silence was announced for the Military members present and who had passed then the Valedictorian made his speech.

More time passed before the Principal started to call the names of students.

As the last of the surnames that started with J’s were called up to the stage, Baylie buzzed with excitement and squeezed Raven’s hand, who in which returned it and did the same to Amanda.

“Baylie Ann Kazansky,” Mr. Simpson called and with one last squeeze, Bay started her walk to the stairs that attached to the stage.

Thinking quickly she jumped in the air on the last step and did a little heel click, a smile on her face after she stuck the landing.

She heard the shouts of her family as she shook her Principal and the Vice Principal’s hand as she held the diploma and the photographer took the picture.

At the end of the stairs stood a junior who handed her a red carnation with a silver ribbon tied in a bow around the stem.

She was just barely to her seat before her sister was called. “Raven Alice Kazansky-Fischer.” Mouse, as her nickname suggests, shyly took the stage and did the same as the many students before her.

Seeing her older sister cause chaos, just like her mother and aunt would’ve done, decided to also do something.

So, with a half-assed plan created, she slid down the bannister and almost fell on her face.

Amanda Kerner was known for being clumsy, often falling over her own feet, so why would today be any different.

“Amanda Louise Kerner.” She stood up and started to make her way to the stage, glancing up into the bleachers to find her family. Once she did, she gave a small smile and held her head up high.

When she was on the last step she missed and almost fell flat on her face, but at the last second saved herself.

Amanda started to laugh and her face heated up a little embarrassed about the whole thing as she walked up to the Principal and copy the hundreds before her.

After she had her carnation in hand, made her way back to her seat as the next student was announced.

The three girls scooted the chairs closer and held hands again, this time their achievements in the other as they all waited for the rest of the students to be called.

Ron and Jade both could see her body move with giggles and her face flushed a light pink as their daughter took the diploma.

Tom lightly smacked Ron’s shoulder as he laughed at his niece.

The Kerner parents have no idea where their daughter’s clumsiness comes from, both steady on land and in air, but they always had a good laugh about it.

Often making jokes and sharing the moments with Tom and Rachael.

Both couples did this with their children and the hilarious memories that would forever be remembered.

It only took seconds before the laughter turned into tears as they cheered or whistled for their children.

Proud was not the word that could describe this experience, because they all felt like that wasn’t the right one to use.

Both couples felt more than proud for their children, but didn’t know if there was a word to explain how much.

After the last student was called, another speech was made and then the Principal said the sentence that the girls and the couples were waiting for, “Please give a round of applause for the graduating class of 2017! You may move the tassel from the right to the left!”

One by one starting from the closest to the stage, all the lines of students started to exit and were free to find their families.

Ron, being the tall giraffe man that he is, spotted the girls first and guided the others to the recent graduates.

He didn’t wait for his daughter to see him, immediately pulling her into a bear hug and squeezing tighter when he feels her jump, a chuckle vibrates through his chest.

He knows that she realizes who it is after the chuckle, and turns around in his arms to hug him back.

Jade joins not too long afterwards, wanting the father and daughter to have a moment just for them.

Soon Ron lets go for the same reason as his wife, a special moment shared between a mother and a daughter.

More tears are shed as the embrace continues before Jade eventually brakes it, too choked up for words.

Ron stands in front of his little baby, tears gathering at his eyes as he looks at her in the Navy Dress Blues and sees a younger version of her mother.

He lightly punches her chin and whispers, “Here’s looking at you kid.” Amanda sniffles, tears threatening to fall again as she softly punches his chest, “Here’s looking at you dad.”

Ron pulls her into another hug, wanting this moment to freeze in time.

The Kazansky’s are too lost in their own little world to pay attention to the Kerner’s.

Baylie, the daddy’s girl she is, runs to Tom first. His callsign might be ‘Iceman’ but right now, his ice cold persona is gone for his beautiful daughters.

He pulls away slightly and kisses her forehead, “Come home to me, Bay.”

Baylie reaches up to her father’s forehead barely in her tippy-toes, gives him a soft head-butt and whispers back, “Always.”

He doesn’t stop the tears, nor would he want to. Both crying freely as they hug each other tight.

“You’re tarnishing the Iceman name, you know.” She chuckles.

“Right now Bay, I could care less about that, not while I have you in my arms.”

A short amount of time passes before Raven is in his arms.

“Keep me in your heart,” Tom murmurs into her hair.

“Keep me in your mind,” Raven replied into his chest as she squeezed him impossibly tight, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He doesn’t want to ever let go, so blessed to have a moment like this to share and remember as the years go by.

He never thought he’d get to experience his children’s birth, so he was beyond happy to see them graduate.

Rachael lays her cheek against Raven’s head as the two hug, tears falling from her eyes to the young woman’s hair.

Raven was in no better shape than her mother, tears running down her face as they hugged.

After a couple of minutes went by, seeing that Bay and Tom were finishing their little father-daughter moment, she reluctantly let go. “I’m beyond proud of you my little Mouse.” “I’m proud to be your daughter, biological or not.”

Rachael couldn’t hold the gates and started to cry again, but soon was hugged by her eldest. “You know that we’ll always be your little girls right?”

Rachael petted Bay’s hair, followed by a kiss, “I know, I know. It’s just hard to believe that our babies are so grown up.”

Bay didn’t respond, just squeezed her tighter. All the words needed exchanged between them through the embrace.

The memory etched into her minds eye forever.

Individual family moments over, the two families came together and celebrated the girls’ graduation with hugs and ‘I’m so proud of you’s.’

They all took turns taking pictures of each families before asking someone passing by to take a group.

With that done, they all hopped into their cars and headed over to Top Gun where their Aunts and Uncles were gathered and ready to see the Graduates.

When they arrived they were all bombarded with open arms, food and drinks, and ‘congratulations!’

The girls could tell by the warmth and smiles that these strong and brave men and women they’ve known their whole lives were just as proud as their parents.

The girls knew that their support system was always going to be there for every accomplishment they go through and couldn’t be more happy by that fact.

And as the years go by, more and more memories were created and photographed so they could all look back and relive the moments and the feelings they all shared.

Birdie’s Basket🧺: @dragon-kazansky @mrsjaderogers @bayisdying @starlit-epiphany @gracespicybradshaw

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alicelufenia · 10 months

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Today marks my 3rd anniversary of taking hrt. My egg cracked October 2019, so this year I'll be coming up on year 4 of my transition.

In that time, I've chosen my new name, came out to my family and friends, started hrt, got my legal name changed (surprise, it isn't actually Alice!), updated all my documents and utilities, including my passport.

I've come a long way in my transition, and I feel like an important part of it has actually been mirrored in my FFXIV character. So, for this anniversary post I wanna showcase that part which, while intersecting only slightly with my real life, is still special to me and also in theme for this blog and I'm sorry, I'm not making a sideblog anytime soon to put all my irl talk or whatever.

Don't worry you don't need to know anything about the game other than you play with other people and can make your own character.

At the very start of my transition, I changed in-game from the male character I started as to a female character. Surprise, I was a black-haired sun kitty. And it instantly felt right and comfy, and I went through all of Heavensward to end game with her.

Since it was early in my transition, I was doing my best to move as far away from masculine appearances as I could in my life, and my online character followed suite. I liked how unapologetically feminine and cute she was!

Sadly few pictures of her, but here she is!

After reaching endgame, I started playing with her more. I changed her to a lizard girl. Around this time I would start hrt, and was starting to build my character's personal lore, trying to make her more of a person than an avatar.

I liked the idea that she was a trans woman like me, and that she was undergoing a fantasy version of hrt. It was especially amusing for me, since the male and female Au Ra models are so sexually dimorphic, the guys being huge while the ladies are all tiny. Growing up I was always very short compared to the boys around me. I gave her mismatched eyes, an-ingame sign of hrt use (it's magic that's all it needed to be). I love how serenely confident she looked in her femininity.

I love her RBF too.

Time passes, and as I'm coming up on my first year hrt anniversary, my anxieties around performing femininity and suppressing masculine tendencies were beginning to relax. I've spent a long time seeing myself change over time, and within the transfemme spaces I inhabited where a lot of women who didn't have the bodies of your average cis woman. They were taller, more broad, "harder" facial features.

And they were all beautiful. I'm going to be honest, there was a long time where it was difficult for me to see other trans women. I would be giddy over transition timelines, but I felt bad that I was seeing ways how they were different from conventionally attractive cis women. Too tall, too broad, jaw lines a bit too defined. I felt really bad about feeling that way.

But during my transition, I also began to recognize that many cis women also are not conventionally attractive. Yet they are no less beautiful for it. I decided I wanted to make my character more un-conventionally attractive. Closer to what I found attractive in those other women.

In a way, the fem Miqo'te and Au Ra models were the conventionally attractive choices in the game; round faces, small dainty features, soft jaws, lithe and thin bodies but with ample boobs. So I looked at the other races, and fell in love with face 1 fem hyur highlander.

Highlanders have so much tgirl swag!

Thus Alice's modern look was born! I made her to embody all the things I had anxiety about seeing in myself and other women; she is max height and muscular sliders (and max boobs cause of course). She is in-game equivalent of 6'5" (towering over my irl 5'6"), built like a brick house, and has sharp features that are (imo) clocky <affectionate> and proud of it.

While she isn't exactly [goals] for me (I lost a ton of muscle mass since starting hrt and don't see myself gaining it back anytime) seeing her gives me confidence and comfort with my own body, knowing that traditionally masculine traits can be embraced by women who are still undeniably feminine. She is The Boundless Queen and a small but important part of my transition these past four years!

babygirl 💜

As a parting gift, I want to recommend a video essay that I've watched (and been rewatching too) that has really resonated with me. It is Jessie Gender's "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'". A massive 4 hour video essay divided into two videos; the first covering the concept of modern masculinity as is imparted by our patriarchal capitalist zeitgeist, while the second video, called "Ending the Trauma of Antagonistic Masculinity", where Jessie discusses what we can build beyond the all-consuming black hole of masculinity we currently experience.

It's a unique and touching essay, especially as it stars a non-binary trans woman weighing in on masculinity, a topic we are rarely invited to, but that we have a unique experience in growing up with expectations impossible for us to live up to, and that cis men have more in common with us (and more to learn from us) than they might think.

youtube

It is, admittedly, a big ask for anyone to watch both parts all the way through, but if you do take the time, I hope you get something out of it, as I did.

Happy Pride 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

#transgender #hrt anniversary #long post #didn't really know what else to say this year #there's some youtube at the end too #just as a treat #happy pride 🌈#happy pride month #pride month 2023 #jessie gender #masculinity #trans women and masculinity

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bearsinpotatosacks · 2 years

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Dawn of a New Day

On a simple morning after the mission, Natasha mentioning going to pride causes a spiral that makes Maverick realise a few things about Goose and Carole.

Words: 3307

Demiboy Goose and Fanboy, Demigirl Carole. Fanboy uses he/they pronouns in this. Also mentions goose x slider.

Late morning had set in around the hangar. Most of the crew, both teams, were milling around either fixing things, staring at things or continuing their mario kart tournament from their last day off.

Phoenix rolled her eyes as Rooster beat Hangman for the fifth time in a row. Hangman collapsed against the sofa in mock anger, or real anger, they weren't sure. She raised her eyebrows and got up, announcing something to the group.

"Did you know San Diego Pride is next weekend?" She looked down at her phone again. "We could get the time off? I haven't been to pride in ages."

Bob, who'd managed to make himself invisible to the group again, said, "I've never been to pride," he placed his hands over his ears. "Too loud."

"We could go," she suggested. "All of us? With earplugs in."

The group pondered it, checked their calendars and began to plan. Bob seemed more up to the idea when Phoenix assured that she would stay at the sides with him for however long he wanted to.

Mav emerged from his trailer with a fresh cup of coffee. They'd stayed up late educating him about video games. They all managed to still be up bright and early but his old bones needed a little time to recover.

"You kids have fun," he said, having overheard them.

Rooster placed down his controller and turned to Mav. He had the same look Goose would give him whenever he did something stupid. It gave him shivers.

"You're coming with us, you know that right?"

He placed down his coffee. They were all looking at him expectantly. But he didn't want to impede on their time to experience their lives. He'd had his youth and didn’t want to take up time they couldn't get back. However, that could also be his excuse for feeling apprehensive about having a family again.

"You don't want me there," he laughed.

"Yeah, we do," Phoenix said.

The room got hotter. He was never open about this kind of stuff, not with anyone but Goose, Carole, Ice and Slider. He knew he'd have to tell Penny eventually and he knew she’d be fully on board with his bisexuality. But his sentimental nature stayed true even when it came to his sexuality, the prejudice of the Navy in the eighties still clung to him like smoke.

"Even if you're just there as an ally, I've seen plenty of people there giving dad hugs to people whose parents didn't accept them," She said. "You really should come, Mav."

"What's an ally, again?"

The group laughed. Was he really that out of touch? When he was young there were two options, three at a stretch. Now there were so many words for things. He loved that, loved that people could find themselves and feel the warm embrace of validation. But he didn't even know where to start. Perhaps this was his chance.

"Someone who's not LGBT but is supportive,"

"Shouldn't that just be everyone?"

More laughter from the group.

Hangman spoke up, "Yeah, but people don't like to hear that."

He hummed and took a sip of his coffee. Times had changed so much. He felt like a dinosaur.

"Okay, I'll go, but I'll need your educating before we do, I don't want to say the wrong thing and hurt someone,"

Their faces went soft. The group shuffled and collected around him. Their eyes bored into his head. He took a long sip of his coffee and settled his gaze between Phoenix and Rooster.

"What do you know?"

"Well, there's gay, when you like the same gender as you, there's lesbian, which is when a woman likes another woman," he stopped himself. "But I saw something about that being just not men liking women, so I'm not sure?"

No comments. That had to be a good sign.

"I know the term bisexual well, I would do, I've known I am bisexual since 1980." He looked at Rooster. "So did your parents."

He opened and closed his mouth. Mav knew Rooster had history with Hangman, and something with Phoenix. But given their long break from each other, he didn't feel it was right to ask about that department yet.

"I always knew mum liked Dolores O'Riordan from the Cranberries a little too much to just admire her singing," Rooster joked.

Mav continued, "I know that people can not identify as what they were given when they were born," he scanned the room. "And that's called transgender, right?"

Collective nods gave him a glowy feeling.

"But that's it." He added.

"Well, you know the iconic letters," Phoenix said. "But there's some things you missed."

She shuffled forward. Phoenix took the lead often. She had a calm atmosphere but was also stern when the time called for it.

She explained more terms to him, with others pitching in with their own takes or explaining more themselves. He found that Hangman was pansexual, that Halo was a lesbian, that Phoenix was asexual, and his suspicions about Rooster being bisexual were confirmed.

Mav had finished his coffee. The group lay around on the various rugs as he got his head around all the new information.

"And there's more than one gender?"

More agreement. His head was spinning with all the new information but he wouldn't have it any other way. He saw how their faces lit up the more questions he asked, the more he understood and encouraged.

"Well, society makes man and woman so separate, it only makes sense that there's a lot of things in between," Fanboy explained. "Kind of like cheese."

Finally, their attention drew away from Maverick. Payback shuffled to Fanboy with a cocked eyebrow.

"Cheese?"

"Yeah, there's mozzarella on one end, and halloumi on the other but there's a load in between and some that aren't even between, they're their own thing and some are similar in flavour to halloumi but are also close to mozzarella in a different way, you know?"

Payback was the only one to reply, "Have I been hanging around you too much or did that make perfect sense?"

Phoenix laughed and collapsed backwards, leaning on Bob's legs, "No that does make sense."

"I would know, I think I'm the only person under the non binary spectrum here,"

"So that's what the in-between is called?"

Fanboy nodded, "Yeah, I identify as a demiboy."

"Demiboy?"

"Yeah, I only partially identify as a guy, sometimes I feel like something else entirely," his voice went quiet. "It took me a while to figure it out but I got there."

Mav tried to listen but the sound of his pounding heart filled his ears. Everything went distant as he was transported thirty-seven years into the past. His head began to swim. They all sounded far away.

"Mav?"

It was Rooster. He looked at him and saw Goose. His voice was so similar.

"Mav? You okay?"

He took a few deep breaths. They all looked so concerned.

"I didn't know there was a word for it," he mumbled.

Rooster approached him slowly, laying a hand on his shoulder with care, "Did we help you figure something out?"

He shook his head. He met Rooster's eyes but all he could see was Goose. Goose's quivering lip and tears, his uncomfort when Admirals told him to man up or at the culture of hyper-masculinity he was surrounded by at all times, the comfort he found in Carole's arms.

"Not me, your dad."

Rooster stepped back a few steps. His concern changed to shock. Should he be telling him this at all?

"There wasn't a word for it back then, I mean, we felt rare for all being bisexual," he looked at his lap. "I had some bad experiences just because of that, girls not wanting to be with me because I'd been with guys, guys not wanting to be with me because I'd been with girls,"

"But your dad, well apart from admitting he had a thing with Slider back in high school-"

Rooster was even more shocked. Someone spat out their drink, it was Bob.

"Wasn't he Admiral Kazansky's backseater?" Bob exclaimed.

"Uncle Slider?"

Mav scratched the back of his head. He seemed to be admitting too many things for one conversation.

"They both ran track in high school, both had their sights on being Naval Aviators, I think at one point he planned to be Slider's RIO, before they both became RIOs themselves." He decided to just admit everything, Bradley always wanted to know his dad, this was part of him. "They were horny teenagers in southern America in the seventies, they didn't have a lot of options and wanted to explore things."

He gulped, probably needing another coffee, or something stronger.

"Anyway, your dad had his own struggles he was dealing with," he then added. "Your mum too."

Rooster mouthed the words 'my mum' as Mav carried on. He sat down next to the sofa. They were all looking up at him like children wanting a story.

"I should do this properly, give me a second,"

He hurried off to where he kept all his memorabilia of the past. Deep in a box somewhere was a polaroid he was looking to find. And after a few minutes, he found it.

Returning to his seat, he stroked their young faces. Carole wore one of Mav’s white t-shirts, his aviation jacket and sunglasses with his cocky grin on her face. Mav wore one of Goose's obnoxiously bright shirts with a fake moustache to boot. And Goose wore a red floral, strappy dress with white tennis shoes on, holding Bradley in a pumpkin outfit close to his chest.

"It was Halloween, 1982, you were almost 4 months old," he said, looking at Bradley. "We managed to get the time off to visit your mum in Texas and decided to take you trick or treating, although with you still being breastfed, I don't know how much of the candy you could’ve actually eaten."

A laugh rippled through the small crowd.

"And we decided to go as each other, Carole was me, I was Goose, and Goose was your mother,"

He gave him the polaroid. For a moment, he took in his expression as he gazed at the faces he'd probably started to forget, he had and he hated it.

"Of course you were in the obligatory baby pumpkin outfit,"

Hangman snatched the photo from him, "Wow, you really pulled off that pumpkin well, Rooster, you still got it?"

Rooster gave him a deadpan laugh and yanked the photo out of his hand. He handed it to the rest of the group and looked at Mav to carry on.

"Anyway, your dad got some comments, with it being Texas in the eighties, people gave him looks and told him he was a guy and shouldn't be wearing a dress, of course he just said back that he wasn’t a guy," he gazed into the middle distance. "I guess I should've known it wasn't just a joke."

Bob handed the picture back to him. He looked back at Goose. There was a look of satisfaction on his face, like he was happy to have an excuse not to behave like the macho guy the Navy expected him to be. He should've realised sooner. So many what ifs.

"Then, a few days later, Goose had gone for a shower but it had been way too long, so Carole and I went to check up on him." He clutched the wrinkled photo tighter in his hand. "He'd been acting off for a few days, he almost didn't go to church, which he never did"

"And we walk in and he's holding the same dress he wore for Halloween in front of him, when he saw us he immediately dropped it like it was on fire, looked like we'd caught him with a dead body or something,"

He remembered the look of absolute shock on his face. Guilt flushed high on his cheeks. He hadn't been able to meet their eyes nor look at himself in the mirror.

"Carole made some joke, something like 'Halloween ended a few days ago', but immediately took it back when she saw how heartbroken he looked. She asked him what was wrong, comforting him and encouraging him to tell us but it was like there was a mental block stopping him,"

He could see how Carole caressed his arms and face now. Their love was so strong. It always broke his heart to think about.

"He started apologising, said it wouldn't happen again and that we should all forget about it but we both insisted he talk about it," he said. "We made sure he knew we weren't judging or hated him, we just wanted to understand"

"So he started to cry as he talked about how he realised he sometimes didn't feel like a guy but didn't want to be a woman either. He always put it down to growing up in the seventies where men had thick chest hair and low buttoned shirts and were really sexual when he had pale blond hair all over and liked his shirts buttoned up a lot more than all the big heart throbs did."

Fanboy had shuffled closer now. His eyes glimmered with understanding. They looked entranced by Goose's story, his face glowing but also slightly sad in a way that could only come from feeling the same feelings as Goose had.

"And then when that didn’t work, he said he explained it to himself as navy guys being all defined abs, strong jaws, high cheekbones, you were expected to be thick with muscle and have so much testosterone they could smell it on you,"

He scanned the room. How times had changed. Yes, most of them were muscular but there was less of a stigma now. And when his eyes landed on Phoenix, he smiled.

"But he met me, and Cougar and Merlin and so many others that also didn't fit the mold and he sorta ran out of excuses,"

That Halloween had been magical. They had a home together, at last, and were getting to do normal things together. It meant so much to Maverick. He couldn’t put it into words but those days with Goose and Carole had made him know what a home felt like.

"We asked him what he meant, what he felt like if it wasn't just him being insecure with his masculinity," he looked at Fanboy again. "He said that some days he felt like a guy, but others he just didn't. He didn't feel strong or cold or durable or protective enough to be a guy."

Fanboy nodded, "I get what he was on about, sometimes things just feel soupy, like one day you're solid like ice, but there are days when you feel like water when everyone's telling you that there's only ice and water vapour, but there's no one there to explain it to."

Maverick smiled at him. He often wished Goose was here with him, even as a ghost. Because he knew he'd have that wonderful smile of his on his face upon hearing that what he felt was real.

"That does sound like what he was trying to say," he said. "By this point, things had calmed down, Goose felt a little bit less like talking down an anxious dog and more like having a normal conversation again.".

He closed his eyes, "If I remember correctly we'd sat down by this point, he was telling us how there were some days when naval life really grated on him. Every time he got told to man up or that he wasn’t manly enough or got called a pussy for not being hyper-masculine like he was expected to made him want to be sick and tear his skin off." He sighed. "I don't know how he survived it sometimes."

He opened his eyes again and turned his gaze to Carole.

"Then your mum decided to surprise us too."

Rooster's face had settled into shock, he must have appreciated him mentioning it before. He didn't know how much he knew about his parents, how close he felt or how much he missed them. They'd fallen so out of touch that he sometimes felt that he didn't know him at all.

"She went all shy and bashful and started talking about how she felt the same but in terms of being a woman, how even when she was pregnant with you-" he met eyes with Rooster again. "She didn't feel entirely like a woman, she just didn't think about it a lot, thought it was insecurities but hearing what Goose said made her realise that she wasn't just kidding herself."

He could see Carole in Rooster's face. He may look like his dad but he behaved in a weird combination of himself and his mum. When he was irritated, his nose scrunched like hers. His eyes glimmered with her sparkle, he saw her in his smile and could feel her ghost in his hugs. She’d raised him so well.

"But from there, we were stumped, we had no idea if there was a word for what they were feeling." He gestured vaguely outwards. "I think they were just glad to know they weren't making it up."

Just as Fanboy went to speak up, Mav thought of something else from that night. He felt sick when he realised his memories were fading. He was glad that Goose and Carole took so many photos when they were alive.

"But then Goose says that the only way he could put it into words was 'I feel more goose than guy', so that's what we went with, more goose than guy, more goose than gal," he said.

His smile returned, "I know it sounds stupid but it worked, because Goose couldn't be open about those feelings ok deployments and Carole knew the dangers living in Texas brought."

The group laughed too. He looked at Fanboy again. They were the only one with the same heartbroken understanding that Carole had when Goose opened up about his feelings to her. Maverick always tried to but knew he couldn't understand the intricacies of gender that they had.

"Well, it sounds like Carole was a demigirl," Fanboy said. "But you can't really say because-"

"We can't ask them."

The mood soured again. Maverick sighed. There was so much he wanted Goose and Carole to know about.

"But they'd be happy to know it’s a thing," he mulled. "I'll have to tell them next time I'm in Texas."

He bowed his head. The others rustled around him. The conversation felt over, it had been harder than he thought it would be, but Fanboy spoke up again.

"Well, there's been non binary people for centuries," he shifted his gaze between Rooster and Maverick. "They're not alone, never were."

Rooster breathed a thank you. His eyes were full of tears.

"They would've liked you," Maverick said to Fanboy.

He scanned the room, noticing their forlorn faces, "They would've liked all of you."

He held back a sob. In moments like this, not the quiet ones in the middle of the night, but the warm ones, he truly felt the ache of their loss. He could live without them, he’d had to, but he still wanted them back. Sometimes he wished he could see ghosts.

Snapping out of his trance, he noticed Rooster approaching him. He jiggled him by the shoulder.

"Come on, old man, enough sadness," he let himself be pulled to the sofa. "You're playing against me in this mario kart tournament."

Maverick chuckled and dropped the pictures he held in his hand. Yet, Goose and Carole's faces stayed eternally happy. Both happy in the comfort of truly being able to express who they were.

I've had this idea for a while and am so glad to get it finished. I hope I portrayed demigenders right, I did do some research beforehand but am not a demigender. I really liked the line "clung to him like smoke". I hope you enjoyed this!

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

mirage x john taylor

i wrote this a while ago, but for some reason i didn't post it lmao, its one of my favourite things that i've ever written, so i really hoep you enjoy it! also john taylor omfgggjja

Pairing: 82! john taylor x reader

Warnings: none at all

Word count: 2.602

༉‧₊˚✧

Admiring the earth in the early hours of dawn was as if an angel had blessed you with the first sightings of heaven. It’s a glimpse of life at its true peak, demonstrating the true meaning of what living is and what it should be: beauty at its finest resort. At this hour, you’re able to catch the sight of earth in total fragility, a mere ghost-town without a soul in sight. There was little to no irritations echoing out of any residences aligned by the coast (as there usually would be until 4 in the morning), just the mere accompaniment of the exuberant sounds of eloquent waves, crashing aimlessly into the golden landscape of the beach. There was also an occasional chirp of the cicadas scattered around the atmosphere, putting my mind at ease as though I wasn’t the only person on earth awake at this celestial hour. I constantly cherished moments like these; they were, surprisingly, the only times I was able to simply breathe. No distractions, no one coming up to me questioning whether I was going to go to the amazing-party-down-town that everyone is somehow going to, it was just me. Life plays by so quickly, people seem to forget the beauty in which is constantly surrounding them. A party doesn't mean anything, a one-night-stand doesn’t mean much but a potential orgasm. This, however, being alone, admiring the world in all its might and eccentricity, produces a euphoria not even drugs can obtain a level to. This place undeniably fixated a meandering caprice on me — like a blanket of unknown being poured on each side of my body, indulging me with a time of self-discovery and meaning. There were constant thoughts echoing through my mind frivolously, so loud and so ripe, but quiet, dimmed, as if they were too loud for me to even muster, resulting in a forceful crumble of a delighted whisper. As I gazed at the land that lay ahead of me, I examined every little detail that I could set my eyes upon. Palm trees danced with the wind, cavorting in their own, personal fantasies as if they each occupied an individual mind. Their movements were graceful, almost completely orchestrated, yet sloppy, like a drunken collapse of a newly-wedded couple in the centre of the dancefloor of their service they’ve jointly paid life savings on, a moment so inebriated in love, adoration, and commitment. I envied their joy, their casual sways, their attempted defiance against the power of nature, for they probably felt contentment every single day of their existence by such an uncanny resort.

As my eyes began to slowly trail off the dazzling trees, I looked up to gawk at the alluring illustrations painted on the ceiling of the nirvana that rested forth from me. There was not a single whiff of cloud in sight, the atmosphere simply pencilling an array of warm shades, ranging from the deep, murderous blood oranges, to royal delicacies of periwinkle. The view was unfathomable. As the waves began to pick up, I felt the light gusts of wind that accompanied me previously begin to cement. The air calloused my hair, marvelling in the deeply coated locks, attempting to carry them to its next destination. It almost felt the same way as someone brushing their fingers through my roots, all the way down to the aged, lifeless tips. I felt my skin begin to draw goosebumps, an indication that it was time for me to head inside. However, I wanted to occupy the time I had. I didn’t mind painfully tormenting my body when coming into contact with such a meandering view. I was holding a moment, capturing a memory, taking panoramic snaps to engrave in my mind because I was fully aware that this would be the only chance of true life I’d have. I compelled my body to stay put, even though I was practically ice, forcing my eyes continuing their glimmer at the picturesque skies — I simply was unable to get enough of it all. Every few minutes, just when I was feeling my eyes get heavy and my eyebags pull at my face, I’d notice a new, fresh colour contrast in the empyrean, my eyes widening at the serendipity that had laid out, once again. Simply inhaling the sweet taste of purified air and having my eyes fixate on such pictorial demises, was causing me to lose my grip with reality. The oxygen, the sunlight, the entire concept of life, is all somehow always so much more tranquil yet augmented when you’re situated by the coastline.

After what felt like a million years and a million different shades of colours verging from reds, to yellows, to blues, I felt two arms slowly slider around my shoulders. Snapping me out of my trance, I felt my heart skip a beat, until I came to the rational realisation that it was him.Turning my head, I instantly came into contact with the face of a tired, smiley John, tailgated by a whiff of messy hair sloppily covering his forehead. I attempted to hold back my smile by forcing my teeth on my bottom lip, yet I was seemingly unsuccessful. Our faces were merely centimetres apart, our noses very nearly brushing against one anothers, though it felt like they already were. My eyes, which were once so focused and enthralled by the view above, were trapped in the stare that was reciprocated by the man whose arms were adorned by my torso at this moment. I studied his features intently for the short period of time our stare was consumed in, analyzing anything and everything I could identify — his perfectly shaped nose, so accurately proportionalized in all areas; his thin, flawlessly drawn eyebrows — eyebrows women would pay so much for to get done; his pink, puffy, paradisiacal lips, lips you would seemingly never get enough of; and not to forget his seraphical eyes, eyes that would draw you in instantaneously, eyes that would pierce daggers to your soul and make it ache in rapture. Whenever he would stare at me, I felt intimidated by the adoration that seeped out of his beautifully drawn pupils. His eyes were a visage to his soul, his emotions; it wasn’t hard to determine his feelings when coming into contact with his gaze. His face was a dream to look at, and sometimes I felt that he wasn’t real, just a conjured up scenario I’ve placed myself into, a product of my own fantasy, the looks in which he conveyed of pure gorgeousness and idyllicism seemed like they were sculpted in the garden of Eden. He seemed like he came from the garden of Eden. “Good morning,” he chirped, the gravelly sound exhibited from his larynx was yet to fade off, proof that he hadn’t been up for that long. “Why’re you out here?”

Beaming at him, I turned my head to watch the ardent waves repetitively douse themselves onto the soft ground. No matter how many times I watched it, the same feeling of relaxation and relief released itself from my veins as I had felt the very first time I held my admiration towards it. Sighing, I felt I was silenced by the grace of the water, grabbing onto one of John’s hands as a form of support to allow me to speak. “It’s so pretty out here, can’t you see?” I answered lightly with all the courage I was able to muster, feeling a sudden throb disperse itself in my heart. My eyes gazing at the view forth caused a feeling of not only elementary joy, which made me feel like a child again, but heavy nostalgia and emptiness, the type of emotion that washes over you when you’re reminiscing over memories shared with your lost ones — your facial expressions show you smiling sweetly, but inside your body is crumbling. It’s bittersweet. Clutching onto his hand made me feel secure, content, wanting to cherish this moment and hold it accountable for all its might, though I felt like a creep trying to explain myself to John. These thoughts, these emotions I cohered in my mind made me feel like I was a complete lunatic, that I was looking too in-between-the-lines, too in-depth. I couldn’t help it though, it came naturally, like how overthinking possesses one’s brain in the most cruel and unpleasant mannerisms.

I heard a small hum rumble out of John’s throat. Moving to sit beside me, I felt his arms detach themselves slowly, the slowness of his movements almost indicated that he didn’t want to move, though he was moving closer to me. I was sitting on the wooden bench situated in the centre of the medium-sized patio, and as time passed on, it began to get lonely with it just being me and the coastline. However, once he sat the closest he could without practically throwing himself on me, I felt full again. No matter what happened, no matter what I thought or felt, having him beside me as our bodies were enveloped in a cordial embrace made me realise that it’s not just the admiration of the place that put me in such a beautified mood, seeing the trueness in all that surrounded me, but it’s also the people I surround myself, my days, my life with. And I’m sure by now, by feeling this exact same feeling with John, I know I would adore spending the rest of my life with him.

“How are you?” I attempted to change the subject, turning my head to admire the side of his genial face. His right arm was now stretched out, resting on my shoulders whilst his free hand began lightly gripping the bone of my shoulder in an attempt to cold onto me, as if I was going to vanish and flutter off into the abyss of the crystal blue ocean, as if the grip I enamoured his palm in wasn’t enough. His head immediately swung to gaze at me as soon as I spoke. A small smile formed on his face, almost exact to the little smile he threw at me when he first came up to me a couple of minutes ago, portraying his deprived self. My heart felt warm staring back at John’s eyes, the simple doing birthing millions of butterflies in my stomach, though it was contrasted against an emotion of complete elation and bliss in my mind. I couldn’t help but smile back at him as he abruptly cleared his throat before speaking, the intimidation and nervousness pooled in my body now taken off guard from trying to murder my insides.

“I’m decent,” he mumbled, his fingers now relaxing on my flesh as he softly drew patterns on my shoulder. The childlike action was seemingly able to captivate my stomach with butterflies once again, a small beam creeping on my face as I felt a blush creep on my cheeks. I avoided looking at him, though I knew he knew exactly what he was doing to me; he always did. He knew me exactly like the back of his hand, hell, even better than that. “What time did you get up?”

A small laugh rang through my throat before I spoke. It almost came across as me mimicking his own throat soundings, though I wasn’t. “At the crack of dawn, my dear,” I smiled at him, my body lacking resistance to not lock eyes with the boy situated next to me any longer. His stare was infatuating, his deep, brown, ethereal orbs that somehow brought the light I never knew I needed in my life, were like the angels granting you blessings through the stairway to heaven. “You know me, I’ve always been like this.”

The everlasting stare that fell onto my face from his eyes felt like my pores being deep fried by the sun. A small smile insinuated itself onto his dishevelled face, a diligent one. “That is in fact true,” he began, moving his stare into the glamorous empyrean that laid forth the pair of us. He took my hand, the frost that formed on the outlines of my skin sending feelings of shock to my nerves as the warmth of his palm enraptured itself with mine. “I simply wonder how you do it.”

After those words easily fell from his lips, I turned my head to look at him — specifically his side profile — as he enamoured himself in the transience of the colours. I spent a few moments — moments not too long, yet not too short to make the dissonance of time to deplete — to take in the scenario playing out currently. “If I were to tell you how, I would be defying my own self.”

He turned to me, curious and confused, pulling away from our shared embrace lightly to look me deeply in the eyes. “Reiterate?”

A short laugh escaped my body at his sudden reaction. We shared a moment of complete silence, a build-up to the words that I found myself beginning to slide off my tongue. A short intake of crisp oxygen and I was off, speaking my mind out of earnest discernment. “By telling you how I do such things, it almost exposes the wirings of my mind, what makes me who I am. And perhaps it’s a self-indulged fear, like everything comes to be, of revealing too much of myself that makes me think like this, but it is always the element of mystery that draws those who are curious towards that void that is unknown, hoping they find out enough that dishevels that scarcely pit of wonder,” I began, us now sharing an intense stare with one another, the earth completely silent, as if it were listening to every word that left my lips. “Or maybe that is just my secret attempt of keeping you with me for much longer than this sunrise can elongate.” I finished, attempting to brighten the atmosphere from my mind’s most destructive and aimless thoughts.

It is true bravery, to speak your mind, more so it is to reveal your true identity, and to be able to do that, dictates the idea that the fear of living is nothing but the mind’s own manacles. We kept soft, meaningful smiles on our faces as our eyes melted together. The little grimace grew all the more wider after my little try for a joke played through. “We are who we are, having secretly decided who we’d like to be, no?” He asked, his head cocked to the side, almost mocking my words previously.

It’s an unexplainable feeling, love. It disregards all aspects of morality, for you find yourself in a want, a greed to present yourself to them in ways unexplainable. There isn’t much you can do, that is. Either let the fire in your heart, pumping twice the amount of usual speed it would do per minute, simply fade out into an abyss of your recall, or contain its cancerous feelings, for all you muster your ability to do is fall more and more in love with them each day. As cancerous as it is however, you willingly choose to delve yourself deeper, until you manage to get injured horribly, or sometimes you come to a simple jurisdiction that the water is too sour for you to swallow. My smile grew wider at the quote that rolled off so delicately off his tongue, a feeling of euphoria that clashed in unison with the tide poured over my body from head to toe. “Yes, exactly that, my love.”

#john taylor x reader #john taylor #duran duran #band imagines #sing blue silver #fanfic #my writing #80s #new romantics #synth pop music

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ddixons-angel · 4 years

Text

Fated: Season 5

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff), implied smut/sex

A/N: Here is another chapter and it’s taking off with the house party~ I gotta say I am a bit nervous about this chapter... I hope you all like it! Please let me know what you think! Chapter 12

Glenn, Maggie, and Gloria arrive at the front door of Deanna’s house where they are greeted by Reg, Deanna’s husband and also the one who built the walls around Alexandria. He leads them into the main room where the rest of the party guests linger, letting them help themselves to the food and drinks. Glenn then spots Noah awkwardly cowering in the corner of the room, a forced smile on his face. Glenn nods pointedly towards him and the three go to his rescue.

“Hey,” Glenn says with a soft smile, “you okay?”

“Yeah...” Noah nods, “yeah, um just... isn’t really my thing.”

“Not mine either, trust me,” Gloria smiles at him.

Noah chuckles and nods, “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“No, no. You’re not bailing,” Glenn stops him, “we’re in this together man.”

“You’re here with us now.” Maggie says, nodding reassuringly, “you’re here with family.”

Gloria looks around and spots the table that had beverages situated on top of it, she then glances back at Noah, “you wait here.”

Without waiting for Noah to try and stop her, Gloria goes over to the table and gets two party cups. She opens a bottle of gingerale and pours it into one cup, then pours herself some whiskey in the other. She knew she’d need some alcohol to get through this party. Putting on the lids of both bottles, Gloria heads back over to her friends with the two cups. She hands the cup with gingerale to Noah.

“Oh, no, I can’t drink,” Noah says, waving his hand at the cup.

“It’s gingerale,” Gloria tells him in a whisper, “finish the cup and pretend to be drunk so we have a reason to leave earlier.”

Glenn chuckles and shakes his head while Noah grins at her words, “that... that sounds great.”

“She’s a better planner than you,” Maggie teases Glenn.

“Please, where do you think she gets it from?” Glenn playfully rolls his eyes.

Gloria chuckles and takes a sip from her cup, hissing slightly at the burn down her throat. The four of them have a light conversation amongst themselves before Gena and another woman near her age approaches.

“Glad you could make it,” Gena says, a smile on her face as she greets them.

“You forced us to come...” Gloria mutters under her breath, looking down.

Maggie furrows her brows at Gloria’s expression as she’s never seen her act this way before. Glenn sighs softly, knowing how uncomfortable Gloria felt whenever Gena was around. Gena frowns at her words but it is soon replaced by a smile as she then gestures to the woman beside her.

“Glenn, you remember Jacob’s sister, Mindy right? Maggie, you met Mindy the other day in Deanna’s office.” Gena says.

“I did,” Maggie smiles politely and nods at her in greeting, “nice to see you again.”

Mindy smiles at her and nods, then she looks over at Gloria and Noah, “Pleased to meet you two.”

Gloria blinks at her while Noah awkwardly smiles at her. Glenn furrows his brows as Gena has to do her best to stifle her laughter.

“Mindy, this is Gloria.” Gena tells her.

The woman lets out an exaggerated gasp as she looks at Gloria, “you’re Gloria?! I didn’t even recognise you! I guess it took the end of the world for you to finally learn how to properly groom yourself.”

Gloria forces a smile at her, “yeah... I guess it did.”

To anyone listening in on their conversation, it would seem that Mindy genuinely didn’t recognise Gloria. However, her and Glenn knew that she knew it was Gloria but Mindy just wanted to take cheap jabs at her like she and Gena always did when they were younger.

Gena looks around the room then looks at Gloria, “that’s odd, I thought Daryl would be here with you."

Gloria purses her lips, knowing that nothing good could come out of this, “no, this... isn’t really his thing.”

Noah eyes her playfully, “I said the same thing but you’re making me stay.”

“You came on your own,” Maggie points out.

“Daryl...” Mindy ponders for a moment.

“Here it comes...” Gloria mutters under her breath in Korean, earning a worried look from Glenn.

“Oh, that filthy man you were making out with the other day?” Mindy says, as if just remembering, she then lets out a mocking chuckle, “I guess losing your taste in men makes you shameless too, showing so much public affection like that.”

Gloria’s grip on her cup tightens as she gets angry at her words. Glenn sighs as Maggie frowns, not knowing what to do since they were still at the party and they both doubted Gloria wanted to cause a scene. Noah takes a sip from his cup, eyeing Mindy.

“Hey, that’s not very-” Noah starts but he’s cut off by Gloria.

“Speaking about men, where’s Rob?” Gloria asks, looking right at Mindy.

Her expression falls at the mention of her ex-husband. Gloria knew that the man had cheated on her with multiple women which ended their marriage years before the end of the world, she’d heard it from Gena. Mindy had to know that Gloria wouldn’t back down without putting up a fight.

“Gloria.” Gena says in a warning tone but Gloria doesn’t bat an eye, not when they were about to start bad mouthing Daryl.

“It’s okay, Gena, little girls don’t know any better,” Mindy says, putting a hand on her best friend’s shoulder, then she turns around and calls out to Jacob, “can you bring me my glass of wine?”

As Gloria takes another sip from her cup, Glenn gives her a look that was a mixture of disapproval but amusement at the same time. She shrugs at him subtly causing Glenn to chuckle and shake his head. Jacob had brought a glass of red wine to Mindy and as she turns around to face the group, she yelps and jolts forward slightly as if someone had bumped into her. Gloria gasps as the dark red liquid spills all over her.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Mindy says.

“Gloria, are you okay?” Maggie asks, a worried look on her face.

“I’ll go get some napkins,” Noah says just before he and Jacob rush off towards the kitchen.

Gloria sighs as she looks down at the now maroon stained cardigan but nods at Maggie, “yeah I’m fine... sorry about your cardigan though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maggie smiles at her reassuringly.

“Gloria, take that off, you can’t keep wearing it when it’s like that,” Gena orders.

“I-I’m fine, I want to keep it on,” Gloria insists, cowering back away from Gena’s outreached hand.

“No, you’re taking that off right now,” Gena says as she steps towards Gloria but the younger backs away, making her groan, “you want to keep playing the victim and make Mindy feel worse for spilling wine on you?”

“Gena, stop!” Glenn gently pulls her back, “she doesn’t want to take off the cardigan, don’t force her.”

“Gloria, don’t make me count,” Gena warns her, completely disregarding Glenn.

“Fine.” Gloria says, glaring at Gena, she accused her of playing victim to make Mindy feel bad, that’s what Gena was going to get.

“You don’t have to,” Maggie says with a frown as Gloria gives her the cup to hold for her.

Gloria doesn’t say anything as she unbuttons the top button of the cardigan and pulls the piece of clothing off her. She could hear the quiet gasps from all over the room as her scars are all revealed for the people to see. She hated the feeling of all eyes on her, Gloria curses under her breath as she feels tears well up in her eyes. Shock is evident in Gena’s eyes as she looks at her younger sister, and Gloria is certain Gena feels disgust for her as well.

Noah and Jacob had returned from the kitchen with paper towels, a look of shock on both of their faces for differing reasons. Jacob had just learned about her scars while Noah was surprised Gloria had decided to reveal her injuries at the party.

“I... I didn’t know.” Gena says in a soft whisper.

“Yeah you did... you both did...” Gloria says, failing to control her tears as one rolls down her cheek.

Glenn reaches out and gently grabs Gloria’s hand, “come on, we’re leaving.”

Without saying anything or even looking at Gena, he pulls Gloria towards the door with Maggie and Noah trailing behind them.

“Glenn!” Gena calls out.

He stops and ushers Maggie and Noah to guide Gloria outside, he turns around and glares angrily at Gena, “I told you not to force her.”

“I didn’t know!” Gena says in her defence.

“It doesn’t matter.” Glenn huffs then leaves the party and catches up with the other three.

They walk together towards their house. Noah was cracking lame jokes to try and help Gloria feel better while Maggie and Glenn walked with them in silence. Once they made it back to the house, Gloria kicked off her shoes and thanked Noah for trying to help her. Glenn, Maggie, and Noah could only watch helplessly as Gloria retreats back to her room. She didn’t bother turning on the light as the moon luminated most of the room from the window. From the doorway, she could see that the room was empty. Part of her was glad that Daryl wasn’t home so that he wouldn’t see her like this, but the other part wished he was as she wanted to find comfort in his arms.

Gloria allows the tears to fall from her eyes as she struggles to pull the zipper on the back of her dress down. She doesn’t care if the dress ripped as she roughly pulls at the zipper, finally the slider moves down enough that she can tug the dress down and off her body. Gloria grunts as she kicks the dress away from her. Now that she was only in her bra and underwear, she could see all her scars in the full body mirror in the corner of the room. She walks up to the mirror as her eyes scrutinize each and every mark on her body. She could still feel the judgement and pity from those at the party and she hated every second of it.

“You did this to yourself...” Gloria says as she glares at herself in the mirror, “you’re so damn stupid... why the hell would you listen to Gena... you’re such an idiot...”

She curses under her breath as she begins to sob, unable to control her emotions any longer. She felt so foolish, she knew what Gena and Mindy were trying to do and she still fell for it. Gloria didn’t know how Gena knew about her scars, but she was certain that she did before she revealed them. In the moment, Gloria knew that it would make Gena feel bad, but she wasn’t sure whether the pain and humiliation afterwards was worth it at all.

“Fucking dumbass...” Gloria whimpers between breathy sobs.

She was so immersed in her emotions, Gloria didn’t even hear the door open and close. She’d only known that someone had come into the room when she felt a warm hand on her bare lower back. She lets out a gasp and turns to face whoever it was, her hands balled into fists as a fighting reflex, only relaxing when she realizes it’s Daryl.

“Glenn told me what happened,” he says as he wipes her tears away with his thumb.

“I was an idiot...” she says, her voice breathy and shaky.

“Nah, ya weren’... they’re jus’ assholes,” Daryl says, he leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, “c’mon.”

He ushers her towards the bed and sits her down. He begins to kiss her scars, starting with the arm closest to him. His lips trail down her skin, not letting a single inch of it go untouched. Daryl moves onto the next scar on her forearm. A soft smile tugs at Gloria’s lips at his gesture, she knew that he was wordlessly telling her that he loved her, every single part of her, scars and all. Just as she had done for him every night at the prison. Daryl moves to kneel in front of her when he’s done showing his love to the scars on her arms and chest, he caresses her cheek with his thumb.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he tells her as he looks into her eyes, “perfect in every possible way, an’ nothin’ can tell me otherwise.”

Gloria tearfully smiles at him, his words warming her heart, “I love you.”

“I love ya, too.” he says just before pressing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him to lay down on the bed with her as she kisses him back. Their kiss becomes passionate and heated as his hands explore her body. Gloria’s hands move to unbutton his shirt, and he only parts from the kiss to remove his clothing. Daryl captures her lips with his again but this time in a sweet gentle kiss, earning a light giggle from Gloria. He smiles at the sound of her laughter and proceeds to trail kisses down to her neck and chest.

Daryl had always been a man of few words, always showing what he truly felt through his actions. He knew that no matter how many times he told Gloria that she’s perfect and beautiful, she wouldn’t listen as she was just as stubborn as him in that matter. Like him, he knew that the only way to have her accept her scars and not be insecure about them was for him to show her that he loves her no matter what. Just like she had done for him.

“You’re perfect,” he says, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose before laying down beside her.

Gloria lets out a giggle as she wraps her arm around Daryl’s torso, her head laying on his chest, “I love you.”

He wraps his arms around her, holding her close as he presses a kiss to her forehead, “I love ya, too.”

The two lay together, snuggled in each other’s arms in a comforting silence before Gloria speaks again, “Daryl?”

“Hm?” he hums in response.

“Where did you go tonight?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Aaron’s, he invited me for dinner,” he tells her, “Eric makes some pretty good spaghetti.”

Gloria groans playfully, “you’re telling me I missed out on spaghetti?”

“Mhm,” Daryl chuckles, he ponders for a moment before speaking again, “he gave me a job.”

Gloria furrows her brows as she looks up at him curiously, the moonlight luminating his icy blue eyes, “a job? What kind of job?”

“Gonna be the other recruiter for this place, Aaron doesn’ want Eric goin’ out there anymore...” Daryl tells her, biting his lip as he wasn’t sure how she would like him leaving Alexandria for days at a time.

“So... you’re gonna go out there to find people and bring them back here?” she asks after pondering for a short moment.

“Yeah...” he answers, nervousness and worry filling up in his heart as he doesn’t know whether she was okay with it or not.

“On foot?” she asks.

“Nah, Aaron has a bike in his garage, I gotta fix it up though,” Daryl informs, earning a light nod from her, but she doesn’t say anything else.

His worry and nervousness grow with every second of her silence. A million thoughts had crossed his mind when he was walking back to the house from Aaron’s house as he contemplated how to tell her about his new job. Being how he is, most of those thoughts were negative and disastrous scenarios of her getting upset and leaving him forever. Her body language however, did not tell him that she was upset or angry at him as she stayed cuddled in his embrace with no sign of wanting to move away.

“When are you guys leaving?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“In a few days after I fix up the bike,” Daryl says, finally he works up the courage to ask, “ya okay with it? Me goin’ out there to find people?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gloria furrows her brows in confusion, “you’re good out there, you know how to take care of yourself and I know how being stuck behind these walls makes you feel. Plus, it’s not like you’ll be going out there alone, Aaron’s proved to be a good guy, I trust him.”

Her words warm his heart and were able to chase his feelings away, but he still needed to confirm, “ya really okay wit’ me leavin’ ya for a few days at a time?”

“You accepted already, right?” Gloria asks, earning a soft nod from him, “you accepted because you want to be out there, you need to be out there to feel like yourself, I get that so I’m not gonna hold you back from it. I just want you to remember where your home is and you promise to come back, even if it’s just to tell me that you’re gonna leave.”

“I’d never leave ya,” Daryl says, “home is where ya are.”

Gloria smiles at his words and snuggles into him, kissing his chest gently. That was her way of letting him know that she wanted to sleep. Daryl couldn’t put into words how lucky he felt to have Gloria, she understood him like no other and never tried to change who he was. Even after all this time of being with her, he still didn’t know why she chose him but he was never going to take that for granted.

---

The next morning, Gloria had gone off into the woods again to collect more herbs. Although it was supposed to be Rosita’s turn that day, she let Gloria go in her stead as she had witnessed what happened at the party between her and her sister. She knew that not caring about what the Alexandrians thought about her scars would be a lot easier said than done, so she just didn’t want to deal with it. As she walks around the forest, actively looking for any herbs, she hears what sounds like silenced gunshots in the near distance. Furrowing her brows, Gloria decides to investigate and soon finds an open area littered with dead walkers. She sees someone in the distance wearing a green army jacket armed with a rifle and she sighs when she recognizes the person as Sasha. Gloria ends up deciding to go up to her to make sure she’s alright when Sasha suddenly turns around and aims the rifle at her.

“Woah! Sasha, relax, it’s just me,” Gloria says, her hands held up as a natural reaction.

However, she doesn’t lower the rifle as she glares at Gloria, “why are you following me?”

“I wasn’t.” Gloria says, slowly putting her hands down, “I came out to collect herbs and heard shots, just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“Well I’m fine, so leave me alone.” Sasha says, annoyed as she turns around again to find more walkers in the woods.

Gloria sighs as she knows Sasha is anything but fine. How could she be? She’d lost so much in such a short time. Gloria would be broken if she lost Glenn or Daryl, hell, even if she lost Gena.

“What are you still doing here? I said leave!” Sasha shouts.

“Sasha, you need to talk to someone, you can’t keep doing this.” Gloria says.

Sasha turns back around, this time the rifle is lowered, “I don’t need to talk to anyone! Why do you care anyway?!”

“Because I’m your friend!” Gloria shouts back.

“You are not my friend.” Sasha seethes, taking Gloria aback, “you’re just someone I know from the prison, nothing else. You didn’t even want me there in the first place, so I don’t even know why you’re saying you’re my friend when you’re not.”

“I... if you want me to apologize for wanting to kick you out of the prison-” Gloria is cut off by Sasha.

“I want you to apologize for not being able to save Tyreese.” Sasha spits out bitterly.

Gloria’s eyes widen at Sasha’s words, staring at her in shock, “I did... everything I could.”

“But it wasn’t enough...” Sasha whispers, choking back tears as she looks down.

It was that moment that Gloria knew Sasha was only trying to push her away. She was hurting and wanted to be alone, she wanted to mourn in her own way. Sasha was doing everything she could to push Gloria away, even go as far as tell her she was why Tyreese was dead. Gloria understood this, but her words still stung.

“I’m sorry...” Gloria says, looking down, “I’m sorry for not trying hard enough... for not being able to save your brother...”

Without waiting for Sasha to respond, Gloria walks away into the forest. If she didn’t want to be near her, if she was a reminder that Tyreese wasn’t alive anymore, then she would leave her alone. Gloria walks around the woods, her thoughts distracting her from looking for any more herbs. She thinks back to the prison and how she would always have friendly competition with Sasha, making bets on who would kill the most walkers. Her, Sasha, and Maggie had grown so close during those times and now it all seemed so far away.

It was only when she heard Sasha cry out in pain that Gloria snapped out of her thoughts. She quickly rushes towards the area she’d last seen Sasha and finds her on the ground as walkers surround her. Sasha was swinging her rifle at the walkers that came too close for a clean shot. Seeing this, Gloria dashes towards Sasha, unsheathing both of her daggers and stabs at the walkers closest to Sasha.

“Come on!” Gloria says once it’s clear for her to reach out for her, hurriedly pulling her up from the ground.

“Ah!” Sasha groans once she’s on her feet, making Gloria look at her in worry, “I think I hurt my ankle...”

“Like old times then, cover my ass!” Gloria shouts at her before lunging at the walkers with her daggers.

A small chuckle escapes Sasha’s lips as she shakes her head, then she positions the rifle, aiming it towards the walkers. Gloria jabs walker after walker swiftly as Sasha shoots from behind her, taking down any that could get too close. Soon enough, the small herd is cleared and Gloria goes back to Sasha to help her walk to a large arrangement of rocks. Sasha sits down on the large rock as Gloria kneels down in front of her to examine her ankle.

“Looks like you got a sprain,” Gloria tells her, “I suggest you keep off your foot for a few days even if it’s just a small sprain, but if you still want to come out here I can give you a compression wrap back at the infirmary and some pain killers.”

“Why are you still helping me...” Sasha asks, remorse in her voice.

“You’re still my friend... even if you don’t want me to be anymore.” Gloria says, looking down.

“Hey...” Sasha starts, “look, I’m sorry about what I said before... I didn’t mean it.”

Gloria sighs and gets up, she sits on the rock with Sasha, “see, I don’t know if you mean that or you’re just saying it because you feel bad.”

“It’s both, I do feel bad but I do actually mean it. I was just... I don’t even know,” Sasha sighs, frustrated with herself.

“Pushing me away?” Gloria says.

“Yeah... pushing everyone away actually... I don’t think I spoke to anyone from our group but Rick since we got here,” Sasha tells her, she then gently grabs Gloria’s hand, “I’m serious though, I didn’t mean what I said about you not trying hard enough for Ty...”

“I know,” Gloria says with a small smile, “doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out...” Sasha grimaces at her lame excuse.

“Because you know me, that’s probably the only thing you could have said to push me away,” Gloria chuckles softly, “does this mean we’re still friends?”

“Please, if you weren’t my friend, do you think I would let you kill more walkers than me and win?” Sasha chuckles.

Gloria scoffs playfully and rolls her eyes, “let me? What are you talking about, I saved your ass.”

“Yeah, because I let you save my ass.” Sasha argues with a grin.

The two continue to bicker for a while before deciding to head back to Alexandria. Sasha had her arm around Gloria’s shoulders while Gloria held her from her waist, she wanted to make sure Sasha didn’t put as much weight on her injured ankle. Gloria calls out to whoever is manning the gate to open and they two make their way towards the infirmary.

---

Next Chapter

So~~~ what did you guys think of that? I have a feeling none of you are going to like Mindy xD I feel like I created a hated trio haha but then we had Daryl being such a loving sweetie~ ^^ and with what Sasha said to Gloria, I wanted to show their understanding and their friendship with each other through that, I hope I did it justice even though it was rough haha please let me know your thoughts on it!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!):

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simtrospective · 4 years

Photo

~Makeover time! [4/?]

A series 🙄 in which I take three sims from the first round of TS4 sims I ever made–created before I had every CC slider and skin detail in existence and prior to the (relative) refinement of my sim sculpting abilities–and fix ‘em up only by tweaking, pulling, and pushing; no preset-swapping here! Changes to skintones, skin details, hairstyles, and makeup are allowed where doing so would further bring the sims’ appearances more in line with my original intentions.

"[4/?]” because maybe there will be more some day :P

So I feel like I have to say that I’m not doing these makeovers to make my sims better looking, just in case you’re side-eyeing these.

This is the last round for now, three more brothers: Rocky (whose original version was in my recent 50s lookbook); Ace; and Jimmy.

Why does Jimmy not look at all like his brothers? Well, in their save, that very question was one of the ~continued issues~ in his parents’ tumultuous marriage.

Why does Jimmy now--and hear me out--why does the new Jimmy look vaguely like a young Tom Hanks? ikr!?

(I’ve played a full save with these three dummies so the writing beyond the cut is A. LOT. There are more pics there, too.)

Rocky is a favorite of mine but like so many of my early faves, his face... As you know, I am an incurable default skin swapper-outer and because of that he never looks consistent + he always looks a little unformed, a little cartoonish, on top of having a very unmanipulated, MM-style face to begin with. I think his makeover settles him somewhat so for right now I’ll take it. I can see myself returning him to his original form down the line, however, because it’s the one I know + he looks a bit too mature in his new version.

The day I made him, the first thing he did as soon as the lot loaded was fire up his gaming console and the second thing he did was rage quit the game he was playing; I was hooked. I wish him the best in my new save but I think he’s gonna have another hard road on account of being the uncontrolled emotions king! Shirking off work and then getting fired and then having the audacity to claim unfair treatment king! King of coming on too strong to women out of his league! King of letting his immaturity and meddlesome parents keep his romantic entanglements from progressing past a single night. King of having his mother barge into his bedroom while he and a lady friend are in bed and then king 👏 of 👏 fighting 👏 with 👏 his 👏 mother 👏 in 👏 front 👏 of 👏 half 👏 dressed 👏 said 👏 lady 👏 friend!

Why those clapping hands look like feature-less hen heads... I just--

* * *

In the pictures on the left, Ace doesn’t look that bad!, so you’re going to have to trust me that he’s just really... um... reallllllllllllly unattractive in-game. Generally I don’t care about that (#allsimsarevalid) but the issue for him was his proportions and if I’m the one crafting those proportions, like, there’s some missteps I cannot abide. I said in this very post that I didn’t start these makeovers to make a bunch of supermodels but I felt like I owed Ace something more so yes, it was a goal of mine to make him kinda cute. I feel that I retained his Ace-ness while making him a total qt 3.14. Look at those dimples. Look at those lashes! Lil lamb. Weird little angel statue. Little garden cherub.

Ace's life... man, idk. Struck out with the ladies. Never found his passions. In denial, even as a young adult, about the extent of his parents’ fractured marriage. He took to programming and worked on it autonomously but never achieved greatness because he ended up with some custom trait that caused him to want to sleep, like, twenty-one hours of the day? and that kind of put a wrench in things, never mind that he came from a family that thought computer stuff was for nerds lololololol

All that was bad enough but Ace’s lowest point came when the mother of his children (yes, he found love!) seduced his dad and abandoned the kids to start a new family. But that’s a story for another time. Now, all that happening with his original face? Pathetic and maybe deserved. All that happening with his new face? Um, it wouldn’t and it won’t! Dimples, lashes, lamb.

(Additional fun fact: the mother of Ace’s children was Bridgette, from this post.)

* * *

When I created Jimmy he was a teenager. Here, he is a young adult. Like his brothers, he was a hot mess, but a cool version. He was the neighborhood heartthrob even looking like a baby-faced adult gangster who disguised himself as a newsboy. He’s forty-four but he acts sixty-four and he looks nine! Extra, extra, he says sardonically before pulling a tommy gun from his satchel of newspapers and riddling the facade of your hideaway with a couple-a rounds, see?

My original plan for Jimmy was to not necessarily be “good-looking” but to have all the qualities of someone who the neighborhood/town accepts is good-looking. Oh, that hair! Oh, cheekbones and freckles! Oh, those light eyes. And on and on. 🙄 The first Jimmy could get by as a teen, but his appearance didn’t translate to any older life stage; through elder-hood, he continued to look like a small doll, a child star past his prime. Embarrassing! Now he’s better. When he doesn’t come back after being the sim version of drafted to fight in the sim version of the Vietnam War during the sim version of the year 1969 it’ll be all the more tragic because, you see, it’s just so much worse when someone pretty dies!

(Wow, not me spoiling a plot point I’ll never work through from a story I’ll never write/share!)

Original Jimmy was a real dog and a cheater to his sweet little girlfriend and a jerk to his brothers and thanks to me not checking off the proper settings when I first started using MCCC, he--again, as a teenager 💆‍♀️--entered into an on-and-off affair with Paola (from this post) and they had two kids that her cuck husband pretty much raised while Jimmy kept flitting around town sowing his seed all the while having the gall to force his sweet little girlfriend to end her (surprise but wanted) pregnancy and then dumping her for her troubles. Guess those promise rings meant nothing. If any sim deserves a smirk it’s him so I gave him one.

For the record, Rocky and Ace and Jimmy did in fact all have the same parents because I set it up that way in CAS. To think their mom and dad fought about this when there were so many other things they didn’t like about one another...

#sims 4 #ts4 #makeover time #(mine)#sims 4 makeovers #ts4 makeovers

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sweetbunnykook · 5 years

Text

The Tin Can

TW: suicide, depression, mention of alcohol/drug abuse, death

Summary: Hoseok loves you.

Word Count: 1,827

Hoseok sat in the airport staring at nothing in particular. He rolled the small Altoids case between his fingers, listening to the pleasant rattling sound echoing from the inside. He considered himself lucky to be able to book the one-way flight to California early in the morning, before he can see the sun. He can vaguely hear a voice over the intercom reminding him of the time he has left in South Korea; the time he has left with you.

He looked down at his wrist, the friendship bracelet you made in middle school browned from age but still as beautiful as the first day you wrapped it around him. He remembered the chaste kiss he placed on your cheek, the blush that formed as you toyed with the bracelet, before you lean into him and lay your weight on his arm. Ever since then you watched every tennis match he’s been in, every dance competition, every club meeting. This country held the memories stuck to his skin like glue, hardened to the point that he couldn’t separate his individual self from the self that belong with you.

In two hours he will be saying goodbye to you for the last time. He promised, before you took your last breath, that he won’t come to your funeral like you asked and he’ll move on and never look back. He’ll marry someone, anyone, start a family, get a new job, forget about everything. He’ll forget about the way you brushed his hair with your fingers when he was tired, forget about the meals you made for him, the gloves you knitted, the taste of your lipstick on his tongue, your soft whimpers, his coat that still smelled of your fresh gardenia scented perfume. Maybe that was your intention all along; to leave him in the worst way possible because you really are just that evil.

Another rattle from the tin can.

On the day of your funeral, Hoseok went back on his promise and crashed his car into the graveyard, dug his fingers into the cold earth that was going to eat your corpse, humiliating himself in front of your friends and his acquaintances that came to pay their condolences. They were never truly your friends anyway. Time and time again he’d told you they only came to suck the sunshine out of you. While they all moved on with their happy-go-lucky lives, your body has gone cold and limp. No matter how many times he’d dug for your corpse with his bare hands, you wouldn’t wake up, won’t come to his front door and greet him with your saccharine voice.

‘Hobi, have you eaten yet?’

How many times has he stared at the front door ever since you left? No one came to knock, not even your parents, and he spent the last five years drinking his life away, distrust towards people around him spreading steadily like a plague.

You hated it when he drank. It only took one drop of your tears to stamp him as a sober man for the remaining of the relationship. You made him a better man, a man that didn’t have to pick wallets in the slums of Gwangju for the next bottle. He wished he could’ve given you a better life. Even when there wasn’t enough to eat, you never resorted to stealing like he had in high school. Even when you could’ve had a better life with your aunt in Jeju, you chose to stay with him because you wanted to spend the remaining days close to him.

The Altoids tin can rattles again and Hoseok traces the tip of his tongue along his canines.

When did you begin to lie to him? After graduation? Before moving in with him? He noticed your weight loss before you did and took on a second job, thinking that the meals he couldn’t afford was the cause of your once plump and healthy face slimming down.

And you just let him believe such a lie.

You knew how irrational he would’ve gotten if he knew that he wouldn’t be able to afford your medication, much less three meals a day. You played him like a fiddle, pretending to be the jealous girlfriend going on a diet to hide your symptoms (as if you even needed it), faking a pregnancy scare when your periods stopped coming, faking a meltdown and shaving your head because you were scared he was going to see how much hair you were losing on the snow white pillow cases. It wasn’t until he followed you to one of your usual “appointments” at the free women’s clinic that he caught you red-handed with the slip of paper in your hands, reference to surgeons and experts in the United States stacked like bricks.

You threatened to leave him that night, throwing a tantrum and hurting his left eye in the process while he held you still, wrapping his arms so tight around you that you could hardly breathe. The one thing that gave him hope in this world was falling apart and all he could do was keep you close. If he had the power to cure you he would, but not even money can buy the rotten thing inside your head. By the end of the year you lost you ability to walk and the month after that you couldn’t control your bladder. You hated looking at the orange bottles of pills and stuffed your medication in Altoids tins, hoping that at least you can pretend to be healthy before you lost your ability to speak.

Hoseok, despite how much he beat his head with his fists, can’t forget how you pleaded for him to find a new woman. He was so tired, maintaining his two jobs and taking care of you, that he simply promised to do just that and fell asleep right on your lap. You sent him off to work the next day, waving and giggling so happily from the bed, that there was no way he would come back to a corpse in twelve hours.

In the time it took for him to earn enough money to pay for your next appointment, you’d taken the glass of water he placed on the nightstand, crashed the cup against the bed frame, and slit your wrist. Even then you were selfless enough to wrap his coat around your body, as if hiding your wrist from his view would bring you back to life when he arrived.

Hoseok discovered that the human body held a lot of blood that night. Your blood had seeped through his coat and onto the sheets, painting a large red circle on the white fabric. You lied to him that morning, so he decided to lie to you for the rest of his life.

He began drinking again, started robbing at gun-point to many poor store owners, started harassing your so-called “friends” that didn’t even pay a single visit when you were sick. He’s been arrested once, released a year later, and spent the remainder of his time working as a dishwasher for a small motel. He drank with each paycheck, smoked like a chimney, slept with your dresses on the dirty carpet of his cheap flat, and hired prostitutes, only to vomit before he could even lay a finger on them.

It was only by stealing wallets again that he was able to afford a ticket to California.

‘If you can go to any place in the world, where would you go?‘

‘I think...California.‘

‘California?‘

‘I’d like to see the sunrise on my way there. I think looking at the sunrise from the plane is so much better because the clouds would look even prettier.‘

The intercom interrupts the rattling inside the tin can. Hoseok stretched his fingers to the sky and then his legs towards the floor, and made his way towards the terminal. If there was one thing he was grateful of in his life, it was that his parents at least paid for the visa and passport out of pity when you passed away. He didn’t have to steal another wallet to afford that.

“Right this way, sir.“ A woman smiles after checking his passport and points to the walkway leading to the plane. He glanced at his watch next to the bracelet. The sun will rise in an hour and a half.

He sat in the economy seat at the end of the left section and buckled himself in. A new beginning, a new day.

Passengers began flooding in soon after; parents with children, foreigners, elderly couples, students, businessmen, businesswomen. The woman seated next to him was in her sixties at least, friendly wrinkles lining the edge of her half-moon eyes, her lipstick bold and pink. She wore her hair pinned with a clip and she sat happily in her seat, excited that she will see her grandson for the first time. Hoseok bowed slightly in respect and helped her strap the buckle over her lap, as she could not do so with her shaky hands.

“Thank you so much.“

He smiled. “It’s no problem. Do you mind if I open the slider?” He pointed to the small window shut closed. “I’d like to see the sunrise.”

“Not all all, please go ahead.“

As if the sun rose from bed, it began to shower the clouds with warm rays after the first hour of flying. Hoseok took a deep breath and released, clenching the photo of you in the breast pocket of his coat. He took another deep breath, more shallow this time.

“Would you like a glass of water?“ The woman next to him turned, concern gracing her features. “It must be your first time flying isn’t it?“

He nodded, smiling ever so brightly. “Yeah...I’m seeing my fiancee soon,” he took another deep breath, “I’m just very happy.”

The woman patted his arm once, returning his smile and turning back to her magazine. Hoseok turned his head towards the window, eyes closing as the sun finally reached its true warmth and basked his skin with golden light. It felt like your touch, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his temples.

An hour and thirty minutes into the flight.

A stewardess crouches down to see the passengers in row forty with a glass of water in her hand.

“Would he liked some water too?“ She asked the old woman with the pink lipstick.

The passenger nudged Hoseok’s arm, hoping that he would turn his head towards her. She was met with silence, his head still turned towards the sun. She wondered how he can sleep so peacefully with such strong rays shining down on his face. She nudged slightly harder, shaking his body slightly, yelping in surprise when the small box between his finger falls and clatters on the flooring.

There is nothing inside the tin can.

#bts fanfiction #bts oneshot #bangtan fanfiction #Hoseok fanfiction #Jhope fanfiction #Jhope angst #Hoseok angst #Hoseok oneshot #bts fanfic #Jhope oneshot #bunny:fic #I don't know why I had the idea all of the sudden while doing a project but I just had to write it #I haven't been feeling well so I can at least write something from this feeling

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cherryxsubs · 5 years

Text

What’s inside Aoi Shouta’s bag?

The comments during the Seiyuu to Yoasobi 33rd livestream has surpassed 80,000 (145,000+ to be exact, the highest that the Thursday show has ever gotten) which unlocks the 3rd tier reward of checking the contents of Shoutan’s bag~

Shoutan said that it’s an old bag that he has used for a long time now. NamiDai (Namikawa Daisuke) and Kiiyan (Taniyama Kishou) have noted the missing pull tab of one of the sliders, evidence of it being well-used. Apparently, it’s a trait of people with blood type B to keep using old things if they’re still usable.

Now on to the good part! NamiDai and Kiiyan found 8 (+2) different items inside his bag:

More details under the cut:

1. Anti-dust Face Mask (unopened) - Protection against dust, sickness, and annoying fans! Shoutan has a black one.

2. Toe Support Pad - NamiDai remarked that it’s very Shoutan-like. Kiiyan then reveals that he has a toe fetish (oh my). Then he said that he never saw Shoutan’s toes up close (omg). Shoutan then said that he won’t show them, ‘cause Kiiyan might dream about it when he sees them. lol

3. Chocola BB (Vitamin B2 Supplement) - Supplement for a smoother skin and acne prevention. Shoutan’s secret to perfect skin, Exhibit A. NamiDai and Kiiyan has noted (in a good way!) that the items so far are very feminine (◡‿◡✿)

4. Supplement for Women 40 and Up - Seeing the package, Kiiyan then jokingly accused Shoutan of lying about his real age. NamiDai remarked that Shoutan is such a genius, on the other hand Kiiyan said that Shoutan is too interesting. Shoutan said that there’s a “for men” version, but opted to buy this one because he thought that the men’s version would enhance his body and make him buff lol. Shoutan’s secret to perfect skin, Exhibit B.

5. N.M.F. Aquaring Ampoule Mask (face pack) - The description is written in English and Korean and Kiiyan said he can’t read it, so he assumed that it must be some sort of p***s enhancer due to the illustration in the packaging ^^;; Shoutan’s secret to perfect skin, Exhibit C.

6. Pen, Lipstick, and Superglue - NamiDai and Kiiyan marveled at the presence of the superglue in particular, since it seems out of place ^^;; Shoutan said that he actually uses it a lot, especially when parts of his shoes or sneakers come off. Kiiyan then remembered his own sneakers, and NamiDai voluntarily glues the parts that came off. As a result, he glued the superglue tube to his right pointer finger, as well his left thumb and pointer finger together XD

They were supposed to stop here, but Kiiyan checked his bag again to see if he can find more XD

7. Glasses - Shoutan looks good in anything, even in glasses TToTT NamiDai remarks, “You sure know that you look cute in it, huh!”

8. Naked pen without its casing - As expected of a B-type, Shoutan can’t seem to throw away this “pen” even if the casing is gone.

Aaand that’s everything inside Shoutan’s bag~ Please note that if I didn’t indicate that any of the seiyuus said them, it’s my personal remark ^^;; Anyway, I admire Aoi Shouta more now since it seems like he’s not a wasteful person! It’s a sure indication of humility. I wish him even more success in the future, both in his voice acting and music (*≧∀≦*)

#aoi shouta #namikawa daisuke #taniyama kishou #seiyuu #tl #seiyuu to yoasobi

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femmescripter · 5 years

Text

Mama's Big Boy - A Rise of the TMNT AU ft. Venus de Milo

This AU was originally thought up by @ninja-cake-bicht. And as such the following story was inspired by their genius. Meanwhile my friend @leeleearts simply adores the Jonatello pairing. So I thought; "Why not do both?". Which is what I did! Before I tell the mini story, let me explain a few things.

First and foremost in this alternate universe Donnie was adopted by Big Mama. The origins of which I'll cover very soon in the story. Now don't worry - the heroes in green aren't a member short. They are still a quad squad because Venus de Milo, who's headcanon voice actress is Victoria Justice, takes center stage! The species of turtle I picked for her is the diamondback terrapin. I felt that this species best suited Venus's aesthetic and over all look. Lastly Casey is depicted as a Latino American as I have depicted him in my other Jonatello stories.

Now that we have those details stated for the record, on with the backstory of the Mama’s Big Boy AU~

🐢💜🕷

In the underground mystic city just beneath New York City, everyone knows who Big Mama is. A Jorōgumo yokai who is a generous matriarch to her citizens. She is also very glamorous in appearance despite her undisclosed, and “frankly none of your bloody damn business” as she says, age. Of course this mother to her people is no pushover. Should you break her number rule or threaten her people you can expert to get quite the deadly spanking from Big Mama. But even with all of her power, wealth and esteem there was one thing the spider yokai wanted most that she didn’t have…a child.

You see while it is her name, or at least an alias she uses in place of her real name, Big Mama isn’t a literal mother. She is sadly unable to have children due to a run in with her old enemy Baron Draxum, a mutant yokai scientist who constantly tries to usurp her rule, that left her wounded internally. While she survived it all but destroyed her uterus. And for such a family oriented person like Big Mama she may as well have died. This meant that she would never have the one thing she always hoped to have. Never have that precious little bundle snuggled up in her arms. And to lose that gift made her hate Draxum even more. For a long time Big Mama only put on a brave face for her people while she cried tears over her personal loss alone.

Then one day she decided to pull herself out of this rut. How? By getting a pet. However she didn’t pick just any animal to be her critter companion. Being a woman of unique tastes Big Mama got an animal that likely not many women would consider having. It was a male soft shell turtle. She named him Donovan but often called him by the loving nicknames of “Donnie” or “Big D”. She had adopted Donnie when he was just a baby soft shell, and after he turned four years old Big Mama got a rather big idea; she could turn Donovan into the child she always wanted. And that’s exactly what she did. Utilizing her powerful yokai magic Big Mama transformed the normal little turtle into a not so normal bipedal mutant turtle. The changed soft shell turtle, who Big Mama noticed had gained very thick sable black haired eyebrows after the transformation, blinked his eyes a few times as he adjusted to his new form. Big Mama then walked over to Donnie, knelt before him as a mother would her child and greeted him.

“Hello, my little silk thread. Do you know who you are? Do you know…who I am?” Big Mama asked carefully, afraid of what the kind of answer she would get.

Without hesitation the little mutant boy spoke up.

“Sure. I’m Donnie, and you’re my mama.” Donnie replied in a cute voice with a smile.

After that any prior feelings of fear or sorrow the Jorōgumo had were thrown out the window. And they were replaced with feelings of elation and motherly love. She hugged Donnie like he was the life line she was seeking out for so long and sobbed happy tears. That became the start of a new life for the both of them.

But, this wasn’t the only new life that began. At the same time someone else going through a new life change under different circumstances. Up on the surface of New York a man named Chung I, a retired shinobi master who lives in the Chinatown District and spends his days running an artisan store he owns, was going about his usual business. He had just left the local market after buying food for his dinner. Chung hummed a little tune to himself as he walked down his usual street, but noticed that up ahead the neighborhood on again off again couple were having yet another public and heated argument. Not wanting to get in the middle of things Chung cut down into an alley that was a short cut to his house. And doing this actually turned out to be a blessing. Not for him…but for someone else.

As he was in the stretch to getting to his abode Chung heard something. A sound, specifically crying. Not from an animal but from a little child. This did not surprise the retired master because, sadly, orphaned or abandoned children are a dime a dozen in New York. So honing his keen ears he listened for where the crying was coming from. Eventually it led him to a bunch of potted plants left out behind the florist shop because they were wilting. Chung peeked behind the dying flora and started to ask the crying child what was wrong. But his question was caught in his throat when he saw just who, or rather what, the child was.

It was…a humanoid turtle child that appeared to be no older than age six. They had chartreuse green skin and, by the look of it’s shell pattern and coloring, the child was of the diamondback species. As Chung examined the child he saw that they had cuts and bruises all over their legs and arms. Some were old and some appeared fresh, caused by both animals and people. Chung said nothing at first as he watched the child cry for a moment more. Then he finally spoke up and the diamondback terrapin whipped it’s head around to face him. This motion allowed Chung to see that the child also had freckles on their cheeks and as well as more injury marks. At first the child backed away in fear, grabbing a piece of old wood to hold up as a makeshift weapon in their defense. The child nervously told the retired master to go away, and by the sound of the voice Chung could now tell the child was a girl. Though he was shocked by the fact that the humanoid turtle could speak he wasn’t afraid. Regardless of her odd appearance this was still a child. And Chung could not simply leave her alone. So, with a kind smile he spoke to her.

“What is your name, small one?” Chung asked. For a while she didn’t speak to him until she finally did.

“I…I d-don’t have a n-name.” The girl turtle replied with a nervous stutter.

“Hm. Well, we’ll just have to change that won’t we? But first I’ll tend to your wounds and give you a nice meal. It’s just as well, too, since I always hate to eat alone.” Chung said.

“…Do you m-mean that?” The girl turtle asked with less of a stutter, lowering the piece of wood she was holding as she gazed at the human man in surprise.

“Of course. Even when retired, a shinobi helps those in need small one. And I want to help you. If you’ll let me at least.” Chung said with a sincere tone and a smile to match.

The diamondback terrapin said nothing. She just continued to stare at Chung. But then she tossed the piece of wood and rose up to her feet. Then she ran straight at Chung…and hugged onto his waist. She began to cry again but not with the same sadness. This was more a cry of relief. Chung smiled down at the child and patted her head then led her back to his home. They ate a hardy dinner together, and the girl turtle seemed to really love the plum sauce. She also appeared to be quite energetic. Given that Chung was able to come up with a name for her - Mei Pieh Chi. “Mei” for plum, “Pieh” for turtle and “Chi” for energy.

The turtle girl seemed to like that name and stuck with it. Then as Chung began to teach her new things, including various artworks, Mei learned about a particular famous sculpture of a woman with no arms. Immediately gaining a great fascination with the statue she adopted the nickname Venus de Milo, which eventually became her new preferred name. Chung had asked Venus where she came from to which the girl replied that she lost her memories of whatever prior life she had. But that was okay since it meant that she and Chung could make new, happy memories as father and daughter. A year into the forming of their unusual yet loving little family Chung took his daughter to Manhattan and introduced Venus to an old friend of his and his three sons.

This friend was a rat mutant named Splinter, and his sons were actually mutant turtles much like Venus. There was the oldest snapping turtle brother Raph, the red eared slider second oldest named Leo and the box turtle youngest boy named Mikey. The girl turtle was thrilled to not only have new friends she could talk to but also ones of her own kind, even if they were sub-species. The turtle brothers likewise took an immediate liking to Venus and declared her as their cousin. And as another year went by they gained a new human friend named April O’Neil. So while Venus’s life didn’t start out the best way, and much of her life is still a mystery, she’s very happy with how things turned out all the same. Though her home is the Chinatown District with her father she often goes to stay in the Lair within the sewers of Manhattan that her cousins call home.

(So now you all know how Big Mama came to adopt Donnie and how Venus is introduced into the mix. I hope that you especially enjoyed that, @ninja-cake-bicht. But it doesn’t end there. Oh no. For now we get into the origins of how the heroes in green meet Big D/Donnie in my alternate. And also of course how Casey is introduced which will involve some Jonatello goodness. This part goes out to you, @leeleearts ~)

🐢💜☠

Over the next several years, Donnie grew under the tutelage of his beloved parental figure Big Mama. She taught her boy everything she new from how to handle a business to how to fight and of course how to properly maintain one’s appearance. But of all the talents Donnie picked up his real specialty had to do with technology. Turns out Big Mama’s big boy was very intelligent and could take bits of scrap and turn it into advanced futuristic like tech. Big Mama was very proud of her son even though his evil genius tendencies concerned her a little. Donnie’s skills with machinery and computers also helped her own business advance on a grand scale, allowing her to run a more modernized city. This came in handy whenever emergency situations came up - like the one they were having right now. Three days ago Big Mama sent one of her lesser yokai spies, a Fu Dog yokai who had no name, to see what Baron Draxum was up to. Though young and new to the business the little yokai was quick on his feet and had the power to teleport. But the little yokai had yet to report back in the past day and a half.

Big Mama had a very bad feeling that Draxum or one of his lackeys were responsible. Using her magic Big Mama tried her best to locate where the small yokai may be. And to her shock he wasn’t even in the underground city…he was up on the surface in Manhattan, New York. While she could go up there and investigate she had to maintain leadership down here. So Donnie offered to venture up top and find the Fu Dog yokai himself. Naturally the spider yokai was a bit hesitant with allowing her son to go on a potentially dangerous mission. Especially since he’s only been up on the surface a few times. But after Donnie had assured his mother that he would be fine and stay in contact with her the Jorōgumo was finally convinced. And so, using the magic crystal embedded in his high tech goggles Donnie changed his form from turtle mutant to the look of a regular human teenage boy. Though Donnie was more partial to tech than magic he never the less learned some magic spells. In particular the spell of shapeshifting so that he could venture to the surface world undetected. After giving a parting hug to his mother Donnie went on his way.

Meanwhile, as the small yokai was being chased by Baron Draxum’s disguised goons, an actual human teenage boy was talking on the phone with a friend on the opposite side of town. The name of this fifteen year old boy is Amador Basilio “Casey” Jones, a friend of April’s back at her school and aspiring hockey player. April has been trying to officially introduce Casey to the turtles but all previous plans either got interrupted or something came up on Casey’s end which made him unable to meet April’s “other mystery buddies”. But tonight she was determined to have them meet. Which was actually what they were talking about on the phone. April told Casey to come over by Rucker Park in order to properly meet her friends and the Latino teen luckily had no other plans so he agreed. After setting a time Casey hung up and decided to stop for a slice of pizza before he headed to the park. He went to a local pizza shop that sold individual slices and intended to order his usual - black olives with grilled chicken and extra red pepper flakes.

Then as the chef turned in Casey’s direction and asked what he wanted, he was surprised when someone else echoed his order. Casey whipped his head around to the left to see who had made that same order. And when he saw who it was he was left speechless. It was a tall Native American teenage boy around his age with mocha tan skin, shoulder length sable black hair with a silver streak that was in an undercut style and had a few braids in it, very well groomed eyebrows, freckles going across the bridge of his nose, a swimmer’s physique and sunglasses with one lens that was colored red and the other lens tinted blue. He also had a rather unique clothing style, which seemed to be business casual mixed with techno punk, that was predominately purple in color. But whether it was his appearance or his looks Casey knew one thing for certain…he was struck with a case of the Crush Bug. After the teens stared at each other for a moment more the handsome boy spoke.

“Hi there.” Said the teen, snapping Casey out his stupor enough to reply.

“Uh, hey. So…you like pizza too?” Casey asked and mentally scolded himself for giving such a lame greeting while asking an equally lame question.

Fortunately the handsome boy wasn’t put off and actually chuckled a bit before responding yes. So together the teens got their similar pizza slice orders and headed outside, eating their slices as they sat at the patio table in front of the restaurant. As they chatted Casey found out that the mystery teen was named Donnie, who said that he arrived from downtown where he lived to look for his missing pet. And that after a while of fruitless results he stopped here to get a slice of pizza. Casey understood and after the two finished eating he offered to help Donnie look for his pet for a while before he had to go to Rucker Park. The handsome teen considered the offer for a moment before agreeing. And so they left the pizza shop and went down the next alley together. Little did they know that their encounter would lead to something much greater.

Later that night Raph, Venus, Leo and Mikey all partake in their weekly Cannonball Night in which they leap off a massively large building and make a literal splash in the rooftop pool. Their friend April of course snapped pictures of their epic dive and afterwards told the foursome that they will at last get to meet her friend Casey. Excited by this the group immediately head over to Rucker Park, with April getting a lift on Venus’s back as she uses her Zhiyuan/kite that her human father crafted for her to fly, but Raph stops mid leap to the next rooftop when he notices something. An unusual looking yet very cute dog like creature, shivering with fright. Naturally he goes over with the other turtles and April to investigate. But they’re not the only ones who come onto the scene…

A few moments before Raph spotted the spy yokai, Donnie was calling out to the creature by using a code phrase that it would know. He allowed Casey to help since he figured he had nothing else to lose. And it’s not like he would be around long to see exactly what his “pet” actually looked like since he said he was going to meet friends at Rucker Park. Even still Donnie kept asking himself why he allowed the human to help in the first place. Maybe he thought it was logical to get help. Or maybe he wanted some company for a short while. Or maybe…he found the human so cute he wanted to enjoy as much time as they could get. Immediately after that thought hit him though Donnie shook his head violently to knock it out.

“No, focus Donovan! Mom sent you on an important mission. You don’t have time to think about boys. No matter how cute, funny and fascinatingly edgy they are…Gaaaaggh!! Stop that!!” Donnie mentally yelled to himself.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Casey was talking to him until he felt a tap on his shoulder. The disguised mutant turned to the real human who said that he may have found his pet, and pointed beyond an opening in the fence that went right into a construction site. Donnie looked through the opening and saw the familiar backside of the yokai. Elated to see that he was alright Donnie immediately ran through the opening to go and get him, and Casey ran after him.

This led the pair to encounter not only April holding the little yokai…but the other mutant turtles. At first Leo, Raph and Mikey tried to act like they were humans in costumes, Casey was stunned and April was trying to awkwardly explain that these were the friends she’s been trying to introduce him to. However the only ones who remained calm were Venus and Donnie. In fact they were more curious then surprised by one another. Venus said to Donnie that while he looked human his aura did not have an average mortal essence. Donnie grinned, impressed at the diamondback’s perceptiveness and confirmed that she was right - he wasn’t actually human. Casey asked what Donnie meant and before he could answer the disguised goons of Baron Draxum show up. They reveal their true forms and battle Mikey, Venus, Raph and Leo which results in the turtle brothers’ weapons getting destroyed. Luckily Venus’s own ch’i infused Emeici/Emei Daggers survive the fight. Donnie tries to fight them himself along with Casey’s help but they end up knocked to the side. The goons then grab the little yokai and take him along with April, plus an oblivious Chinese food delivery guy, right through a magic portal!

Raph, Venus, Leo and Mikey regroup along with Casey and Donnie and explain to the human who and what they are. Afterwards everyone turns to Donnie to ask who and he really is. Seeing that there’s no point in hiding it now the disguised mutant dispels his human form and reveals himself to be a mutant soft shell turtle. Raph, Venus, Leo and Mikey are left shell shocked(pun intended, and I nailed it) while Casey is left even more love struck than he was before. Donnie goes on to explain some of his backstory and that Big Mama sent him to find the little yokai that was taken along with April. And now he wants to help them save them both.

Agreeing to this the five turtles and single human first try to figure out how to open the magic portal again. Donnie would do it but he has yet to learn how to use such powerful magic. As luck would have it they actually do have a way to open it - by using an old Japanese compass like artifact that the father of the turtle brothers Splinter possesses. Fortunately Leo manages to grab it without incident after giving him a bit of milk and cake.

The moment the portal opens the group of six go down and behold the glorious magic city that Donnie calls home. Even better they run into April, who is then formally introduced to the soft shell. When asked what became of the Fu Dog yokai April points to a castle which Donnie glares hard at, saying it belongs to the enemy of his mother - Baron Draxum. They stealthily sneak in and watch as the mutant yokai takes a vial filled with some type of ooze from the little yokai and uses it to fill up a giant hoard of mosquito like creatures. They continue to watch as Draxum takes one of the insect like beings and has it sting the food delivery guy and inject him with the ooze. The young man goes through a painful transformation from human to a fish like mutant. Baron Draxum praises himself at the success of his experiment then tells the Fu Dog yokai that he will deal with him next. Donnie and April refuse to let that happen, but only the former and Venus have weapons while the brothers are without any. Luckily for them though April managed to find an armory filled with them. This leads to Leo getting an Ōdachi sword, Mikey getting a Kusari-fundo and Raph getting a pair of tonfa. Venus isn’t interested in a mystical weapon herself, though she does take a sack of magic powder that catches her eye.

Armed with new weapons Raph and his brothers lead the way to take on Baron Draxum. Thus begins a battle royale with the five turtles going up against a giant mutant while Casey and April fight Draxum’s two gargoyles Huggin and Muninn. Though it’s a hard fight the turtles manage to take down the giant mutant, albeit on a somewhat accidental level, while April and Casey finally beat the gargoyle duo. And thus the group ends up fighting Draxum. The scientist makes short work of April and Casey by cocooning them in some kind of organic material, leaving only the turtles left. Unfortunately though Mikey, Leo and Raph have a hard time getting the hang of their new weapons and Venus tries to help each of them out. This leaves Donnie to face his mother’s enemy on his own. And after taking a close look at the soft shell mutant Draxum’s face takes on a new expression. One of contempt mixed with mild awe.

“So, you are that pestilent arachnid’s mutant son she turned from a pet turtle. I believe you go by the name Donovan?” Draxum asked with an eyebrow raised in mock curiousness as he and Donnie slowly circled each other.

“That’s Big D to you, Draxum. And my mother is no pestilence. She’s approximately seventy seven times the ruler you could ever aspire to be. And she’s not as cruel as you are to actually mutate a whole city.” Donnie stated with a glare as he twirled his staff.

“Not cruel, young turtle. I am changing this world into a utopia for all mutants. I am helping the humans unleash their true selves. And once this entire state is mutated I will move on to the next state, and then the state after that. Soon all the world will be filled with beings like you and I. A great feat that I will be praised for accomplishing.” Draxum explained.

“Over your dead body, you sorry Satyr ripoff. I’m going to stop you.” Said the teenage mutant with a challenging snap in his voice.

“Ha! Please, don’t make me laugh. As you can clearly see your friends can barely stop themselves.” Draxum said, gesturing to the turtles were still struggling the foul-ups of their respective weapons. “What makes you think that you will perform any better, son of the web?”

“Well our fighting styles, for one thing. Though I find nothing wrong with magic I prefer to fight the old fashioned way. With impossibly futuristic high tech weaponry!” Donnie exclaimed and then proceeded to attack the self-proclaimed baron.

The two had a very intense fight, and Donnie nearly had Draxum on the ropes. Unfortunately Mikey and his out of control Kusari-fundo bumped into him, then into Venus and they all ended up tumbling about. Draxum then trapped them, Leo and Raph in the same cocooning material. But just before he could do anything more Donnie pointed out that Draxum’s containment machine with all of his Oozequitoes was at critical mass and about to blow up. Sure enough the big machine began to break apart, with one piece of structure falling on Draxum. Luckily this freed the Fu Dog yokai who was able to teleport everyone to safety. And while they ended up breaking Splinter’s artifact they none the less defeated their enemy, at least for the moment. But not all is good as the Oozequitoes managed to slink into the surface world just before the portal closed up. Donnie groans at this and finally calls Big Mama to report the good news and the bad news of the situation. Naturally she is concerned and intrigued about the Oozequitoes but she’s more happy that Donnie and the little yokai, which April just named Mayhem, are safe. Mayhem then asks Big Mama if he could stay with April since he’s taken a shine to her. Surprised by this but not opposed the spider yokai agrees so long as Mayhem gives regular reports on how things are going.

Donnie then makes something of a similar request, asking if he can visit the surface every once in a while to help out his fellow turtle mutants and their friends. But while Donnie says that Big Mama notices her son’s eyes settle on one person in particular - Casey Jones. And sure enough she can see through the screen of the magic communicator that the human boy has his eyes settled on Donnie. Giving a knowing grin Big Mama gives her son permission to help the turtles and humans. She also slips in this little bit of motherly wisdom…

“Just remember, my little silk thread, when you ‘help’ your new male human friend no kissing unless you’ve had at least three dates.” Big Mama said with absolutely no shame.

“Oh my vanilla wafers, MOM!!” Donnie exclaimed in embarrassment with a blush on his face while the turtles and April giggled and Casey had a smaller, yet still noticeable blush on his face and a goofy smile to boot.

Big Mama then has a portal open at Donnie’s location and he bids his fellow turtles and the humans farewell. At least for now. But before he goes Casey gives him something…his cellphone number. Donnie smiles brightly and says he’ll call him tomorrow. And of course Casey gets no end of teasing praise from the turtles and April. Likewise the soft shell cannot escape his mother’s gushing over her big boy’s first ever crush.

All in all though, it was a fun night out. And it would be the starting point of many adventures to come for the mutant turtles and humans.

Whew! Gol-ly that took way longer than I expected it to. But never the less I was happy to finish it. And I hope that you all enjoyed reading it. Please let me know what you think of the origin story I made for Venus as well as how I depict Donnie’s change of origins in this, the Big Boy AU. And of course don’t forget to thank @ninja-cake-bicht for coming up with this headcanon! Also be sure to check out the illustrations of @leeleearts because she’s really good at what she does. Also I want to provide three extra bits of confirmation. One, when Mayhem was speaking to Big Mama he wasn’t speaking in an English language. He was speaking in his native yokai tongue which only Donnie and Big Mama can understand. Second, Venus uses the sack of magic powder she took from Baron Draxum’s armory to create all sorts of ninja smoke bombs with varying effects from granting temporary invisibility to paralyzing enemies for a short while. However the smoke bombs have a tendency to backfire on them. And third, acting as the voice actor of Chung I is Jackie Chan. Just thought I should tell you all in case you were curious.

That’s all I got to share folks. Until next time, toodles~!

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scottielambchop · 5 years

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Tite Five Vol. 1

Here's the deal: Unemployment really sucks.

But it's important to keep "flexing my writing muscle." So, I decided to take the blog format I had with my old company and take it here. Which is rad because I can now write all the f-swears I want. But even better, I can rename this stupid fucking thing. So without further ado, I present to you my Tite Five.

Arby’s Subscription Box

Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I may not be writing blogs for an ad agency anymore, but that doesn't fuckin' mean I won't talk about fast food.

For those who don’t know me (and now that I’m writing on my own blog, I don’t know why the fuck you wouldn’t), I have sort of backed myself into a corner with Arby's. It all started innocently enough. I wrote a Facebook post asking if anyone wanted to go on a romantic date to Arby’s. Seemed like a funny-enough thing to say. But then I doubled down and asked the same question again a few weeks later. Then again. And again. Soon enough, I became the “Arby’s guy.” Which, to be honest, isn’t the worst thing to be known for. Especially since Arby’s is pretty good and their Pizza Slider is one of the most underrated QSR food items on the market.

Alright, now that I got that little nugget of useless bullshit out of the way, let’s get to this subscription box. For the past couple of years, Arby’s has been fucking killing it in the advertising game. Their hilarious Ving Rhames-voiced copy spots and subsequent transition to more visual stuff with H. Jon Benjamin, their delightfully nerdy paper-craft social posts, and now, their subscription box. That’s right, you fuckin’ heard (or read) me correctly, Arby’s now has a subscription box.

In early January, Arby’s tweeted out they would be sending a subscription box called Arby's of the Month. All you had to do was sign up for $25, and you would get six mystery boxes of seasonal gear from everyone’s favorite roast beef provider. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, “Who the hell would want that?” Well, let me tell you, a lot of people the hell would want that. It sold out in less than an hour.

Minneapolis' Fallon (my dream agency) has done amazing work with Arby's. They've taken your grandparents’ favorite fast food joint and turned it into something for everyone. By simply getting weird with everything they do, the younger generations have latched on. Honestly, who the fuck would think about sending a subscription box full of roast beef swag, and how the fuck did it work so well? The answer is Fallon.

P.S. If anyone from Fallon is reading this, my portfolio is scottielantgen.com. Hire me, please.

Re-Watching South Park

One of the most beautiful things about unemployment in the digital age is the ability to hunt for jobs across the country while sitting on your couch and streaming a seemingly endless supply of shows. And that’s exactly what the fuck I’ve been doing with South Park.

Now before I begin, I just need to say that, yes, the show’s liberal use of the “f-word,” “r-word,” and countless racial stereotypes DO NOT hold up well to today’s standards. And honestly, I’m not going to defend it. It’s not my place.

Problematic dialogue aside, what I love about rewatching South Park from almost the very beginning (just skip the first three seasons. You're not missing much) is how it’s a perfect current event/pop culture time capsule. I seriously forgot about Elián González, Terri Schiavo, how the popularity of Paris Hilton made everyone fucking terrible for a while, and just the Passion of the Christ in general. But thanks to South Park, those headlines came rushing back in vivid detail.

South Park still holds up as some of the best satire ever created. It’s quick, funny, and often offensive. And I’m pretty sure that’s what Trey Parker and Matt Stone wanted it to be.

Also, Butters and Randy Marsh are two of my favorite fictional characters.

Skittles Commercial: The Broadway Musical

The “Big Game” (who has the money, amirite?) is tomorrow, and it’s like a goddamn advertising cotillion. It’s the day where the entire country gathers around a TV to eat a variety of sauced meats, drink one of three different beers, and watch the newest batch of commercials from some of the biggest brands in the country. I am told there’s also a football game.

This is the day companies spend millions of dollars for 30 seconds of air time. It’s absurd. But it’s the most viewed event of the entire year, so companies feel the need to get their air time. Except for Skittles. They've been doing something a little different.

Last year, Skittles was fed up with the high price of “Big Game” ad placement, and decided to ditch that mess and do their own thing. So, they did what any other rational company who wanted to advertise to millions of viewers would do. They made an ad for just one person (Check it out. It rules). This little stunt got them billions of media impressions, which, in a lot of ways, is just as good as paid placement.

Where does Skittles go after the major success of last year’s stunt? Broadway of course. During halftime, Skittles will present a one-time performance of Skittles Commercial: The Broadway Musical. Lead by Six Feet Under’s own Michael C. Hall (fuck Dexter), this 30-minute musical is slated to be very meta. Their website states, “Through song and dance, the show takes an absurdly self-reflective look at consumerism and the ever-increasing pervasiveness of brand advertising in our lives.”

It’s fucking brilliant, and I can’t wait to hear how it turns out.

Companies Taking a Stand

Other than writing as many “fucks” and “shits” as I want, one of the coolest things about writing this blog untied from any agency has to be freely expressing whatever dumb-fucking-shit opinion I have. Don’t get me wrong, my old company gave me a lot of freedom, but I always felt it best to stray away from any “controversial” or “political” opinions. Now I’m off the leash and ready to spread my leftist propaganda like a mother fucking virus!

There is a great divide in our country. I know it’s always been there, but it seems way worse ever since the 2016 campaign trail. Regardless, with this growing separation between liberals and conservatives/left and right/cool dudes and white people, companies are also taking sides. And I think it’s a really fucking smart idea.

As you’ve probably seen (and possibly burnt your own shoes about), Nike was one of the first major companies to take a stand for what they believed in. Hiring “controversial” athlete, Colin Kaepernick, to be the face of their newest campaign was a really bold move, but it paid off big time.

Yes, they faced a backlash. Fox News was all up their ass about “DiSrEsPeCtInG tHe FlAg,” and Twitter users shared a litany of videos of people destroying the products they already bought and paid for. But overall, the campaign was killer and showed that the company was willing to put themselves at risk for equality and doing what is right—though I’m sure they’re heartbroken your shitty uncle won’t buy their socks ever again.

Gillette was the next big company to pick a side. They took a stance on the truly controversial topic of “not being a shitty dude.” I really don’t know where the backlash for this came from, but apparently, men don’t like being told that it’s wrong to catcall and sexually assault women. For a bunch of “manly-men,” they’re really crying like little babies over a minute-long video. The ad is still pretty new, but it already seems to be resonating well with younger male audiences, but not so much with boomers. Weird, right?

And lastly, Patagonia just announced that they will donate all 10 million dollars they saved on tax cuts to environmental groups. I don’t know how people will find a way to be upset by this, but I don’t doubt for a single second that someone will. The world is a nightmare.

Listen, I know there are always going to counter-arguments.

“Oh, they’re just exploiting a current issue to make money.”

“Oh, you may think they’re doing the right thing, but their internal business model is totally fucked.”

“Oh, not all men.”

“Oh, that money could have gone to hard workers and not a stupid tree or whatever.”

It really doesn’t matter. This is advertising. They are spreading a message. You may not need a razor at this moment, but that spot can also serve as a reminder to be a better man. You may prefer a different brand of athletic wear, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to see how much a person has sacrificed to support a cause. You may not be a white Instagrammer, but now you know that some companies are doing honorable things. These companies aren't just selling products, they’re also selling ideals.

Gratitude

As I’ve alluded to throughout this post, I recently lost my job. I wanted to make light of it a little, but I also just wanted to get some things off my chest. The truth of the matter is this: I am forever grateful for the opportunity I was given and the people I befriended along the way. I was able to work with and learn from some of the most talented people I have ever met. I took a huge risk moving to a smaller, one-agency town to take this job—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am forever thankful for this time in my life.

One of my biggest New Year’s resolutions was to express more gratitude. As I said before, the country is divided. I can’t seem to hop on any social media channel without seeing some kind of bullshit-fueled fight going on. Everyone seems to be focusing on the negative and no one really cares about the positive (I fully understand the irony of this sentence). But this could change by expressing more gratitude for the people in your life and amazing opportunities.

Listen, I could be really pissed about the current state of the world. And honestly, I am. But I’m trying to express more positivity. Everyone else can complain about our turd of a president 24 hours a day. Why not tell the important people in your life why you’re thankful to have them? It’s a really fucking simple thing to do—and it could possibly start a chain reaction.

Listen, I’m not going to tell you to not focus on the bad parts of your job or whatever because that shit is so much more easily said than done. And it also goes on a job-by-job basis (I couldn’t really think of a positive in working in corporate finance or some soul-sucking shit like that). But I will say this, I’m thankful I was able to work a job where I could see a bright side. I learned a lot and I’m looking forward to the next steps in my career.

I know it seems tough to remain positive in such dark times. But, fuck, this is your life. You’ve only got one of em. Don’t spend it worrying or complaining all the time. Find the positive and try and improve upon that… or don’t. It’s your fuckin’ life. Do whatever you want.

Well, guys, that’s it for my very first Tite Five (but also not, ya know?). I hope this was as enthralling as Chris made it out to be. I love you all. I’ll probably see you next week with another post of sorts. Take care and don’t drink and drive after the “Big Game.”

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travelofthenorte · 3 years

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Farewell BVI, So Long USVI

Our last days on the island were predictably uneventful. As soon as we had cleaned and unloaded the boat, and got that all returned, we took the noon ferry back to St. Thomas. We had an Airbnb for the night and supposedly flights out early the next morning. Naturally, because of COVID, our flight was canceled at the last minute. We hung out in various bars and cafes, luggage in tow, using the WiFi and trying to figure things out. Got rebooked on a different flight through Atlanta.

The joys of being out during the earliest of COVID lockdown include extra hospitality from establishments. Like this diabetes-inducing presentation.

Drinks were 2-4-1 for HH, so N ordered a painkiller and I a dark&stormy or some such thing. We didn’t each get one, we each got 2. Then, someone didn’t want 2x margs, so those came our way too. We ate some extremely weird sliders, saving one in a box and handing it to the first homeless guy who asked us for food money.

St. Thomas itself seems to revolve around cruise ship traffic, which it didn’t have. There were tons of resort wear and jewelry stores, and very few were open. Bars were even more limited, causing us to eat 2 meals and happy hour at the same place pictured above. We did get to do some exploration on foot, passing by the outside of Captain Blackbeard’s Castle, and the lovely gardens below, featuring this statue of three women who led an insurrection against the exploitive Danish government.

After a sleepless night of constant rooster crowing, we had a quick and simple breakfast and headed to the airport. Unlike our other travel companions, we got through security quickly, only to discover our flight to Atlanta had been moved to the following day. We despaired at the thought of having to spend another day just whiling away the time with nowhere open to go, but it was easier than ever to get moved to a different airline, fly through DC, and make it home a couple hours ahead of our original schedule.

We came home to a ghost town in the grips of the earliest COVID closures. It was the fastest and bleakest drive home from the airport. At that time, my optimism still suggested that we would be in lockdown for weeks, not the months that lay ahead. I still thought that a week away in BVI was going to make me more prepared and energized for the monotony of an April spent entirely indoors. In the grand scheme of COVID, a week meant nothing. I am nonetheless grateful for this incredible week, like nothing I have experienced before. Hashtag blessed.

#BVI #USVI #COVID

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dont-doubt-dopple · 6 years

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Not EXACTLY Royal

Should I be writing requests? Yes. Did I instead write a Suniladd fanfic inspired by these moodboards by @hidingoutbackstage? Oh I totally did. Took me a bit longer than I would have liked, and I’d like to think this isn’t the best thing I’ve churned out. But overall I’m happy with it. Plus it’s a longer one for you guys, so enjoy the outdated meme and vine references!

Sami hated everything that was associated with this Royal lifestyle she was born into. Elegant dresses that left her exposed underneath and constricted in her chest. Lavish meals that were either small and unfulfilling or big and endless with no in between. Large mansions with little people to interact and meaningless things to occupy her time. Endless regulations and rules on proper etiquette on what it meant to be royal.

One of the few things she loved though was the masquerade parties. Just this undeniable freedom to not worry if her pinky was up was drinking. Nobody knew who she was behind the shimmering gold mask that went with her dark red dress. Princess Samantha didn’t exist. SuniDey takes over, and it’s the best time of her life.

Of course, Sami’s idea of fun consisted of remaining within five feet of food at all times. She was on her third helping of cheeseburger sliders when a man tapped on her shoulder.

“Excuse me?” She turned to the guy behind her. Brown hair with blond up top, clearly dyed some other color. Glasses sat behind his silver mask, and he dawned a blue suit with gold trim. “You just going to stand in front of the macaroni triangles all night or can I have some?”

“Wait, that’s what these are?” She exclaimed, turning around to confirm. “I thought they were jalapeño poppers.”

“Nope.” He grabbed one and popped it in his mouth. “Man, I don’t see these enough and can’t get enough of them.”

“They are really good.” Suni took one for herself, not quite eating it just yet. “You sure these aren’t jalapeños poppers?”

“Yeah. Wait ...” Mini paused for a second, before grabbing a napkin and spitting out what was in his mouth. “You were right. Definitely a jalapeño popper.” He said, grabbing a glass of water.

“How did you not figure that out sooner?” She asked, giggling at him as well. He was different, Suni could tell. She was really starting to like this guy.

“Yeah, well, it was all fine until the fire nation attacked my mouth!” Yeah, she liked this guy.

“Maybe the huge sign behind the snack table would have clued you in.”

“Um, hello my name is Mini Ladd, I’m 19 and I never learned how to fucking read.” She’s fully laughing at this point, not restraining herself in the slightest. Mini smiled, staring at her with adoration especially when she wasn’t looking.

“SuniDey.” She held out here hand, which Mini took. He brought her hand up and kissed it. She never really liked when guys did that, but it was different. There was this sort of spark between them that no other guy had possessed. They talked for hours too, which Suni only reserved for her closest friends and family. And this guy had managed to do so in the span of a few minutes. Maybe this is what Love felt like.

It was a while before the two even bothered to move away from the snack table. The music around them had began changed, something both fitting for the mood and modern. Many of the couples from the floor made their way off, clearly sensing that the current music was more background noise than anything else. Suni squealed as the first notes hit her ears.

“Ooo! I love this song. Dance with me?” She asked, turning to Mini. He looked very hesitant, especially with all the people leaving the floor wide open.

“I don’t about this. I’m not confident when it comes to dancing.”

“C’mon, Mini. Show me the de way.”

“Well, when you bring memes into it.” He shrugged, as Suni pulled him onto the dance floor. “All hail the queen.”

It wasn’t traditional in any sense. But then again, neither were they. Suni was leading instead of Mini, dictating every step and choreographing each movement with a single look. They were two people dancing to a song about falling deeper and deeper and yet they had never felt more alive. There was light that twinkled in each of their eyes as the song continued on.

Here we are in the heart of the darkness

You feel your body shake, feel like a fantom wait

Here we are in the heart of the darkness

Hold fast we must be brave

In the heart of the darkness

The song ended, and both the boy in blue and the girl in red smiled. There were more songs, and they danced until they their feet hurt more than anything. Smiles never dropped the whole night, and people were forgotten as they fell into their own world.

“I’m going to get some punch.” Mini said finally, after both were struggling to catch their breaths. Exercise was clearly not their strong suit. “Want one?”

Suni nodded. “Careful in case they spiked it.”

“This is a party hosted by upper elite aristocrats and royalty where the food is small and the tempo of the music hasn’t risen above Adagio. If anyone were to spike the punch, it be one of us.” He turned and started to walk away, but quickly turned back. “Actually, scratch that. If the punch bowl was spiked it be by both of us in an attempt to say Fuck you to the System.”

“Alright.” She giggled, finding the thought amusing. Maybe next time. “I’m going to go outside. Need some air.”

“Meet you there.” They headed off in opposite directions, Suni maneuvering through the crowds to head toward one of the open exits.

The night was beautiful like always. You couldn’t see the stars because all the lights from the city below, but if you just squinted you could maybe see one or two. But the moon tonight just seemed a little bit bigger and a little bit brighter. There was a slight breeze too, and Suni wouldn’t have minded if only her shoulders weren’t exposed. So she shivered, trying to warm up the exposed skin as she sat down on a nearby bench.

A guy came outside shortly after she did. She thought it was Mini at first, but it was not. This man wore nothing but black. Black hair, black suit, black mask. Suni paid him no mind, especially when he started talking to her and trying to get her to talk.

“Beautiful night tonight. Not the most beautiful thing in the world though. That’s you. You single?”

Silence.

“Oh, c’mon baby. Don’t be that kind of girl.”

“...”

“Hey! I’m talking to you bitch!” He walked around behind Suni, sitting down right behind her. He grabbed her hair, pulling it back so that her full neck was exposed. He then pulled out a dagger and put it against her through, not enough to draw blood but enough so that Suni felt the cold metal pressing against her skin. “Answer me when I talk to you, you thot.”

Her instincts kicked in. Using one hand, she held his arm as her elbow drove back into his stomach. Taking him by surprise, she seized the opportunity to grab the dagger. Quick turn and soon the weapon was through the man’s stomach.

“All women are queens.” Suni replied, her voice steady as she pulled his face up to look directly into her eyes. She could see them weaken, but there was no remorse for him. “Especially this one.”

She pulled out the dagger and thrusted it into it again. And again. And again. Repeatedly into him despite already being dead, stabbing the guy as she released all her anger and frustrations though the small weapon in her hand. Fury raged in her, and she felt relief as the rhythmic rising and falling of the chest stopped.

And then the adrenaline wore off. Suni dropped to her knees, not caring the work it would take to get the blood out of her dress. She had just killed a man. Granted, he was an obnoxious dickbag who threatened her life, but it was still another man. Another person who had perished in her blind rage. She screamed, guilt sinking in as she curled up in a dry spot on the cement area. She cried, not moving until she felt a light touch on her shoulder.

“Hey, Mini’s here. It’s going to be okay.” Suni practically pounced on him, curling up against his body’s natural folds. Her head buried itself in his neck as arms wrapped around his back. She sniffled into his shoulder, holding no emotions back as tears streamed down her cheek. “Muni’s here. Muni’s got you.” He whispered, until she passed out in his arms.

“She’s pretty.” The Irish voice made Craig jump. He was putting Suni in his guest bed, making sure the girl was comfortable. He saw the distress on her the second he arrived in the courtyard. She needed it. So when he was trying to close the door as silently as possible, Brian was not helping. “How do how do you think your parents will react?”

“What ever do you mean, Brian?” Craig sassed, earning him a punch in the shoulder. “Ow.”

“Yeah well, you deserve it cause you know what I mean. What do you think your parents will say when they find out you brought home a girl?”

“I think they should be fine with it. After all, they made her my future wife.” Craig smiled, before walking away from a disbelieved Brian. The latter quickly looked in the room, to indeed see Princess Samantha laying peacefully in her bed. He shut the door again so that no noise was made and walking away so that nobody could hear him shout.

“Prince Craig Thompson, why are you so goddamn luck all time?!”

“I don’t know, you’re the Irishman. Isn’t luck supposed to be your forte?”

#bbs #bbs squad #banana bus squad #mini ladd #sunidey #suniladd #royalty au #fanfic #dopple work

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loneberry · 7 years

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“One-Story House” by Rebecca Solnit

[An extraordinary essay from Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost on dreams, extinction, memory, the American landscape, the architecture of the psyche, familial figures, turtles, and place. The bottom of the pool...]

I was carrying the tortoise in both hands, holding it out in front of me like an altar boy’s Bible or a divining rod as I walked around the periphery of the room. Each plate of its ruddy shell was distinct. It leaked as I carried it. More water came forth than a tortoise that size could possibly store. The creature was a fountain, a cleft rock in my hands, and when I awoke I realized that the room in which I paced was my childhood bedroom.

I had been wandering through that house every now and again ever since I’d left it at age fourteen. A quarter century had passed, and I still wasn’t out of it, in my dreams. It was a classic suburban house of its era, single-story, L-shaped. The houses children draw look like faces with upstairs windows for eyes and a door for a mouth. They have a solidity and a centrality that makes them home as the head is home. This house, with its public rooms that opened one into another as though they were only distended passageways and its bedrooms appendix-like cul-de-sacs, had no center, but my psyche was stuck in it. The previous owners’ plantings all around it were strange, exotic, bottlebrush and artificial strawberry tree, a spruce the same powder blue as the corduroy pants boys wore then, succulents and other plants that were nameless, unrecognizable, inedible, with shiny leaves or spiky ones. One plant up a narrow side plot in perpetual shade bloomed annually with a single colossal lily that looked as though it were made of crumpled black leather from some thin-skinned creature. In front of each of the two children’s bedrooms facing the street was a misshapen juniper, and at night the headlights of passing cars made the shadows of their branches whirl around the walls like pterodactyls. Awnings, eaves, and patio roof prevented sunlight from reaching in directly to this place made of formica and tile and linoleum and dark green wall-to-wall carpeting with a nap like aerial photographs of forests. Everything about it seemed to be made of chilly alien materials, and the swimming pool was strangest of all.

The pool was unheated, too cold for skinny kids to jump in most of the year, but it always needed sweeping and skimming to get the dirt and debris out, and the tools for doing that were fantastically long, like cutlery for a Behemoth with its head up in the clouds. It was the usual pale turquoise with a pink cement rim that abraded bare feet and the sharp smell of chlorine emanating from its waters. There’s something fearful and mysterious about every body of water, murky water that promises unseen things in unseen depths, clear water that shows you the bottom far below as if you could fall into it, though the water would buoy you up in that strange space neither air nor ground. The term “a body of water” is apt, for here was a mysterious body thirty feet long, eight feet tall at the far end, a transparent captive into whose depths you could throw yourself. Even the lightest breeze patterned the water on the surface, and the sun turned those patterns into strange skeins of light that fled across the bottom, endless nets cast across a fishless sea. Afterward I dreamed over and over of the pool as well as the house. It was as though I couldn’t find my way out of the house, as though I was still lost in it, but the pool was less part of the labyrinth than its holy well.

Terrible things happened in that house, though not particularly unusual or interesting ones; suffice to say there’s a reason why therapists receive large hourly sums for listening to that kind of story. Or maybe there’s one thing to say, about the capitalism of the heart, the belief that the essences of life too can be seized and hoarded, that you can corner the market on confidence, stage a hostile takeover of happiness. It’s based on scarcity economics, the notion or perhaps the feeling that there’s not enough to go around, and the belief that these intangible phenomena exist in a fixed quantity to be scrambled for, rather than that you can only increase them by giving them away. A story can be a gift like Ariadne’s thread, or the labyrinth, or the labyrinth’s ravening Minotaur; we navigate by stories, but sometimes we only escape by abandoning them.

Some years ago, I dreamed that my mother had fixed up the house, or had done so in dream terms, heavy-handed ones: the swimming pool was surrounded by broken glass, the bathroom had two sunken tubs shaped like coffins, and my own small bedroom had been brightly repainted with a line of dancing skeletons on one wall. I dreamed of my father every now and again too, and long after his death, not long after the hermit taught me to shoot, there was a period in which I told him to stand back because I was armed. After this series of victories, he became harmless. Clearly, I was getting somewhere over the years. I took over the master bedroom and decided to move, I drove the family out of my own room, and then came the dream of the tortoise.

In dreams, nothing is lost. Childhood homes, the dead, lost toys all appear with a vividness your waking mind could not achieve. Nothing is lost but you yourself, wanderer in a terrain where even the most familiar places aren’t quite themselves and open onto the impossible. But the morning after I carried the leaking tortoise, I knew I was no longer stuck in the house. The weight of a dream is not in proportion to its size. Some dreams are made of fog, some of lace, some of lead. Some dreams seem to be made out of less the usual debris of the psyche than bolts of lightning sent from outside.

I wondered where the tortoise came from. I remembered riding a Galapagos tortoise in a zoo when I was two, remembered a box turtle my middle brother had as a pet, and the small red slider turtles painted up for Easter back when animal cruelty standards were lower, read about how the Zuni think of turtles as the spirits of the dead returned, noticed that every image of turtles and tortoises had a sort of pull on me. Months passed before I remembered an encounter with a desert tortoise almost a decade earlier, when I was camping in the Mojave with a few other women. I saw the full-grown tortoise in the center of a secondary road near Death Valley and stopped my truck. We got out to look at it, and I recited what I knew: that it is bad to touch these creatures, because they are stressed by the transformation of their environment, vulnerable to illness and to infection, particularly to a respiratory disorder, and touching could contaminate them. In crisis, they sometimes void all their stored water, water slowly extracted from leaves and gulped up from puddles after hard rain, water that can make up to forty percent of their body weight, and losing their water is a crisis itself.

But they are also prone to being run over by cars and off-road vehicles throughout their territory, the Mojave and western Colorado deserts. We watched the tortoise, which had stopped when we did, watched a few approaching cars in the distance, and then I took out a clean dish towel and, with the dish towel between my hands and its shell, lifted the creature. It had retracted its head and limbs, and so I carried a heavy dust-colored dome with each plate etched in concentric lines, a mosaic of mandalas. Holding it before me, I strode about fifty feet into the scrubby desert and set it down facing in the direction it had been going. Put down, it walked again with an odd tipping motion, its shell lurching a little with each step. One of the most famous Buddhist tales is about a pair of monks sworn to keep apart from women. One day they come to the edge of a turbulent river. A woman there implores them to help her cross—old fables are short on athletic women—and one of them carries her through the waters. After the two monks have been walking for some time on the farther shore, the other monk reproaches him for breaking his vows. His companion replies, “Why are you still carrying her? I put her down on the far side of the river.” Several years after that little encounter in the desert, I was still carrying the tortoise, but it had become a compass, a visa, an amulet. The desert tortoise is in danger of extinction—it officially received “threatened” status from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 1990—because of human encroachments. The causes of its diminishing numbers are many. Nonnative plants have disrupted its diet, and grazing animals, dogs, vehicles, development, military bases have all had their impact, as has the widespread capturing of the creatures for pets. An increase in garbage dumps in the desert has vastly increased the raven population, and ravens prey on young tortoises during the five years or so before their shells harden sufficiently to protect them. (The hermit once found a young tortoise with severe pecking wounds in its shell; he brought it home and called in a zoo veterinarian he knew to try to save it with kitchen-sink surgery—I was away then, and he delivered telephone reports on “Miss Tortoise” for a few days, then told me that “Miss Tortoise didn’t make it.”) The desert tortoise can go for more than a year without food or water, hibernates several months a year in its colder northern reach, stays in its cool burrow during the hottest part of summer, seldom roams more than a mile from its burrow, walks slowly, lives slowly, to a great age, upward of a century. They have existed for sixty million years or so. The plan to save them is designed to give them a fifty percent chance of existing in five hundred years. The government is unwilling to dedicate more resources or curtail more activities than make the odds even.

In 1919, a young ethnographer fell in love with a blacksmith from the Chemehuevi tribe whose large territory is the heart of tortoise habitat. The blacksmith, George Laird, was already forty-eight, and as a boy he had learned much lore that was being forgotten and lost and diluted. The winter he was sixteen—about 1888—he nursed a man in the agonizing last stages of syphilis, and the dying man taught the boy a purer form of their language and “filled the long, sleepless nights with tales of the Immortals, the pre-human Animals Who Were People, told with great style and elegance.” During the twenty-one years the Chemehuevi man and the ethnographer, Carobeth Laird, were inseparable, she learned the language, the songs, and the stories he knew, and long after he died, when she herself was old, she turned her notes and memories into a book of ethnography. Of the tortoise, she recorded, “This reptile was desirable for food, but it also had a peculiar aura of sacredness. It was and is to this day symbolic of the spirit of the People. ‘A Chemehuevi’s heart is tough, like the turtle’s.’ This ‘tough-heartedness’ is equated with the will and the ability to endure and to survive.” But the tortoise is not surviving us well.

It is in the nature of things to be lost and not otherwise. Think of how little has been salvaged from the compost of time of the hundreds of billions of dreams dreamt since the language to describe them emerged, how few names, how few wishes, how few languages even, how we don’t know what tongues the people who erected the standing stones of Britain and Ireland spoke or what the stones meant, don’t know much of the language of the Gabrielanos of Los Angeles or the Miwoks of Marin, don’t know how or why they drew the giant pictures on the desert floor in Nazca, Peru, don’t know much even about Shakespeare or Li Po. It is as though we make the exception the rule, believe that we should have rather than that we will generally lose. We should be able to find our way back again by the objects we dropped, like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, the objects reeling us back in time, undoing each loss, a road back from lost eyeglasses to lost toys and baby teeth. Instead, most of the objects form the secret constellations of our irrecoverable past, returning only in dreams where nothing but the dreamer is lost. They must still exist somewhere: pocket knives and plastic horses don’t exactly compost, but who knows where they go in the great drifts of objects sifting through our world?

Once I found a locket with a crescent moon and star spelled out in rhinestones on one face, unreadably intricate initials on another, and two ancient photographs inside, and someone must have missed it terribly but no one claimed it, and I have it still. Another time, traveling down a river in one of the last great wildernesses, a roadless place the size of Portugal, I lost a sock early in the trip and a pair of sunglasses later, and I think of them littering that wilderness so clear of such clutter, there still or found by someone who might have wondered as I did about the woman with the locket. On that trip I leaned over the side of the raft and stared straight down for hours at the floor of that river whose name almost no one knows that flows into another little-known river, stared at thousands of stones, hundreds of thousands of millions of stones sliding by, gray, pink, black, gold, under the clearest water in the whole world, floating for miles and days on water I drank straight out of the river. Material objects witness everything and say nothing. Animals say more. And they are disappearing.

That things should be lost to our knowledge is one thing, in which we don’t know where we are or they are; that things should be lost from the earth is another. There is a strange crossroads these days, between the actual and the known. Biologists estimate that about 1.7 million species are known, but that there are between 10 and 100 million on earth. Our discovery and categorization of species increases at a manic rate, but so does the disappearance of both known and unknown species. More is known; there is less to know; we lose both what we know and what we don’t. It is certain that species are vanishing without ever having been known to science. To think about this is to imagine the space inside our heads expanding but the places outside shrinking, as though we were literally devouring them.

In dreams I have been an eagle and a green finch, have met a three-headed coyote, wolves, foxes, lynxes, dogs, lions, songbirds, fish, snakes, cattle, seals, many horses and cats, some who talk, a woman giving birth by cesarean to a full-grown stag that ran away, still wet with the juices of birth, down a dark, tree-shrouded road, a gazelle fawn that a woman breast-fed, a brown bear who married a woman. “They are all beasts of burden in a sense,” Thoreau once remarked of animals, “made to carry some portion of our thoughts.” Animals are the old language of the imagination; one of the ten thousand tragedies of their disappearance would be a silencing of this speech. A man once told me that much of my writing was about loss, that that was how I imagined the world, and I thought about that comment for a long time. In that sense of loss two streams mingled. One was the historian’s yearning to hang onto everything, write everything down, to try to keep everything from slipping away, and the historian’s joy in retrieving out of archives and interviews what was almost forgotten, almost out of reach forever. But the other stream is the common experience that too many things are vanishing without replacement in our time. At any given moment the sun is setting someplace on earth, and another day is slipping away largely undocumented as people slide into dreams that will seldom be remembered when they awaken. Only the continuation of abundance makes loss sustainable, makes it natural. There are more sunrises coming, but even dreams could be emptied out.

The golden age, the dreamtime, is the present, and too much in it is leaking out now. The Times Square clock that counted down to the millennium, its seconds, minutes, hours, days racing away on a digital display, could have been kept for endangered species, at least thirty lost a day, more than ten thousand a year, half of all of them to be gone in a century unless something changes radically, or everything does. Imagine the present as already a Noah’s ark, and greed and development and poison as a trio of pirates marching the animals and plants over the edge, to the bottom of the sea that is the past. No more flocks of passenger pigeons darkening the midwestern sky for hours and days in the past century, all known Sampson’s pearly mussels gone from midwestern rivers by the 1930s, no more Santa Barbara song sparrows since 1959, no more Tecopa pupfish since 1972, an estimated 142 Sonoran pronghorn left in the U.S. as of the late twentieth century but less than half that by 2002, seventy-two species of snail missing in Hawaii, the blue pike of the Great Lakes gone extinct right about when men first walked on the moon, the speckled cormorant gone from Alaska about the time of the gold rush.

During that California gold rush, Yankees in quantity first came through the heart of the desert tortoises’ territory. The Death Valley Forty-Niners were in haste to make it to the goldfields of the Sierra Nevada, and because they had arrived in the Great Basin too late to go over the Sierra’s snowy passes, they hired a Mormon guide to take them down the Spanish Trail to southern California. They called themselves the Sand Walking Company, a corruption of the San Joaquin Company, because none of them recognized the saint whose Spanish name had been given to a river and valley in the southern mother lode. A twenty-year-old New Yorker named O.K. Smith showed up on the trail with pleasant stories of a more direct route to central California, and most of the wagons switched over to the alleged shortcut. The guide continued on the Spanish Trail with the few who didn’t. The strays were abetted by a map that government explorer John C. Fremont—“the pathfinder”—had drawn up, showing a long range running east-west that happened not to exist (a bad map had much to do with the Donner Party’s 1846 stranding too). “These mountains are not explored, being only seen from elevated points on the northern exploring line,” said the map, above an area marked in larger letters: “Unexplored.” The Sand Walkers thought they could travel along the foothills of the fictitious mountain range. Many turned back when the terrain became impassible for wagons, and the rest broke up into smaller parties. These parties got stranded in Death Valley, the lowest land in the Western Hemisphere, a dry lake bed like an empty mouth between two sharp rows of mountain ranges.

“We had been in the region long enough to know that the higher mountains contained the most water, and that the valleys had bad water or none at all, so that while the lower altitude to the south gave some promise of easier crossing it gave us no promise of water or grass, without which we must certainly perish,” wrote William Manly, half a century later. “In a certain sense we were lost. The clear nights and days furnished us with the means of telling the points of the compass as the sun rose and set, but not a sign of life in nature’s wide domain had been seen for a month or more. A vest pocketful of powder and shot would last a good hunter until he starved to death, for there was not a living thing to shoot, great or small.” Manly was a skilled hunter and outdoorsman, and there’s no ready explanation for why the landscape through which he traveled in the winter of 1849-50 seemed to be so without wildlife. For these pioneers, the Mojave was an empty quarter, without water, without animals, without names, without maps, without all the things that give a place life and meaning. They were afraid of Indians, though the only two survivors of one party of eleven men made it because they were rescued by Paiutes. The skeletons of the other nine were found a decade later, inside a low circle of stones. Other parties were shown the location of precious waterholes, springs, and streams by Indians they encountered. Columbus had arrived in the Caribbean he mistook for the Indies almost four hundred years before, but there had been few direct disturbances of the indigenous inhabitants of the more remote western regions, and they were not yet resisting what was not yet a crisis.

One starving pioneer attempted to buy a biscuit off a neighbor for ten dollars and was refused. Another buried $2,500 to lighten his load, having been unable to find anyone who wanted to carry the gold coins for a half share of them. He was never able to find the burial spot either. Still others found ore that suggested rich mines, had they only the food and water to survive there. The Lost Gunsight Mine, named after a silver-rich piece of ore that one of the Death Valley Forty-Niners had made into a gunsight, became famous, as did the Lost Goller Mine. The latter mine consisted of a few nuggets picked up by John Goller’s companion. Upon seeing them, Goller snapped, “I want water; gold will do me no good.” The mines themselves were legends later visitors would look for in vain, built out of bits of ore brought out by these desperadoes. It was a strange sojourn, this journey through a landscape where all their hopes of finding mineral wealth were set aside, where wealth meant nothing and water everything, where they were faced with critical decisions about sharing and surviving, where they all faced death and some met it. It was a detour into the essential and the introspective, as the desert often is, and they were lost in it.

The nomadic Chemehuevi navigated wide expanses of this arid terrain with songs. The songs gave the names of places in geographical order, and the place names were descriptive, evocative, so that a person who’d never been to a place might recognize it from the song. Carobeth Laird commented, “Nowadays when a song is sung it takes great leaps from one locality to another, because there is no one who remembers the route in its entirety.” She explained further, “How does that song go?” meant “What is the route it travels?” Men inherited songs from their father or grandfather, and the song gave them hunting rights to the terrain it described. Despite Manly’s experience, there seemed to be plenty to hunt for those who knew where to look, and when. The Salt Song describes the route of a flock made up of every sort of land bird in the region, and it “travels all night, arriving at Las Vegas about midnight, at Parker towards morning, and back home to the place of origin by sunrise. If the night on which it is sung is very short, the Salt Song—as the other hereditary songs—may be shortened so that it will not outlast the night.” In that song the birds began to leave the flock toward morning, each dropping out into its own place in this orderly world of words and places. A song was the length of the night and a map of the world, and the arid terrain around Las Vegas was the Storied Land of the great myths. The Mojave people just to the south had a turtle song that also lasted the length of a night or several nights.

The silence in which Manly and a companion walked out of Death Valley to seek help for two families stranded there forms a strange contrast. They carried only small canteens and soon ran out of water. So they “traveled along for hours, never speaking, for we found it much better for our thirst to keep our mouths closed as much as possible, and prevent the evaporation.” They were unable to eat the dried ox meat they carried because their mouths were too parched, and when they finally found a small sheet of ice like “window glass,” they quenched their thirst only to find that they were ravenous. It took Manly and his companion twenty-three days to find help and return with provisions and a route out. By that time their traveling companions had despaired of the young men’s ability and altruism, so they were surprised as well as rejoiced at their return. The whole party finally reached the settlements four months after they’d taken their shortcut. Afterward they returned to the mapped world and to their familiar way of living. “Every point of that terrible journey is indelibly fixed upon my memory, and though seventy-three years of age on April 6, 1893, I can locate every camp, and if strong enough, could follow that weary trail from Death Valley to Los Angeles with unerring accuracy,” wrote Manly in his memoir Death Valley in ’49, and it was his party who named the place where they were stuck Death Valley.

I know the Storied Land or the country a little north of it. It’s the first desert I came to know and the place that taught me to write. In my late twenties, I started going to the Nevada Test Site, where a thousand nuclear bombs were detonated over the years, started going there with thousands of others to oppose the nuclear testing, a wild mix of Western Shoshones and pagans and Mormons and Franciscans and Buddhists and anarchists and Quakers. The place demanded to be described not with the straight line of a single story but with stories like the roads that converge upon a capital, for many histories had arrived there in the decades since the Death Valley Forty-Niners, and some of the old ones had not been forgotten. The people I met there invited me into a wider sense of home in the West, and a tortoise I picked up not so far from there would carry me out of my old home, a tortoise that might have been Turtle Island itself, the old name for the whole continent, as though the whole continent could be home, and perhaps it’s this sense of place that sprung me from the house I left a quarter century before.

Six or seven blocks northwest of where I live now is the hill where the last Brown Satyr butterfly was collected in the 1870s, as that intensely local species was going extinct. Some of the individuals of the gold rush were likeable, but their cumulative effect was terrible; they worked feverishly to acquire what could be hoarded—notably the tons of gold dug out of the mountains—and for it they paid with what couldn’t be hoarded and didn’t belong to them, the clear streams and rivers filled up with miners’ mercury and dirt, the salmon runs already starting to fail in their time, the forests chopped down for smelters, the California grizzly extinct everywhere but the state flag by 1922, the languages and stories of the tribes devastated by violence and by disease in this place that was blank and unborn to the miners. It was this acquisitiveness and its increasingly sophisticated new technologies that came to extract more and more wealth from the wild and remote places of the world to empty them out, filling up banks with more money than could ever be spent, more than there are things to buy. Now the scarcity is real, and growing.

It’s not as simple as a morality tale because what came into being is partly beautiful, and it has come to have its own complexities. There’s a Catholic university on the hill where the butterfly left off being, and I have heard great poets read there and environmentalists speak. About twice as far from my white birdcage of an apartment in the opposite direction is the San Francisco Zen Center one of the key locations for the arrival of Buddhism in the West. The handsome brick building in a poor neighborhood was erected long ago as a residence for Jewish women, and a few Stars of David are still worked into the iron balconies. One morning four months after my midsummer dream of the tortoise, I woke up knowing it was time to go there. I arrived in time for the Saturday morning talk and sat behind a huge African-American man. Whenever he shifted his weight the altar appeared and it was the more interesting in glimpses. That day, someone mentioned that the stone Buddha on it was from an Afghanistan that had ceased to exist long ago. I had just given the two wool blankets I had inherited from that house in my dreams to the Quakers for winter relief in Afghanistan. The statue with its serene full face seemed to be looking back from the place where the blankets were going. Its soft brown stone spoke of an aridity and solidity that made the place real, made me see stony mountains shaped by erosion into folds like the curves of the statue’s robes.

A gaunt man with cropped gray hair sat down cross-legged, arranged his dark robes, and without preamble began to tell a story, softly, slowly, with long pauses: “Good morning. For many years there was someone who used to come here and sell us boxes of candy. Actually they were tins of candy, and they were caramel-coated in chocolate, and they looked like little chocolate turtles. So we called him the Turtle Man, and the Turtle Man would come and sell us this very sweet caramel-covered chocolate. And the Turtle Man couldn’t see. He was blind, so we bought two boxes instead of one. And then we’d put them in the desk in the office and then, even though we all thought they were way too sweet, we would eat them—quickly. The Turtle Man did this for many years. Like many blind people, he had a white cane, and he’d tap his way up the stairs and then he’d tap the door, and then he’d come in. We’d do our transaction, and then he’d leave.

“And one day I was out on the street right out here and I heard this voice go help . . . help . . . help . . . and it was the Turtle Man, and he was standing over there on the corner. He needed to cross the street and his way of crossing the street was to stand on the curb and say help and just say help until someone came along and helped him across the street. I didn’t watch him, but I assume that at each street crossing this was how the Turtle Man negotiated the crossing: he just stood there and said help, help.

“So I thought, Isn’t that really amazing? What an amazing life. You walk along and you reach a barrier and you stop and you just call out help. You don’t know who you’re talking to, you don’t know who’s around if anyone, and you wait, and then somebody turns up and they help you across that barrier, and then you walk on knowing that pretty soon you’re going to meet another barrier and you’re going to have to stop again and cry out help, help, help, not knowing if anyone’s there, not knowing who it will be that will turn up to help you across the next barrier.

“And yet somehow the Turtle Man could roam around the city selling boxes of turtle candy, coming to places like Zen Center and persuading them to buy a couple of cans.

“And he was, you know, a bit of a hustler. He knew we didn’t really want them, but he knew we were good for two cans. The Turtle Man wasn’t a fool. It was always a kind of a thrill to see him. It was almost like it was a miracle. It was like the Turtle Man defied gravity, he defied common sense, he defied conventionality. It was like the Turtle Man was a superhero, so it was always a little bit exciting and a little bit joyous when he turned up at the door.

“How else could we break through the spell that we weave if we didn’t have a little piece of Turtle Man in us? But this is a very dangerous proposition because most of us don’t have the excellent training of Turtle Man. Turtle Man had no option. It was either stay in bed or get up and meet the impassable barrier and cry for help. Those were the options.

“Maybe if I really paid attention to my life I’d notice that I don’t know what’s going to happen this afternoon and I can’t be fully confident that I’m competent to deal with it. Maybe we’re willing to let in that thought. It has some reasonableness to it, I can’t exactly know, but chances are, possibilities are, it’s not going to be much different than what I’ve usually experienced and I’ll do just fine, so we close up that unsettling possibility with a reasonable response. The practice of awareness takes us below the reasonableness that we’d like to think we live with and then we start to see something quite fascinating, which is the drama of our inner dialogue, of the stories that go through our minds and the feelings that go through our heart, and we start to see in this territory it isn’t so neat and orderly and, dare I say it, safe or reasonable. So in the practice of awareness, which has gone on for centuries after centuries and millennium after millennium, human beings have asked themselves, Hmmmm, how do I engage this process in a way that I don’t become too frightened by what it might unfold or too complacent by avoiding it? This is the delicate work of awareness.

“You hear a sound, and you think, that’s a big truck going around the corner. It all happens in half a second. We see someone and make up a story about who they are, and sometimes we get ourselves into a lot of trouble with the stories we make up as we weave our world. And the practice of awareness doesn’t say don’t weave your world. That’s what we’re hardwired to do, it’s not a volitional thing to think ‘truck’ after hearing that sound. The practice of awareness says don’t grasp it too tightly, don’t be too convinced. And in that simpler way of being, it’s okay to become like the Turtle Man, it’s okay to sometimes experience not knowing what to do next, to run into a barrier. It’s okay to realize that life has a mysterious quality to it, it has an element of uncertainty, it’s okay to realize that we do need help, that calling out for help is a very generous act because it allows others to help us and it allows us to be helped. Sometimes we’re calling out for help. Sometimes we’re offering help, and then this hostile world becomes a very different place. It is a world where there is help being received and help being given, and in such a world this compelling determined world according to me loses some of its urgency and desperation. It’s not so necessary in a generous world, in a world where help is available, to be so adamant about the world according to me.”

Several months later, I was camping on the eastern side of the Sierra, in a forest of Jeffrey pines that stood far apart on that pale sand, speaking of vast root systems tapping out what moisture there was in that dry place. The pinecones fell in perfect circles under the trees, and the place seemed almost geometrically pure: the flat plain of volcanic sand, the tall straight trees, the dark circles of cones. In the warmth of day, the bark of these trees gives off a fragrance like vanilla and butter-scotch, a sweetness that added to the tranquility of the place that seemed when we were in it as though it was all there was in the world, as though the trees went on forever, as though time, history, obligation were no longer on the map. We slept in our cars on a night so cold that the water in our dishpan was frozen solid by morning. We’d camped there the year before, and that time I’d gotten my car stuck in the sand, several miles from the paved road. It had been a lovely moment to realize that I could count on my traveling companions, and they had gotten me out with good cheer and little fuss. This freezing night I dreamed I’d driven into the backyard of that childhood home and gotten the car stuck again, but the yard and house belonged to someone else, a middle-aged Asian woman who had added a second story to it. It was her house now. I wasn’t going in, and friends were coming to dislodge the car.

And then as I was preparing to write this chapter, I dreamed of the place again, from the outside again. We were burying my father’s and grandmother’s hearts by rocky graves like ornamental excrescences around the edges of the swimming pool. This time the pool had dark dirt on its bottom, and its sides were no longer straight but wavering, encrusted with big stones. It was becoming a pond. The dark hearts had been in my refrigerator, in a Ziploc bag, like butcher’s meat. A dream doesn’t have to explain how long they’d been there. Which one was bigger, my dreaming self wondered, and did the size indicate generosity, body size, or unhealthy enlargement? Both died of heart trouble. And through a knothole in the tall back fence—and there was a real knothole I had forgotten, which in real life did look out onto the hilly pasture of a little quarter horse ranch—I saw horse-drawn carriages speeding by, then horses galloping faster and glossier than ever, exuberant with power, with life.

A few months later, I went to spend a few weeks writing in the county I grew up in, not the suburban corridor whose northernmost edge that house sat upon, but its wild west, mostly parkland and dairy farms. Geese were flying south, apples were ripe on the trees, and one day a naturalist named Rich took me around to look at birds. While we were watching a pair of white-tailed kites in the tree they roost in, he mentioned that they had been thought to be extinct, and they were now doing so well that they were expanding their ecological niche and range. Almost everywhere but the black bands on their wings, the birds were as dazzlingly white as doves, though their contours were the condensed ferocity of hawks. Some people call them angel hawks. We went calling on dozens of shorebirds and waterbirds, a king-fisher, green herons half-hidden in the reeds, one gulping a blue dragonfly still whirring as it went down that long narrow throat, songbirds, and then a turtle peering above the still water of an old millpond. Reflection turned its tilted head in profile into a notched oddity with two yellow-gold eyes looking back at us. We traveled to several places not far from the road, and through this guide’s eyes and tales I saw a completely different place than this the one I had been coming back to almost all my life. My place had been made out of plants and landforms and light and some human histories. His was crowded with creatures going about their lives, each living according to a pattern, the patterns interwoven into a tapestry of formidable complexity.

Some ideas are new, but most are only recognition of what has been there all along, the mystery in the middle of the room, the secret in the mirror. Sometimes one unexpected thought becomes the bridge that lets you traverse the country of the familiar in an unprecedented way. You know the the usual story about the world, the one about ongoing encroachment that continues to escalate and thereby continues to wipe out species. Rich told a different story about how here for a hundred years or so after the gold rush the newcomers blasted away at everything that moved, an era that let up half a century ago. And so, he said, in North America at least, a lot of species have come back. In this county with so many miles of open space, he told me, even coyotes became locally extinct. I realized that the hills I roamed as a child were empty and silent compared to what they are now. It was odd to think of what had been my paradise and refuge as an impoverished landscape, though I had long known its very grass wasn’t native.

Across the continent many of the common animals are coming back, the deer, moose, bears, coyotes, and cougars, a story that hasn’t been made much of. Many of the birds endangered by DDT four or five decades ago have likewise returned, peregrines, eagles, osprey, and more. But in this county, more happened. In the third quarter of the nineteenth century, tule elk were hunted into extinction altogether on this coast, and throughout their California habitat only a few survived. These survivors were discovered in 1874 in a tule marsh in the San Joaquin, the valley the Death Valley Forty-Niners had pronounced as Sand Walking. Their discoverers were in the process of draining the marsh for agriculture. A serious endeavor to save the species began in the twentieth century, and ten animals were reintroduced to this coast the year I left home and the county. Since then they had multiplied into the hundreds, and they are, in the present order of things, safe as a species.

I knew about the elk, but as Rich talked I began to see a picture I had not before, of all the animals who had hovered in the doorway of disappearance and then returned to this place. Elephant seals had vanished for a hundred and fifty years from this stretch of coast and by 1890 vanished from all their breeding grounds but one place in Baja, their numbers dwindled down to about a thousand. Four years after the elk returned, the first breeding pair was sighted here. Now, twenty years later, a couple thousand of them heave themselves up onto this county’s remotest beach in winter to quarrel and bask and give birth, and there are altogether about a hundred and fifty thousand of them in the world. Brown pelicans and crested egrets had come back from the brink, as had other waterbirds, and almost half the birds of North America are in this place at least some of the time, up to two hundred species at a time. The place also has a number of unique subspecies, evolved in isolation over tens of thousands of years, and more than a score of endangered and threatened species altogether, including coho salmon spawning in its streams. I had seen them too, golden female and ruby male thrashing their way up shallow water in the early dusk of drizzly midwinter.

After that day, I found a book at the house I was staying at, about how the land on which these creatures flourished was protected from development, and found my father’s name in the index. We moved back to California when he was hired to write the master plan for the county, and he spent the next five years working on a document that protects from development most of its western portion that wasn’t already under state, federal, or land-trust protection. The drive for protection came from citizens first, and it was their support that made it possible for the professionals to push their plan through, but it was the planners who wrote the rules of this protection and took much of the heat. The book spoke of “a revolutionary Marin Countywide Plan, which used ‘designing with nature’ as its method for preserving Marin’s extraordinary landscapes and preventing its cities from sprawling together.” I own a copy of the environmental plan whose title was drawn from a poem by Lew Welch quoted on the flyleaf, “This is the last place. / There is no where else to go,” and so it was called Can the Last Place Last? So far it has, though Welch didn’t. He walked into the Sierra Nevada wilds in 1971, and no trace of him was ever found.

The plan “went through fifty-seven public hearings and was adopted in 1973. . . . The plan was the inspiration of talented county planners Paul Zucker and Al Solnit. Zucker later lost his job after he lost a supervisorial race, and Solnit was the victim of vicious attacks by developers and hostile editorials. But the Plan was embraced by the public and has prevailed through minor revisions for over twenty-five years.” One summer evening when I was about nine, my father came home late and found a forgotten glass of chocolate milk gone sour on the kitchen counter. Waste enraged him, and since I was the principal drinker of chocolate milk, he rushed into my room, flicked the light on, and dashed it in my face as I slept, so that I woke up dripping with a giant roaring over me. (That the milk was a brother’s is only a detail; it was a very random universe in there.) Reading that account, I realized that what he had come home from was one of those rancorous meetings at which the fate of this place was being decided.

The house was a small place inside a larger one, or a small story inside a larger one; picture the stories nesting like Russian dolls, so that terrible things were happening in that house, but they were tied to the redemption happening on the larger scale of the county, which was in part reaction to the violent erasures going on across the country and the world. I had left the house for good a quarter of a century before and just gotten out of it in my dreams over the past year, but the county was something I chose to return to again and again, and on this return I’d seen the nesting of those stories, as well as some of the animals that had come back. I revisited the elk a few days before the day of the angel hawks. Most of them live out on the remotest peninsula of this remote place, a spit of land like a north-pointing finger, segregated from the rest of the world by a ten-foot-tall ring of cyclone fencing across its knuckle, a peninsula at whose tip I had realized that the end of the world could be a place as well as a time. They’d been lounging among the grasses and the domelike lupine shrubs, herds of cow elk with a few bulls among them and herds of young bulls who scrambled to their feet at the sound of my approach so that their antlers looked like a forest rising up. The end of the world was wind-scoured but peaceful, black cormorants and red starfish on wave-washed dark rocks below a sandy bluff, and beyond them all the sea spreading far and then farther.

#Rebecca Solnit #dreams #essay #literature #unconscious #extinction #nature

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cutegirlmayra · 7 years

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You should do a spicy boom!sonamy prompt ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Ok for real tho, would you write some cute, fluff, slightly angst boom! Sonamy prompt? I need some feels! Btw you're awesome I love all of your work. Is the only thing I've been reading for the last week and I'm obsess

Haha, just kidding! I would love to do some fluff~ I’m still not quite sure on the definition of ‘spicy’? But I think it means ‘steamy’ right? Well, I think you were kidding, right? Cause you said, ‘but for real’ so I’ll go with fluff, cute, and some mild angst. Boom is hard cause it’s not very easy to place these two in a moment of vulnerability besides-….

Besides-

…..Oh my gosh.

(Also thank you so much!!! XD I know it’s a deep pool of prompts to swim through since 2 or 3 years of writing these suckers but I thank you for liking them so much~

Prompt:

Sonic walked with a wide swing in his step, looking around before directly to Amy, and seeing what she was doing on the ground.

“Uh… Ames? Not that I’m trying to be a bother to your… ‘experimentation’ thing or whatnot, but…” he shook his hands in the air, looking a little bored before leaning over to see what she was doing, fiddling with what looked like puzzle pieces placed in a slider.

“Sorry, Sonic. I know I called you over here for your speedy abilities, but I honestly can’t seem to figure out this… stupid… errkk!!!” she tried to slide one more square piece over, tugging and struggling before getting it’s rusty self in place.

“Ha!” Amy was forced back by her own power, but the titles in the small square glowed suddenly, and Sonic’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as he leaned back.

“I did it!” Amy jumped back forward, holding her hands up triumphantly. “Okay, now I need you to- AHHH!!”

The two were suddenly pulled into the small, miniature vortex and spiraled into it, becoming small and only pint-sized selves.

“Oh no!” Amy looked herself over, “The effects of those ancient geared tablets must have triggered some form of…. of an ancient shrink ray!” she gripped her head, looking worried. “I must have misread it!” she suddenly ran over to a large book, hitting it open and then looking down at the page as Sonic raced up to look at her.

“It’s no use… it’s all the way on page 380…” she looked at all the pages, seeing how hard it was to flip each individual one separately.

Sonic jumped up, gesturing to himself and for her to move as she smiled and got by his side.

She laughed as she jumped while he ran over the pages, having them flip quickly under his speedy shoes before she was finally able to see the right page.

“Oh! Stop, stop, stop!” she motioned her hand out before dropping to her knees, using her hand to read over the now large printed words.

“Shoot!” she hit her hand to the paper, “I thought it said sight array, not shrink ray!”

“How could you mess those up?” Sonic had his arms folded, before parting them with a shrug and leaning his head back, “They don’t even sound the same!” He then looked back at her with the expression that he was somehow smarter at getting this than her.

As he shook his head in complete haughtiness, she just stared at him as if he had no idea what the difference was in hieroglyphics and modern language.

“Some things can mean a number of things, Sonic.” she rolled her eyes, and continued to read. “Now… let’s figure out how to fix this…”

“Pfft, boring!” Sonic jumped down from the book, taking off a ways.

“W-wait! You can’t just go! It’s dangerous!” Amy stood up, looking upset and worried before he about faced, hearing her words, and coming back.

“Did I hear dangerous?” he gave her a funny look, “Amy, I’m magnetically pulled to dangerous!”

“I really hope you weren’t just winging words there.” Amy insulted, as he did in fact looked offended.

“What’s your problem?! You act like I can’t understand anything!” Sonic put a hand to his hip and then gestured up to her, “Like, what? You’re some sort of ‘high scholar’ above of me?” he turned around, folding his arms and looking behind himself, pouting in a grumpy way.

“Well… yes.” Amy nonchalantly answered, even looking up a moment to bounce her shoulders as if that was ‘matter-of-factly’ a true statement, and then looked back at him with drooped eyelids. “And you’re point is?”

“Augh! I don’t need this!” Sonic threw his hands up in the air, fed up with her attitude as he was about to take off again.

“Wait!”

“Sorry comes after the brooding, Amy. You know this.” he stayed bent down in his running pose, arms up and ready to swing out like a running man and his toe tipped up to start the first step.

“No, not that! I mean, how am I gonna get around if you take off like that?” she jogged to the corner of the book, and looked down over at him.

“Sonic… we can’t just abandon each other!”

He slid his mouth to the side of his muzzle, narrowing his eyes and drooping his eyelids as if he wasn’t really disagreeing on that comment… but he could just go if he wanted too..

“…Sonic?..”

Her voice turned more desperate.

He looked down, his frown slowly stretching out and untensing.

“Please?”

He shook his head and ruffled his hands in his quills, getting up and waltzing back to her. “Ahhh.. fine! FINE! But you have to say you’re sorry!” He stuck a finger up at her, still looking upset.

“Fine.” Amy nodded, liking that deal as she sat pretty up top, tilting her head slightly side to side to rustle her own quills into a neater place from looking down. “I’m sorry for referencing that most men are blind idiots who state their opinions as fact.” she smiled down to Sonic.

She acted so innocent…

He hated it.

He glared and puffed up his own chest, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m sorry for referring to all women as pompous and stubborn!” he folded his arms, turning away. “Acting so high and mighty… but then needing someone to cuddle with in the dark~” he suddenly mocked her by throwing his arms around himself, then placing his hands together and to the side of his face, as if doting or acting ‘feminine’ as he pretended to sleep and close his eyes.

His eyes shot back open when he heard a battlecry and looked up, jumping a bit in shock and parting his legs, racing away as Amy came down with a hammer.

The dust piled up and he coughed while fanning it away.

She breathed loudly, looking ticked.

“YOU WANNA GO!?”

“Yes. Thank you. Adios!” he nodded, saluted her with a flick of his two, put together fingers goodbye, and was about to race off.

“STOP!”

“WHHHYYY…?” he groaned, swinging his arms down and back around himself in a huge, over-exaggerated whine.

He looked to her with arched eyes, as if so done with fighting her already.

“I thought that’s what you want!”

“We need to get that-!” She pointed to the tablet’s holder. “To Tails!” she threw her pointed finger down, looking ready to chew his head off.

“Hmph. And why should I help you?” he folded his arms, sticking his tongue at her before turning his head away. “All you ever do is unappreciated me.”

“Excuse me?” she raised an eyebrow, confused by his wording.

“You never listen to me!” he suddenly over-acted, flinging the back of his hand’s wrist up to his forehead, leaning himself back. “I’m all alone in this big empty world, and all I ever wanted was for you to notice me! Ah!” he suddenly dropped to his knees, laying with an arm supporting him up, looking helpless, and clearly seeming to reference a previous conversation he must have had with Amy Rose…

“I’m just a woman! With feelings too!” he kept mocking, and as he did so, Amy’s face shifted from anger to hurt, as if he was making fun of her feelings when she had spoken those words long ago.

“But of course! You wouldn’t understand!” he hit his hand down in a fists, “Because, what? What!?” he suddenly threw his hands up to his face, shaking his head back before glaring at her, turning back to his old self.

“Because men don’t understand love!?”

He bounced himself up and walked over to her, looking much more serious as she stepped back, a little afraid that he wasn’t just acting anymore…

“I came here to help you! Not be told I’m stupid!” he thrust a finger at her, and she tripped over the side of the book’s cover, hitting the stacked papers to break her fall.

“..A-Ames?” he suddenly pulled away, worried.

She looked down, sniffing as she rubbed her nose and got up.

“Is that what you think of my feelings?” She walked past him, before looking up as she did so, “That their a drama to be acted out?” she looked deeply hurt, and turned away as she squinted her eyes shut, before running off to get the tablet, pushing it as it started to jut-forward.

“…H-hey now… hold on! I’m the one that’s suppose to be offended and hurt here!” he stomped his foot down. “Don’t suddenly make this about you!”

She kept struggling to push it, but little by little, she got it going.

“Just don’t come, Sonic! I get it! You’re better off alone…” she looked away from him as she passed, before his face drooped and he watched in sorrow as she pushed the square puzzle passed him.

He outstretched an arm, “Amy..?”

He had taken it a bit too far, and looked away, scanning the ground as if he could find answers there.

“Ah, man…” he rubbed his head again, before he moved down to his neck, looking regretful.

“Amy… Ah, Ames. Don’t push it yourself!” he gave in to his better nature, rushing up and helping her push, causing the square to go must faster.

“I said I didn’t need your help anymore!” Amy felt the ease on her shoulders while she pushed, but it didn’t change the fact of how she was feeling toward his little act back there…

“Look, okay, I have feee… feeel… feelllllingggsss toooo…” he contorted his face and mouth as if saying that was difficult, before shaking his head and sighing as if relieved he got it out.

“Ah, there. Now we’re doing what you love to do. Talking about the inner-crisis of our teenage lives!” he kid, still shoving the darn thing forward.

“At this rate, we’ll get to Tails’s soon enough!” he then stated, as Amy looked back at his expression…

She smiled.

At least he tried.

The two finally made it, with a sandy and dirt trail behind them, to Tails.

Changing them back, just before he did so, Amy and Sonic stood in the box that Tails had closed the door on.

She bounced her feet, looking up and waiting expectantly for the beam to change them back to normal.

Sonic looked away, as if nervous, before scratching the tip of his head, and turning back to her, putting his hands together.

“Umm… A-about what I said…”

“Forgiven. Now brace yourself.” she happily squinted her eyes.

He looked back up to her, almost sorrowfully, before chuckling lightly and leaning closer to her.

“No.. about not treating your feelings fairly.”

“It’s in the past! Afterall, you’re a ‘solo-rider’ I get that.” she continued to let it all go, but Sonic just frowned more, trying to be real with her.

“…Ames, I wasn’t lying when I said I liked danger.”

The computer started rotating a countdown.

“Yeah? So?” Amy kept her eyes closed, still acting cheery like she didn’t care what he said.

He looked more gently to her, his eyes showing more in them then what he was saying.

If only her eyes were open to see.

“I mean…” He leaned closer, as tenderly as he could, he leaned his head behind her shoulder.

“I’m not afraid of the most terrifyingly, dangerous adventure any hedgehog could ever go on…”

The computer started counting down from 3…2….1…

“What’s that?”

“Loving a stubborn woman.”

Her eyes shot open, turning to look at him as he moved his head, acting as though he hadn’t done or said anything.

“Geronimo!”

The two zapped back to normal sizes, as the door was flung open in a light of blue.

Tails raced up before watching Sonic spin out the window, and then went to open the swinging close door for Amy, but she just knocked it clear off it’s hinges with her hammer, chasing after him with large smiles on her face.

And if there could be, hearts piling out around her from thin air.

“Soooooniiicccc~″

#sonic prompt #sonamy prompt #sonamy #sonicxamy #boom!sonamy #sonamy boom #boom!sonic #sonic boom #sonic boom prompt #amy rose #sonic and amy #sonic the hedgehog #sonic

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