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allie-campbell-bradshaw · 11 months

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Chapter 4: First Set

A/N: Welcome to the fourth chapter of Top Gun: Baby, a love story following Bradley Bradshaw and Allie Campbell. This story is sequential, so if you have not already read the first few chapters, please go back and do so! All links to chapters and their mood boards can be found on my masterlist. This is by far one of my favorite chapters that is narrated by Bradley. This is quite a long one, so buckle up! I mention this in my notes for every chapter, but just in case you missed it– I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post. Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Intense swearing (This is a story set in the Navy after all), brief mentions of sex (nothing explicit)

Chapter Four: First Set

BRADLEY’S POV

“GET UP! UP! UP, UP, UP!” Emmett and I shot up from our bunks, the sound of people screaming in the hallway and our lights flashing caused our hearts to nearly burst from our chest as we were shot awake from our slumber.

Once I was able to comprehend that we were being awoken by our detailers, my heart rate began to settle. With the diminishing panic came the annoyance. I was in such a deep sleep, which is a treat for me. When I am in it deep, I don’t dream. There’s nothing for my imagination to focus on other than the black screen that plays in my mind for hours. It’s rare, and only on days where I’m exhausted that I get the pleasure of not being transported to my nightmares.

When I’m not in this deep state, I find myself dreaming one of three dreams. The first, and most common, was replaying the death of my mother. Except, it’s not how she died. It is more of a combination of how both of my parents died. I am the pilot of an F-14 when my mother ejects, willingly, from the jet. I watch helplessly as she plummets to the ground, begging me to save her. While it seems morbid that she chooses to eject from the plane, it makes sense. She elected to enter hospice care when the doctors told her that her cancer was entering Stage IV, knowing that even the best treatment wouldn’t eradicate the disease. She wanted to be in control of every decision she could make, until it was too late. To this day, I believe that she ejected herself from this world by dying when she did, the way she did. She refused to die in the middle of the night when I wasn’t there, and held on until my hand was wrapped tightly around hers. And my dad, well, we all know how that happened. I have no memories of it, and my mother never spoke about it. He could never find the right words to describe the accident, so I had to resort to asking Hollywood about it when I was in middle school.

***

“He was flying with your dad at Top Gun,” Hollywood explained to the young Bradley, who was sitting on the carpet next to him. Hollywood put down his beer, knowing that this was going to be a long and serious conversation with The Kid.

“Did he burn?” Bradley asked innocently, thinking that the only flight accidents that happened were ones when they crashed and burned, or ones where a fire started inside the cockpit.

“No,” Hollywood said, holding back a chuckle at the innocence of young Bradley. “He was trying to get out. He was trying to save Maverick.” Bradley looked over at his adopted father figure, who was talking with other members of his Top Gun class, not knowing what the two were talking about.

Bradley felt a smidge of jealousy at the fact that Maverick was able to get out of the plane, and his dad was not. Yet, at the same time Bradley was proud of his dad. He put someone else’s life above his own and was able to save him. He was a hero.

“Then he crashed?” Bradley asked, more curious now than ever about learning more.

“He got out,” Hollywood said, with a touch of sadness in his voice, “but then his head hit the top of the airplane. Even though he was wearing his helmet, he still got hurt pretty bad.”

“Then he died?”

“No, little man. Not right away,” Hollywood looked over at Maverick, sharing a glance together. The sadness and recollection stretched across Hollywood’s face gave everything away to Maverick. Pete looked over at Bradley and then back at Rick, nodding his head in approval. It was time he knew. “He was unconscious, but was alive for a few more hours. You and your mom made it to his room right when he let go. It was like he waited for you or something. You and Carole were with him. Your mom was at his side and you were snuggled up on his chest.”

Bradley sniffled as he held back tears, not wanting to hear anymore.

It wasn’t until he was in high school when his mom sat him down and told him the FULL story. The parts where Maverick lost control of the plane after Iceman flew by them recklessly.

Bradley wanted to be mad, but couldn’t. For years, he was under the impression that his father saved his second father. His best friend. Someone he told everything to. And Iceman was the only one he knew on the team that encouraged him to pursue flying if he wanted, and promised he would let him one day when he was older. No, he couldn’t be mad. But his impression of it all did change.

***

The second dream I have is a replay of the conversation that he had with me right before my graduation. This dream was less frequent, but always managed to make an appearance at least twice a week.

My third, and the least frequent, was the last day I spent with Danielle.

***

“Please,” she muttered to Bradley, tears falling down her face as she sat next to him on the couch, their bodies facing each other.

“Shhh,” He comforted her, cupping his face with her hand and running his thumb up and down her cheek. “You know we can't.” he whispered.

Danielle burst into tears as he pulled her into his chest, snaking his hand through her brown hair as he supported the back of her head. His other hand supported the small of her back, holding back the tears that were threatening to escape his own eyes.

He loved her, and in turn, he had to let her go. He pulled her away and looked into her deep brown eyes, his glazed with the salt water that was moments away from falling, but he held back. He held back for her. He was determined to be strong. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. He wanted to give her something to hold onto when she found out he died in battle from the local newspaper. So, he pulled her in close and covered her lips with his, letting their love blossom one more time before it dried out and fell to the hard ground.

***

I didn’t mind having this dream, especially when it got to the final parts. I can still feel every kiss, every thrust, every touch. It was like my own personal consequence to a choice that I sometimes wish I didn’t make.

But when I was in a deep sleep, everything went peacefully blank. Whatever dream that was currently playing was interrupted, or never occurred in the first place. This was exactly how my first night at the Academy was like. Everything was black from the minute I closed my eyes. It maybe only took 5 minutes to fall asleep, and before I knew it, it was morning.

The sun hadn’t come up yet when the pounding in the hallway began. Our breathing was so heavy we could hear each other from across the room, both of us slightly relaxing as we began to comprehend what was going on. It was time for drills, something that is expected to happen every morning during our first summer.

Within seconds, Denzel was throwing the door open to our unit, yelling at us to get up, get changed, and get in the hallway in 60 seconds.

Emmett and I bolted out of our beds, leaving our covers laid out on the floor as we quickly ripped off the clothes we slept in and changed into our Physical Education uniforms, which were a set of navy gym shorts and a navy ringed tee. I didn’t even notice that I had yet to change my boxers until it was too late… Fuck it, I’ll itch!

We were in the middle of tugging our white crew-length socks on when Denzel started to count down from ten. All of a sudden, my mind went blank as I shoved my toes into the sneakers, feeling a sharp pinch on my big right toe as my foot flew into the shoe. The immediate cold sensation let me know that I was bleeding, but I could still stand on it with only slight discomfort.

Denzel was in the middle of saying the number “One” during his countdown when Emmett and I stood at attention in the hallway, joining all of the other midshipmen who were sporting the same uniform. I could see my fellow classmates panting through my peripheral, everyone's chests heaving as the sleep drained from our eyes.

Three Officers walked down the hallway, examining our stance and writing things that they noticed down on a clipboard. One of the officers, assumably in his 40’s, with a full head of thick brown hair, nodded over at the group of 5 detailers that were standing at the end of the hall. They yelled at us to start running and to make our way over to the track.

I followed the group as we ran out of the building and outside. The cool air hit us with a slight discomfort. Summers on the coast were not too bad, since there were large bodies of water surrounding us, but with that came a little bit of a nippier air when the sun was down.

Emmett and I were in the middle of the whole group of runners, both of us looking around at the other men and women who were equally as shook as us. I knew this was coming, but the wakeup call itself was more intense than I had imagined. My ears were still ringing from the yells that escaped the detailer’s mouths and my eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the bright LED lights that were lit up as we got changed.

As we made our way over to the track, I glanced up at the cemented clock tower, whose hands were light by off-white lights, 5:33. Only four minutes ago, I was in the deep sleep that I so desperately crave every time I close my eyes. Four minutes seemed like ages ago.

Now I was here, running up the hill as the ones in front pooled their way into the track, taking the liberty of starting our run. We ran for 8 laps around the track, equivalent to two miles, before we were stopped by the detailers.

They split us up into our ICAO companies to perform our initial strength test. All of us Novembers went over to the far east side of the field that was in the middle of the track, Denzel joining us. It was then that I realized he was the detailer for all ten of us. I looked over at all the other guys, Emmett was resting his hands on his hips again, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. There were two guys that did not seem phased by our run, not even breathing hard as Denzel looked over his clipboard. Then there were all of us in the middle, who had broken out into a light sweat and occasionally spit into the ground as we recentered ourselves.

I hated how much I sweat. It was yet another trait that I inherited from my dad. Performing the simplest task would cause my skin to become moist under my hairline. Within seconds of any routine, I could feel the warm liquid pool down my body in droplets. My mom bought deodorant in bulk when I was in middle school and I went through one bottle of cologne every 3 months until I was 16.

I let out a spit when Denzel explained the contents of the initial strengths test. It would be used to determine which PEP group we would be in from tomorrow forward. He told us that we would perform every task as long as we could, until we physically could not go anymore.

It was a long morning, but it showed me exactly how much strength I had in me, equalizing me in the presence of young, fresh, 18 and 19 year olds. That’s all I truly crave, to be just like one of them. Once we were done, and my clothes soiled, I looked over at the paper Denzel used to record my data:

Push Ups: 82

Pull Ups: 51

Chin Ups: 45

Plank: 5m 45s

Squats: 76

Wall Sit: 3m 18s

Sit Ups: 114

Emmett brought his paper over to me and we compared scores. I outnumbered him heavily in push ups and sit ups, and he led in chin ups and the time for the wall sit. Everything else was pretty much the same, with a 1-5 difference.

He slapped my shoulder as he made his way to the locker room. We were instructed to shower and change into our Type III working uniforms, the common camo-esk styled ones, before breakfast. We had to report to the Bancroft Hall by 8:00am, otherwise you could forget about breakfast, which the Academy referred to as “morning chow”.

When I made my way into the locker room, I noticed there was a pack of cotton briefs sitting on every shelf of the lockers. Thank God!

After I was showered and changed into my uniform, I joined my classmates who were standing around Bancroft Hall. There were a few civilian tourists watching as we were inspected by the detailers and officers. They took our attendance right at 8:00am, locking the doors of the Hall for anyone that was late. Luckily, Emmett had made it, and I saw Natasha a few rows in front of me.

Every morning we were to be inspected by our superiors. As long as you kept your shit together, like keeping your hair short and tight, and wore your uniform correctly, then you were good. If not, you would have your ass handed to you for days until you did enough tasks to prove that you were worth a shit and would be let off the hook.

Within minutes, we were released and taken into the cafeteria. I salivated at the smell that came from the large brown and tan colored room. This was the biggest meal that the Academy served during the summers. Your choices were endless and the threat of running out of food never crossed anyones mind.

There was a wide range of fruits, cereals, meats, and pastries lined up across King Hall, the official name of the cafeteria on base. I had never felt more hungry in my life, my stomach screaming at me as I grabbed a tray when I made it to the front of the line, grabbing a whole bowl of fruit, oatmeal, and a serving of biscuits and gravy. Orange juice and coffee were placed at the center of every elongated table, which looked just like the brown tables you see in high school, with the same blue plastic pull out chairs.

“Yo, Bradster!” I heard someone yell, watching as a cinnamon roll came flying at me so as to grab my attention if I didn’t hear. Luckily, it landed on my tray, steering completely clear of the dirty floor below.

I looked over at the direction of the voice and saw Emmett, who was sitting with a group of guys, waving me over.

I quickly joined them and grabbed an open spot between two other guys, who introduced themselves as Tate and Oliver, engaging in brief conversation as I began to shove food down my throat. Before long, Oliver had ditched us to go sit with the girls from the Alpha Company. Great, he was one of those guys.

As he was walking away, Emmett, who was stuffing his face with meat and pastries, gave him a wolf whistle. Everyone watched as he slyly made his way over, taking the last seat at the table full of women.

Emmett laughed and looked back at his tray before an all too familiar female voice rang out; “May I”?

I looked up at Natasha, who was standing in front of Oliver’s abandoned chair.

I gave her a slight smirk while Emmett replied; “Yeah sorry toots. It’s men only.”

“Great,” Natasha shot back, taking a seat in the chair and adjusting herself as she said; “I was hoping you would leave anyways”.

She shot him an intense poker face as he froze in shock, not expecting that comment, which caused some of the other men at the table to laugh.

The laughter died down and a slight awkwardness was building up at the table, which I decided to rescue her from; “Natasha, this is my roommate, Emmett Frasier. Emmett, this is Natasha Trace”.

“Pleasure.” she said sarcastically, as she held her poker face on Emmett.

“At least it is for one of us.” Emmett said as he took a long drink of orange juice from his tall glass cup.

“Whatever,” she said to him slyly, breaking her gaze from his face and looking down at her tray. “How did you do at PEP?” she asked, looking over at me to confirm that I was the one the question was directed at. I gave her my paper and she glanced over at it, looking impressed at some of the facts that were on it. “Not bad,” she complimented. Well, complimented as best as she could. She was a hard ass, and I was totally here for it!

“We won’t be in the same group though.” She stated, with a hint of an upset tone in her voice.

“How do you know?” I asked her, curious at her statement.

“I nearly doubled you in everything. They’ll put me with others that scored close to me”.

“Bullshit!” Emmett rang out, not believing a word she said.

She quickly pulled her paper out of her right chest pocket before throwing it in his face, which caused him to clasp his eyes shut as the paper quickly made its way over to him. Within seconds, he had his eyes glued to her sheet, his expression dropping to a small scent of embarrassment as he realized she was telling the truth.

“I assume, yours wasn’t as good.” she stated to him, raising an eyebrow at him as well as giving him the all too familiar poker face that has dominated the conversation.

He didn’t say anything as he looked away, placing the paper back on her tray. She folded it back up and put it in her pocket, proud of her domination over him, which I’m sure he was not expecting.

The rest of the morning conversation revolved around discussing our summer classes: The first part of Naval Leadership class, Honor, Naval Warfare and Tactics, Rank Structure and the Unified Chain of Command. Basically, all of these courses were designed to humble us and solidify the hard passion that we have, or will have, for the Navy. Leadership was the longest, which was going to consist of a whole semester once courses started during the school year. Honor was the class that was designed to humble you, introducing you to the histories and reasons for “why we are the way we are” within the Navy. Warfare and Tactics, my favorite course, was pretty self explanatory. In late June we would get into the basics of aviation tactics, which I was most excited for! Rank Structure and the Unified Chain of Command was pretty much a study hall. Professors expected us to have the structure and chain memorized by the end of the summer, with us being able to not only list everything in the correct order, but also be able to explain why the structure existed. We also had to memorize notable men and women that are currently serving or have served in the Navy. Iceman was on the list, only inches away from becoming admiral of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Honestly, these courses would completely outrank all of the other courses I took at UVA, creating a challenge and a willingness to study that I have so desperately craved for.

The first set of classes, Naval Leadership and Honor, passed by quickly, and before I knew it, I was in King Hall again, noting the absence of the buffet styled breakfast that we had this morning.

Lunch was served in a family-style set up, every table having an assortment of sandwiches covered in plastic wrap. There was enough for every person at the table to have two. Our table was almost filled when I got there, with only tuna and veggie sandwiches remaining. I made a mental note to get there faster tomorrow as I grabbed one of each of the sandwiches and put them on my tray. I was in the middle of pouring the water into my glass when Natasha came over and assumed her same seat next to me.

“Jesus,” Emmett muttered under his breath as she sat down.

“I’m sorry?!” She snapped, looking up at him, making it clear that she heard him.

“Listen,” He began, “I think we got off on the wrong foot-”

“Oh, you don’t say!” she commented sarcastically.

“Would you shut up and listen to me!” Emmett snapped, clearing his throat and giving a look of regret at the words coming out of his mouth. “Sorry,” he apologized sincerely, “Force of habit, I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard, turning a little red. I would not be surprised if they slept together before the end of the summer. “I just wanted to introduce myself to you properly, I’m Emmett Fraiser.” He held his hand out for her to shake and she looked down at his, reluctant at first, but eventually giving in and shaking his. “Great!” He said in an excited tone, “Now we’re friends!”

“No we’re not.” Natasha muttered out in a sly tone, making sure to annunciate her entire sentence clearly so we could hear every syllable.

Emmett looked down, embarrassed by her recent comment and went back to his stale sandwich, eventually going into the conversation that Oliver was having with another guy that sat next to them. “You’re gonna have sex with him,” I stated quietly over my shoulder to Natasha as I took a huge gulp of my water.

“Not the parts I’m looking for, Bradshaw.” I spit my water back into my cup as I comprehended what she said. She looked at me, with a pain in her eyes as she saw my reaction.

I couldn’t help but cough as the water cleared from my lungs, my face turning red as I held up my pointer finger at her, signaling her to “wait a minute” as I regained my composure.

She still had a hurt look painted on her face until I was able to defend my reaction; “I’m sorry…” cough, “I don’t mean it like that…” cough, “Like it’s cool and you’re still great…” cough, “I support you…” I took a heavy breath, my body catching up with the oxygen that I had been missing the last few seconds, “I just wasn’t expecting that” I said as I swallowed, nearly recovered from my fit.

She smirked at me, her face now turning to a happy one as she developed a twinkle in her eye. “Well,” she said, “I’m into both I guess. But recently it’s been more women. I just don’t think your attraction needs to revolve around one specific gender”.

“Valid.” I said to her as I returned to my meal. My tone was clear enough to communicate to her that I understood what she was arguing, but also making it clear that I personally was only attracted to one gender.

“Natasha!” I heard someone say loudly behind us. I looked up and noticed a man, with a crew cut hairstyle and a deep skin tone, smiling down at her. He looked surprised to see her there, obviously not knowing she was around until now.

“If it isn’t Javy fucking Machado,” she said, impressed to see him sporting the same camo-like uniform as us. “How the hell are you!”

“Living the dream honey!” He exclaimed to her.

Everyone around the table looked at her in confusion and patience, waiting for her to introduce this Javy fucking Machado guy to us.

“Oh shit!” she said, looking over at us and noticing our expressions. “Guys, this is Javy. Him and I met at Summer Seminar last year. He’s a hot case.” She explained, being able to note his cockiness and charm in two simple words.

“And she’s just hot.” He said to all of us, making her blush and she looked down at her tray. There was obviously something there.

“Here sit down,” she said, pulling out the chair that was empty next to her.

“Oh, thanks” he muttered, as he modestly took a seat.

Natasha introduced him to the rest of the guys at the table, remembering all their names, ending with my roommate, “And that ass clown is Emmett Fraiser”.

Emmett gave a pleasing look at Natasha’s remarks, which he interpreted as a compliment. I’m sure it was, but with Natasha, you could never know.

“Nice to meet you” He said to all of them.

“So you met at Summer Seminar?” Emmett asked, not seeming to know what that was.

“Yeah,” Javy started, “It’s a summer camp that the Academy hosts for incoming high school seniors that are interested in the academy. It’s just like this, only a week long, and way more PEP than classes”. Well, that explains Natasha’s fucking phenominal performance this morning!

They exchanged answers for how they did in the morning, both nearly matching each other. It became clear to us that this Summer Seminar was designed to put them at the head of the pack if they came to Plebe Summer the year after. Great, yet another thing that I’m behind in!

I went back to studying my Reef Points book as their conversation continued on the subject of the seminar. It wasn’t until the discussion changed to how we ended up here when I rejoined the group. Javy went first, explaining that he applied against his mothers wishes, who is very apprehensive about the military. I also found out that he wanted to go into naval aviation, which meant that we would be seeing a lot more of each other as the years go on.

“So, I guess we’re meant to be huh?” Javy said over to Natasha, who shrugged him off and looked away.

“Only if you give me a wicked call sign.” She said, expressing her desire to have something unique assigned to her when we got to that point, in like five fucking years!

“Wait, what?” I asked her, not expecting her to know so much about naval aviation, and realizing that’s what she aspired to do.

“I’m majoring in Aerospace Engineering with Javy. We want to be fighter pilots one day.”

“Yeah me too!” I exclaimed to her.

“About majoring in engineering or being a fighter pilot?” She asked me, still comprehending that we had a lot more in common than I thought.

“Both!” I said excitedly, knowing that I was developing a friendship I would come to appreciate in the upcoming months when we start working with aircrafts.

“Get out!” She said, equally as excited at this fact. “Anyone else naval aviators?” She looked around anxiously, but everyone shook their heads.

“Submarine Officer” Emmett answered.

“Fits.” was all Natasha had to say. Not necessarily in a mean tone, but one that made it clear that the career goal matched the personality. It truly did though!

“What about you? What’s your story?” A guy asked, looking over at Natasha. She looked down, slightly upset with being asked, keeping her composure as she looked for the right words.

I knew enough to know that it wasn’t a pretty story. All I knew was she didn’t have a family, and a part of me was hoping she was an orphan too. It would be nice to know just one person who shared the same pain as me. “My father abandoned me and my mom when I was a baby,” Natasha started, everyone froze their expressions, not expecting her to be so forward. “And my mom dealt with the pain by drinking and shooting up. She’s somehow managed to stay alive, but doesn’t really care that I’m there. I applied to get away.”

Everyone was taken aback, not knowing how to proceed. The same guy looked over at me, slowly and awkwardly changing the attention as he asked me: “Okay, what about you”?

Now I was stuck. My story wasn’t any happier than hers, and I was still determined to get through my whole career without any of my fellow naval men and women, sorry Natasha, knowing about the past. I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to segway out of this, before sitting up tall and adjusting in my seat.

Everyone had their eyes on me. Fuck! I knew I couldn’t get out of this. I opened my mouth, ready to talk, just to bullshit and see what came out, when I was interrupted by Denzel yelling in my face.

I didn’t notice it until now, but detailers were yelling in a lot of people’s faces right now, with the cadet standing at attention and yelling back answers to their prompts.

I quickly stood up at attention, peering forward as my eyes stood sharp ahead of me, my ears focused on his words.

“Recite the ICAO!” He screamed at me.

What the fuck? Before I knew it, the words of the alphabet were coming out of my mouth, starting with alpha and ending with Zulu. I saw Denzel’s eyes change in my periphery, looking slightly impressed with my answer.

He turned his back to the other detailers, which is when I took the opportunity to glance over at Natasha, who looked at me impressed, her lips pursed and her eyebrow raised as she took in my performance.

It was then that I realized what my trainer was doing. During meal times, midshipmen were going to be tested with recollection regarding facts of the Navy, so as to prepare us to become laser focused in stressful and unexpected situations.

“The commanding order in the Second Fleet!” He yelled, a little less loud this time, but still intense enough.

I read off every rank, starting with ensign and ending with admiral, giving at least 1 example of a man or woman who currently holds each rank.

I saw Denzel take a step back, beyond impressed. I mentally thanked Hollywood for giving me that book earlier.

“When was the Naval Academy established?” Denzel spoke at a tone matching that of a normal conversation, but close to my ear.

I felt his breath hit me as I stared forward answering his question quickly making sure to keep my loud tone while at attention; “October 10th, 1845, Sir!”

“Established by?” Denzel asked in a creepy tone, getting way too close to my ear, snaking his head as he walked across my body, wanting me to break.

“George Bancroft and James Knox Polk, Sir!”

“First professors?” He asked, now in my face. I felt my eyes twitch, wanting to meet his, fighting every nerve in my being to keep my gaze forward. Yeah, this training is going to be intense, and will push every limit I have!

I was less confident with this one, answering a little quieter, “William Chauvenet, Arsene Girault, and Navy Chaplain George Jones SIR!” I didn't realize how quiet I was until the end of my answer, when Denzel took a step back.

“And Henry Lockwood,” He responded quietly. Fuck. I forgot one.

I closed my eyes and let out a huff through my throat. I was almost perfect. Almost there. And I made one fucking mistake.

I stood at attention as Denzel walked to my right side, watching my every move, waiting for me to crack. I was turning red, and mentally beating myself up, but refused to let it get to me. “Report to the track for 50 push ups after dinner. Right at sunset.”

“Yes sir!” I yelled, regaining my composure, but still lacking all confidence I have ever known.

“At ease” he said to me as he turned and left.

I let my head down, trying to wipe away the embarrassment. When I turned to my friends, they were all frozen, their mouths hanging open and their facial expressions in a daze.

“What the shit was that!?” Emmett asked, impressed.

I kept my gaze down and went back to my tray, not talking or looking at anyone for the rest of the day, shutting myself off. Something I’m good at.

I was quiet for the rest of the day, keeping my eyes glued in my books. Natasha sat next to me in afternoon classes, always shooting me a concerned gaze. During the last class, she rested her hand on top of mine, curious about my sudden lack of socialism.

I looked over at her and shook my head before pulling away and walking to the cafeteria, where I sat alone at the edge of the last table in the corner. I know it sounds dumb to be beating yourself up over something so stupid, but I had a lot to prove. I know there’s going to be a big target on my back, being at the age I am and coming from the family I have…Had… I knew Denzel knew, and I knew the Officers at base knew. You could tell by the way they looked at me when taking attendance or hearing my last name said by one of my friends.

They all kept quiet though, trying to hide their initial expression. Luckily, no one had noticed yet. I’m sure everyone was on their own toes, attempting to calm their nerves from their first day as well.

Natasha, Javy, and Emmett came over to me, holding onto their trays that were filled with meats and carbs. Steak, grilled veggies, and mashed potatoes were on the menu today. They didn’t sit down, just stood there and looked at me with curious expressions, filled with a little bit of pity.

“You okay?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah.” I lied through my teeth. She nodded her head, with an expression on her face that let her know that she could see right through me.

“Okay. Well, we’re here for you.” She encouraged me.

“Thanks.” I said, keeping my eyes down.

They stood there for a second, before walking away. I played with the food on my tray, not in the mood to eat a thing, despite the fact that my stomach was running on empty.

I reported to the track right before sunset, noting that I was the only one there. Great! Everyone else got their questions right.

Denzel’s back was to me, watching the sunset with his bare eyes, squinting up at the sky as I bent down, getting in perfect formation, and started going down, counting in my head.

Fifteen, I thought as I made my way up, Denzel finally breaking the silence; “You’re an impression”. He said as I went down again, sixteen, not saying anything.

“I mean it.” He said again, looking down at me as I stared at his shadow which was hovering above me. “No one I have ever quizzed has gotten those questions right on the first day.”

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

“Keep it up,” He encouraged, “I’ve got my eye on you”.

He turned back and walked away, meaning I could be done. But I had to finish. This was my set. This was my punishment, and I had to do it. I had to finish. I had to prove that I was good at something. I had a lot to prove.

I finished my set and then sat down on the damp ground, pulling my legs up and resting my elbows on my knee caps, focusing on my breathing that was slightly shallow. I wouldn’t be sweating so much if I wasn’t in my working uniform, but damn that bitch gets hot quickly!

I looked up and stared at the campus in the near distance, seeing Natasha, Javy, and Emmett watching me from the sidewalk of King Hall. Once they saw that I was looking at them, Natasha nudged them, and they walked away, making their way to the commons, right in front of the Naval Chapel.

I stayed sitting, thinking about how tough this is going to be. How I’m going to have more nights like this, sitting in the field, doing push-ups, proving my worth.

I looked up in direction of the chapel as I heard my classmates begin to sing “Blue And Gold”

Now colleges from sea to sea

May sing of colors true,

But who has better right than we

To hoist a symbol hue:

I immediately started thinking about my dad. How my dad ran on this very track, sang that very song, had the same summer as me, only four years younger than I am now. He was here. He looked at the same buildings. He did the same agility tests. He had the same intense quizzes during meal times. He made mistakes… He made mistakes… He did this too.

For sailors brave in battle fair

Since fighting days of old,

Have proved the sailors right to wear

The Navy Blue and Gold

He wore the same uniforms. He would sweat the same heavy amount of sweat. He missed questions. He failed things… He made mistakes too…

Thinking about my dad brought me peace, and relief from the fire that I had earlier in the day. If he could do it, and come out of everything a graduate all the same, then I can too.

I looked up at the clouds that were blowing through the deep sunset kissed sky, night time only minutes away.

“Help me through this dad”. I whispered up at the sky, knowing at that moment that I would be okay. I would make another mistake. I wouldn’t be perfect. And when I crashed and burned, he would be there. He was always there.

#naval aviator #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun #rooster imagine #maverick imagine #jake seresin #love strories #pete mitchell #natasha trace #natasha x reader #writers on tumblr

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jansri17 · 7 months

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the day we met.... pt.1 - Joe Keery

it was the first show u got a role for you were very nervous and didnt know what to do your flight to Washington DC was in 10 days so you were packing for that. You messaged the group chat that you were going to come from Toronto-Washington DC, The group chat was very exited to see you and they started spamming

you: GUYS STOP SPAMMING

Joe Keery: ok ok ok ok BUT I JUST CANT WAIT

Charlie Heaton: is it very cold there

Natalia: ya idk how it is there

you: ya kind of im in my parents house rn and its like Antarctica lol

Everybody: LOLLLL

fast forward 10 days-------

you were all ready to leave to the airport, You had your makeup and your bags ready you kind over packed so you had to buy an extra 1 luggage so officially you bought 4 hand luggage's. your handbag a backpack and 2 small suitcases you sighed and sighed and you whispered to yourself "i'm ready now" You said bye to youe family members mom,dad,brother,sister ETC. "bye mom bye dad bye Y/b/n

and you left to the airport. You arrive and started putting in the luggage "here is your ticket ma'am and have a good flight!"

"thank you!," You said

you got to the Air Canada lounge and waited for your flight

FAST FORWARD 2 HOURS LATER------

"oh my flights here" you whispered to yourself

you start boarding the plane and you start putting on your seat belt while the announcements go on. After 1 or 2 hours you buy food and watch some movies

the second the movie ends you land and you smile to yourself

"yay finally!!" and you see you landed at 12 AM sharp, After the announcement ends you get your luggage's

and walk out the plane to the airport. You get into some obstacles like check in and more but you finally get to the place to get your luggage's, you see that your plane was late and everybody's luggage's are in a line.

You get a trolley and start taking you bags and putting it on the trolley after you get all of the bags on the trolley you feel like your levitating, You see that people are looking at you and smiling in a good way

you get confused and look behind and its Actor Joe keery carring you his eyes were soo beautiful in person you almost saw the whole universe Y/n Y/N? whats wrong??

OMG HI GUYS its soo nice to meet you in person

HII Y/N Joe says. You see that theres a small girl next to joe you ask her, her name and she says Millie bobby brown whats your name?

Y/N, Y/L/N, millie says "nice name!!!"

"tyy" you see natalia your close friend scince gr.4

OMG NATALIA IT BEEN SO LONG!!!!!

HII Y/N

Joe starts pushing the trolleys and does the come hand gesture

we all say okkkkk and start gossiping.

we get to joes car and they start blasting ke$ha

guysss stopp im tireddd you say muttery

joe says NOOOO IT WILL KEEP YOU AWAKE and they put the volume a little more higher

You were soo tires so you fell asleep

joe sees you asleep and whispers in your ear

"I don't wanna be friends darling I wanna kiss your neck"

To be continued.........

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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chromalogue · 2 years

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It’s my second day in Germany. I’m typing this from a sunwashed hotel room, in a hotel that I didn’t realize was meat-themed until I saw its name on several butcher shops and a 24-hour sausage vending machine.

Breakfast was free, and served in an elegant dining room. It consisted of assorted charcuterie and cheeses, sliced tomato and cucumber, a thick orange-coloured juice that I think might have been apricot, excellent coffee with thick yellow cream that tasted slightly cultured, and an assortment of breads. The honey was weird, but pleasantly so. It tasted herbal, rather than floral, if that makes any sense.

I left my brother’s house in Milton on Tuesday morning. My aunt threw me a party on Sunday. I got to see cousins I haven’t seen in years. Some of them tried to talk me out of dreading the separation, but like, I wasn’t going to decide not to go or anything. Just, I knew it was going to be rough, and there’s no way not to make that part rough, so it makes sense to build in space for it.

So far it’s been exactly as hard as I thought it would be. My dad didn’t want to chance travelling to southern Ontario and staying with two school-aged children while his health is so iffy, so he stayed home. Will and Mom saw me off at the airport. I did my flights under a blanket of sadness that didn’t really go away until I touched down (whereupon it was replaced by exhaustion, mild annoyance, and culture shock).

My mom bought me a whole new wardrobe before I left. It was really important to her, even though that meant just getting several copies of the one outfit I wear. My old black trench coat, though still exquisite, had definitely seen better days (the front pocket was holey, and I tore the sleeve on the metal housing for a subway poster over the summer), and even I had to admit that my grey and yellow hiking boots weren’t really professional attire. So we found new boots that just slip on, because I am of an age where I think it’s safe to admit that I hate tying shoelaces and should quit expecting myself to, and a new super-fancy black trench coat that I managed to find for about 70% off. The difficulty is, both of these were purchased on Monday, my last full day in Canada, so I had no time to break them in/become accustomed to their vagaries. The boots are a little narrow for my gargantuan Routcliffe feet, and the coat is entirely waterproof, which I’m sure will be fabulous in the rain, but wasn’t so great for sweat. If I ever get famous enough here to warrant, like, a statue with a fountain in my honour, the water will dribble gently from my sleeves. I do look about as sharp as I can manage, though.

So far my German listening has been seriously defective. I don’t know if it was because of my tiredness yesterday, but even when I knew basically what I wanted to say, often I ended up saying, “Darf ich Englisch sprechen?” because I couldn’t understand anyone. I could probably manage if they were slower, but I was convinced that “langsam” was the Norwegian creeping into places where it didn’t belong, and the only other word I could think of was “langweilig,” which I knew was definitely German, but I wasn’t sure how the guy at the sandwich counter would react to my asking him if he could please be a little more boring.

Convinced that the local clock tower is not a reliable teller of time. It makes noise on the hour, but the number of chimes do not seem to correspond to the times as I know them, not even on a 24-hour clock. Plus, at 11:30 they just let it go wild for like five solid minutes.

Anyway, I have an appointment with university folks at 4,and a few hours to kill until then. Jet lag has, as always, turned me temporarily into a person who is awake during the day, if not actually a day person. And I’m keenly feeling the distinction right now, because I feel compelled to stick around and not get lost before my appointment, but I don’t have much energy or much focus to get done any of the other things I could/should be doing.

Nevertheless, I should probably wander out and explore a little. I need a SIM card, more fruits and vegetables, a pair of nail clippers, and most importantly a nice walk to break in my narrow narrow shoes.

#Germany

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mkboys · 2 years

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i dont know why i get so scared whenever i hear other people talking about DID. i think it’s because much of my denial, my fear, is that i’m simply never going to have real answers to what’s underneath it all.

Why did this happen? Why is there not a ‘centre’ or ‘original’ I can trace back to, that I can draw connections as to what ‘i’ am? the more i try to learn, as years have gone on, and i’ve been with Theo for the last 4 years at least... he’s more or less tried to keep me together even when i didn’t know of what he was. you’ll experience these moments where you’re in the middle of a cafeteria, and people around you don’t feel real. the whole room has this dream-like feeling, kind of lightheaded too, and it’ll happen in other places where you’re more anxious than normal. the dissociation comes like deep waves but it’s not predictable. i never know when it’s going to happen, if i’m lucky i’ll get the mental drift to start and then ill be like STOP (in my thoughts) and then ill try to be present (like think, focus focus focus) as much as i can, because i also have ADHD and am on medication for it. sometimes i’ll be semi-aware of whats going on around me, but mentally i am completely floating in my own headspace. i don’t see myself fly around or anything like that, which is silly, but it’s like i’m not even attached to my body. like looking through a stained glass window. the unknown is what hurts the most, because within that time of unable to reattach myself, unable to get to my actual senses (touch see hear etc) hours will fly by. sometimes my body goes into autopilot, but it’s like brushing my teeth for ten minutes. standing in the bathroom brushing my hair for a half-hour. there’s nothing i can do to stop this. if someone doesn’t try to stop it, we’re all helpless to the dissociation. when i say someone, i mean isaac or theo. usually it was theo, and he’d be quick to either do something for his sake and not mine, like substance abuse or staying awake for 24 hours straight, calling out of work, causing fights with people who disagree with him. these things i didn’t get why they happened after i would have a foggy memory of it like i was just extra hormonal that day but im certain i didn’t miss work on purpose, because i live paycheck to paycheck. it’s not that Theo is a bad person, he had a negative outlook and didn’t understand His existence. the only people he was ever open with decided to disregard us as a system, sum it up to ‘the shitty ex’ (which IS true, i won’t deny that) so all that rage was boiling up. he was first an emotional part.

“EPs are mediated by mammalian action systems of defence and attachment cry. As EPs, patients are fixated in reenactments of traumatic experiences. These reenactments include action tendencies of defence against perceived or actual threats to the integrity of the body or to life itself, as well as action tendencies regarding the need for attachment and the fear of attachment loss. EPs are mediated by the innate action system of defence against a threat that may be guided in particular by one of its subsystems: fight, flight, freeze, collapse, total submission, hypervigilance, wound care, and restorative states.”

as he’s mostly fighting, the consequences were always so intense. i would take it out on myself, hurt, cry, feel entirely like i was broken. i didn’t want to think about why this happened. the last person who opened up about DID hates my guts. i wanted to bottle everything up inside of me, take it to the ends of the earth, and fall apart in the hell abyss of dramatic sadness and darkness. but seriously, the number of times i’ve shuffled through therapists because i was 1. lying to them about how bad it was, i would say it’s not. 2. not taken seriously enough because of my demeanour. i was either passive and rude (theo) or i was smiling and gently awaiting instruction (ME, q)

i hated not knowing what i was. i would shift around sexuality and gender like they were playing cards, i would shift interests and then be so miserable because it wasn’t giving me the right ‘euphoric’ sensation a special interest does. i felt utterly hellish, constantly, and i had no sense of relief no matter how far i went into something. talking about work, a show, a person, seriously nothing was making me feel happy. the only time i had considered i had DID, was around when i had a roommate that was generally accepting and understood dissociation pretty damn well. she would know when theo had taken the front, but by calling him out on it we’d switch so rapidly. it was scary, the feeling of being thrown around, but also in complete denial that it was happening, which made him more bothered over time. isaac was originally only someone who helped me with driving. after the last host had gotten into car accident after car accident, isaac began to take the wheel. his knowledge comes from driving from ohio to california every 6 months. this is not something i personally have experience with. this is one of those, well if -the body- didn’t learn this, how is it able to put up with it? and i wish i had an answer, it’s not a superpower to have tolerance for something because of another person in your brain had a life before the system. this isn’t ideal, this isn’t what someone should want. you’ll never feel whole. you’ll never feel like what is yours, is really yours. you’ll be afraid of one day not waking up at all, being dormant terrifies me even though that’s 100% a choice made. i fear what happens when isaac fronts and his accent make me look like a weirdo. and HE HAS fronted with our new boss at work, and i have been around as well, so it’s a mix of us both and makes it look like im untrustworthy. im doing what i can to be whole. to make sense for others sake. to be present as much as possible, but also acknowledge that this is not my life i chose and not my life i originally began in. and i always fear i sound disillusioned, but i promise, before I ever knew of DID i had voices. I had amnesia. i had unexplainable reactions that were never consistent. i had names i have given people that were not at all related to my own, ive met people who i have no recognition of. i own clothing and have fucking DEGREE i don’t understand or remember really how i got it. how am i supposed to explain this to my family? to my friends from college, from high school, that i truly only know of them from word of mouth. a lot of the time isaac or theo or i will tag each other, joke, try to make a positive light on having different identities living in one body, try to be helpful or informative and even willing to give more personal information (like this post) in hopes, one day, someone will like us for us. Yes, I have a gf, and yes, she knows. but does she Know? She most likely Knows. I am not good with empathy, with reading someone’s facial expressions, i often guess incorrectly based on what my own insecurities tell me. They don’t believe you. They hate you. Only isaac will come between that and say, hey maybe this is an intense topic we should address after we have all our needs met? HALT. Hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. If that’s happening, don’t make decisions, don’t feed into the insecurity. but yeah, it’s hard. i’m a host but i am an alter first. no matter what i cannot change that. i will press how ‘present’ i am to everyone in my actual life for their comfort. it’s not fair to isaac and theo, and had i known YEARS ago, maybe i would be much more functioning, maybe i would’ve finished a degree in something we actually had passion in? maybe i could keep friends, family, have meaningful experiences that would be shared with my headmates, meet others that want to heal from the shit that has hurt them too. i know it’s not too late for any of this to happen, and i guess this long paragraph is a massive reflection of that, i mostly wrote this because of listening to oscar isaac talk about the book i haven’t read yet, that this man realized at 40 he had DID, the fear spread through my whole body that it could’ve been much much longer before i knew. it should have been much earlier, and i’d give anything to go back to try to help our last host, hell they wanted to die so desperately because of how much pain they couldn't manage. i can see the differences between them and i, one wants to be seen and one wants to be heard. i’ll often talk about how isaac is a lonely guy, because he’s the newest and the most friendly, the sweetest, most cis-bi man ever in my brain. i don’t get fictional introjects that suddenly appear, i don’t really get a headspace where i can ‘retreat to’ when i don’t want to front. we just exist, or are not existing, or existing together, or existing halfway. i we they us. all of that gets so tiring. we work SO much, isaac gets no time to be social, theo gets no time to work on his own personal projects, but i get to space out for 3 hours because i have no control over the mind and body. i am getting help, ive been trying to get a new therapist (need to actually see a neuro psych) and ive been trying to do this since november. insurance sucks. and also, anxiety fucking sucks. time being so so short sucks. right now we have only an hour or so before my gf gets tired and heads to bed, and the guilt of being awake online makes me close my computer for the night. poor isaac right now wants to watch this moon knight special, but i can’t even think about it without wanting to absorb the book oscar isaac read entirely. i hate reading books. i thought i loved it, i do not. isaac does, however, so maybe he’ll read it for me. but he also is critical of what people say about DID being an alter that has been left on read basically, for 2-3 years solid. anyway. idk who the hell would read all of this. but if you did, i hope it didn’t make me...look annoying.... so thanks.

#quen #thoughts #no i will not break these up to make it easier to look at and read

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ironmanstan · 2 years

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Ptsd the most maddening thing in the world. In theory i am fine and mentally i might even feel okay but also my entire body is going through depression symptoms. Nothings happening but if i get out of bed or do anything aside from laying down ill feel like my entire body is going to explode. Why am i angry. Why cant i breathe. Why is my heart beating so fast randomly. Why am i in fight or flight laying in bed watching the clock. The idea of doing anything i want to do is so taxing i feel like ill die trying to move to do it. My brain feels like a washing machine on a cycle that wont stop. My brain keeps suggesting dying as a way to break the loop. I keep suggesting my brain shuts the fuck up. Why have i been awake 24 hours straight despite not leaving bed. Where did my energy go. Ive gotten 4 hours of sleep in the past 48. Everything i do feels like its going to end badly. Logically this makes no sense so why do i feel it so strongly. Why do anything. Ill always be stuck here wont i. I need to dig a hole in the ground and hide in it forever. If i think ill remember things and cry. If i dont think ill become a husk desperate to think again. Why am i in the kitchen. When did i start thinking about that. Its all happening again isnt it. Ill always feel like a child wont i.

#sawry for ventposting constantly i am just Tired and Dying i have Deadlines and im Not Meeting them due to thees #have been awake. almost. 3 days straight save for 4 hours #crazy i tell ya #im fine i just feel crazy. and now im grounded so i feel stir crazy. insane #vent #suicide mention #i guess

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evanthenerd83 · 6 months

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Songs & Scissors

I witnessed a miracle. That is the only way I can describe what happened the night of July 4, 1988. A miracle.

A brief moment in which the universe, long suffering, had finally given, breaking under the weight of things none have seen. Have felt. Have heard inside their hollow chests and heads.

The memories were scattered the morning after. Flying away from my mind’s eye, centerpiece of consciousness. It took years to take hold of one. It took decades to piece them all together. Even now, they struggle against the bonds.

Pills have helped, but only a little. Doctors fared less so. Only through the nightmares. Only through the screaming dark, the trembling hands, are they solid.

Read.

Read and know of the miracle.

There was a concert going on. In the middle of town, at the old Clemont Rec Center. Under its roof, nearly everyone joined hands, sang along to something. The band’s name cannot be grasped so easily. Nor what its members looked like. I only remember the Miracle itself.

Hundreds of people were there. Shelly. Miss Clairborne. The Dudleys. Men, women, and children gathered around a stage, lights blazing, stars trapped by our gravity.

It was the entire town. Firemen. Officers. The mayor stood near the stage, closest as any of us.

Why was he there? Why were any of us there?

We were there because of the music.

The Music.

I can only describe it as Music. Simply Music. Not the instruments from which it was being torn, or the genre it so desperately defied. One cannot pigeonhole this Music. It would not allow it.

Music of countless stars dying in an orgy of fire and ice, worlds rendered ash. Space stretched along a curve, the curve, the line which time had been penciled in. The line that once, before our Music was trapped by gravity, molded by His hands, God’s hands, flowed past the End towards the Forever and the Unknown waiting beyond all symphonies.

Music tugging on the trailing silence of our Notes. Tearing them free of blasphemous flesh and blood and that which makes not a peep, not a screech. There was no pain to be felt. We had already shed our prisons. Our heads were pulled back, fell back, our mouths opening as wide as they could go, beyond limits.

But hearing.

Hearing was all we could do. All we could do.

Hearing our jaws all pop, all open, break open to release the Music inside ourselves. I can still hear my jaws come undone.

I hear it when I am awake.

I hear it when I am asleep.

The Music flowed freely. Balloon tails. Serpents.

We were empty. The air was not.

The Music was a moan. The Music was a groan. The Music was a whisper and a gasp and a mumbling and a shriek, screams loud as any God, the screams for Freedom. For flight. Orbits around Their Fingers.

An eternal conduction. A dance lasting for all time. The expenditure of us, me, Miss Clairborne, the Dudleys, the mayor, those firemen, those officers, and those children who so blindly followed their parents towards such a miraculous celebration.

I do not remember how long we were like that. If time had existed during the Miracle, could have exerted its infantile power, days might have passed. Years. Maybe only a few hours shredded by.

All I remember is His Attendance, unnoticed by eyes. Yet glimpsed nonetheless in shadows and gaps, a figure darting between the bodies no longer ours. A movement caught fleetingly. Sparingly witnessed.

I saw Him. I was the only one, as far as I can tell. No-one seemed to be aware.

He went from person to person. A man tall and thin. With one hand He gripped a pair of scissors plated in bone, and the other caressed our faces. He would whisper something. I do not know what.

I was too far away. He never reached me.

But He would whisper. And He would gently use those scissors, ever so gently. Down they went, up they would go.

I must have blacked out. Maybe the cracking was too much.

I awoke on the floor, the rec center quiet, the stage bare. Bodies had been piled high. They were gray and limp. Blood had been dragged by fingers in circles and hexagons within pentagrams and shapes that did not resemble shapes.

I was buried in them.

Then the men in black arrived.

Not the police, because the entire police department had been in attendance. These men were strangers. They came from out of town. They came and took the bodies away. They soon took me away too.

To here. This asylum for troubled souls, asylum for troubled society.

I’d later learn that some of us had winked out that night. The older ones, mostly. The sick. The dying who did not yet know they were dying.

For those who still lived, they wouldn’t for long. The men in black stopped by the hospital from time to time. They still have questions.

Dr. King sits in the room while they show me the pictures.

Those who were healthy have gone.

Some died in their sleep. Others were awake, walking one moment, then stiff the next. Nobody can figure out how or why. Everyone thinks it’s spontaneous infant death syndrome. But for teenagers.

But I know.

And Dr. King knows that I know. The men in black do too. They still don’t believe me, of course. They claim I suffer from maladies of the brain.

Schizophrenia. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I might still be affected by whatever we’d taken. Drugs can cause hallucinations. Or somebody must have exposed us to something, either spiking the town reservoir or releasing gas. Biological terrorism.

At least they don’t suspect me of being involved.

Dr. King and the men in black pity me. For I am alone. No friends in town. No next of kin to notify. The last remaining adult survivor of East Resiville, which suffered an unprecedented case of mass hysteria on July 4, 1988.

But I know.

I know that there was no concert. The band was not really a band. They were something else, nobody else.

I know they follow Him like flies. A bunch of flies buzzing over a piece of rotting flesh. Or ticks that jump not from dog to dog.

But from town to town. Every century or so.

I know they are attendants. Helpers of something older than mankind, than time and space, than Themselves.

Something with only one purpose in His heart. If He even has a heart.

Needs one.

I know that the Miracle has never truly ended.

My chest hurts when I sleep. A longing pulls me beyond the ceiling, past the stars slowly winking out. Deep into the dark.

From that darkness, something calls out.

It begs me to join it.

To be reunited with it.

I’m still wrapped around a Finger.

And I know those scissors are still coming. Ever slowly, they are coming. Ever closer. Ever slower. Building up to that final moment. The final Note of my own symphony.

They will finally meet my own Music, my String, my Life.

I just wish it’ll happen when I’m asleep.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #short story #weird fiction #creative writing #original writing #psychological horror #lovecraftian horror #October 2023

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christmascocos2023 · 8 months

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Wednesday 16th August

Before I get to today,as promised a bit more detail on yesterday.

As I said the flight was delayed by an hour because the incoming from Perth was an hour late.(I have been told by locals this is not an unusual occurrence). Yesterday was late because they had to redistribute the hold load so better balanced. Apparently it was carrying freight as well. As what they were putting into the hold was known in advance have no idea why they hadn’t sorted this in advance. I think they need a good loadmaster😂. By, the time we got to Cocos it was dark,windy and showers of rain. Not an auspicious start! However I was saved by the lovely Jill who was standing there with a sign held up for my accomodation. She just took over and helped me find my car,move my luggage and give me the gen re getting some food. Unlike the flight from Perth I came on this flight was just snacks and no food. Poor passengers going on to Perth! However at the airport is a place called Saltys which does pizzas fast for the transit passengers (you have to know that but people cotton on quick). The same place then does them and delivers across the lawn from them to the Cocos club(read local pub and bottle shop😁). I preordered then and walked back 40mins later after dropping stuff at my accommodation (I will just use its name Birdsnest from now on). Jill had me follow her to Birdsnest, settled me in and was generally extremely helpful and things just seemed under control again! She actually manages the place and the owner Peter lives next door. I walked the 3mins back and as my pizza wasn’t quite ready popped into the club and bought a bottle of red.

COMMENT

The management of transit and other passengers and the staying people’s luggage is very unique at least in my experience. They do the usual directing groups down different routes but those staying end up corralled in a pen area with a barrier like in the airport queues lines. Then an either border force or police person tells us to watch a screen which tells us about the road rules. Fastest is 50km and mainly 30km/hr. They also have these sites set up with a radio that you can call police or ambulance on as there is no mobile service on the island at all. In the same place is free first aid items you can use for free but tell police what you used so they can replace. Very innovative people here😁.

We then stood about and the tug carrying our luggage pulls in in Front of us and undercover and the barrier is removed and we are told to collect our baggage😁. Talk about a free for all😂. As you can imagine I was tired, hungry and over it so Jill’s friendly face was a godsend.

NOW TO TODAY

Woke after a restless night so not refreshed. I think I may be back in a run of restless nights☹️. Certainly my back is sore so that probably wakes me. Still Panadol and a red should sort for tonight😁. It was however very quiet except for the wind and the pounding of the wave both of which were very relaxing (but seemingly not enough to keep me asleep). Still if you are awake it is a lovely sound to hear. I will post photos but I am literally a narrow roads width from the ocean and can sit on my veranda or in my lounge and see the ocean. Unfortunately you can’t swim in this bit as has massive rips ,drop offs and is dangerous. However there is a little pool area I am told very close you can have a dip in. The weather has remained overcast, windy and sporadic showers so swim isn’t so inviting today although not cold at all. I am still in shorts and thongs😁.

Due to the weather my 4 hr boat tour which was my way of dealing with the severe reduction of the ferry service to Home and Direction Island (for ferry maintenance and was aware in advance hence the tour booking) was cancelled. The man who runs it is Peter who lives next door and owns the Birdsnest. He is a lovely man and says he will see once the weather improves if he can fit me in somewhere around my other tours.

Given my sudden free morning I decided to walk down to the visitors and community resource centre to see what i could do around my other tours that would at least get me to Home Island. The big fly in the ointment is the limited ferry service and fact that only takes 15 people each time and it is a 30min trip. It is first in best dressed so not exactly reliable. However after talking with the lady at the visitors who lives on Home Island and works here on West Island and hence reliant on the ferry for work we hatched a plan that is as risk proof as we can. I have booked a self drive buggy on Home island which will meet me off the ferry. I am getting the 0830 ferry tomorrow and will get there at 8 if not earlier to be at the head of the cue which should increase my chances! If I miss that ferry the whole plan collapses.

I have also booked a tour of the Clunies Ross house and hopefully will get back on the 4pm ferry🤞.

Having done that I set up my wifi hotspot for use outside of my unit(whose wifi I am still not able to connect too!). I am hoping at some stage to use the hotspot connection at the resource centre to try getting the blog out.

Found the shop and where my other 2 tours leave from and none more than 5 mins walk from Birdsnest incl the Cocos club,Saltys, other eateries, visitors and resources centre etc. The beaches best to swim at and the ferry are about 4-6km away hence the car advantage. There is a bus that runs to the ferry which cost 50c for bus and $2.50 ferry one way and cash small denomination only as limited change😁.

My car is a story in itself. I will post a photo but it is a huge red Nissan 4 x4 and a proper one if a bit worse for wear. I need a ladder to get into it and feel ridiculous driving it😂. It also has one idiosyncrasy. It has an immobiliser that if you don’t press a button on the key ring you can’t start the engine.. why it has this given everybody is told to leave the keys in the car as no crime so safe🤷‍♀️. Anyway my immobiliser button is broken and awaiting a replacement. So I was left instructions to touch the 2 wires together to turn it off So I could start the car😬. As it was pitch black, raining and I didn’t have my reading glasses on I couldn’t read that but must have accidentally touched them while I was trying to figure out how to start it and off we went. Didn’t find out the whole deal until this morning🤣. Nearly got caught out locking myself out of the car this morning when I must have done something to this finely tuned set wires and couldn’t open the door. Fortunately I had left the driver window down and managed to reach in and jiggle the thing to get the door open..I am going to have to get much better at managing that idiosyncratic system as paranoid now I will lock myself out again. Am seriously considering breaking the rules and taking the keys with me but equally paranoid I will lose them or further damage the system! Rental cars are all booked up so I was just the lucky punter😏.

Found out that they are building something for the RAAF here which I assume is something attached to the airport but no idea. Do know that as a result there are workers,many with their families living here for 18mths to 2yrs which puts pressure on accommodation.

Despite my best efforts till no WIFI working in accommodation so will have to catch Peter to ask why.

Did a drive around after lunch to all the beaches and tourist areas that are out of walking distance incl a dummy run to where the ferry leaves tomorrow. I am paranoid about not getting on and as the visitors centre is telling everyone get there at 8 for the 8.30 ferry t be sure am going to try to get there at 0730. So much is hanging on getting on this ferry so am going to everything to maximise my chances😁.

I took a few photos but hard to capture. It looks like Hawaii as in films with narrow roads weaving through coconut palms and tropical trees with about 50mtres of cleared ground between the road and the palms. Looks like the road is going through a lawn area with garden behind. Very impressive. There is a coconut farm here. They do a tour but only one day a week and I missed it! Many of the beaches are signed not to swim due to severe rips and very strong currents. There is a couple of beautiful beaches where you can swim and I plan to try to get some swimming in on the weekend when I hope the wind will die down and weather improves. However despite the weather have managed well seeing stuff so happy. However big day and early start to so having dinner in my unit. I really never feel much like eating out after a big day as a tourist anyway but making an exception Friday as is fish and chips night at Saltys 😁.

Photos: my enormous car is seen in the view from my unit verandah, view from car back to the unit, and the road to the ferry and that is typical of all the roads,so pretty!

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7r0773r · 11 months

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Montano’s Malady by Enrique Vila-Matas, translated by Jonathan Dunne

Perhaps this is what literature is, the invention of another life that could well be our own, the invention of a double. Ricardo Piglia says that to recall with a memory that is not our own is a variant of the double, but it is also a perfect metaphor for literary experience.

Having quoted Piglia, I observe that I live surrounded by quotations from books and authors. I am literature-sick. If I carry on like this, literature could end up swallowing me, like a doll in a whirlpool, causing me to lose my bearings in its limitless regions. I find literature more and more stifling, at the age of fifty it frightens me to think that my destiny is to turn into a walking dictionary of quotations. (p. 4)

***

Every day in Barcelona became horrible, very morbid. I would cry in my sleep and then wake up and tell Rosa that it was nothing, really, Rosa, just a dream or something like that, nothing, Rosa. But it was not a dream or even a nightmare, it was a mournful voice, I knew this very well, a voice that even at night prowled about me and told me that I was going to die and that I didn't have long to live. I would wake up in the night and tell Rosa that it was nothing, just a dream, but shortly thereafter I would go to the kitchen to have a drink. Rosa would follow me to the kitchen and, as soon as she caught me with a bottle of something, she would tell me that I was in a very bad way, that it would even be better for me to start writing reviews again and to think about literature, or else to travel, yes, to travel to a faraway country, I needed it. And I would stand there, openmouthed and sad, staring silently at the kitchen calendar. (p. 23)

***

I slept almost all the hours of the outward journey to Chile. The few moments I spent awake between one sleeping pill and the next were criminal. I could only think to flip through the in-flight magazine, where I came across some verses by Pablo Neruda, perfect for reminding me that death and literature existed: "There are lonely cemeteries, / graves full of bones without sound, / the heart passing through a tunnel, / dark, dark, dark, / as in a shipwreck we die from within ...” (p. 25)

***

"You destroy everything you love!" she exclaimed suddenly. I hadn't expected her to get heated up quite so soon. "I love my children and I haven't destroyed them," I answered jokingly, I really had not intended to pick a serious fight. "What children? Don't bring Montano into this, you've done him enough damage already, stuffing literature into the poor boy, he speaks in book—do you know what it means to speak in book?" I stopped and thought for a few seconds and, before I explained that I had planned the fight only for this diary and we would do well to continue the idvllic state in which we had been living since my return from Chile, replied (not wanting her to believe that a literary critic of my stature was incapable of answering her question), "To speak in book means to read the world as if it were the continuation of a never-ending text." (p. 33)

***

The story opens with a quotation from Macedonio Fernández with which my son presumably wishes to comment ironically on the lifting of his writer's block: "‘Everything has been written, everything has been said, everything has been done,’ God heard someone telling him when he had yet to create the world, when there still wasn't anything. ‘Someone already told me that,’ he rejoined perhaps from the old, cleft Void. And he began.” (p. 45)

***

I wonder how I can have been so stupid, believing for so long that I must eradicate my Montano's malady, when it is the only worthwhile and truly comfortable possession I have. I also wonder why I should apologize for being so literary if, in the final outcome, only literature could save the spirit in an age as deplorable as ours. My life should be, once and for all, purely and only literature. (p. 144)

***

DECEMBER 25 OR LE RICORDANZE

The memories of various lay anniversaries dance today.

On such a day, forty-five years ago, in 1956, Robert Walser died. After lunch at the sanatorium, he decided to go for a hike in the snow, to climb to Rosenberg, where there are some ruins. From the top there was a wonderful view over the mountains of Alpstein. The hour was soothing, it was midday, and outside there was snow, pure snow, as far as the eye could see. The solitary hiker set out and began to fill his lungs with the clear winter air. He left Herisau Sanatorium behind. He climbed through beeches and firs up the side of Schochenberg. Two children found him where he dropped down dead in the snow, in perpetual ecstasy over the Swiss winter.

Walser, or the art of disappearing.

In one of his novels, The Tanner Siblings, there are some lines that presage his own death in the snow; in the mouth of one character he places an elegy to Sebastian, the poet found dead in the snow. "With what nobility he has chosen his tomb! He lies among splendid green firs covered in snow. I don't want to inform anyone. Nature bends down to contemplate her deceased, the stars sing softly around his head and the night birds caw: it is the best music for someone who cannot hear or feel."

Walser, or the art of disappearing at Christmas, of knowing how on such a sentimental date to leave the writing room, the room of phantoms.

On such a day, thirty-nine years ago, on December 25, 1962, the Great Snowfall took place over Barcelona. It is one of the most important memories of my early years. That morning the patio of my parents' home appeared covered in snow and I couldn't believe it. To start with, I thought it was part of my mother's Christmas decorations. I remember that December 25th very well. Me with a scarf inside the house, listening to my mother say that for a city like Barcelona, so abandoned by the hand of God, it was a blessing that, even if it was only the once, He should have remembered us and brought us snow on the most appropriate day, Christmas Day, with divine punctuality.

For me, Christmas Day will always be the day of the Great snowfall. Wrapped in two jerseys and a scarf inside the house, I switched on the radio and suddenly we heard a message of peace and Christmas goodwill from Salvador Dalí, a few emotional words from the Ampurdán painter telling us that, from that day on, he planned to orient all his life toward Franco's Spain and the family: "Isabella the Catholic, consecrated hosts, melons, rosaries, truculent indigestion, bullfights, Calanda drums and Ampurdán sardines. To sum up: my life must be oriented toward Spain and the family."

We listened to that message in respectful silence mixed with some astonishment. The snow fell stealthily on the patio outside, as at the beginning of a Christmas tale.

"Dalí's turned into one of us," said my father.

On such a day, forty-five years ago, in 1956, W. G. Sebald's grandfather died, having gone out for a walk in the snow and collapsed on top of it at almost exactly the same time as another walker, Robert Walser, was also struck down on the snow, in a similar landscape.

Two dead for a single Christmas Day.

Eleven days ago, last Friday, December 14th, the writer W. G. Sebald died while out driving. He always seemed to have just emerged from another age: a slightly ancient man who, in sight of solitary landscapes, came across traces of a past in ruins that referred him to the wholeness of the world.

I am seated next to the Christmas tree in my home, and I remember the Great Snowfall of my childhood and that speech by Dalí, and I begin to listen to Vittorio Gassman reciting Leopardi's Le ricordanze, and I let the memories, mine and others', invade me, and I tell myself that without them and without those memories’ ruins, without memory, life would be even more distressing, though it may be even more distressing to realize that the more our memory grows, the more our death grows. Because man is just a machine for remembering and forgetting, heading for death. And I don't say this with sadness because it's also true that memory, disguised as life, turns death into something subtle and tenuous.

The memories dance for me and I adhere to the indispensable fabric of my memory and my identity—in this case, that reached with my double odyssey—and I tell myself that I am somebody only because I remember, which is to say that I am because I remember; I am the one memory has always helped, preventing him from falling into absolute distress, has helped during years with flashes and luminous sparks in which every day, in a ray of sun, charming and tragic, the tragic dust of time has danced for me.

There are two of me. I have a double odyssey's identity. One is lurking in the Chinese wall and the other, more Christmassy and sedentary, listens to Gassman at home: “Viene il vento recando il suon dell'ora / dalla torre del borgo. . ."

The detective's patience to trap a memory can verge on the ridiculous. One is satisfied with a cake dunked in tea; another, with a drop of perfume at the bottom of an empty bottle; another, with il suon dell'ora, a peal of bells swept by the wind from the village tower. Tastes, minimal smells, sounds of the past. I'm ashamed to say so, because it's not very poetic, shall we say, but this is how it is and I can't change it: my dunked cake, my drop of perfume, my music of the wind is a prosaic and vulgar mouthful—as brief as childhood—of a Catalan beverage called Cacaolat, a mixture of milk and cocoa that I used to drink daily during morning break at school.

I only have to taste that beverage for the memories to return. But this word, Cacaolat, could not be more ridiculous and less poetic, which may explain why I have spent half my life hating writers who work with their memories, and instead defending those who without the dead weight of memories are in a position to reach their maturity more quickly. I have spent half my life defending those writers who do not live off the rents of the past, and who can demonstrate an up-to-date imagination, an imagination capable of inventing out of the present, out of nothingness itself.

Half a life boasting of finding hardly anything in my tedious childhood, just a scarf, a patio covered in snow, and not much else. Half a life congratulating myself on never having had to resort to childhood to be able to write, congratulating myself on not becoming emotional when I examined a situation from my early years. And yet all this suddenly collapsed a few months ago in Barcelona's Rovira Square, the approximate geographical center of my childhood; it collapsed when I visited this square recently to witness the filming of a sequence from Shanghai Nights, Juan Marsé's novel that Fernando Trueba was making into a film. The set designers had turned Rovira Square into what it was fifty years before. It was as if I had pressed the time machine's exact switch. Suddenly everything was the same as fifty years ago; even the posters for the double bill showing at the long-since-disappeared Rovira Cinema were the same; even the atmosphere of the air in the square struck me as identical to that of fifty years ago. I immediately understood—as when took LSD in my formative years—that Time does not exist, everything is present.

I cried, I could not hold back the tears. I cried before the unexpected return of the past. Something very similar occurs in a passage from Sebald's Vertigo. The narrator of "All'estero," a chapter in that book, travels with a friend, Clara, who succumbs to the temptation to enter the school she had been to as a child: "In one of the classrooms, the very one where she had been taught in the early 1950s, the selfsame schoolmistress was still teaching, almost thirty years later, her voice quite unchanged—still warning the children to keep at their work, as she had done then [. . .] Alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by closed doors that had seemed at one time like mighty portals, Clara was overcome by tears [. . .]. We returned to her grandmother's flat in Ottakring, and neither on the way there nor that entire evening did she regain her composure following this unexpected encounter with her past."

Here Sebald seems to be telling us that the past, all past, is still happening, surfacing, is there, doing its own thing. Without handing out a calling card or needing us to invoke it, the past, our past, is happening in the present. It's thrilling, it's terrifying. It reminds me of Emily Dickinson begging the Lord not to leave her alone down here. I believe that she sensed that we are completely alone, without anybody, in a world that is only a dark basement, where we may have been put for good. (pp. 209-13)

***

What I do remember is that I spent the whole of the outward journey to Cuenca wondering whether I should go to Matz Peak at the beginning of June to read excerpts from this diary in the open air at midnight and experience the "mountain spirit." It is, no doubt, an extravagant invitation, which has obsessed me for some time now. I can't help it. I see myself there alone, in shorts, the only foreigner surrounded by German-language writers, not understanding a word anybody says, after a journey by airplane, train, bus, and cable car. I'm sure that, if I end up going to Matz Peak, everything will be so odd, so novelesque that, on my return, I shall be able to write a fair few things about what happened to me up there. But I have one doubt. Is it worth undertaking such a long journey just to come back and relate the interminable series of strange experiences I'll have had? What if I stay at home and simply imagine them? Do I not trust in my own imagination? Must I travel so far in pursuit of real events when those I imagine on Matz Peak are bound to be superior? Or do I think that what I'll find on that peak is beyond my powers of imagination? I would love to be surprised by events, but what if I climb the peak and everything there is bland, outrageously normal: a handful of nuts in Tyrolese costume reading their rubbish at midnight in front of a few tents and seeking the mountain spirit inside a circle of torches? What if it turns out that the dull drone of the washing machine I am carefully listening to now is actually much more odd, normal, or stupid? (p. 220)

***

Every year's the same at around this time. The number of illiterates in this country is on the increase, but this seems to be unimportant, there are more and more Book Days and it's up to me to explain why we have to read. Yesterday, on the radio, I was invited to explain to listeners in two seconds why they should be encouraged to read. For them literally to be encouraged, I replied. I was going to add: and at the same time to achieve the spirit’s salvation, Musil’s ideal. I didn’t say this, it struck me as excessive and also I'd have overstepped the two-second limit.

I am no longer so rigidly literature-sick. Or, rather, I begin not to understand why I must advocate reading. Let every illiterate in this country do what he wants, of course. Besides, I hate virtually the whole of humanity and I spend the day planting mental bombs against all those businessmen who publish books, those departmental managers, market directors on the wire, and economics graduates. I plant mental bombs against them and against their disciplined followers and the rest of the world in general. So I wonder why I should lend them a hand and recommend that they read books if I only wish them ill, if I only want their stupidity to grow and for them to crash, once and for all, as they travel on the train of ignorance that we all pay for, but that one day they will pay a high price for, falling into the bottomless pit of failure, taking themselves elsewhere, into a different industry. What's more, I loathe them so much that I'd be delighted if they were obliged to read, if a perfidious decree appeared from somewhere, a drastic order to become acquainted with books, and suddenly this country's cities turned into libraries of forced, chaotic, daft intellectual activity. (pp. 220-21)

***

Preciselv because literature enables us to understand life, it tells us what can be, but also what could have been. There is nothing sometimes farther away from reality than literature, which is constantly reminding us that life is like this and the world has been organized like that, but it could be otherwise. There is nothing more subversive than literature, which aims to return us to true life by exposing what real life and History smother. Magris knows this very well, he is deeply interested in what could have been, had History or human life taken another course. Anyone who's interested in this is interested in reading. This is not advocacy. After all, there are times—like now—when I wouldn't recommend reading even to Pico's moles, even to my worst enemies. (pp. 222-23)

#enrique vila-matas #book quotes

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celestialpotat0 · 1 year

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guadalupe mountains

Went to 4 codes solo during the most recent 7 nights of graveyard shift. I only mention it because it's one of the parts of my shift that induces the most stress going into work and i'm proud of myself for continually getting more experience and proving to myself that i am capable of handling pediatric code response solo. havent been to a real neonatal code yet though. It's been about 7 or so days since the end of my nights and I have been consistently unable to fall back asleep after 5-6hrs each night. During the past week off, I'd usually feel severely exhausted, like unable to stay awake, from dinner onward. i'd usually fall asleep in a light sleep for some time while constantly waking up and falling back asleep in many cycles, then eventually force myself to get up to brush my teeth and floss and get ready for bed, then i'd fall asleep immediately for the night, wake up ~5hrs later and be unable to fall back asleep.

thur: landed in el paso,texas. ate at a 96-yr-old mexican restaurant by a graveyard. the green salsa was very yummy and the chips tasted warm and fresh.

fri: white sands

sat: carlsbad caverns saw turkey vultures, bighorn sheep, barbary sheep, cave swallows

sun: guadalupe mountains + bat flight hiking here was one of my favorite experiences on the trip because of the solitude in nature. the hike didnt lead to any spectacular destination. it wasn't a peak that i would feel accomplished conquering. it was a loop through the desert with the terrain and scenery being pretty much the same throughout the entire 6.5 miles. many people wouldn't say that it was even beautiful because i think many people don't find the dry desert as beautiful as alpine lakes, waterfalls, forests, etc. it was uncomfortable - i was wearing shorts and the trail was narrow and the desert plants were overgrown onto the trail from both sides so throughout the entire hike there was no way for me to avoid walking through the desert plants. my legs got scratched up and poked by sharp and rough branches, leaves, shrubs, thorns, spikes, etc for virtually the entire hike. i had to be very careful to avoid cacti scraping my legs. had to take off my boots multiple times because sharp plant parts had lodged themselves into my socks and were painfully poking me. the air felt very dry.

but we passed hardly anyone during the entire hike, and i felt so immersed in the wilderness. there was this serenity of hiking for hours with no real "highlight" or destination in mind. just being outside, walking where nobody else decided to walk that day, surrounded by other non-human, living creatures. i just didn't want to be anywhere else in the world and i didnt want to return to civilization.

i also have a deep love for the desert. the desert just feels like the lesser loved type of place in the world, almost like the forgotten place or the place that people don't like to venture out to as much compared to the yosemites, banffs, big surs, and zions of the world. people might go to the desert for coachella but not as often for appreciating the desert flora. the plants look tough, thorny, rough, spiky, dry (ocotillo and sotol and its flowers are some of my faves) and i have a special fondness for the underdogs and the not conventionally beautiful. maybe that's why i am drawn to the desert. saw lots of lizards, amazing birds, really cool insects. ive wanted to see javelina in the wild but haven't yet :/

this is exactly why i need to surround myself with nature every once in a while. i dont need to see the most conventionally spectacular features of a park. i just want to walk outside all day surrounded by nature in solitude and quiet, staying far away from the crowds.

mon: guadalupe mountains saw a very beautiful yellow bird that ive never seen before

i have to go to modern dance now but i hope i will be able to come back eventually to add some more pleasant memories from this trip.

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mwcowan · 1 year

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Return to Normal? At Least Returned.

Chapter 1, Manila

Night 2, 4:30am. I wasn’t sure if I would write a blog this trip, but jetlag has reared its ugly head and wide awake with nothing better to do, here I go again.

Besides more or less syncing up with our stated plans to spend winters here, we’re in the Philippines a little earlier for a special reason – for me to experience Filipino Christmas and New Year’s celebrations. Christmas is celebrated here probably like no other place on earth, with the season officially starting in September. Decorations go up, holiday parties start, shopping season begins, gifts are exchanged. I’m not exaggerating, it starts in September. I’ve seen glimpses of it before, being here in September 2017 and November 2018 as we were building our house, but never here for the main event. Likewise, New Year’s is also quite the celebration, an excess of alcohol and fireworks, and not the safe and sane type. Christmas is still a couple days off, so I’ll report again after the festivities.

I’ll start this blog by going back a few weeks. Georgia actually came over just after Thanksgiving to meet with our Bay Area friends Mina, Juni, Teng, and a few of their family members who’ve been on an extended vacation. With the kind help of our Manila friends Noel and Michelle, they all enjoyed a trip to Balesin Island (a unique private island resort – our trips there have been reported in previous blogs).

At the same time our Graeagle friends Todd and Kathleen traveled to Costa Rica for their own fun and warm adventure. They are Lizzie’s humans; Lizzie is Max’s sister and BFF. I stayed at home with both of the pups whose purpose was to keep me busy. Below, Max photobombs Lizzie’s serious portrait.

In the first 10 days of my dog-sitting we had 3 separate snowstorms with snow piling up over 2 feet. Nothing but good times for the dogs though, they’ll chase each other or a ball all day long in the snow, the deeper the better. They never seem to get either tired or cold, it’s me who does and I’m the spoil sport who always calls them back in to warm up.

Lizzie went back to her humans when they returned last week, leaving Max and I as bachelors for a few days. About that time it turned cold; when I got up the morning before heading here it was 5°F (-15°C). Max didn’t care but it definitely got me thinking about the nice warm weather in the Philippines!

My trip here was uneventful but longer than usual – a 6:00 am flight from Reno to SFO, then SFO to Seoul, and finally Seoul to Manila. Everything was on time until the last flight which was delayed a few hours, giving me a travel time (Reno airport shuttle to Dolly’s house in Manila) of about 29 hours. I slept really well the first night here but old jetlag is always lurking and eventually catches up with you.

Before you worry about Max, he’s staying with Lizzie, Todd, and Kathleen until early January, when Georgia’s sister Dignah will come stay at our house and entertain Max until we return in May.

Meanwhile, Georgia’s adventures continued. Besides the fun type in Balesin, she also ran into some bad adventure. Or to be more accurate, some bad adventure ran into her. After returning from Balesin she was driving back to her mom’s house and while stopped waiting for traffic to clear so she could make a right turn, a delivery truck on her left decided to squeeze in front of her. It was a bit too tight of a squeeze and despite Georgia’s energetic honking the side of the truck struck and removed much of the front end of our car. Georgia was rattled of course, but thankfully unhurt. To make it all worse, she then waited hours for the police inspector to arrive, and after that had to go to the police station to file a report. To top it off, it was raining. What a way to ruin your day!

We’re very lucky that Georgia’s sister Divine (Vinee) and her husband Alvin who live in Hong Kong have a few cars stationed over here. They’ve generously lent us a Toyota Previa van for as long as we need it. Since I still hadn’t arrived, poor Georgia had to deal with it all – police, insurance, towing, finding a body shop, etc. The car’s now sitting in a repair shop not too far from Dolly’s house. We’ll see how this turns out.

To wrap this up on a positive note, Georgia reports all is well at our house in Kawayan Cove. No disasters such as those which greeted us on our last trip; she’s very pleased with the way our new caretakers have maintained both house and garden. I’m looking forward to getting there – our plan is to stay here through Christmas day and then go to KC for the week, returning to Manila for New Years.

Finally, I want to wish every one of you a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year!

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baseballjourney · 2 years

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06.23.22

06.24.12. Almost ten years ago to the day we headed to Chicago to start off our mid-west baseball trip. I was thirty years old.

Ten years later I’m over the hill and also heading to Chicago to start off our central baseball trip.

...looking out my airplane window... that’s not Chicago.

We got the email the day before that our morning flight into Chicago was cancelled. JetBlue had cancelled that and the next days flights. Scrambling to catch a flight there we settle on a flight into St. Louis. We would leave New York earlier than expected and we rented our car in St.Louis and took the 4+ hour drive north to Chicago. It was a panicked way to start our trip but thankfully it was “smooth sailing” from there on out.

The original game plan called for a day of brewery hopping but with this new time table we were able to hit one brewery and lunch before hitting tonights game.

We were able to check in early to our hotel in Romeoville, Illinois (about 30 minutes outside of downtown Chicago) which was wonderful so we could drop off our bags and get settled in to where we would spend the night. Hungry as we were we headed to the closest Portillo’s we could find. Have to get that Chicago-style Hot Dog!

We didn’t get to try Portillo’s ten years ago instead we opted for ballpark Chicago-style dogs. Portillo’s, which has been around since 1963 and has expanded to over 70 locations since, has been a Chicago staple and they didn’t upset. For those unfamiliar with a Chicago-Style hot dog, it is a jumbo hot dog on a steamed poppy seed bun topped with mustard, relish, celery salt, freshly chopped onions, sliced red ripe tomatoes, kosher pickle, and sport peppers. And its amazing. Truly a one-of-a-kind hot dog!

After filling our...oh here I am forgetting my basic story-telling manners...I never introduced the main characters for this trip. For this central states trip which is also our last multi-ballpark trip and also two years delayed (thanks Covid) we’ve got myself, Eric, along with Chris and Brendan. So, where were we...

After filling our stomachs with delicious food you know where we were going for next. Have to wash it all down with a delicious beer and for those we drove into Chicago to visit Half Acre Beer Company.

{photo credit to Chris and his finger}

The beer was great but unfortunately we only had time for one beer before we had to head down to the White Sox game at Guaranteed Rate Field.

We made the drive to the park and parked in one of the lots and walked over into the game. Chris wasn’t with us last time we saw the White Sox play at home so we got into the park early so he can see what he missed ten years ago.

Strange thing about this park is that the upper deck ticket holders aren’t permitted to walk around the main concourse. We didn’t realize that last time so we sat and were stuck in the upper deck then. We got ourselves some field level tickets for this game against the Orioles so we could walk around the ballpark on the field level and see what it had to offer. Below is the view of the outfield from our seats and some shots from the concourse.

There were quite a few statues in the outfield, the one above is the one of Frank Thomas.

They have taken out seating and added standing room bar tables (the first rows had seats) as many ballparks have done.

Settled back at our seats, we would see the Orioles pretty much shut down the White Sox and would send the local fans home sad with a 4-0 win.

It felt good to be back on the road and great to be back in a ballpark. As I mentioned before this trip will conclude the main portion of our ballpark journey. By the end of this trip Brendan and myself will have seen every Major League Baseball team play at home, Chris will be missing one last team down in Miami.

We left before the end of the eighth inning to try to get a head start on parking lot traffic and get on to the hotel. By this point I was awake for 19 hours so the bed was calling my name.

Box Score

Home Team Record: 16-13

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ladyrivia · 3 years

Text

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“¿Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”

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worlds-forgotten · 3 years

Text

Sanctuary

summary: A late night where Stephen finds the reader still awake and brings them to bed.

pairing: Stephen Strange x gn!Reader

warnings: N/A

word count: 1.2k

rating: Teen

posted: 21/02/14

You angrily erase the pencil lines, the bits of rubber flying across your desk as you brush them away, ignoring the way your paper frays under the constant friction. You tilt your head like a bird, studying the pose of the man in your drawing. Maybe it’s the hands that are throwing you off, they look just slightly too small, but no, you’ve redrawn them four times and they still look the same. It isn’t the eyes either, you tried those too. You stand to get a better perspective of the drawing and sigh. Your headphones rest easily over your head, steadily feeding your ears your current favourite song. You hum along, letting your body sway a little to the beat as you reach across your desk for your inking pens.

The clock on the wall reads 3:47 AM, but there’s no way that’s right, because you certainly haven’t been sitting and working for that long...but the last of the tea in the bottom of your mug as long gone cold, and your back aches from hunching over your sketchpad. You sit back in your chair, and reach over your head to stretch your arms and yawn. One last look at the drawing makes you close the book, finished for the night. You’ll work on it tomorrow - after all, here at the sanctum, you have all the time in the world.

You pull your headphones off and put them down with your phone on the desk, next to some small succulents. A cool, fresh breeze blows in from the open window, where there’s the last embers of a stick of incense wafting the smell of lemongrass into your room. The gentle ringing of windchimes somewhere in the tree outside fills your ears as you change yourself into more comfortable clothes for bed.

It’s then you sense something, a presence, and you look at the doorway to see a light creeping in from underneath. You freeze, and the floorboard outside your room creaks, before a gentle tapping sounds on the wood. That could only be one person.

Intuition wins as you open your door to meet the familiar eyes of the sorcerer you’ve come to know and love.

“Stephen,” you whisper, and step aside to let him inside. He accepts, gracefully sweeping past you in a long, dark robe that covers his sleeping clothes. He’s holding a candle holder with a long wicked candle on it, and you laugh quietly, trying not to wake any of the sleeping students up who share the sanctum. “You look like Ebenezer Scrooge,” you tell him, and he laughs along with you, protecting the flame from his breath.

“I came to check on you.” He admits with kind eyes. “Why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up?” You counter, though you know very well why. It’s practically a sixth sense to him - being able to tell when you’re awake at erratic hours. You’re convinced it’s some sort of spell, but he swears up and down it’s plain intuition.

Stephen switches the holder between hands as his fingers are shaking lightly. “I feel your restlessness through the walls.” He moves to reach around you, and places the candle down on your table. He then takes your hands in his. “Come stay with me tonight.”

You rub your thumbs along the surgery scars on his fingers, looking at your intertwined digits. His hands are cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. The offer is a sweet one - and he means so well. What's lovely about living at the sanctum with Stephen is the independence he gives you. While you and him are officially together, you have your own room, and it’s clear that you’re welcome to spend as much time in his space as your own. Having that place to yourself is nice when you want to spend some time alone, whether it’s drawing, sleeping, reading, or listening to your music. But it’s always wonderful to return to Stephen’s bed.

“Sure,” you offer him a warm smile and pick the candle up for him. Your other hand rests in the crook of his elbow, and the two of you exit the room and stroll down the corridor, carefully toeing the creaking wood floors. Up a flight of stairs is Stephen’s room, which is familiar and smells just like him; the room smells like warmth.

You let him go as he blows out the candle and returns it to its place on the shelf, and you move across the room to the large bed. There’s plants hanging from the ceiling (which were placed there for your benefit), and stacks of books that litter the floor and the desk. You spot his Eye of Agamotto hanging from the bedpost on his side, and while he fiddles with some papers at his desk that had fallen to the floor, you scoop up the necklace and run your fingers along its intricate designs as you wait for him in bed.

Stephen gives up on his disorganized notes, mumbling something about it being a tomorrow project, and pads over to you. He watches you intently as he shrugs off his robe, revealing a plain set of gray tunic and pants underneath. Plain as it may be, he looks so handsome, the gray on his temples shining in the dim light and a bit of hair falling into his eyes, and the divet at the nape of his throat peeking out from his top. You climb on your knees and inch forward on the bed until you’re face to face with the sorcerer, placing the necklace around his neck before taking his hands in yours again.

You can’t stop smiling, and Stephen gives you an amused smile. “What?”

“I love you,” you remind him, and you release one hand to bring a palm to his face.

“I love you too,” he whispers, before bringing his lips to yours in a soft kiss, the faint taste of his toothpaste on his breath. He pulls away to mumble your name, before pressing his forehead to yours. “But you need to start getting to bed at a reasonable time. Do you have any idea how bad that is for your health? You can-”

“You’re a surgeon, and a magician, not a..a..” You interrupt, but the word you’re looking for escapes your mouth. “A sleep doctor!”

“A somnologist?” He asks, a smirk on his lips and you playfully smack his chest before falling back into the pillows, with Stephen not far behind. He lays down and you snuggle up against him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

You’re quiet for a few minutes before you chuckle quietly. “I’ll start going to bed earlier, I promise.” He doesn't respond and you tilt your head upwards. “Stephen?’

When he still doesn’t you prop yourself on your elbow to get a look at his face and find him already fast asleep. You’re about to scold him before you catch his clock on his bedside table, and it’s past 4:00. Quietly, you squirm back into his hold and rest your head against his chest, bringing one hand up to play with the Eye again. Tomorrow, you decide, you will sleep in and let Stephen study and train, and when you wake up, you will make tea and lunch for the two of you so you can picnic in the back field, under the blossom tree and in view of the mountain range. Under the sun, with the person you love and cherish.

Your thoughts stay drifting upon the sea of promise and joy that will come tomorrow as you slowly fall into slumber, safe in the arms of the powerful sorcerer you call home.

#Lavinia's Fics #Lavinia's Fics: Sanctuary #Stephen starnge x reader #dr. strange x reader #dr. strange #stephen strange #marvel #benedict cumberbatch

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jang-ye-rim · 2 years

Text

[1:37PM]

You ease youself into bed, slipping under the warm covers with a towel wrapped around damp hair. Fresh from a much needed bath, you feel more awake to look around and take in the sight of your room. A small, sad smile tugs at the corners of your lips, as a fresh wave of melancholy washes over you. Your room is exactly as you left it more than 6 years ago - the pale pink girly wallpaper and all-white furniture just as you remember it. The trinkets and picture frames you had displayed on the shelves had not been moved since you left, and the housekeeper had even made the bed with the floral sheets you had loved as a little girl. Coming back to the room you had grown up in to see it preserved in its original state made you feel like you had never left, and like you had never grown up. It is a reminder of how young you had been then - the last time you had inhabited the room, and how young you still am now, despite the arranged marriage looming in the horizon.

You recall the sting of unhealed and untended grief you had felt when the car had pulled up to the family property earlier. You had seen your grandfather's favourite bellflower plants still growing neatly in the garden, and that the makeshift tire swing still hung by the frayed rope from the old maple tree in the front yard. The sight had stirred up dormant feelings of grief and longing, for it had raked up rich memories from your childhood. Your grandfather had loved his garden, and he had made the makeshift tire swing himself when you were in kindergarten. It was like your grandfather had never left, the way the garden still remained exactly the way he had always liked it. And for a delirious second in the car, your eyes had shifted to the front door expecting to see your grandfather emerge to welcome you home like he had always did. But of course he didn't, he couldn't. Entering through the front door back into your childhood home had been a similar experience. You didn't have to take a second look to realise that the paintings on the wall were still hung like he always liked, unchanged. The cream wallpaper was the same, the furniture arranged the way he had always wanted it. It was as if your grandfather still lived in the house and the very next moment he would be sauntering into the living room from around the corner, with a newspaper under his arm and a cup of warm tea in his other hand like he always did. But he never appeared no matter how much you stared, waiting and it was with a profound sense of emptiness that you had trudged upstairs to your old room, once again reminded that the very person that made this house so special was gone, forever.

A quick rap on the door jolts you out of your reverie. The door cracks open, your sister's head popping in before she pushes it open completely to come in. You try your best to smile, but it is difficult after being enveloped in such melancholic thoughts. Your sister weaves past stacks of unpacked boxes before plopping herself down on the bed.

"How was your flight, Unnie?" Your sister's cheery personality and light hearted mood is a stark juxtaposition to your gloom.

"It was okay." You reach to rub your face several times. You hadn't gotten much sleep on the 6 hour flight back to Korea from Singapore, but had been too nervous about the dinner meeting with the Parks to even rest after you arrived home.

Your sister pauses to take a proper look at your room, a slight grimace appearing as she surveys the girly and princess-y décor.

"You had such poor interior design tastes, Unnie" She scrunches up her nose as she peers around.

You kick your younger sister lightly, an expression of mock offense on your face.

"Yah, what do you expect? I was like what, 4?" Your previously tense countenance relaxes considerably in response to your sister's attempts to lighten the mood. That was something you had always appreciated about her - her light hearted personality was undoubtedly an effective neutraliser to your own more uptight seriousness.

Unlike the rest of the family, your sister had not been old enough to remember living in the house. She had been a mere baby when your family still lived in the house with your grandfather. And they had moved out and to another city in Korea before she had even started kindergarten. It was hence no wonder her sister had had an entirely different reaction when returning to the childhood home she had no memory of.

She proceeds to ramble on about her day and the progress she has made with unpacking, as well as all the ideas she has for making over her room. You let your sister's mindless chatter wash and soothe over the spiralling thoughts of the dinner tonight. You appreciate the fact that she has not mentioned anything remotely related to the arrangement or the fact that you will meet the man you are bethrothed to tonight. You know she must be dying to ask you about what you are going to wear, and if you have any idea of how Park Jinyoung looks like, but she distracts herself by taking the liberty of rummaging through your unpacked boxes. You come to an easy decision that there is no urgency to unpack the boxes today - there are most pressing things to worry about, and the dinner is only one of them.

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anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya · 3 years

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Kuka pelkää pimeää? - Kaapo Kakko

A/N: I hope you will enjoy the reading as much as I enjoyed the writing. A big thank you goes to everyone who has supported me. Here on tumblr I’d like to thank @nhlandotherimagines personally. Thank you Jessie.

Kuka pelkää pimeää? - Who is afraid of the dark?

The song mentioned.

Word count: 1764

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Having a relationship with a hockey player can get hard at times. It can get even worse if both sides of the relationship are working for a professional hockey team. Boy, can it get even worse if those teams happen to be the division rivals in the NHL.

The whole situation was tense as it was before the corona decided to lock me up with my boyfriend at our shared apartment in New York. Between his crazy schedule and mine, just as chaotic one, it is very difficult to find some peaceful time for one another.

Having just returned from a roadie, which was successful taking 4 out of 6 points, I close the door behind me as quietly as possible. It’s already late and Kaapo leaves for a couple of away games of his own tomorrow morning. Which doesn’t give us much time to spend together, but at least we can sleep in the same bed for once.

I change sleepily and get ready for bed trying to not make too much noise. After dragging myself out of the bathroom I slip under the covers right next to the sleeping body of my boyfriend. He stirs in his sleep, slowly turning around so he is facing me.

“Hei. How was your flight?“ His soft mumbling is barely audible and his hands reach out wrapping around my waist. His fingers slipping under the fabric of my T-shirt.

“It was okay. Guys were pain in the ass as usual.“ I laugh nuzzling my head into his chest rumbling with laughter. “But I am damn tired.“ I add a yawn for demonstration.

A chuckle leaves his pretty lips as his big hands caress my bare back. “Then sleep.” He advises, voice laced with sleep I unintentionally woke him from. I hum in response closing my eyes. I relax into the soft mattress listening to the even breathing of my beloved one.

Lying in bed I try to drift off to dream, but fail terribly. Again. Decided I’ve had enough I reach for my phone and turn it back on. Throwing the covers off of me I sit up and rub my face, annoyed at my inability to fall asleep despite being tired. I reach for my wireless headphones and put them on pairing them with my phone. I put on a rather calming playlist and click on the flashlight icon.

Tiptoeingly I leave the room making sure to close the door behind me and head for the living room. I turn on the light hanging above the kitchen island and grab a glass filling it with water to the very brim. I chug down almost half of its content and set the rest on the marble surface.

I walk over to an armchair and push it to the floor to ceiling window. I stop and cringe slightly when it makes a disturbing noise. I throw myself on it with a heavy sigh escaping my lips. Closing my eyes I take a deep breath. I focus on the music reaching my ears. The gentle tones infecting my brain trying to get it to loosen up.

I open my eyes taking a look at the city below. It never sleeps. No matter the crazy hour there’s always someone driving the busy roads. It’s as if the dark sky was outstretching its arms and reaching for people in an attempt to put them to sleep. Humans, ever the persistent creatures, are escaping its hold with cars lighting up the roads and apartments with yellow light seeping through the glass and blinds.

I hate the dark. In fact it terrifies me. I bring my knees under my chin and hug my legs close to my body. The unknown danger hiding in the shadows scares me. I no longer check under my bed for monsters. I don’t need to. They are in the streets, we meet them daily, although we don’t realize. But walking home alone in the dark makes my blood run cold at times. I can’t stand it, no matter how old I am.

Finnish songs from my playlist come up and I smile. They always remind me of Kaapo. An instant mood lifter. One song catches my attention. Kuka pelkää pimeää from Herrat. How fitting, eh? It's about two people being the only ones wide awake at a late night hour. The sleeping city and stars shining above it, but them not being afraid of the dark. I wish. I think bitterly.

I sing along quietly, imagining driving around the city with Kaapo. With no destination in mind, just driving. Probably listening to our favorite songs and messing up the lyrics, especially me making up new Finnish words and him laughing at and with me. He rarely smiles, but when he does it’s so worth it. He saves it for the good moments. With him I would drive even at the darkest of the nights.

A happy sigh escapes my lips as another of the songs I keep deep within my heart comes up. I look around the apartment, the only source of light being the one I left on at the kitchen island.

A figure standing in the living room doorway catches my attention and I shriek. Pulling my headphones down I reach for my phone, panicking. The person steps into the light and I release a breath I forgot I was holding in the rush of it all.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Are you insane?" I almost yell with a trembling voice. I add a couple more swear words, mumbling them under my breath and in a language my boyfriend speaks ever so fluently.

"I-I am sorry. I didn't want to scare you." Kaapo apologizes, the tips of his ears turning red. Coming up to me I stand up and he wraps his arms around my shaking figure. "I am sorry." He whispers in his native language.

"You scared the hell out of me." I whine placing my head on his firm chest. He just holds me closer and rubs my back soothingly. "What were you even doing standing in the shadow like that?"

"You weren't in bed." His voice is laced with concern, his accent heavy.

"Couldn't sleep." I say in Finnish. My knowledge of that language is not great, but I like it and it makes him more comfortable. It makes our talks more private. More intimate. "I am sorry, I woke you. You should sleep. You have a flight in the morning."

"And you just came back. You are tired too. Come back to bed." He tries to reason with me.

"But I can't sleep." Arguing back I shake my head in his chest.

"And if I help you sleep?"

"How?" Lifting my head I look into his blue eyes.

"Trust me?" Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear his fingers brush my cheek gently.

"Kyllä." I breathe and nod.

Taking me by the hand he walks to the island turning the lights off. The moment it goes dark my heart rate picks up. "Kaapo." He squeezes my palm reassuringly.

"I am right here with you." He pulls me to his chest. Taking me by my thighs he lifts me up. My limbs instantly wrap around him and I burry my face in his neck. "It's alright." Turning his head he kisses my hair and starts walking back to our bedroom.

Flicking on the bedside lamp he sets me on the mattress. He then turns around opening the wardrobe and shuffling around for something. I take off the headphones from around my neck and put them on the bedside table. Tilting my head I watch him, but remain quiet, more than interested in what he is up to. Pulling out a small box he sets it on the ground pluging it in.

He looks up at me with a soft smile. I remember the box! I gave it to him on his birthday. He turns the lamp off and then presses a button on the box. The dark room lights up with many little white starts and green and blue clouds moving like Aurora Borealis. My heart bursts with so much love at this moment.

It's a star projector I gifted him because he missed Finland so much and I thought that seeing the stars would remind him of home. It did. He was so happy he couldn’t stop smiling. I was never more proud of myself as back then for picking the right gift. That is actually how I found out about his interest in the stars.

He climbs onto the bed laying down on his back. Reaching for me he pulls me to his side. He takes the duvet pulling it on top of us. I place my head on his shoulder and his warm palms settle on my waist. “Can you point the Polaris?” He whispers into my hair.

“Of course. It’s uh-“ I let my eyes wander across the ceiling. “There. Pohjantähti.“ I point to a star. “On the right from the light.“ I explain excitedly. “It is part of Big dipper which is uh- Otava in Finnish!“ I look up at him to see if I remembered right.

“Very good.“ He smiles squeezing my hip. “And that,“ he points up, “is Iso karhu. The big bear?“ He questions the last part, unsure of the English translation.

“The great bear. Yes.“ I giggle. “But there is one star missing, no?“ If I recall correctly there should be a mistake in the image. I mean, when we turned it on for the first time Kaapo pointed out the absence of one star.

“Yes, Mizar is not there.“ He confirms. “I still can’t understand how they forgot Mizar when Alcor is right there. Mizar even shines brighter than Alcor!“ He shakes his head. I smile at his passion and the unintentional English thrown into the mix.

“Minä rakastan sinua.“ I whisper filling the silence that settled between us.

“I love you too.“ He mumbles the cute way he always does.

We continue lying in our bed talking about stars we miss so much. I feel my eyelids grow heavy and slowly the stars fade from my view. I feel a shift on the bed and decide to protest. “Don’t leave.”

“I am just going to turn it off.“ He whispers and suddenly his warmth is gone. I pout sleepily reaching my arms out grabbing onto the empty air. I hear a click and feel the bed dip. Then his arms wrap around me and a content smile takes over my face. “Hyvää yöta.“

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Translations:

Kyllä. - Yes.

Pohjantähti - Polaris

Iso karhu - The great bear

Minä rakastan sinua. - I love you.

Hyvää yöta. - Good night.

A/N: Hopefully it was worth the wait.

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