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terresdebrumestories · 3 years

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FANDOM: The Old Guard (2020) SERIES: - RATING: General audiences WORDCOUNT: 4 776 words PAIRING(S): None CHARACTER(S): Nile Freeman (POV), Yusuf Al Kaysani, Andromache the Scythian, Niccolo di Genova (mentioned), Sébastien Le Livre (mentioned). GENRE: Mutual care, Nile Freeman character introspection. TRIGGER WARNING(S): None that I can think of :) SUMMARY: Nile misses her mother but doesn't know how to talk about it or with who. fortunately, Bâtard the emotional support tortoise is here to help. NOTE(S): This was originally written for Nile Week 2020 but never put online because of reasons, so now here it is, longer and better written than it was :D Hugest thanks to @avaniesque for the most excellent beta work :D [ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.]

Nile gasps when something soft bumps against her foot, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks as she turns towards the door. It looks empty at first, the cobwebs they didn’t bother dealing with earlier in the day gently swaying in the air. There’s some shuffling along the dusty floor, a light click of nails on stone, and then a small oblong head appears near the bottom. This is swiftly followed by short scaly legs and a black and brown shell wrapped in a crocheted lab coat. Nile tenses, unprepared for any sort of human company at the moment, but relaxes when it becomes apparent Booker has not elected to follow his pet around.

Said pet has now fully entered the living-room and is beelining for a strawberry resting against her right pinky toe. It looks good enough to eat, as does the rest of what Booker feeds it, which Nile still doesn’t really understand but who is she to tell Booker how to care for his pet? Bâtard, of course, is unconcerned by her surprise and eventually gets to chomping on the strawberry.

Nile’s eyes are dry by now, the tight press of sadness around her heart still present but past its peak, at least for now. It still takes her a couple of seconds to realize the small square of bright white on the side of Bâtard’s outfit is a piece of paper. She picks it up to find a few words from a hand that hasn’t yet lost the impeccable penmanship of its first life. Apparently it’s hard to let go of habits people beat into you with a stick. The note reads : “He’ll keep your secret as long as you keep paying. First one on me.” It makes Nile smile.

(Andy, Nicky and Joe are all just as capable of impeccable calligraphy, but when free not to pay attention to it they tend to revert to script letters. Booker is the only one who insists on torturing them all with permanent cursive written with fountain pens on special paper.)

She doesn’t know Booker all that well, yet. Seven years ago, he was the quiet grumpy member of the group who didn’t seem to care much whether Nile stayed or left. Then he was the one who made a pretty compelling case against Nile seeing her family again—revealing himself to have some unresolved issues in the process—and then he was the one whose issues exploded all over the rest of the group. Now he’s mostly the one who was brought back way too soon, who knows it, and tries to make himself as scarce as possible because of it.

Mostly, it means that while Nile is the one who’s exchanged the most words with him so far, it’s also pretty much been limited to the topic of...well. His tortoise. All in all, much less informative about the man compared to just watching him settle said tortoise up in every safehouse they use, no matter how temporary. (Nile would help, but she’s not entirely sure how the others would take it. It seems prudent not to.) Or looking at the cozies the tortoise parades around on a regular basis...or, as the case may be, discovering he’s taken the time to bedeck his precious reptile in a new outfit for the sole purpose of leaving it (uncharacteristically) unsupervised in Nile’s company just so she has someone to talk to.

“You’re not who I want to talk to either,” she says, because she’s under no illusion that her solitude today has been accidental. “I mean, I know they’re trying I just—”

Nile sighs, wiping at her face in a vain attempt to clear her head, but the gesture only brings fresh moisture to her eyes as she tries to swallow down her frustration. It feels almost silly, in the grand scheme of things, to be this upset over this, but, well... Hearts do what they want, and there’s nothing Nile can do about that, so eventually she looks down at Bâtard’s scaly little head and tells the tortoise:

“It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning sixty-five and I—”

Nile claps a hand on her mouth to stifle the sob wrenching itself out of her, but it feels piercing and loud in the quiet evening air nonetheless. She breathes around it for a bit, unwilling to attract company just yet, and reaches down to rub Bâtard’s head with her forefinger.

“I want to be with her,” she eventually confesses to the tortoise. “I want to be there and hug her, I—I miss my mom.”

Nile knows she can call. They’ve got burner phones, Copley’s skills to keep them hidden, and an uneasy truce with Quynh ensuring the biggest threat they’ve faced so far isn’t much of one for now. Three years ago she wouldn’t even have had that: her mother and brother both convinced she was dead and buried somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan. She believes with all of her heart that her mother and brother would never blame her for living when they can’t.

Her mother is starting the second half of her sixties, and she’s not there to see it. Her mother, who’s growing older and greying a little at the temples. Her mother, who deserves better than never knowing when they’ll see each other again, with little-to-no news in between visits. Her mother, who was there for her in every way she could and every way that counted, and for whom Nile wants to be there but can’t. Her mother, who will not be there forever.

(Sometimes, the thought hits Nile out of nowhere, and it takes an impossible effort not to drop everything right then and there to jump in the first flight to Chicago.)

“It’s just—” Nile pauses, trying to pick her words so she can really make Bâtard understand, as impossible as that is, and continues : “They’re great. All of them. They’re—even Booker’s not so bad. I mean, I’m kind of stuck in the middle of the family feud so that’s not the best feeling, but... They’ve gone above and beyond to help me feel welcome, they’ve taught me so many amazing things…. They’re just...not my mom.”

Bâtard, done with his strawberry, lifts his head to look at her, and Nile swears he even leans into her scratching, just a little. It’s a pleasant surprise and she finds herself smiling, not very bright but present nonetheless. It soothes something in her, too, not to be alone right now even though she’s not ready for human company. Both her mother and Jordan have allergies so they’ve never had pets before, and Nile never really longed for one either. Right now, though, she thinks she understands a little better what endears them to people.

“I’m...scared,” she admits, keeping her voice quiet like it’s going to make a difference. “I know I’m going to lose her one day, that’s inevitable, but I don’t want to find out about it months later because my brother couldn’t reach me...I don’t want to find out about his death from nephews and nieces who’ll barely know who I am, if they know I exist at all.” Nile sighs again, sobs crowding in her throat and tightening her voice as she admits: “I wish I hadn’t listened to Booker.”

That last admission is what breaks the dam, and all of a sudden Nile is sobbing again, and she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. There’s misery here, and anger too, maybe even more than there was at the beginning. It was...easier, in a way, to pretend to be dead. She had to mourn, of course, and that tore at her and still does sometimes, but it was a clean cut. It was simple.

Now her mother knows she’s alive and her brother knows and it’s a relief for all of them, but it also means Nile has to be the one consciously deciding not to call home until she’s in a safe enough place to do so, not to text until she can do it from a sufficiently untraceable phone. The temptation there is a hundred times harder to resist because it would be so easy not to.

“If it makes you feel better,” Joe’s voice says from the threshold, “I think we can all sympathize with that sentiment.”

He’s being quiet and careful—it’s the middle of the night after all—but Nile is still startled, and she pretends to glare at him until he tilts his head in quiet enquiry. In response she sighs, wipes at her wet cheeks again, and waves him over. He smiles, something almost like relief in it, and steps lightly into the living room.

“Mind the doctor,” Nile tells him, gesturing at the remains of the strawberry, as he lowers himself on the ground next to her.

“The doct—you mean Bâtard?”

“Yeah he’s—”

In that instant, Nile realizes she has no idea where Bâtard went. He was chilling by her feet, seemingly content to go to sleep soon, and now he’s nowhere to be seen. The realization is enough to send Nile’s heart racing, horrified at the thought of being the one under whose watch Bâtard meets an unfortunate end.

Sure, it isn’t her pet and she and Booker aren’t really close—not like she’s becoming with the others, at any rate—but 1) Bâtard doesn’t deserve to die and 2) it doesn’t take a genius to realize his demise would be absolutely disastrous for Booker’s mental health, and no one wants to see the consequences that could have on the rest of them. Joe must have gone through a similar realization, because as soon as Nile falls quiet he tenses and gets back up into a crouch.

“Please tell me we didn’t lose the tortoise,” he whispers, like he thinks Booker might be listening in on them.

“We didn’t lose the tortoise,” Nile replies because it’s barely been five minutes and Bâtard cannot possibly have gone far in that time frame.

“Good,” Joe says while Nile rummages through her pocket for her phone and turns the flashlight on, “because I don’t think any of us are prepared to deal with the fallout of—”

“We did not lose the tortoise,” Nile interrupts, her tone firm enough to pretend she’s not actually nervous about this. “Can you turn the light on? I’m getting nowhere with this.”

Joe does, and Nile spots Bâtard almost instantly, ambling in his unhurried stroll towards the fridge like he knows where the treats come from...maybe he does, Nile really doesn’t know enough about tortoises to tell. Either way, it’s a relief seeing him there, and she turns to let Joe know she’s found their target.

“Oh thank God,” Joe sighs, sagging with it. “I really don’t want to find out what Booker would be like if we lose him.”

“You know,” Nile remarks as she follows Bâtard’s mosey to the fridge, “I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time the lot of you had a talk about this.”

Joe winces, and Nile can sympathize with that if she’s really honest. She doesn’t feel the same about what happened, but then she doesn’t have a shared history with Booker the way the others do; it’s easier for her to let go faster. Still, Booker’s been back for nearly three months now, and Nile is getting tired of feeling like she needs to be walking on eggshells between the two parts of the group. Joe sighs.

“Which ‘this,’ do you think?”

“All of them,” Nile retorts, careful to keep her voice gentle. She’s not trying to force anyone into anything, after all. “Just...it’s been months, and you’re still avoiding each other. You all need to talk.”

Joe sighs again, running a hand over the nape of his neck. He looks like he might be ready to talk with someone, but the very thought of it makes Nile want to recoil. Another day, maybe. When she’s got more energy, and more space in her head for other people’s problems.

Not right now.

“Remember you’re on my strawberry,” Nile says, smiling to turn it half into a joke, “if you need a consultation you pay your own fee.”

“Alright,” Joe chuckles, good natured even in the middle of the night. “That’s fair.”

He sobers up soon after, growing quiet and serious to ask: “Is it working for you? Or would you like to tell me what’s going on? I’ll even listen for free, if you’re short on strawberries.”

Nile snorts. The truth is, she does feel better for having told him what was going on, even if her ‘consultation’ was accidentally cut short. She’s not sure how much of this she wants to share with the team just yet. There’s never an easy way to tell people who want to help you that they can’t because they’re simply...not who you want at that moment.

“Actually, I’m good right now,” she tells Joe. “Take you up on it another time?”

Joe visibly hesitates, something a little worried in his frown, so Nile gives a fond smile and leans up to squish him in a hug as much as she can manage.

“Thank you,” she tells him, relaxing when he returns the embrace just as tight and actually lifts her up against him. “I’m good, I promise. It’s not─you can probably guess most of it, honestly. I just...I feel kind of awkward about it, I guess.”

“Because we’re too close?” Joe guesses, and Nile nods.

“Sometimes it’s just easier to talk to someone uninvolved.”

“Well,” Joe says, something too wet in his throat to be only about Nile, “I’m glad you have that then. Just...just know I mean it.”

“I know,” Nile promises, chest warming from the care and the obvious concern. “Now go to sleep, old man.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Nile gives Joe a playful shove, snorting when he pretends to stumble, and watches him go with the stretch of a smile sinking into her cheeks. Slowly, the air around her grows still again, the vague sounds of a forest at night and a door creaking barely even noticeable.

How much sleeping is actually taking place on the other side of the safehouse, Nile doesn’t know. She learned very quickly that no one on this team is capable of normal sleep patterns. It’s quiet all the same, and after a few seconds of standing in place, she goes to the fridge, retrieves a peach quarter from Bâtard’s snack box and she plops the offering in front of him, turns the light off, and sits back down next to the tortoise.

“Alright,” she tells him, “maybe I wasn’t completely fair with your dad. I mean...he was wrong, but it’s not like he was trying to be cruel. And he did have a bit of a point.”

She still can’t quite stand the thought of losing her family. It’s unavoidable, she knows. One day, maybe, she’ll make her peace with it, but for now...no. She doesn’t want to think about that any more than she already has tonight.

“I know there’s a purpose,” Nile tells Bâtard. “I’ve seen it. I’ve witnessed it. And we’re getting better at it! I know I’m doing more good here than I used to as a soldier...but sometimes I wish there wasn't a purpose and I could just go home.”

Bâtard, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Nile’s predicament, keeps munching on his piece of peach, and Nile can’t help but smile down at him, reaching to rub at his head once more.

“You really are a good listener,” she tells him. “You’re still not my mom though. She’s the one I want to talk to.”

Bâtard looks up then, and straight at Nile with something that could almost pass for a purposefully flat expression...and, really, he’s not wrong. It’s nearing three am here which makes for...maybe ten or eleven in the evening in Chicago? And sure, Mom’s not so young anymore and could probably use the sleep...but today is her birthday, and Nile’s always tried to phone her on the day before, and she has a burner phone with her so, really, what’s stopping her?

Maybe the possibility of displeasing Andy, a bit. But, Nile thinks as she dials, they’re leaving tomorrow aren’t they? If she’s going to do it, at least she’s picking the least inconvenient time for it.

“N─yes?” Mom’s sleepy voice mumbles into the phone, better at the incognito game than she was when it all started two years ago. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Nile says, and smiles at her mother’s joyful, wordless exclamation. “Am I waking you up?”

“Nevermind that,” mom chides, “nevermind that! How are you? Where─well no, you can’t tell me where you are, but how are you?”

“Better now,” Nile says in a sigh, warmth and bittersweetness spreading in her chest as she leans back against the wall, finger still tracing circles on Bâtard’s head. “I mean. I miss you, but at least I get to hear you now.”

“Oh, I miss you too baby,” Mom says, tears audible in her voice, “but I’m so glad you called! Don’t tell your brother, but it’s definitely my favorite present this year!”

Nile smiles again, a little wobblier than she’d like, maybe, but not forced. This isn’t ideal and she wants more, but it’s better than not calling the way she’d planned to do. At her feet, in the dim silvery light of the moon, Bâtard looks just a little smug.

“Not a word,” Nile promises, knowing her mother is going to share the news herself anyway. “How was your day?”

“Oh it was nice! You know how I told Marjory down the street I felt ready to celebrate a little more this year now I got used to you being dead and all, so she treated me to lunch at that new Italian on the corner─you tell your Nuncio he was right, by the way, osso bucco is delicious. And then we went for a stroll in the park, and I was a little worried, because I’m still supposed to be grieving, but you’re alive and I wasn’t sure I’d look suitably emotional when we passed your favorite spots, but I do miss you so it really wasn’t that hard and all in all it was nice and Marjory’s none the wiser so I’m calling it a success.”

“I’m sorry,” Nile says, unsurprised when Mom tuts at her in response. “I know, I know. I still wish you didn’t have to lie to her.”

“Nile, baby, if Marjory knew, she’d understand. Now you stop worrying about her and tell me what your day was like.”

“It was alright,” Nile says, rolling her neck as the tension slowly seeps out of it, the breaths coming slower and easier now that she’s actually doing what she’s wanted to do all day. “I missed you. Jaamal taught me how to draw a dog, though, and then Antaram kicked my butt in training again.”

“Just you wait a few years,” Mom says with a chuckle, “then you can take advantage of her age.”

Nile snorts, even though she seriously doubts Andy will let an aging body get in the way of remaining the best fighter of the group. She might look past forty─although she doesn’t remember how long she’d lived before she died the first time─but she’s also been fighting since before horses were domesticated (or near enough), and all that expertise doesn’t just go away.

It’s still an amusing thought, though, so Nile chuckles along with her mother for a bit before continuing.

“It’s not that bad. I’m learning a lot.”

“Of course, of course! I’m just saying.”

“Of course,” Nile repeats, still smiling. “Anyway, that’s about it. Nuncio made us tagine, Jaamal made fun of him because apparently he cooks like a christian─I’m pretty sure that’s an inside joke. And then I was feeling a little down so Blàsi lent me Bâtard, and now I’m here.”

“Is Bâtard Franklin’s name?” Mom suggests when she hears Nile hiss at her slip up.

“Yes, but I don’t think he deserves it,” Nile says, grateful for her mother’s help. “I think we’re bonding. Either that or he just wants me for my fruit.” Mom chuckles. “He’s wearing a doctor’s outfit right now, by the way. I think it’s one of the homemade ones.”

It looks lumpier than the ones Bâtard wore at the beginning, at any rate, but in a way that makes it even cuter. Not that she needs the cozies to find Bâtard cute anymore. It’s entirely possible the tortoise doesn’t care one whit about her─she really doesn’t know a lot about them─but it’s clear that this little late night conversation was enough for Nile to bond with him.

“Oh, well, send me a picture if you can,” Mom says with the tone of a connoisseur readying to look at a newbie’s attempt, “see if I can give Blàsi some pointers.”

“I’ll try my best, but you know I can’t make promises,” Nile says, sadness creeping up again. “Places to see, things to do...you know how it is.”

“Speaking of,” Mom asks, “what time is it where you are? I mean─you can telle me that, right?”

“I can,” Nile says, smiling at her mother’s effort. “It’s uh...almost one AM.”

Nile yawns, unbidden, and then sighs.

“I think I need to go.”

“Yes you do,” Mom chides, teasing and firm all at once. “You’re not going to accomplish anything if you’re dead on your feet─off to bed, Nile.”

“I don’t want to,” Nile protests, not trying very hard to keep the pout out of her voice. “It’s your birthday.”

“It’s okay,” Mom says, and the tone of her voice is like a hug Nile wants to linger in forever. “I understand. I’m just glad you called.”

“I’m glad too,” Nile says, wiping at a stray tear on her cheek. “Happy birthday, mom.”

“I love you, baby,” Mom says, and Nile grins through a fresh wave of tears.

“Forever and ever?”

“Of course forever,” Mom promises with something like an amused eye roll in her tone. “Now go to sleep.”

“Yes mom. Bye.”

“Bye bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” Nile says, and then she reluctantly disconnects the call.

She’s still feeling blue, it’s true, but it’s a different sort of ache now, the sort that’s softened enough to be a fond remembrance of someone you love rather than a knife to the heart. It isn’t something Nile has figured out how to value yet, but it could be, someday, maybe. With a watery sigh and a smile, Nile bends to pick Bâtard up─he’s fallen asleep, it seems, all snuggled up in his shell and entirely unresponsive in the time it takes for her to scribble a quick thanks at the bottom of Booker’s note and bring Bâtard back to his terrarium in the old parlor.

“M’ci,” Booker mutters from the seat to her left, and Nile almost has a heart attack.

When she turns to scold Booker for it, however, he’s already back to sleep─or feigning sleep, she’s not entirely sure─his back to the door to the bedroom and turned towards the only unboarded window, which they’ve been using as an entry and exit point. Nile sighs, shaking her head, and goes to the room she shares with the others, only to jump again when she lies down on her mattress and finds herself face to face with Andy’s eyes shining in the moonlight.

“I fear the day my sleep patterns start matching yours,” Nile whispers to Andy, and sighs when all that garners her is a sharp smile. “How are you not dead on your feet?”

“I’m old enough to transcend the need for sleep.”

Nile punches her in the shoulder.

“Feeling any better?”

“Yes, actually,” Nile says, trying to shift into a comfortable position. “I talked to my mother...it’s always too short but. It’s good.”

“Good,” Andy says. There’s a pause, and then she adds, “Nile, I’m sorry.”

Nile blinks at the darkness. It’s been seven years, and while she knows full well Andy is perfectly capable of recognizing her shortcomings, it’s the first time Nile hears her actually apologize for anything. She’s got a right to be a little startled, she thinks.

“I was with Book on this,” Andy explains when the silence between them has stretched a little while longer. “Not seeing your family again, I mean. I didn’t think it could turn out well, either...sure didn’t do him any good. Or Lykon, for that matter.”

“To be fair,” Nile admits after a beat, “I get it. I’m probably just very lucky. And I...I’ll lose them anyway. Sooner or later. I don’t─I’m glad I still have them for a bit, even if it hurts but...sometimes, I think at least the clean break was...easier.”

Andy stays quiet at that, eyes still looking at Nile in the darkness. Nile resists the urge to squirm under those eyes, but she’s not surprised when the urge to elaborate becomes too strong:

“It’s just...before my mom saw us, I didn’t have to wonder how this was affecting everyone. No contact, stay out of Chicago for another fifty years, maybe a little more, and that was it. It hurt, but at least the path was clear. Now I keep wanting to call her not knowing if I should. I have to use fake names to tell her about the most important people in my life, who she’ll never meet─I’m making her lie to her best friend!”

On the other side of the room, Nicky snorts in his sleep, and Nile smiles through her anguish as it morphs into a soft snore.

“They’ve been friends since elementary school, you know,” Nile tells Andy when she’s sure Nicky isn’t waking up. “They tell each other everything, and now my mom has to lie to her because of me. I don’t know how she can bear it.”

She pauses, breathing through the sudden tightness in her throat, and concludes:

“I don’t know how long she’ll bear it.”

Andy hums.

“I don’t have any advice for you Nile,” she says eventually. “I don’t really remember how that went for me, it’s been too long. But...even now, sometimes I─it’s hard, living without your family. Even at my age.”

“I...I didn’t know you felt like that,” Nile admits. “I thought you’d grown past that.”

“I don’t think we’re meant to,” Andy says. “I can’t remember what my parents looked like, or what it was like to be a child...but I do know what it’s like to want someone else to take care of your shit for a while.”

Nile grins, surprised into a light laughter that’s almost a giggle. Sometimes it’s easy to forget Andy is as human as any of them, even if she’s the oldest person on Earth. Discovering moments of relatability is always a delight and a relief all at once.

“I know we’re not your mom or your family,” Andy says after a while, the smile fading from her voice as she grows more serious, “and we’re not trying to be. But you’re─I won’t get angry if we’re not enough. You don’t have to...to hide it from me. You don’t have to stay alone and just...assume. There’s been too much of that lately.”

Nile can’t see Andy’s face in the darkness, not when her eyes aren’t angled to catch the moonlight, but it’s not hard to guess where she’s looking. In the doorway, Nile can see the outline of Booker’s seat, one hand dangling over the armrest─bottle free for the second night in a row, though there’s still an empty glass nearby on the floor.

“What I mean,” Andy says, startling Nile again, “is that you don’t have to be ashamed if we’re not what you want or need. The fact that you value your family isn’t a weakness, or a flaw. Just because we’ve─just because most of us grew out of it doesn’t mean you’re wrong for still needing more time, especially when it’s so recent. This...I didn’t tell him that, and I should have, so now I’m telling you. Not to protect us, but because it’s true.”

“Thanks, Andy,” Nile says.

“Sure. Now go to sleep,” Andy orders fondly.

Nile snorts, gives Andy a light punch in the shoulder, and turns over to go to sleep.

#The Old Guard #Nile Freeman #TOG Fic #NileFreemanWeek2020 #Fanfiction #Bâtard the tortoise #s: Bâtard verse

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

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A/N: Cointens violence and mentions of injuries, war and blood. Also swearing and drinking. Smut in future parts, nothing in this.

“It seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits in.”

― Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

When Tom’s grandfather passes away, he inherits an office in the middle of a buzzling London. He has no idea what to do with it.

The year is 1947 and Tom is restless after the war. After a chance meeting with his old comrade Harrison and a drunken lunch at the local pub they decide to open up a detective agency. After finding you huddled up in a library while chasing an unwilling witness Tom decides to hire you as the agency’s secretary. You, reluctantly, take up the offer from the charming stranger.

Together the three of you face some of London’s most hard-boiled criminals and lethal femme fatales.

You have to navigate your way through adulthood, life after war and your growing feelings for your boss.

***

The pub was unusually crammed with people, workers meeting up with each other for a pint before heading home to their families. He could see them through the muted windows, cheering and laughing, pints of beer clutched in their hands. Now, it certainly wasn’t the nicest pub in London, a thick cover of mud covered the floor, the walls were so dirty that it was hard to tell what the original wallpaper had looked like. But then again, it was the Bugle, a pub well hidden in the Shafto Mews in London. It was not a pub you just happened to stroll in to, looking for a place to eat or a friendly place to catch up with a long-lost comrade in. It was a seedy and dirty place, where the beers came cheap and the brawls started easy.

The barman, a Mr. Eric Brew, was a brusque and quick-tempered elderly man with a beer belly so large it made it hard for him to steer his way through the many bottles and glasses behind the bar. Luckily for him it was unusual for anyone to ordered anything other than a pint or perhaps a glass of cheap and watered-down whiskey.

Tom loved this place, because no one ever bothered him here. This was not a place to talk to strangers in.

On this particular autumn afternoon the air outside was crisp and full of the smell of pavement after rain, it smelled of London. Currently though the sky was bluer than it had been all summer and the leaves on the trees had just started to change their colours. There was a distinct chill in the air. Tom shivered in his dress shirt, thinking to himself that this was sure to be the last time that year he’d get away with not wearing a jacket.

As he stepped inside, he exchanged the almost impossible fresh autumn air for a cigarette smoke fog. It was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon, and the sound of loud voices and clinking glasses filled the air. Tom gathered it must be payday. It was long ago that he stopped to bother about the days of the week or when pay was due. Not because of an abundance of money but for the lack of a steady job.

Walking up the bar he told Eric to pour the usual and handed him a coin. Eric grunted and started to pour into a glass that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months.

“Busy today, mate” Tom stated. Eric grunted again and handed him his drink.

As Tom sat down in the far, and well hidden, corner of the pub he thought to himself that his so-called conversation with the barman had been his longest conversation in days. After the war had ended, he’d stayed out in France, despite his mother’s letters begging him to come home he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss his family, on the contrary, being apart from them felt more torturous than anything he’d lived through during the war.

Still, he thought as he gulped down on his drink, he had been through war, and that does change a person. He wasn’t the same care-free boy who’d so gladly enlisted, desperate for some preconceived idea that the war would satisfy his deep-rooted need for adventure, to please his longing for glory. He’d happily waved his younger brothers and his parents goodbye on the platform, surrounded by sad looking boys saying farewells to their loved ones.

The war had not given him what he wanted. There had been no glory or sense of adventure. And even though the worst injury he’d suffer was a broken nose that had more to do with his own stupidity than actual fighting he had still seen the suffering of others. Walked through villages so bombed there was nothing, no human nor animal left. Nothing but ruin and corpses left to rot. He’d seen the torn apart remains of what had once been children on the street. He had had to breath trough the smell of decaying flesh as they walked by. He had lost friends and comrades.

The war had changed him, and he still wasn’t sure if it was for better or worse. All he knew was that he couldn’t face his father, or his mother. Not yet. He thought of his little brothers, how much five years must have changed them. He quietly wondered if he’d recognise them if he passed them on the streets today. He tried to convince himself that he would, and only after half a bottle of whiskey did he feel brave enough to admit it to himself that he probably wouldn’t. Too long had passed.

The only reason he had come back to England at all was for a surprise visit from a solicitor, who had tracked him down somewhere outside of Cannes, informing him of the passing of his grandfather. Tom had few memories of said grandfather What he could recall was a fearsome and stern figure, Victorian in his manner. Tom could remember looking up to the damn near giant as he looked down at Tom with disapproval written all over his face as Tom stood in front of a broken vase, he’d accidentally shattered while chasing the cat. It certainly had not been a man fond of children. Tom had always kept his distance from the man whenever they had visited, scared of the scolding the older man was more than capable of.

Therefore, it had been, to say the least, a great surprise when said grandfather had left his entire inheritance to his oldest grandson.

Sure, there hadn’t been a lot of actual money, not after all the death-duties and inheritance taxes had gone through, but he’d gotten his office and the apartment above it, placed bang on one of the busiest streets of London. What his grandfather had used the office for he had no idea, and the solicitors refused to tell him anything about is grandfathers’ dealings, but judging by the state of the place it must have been an awfully long time since anyone sat their foot in the place, probably not since before the war, the first one. The entire place was, like this very pub, filled with dirt and dust and long abandoned forgotten things. Most of which was nothing more than trash, a chair that surely would break as soon as anyone sat down on it, a desk with one broken leg and a filing cabinet full of mouldy documents.

The only distinctive feature was a rather well-made painting. Not only was the portrait of the young lady striking, but the gold frame surrounding it was solid gold. Something that had chocked Tom greatly. For he had never seen anything look quite so out of place than that gold framed picture of a young, beautiful women with seemingly shining eyes –

“Surely it can’t be – Tom Holland, OI! Tom!”

Tom instinctively looked up, only to meet the eyes of a dearly beloved friend.

“Mate! As I live and breathe!”

“Where have you been, buddy?” Harrison happily exclaimed, pulling out the chair opposite of Tom and before pretty much falling down on it, a pint of beer in hand and a massive grin on his face.

“I haven’t seen you since Monte Cassino– ” he silenced himself. Maybe because of the look in Tom’s eyes, maybe because of memories of his own.

(I haven’t seen you since the war, I haven’t seen you since we were crying in the bunkers, thinking we would die. Hoping that we would. Hoping that we wouldn’t.)

“Yeah” is all Tom can manage to get out, lungs suddenly feeling too tight.

They both take large gulps from their glasses, avoiding the others eye.

“So how you’ve been, mate?” Harrison asks, sounding more mellow now, less cheerful.

“It’s been good, bud” Tom says, trying to sound happy, trying to raise the mood a little. He can see the dark clouds of the war in Harrisons eyes, can see it clear as day even in this smoke-filled, god forsaken pub. It’s still haunting him. And he doesn’t quite know what else to say, doesn’t know how to voice the fact that he himself is hardly sleeping anymore, that he spent two years in France living as a wanderer and picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them, not even trying to pick up the pieces from the past. Not knowing where to begin

(At home, the part of him that’s braver than the rest seem to always whisper. Start at home and build from there.)

“Yeah?” There’s a note of hope in Harrison’s voice and as he looks at him the clouds in his eyes seem to clear, if only a little, and Tom’s heart breaks for his old friend. He knows that desperation, saw it all over France in the soldier's eyes. A desperate longing for proof that there was something good in the world, even after everything that had been done.

“Yes, mate! It’s been grand. I came into an inheritance and all!” And upon seeing the look of pure surprise in Harrisons now cloud-free face Tom bursts into genuine laughter, not caring to think about how long ago it had been since he had made a whole-hearted, genuine laughter.

“Alright, let’s order some food and then let’s catch up, yeah?”

And they did. The food at The Bugle was awful. Tom knew this, since coming back to London he’d drink away his consciousness in this pub and once or twice he had given in and ordered what The Bugle’s chef referred to as food. He knew this but did not care, for the company was excellent.

It turned out Harrison had come home immediately after the war. Had tried to pick up the pieces from before. He met up with his old friends (the ones that’d survived), he dated a different girl every week, unable to settle and now lived in his parent’s townhouse in Belgravia while they spent most of their time on the family estate out in Norfolk. He too was currently out of a job, however the difference was that Harrison had no need for work, the allowance his parents gave him and his own grandparents inheritance (which, although Tom never asked, but presumed) far exceeded his own.

Tom sensed that Harrison, just like himself, felt a deeply-rooted restlessness since coming home. It was in the way his left leg wouldn’t stop tapping, his regular glances around the room, in the way he just shovelled the food around his plate, not eating much.

Tom in return told him, although with far less detail than his friend had given, of staying out in France, of a surprise visit by the solicitors. He told him of the abandoned office and apartment he now was the owner of. He even told him of the portrait hanging above the broken desk.

They talked about old times, of old friends and past lovers, and every time the name of one of those comrades that didn’t make it to the end of the war was mentioned an awkward silence spread between them before the other one quickly started a new story.

(Harrison noticed that Tom never mentioned his parents, or his brothers. Not once. But he doesn’t say anything. He think they’ll get to that eventually.)

A loud crashing breaks their conversation and both Harrison and Tom are on their feet before either one of them has even registered where the sound came from.

“YOU FUCKING SWINE, I’LL GIVE YOU NOTHING!” The screeching, and surprisingly high-pitched voice, comes from Eric the barman, who’s standing arms raised above his head behind the bar. A young man, not even wearing anything to mask his face, is holding a revolver and pointing it right at Eric’s chest.

Before he’s even fully comprehended what he’s doing he’s halfway across the pub, people scattering out of his way, and out of the robbers aim. He can sense Harrison’s presence right behind him and then they’ve both tackled the young man to the ground. All Tom can think about is to get his hands on the man’s revolver, so that he can secure it. He sees how Harrison tries to get a hold of the young robbers’ arms as he’s waving them around, trying to fight them both at once. Unfortunately, he gets in a lucky swing that hits Tom right over his nose, a nose that’s already been broken once, and blood gushes out. The man looks surprised by this, partly because of the sudden stream of blood falling over him and partly because he actually just hit someone. Tom quickly uses this for his advantage and dives down for the revolver as Harrison secures the burglar’s arms behind his back.

They manage to hold him down until the police comes. They give them a quick rundown of what happened. Eric, furious and face alarmingly red, fills in when he manages to find words, shaking from fury. One of the policemen offer to drive Tom to the hospital to have his nose looked at but he refuses. Then they ask if he’d like to press charges. Tom takes one quick look at the young man now sitting in a police car and shakes his head. The boy, for on closer inspection he’s nothing more than a boy, looks terrified, and honestly, he’s already in enough trouble with the law. During the past few years crime in London has been on the rise. Young and restless men all coming home from the war, looking for jobs where there are none and haunted from memories from the battlefields. It’s no wonder there’s desperation in the air.

So, Tom and Haz walks away, leaving the two police cars and its officers, a furious pub owner with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice, and an entire pub of people with their noses pressed up against its foggy windows.

As they walk, without discussing where they’re going, Tom suddenly bursts out in laughter. He doesn’t know why, but the restlessness that’s done nothing short but haunted him for years now has suddenly vanished. There’s a pause and then Harrison joins in and Tom knows, knows that he feels the same. That this sudden rush of adrenalin was just what he needed too.

They practically double over with laughter, leaning on the other to keep upright and when they finally stop a comfortable silence fill the quiet as they walk on.

Before long, and before having reflected on where his feet are leading him, they’re standing outside of 15 Sloane street.

“Is this it?” Harrison asks, voice filled with curiosity as he looks up at the red-bricked building.

“Yeah” is all Tom manage to get out as an answer. Because suddenly he feels almost shy, like he’s showing Harrison some long kept secret. And for a moment they just stand and admire the building. “Can I look inside?” Haz asks, curiosity colouring his every word. So, Tom unlocks the door and they step inside.

Inside the air feels heavy, not like in the pub where it had been full of smoke, but instead it feels old, and if it hadn’t been so damn cold outside Tom would have opened up the windows.

The ground is as covered in mud and dust and dirt as the pubs floor. The walls look dull too. But the space is good, a large foyer to receive visitors, a guest bathroom, an office, a kitchen and a staff bathroom too.

“So” Harrison finally says, having taken in the place in silence. “What are you going to do with it?”

And Tom doesn’t know what to say because honestly – is that not just the question that’s frequently been on his mind since he first got here. “Dunno” ha answers lamely. “I suppose,” he starts but stops himself, feeling too embarrassed at his childish idea.

“What?” Haz encourages.

“Well” Tom begins, and then before he loses his gut he rambles out “It would be cool to be a detective though, wouldn’t it?” He doesn’t look at his old friend as he says this. He should though, because he misses out on the massive grin spreading across Harrison’s face.

“Oh totally!” He all but yells. “Like Sherlock Holmes, or Phillip Marlowe?”

“Phillip Marlowe, surely!” Tom responds, finally looking at his old comrade. He feels light as air, having finally put words on a wish that’s long been on his mind.

But now Haz looks awkwardly down, down on his well-polished, hand-made shoes and the muddy ground. “What?” Tom asks, worry threatening to blow his happy bubble.

“Look, you don’t have to, it’s just, like if you don’t want it or you find me lacking you could just sack me bu–“

“Of course, you’ll join me” Tom interrupts Harrisons awkward attempt at asking to work with him. “Really?” He asks, eyes gleaming with happiness. “You, ‘course mate, wouldn’t wanna do it without you”.

***

And so, it begins.

They start with trying to make the place habitable. After all, the office space needs to be a presentable enough environment for clients to feel comfortable to share their troubles with them and preferably the apartment above needs to be clean enough for Tom to live in without contracting a disease. It’s hard work, and Harrison loudly complains and gruntles and questions why they can’t hire someone to do it. Tom just laughs and tells him to shut his over-privileged mouth and keep mopping.

The truth is they could easily get someone in to do the cleaning for them, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want to, feels like they really ought to do this by hand, by themselves. To build the business from the ground up. And quite frankly, some real, good hard work is just what he needs. For the first time in ages he’s so physically exhausted by the time he goes to bed that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He still has nightmares, but he gets in a couple more hours sleep every night and that makes it worth it.

Even though Harrison loudly grumbles about the rough labour he is a hard worker. Tom teases him a lot about it. Telling him he didn’t expect to end up doing this when he was sent to that posh public school as a child. Telling him that this is what good honest works feels like. Informing him that the pain he had in his knees from scrubbing the floors is what heavy labour feels like. It’s all jokes thought, for even they grew up worlds apart on the social scale they still fought on the same battlefield and as children they fought the same imaginary dragons.

In the end aid comes in the form of Lady Lauren Osterfield herself.

Tall and lean and dressed from top to toe in fine silk and fur in soft colours and with hair, the same shade as her son, in soft waves. She sways into the office one day, unannounced, as Tom’s trying to scrub the dirt from the walls and Harrison’s sprawled out on the floor, fighting a particularly stubborn piece of dirt. A hard a look of deepest disapproval is written all over her face as she takes in the scene.

“Darling” she drags out the word and make the endearment sound like a loving, but stern warning. “You simply cannot do this on your own”

“But mommy we-” Harrison begin but she stops him with a raised hand. “I will hear none of it, sweetie. If there is one thing I know it’s potential, and this place has got spades of it. However, I will not see my darling boys like this” she huffs, then adds “also, the rate you two are going at you’ll be in your 50’s before you even had your first client.”

She walks over to where Tom stands, now leaning against the broken desk, hands in pockets and covered in dust and sweat. “Sweetheart, it is wonderful to see you again” And she strokes his cheek with a satin gloved hand and Tom can’t help but to lean into the touch.

He had spent many a school holiday at the Osterfield house. Although, house wasn’t the right word. Technically it was a manor house – Osterfield manor was in fact its name. It had been built by Lord Ashley Osterfield in the early 1600th and had stood proudly on its green fields ever since. Tom had lived in the village, in a small cottage with his mother, father, three brothers and a half-blind cook/nanny named Cully. Harrison, since it was the family tradition, had been sent away to Eton whereas Tom had gone to the village school. But whenever summer holiday rolled around, they’d play on the grounds to the manor and in the forest surrounding it. They had played thief’s and robbers, Robin Hood and Peter Pan. Life had been blissful and full of light. He can still remember how the last month before summer break had seemed endless, how he’d counted down the days until his best friend would return, staring out of the window during class, not listening to whatever Ms Frank was going on about. They sent each other letters of course. About what was going on at home, what tricks each had played on their friends, or on their teachers, how awful school was or about the latest mystery novel they’d read.

His memories of the Osterfield family were many and fond. Lady Osterfield, with her loving but stern ways, never looking anything less than perfection, bringing them meringues and freshly made lemonade to the treehouse where they sat people-watching, spying on the garden parties going on below. Memories of Lord Osterfield, reading his newspaper outside in the warm summer sun, dressed in linen suits and with a great moustache covering his upper lip, teaching Tom tennis and playing croquet with them. And then little Charlotte Osterfield, Harrisons little sister. With her long, blonde hair neatly combed and braided, always carrying around a teddy bear, following them wherever they went. Harrison would get rather annoyed with her for that, but Tom had always said that she could join them if she wanted to.

He remembers Christmas eve at their house. A ginormous three in the hall, neatly decorated by Lady Osterfield herself. Countless of cousins and great-aunts and uncles coming over. The staff running around cleaning every corner. The chef, Mary her name had been, yelling orders and shouting herself blue in the face. The end result had been incredible though, and as snow covered the entire manor and its grounds there was a fire lit in every room, the smell of ham and turkey in the air, glitter and light and mistletoe and presents in overload. He remembers still, being sent home in the horse driven carriage on Christmas eve, belly full of delicious food and sweets, and presents from Lord and Lady Osterfield to every member of his family, including one to Cully, surrounding him as he watched the snow fall over the pretty little village outside the carriage window.

“Hello, Lady Osterfield, it’s been a while” he manages to get out. Because this is, has always been, his second mother. And it hurts even more to see her now, despite the fact that war doesn’t seem to have aged her a day. But seeing her reminds him so much of his own mommy, and his stomach seems to revolt.

“That” she says, and he thinks her eyes are wet with unshed tears “it certainly has been”. She doesn’t ask how his war had been, why he hadn’t return sooner, or sent them letters. Probably understands that he cannot give her those answers. Not yet at least. She lowers her hand and take a step back.

“So” she announces and there’s a level of authority to her voice that makes both Harrison and Tom stand up straighter. “I will send Georgina over, hopefully she can start tomorrow already, because this really is urgent”. She looks around her surrounding, the broken furniture, the floors and ceiling that refuse to give up the dirt they’ve been holding onto for years, despite Tom and Harrisons desperate scrubbing.

“Sorry? Mommy, who.... who on earth is Georgina?”

Tom smiles, for he can almost hear the curse word Harrison so nearly lets out.

“Oh darling, it’s Georgina Brewster, she is simply marvellous and really the only one who can save this place. I shall call on her immediately, she will work wonders, just you see”.

Georgina Brewster, as it turns out, would have put fear of the devil into any and every one of the generals Tom had met during the war. She practically comes in as a steamroller into the office the very next day and before either Tom or Harrison know what’s going on they’ve been thrown out of their office with strict orders to “keep out of the way, for gods sake, and don’t come back until next Friday at least!”

And because neither Tom nor Harrison dare to contradict her, even though Tom’s apartment is above the office and he now has nowhere to sleep, they listen and keep out of her way, spending their time at Harrisons, or rather Harrisons parents, place in Belgravia.

There they plan out and strategize, trying to agree on what exactly their business should be and how they should conduct it.

Their first hurdle is the name of the agency.

“So”

They’re at ‘The Bugle’ again and Tom is swirling the liquid in his glass back and forth, holding a lit cigarette in his other hand. Around them the air is filled with smoke and conversations. Tom had, rather cheekily, asked the barman if they shouldn’t get their drinks for free, seeing as they did save his ass just the other night. The barman had done his usual ritual of mumbles and grumbles before pouring them some watered down Irish whiskey.

“So?” he asks, implying that Harrison should continue his unfinished statement.

“What should we name it, mate?” Harrison is leaning back against the wall, his long legs sprawled out. He looks as exhausted as Tom feels.

“Name what?” Tom dumbly inquires, only half his mind on the conversation, the other on the gorgeous woman at the bar. She looks strangely out of place, wearing a respectably coat, dark hair neatly organised in curls and a soft smile on face as she’s conversation with the infamously grumpy barman, who – and Tom can hardly believe his eyes – is smiling back at her.

Harrison snorts and with a voice practically dripping in sarcasm he answers “Oh the golden retriever puppy we’re adopting! The fuck you think, mate? The detective agency of course!”

Tom gives his friend a kick on his sprawled-out legs.

“Holland Detective Services” he then states.

Harrison goes quiet for a second, rubbing the aching spot on his leg where Tom managed to get in a perfect hit, the bastard had always been good and noting soft spots. “Not Holland & Osterfield?” he asks, only half joking.

“Nah, too posh mate, we’ll sound like some solicitors’ firm, you know, like ‘Bundle & Alfredson & Alfredson & Bundle”, too ridiculous. Plus, no one trusts solicitors with their secrets, they’re too posh and proper. We need people to feel like they can come to us with things they can’t go to the police with.”

He looks over to the bar again, but the beatiful lady is nowhere to be seen.

And so, Harrison Detective Service is founded. The office (the apartment miss Brewster luckily left him handle himself) is revealed to them.

It’s perfect. There’s no other word for it. It’s looks professional but not over styled. The two large desks made from oak, the bar table with its whiskey decanter, the filing cabinets strategely placed in the little backroom, the lamps giving the office an almost golden and mysterious lightning, and on the wall hanging above his own desk, the painting of the woman that his grandfather left him. The only thing remaining from the original office.

It doesn’t take long until their first client arrives. He’s a perhaps not the ideal client, Tom notes. The man is in his late 50’s, wearing an ill fitted suit and smelling distinctly of B.O. He is however willing to pay.

Thus, this is how Tom ends up chasing a, to say the least, unwilling witness all down Euston Road. The man he’s chasing is fast, and Tom’s side is hurting and he feels out of form. He really should have had something other than whiskey for lunch. The man does a quick turn left, right over the road and Tom’s right at his heel.

A car horn blows and there’s a blinding light and for a moment Tom’s back on the battlefield in France, he throws up his arms, trying to shield himself for whatever is coming at him. His entire body tenses up and he waits for the inventible crash. But it doesn’t come, and there’s shouting but he can’t hear what they’re saying, the blood rushing through his head too loud for anything else to sound real. His lungs feel too tight and his breaths are shallow.

Slowly he regains control of himself, as he tries to take the world around him in.

The shouting is coming from a very angry driver, half hanging out of his window telling Tom to get out of the way, waving his arms in fuming gestures. People on the pavement have stopped what they’re doing, some mid conversation or mid walk, all just staring at him. He jumps into action again, desperately trying to push down the part of his brain that’s still in France. He can’t see his witness, but there’s only one place he really can have gone.

He runs up the marble stairs, ignoring the glaring stares around him.

The foyer is impressive to say the least. It’s a large circular room, marble from floor to ceiling. Right in front of him, but all across the room, is a reception and an elderly woman sitting behind it.

“Excuse me sir, we close in twenty minutes,” she calls after him, but it’s all she manages to get out before he’s gone, having made his way all across the hall and into the large oak doors with a sign simply stating ‘Main Library’.

The doors slam behind him and the sound eco in the silence. At first he’s taken aback, for this is nothing like the marble mausoleum he’s left behind, and if he thought the reception area had been large then this room is massive. It’s nothing short of a labyrinth of oak bookshelves, reaching from top to ceiling and filled with large volumes of books that look as if they must be older than queen Victoria.

He can only assume that this is where his witness is hiding, somewhere in this maze he has taken cover, wrongly assuming that Tom will just give up and leave. His witness is in no such luck. Tom does however remember noting the lineament of a revolver inside the other man’s jacket, and by now he’s had more than enough time to take it out, perhaps just waiting for Tom to be close enough not to miss.

The library looks empty and surely it must be this late. On slow but quiet feet he makes his way to the left side of the room, deciding to start there. Careful not to make a sound he removes his own revolver from its holster. Slowly he starts to make his way down the aisles, every time he turns a corner he knows it’s about whoever is the quickest with their trigger that will win.

By the time he’s made it down aisle three he can feel his heart beat so hard in his chest he finds himself wondering if it’s going to leave a bruise on his skin with its violent beating. Adrenaline has been running in his veins since the near contact with the automobile outside.

And then he hears it, a sound, what might be the noise of shuffling, and he starts to move with even higher awareness of the danger of the situation. Any second now he could stare down the barrel of a gun.

Before he can be a coward about it, he jumps around the corner of the shelf, gun in hand and pointing it straight at the witness.

Except it’s not him.

It most certainly is not him.

A pair of enormous and breathtakingly beautiful - but also terrified - eyes stare at him and for a second the whole world seems to stop, or crash, and Tom can’t help but feel like he’s a planet that completely unexpectedly has gotten knocked of its axis. He goes still, not just his body but his mind too. Everything just seems to stop, and Tom can not remember anytime that has ever happened to him before. All he sees is a pair of hauntingly beautiful, and vert familiar, eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, but weapons are not allowed inside the library.” Her voice is soft and even, but Tom can hear the slight tremble behind them, he can tell she’s playing braver than she feels. He knows that trick all too well. So, he lowers his revolver, but doesn’t unload it, still ready for his hostile witness to pop up, and if he does Tom will be ready for him.

“I beg your pardon, miss” he says and looks her up and down, trying to take in the rest of the woman in front of him. He’s pretty sure she is the same woman he saw at the Bugle the other night. She’s only a few centimetres shorter than he is, but then she’s wearing a pair of kitten heels. Her black pencil skirt and white blouse practically scream out respectability and woman. Around her neck hangs a thin, golden necklace with a little golden heart attached to it. A fleeting question of who has given her this pass his brain. And then there’s her hair, brown and styled in and fashionable curls.

“Sir” she says, and she sounds sterner now, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows “could you please pu-“ but before she can finish the sentence, before she can even finish her though Tom’s pushed her down on the ground, trying to cover her with his body as bullets fly around him. He swears under his breath, and he feels the librarians still body under him and he can practically feel her heartbeat. He tries very hard not to react to how close their bodies are to each other. His hyper focused mind hears her hitched breathing even above the sound of a firing gun and he sends a silence prayer to whatever god might be listening that she’ll get out of this unharmed.

The witness is far away from them, all across the hall and if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t want to leave this woman unprotected he would just hope for the best and rush against him, firing as many bullets as he had and if he survived this, and if Harrison found out he would just have to take his scolding later. Still trying to cover the women underneath him he raises his gun and fires. He knows the chances of him aiming right are damn near zero from here, but he wants to make it clear to the other man that he sure is not going to give in without a fight.

Still keeping his eyes on the bookshelf the witness has hidden behind he whispers to the librarian, “when I move off you, go hide behind the bookshelf, do not run for the main entrance whatever you do, but if there’s another way out, and you get a chance to leave, I suggest you fucking take it miss”. He hears a hiss of breath and then, a quiet “alright” and that is all he needs.

Springing to his feet he rushes seven meters ahead and then throws himself down behind another bookshelf. Daring to cast a look behind him he just about manages to see the secretary hide behind another bookshelf. Good, he thinks to himself, at least he doesn’t have to worry about her. And so he sprints out from the bookshelf and runs for all his might straight against the bookshelf the witness is hiding behind. It doesn’t fall, but he can hear countless of books falling, hopefully all over the man with the gun. He hears a shout of surprise and despite the situation he can’t help but smiling, the all too familiar rush of adrenalin runs through him and he jumps around the corner. However, before he can even raise his weapon something hard hits his temple and the world goes white for a moment as he stumbles over.

The other man is above him, throwing punches, hitting different places of Tom’s face with every hit. Tom tries kicking and luckily enough the stupid idiot above him has mounted him at chest level and haven’t taken his legs in consideration. One of Tom’s kicks hits the shelf and as he grabs the man's arms with his, stopping the flow of punches he sees a thick book (Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, he notices with glee) fall down and hit the man straight on the head. This time it’s his turn to stumble and Tom shake him off him with ease, but the other man quickly recovers, and lunches over him again, arms stretched out to grasp around his throat. Before he can even try to fight the bigger man off him, the loud sound of the shot of a gun echoes against the walls of the library and he stills. Then he feels it. A bright burning in his side and then, another shot.

He manages to turn around trying to make sense of the situation. On the floor lays the hostile witness, clutching his leg, where he’s clearly just been shot, and above him stands the librarian. Arms shaking as she’s clasping the gun in her hands.

For a moment Tom forgets about everything else. The mess they’ve made. The fact the police must be on their way. The bleeding man beside him. The fact that he’s bleeding too. All he sees is he terrified but impossibly brave woman in front of him.

Slowly, trying to ignore the pain in the side of his stomach, he gets up and walks over to her, arms stretched up in a gesture to show that he means her no harm, for she looks terrified to the point where she’s trembling all over. Her eyes are still fixed on the man on the ground, who’s shouting in agony.

“Look at me” he says, and his voice is firm and calm “Hey, miss, look at me”. She does, and something in his stomach churns. Once in the woods he and Harrison had all but stumbled over an injured deer, it had had the same look upon its face then as the woman had upon hers now. But he doesn’t flinch, don’t want her to lose focus but keep it on him and not the bleeding bastard on the floor.

When he finally reaches her, he takes the gun from her still clasped hands, unloads it, and put it in its folder by his chest.

“You’ll be alright, yeah? I promise you’ll be alright” he tries to reassure her but she keeps looking at him with that utterly terrified look on her face.

“Just hang on for a second, alright?” He doesn’t want take his eyes off of her, but he knows he has to, so he turns away from her and walks over to the injured man. Leaning down over him he whispers in his ear “mate, the police and probably the ambulance are on their way. They will be here any moment. Now, listen up, alright, ‘cause I’m only saying this once. You will be a fucking gentleman about this and when the police ask what happened here you’ll tell them it was some randy bugger trying to nick your stuff, yeah? You defended yourself, ‘cause you’re a lad and all that bullocks. They won’t believe you, but they can’t prove anything else.” His voice is low and threatening and he knows he has the witness full attention. “And in return” he continues “in return, I’ll stop hunting you over this Faulcon business, yeah? I’ll go after someone else, and when I finally have enough to turn that bastard over to the police, your name won’t be mentioned anywhere, yeah?” The man looks up at him with bloodshot eyes and nods.

Moving away from him he swiftly walks over to where the other mans’ revolver got lost in the fight and he takes it, places it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he walks over to the librarian, who, apart from her shaking hands has not moved a muscle. She’s staring at him, but not at his face this time, but eyes fixed on the wound at his right side. It’s pretty much only graced him. It still hurts though, and a bloodstain is growing ever larger and larger, staining his white button ups to the point where he doubts he’ll ever get the red out.

“Miss, look at me, yeah?” He tried to get eye-contact with her again, because even if she’s been incredible brave so far, she looks as if she’s about to pass out “Just focus on me, I’ve got to get us out of here thought, do you know any other way then the main entrance? Some back door?”

As he’s talking he buttons up the suit jacket, effectively hiding the wound. He sees her eyes flicker down for a brief second as he does so. Then, as if she suddenly wakes up she takes a breath so deep he can’t help but to wonder if her lungs had been empty. “Yes” she then says, and he feels the immense relief over the fact that her voice sounds clear and controlled again. “It leads straight out into a back alley and then out on Gordon Street.”

He stares at her, taking her in again. Her dark hair still in perfect curls framing her, perhaps somewhat paler, face. Her back is straight, her hands still somewhat shaking. He notices her red fingertips, and no gold ring to be seen. At least he doesn’t have to deal with some unknown husband, who probably wouldn’t be too happy with him if he’d heard what Tom dragged her into.

“What’s your name?” he asks, because he has to know.

“Laura” she breath out.

Just a first name then.

“Well Laura” he says “let’s leave”.

He takes one of her shaking hands in his, and she leads the way out of the chaotic scene, leaving behind them a massive hall and a labyrinth of bookshelves and in that labyrinth an injured man slowly losing consciousness.

***

A/N - Harrisons family is of course entirely fictionalised. As is everyone in this story.

Also, my sort of face claim for Laura in this story is Gene Tierney, but imagine it as whoever you like.

#tom holland #tom holland headcanon #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x oc #tom holland au #tom holland x you

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agent-nova · 5 years

Text

In another life, maybe...

“If we can find my old place, I think I can find the files I had. Before they destroyed it all.”

Charlie nodded from his place beside Ellie, his hands shoved into the pockets of his thick coat. She hardly reached his shoulder, if that, a knit beanie tucked over the top of her head. Charlie wished he’d taken the one she offered him. He could feel the tips of his ears burning in the cold.

“Maybe we can slip down to that one restaurant, it’s been ages since I’ve had a proper sundae.”

Charlie chuckled, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulder as they waited at a crosswalk, pulling her into his side. “You’re saying the ones we make are shit?”

“No, those are the best, you jerk. It’s just different. Instead of being made out of whatever scraps are left in the freezer, and a horrifying mixture of toppings, it’s just a real, proper, simple sundae.”

“We’ll get one, love, I promise,” Charlie smiled.

The pair continued, Charlie watching Ellie carefully, following her silent direction as she made her way to her former home.

Ellie felt her nerves increase tenfold as she turned the corner and could see the familiar little house she’d rented for ages. She didn’t know how much she missed it until it was in front of her again. Within reach. When things were much more simple. Still, she reached up to wrap a hand around his that was at the top of her arm.

She wouldn’t trade him in for that blissful ignorance again.

“Is that it there?” he asked, nodding to the small blue house. It was plain, an iron fence around the front to protect a tiny patch of grass, with a narrow pathway leading up to the thick grey door.

Ellie nodded. Charlie rubbed her shoulder, noticing her nerves.

“It’s nice. Cozy. Looks like you.”

When he didn’t get an answer, he leaned down to press his head to the side of hers, squeezing her in close.

“C’mon, don’t worry about it love. We’ll be in and out.”

Charlie started to lead her across the street but stopped before he could step down off the curb.

“El, you’re home.”

“I know.”

“No, El, you’re home.” Charlie set his hands on either side of her arms, holding her still until she spotted herself getting out of a car that had just pulled into the open garage.

She looked like a better put-together version of Ellie. It was a bit strange to see.

“What do we do?” she whispered. Charlie felt her go a bit unsteady on her feet. “Why didn’t I think about this? Where else would I be?”

“Relax, we’ll just have to try again in a different…”

Charlie felt the air leave his lungs as he recognized himself lumbering through the garage door, eyes on an even smaller figure running past him to this ‘verse’s Ellie.

The pair stood across the street in total shock as they saw a different version of themselves, versions which had taken a different path, one where they somehow still found each other, one where they started a family.

“She’s so beautiful,” Ellie breathed, slowly reaching up for one of Charlie’s hands. She squeezed tightly, trying to force away the lump in her throat. They all looked so happy.

A family.

The metal felt heavy at Charlie’s side as he took in just what he’d look like whole, wondering if Ellie noticed the difference. Watching the other version of him scoop up the grinning baby girl in his arms almost made him sick. He couldn’t do that with this weapon at his side.

“We should go.”

It took Ellie a second to turn away from what she saw in front of her. He could see the tears filling her eyes, probably out of joy or surprise… He felt himself falling back into the realm of ‘I’m a burden’ that he’d managed to avoid for a while now.

“This feels like something we shouldn’t be seeing. I don’t… I can’t…”

She reached up and put her cold hands to his cheeks, trying to calm him down. “Okay, okay, we’ll go. It’s not important, we’ve got other stuff to work on.”

“This is for you.”

“I’ll live. Let’s go.”

*****

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Ellie could feel the questions fighting to make their way out. Charlie had made himself comfortable in bed while she showered, his eyes scanning an old paperback he found on a shelf in the basement. Ellie couldn’t see the cover.

“Ready for bed?” he asked, marking the page he was on before closing the book.

He avoided meeting her eyes, she noticed. She couldn’t help but feel like something had changed between them after what they saw. How long would it take before things felt normal again? Or, as close to normal as they could be?

“Are you okay?”

She could see him reacting to the question as if it was an accusation.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

It was obvious he was trying to get her to say it.

Because of what they saw.

“Charlie...”

He didn’t respond to her plea.

She finally got the nerve to turn towards him, though she kept her eyes aimed down at her fidgeting hands in her lap. “We had a baby.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“And it was us, we still managed to find each other, that doesn’t feel miraculous to you?”

“It wasn’t us, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been through some shit, El. That guy that was raising that child? That wasn’t me. Couldn’t possibly be me. So, if that’s what you want, I’m just gonna warn you now that you won’t get it from me. Feel free to go back there and play house.”

Ellie felt the tears welling up. “That’s not what I’m saying, Charlie.” She attempted to reach out for one of his arms but he pulled it back, out of reach. “Why do you feel that way? That you couldn’t do the same thing?”

His expression hardened and she worried he was going to close up, end the conversation right there.

“I’m not a good guy. I have no business even being married to you—hell, our certificate doesn’t even have our real names on it. We’ve done things that make it impossible to live a normal life. We will never have that. And I thought you understood that until today.”

“You think I don’t know that? Are you serious?” Ellie shot a glance at the door, wondering if they were keeping Morgan and Hamish up.

“Then what on earth are you so preoccupied with? Just forget you ever saw it.”

“Oh, and you will?” The glare she got after that seriously worried her. “Charlie, I just thought it was kind of beautiful that in some other life we still found each other. I wasn’t saying it’s better or worse than what we have.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Ellie sat back, anger taking over. “What on earth did I do?”

“You didn’t have to do anything—”

“Then stop being such an ass!”

“I’m—” He bit back his response, but she could tell he wanted to open his mouth. It was a serious testament to his growth that he didn’t.

“I get it. You don’t want kids, not with me. We can’t be normal, we will never be normal. You need to get it out of your head that I don’t know that, believe me, I’m well aware.”

Ellie got up before Charlie could grab her. She kept her back mostly to him as she paced, hand pulling nervously at her lips. It wasn’t every day that she felt this mad.

She could feel herself shaking.

The cold steel brushed over her shoulder and she immediately recoiled, stepping forward and turning around. “Don’t touch me.”

His eyes darted down to the metal and her heart sank as she saw a deeper pain reinforced in his eyes.

How much of an asshole could she be in less than a minute?

“Charlie, I—”

“No, it’s fine. It’s dangerous, how could I even think of getting close to you, and you’re asking me about kids?!”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Ellie tried to reach for him but he held up a hand to stop her.

“You know how hard this is for me. That’s not an excuse, I just…”

He looked down, breathing deeply, his hands on his hips. The two of them stood in the middle of the room, seemingly at odds with each other but all Charlie really wanted was some reassurance, he just didn’t know how to voice it after antagonizing her so much. His old bad habits coming out to play.

Ellie wanted to both slap and hug him, and if given the chance, she wasn’t sure which would win out. But the idea that this was truly eating at him wasn’t lost on her. She understood why, she just wished he wasn’t so dead set on being a hazard. Why did moving backwards come so easily to him?

“I’m going to take a walk, okay? I’m not… going anywhere.”

Ellie nodded as he walked past, eyes on the floor as the door closed quietly behind her with a click. Him being less visibly upset only made it all feel worse. Like he was burying it away for a good time to bring it all back out again. Like he was waiting to explode.

How could she make this right? She sank into the bed with a deep sigh, amped up from the argument still, mind racing. She needed to remind him of how gentle he could be.

*****

“Fudge,” he mumbled under his breath. “Fudge, fudge, fudge.”

How could he do that to her? What was he thinking, begging for an argument? It never occurred to him how she’d feel seeing herself have a kid, knowing it wouldn’t be allowed here. What a spectacular asshole.

And that she thought he didn’t want a kid with her…

He took his haul into his arms and headed up the stairs, slightly hopeful that he could show her just how much she meant to him in this life, nevermind the rest. That’s all he could do. He didn’t want to fight over this, it would just hurt both of them.

They would never have that, he knew that, she clearly stated she knew that. So all they have is what’s in front of them. She’s already helped him through so much, he knew if he just sucked it up and tried talking, they could solve all of it together. Just like they have up until now.

And in the meantime, he’d at least make sure she was well-taken care of.

As he pushed open the door, he about fell over. She hadn’t brought out the thin, strappy set in a while.

She looked down at the bowls in his arms, her heart breaking. “Charlie, you made sundaes?”

He held up the bowls, wanting to ask about her choice of attire but choosing to keep his mouth shut in case he scared her out of whatever she was planning.

“I promised you one earlier.”

He grew warm at her hands on his cheeks, his jaw.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for being a royal dickhead to you. And what on earth did I do to deserve this stunning, very lovely, very delicate costume change? Are you not ready to toss me out on my ass after everything I said?”

“How do you know I’m not just taking advantage of these last few moments?”

He desperately wished his hands were free.

“What did you make for us?” She finally asked, taking one of the bowls from him. She pulled him along to sit next to her on the bed. He started stirring his own ice cream around in an effort to avoid being caught staring at her. It wasn’t his fault. He glanced down, seeing that she kept a hand resting against the steel forearm. It soothed him more than she could even begin to understand. Or maybe she did.

“What I have so masterfully prepared for you tonight is vanilla ice cream, slathered in fudge, as I know you prefer chocolate, topped with some chocolate chips and crushed thin mints.”

Ellie bit her lip before looking up at him, the smile on her face causing him to feel like he was floating.

“I’m sorry I ever slighted your sundae-making skills.”

All he could do was smile.

She soon finished her dessert and he set the bowl on the nightstand. He looked over at her and saw her fussing with the thin material, as if he cared what it looked like. He was, however, quite eager to express to her how sorry he was about the argument.

The metal fingers moved over to her thigh and he abandoned his bowl to bury his face in her neck, her wet hair cooling his heated skin, a combination of the misplaced anger from earlier and the blush he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“I’m sorry for all of it. You just looked so happy earlier and I got scared you didn’t like where we were. And I was feeling bad about myself, too, and I took it out on you. Again.”

Her hands were covering his ear, the back of his head, in seconds. “You like to forget what you do for me. All those nights when I can’t sleep? You take care of me way more than I take care of you.” She leaned back so the two of them collapsed onto the bed. “I am so, so, so, happy with you. I know Roanoke and babies don’t mix, I’ve made my peace with that a long time ago,” she whispered into his ear. “But just think: all those times where you wonder if this should even be a thing, if we should even be married, just think about all the cosmic events that had to align perfectly for us to meet here, and that they’ve done the same in other universes. I just think that says a lot about us.”

“Less luck and more grand design?” Charlie whispered back.

Ellie nodded, feeling him hide his face further into her neck, adjusting until she could feel his lips on her skin.

“Like somewhere there’s a—”

“I adore your hypothesizing, love, the hot scientist thing works, but I think I’d like to—”

As his warm finger skimmed up her side, she reached down and stopped him. “There was a point to all this,” she explained. “Use this.” She pulled the metal hand out from under him and he shifted to make it easier, lifting his head as she set the hand on her stomach. She immediately reached for his shoulders, trying to keep his ear close, nose passing along his cheek. “You’re not dangerous. Not to me. You’re gentle and kind, and I want you to remind me of just how gentle you can be,” she whispered in his ear.

“I can do that.”

#starry eyes #agent nova #agent zenith #I was mad; hence argument #but I felt fine today so I had to mend it back up #my two nerds can't be apart #I'd die

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scrapyardboyfriends · 7 years

Note

It brings me so much joy that the digital spy article says that Robert want to change and do things differently. Not change to win back Aaron. Not chabge because of Aaron, but because he has grown, and be wants to be a different person. Not for anyone else, but solely för himself.

Well I think that’s the main thing we wanted from this break up since we were forced to endure it.

Aaron has made some progress recently on his end. He’s FINALLY getting counseling to deal with every awful thing that ed has thrown at him, which will hopefully help him deal with things better as a whole, as well as come to terms with what Gordon did to him and his abandonment issues and his insecurities and self worth issues and such. He’s had his little Boxing Filler Plot to teach him that he can walk away from a fight and still come out the winner. He’s had his Dr Love Interest Filler Plot where he learned that he needs to be more open about what’s going on with him and that he’s not ready to move on yet, that he needs to take things slow. Everything he said to Liv in that Maxine episode is all I’ve wanted from this break up plot for him. He’s learning that he doesn’t need to lean on Robert to be okay but that he can still let people in and that doesn't make him a burden. He let Cain help him out with the paint balling, he opened up to Liv. Hopefully all of this will help him work through any issues Robron may have in the future. And if he gets back to together with Robert, it will most likely be because he wants to, not because he feels like he should or that he needs to.

For Robert, he’s been in free fall since the break up, an epic breakdown and downward spiral. We’ve seen him plunge himself headfirst into every one of his bad habits basically. He’s shut himself off from real emotion for the most part and has just put his mask that Aaron spent all that time chipping away at back on. He’s scheming because he’s lashing out and doesn’t know what else to do with himself. He doesn’t care about the consequences because he feels like he’s already lost everything important. He’s not learning to deal with being on his own, he’s just falling apart spectacularly and dragging everyone in his path down with him. And he’s also seemingly going after money and power again to fill the Aaron shaped hole in his heart/life. So it’s great to hear that he’s EVENTUALLY going to reach ROCK BOTTOM and decide on his own that he needs to change and do things differently. This is what I’ve wanted from him all along but it’s taken him a LOOOOONNNNG time to get there. But yes, it’s great that it seems like he’s going to do this for himself and not for Aaron. It’s about time he grew a little as a person and made some strides to change.

It may have been dragged out an impossibly long time, but it seems like we’re finally going to get all we wanted from this break up and that they will both learn to be their own functional people and get back together because, no matter what, they never stopped loving each other, and they WANT to still be together.

And then hopefully, they will function at least slightly better as a couple so we’re not sat hear again crying over another Hell Plot of Misery next year.

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mzhong2014 · 5 years

Text

Reading digest 8/4-8/10

What It's Like to Learn You're Going to Die

“Nessa Coyle calls it ‘the existential slap’—that moment when a dying person first comprehends, on a gut level, that death is close. For many, the realization comes suddenly: ‘The usual habit of allowing thoughts of death to remain in the background is now impossible,’ Coyle, a nurse and palliative-care pioneer, has written. ‘Death can no longer be denied.’”

Ironically, this article about death made me think more critically about what it means to be alive. Death is not simply a physical experience, but also one of the soul. I believe that your soul experiences multiple deaths of the nonphysical form throughout life that fundamentally alter the Self -- the death of a romance, death of friendship, the death of a dream, etc. Although these experiences may reappear, they are never reincarnated in the same form, creating a sense of permanence of these nonphysical deaths. So long as one is still living, one is always surrounded by death.

Perhaps change, both good and bad, can only be done through the death of parts of the Self -- hence why change is so painful. But in the process of destroying and morphing the Self, one is faced with existential questions of what is intrinsic to the Self. If nothing is intrinsic, then does the Self truly exist?

“In this crisis, some people feel depression or despair or anger, or all three. They grieve. They grapple with a loss of meaning. A person’s whole belief system may be called into question because ‘virtually every aspect of their life will be threatened by changes imposed by the [disease] and its management,’ Lee has written. In a small 2011 Danish study, patients with an incurable esophageal cancer reported that after their diagnosis, their lives seemed to spin out of control. Some wondered why they had received a fatal diagnosis, and fell into despair and hopelessness. ‘I didn’t care about anything,’ one patient said. ‘I had just about given up.’”

Religion aside (which is not a trivial parameter to constrain), physical death is the ultimate destruction of the Self because it destroys both the conscience and the body. Although I have never had a near-death experience, I have had moments in my life where an essential part of my Self was stripped away, leading me to spiral into self-destruction as my perception of reality loses all grounding. During these existential crises, the Self is reduced to the physical body as foundational beliefs that distinguish us from fully functioning robots are blown up into smithereens. Death presents the possibility of rendering all meaning meaningless by denying the existence of both the conscience and body.

Given the overwhelming difficulty of conceptualizing death, I found the following excerpt particularly interesting:

“Palliative-care doctors used to think that a patient was either in a state of denial or a state of acceptance, period, Rodin says. But now he and his colleagues believe people are more likely to move back and forth. ‘You have to live with awareness of dying, and at the same time balance it against staying engaged in life,’ he says. ‘It’s being able to hold that duality—which we call double awareness—that we think is a fundamental task.’

Whether or not people are able to find that balance, the existential crisis doesn’t last; patients can’t remain long in a state of acute anxiety. Coyle has found in her work that later peaks of distress are not usually as severe as that first wave. ‘Once you’ve faced [death] like that once, it’s not new knowledge in your consciousness anymore,’ she says.”

To live in the face of death is perhaps to feel so acutely what it means to be alive because living is no longer defined in a vacuum of false immortality, but in negation with death. Using this analogy for the nonfatal deaths experienced throughout life, these moments of acute pain remind us what it means to live, and thus what it means to die. But to continuously live in agony of death is to define life as purely a shadow of death, a permanent and unconquerable state of being. Unable to continuously live in this duality, the concept of death shows the limitations of the human mind. But perhaps those who are more able to strike this balance are those who can appreciate simultaneously the concept of life and death. Just as how living makes us fearful of dying, death makes us more appreciative of life and how much we have to lose -- not just of our physical existence, but also of our soul.

He’s Your Destiny. Just Be Patient.

In every single relationship that I’ve had, I always run up against the following question: Do you just know when you’ve met the right person? Or does your partner become the right person through hard work and patience of both parties?

As someone who is a strong believer in free will but also has compulsive overthinking tendencies and is prone to identifying patterns in meaningless trends in this noisy and chaotic world, my philosophy has wildly oscillated from believing in the ability of sheer willpower to overcoming incompatibilities to trying to concoct a scientific framework of key inputs to forecasting the future of a relationship.

This article is quite fitting because it shows us the irony of life, both in creating incredibly unlikely circumstances that seem to follow the narrative of a certain trajectory, as well as in surprising us with outcomes far from what one had expected. For Stefanie, the author, this irony is encapsulated in a tarot card reading. During this reading, the author learns that she will 1) soon leave NYC, 2) face a career of unexpected turns, and 3) reunite with her ex in three years time but will have other relationships that don’t work out in the meantime.

The first two come true, and after leaving NYC for Detroit, she meets a guy named Brandon.

“I fell very much in love with Brandon. There was no lightning strike of certainty but rather a slow warming that grew into something sweet. I wanted to marry him, and I told him so. I daydreamed about painting walls and walking dogs and all of the ways in which we would build a future together.”

After two years of falling in love with Brandon, Stefanie moves to LA for her work and finds herself in the same city with the ex she is destined to be with. One can only imagine how everything leading up to this moment has been a journey towards that destined love, that all of the pain and heartbreak, learning and growing, has prepared her to reunite with the One.

“I finally wrote an email to my ex.

‘Hey’” I began casually, as if this greeting had not weighed heavily on me for ages. ‘It’s been so, so, so, so long. I live in LA now and I know you know that. I guess I’m hoping it’s finally time to have coffee and say hi? Whaddya think?’

After three years of wondering, I had to wait only a few hours for his response.

‘Yo yo,’ he wrote. ‘I appreciate the guts it must’ve taken to reach out, but I’m not really interested in grabbing coffee, sorry. I do sincerely hope everything in your world is awesome though!’

And that was that. No destiny. No lightning strike. No certainty written in the cards.”

A few months later, Stefanie and Brandon break up because they have drifted apart from each other and have become different people.

“We didn’t break up because the cards said we would, nor was it a failure of the cards that my ex and I didn’t reunite. I chose to believe in the possibility that there was some perfectly pre-written story that I was only playing a role in, but there was no pre-written story for Brandon and me. There’s no pre-written story for anyone.

And isn’t that part of the bargain we strike with our partners? That we are willing to live together inside of a story being written rather than a story already told? And that trying to see the future before it happens is just an attempt to make the terrible uncertainty about being in love, and staying in love, a little easier to bear.“

I love the ending of this article because it shows the absurdity in trying to predict the future as it unrolls, creating narratives out of disparate crumbs of faded memories and desires. It doesn’t answer the question of whether there are people out there destined for us or whether the success of a relationship is a result of sheer luck and hard work. It tells us that we don’t know, and that we choose how to cope with this uncertainty. But regardless of whether a relationship is fated to be, this does not deny the love that one feels when there is something “true and deep” between two people.

November Rain

I really love this song, and more generally, Guns N’Roses. The raw emotions in the song and lyrics capture the essence of emotional vulnerability.

“When I look into your eyes I can see a love restrained But darlin' when I hold you Don't you know I feel the same

Nothin' lasts forever And we both know hearts can change And it's hard to hold a candle In the cold November rain”

The imagery in the last two verses in this stanza shows the fragile, ephemeral, and fickle nature of love.

“And when your fears subside And shadows still remain, oh yeah I know that you can love me When there's no one left to blame So never mind the darkness We still can find a way 'Cause nothin' lasts forever Even cold November rain”

After a great guitar solo, Rose sings these verses that I find to be so magnetic. It’s a message of hope, but tempered hope. Just as love fades and dies, even darkness must eventually subside.

Putin plays judo, not chess

I found this to be a really clever analogy for Russia’s strategy in the international stage considering how judo is one of Putin’s favorite past times (how I pity Russian athletes that are pitted against him.)

“In judo, a seemingly weaker practitioner can rely on inner strength and force of will to defeat a larger, stronger foe. One basic technique involves putting an opponent off balance and taking advantage of his temporary disorientation to strike a winning blow. Mr. Putin has proved adept at seizing opportunities presented by the West’s disarray and its leaders’ indecisiveness. He had a plan to restore Russia as a great power when he took over from Yeltsin; the U.S. has had no comparable strategy in the post-Cold War era, and Russia has taken advantage against its much stronger competitor.”

AKA US needs to get its cybersecurity policy together.

Being a Law Firm Partner Was Once a Job for Life. That Culture Is All but Dead.

One of my biggest qualms of going to law school to practice law is the incentive system. Lawyers are billed on hours worked, not sales generated or results delivered. Thus, I was surprised that this article paints this shift towards a compensation model found in finance and consulting negatively. The hourly billings model creates an incentive for longer hours regardless of the quality of the deliverable, which trickles down to the associate-level and creates this poor work culture that already faces workaholic pressures by virtue of being client-facing.

Also, this shift in model doesn’t necessarily mean that being a partner is no longer a cushy position. This doesn’t change the fact that partners would still take profit sharing of retaining client relationships, which they should be able to do as long as they don’t seriously screw up anything. I also don’t think that partners should get an easy pass once they achieve this rank. If you’re making that much as your annual salary, your value-add better be worth a few million dollars.

Gun Policy in America: An Overview and What Science Tells Us About the Effects of Gun Policies

I find gun policy to be one of the most frustrating and mindboggling issues in politics. How can both sides of the aisle react so vehemently to the tragedy of mass shootings, yet have such different conceptions of what are their root causes and appropriate policy reactions? Additionally, why is this issue so partisan? Do gun issues symbolize the partisan disagreement on protecting personal rights at the expense of greater safety of the nation or clashing of personal identities between the isolated inhabitants of rural regions and the disconnected elitists of metropolitans? I’m not exactly sure why gun regulation has become so divisive, but I do know that protecting people’s lives should rise above the petty politics of partisanship.

RAND, a global think tank that covers both domestic and international policy issues, has tried to dissect these issues in an objective, nonpartisan, and analytical manner. From its preliminary research, what is clear is that there isn’t enough conclusive and rigorous research on gun policy, and that the government should appropriate more funds for researching gun regulation. In fact, “the U.S. government has spent just 1.6 percent as much on gun policy research as it has on research involving causes of similar levels of mortality in the United States, such as traffic accidents or sepsis” (Morral). I don’t know if this is because of lobbying efforts from pro-gun organizations, but investing in high-quality research is one of the first steps to fixing this issue.

A few issues with researching gun policy include the lack of reliable data sets and the inconsistent categorization of different gun policies. Data sets are limited in sample size and the availability of historical information. New policies affect only a small fraction of guns purchased every year of the population of gun owners (e.g., prohibitions against the mentally ill). The lack of historical data makes it difficult to establish a causal relationship between passing gun regulation and perceived changes in gun violence. The difficulty of establishing strong evidence for a causal relationship between gun regulation and gun violence, however, may be a chicken and the egg problem. If there aren’t enough examples of states passing gun regulation, there aren’t many case studies to draw from for analysis.

Despite the difficulty of researching gun regulation, there are a few gun policies with strong evidence of its impact on gun violence. RAND defines supportive as having three studies showing significant effects in the same direction using two independent data sets, with no other studies of comparable or greater rigor contradicting its findings.

Interestingly, studies on child-access prevention laws are able to draw from larger data sets because of a larger proportion of gun-owning households also have kids (e.g., in contrast to the population of gun owners that commit domestic violence). There is also moderate evidence that background checks reduce suicide and violent crime, and that prohibitions on the mentally ill decrease while stand your ground laws increases violent crime.

Also, just because a policy has inconclusive evidence on its impact on reducing gun violence, this doesn’t mean that the policy is ineffective. Rather, there isn’t evidence to prove its effectiveness – unsurprising, given the relative rarity of mass shootings (which is unfortunately changing as we speak).

However, it is fair to claim that even if with more conclusive evidence on gun policy, this would not bring our government any closer to a political resolution on how to effectively regulate gun ownership. For example, climate change issues have strong evidence for the relationship between manmade pollution on global increase in temperatures. However, the lack of rigorous and conclusive research makes it even more difficult to agree on any changes in gun policy, which is clearly needed to curb recent increases in gun violence.

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texanredrose · 7 years

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Celebrity Matchmaker (Part 6)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 (here) / Part 7 / Part 8

Without another word, they moved to the final stage, the excited chatter of the audience contributing to the dull drone in the back of her skull. Weiss could see them there, the three candidates she'd spent the past sixteen weeks falling in love with all standing together beneath the spotlights, quietly talking among themselves. Nervous, though they displayed it in different ways, and talking to keep each other calm, to varying degrees of effectiveness. They stopped talking when the movie star took her spot, though, standing across from them with a little pedestal between. Atop it rested two ring boxes, one she would present to her chosen candidate as if she were truly proposing and the other for her when they accepted, and her eyes landed on the little boxes for a few moments before being pulled up to the three standing across from her.

Blake, Pyrrha, and Yang were all looking at her then, with smiles and small gestures of encouragement- a nod, a wave, a thumbs up- and they all looked so beautiful standing there beneath the halos of light that it almost made her want to cry. Most people would kill for the chance to meet someone so sweet as just one of the three, and she somehow managed all of them.

"We're live in five," Coco said by way of warning, standing just behind the pedestal and smoothing out her jacket. "We're almost done, everybody."

Plastering on a pleasant smile, Weiss watched as they were counted in, steeling her nerves as best she could. The hardest part of this whole thing was moments away. She just had to see things through to the other side.

"Welcome back to Celebrity Matchmaker!" Their host smiled wide, gesturing first to her right and then her left. "Our finalists and our romantic lead have made it all the way through sixteen weeks to reach this point, the penultimate moment. It's time for Weiss to make her decision. Who will she choose? Blake, the quiet author? Pyrrha, the Invincible Woman? Or Yang, the wild rocker? We're about to find out, and make sure you have your devices handy. Once Weiss has made her choice known and proposed to the lucky candidate, it'll be your job to make or break the match! Remember, you only get one vote per device- yes, you agree with Weiss' choice, or no, you don't. Either way, you decide the outcome tonight, Remnant." With that done, chocolate eyes turned to her. "Are you ready, Weiss?"

"Yes," she said, her voice steady and smooth. In the short time since she'd made her decision, she'd come to peace with it, because she truly had no other choice.

This was it.

"Very well. The floor is yours."

Weiss stepped forward, smoothly approaching the pedestal and picking up one of the ring boxes. It contained only a little ring, with fake diamonds shined and designed to sparkle brightest, but it might as well be made of lead with how heavy it felt.

"All of you have said your piece. Now, it's my turn." She remained by the pedestal, not wanting to risk what embarrassing things she might do were she to get in arms reach of any of them. Blake would probably help her run, as far and as fast as their feet could take them, while Pyrrha would play the peacekeeper, and Yang would just glare or threaten whoever tried to approach, and while the ruckus would probably do well for ratings and gossip, it wouldn't be the ending required of her. "First, I want to say thank you." Her eyes fell on each of them in turn, tears stinging and begging to be released but held in check by the barest margins. "These past sixteen weeks have been the most amazing I've ever had. They gave me a chance to glimpse the life I could have with each of you and I'll cherish those moments dearly, regardless of what lies ahead." Next, she turned her attention towards each of them in turn, looking into their eyes and hoping they could see her sincerity despite the distance. "Blake, you're cautious and quiet at times but passionate and stubborn at others, and I find it extremely endearing how much thought you put into your actions, especially in regards to romance. You're constantly second guessing yourself, wondering how sincere you can be given your line of work, but you have a genuine, kind, yearning heart. I'll always treasure those quiet moments beneath the stars." The Faunus seemed to perk up, bolstered by the affirmation that her feelings were taken seriously even as her shoulders dropped somewhat. She could see the hope still strong, though, as if the finality of her words were merely a byproduct of the setting, a means to up the drama while it could still be manipulated. "Pyrrha, you've been a role model for so long that you subconsciously carry yourself with a dignified air, but your playful side is just as worthy of adoration. You can be so shy and accommodating when it comes to pursuing the things you want most and I always found it adorable how surprised you seemed by the simplest of gestures. You may have many skills mastered and think that things pertaining to romance don't count among them, but your natural inclinations serve you well, and I'll reflect on our time together fondly, even the time you went on an hour-and-a-half monologue about your favorite television show." The redhead chuckled softly, smile widening just a bit. She, too, must suspect the same as Blake, not seeming the least bit deterred as Weiss continued. "Yang, I know you're going to be a little sore at me for saying this, but you're easily one of the most sweet and caring individuals I've ever met. I thought I wouldn't be able to stand you, but you've worked your way into my heart by just being yourself. Your cheerful disposition is infectious and it always brightened my day, even when I least wanted it, and I'll forever be grateful for the chance to bask in your radiance." Yang gave a shrug, that cocky veneer returning for a brief moment before the blonde gave a little nod, as though she understood. But she didn't, not truly. None of them did, yet. "With each of you, I saw a different side to something I had so little respect for at the onset of this journey we've taken. They called me the Ice Queen and the moniker wasn't far off, because while I could portray someone in love, I didn't understand what it felt like until I met you three."

Weiss paused, taking a steadying breath. This was the moment.

"However, in that vein, I've come to a realization. I have fallen in love, with each of you." The small smile on her lips grew, a surge of happiness overcoming the rolling in her gut as the admission tumbled past her lips. It felt good to say it, even if this would be her only chance. "In your own ways, you showed me a side of life I hadn't thought possible before, that I could love and be loved, that it didn't require pain or bitter arguments in spurts to make the rest seem worth it. Without realizing it, I gave away pieces of my heart the further I fell." The happiness turned to cold dread as her smile disappeared. "However, that's what has made this decision the most difficult of my life. To choose one of you, I would lose the other two, and while we could remain friends, there's a part of me that can't accept that." She felt the tears return in full force and bit the inside of her cheek briefly, an old habit she would apparently need to revive. "I fell in love with who you are, each of you, and the distinctions between you have made measuring one against the other impossible." Her gaze dropped to the ring box. "And in realizing that, I've come to the only conclusion left. I can't choose any of you, because you simply deserve better. Each of you deserves to be loved by someone who can give you all the love in their heart, and I can't do that, not anymore. Some part of me will always love Blake, and Pyrrha, and Yang, and if I choose just one of you, I will never reclaim those other two parts back. I don't have a whole heart anymore... which, I suppose, is still an improvement over having none at all, or a cold one." Slowly, she set the ring box back on the pedestal beside its twin and took a step back, folding her hands in front of her. "I hope that each of you find someone who can give you all the love you deserve. But that person isn't me, so I won't choose any of you now."

The audience gasped and proceeded to mutter to themselves as shock and heartbreak splayed across three faces. Even Coco seemed caught off guard, looking between Weiss and the finalists in confusion, and she expected as much for an initial reaction.

She'd done the math in her head. The numbers should be on her side. Undoubtedly, each of them had their super fans, those who aspired to one day marry their idol themselves. No matter what choice she made, they would be against her, except in this regard. Here, they would be on her side. Then, there would be those who didn't care who she picked, as long as it wasn't one specific person; they seemed to crop up every season, ranting about how this relationship or that one was 'doomed to fail' and would resist with all their might. They would agree with her, too, just to mitigate the chance they might be proven wrong in the long run. Then, there would be those who listened to reason, who would understand where she was coming from and would agree simply because they saw how difficult her decision was.

And who would want someone who couldn't be completely devoted, anyway?

Really, it just left the purists, those who decided on the candidate they wanted Weiss to pick early on and stuck by that decision with all their might. They would vote against her but, hopefully, their number would be too small to overcome the others.

"So... you choose... none of them." Without looking, she could hear the well disguised agony in Coco's voice, buried under a seemingly neutral inflection. No doubt the woman genuinely felt bad for her, if for no better reason than the absolute hell she would face from tabloids and whoever else had access to any sort of medium. This choice was practically asking to be lambasted in the press, saddled with her moniker and reputation for the remainder of her career.

So be it.

"Yes," she said, and she hated the crack in her voice that managed to slip through even as she willed herself to let go of those silly daydreams about what the future might hold with each of them by her side.

"Well... Remnant-"

"Wait." Blake's voice cut across the eerily quiet set like a knife, prompting the movie star to look up into blazing amber eyes. Perhaps it was too much to hope they'd simply accept her decision. "You won't or you can't?"

Her brows furrowed, even as Pyrrha and Yang turned to look at their fellow finalist.

"Blake," the blonde said, a clear warning in her tone.

"It makes a difference, Yang." She didn't look away, keeping those eyes alight with that passion that so rarely woke riveted to Weiss' own ice blue. "It matters. You won't choose one of us or you can't?"

"Blake." Pyrrha reached out, putting a hand on the Faunus' shoulder. "It's her decision-"

"I understand that, I do. If she won't..." Blake looked away, ears flicking back as squeezed her eyes closed, obviously fighting back tears. "If you won't choose one of us because we're not the right one for you, Weiss, I can accept that. I can. It hurts, but I can." At this point, the movie star wasn't sure if the repeated affirmations were for anyone's benefit except the Faunus', and each dug into her own heart like a blade, right up until those amber eyes were upon her again. "But if you're saying you can't choose between us, because you love us equally- that's different. That's completely different."

Weiss blinked, caught off guard by the nuance a single word could imply. They'd seemed interchangeable in the moment but now she could see the two options left to her. If she said she wouldn't choose between them, it would get her point across with devastating finality. They would respect her choice, nurse their broken hearts, and perhaps one day be able to move on- because there was no ignoring the genuine pain that had flashed across their faces when she made her announcement, no way to convince herself that they weren't just as invested in her as she was in them. It would break them for a time, but they were strong, all of them, and they could maybe one day be her friends... she would always love them, though. Of that much, she was certain.

"I can't," she said, lowering her eyes and wishing she had the strength to do the right thing. Perhaps it was selfish, but... she wanted them to know that she'd meant every word she'd said, that no aspect of this constituted insincerity on her part. It hurt her just as much, and she would do everything in her power to be supportive of them going forward, but she would never heal. She didn't want to try again, not after this, not after finding three people she could love and not being able to choose between them, yet giving a part of herself to all of them anyway. "I can't choose between you. Please, don't ask me to."

Silence befell the set, not even the audience daring to utter a word as the cameras continued rolling. Only Coco move, slipping off set as tension mounted in her shoulders.

"Then choose all of us." Weiss furrowed her brows, confused, half certain the pressure had caused her to crack and conjure some manner of hallucination. When she looked to Yang, positive she'd see evidence that the woman had said nothing at all and that it was merely in her head, the movie star was instead confronted with everyone else staring at the woman, her jaw set defiantly and lilac eyes glinting like hardened gemstones. "I'm serious. I mean, ya know, if you..." The rocker bit her lip briefly, reaching up to run a hand through her bangs as a faint flush rose in her cheeks. "Okay, look, full disclosure. Weiss, if you ended up not picking me, I figured... ya know, it'd hurt for a while, and I'd never really get over it, but... I thought once the sting faded a bit, I'd ask out whoever else you didn't choose." She glanced to the side, looking between Pyrrha and Blake. "I mean, getting to know both of you the way I did... I could see what Weiss saw, I could totally get why she'd pick you two. I mean, you're both amazing!" Yang chuckled, her blush becoming a bit brighter. "I think... I think I fell in love with both of you the same way she did, because that's the hardest part about this whole thing coming to an end. Not, like, sitting down to breakfast with you three, or just chillin' in the living room together- not getting to tease Blake about being a grouch in the morning or pretending like I'm going to change the channel during Pyrrha's show. And it never hurt- looking over and seeing one of you with Weiss. It never bothered me when she was with one of you." The blonde looked at Weiss then, obviously trying her best to put emotions into words. Give the woman a blank sheet and she could write a song that would do the work for her, instruments calling to subconscious emotions and enhanced by the sound of her voice- the words, though, that's where she struggled. "I think the only thing that kept me sane through all this was getting to spend time with Blake and Pyrrha whenever you were with one of the others. So, I just... I didn't want any of us walking away from this with broken hearts. If you didn't pick me, I'd put my all into showering Blake or Pyrrha with all the love I can; I think we both agree they deserve that, yeah?"

Weiss nodded, a tad numb. She'd thought this whole time that the other three had no idea how she was feeling, that they wouldn't understand, but what the blonde described didn't seem too far off. The drive for all of them to be happy, the desire for each of them to feel loved- she wanted that more than anything.

"Well... seeing as we're being honest." Pyrrha paused, collecting her thoughts for a moment before continuing. "I must admit, I understand what Yang's saying very well. Especially this past week, with just the four of us... it didn't strike me as anything other than natural. I've come to admire and enjoy Blake's and Yang's company just as much as yours, Weiss, and I understand your concern about not being whole, not being able to give all your love to only one person, but at the same time." Emerald eyes looked around, her smile widening. "I'm not convinced that's a bad thing. I admit, the suggestion that we remain in contact, no matter how tonight ends, was the most relief I've felt in the past few weeks. Just the idea of not being able to see everyone... I think I'd much rather the four of us remain together, however we fit."

"Essentially, we're all agreeing that we're interested in a polyamorous relationship," Blake said, noting the confused look she received from the redhead and the spark that alighted in Yang's eyes, which instantly brought a vivid blush to the Faunus' cheeks. "I-I mean, I'm agreeing with both of you- despite the premise of the show being that we compete against each other for Weiss' affections, I found myself growing rather fond of you two as well." She reached up, scratching at the back of her neck. "I've been... familiar with the concept of polyamory for years but I never thought I'd be interested in that... until meeting the three of you." Amber met blue, pleading with her to understand even as her blush deepened. "Weiss, I have fallen in love with you, and I care about you just as much... but I can't deny that I've fallen for both Pyrrha and Yang as well. The latter part of this whole experience- when it was just the four of us more often than not, those are the times I felt the most... at peace. It just felt right."

Weiss blinked, the shock slowly wearing away even as Pyrrha cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, but... poly... amory?"

"It's a romantic relationship between three or more people." All eyes turned to Yang, notable surprise coming from the audience while everyone else just seemed a tad curious. The rocker merely shrugged. "What? All those stories about me having, like, three or four partners at a time in high school and college weren't bogus and I never denied them. Everyone else just chalked it up to rock 'n' roll gossip; I've known I'm poly for years."

"So, the four of us in a relationship- that's possible?" No one missed the way the athlete's eyes darted between Blake and Yang, seemingly concentrating on their lips. It had taken weeks for Pyrrha to work up the nerve to kiss Weiss, and the extra time spent being around the other two in a more platonic capacity might make her more eager to reach that milestone.

And, suddenly, the movie star wanted nothing more than to watch that, see the three together in the same way they'd been with Weiss, those loving expressions directed elsewhere.

"Well, I mean, yeah..." The blonde looked her way, that crooked smile that always begged her to be a rebel, to run off and hide from the camera crew to steal some moments alone, stretching a bit wider. "The three of us are open to it. It's still Weiss' decision."

The words lept to the tip of her tongue in a flash, nearly blurted out, but then she remembered the cameras and audience; they were still under contract of the show, which meant that their solution may or may not be feasible within the confines of the rules.

Thankfully, Coco hadn't been entirely idle in her brief stint off set, suddenly returning near the front of the little stage with a booklet in hand. "So, for those of you following along at home- and, frankly, for everyone else's benefit, too- I just checked our handy little series bible and the rules of Celebrity Matchmaker only specify that the romantic lead must make the final decision on who to marry." She looked over her shoulder at the movie star. "It doesn't outright specify a quantity for the decision, however."

Either by loophole or intentional design, she had the chance. So, she took it.

"All of them." The words left her mouth as a smile spread across her lips, shoulders dropping the ramrod straight to a relieved little slump as she watched the others' expressions light up in delight. "I choose Blake, Pyrrha, and Yang."

Almost before she finished speaking, the blonde had jumped forward, crossing the distance in a few long strides and throwing her arms around the smaller woman's waist, bodily lifting her up off the floor and twirling her around, laughing the whole while. Weiss might've had a harsh word to say any other time, but right then she just found the laughter infectious, putting her own arms around Yang's shoulders and laughing in her ear. That is, until she was released long enough to be pulled backwards, into another set of arms, looking up to see smiling emerald eyes gazing down at her tenderly. Pyrrha at least gave her a moment's warning before picking her up and squeezing her softly, allowing her to lay her own arms over the other woman's and not minding in the least that her feet weren't touching the floor again. When she was set down, she was pulled forward into Blake's embrace, the first time she could actually reach the floor while returning it, and she hadn't stopped laughing throughout.

This wasn't a possibility she'd considered. Having all of them, together, with her- and not just with her, but with each other, too. The movie star hadn't fully processed it yet, hadn't completely come to terms with it, but nothing about the images being conjured by her imagination made her think of the proposal as anything other than what she desperately wanted. A future filled with days like those that had filled their last week; it seemed too good to be true.

The moment Blake let her pull back, the other two pushed forward, and she was suddenly surrounded by three people who seemed very intent on smothering her with kisses.

"Oh my- stop, stop, you three!" It was very difficult for her to take herself seriously, considering the ridiculous giggling interspersed between her words. "Would you- please!"

"Alright, let's give her some space." The redhead announced, the other two reluctantly following suit as they caught their breaths, wide smiles all around her.

Until Yang suddenly had a thought. "Wait- this means I can kiss you two now, right?" That grin came back in full force. "We've got some lost time to catch up on."

"Wait, no-" Blake immediately put her hands up, preparing to ward off the blonde even as her face lit up in a blush. "Not right now."

"Aw, why not?"

"The cameras-"

"So? They've been there for sixteen weeks."

Pyrrha moved, as if to intervene, but Weiss simply laid a hand on her arm. "Trust me, Yang, it's worth the wait."

The blonde looked at her, a moment of consideration passing before she nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. "Oh, alright. I can wait." Then her eyes narrowed. "Until we're all alone."

"By the Maidens, Yang." Blake put her face in her hands, trying to will away her fierce blush.

"Oh, stop teasing her." The redhead laughed, a certain twinkle appearing in her eyes. "Besides, I have no such reservations."

Immediately, the woman's demeanor did a one eighty, that wide smile returning to the rocker's face as she began to close the distance. Weiss wisely stepped beside the Faunus, a smirk curling her lips as she lightly nudged Blake. Because, between the four of them, she had the best idea about how the experience would go, and she wasn't disappointed. Yang's fire often drove their kisses, upping the intensity the hotter it burned, and she likely had gotten used to controlling the pace. But like so many before her, the blonde was about to underestimate Pyrrha Nikos, and that's always a mistake.

Thankfully, the Faunus looked up in time to watch as Yang, the headstrong rebel, got caught off guard when she tried teasing the redhead, making it look like she wouldn't go straight for the prize off the bat. Rather than waiting around for the blonde to act, Pyrrha leaned in, capturing the other woman's lips and muffling the startled little squeak as lilac eyes flew wide open. From there, she remained on the back foot as the athlete pressed her advantage, using her slightly superior height to push back, nearly making the rock star's knees wobble.

"Take it easy on her, Pyrrha," Weiss said, slipping an arm around Blake's waist while the Faunus' jaw went slack, watching as Yang gave up trying to be the dominant force in the kiss and just focused on matching the redhead's ferocity, the two parting with breathing a bit heavier than what would likely be allowed on television.

... oh no.

#Celebrity Matchmaker Fanfic #Pyrrha x Weiss x Blake x Yang #Northern PolariBees #TRR writes #Gaytorade

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Blame It On Bad Luck - Chapter 21

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

Camila glanced up from the book she was reading, but not long enough to catch the concerned look in the girl’s eyes. She knew she was worried. But she couldn’t handle the pity again.

She was feeling a bit of déjà vu but she knew this was different. She was thinking more rationally. Well, she thought so anyway. Because she had every right to be upset. She promised herself she wasn’t going to come back but…desperate times, right?

She remained silent and went back to reading. She could feel the blonde’s eyes still on her and it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to talk about it. She just wanted to avoid the topic as long as possible. The longer she avoided it the longer she avoided thinking about Lauren.

“Not that I don’t love having you here, but there was obviously a reason. And you’re obviously upset about something.”

“Please…” she sighed deeply, still not bringing her gaze up to hers. “I told you. I can handle this on my own. I don’t want you getting involved.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you, Dinah.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what she did? I know you’re not just pissed and can’t go home, conveniently after your date, because it went really well.”

“You take protective to obnoxious levels. And I love you so much. But please…stay out of it?” she asked in a gentle tone, her voice tired and defeated. She knew her best friend meant well. But she hadn’t even fully processed everything yet and she didn’t need the girl going to her apartment and kicking her roommate’s ass. Even if she deserved it. Dinah remained appearing unconvinced. “For me?”

“You’re lucky I love you too. Or else I would have already gone over there and punched the shit out of her pretty ass face.”

“I know. And I appreciate you actually not doing that. I don’t want to make this a bigger mess, okay? And I can’t thank you enough for letting me crash with you again.”

“Girl, I told you that this is your home too. You’re family and you can stay whenever you want.”

Camila lowered her book in her lap and couldn’t help but smile up at Dinah. She knew she was always welcome in the Hansen household but it still meant a lot to hear that the girl always had her back. She stood from where she was sitting and pulled her into a tight hug.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she mumbled into her shoulder. She rubbed her back just before pulling away but she held her at arm’s length and narrowed her eyes. “You’re really not gonna tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll mind my own business,” she conceded, rolling her eyes and shoving her away.

“Thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it at all?” she tried one last time. Camila rubbed her eye as she sat back down, crossing her legs and bringing her book back into her lap. She frowned down at it, her mind inevitably going back to the green eyed girl and she drew in a long breath.

“I just needed to get away for a bit is all.”

“I don’t get it; you’re pissed at her but you won’t let me beat her ass? What are you trying to protect her for if she hurt you?”

“I’m not protecting her. I just…I don’t know, Dinah. I’m still not sure what I’m feeling. I mean, yeah, I’m upset. But…”

“But?”

“I can’t help how I feel,” she said sadly, looking up at her best friend with almost guilty eyes.

She felt stupid for it. She tried to convince herself that Lauren was a terrible person who cared about nothing and no one but herself. But something about the way she was acting just didn’t sit right with her.

She had changed so much from when they first met; she didn’t want to believe all of it was a lie just so Lauren could get what she wanted. She didn’t want to believe that Lauren didn’t really care about her. But it didn’t change the fact that she still stole from her.

But it was before they were even friends, before they even tolerated each other. Lauren was being so cold and indifferent the other night she could barely even ask her about it. And she was way too upset to even bother in the moment. She just wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

Lauren hadn’t bothered to try and contact her and Camila didn’t try to talk to her either.

There wasn’t much to say, she figured. Or she wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to tell her. Lauren had a bad habit of jumping the gun, putting words in people’s mouths, breaking things for seemingly no reason.

She was hot headed; she always had been as long as Camila had known her. It’s not something a person generally gets used to. But she had an idea of what was going through her brain. It didn’t make it hurt any less, especially when Lauren made it so fucking impossible to have a normal conversation about these kinds of things.

Plus, she was kind of tired of feeling pathetic for the way she feels about the people that hurt her.

So she stayed at Dinah’s while ignoring the raven haired girl as she tried to figure out what she wanted.

The weekend passed with radio silence on both ends.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise. Camila didn’t really expect her to reach out after the way she shut down and blew her off the other night. She also didn’t feel like she should be the one to initiate any kind of conversation—she wasn’t the one who should be sorry.

Lauren hadn’t slept much. The few days passed in a blur, staring at the walls, ignoring Ally’s calls and messages, smoking on the fire escape, sitting on the couch with the television off. If someone asked her if she at least ate something she wouldn’t even be able to remember.

Everything—including Lauren—seemed to be on autopilot and she had no idea where it was leading her.

She skipped her classes come Monday—lying awake through her alarms and ignoring them anyway. She only ever averted her eyes from the wall to glance at her phone, think about calling Camila, but the thought left as quickly as it came and her hands remained still.

In her defense, she wanted to talk to her. She wanted to call her and say she was sorry. She was so fucking sorry. She didn’t know how much good it would do. And in all honesty, she didn’t expect the brunette to forgive her or even care enough to listen anyway.

She looked around the place; everything seemed so…still. A part of her wanted to explode—yell a lot at nobody, drink until she blacked out, break a ton of shit. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good either. And she had no desire to clean up any more of her own messes.

It was only when she noticed the time that she decided she needed to get out of the apartment. She drove quickly and prayed she would make it in time.

She was dragging her feet through the grass quicker than her brain could come up with anything substantial to say but the sight of her daughter happily playing amongst her classmates was enough for her to not even care. And she smiled for the first time since Friday night.

She froze with her lips parted and her heart in her throat as she spotted Camila near the entrance of the building on the other side of the schoolyard. And while everything in her screamed to just muster up the nerve to break the silence between them she knew it wasn’t the time or place for it.

She managed to catch her daughter’s eye and waited, unseen by the brunette as well as anyone else, until she came running over to their usual spot. She was beaming up at her mother, beyond ecstatic for the surprise visit like she always was and Lauren felt her heart break even more than it already had.

Every visit was a surprise visit.

“Hey baby,” she said, kneeling down to her level as she held onto the chain link fence. Kayla moved her fingers over her mother’s and held on as well.

“Hi, mommy.” Her eyes were sparkling in the sunlight of the afternoon with excitement and without even waiting to be asked she began telling the raven haired girl about her day. “Today we had a spelling contest and I got second place. And Mrs. Scott told us that we’re going to have a party in class for Thanksgiving and we all get to bring something in so I’m gonna see if grandma will help me make cupcakes. I asked for cupcakes for my birthday and Uncle Chris said we could have them. And he also promised me we could go to the zoo and, um, maybe a few of my friends from class too,” she explained even though she had already told her about her birthday plans the last time she spent time with her and her brother. She smiled sadly, nodding along anyway, bracing herself for the question she knew was coming.

“That’s great, you-”

“Will you come?” she asked, not giving her a chance to get another word in. She blinked, staring at her daughter’s impossibly hopeful eyes.

“What?”

“To my birthday.” Lauren stayed crouched, hanging onto the fence with an even tighter grip, glancing over her daughter’s shoulder to check if they were still not seen. She sighed with her eyes shut, feeling her heart break entirely with her next words.

“I’m sorry, Kayla. I can’t.” The moment the words fell from her lips she watched the little girl’s face fall, brows furrowed and mouth pulled in a tiny pout.

“But you said you would.”

“What? No I didn’t-”

“You promised,” she said a little louder, causing Lauren’s eyes to dart behind her petite frame again a little more frantically.

“Shh. No, honey, I never said anything like that. I told you before I would try. You know I would if I could.”

“You never come to anything. You always miss my birthday and you don’t come for Christmas or-”

“Baby, please, lower your voice. And you know I can’t.”

“But why,” she continued to whine at the same volume, not listening to her mother’s urges to lower her voice. “Sarah’s sister goes away to school and she always comes home to see her.”

“It’s not that easy for me. Look, you’ll understand more when you’re older but I-” she tried to explain but knew it was pointless with the way her almost five year old was getting frustrated with her excuses, a frown becoming more prominent and tears welling in her eyes. And Lauren prayed she wouldn’t start crying; she didn’t need her drawing any attention to them and she really couldn’t stand to see her daughter upset. It was worse because she was always the only one causing her sadness. She knew she wouldn’t just accept her absence without throwing a tantrum every now and then. She was just a child after all; a child who wanted her mom. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You don’t even want to come home. I heard grandma say so.”

“What? Of course I do.”

“No you don’t!” she argued louder. Lauren raised her hands, looking over Kayla’s shoulder again.

“Kayla, you have to keep your voice down,” she pleaded but it was as if she said nothing at all. The little girl was wiping her cheek with the back of her hand and it killed Lauren that she couldn’t even hold her, couldn’t wrap her in a hug, couldn’t promise her that everything was going to be okay.

“I don’t care,” she mumbled through her tears. “Why don’t you want to come home?”

“I do-”

“You say soon but you never come home.” She wiped her face some more and it felt like a jagged knife being shoved into Lauren’s chest when she spoke again. “You don’t care about me…just like daddy.”

She placed her hands back on the fence, her fingers clinging to the chain links as she felt her heart plummet to the bottom of her stomach, tears forming in her own eyes, the guilt making her sick enough to throw up.

She looked at her daughter who refused to look back at her. And she felt like the worst person in the world for making her feel like that, like she didn’t matter to her, like she didn’t care about her or love her or want to come home to her.

It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten upset with her but it was the first time she ever compared her to her absent father. And Lauren couldn’t even come up with anything to tell her to make it better. Because she knew nothing she said would fix the colossal mess she’d made over the years.

“You know that’s not true,” was all she could manage. But it wasn’t enough. She knew it would never be enough. And she didn’t blame her at all for feeling the way she did. “Look, I promise I’ll talk to your uncle about your birthday-”

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” she repeated, raising her voice again, “I don’t want you to come. Just go away.”

“Kayla-”

“I hate you.”

Lauren froze at her daughter’s words. No matter how many times she had gotten upset at her, not once did she ever tell her that she hated her. And despite always fearing she would, she wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“Lauren?”

Her name being called grabbed her attention so fast her heart nearly stopped at the sound. She looked up to find her roommate staring at the pair of them in confusion and concern once she noticed the tear tracks staining the little girl’s cheeks.

“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath, barely even audible, but she stood up straight as the brunette approached them, thankfully alone. She knew her first instinct was to turn around and run, to get away as fast as possible but she was stuck, rooted to the ground like her shoes had been nailed down.

“Kayla, honey, why don’t you go inside and wash your face and then go back with everyone else,” she told her gently before a thought came to her. “Or you can go sit in the classroom for the rest of recess if you don’t want to play anymore. I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” she offered and the child nodded her head wordlessly, wiping her eyes once more before heading towards the building without so much as even a glance at her mother. Camila took a moment to look around the school yard before turning back to her roommate with an expression she couldn’t read even if her focus wasn’t on the her daughter’s retreating form. “Lauren, you need to leave.”

“Camila…” she started, unsure of where she was even going with it. All she knew was she fucked up so badly and all she ever did was fuck up so badly and she didn’t know how to stop fucking up so fucking badly. “I’m sorry.” So she apologized.

“Look, I don’t know what just happened but the last thing I need is a scene so you really need to leave before someone else comes out here,” she told her but the green eyed girl shook her head stubbornly, ignoring her every word, knowing full well that if someone else did actually come out she was going to be royally screwed.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve fucked up so much. But I'm so fucking sorry.” And though her words were shaky and terribly late she said them through trembling lips, wishing she could take back every horrible thing she’d ever done. She wished she could stop hurting the people she cared about.

“We can’t do this right now, not here. You need to leave.”

“But Camila-”

“Lauren, please,” she stressed desperately. And she could see in her eyes, she was serious. “Don’t make me call security.”

She looked behind her again, with Lauren’s eyes following, and saw Mrs. Scott coming outside—probably to see why one of her students had come back inside in tears. And Lauren knew Camila was right. She needed to leave or else this was going to end badly.

With a heavy heart and all the regret in the world she sighed, swallowing hard as she held her tongue and turned around to head back to her car.

It wasn’t rare that she could actually feel her entire life falling apart because when she thought about it, it had been in pieces for such a long time. And she wasn’t sure it was even possible to put it back together anymore. It seemed like the more she tried the more it fell apart, breaking further into tinier and tinier pieces.

She sat in her car, far away from the school, hitting the steering wheel, screaming every curse word in her vocabulary as she cried; every tear stinging her eyes, burning her skin, her palms throbbing and throbbing.

It felt like ages before she felt composed enough to drive herself home. It felt like ages while she waited, like a puppy does for its human, for Camila to come home from work.

She knew it was pointless. She knew it was dumb to believe she would actually come home. She hadn’t come home since she left that night and Lauren still somehow waited with stupid hope that she would walk through the door.

She called her a dozen times, a hundred times, a million times. No answer. No answer. No answer. There was never any answer.

She felt on edge, anxious, staring at her phone, staring at the door. She was up, pacing, pacing. She was on the fire escape, smoking one cigarette after the other, each one dangling shakily between her fingers. The apartment stayed silent. The door never opened.

She stormed out of the place, feeling herself going insane in the silence. She zipped up her jacket and took the stairs down instead of the elevator and sighed deeply when she was finally met with the cool air of the night. And with her hands in her pockets she wandered down the street, gripping her phone still hoping it would ring.

It was a while before she dialed her number again, resting her elbows against the bar counter at Brady’s. It rang. It rang. It rang. And it didn’t last as long. Because Camila’s voice was soon on the other end of the line, quiet and reserved—curious but cautious.

“You’re not going to stop calling, are you?” she asked softly. She sounded tired and Lauren was just too surprised that she actually picked up to say anything back. “Lauren? You there?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m here,” she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry…I…I didn’t think you’d actually pick up. I’m not really sure what to say.”

“Then why’d you even call?”

“Because…” she took a breath, running her hand through her hair nervously, swallowing her pride once again, “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Lauren…” She sighed, hearing the slur in her voice and the loud noises from wherever the girl was. And it didn’t take much to come to the conclusion she did. “You’re drunk.”

“Please don’t hang up,” she said in a rush as she got up from her seat and headed outside to hear her better. “I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have acted the way I did on Friday. But I didn’t expect all of that to…to come out so suddenly. I don’t know why I said all those things.” She paused and glanced around the street. There were some groups of people hanging around in front of the bar but she still felt so alone. “And I know you don’t believe me but…those pills you found…they weren’t mine.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? I asked you because I didn’t want to believe they were but you just closed up and pushed me away.”

“I don’t know, Camila. I…I saw the drugs and it was just…it was like I was looking through blinders, like I couldn’t even hear anything you were saying. It’s like a completely different person is inside my head and it fucking scares me…that…that might not ever go away. And…it’s fucked up,” she explained as Camila waited patiently on the other end of the call. “How am I ever supposed to have…a normal fucking life again? How am I supposed to have a relationship with my friends, my family, with anybody? I'm…such a huge fuck up, Camz.”

“So…what, you thought you’d be protecting yourself if you just pushed me away, protecting me? You want to just throw everything away before giving anything a chance? You act as if I don’t know these things about you, Lauren. One minute I think we’re heading in the right direction and the next you completely turn around and you act like this gigantic asshole that couldn’t give a shit about anything or anyone but herself. And it’s exhausting trying to keep up with you especially when you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me when that’s literally all I ever asked from you.”

“I know. I wish…I wish I had an excuse. But there’s no point. It’s all on me and I…I don’t know what to do to fix any of this.”

“Are you going to try to tell me you didn’t actually take my guitar either?” she asked, not even bothering to cover the sarcastic tone lacing her words. And Lauren could hear the disappointment without even having to see it on her face. She bit her lip and shut her eyes, hoping that it would somehow make things better when she opened them again. But she knew it was pointless.

“No…I did.”

It was silent for a moment and Lauren waited with her phone pressed so hard against her ear she wondered if Camila could hear the blood rushing, pounding, as she held her breath with no response from the other girl. And with every passing second she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Right…” she finally said, something off about her voice, and Lauren felt the corners of her eyes burning.

“Camila, please, I’m-”

“You’re sorry,” she finished for her, sounding more defeated than angry, which threw her off a bit. She was expecting…something else entirely. “You’re always sorry, Lauren.”

“I wanted to tell you…or—or at least make it up to you somehow. But…I knew I couldn’t without telling you that it was me and I knew—I knew—how upset you were about it. And I felt terrible, even then.”

“Even then,” she repeated tiredly, with no emotion. “Is that supposed to change things?”

“No, I know it doesn’t. Nothing’s going to change that. But it’s been bothering me ever since…because I know that no matter what, whenever I did tell you…that was going to be it. I know I don’t say it enough—at all—but I do care about you. I do. I was in such a bad place when I did what I did. You have to believe that I was…I was a completely different person. It was like, a week and a half into meeting you. You could’ve been anybody. You didn’t mean anything to me then. But fuck, Camila…” she stopped and took a breath, fearing her words were getting jumbled. And all she wanted was for her to believe her next words. “You mean something to me now.”

“Lauren…” she sighed, “get in a cab and go home. Get some sleep.”

“What? Brady’s isn’t even that far from the apartment.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“I’m fine.”

It was silent again. Lauren was sure she could hear her uneven breathing even though Camila gave no indication she was even still on the line with her anymore. She wouldn’t blame her for hanging up. She was tired of always giving excuses when it all came down to her anyway.

And Camila wanted to hang up. There was a big part of her telling her to just stand her ground and not be a pushover like she always was with people. She wanted to say something to maybe hurt her because she shouldn’t be the only one who gets to do it.

“I know it doesn’t matter anymore,” she continued when she was only met with the prolonged silence, “but I really am sorry for what I did. And for anything else. Okay? You don’t deserve it.”

Lauren waited again for a response as the cool night breeze blew past her hair. She ran her hand through it, feeling more anxious as the seconds passed with nothing but more silence from the other girl. She pulled her phone back and saw that she was still on the line.

“I’m so…mad at you,” she said calmly but firmly. “And I’m so mad at myself,” she continued, and Lauren heard her take in a low, shaky breath. She cursed herself, imagining the look on her face, tears held back. A few months ago she wouldn’t have even gave it a second thought, upsetting anybody even a little bit. But Camila wasn’t just anybody anymore. “I’m mad that I keep giving you the benefit of the doubt just for you to never change. I’m mad that I care so much, that I want you to be better…for your sake, for your family. I’m mad that I…that I can’t help the way I feel about you…even when I have every right to hate you.”

“You do. Of course you,” she agreed quickly, knowing everything she was saying was true. And she hated herself for letting her down time and time again when all she ever wanted was to help her.

“But I don’t,” she said suddenly, surprising the green eyed girl. “I wanted to—I want to—and I know I should. But I can’t bring myself to and it’s not fair.” She sighed, feeling more frustrated than anything else. She knew staying with Dinah was always an option but she couldn’t stay there forever. And as much as she didn’t want to deal with it, she knew she had to come back to the apartment eventually. And she couldn’t deny her feelings for the girl any more than she could deny her disappointment. “I don’t know what to do, Lauren.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, unsure of what else would even make a difference at that point.

“I know you are. Or at least I want to believe you are.”

“I’ll…I’ll find a way to make things better,” she said, her words still slurring together a bit. “I’ll fix this somehow. I’m gonna make it better,” she assured her. And Camila had a feeling she wasn’t just referring to the two of them. The whole situation with her daughter wasn’t lost on her and she knew she was still hurting from that as well, whatever it was. “Will you come back?”

“Lauren…just…please,” she wasn’t sure what she was asking of the girl but she knew that going home and facing her again didn’t seem like a good idea that night. She knew she was drunk and she wasn’t sure they would even get anywhere and she wasn’t in the mood to argue. She was just about to explain that she needed some time before she could do that but the sudden dead silence was concerning and she pulled her phone back to see that she had hung up.

She groaned loudly, throwing her phone against the bed before rubbing her eyes roughly. She thought about texting her but didn’t even know what she would say so she figured she’d let the girl sober up and hopefully they could come back to the conversation at a better time.

Camila didn’t hear back from Lauren the rest of the night.

She texted her despite herself, saying she hoped she got home okay. But the blue text bubble turned green when it sent and she wasn’t met with a response. She didn’t think much of it and decided to just let the girl be.

She went about the next day as normal, not missing that a certain raven haired roommate of hers was absent from their morning psychology lecture. She assumed she was just hungover and slept through it; it wouldn’t have been the first time.

She busied herself with school and guitar lessons in the evening at the record store followed by homework when she got back to Dinah’s. It wasn’t until she was woken up in the middle of the night by her phone ringing beside her head that she allowed herself to think about her whole Lauren situation.

“Hello?” she said groggily, her voice slightly raspy from sleep. She forced herself out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen to not bother anybody. It was a while before there was a response on the other end.

“Camila.”

“Ally?” she questioned in confusion, checking the caller ID to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. And sure enough, the petite Latina’s name was displayed in the bright light.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she said right away, hearing the sleepiness in her voice. “I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

“It’s about Lauren.”

“What about Lauren?” she barely got out through her yawn, She was met with more silence and she didn’t know what to make of it. “Ally? Hello?” she tried again but didn’t receive an answer. Her silence concerned her and she felt herself wake up a bit more as she waited. “Is everything alright?” It was quiet for a few more seconds before she heard some noise in the background. “Where are you?”

“The hospital.”

* * * *

a/n: sorry if it’s shorter than usual; I’ll try to get started on the next one soon

as always, thanks for reading. aside from a couple, the comments/feedback has been really nice so i appreciate that.

(this story can also be read on my wattpad account, username: manhattanProject)

-lex

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #submission #Blame It On Bad Luck

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sophiemoreaux-blog · 7 years

Photo

practice challenge one — first date

I decided I didn’t like the palace pretty quickly. The marble floors were just a little too smooth, the maids and butlers a little too quiet. I didn’t know how to spend my time. The Women’s Room was cramped with so many of us and held a significant amount of tension at any given moment. But I was in there most of the time anyway. I’d met some girls that I liked, and it wasn’t too terrible if I kept to them and myself, but Alexandra traipsed around like a peacock, constantly leaving drama in her wake.

At some point, I figured that it’d be easier to get on her good side. She looked like a girl who wasn’t afraid to throw a few punches to get what she wanted, but I couldn’t imagine that she’d stay in the Selection long. Not that I thought I would either. I approached her one day in the Women’s Room, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at every dreadfully ignorant thing she said as we walked towards the library.

She was beautiful, I’d give her that, and her personality was sharp as a dagger, but I had about as much interest in talking to her, pro-caste and anti-feminist as she was, as I had in talking to a poisonous snake. Alexandra continued to try and prove that she had superior wit, which she didn’t, and challenged essentially everything I did. Pretty soon, I lost the motivation to continue talking to her. We could begrudgingly tolerate each other, and that was what mattered.

A couple of days passed and the whole palace was buzzing with the excitement of our first dates. The other girls were constantly whispering to one another, making sure not to give their plans away lest they be copied. I painted my nails in the corner of the room instead. A couple girls came up to me and asked if I was nervous, like Aileen, who I’d met my first day at the palace during our makeovers when we’d reached for the same mirror. I told all of them that I was just going to wait and see what happened, it wasn’t a big deal. None of them believed me.

When my time came, Haiden came and knocked at my door. When I opened it, he was rubbing his palms against his pants.

“Hello, Lady Sophie, are you ready for your interview?” His eyes widened a little bit before he corrected himself. “Or date, I guess.” He laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. I smiled at him reassuringly.

“Ready as I can be.”

“So, um, where would you like to go?” His voice wavered a bit. I remembered from our interview that he sometimes stumbled over words, but I couldn’t quite tell if it was a nervous thing or just a Haiden thing. I explained my plan to him, an easy night with ice cream and movies I’d brought from home.

“Guess it’s not the most interesting first date but we’re confined to this glorified coffin, so I figured it would suffice.”

“U-uh, yeah sure, sounds great! Movie theater okay or do you have somewhere else in mind?” I smiled at him again.

“Movie theater sounds great.”

Haiden offered his arm to me and I took it, even though the gesture felt weird and oddly formal.

“So, uh, tell me more about yourself.” I decided that all the uh’s and um’s were endearing.

“Well, you know I’m from Tammins, and that generally makes up most of my life. I hike a lot, with friends, family, alone.” I paused and shrugged. “Whenever it’s not too cold to be outside I normally am. I guess that’s something nice about Angeles, it’s always warm here, or at least some degree of it.”

“Are you close with your family?”

“Yeah, very. I have a little brother, he’s fourteen, and then my parents are still together. We spend a lot of time together, but a little less now that Jonas and I are growing up a bit.” I missed them. It was too hard to write letters daily, but I wanted to know everything that was going on back home.

I found it surprisingly easy and not as awkward as I would have thought to talk to Haiden. I told him about my love of theatre and more about my family, and he listened carefully. Some part of me had a feeling that he was memorizing what I’d said. He told me that his favorite ice cream flavor was black licorice, which I was quick to criticize (how can anyone like black licorice?). It was easier than I thought.

“Tell me a secret, Lady Sophie.” I raised my eyebrows, surprised at his sudden rush of confidence. The prince wasn’t exactly awkward, but he certainly wasn’t as charismatic as he could’ve been, and hadn’t really asked me anything personal until then.

“A secret?” I said, pausing slightly to study his face. “I thought I told you to just call me Sophie.”

“Yes, a secret. And I don’t know, ‘Lady’ suits you.” I snorted and pulled my eyes away from his.

“Yeah, okay.” We were quiet for a second, the soft muttering of the movie playing behind us as I thought of something to say to the young prince. “I guess a secret is that I don’t really consider this a date.”

“Hm,” he mumbled, “interesting. Reason?”

“I don’t do the whole date first, friends later thing. Everyone I’ve ever liked has ben my friend first and I don’t really think that’s going to change just because I’m here,” I said softly. My mind flashed back to Tammins; to late night drives up mountain roads and sunny afternoons with ice cream in the park. I did my best to hide my blush, lest he think it was because of him.

“Fair enough. How about we don’t call this a date then… How about a friendly session of movie-watching and testing the waters.” He sounded so genuine that it was difficult to fight the urge to look at him. I smiled to myself.

“Delightful.”

I sensed another surge of boldness from the prince, and he leaned a little closer to me.

“Ask me something, my lady,” his voice was lower than I thought it would be before I came to the palace, and the timbre of it was surprisingly attractive.

“Will you stop calling me that?” I groaned a little. “Please,” I added as an afterthought.

“Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to him.

“Tell me something. I told you a secret, now you tell me one.”

“Alright. I like spending time on the roof,” he said. It came off his tongue so quickly it was like he knew what I was going to say to him.

“Why the roof?”

“It’s comforting.”

“It’s high,” I said, “How is that comforting?”

“So are the mountains,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s different.”

“How so? Doesn’t seem different to me.” Of course a boy from the city wouldn’t be able to see the difference between mountains and a roof.

“I mean, when you’re hiking, you’re rarely able to fall completely off the mountain.” Unless a cliff was involved, but that was an entirely different story.

“I’ve never fallen off the roof, it’s completely safe.”

“I’m gonna have to respectfully disagree with you.” Suddenly, an image of my dad came to mind, of him standing at the roof of our house, hanging lights for Christmas. He had been so scared that he’d made Jonas put them up instead. I smiled at the thought.

“Well, as long as it’s respectfully…” Haiden laughed. I was started by the sound. It was nothing like his awkward placeholder from earlier. This laugh was warm and rich and comforting. It reminded me of Jada’s laugh, one you could listen to for hours. I smiled again. “Haven’t you ever done risky stuff?”

I chuckled to myself a little.

“I’ve done plenty of risky stuff. Just not on top of tall buildings. I wouldn’t call night hikes safe, especially when I go on them alone. It’s a bad habit my mother is trying to break me of. If you’re looking for rebellious: last summer, I snuck out most night to go to the various parties, stole the family car to get there, et cetera.”

“Night hikes. Sounds dangerous. You’re not at all afraid of them?”

“Depends on where I’m going, but mostly it’s just cool. My favorite is getting up to the top of a pass or something right as the sun begins to rise. Then you can watch it, the a nap, and head back down.”

“I could never do that,” he said. I wanted to tell him that he definitely could, but he kept talking. “As for stealing the family car… my parents should be more thankful that they never caught me getting into trouble.”

“They never caught you. So you do get into trouble?” I smirked, amused at the thought of this seemingly-perfect prince doing something wrong. It seemed almost impossible.

“Of course I do, I’m not completely boring.” I laughed then, and Haiden joined in.

“What about you,” he said, after the excitement had died down, “Have you lied to me yet?”

“Probably,” I mumbled. I hadn’t lied about anything, just withheld information. He didn’t respond to that.

“Are you an impatient person, Miss Moreaux?” My last name sounded delicate on his lips.

“Most definitely.”

“Me too, though you’d never guess it if you knew me. Do you want to be here, Miss Moreaux?” He asked it softly.

“Here in the palace? Or here, siting in this movie theatre, with you?”

“Either one.”

“Haven’t decided yet on the palace. But it turns out you’re not terrible company. How about you, Your Highness?”

Haiden slumped back in his chair, his head thrown back a little, looking at the ceiling of the dark theater.

“I’m rather enjoying your company, but not in the palace.” I didn’t have a chance to respond before he said, “Can I tell you a secret, Miss Moreaux?”

Even though the French on his tongue sounded divine, I still said, “If you stick to calling me just Sophie.”

“Alright, Miss Sophie,” he said. “I am… slightly kinda drunk right now. But shh.” He put his finger to his lips. A brief flare of anger flashed through me.

“And you let me sit here sober? Some friend,” I joked. He leaned closer to me and I could feel the warmth coming off of his skin. “So have you been trashed for all your dates or did you get all dolled up just for me?”

“I’m not trashed,” he protested. “And not every one. The last two, yes. I’m a nervous guy, don’t judge me.” I was judging him.

“Why are you so nervous in the first place?”

“There are so many girls here I haven't met. I'm so asocial, I'm telling you. I'm supposed to find a wife out of all of you, and I'm not a three whole days into it and I'm already have a mental breakdown. You must think something’s wrong with me, God.”

“Don’t think about it like there’s so much left to do; take it one girl at a time.”

“Easier said than done.” He sighed. “So, um, wow that was a mood-killer.”

“Look, just forget about everyone else in this palace. Your dad, your sisters, the maids and butlers, the other girls. It’s just you and me right now, right? Just think about that.”

“Okay, you and me. Me and Miss Sophie Moreaux from Tammins.” I really did like the way he said that. “You have a nice name. Is it French?”

“Yeah. My grandpa is from France.”

“How lovely. My family is from France, too.” We all knew that. He was quiet for a second. “I want to know more about you. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“What do you want to know?” He thought for a second.

“Have you ever punched someone?”

“No one other than my brother.”

He hummed.

“Ever played spin the bottle?”

“Multiple times.”

“Party girl, Miss Sophie?”

“Little bit,” I said. I didn’t tell him that only middle schoolers played spin the bottle anymore.

“Interesting. Ever done gymnastics?”

“When I was three. I wasn’t very good, so I quit. I don’t like being bad at things.”

“I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was four. I also tried my hand at ballet, but that didn’t happen.”

“Flexible, huh?” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

“I suppose so, yeah.” Poor, innocent Prince Haiden. “Tell me something you’ve given up on. Besides gymnastics,” he added.

“Various relationships, I gave up on ballet, too. Myself a couple of times, if you want to get really deep.”

“We can talk about deep stuff later as much as I love it. Tell me abut an embarrassing moment?” I was quiet for a minute, thinking of the perfect story to tell him.

“When I was eight, my family had stopped at this tiny little restaurant on the side of the road on our way home from skiing. They have the best shakes. Anyway, it was totally packed in there. I'd just been in the car for a while so I went into the bathroom, and as I'm washing my hands, I started singing. Just for fun, some song that was stuck in my head. But I walked out of the bathroom and this family right in front of me starts clapping. Everyone had heard me singing. It was awful.”

Haiden laughed again, and I found myself being a little unhappy when he stopped.

“Did you sing well?”

“My mom tells me it was beautiful but I highly doubt it,” I said with a laugh. “Can I tell you something?”

“U-uh if you want,” he mumbled, falling over each word as if they were an uneven crack in the sidewalk.

“I think this movie ended about an hour ago.” I’d noticed it a while ago, but I was enjoying talking to the prince so much that I hadn’t mentioned anything. I was a little worried he’d be angry with me, but instead he laughed.

“I was about to say. This is the end then, huh? I’ve had an interesting time.”

I smiled at him.

“You’ve been a pleasant surprise, Your Highness.”

“You as well, Miss Sophie. Have a wonderful day.” I rolled my eyes at the name. I started to stand and go, but turned back to him.

“One more question before I go?” He nodded. “Will you tell me when you know? If I'm not the one who's going to win this thing, I don't want you to keep stringing me along. Whenever you decide we won't work out, just let me know. I don’t want to be dragged around in the dirt again.”

Haiden’s voice, and face, turned serious and he looked straight into my eyes.

“I swear on my crown, Miss Moreaux, that I will tell you as soon as I know we won’t work out.” I bid him farewell and left to return to my room. The second I got there, I stuffed my face into my pillow and screamed.

#mine #lol shitty edit #and this wasn't edited at all so im so sorry if it sucks #challenge #challenge 1 #first date #selectionoc #it was getting a lil long so i'm gonna do another fic that isn't a part of the challenge but will have extra stuff in it #i think #anywho

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wisewordsfromthenotso-blog · 7 years

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Joe

I FOUND ALL OF IT!! Here it is, everything I have so far. Keep in mind it is only a very very rough draft, but I like it and I’d love opinions and feedback, only way to improve. right?

> Chapter 1: Joe

> I remember the day it started. I had recently lost my latest wife due to… Unfortunate circumstances. The feeling of losing a spouse, its incomparable. The cry, it comes from the soul. It drains your energy and leaves you as nothing but a mere shell, wallowing in grief and self-pity. You feel as if you cannot go on, as if love has passed on with the one who held your heart for so long. Then… you realize, you are still alive. Your blood still flows, your chest still rises, your heart still beats. You realize you have to go on, and that’s exactly what I did. > A few weeks had passed, and I had just gotten back into my normal routine. The office accepted me back with open arms. I loved getting back into it, all the different smells and sounds; the horrendous coffee, the over-kill perfume, the easy rock I always said I hated, but secretly enjoyed a great deal. > One break, I decided to step out of my norm and go out for lunch. The excitement was a bit much for me, but I needed the thrill, after what I just went through. Well I was at the local bistro, nothing too fancy, just a little family owned shop, when I saw her. Her curly, bouncy hair, hour glass build and dark, chocolatey skin was enough to send any man for their wallet. She had this air about her, she was so enticing, she could have any man she desired and you could tell she knew that. Her eyes were this smooth brown, there is nothing I can really compare them to, they stand alone in their beauty. Her lips, as plump and juicy as her round, firm behind. They were coloured a slight pink, I think you would call it peach, but maybe a little lighter. Anyway, they complemented her skin colour perfectly. But I was too shy to approach her. Surely, she wasn’t interested in me. That was, until she looked over at me with a look I haven’t seen since… Well, needless to say, I went to say hello. > “H-hello.” I could barely get the word out. > Tap Tap Tap > “Hello.” Her response skated towards my ears. > I had no response. I stood there, awkward as a school boy. > “Roast beef on rye.” > “Huh?” Her voice caught me off guard. It was sweet this time, like the early morning call of the first robbin. > Tap Tap Tap > “Roast beef on rye. Its the best on the menu. Sorry, you looked confused. I’m Nancy. You are?” > “I’m Joseph, but people call me Joe. Your beauty really is exceptional.“ > I felt that to be kind of strong, but with beauty such as this, no expense should be spared. > Tap Tap Tap > “Oh. Thank you. Your not too bad yourself.” Her blush gave her away, although she was as cool as ever. > “You know Nancy, I have to get back to work, but if you’d like to give me your number, maybe we can arrange a date?” The sentence felt awkward on my tongue. > Tap Tap Tap > “I’d like that. I’ll be looking forward to it.” > She said that with a smile. It looked as if she was genuine, and God knows I was praying that she was. > “Oh Joe, I noticed, you tap your fingers in a weird way. Like not in sequence. Its quirky, I like it.” > She was referring to the order in which I tap my fingers, index, ring, middle. In threes. It has to be threes. Its a habit. > “Its a habit. I developed it as a child, haven’t seen a reason to quit, not like I could anyway. Well it was nice meeting you, but I really must get going, good day Nancy.” > “O..k good day Joe.” > She giggled afterward, I still don’t know if she thought it was because my speech is funny or, what’s that word she used, Ah, quirky. What an odd word. > Anyway, I headed back to work, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get Nancy out of my head. It was like she burrowed her way into my thoughts and took over my consciousness. Such a feeling is rare, some would call it love at first sight. Some infatuation. I call it potential. > The rest of the next half hour, I tried my best to work, but I found it near impossible. The best option for me was to go home, take a nice, warm shower and muster up the courage to call Nancy. I can still smell her as the name enters my head, cinnamon and vanilla. She smelled like mothers on a saturday morning, back when I was a boy. It was a comforting smell. So I threw on my coat and headed out the door. Thankfully the door was open, as they make me anxious. Its an odd phobia, but the door must have a knob. And the knob must be turned three times. Always three. Well I guess it’s more of a compulsion, than a phobia. > I got home around 2, the mid day traffic was heavier than usual. I set my bath water, and sat by the phone, with nancy’s number in hand. It had only been about 2 months since the… Burial of my late wife, but I think if she knew how I felt about nancy, she’d want me to snatch her up the first chance I got. She was always so understanding. > I went to take my bath, and I looked in the mirror but I remember, the man in the mirror was not me. I mean he looked like me, but he wasn’t me. He was much more rigid. He had this look on his face as if to say that he was better than me. Like I was insignificant, worthless. He looked like he felt insulted that I would even look in his direction. But like I said, he shared my facial features. Like he was my other side. I felt like, if he wished, we could speak to each other as if he was another being entirely. It was a moment of self evaluation, and a temporary moment of self loathing, for something I don’t quite remember. That trance almost made me flood my bathroom, but luckily I came to quick enough. A nice hot bath was exactly what I needed, and as I lowered myself into the steamy bliss, all of my problems and insecurities seemed to boil away, into the suds, and I started to drift… >

> Chapter 2: Nancy

> I took my lunch break around 12. I went to my favourite little sandwich place, they made the best roast beef sandwiches. I remember, I was placing my order, when this guy came in. He was about maybe 6 foot, with the cutest head of dirty blonde hair. His build was broad, but he wasn’t bursting out of his shirt, he wasn’t even muscular to tell the truth. I find that to be a little overrated. Have you ever felt a muscle, they’re like rocks. No, I enjoy a little cushion. > Anyway, I noticed him staring at me, and I could tell that he was shy, which was the cutest thing ever. Most of they guys I talked to would walk right up to me and spit out some cheesy pick up line, like they were godsends and I had to fall for them. But this guy was different. He looked kind of intimidated, but nonetheless he came over and said hello. > “H-hello.” > “Hello." > I tried to sound cold and uncaring. As nice as this guy looked, I didn’t want to give the same impression that I apparently gave all those other guys. But I could see how nervous he was so I lightened up a little. > "Roast beef on rye.” > “Huh?” > “Roast beef on rye. Its the best on the menu. Sorry, you looked confused. I’m Nancy. You are?” > “I’m Joseph, but people call me Joe. Your beauty really is exceptional.” > Oh. I blushed when he said that. I tried to be cool but I could tell he noticed I was flustered. > Tap Tap Tap > “Oh. Thank you. Your not too bad yourself." > "You know Nancy, I have to get back to work, but if you’d like to give me your number, maybe we can arrange a date?" > Tap Tap Tap > "I’d like that. I’ll be looking forward to it.” > He kept on doing that. Seemingly on a schedule. And in such an odd way, it was cute. > “Oh Joe, I noticed, you tap your fingers in a weird way. Like not in sequence. Its quirky, I like it.” > “Its a habit. I developed it as a child, haven’t seen a reason to quit, not like I could anyway. Well it was nice meeting you, but I really must get going, good day Nancy.” > “O..k good day Joe.” > I thought that he was cute. He had a weird way of talking but that wasn’t a bad thing. He was polite and sweet. Living in Rhode Island, you wouldn’t usually meet guys with at the very least, the decency to take the time to portray some sort of sincere kindness or care. And in the end they all end up the same, intolerable. But I wasn’t getting that from joe. He seemed to sincerely think that I was that stunning. He was actually afraid to approach me. I though maybe this time I would listen to myself and give him a chance > My lunch break ended, and I went back to my mundane job. Dealing with customers and taking orders. The hours seemed to drag on, the usual things that usually swallow my time and bring me adequate escape from the everyday boredoms of life, didn’t seem too interesting today. All I could think about was the man that I met today. It’s funny how things go, you go out to procure a sandwich and you accidentally catch a man. And he was all I could think about. Such a brief moment we shared, but he had this air about him. He had this look on his face, it looked like he had lived. He dressed like he worked at j.p. Morgan but underneath his shy, awkward exterior, I could see something thriving. A sense of fulfilment, brought on only by attacking life and experiencing the stories of others first hand. > And my biggest accomplishment was obtaining my first mortgage. I needed to dig deeper into this enigma. I just hoped that he would call that evening > > I got home around 6. I remember worrying. I thought maybe i might of scared him off with how forward I was. He seemed so timid. He was cute though. A little bit weird but cute nonetheless. I checked the machine but there were no messages from him, so I went to run a bath and turn on my shows. > As I was leaving the kitchen, I noticed something moving in the window. There was this shadowy figure, peeping in, needless to say i was terrified but i wasn’t going to let him intimidate me in my own home, so I went to check it out. I inched my way over to the counter and grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife I could find, one of those big cleavers you use to cut chicken, but as I got closer, whoever was out there ran, and disappeared from my view. I called 911 and they said to call back if I saw him again. Real useful. They always want to offer help right when it’s too late. Although, they saud they’d send a squad car to check it out. But seeing as I couldn’t do anything else, I took my big knife, and headed upstairs. I had this sick feeling in my stomach, and I remember all I was saying to myself was please don’t let that be Joe, but I came out the shower and 10 minutes later, Joe called. > “Hey Nance. Sorry for calling so late, I came home and knocked right out. How was your day?” > He was already calling me Nance, like he had known me for years. It was cute. > “Fine, thanks. It turned pretty great after lunch.” > I was giggling like a teenager. I was losing my head for this guy and I barely knew him. He just had this magnetism to him. I couldn’t resist. > “Yea? Anything special happen?” > “Nothin’ much, I met this cute guy, he seems really sweet. I’m gonna marry him one day.” > “Oh. Um Nance…” > “Relax! I was only kidding.” > He really was the most adorable mix between awkward and innocent. And just a bit of sweetness. It was fun making him squirm, I could hear him blush over the phone. > “Whew, you had me worried for a bit there. So how do you feel about dinner, tomorrow night?” > “With me? Ok sure, pick me up at 8!” > Its been so long since I’d actually been on a date, I almost forgot about the peeper. > “Oh, Joe, there was some creepy guy outside my window today. Just staring in. I’m thinking about getting protection, if you know what I mean.” > A lot of the women in my neighbourhood carried a gun. Everyday on the news, there were stories of women being raped and kidnapped and murdered, it was enough to drive a woman insane. I remember about 2-3 months ago, this woman was kidnapped right out of her kitchen, she was held in the woods for like 4 days and was murdered. And that wasn’t the first girl that guy hurt, they called him the back door killer, supposedly that was his 5, maybe 6th victim. But the police never confirmed that, it was a rumour amongst us gals. But the psycho was never caught so we all take it as complete truth. Can’t be too safe. > “If anyone tries to hurt you, you call the police, then you call me. I’ll be there.” > Really? I had just met him and he was already defending me. This had to be too good to be true. I had this tiny tinge of fear, just because I had no idea who this guy was. And also because I could feel my walls slipping. I was falling for him. Fast. > “Are you sure? It could be dangerous.” > “Nancy, you’re in some form of danger, its only right that I protect you, even if it means I’m putting myself in danger too. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” > Very chivalrous. He was a real gentleman. That’s really rare these days, so I was grateful that the one I was falling for was. We talked for a few more hours, until he fell asleep. I liked talking to Joe. He made me feel beautiful, like I mattered to someone. It was a long time, and it has been to this day, since someone has felt that way about me, or made me feel that way, as a matter of fact. Although it probably wouldn’t do them much good now. That night, Joe invaded my dreams. He was my prince, my hero, my knight. Any dream I had, he was the one to make it right. I don’t know, I sort of thought it was a sign, like he’s here to save me from this hum drum, run of the mill life I’ve been content with all this time. At the time, I thought I was falling in love. It certainly felt like it, but now I know, it was a childish infatuation. Love needs time to flower and blossom. The seed of a rose is planted but the rose doesn’t spring. It grows and forms, and evolves into its beauty over time. Love works along the same lines. It has to grow and develop. > I decided to go on the date with Joe, but take it slow. Get to know him. I mean I didn’t even know what he did for a living, much less. All I knew was that his name was Joseph, and people call him Joe, but oddly enough, that seemed to be enough for me. > My day was filled with the normal, boring things I always did, but for some reason, it felt like I was having fun. I think that brought me even closer to Joe, the fact that he was already improving my life and he hasn’t even made the effort yet. Every break I got, I was imagining our wedding, our children, our life and how great it would be. Then I realized I had to make it through this date first. And that’s when panic set in. I took the rest of the day off and went down Rivers Road, where all the cute dress and shoe shops are, and went to work. > I hadn’t even noticed that the sky had turned from a bright blue, to a dusty orange when I got Joe’s call. > “2 more hours.” The panic reached a new height, but I had to play cool. This was a great opportunity, I couldn’t blow it. > “Yup. You excited? Probably gonna be the best night of your life.” > Why did I say that? He probably expected something more than what he was getting. I mean I liked him but it was still the first date. > “No. The best night of my life followed the best day. When I met you, and we talked until we couldn’t anymore. It gave me a joy I haven’t experienced in a long time.” > Now either he was perfect, or he knew exactly what to say. Either way, I was in way too deep and I didn’t even know it. He could probably hear me blushing through the phone. > “I’m sorry if that was a tad strong, its just that, I have these feelings for you that I thought took years to develop. But your probably getting ready, so I’ll leave you to it. 2 hours then. Good day.” > “ Yes, good day.” > I could barely get it out. The way he said good day. So polite. 10 minutes passed as I thought to myself when I suddenly realized, I needed to get home to get ready. My last thought was, I hope he’s like this everyday. I never thought I would get married, but if he was this man all the time, I definitely could. >

> Chapter 3: ?

> Her beauty was unnatural. Nothing on earth radiated with such intensity, not the most majestic bird, nor the brightest rainbow, nor the star littered night sky. Her beauty was that of her own. And I had to have it. I saw her first in a bistro. This shabby little spot, owned by the most annoying family. I only went in because it was close and I had no choice, but I was happy I ever did. Her velvet skin, dark and silky. Her beautifully sculpted figure, shaped to the T. Her natural curls, made her seem as if God put her together himself, one piece at a time. I was about to talk to her when Joe, the most insecure, unnoticeable, uncharismatic guy you will ever meet, stepped up to her. Much to my surprise she actually liked him. That didn’t matter much tho, because moments before he stepped up to her, she gave me a certain look. That kind of look that tells you, even if I’m with him, its all about you. > From there I had to have her. I took the rest of the day off of work to focus on what I was gonna do to obtain her. I went home, and took a hot bath, got dressed and drove around for a while, to clear my head a bit. I saw her again around 5, I guess she was on her way home from work, so I followed her. After a quick stop at the gas station, we got to her house. I parked maybe 3 houses down and walked up to it. Such a nice house, decorated elegantly from the outside, with lilacs and daisys, and tulips. It was so beautiful, I could only imagine what the inside looked like. I had to know, so I walked up to the window and took a peek. It was better than I could have ever imagined. All I can say about it is, a house that looked like this could only belong to a woman of her stature and grace. I felt butterflies in my stomach. How I longed for that feeling. > I spent about 5 minutes outside her house just looking at her garden and her figurines, all so beautiful. By time the 5 minutes had passed, I realized, I had to get home. I don’t know why, but I had to. So I went back home, had a cup of warm milk and laid my head down. And that was all for the night. >

> Chapter 4: Joe

> I woke up in a groggy state on my mattress. It was odd, I didn’t remember climbing into bed but I overlooked it, I was probably exhausted. I took 2 minutes to clear my head but then I glanced at the clock. It was 6:30 and I was supposed to call Nancy. While I dialed the number, I remembered thinking, I hope she’s not too vexed, but when she answered the phone I heard more relief than anything. It was completely freeing, I felt better about whatever was haunting me, although, I haven’t the faintest idea what it was. > “Hey Nance. Sorry for calling so late, I came home and knocked right out. How was your day?” > “Fine, thanks. It turned pretty great after lunch.” > That left a warm tickle in my stomach, assuming she was talking about me, of course. > “Nothin’ much, I met this cute guy, he seems really sweet. I’m gonna marry him one day.” > I don’t know how I felt about this. On the one hand, I was very welcome to the idea of someone like Nancy to love and cherishd, but I had this slight tinge, this feeling that I wasn’t good enough for her to devote her life too. > “Oh. Um Nance…” > “Relax! I was only kidding.” > I must admit, my stomach dropped when she said this, but I had to play it off. I didn’t want to look desperate. > “Whew, you had me worried for a bit there. So how do you feel about dinner, tomorrow night?” > “With me? Ok sure, pick me up at 8!” > The best sentence I have ever heard. I was about to move on to another subject when she blurts this out: > “Oh, Joe, there was some creepy guy outside my window today. Just staring in. I’m thinking about getting protection, if you know what I mean.” > This resonated with me, I felt it to be personal. I don’t know why but I feel as if whoever did this wronged me as well. > “If anyone tries to hurt you, you call the police, then you call me. I’ll be there.” > Really? I just met her and I was willing to potentially put my life on the line for her. And I didn’t even think, it just came out. I knew what I felt was real then, or at least worth a test. It had to be. > “Are you sure? It could be dangerous.” > “Nancy, you’re in some form of danger, its only right that I put myself in it too. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?” > We talked for hours afterwards, she really is an odd and remarkable woman. For instance; I did not know that she enjoyed the rhines (whites) of the watermelon; that she saved a drowning infants life when she was 9; or even that her favourite colour was brown, an odd colour to pick as a favourite. After this conversation, however I felt like I knew her better than everyone. Not just by what she told me, but by her tones, her changes in speech, her little momentary pauses. She was alive with such childhood innocence, it was adorable. Her purity was so much, that I felt I needed her in my life to offset some force, which weighed down my soul and my dreams. Or should I more accurately call them nightmares, as they haunt me throughout the night. But not that night, no, my subconscious was enthralled with Nancy that night. Not a moment passed without her blinding beauty, radiating with such warmth and intensity, I feared that I would never see winter again. > The next day was devoted to getting ready. First I bought a fresh suit and took it to the tailors. I would have wore one I already had, but I had worn all of them 3 times already. From there I went to my barber, had him give it a little trim. I usually don’t get my haircut unless its on the designated day, the 15th of every month, but Nancy warranted a little advancement. I then took my shoes to the buffer, my car to the cleaner and I picked up the flowers and the corsage, all on schedule. By time 6 reached I was ready for the call, as I knew Nancy would be busy and forget our date. > The phone rang a few times and a hasty nancy answered soon after. > “2 more hours." > "Yup. You excited? Probably gonna be the best night of your life.” > I started sweating profusely here. I didn’t think she was so interested in me. > “No. The best night of my life followed the best day. When I met you, and we talked until we couldn’t anymore. It gave me a joy I haven’t experienced in a long time.” > I never really tried to be so forward with Nancy, but she was entrancing. My heart felt something and my mind put it to words. I had no control. > “I’m sorry if that was a tad strong, its just that, I have these feelings for you that I thought took years to develop. But your probably getting ready, so I’ll leave you to it. 2 hours then. Good day.” > “ Yes, good day.” > She sounded relieved. I think she did forget after all but it was alright. She was to be mine and I was determined to make it happen. >

> Chapter 5: Nancy

> Joe pulled up as I finished piecing together my outfit. I wanted so much for him to keep with the certain interest he had shown in me. I know it was foolish but I felt like he was putting me on this pedestal and I had to meet his standards. I already knew his standards were set at my most natural but I felt that if I accentuated with accessories and a bit of make up, I’d be that much better. I also knew, in the back of my mind, that he wouldn’t care for all of this, but it was second nature for me, you have a date, you get done up. > Well Joe pulled up and stepped out looking like something out of a GQ magazine. His tux, pressed to perfection, not a hair out of place, looking like he had all his features touched up. I hadn’t realized it, but I had walked right into his arms, and we were sharing our first embrace. It was then that I noticed those eyes, the most beautiful, bright, loving blue eyes I had ever seen. I must admit, reflecting back on it, I fell in love with those eyes, before I fell in love with Joe. They towed you in, like a whirlpool, once I looked, I didn’t look away until Joe stole my attention. > “Reservations at 8:30, we musn’t be late. Grab your coat and let’s head out.” > I hadn’t been on a date in a while so I was extremely nervous, especially because it was Joe. He wasn’t ordinary in the least, although his job and his regular clothes would tell you different. He was sweet and genuine and if not, he was the best sweet talker I ever met, so needless to say, this date would be far from ordinary. > We started with a wonderful dinner at this nice little armenian place. The food was exceptional, considering I had no idea there was such a thing as armenian food. But this was just the tip of the evening. From there we did what I thought to be cruising for about two hours, just talking and getting closer, and I remember asking several times, where we’re going, but all Joe would say was “its not where we’re going, but the company you keep on the journey.” but as midnight approached, I realized we did indeed have a destination. And that destination swept me off my feet, on the first date, Joe had planned a midnite hot air balloon ride over Toronto, where we could look up and see the stars, look down and see the beauty of the city, or look straight ahead and see a future. That is what I saw when I looked at Joe. I had never been one for monogamy or commitment but that was because I had never met a real man. All the guys I dated were boys, immature and petty. I was relieved to be with areal man, someone who I knew could take charge and would defend me, if need be. Joe wasn’t big but his heart was, he was brave, and that’s all I needed. I looked into Joe’s beautiful blue eyes, and saw not a first date date I had to get through, but a father and a husband. Someone reliable. > We touched down after about a half hour, and he drove me home. Something inside me said it was ok, so I invited him in for a nightcap. I never, in my whole entire life, thought I was going to be comfortable enough with someone to invite them in after the first date. But then again, I had given up hope of finding my “Joe.” I believed he did not exist, and even if he did, I would never find him. > Once inside, I could tell he was trying to be polite. He took his shoes off, asked if he could sit down, didn’t even try to bring up alcohol. Another thing I noticed, he didn’t try to kiss me goodnight before I invited him in. Most guys would go for that before we left the car. > I was so flustered when we got inside, I may as well have been drunk, after a few seconds of feigned control, I went right for Joe’s neck. I softly caressed his lips with mine, so I wouldn’t scare him off, but he got a little more intimate so I went full force. The passion in our kiss was unimaginable. I felt as if I was about to burst into flames, with this heat that was emanating from our bodies, along with the warmth I felt filling me. As we drew nearer to the stairs, less and less was covering our bodies. By time we reached the bedroom, our naked bodies were one, pressed up against each other so close, I could feel his heart beat. He wasted no time, throwing me onto the bed and pouncing. This vibrancy, I didn’t think he had it in him to be so aggressive and take charge. It was completely out of character. He kissed me from my neck down to my shoulders, sending shivers down my spine, as he worked his way over to my nipples. As he gently nibbled, I stroked him and tried to control myself. But he wouldn’t allow it. He threw me on my back, and spread my legs, just taking a second to admire the wax I had gotten done just in case. Then he dug in, his tongue gentle, yet firm, hugging and tugging my clit while his fingers found some sort of magic spot. I curled, alongside my toes as my body erupted in a messy, volcanic orgasm. > “That’s just the beginning. I haven’t even broken a sweat yet.” > By then, I was on the bed, quivering from the aftershock of that orgasm. But there was no rest, he flipped me over onto my stomach and put my face into the pillow. I could feel him running his head on the my lips, but all I could do was wait for him to stop teasing me, I understood that he had full control. > His first thrust forced a moan out of me. He was so slow and gentle at first, he was bigger than most. Slowly,though, he picked up the pace until I was screaming his name. For hours, we went through what seemed to be the entire kama sutra, he was relentless. On my back, on my head, handstands and 69’s. I orgasmed three more times before he pulled out and let go all over me. He ended the night with “Good work”, a slap on the ass, and a big kiss, attempting to be cocky, but he couldn’t pull it off. We cuddled for about an hour and I wanted to go again, but he had to go to get ready for work so I topped him off (if you know what I mean) and he left. > After that night, what I consider to be the perfect date, as no event has surpassed it yet, I can honestly say I was in love with Joe. I had work in a few hours so I got up and began getting dressed. Just thinking about what he did, gave me goose-bumps. I wanted so badly to call him over and never let him leave again. The joy of him coming is far overwhelmed by the sadness when we have to part. > As Joe invaded my mind, and burrowed himself even further, I realized i still had bills to pay, so I grabbed an apple and a water, and headed for the door. I could tell it was going to be a rough day, as I was having trouble even locking the door. I did notice, however, that there was a man parked in a white SUV across the street from my house. He seemed to be watching me, but I couldn’t quite tell, as he had face hidden in the shadows. I became unnerved, I rushed to get the door locked, and made sure it was locked, jbefore hustling over to my car. I sat in it for a bit after starting it, to see what the man would do, but he just sat there. Now I knew he was staring at me, because his focus shifted from the front door to my car. I was terrified, I rushed out of there as fast as I could and called the police. The police. So helpful. They said if I was in any immediate danger call them and they would come. And that they would send a cruiser to check up on me every hour. So he has an hour to cut my phone lines, break in and do whatever it is he plans to do. Joe would probably be of more help then the police. And he probably would have laid his life down, so I didn’t call him about it this time. > I arrived at work as distracted as I could be. My arrangements were all wrong (did I mention I used to be a florist? I owned my own shop and everything!), even my customers could tell I was out of it. From Joe to my new “secret admirer”, it seemed too much to ask for me to keep up with work. But I put in my full day. All day I was hearing Joe’s name, in everything that I did. Whether it was a customer, putting in an order, the man at the gas station, or even the man at the pizza place, Joe seemed to be everywhere. It may come as a surprise, but as beautiful as I was, my love life was shitty until I met joe. I had no trouble meeting guys, that happens everyday, but once I had them, they were no longer the sweet, honest guys I fell for. Its like once a guy gets sex, all that chivalry crap is useless. But Iwas sure joe wasn’t like that. I couldn’t wait until our next encounter, so he could show me. I had not known how truly blind I was until it was too late. >

> Chapter 6: ?

> It was about 5 am. I watched that clown Joe pull out, then I rolled around the curb. I could never understand what Nancy saw in that man. And calling him a man is an overstatement, he makes the category solely because he has a dick. I watched the house for a couple of hours, when finally Nancy came out. She seemed unnerved, probably because she had to look at him naked. She took about 5 minutes to lock her door, then made her way to her car. She started it and I could swear she looked at me. I felt excited. The fact that those beautiful eyes graced my direction was overwhelming. > She pulled out to head to work and I left her some space, before I followed along. Didn’t want to look too desperate. I must admit, her life did not do her justice. She deserved much more than the same boring routine, day after day. And I was going to give her that, something that Joe couldn’t. He was as boring and mundane as possible by a man. > I was with her until late afternoon, around 3, then I went back to her house. I had never been inside before, but I was sure she wouldn’t mind. She let Joe in. The door was much more than I remembered. It was a Burgundy colour with a beautiful design, it looked to be handcrafted, though nothing is done by hand anymore. Nobody has pride in their workmanship, its despicable. > Well, I got inside, and I could swear it was all familiar, like I had been here before. As far as I knew, my only knowledge of the inside of this house, was the only other time I looked into this house. This wasn’t the only bizarre part of my first visit, her mirrors all showed something odd. It was as if I was looking at myself, but it wasn’t myself. It was like I was looking at myself on a television, a quieter, more docile me. I don’t own mirrors, they distort ones self image, this seemed to be a good reminder as to why I got rid of them. > I had to leave soon after I arrived, but before I left, I needed to grab something to keep the memory alive, a souvenir, if you will. I looked for 10 odd minutes, then I found it. Nancy wore this beautiful satin blouse, with this floral arrangement stitched around her body, like a blanket, protecting her innocence. It even had her favourite fragrance, an odd fragrance, cherry-vanilla by God knows who. It was an intoxicating scent, but I felt as though, if she wasn’t wearing it, it would repulse me. That made me lust for her, love her, even more intensly. My mind was not an easy one to sway, the person would have to be very skilled, or very close to me. And I felt like I knew Nancy. She was my soul mate, as I was hers. > I left the house through the back, and as I rounded to the front, Nancy was just entering her house. I stayed hidden, asI didn’t want to startle her, she was so jumpy. It was cute, part of the endless list of things I loved about her. Once I was certain she was safely in the house, I made my way to my car. I glanced back for a second, to take one last look at the house and noticed Nancy looked as if she saw me. I was elated, twice in one day, she had noticed me, it was like we were going to wed next week. But I had to hold it together, I ran to my car and sped around the corner, on the road to my motel. > I pulled in around 7, I remember the feeling of relief when I took the mask off, not just because I was breathing freely, but I wasn’t stifled. I was me, when I had the mask on, but not fully, not completely, Nor with it off, but when I took it off that time, it felt as if I had returned from a long vacation. This feeling of homesickness, I hadn’t even known I had, this burden, was lifted before I knew it was there. The feeling was incomparable, apart from when I was with my Nancy. She reminded me so much of my last wife.They had the same build, about the same cup size, but the thing that grabbed my attention the most, was the eyes. Those beautiful, captivating blue eyes. With My last wife, in the end, those eyes tore into my soul. Do you know what it feels like for your wife to tell you she doesn’t love you anymore? You feel cold, empty, like you lost a part of yourself. Even worse is the feelings that come with having to bury your own wife, the woman you chose to spend your life with. So many, gone just like that. But Nancy was different. She was kind and sweet, and I knew she loved me. I knew we would be happy, and start a family someday, but it was just Joe. I’d kill him, but whenever I check his house or his work, or his damn gym, he was never there. It was like he dissappears for half the day. It was no bother though. I didn’t need to kill him, to steal Nance. She already loved me, I just had to show her that. She just needed to see what I could do for her, and that was exactly my plan. Joe or no Joe, Nancy was soon to be mine. As I layed my head on my pillow, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander over to Nancy in the bedroom. Was she wild or timid? Did she enjoy toys? Did she like dirty talk? I said to myself I wasn’t going to degrade Nancy to such filth, but I couldn’t help it. My mind started to drift, I had little control over my thoughts, and as thoughts turned to dreams, and light faded to darkness, I remember saying to myself, soon it was time. Tomorrow I was going to get supplies. The day was approaching fast. And with that my mind closed off to replenish for the morrow. >

> Chapter 7: Joe

> I left Nancy’s as the sun was rising. I felt as if she had drained everything out of me, it was a struggle to get back to my car. Through it all, my favourite part of the night was when we were up above Toronto, just staring into her intense, loving, nerve-wrecking brown eyes. We had had the best sex I have ever had, a wondrous evening, and still, nothing compares to the simplest of moments. It is these moments that teach you the most valuable lessons you will learn in life. We tend to think we have so much to do, to accomplish, we forget, our greatest accomplishment will not be how much we made, or aquired. Our greatest accomplishment, my greatest accomplishment, was finding love. I was lucky enough to find it a few times, but it seemed as though god had other plans for me, and those plans manifested as Nancy. > I have little recollection of the events that transpired the following day. That is up until I went home. Despite my strong desire to leave as soon as I arrived and call my nancy, I toughes out the day. I arrived home at about 5:45. I did my daily routine, sanitized as I stepped in the door, then washed my hands and face, before disrobing to shower and get into some clean clothes. After all the necessary precautions were taken, (you can never be too careful, what with all those unknown pathogens) I proceeded to call Nancy. But I didn’t dial right away. I was so nervous, I knew that she ha a great time, and that she definitely would like to see me again, but I was worried that I had set the bar a little too high on the first date. What if the normal joe didn’t match up to the joe from last night? Would she be turned off by my everyday appearance

#me #mine #text #novel

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sarahburness · 5 years

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5 Tips for Finding a Fitness Program That You’ll Never Want to Quit

It’s happened again. You gave up on another workout plan. You’ve gone through at least half a dozen and haven’t stuck to one. You vowed that this time would different, that you would push yourself and see this through to the end. You did the research, found the perfect program, and finally got your mind right.

But at the first bump on the road, you’re right back where you started — looking for the next plan.

You’re so frustrated that you want to give up on getting fit all together. You know you need to make a permanent change, but you can’t seem to find something that works.

I’ve been in your shoes and I know what you’re struggling with. Sometimes, it seems impossible to stick to a workout program and a diet plan, so how can you finally make it work?

Here are 5 tips in choosing the right exercise program for you.

See better results from fewer workouts

Working out less to get better results? That doesn’t make sense, or does it?

Working out fewer times per week will make it much easier to stick to a routine. Instead of working out 5 or 6 days per week, try 3 or 4 days per week.

Most fitness plans call for 5 to 6 workouts per week which aren’t sustainable for most people. You’ll get burned out at some point and skip a workout or two. You might even miss out 5.

Avoid skipping workouts because that’s what usually causes you to break your routine and give up on a plan. Fitting 3 to 4 weekly workouts into your schedule is much more manageable than 6.

Working out 2 fewer days per week gives you 2 extra day to rest and recover. This increased recovery time will help you to achieve better results.

Why?

It’s because you can give your all to each workout.

It’s difficult to give everything you have to each workout when you know you have to do it again tomorrow. But since you’ll have a rest day between your workout days, you won’t have to worry about tomorrow’s workout because you don’t have to.

Ditch dieting to eat foods you like

You wouldn’t believe how many fitness plans I’ve tried that recommended eating plain chicken, brown rice, and broccoli. And it worked a grand total of 0 times.

I never had success with a nutrition plan until I gave up on eating plain foods that I hated and started to eat healthy foods that I enjoyed. The key to sticking to a nutrition plan is to find foods that are both healthy and enjoyable to eat. Don’t force yourself to eat foods that you hate because you’ll never last with that approach.

If you deprive yourself of foods you like and only eat foods you hate, it won’t be long before you give up and go on a binge. You may lose a few pounds on a two-week diet, but you’ll put that back on plus more most of the time.

Diets are not sustainable. The term ‘diet’ implies that you will eat a certain way for a while and then go back to your old eating habits.

What you eat is the most important factor in losing weight, so it must be sustainable. That said, you’re better off eating foods you like even if they’re not 100% healthy.

Eating a mixture of about 80% healthy and 20% unhealthy foods will produce great results over time. As long as you are consuming fewer calories than you burn, you will still lose fat.

Stop holding yourself back by putting a time limit on your results

Most fitness plans are time-based. Some are 8 weeks while others require 12 weeks. If you can’t stick to a program, this is likely the reason why.

You see the time period, 8 weeks or whatever it is, and think “How am I gonna do this for 8 weeks?” You’re already defeated before you even start.

These time-based plans are also holding you back because of your expectations. You believe that if you follow the plan, do all the workouts and stick around till the end, you’ll look like the people in the testimonials at the end.

Unfortunately, this is unrealistic for most people. Not everyone is starting at the same point, so not everyone will get the same results.

It doesn’t make sense that someone who is 50 pounds overweight and someone else who is 10 pounds overweight will look the same after completing the 8-week program. They may both lose 10 pounds, but the second person still has 40 pounds to lose while the first is at their ideal weight.

Time-based fitness plans are not necessarily bad, but you must temper your expectations. You may need to complete the program 2 or 3 times before you see the desired results. This is because real weight loss takes consistent effort over time and you cannot rush it.

Get better short-term results from a long-term approach

Have you ever seen someone who lost a ton of weight seemingly overnight and when you see them again a few months later, they put it all back on? What about those crazy celebrity transformations when an actor gets super ripped for a role but just months later is almost unrecognizable when seen on the street?

Both these situations happen because the focus was on short-term results. Everyone wants to see quick changes in their body but focusing on the short term will never get you the lasting results you want.

The funny thing about this is that when you properly focus on long-term results, you can get some amazing short-term results.

I tried a ton of those 21- and 30-day programs and never lost a pound. I rarely ever made it through the second week, to be honest. But when I finally shifted my approach and focused on the long-term results, I got the best short-term results of my life.

When I found the right long-term plan with no set time-frame, I lost 17 pounds in 3 months. Everything finally clicked and because I was doing things the right way, the weight just started melting off.

Stay away from the short-term, quick fix plans. There is no quick fix that will help you lose 30 pounds and keep the weight off. You can only do this with consistent effort over time.

Turn your past failures into your future success

There’s obviously a reason why you’re giving up on plan after plan and not achieving the results that you want. For you to finally reach your goal, you need to turn your past failure into success.

Few people are successful at anything on their first try. Succeeding at something basically means you kept failing at it until you figured out what worked.

Take riding a bike for example. No one learns how to ride a bike without falling off once or twice. But you learn from those failures and you don’t give up until you succeed.

You must use this same strategy for getting fit. Identify why you keep failing and make the necessary changes that will lead to your success.

Learn from your mistakes and don’t make them again

If you can’t stick to the workout plan, then you need to change it up. Find something less taxing that you can keep up with.

If you can’t eat what the plan is telling you to eat, scrap it and find your own way to eat healthy without sacrificing the foods you like.

Getting into great shape is difficult, but we make it more difficult on ourselves by not learning from our mistakes. From now on, pay attention to why you aren’t succeeding and turn your losses into wins.

There’s no worse feeling than looking for a new fitness plan because you gave up on the one you were following.

This constant jumping from plan to plan with no results is frustrating and defeating. But if you change your approach to finding a fitness plan, you can find one that will work for you.

Sustainability is the key to consistency and consistency is the key to progress.

Imagine yourself after month, two months, 6 months, or even a year of maintaining a fitness routine. Think of the jaw-dropping results you will have achieved. And trust me, once you see the results, you’ll be hooked.

Better yet, think of the life-changing habits you will have created. These habits will also be life-long because they’ll be sustainable.

You’ll feel amazing about how you’ve finally overcome your greatest obstacle. You’ll also start to love the way you look which will give you more confidence than you’ve ever had.

You have the knowledge. Now, you need to go find your perfect approach and execute it to the best of your ability. The body you’ve always dreamed of is waiting but you must go out and work for it.

See Also: 19 Ways to Get Motivated to Exercise

The post 5 Tips for Finding a Fitness Program That You’ll Never Want to Quit appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

from Dumb Little Man https://www.dumblittleman.com/choosing-the-right-exercise-program-for-you/

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portuga-prose-and-poetry-blog · 6 years

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The Pianist of Portuga

By Joshua Nauman

I remember the first time I felt Portuga; I was standing in line somewhere, I don’t remember where, but I remember I just wanted to be very far away from where I was. It’s not that my life was bad. In fact, it was far from bad. I just started to hate the monotony of the day to day. I was waiting on something to happen, I’m not sure what it was. I wanted something to come and break up my routine, to ravage my day to day. Before long, thoughts of Portuga consumed me.

I became depressed. I was a functioning human being in public, but became a shell at home by myself. I would sit by my window smoking cigarettes, burning the day away until night time came, and I would sleep. A restless sleep which left me tired the next day. My friends and family noticed and recommended I see someone for my depression. I kept them happy by telling them I had an appointment soon, but that made me a liar. Instead I smoked by my window and harbored this desire for this unseen, seemingly nonexistent Portuga.

I remember at some points I achieved Portuga; I would receive a raise at work or some other personal achievement, and I would be content. This would last days or weeks sometimes, though it wouldn’t be long until I fell back into depression, longing to be far away from where I am, longing for Portuga. It always seemed just out of my reach. No matter how hard I tried or what I succeeded in, this feeling ate away at me. Nothing mattered, not a thing in the world.

I remember there was a woman on the bus to work I would see. There was Portuga in her eyes. The attraction was purely physical. She was a beautiful, with long black hair and dark brown eyes. It wasn’t long before she invaded my mind during my bouts of depression. I would fantasize about her; not sexually, but I imagined her with me, here in the house, smoking cigarettes by the window. I developed a personality for her, based on how I thought she might be. She was sweet and meek, she loved dark roast coffee and avoided unfiltered cigarettes like they were the devil. She was kind to me and I was kind to her and we spent every day talking about nothing in particular. One-day, mid fantasy, I came to a conclusion; I was lonely, and maybe Portuga was not being lonely anymore. Of course, you think to yourself, “why don’ t you just talk to her in real life?”, and to that I tell you that she is far too beautiful to be with someone like me, and fantasizing is much easier.

After this revelation I moved back into my parents’ house so that maybe then I wouldn’t feel so alone. They welcomed me but not my habit, so I was forced to chew gum by the window instead. At first, the loneliness went away. Weeks past and I no longer felt alone or the need to be far away. It must have been two or three months before my depression settled back in. I told my parents I was moving out again, with the promise I wouldn’t smoke anymore. I wish I wasn’t such a liar.

I realized a lot about myself while staying with my parents. I have very little control over myself. I am a slave to my habits, and a slave to Portuga. I decided to set out on a journey to find Portuga for myself. I took what money I had saved up and moved to California. I found myself an overpriced, cozy little crash pad in the hills and made it my home. Every night I went out to bars, to clubs, to parties, anywhere my feet could take me, in search of Portuga.

I found myself looking at the Los Angeles skyline with a woman who’s name I did not know, really feeling it. I had gone so far away from my day to day, from my routine. I had shattered it. This experience, I had thought, was Portuga. I found it. I finally found it. This feeling of complete freedom. The warm sunset lit the horizon on fire; Los Angeles was something to see. I was totally, completely free from the feeling I had once felt.

I went wild. I had achieved the dream my small farm town could never give me. So far away from the wretched place, I thought to myself. I was the embodiment of the human spirit, of adventure. Long nights at clubs and parties, long days working my job. For a brief moment, I was king of the world. Oh but how brief that moment was.

I remember wiping the sleep from my eyes, not wanting to believe. Impossible I thought to myself. I had found it. I am here. This is it. So why do I feel it? The longing for Portuga? I took a walk through those Los Angeles streets. I partied that Los Angeles night. I awoke that Los Angeles morning. I realized, it’s just Los Angeles. This is not Portuga.

I took the earliest flight back home that I could. My parents mocked me; they knew I wouldn’t be gone for long. I think I knew that too, but I was too prideful to admit it. Three months and several thousand dollars later, Portuga was still nowhere to be found. I rented out that old house I did before and smoked by the window yet again.

My depression was the strongest it had ever been. I felt as though I was a caged animal. My emotions were scratching to get out, out of some sort of cage I made for myself. I became angry. In fits of anger I would punch holes in walls, throw dishes, scream at the top of my lungs. There was no reason to feel this way, but I did.

It was December 4th, I’ll never forget that. It snowed for the first time that year. A late snow. I had given up that day. I laid in bed all day, my lungs barely had a puff of air that wasn’t contaminated by tobacco. I hope it kills me, I said to myself. I hope my heart stops beating this instant. I hope my lung pops or whatever lungs do when there’s too much smoke in them. I looked at the clock, it said 7:13p.m. It’s late enough to fall asleep, so I did. And I’ll never forget what I saw when I closed my eyes.

I was in a city. It was something like Los Angeles, but brighter and more colorful, if that makes sense. Not just physically but emotionally as well. Everyone I passed offered a greeting and a smile. One person even grabbed my hand. “Come with me,” they said. “I know what you’re looking for.” I never met this man, but I trusted him.

He led me into an alleyway, that lead into another alleyway, then another and another, and to a spiral staircase attached to a bright red brick building. “To the top!” He said with vigor, and we began our ascent. Looking up, the staircase seemed to ascend beyond the clouds. How will we ever reach that? I thought to myself, but before I could ask the man, we were already at the top. I saw a green door, and right above it, in bright green cursive neon, was the word Portuga.

Portuga? I said aloud. “Yes, of course. This is what you were looking for, yes?” He said to me. To be clear, I had never heard the word Portuga before this dream, it was new to me. I didn’t know this is what I was looking for. “Come inside, he’s waiting for you.”

Stepping inside, I was greeted by a bar, one you would find in the back alleyway of some town in the rust-belt. It was tiny, with seven barstools, seven small tables, and a stage with a piano on it. The man at the piano looked at me for what seemed like a long time, then began playing something. I don’t know much about music, I can’t tell you the chords or notes, but I can tell you how it made me feel. When he hit the first chord, everyone at the bar looked over at him. It was soft, angelic, nostalgic; a small flower sprouted out of the top of his piano. It was a white moonflower, my mother’s favorite. His hands began to gracefully play note after note. The bar was dead silent listening to him. The more he played, the taller the flower grew. I could only stand in awe at what was before me. He opened his mouth and began to sing.

Oh young moonflower

How your days are graced

Some days sweet, some days sour

Just how long would it take

For you to realize

Everything is okay?

You move too fast

To stay in one place

Lasting is the moonflower

After all others are gone

You have the power

To make your own

Home sweet

Home.

I felt my hand being touched, and I looked over to find the woman I had never met before. She resembled the woman I had feelings for on the bus; her hair was long and black, her eyes a deep brown. Her face shape was different, however. She put her arms around me and prompted me to begin dancing with her, a slow dance. We softly swayed to the piano in that dimly lit rust belt bar. I was nervous, but she seemed completely calm. I initially had trouble finding the rhythm, but after several steps we were completely synced. “Moonflower,” she said to me. “Is this what you were looking for?” She ran her hands over my eyes, and when she removed them, I gasped.

Before me were rolling fields of green dotted with hundreds, no, thousands of flowers. The bar was completely gone, except for her and I, and the pianist and his piano. He kept playing that nostalgic tune as we swayed barefoot in the soft green grass. The sun was setting, the horizon was a deep orange just like in Los Angeles, but there were no buildings, or cars, or hustle and bustle. There was a soft breeze, a comforting breeze. The piano filled the air for what seemed like miles. She looked into my eyes, and I into hers.

Oh young moonflower

The day has just begun

You know you are showered

With rays of the golden sun

What good is this war

When you already won?

Time won’t pass you by

There’s no reason to run

The rain outside will help you

When you are feeling low

Rise again and be true

When it’s time to sow

Moon flower

You are home.

I awoke that morning in tears I do not remember shedding. For several hours after the dream, I felt I was still in the dream. I was shaking. That was it. That was Portuga. The place I wanted to be all along. It was there, in my mind the whole time. It was a sense of peace, of childlike wonder. It felt like home, like mom calling my name, like talking to my dad, like falling in love. I think, what it is, is something human. I’m searching for the human experience. I saw for a moment, what Portuga is like. And I’m going to spend the rest of my days bringing Portuga to life.

#short story #prose #portuga #portugaproseandpoetry #emotional #poetry #music #nostalgia #self validation

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albertcaldwellne · 7 years

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The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

Why is it that the so-called “best diet plan” seems to work for your friends — or seemingly the entire world — and yet it never works for you?

Or maybe better yet: why do 8,745 new diet books seem to be published each year?

You are not alone. At some point, everyone has “failed” on a diet. Success is about adjustments.

Both questions have the same answer. You’ve heard the old analogy about a square peg in a round hole: You can try to wedge them together, but it’s just not going to work out.

The same is true of most diets and your life. Your living situation, job, day-to-day schedule, and your taste preferences create a specific set of needs. Your diet has to conform to them—not the other way around.

Forget superfoods or secrets, and focus on sustainability and consistency. Violate either and success drops significantly.

Yet so many popular nutrition approaches seem to want the opposite. They want you to follow their plan. Do what we say and you’ll look like you’re from South Beach, they tell you. So you eat their foods, make their recipes, and do it all according to the schedule that their book (or website, or whatever) instructs you to follow.

At least, that’s the idea. Slowly but surely, reality creeps in. The foods you’ve been making — sometimes by choice and others by force — start tasting worse. Meanwhile, the foods you gave up seem even more alluring—and you still see them every time you walk through a grocery store or drive past a restaurant.

You might cave slowly, going back to your old ways one small habit at a time. Or you might give it all up in a single moment of “to hell with this!” frustration. Either way, you wind up back where you started, doing the things that you used to do.

The best diet plan needs to start with you. Because a diet is more about changing your habits than it is eating some superfood or removing something you might enjoy. So to succeed, you need to make sure that the habit you’re trying to change isn’t so rigid and ingrained that it causes you to break.

We identified some of the most common “personality types” we see with our clients, and create solutions to help you find the best diet plan that fits. Whether you are a carb-lover, nighttime eater, snacker, sugar-lover, or just plain crazy busy, there is a way to build out a plan so that your diet feels less rigid and more like eating.

Getting started with building your own plan is simpler than you think. In fact, you can kick off the process today by asking yourself four questions.

Start here: What went wrong in the past?

Everyone always wants to jump to the plan, but that approach is inherently flawed. In order to know what will work for your body, you need to honestly assess what has not worked in the past. And then figure about why.

It’s also important that you don’t feel bad about past failures. You are not alone. At some point, everyone has “failed” on a diet. Success is about adjustments. Those diet misfires make great teaching tools that will inevitably help you discover your best diet plan — if you let them. Your mistakes of the past will make the solutions of the future more clear.

For example, a big reason why so many diets fail is that people tend to chase extremes in order to reap immediate results. “People will combine a strict low-carb diet with aggressive workouts and drop weight dramatically, which is reaffirming,” says Leigh Peele, trainer and author of The Fat Loss Troubleshoot. ”But what usually happens after a few weeks or months is that they binge and gain back even more weight.”

There are some people who will thrive on highly restrictive diets like keto or Paleo or veganism. But studies show that the average person spends about 6 weeks following one of those protocols—followed by 14 weeks off of the plan. This is why so many people wind up gaining weight when they diet.

What happens after you go all-out for a big diet change and fall off the wagon is a two-pronged blow to the ego. One makes you feel frustrated about the past; the other totally demotivated for changing in the future. Peele explains it like this: “You wind up feeling even more discouraged, and thinking, ‘I’ve done everything, but I can’t lose weight.”

Odds are that the better answer is a less-flashy one. “Not everyone is so quick to take a moderate approach,” says Peele. “All the research shows that extreme restriction doesn’t work [over the long term] and that the best eating plans are moderate diets that are easy to fit into your social life and everyday routine.”

Instead of setting out to overhaul your lifestyle, first, take an honest look at it. Does a desk job keep you keep you sedentary for most of the day? Do you eat most of your meals at restaurants?

For better or worse, these habits are a part of your daily schedule—which means that they aren’t going to be easy to change right away.

“It’s hard for people to do something that’s not part of their daily norm,” says Peele. “You have to train yourself to go out of your comfort zone.”

Notice, however, that we didn’t say ‘impossible.’ You can change your behaviors—but it will take some time.

Translation: If you’re not super active, don’t sign up for hour-long workouts every day of the week. If you eat out a lot, don’t expect to turn into Gordon Ramsay overnight. Learning some simple meal prep tips instead may help you a lot.

If you’re a desk-jockey who wants to be more active, start with a goal of consistently hitting some realistically achievable number of workouts per week. Two or three is great, but even one is an improvement. And try to get more steps throughout the day. The number of calories you can burn through non-exercise activities like walking is substantial.

“Start somewhere,” Peele says. “And to me, the best place to start is by learning what your daily normal life is, and not pretending you’re somebody you’re not.”

Question 1: This is your best diet plan — what do you love?

One thing people often have a hard time believing is that you can make almost any diet requirement work. We’re not talking about health requirements like avoiding gluten if you have celiac or peanuts if you have an allergy.

What we mean are those non-medical needs that you have in order to keep your sanity, like “I have to have pasta with my family sometimes” or “I have to eat dessert.”

Look. Can you love carbs and still lose fat? Yes. Can you eat dessert and still lose fat? Yes. In fact, when I reached the leanest point I ever achieved in my life—we’re talking single-digit body fat percentage territory—I was eating cheesecake once per week. How? By making adjustments elsewhere in the plan.

Whether you’re a carb lover or chocoholic, you can make just about anything work (you’ll see several examples of other situations later under question #3). It is possible to build a diet plan that meets your needs, prevents weight gain, and helps you lose fat and gain muscle. But there is some work involved. The best diet plan is a byproduct of a little “give and take.” You figure out what you must take, and then balance that out by giving in other ways. After all, if it was a simple as eating whatever you want, no one would be frustrated by dieting.

Diets work on a continuum. For the most part, protein stays consistent. The exact amount will different for each person, but there is a mountain of research that shows the importance of protein in both fat loss and muscle gain.

The magic oftentimes occurs with carbohydrates and fat loss. We know that both high-fat and high-carb diets can work for any goal. But they can’t necessarily work for any person. As we’ve discussed before, some people respond well to carbs and others don’t. Or some people exercise in a way that makes it easier to eat certain foods.

What’s important is that you understand that the more carbs you eat, the less fat you will eat. Or the more fat you eat, the fewer carbs you will consume. This is the concept of “dietary balance.” Here’s how it works. Let’s say you’re someone who loves to eat pasta with your family at night. Ok, no problem. Because pasta is a carb-heavy meal, you’d then adjust the other meals during the day to be high in protein and non-starchy veggies. That way you have ample room for the extra carbs come evening, and you haven’t overloaded with fats (because you know you have a carb-bomb coming at night).

If done right, the total number of calories you consume will be on point without restricting a food you love. We have plenty of clients that can eat pasta every week, even when trying to lose a lot of weight. Our job isn’t to restrict the foods they love; it’s to adjust everything else.

When it comes to exercise, doing what you love—rather than what you think you have to do—can help you be much more consistent. You don’t need to start doing Instagram-worthy crazy intense workouts. Just try to do more of the activities that you enjoy. Peele asks her clients to think about what they liked doing in as a kid. Did you like riding your bike to school? Playing varsity tennis? Swimming at the YMCA? Whatever it is, start there.

“I’ll even ask if people like Wii or standing video games,” she says. “Whatever it is, I’ll try to help them work that into their daily norm, and then make it a habit.”

Question 2: What do you want to achieve?

Are you trying to lose weight or gain it? Build muscle or maintain the body you have? Knowing what you want to achieve is an important part of picking a diet.

The first step: use the SMART technique to simplify the process. Different industries have different interpretations, but here’s what you need to know:

Specify your goal: What is it that you’re trying to do? Weight loss is not specific enough. It might be that you’re trying to lose 15 pounds in 6 months.

How are you going to measure your goal? This could be: I will weight myself every 2 weeks. You need to be able to measure progress, but don’t do it in a way that will drive you crazy or cause you to jump off the plan. Just remember, weight can be deceiving, so it’s good to have a few different ways to measure. For instance, if you weight stayed the same but you lost inches and your body fat decreased, that means you lost fat (and probably a lot of it). Make sure you know what success looks like (and it might be different than what you expect).

Make it actionable. In other words, don’t make the barrier to achievement too high. This means that your actions could change over the term of the goal. The action might start with weekly check-ins with a coach, or use an app to help you succeed, or just making sure you eat protein each and every day. The action does matter. What does, is that you do it, repeatedly, and it feels easy.

Who will keep you responsible? Accountability is a big part of dietary success because change is hard. It’s OK to admit that because it’s hard for everyone. Don’t leave it up to you alone to have success. Whether you follow a plan with a friend (even if you are both doing something different) or set reminders in your phone (something I do for all new habits), build a system that has a safety net.

Time: Set realistic goals so that you don’t get easily discouraged. Healthy weight loss oftentimes means just 1-2 pounds per week. This doesn’t seem like much, but if you applied it to your goal of 15 pounds in 6 months, you would end up being successful far in advance. This is important because most goals aren’t unrealistic, they just follow broken timelines. Weight loss will always have built in plateaus. So it’s important to play the law of averages. Some weeks you might lose 5 pounds, and other weeks you might stand still. So if you apply the law of averages, you can know that you’re staying on track in the big picture. It’s why we don’t freak out when we have a week where the scale doesn’t change. If we have a month where it doesn’t change (or body fat doesn’t change or measurements), then we have to make adjustments.

Beyond the strategy, a good place to start is calculating how many calories you burn every day. (Using a fitness tracker or app like MyFitnessPal can help. And don’t worry: this isn’t something you have to do long term. All of our clients have a choice if they want to track or not, but this can help set you on the right path) Next, think about whether you’re currently losing, gaining, or maintaining weight. From there, you can start making adjustments to your diet.

For example, if you burn 1,800 calories a day without working out, try cutting out an extra 200 calories—say, a serving of rice—from your dinner. That might not sound like much, but Peele says that it’s a mistake to do something drastic—like cutting your calories down to 1,500 while starting a new workout that will net you a 2,300-calorie burn.

“You can keep your calories about the same or deduct just a little,” says Peele. “This way, you aren’t making very aggressive changes that you can’t stick to. You’re just making a logical shift. It may not be sexy, but it really works.”

Question 3: What are your lifestyle preferences?

Now that you know your goal, have anticipated some of the challenges you’re going to face in achieving it, and what you have to have occasionally along the way, it’s time to get started. Here is how you can find the best diet plan for your lifestyle…and make it stick. Forget superfoods or secrets, and focus on sustainability and consistency. Violate either and success drops significantly.

The Best Diet Plan for…Carb-Lovers

First, remember that there’s nothing wrong with eating bread or pasta. It’s just about how much you’re eating relative to everything else. We’ve talked about how adjusting your carbs (and the amount of fat you eat) throughout the rest of the day can create leeway to enjoy more carb-heavy meals like pasta.

Another helpful tool is what we call the “Good/Better/Best” continuum. It’s a hierarchy you can use to make upgrades with just about any type of food. For example, if you’re someone who loves eating bread, you could think of white bread as level 1 (“good”). Trade up to 100% whole wheat bread and you’re at level 2 (“better”). Trade again up to a sprouted whole grain bread like Ezekiel, and you’re at level 3 (“best”). These sort of switches won’t reduce your calorie intake. But they are a pathway into eating more nutrient-dense foods. Those additional nutrients might provide additional satiety (the feeling of fullness), which may ultimately help you eat a little less.

Notice the terminology, though. White bread is not bad. That’s not a typo. It’s not nutrient dense, so it doesn’t carry many health benefits and won’t fill you up like the other variations that are loaded with things like fiber. But it also won’t instantly pack on pounds. This is an important distinction and something that is overlooked too often. Making more substitutions for the “best” version doesn’t mean you have to completely go without the “good” versions.

If you’re a carb-lover, find one meal per day that you’re likely to indulge in more of the “good” carb options. This might be pancakes at lunch, a sandwich at lunch, or pasta at dinner. And you can change the meal you emphasize each day. Then, the rest of your meals should consist of lean proteins (whether fish, meat, chicken, plant-based sources, or other), vegetables, fruit, and some fats like nuts, seeds, or olive oil. This will provide daily flexibility so that you’re never too far on the restriction side but still build the good habits (more protein and vegetables, for example) that are the foundation of any successful diet plan.

The Best Diet Plan for…Nighttime Eaters

Yes, it’s true. Eating at night does not mean you will pack on pounds. And for some, it’s actually ideal.

Your job isn’t to eat on someone else’s schedule, it’s to eat by when you’re hungry. It’s something that all of our coaches preach to their clients. After all, many people wake up in the morning and say that they never feel hungry, but are craving food at night. And many others get up and feel famished, but don’t desire as much in the evening. Both “craving” cycles can be satisfied with completely different approaches.

If you’re a night time eater, here’s what you can do:

1) Don’t stress over breakfast. You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry. Eating breakfast has no direct effect on weight loss, and a recent study showed that when a group of women who weren’t eating breakfast took up the morning meal, they simply gained weight (from the higher caloric intake). And you don’t have to worry about whether that’s somehow going to adversely affect your metabolism for the rest of the day. It doesn’t. Breakfast is a preference. It works for some but doesn’t work for others.

2) Work on shifting your calories toward the nighttime. If do you wake up and want breakfast, you can still enjoy the meal, but cut the portion in half and leave the rest of those calories for your evening meal. You can do the same thing with lunch. Less in the middle of the day leaves you more room to dig in at night.

The bottom line? Don’t be afraid to eat at night. The timing of your eating matters less than the total amount you eat. If you’re eating a lot of food toward the end of the day, but not exceeding your targeted total for the day, then you’re doing fine.

The Best Diet Plan for…The Snacker

For years, the grazing method (eating 5-6 smaller meals or snacks) was all the rage because of theories about how it would boost your metabolism. Those theories turned out to be misleading but snacking and smaller meals still work. The key to effective snacking is making sure that you are in control of how much you eat (the size of “snacks” has nearly tripled in size in the last 20 years) and making sure that you are eating when you’re hungry, and not just because you feel like you need to sneak in another meal.

Some people snack because they are legitimately hungry and prefer to eat smaller portions spaced throughout the day. But other people fall victim to snacking triggers like frustration or boredom. So your first step is to examine what’s setting off your snack attacks.

If you’re a compulsive eater who’s more likely to chow down simply when you’re bored, one approach could be to steer clear of having a lot of pre-packed foods on hand. Peele recommends buying raw foods. This way, you’ll have to go out of your way to cook them if you want to indulge.

Meanwhile, if you’re someone who gets hungry often and does well with having several smaller meals throughout the day, then protein may be your friend. Research shows that snackers who switched to high-protein foods lost more body fat. Brian Murray — a head coach at Born Fitness — chalks it up to satiety.

“If you give someone a snack that’s more protein-dense then let them sit there for a little while, they’ll generally be fine with a smaller portion,” Murray says. “If you give someone a bag of chips, which can total in at 1,000 calories, it’s possible that they’re going to make their way through the whole thing.” You can make some high-protein snacks like PB&J Protein Snack Balls and have them ready when you need them.

The Best Diet Plan for…The Sugar-Lover

If you have a sweet tooth, you have several ways to help satisfy your needs (or break the habit, if you so choose). As you’ll see, they aren’t all mutually exclusive, so you could use elements of each.

Option #1: “Eliminate.” Peele gives her clients this rule—you can only eat sweets outside of the house. This means you can enjoy that slice of key lime pie with your friend, but you can’t buy a carton of ice cream and stash it in the fridge. Out-of-sight, out-of-mind—or at least, out of easy access.

But what if you’re not able to eliminate all of the sugars and sweets from your house? Perhaps you share your living environment, or you entertain a lot and have sweet snacks on hand as a result. If that’s you, consider…

Option #2: Reduce. Buy smaller-size portions of the packaged sweets you have on hand. The smaller size helps enforce portion control. “Think about a gallon of ice cream,” Murray says. “If you wanted to, you could get pretty far through it. But if you eat one 200-calorie chocolate bar, in the grand scheme of things that’s not really a big deal.”

Murray says this approach can also be helpful for people who get chocolate cravings, which can take on an almost addictive-like quality.

Option #3: is Replace. Can you swap your favorite guilty pleasure with something that hits on the same nodes in terms of flavor and texture? “This is why I love shakes and smoothies,” says Murray, a self-confessed former ice cream craver. But instead of turning to Ben & Jerry when a craving strikes, he whips up a protein shake with lots of ice. It feels ice-cream-esque, but with way fewer calories and more satiating protein. Or you can go with a long-time Born Fitness favorite: protein ice cream.

The Best Diet Plan for…The Busy Lifestyle

Let’s say you’re working two jobs, or you’re a mom who’s on the go from dawn to dusk. You don’t have time to cook once Monday morning rolls around. What you need is something healthy, that you can make relatively quickly, and then turn to over and over again throughout the week.

In this case, spending just a little bit of your weekend on meal prep can help set you up for success throughout the week. Pick one or two recipes that you cook once but can enjoy several times. “Eggs on-the-go,” which is basically a souffle of eggs and veggies, are an option you may like. And making them is easy. You simply chop up the ingredients, bake them in the oven, then store them in the fridge. Now you have a high-protein meal ready whenever you need it. We created a guide for simple meal prep, which you can follow here.

If..

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#The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

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joshuabradleyn · 7 years

Text

The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

Why is it that the so-called “best diet plan” seems to work for your friends — or seemingly the entire world — and yet it never works for you?

Or maybe better yet: why do 8,745 new diet books seem to be published each year?

You are not alone. At some point, everyone has “failed” on a diet. Success is about adjustments.

Both questions have the same answer. You’ve heard the old analogy about a square peg in a round hole: You can try to wedge them together, but it’s just not going to work out.

Forget superfoods or secrets, and focus on sustainability and consistency. Violate either and success drops significantly.

Getting started with building your own plan is simpler than you think. In fact, you can kick off the process today by asking yourself four questions.

Start here: What went wrong in the past?

Instead of setting out to overhaul your lifestyle, first, take an honest look at it. Does a desk job keep you keep you sedentary for most of the day? Do you eat most of your meals at restaurants?

For better or worse, these habits are a part of your daily schedule—which means that they aren’t going to be easy to change right away.

“It’s hard for people to do something that’s not part of their daily norm,” says Peele. “You have to train yourself to go out of your comfort zone.”

Notice, however, that we didn’t say ‘impossible.’ You can change your behaviors—but it will take some time.

“Start somewhere,” Peele says. “And to me, the best place to start is by learning what your daily normal life is, and not pretending you’re somebody you’re not.”

Question 1: This is your best diet plan — what do you love?

What we mean are those non-medical needs that you have in order to keep your sanity, like “I have to have pasta with my family sometimes” or “I have to eat dessert.”

“I’ll even ask if people like Wii or standing video games,” she says. “Whatever it is, I’ll try to help them work that into their daily norm, and then make it a habit.”

Question 2: What do you want to achieve?

Are you trying to lose weight or gain it? Build muscle or maintain the body you have? Knowing what you want to achieve is an important part of picking a diet.

The first step: use the SMART technique to simplify the process. Different industries have different interpretations, but here’s what you need to know:

Specify your goal: What is it that you’re trying to do? Weight loss is not specific enough. It might be that you’re trying to lose 15 pounds in 6 months.

Question 3: What are your lifestyle preferences?

The Best Diet Plan for…Carb-Lovers

The Best Diet Plan for…Nighttime Eaters

Yes, it’s true. Eating at night does not mean you will pack on pounds. And for some, it’s actually ideal.

If you’re a night time eater, here’s what you can do:

The Best Diet Plan for…The Snacker

The Best Diet Plan for…The Sugar-Lover

Murray says this approach can also be helpful for people who get chocolate cravings, which can take on an almost addictive-like quality.

The Best Diet Plan for…The Busy Lifestyle

If..

http://ift.tt/2qLlsu5

#The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

0 notes

johnclapperne · 7 years

Text

The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

Why is it that the so-called “best diet plan” seems to work for your friends — or seemingly the entire world — and yet it never works for you?

Or maybe better yet: why do 8,745 new diet books seem to be published each year?

You are not alone. At some point, everyone has “failed” on a diet. Success is about adjustments.

Both questions have the same answer. You’ve heard the old analogy about a square peg in a round hole: You can try to wedge them together, but it’s just not going to work out.

Forget superfoods or secrets, and focus on sustainability and consistency. Violate either and success drops significantly.

Getting started with building your own plan is simpler than you think. In fact, you can kick off the process today by asking yourself four questions.

Start here: What went wrong in the past?

Instead of setting out to overhaul your lifestyle, first, take an honest look at it. Does a desk job keep you keep you sedentary for most of the day? Do you eat most of your meals at restaurants?

For better or worse, these habits are a part of your daily schedule—which means that they aren’t going to be easy to change right away.

“It’s hard for people to do something that’s not part of their daily norm,” says Peele. “You have to train yourself to go out of your comfort zone.”

Notice, however, that we didn’t say ‘impossible.’ You can change your behaviors—but it will take some time.

“Start somewhere,” Peele says. “And to me, the best place to start is by learning what your daily normal life is, and not pretending you’re somebody you’re not.”

Question 1: This is your best diet plan — what do you love?

What we mean are those non-medical needs that you have in order to keep your sanity, like “I have to have pasta with my family sometimes” or “I have to eat dessert.”

“I’ll even ask if people like Wii or standing video games,” she says. “Whatever it is, I’ll try to help them work that into their daily norm, and then make it a habit.”

Question 2: What do you want to achieve?

Are you trying to lose weight or gain it? Build muscle or maintain the body you have? Knowing what you want to achieve is an important part of picking a diet.

The first step: use the SMART technique to simplify the process. Different industries have different interpretations, but here’s what you need to know:

Specify your goal: What is it that you’re trying to do? Weight loss is not specific enough. It might be that you’re trying to lose 15 pounds in 6 months.

Question 3: What are your lifestyle preferences?

The Best Diet Plan for…Carb-Lovers

The Best Diet Plan for…Nighttime Eaters

Yes, it’s true. Eating at night does not mean you will pack on pounds. And for some, it’s actually ideal.

If you’re a night time eater, here’s what you can do:

The Best Diet Plan for…The Snacker

The Best Diet Plan for…The Sugar-Lover

Murray says this approach can also be helpful for people who get chocolate cravings, which can take on an almost addictive-like quality.

The Best Diet Plan for…The Busy Lifestyle

If..

http://ift.tt/2qLlsu5

#The Myth of the Best Diet Plan (And How to Find What Will Work For You)

0 notes