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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Fic title meme : pulvis et umbra sumus (We Are Dust And Shadows)

On every single document, including the ones that show what actually happened to Howard and Maria Stark, Tony Stark is listed as dead among them.

He is not.

But in not calling in the accident on the abandoned road, Tony managed to find someone else to take his place and escaped.

Tony Stark is dead. A whole family funeral and everything. Obadiah pretends to cry. Tony is at the funeral with shitty dye in his hair and sunglasses that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. Ha.

The funeral is closed casket. All their faces are rumored to be impossible to fix with make-up.

He makes new documents. Anthony Jarvis, from Boston. Airtight background. Likes puzzles. Scored damn high on the SAT, but not the perfect score.

(Killed him to answer some of those questions wrong, seriously.)

Anthony Jarvis goes to MIT and requests a single room. He gets one for one semester, and then the room next to his burns and destroys his as well. So he gets moved to Jim Rhodes’.

Jim becomes Rhodey, and he is the first friend of Anthony Jarvis, and nicknames him Tony.

He grins at that.

There are plenty of times that Tony wants to tell him. The thing about secrets is that they need to be shared. No one really wants a secret, nor do they want to keep it. But he keeps his mouth shut and asks if he wants to go for Thai food.

“This is the third time this week.”

“Not my fault it’s good! I’ll pay...”

“Sign me up.”

Tony and Rhodey gets Thai food. It’s good.

Rhodey lets him in on a secret that Tony had actually known about since his room assignment.

(You remember that guy’s room that caught on fire? Yeah, he swore that his microwave hadn’t been on, and nothing had been plugged in. He was right. But Tony needed an accident.)

In other circumstances, Rhodey would have ignored the offer that he had. He had had his heart set on Air Force. But there was something about the man who talked to him.

“It’s a place called Strategic-Homeland-something I can’t remember,” Rhodey says. “Point is, they’re a big deal and kind of shady, but not in the government shady kind of way. The only thing I can find out about them is that they’re an international company who need engineers, pilots, and basically anyone like you and me. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

Tony nods.

“You want me in on this?”

“I mean, you did tell me a couple of weeks ago that you weren’t sure what you wanted to do after graduation.”

(It was two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours ago. Not like he was counting.)

“...thanks. I’ll check it out with you.”

Anthony Jarvis shows up in a nice suit, stupid sunglasses, and impresses the higher-ups by diagnosing a problem with the engine that others had previously marked as “impossible.”

He’s hired on the spot, same as Rhodey.

Tony Jarvis gets his own keycard, finds an apartment in New York that’s within at least biking distance, and gets started on inventing some cute little toys for the spies in Research and Development.

He brings the laser-lipstick to life, poison-drop-earrings, spyglasses that actually work and have HD, and briefcases that use mirroring technology to change color.

“How did you do this?” Rhodey asks, eyes wide. “I swear this is unreal.”

“Aw,” Tony says. “You sap. I got some inspiration from some old comic book ads. I think I’m gonna try a ring decoder next, what do you think?”

“Almost makes me want to go on missions instead of flying them.”

Tony Jarvis is known for working odd yet long hours. He comes up with results. And he keeps his head down and minds his own business.

This is all to find out exactly who killed his parents. As much as his and Howard’s relationship was...interesting, he still wanted to know.

His desire to know the truth leads to somewhere he hadn’t thought was possible: Hydra.

His hands freeze as he looks at the paper file with thick, black lines all over. The information there was sparse. Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark all died. It was ruled:

And there’s nothing there.

It wasn’t an accident. Sure he knew that, but there was something far more sinister at play. Why wasn’t it an accident?

He gets Alexander Pierce in his apartment with a man in the corner. His arm gleams in what little light from the lamps outside give off.

“Why are you searching for the Stark files?” He asks.

“Why didn’t you just schedule a meeting? I’m available tomorrow at three,” Tony jokes. “Who’s your friend here?”

“Someone you wouldn’t want to shake hands with,” Pierce answers. “You need to stop looking into this before you find yourself in a situation you don’t want to be in.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Accidents will happen,” Pierce says. He gets up from the table, to the counter. Gets out a glass. And makes himself water. He smiles as he looks to the man in the corner. “Do you want any water, Winter Soldier?”

Winter Soldier remains impassive.

Tony stills.

“So, the legends are true. And Hydra is still around.”

“And if you aren’t careful, you won’t be,” Pierce says. “Don’t bring any of this up. Or this won’t be the last time you see Winter Soldier. I know your moves, Jarvis. Don’t think you can surprise me.”

They exit the apartment. Tony realizes that Pierce took his glass.

And he laughs.

Because this? Not according to plan, but god he’s gonna have fun with it.

It starts with telling Rhodey who he actually is.

It does not go as planned.

“So let me get this straight. I’ve known you for years and you just. Never told me?” Rhodey asks. “Why not?”

“To be completely fair, no one knows besides a man in Wisconsin, and he’s from Wisconsin,” Tony says. “Also I was drunk. Drunk me is a terrible person who would sell me for a buffalo nickel.”

“I’m still mad, even if that’s funny,” Rhodey says, trying not to smile. “So. Why tell me now? I’m assuming you need something.”

“I would like your help,” Tony says. “It is not required but I am toppling a secret organization living in SHIELD and I think if I get your help, I will most likely not get fired by the end of this. Fury likes you, he hates me.”

“False, he mildly tolerates you. You’ll be fine. Probably. Who else should we get to help?”

Tony had originally planned for no one.

But then there was Pepper Potts.

She had been deemed by the media as “crazy” for accusing Obadiah Stane, longtime-CEO of Stark Industries, as ordering a hit out on the Stark family.

She had been booted from the company--anticipated--and then Hydra had ordered a hit on her.

Slightly unexpected.

Point is, Rhodey brings her into the apartment and tells Tony casually that the grocery store had run out of his usual hummus brand, was the generic okay?

“That’s like asking if I’m okay with blue pens,” Tony curses. “Also, is that Pepper Potts? Why is she here? Did you run into her at the grocery store?”

“No, as I was coming back. Did you know that she has a hit out on her? Fun times.”

“Oh my god, will someone explain to me what’s going on here?!” Pepper seethes. “I was just trying to get my yogurt without anyone taking a picture of me and some random fucking guy had a knife thrown at me and then this guy took me to your house!”

She then rants for ten minutes about the “questionable design choices going on in this establishment, who honestly thinks shot glasses are a decoration?!”

“Are you done?” Tony asks. “Because if you want to help with a conspiracy plot, you need to be done.”

She is.

Pepper does not get a job with SHIELD. In fact, she mainly just decides to take care of the redecoration in Tony’s apartment.

“You will be paying me for this.”

“Why would I do that? You’re using my money to buy everything. You’re living here rent free for now.”

“Because I’m helping you make better life choices. I also want new shoes.”

What Pepper does is provide very valuable access to Stark Industries: she knows the ins and outs, what employees do and don’t do, and also is very helpful in telling Tony what he needs to do when he takes the company over.

“Who said I was going to take it over?”

“Me,” Pepper says. “Also because I reviewed every single old document and the company was specified to go to next-of-kin. You are. And you’re not dead.”

“My death certificate is literally framed,” Tony says, pointing to his graduation photo that Rhodey took. He had swapped out his official diploma with it as a joke. No one had seen it. He thought it was hilarious.

“Yeah, but they can do DNA testing,” Pepper says. “This is like the twenty-first century Anastasia except this time they don’t find you with metal detectors!”

“I don’t like that you know that story as well as you do,” Rhodey says. “But I’ll leave you a credit card for furniture and groceries. If you get rid of my drinks in the fridge I’m literally never forgiving you.”

“Noted, and I don’t need forgiveness,” Pepper says. “But they’ll stay there.”

So begins the plot.

Pierce doesn’t know three things, which is a lot of things not to know:

1.) Tony Jarvis is not Tony Jarvis.

2.) Rhodey actually likes Tony and most of the time him saying that he would “kill Tony in a variety of ways, starting with sporks and moving forward...” is mostly (mostly) a joke.

3.) Pepper Potts resides in their apartment and is having fun telling Tony she bought new silverware.

“Why did you buy new silverware! It was fine!”

“I recognized all of these forks and knives from restaurants. Why did you steal them from restaurants?”

“They can replace them!”

“Don’t. Anyways now your spoons match and you don’t have the shitty ones from different places. Also I painted the bathroom.”

“My landlord is gonna kill me.”

“I made her cookies and discovered that she likes going to concerts. You’ll be fine.”

(Pepper is a goddess. You can’t convince them otherwise.)

Pierce doesn’t know any of this, but he still holds a key piece of blackmail: Tony Jarvis shouldn’t know about Hydra, and he’ll do anything to make sure that he doesn’t lose his job.

Tony has been recording their conversations for weeks.

(Pierce thinks he doesn’t design things to get around the available technology. Pathetic.)

He also has bugged Pierce as well as his house, and figures out that Winter Soldier is going to be on assignment within the DC area in an effort to kill some higher-up on the foodchain that was SHIELD.

Well.

Tony has always wanted to go and see the cherry blossoms a little more up close.

Pepper, of course, doesn’t like that they left his boots on.

“This couch is new and red,” she says. “Take off his boots!”

“He is unconscious and probably won’t be in the next fifteen minutes,” Rhodey says. “We are not touching him and possibly shortening that fifteen minutes.”

Winter Soldier wakes up to three faces staring at him.

“Mission failed?” he asks, voice robotic.

“Nope, you just got a new one,” says the man on the right. He is wearing a t-shirt. Winter Soldier thinks that in this situation, a t-shirt is not the best option.

(Of course, he’s not supposed to think. But they don’t have to know that.”

“Can you take your shoes off?” says the woman in the middle. “Please. You’re getting germs on the couch.”

He’s confused.

“Who am I killing?”

“No one, yet,” says the man on the left. “Do you know who you are?”

“Winter Soldier.”

“No, like a name? I’m assuming you’ve had a name at some point.”

“Someone has called me Mr. Freeze before.”

The man on the left snorts. Man on the right taps his arm lightly.

“Well, um, okay then. How do you feel about the name...aw shit. I can’t think of a name for you when your mask is on. Can you take the mask off?”

He takes it off. It’s nicer to breathe.

The man in the t-shirt pauses.

“Okay. So your name is Bucky Barnes. Do you know that name?”

Something clicked. But he doesn’t know what.

“Sounds...familiar.”

“Cool! So that’s your name now, do me a favor and don’t google it. I’m Tony, this is Rhodey, and this is Pepper. If you don’t take your shoes off, you’re going to be scared of her.”

Newly-named-Bucky highly doubts that he will be scared of Pepper because she is built like a twig and she is wearing high heels.

(He is wrong about ten minutes later when she forcibly throws a fork at him.)

“Why am I here?” he asks. “Should I be checking back in with Handler Pierce?”

“No,” comes the consensus from everyone else in the room.

“Technically, he thinks you went rogue and went back to Russia. He’s organizing a team to go get you. We hired an actor to play you. It’s been entertaining. He got some plums. Do you like plums?”

“Why is that relevant?”

“It’s vapid and not interesting at all, Tony loves questions like that,” Rhodey says. “Now come on. We need to get you actual shirts. Also some body wash.”

Bucky Barnes learns how to be a person. He stares at himself in the mirror for an hour and smiles slightly when Pepper calls him “vain” and pushes him aside to grab her hairbrush.

He then learns that Hydra is trying to overtake SHIELD and they have a slight window with Pierce out.

This involves two things:

1.) Tony Stark coming back from the dead.

2.) SHIELD panicking that they didn’t know this secret and taking another look at the paperwork, in which case Hydra will be found out.

These are both easier than anticipated. Tony can act like a showman better than anyone, and has been carefully growing a goatee that is eerily reminiscent of his late father’s. Of course he’s had to switch it up.

The media is going crazy. SHIELD as well. They’re scrambling to find paperwork that proves that it happened, and they find that the “accident” was no accident. That Howard hadn’t been working for the “enemy” at the time.

The enemy was in the building, and they had blended in seamlessly.

This all happens on a Wednesday, by the way. Pepper has it marked on the calendar and everything. Rhodey made his coffee.

Bucky is busy slamming people into drywall and listening for any word from Rhodey, who is also slamming people into drywall.

“You know, you’d think we’d get something like a suit of armor for this,” Rhodey pants out, slamming another guy out of his way.

Bucky nods.

“Best I can offer is a grenade.”

“Where in the fuck did you get a grenade?!”

“Supply closet. Second floor. What, you didn’t check?”

“No sorry must’ve missed it--of course I didn’t fucking check the second floor closet!” Rhodey yells.

Bucky says he’s stressed. He should calm himself.

Rhodey chucks a particularly nasty Hydra agent out a window.

(Bucky thinks Rhodey is probably the coolest person he’ll ever meet.)

Tony is fashionably late to the take-down of the century. He’s already foiled a lot of plans, and taken a key-card for Project Insight to work.

He waltzes in and nearly gets hit by a mug.

“So, how’s the party going?” he yells over to Pepper. Pepper is still in her heels. She looks like a goddess still, as usual. It is a Wednesday, after all.

“As fine as it can be,” Pepper says. “We’ve met some resistance. With Pierce gone there’s little infrastructure. You got his plane delayed, correct?”

“Even better. Got it sent to London. Motherfucker is gonna be there for a while,” Tony says. “Also may or may not have said that he was a threat. SHIELD branch there will investigate, find out some questionable things in his file that he will swear up and down were never there.”

“Good,” Pepper says. She launches a stapler at someone’s head. “Do you think we’ll have time to pick up takeout for dinner?”

“Depends on whether or not Deputy Director Hill is Hydra.”

They see Maria Hill pass by in a blur, yelling as she jumps onto a man and sends him crashing down over a railing.

“Lovely, she isn’t!” Pepper cheers. “By the way, I was thinking about redoing our kitchen.”

“‘Our’ kitchen?” Tony says, ducking a bullet and drawing out his personal lipstick-laser, firing it with expert precision. “I told you the living situation was temporary.”

“Oh please, you have an extra room.”

“Which was an office!” Tony tells her.

“Like you can’t have your office at Stark Industries,” Pepper says. “I expect to hear how the reveal went over dinner. Also, please hire me back. I don’t wanna be your interior decorator for forever.”

“Neither do I, you like modern art. Disgusting.”

And so the fighting resumes.

It is done by five-thirty-two, with an official surrender from Pierce.

“Thank god, I already ordered Chinese and they said it’d be here at six,” Rhodey says.

They all sit on the red couch.

Shoes on.

Tony tips four hundred percent.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” Rhodey asks.

“I am not moving for six hours,” Bucky answers. “Also maybe getting a library card.”

“This is the first thing you want out of the icebox? A library card?” Tony asks, laughing.

Pepper laughs.

“I have errands to run. You can come with me and we’ll swing by.”

“What are the errands?”

“Getting a kitchen mixer and also making sure that my plates match my napkins.”

“A travesty if it doesn’t happen,” Rhodey deadpans. “Pass the lo mein, Tony. You’re hogging it.”

“I had to fight on a Wednesday and run,” Tony says. “Today isn’t cardio day.”

“Literally hate it when you speak,” Rhodey says. “Absolutely abhor your language.”

They go to bed, although it’s more of laying on the floor.

Sure, Tony will have to deal with retaking a business that he knows a bit less about and Pepper will have to be trained (again) and also fight against being made CEO (but she won’t fight much). Rhodey will get a new job with SI because it’s not like Tony will let him work at SHIELD (Rhodey tries, Tony will get him fired at some point). Bucky just...he needs to get a bit more than a library card.

But that’s for tomorrow.

#BUCKLE IN BOYS WE GOT A LONGGGGGG ONE #bucky barnes #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #yes this took all day yes i didn't proofread it #but i love this so much #lovelyirony writes

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Bully Landlord gets it in the end.

My first husband was a not very nice man. For 6 years I was belittled and basically a baby-factory for him. He was a fantastic father, but a horrible husband. After he finally got his 'heirs' I was then treated even worse until I finally 'woke up' and decided to leave his ass.

This revenge story is NOT about him. I just had to set the scene.

I moved out from the house, taking just my clothes, the car (4K value, no more) and the computer. I had nothing, stayed at a GF for a couple weeks before I was able to line up a crappy town-house with roommates. I had nothing, and my bed was a cat-pee-smelling free couch I was able to score. I wound up having 3-4 jobs with one of them being full-time and once a week I would not even be able to sleep between jobs.

Now, fast forward one year. My divorce was finalized and I had fulfilled my year's lease for the townhouse. By this time I was able to furnish the home and my bedroom and my kids' room when they would be with me for visitation.

The Scum-Bag Landlord (will just call him SBL) was a nice-ish landlord during the time of my tenancy and I was a good tenant, never being late with my rent. Although I had roommates, I was the sole name on the lease.

SBL would show up often, with some guise that he had to work on something like plumbing tests or whatever excuse he could come up with just so he could be all creepy and hang around trying to converse with me with mild sexual undertones that made me quite uneasy at times.

FINALLY the lease was fulfilled and I was now onto a month-to-month contract to which at that time I was ready to move out of this crappy townhouse, and found a great house in the mountains nearby and I was simply thrilled now that I got my feet on the ground and can afford a bit better than slum-living.

My Lease stated that I had to give one month's notice in order to move out. Unfortunately I was able to get the house I was to move into for the next month... only 3 weeks away.

I sent an email to SBL stating that I intend on moving out at the end of this month (in 3 weeks) and he can try to find another tenant. but I did state that IF he didn't find a tenant, I would still fulfill my legal obligation and pay next month's rent.

Within one week (2 weeks before I was move out) he emailed back and stated that was very generous of my offer but he was able to find a new tenant for the beginning of next month and I would be off the hook. He even tipped his hand by stating that he already collected a deposit from them.

Now, something happened within a couple days after that which was no fault of my own, nor my roommate's. The townhouse came with it's own appliances (fridge, oven etc) including a clothes washer and dryer on the main level. My roommate had put a load of laundry in and went to the living room to have a nap. He awoke to find that the washer had malfunctioned with the sensory switch which never stopped the water fill stage... and there was an inch of water in the kitchen and living room!!! He splashed through the water to turn off the washer and called me to come and help deal with this.

I was just getting off of work and I whipped home to assess the damage.

it. was. bad. There was standing water on top of the living room carpet and a good inch of water in the whole kitchen. I called SBL and told him the issue. By the time SBL showed up, I had already got most of the standing water out with the help of my roommate and friends that showed up with shop-vacs.

SBL didn't seem too upset, which was surprising for me and had an appliance repair man had come to look at the washer. The repairman even said "yep, here's the culprit" and showed how the dial would stick on the fill stage and wouldn't click over to the agitate stage. after replacing the dial and lubricating the whole deal, he left.

The next week was chaos as I was busy trying to pack and SBL had insurance guys in assessing and workers taking out the carpet and cutting 2 feet worth of the lower drywall of the whole main level.

The day of the move, though I was still supposed to be there for a couple more days, SBL had let himself in as movers were moving out my stuff with a camera going around taking pictures of everything. I honestly thought that it was for his insurance claims etc. I actually felt bad for SBL (I'm too nice) and told him that I would not ask for any of my deposit back, and he responded in front of the loading crew and my roommate "Thank you, that's very generous of you". We parted ways and I thought that was that.

I was wrong.

Two weeks into my new home location did SBL showed up on my doorstep with a summons to appear in arbitration because he was SUEING ME! WHAT???? on what grounds??? He stated it's all in this paperwork and handed me a manila envelope with 18 pages of everything he was charging me with. All including photos (now I know why he was going around taking pics). Nickle and diming me on everything from a bent Venetian blind (that was like that when I had moved in) and some scuffs on walls, etc etc. but then he ALSO wanted me to pay his insurance deductible and that following month's rent!!! He claimed that the tenants that he had lined up backed out at the last minute (claiming that they didn't think the place wouldn't be ready in time with the new drywall and paint and so on), so he still wanted me to pay that month's rent.

REALLY??

Fuck. This. Shit. I knew I was more than generous of giving him my whole deposit and then for him to come back and sue me for thousands?? He was not only claiming the damages caused by the flood, but improvements he needed to do that should never be or have been my responsibility in the first place. EVEN CRACKS in the living room wall that was from the building settling.... HOW SHOULD I BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT??? Even new lighting, faucets etc... All mainly on the accusation that I was negligent. I wasn't going to have that. I know is was a slummy townhouse complex and most of his tenants were just welfare cases, and maybe he could get away with this with others, but not me. No Way! I had just got out of a marriage that made me feel insignificant and had horrible self-esteem, but now I had my dignity and felt strong for the first time in a long time. No way was I going to let any more SHIT happen to me without my doing something about it.

I had 10 days before the date of my arbitration meeting.

I immediately got to work, first getting a signed deposition from the very repairman that had showed that day stating that the appliance was quite in need of maintenance work and the last time he had done ANY maintenance for him was almost 5 years before. From thoroughly reviewing my rental contract, and local laws, SBL is obligated to have all appliances maintained/services EVERY YEAR.

I had also talked to some of the other tenants and had heard that this wasn't the first time SBL had sued tenants after the fact. I hunted them down and got sworn statements from them also. Unfortunately for them, they didn't know what to do and mostly didn't show up at arbitration hence SBL winning by default. NO WAY I WAS NOT GOING TO LET HIM DO THIS TO ME.

I then drew up a rebuttal to each and every claim he had, including photos from the year+ that I had lived there,, printed out all my email correspondence and even convinced my ex roommate and one of the movers that heard my interaction with SBL about him stating how "generous" it was of me letting him keep my whole deposit (which was a significant amount) to come.

DAY OF ARBITRATION... I dressed up in my power-suit and with my ex-roommate and worker in tow, showed up at the meeting. Now, in Canada, arbitration is not held in a court room per se, but it still held AT the courthouse in a conference room with a judge. We had one hour with this judge. Since SBL was the plaintiff, he got to go first with his case. He spent over 40 minutes going over everything and I sat quietly until he finished.

Once he finished, I then hauled out the rebuttal in multiple copies, handed to the judge, to SBL and anyone else that wished to have one and I quickly went over each point. SBL was irate, and interrupted almost every second sentence I spoke. I would pause the moment he would start talking and say sweetly "I was quiet and polite during your time to present your case, I hope you grant me the same respect". SBL started to get red in the face, ESPECIALLY when I got to the deposition of the Maintenance worker for the appliance. I included with that the tenancy/landlord act sections pertaining to appliance maintenance and stated that this was the only record of maintenance that had occurred, and unless he can come up with more recent records from perhaps another company, it was over 5 years since anything had been looked at.

With my defense, I had also then countered that I would like my deposit back, and my day's pay from work since I had to take that day off to go to this meeting.

The judge then made his statement, and I will always remember this for the rest of my life. He stated that first, he was very impressed of my presentation and that I obviously have a good handle on things and can tell that my nature is of kindness and respect especially with photos of how I had the town house furnished and clean and pride in whatever home I would live in.

Bottom line.... Not only did I win my case, I wound up having SBL owing my over 80% of my deposit back, including interest. SBL's face was PRICELESS. The judge then proceeded to tell SBL that they will be reviewing again all his previous filings, and if there was enough evidence of harassment, he would be reported to the board of landlords and tenants. I don't really know if anything came out of that.

Now.... I walked away that day feeling on top of the world. Completely justified and he got a taste of his own medicine.

BUT... it didn't stop there. OH NO. Knowing that this guy has a history of suing tenants... I printed up my final results (and judge's signature) and gave a copy to each and every tenant in that complex. I wanted to warn everyone his practices and to keep notes, photos etc so that he couldn't do that to them.

But I didn't stop there... He still now owed ME money (he he) and I asked repeatedly for the payment. he never responded. He had until a certain day to pay me back my deposit, and on that day I had gone to his house (I looked up his residence under public records as he is a landlord and had to file under a certain address) and knocked on the door. He didn't answer, though I knew he was home. I rang the bell a few more times, and knocked loudly. he then turned his house alarm on, which at first startled me, but quickly turned to humor seeing how much of a pussy this bully turned out to be.

I then yelled out loud enough that I am not going anywhere. He yelled out, "get off my property or I will call the police!!!"

OK... no problem. I got off the property, but camped out on the front sidewalk. I had a fold-up chair, a cooler with water and sodas, a few sandwiches and all my paperwork with me. I was set to stay there forever. I then would tell anyone that would walk by (already there were some people there from the house alarm fiasco) about how I was a tenant and wrongfully sued me and that I have a claim against him and he now owes ME money. I let anyone look at the paperwork just to back up my claim.

The police DID SHOW UP! they first went to talk to SBL and he was claiming that I was harassing him, slandering him and wouldn't leave his property. I was on public property (sidewalk) and it isn't slander if it's true, of which I had all my court-signed paperwork to back me up. I wasn't disturbing the peace, I was simply and quietly seated outside his home and just talking to neighbors about his actions.

He was out YELLING that I need to leave, and I quietly stated that I would be happy to leave once I am paid that he was legally obligated to do by that date. I was not going to leave before I got money in my hand, and I was more than willing to stay there and tell anyone that would listen to me why I was camped out. The police stated I wasn't doing anything wrong, that it's public property, I wasn't disturbing the peace and it isn't slander if it's true.

Finally after an hour of SBL yelling on his front lawn at the policemen (and at me, of course) did his wife come out with money. She handed the money to the police, of which in turn handed the money to me, and signed off documenting final payment was complete. I sweetly smiled, thanked the police deeply, and went home.

I have no idea what ever happened to SBL, and if he is still pulling shit like this on others, but I hope that I helped put the fear of god in him that he just can't screw with people because eventually it will come and bite him in the ass.

Sometimes, nice guys (or girls) finish last, but with patience ... they finish with a WIN!

(source) story by (/u/Elena_La_Loca)

#prorevenge #by /u/Elena_La_Loca #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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tvdas · 4 years

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John Berryman in 1966, two years after the publication of “77 Dream Songs.” The Heartsick Hilarity of John Berryman’s Letters is a book review by Anthony Lane (in The New Yorker) of The Selected Letters of John Berryman. The book is edited by Philip Coleman and Calista McRae and published by the Belknap Press, at Harvard. My acquaintance, the generous Philip Coleman, mailed me a copy of this book at the end of October. Lane writes, “. . . anyone who delights in listening to Berryman, and who can’t help wondering how the singer becomes the songs, will find much to treasure here, in these garrulous and pedantic pages. There is hardly a paragraph in which Berryman—poet, pedagogue, boozehound, and symphonic self-destroyer—may not be heard straining toward the condition of music. ‘I have to make my pleasure out of sound,’ he says. The book is full of noises, heartsick with hilarity, and they await their transmutation into verse.” Here is the book review:

The poet John Berryman was born in 1914, in McAlester, Oklahoma. He was educated at Columbia and then in England, where he studied at Cambridge, met W. H. Auden and Dylan Thomas, and lit a cigarette for W. B. Yeats. All three men left traces in Berryman’s early work. In 1938, he returned to New York and embarked upon a spate of teaching posts in colleges across the land, beginning at Wayne State University and progressing to stints at Harvard, Princeton, Cincinnati, Berkeley, Brown, and other arenas in which he could feel unsettled. The history of his health, physical and mental, was no less fitful and spasmodic, and alcohol, which has a soft spot for poets, found him an easy mark. In a similar vein, his romantic life was lunging, irrepressible, and desperate, so much so that it squandered any lasting claim to romance. Thrice married, he fathered a son and two daughters. He died in 1972, by jumping from the Washington Avenue Bridge in Minneapolis. To the appalled gratification of posterity, his fall was witnessed by somebody named Art Hitman.

Berryman would have laughed at that. In an existence that was littered with loss, the one thing that never failed him, apart from his unwaning and wax-free ear for English verse, was his sense of humor. The first that I heard of Berryman was this:

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored means you have no

Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored. Peoples bore me, literature bores me, especially great literature, Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me. And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag and somehow a dog has taken itself & its tail considerably away into mountains or sea or sky, leaving behind: me, wag.

“Wag” meaning a witty fellow, or “wag” meaning that he is of no more use than the back end of a mutt? Who on earth is Henry? Also, whoever’s talking, why does he address us as “friends,” as if he were Mark Antony and we were a Roman mob, and why can’t he even honor Achilles—the hero of the Iliad, a foundation stone of “great literature”—with a capital letter? You have to know such literature pretty well before you earn the right to claim that it tires you out. Few knew it better than Berryman, or shouldered the burdens of serious reading with a more remorseless joy. As he once said, “When it came to a choice between buying a book and a sandwich, as it often did, I always chose the book.”

“Life, friends” is the fourteenth of “The Dream Songs,” the many-splendored enterprise that consumed Berryman’s energies in the latter half of his career, and on which his reputation largely rests. His labors on the Songs began in 1955 and led to “77 Dream Songs,” which was published in 1964 and won him a Pulitzer Prize. In the course of the Songs, which he regarded as one long poem, he is represented, or unreliably impersonated, by a figure named Henry, who undergoes “the whole humiliating Human round” on his behalf. As Berryman explained, “Henry both is and is not me, obviously. We touch at certain points.” In 1968, along came a further three hundred and eight Songs, under the title “His Toy, His Dream, His Rest.” (A haunting phrase, which grabs the seven ages of man, as outlined in “As You Like It,” and squeezes them down to three.) Two days after publication, he was asked, by the Harvard Advocate, about his profession. “Being a poet is a funny kind of jazz. It doesn’t get you anything,” he said. “It’s just something you do.”

There was plenty of all that jazz. Berryman forsook the distillations of Eliot for the profusion of Whitman; the Dream Songs, endlessly rocking and rolling, surge onward in waves. Lay them aside, and you still have the other volumes of Berryman’s poems, including “The Dispossessed” (1948), “Homage to Mistress Bradstreet” (1956), and “Love & Fame” (1970). Bundled together, they fill nearly three hundred pages. If magnitude freaks you out, there are slimmer selections—one from the Library of America, edited by Kevin Young, the poetry editor of this magazine, and another, “The Heart Is Strange,” compiled by Daniel Swift to toast the centenary, in 2014, of the poet’s birth. And don’t forget the authoritative 1982 biography by John Haffenden, who also put together a posthumous collection, “Henry’s Fate and Other Poems,” in 1977, as well as “Berryman’s Shakespeare” (1999), a Falstaffian banquet of his scholarly work on the Bard. Some of Berryman’s critical writings are clustered, invaluably, in “The Freedom of the Poet” (1976). In short, you need space on your shelves, plus a clear head, if you want to join the Berrymaniacs. Proceed with caution; we can be a cranky bunch.

Of late, Berryman’s star has waned. Its glow was never steady in the first place, but it has dimmed appreciably, because of lines like these:

Arrive a time when all coons lose dere grip, but is he come? Le’s do a hoedown, gal.

“The Dream Songs” is a hubbub, and some of it is spoken in blackface—or, to be accurate, in what might be described as blackvoice. It deals in unembarrassed minstrelsy, complete with a caricature of verbal tics, all too pointedly transcribed: “Now there you exaggerate, Sah. We hafta die.” To say that Berryman was airing the prejudices of his era is hardly to exonerate him; in any case, he seems to be evoking, in purposeful anachronism, an all but vanished age of vaudeville. Kevin Young, who is Black, prefaces his choice of Berryman’s poetry by arguing, “Much of the force of The Dream Songs comes from its use of race and blackface to express a (white) self unraveling.” Some readers will share Young’s generously inquiring attitude; others will veer away from Berryman and never go back.

For anyone willing to stick around, there’s a new book on the block. “The Selected Letters of John Berryman” weighs in at more than seven hundred pages. It is edited by Philip Coleman and Calista McRae, and published by the Belknap Press, at Harvard—a selfless undertaking, given that Berryman derides Harvard as “a haven for the boring and the foolish,” wherein “my students display a form of illiterate urbanity which will soon become very depressing.” (Not that other colleges elude his gibes. Berkeley is summed up as “Paradise, with anthrax.”) The earliest letter, dated September, 1925, is from the schoolboy Berryman to his parents, and ends, “I love you too much to talk about.” In a pleasing symmetry, the final letter printed here, from 1971, shows Berryman rejoicing in his own parenthood. He tells a friend, “We had a baby, Sarah Rebecca, in June—a beauty.”

And what lies in between? More or less the polyphony that you’d expect, should you come pre-tuned into Berryman. “Vigour & fatigue, confidence & despair, the elegant & the blunt, the bright & the dry.” Such is the medley, he says, that he finds in the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, and you can feel Berryman swooping with similar freedom from one tone to the next. “Books I’ve got, copulation I need,” he writes from Cambridge, at the age of twenty-two, thus initiating a lifelong and dangerous refrain. When he reports, two years later, that “I was attacked by an excited loneliness which is still with me and which has so far produced fifteen poems,” is that a grouse or a boast? There are alarming valedictions: “Nurse w. another shot. no more now,” or, “Maybe I better go get a bottle of whisky; maybe I better not.” There are letters to Ezra Pound, one of which, sent with “atlantean respect & affection,” announces, “What we want is a new form of the daring,” a very Poundian demand. And there are smart little swerves into the aphoristic—“Writers should be heard and not seen”; “All modern writers are complicated before they are good”—or into courteous eighteenth-century brusquerie. Pastiche can be useful when you have a grudge to convey: “My dear Sir: You are plainly either a fool or a scoundrel. It is kinder to think you a fool; and so I do.” It’s a letter best taken with a pinch of snuff.

Berryman was a captious and self-heating complainer, slow to cool. Just as the first word of the Iliad means “Wrath,” so the first word of the opening Dream Song is “Huffy.” Seldom can you predict the cause of his looming ire. A concert performance by the Stradivarius Quartet, in the fall of 1941, drives him away: “Beethoven’s op. 130 they took now to be a circus, now to be a sea-chantey, & I fled in the middle to escape their Cavatina.” The following year, an epic letter to his landlord, on Grove Street, in Boston, is almost entirely concerned with a refrigerator, which has “developed a high-pitched scream.” Berryman was not an easy man to live with, or to love, and the likelihood that even household appliances found his company intolerable cannot be dismissed.

Yet the poet was scarcely unique in his vexations; we all have our fridges to bear. Something else, far below the hum of daily pique, resounds through this massive book—a ground bass of doom and dejection. “You may prepare my coffin.” “If this reaches you, you will know I got as far as a letter-box at any rate.” “I write in haste, being back in Hell.” Such are the dirges to which Berryman treats his friends, in the winter of 1939–40, and the odd jauntiness in which he couches his misery somehow makes it worse. It’s one thing to write, “I am fed up with pretending to be alive when in fact I am not,” but quite another to dispatch those words, as Berryman did, to someone whom you are courting; the recipient was Eileen Mulligan, whom he married nine months later, in October, 1942. To the critic Mark Van Doren, who had been his mentor at Columbia, he was more formal in his woe, declaring, “Each year I hope that next year will find me dead, and so far I have been disappointed, but I do not lose that hope, which is almost my only one.” We are close to the borders of Beckett.

There are definite jitters of comedy in so funereal a pose, and detractors of Berryman would say that he keeps trying on his desolation, like a man getting fitted for a dark suit. The trouble is that we know how he died. Even if he is putting on an act, for the horrified benefit of his correspondents, it is still a rehearsal for the main event, and you can’t inspect the long lament that he sends to Eileen in 1953—after they have separated—without glancing ahead, almost twenty years, to the dénouement of his days. The letter leaps, like one of those 3 a.m. frettings which every insomniac will recognize, directly from money to death. “I only have $2.15 to live through the week,” the poet says, before laying out his plans. “My insurance, the only sure way of paying my debts, expires on Thursday. So unless something happens I have to kill myself day after tomorrow evening or earlier.” To be specific, “What I am going to do is drop off the George Washington bridge. I believe one dies on the way down.” If Berryman is playing Cassandra to himself, crying out the details of his own quietus, how did the cry begin?

It is tempting to turn biography into cartography—unrolling the record of somebody’s life, smoothing it flat, and indicating the major fork in the road. Most of us rebut this thesis, as we amble maplessly along. In Berryman’s case, however, there was a fork, so terrible and so palpable that no account of him, and no encounter with his poems, can afford to ignore it. The road didn’t simply split in two; it was cratered, in the summer of 1926, when his father, John Allyn Smith, committed suicide.

The family was living in Clearwater, Florida, at the time, and young John was eleven years old. There was a bizarre prelude to the calamity, when his brother, Robert, was taken out by their father for a swim in the Gulf. What occurred next remains murky, but it seemed, for a while, as if they would not be returning to shore. One of the Dream Songs takes up the tale, mixing memory and denial:

Also I love him: me he’s done no wrong for going on forty years—forgiveness time— I touch now his despair, he felt as bad as Whitman on his tower but he did not swim out with me or my brother as he threatened—

a powerful swimmer, to         take one of us along as company in the defeat sublime, freezing my helpless mother: he only, very early in the morning, rose with his gun and went outdoors by my window and did what was needed.

I cannot read that wretched mind, so strong & so undone. I’ve always tried. I—I’m trying to forgive whose frantic passage, when he could not live an instant longer, in the summer dawn left Henry to live on.

Smith’s death would become the primal wound for his older son. Notice how the tough and Hemingway-tinged curtness of “did what was needed” gives way, all too soon, to the halting stammer of “I—I’m trying.” The wound was suppurating and unhealable, and there is little doubt that it deepened the festering of Berryman’s life. As he writes in one of the final Dream Songs, “I spit upon this dreadful banker’s grave / who shot his heart out in a Florida dawn / O ho alas alas.” Haffenden quotes these lines, raw with recrimination, in his biography; dryly informs us that the poet, in fact, never visited his father’s grave; and supplies us with relevant notes that Berryman made in 1970—two years before he, in turn, found a bridge and did what he thought was needed. He sounds like a patient striving mightily to become his own shrink:

Did I myself feel any guilt perhaps—long-repressed if so & this is mere speculation (defense here) about Daddy’s death? (I certainly pickt up enough of Mother’s self-blame to accuse her once, drunk & raging, of having actually murdered him & staged a suicide.)

Alternatively:

So maybe my long self-pity has been based on an error, and there has been no (hero-) villain (Father) ruling my life, but only an unspeakably powerful possessive adoring mother, whose life at 75 is still centered wholly on me. And my (omnipotent) feeling that I can get away with anything.

For readers who ask themselves, browsing through “Berryman’s Shakespeare,” why the poet bent his attention, again and again, to “Hamlet,” to the plight of the prince, and to the preoccupations—as Berryman boldly construed them—of the man who wrote the play, here is an answer of sorts. And, for anyone wanting more of this unholy psychodrama, consider the list of characters. Berryman’s mother, born Martha Little, married John Allyn Smith. Less than eleven weeks after his death, she married her landlord, John Angus McAlpin Berryman, and thereafter called herself Jill, or Jill Angel. As for the poet, he was baptized with his father’s name, was known as Billy in infancy, and then, in deference to his brand-new stepfather, became John Berryman. This is like Hamlet having to call himself Claudius, Jr., on top of everything else. As Berryman remarks, “Damn Berrymans and their names.”

A book of back-and-forth correspondence with his mother was published in 1988, under the title “We Dream of Honour.” (Having picked up the habit of British spelling, at Cambridge, Berryman never kicked it.) Inexcusably, it’s now out of print, but worth tracking down; and you could swear, as you leaf through it, that you’d stumbled upon a love affair. The son says to the mother, “I hope you’re well, darling, and less worried.” The mother tells the son, “I have loved you too much for wisdom, or it is perhaps nearer truth to say that with love or in anger, I am not wise.” We are offered a facsimile of a letter from 1953, in which Berryman begins, “Mother, I have always failed; but I am not failing now.”

One obvious shortfall in the “Selected Letters” is that “We Dream of Honour” took the cream of the crop. Only eight letters here are addressed to Martha, six of them mailed from school, and, if you’re approaching Berryman as a novice, your take on him will be unavoidably skewed. By way of compensation, we get a wildly misconceived letter of advice from the middle-aged Berryman to his son, Paul, concluding with the maxim “Strong fathers crush sons.” Paul was four at the time. Haffenden has already cited that letter, however, and doubts whether it was ever sent. One item in the new book that I have never read before, and would prefer not to read again, is a letter from the fourteen-year-old Berryman to his stepfather, whom he calls Uncle Jack, and before whom he cringes as if whipped. “I’m a coward, a cheat, a bully, and a thief if I had the guts to steal,” the boy writes. Things get worse: “I have none of the fine qualities or emotions, and all the baser ones. I don’t understand why God permitted me to be born.” He signs himself “John Berryman,” the sender mirroring the recipient, and adds, “P.S. I’m a disgrace to your name.”

To read such words is to marvel that Berryman survived as long as he did. If one virtue emerged from the wreckage of his early years, it was a capacity to console; later, in the midst of his drinking and his lechery, he remained a reliable guide to grief, and to the blast area that surrounds it. In May, 1955, commiserating with Saul Bellow, whose father has just passed away, Berryman writes, “Unfortunately I am in a v g position to feel with you: my father died for me all over again last week.” He unfolds his larger theme: “His father’s death is one of the few main things that happens to a man, I think, and it matters greatly to the life when it happens.” Bellow’s affliction, Berryman reassures him, lofts him into illustrious company: “Shakespeare was probably in the middle of Hamlet and I think his effort increased.” Freud and Luther are then added to the roster of the fruitfully bereaved.

None of this will surprise an admirer of the Dream Songs. Among the loveliest are those in which the poet mourns departed friends, such as Robert Frost, Louis MacNeice, Theodore Roethke, and Delmore Schwartz. Berryman the comic, who can be scabrously funny, not least at his own expense, consorts with Berryman the frightener (“In slack times visit I the violent dead / and pick their awful brains”) and Berryman the elegist, who can summon whole twilights of sorrow. In this, a tribute to Randall Jarrell, he gradually allows the verse to run on, like overflowing water, across the line breaks, with a grace denied to our harshly end-stopped lives:

In the night-reaches dreamed he of better graces, of liberations, and beloved faces, such as now ere dawn he sings. It would not be easy, accustomed to these things, to give up the old world, but he could try; let it all rest, have a good cry.

Let Randall rest, whom your self-torturing cannot restore one instant’s good to, rest: he’s left us now. The panic died and in the panic’s dying so did my old friend. I am headed west also, also, somehow.

In the chambers of the end we’ll meet again I will say Randall, he’ll say Pussycat and all will be as before when as we sought, among the beloved faces, eminence and were dissatisfied with that and needed more.

A photograph of 1941 shows Berryman in a dark coat, a hat, and a bow tie. His jaw is clean-shaven and firm. With his thin-rimmed spectacles and his ready smile, he looks like a spry young stockbroker on his way home from church. Skip ahead to the older Berryman, and you observe a very different beast, with a beard like the mane of a disenchanted lion. Finches could roost in it. The rims of his glasses are now thick and black, and his hands, in many images, refuse to be at rest. They gesticulate and splay, as if he were conducting an orchestra that he alone can hear. A cigarette serves as his baton.

If you seek to understand this metamorphosis, “The Selected Letters of John Berryman” can help. What greets us here, as often as not, is a parody of a poet. Watch him fumble with the mechanisms of the everyday, “ghoulishly inefficient about details and tickets and visas and trains and money and hotels.” Chores are as heavy as millstones, to his hypersensitive neck: “Do this, do that, phone these, phone those, repair this, drown that, poison the other.” We start to sniff a blend—peculiar to Berryman, like a special tobacco—of the humbled and the immodest. It drifts about, in aromatic puns: “my work is growing by creeps & grounds.” Though the outer world of politics and civil strife may occasionally intrude, it proves no match for the smoke-filled rooms inside the poet’s head. When nuclear tests are carried out at Bikini Atoll, in 1954, they register only briefly, in a letter to Bellow. “This thermonuclear business wd tip me up all over again if I were in shape to attend to it,” Berryman writes, before moving on to a harrowing digest of his diarrhea.

Above all, this is a book-riddled book. No one but Berryman, it’s fair to say, would write from a hospital in Minneapolis, having been admitted in a state of alcoholic and nervous prostration, to a bookstore in Oxford, asking, “Can you let me know what Elizabethan Bibles you have in stock?” The recklessness with which he abuses his body is paired with an indefatigable and nurselike care for textual minutiae. (“Very very tentatively I suggest that the comma might come out.”) Only on the page can he trust his powers of control, although even those desert him at a deliciously inappropriate moment. Writing to William Shawn at The New Yorker, in 1951, and proposing “a Profile on William Shakespeare,” Berryman begins, “Dear Mr Shahn.” Of all the editors of all the magazines in all the world, he misspells him.

No such Profile appeared; nor, to one’s infinite regret, did the edition of “King Lear” on which Berryman toiled for years. What we do have is his fine essay of 1953, “Shakespeare at Thirty,” which begins, “Suppose with me a time, a place, a man who was waked, risen, washed, dressed, fed, on a day in latter April long ago—about April 22, say, of 1594, a Monday.” Few scholars would have the bravado, or the imaginative dexterity, for such supposings, and it’s a thrill to see a living poet treat a dead one not as a monument but as a partner in crime. “Oh my god! Shakespeare. That multiform & encyclopedic bastard,” Berryman says in a letter of 1952, as if the two of them had just locked horns in a tavern.

Such plunges into the past, with its promise of adventure and refuge, came naturally to Berryman, nowhere more so than in “Homage to Mistress Bradstreet,” which was published in the Partisan Review in 1953 and, three years later, as a book. This was the poem with which he broke through—discovering not just a receptive audience but a voice that, in its heightened lyrical pressure, sounded like his and nobody else’s. The irony is that he did so by assuming the role of a woman: Anne Bradstreet, herself a poet, who emigrated from England to America, in 1630. It is her tough, pious, and hardscrabble history that Berryman chronicles: “Food endless, people few, all to be done. / As pippins roast, the question of the wolves / turns & turns.” In a celebrated scene, the heroine gives birth. Even if you dispute the male ability (or the right) to articulate such an experience, it’s hard not to be swayed by the fervor of dramatic effort:

I can can no longer and it passes the wretched trap whelming and I am me

drencht & powerful, I did it with my body! One proud tug greens Heaven. Marvellous, unforbidding Majesty. Swell, imperious bells. I fly.

What the poem cost its creator, over more than four years, is made plain in the letters, which ring with an exhausted ecstasy. “I feel like weeping all the time,” he tells one friend. “I regard every word in the poem as either a murderer or a lover.” As for Anne, who perished in 1672, “I certainly at some point fell in love with her.” Berryman adds, as if to prove his devotion, “I used three shirts at a time, in relays. I wish I were dead.”

Is this how we like poetry to be brought forth, even now? Though we may never touch the stuff, reading no verse from one year to the next, do we still expect it to be delivered in romantic agony, with attendant birth pangs? (So much for Wallace Stevens, who composed much of his work while gainfully employed, on a handsome salary, as an insurance executive.) Berryman viewed the notion of his being a confessional poet “with rage and contempt,” and rightly so; the label is an insult to his craftsmanship. Nobody pining for mere self-expression, or craving a therapeutic blurt, could lavish on a paramour, as Berryman did, lines as elaborately wrought as these:

Loves are the summer’s. Summer like a bee Sucks out our best, thigh-brushes, and is gone.

You have to reach back to Donne to find so commanding an exercise in the clever-sensual. It comes from “Berryman’s Sonnets,” a sequence of a hundred and fifteen poems, published in 1967. Most of them had been written long before, in 1947, in heat and haste, during an affair with a woman named Chris Haynes. And, in this huge new hoard of letters, how many are addressed to Haynes? Precisely one. Gossip hunters will slouch off in frustration, and good luck to them; on the other hand, anyone who delights in listening to Berryman, and who can’t help wondering how the singer becomes the songs, will find much to treasure here, in these garrulous and pedantic pages. There is hardly a paragraph in which Berryman—poet, pedagogue, boozehound, and symphonic self-destroyer—may not be heard straining toward the condition of music. “I have to make my pleasure out of sound,” he says. The book is full of noises, heartsick with hilarity, and they await their transmutation into verse.

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scxrlettwxtches · 5 years

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stop poking me | lee taeyong

Request: 33 and 53 with taeyong please 💖💖

Genre: college!au, pure fluff y’all aren’t even ready

Warnings: none :D

Word Count: ~2.5k

Prompt: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” and “I’m flirting with you.”

A/N: wow! i was so excited to write this prompt that i finished way quicker than i thought i would hahaha. it is a little shorter than usual, so sorry about that! as always, i love any type of feedback on my writing or if any of y’all wanna chat, my ask box is open! enjoy! <3

It was quite a nice evening outside.

The weather was exactly how you liked it; not unbearably hot, but still warm, with a light breeze that kept the air from getting too stuffy. You could hear people out and about, taking advantage of the good weather to go out and have fun. Oh, how you’d give anything in that moment to do the same.

But instead, you were stuck inside your apartment, rushing to finish an essay worth 40% of your final grade.

Well, you weren’t exactly rushing. Most of it was actually done much earlier, but being the perfectionist you were, you weren’t going to submit that paper until you were sure it wouldn’t receive anything less than a 94%. A feat, that you learned to accept, is awfully difficult as an English major.

With your windows wide open, you sat on your bed comfortably, a computer on your lap and a large bottle of green tea on your bedside table. You didn’t even bother changing into anything that morning, so you were still in your pajamas.

You were so wrapped up in your work that you didn’t even notice someone entering your apartment. It wasn’t until you heard a gentle knock on your open door and a head with a set of pink, fluffy hair peeked in that you realized you weren’t the only person in the apartment anymore.

“How’s everything going?” The man asked quietly, as if trying to avoid disturbing your train of thought.

“Everything’s going fine,” you sent Taeyong what was probably the fakest smile in existence.

Taeyong made a noise, looking at you with an amused expression on your face, “Really. Have you even moved at all this whole day? You’re still in the same exact position as when I left for dance practice.”

“That’s not a lot of time.”

“Y/N, I’ve been gone for five hours.”

You hesitated, because he had a point, “Well, I’ve taken breaks.”

Taeyong laughed, “Of course you have,” he looked into the hallway, “You want me to fix you something to eat?”

“Aren’t you tired? If you’ve been gone for five hours, that means you practice overtime again, didn’t you?” you looked at him pointedly.

“I’m a bit tired, but I have to eat a little something anyways so I could just make yours as well.”

Relenting, you smiled gingerly, “If it’s not too much trouble then. Thanks, Tae.”

After he left your door and headed to the kitchen, you put your laptop on the bed, rubbing your eyes and stretching out your limbs. God, he was right, you probably haven’t moved at all since you started working early afternoon. Your legs were tight and sore, and your joints made popping noises.

As you stretched, you began to think about the man currently outside making you (and him) a snack. Your relationship with Lee Taeyong was interesting to put it simply. You met him in the your first year of college when the landlord sorta screwed up and accidentally put both of your names to this one apartment. It was quite a shock when you open the door to find a very, very handsome man already unpacking his things.

After realizing what had happened, the two of you eventually decided to just stay in the same apartment. It was definitely a harder decision on your part, but from what you could see, Lee Taeyong was a very respectable man. When discussing the option of living together, he immediately set rules to respect your privacy, something you were very grateful for.

Over time, the initial awkwardness faded as the two of you began to realize that your personalities actually got along quite well. The boundaries began to blur soon after, the living situation soon changed from just interacting briefly when you cross paths to coexisting almost like a married couple. You knew his schedule and he knew yours. When the two of you were free, movie nights under a fluffy blanket were always a wonderful way to kill time together.

Looking at your laptop, you pinched your cheek, telling yourself to stay concentrated on finishing the goddamn essay. As you worked, you could hear Taeyong chopping along in the kitchen, humming to himself. It was all a very calmly relaxing atmosphere and you found yourself actually working more efficiently than you did earlier.

He returned to your room not twenty minutes later, but this time holding a plate of food. He came over to your bed and set the plate down on your bedside table.

“I made your favorite sandwiches,” he said, turning towards you with a gentle smile. Ruffling your hair, he gave you a couple words of encouragement before leaving you to work, “Good luck!”

Munching on the warm sandwiches, you continued you work, reviewing your essay over and over. As you continued, you could hear Taeyong bustling about the apartment, eating his own snack, cleaning the kitchen, and then groggily dragging himself into the shower. Throughout that hour or so, neither of you talked to one another, Taeyong probably holding himself back so to not distract you. Despite the silence, it was nice to know that someone was around, and open to company if things really got too stressful.

However, it seemed that the quietness in the atmosphere got too boring for your roommate, because he eventually wiggled his way back to your room. Pointedly ignoring him as you scanned your fourth paragraph, the bed shifted as he crawled up, looking at you with those large, doe eyes.

“Y/N…” he whined, grabbing one of your unused pillows and clutching it to his chest adorably.

Not looking away from your work, you answered absentmindedly, “Hmm?”

“I’m bored.”

“Good for you,” paying him zero mind, you took another big bite of your sandwich. Taeyong had these occasional moods where he’d get clingy, like extremely clingy. If you were being honest, it was absolutely adorable, but you were busy and you really couldn’t devote any time to play with him.

From the corner of your eye, you watched him frown and curl up in a ball on your bed. Thinking the conversation was over, you put your full attention back to your essay until you felt a finger poke your side.

Sending Taeyong a strange glare, you elected to ignore it. However, your lack of retaliation only made him more stubborn and he began poking your side more frequently.

“Taeyong, stop it.”

“No.”

“Oh, my god, you absolute brat,” you sighed, but you could feel your resolve breaking. Taeyong continued to bother you, his poking now even more intense than before, “If you don’t stop, I will literally kick your ass.”

Apparently, he took that as a challenge, because he began poking you with two fingers now.

“Taeyong, cut it out!”

“No,” he said, adamant, “I’m not gonna stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

“Oh, you little-” you’ve had enough at this point. Reaching behind you, you grabbed a pillow and flung it at Taeyong with the arm strength of a baseball pitcher. The pillow smacked his side hard and he let out a wheeze, backing away.

With an evil grin, he yanked the pillow from you, ready for revenge. You only had enough time to move your computer to your bedside table before pillow hit you face first with a soft thump. You raised your hands to block your face, backing up on the bed before you felt another pillow on your left. Quickly, you snatched the extra pillow and began your counterstrike.

The two of you fought it out like cats and dogs until Taeyong decided to forego the pillows entirely. He pounced on you, and with a shriek, you managed to grab his arms so he didn’t completely crush you. The two of you wrestled wildly on the bed, although your weak, exercise-lacking limbs were no match for Taeyong’s dance-trained, sleek muscle.

Soon, you lost the original vigor you had, and Taeyong immediately latched onto that advantage. With a surge of strength that really showed how much he was holding back before, he overpowered you, pushing you under him like a leopard stalking its prey. Panting slightly, you looked up, and the moment of peace in between your play wrestling made you suddenly aware of the position the two of you were in.

Taeyong’s face was only inches from yours, some of his hair falling into his face as he looked down at you. You lay on the bed, Taeyong practically straddling your waist, and both your arms were above your head, pinned down by one of Taeyong’s annoyingly large hands.

Now, you were quite a touchy person, and so was Taeyong when the two of you were alone. Casual hugs and cuddles were nothing out of the ordinary. But this, this whole atmosphere was a part of your relationship that neither of you have explored. And judging from Taeyong’s hooded gaze, you could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Wriggling your hands, you squirmed to get free, but Taeyong’s grip was firm.

“Uh, Taeyong?” you prompted him, moving your hands. However, the man paid you no mind, staring at you as if in a trance. Using his other hand, his fingers tickled your cheek, sending sparks flying in your brain and your face turning pink, “What are you doing?”

Taeyong didn’t quite seem to have his usual control over his own words and actions, because he replied in a dreamy, awed voice, “I’m flirting with you.”

Despite the aura around the two of you at that moment, you did not expect Taeyong to actually come out and admit that to your face. In that second of shock, you gave a very intellectual reply that was similar to a choking seal, “W-what.”

Your stuttering destroyed the mood and snapped Taeyong out of whatever stupor he was in. Realizing what he had just said, he practically flew off you, taking shelter in the farthest corner of your bed. He gave an awkward smile, “It was just a joke, sorry about that.”

Taeyong was great at many things, but he was a horrible liar, “Mhm. No, it wasn’t. You were flirting with me?”

“Um, maybe?”

This was not information that you had expected to receive that day, “You were really flirting with me?”

Taeyong’s face was beet red, and he looked quite stressed out that you kept repeating his confession, “Yes, I was!”

“Like for real?”

“What does that even mean?” he sounded exasperated, “Why are you getting so caught up on this-”

“Were you flirting seriously or were you just flirting to have fun with my reactions?”

That was apparently not the question Taeyong was expecting. His embarrassed expression was immediately replaced by one of curiosity, and actually a little hurt, as if the idea of him toying with your emotions was offensive, “Why would I ever do that?”

You curled your legs in and hugged them closer to your chest, “I don't know,” you mumbled, embarrassed and a little guilty for even asking. It wasn't as if you doubted Taeyong; he's never been anything but genuine with you, but you didn't want to open up the box of feelings you had for him if he wasn't serious.

“Y/N,” he sighed, leaving his safe place at the corner of your bed to approach you, “I've liked you for two years, ever since you stayed up all night with me at the dance studio just so I wouldn't feel lonely. After that day, I've never been anything but serious about loving you.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, “Really?”

His smile was beautiful, “Really.”

With a happy laugh, you jumped at Taeyong, throwing your arms around his neck. He let out a shocked grunt, but reciprocated your hug eagerly. You could feel his hands rubbing your back gently as you held him tight, smiling into his neck.

“I kinda know your answer already,” Taeyong spoke softly in your ear as his hands began to caress your hair, causing chills to run down your arms, “but would you humor me and say it out loud?”

Giggling, you pushed yourself away from Taeyong to look directly into his eyes, your hands on his shoulders and his on your waist, “Lee Taeyong,” you said honestly, “I love you.”

A smile erupted on his face as a light blush colored his cheeks. Pulling you close, your forehead bumped his as he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

You replied without hesitation, whispering cheekily, “You don’t even need to ask.”

After a kiss that turned into a light make out session, you were back at your work, but this time with Taeyong laying happily on your thigh. He hummed a familiar tune as he rolled around, taking a peek at your writing.

“Hang on,” he frowned suddenly, “Wasn’t your paper supposed to be six pages?”

“Um, yeah?” you answered, uncertainly.

“Don’t you already have six pages?”

“Yeah?”

“Then aren’t you done?” he asked incredulously.

You shrugged, “I was done awhile ago but I was just checking-”

“Awhile ago?!” Taeyong exclaimed, “You’re telling me you’ve been done all this time?”

You looked sheepish, “Well, I’ve been checking my work and stuff but…” you trailed off.

Your (now) boyfriend shook his head, “Y/N, you gotta turn it in. There’s no use in sitting on it until the last minute.”

“I’m not sitting on it,” you said defensively, “I’m just-”

“Tell me,” he sat up, “have you actually made any real changes to your paper in the last hour?”

“No, cause we’ve been kissing for half of it,” you retorted.

Taeyong ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “You know what I mean.”

You didn’t answer him, because now that you think about it, you really haven’t actually done anything to your paper after you finished it. With a sudden surge of resolve, you sighed, and exported it as a pdf, submitting it to your teacher.

“There,” you looked at Taeyong pointedly, “it’s gone.”

He grinned, “Great! Now let’s go out!”

“Go out?” you laughed, “Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m never tired if it’s hanging out with you,” Taeyong said sincerely, before blushing slightly, “Especially since today would be our first date, right?”

God, the power this man had over you. Immediately, you flushed pink as you stammered, “Y-yeah, I guess it will be.”

“So?” he looked at you with his large, doe eyes, “You wanna go out?”

You had a day off tomorrow, so why not?

“Sure,” you kissed his cheek as you slid off your bed, “Lemme go get ready.”

#lee taeyong #nct scenarios #nct #nct reactions #nct imagines #my fics #nct drabbles

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caffeineivore · 5 years

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R/J for Charlie

More of the Raven and Jude show, just because @coppercrane2 is awesome and deserves all the things. Actually, dedicated to her, and @apsaraqueen, and @antivanruffles, and @antivanonmytongue, and all my other R/J shippers. <3 you guys!

They’d struck up something of a friendship-- perhaps a flirtatious correspondence, if one wanted to be completely accurate-- after the messenger bag snafu at LAX and his impromptu visit to Manhattan. It had seemed the right thing to do to invite her for drinks and a tour of LA the next time she’d been in town. They’d had margaritas and taco truck tacos and walked through the Huntington in the afternoon, Raven looking impossibly pretty standing on the bridge of the Japanese garden, her silky black hair loose and flowing in the breeze. Then he’d in turn looked her up when he was in New York City again for a work summit, and they’d gone together to a Broadway show-- West Side Story. They’d had dinner together-- not at some fancy restaurant, but a hole-in-the-wall deli, and if Raven had made an incongruous picture in her sleek black dress and stiletto heels, wiping mustard off her mouth with scratchy napkins, Jude had found it endearing and rather adorable, and that’s when he knew he was truly in trouble.

She’d called him a cab back to his hotel, and on an impulse, he’d kissed her right as the car had been pulling up. Just a moment, little more than a peck on a mouth that tasted like Sprite and expensive lipstick, and he’d felt the little gasp and sigh against his own mouth before her lips pressed back against his, but there wasn’t time to say more than a quick “Good night” before the cabbie had honked, impatiently waiting for him to get on. He’d passed a slightly sleepless night wondering if it had been the wrong thing to do, especially considering the sheer impracticality of entering into anything more than a casual friendship with a woman whose life was a whole three time zones away from his own. Jude was not a flirt or a ladies’ man by any definition of the word, and certainly, Raven was not the type of woman one dallied with.

But she’d shocked him two days later, when it was time for him to leave and head back to LA, and she’d popped up at his hotel just as he was checking out of his room, with two Starbucks cups and a to-go bag from a bagel place. She’d been in a hurry-- there was some type of meeting with some landlord/building super or another, to set up an apartment for some fresh-out-of-the-backwoods-boonies model or another who’d just relocated to the big city from Small Town USA all of a week ago-- but she’d claimed that he was on her way, anyway, and she was so almost-defensive about the sweet gesture of bringing him breakfast and sending him off that he’d plucked both coffee and bagels out of her hands, set it perhaps-rudely on the concierge desk, and hugged her for perhaps too long before kissing her, again.

“I’ll call you when I get to LA,” he’d told her in a rush when he’d finally pulled back, heart stuttering a bit as he watched her thick, sooty eyelashes flicker slowly as her eyes opened. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah. Have a good flight. I-- I’ll miss you too.” That last bit was tacked on at the end just as he finally found the wherewithal to get his bags and the bagel and coffee, and even before his plane boarded, he knew he’d be counting down the days until one of them had a reason to fly across the country again.

That had been about eight months ago, and bless Raven’s contract with the very-famous, very still-not-eighteen Morgan Austen, because there had been many flights to LA, and that flirtatious correspondence had turned into something very akin to a long-distance relationship. He’d wake up to her voice at an indecent hour of the morning, and she’d fall asleep to his, sometime still fairly early to him at night. She no longer cared about facetiming him at inopportune times, and he certainly didn’t think her any less beautiful in a ratty old Columbia University hoodie and yoga pants and no makeup than her in expensive eveningwear, rubies glowing against the sleek darkness of her hair. The first night he’d stayed over at her place, she’d fallen asleep with her feet in his lap on the couch during the tail end of an episode of The Office, and he’d carried her to bed, both of them still fully dressed but for their shoes and jackets. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to her fingers tracing over his skin and sought out her mouth on feeling alone, before even opening his eyes. The next morning, they’d shared a very leisurely shower, where he’d taken his time washing every inch of her hair before she’d tackled him.

The distance wasn’t something they could truly ignore, however, the longer they were together. Raven’s career was thriving, as was his, and neither of them could sensibly be expected to move cross-country and make a completely fresh start.

Fall in LA is undoubtedly less picturesque than out on the East Coast, with its leaves changing colours and crisp mornings edged with frost, its high winds and cinnamon-and-nutmeg-scented coffee and pastries, but Jude doesn’t lack for work and other related distractions. He’s up for tenure review at the college that year, and there’s the whole process of putting together the tenure dossier and bringing the completed body of his work to the committee and deans. UCLA is no different from most large universities of its ilk-- professors are either awarded tenure after a certain number of years and an evaluated body of work has been produced, or terminated from employment. It is in the midst of this term of flux that a hush seems to fall over the very halls of his building, unusual indeed for this time of day.

Then he hears it-- the click-clack of Louboutins against the floors, and he peers out of his office door to see his sassy and beautiful New Yorker striding down the hallway like she owns the place, wearing a prim little skirt suit the same silky black as her sleekly-pinned hair. She smiles when she sees him, and he can all but hear the cluster of goggling chemistry majors left in her wake sigh in collective half-terrified awe.

“Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming here.”

She reaches him, and as though she cares not a jot that there are others watching them, puts her hands on his face, presses her warm red mouth to his in greeting for a moment before pulling away. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

There was more than that, just from the solemnity in her dark violet eyes. He lets her into his office, and shuts the door behind her back. He smiles, brushes a gentle fingertip over the slope of one smooth cheek. “You probably just cemented my reputation in this department as a badass once and for all. Not to mention, you’ve probably given hope to more than one student in these parts that the geeky science nerd can, in fact, someday have a chance with the beautiful woman.” He dips his head, kisses her again, gently. “You look beautiful. Beautiful and serious. What brings you here?”

“It’s Morgan’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning eighteen. I was invited.”

Raven doesn’t state the implications of that-- they’re pretty obvious now, after all these months being involved in her life. Morgan Austen will no longer be a minor, and therefore, if the supermodel decides to do the sensible thing and move out to New York for work, Raven, as her agent, would have no more reason to continuously fly out to LA. She would be able to concentrate her workload once again on her home turf, the city she’d known all her life.

“I’m up for tenure review this year.” It’s apropos of nothing, really, but perhaps a part of him knows that they’re at a crossroads, and both of them could go in any direction. It would, indeed, be easier to separate now, do the sensible thing and stay to their respective cities and lives. But he can’t bring himself to draw away from her, and when she smiles-- a rare, real smile, not the polite one meant for company-- he can’t help but smile back. No matter what that means for them, she’s happy for him.

“You’ll get it. You’re too damn smart not to.”

“If I do, though, I’d pretty much have to stay here. And you--...”

“I’ll be happy for you. Because I love you, Jude Huntley. And it’s the best thing for you.”

Her words are brave and steadily spoken, but there’s a bead of moisture on her eyelashes, making her mascara seem even blacker than usual, and he feels his heart skip a beat in his chest even as he pulls her close. She’s a small woman, really, though her presence has the power to fill a room. But in his arms, her dark head tucked against the crook of his neck, those slim legs of hers leaned against the sturdy surface of his desk, she feels delicate, infinitely precious. Her fingers twine around the length of his tie, tugging him down just enough, and her sparkling eyes meet his.

“Don’t you dare do anything that isn’t right for you, all right? I will love you no matter where we are.”

“I love you, too. More than a job or a city. I hope you knew that already.”

“Shut up.” The fingers tugging on his tie now pick nimbly at their knot, and soon after, go to work on his buttons. His own hands find purchase on the curves of her hips, and a moment later, she’s seated on that desk with him standing between her legs, and the look she shoots up at him through that dark forest of lashes is sultry and, to his gratification, no longer sad. “Is there anything important on this desk that I need to be worried about?”

There are a number of his academic papers for the tenure dossier he’d been compiling, but he sweeps that aside carelessly onto a nearby chair. “Just you, love. Only you.”

It’s an indeterminate amount of time later that she leaves his office, almost looking as spic-and-span as she did when she’d come in, except her lipstick is smudged and her hair is loose and a little wild as it spills down her back. Neither of them are any closer to an answer to the unspoken dilemma than before, but he feels a bit better about the future. Whatever comes might prove incredibly difficult for a couple to weather, but he thought that, perhaps, they’d be the two people who’d prove that statistic wrong.

“Ahem. Extra credit assignment, Professor?”

Jude almost jumps out of his skin at Charlotte’s familiar voice drawling at him from across the hall. There’s almost certainly a smudge of lipstick on his collar, and he can’t be completely certain that his buttons are correctly aligned. “Umm...”

“These situations are usually found in bad pornos featuring actresses wearing short pleated plaid skirts, aren’t they? I could make a pun about your lady being well ahead of the curve. But perhaps it’s a good thing I figured out what was holding you up just before I knocked on your door, because you certainly wouldn’t have heard the banging over your exertions banging on something else altogether.”

“You, Professor Charlotte Rhys-Jones, are terrifying and evil, and I would never want to make an enemy of you.”

“Well, of course not. Why would you ever do something so foolish? I am a small and deadly commander of a diabolical penguin army. What did your girl come here for, aside from office-hours private tutoring?”

Jude is fairly sure that he’s blushing and can’t quite meet his colleague’s eyes, though he knows that she’d be sympathetic, all jokes aside. “She’s here in town because Morgan Austen is turning eighteen and invited her for the birthday party. Now that her celebrity client is no longer a minor, she’ll probably not have as many opportunities to come out this way.”

“Oh, God. She didn’t come out here to break up with you, did she? Because I think all the respect I gained for her not only walking in those ice picks but for getting you to partake in office desk shenanigans will be lost.”

“No. But I don’t know if we will have as many opportunities to be together as before.” Jude manages a self-deprecating smile. “I could always give up on tenure and move out east. There are probably schools out there that need Chemistry professors.”

“You could, but I’d hate you, and she’d hate herself, if you did that.” Charlotte says bluntly. “Weirdly, I have faith that you two might make this weird long-distance relationship of yours work out. There are frequent flier miles for these sorts of things. And the internet. People have done this since the Pony Express days, so you two should be fine. Plus, who knows what might happen? There could always be another Morgan Austen type out here somewhere just waiting for her. Do I get to be your Best Woman at the wedding?”

“I don’t know. You might have to escort the original Morgan Austen down the aisle.”

“No problem, and I don’t see you denying that there will be a wedding. Anyway, did you see that memo from the Dean that got sent yesterday?”

The conversation turns to work, and Jude sets thoughts of Raven aside for the time being.

She’d look as stunning in flowy white lace as black pinstriped linen, though.

#R/J #coppercrane2 #fanfiction #fanfic #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon

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richincolor · 6 years

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We don’t have any new releases on our radar this week, so I thought now would be a great time to look back on the first half of 2018 and highlight just a few of the books we’ve absolutely loved. What’s on your best of 2018 list so far?

Amal Unbound by Aisha Saeed Nancy Paulsen Books || Review

Life is quiet and ordinary in Amal’s Pakistani village, but she had no complaints, and besides, she’s busy pursuing her dream of becoming a teacher one day. Her dreams are temporarily dashed when–as the eldest daughter–she must stay home from school to take care of her siblings. Amal is upset, but she doesn’t lose hope and finds ways to continue learning. Then the unimaginable happens–after an accidental run-in with the son of her village’s corrupt landlord, Amal must work as his family’s servant to pay off her own family’s debt.

Life at the opulent Khan estate is full of heartbreak and struggle for Amal–especially when she inadvertently makes an enemy of a girl named Nabila. Most troubling, though, is Amal’s growing awareness of the Khans’ nefarious dealings. When it becomes clear just how far they will go to protect their interests, Amal realizes she will have to find a way to work with others if they are ever to exact change in a cruel status quo, and if Amal is ever to achieve her dreams.

Give Me Some Truth by Eric Gansworth Arthur A. Levine Books || Review

Carson Mastick is entering his senior year of high school and desperate to make his mark, on the reservation and off. A rock band — and winning the local Battle of the Bands, with its first prize of a trip to New York City — is his best shot. But things keep getting in the way. Small matters like the lack of an actual band, or the fact that his brother just got shot confronting the racist owner of a local restaurant.

Maggi Bokoni has just moved back to the reservation from the city with her family. She’s dying to stop making the same traditional artwork her family sells to tourists (conceptual stuff is cooler), stop feeling out of place in her new (old) home, and stop being treated like a child. She might like to fall in love for the first time too.

Carson and Maggi — along with their friend Lewis — will navigate loud protests, even louder music, and first love in this stirring novel about coming together in a world defined by difference.

The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo HarperTeen || Review

A young girl in Harlem discovers slam poetry as a way to understand her mother’s religion and her own relationship to the world. Debut novel of renowned slam poet Elizabeth Acevedo.

Xiomara Batista feels unheard and unable to hide in her Harlem neighborhood. Ever since her body grew into curves, she has learned to let her fists and her fierceness do the talking.

But Xiomara has plenty she wants to say, and she pours all her frustration and passion onto the pages of a leather notebook, reciting the words to herself like prayers—especially after she catches feelings for a boy in her bio class named Aman, who her family can never know about. With Mami’s determination to force her daughter to obey the laws of the church, Xiomara understands that her thoughts are best kept to herself.

So when she is invited to join her school’s slam poetry club, she doesn’t know how she could ever attend without her mami finding out, much less speak her words out loud. But still, she can’t stop thinking about performing her poems.

Because in the face of a world that may not want to hear her, Xiomara refuses to be silent.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi Henry Holt & Company || Review

Zélie Adebola remembers when the soil of Orïsha hummed with magic. Burners ignited flames, Tiders beckoned waves, and Zelie’s Reaper mother summoned forth souls.

But everything changed the night magic disappeared. Under the orders of a ruthless king, maji were targeted and killed, leaving Zélie without a mother and her people without hope.

Now, Zélie has one chance to bring back magic and strike against the monarchy. With the help of a rogue princess, Zélie must outwit and outrun the crown prince, who is hell-bent on eradicating magic for good.

Danger lurks in Orïsha, where snow leoponaires prowl and vengeful spirits wait in the waters. Yet the greatest danger may be Zélie herself as she struggles to control her powers—and her growing feelings for the enemy.

Not Your Villain by C.B. Lee Duet Books || Review

Bells Broussard thought he had it made when his superpowers manifested early. Being a shapeshifter is awesome. He can change his hair whenever he wants, and if putting on a binder for the day is too much, he’s got it covered. But that was before he became the country’s most-wanted villain.

After discovering a massive cover-up by the Heroes’ League of Heroes, Bells and his friends Jess, Emma, and Abby set off on a secret mission to find the Resistance. Meanwhile, power-hungry former hero Captain Orion is on the loose with a dangerous serum that renders meta-humans powerless, and a new militarized robotic threat emerges. Everyone is in danger. Between college applications and crushing on his best friend, will Bells have time to take down a corrupt government? Sometimes, to do a hero’s job, you need to be a villain.

The Way You Make Me Feel by Maurene Goo Farrar, Straus and Giroux || Review

Clara Shin lives for pranks and disruption. When she takes one joke too far, her dad sentences her to a summer working on his food truck, the KoBra, alongside her uptight classmate Rose Carver. Not the carefree summer Clara had imagined. But maybe Rose isn’t so bad. Maybe the boy named Hamlet (yes, Hamlet) crushing on her is pretty cute. Maybe Clara actually feels invested in her dad’s business. What if taking this summer seriously means that Clara has to leave her old self behind?

#amal unbound #give me some truth #the poet x #children of blood and bone #not your villain #the way you make me feel #WeNeedDiverseBooks #young adult books #book lists

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paulinegill89 · 3 years

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Erie life insurance, for example, has lower premiums and can be converted into a whole life. The safety net is also very expensive with a $500,000 deductible. While it may be worth it to invest in a whole life insurance policy, it will be the most costly policy. The one caveat to all of this is the term life insurance policy, only in high-income earners. That said, for young adults , there are some decent and affordable whole life policies available. Allstate provides a simple death benefit of $125,000, with no premiums to enter your tax free into an individual or family 401(k), or IRA. To learn about all the conditional conditions and . With this product, you get complete peace of mind with a whole life insurance policy without a medical exam. As a family, you get full access to the financial resources that provide your son or daughter, or grandchild, by raising.

Eckman Insurance Agency

Eckman Insurance Agency can help you get the most out of your money. From auto and home insurance, you can get a full coverage policy in about 30 minutes. Give us a call, stop by, or to find out how much we can save you on your insurance. We ve been helping people buy insurance online for over 23 years. In fact, we launched our first website a full six years ago. We want to make insurance easy. We want to make insurance easy. We re not sure why you d call us and ask for quotes. That really isn t a particularly helpful way to know your insurance needs. (You can also check out our when you shop for your insurance. And you ll often see people ask me about it.) We also have good customer reviews for you. We also have a full complement of.

Rochester Insurance Quotes

Rochester Insurance Quotes After reviewing thousands of quotes online, I came into the final section of the application process and received a letter stating my name is not available on my application. I am furious, and decided to speak with the agent and get my applications completed online, as the agent could not tell me which companies would be better for me since she cannot be contacted via email. The agent did say I could not get my cars insured without my phone number, but I found out later that I do not need my car insurance, until I got the car thanks to the phone number I had at the dealership, which I will be going to use if I wanted to use my insurance for a second . The agent did not tell me how much it would cost to take the car. He was quick to tell me that I should just say he can do the same thing through my phone, although I will get the car insured. This was a complete nightmare that I had to deal with for.

Home Insurance

Home Insurance: Homeowners insurance and renters insurance: $50 Literal Life Insurance: $60 Mortgage/Uninsured Motorcycle insurance: $20 New home insurance or new home replacement: $20 If you have a home, a mortgage, or a home you own, you may also need additional coverage. Home insurance policies typically include basic coverage, or defined damage limitation, so you ll want to make some changes as soon as possible. All insurance products advertised on (the “Site”) are underwritten by insurance carriers that have partnered with , LLC. , LLC may receive compensation from an insurer or other intermediary in connection with your engagement with the website and/or the sale of insurance to you. All decisions regarding any insurance products, including approval for coverage, premium, commissions and fees, will be made solely by the insurer underwriting the insurance under the insurer’s then-current criteria. All insurance products are governed by the terms,.

Olean Insurance Quotes

Olean Insurance Quotes I will personally pay in full for my life insurance quotes with them that I don’t have a credit card. I’ve already been asked to pay for them. I’m currently paying for three months. I’m paying around $30 per month. I’m now a diabetic, and it’s not just from the hospital. I know I’m over 25 pounds. I’m diabetic for just one MRI, so I might get to the MRI tomorrow. Just to put this in perspective for you, I have a young family. I hope they won’t let me put them on the waiting list for two hours. I live in Georgia. I’m going to die in Georgia soon but I’m not in a car. So the insurance company, and I was on my way by a little bit, and then I went to see the doctor because something happened to my.

Auto Insurance

Auto Insurance Associates is one of the largest regional auto insurance companies located in the U.S. The company offers all types of auto insurance coverage throughout Texas and Alabama, with its headquarters located in Houston. The company has over 1,200 employees, which is larger than most national insurance companies. According to The Zebra, the total annual cost for car insurance in Texas is $3,087, where their home office is located. As the largest car insurance provider in the state, Texas Farm Bureau has relatively low insurance rates compared to other insurance providers across the U.S. It offers all types of insurance such as: The following companies also have cheap car insurance in Texas. These companies rank among the top car insurance companies in Texas and Alabama. If you’re in the market for a new or newly-published car, you might be asked to purchase car insurance in the state. The will determine whether you are already a resident. If you decide to switch, you’ll need to.

Specializing In Erie Insurance

Specializing In Erie Insurance Services The firm is focused on servicing Erie car owners with a number of auto insurance options and an assortment of discounts, and is known to have a wide range of offerings for auto insurance. The firm was founded in 2008 and now specializes in auto and home insurance. They are rated highly by J.D. Power, indicating high ratings across the country. Insurance Services Available: Insurance Services Services The company serves customers across Delaware and the District of Columbia by working exclusively with an independent agent network to offer comprehensive insurance solutions. They have been providing coverage and services since 1984 and now offer auto insurance, home insurance, life insurance and pet insurance. The firm’s top priority is ensuring the stability and health of its customers, not only on and off the roads but on and off the road too. The car insurance products offered include: For example, Erie’s standard homeownership insurance policies don’t have a home portion, which is important in the event of.

0 notes

allenmendezsr · 4 years

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Shipping Container Home Made Easy ~ 12.4% Conv ~ $100 First Sale Bonus

New Post has been published on https://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/shipping-container-home-made-easy-12-4-conv-100-first-sale-bonus/

Shipping Container Home Made Easy ~ 12.4% Conv ~ $100 First Sale Bonus

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“How to

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Follow my Simple Step-By-Step Plans to Learn How…

Dear Friend,

If you’re researching how to build a shipping container home then this will be one of the most exciting messages you ever read.

Because in the next 3 minutes I’m going to show you how to build your dream home for a fraction of the cost of buying a standard house.

And how to avoid all the mistakes of builders that have come before you.

Hi, my name is Adam Ketcher.

I’ve personally built 146 shipping container homes for my clients.

And I’ve experienced just about every building situation imaginable.

After years of mastering this unique trade, I’d like to personally teach you everything – and I mean everything – you need to know to build your shipping container home TODAY.

So you can save boatloads of money and time.

And so you can give yourself and your family a safe & beautiful home they’ll be proud to call their own!

My story is probably similar to yours…

I was sick and tired of paying my landlord’s mortgage.

And I wasn’t about to pay a contractor thousands of dollars to build me a house.

I heard about shipping container homes from a friend.

And a week later I was ordering three 40-foot shipping containers from a seller in a neighboring city.

“I’ve got this,” I thought.

“I’m a talented do-it-yourselfer, so this will be easy!”

Boy, was I wrong!

I made mistake after mistake… blunder after blunder… and the the project ended up costing more than if I hired a contractor to build me a mansion!

Over the years I’ve learned a lot of lessons.

“But the most important lesson is to get people – knowledgeable people – to guide you on your do-it-yourself project.”

So…

If you’ll allow me, I’m here to be YOUR guide on your important journey.

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I’ve put everything I know into a program called:

Shipping Container Home Made Easy™

The Ultimate How-To Guide to Building a Shipping Container Home

This program is the result of my 18 years of building shipping container homes.

If it can happen… I’ve seen it.

If it can go wrong… it’s gone wrong on me!

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When you invest in this program today, you’ll have the ability to build your own shipping container home…

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Here Are Some of The Secrets You’ll Discover When You Invest in “Shipping Container Home Made Easy™” Today…

Where to find a surplus of brand new shipping containers where owners will take just about anything to get them off their hands – sometimes even giving them to you for free or PAYING YOU to take them.

You shouldn’t pay more than this much for your containers. If anyone is trying to gouge you for more than this number, then look elsewhere!

The biggest mistake new owners make when building their home. And how to avoid it to sidestep years of potential headaches and tens of thousands of dollars.

How to find shipping containers in your immediate area while dodging the expensive transportation costs of distant suppliers. And how to negotiate to get them for the lowest price possible.

My proven system to build your home to stand up to almost any natural disaster – including earthquakes and hurricanes – making container homes one of the safest housing options available.

My fiercely guarded secret to get high quality containers for pennies on the dollar.

The mistake 95% of people make when purchasing their shipping containers. And the simple way to bypass it to save you from unnecessary fees.

My exact, step by step process for building your home while avoiding nightmare mistakes and wasted money on bad decisions.

“Hi Adam, I just got done with the finishing touches on my house (see pic)! I went with the side by side 40 foot design and I leaned heavily on your advice and suggestions. I would have been walking in the dark were it not for this program! I just want to send you a sincere note of thanks. If you’re ever in the tri state area give me a buzz. Amy and I would love to have you over for dinner! Thanks again!”

David Ristfold, 35, Camden, PA

“I am thrilled I bought this guide. It was as good as having a professional at my side helping me decide every little part of my home. I strongly suggest this guide to anyone who is considering building a container home”

Brian Kay, 29, Loughborough, UK

When You’re Done With This Program You’ll Know More Than Most Professional Home Builders!

You’ll also learn how to execute a build that will not only keep you in the green, but oftentimes leave more money in your pocket than you originally planned for!

How to get essential parts for your home ABSOLUTELY FREE. And how doing so will shave up to 30% off the total bill of your build.

The one place NOT to cut corners on your project. And how investing in this will put you 5 steps ahead of most do-it-yourselfers who try to save money in the wrong places.

Why the location of your build influences the price the most. And how to elude extraneous costs by building in zoning pockets the authorities don’t want you to know about.

The 5 essential things you must consider when choosing to build your home yourself … hiring a contractor to do it for you… or a mix of the two.

How to build a heat reflecting roof that standard homes simply can’t compete with. And how it will save you a stack of money in cooling costs within the first few years of use!

The 4 things you must look for in a contractor if you plan to hiring one to build your container home. And why this is so critical, it alone is worth more than 10x times the price of this program.

The most economical load bearing set up for your container home. And why building your home this way will cut the cost of your project by 30%.

“I accessed the program so many times during my build so I saved it on my desktop. I especially like the chapter about floorplans. My wife and I poured over those for months before deciding on our layout. We now have our dream home and we owe you a big thanks for helping us get there. Highly recommended!”

Ed Rowe, 43, Belmont, NH

“I bought the program to review before I bought an already built container home because I wanted to know all the things to look out for and its an understatement to say that it overdelivered. It’s clear Mr. Adams put his heart and soul into this and I recommend it to anyone who wants to build a container home or is looking to buy one already built.”

Anthony Lacy, 38, Denver, CO

I Left Nothing to Chance! This Program Will Give You Everything You Need to Build a Seamless Shipping Container Home ON TIME… THE FIRST TIME!

The 7 things you must look for when deciding on a container. As well as 3 insider tips of the professionals to tell if a shipping container is worth your hard-earned money.

Whether you should buy new or used containers. And the single most important thing you must do when pulling the trigger on your purchase.

The type of steel to look for in your containers. Making your home not only durable, but also eco-friendly.

The location on your home where you must spray an inch of ‘closed cell’ polyurethane foam. And why doing so will both exponentially increase the longevity of your new home by at least 10 years AND save you hundreds of dollars on your heating and cooling bill.

How to ensure the structural integrity of your containers when you put in doors and windows. And how this addition will make your containers stronger than their original design.

The best kind of roof that is not only low maintenance, but that will wear beautifully over the years and last longer than any other kind of roof in the industry.

Why you should buy the same brand of containers. And how doing so will pay gains in the long run for your project.

The “slow accumulation affect.” And how to prevent it from creeping in and decimating your build over time.

How to make your home thermally efficient with direct gain passive solar heating. And why this system will virtually eliminate all heating costs while keeping your home at a constant temperature (even in the winter).

“After dealing with the nightmare of buying our last home only to sell it at a loss of $30k I wanted something affordable and BIG enough for my 5 member Family. We live in a double decker SC home now and everyone always asks us how we did it. This is by far the best book to show you how you can get your custom SC home too.”

Jason Dormer, 47, Cle Elum, WA

“If you’re considering building your own shipping container home then you would have to be nuts not to get this book. Adam is at the top of his trade, and he parts with all his wisdom in this book. You will avoid a million mistakes with this book at your side. Believe me, the small investment will pay off big time! It did for me.”

Ken Funakoshi, 43, Aina Haina, HI

Let Me Show You All My Secrets to Get Land & Permits While Sidestepping The Nightmare of Red Tape… Paperwork… and Headaches Caused By Local Authorities

The one critical question you must ask the planning authorities when looking at land for your build. And how their answer will help you determine whether or not a plot of land is right for you.

How to put together a strong case for your container home. And why a little leg work before the application process will ensure you a YES when you ask to build your home on your dream site.

My secret way to find land at bargain basement prices. When you hear this one you’ll be heading out the door before you even finish slapping your forehead.

The easiest way to submit your permits to local authorities so your home is approved in the shortest time possible.

The one thing you must do BEFORE your containers arrive to your land. And why preparing this before rather than after will not only save you a mint of money, but save your back from unnecessary labor.

The crafty way to use landscaping to your home’s unfair advantage. Saving you thousands on insulation costs and labor.

Why you should design your container home before you shop for land. And how to avoid land codes that are hostile towards new home owners like you.

My devious way to “make good” with zoning authorities to bypass months of headaches and frustrating delays. Trust me, you’re going to want to know this one!

Why your container home isn’t bound to a certain location or zip code. So should you ever need to, you can “move your house” to any new location you see fit.

“Two months after buying this course we were ready to move into our own shipping container house and it was everything we hoped for. It was much cheaper than we expected, and in my opinion it’s better in so many ways, too. I strongly suggest Adam’s course if you’re looking to take the plunge yourself.”

Mike Teunissen, 42, Globe, AZ

I’m also Going to Teach You How to Design Your Container Home. This is The Funnest Part of the Build! And I’m Going to Pull Back The Curtain to Give You TONS of Great Ideas For Your Project!

You’ll get a myriad of potential floor plans for your new container home. Included are the most widely used designs, but I’ve also included my most popular “personal plans” I guarantee no other program will give you.

How to build your container home to leave room for growth – adding more containers when needed – and only limited by your creativity and imagination.

The type of paint once used by NASA that you should use for the outside of your home. And why this particular paint is PERFECT for container housing.

How to arrange your home design to give you plenty of parking without having to build a garage and without having to construct a separate carport.

The specific type of containers that allow for more head room. And how to find them at near identical pricing as the stuffy, 8 foot tall versions.

How to find the real age of a container – regardless of what the dealer tells you.

How to build a shipping container office. And how designing for office needs is different than designing for living spaces.

Why a container that still has its original wooden floor is a BAD SIGN. And which floor you want instead to guarantee a smooth interior build.

The 4 types of foundations you can use for your home. And how to choose the right one for your specific land & layout requirements.

“I build and sell container homes for a living. I’ve hired Adam on multiple occasions as a consultant. His depth of knowledge is simply unmatched in the industry and his program will show you all the steps you need to take to build a container home yourself. But better than that, he’ll show you all the things to avoid (and trust me, there are many things to avoid!)”

Gary Case, 54, Huntington Beach, Ca

So I have to ask…

How much would it be worth to avoid the mountain of obstacles waiting for you when you build your shipping container home?

Hundreds?

Thousands??

The truth is, people just like you are losing tens of thousands of dollars in common mistakes when building their container homes without guidance.

Needless to say, this can turn into a VERY expensive project.

So the smartest thing you can do is get an expert on your side right from the start.

Since I’m that expert – and since I love helping do-it-yourselfers like you – I’m going to make you a limited time special promotional offer.

Having a consultant guide you through this process would require an investment of at least $5,000 (and that would still only get you a fraction of what’s included in this program).

Well don’t worry, because I’m not going to ask you to spend anything like that kind of money! So for a limited time only, I’m making Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ available for only…

NOTE: Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

A puny amount.

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And well worth it when you consider all the expensive mistakes you’re about to avoid!

EVERYTHING you need to build your own shipping container home is right here in this program.

But you’ll have to act NOW.

The next time you come to this page it’s possible it will be more expensive.

Potentially up to 3X as expensive.

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And You’ll Also Get a 60 Day 100% Satisfaction Guarantee!

Just to make this the easiest decision you ever made, I’m going to include a 60 day, no questions asked, money back guarantee.

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Then I don’t want your money.

I’ll refund your full purchase price.

So here’s the smart way to do it…

Don’t decide now.

Get the program… go through it at your own pace… and decide later if it was worth your investment.

When you take that approach that makes this a complete no-brainer, wouldn’t you agree?

“To Further Sweeten The Pot, I’m Also Throwing in Some Awesome Bonuses!”

BONUS #1: Shipping Container Homesteading – $67 (YOURS FREE!)

First, you’ll get one of my most sought after program “Shipping Container Homesteading.”

As a do-it-yourselfer you obviously value self-reliance.

And one of the best ways to rely on yourself is to grow your own food … raise your own animals for meat … and preserve your harvest for future security.

Not only does it ensure you organic, healthy food, but since grocery stores are always the first thing to go in a catastrophe, you’ll ensure your survival for all likely tragedies.

Everything you need to thrive is at your fingertips in “Shipping Container Homesteading,” my best-selling homesteading guide that I typically sell to my clients for $67.

But I’m going to include it with your order

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BONUS #2: Shipping Container Negotiation Secrets: $47 (YOURS FREE!)

Nothing is better than getting a ridiculously good deal on your shipping containers.

It’s one of those things that swells your chest with pride, and you can’t help but bring it up when people visit your home.

In this handy guide, you’ll discover:

Which size containers are best for your build requirements

What certifications to look for in your containers

The best way to find dealers in your area

Cunning ways to get the price down on your purchase

How to negotiate delivery

How to prepare your lot for drop off

Where to find free containers and/or people who will pay you to take containers off their hands

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This program retails for $47, but it’s YOURS FREE with your purchase today.

BONUS #3: Living Off-The-Grid: $47 (YOURS FREE!)

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You’ll learn the best options when it comes to solar, wind, and micro-hydro generation.

There is a lot of information on the internet, but this is the only program that shows you how to make your own electricity in the scope of container home living – focusing on cost effectiveness and the advantages of a shipping container-based electric system.

This program is sold for $47, but it’s YOURS FREE today!

BONUS #4: Preparing for the Coming Collapse: $47 (YOURS FREE!)

Let’s face it, part of the reason we love shipping container homes is because they’re ideal for grid-down situations.

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Retail price is $47. YOURS FREE today.

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I’m always looking to improve The Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ program, because I want to make sure that you get the best possible results both now, and in the future too.

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Finally, you’re going to get what is perhaps the most valuable bonus for this program – UNLIMITED SUPPORT by me, Adam Ketchner!

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Retail price $120 (per Hour) YOURS FREE

NOTE: Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

Hi, Are You Still Here?

Maybe that’s because you’re still on the fence about “Shipping Container Home Made Easy™”

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Research on the edges of this breakthrough home building evolution and always wonder if this program was the exact thing you needed to get your own custom home at an unbelievable price.

OPTION #2: Try to do it yourself.

Mimic the years of research … blood … sweat … and tears I put into this program … waste thousands of dollars in costly mistakes … and maybe you end up with your own shipping container home.

OPTION #3

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NOTE: Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ is a digital product. You will receive access to the entire system immediately after you order – even if it’s 2am!

P.S. Remember, this is the only program on the market written by the world’s #1 authority on shipping container homes. It contains ALL MY SECRETS from my 18 years in the business and 146 successful projects. It will give you everything you need to build your shipping container home in the quickest … easiest … most cost effective way possible!

P.P.S. Please bear in mind that the price of Shipping Container Home Made Easy™ is incredibly low, and has been deliberately kept low. However, I cannot guarantee that the price will remain this low on a permanent basis. So if you come back tomorrow and the price has changed to $67 or more, you have been warned!

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koganphrancis · 7 years

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Season H8 Episode 2 Recap

TV Guide’s review of this ep begins thusly: I don't want to write this story. Can I start by saying that?

I hear that-there’s so much just truly AWFUL in this episode that I’m not sure I can do it justice.

An important point I want to hit right away is that what really gets to me the longer the show goes on is how nothing that happens to Ian is advancing his story. In this week’s episode I can’t even begin to count how many splats of poop plop onto him, and by the end nothing has changed. He’s still in grief, he’s still pretty dumb, he’s still “with” Terror. What was the point of any of it?

I’ll try to summarize the other storylines as quick as I can-Fiona continues her nowhere near reality building manager life. She’s battling tenants for the rent (??? this is the first month she’s collecting rent even tho Monica died months ago?) and SOOOOO much time is wasted with her yelling at people we don’t know. By the end of the ep, she’s slapping an eviction notice on a door and warming that if the family isn’t out the next day, she’s calling the marshals. I know this show isn’t a documentary, but that bit was so far from the way things work I wanted to cry. I’m stuck working in the next cube over from a woman who owns a couple of small apartment buildings with her husband, and I’ve had to hear how hard it is to evict someone more than once. It takes months, and lawyers, and court appearances, and if there’s little kids involved-like the family they showed on Shameless-it takes even longer. There are no branches of “marshals” sitting around waiting for landlords to call and tell them to kick people out, same day service. Also, it’s already getting to me how unrealistic it is for Fiona to even own this building. Who is taking care of cleaning the common areas? How does she pay anyone to fix clogged pipes, broken heating, etc? She’s still working at the diner too, so she’s not rolling in cash. The show just handing her this enterprise to run is too hard to believe (or get interested in, but don’t let me digress). It’s so soap opera-y, they might as well have said she was suddenly running her own fashion design firm or cosmetic company or something.

Lip continues to be a dink. Mooning over Snore, wanting to come up with a way to show her her ex is no good. He takes advice from fucking Frank and has a pizza guy come to the diner so he can order a special pizza to be delivered to the ex-why does Lip know his address? The pizza has a bag of coke on it, and the ex runs to a meeting to resist the temptation. Now, I don’t know if he’s also an alcoholic also, so he goes to AA meetings too, but in an incredible coincidence, Lip and the ex are at the exact same meeting! Fancy that! While he’s talking about trying to not snort the coke, he conveniently mentions it’s still sitting in his house. Lip tears out of the meeting, breaks into the guy’s house and gets his leg chewed up by a guard dog for his trouble. Too many coincidences PLUS the shitty idea it was to begin with make this storyline pretty unbearable. We also learn, in passing, that Lip is 23 now, so that makes Ian 22, Debbie 18, and Carl 17-he could totally be charged as an adult for dealing that meth, not that the show is going to go there.

Debbie got her hair washed. That’s it. That’s what we see now on this show.

They continue to push the poverty vs the 1 percenter life style with Liam. I’m sorry, I can’t get into it. We all-including the Gallaghers-have TV, we know that rich people live differently than most of us. Can we move the fuck on, please?

Carl was barely in this ep-all he did was sell Ian’s meth and set Ian off at the end of the episode.

Frank is, as usual, not really worth talking about-we all know it’s just a matter of time before he’s back to his old ways. However, in his job interview scene, the other character got to sit there and tell the story of his past relationship and cry about it-so, another scene Ian should’ve had long ago where he talked about Mickey like that, grrr.

Now Ian, eye roll. The “here’s what you missed” went to him this week-he’s on the job, running from the EMT ambulance to a victim and he says, “Shit, I’m out here saving lives...” and I couldn’t help but think, “and looking to push my meth.”

Ian shows up for breakfast that Carl’s making, and Lip is at the sink with a plate, filling his face. Ian teases him, asking if he’s eating for two, and oddly rubs Lip’s stomach for an unnecessarily long amount of time. It made me realize how little those two have physical contact-they never even clasp each other on the shoulder or anything. This OOC rubbing from Ian was wicked weird, but of course it’s setting up the fact that Ian is very aware of BMI and how much a low one means to him. Lip says he’s trying to fight the urge to drink with extreme nausea, Ian answers, “Sounds healthy”, foreshadowing the other theme the show will hit hard this week-trading one unhealthy thing for another, sort of a lesser of two evils thing.

Carl says he can finally move Ian’s meth, so he runs to get it, but when Ian goes to hand it over, he gets weird about it-not because it could kill people/ruin lives, but because it’s the last (I would say “only”) thing Monica gave them, and “when it’s gone, she’s gone”. Carl couldn’t care less, and says he’s going to take a bigger cut from Ian than he did from Lip since Ian’s being a pussy or whatever.

Ian’s at the youth center, outside, taking care of a couple of kids and he’s all mopey and doesn’t even acknowledge Terror. Terror, of course, can’t have Ian not hitting on him, so he asks Ian if he’s okay. Ian says he got “kinda sad about Monica today”, Terror says that’s not weird (who said it was weird? Him not hitting on you is the only thing you think is weird, you rapey idiot), she hasn’t been dead very long. Ian sadly says, “I guess.” Terror tells him when he’s sad he goes to Bear Back. Ian is incredulous. “The chub bar? You’re into chubs?” The bigger the better,” says icky T. Ian says, “How do I not know this about you?” Because, Ian, you know almost NOTHING about this little asshole-there’s nothing to know and the writers haven’t bothered with anything other than he’s trans and he’s annoying.

I’m not going to bother trying to describe the disdain on Ian’s face and in his tone with everything that had to do with this part of the story-suffice it to say it was there, and it made me very sad that they’re painting Ian as this shallow, callow person who only cares about a guy’s body type not being big. Line up Mickey, Faileb, Terror, Kash, and Ned-none of them even have the “same” body type, but none of them were overweight. I guess that’s the only thing that bothers Ian.

Ian says he doesn’t get it, so Terror finally, after all this time, says they should go get a drink and Ian will “get enlightened”. “Or smothered,” Ian says-oh ho, that’s a great joke!

Cut to them at the bar. They have the following conversation:

Ian: This is seriously your type? Terror: Sometimes. I: What’s the attraction? T: They like to please. They’re tender. I: (to the bartender) Two shots of well whiskey. (What, no “please”? What a prick!) (to Terror) These guys? T: It’s not like I go for them all the time. It’s just when I need someone really nice in my life. Like let’s say there was this guy that I really loved (I screamed while watching this when he said that, Ian just sort of made a dismissive face-it’s not like he was hurt thinking that Terror truly loved him. Terror knew him for what-18 days before Ian ran off with Mickey?) and he deserted me (why are you being such a drama queen?) for three days to go to Mexico with his escaped convict ex. (I think you mean love of his life, asshole) I: Um-hm... T: I would come here, find a chub to worship me. (Get the fuck over yourself!!!!)

Terror tosses back his drink, leads Ian over to meet some guys at the pool table, they say Hi all interested, Ian sucks down his drink, looks like he’s not into this at all. Hello scene with the girl on the train all over again.

Next thing we know, we’re watching Ian have an orgasm-something we never got with Mickey-as he sits on a couch getting a blowjob from one of the big guys who is on his knees in front of him. In the background, about 15 feet away, the other big guy is on a bed facing the room Ian is in while Terror plows into him from behind. Seriously? Ian and Terror are this type of fuck buddies now? Ian’s wanted to get back with Terror since getting back from Mexico (allegedly), but he’ll put up with the two of them having sex in basically the same room?

Ian’s guy finishes him off and sits on the couch next to Ian and says, “Oh, you’re such a good boy.” 5 years with Mickey and we never got to see them talk after sex, but this rando gets to compliment him? Ian makes a face and says thanks and gets up-to leave, I hope, and not to go join in on the bed with Terror and the other guy. Ian’s guy asks where’s he going, Ian looks over at T on the bed and says, “What?” The guy says “Come here,” and lies down on the couch. Ian immediately gets in the little spoon position for no reason we can see whatsoever, but then Nancy pulls a little fan service and has him cry lying on his side, just like that scene from yesteryear. Ian doesn’t say anything, so it’s not like we can think he’s crying for Mickey, or because he’s flashing back to when he had meaningless sex with too many strangers to count before or because he feels bad about using this guy-it’s all supposed to be about Monica.

Next time we see Ian he’s in the hot tub and Fiona comes and joins him and he tells Fiona “other than crying in some fat fucking furry stranger’s arms tonight” he’s great. They have a boring talk about her day, and then Fi says she wants to know what’s going on. Ian says it’s embarrassing, Fi says, “Okay”, Ian tells her, “Terror said that hooking up with a chub would make me feel better about Monica but it don’t-it made me feel worse.” Fiona: Really? You’re upset she died? (This is why you never go to Fiona for advice about interpersonal relationships, Ian! She’s not wired like you!) I: Yeah. I know you guys have all moved on and I haven’t. (Shit, Ian, you really are all alone in this world now, aren’t you? You really should’ve gone to Mexico with the one and only person who cares about you!) F: Moved on while she was alive. I: Well, I guess I’m the family freak for not wanting to forget about her. (yeah, you should just forget about her-you could do it with Mickey, and he actually had your back!) F: I don’t think you’re a freak cuz you don’t want to forget her. I think you’re a freak cuz you cried in a fat dude’s arms.

They splash each other and the next day I’m reading posts about how great it is that Fiona’s acting like Ian’s sister again-huh? Did I miss when she said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting, I’m here for you, what do you need”? She told a fat joke and didn’t look the least bit worried over Ian’s suffering-or what he did to try to alleve it. And what about her worrying/saying that fucking Terror will set a match to Ian’s sweet life that he’s worked so hard to achieve? Shouldn’t any big sister’s response to “Trevor said...” be, “If Trevor told you to sniff glue would you have done THAT? That’d make you forget your pain over Monica for a while too, but IT’S NO FUCKING SOLUTION.”

Also, this whole thing just proves that Terror has no credentials whatsoever. He’s probably just a volunteer at the youth center-they let him drive kids around without a valid license and now his advice to someone who’s had bad sex almost his entire life is to go have some more to feel better for a while. Fuck this noise. There’s no way he’s ever had formal training to be a counselor working with at risk kids.

At least this time the hot tub had steam rising off it.

You’d think that’d be enough bad for one ep, but no! We still have the tattoo to get through! Ian’s already getting inked when the scene begins, and the artist asks if he’s doing okay, and Ian says yeah, he’s digging the pain. The tattoo guy says a lot of people say that especially if they’re going through a hard time. Ian asks why is that and the guy says, “Emotional pain has no location. Physical pain does-you can name it. So it becomes a little more manageable.” Um, Nancy? Did you just sign off on self-harm? That is NOT good or reasonable advice! What is it with this episode pushing Ian into destructive behavior?

Anyway, Ian asks how’s it looking, the guy says, “Your girlfriend’s gonna love this one, bro.” Ian says, “It’s not my girlfriend, it’s my mom.” The artist says, “Your mom? Oh you shoulda told me that before I started working on these titties.”

So, what, exactly, was the conversation when Ian got there? “I want a woman’s headless torso tattooed on my back-I’ll explain the significance of it later”???? As with everything on this show, their complete lack of research and respect for the work people do in the real world is non-existent here.

Next time we see Ian he’s drinking a beer shirtless in the Gallagher kitchen and TERROR is there-all my earlier hopes while I was watching that the dueling sex scene was going to be a deal breaker for Ian, at least for a while, has flown out the window. They don’t even say why he’s there-if those two assholes are back together and Terror’s settling in there again, I’ll riot.

Carl comes in from the front door with a random girl we never see up close. He walks all the way to the kitchen leaving her in the background and says Ian’s “lost it” when he hears the tattoo is supposed to be Monica. Oh, that reminds me-when Ian gets his money from Carl, he asks what Ian’s going to do with it and Ian says he’ll use it to do something to memorialize Monica-so, Carl gave Lip 9 grand, even if he kept an extra thousand from Ian, you mean to tell me that tattoo cost Ian all his money and he couldn’t pay the guy to cover it or turn it into something else?

Ian flips out when he recognizes Monica’s jacket on the girl. Carl said he gave it to her for some beers and a blowie. The whole time he’s drinking the beer, Ian’s acting like he did the day at Mickey’s when he wanted to go after the protesters at the serviceman’s funeral. Are we supposed to think he’s getting manic again? That would certainly explain a lot of shit/bad decisions that have gone down in this episode, but they showed him with his pills in the first episode and the writers have said they “dealt with” Ian needing to be medicated-although then they did cave and give us that brief look at Ian needing to get his dose adjusted last season. I hate how the show cares so little about anything, that you just don’t know if there’s reasons for Ian’s behavior or it’s just the indifferent script writers trading off week to week. Anyway, Ian insists Carl bring him to Monica’s storage unit since there’s still some of her stuff there, and Carl calls him “Psycho” but says he will.

The next day Ian’s wearing his bright red Nike high tops, out on the stoop shooting daggers from his eyes as the snooty rich mother of Liam’s sleepover friend is waiting. I assume there was some dialogue that got cut, because why is Ian so hostile towards her? Is he hurt because she’s judging him for living in a bad neighborhood-looking down on him? Isn’t that how this hypocritical fuck was about the big guys in this episode? Why does this show suck so hard now?

The woman’s kid and Liam and Carl come out, and Ian and Carl go to the storage unit and discover a big bad meth dealer there. He figures out they’re Monica’s kids and that she either gave them his meth or they stole it and either way he wants his $70000 back. Setting up the next pointless episode...

There was one scene with a kid playing Yevgeny in it (bring the Henckels back!), and Kev’s cancer scare that I had already read in a spoiler was going to be just that-only a scare. And Kev gets to join a cancer support group but we can’t send Ian to grief therapy because Gallaghers don’t do therapy.

The show is going nowhere. To Cameron after his rant this week I can only say, “Fuck me for giving a shit, you prick.”

#Recap #Season H8 Episode 2 #TW Self harm mention #Still smarting from the fat shaming but I tried to keep my temper in check

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chaletnz · 6 years

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Farewelling The Netherlands

(This post has quite a few personal jokes that you may not understand!) A year ago when I arrived in the Netherlands in the pouring rain with two heavy bags to drag to my shitty hostel in the central city I never thought I would be finding it this difficult to leave. I felt the same things when I left Israel; a comfortable place to call a home away from home with more good friends that I've met in the past year, but in my heart I know it's time to move on. The comfort and the routine isn't for me. While it certainly makes things easier when you know where you live and can count on a paycheck at the end of the month, I feel stifled by the lack of freedom to explore new places. I chose the Netherlands for its position in Europe, yet I've realized now that it is a little isolated on the corner of Western Europe! I've exhausted my travel options by bus and rail and now new adventures must be reached by plane and it depends on seasons and prices and too many factors that are out of my control. So now I'm feeling a little worried and disappointed that I have to leave the Netherlands but I'm excited by the new opportunities I will have and the new people I will meet when I move to Germany. At least now I am working within an international company and transfers are easy enough to acquire - the German language skills are a different story! My path leads me on to Frankfurt, certainly not my first choice of interesting cities to live in but I know I need to be sensible and take a great full time job offer to keep my cash flow going over winter. At least I'll have some Christmas markets this year! I'm also going to rent a car to make the drive there because then I can simply pack up all my things and move them, my dearest orange bike Jaffa and all! Nothing left behind, thrown away, or sold needlessly! Amsterdam, you have been a blast for the last year but it's time for us to part ways unfortunately. I'll see you around I'm sure, and some of my friends there are friends for life that I will catch up with years from now on different continents (or maybe even the moon if that's the way travel progresses Emma and Liz!). It wouldn't be a proper farewell unless I made a list of all the good (and maybe some bad) memories of life in 'Dam so here is my year in review... -Spending one week living on Przemek's couch in Zuid Oost and cooking for him as my form of payment. -Moving into my apartment in Slotervaart and meeting my very strange landlord who still has the poorest English of all the Dutch people I've ever met. -Relentlessly job hunting, printing CVs and applying online only to hear back from around 20% of my applications. -Struggling to register as a resident and get my residence permit and open a bank account and dear Lord the struggle to get Internet at my place! -Starting my first job at the Ecomama hostel which was just awful. €10 an hour to be a receptionist (but it actually involved doing all of the cleaning and wearing a walkie talkie for guests to call me back out to the desk every five seconds for reception stuff). -Getting a second, and third job in two hotels. The one I accepted forced me to take out my earring permanently and also to quit the hostel job. -Quitting the hostel job and then having the manager refuse to pay me for my shifts saying they were only training. I had no contract so took half the cash I was owed and walked out vowing never to return. -Celebrating Sinterklaas, Christmas and New Year with the hotel gang who weren't all super cool until January when Michael and Hannah joined us! -Having an early Christmas meetup in Paris with Emily and her Australian buddies and the family that she nannies for. Almost getting food poisoning from our Thai dinner but the overall banter and jokes being well worth it. -Taking a holiday in Dublin after working about 14 days in a row having only Boxing Day off. -Staying executive style at the Hilton with Lozi, visiting some Amsterdam landmarks and trying my first space cake and giggling uncontrollably. -Finally getting my barista skills down to an art working on coffee for breakfast service every day. -Going home to visit all the friends and family back home in NZ and having some great weather, road trips and a visit to the cat cafe with Jo. -Catching up with Olga when she came to stay with me in Amsterdam for a few days, seeing some of the best tourist spots and proving to her that I can actually cook! -Getting our orange leis and drinks on and celebrating King's Day in Leidseplein after work with the Dutchies. -Requesting a day off work with Hannah so that we could be super touristy and take a trip out to the Keukenhof to see the tulip garden followed by some shopping and pizza in a weird Christian themed restaurant that Hannah swore by for its massive €5 pizzas. -Taking a spontaneous day trip out to Zaandam where Quincy picked me up on his scooter and showed me all around the Zaanse Schans heritage park. -Celebrating my birthday in Rotterdam chilling with Michael and then being super touristy again and riding the waterbus to the Kinderdijk windmill farm for the day. -Meeting Tasha in Tilburg for an amazing concert that I could've only dreamed about 10 years ago - Simple Plan! -Finishing my first contract and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel that led me on a much needed holiday away to Albania, Budapest and Croatia. Although I almost missed the flight as I was so hungover from the previous night's farewell drinks with my fantastic colleagues. -Coming back to Amsterdam to begin my new job working at a modern hotel in the airport which ended up being about 10 times better than my last job! -Adventuring on the road to Antwerp, Luxembourg, Frankfurt, Cologne and Düsseldorf handing in some job applications along the way which eventually led to my new position in Frankfurt! -Finding some great flights to and from Scotland for a three day getaway to see the best of the amazing whisky world! -Farewelling the airport hotel after four months and many more great breakfast colleagues. I'll especially miss my parents Richard ("Mennnnnoooooo") and Mama Kim ("fresh juice, water, you wan fry egg omelette, the warm buffet, you sit anywhere you like my colleagues bring you coffee to the table") Now my disclaimer; I've not forgotten all the people whom I caught up with in this past year whether it was in Amsterdam, another Dutch city or somewhere abroad. They were all highlights to me! Przemek, Alex & David, Mel, Emily, Hamish & Aleisha, Pascale, Bryce, Lauren/Lozi, Anni, Gal & Tomer, Shani, all the friends and family in NZ, Olga, Hugh, Emma (two separate occasions!), Diego, Ruby, Melissa and all the new friends I've made this year that have welcomed me into their cities and homes and made me feel so comfortable and happy here. You're all amazing!

#Netherlands #Amsterdam

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bughead-fic-request · 7 years

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I would like to thank @leaalda for making these amazing banners.

This is an effort to spread the word about all fan fiction writers in our little fandom. If you would like to be featured or nominate a writer, please contact me. Please reblog this post if you can and check out some of @cooperjones2020 work!

1. First things first, if someone wanted to read your stories where can they find them.

I post all of them on AO3 as well as on tumblr @cooperjones2020 under the tag #mine and on my master list. (also fyi it’s a sideblog, so if you ever get a reply from @acitrusmoon, that’s also me!)

2. Tell us a little about yourself.

I’ve tipped the scale into second half of my 20’s. I’m currently doing my master’s in English lit, focusing on early modern drama and cultural studies. Canada is the third country I’ve lived in. I’ve been in four separate countries within a 24-hour timespan on two separate occasions. I prefer children’s toothbrushes to adult ones. I made my parents let me drop out of preschool when I was four because they wouldn’t give me orange juice.

3. What do you never leave home without?

Nothing. I leave with the absolute bare minimum I can get away with. So 99% of the time I have my phone, but even that’s not a sure thing. If I can stick a card or some cash in my bra so I don’t have to carry a purse or wallet, I’m doing it. If I do have a bag, I definitely have my giant reusable water bottle and a book with me.

4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Early bird. I’ve hit the level of adulthood where I wake up at like 6:30 sans alarm. And I have no excuse. I don’t have to be at work til 10.

5. If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?

I’ve been thinking about this question and I can’t come up with anything other than HP. I basically learned to read off those books and grew up alongside them. That fictional world is so embedded with my real one, it would be a disservice to pick something else.

6. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met.

In general, I have no interest in meeting famous people, so I think the most famous person I’ve ever actually met was Roger Ebert at an ice cream shop in Michigan when I was 8. But I’ve been adjacent to famous people. I saw Josh Radnor in my college bookstore, I’ve emailed with John Green, and Chicago Fire used to film in my old apartment in Chicago before it became my apartment. They would still shut our street down to do external shots, and NBC paid my landlord not to gut the apartment when he rehabbed it, in case they needed to use it again.

Does Walk the Moon count as famous now? I’ve met Nick Petricca at parties (figure out what Josh Radnor, John Green, and Nick Petricca have in common, and you’ll learn something else about me).

7. What are some of your favorite movies/TV?

I’m the worst with “favorite” type questions because I change my mind all the time when my attention wanders. So TV shows I’ve loved a long time and will continue to rewatch ad infinitum: Gilmore Girls, Charmed, Boy Meets World. I don’t really re-watch movies, which is my general bar for loving something. I recently saw The Third Man and it blew my mind, so much so that it made it into chapter 5 of “Nobodies Nobody Knows.”

(but also I haven’t had consistent access to a television since 2006 because I went to boarding school for nerds, so I’m out of touch with a lot what’s been on unless I’ve been able to find it on the internet and binge watch it)

8. What are some of your favorite bands/musicians?

Again, I don’t know if I have anyone I would say is a favorite above all the music I like. I cycle through songs I get obsessed with for a week or two. The Spotify playlist I’m currently listening to on repeat includes Halsey, Imagine Dragons, Walk the Moon, Regina Spektor, Lorde, Cigarettes After Sex, Ed Sheeran, Adele, X Embassadors, and Sia. But it’s also my Bughead writing playlist. I’d really like to see Maren Morris in concert.

9. Favorite Books?

I could fill a library with my favorite books. The books that have been most foundational to me as a person were probably HP and the Anne of Green Gables series. The books/authors I loved enough to ship to Canada, which really just means I like rereading them, include Emily Dickinson, Raymond Carver, Louise Erdrich, Junot Diaz, Harper Lee, Milan Kundera, Diana Gabaldon, Deborah Harkness, and a little bit of Nora Roberts and Andrew Greeley for variety. But actually the hardest part of moving back to America will be having to round up all my books and get them to my new place of residence.

10. Favorite Food?

Soup. Which is really a non-answer because there’s infinite varieties.

11. Biggest pet peeve?

People who are passive aggressive and manipulative.

12. What did you want to be when you were little? What do you want to be now?

I went through an intense phase of wanting to be a flight attendant for a while. I was pretty sure I wanted to do a PhD, but the first year of my masters has taught me that I do not want to do that. So now, I have no idea. Something that involving writing and editing as part of its daily tasks. I did some freelancing for SparkNotes earlier this summer and they had a full-time opening that would have been perfect for me if it were a year from now. Before coming back to school, I worked for a tutoring company creating curriculum materials and overseeing/developing tutors.

13. What are your biggest fears? Do you have any strange fears?

The stereotypical things I’m afraid of are heights and clowns. I’m also afraid of bridges and really uncomfortable on escalators, though that’s gotten better. I’m a big believer in facing your fears, so one time I forced myself to do a high ropes course at a team-building retreat and I literally had a panic attack forty feet up in the air.

14. When you are on your deathbed what would be the one you’d regret not doing?

I think I’ll regret the times I’ve said no to things because I was afraid.

Okay… lets talk about your writing!

15. Which is your favorite of the fics you've written for the Bughead fandom?

The one I’m enjoying writing the most/is coming the easiest is ”Second City.” I also really love ”Marked” because it’s the one that got me into the fandom and because it challenged me to go out of my comfort zone.

16. Which was the hardest to write, in terms of plot?

“What’s Past is Prologue” because the plot structure is so weird, so I wind up feeling like I’m just hitting the same note over and over.

17. How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? Do you people watch? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?

I haven’t written enough fics to have a developed answer to this. “Marked” and “WPIP” came about because of a conversation @jandjsalmon was having that I lurked on. “Second City” came about because I love post-break up/the characters are now in their 20s fics, and I was homesick (hence the setting). Also, with all the discourse around how healthy and communicative Betty and Jug are, I was wondering what would be a convincing enough circumstance to cause them to break up, and how would they find their way back to each other. As far as individual ideas within the fics themselves, I do, as mentioned, have a writing playlist, but I don’t listen to it while actually writing. Just while I’m doing things around the house or walking to school, which is when I brainstorm. I often have to stop walking and move out of the way so I can type ideas into the notes on my phone. A lot of times, I’ll just get a half a line or sentence that sounds nice and then I’ll have to figure out how to work it in later.

18. Idea that you always wanted to write but could never make work?

I haven’t been doing this long enough to be able to answer this question with any level of confidence. I don’t think there’s anything I’ve really wanted to write and been unable to, at least as far as fic goes. I have a lot of half-planned ideas for original stories that refuse to come out how I want them to.

19. Least favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

The next chapter of WPIP because I don’t think it’s doing anything beyond serving as a vehicle to the chapter after it. But I recently had an idea of something to add to it which might help.

20. Favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

I love chapter 5 of “Second City.” I’m genuinely happy about every scene in it, especially the flashback. I also really like the end of chapter 8, parts of chapter 10 and pretty much all of chapter 11. More than plot points/chapters, I tend to love little details or turns of phrase, like the crown scar from “Marked,” or Jughead in a “this is what a feminist looks like” t shirt, or lines like “It hurts. She knows it shouldn’t. She knows it makes sense. But it does. Because it sounds like ‘I don’t think about you’” from “Second City.”

21.Favorite character to write?

Betty because I overly identify with her. In “Second City,” I’ve found Alice and Veronica particularly easy to write in the little they’ve appeared thus far. Like, their voices have been very clear. But watch, I’ve probably just jinxed myself.

22. Favorite line or lines of dialogue that you've written?

I don’t know if I have a favorite, and I use too much dialogue to go back through it all. I try really hard to make it sound realistic. I’m particularly proud of the ending dialogue of chapter 9 of “Second City,” basically everything from after they go back into the spare bedroom.

Also, spoiler: “You harassed Sheriff Keller. You questioned FP. What’s next, Betty? Were you going to interrogate Jellybean?” Betty feels heat suffuse her face. “Oh, you thought I wouldn’t know about that, huh?”

“I did see JB,” she mumbles.

“Fuck, I knew she was lying.”

23. Best comment/review you’ve ever received?

I don’t want to call out anyone in particular because I love and appreciate every single one and I spend way too much time staring at my email waiting for comment notifications. I particularly enjoy when people point out a specific line or plot point that resonated with them, or when they say something rung particularly true to character. I also love when people will talk to me in the comments, because I reply to everyone and literary analysis is my jam.

24. How do you handle bad reviews or comments?

I’ve never had any! I’m not a big enough deal for that.

25. If you could change anything in any of your stories, what would it be?

I would have written more of “WPIP” before posting it because that was my first attempt at anything multi-chapter and I didn’t know what I was doing. I still don’t, but I’ve gotten slightly better at masking it.

26. What is your favorite story you’ve ever written? Any fandom?

Fandom-wise, I’ve only written for Bughead. “Second City”/the “Who Sings Heartache to Sleep” universe is (clearly) my favorite. I actually enjoy rereading old chapters, which is not a place I’ve been with my own writing in ages and ages.

27. What are you reading right now? Both fan fiction and general fiction?

I’m working on my master’s thesis proposal, so I’m doing a lot of reading about early modern theatre, seventeenth century midwifery manuals, and feminist theory. I’m also running a reading group on film noir, so I’ve read several of those this summer. I reread The Unbearable Lightness of Being for the sixth time, but it was for a student I tutor. I’m looking forward to reading a romance novel, probably Nora Roberts, when I visit my parents in a few weeks.

For fic, I’m subscribed to so so many and am behind on most of them. The ones I’ll drop everything to read as soon as I see the notification include anything by @lessoleilscouchants or @sylwrites, Summer Storm by @lazydaizies, Interbellum by @wolfofansbach, Serpent and the Swan by @jugandbettsdetectiveagency, Hearts in Velvet by @raptorlily, Carry On by @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins, Wicked Games by @ariquitecontrary, He Was Gone by @bettyluvsjuggie, What Fools These Mortals Be by @gellbellshead …gah, I know there are more. Those are ones that have either updated recently or that I’ve thought about recently for some reason or another.

28. Do you have an advice for writers that want to get into this fandom but might be scared?

Please please do it. I cannot emphasize enough how welcoming people are. I literally inserted myself in someone else’s conversation like a total creep and it’s the best thing I’ve done in months. I’ve never done anything like that before and definitely wouldn’t be able to in non-internet life. Think about if positions were reversed and you were the one already established in the fandom, how would you react to someone wanting to be your friend? You’d be pretty darn excited. That’s how I feel every day with all of you and I just want to spread the love.

And for writing specifically, and this is cliché advice but, you won’t get better unless you let other people read your work. And letting other people in and letting them be excited (because they will be) will make you so much more confident and motivated.

For real, though, while the last year of my life has been super rewarding personally and I’m happy, it’s also been one of the hardest and loneliest years of my life. And the hits just keep on coming. And you all have made the last month, at least, a lot easier.

#bughead author spotlight #fan fiction #fan fiction writers #ao3 #Bughead #bughead fanfiction #jughead jones #betty cooper #riverdale #betty x jughead #jughead x betty #cooperjones2020 #second city #what's past is prologue #marked

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not-close-to-straight · 7 years

Text

Storms (Chapter Nine)

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE

Enjoy :) *********************

Ten days flew by, and Thor kept Tony as busy as possible. A cleaning service was brought in to open up the rooms in the compound, dusting and changing the beds and replacing the plants. The kitchen was fully stocked, the dining room table replaced with one that would seat at least eight, and the extra couches brought back from storage to fill in the common areas.

Tony was quiet, very quiet, and when he started slowing down, started blanking out, Thor would just grab him and pull him close, herding him into the bedroom to hold him, or simply picking up and cradling him to his chest for a long kiss, letting his magic flash until Tony was smiling again.

Every night Tony was pressing close to Thor, needing physical affection, and Thor gave him as much as he could, stoking the fire between them until it was storming inside and out of the compound and the stress had left Tony's eyes, replaced by the soft light that he saved only for Thor, only for moments like this when they were still connected, and the thunder was still rolling, and the glow around them was just barely starting to dim.

One particularly difficult day, as Tony flipped on the lights to his lab and powered up his bots for the first time in months, he dropped onto the dusty couch he kept in the corner and let himself cry.

Thor found him nearly half an hour later, and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Tony weeping on the couch, the robot he called Dum-E clicking and whirring anxiously, dragging a blanket over to drop over Tony's shoulders.

“Anthony.” Thor said quietly and Tony looked up, wiping the tears away.

“This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I was alright, thought I could just turn everything on but even just being in my lab again makes me so--” he coughed to clear his throat. “And they are supposed to be home tomorrow. They are supposed to walk in those doors tomorrow and I can't even flip a light switch without feeling like I'm panicking.” He took the blanket from Dum-E with a watery smile. “Am I ever going to be ready for this?”

Thor didn't know what to say, so he simply crossed the room and sat next to him on the couch, tugging Tony closer into his chest and rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“I cannot say if you are ready, Anthony. But I am ready. I am here with you, not leaving you, and you are not doing this alone.”

“I need you.” Tony mumbled and buried his face in Thor's neck, turning so he could straddle him and hug him tight. “Please. Distract me. Need you.”

“Right here?”

“Right here. Give me a better memory of this lab.”

Thunder rolled around them, Thor calling on it simply because he could, and Tony hid his smile when Dum-E took off for a corner, turning away as if not wanting to watch.

“Your robot seems as if he is uncomfortable.” Thor commented and Tony nodded.

“Yeah, well he's about to get a whole lot more uncomfortable. Make a storm for me.”

Thor laughed softly and started pulling at Tony's clothes.

“Not leaving you, Anthony. You know this.”

“I know.” Tony shivered when Thor kissed him, when the magic hummed between their bodies. “I know.” ******************** ********************

“Welcome back.” Tony stood steadily at the top of the few stairs in the entryway to the compound, looking down at the rest of the team. He was dressed impeccably in all black-- black suit, black shirt, black tie, dark sunglasses over his eyes.

He looked put together and unforgiving and certainly not like he'd spent the majority of the past year in a severe depression and starving himself.

No, standing in front of his former teammates, Tony Stark looked every inch the billionaire philanthropist playboy that he had always been.

And they all looked different shades of entirely uncomfortable.

Bucky was standing slightly behind Steve, looking like he was afraid Tony was going to kick him out, while Steve had that familiar stubborn jut to his jaw that said he wasn't going to compromise on anything. Sam was standing right next to them, arms folded, but neutral expression on his face.

Clint looked bored, Natasha actually seemed nervous, unsure of how welcome she was, and Wanda was standing clear off to the side, staring at the ground.

Even though Vision had never been branded a vigilante, he had gone off to do his own thing after the airport fight and accidentally wounding Rhodes. This was the first time Tony had seen him since, and he was surprised at how much resentment he still held towards the red skinned being. It didnt help that Vision was the only one Wanda would look at, little skittering glances that were never returned, since he hadnt taken his steady gaze off Tony.

Prince T Challa wasn't present, since he wasn't really a member of the Avengers, and neither was the Spider-Man, or Ant Man. Tony barely even noticed, unable to take his gaze off Steve and Bucky, glad his sunglasses hid where his stare kept landing. He wanted to hit them, or throw something or...maybe unleash Thor on them.

Thor, actually, was standing in the entryway with the rest of them, not wanting to present a Tony/Thor vs the Team dynamic, and Tony had understood his decision even if he hadn't agreed to it. Thor had teased him about being petty until Tony had laughed and relented-- but that didnt mean he was done being petty. Not even close.

And now they all stood silently, waiting for Tony to keep talking.

“All your old rooms are clean.” Tony finally continued. “With an added one for Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky visibly flinched at the title and Tony raised an eyebrow. “The common areas are obviously free to use, kitchen included. My lab is off limits. Not a single one of you has access codes to get in there, and FRIDAY will not allow you in there. You all know the drill for the biometric scanning. Sergeant Barnes, your door is set for your right hand, please keep that in mind.”

“Stark Industries is no longer the provider of the Avengers team gear, so please don't come to me with upgrade requests or tech work. The United States government has contracted out several companies to cover those needs. You have all signed and agreed to the Revised Accords, so any breach of conduct or broken rules will end with you being expelled from the compound until an investigation can be undertaken to determine what, if any, additional consequences need to be handed out.”

“I'm not your parent, just your landlord, so unless you have an issue with the building, everything else you want to bitch about can be filtered directly to Captain Rogers. This will be the first and only time I ask-- is there any questions?”

Tony folded his arms and waited for a moment, and Clint was the first to speak.

“Why isn't Stark Industries providing us our gear anymore, if Iron Man is an Avenger? We should be privy to the best tech if we are meant to save the world, why didn't the government choose your company to supply us?” He was pissed, and it absolutely took all of Tonys self control not to smirk.

“Because Stark Industries withdrew it's name from the pool of applicants. It is still under review whether or not being contracted to provide tech for a volatile team such as the Avengers is an appropriate and feasible arrangement for the company.” Tony answered calmly and Clint's jaw dropped, the rest of the team shifting nervously as the implication behind his words sank in. “Next question.”

“I think that a sit down meeting would be better for this sort of thing.” Steve's voice rang out authoritatively. “To officially welcome Bucky to the team, to decide which rules need to be upheld or done away with, and especially to discuss the team dynamic and how we can all move forward together.”

“When Sergeant Barnes signed the Revised Accords, he was welcomed onto the Avengers, we don't need a ceremony for that. As far as the rules go, mine are simple. Don't come near my lab, and don't talk to me about anything besides the building. When it's time for a mission or a team meeting I will suit up right along the rest of you, but other than that, you should have no reason to seek me out.” Tony's voice was firm, and Thor was impressed by how well he was keeping it together.

“I am an Avenger, which means we are teammates. It doesn't mean we are friends, or associates or anything else. We are teammates, sharing a workplace. Any other questions.”

They were all silent, Steve looking fairly shell shocked and Tony nodded, just once, and turned and left, leaving them all standing there.

“Well, I didn't expect a hug but he could have been nicer than that.” Natasha broke the silence and shot Steve a look. “You said he would be--”

Thor interrupted her, clearing his throat loudly and moving to the top of the stairs, Mjolnir slung over his shoulder casually.

“Thor.” Steve sighed. “Good to see you. I didn't realize you would be--”

“Cease.” Thor's voice seemed to boom from all corners of the space and even Wanda jumped.

“Anthony was good enough to welcome you all back graciously. I, however, am not feeling as forgiving.” His blue eyes flashed, and Bucky swore a little, shifting nervously on his feet.

“Be assured that each of you will feel my wrath for the way you have hurt Anthony. Each of you has acted despicably towards him and if I had been on earth during this so called Civil War--” he smiled grimly, and Mjolnir slid from his hands, hitting the top step with a ground shaking thunk. “I would have simply called my lightning and struck you all down where you stood.”

“You will tread carefully, and you will watch your words because I will not hesitate to teach you a lesson the moment you step out of line.” The giant rolled his shoulders and folded his arms. “But by all means, try me. Challenge me.” He fixed first Steve, and then Bucky with a cold stare before sliding his gaze over the rest of the team, landing on Wanda until she squirmed and looked away. “I will enjoy putting you in your place.”

He picked up Mjolnir then, and stomped away, a boom of thunder rattling the windows as he went.

******************** Thor found Tony already laying in bed, his formidable all black outfit switched for soft, comforting pajamas, his back to the door.

Thor didn't say anything, just slipped into the bed behind him, and Tony twisted until he could bury his face in Thor's chest.

“So.” Tony said after a long minute. “Are there body parts in the entryway?”

“Of course not.” Thor assured him. “Lightning is lovely in the way it simply incinerates and leaves nothing behind if it strikes hard enough. I swept up the ashes.” He kissed Tony's head. “No one will ever be the wiser.”

Tony tried to laugh but it came out more like a sob and Thor gathered him close.

“It will be fine, Anthony. All is well. I am here and we will do this together.”

“What was the thunder I heard?”

“I dropped Mjolnir.” Thor said with a shrug. “The witch nearly cried.”

Tony did laugh, then. “That is awful.”

“And yet you are laughing.”

“Because I'm awful.”

“You are perfect, Anthony. I wouldn't have you any other way.”

Tony smiled weakly and ran his fingers through Thors long hair. “Not any other way?”

“Well.’ Thor pretended to think for a minute. “I would have you on top of me if you were so willing.”

Tony laughed and curled closer. “Im pretty much always willing for that.”

“Perhaps tonight you would allow me to just hold you, though.” Thor pulled the blankets up a little tighter around Tonys shoulders, and just wiped the tears away from Tonys eyes. “Allow me to just hold you, Elskan min.”

*********************

#thunderiron #post cacw #tony stark #thor odinson #hurt comfort

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uk-news-talking-politics · 4 years

Text

Week in Review: No compromise as Johnson drives through the most brutal Brexit imaginable

By Ian Dunt

Where's the offer? That's the main question. The government says it is extending the hand of friendship to Remainers and that's very nice to hear. But what's the actual offer behind it?

Boris Johnson's new year's message seemed to promise something. "I want to reassure you that I will be a prime minister for everyone, not just those who voted for me," he said. "I know that you love this country no less, simply because you voted for another party or wanted to remain." Admirable stuff. He had a large majority now. Perhaps this gave him the freedom to be more conciliatory, to actually introduce policies which might unite the country rather than divide it.

But that's not what we got. In fact every decision, every statement, seems to go in the precise opposite direction. It seeks the approval of the most hardline and extreme Leave opinion and discards even the most moderate of Remain demands.

Take Lord Dubs' amendment this week. He had sought for the government to guarantee family reunion rights for child refugees. "What could be more humane than asking that unaccompanied child refugees stranded in Europe be able to join relatives in this country?" he asked. Genuinely what indeed. Which distorted masquerade of political morality would consider that in any way controversial?

This provision had even been in the bill, but it was removed after the election victory. No need for that sort of thing anymore.

Stephen Barclay insisted the government was still committed to it, but that it did not require legislation. It was an extraordinary thing to say, given the government has just legislated to force the prime minister to stick to his own one-year timetable on Brexit trade talks - a grimly insane move in which leaders now create law to ensure they stick to the promises they themselves have set. Why would that require legislation but not this?

Indeed there was an awful lot to learn from what apparently required a law and what did not. Another amendment focused on Erasmus, the scheme which funds young people to train and study across Europe. It is about as plainly beneficial as you could imagine a programme being. One study even found that a quarter of those who take part in it meet their partner during their time abroad - with over a million babies produced as a result. Living testaments to a shared European culture, regardless of EU membership.

The amendment was shot down, of course. As with the Dubs amendment, the government insists it intends to do it, but it won't legislate for it.

Another amendment asked for physical documentation to prove European citizens' settled status. It's about as modest a demand as they could have made, given they have been relentlessly lied to by the government. First they were told there would be no change in their status. Then they were held as negotiation hostages by Theresa May. Then they had a flawed application system imposed on them. And now they are asking for this one basic thing: physical proof of a right to live here.

At the moment it is entirely online. A database proves your right of residence. But the hostile environment has put down countless demands for proof of immigration status, from hospitals, landlords and others. It has essentially outsourced immigration enforcement to the public.

In that context, having a recognised document makes life much easier. It means a landlord would not need to go online and make checks on someone's status - something they might not be bothered to do, or may not be convinced by. Instead they could just look at the document. And yet this too was denied. Not an inch will be given.

The same applies to the future relationship with the EU. Speaking to the Financial Times last weekend, chancellor Sajid Javid insisted there would be no regulatory alignment whatsoever. Despite the desperate pleas of British industry, which relies on a lack of checks to maintain its production system across the continent, the government was going to disconnect from everything.

In many areas, like aerospace and automobiles, there is simply no upside to this whatsoever. But Javid knows that any EU supervision of British regulations, which is what a close relationship would entail, would be poison to the Brexit hardliners. So their interests are placed above those of British companies and workers.

There is, quite simply, no offer. Not even on the most harmless and uncontroversial of Remain requests. There is no movement to the 48% whatsoever. Instead, there is just the rhetoric of reaching out, of can't-we-all-be-friends. But friendship requires some movement. It requires a little compromise. Where there is none, it is not possible.

What is being pursued is the most hard Brexit imaginable - not just outside of the customs union, not just outside the single market, but without any meaningful linkage whatsoever - without even the symbols of linkage. Full victory in the culture war.

It is the most extreme interpretation of the vote outside of no-deal. In that context, the request for friendship is actually something altogether more sinister: it is a demand that you shut up. That you be silent, so that the programme which is being delivered can be made to appear like the will of the people, rather than the agenda of a tribal faction.

It is a dismal way to behave, although it is also entirely in line with the new form of political leadership, followed both here and in the US, where political leaders cement their position not by trying to attract the broadest collection of voters but by relentlessly delivering for their tribal base.

However, it also has another effect. It outrages and incentivises the opposition to maintain the fight. If Remainers really did feel that they were being taken into account - and at this stage, under so catastrophic a defeat as last month, that actually might not require a lot - they would be more likely to accept what was happening. Because they are not, they cannot. The extremism of the project creates its own continued opposition.

#brexit

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