it was 7:30 i had just woken up, but my head hurt so i staid in bed, in like 15-20 minutes it when away, so i started to masturbate, right at 8 i heard water running and i knew that my mom was on the shower, she knew i was going to take a shower in the morning, i was hard as fuck, i was half sleep, i took my clean cloths and i ran up the the bathroom got naked and walked in next to my mom and ... AITA for washing my hands when my mom is taking a shower So, my mom is a single mother, so theoretically we have that extended mom and son partnership, besides that she saw me naked past baby age and I as well saw her naked a couple times - not that either of us particularly "like" when that happens we just don't care. I wash my hands before and after washing my body. In my opinion, using your hands is much more hygienic than a wash cloth or something similar, because unless you constantly wash the cloth, it’s going to be dirty. And since wash cloths and such us... Not a germ freak, I'd wash my hands if I touched toilet water. Full bath and detox would be excessive for an adult tho. ... AITA for telling my mom’s new husband that she has kids? ... I outright asked that she takes a shower before she starts paying but that didn't go well because she's really looking forward to it. I had had enough. Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. AITA for washing my sister’s eyelashes down the drain? Not the A-hole. hi So, i have very bad eyes. My vision is just overall blurry, but i also have pretty bad double vision and loss of my peripheral vision because of a disorder i have. My glasses correct the blurriness and double vision (to an extent). I was just takin a shower (my mom always reminds me to use soap on my privent place haha) and I was just gettin done and turned off the water and got out of the shower naked and my mom just came in the bathroom and went into the closet and I was like "mom, can you knock"? and she said "oh don't worry, it's nothing I haven't seen before". ESH. My mum used to do this to my dad and tan the house as if her time was the only one that was important. Total asshole move to not take his work schedule and sleep into consideration, because sleep is one of those very precious things that has big impact to your day. AITA for spitting my mom in the face after she messed up my anime figurine collection. ... I take her in my car and start driving to the vet, but took a quick detour around the neighborhood, I was going to take the long way to see if I could find the culprit. ... I imagine everyone else is like this so after I finish washing my hands and ... AITA for washing my hands when my mom is taking a shower So, my mom is a single mother, so theoretically we have that extended mom and son partnership, besides that she saw me naked past baby age and I as well saw her naked a couple times - not that either of us particularly "like" when that happens we just don't care.
2020.10.19 18:35 Lifrey_Zantaro Naked english moms
So, my mom is a single mother, so theoretically we have that extended mom and son partnership, besides that she saw me naked past baby age and I as well saw her naked a couple times - not that either of us particularly "like" when that happens we just don't care.
I'm 17 now and I started to want privacy in my room a while ago, so I close the door, but the thing is that anytime my mom wants to talk to me for any reason she would just open the door, no nocking, not even for warning purpose, so I talk to her about it and she understood and agreed to nock and wait a response, only that she don't actually do that, is only a warning, and I was willing to accept that if wasn't for that fact that she says that is her house and she goes wherever she wants whenever she wants, and like, I personally se a problem there and the post is about this, like all this is part of the context, but feel free to tell me if I'm being a entitled teen about it.
And I have OCD - psychiatrically diagnosed, more than one time - it doesn't comes to the case explaining my hole OCD here, the important part for this is that in that situation until I wash my hands I wouldn't be able to touch anything in my room or my self.
One last thing, I take longer showers - OCD - so she, very, often needs to use the bathroom while I'm taking a shower, and she don't nock/ask/warn, she just go, and I don't make much of it, I don't look at the toilet the don't look at the shower and that's it.
So the situation was a needed to wash my hands, she was taking a shower - there is only one bathroom and I couldn't do it in the kitchen sink, yes because of the OCD - I nocked in the door and went to the sink, she started to scream at me on how if a door is closed I can't just nock and enter, she stops the water to scream more, I go out in less than a minute, when I do she "tell" me how disrespectful and invasive I was, and a couple more things but I was to far in my room do listen.
(And english isn't my 1st language so sorry for anything)
submitted by Lifrey_Zantaro to AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]
2020.10.16 10:36 Rootz_rock_reggae Naked english moms
(Sorry in advance for my english, I’m not a native speaker)
Hello, my name is Roots. I really don’t like what kind of person I’ve become. My old teenage self would be disappointed seeing myself how passively I live my life for 3 years. My life is full of fear, depression, anxiety, insecurities, avoidance, running away from my problems, just simply...mediocre.
Deeply inside I think that I’m here in this world to live my best life. And seeing myself spending my last years of my 20’s the way I never wanted myself to spend...it really makes me sad. Although I did a lot of work on myself, understanding why am I sabotaging myself this way and where my all insecurities and fears come from, for some reason I can’t just act and change my well being. At least not drastically, there is something holding me back.
In 2019 I moved to another country, to a big city hoping I will discover myself and what I want out of my life, because since 2017 I lost my motivation and ambitions. Before that I had my biggest passion in my life and that was(still is) swing dancing. I liked myself before 2017, I was putting all my energy in becoming a better dancer, I worked so hard on it that I became a swing dance teacher in my local studio(was really unexpected). At that time I was having corporate job and eventually in 2018 I burned out so bad, that I needed to go to therapy and drink tranquillisers and antidepressants. Eventually, I quit my job at the corporation, because it was constantly triggering my anxiety. Sometimes colleagues would find me locked in the bathroom while me having panic attacks. After me quitting in 2018 it took almost 2 years for me finding a job. I was constantly sabotaging myself and putting off job searching for 2 freaking years. Also in 2017 I started a new relationship and at the beginning all my insecurities, being all needy and clingy just wiped my rational thinking. I was constantly crying, because I thought my boyfriend does not care about me, I made a lot of dramas about naked girls he’s following on instagram and that hurts my feelings. And he would say to me to grow up. I went to the therapy because I felt that I was going crazy with this boyfriend + that corporate job. We dug deeply into my family patterns and I literally started unconsciously act like my mom (making myself a victim all the time, making a man to be most precious thing in my life and obey his needs and forget mine, constantly please everyone and just being afraid of everything). I felt like I was losing my identity in the relationship, but it wasn’t my boyfriends fault, he constantly reminded me that he doesn’t need me to be over-caring, he wants an equal partner that is independent and capable of taking care of herself in every aspects of her life, he just wanted interdependent relationship. So one day I packed my stuff and left my country and made our relationship long distance. I thought that I need to go away from the environment that is pulling me back (I was still living with my parents at that time). My boyfriend was supportive of this idea. I actually grew in one year being abroad, but still I wish I could have done bigger steps for my own being. I was still jobless, living out of unemployment money, completely losing motivation to search for a job. I wanted to change my career into something creative, but I never took a step and just did something towards that idea, I already labeled myself as an imposter and not capable of learning new things. Like, why to even bother? I tried though, but every time I got overwhelmed... So at the end of 2019 I lost my unemployment money because I was not showing any interest of getting a new job. I still had money to be able to live for 2 months in a big city. But the idea of coming back home without “success” to my dependent family was way to scary so I got myself a job in a coffee shop. I told myself that it’s temporary and I should try to find a better paying job that I like or study something. But now I feel stuck in this barista job, because my mind tricked me “you are financially safe so why bother to find better paying and fulfilling job”. So I got into my pattern again when I just adapt to my situation without an ambition of finding something better for myself.
This year in May my boyfriend moved in with me and I feel like I’m getting back in this comfort zone of just staying safe. I hate that. Once, I observed the way I speak to people and how I present myself. I actually ashamed of myself how I do this. I allow people to walk all over me, they sense that I’m insecure, I speak without confidence and also my boyfriend states that too. That I don’t have a voice and that I can’t communicate my needs. I feel that I don’t have a lot of interests in this life and that makes me insecure that I can’t have a normal full-on deep level conversation with someone. This is getting on my nerves. I’m starting to feel frustrated about myself. I just want to be confident in myself and whatever I decide to do. I want to have my own value system and principles where I can clearly state when someone is crossing the line. Without any dramas, victimisation or excuses. And break all dependencies and to just love myself.
I’m still lost, but I feel I can’t be like this anymore. What I’ve just written - is just a tip of an iceberg. I still have A LOT that I need to sort out with myself. There are still things I haven’t said that doesn’t leave my mind. But I want to get better. For myself. Because deep inside I feel that I deserve better. And only I can create this for myself.
Maybe I just wanted to ask - where did you start? It feels overwhelming and scary. But I just can’t live like this anymore. It’s not me.
submitted by Rootz_rock_reggae to DecidingToBeBetter [link] [comments]
2020.10.16 05:29 Prestigious-Maize622 English moms naked
I'm just looking for an opinion and similar stories, any comment will be much appreciated.
The story starts like that: I was always bullied as a kid, had my quirks and was a very difficult child, my mom taught me how to read because I was fascinated about license plates.
During my whole childhood untill I was in my 20s, it was basically me constantly getting in trouble for things I didn't understand I was doing wrong.
I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was a child but my mother would say that it was lack of discipline and never got me through the treatment. Because my mom and dad were constantly arguing and fighting I lacked any kind of structure in my childhood which meant I had to move constantly, live with the family for some time, it gotten worse when she had to go through cancer treatment which mean 0 structure and it was horribly painful.
I graduated as an engineer without failing a subject and great grades, despite the fact my mom died during my 2nd year (My girlfriend, now wife, pushed me through), I never did well in subjects which the test are unstructured open questions. My first language is portuguese, but I self taught myself English from when I was 7.
When I moved to England and had to take a job in customer service in order to make ends meet, I realized that human interactions are extremely difficult for me, with my colleagues having to jump in and help me out, I constantly get told of for not listening\paying attention, with both colleagues and customers. When there is too much noise I shut down and feel the need sometimes to hit my head to the wall (usually I'll fidget really bad or if I'm not in public scratch my head or even hit my head untill I'm calmer) but need to pretend I'm ok if I'm with customers, leading to mistakes and further making my performance raise to the highest levels and then eventually to the lowest levels.
I have an almost comical need to use the exact same shower towel everyday, I can only use certain clothes and I'm very picky, sometimes I make my wife upset for saying what I feel like saying without realising it isn't appropriate, I walk away in the middle of a conversation if it is about a subject I'm not interested, usually chit chatting. Something's in my day I need to do every day the same, my bag is full of stuff I feel I need to have on me, lime fidget toys, pens, notebook, sketchbook, my kindle and I feel naked without it. I struggle with remembering the keys, putting away clothes, doing house chores, sometimes even walking as I'll stumble on every single object around the house(usually when there's too much noise), but I'll read a book in 1\2 days, if it is of my interest.
I was doing counseling because I was referred by work and the insurance happened to cover, my therapist mentioned ADHD and about how I could seek a diagnosis, I was reading on ASD and mentioned it, as it seemed to explain a lot of my quirks she agreed and said it makes sense, but I realized she would always disencourage me having a diagnosis as she would argue it might not be beneficial to me specially health insurance wise, after my last session I sent an email to the insurance to ask about an assessment for ASD but they don't cover anything to do with behavioural issues, which makes sense as if my therapist would give me a diagnosis, I'd be obliged to stop the treatment, with the insurance not paying and she would loose a patient. So I was wondering should I seek a diagnosis or should I just leave it?
Thanks for reading. Sorry about the huge text. Just need an opinion.
submitted by Prestigious-Maize622 to aspergers [link] [comments]
2020.10.16 00:03 throwaway_maybe1297 Naked english moms
This all happened over the course of the past week and a half. I made this throwaway just for this and I feel like I'm doing completely crazy. Sorry its SUPER LONG. Also, EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING. If reading about rape, beatings, or anything like that affects you, please don't read this.
So I grew up with my mom and dad, I'll just call mom, my older brother, Luke who is 3 years older than me. (Fake name for obvious reasons) I'm a 23F. My mom and dad got a divorce because he cheated and got another woman pregnant while my mom was in her early pregnancy. So that resulted in my little half brother who is a few months younger than me. He looks almost identical to me aside from his eye shape because he's half Asian. He's okay and so I'm not really gonna mention other than we were raised apart but my brother and I went to the same school as him at times and we talk now.
Our dad did actually stay and raise us but my parents apparently dated different people but pretended to be a couple so that we wouldn't notice anything wrong. My mom only explained this after he died when I was 17. My parents barely scraped by when I was a kid. So oftentimes they would work 2 jobs and never around which led to my brother being with me a lot. I remember often how as kids he would cook for me, take care of me, put me to bed, read me stories until I fell asleep, sneak me things that our parents forbid us to eat, etc. Like literally the perfect brother. We grew up completely inseparable best friends as could possibly be. We don't look much alike actually. I have caramel tan skin with the soulless dark type of dark brown eyes and long black hair that is naturally straight at the top, wavy in the middle, and turns into a spiral only at the last few inches. I have the type of here literally everyone wants and people pretty much always talk to me and play with my hair to this day. Luke is light skin with light hazel eyes that look blue or green depending on the light, and dirty brown hair. My dad didn't even think Luke was his son until they took a paternity test. My dad is a Native American mix and with very dark skin and black eyes and hair, like my features except I'm much lighter in skin tone and my mom is from Russia with platinum blonde hair and the lightest blue eyes I've ever seen, almost like a husky's eyes.
Luke was always considered the super hot guy in my school and girls pretty much were always wanting his attention. They drooled over his eye color since it was a brighter type of hazel that really do stand out. He's always done perfectly in school. People noticed him and I had matching interests and hobbies and always stayed together and thought we were a perfect couple since we were always together as soon as I got into his high school. But then quickly dropped it when we said we were siblings. I got extremely popular with guys as they said I was super attractive and stuff too, but it brought a bunch of hate to me as girls bullied me because they thought I was a threat or something. People eventually left me alone when they noticed I rarely speak at all. When in high school my brother picked up lockpicking (This is important), he actually told me about it and got me into it too, so we practiced in every room of our house. We can now unlock any and all doors in our house in less than 5 seconds. We also are the only ones who don't knock on each other's doors when coming in. We always did it with our grandparents and parents but not each other. With each other, we just walk into the other's room like it's our own.
Also, I told me that I wasn't interested in anyone, and will not have sex as I was wanting to only lose my virginity to someone who I'm married to. When I was 17 I was raped by a guy who was my "friend" and another couple of friends of his. This pretty much destroyed me and I wasn't able to do anything school-wise for almost 6 years since, and my dad had a heart attack due to the stress and anger at the guys who did it, and died when he finally was told what happened so I blamed myself for a long time. Luke was with me after that a lot being protective of me and always kind and caring.
Fast forward I'm 21, I did try to work and volunteer at vet offices. I meet and marry my husband Ren (Fake name too) who is this Japanese guy. I already speak Japanese and stuff. I talk to my husband in Japanese, talk to Luke in English, and to my mom in Russian all the time lol. I learned Japanese just for the purpose of marrying someone who is Japanese as they are what I'm most attracted to and I simply love the culture and language more than anything. Ren was the perfect husband too.
Now for recent. I have extremely bad health problems. I have 0 immune system, so a simple cold is actually deadly to me. and a bunch of other stuff. I'm fully dependant on Ren. I became stage 3 in one of my illnesses when I was 22 and there's no cure or treatment for it. Luckily it seems to be much better now. I only verbally speak to family and extremely close. Since high school, no one else really heard my voice aside from husband, brother, mother, grandmother, and a lifelong male friend who is also Japanese we'll call Daiki who is about as close to me as my brother and husband are. When I was 17-21 I spent more time with Daiki than anyone else, and I talked to him/spent time with him more in 1 day than I would with my family for a whole week aside from Luke who generally tagged along.
Daiki taught me Japanese since I was 10 which is why I'm fluent to this day. Daiki's brother we'll call Kenji who I dated for a bit before Daiki found out and a white problem happened from there which I can talk about in another story I guess. In short, love triangle. And I still love both Daiki and Kenji but Ren doesn't care as Kenji is close with him and basically his mentor due to my husband pursuing the same degree Kenji finished 10 years ago. (Kenji and I have a sorta large age gap of 10 years), but Ren mainly doesnt care because I'm a very loyal person and both Kenji and Daiki and I are purely platonic now and don't enact on our feelings in any way.
Due to riots and virus and everything, my Luke lost his job and moved back with my mom, For the same reasons my husband and I moved to my mom's place. It's actually a huge house. My dad's life insurance made us suddenly live comfortably and she used it to buy a big house and afford our education and everything. We never were unstable since. About 2 months ago she said she was moving to Texas. We're from the west coast. That's a huge difference to me. During the time my brother convinced me to try going back to school and said he believes in me. I tried and impressed myself with having straight A's again. My mom moved out last Monday. That's when things began to change.
Our ages now are me 23, Ren is 25, Luke is 26, and Daiki is 24.
Last Wednesday Luke came up to me while I was doing homework and he asked me about my sex life with Ren. I just answered his questions truthfully not thinking of it as I was focused on my homework. The only time I paid attention to Luke and his questions fully was when he asked about my birth control. And I said I got it replaced last year (IUD), and he asked if it really works. I got annoyed and said "Well, duh. You don't see a baby crying in the house, do you?" He then asked something like if Ren always finishes inside raw and if I get worried it will fail. I got really uncomfortable. I don't know why, but I told him the truth of yes he does every time and pointed out that Daiki and Kenji both have finished inside of me too for years as well before I met and married Ren, and I also know I the birth control works well and won't fail because it can't be tampered with and no pregnancy scares ever. I then pointed out I haven't had a period since I was 19 so that's another reason too.
That's when Luke just changed. He just got really quiet and stared at me. I told him I had to go back to studying and after nearly a minute I turned around and he was still staring at me which really creeped me out. For the first time, I just had this absolutely horrible dread feeling towards him and asked him if there was something on me or something like that. He just smiled at me and said "Thanks for telling that." and left and I was just like what in the hell? I then thought that maybe he's being weird cuss mom just moved halfway across the country 2 days ago.
The next day things were normal. Until Ren went to his office late. Ren rented an office that he can stay in late at night for when he has too much homework. He doesn't wanna keep me up. His master's degree means he was to actually like, verbally record progress and make videos and be noisy and stuff. So he just does it out of the house. Ren left at around 8, and my brother just suddenly came in at 9ish maybe 10. It's sorta a blur now, but I remembered the time perfectly like 2 days ago. I can't even remember the conversation anymore that led up to it. But I know he made me extremely uncomfortable. And I literally got up and told him to get out of my room. He said no, and I just decided to leave myself.
When I passed him he grabbed my arm and very roughly pulled me back and slammed me into the wall which left a dent in it. I felt like he nearly ripped my arm out of its socket when he did that. Then grabbed my hair and yanked me on my bed. When I was screaming asking what the hell he was doing he put his hand on my chest and pinned me down that way. I swear to god he had no humanity in his eyes at all. He didn't even look at me like I was a person at all. He's never done anything like this before. I only began going from really angry to terrified when he put his hand under my dress and began lifting it. He slapped me in the face while I was screaming and crying which busted my lip then covered my mouth while screaming at me to "shut the fuck up". I tried my best to fight him off but it didn't do anything at all. He's exactly a foot taller than me. I'm 5'2, Luke is 6'2.
He raped me. I felt so heartbroken and betrayed. I got extremely unstable. He said during it that his biggest fantasy ever was to finish inside of someone raw, just like my husband does to me, and now he can do that and have his fantasy with me. When he was done I pretty much was really numb. I moved my bookshelf so that no one saw the dent. I only realized what really happened some 2 hours later and just completely broke down for hours by myself not wanting anyone to see me this way.
The next day, on Friday Luke and I, got in a huge screaming match which never happened before either and he got very violent. I barely got away from him after I got out of his grip. Ren was there. He literally watched and did nothing. Just stared at us. I had to run and hide in my room. He picked my lock really fast after he realized I locked it. I had to grab into the handle and twist it in the opposite direction he did, and he nearly broke the door down trying to get to me. During that, I screamed that I hated him. I wished he would die. Our mom should have aborted him just like she was about to when she was pregnant with him and that I wished she would have never changed her mind last second. I then screamed like some sort of unholy banshee sound I never made before screaming things like "How could you do that to me. I'm your fucking little sister. I don't understand how you can do something like that to me." And stuff like that.
He eventually gave up and left me and I tried to end myself as soon as I ran out and saw a knife. That's when Ren reacted for the first time. Right as I was gonna swing the knife down on my arm he grabbed my arm and yanked me so hard I nearly flew. and he had to fight with me and hold me down while my brother took the knife from me. I screamed more asking how he could have done it to me. I don't remember anything else after that for the night aside from Ren being there trying to calm me down as I was just hysterical for an hour after crying my eyes out.
Luke raped me again on Saturday, then again on Tuesday. Then for yesterday, it was Wednesday. Ren seemed to get really cold towards me. I tried talking to me and he just told me to go away. He later in the day sapped and screamed at me. He's never screamed at me before. Ren was just screaming than when I cried and went to the room he followed me. He told me that I'm so unstable and it's unbearable and when he looks at me he gets stressed out. I told him that it's because of Luke. He said he doesn't care. He said Luke isn't a bad person. He does nothing wrong. And that I'm the one that has the issues.
I actually was so shocked I couldn't even complete a proper sentence for like a minute before finally saying how he could possibly think that beating and rape is okay. He said he doesn't believe it because he doesn't see it. I nearly lost my mind screaming back at him before he said Luke is in the right to do that. And that it was my fault. I said he's absolutely insane to siding with Luke. He actually laughed. Then said to get out of the room. I told him he's so fucking messed up and he got really mad and was about to hit me but hesitated last second and I just ran out.
Later that night Ren wanted to have sex. I said absolutely freaking not since he supports a god, damn abuser. He didn't care, he rolled on top of me and I just was too shocked to respond and he did whatever he wanted with me. With Ren, he too is very large compared to me. He's 6 feet tall. Daiki is the same height as him too. So when I cried out and did try to push nothing happened at all just like with Luke. And he also ignored when I begged and cried for him to stop. I couldn't even sleep until 7 AM because of this.
As for today. Today is my breaking point of where I can't just keep it in anymore. I woke up to Luke getting on top of me. I don't know what time it was but it was fully bright and sunny. I was already and naked, and he was too. I tried to yell but I was so groggy and not prepared for anything at all. That's when I noticed my husband too. Ren was standing at an angle that I didn't realize he was there until Luke laid on me. He just stared at me silently as I screamed and begged him to help. He just had no emotion on his face and left when I screamed when Luke got inside of me.
I honestly feel so stressed out and dead inside. I don't know what to do at all. I really don't. I don't know if it's my fault. I don't know if I'm really in the wrong like my brother and husband say I am and if I really am overreacting or not. I can't even think straight. I don't wanna get anyone in trouble at all but like at the same time I don't want anyone to know. If my mom finds out she's going to die. Shes 1 leg in the grave already so any added stress will actually kill her. I can't just move out or else it's pretty much death for me. Daiki might let me in but at the same time, he's a very easily manipulated person and idolizes the hell out of Luke and Ren. They are literally Senpai to him or even as far as Sama. So god forbid if they actually tell him to do something he will actually side with them too or maybe just participate as well. I feel so stuck.
My health condition makes it impossible to actually survive in general as the food accommodation is so specific that if there is even a simple mistake it's fatal, any contracted sickness is fatal, missing medication is fatal, and everything and I'm in such a horrible position. I just want things to go back to normal like it was 2 weeks ago. I want my mom back home. Please, can someone give me some advice?
After my mom moved out 2 weeks ago, my brother raped me 3 days later and has been doing it since my husband knows and even saw a bit of it and sides with my brother. Now he's doing it too and leaving means I will die due to severe health problems. I need the advice on what to do.
Edit: I wrote "My Brother" and "My husband" so many times while saying their fake names at the beginning and end that it annoyed me, so I replaced it with their fake names to stay consistent. I also didn't realize that halfway though I actually said their real names too :/ So I fixed that.
submitted by throwaway_maybe1297 to abuse [link] [comments]
2020.10.06 22:12 bearboblund Moms english naked
A story about my first time seeing Phish (Wrigley Field, 6/24/2016).
TLDR; See Phish, crap pants, laugh, cry, faint, fall in love, disappoint parents, repeat.
- - - - -
In the summer of 2016, my then girlfriend and I saw the band, Phish, for the first time. As for firsts and where this inaugural event ranks, what I don’t remember I cannot assert, but from what I can recall, quite vividly in manic, cross-cut sections of Wrigley Field blossoming into a technicolor wave pool, is a first without rival. A first that compelled her and I to see the band twenty more times in the next three years, each show delivering an unparalleled experience, but nothing quite like the first. I wish someone would’ve told me before the show began that years from now, this show, top to bottom, will still rank as my favorite Phish setlist. Of course, my response then would’ve been something like, “Hootie beggar blowfish?”
My only conclusion is this: thank god and goddammit I didn’t find them earlier.
I might never have if it wasn’t for her.
We met on a Sunday in June at a music festival in Nashville. Standing in the middle of a crowd watching Bob Weir, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Do you have any weed?”
I said the first thing that came to mind:
“Back at my place?”
She laughed, like a grown-up would at a stammering toddler. Of the thousands gathered on that knobby, dirt patch, I was probably the only other person who wasn’t holding. Out of desperation and hollow nobility, I vowed to help her find some. She needed no help attaining fest weed, a freely circulating public good as available in that space as reflections on the Dead’s greatest year. But she didn’t seem to mind the idea of company, and so with a nod of her head, I became her company.
At a time in my life where I was only beginning to understand how little I knew about myself, about who I was, and thus a period of marked insecurity and self-deception, she seemed to know exactly who she was and where she was going. Los Angeles-born and bred with no plans to return. College years spent in Wisconsin, which she wore like a merit badge, an honorary Midwesterner. Dad, a former heart surgeon, Mom, a former model. To make matters worse, she didn’t care to talk about herself; she wanted to know my story. I’d made it habit at that point to reveal as little about myself as possible to maintain an air of mystery, but her ability to engage encouraged reciprocation; she was intense, intimate, attentive.
She loved Janis, preferred the blues, disliked indie, wanted her rock to rock her. Her tastes were freewheeling and straight from the heart. “The Rolling Stones are the greatest band of all time,” is not an original or outrageous claim nor is it correct, and I told her so, but she defended her point, anyway, and without a hint of self-righteousness, without regurgitating esoteric liner notes or referencing the band’s forebears. Her mission was pure: she simply wanted to convert each and every non-believer encountered.
She was a gunner, type-A, but without the arrogance. Smart, but not self-serious. Soft, kind, flirtatious but not forward. Focused, but reflexively free-spirited, which seemed her strongest innate quality, one of the original ingredients that, though shuffled in and diluted with the inevitable responsibility age brings, nevertheless persisted and always would. She didn’t meddle. She had a career in politics. I’d vote for her. I told her so.
She was leaving in ten days, heading to Chicago for the next chapter of her life. Three years in the same small city, many nights surely spent in the same corner of the bar, and here we were, meeting at call time. Bob Dylan, the poet laureate of bittersweet moments and inevitable ends, was the night’s final act and provided a beautiful, if not melancholic send-off. The lights came on. We said goodbye, and that could’ve been it.
But it wasn’t. We saw each other two years later.
Six months after that, I quit my job, packed my shit, drove up to Chicago, and moved in. Almost three years after first meeting, our first night together as roommates happened to be our thirty-fifth night together in total. To say we didn’t know what we were doing is both true and mostly true. Through years of text and phone conversations, we knew plenty of intimate details about one another: favorite movies, foods, political affiliations, fragrances, dreams, fears. On the other hand, if distance makes the heart grow fonder, closeness allows the brain, your neglected ally, to remind you that the leading cause of death is the heart.
Luckily, on trying days when our differences felt insurmountable, we had music. It's where we started. We chased concerts, bars, and dance clubs five nights a week in the relentless pursuit of making up for lost time. It was the period of “yes,” to excess and otherwise, no matter the night or idea.
And yet, following a friend’s recommendation to see Phish play Wrigley, I was an unequivocal “no.” Why? Because it was Phish. This position of ignorance is a popular one and exactly the type of prejudice the band has perennially inspired. Of course I’d never seen Phish, but what I knew about them had been gleaned from a former roommate, an obsessive who listened to entire tour runs from his room. When I tried to talk Phish with him, he struggled, admittedly, to find the right words to describe their sound, and importantly, the experience of their shows. “They’re like the Dead, right?” I offered, thinking a reference point provided an inroad to unraveling the topic. The question had the exact opposite effect, and my response was to leave Phish in the manila folder marked ‘IDK’ in the back of my musical index. She was receptive to the idea because, why not? On Thursday night, we checked StubHub and tickets were reasonably priced. Who was I to say no?
Spurred by the warm weather and lack of adventurous ‘trips’ taken together, we each ingested almost a full eighth between drinks in our kitchen, which doubled as our dinner, and left the apartment with heads full of spirits and mouths full of shards. In an effort to soothe any creeping mushroom reflux, we decided to walk a few blocks before ordering an Uber. It was 6:30, thirty minutes to doors, hour to show time, and we had plans to meet our friend in Shakedown prior to entering the stadium.
Only after escaping the heat and settling into the car's backseat did I sense the first, very strong signal that the mushrooms were on the move. Though I wasn’t overly warm, I was sweating intensely from abnormal areas. Not my palms, but the backs of my hands were covered in sweat. A line of sweat beads ran from the temples down either side of my head, pooling under my chin. Both knee pits were sopping. I felt like a can of cream soup that had been pin punctured at random.
Even under cover of aviators, there was no mistaking Lilly's expression, eyebrows hovering over the top of the lenses, for anything other than “we’re fucked.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed, a gesture of reassurance that we were OK, but considering the forced half-smile it was attached to, likely succeeded only in reinforcing her belief. She laughed loudly before abruptly suffocating it like a sneeze she hadn’t felt coming. I kept mouthing, “OK”, to her over and over, nodding my head up and down like a defeated football coach absorbing the reality of a massive halftime deficit. She, however, appeared almost excited. Her rosy red cheeks and shit-eating grin produced this cartoonish expression like she was in on the joke, whether this was all in good fun or the way it all ended. On cue, “Werewolves of London” issued forth from the radio, each “Aaaooooo!” louder and more hair-raising than the last as we rolled toward Wrigley.
The driver pulled over at the southeast corner of Racine and Addison. We whispered, “thank you” as we exited the vehicle, and he yelled, “Good luck!” from the open passenger window as he pulled a “U” and drove off. We laughed like hyenas before taking a couple deep breaths, wiping the tears from our eyes. The open air was like a splash of cool water as the mushroom limbo balance tipped from fear to fun.
Wrigleyville was overrun, its blue hat population replaced by a frenzied community of unknown origin whose presence, by sheer numbers, established a new law and order, free of law and simple in order. People sold, bought and traded items on the street, smoked, drank, and huffed on the sidewalk, shook hands, slapped fives, hugged, danced. The police presence was minimal, most officers posted at the zone’s periphery, serving as guardrails, preventative agents to keep the outside from the inside crowds and vice versa. I watched as a guy trying, but ultimately failing, to catch himself from stumble falling was wrapped up in a bear hug by an officer, who brought him back to his feet and sent him on his way.
We zig-zagged through the lot, arms strung around each other in supportive, clumsy embrace, communicating strictly in awestruck toddler-level finger pointing, and quickly found ourselves at the Clark-Addison entrance gate.
Located down the first base line, just past the visitor’s dugout in the shallow right field stands, our seats offered an almost direct view of the center field stage. They also offered zero protection from the in-no-rush-to-be-setting sun. With no breeze, the air was stifling, our metal seats scalding hot, and the stadium was nearly empty and unnervingly quiet.
“We’re a little early, I guess,” I said.
“What time is it?”
“Five after seven.”
“Why are we here?” she asked, slumped down in her seat.
“I don’t know."
Acknowledged in the Uber, then completely forgotten during our lot walk, what had felt like stomach jitters now urgently required a bathroom trip.
“Why, oh no?” Lilly said.
“I gotta go.”
“Oh no,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
Inside the tunnels, everyone moved at incredible speeds and in unpredictable patterns. I walked in circles for a few minutes before finding a men’s restroom, located almost directly in front of the ramp I entered the tunnel from.
As soon as I sat down in the stall, the urge to shit vanished. Thinking it was a trick, I decided to wait for its return. I pulled out my phone and padded the pulsing, wobbling numbers on the screen, watching them bob up and down like lily pads in stream. My trance was interrupted by a gigantic fart in the stall next door, which prompted a chorus of thunderous laughter on the other side of the stall door. The fart. It wasn’t me, but that didn’t matter. The idea of being assigned blame for the fart by a mob of strangers rattled me. Sweating like a beast, I took a deep breath, pushed open the door and sprinted out of the bathroom, the assumed to be fleeing farter.
“Oh my god! What has been happening?” she asked with a crazed grin. I wanted to tell her about the fart, but based on her expression assumed she had somehow already heard.
“So much” is all I could offer.
Expanding in scale, the stadium now resembled something closer to a coliseum, the half-ring of upper deck towering above us, our section sunken to arena-level. The sun hovered next to the left field upper deck, and cast warm, gold-flecked shades of purple, orange and red across the grounds. Streams of people filled every aisle way, fed from every entrance. The upper deck looked overrun with ants, thousands spreading across its sections. The general attendance crowd flooded across the white tile surface laid over the field, some angling toward the pit in front of the stage, others twirling in back near the stand-to-field entrances.
Lilly grabbed my arm.
“Let’s go down there!”
“But we don’t have tickets.”
“But it’s right there!”
We WOW-ed to each other every 30 seconds or so, fixed in our seats like we were in the front row at the movie theater, turning to describe some unbelievable sight just seen or emotion deeply felt, only to blurt out, “WOW…did you…I just…WOW.”
Never had we experienced such a palpable sense of build to a show. Pre-show excitement is of course one of the best parts of any concert-going experience; the chatter of setlist debates, downing of drinks, racing to grab one more before show start, rows of heads nodding to the beat of whatever song plays as the techs complete instrument check. No, this was something above and far out beyond the normal behavior of fans waiting for a band’s walk-on. It looked like a preparation for departure. Most people were sitting, slowly sipping at beers, checking placement of keys, wallets, hugging, holding hands. Normal enough, but not when juxtaposed with everything packed into the “before.” In context, it now felt like we were in the low-pressure wake moments before natural disaster. It was like everyone was preparing to lose themselves completely to the happening that was moments away.
The four members of Phish strolled onto the stage. The crowd went apeshit, a jarring reminder for Lilly and I that we were here for a purpose beyond shape shifting through the ether. A silence settled over the crowd, every set of lungs expanding as Trey adjusted his strap, tapped his pedalboard, Mike bum-bum-bum-bumped a few notes from his bass, Fish ta-ting-ting-ting before RaWrRwrrRArrr, Trey’s first strum, the long-awaited signal that it was finally time to go.
The crowd leapt into full Harry Carey “Cubs Win!” celebration mode, and I’ve never seen or been part of something more joyous in my life. For the entirety of the first song, if not the first set, all Lilly or I could do was observe in awestruck wonder as the spectacle before us redefined our understanding of what constitutes a good or memorable or worthy live music experience, communicating by way of pointing, gesturing, and screaming like the fucking Beatles had taken the stage. The opening song provided a perfect entry to not only the band, but this night in particular because it sounded familiar, like a rock song you’ve heard before, one with a natural, building progression and catchy pop hook that brought you up and back down without completely untucking your shirt.
The second song took care of that. On the heels of the first song came a raunchy, hard-charging guitar lead, converged on by a glissando and rapid-fire drum beat that cranked the stadium’s heart rate into a downhill sprint. There’s no doubt in my mind that the structural integrity of Wrigley was challenged over the next three to four minutes as the suddenly larger than life titans of rock whipped thousands into a lunatic dance frenzy. This was the shit overbearing parents warned their kids about “rock and roll,” but now, surrounded by those same parents, I knew why: they wanted it all for themselves.
The second song offered a first glance of, and participation in, the Phish dance, a style and form all its own. Have you ever danced like no one is watching? At home in your room, door closed with a favorite guilty pleasure track playing on repeat? Now imagine doing that with 40,000 people, each feeding off of the high energy, free form dance of the person in front of them as if it’s some sort of competition, but it’s not, there’s no judgment committee, no yes-no, right-wrong, and so what you have is a huge group of receptive individuals free of the notion of preening, free of self-consciousness, being fed this hyper-contagious strain of cathartic dance created for you, specifically for you, by a rock n’ roll band of world class musicians who have mastered the art of live performance, who embody music’s deeply-rooted connection to humanity, joy, release and are as serious about the music as they aren’t about themselves.
Before our feet reached the ground, an animatronic voice from above objected:
“You have been selected as the first astronaut to explore the planet Mars. The countdown is progressing, and your spaceship is about to blast off on its voyage of discovery.”
To Mars we went on a ship fueled by extraterrestrial funk and the collective energy of 40,000 space junkies. Based on experience, I’d come to believe that all concerts follow the same general arc: the band comes out with a lot of energy and gives you something hard and fast, like a new single, right out of the block. A few songs later, the band slows it down, providing a needed breather, release of tension. The build then begins again, there’s maybe one more dip, and the finale packs all the fuck to your face they can muster. We were only three songs in, but exactly none of those rules were being followed here. If anything, we started low and then went up. Phish only went up. There we were, shell shocked, nearly in tears, hands on top of our shaking heads, expressions of disbelief on our sweaty faces as the band punched home the last note of the finale. For the next few seconds, we stood in silent awe, slowly acclimating to the sensory overload of the last seventy-some minutes as patrons dispersed for set break.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, Lilly smiled, leaned back, and slowly rocked back and forth. This is her, I realized. Beaming like a nuclear disco ball, bursting at the seams with childlike serenity, this is who Lilly is. She’s intelligent, ambitious, driven, and will accomplish everything she sets her mind to in her professional life, but her definition of success, her fulfillment is simple: to love and be loved and do things we love.
When the epiphany settled, I realized how badly I needed to piss. Within the stadium tunnels, the mood was light, energetic, celebratory, but more focused than pre-show. Everyone needed to drain and replenish with bathrooms and provisions, food, beer, and water, simple enough tasks but on a deadline, which added a collective sense of urgency. We walked against the flow of traffic, heading out near the gate we’d entered for a quick breather. Instead of heading back toward home plate direction, we walked underneath the right of home plate upper deck section and wound up at a porta-potty encampment that felt like the Eden of toilet banks. Short lines, friendly, blissed-out faces abound, a Purell station, and a row of vendor carts nearby.
After the head, I grabbed two beers and walked over to Lilly who was hammer thumbing her phone.
“Here you go,” I said, handing her a beer.
“We’re going on the infield!” she screamed, and before I had a chance to question it, she grabbed the beer and started power walking in the direction of right field. As it turns out, this portable oasis we’d stumbled upon was near the tunnel that led to the general admission field entry. The friend we meant to meet up with prior to the show had a GA pass, represented by a silver wristband applied at stadium entrance that permitted free passage through the pearly field access gates. Unbeknownst to us, it was well-known that security at Wrigley was notoriously lax when it came to checking wristband wearers.
“We’re just going to wait until there’s a big rush of people,” Lilly explained. Peeking out from behind a vertical column twenty yards from the gate, we watched people presenting their wrists and walking through the 10-foot wide entry, flanked by four security guards in bright yellow ‘SECURITY’ shirts.
“And then we’re going to wiggle our way into the middle of the group, hold our right hands in the air just like everyone else, and stare straight ahead until we’re in,” she said. I simply nodded, fully confident in the plan and the fateful trajectory of our night.
As bodies started to clog the bottleneck, we made our move. With two guards on the left edge, one on the right, and one situated in the center of the stream of people, the squeeze created the momentary chaos necessary for sneaking in. I looked up as Lilly, perfectly timed, slipped right by the center guard who had just turned his head in my direction. As his scan swung back to the right, with one long stride, I slid through the gap between two people in front of me, past the center guard, and Jesus, take the wheel, I’m a free -
Caught. Looking up, I could see only the tips of my fingers flailing above an Andre the Giant-sized hand where my wrist had been.
“Nope,” the guard yelled over the bodies passing under his outstretched arm. I scanned the open area past the gates. She’d seen the whole thing. Hands cupped over her mouth, softly shaking her head “no,” Lilly watched as I was led out of the stream of passing bodies by the mighty hand of the law.
“Where’s your wrist band?” he asked.
“My wife has it, she just walked in.”
In my mind, “wife” conveyed legitimacy, much more so than “girlfriend” as I was the aloof husband, not the high as shit boyfriend. The guard responded by laughing in an unfriendly way, in a very cop way, before sharply nodding in the opposite direction.
“Get outta here.”
Confused and embarrassed, I started walking up the ramp like a kicked dog. I pulled out my phone and turned to see if I could find Lilly again. Before I did, she called.
“What happened?” she asked. I saw her now, pacing back and forth, hand on her forehand.
“I got caught, baby,” I said, laughing. “Listen, stay on the field. I’ll just go back to our seats. It’s totally fine. They’re probably going to start again soon.”
“No fuckin way,” she screamed. “I’m getting you in here!” And with that, she hung up.
I headed back to the porta-park. The adrenaline injection tied to the security run-in had momentarily dampened my high. For the first time in hours, I felt capable of coherent speech.
“How about that first set, huh?” I said to the guy next to me in the porta line.
He shot me an incredulous “are you kidding me?” look.
“Duuuude, Torture, Monster, Sand, with a Wedge thrown in, capped with a Free to Blaze close, all in the first? Fuckin heat, man. Hot hot heat. Heaaaaaaater right outta the block!”
I nodded enthusiastically, without the slightest clue what any of that meant. Nevermind, I thought. I remain capable of nothing. Inside my blue plastic pod, I started laughing at the thought of trying to get back to our seats. While accepting the evening’s twist of fate and a second set spent wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out what the fuck that guy just said, though not in the least distressed by this notion, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket.
“Come back to the field entrance!” Lilly screamed.
“Come back to where you just were!”
“There’s no way I’m getting past that guy now. He’s got a line on me.”
“We have a wristband for you!”
Lilly had found our friends on the infield. Our friend, Jen, was going to meet me on my side of the gate with an extra wristband. I waited behind the same vertical column, carefully watching the gate and my assailant, who I knew was anticipating my return. I saw Jen approaching the gate field-side. Walking up the ramp, she handed me a wristband that I slipped on and a ticket that I put in my pocket, and we U-turned to head back to the gate.
I kept my focus on the field. Passed the guard in the center of the walkway. Felt the same splash of the sweet open air of the infield on my face.
Caught. Same place. Same vice-like grip.
His confident, almost amused expression belied his incredulous tone.
“I’ve got my wristband,” I said, pointing up at it like a seven-year old.
“Let me see your ticket.”
I pulled the ticket out of my pocket and handed it to him. Disappointed, he looked it over before pulling a hole puncher out of his back pocket and emphatically piercing my ticket.
“All tickets need to be punched!” he yelled to no one in particular as he handed me back my ticket.
I put the ticket back in my pocket, took a few steps forward and raised my hands over my head like Rocky. Fifty yards ahead, Lilly, standing with a group of our friends, shot her hands in the air and burst out laughing.
“See!” she said, holding my face in her hands before spreading her arms wide and twirling in a circle. “We have to be down here.”
She was right. Having already experienced something truly outstanding with set one, we could’ve left the stadium right then, scarfed an order of greasy Chinese food, and gone to bed knowing live music would never be the same again. Our definition of what is and isn’t a valuable live show, and why, had been blown to smithereens. But walking toward the stage on the infield, sensing the exotic energy of the pit, the thought of being “in it” like never before, what we’d just witnessed already felt behind us, fading in the background of the rearview mirror.
By the time we found a clearing, stage right, twenty rows back, to post up for the second set, night had fallen, and the stage, framed by the stark black surroundings, pulsed in swirling red-yellow orbits. When the band reappeared, they walked on in the same unassuming manner of the first set, like four guys walking to the beer line. The roar of the crowd shook my bones and drowned out the wary, doubting voice in my head. Comfortably acclimated, Lilly appeared ready to be led into war as she yelled into the night with what I can only describe as a metal show intensity. The crowd quieted as the members assembled themselves on stage.
I could barely hear the sounds being played over the speakers when the crowd went berserk. It first sounded like swirling wind or the hissing squeal of gas escaping a high-pressure chamber. Then, it turned darker, swampier before BAWMP-BAWMP. I turned to the guy on my right.
“What is this?” I screamed into his ear.
“DOWN WITH THE DISEASE,” he yelled back, as Trey fired three electric missiles directly into the receptive, joyous faces of an army of possessed souls. The second set picked up right where the first left off except now we were in the trenches, which unsurprisingly enhanced the everything-ness of the show and sounds by an IMAX magnitude. From twenty rows back, the wall of sound was like a Bob Marley-coined, doesn’t-hurt-when-it-hits tidal wave. For the first thirty seconds of the second set opener, I didn’t move; just stood paralyzed as my brain tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.
A solo piano rhythm slowed things down at the start of the second song, but not for long. As the other instruments joined, the song achieved this big, theatrical, rock opera-y sound before cutting out completely at the first verse, leaving Trey and Mike to quietly sing the lyrics and the crowd to lean in a little closer, get a little tighter. At the last few words, a drum lead fired up the start of another ladder climb crescendo, restarting the frenzy the soft-spoken lyrics momentarily calmed. Then, at the end of the second verse, the lyrics trailed off, creating the quietest moment of the night before –
OOOOH OOO OOOOOH OOO OHHHH OOOH!
At the first “OOOOH!”, thousands of glow sticks were launched into the air from every corner of the stadium, then picked up and sent sailing again. Smiling like an idiot, I turned in a circle and watched glow stick spouts erupt sporadically across the stands and upper deck, and thought, “how have I spent so much time missing this?”
I thought about all the shows I’d been to, and how, in retrospect, regardless of venue size, nothing compared to this. Memories from my favorite shows now seemed in need of revision.
The guy on my right turned to me and screamed, “TWIST!”, as the next song started. I appreciated that he knew I must be new to the band and continued to keep me informed. He proceeded to dance like “Twist” was his favorite song. His style was a form of barely controlled chaos; his moves looked like a gang of hornets had been released in his pants and shirt and his only hope was to dance them out. Of course, when I looked at his face, it looked like maybe these particular hornets were armed with ticklers instead of stingers.
For us, the second set was a victory lap. Lilly wiggled and writhed like a happily possessed flower child and I slowly regained the ability to speak in words. My friend continued to educate, shouting the titles as new songs started.
“Twenty Years Later!”
“What?” I yelled back. I couldn’t tell if whatever he’d just shouted was gibberish because he was so excited that the words ran together or because it wasn’t English. But as I listened on, something totally unexpected happened.
“Holy shit, I think I know this one!” I screamed at Lilly. It was a cover of the entrance song of none other than the greatest professional wrestler of all time, Ric Flair; also the opening theme song from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001. Of course, what Phish did with the song was funky and absurd, glorious and downright dirty, long periods of jazzy deep-space improv separated by massive peaks, each peak starting with a bat-signal-like sky shot from Trey’s guitar before turning into full, stadium-rattling orchestral finales. With each one, Lilly and I flung our arms in the air like the aliens in Toy Story hoping to be picked up and taken away by the claw.
In riding out the lofty, rollercoaster high of the Ric Flair theme song cranked on moon-rock cocaine, it took me a minute to realize Lilly was no longer bouncing in and out of my immediate periphery. She was standing still, holding the inside of her right hip.
“Hey, you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my tummy.”
I narrowed my eyes. She leaned in and put her arm around me.
“Really, I’m OK.”
I put my hand around her and we swayed back and forth in time with the next song, a rhythmic, light, much needed break from the previous onslaught. Her hand dropped from my side, again grabbing the right side of her stomach.
“Lil, what’s the matter?”
She inhaled deeply through her nose, bending over slightly between each breath. She looked up.
“I need some air.”
She nodded in the direction of the boundary fencing to our right. I grabbed her hand and put my right arm out in front to direct our passage, shouting “excuse me” to part the bodies ahead. When I reached the fence, I turned and pulled her toward me. She stumbled, causing her to fall into the fence. I grabbed her by the waist as she pulled herself up, but as soon as she stood, her legs buckled and she fell forward, knocking both of us to the ground. The crowd opened in a circle around us. She slipped off onto the ground, face up, eyes closed. I knelt over her, both hands on her face, trying to wake her.
“LILLY! LILLY! HELP! HELP!”
Her body was rigid, jaw clenched. I searched the surrounding faces, screaming, pleading for someone to call for security.
She opened her eyes wide, blinking several times.
“Lilly! Are you OK? Can you stand?”
She nodded. I helped her to a seated position.
“Did you just have a seizure?” I asked, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“I don’t know.”
“Can you stand?”
Someone shouted “hey!” from above. A guy crouched down, smiling, bottle of water in hand.
“Yeah, I think so,” Lilly responded.
He nodded toward the water. “Here, see,” he pointed toward the cap’s intact seal. “Unopened.” His manner was deliberate; his motions smooth, calming.
“Thank you,” we both said. Lilly grabbed the water, twisted the cap off and took a drink.
It was quiet. Our backs to the stage, the band sounded faint, far away. We looked up at the half circle of concerned faces focused on us. At least a dozen people extended bottles of water, each showing us the sealed cap.
“Wanna try to stand up?” the guy asked.
Lilly nodded. We helped her to her feet.
“There we go. All good?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Lilly said. “I’m so sorry about -
Before she could finish, he grabbed her left hand, my right hand and hoisted our arms in the air.
“WE’RE ALL GOOD!” he screamed to the crowd. Everyone around us, as far back as we could see, threw their hands up in celebration, screaming, patting us on the back, sending us thumbs up and holding until the signal was reciprocated. In that moment, I believe their energy could’ve raised the dead. We had disrupted their show with what could’ve been easily perceived as an overdose or at the very least, inexperienced users overdoing it, and instead of dismissing or jeering, they responded with an outpouring of love and community that I still can’t get over to this day.
That was it. I got it.
Phish had “something” no other band had and no other show offered, but the “something” wasn’t one thing; it was everything. As much as it was the band, the music, the production, it was just as much the other side. I’d never been to a show that involved the fans taking such an active participatory role, an almost equal role, in contributing to a show’s creation. It’s of course law that musicians and bands thank their fans throughout a show. With Phish, the act wasn’t even necessary. This was a symbiotic partnership hell-bent on reaching for something higher than just a good showing. Both sides had a job, and the only way to reach peak concert performance was if both sides executed to the best of their abilities. The only way everyone left the stadium satisfied that night was if performance and gratitude levels matched start to finish. A gathering of friends, not one of them willing to let down the other.
Lilly and I were grabbed by security guards and assisted out of the fray. Once we reached an open area, the guard holding my arm stopped and directed me to face him.
“What happened?” he asked sternly. We were eye level and uncomfortably close. I assumed he had already made his own conclusions as to what happened, and this wouldn’t be a friendly conversation. Until then, I hadn’t realized how hard my hands were trembling. I shook them a few times, took a breath, and started stammering through my story.
“And then once she got to the fence, her legs gave out, she fell on top of me, and I think she had a seizure.”
“What did you give her?”
“Nothing, promise. We haven’t taken anything.” I could see Lilly talking to two guards.
“Hey, tell me what you gave her.”
“I didn’t give her anything.”
“Sit down,” he instructed, then walked over to Lilly and his two colleagues. Their positions semi-obstructed my view of Lilly, so I couldn’t get a read on the tone of their conversation and the likelihood of my arrest. Fortunately, the three guards walked away a few seconds later, leaving Lilly, diminished but smiling through it all. She walked over and sat down next to me.
“That’s happened to me before,” she said.
“What? The seizure?”
“No, I’ve fainted before. I could feel it coming.”
We held each other, silent except for the intermittent, “I love you” and “are you OK?”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, getting to my feet.
I bent down and placed my hands under hers, and gently pulled her up. We walked slowly, matching our steps. It was only after we walked through the GA field entrance area that I heard the opening piano of “Loving Cup,” one of Lilly’s favorite songs from her favorite band, being played by her new favorite band. On a night that felt bottomless until we crashed, only to be saved and raised by a swarm of pie-eyed angels, Trey and the gang gave us a fitting send-off, a song for the wary and beat, but not beaten souls.
When we got home, Lilly walked into the first-floor bathroom. I heard water running from the faucet as I ran downstairs to change clothes. When I walked in, she was lying naked in the tub with arms folded over her stomach, legs bent at the knee and feet on the floor. She’d been crying.
I knelt down, resting my knees on the tile.
“I think something’s wrong with me,” she said.
“Why do you think that? Are you in pain?”
She shook her head.
“That was fucking scary, but we're OK now,” I said.
“I don’t think I can pee.”
“I need you to tell me if I’m peeing,” she said. “It feels like I am, but I don’t know if I am.”
I shifted to my left and tilted my head down close to the tub’s edge where I could see under her left knee. A yellow stream appeared.
“You’re peeing!” I screamed. “We’re OK!”
“Does it look right?”
“Yes, it looks like right as pee could be.”
“I don’t feel right. I’ve fainted before, but this is different. Something’s wrong with my head.”
“Listen, we took big doses on empty stomachs, barely drank any water and danced off like ten thousand calories in the process. I don’t think it’s that crazy that you fainted.”
“You said I had a seizure.”
“It looked like a seizure, but maybe it wasn’t.”
“What if I have a brain tumor? I think we should go to the hospital.”
“You don’t have a brain tumor.”
“But I had a seizure. I’ve never had a seizure.”
“I mean, I think it was a seizure.”
“What do you mean, you think?!”
“I don’t know! It looked like a seizure, but I don’t know if it was a seizure!”
We called one of our friends, a doctor, and explained what happened.
“I mean, if you had a seizure, you should probably go to the hospital.”
So, it was settled. Before leaving, I ran our puppy out. I took a longer route around the neighborhood. I needed it. The night had been one, long extended episode of blunt force wonderful trauma. Except, I was still completely shell-shocked, I couldn’t really even begin to process the night, so I just kind of stumbled around giggling while my pup sniffed around.
I opened our apartment door to find Lilly sitting on the couch in her robe, eyes still heavy with tears, on the phone with someone. She pulled the phone from her ear and hit the speaker button.
“Wait, he just walked in. Evan, tell my Dad what happened.”
Lilly’s Dad, who I hadn’t met in person, who went to Yale when he was 15, where along with acing his coursework, swam on the school’s swim team and nearly qualified as an alternative on the ’64 Olympic team. Lilly’s Dad, the certified genius and human calculator, who chose Stanford for medical school before becoming a heart surgeon and later, an author. Lilly wanted me…to explain…to him…what happened.
Blitzkrieg alarm bells rang in my head, my brain firing signals to my legs to jump through the window, but it was too late. I could only watch in wide-eyed horror as Lilly extended the phone toward me, the phone carrying the voice of the man whose daughter I was supposed to support and protect and not, specifically not, allow drug-induced seizures to happen to.
“Uhh, hi, hello, Joe –“
“Yeah, hi, Evan,” he said, politely, if not unimpressed.
“Hi, so we were at the concert, and Lilly’s stomach hurt, and we tried to exit the crowd, but then she passed out, and we fell down, and her jaw locked up, and her body turned stiff, and so it looked like a seizure, and that’s what happened.”
“How long was she out for?”
“Not long. Maybe five seconds.”
“Lilly,” he said flatly.
“Yeah?” Lilly responded.
“Did you break out in sweat right away?”
“And you felt fine right after, right?”
“You had a vasovagal response.”
I said nothing, praying he wouldn’t test my understanding of vasovagal responses.
“Yeah. You’ve had those before.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lilly said, receding into the couch.
“Lilly, what are you doing taking mushrooms? Your sister’s the druggie, you’re not the druggie! You have a puppy.”
There were a million things I wanted to say, mostly pleas to forget this interaction, to resist the temptation to write me off forever, to forgive me for strangling his daughter once we got off the phone. Lilly ended the call quickly, thanking him for calming her down as I did the same in the background. We stared at each other in silence. She apologized. I was too exhausted to be upset, thinking an aneurysm in my sleep would be easier. We went downstairs, climbed in bed, and drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, Lilly was already up and on her phone.
“Hey,” she said, smiling sheepishly.
I yawned and stretched before sitting up on my elbow.
“What are you doin?” I nodded toward her phone. “Jen ever ask what happened to us last night?
“I’m looking for tickets for tonight.”
She turned her screen so I could see.
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2020.10.05 16:15 HaulA5Oct Naked english moms
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2020.10.01 16:44 HaulA1Oct1 Naked english moms
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2020.09.30 01:35 melizmoe New to Heroes. The story follows an 18-year-old girl that lived in a remote part of the world and doesn't care about heroes. Until recovery girl scouted her. Genres: medical/ action/romance/ 18+ scenes.
Xochiquetzal’s (Xochi or Sochi) quirk allows her to heal others using her own energy. Her quirk was awoken when she was 5, she saw a bird with a broken wing and wanted to help it. She picked up the fallen dove and felt a burst of energy from her hands. The dark light emanating from her hands fixed the dove’s wing, jubilant Xochi cried with happiness. But that happiness was short-lived when she saw the dove’s wing fall from its body, the small white bird then started convulsing and within a matter of seconds the dove was dead. Xochi felt like a monster, she ran towards her parents with the small dead bird cupped in her hands. Through sobs, she explained what happened. Her parents exchanged a concerned look, Xochi’s mother had a similar quirk, healing hands, which allowed her to heal any external wounds. Her father’s quirk allowed him to see through living organisms, X-ray vision. As the tearful Xochi stared at her parents with fearful eyes, they took her into her arms and tried to figure out what had happened. After the incident, her parents made the decision to have her be home-schooled, they feared that Xochi could end up hurting someone if she couldn’t control her quirk. Through many trials, they determined that Xochi had the ability to heal, but to a much more powerful extent. That is when they began training her. Xochi’s mother was a doctor, so she taught her as much as she could about anatomy and patient well- being. Xochi’s father was a descendant from a clan that used chi, or the body’s energy to help people. They studied the flow of energy throughout the body and helped people using acupuncture (yes just like Byakugan). He taught Xochi the innumerable chi paths and how those chi paths were connected to the neurological system. He was a professor at the local University, so more often than not he would take her along to listen to his fellow professor’s talks.
When Xochi was 8, she started to toy with the energy that emanated from her body. She would concentrate and try to create a small ball in her palm, but most of the time the ball would engulf her hand and disappear. Trying to control her quirk proved to be a challenge, her mother could only give her verbal guidance and sharing her experiences with her own quirk wasn’t of much help. Healing hands worked a lot differently than her own quirk. Xochi had to figure out how to control her energy in a way that worked for her. Hours and hours would go by, as she set in the empty lounge room with a light smell of old damp wood. Using the breathing techniques her father taught her (lol I am thinking demon slayer status) she learned to differentiate between the energy that flowed within. Meditation became a part of her daily life, she was able to connect to her inner self in a way that let her feel her own energy.
After her failed attempt to control her quirk, she tried again when she was 10. This time she managed to maintain the light in her hand, but this time the light glowed a light color. She thought it would be a good idea to practice on herself. So ran as fast as she could and purposely tripped over an old tree branch. Managing her quirk with her breathing, she tried to apply the light to her bloody knee. As she felt the warmth of her light, she stopped feeling the burning pain, but she could still see her patella(knee-bone) and her torn skin and muscle. It displayed like a half-peeled orange. She felt a sudden punch to the gut, after all those years of learning and training, it didn’t work. She managed to get up, her open wound open, her patella saying hello to the world. She stumbled to her mother’s home-practice and told her that after all this time and effort, she was still a monster. Her mother, clueless as to what she could say, began to sterilize the wound. She took out the stitches and began sawing through her daughter’s lacerated skin. She looked up to see Xochi’s eyes had gone blank.
“Mija, you are not a monster” her mother whispered as she hugged Xochi.
“ I feel like one! Maybe my quirk isn’t to heal, but it’s to kill, I AM a monster. All this time that you and daddy spent teaching me, it was for nothing, because I am a monster” Xochi said as she started to lose sight over her tears.
Her mother reassured her “ Rome wasn’t built in a day, you have a great power Xochi, you just have to take time to learn it, you know a very wise man once said ‘with great power there must also come great responsibility’”
“Are you seriously telling me something you read in a fortune cookie” Xochi studied her mother’s face, already forgetting about the darkness that was starting to take over her.
“ Yes, you know when people started getting quirks, everyone obviously freaked out. I remember my mom telling me that her mom thought it was the end of the world. Some of her neighbors were sure it was witches. They thought it was the devil’s work, but that’s of course because they were so isolated from the rest of the world, that they just did not it wasn’t just them. Your grandma once told me that she felt like a monster because she was the first one in her village that morphed. She has green hair and even her skin has a green tint to it. Yeah, most people knew it was part of having a quirk, but she still felt like a monster. She obviously grew out of that and she learned to use her quirk to save others. My point in all of this is that this is new to you and to everyone. This is going to be one of life’s truth’s no one can hold your hand forever. I want you to always remember this: what is important is not what happens, but how you react to it. The world will throw all sorts of injustices and challenges, but what’s important is how you look at it. I know that you feel like it didn’t work and your quirk isn’t for helping, but let’s take a look at what happened. I don’t want you to feel bad about yourself when something bad happens, especially as you are learning. So I want you to try again, do not give up on yourself honey” Xochi’s mother said.
After a month, Xochi tried again, but this time with a small paper cut on her lap. She noticed that she wasn’t healing. Then she ran up to her brother and cut him with the paper “What the fuck is your problem hair ball!”
“Shut it, I want to practice using my quirk”
Xochi’s brother didn’t say anything because he had seen how much this meant to her. He saw the day she accidentally killed the dove. He saw his little sister feel like the most distinguishing vile thing to walk the earth. He knew he had to be careful with what he said to her, he didn’t show it but he loved her and he didn’t want his words to hurt her. He knew the power words had over a person, a philosophy that all his family followed.
“Ugh-- fine,but make it quick, I have a date” He said.
So Xochi looked at the small cut on her brother’s arm, the small tinkling of blood, almost inspired her to make sure her brother stayed as handsome as he was. With a deep breath, she brought her hands up to her brother’s skin and let out a diamond colored light. The light was almost holographic, but in that second, her brother’s cut was gone. Both of their golden eyes were open in astonishment, the cut was really gone. “Not bad, hair ball” he said, but they both knew that he was proud of her.
This is how Xochi began to progress, she would spend months working on paper cuts. Then after getting a handle on how much energy she needed to use and thinking of what she was healing, her quirk began to bloom. She realized that she needed to know how much energy to use and to do that she needed to heal, she needed to recall her mother’s anatomy lessons. Instead of reading story books or watching TV, she would lose herself in medical textbooks.
One of the few things she enjoyed doing with her brother was exercising. She found out that after she started running with him, she was able to use her quirk longer and the light was usually lighter. (The lighter the color the more effective it is). “ Get lost fur ball, you are so annoying” he would say to her as he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him.
“Fuck, why are you always following me around, go read a book, you nerd” - brother
“ Yeah, yeah, so where are we going?” -Xochi
“That’s none of your fucken business, now get lost” said his brother as they stopped at the local health center. “Hair ball, go and ask about the gymnastic classes”
“HUH?! I don’t think splandex looks good on you and your big ego”
“Shut the fuck up and go ask” Xochi just kept looking at her brother, she thought he had a screw loose since his quirk is X-ray vision like dad’s except he is able to amplify his vision rage. Curiosity got the best of her, her brother always had a foul mouth,but today he was extra pissy--which meant he was nervous. Xochi opened the door, and in that instant she saw her. A beautiful girl with short purple hair. She had such an amazing smile, she seemed so nice. But then she realized why her brother was nervous, this girl had an amazing body. She was tall and well-built. She was wearing a tank with some spandex shorts that showed her toned muscles.
Now it made sense why her brother was suddenly interested in gymnastics.
“ Well, like you said I should go home and read that book, since you know I am such a nerd”- Xochi
“Where the fuck do you think you are going, I told you to go ask about the classes, and be sure to bring back a flyer”
“HAHA, oh yeah, what do I get out of it?” she asked with a smirk on her face
“ I swear hair ball if you don’t go and ask I am going to---”
“Going to what, huh, big guy, oh yeah I am so scared of you and your threats when you can’t even go talk to a girl” Xochi waved her hands in the air in a mocking way.
“ Fine, what do you want?”
A triumph smile decorated Xochi’s face.
“ I want you to pay for my gymnastic classes”
“The fuck you mean--- I ain’t paying for your stupid classes”
With that said Xochi started to walk away, when she felt a tug on her arm, “Fine hair ball, just go and get her info”
“That’s what I thought, Mr. ‘I am going to-’, pshh take your empty threats elsewhere”
With that said, Xochi walked into the community center and ever since then she’s been in love with gymnastics.
Like her older brother Xochi displayed exceptional memory, although with her she could remember a great amount of information using musical mnemonic devices. For example when her mother was teaching her the names of the bones of the wrist Xochi would sing “Sally Left The Party To Take Cathy Home”.That way she was able to remember the eight bones very quickly. She loved to listen to music dance along while trying to remember all the bones of the body. At some point she even made a silly dance to help her remember the leg bones. It look like a weird version of a shamee.
Since they lived in a small coastal town, no one questioned when the couple wanted to home-school their daughter. With their eldest going to University, the three of them focused much of their time finishing Xochi’s education. With exceptional memory and the time spent educating her, she was finished with her high school education by the time she was 15. Her father thought it would be a good idea to get her started with her university education. Since Xochi knew she wanted to be a doctor, she enrolled in the medical program. To her surprise she had already learned most of the material they taught in the introduction courses. Her father was able to pull some strings so she could take an exam that would demonstrate where she was academically. After the results came back, they placed her in her third year of undergraduate degree.
Living with her family in a small town was an adventure. Although she spent most of her time studying, Xochi loved having fun. She had a very adventurous spirit, unlike her parents who liked to stay home. She loved to experience life. So when she had time the young girl would bargain with her neighbors.
“ If you teach me how to ride a motorcycle, I’ll get rid of your skin rash” she negotiated with her biker neighbor.
“ Pshh-- fine” he said without putting up a fight. Although they both knew that she was going to heal that nasty rash either way. And like that Xochi was able to learn all kinds of things, from driving to singing.
The next year flew by, Xochi was able to complete her bachelor’s when she was 16.
As she prepared to enter her master’s program, her parents told her it would be a good idea to spend some time with her grandma in the mountains. Xochi was thrilled with the idea. She loved her grandma, and she was always open to the idea of learning something new.
Xochi’s grandma was a well-known herbalist, using her quirk she was able to identify the property of plants and flowers. Using her knowledge of chi channels, she was able to cure most ailments. The townsfolk from around the town where Xochi lived and the villagers from her grandma’s village all agreed that it would be best to keep the women’s abilities secret. You sorta needed to know someone to get in, kinda thing. Xochi thought how it was kinda like a secret society (think White Lotus from Avatar) where exclusivity and privacy were most honored. The locals knew that if others were to know of their abilities, it wouldn’t take too long for ill-willed people to come look for the healers.
The next month Xochi set out to live with her grandmother. The way there was arduous, but it may have been due to the fact the Xochi had zero map awareness. She was not only clumsy, she was easily distracted and got lost frequently. Once her brother had to go look for her in town because she got lost. If it hadn’t been for the nice older gentleman, she would have been bear food by now. Once they got to the secluded village, Xochi thought she would be living with her grandmother, but to her surprise she had her own European-looking cottage. Looking around she noticed how out of style everything was. Her cottage looked like it belonged in Italy, not in the middle of nowhere in Mexico. The whole village had a…. Unique style. Everything was uncoordinated, with unique shaped buildings and odd pairings of colors. She thought she had stepped in a Dr. Seus book. Apparently there was a man whose quirk let him build anything he imagined (as long as he had the materials).
As her life began to settle down, she appreciated how calm everything was. The life here was more quiet, not that it was loud in her town, but here everything seemed to move slower. She studied under her grandmother. Her grandmother was her inspiration, she thought all the good this woman has done for so many people only using plants and flowers. Xochi never really thought much about herbology. Her focus was on medicine, it wasn’t until she saw her grandmother heal a man’s pulmonary embolism (a condition in which one or more arteries in the lungs become blocked by a blood clot) by using a combination of turmeric and ginger to help act as blood thinners which help break up the clog. Then applying pressure to the femoral vein in the infraction of the lung. Xochi’s world opened up, she realized how much she needed to learn. She burnt up the midnight oil learning about plants and herbs. She learned that by applying a little of her energy to the herbal medicines or teas, it seems to increase their efficiency and potency.
The most nerve racking part was treating patients. At first she was nervous, but she remembered what her mother had said and she found a new confidence in herself. One by one she started to treat patients with all sorts of ailments. Her confidence began to skyrocket, she naively thought she was ready for anything. It wasn’t until she met a little girl that had a congenital heart problem. Xochi knew she wouldn’t be able to cure the child, but she could try to ease her pain by blocking the nerves around the heart. Everyday she would spend around an hour in the morning and afternoon trying to ease the little girl’s pain. She would place her hands at the back and front of her chest and send a miniscule amount of energy to the nerves.
Having more experience with her quirk, she was now able to use it as a form of an echocardiogram. She could tell that the heart was chronically damaged and she wouldn’t simply be able to use her quirk to go in and fix the damaged tissue. For her quirk to work she needed at least some healthy tissue. It was useless to use her quirk on something that could not regenerate itself naturally. She thought of her quirk as cell restoration, she in a way helps cells restore or build themselves with the use of her energy. She sat in her chair going through all her medical books, thinking of a way to help this little girl. But alas she found nothing, at least not without a hospital and a cardiologist. The longer she wrapped her head around it the more she thought that she needed to push herself. “ I can’t completely heal the heart, but if I am at least able to heal the aortic valve, the left ventricle should have more blood flow”. With that in mind, she made a plan, she set out everything she needed. She gathered the plants that would help the little girl relax. Xochi had also learned how to block the nerve signals from the body to the brain-- a sort of anesthesia. With that she practiced over and over how to block the nerves with one hand. Now that she had mastered it, she was ready. She would block the nerve signals with her left hand while her right hand would go in to fix the valve. One of the ways she had learned to use her quirk was projecting her quirk on her finger tips, making them look like spiderwebs shooting out of her finger tips. She was able go directly into the organ without having to cut the patient. Doing this was extremely exhausting, it drained her energy so quickly, so she had to work fast. When the day came, everything was going according to plan, she was right on schedule. As she began to relax one of the arteries in the valve erupted, causing the blood to block the passage to other parts of the heart. Already exhausted Xochi had to find the bleeding artery and cauterized it as soon as possible. Her breathing became intermittent, she felt herself drained. She kept trying to find the artery, but then she felt a hard strong grip on her shoulder. It was her grandmother. She ignored her and kept looking for the artery, now there was blood everywhere, making it harder for her to see. Sweat was dripping off her by liters, she started to lose sensation in her legs and her finger tips. Then she was yanked off the lifeless body of the little girl. She couldn’t register what had happened. She knew the girl had died, and there it was, feeling like a monster.
The next few days Xochi kept going over and over what had happened, she still couldn’t process it. The more she thought about it the more she felt like a monster. Once again her quirk had killed. Nothing passed through her mind except that. Days turned into weeks, she didn’t leave her cottage, she wouldn’t eat. The life in her eyes was gone. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the little girl smiling and laughing, thanking her for making her better. The sound of her thanks resonated in her head like a heavy drum. “ She thank me for saving her and I killed her”. It wasn’t until one sunny afternoon she heard a knock at her door, she had learned that if she ignored them, they would go away. “Who wants to be with a monster?”, I am only going to hurt them”. The knocking did stop “thank god she thought”, looking at the ceiling she didn’t realize someone had opened her door. She left herself being pulled into a hug. It was the little girl’s mother. Xochi couldn’t believe it, to the point that her mind went blank “MONSTER, MONSTER”. Then she felt a soft hand on her cheek, with a broken voice the mother said “ Thank you, you don’t know how happy you made us” without sound Xochi opened her mouth to say “What?”. Her heart felt like it was going to break, but the mother continued “for the last weeks that Lucia was with you, she was able to smile more. We knew she didn’t have long, that’s why we decided to go through with the procedure. No offense, you are so young and talented, but you aren’t God. There is a man where we live that has the ability to see a person’s lifespan. He is old and he says he is never wrong. He told us when Lucia would die. So we came to this village looking for you, because we thought it would give Lucia a pain-free ending, we never intended for you to save. It was selfish of us. We just wanted Lucia to be a kid again. And you gave her that.” Xochi leaned against her chair, speechless. She couldn’t process what was happening. “... You are thanking me, but I...I….”. With a kiss on her forehead, she parted ways. A kiss on the forehead meant a way to say thank you, I hope you stay safe and find happiness. The mother’s words kept sounding on Xochi’s head. She layed down, hugged her pillow and cried herself to sleep. As she was sleeping she remembered her mother’s words “with great power comes great responsibility”. When she woke up she touched the spot where the mother had kissed her. When her fingertips touched her skin, she felt like the anchor was cut off and she was finally able to swim.
This tragedy was the most important moment in Xochi’s life. She learned that her quirk could heal, but you can’t fix something that is not meant to be fixed. It was not only her stamina and energy she had to consider, but also her patients. There was something as too much. She realized that the moment she pushed a little extra on the aorta, it was too much for the little girl’s body. By putting extra energy into a body that is not used to it or has undergone trauma you can offset other things. That’s why the artery burst, the extra energy from her quirk was too much. She also learned that you cannot save every person. She learned that hard truth that every doctor has to face at some point in their lives. She also learned that she needed to learn how to cope with loss. As she was getting ready for the day, she heard a knock… on her ceiling. As she stepped out she was a raven with a letter. It took her a second to process “Ahh that’s right, the old man’s quirk lets him send messenger ravens” As she bent her arm so the raven could rest and she could retrieve the message, she smelled sterilizer “mother”. She undid the note attached to the raven’s black. The note read: “ I heard what happened from your grandma, and oh my sweet daughter how I wish I could give you a hug, but I can’t. To lose patients is the life of a doctor, although it is hard you must learn to look and move forward. Every health physician goes through what you are feeling, a feeling of inadequacy of failure. Remember mija, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; this is to have succeeded. You may have not saved her life, but you made her last moments pain-free. I will not tell you to forget about it, you should always remember this feeling. Make this a learning experience and become stronger from it. I love you, take care”. Xicho took her mother’s words to heart, from that day on she learned to be more careful and she learned the fragility of caring for someone.
A couple of weeks later Xochi went to visit her parents. She loved to hike, but god damn how she hated using maps, so she didn’t. She practically had to beg one of the elders to escort her down the mountain. She felt so nostalgic, she felt like everything was a little more vivid. She took in her parent’s faces, the small crevices that time was leaving. She ran up to them, hugged them and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Ever since Lucia’s passing, Xochi was more appreciative of what she had. She wanted to hug everyone she knew. She enjoyed the physical contact of hug. After Lucia’s mother hugged her, she realized that a hug can really change someone’s day. Every since then she would greet people with a hug (which was the norm where she lived), but she never let go first. This made for some long hugs, but she realized it was because they needed a hug. And hey, who can say no to a nice warm hug. After hugging her parents for what seemed for hours, they let go of her.
Her father said” Honey, we heard tales of an elder woman that has a quirk similar to yours”
Xochi’s face grew so bright you could swear that was her quirk, human lightbulb.
“No way?! Really where is she? Can I meet her?”
“Mmm no that’s the thing, she isn’t easy to track down. She is always on the move and doesn’t leave much of a trail. The only proof we have of her is the people who she has helped” said her mother.
“ Fuck-- well then how does that help me?” Xochi asked.
Her father grunted in clear disapproval of her foul language. “ Well there is an organization called the White Lotus that works with her, for her, I am not sure. The point is that they are the ones that lead you to her. Similarly to how your grandmother meets people”
“ Again, okay, that’s nice, but how do I meet her?”
Her mother let out a sigh “ The White Lotus contacted us a few months back, apparently, Medusa, the healer woman wants to take you under her wing. Again your grandmother has very strange connections. She told this Medusa woman of your quirk and she became interested in teaching you”
“ NO fu--- way, that’s great, so when is she coming? Am I going to her? That’s so cool someone with a quirk like mine can help me!”
“Thank you for not cussing, but that’s the thing she said you would have to wait 2 years to train under her. Apparently she is under surveillance or what not from villains. Listen me and your mother know that this is very dangerous, but we also understand that this could really be a great opportunity for you”
“ So I have to wait 2 years, it doesn’t seem too bad, then I could go back to school and officially become a surgeon!”
“Did you purposely ignore the fact that she is being chased by villains”
Xochi stood with her hands in her hips “ Well I better learn to kick ass too”
After a long discussion, they decided that it would be best for Xochi to study under someone that understood her quirk, knowing that it had great potential. With that set, they went to bed.
Xochi tried not to think too much about it since a lot could happen in two years. A week later she set out to the mountains.
Xochi eyes slowly opened as she became irritated by the warm yet bright sunshine hitting her eyes. Waking up was by far the worst part of her day. She missed the soft feel of her pillow against her face. The warm cocoon of blankets she built over night had to be disassembled. Fully awake, staring at the ceiling she pondered if she could just stay in bed all day. That’s when she heard her abuela yell “¡A darle que es mole de olla!” She was never a particularly big fan of her grandma’s idioms. She whispered to herself, “yeah yeah, there’s always a lot of work that needs to be done right away” as she rolled her eyes to no one in particular.
With a sad goodbye she told her bed “I’ll be back, don’t you worry”. Thinking of being back in bed gave her that extra bit of motivation to get dressed. She always wore simple clothes. Since she worked with dirt all day it made sense to wear earthy- tones. She wore brown pants, they were easy and flexible to move in. She wore a hooded cloak that protected her against the sun. She had to wear wrist braces because pulling those damn Mandrakes was a bitch. Her boots were made of leather, everyone in town had the same pair. They were the one thing in town everyone had in common. Those damn ugly boots were the equivalent of “a little black dress”.
As she finally set out to get dressed, she stared into the mirror. She had olive-brown skin with large golden-amber eyes. Her eyes regularly reminded her of those scorpion necklaces that tourists always like to buy on their first visit to Mexico. As she looked upon her naked body she saw that she had gained a little more weight, but she didn’t really care. She had a pretty nice hour-glass figure. She wasn’t all skin and bones. Since she worked out, either mountain climbing, running or practicing gymnastics, she had built some muscle on her. She knew that with her quirk she needed to have stamina, so working out became a part of her life. She loved the way she felt after a hard workout. Her family always taught her to be proud of her body. Body-shaming wasn’t really a thing, so she never thought much of her figure. Her parents were pretty liberal when she was growing up. They would tell her that whatever her body was, it was perfect. Because her parents were so open-minded they also talked freely about sex and sexuality. Xochi grew up completely confident in her image and her sexuality. Sex unfortunately had been on hold, as old men weren’t her thing. She found that to relieve her sexual tension, she would just have to work out a little harder.
She had thick-black eyelashes that made her eye color stand out even more. She had plump lips with a naturally pink hue. Then came her hair, it was wild, at times she thought the thing had its own will power. She had thick-wavy hair that swept to her waist. “ To comb or not to comb, that is the question” she squinted at her hair, pounting. With a swift motion of her hand she put the comb away and grabbed her hair band. She put her hair in a messy lower bun. Slathering sunscreen all over her face, she was ready to start her day.
As she stepped away from her cottage she was greeted with the delicious smell of coffee and bread. Growing up her family had instilled in her the belief that you couldn’t start the day without coffee and bread. As she joined the older villages at the communal table, she noticed a new face. A very short- light skinned woman with a gray bun. She wore a simple blue dress with a pink shawl over her shoulders. She had deep set smile lines that gave her a sense of warmth and welcomeness. Seeing new faces wasn’t a commodity for Xochi, given that with her quirk nearby villagers always sought her out for help. However this nice-looking lady was definitely not from around here. As she sat at the table, she kept feeling like this lady was staring at her as she dunked her bread in her coffee.So Xochi starred back and offered her coffee soaked bread to the old woman, which made the old lady laugh. She then proceeded to introduce herself.
“ Hello young lady, my name is Chiyo Shuzenji. I am an old friend of your grandma’s” She said in Spanish.
“ I am Xochiquetzal de la Luna, nice to meet you”, which she returned with a kind smile. Xochi was honestly not surprised that her grandmother had a Japanese friend, when she was younger she travelled all around learning about different plants from different countries. Which is why she was so insistent on her dad learning multiple languages. Which then caused a rippled effect, her dad made her and her brother study English, Japanese, Aztec and of coarse Spanish. They were a multi-language family. Most of the time they either spoke Spanish or English. Xochi thought about her rusty, never used Japanese and Aztec. She was brought back to earth from her thoughts, when her grandmother spoke in Japanese “ You see, Chiyo here is a pro-hero with a healing quirk. Most of the time she stays in Japan, however there are times like these that she travels around the world, helping others”. Xochi tried to recall her Japanese lessons, listening was easier than speaking it, and writing and reading were almost impossible. She knew heroes existed, but she never paid much attention to any of them. Since her town was so peaceful, crime was never really a problem. Of course she knew that being a hero was a job, but again it didn’t really seem to interest her. She was more focused on healing others, or really anything else, just not heroes.
“That’s nice” was all she could say.
“ My pro-hero name is Recovery Girl, I help heroes when they get hurt fighting villains” RG
“ How does your healing quirk work?” asked Xochi.
“ Well, you see I can accelerate the natural healing process with a kiss. The thing is that I am able to control how much healing they receive, in order to prevent them from feeling fatigue. From what your grandmother has told me, your quirk can heal as well. But you see with my quirk, it is dependent on the life energy of the recipient. The literal opposite of yours. Mary (Xochi’s grandmother) has also told me that your quirk has great potential, you just need a little more experience.”
Xochi just nods her head, unsure of what to say, unsure of where this is going. She is intrigued by the fact that Ms. Shuzenji can control the amount of healing she can do.
Recovery Girl goes on “ Mary also told me that you have already finished your BS, that’s quite the feat for someone so young. She also told me that you been an excellent student and have already mastered the herbology and treated a few of your own patients”
“ I am not sure where you are going with this lady, I would rather you just get to the point” Xochi said impatiently.
Recovery Girl laughed, “ I see you're as impatient as Mary. Yes, let’s get to the point. I want you to come to Japan with me and work for me” As soon as she said that Xochi began to interrupt “oh thank you, but you see---”
“Oh yes Medusa, I know she is going to train you in two years. I actually think that’s a wonderful idea, her quirk is very similar to yours, I really do think she will be able to help you. But in the mean time, why don’t you come with me. You could also enroll in a University to help you with your studies”
“Well first of all, I am starting to think you guys are all in some secret illuminati society, since you all know each other, but yet no one seems to know about you. And second when do we leave?”
submitted by melizmoe to BokunoheroFanfiction [link] [comments]
2020.09.27 16:19 HaulA27Sepl1 Naked english moms
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2020.09.20 18:06 Samara_Buckley_Derby [The Beginning of the End] [Derby]- Chapter 12: The Pertoff Family Vacation
Summary: Fighting immortals is a sweetheart job for someone obsessed with the afterlife. Dying on the job, however, is cutting it too close. However, Julian's curiosity with the great beyond pushes him a little too far, back to the land of the living and cursed with a newly damned soul, just like the immortals he's sworn to fight...
First chapter --- Previous chapter here!! --- Next chapter
Cover art --- Rate me on Royal Road!
And dangerous was how Matti liked it. He was yet to have a real reason to believe his life was in danger and until he felt that, he had no problem pushing the envelope.
Which is why he was perched in the back of a helicopter heading out to Munich on a mission intended to intercept one of the deadliest immortals at an active civilian airport with nearly two dozen soldiers, some of whom were legally dead, while most were shoot-on-sight traitors.
Could it get any better?
“Find anything, Matti?” a cool voice asked in his ear.
“Clear for now, Pooja.” He gave the Colonel a reassuring smile and she nodded, returning to the cockpit. Last names had never suited him and as a renegade, he wasn’t obligated to use them. It was easier to empathize with an Amy or Markus than with a Brown or Khan. Knowing the name they heard from friends and family humanized them and that was important when lives were on the line.
They usually just thought he was being cocky and rude and he had no need to dispel that theory because, as a renegade, they were going to think he was an arrogant prick anyway. It wasn’t even really a lie, so…
The helicopter they all sat in—Matti, Julian, Pooja and her two operatives, Kyline, and her squad—was borrowed from Omicron HQ. No way could Schmidtt’s usual helicopter fit the nearly two dozen agents, so Pooja had pulled some strings. There was enough room to comfortably walk around, especially with the others mostly strapped in, a fact that Matti gladly took advantage of, roaming from window to window, popping up his binoculars to scan for any aircraft that might be flying under the radar.
He’d been disappointed so far.
In between his little lookout sessions, he’d make small talk with various operatives. Pooja didn’t like chatting when on a mission, Kyline hated his guts, and the other scientists he usually hung out with were, for obvious reasons, not here, so ‘various operatives’ mostly meant Julian.
“Gotta admit, when you said you had some questions for me, I wasn’t expecting this,” Julian said after Matti’s third round.
“Am I boring you?” Matti tilted his head.
Julian laughed, always a good sign. “No. But unless this is some weird renegade interrogation tactic, I don’t know why you care about my favorite breakfast food.”
Matti gave him a cool look. “I’ve watched you very carefully since joining the Fleursurgents. I need to make sure your answers align with what I’ve seen.” It was a terribly blatant lie, but not one Matti really cared about guarding. If Julian chose to see through it, good on him. Reality was, Matti just liked getting to know his charges.
Julian squinted. “Fleursurgents?”
“Come on. Fleur Insurgents is a mouthful and there are a ton of repeated syllable sounds there. It’s only natural that you should work a portmanteau in there. Saves time.”
“Lotta big words from someone with a STEM degree. Maybe you should have gone into linguistics.” Julian grinned, and unless it was Matti’s imagination, seemed to relax a bit.
Matti lifted a shoulder. “Linguistics wouldn’t have gotten me a job here. Besides, I didn’t go to an English speaking school.”
“Clearly, or you’d have caught the better portmanteau: Infleurgents.”
This took Matti aback quite a bit, because Julian was absolutely correct. That one was far superior. “I take my hat off to you. We’re now the Infleurgents. Clearly your English skills make mine look paltry.”
“Well, it was my first language.” He shifted in his seat, probably trying to make the helicopter seat feel more comfortable. “You said a linguistics degree wouldn’t have gotten you a job here. Did you know about this place when starting college?”
There were a few options for how an AngelThana operative might have gotten involved in the organization. A bulk of the scientists were poached from the public facing front: a nanotech organization that privately manufactured weapons and also somehow did some work with biotech. It was often scrutinized for guzzling research money and turning out rather few results but that was kind of the point of a public facing front. It’s just that the public didn’t know that. Hence ‘front’.
Then there were military poaches, outstanding soldiers who were approached at the conclusion of their official government military contracts. Outside of these poached soldiers, AngelThana rarely allowed for transfers to military units if the employee hadn’t been with the company for a minimum of three years, which explained why the minimum age of active combatants was 21 and not most military’s standard 18.
Then there were the nuts. AngelThana sent representatives out to anyone who found out about the immortals organically, whether from personal experience or obsessive web research. That’s how Matti got involved. He’d spent the greater part of his childhood chasing down conspiracies online because that’s about all there was to do in a northern European village, population: twelve, where the sun came up twice a year. He’d discovered some paper trails and various web footage that showed the same few people involved in a host of different terrorist attacks across the globe, a conspiracy he was surprised no one else pointed out.
It turned out no one pointed it out because AngelThana scrubbed the internet from all information of the immortals, with a rather impressive tech division. This was originally what they scouted him for until pretty much everyone realized he was a crap hacker. By that point, he’d requested a transfer to sniper school and anyone involved agreed it was for the best.
Most of the people on the helicopter had been in the second boat, sniped from their own government’s military. On the books, they were ‘security’ officers.
Julian was, as with most scientists, from the first group. He’d been scouted because of his academic work and pressured into taking the job with AngelThana.
“My official transfer to the internal department was about a month into my onboarding on the face department.” Julian had that glint in his eyes that the PhDs always got when they were about to launch into a lecture, and Matti braced himself. “The day they pulled me in and explained that honest to god immortals existed, well I thought I’d gone crazy.”
“Really? You didn’t think they had?”
Julian shook his head. “No! I’d always suspected so when my theories were confirmed, my mind was blown. It was like falling into a dream I’d had.”
“Lapinksy! Back on your post. You’ve had weeks to make idle chit chat. This is not the time.” Pooja’s scolding turned all the heads in the chopper to Matti, who smiled back at her, jumping to his feet in a solute.
“Copy that, Colonel.” There would also be time for idle chit chat later, so he had no qualms with resuming his watch.
“Alright we’re approaching our drop point,” Pooja announced, some few, uneventful hours later. “We’re officially on non-essential cargo pickup, so keep that in mind. Grace, prep your unit, but I want them down and out of sight until signaled.”
Kyline saluted in acknowledgement, her face rigid.
“The cargo pickup is scheduled to happen at eight hundred hours, so we’re here plenty early and should be able to get all of you off before they load us up.” Pooja began walking up and down the aisle of the ship, making eye contact with every single person on board. “I’ll be staying on board to handle the loading, with Schmidtt and Lapinksy. You’ll take your orders from the Sergeant and in the case of her incapacitation, your chain of command will fall to Agent Xing, Agent Jha, field medic LeDuc…” The chain of command was something they’d all been briefed on but redundancy may as well be synonymous with procedure because whenever someone said ‘follow the proper process’ it meant they wanted to you use enough fallbacks and extraneous measures that you probably could have accomplished three times your goal if you’d just checked something once or twice.
But for all their traitorous nature, the Infleurgents still followed their god damned processes to a T. Whatever. Matti didn’t technically need to know who to listen to but unfortunately for his ego, the chain of command usually made too much sense to ignore, so he rarely did.
The helicopter touched down at a tiny regional airport in the early hours of the morning, probably close to five hundred hours, as light as a feather per Schmidtt’s usual. He radioed in their arrival to the incognito convoy that was bringing whatever equipment Pooja had maneuvered into being their ‘target’. They reported that they were still about two hours out, which Schmidtt confirmed on radar scans.
“Copy that, we’ll be waiting.” Then Pooja looked up at Matti. “Give us a visual perimeter, make sure the area is clear of personnel or civilians.” She turned to Kyline. “At Lapinsky’s signal, take your men to the far parking lot. The convoy was instructed to leave one truck behind so that we could unload our cargo. Which…” She waved a hand at the soldiers, “is all of you. So stay out of sight until Grace gives the command. Understood?”
A host of salutes confirmed comprehension. Matti eyed Pooja and tossed her a slightly more casual salute before slipping into the night.
For once, the lack of complications wasn’t boring. The presence of civilians would have dramatically slowed down the offloading, suspicions from the convoy would have just caused drama, and if any of Kyline’s soldiers had been spotted, it would have really been disastrous.
All told, Pooja’s plan went without a hitch and soon Schmidt was flying away with whatever cargo they’d used as an excuse to hide their illicit actions. Matti sat in the back of the remaining convoy truck, squished with the others. These things were supposed to seat a dozen. While Matti, Julian, Xing Luli, the Iota agent, were slim enough to count for half a person, they simply had too many people on board for the drive to be comfortable. But comfort wasn’t a requisite so no one complained about being cramped too much.
The real issue was the lack of space to put on their disguises. AngelThana lacked the resources to intensely scrutinize every security cam feed on the planet to scan for faces that matched certain criteria. So the group didn’t have to worry too much about being spotted by the sophisticated software needed to match their specific face shapes and retina scans. But that didn’t mean they could slack off. They’d still need to play dress up to fool any AngelThana member who happened to be casually watching the MUC feeds in their downtime.
There were precious few people on board who knew enough about hair and makeup to make a convincing change to faces, so each agent had to wait quite a bit for their turn. Something to change complexion, darken or bright eyes, maybe thicken the look of facial hair.
“Do me dirty,” Matti said as he pushed past Private Amelie Silva for his turn. He scrunched his eyes closed in preparation for the assault on his face.
“Don’t do that with your eyes,” Pooja said, as he heard her swishing around some bottle of something probably wet and sticky. “It’ll make it uneven.” Pooja, along with Henri LaForge and Edmund Howard, was one of the only confident enough with her makeup skills to do anything convincing on the soldiers. “Hold still.” A bright light blasted his eyelids as another of the soldiers shone a flashlight at him.
“We should have brought Sofia,” Matti said, trying hard not to move his mouth. “She could make every guy in here a girl and vice versa.”
“Matti keep your mouth shut or you’re going to look like more of a mess than you normally do.” After a far too long period of getting paint slathered and smeared on his face, his nails and hands squished, his hair pulled tight and hidden under a wig, Pooja thrust an armful of clothes in his hands. “What do you think?”
The question was a little too amused for Matti’s liking and he cracked an eyelid to see the private holding the flashlight was openly smirking.
“He did say he wanted to be a girl. Think you did a mighty good job there, Colonel.”
The other eyelid snapped open. “I need a mirror. Now.”
Pooja held up one and Matti stared at himself. He wasn’t a girl, probably. Not technically. But he also saw where the private was coming from. “Pooja, you know ‘scene’ hasn’t been in since the early 2000s, right?” He twisted one of the silky, unnaturally platinum locks around a finger.
“We’re active members.” She shooed him to the side to start her next victim. “So our looks need to be a bit more dramatically changed. Us and Blake. If you’re going heavy makeup, you have to make it look intentional. That’s why you have the eyeliner. You’re now Alexi Petroff, 16 years old, so you’ve got to look like it.”
“Great. Back to being an edgy teen.” He didn’t really mind the look but it was far from comfortable. “What dramatic bit are you doing?”
“Inaya Hasmi, 34, traveling with my husband Tahir.” She pointed a bit away where Vikas Jha, the other Iota agent, was getting minimal makeup work done. “I’ll have a bit of work done but most of my face will be hidden.”
“Lucky. Would be nice if we all could just go the religious veil route.” Matti tapped at his face to see if his makeup had dried.
Pooja cocked an eyebrow. “Would have made us all the more likely to be stopped by airport security. Don’t need to increase those odds. Alright, you’re done Shanti.”
“Fucking most disgusting thing I ever got on my face,” he grumbled.
“Shut up, Shanti,” Matti said, almost absentmindedly. The private needled him with a glare before moving on.
“We kind of switched colors,” Julian remarked as he settled down next to Matti. The previously sandy haired man now had cropped dark crew cut, so convincing that Matti couldn’t imagine how his real hair had fit under it. His previously green eyes were now blue, much like how Matti’s blue had changed to green.
“Who did yours?” Matti asked.
“LaForge. Man did theatre through his entire education. I guess it shows but god my head feels like it’s about to explode.” Julian’s hand hovered near his scalp as if itching to itch it.
“Not a finger!” shouted LaForge from about eight feet away where he was twisting Luli’s hair into a tight ponytail. “Or I’ll cut it off.”
“Would he get back?” asked another private.
Julian’s body sagged as his hand dropped. “Here they go.”
The questions, jokes, and jabs flowed through the truck, lightening up the mood at the expense of Julian’s.
“You’re not a fan?” Matti asked. “You can’t deny, there are some good questions in there.”
“Yeah but they don’t want answers, they just want to snicker.” Julian sighed, crossing his arms. “But I’m starting to learn to tune it out.”
Even Matti had to admit that, after two more hours of the soldiers coming up with increasingly stupid puns, it had gotten old. He fiddled with his rifle, knowing that it would soon be locked in a very special crate, the kind that AngelThana routinely used to smuggle weapons through airports, past border patrols, and into government events. Matti didn’t like departing with his beloved rifle but there would be no keeping it on him.
The sun had long risen now as the truck pulled into a long term parking lot, advertised as being ‘mere kilometers from MUC!’ From there, the group split into teams, each with their own mission plans.
Pooja took Vikas, her husband, and the two headed the short walk to the public transport. Six of the soldiers, all dressed as spring breakers, flooded to the closest rental car place.
Matti checked his ID and the instructions on his phone giving him a rundown of Alexi Pertoff.
“I’m traveling with my father and girlfriend, huh? Haven’t had one of those in a while.” He looked up at the remaining operatives. Shanti and Henri were brothers, Amelie and Edmund were also dating. A few others were traveling solo. Then his eyes fell on Luli, Pooja’s Iota agent. She fixed him with a long once over.
“We’re dating?” she asked. In all fairness, she probably wasn’t much older than he was and with the high ponytail with a red streak in it, the loose bangs around her face, and too much eye makeup, she could absolutely pass for 17 or 18.
“I guess so. Which just leaves… dad.” He grinned as Julian looked down at his ID.
“Ah. Pieter Pertoff. 38” He looked up at the two agents as the remaining operatives sped off on their predetermined methods of transportation. “Never thought much of having kids…”
“God I must be like, the biggest disappointment to you.” Matti examined his nails, which were all black except for a red nail on each middle finger. Then he looked up at Julian’s tight crew cut and the lines on his face, artfully exaggerated by LaForge’s handiwork.
Luli laughed at the start contrast that couldn’t hide enough of a similarity between the two men to hint at their relation. “Alright then, team,” she said. “Let’s get our car and get to the airport. We’ve got an invasion to stop.”
Julian could already tell that Matti and Luli were amused at his reaction but he couldn’t help being more than a little apprehensive about playing a father role to the sniper. The two agents shared looks in the back seat of the rental car Julian was driving.
“Do you think I need an accent? It’s Russian, right? I can try a— hold up.” Julian cleared his throat and centered himself, trying his best to adopt the accent of one of the Russian agents. “Ok, how’s this?”
“God no. Please no.” Matti exchanged another look with Luli. Julian hadn’t dealt much with the agent since they’d first flown to Fleur, an experience Julian wanted to leave far behind him, but she was a lot more pleasant when she wasn’t holding a gun to his head.
“You’ll blow our cover immediately.” Her voice, meanwhile, had shifted from its previously Chinese accent to a completely American accent. “Keep your American accent. In case you haven’t noticed, both our passports are American. His is Russian. You immigrated to the states young and lived there your whole life. You met your wife, a Russian woman, but after your relationship went poorly, she took the kid and moved back to Russia. She sends him over to you for summers and other various breaks. It was during one such visit that he met me.”
“The three of us are spending holiday in Russia,” Matti said. “After the trip, Luli and I are staying with my mom in Moscow.”
It took Julian a moment to internalize this. “Why wasn’t I told any of this?”
“It’s in your briefing.” Matti pointed to his phone. “You probably didn’t scroll. Don’t worry, most people actually don’t ask about your backstory.”
“Yeah but in case—”
“Look at it this way,” Luli said. “Lapinsky and I are far more likely to be given side eyes or comments. This was intentional, to draw attention from you.”
“Just be a disappointed father.” Matti glanced at his phone for another moment before tapping a few buttons. “Ok, now, names. I need you to recite them, learn them by heart.”
It was kind of weird taking orders from someone who was supposed to be his son. The two were probably only ten years apart in age. Luli was even closer, probably less than five years younger than him.
“Ok. Ok, you’re Alexi. She’s Tara. Alexi and Tara. Alexi Petroff and Tara Wang.”
“Mr. Pertoff? Mr. Pertoff, Alexi says it’s ok if we get Starbucks. We’ll be right back.”
“Mom says it’s ok if I get snakebites and you said I could get anything I wanted for my 17th birthday if it was under 50 dollars. I know this one place that does them for cheap and she’s ok with it.”
The two went back and forth, with Julian’s knuckles getting whiter on the steering wheel each time one added a new line to their newfound family’s canon.
“I’m uh, just not gonna say much, ok kids?”
The two grinned back at him in the rearview mirror, clearly very into their roles.
They spent the remaining half hour of their trip going over all the signals that he’d have to remember. It didn’t sound half bad while they were driving, chatting lightly about the operation, but the minute they stepped from the car and entered the airport, the giggles stopped. Alexi and Tara were apparently the brooding type of teens who didn’t say much but stayed weirdly entwined with each other. Julian was ok with that. His palms were already damp and he was going to probably give away his nerves when he had to raise his hands during security.
A million ‘what ifs’ flashed through his head as the three clunked through security. Previously Julian had been primarily in hot water just with AngelThana but with this little stunt he also marked himself as a legitimate felon.
Yet they cruised through without a hitch, not even when examining their various backpacks or cases of randomly assorted goods. Julian’s nerves were hopefully explained by the outlandish appearance of his traveling companions. No crew-cut sporting dad wanted to be seen in public with his offspring looking so… alternative.
As the three made it to their gate, Julian’s mind immediately jumped to the others. After all, there were six groups that had to make it through without any suspicion. Any one of them getting caught could spell disaster for the whole operation, casting unneeded attention on the whole area. Not only would local authorities get involved, but AngelThana’s watchful eye might fall on them. Even worse, Lady Helga would likely abandon her efforts, leaving them no closer to apprehending her and now completely in the dark about her next plans.
It had to go without a hitch.
“I need to pee.” There was a distinct whine to her voice and Julian was struck with how easy it was to remember that the woman pulling a dramatic pout with heavy lipstick was a grown adult who had killed and probably watched her fellow agents die. “Where’s the closest bathroom?”
This was a signal and Julian grunted, getting to his feet. “Should probably all go.” Every word in Julian’s mouth felt unbelievably forced. He scrutinized every sentence. Why would a father want to accompany his son and son’s girlfriend to the bathroom? Was that weird? Creepy? Did it make sense at all?
The casual shrugs and eyerolls from his charges smoothed over his rocky sentence but he still felt the eyes of the airport on him as they strolled down the hallway to the restrooms.
“Take your time,” Luli said before disappearing into the ladies’ room.
The mens’ room was, thankfully, empty.
“No cameras,” Matti said, after doing a thorough search. “I’m splitting off soon, once I get my toys. If you see me, something’s gone wrong.” He grinned and Julian had no doubt that the sniper couldn’t picture a world where something had gone wrong. “Tara will stick with you, so continue to take your lead from her.”
Julian took the momentary privacy to let out a long breath and shake out his hands. “I hate this.”
“I, on the other hand, love it.” Matti was peering at himself in the mirror, eyes glinting over the various changes in his appearance. “You’ll have to get used to it.”
“I’d rather not have to do this again,” he muttered, staring at his face next to Matti’s. It was a lot greyer than the renegade’s.
“We’re not getting more operatives, so anymore injured or lost, and your attendance will be mandatory.”
Julian shook his head. “If I get caught in one of those things, I’ll get trapped in limbo for god knows how long. I’m not risking that.”
“Oh yes, comparatively the rest of us have nothing to risk.” Matti looked at Julian’s reflection, eyes unexpectedly hard. “None of us want to die. We’re not disposable grunts or whatever narrative you’ve constructed in your head. Any one of Kyline’s soldiers would take a bullet to save you from capture but just remember, they’re losing more from that than you. Their sacrifice is because you’re of more strategic value but don’t think for a minute that you’ve got more intrinsic value.” Then the look vanished, replaced by a casual smile. “Humanize your teammates. Keeps people alive.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh good, Tara’s almost here.”
Julian, briefly forgetting who Tara was, stared at Matti blankly in the mirror for another second before the younger man rolled his eyes and headed for the door.
“Right. Tara.” The scolding had hit him from left field but it was a valid point and Julian felt a little sick at how self centered he’d gotten. Military operations weren’t fun in the slightest. “She’s coming in here—”
His question was truncated by the door bursting open. A woman entered, pushing a cleaning cart. She turned, slapping down a ‘cleaning, don’t enter’ sign, before shutting the door behind her.
It took the woman sliding open the cart and unloading a pistol for herself, a pistol and sniper rifle for Matti, and thrusting a pistol into Julian’s hands for him to recognize Luli.
“I didn’t realize you’d be changing,” he said, still staring at the gun.
“Take your weapon. Lapinsky did say I’d be bringing the weapons, yes?” She glared at the sniper for his lack of communications before pulling out a number of guns, including one of the venojets Julian recognized from Sofia’s lab.
“Thought it was obvious.” Matti wasn’t paying them much mind as his fingers danced over his rifle, before snapping off a few components to fit it in his backpack. “MY apologies, Luli.”
Luli seemed to think better of scolding him. “Just take this… dart gun thing and get into position.”
He saluted. “Copy that Specialist.” He looked at Julian, that serious look back in his eyes. “You’re on civilian protection duty. Remember that.”
Then he slung the bag over his shoulder and disappeared from the bathroom.
Luli pulled out a spray bottle. “Alright, give me a second to clean a bit. Make it look convincing. You know how to hide that thing—Blake! Point it at the ground!”
Julian fumbled the gun before pointing it down. Trigger control was a lot easier to forget than he’d thought.
“Uh, just like, in my waistband?”
She sighed. “Let me finish getting the mirrors. Just don’t kill anyone while I’m at it.”
Soon the room was filled with the acrid scent of cleaners and Luli put back the chemicals.
“Here, change out your clothes. Careful not to dislodge your hair.” Her own transformation had been dramatic: makeup gone, hair now in a bun that hid the red streak, she could have been a different person.
Julian felt like his own disguise was not as effective. He still looked like Pieter Petroff but in a janitor’s outfit. It wasn’t until Luli plopped a hat on his head that he felt better.
“Alright, we’re on bathroom duty,” she said. “We’ve got four more to hit before everyone is armed. Ready?”
What followed was probably the most fun he’d had on the whole operation. No one looked twice at the two of them as they coasted down the hall with their big cleaning cart. They slipped into the first bathroom, halfway down the hall, where Shanti and LaForge were shooting the shit.
They both jumped to attention and Julian and Luli burst in, bearing gifts. Both rewarded the pair with face splitting grins as they received their gifts.
“Felt naked without this,” LaForge said, holstering his.
“Ew, not something anyone wants to see.”
“Shut up, Shanti.” This one surprisingly came from Luli, who had a wry grin on her face. “Now get to your positions and radio in the Colonel when you get there.”
They both saluted. “Copy that Specialist.”
The next bathroom was a little harder cause the spring breakers crowd was coed. Nisslon and Bruni were both in the women’s room, which Julian and Luli hit first, only to find it occupied with more than just the soldiers.
An older woman toting a six year old girl was loudly discussing Bruni’s piercing.
“Ma’am—” the private started, but the woman wasn’t having too much of it.
“And you’ve got the nerve to tell me and my child to leave when she has to go potty. You, looking like that.” She gestured at Bruni.
Nisslon, who wasn’t known for her patience, was looking about ready to go when Luli cleared her throat.
“Well you’re all going to have to continue this at a different restroom because this one is closed for cleaning.” The four paused mid argument and turned to Luli. Julian could see both soldiers’ eyes scan over her, puzzlement creasing their brows. Then Bruni’s eyes landed on Julian and she rolled them hard.
“Eurgh. Fine. Let’s just go to the one by the fucking gate,” Nisslon said.
“My child!” shrieked the woman.
“Mommy I don’t have to go potty. Can we go on the plane now?”
Julian watched as the four left, each in a different state of annoyance. Luli watched them leave before sighing.
“Clear the restrooms. How hard is it to clear the restrooms?” She massaged her temples for a moment before pulling out her spray bottle and dousing the room in a lethal amount of cleaner.
“Why are you doing that?” Julian asked, coughing.
“Gotta make it look like we were here.” She emptied what looked like an entire container of bleach into one of the toilets. “Hate cleaning bathrooms. Anything but bathrooms. Haven’t cleaned one since I was seven.”
Julian wanted to offer his assistance but he was afraid to get in her way. Not to mention, he didn’t want to mess up his hair or makeup.
It took Luli another five minutes to make the room look, well, not clean, but maybe cleaned. Once they made it to the men’s restroom, the weapons drop went smoother.
“Took your sweet time,” Howard grumbled as he loaded up his guns.
“You can bring that up with Nilsson and Bruni.” Luli shoved some extra guns into his hands. ”Those are theirs.”
“They got caught up with a mom who wouldn’t leave,” Julian said, trying to provide some context. “So we just kinda kicked them all out. They’re at the bathroom by the gate.”
“Copy that, zombie.”
Julian pulled a face but didn’t say anymore as the four soldiers filed from the room.
The other drops went more smoothly. At one point Luli even trusted Julian to drop the guns off with Grace.
“I need to take a call. Ditch those with the Sergeant and meet me at the bathroom by Gate A8.”
She wasn’t supposed to have left him but he was confident in his ability to pull off the task. He knocked twice on the women’s restroom door.
“In here!” He could recognize the dulcet tones of the Sergeant anywhere so he cleared his throat and shouted back.
“Maintenance! Uh, cleaning, rather.” Off to a brilliant start but there was no time to kick himself. Instead he pushed the cart in, slapped down the sign, and wheeled around to face a tense looking Grace. Her disguised covered her shockingly blond hair with a brown wig and her scars were masterfully hidden.
“Just you?” she asked. “Where’s… Tara?”
“I think cleaning lady is Milly. Tara was my son’s girlfriend.”
She nodded and a corner of her lip lifted in a smile. “You following along fine?”
“Yeah I think so! We had some trouble with two of the spring breakers. Couldn’t get the civies out of the restroom so we had to improvise.”
She bit back a smile for about a half second before laughing. “Damn kid, we really got our top agent out there.” Then she looked over his shoulder. “Where is Milly?”
“She had to take a call.” Her look worried him for a second and he looked over his shoulder, as if also expecting to see Luli. “Is that weird?”
Grace shook her head as she set to work pulling her guns out of the cart. “Just means the Colonel’s got more shit to chat about than she can text. Probably got eyes on Von Martwitz.” A grin spread across her face, either at the idea of facing down the immortal or at the large gun she’d unsheathed from the cart. “Hello again, girl.”
Julian wasn’t really a pacifist but he didn’t like how much the soldiers loved their pet guns. It shouldn’t bother him but when he looked at the guns, he felt uneasy, knowing that every single one of them had killed a human being. It seemed downright ominous to dote on something that had killed so much.
“Right. So does that mean we’re pressed for time?”
Grace looked at him. “Honestly, couldn’t tell you. I’d ask Luli when you get outside.”
“Right. Alright.” He hovered, wanting to say more. The idea that Lady Helga could be arriving any minute made him suddenly realize how real this mission was. If it went ugly, there were a lot of people he might just never see again.
“You got that look on your face.”
He looked back at her, whatever look she’d referred to now replaced with a wry, if tired, smile. “You think this thing is gonna go sideways?”
“Mmm, no. I think it might be unsuccessful because of how much could go wrong, but it’s not going to end with everyone dying. Worst case scenario…” She looked back at her gun. “We just call Omicron and give them the head’s up.”
He nodded, still tense, so she put a hand on his shoulder. “I know I shouldn't worry,” he said but she shook her head.
“You’re not a soldier and you shouldn’t be here. So yeah, second combat situation in a few weeks for someone who should be in a lab or whatever, I get it.” Her eyes were that same earnest blue that burned when they got into a discussion about immortality and religion or when she was kicking his ass in training. “You’re handling it well. Trust the process.” She slung her gun over her back and pulled her long coat over it before striding to the door. “Oh, and Julian?”
“Hmm?” He looked over from his cart at her.
“Give ‘em hell if they do come for you. You know what it’s like.” With this, and final grin, she was out the door.
submitted by Samara_Buckley_Derby to redditserials [link] [comments]
2020.09.19 14:09 joshua009dotcom Moms naked english
So this happened just a few hours ago, and I‘m pretty sure I still want to die.
So I‘ve been sick over the past few days. Since it‘s flu like symptoms I decided to quarantine for my and others wellbeing and sit the symptoms out. (doctor said it‘s no covid, but still). I busied myself with picking up sewing again. Great, I still had a dress I wanted to finish for my girlfriend.
This morning I finished it, over the moon happy, first dress I ever made myself and it doesn’t look too bad. Now, I desperately wanted to see it being worn, but I can‘t meet my girlfriend. I was alone at home so I thought, no worries I can try it on myself. I ran into the problem, that my girlfriend is easily 3 sizes smaller than me. But I wanted to wear that dress.
I blame the next part on me being sick and a little insane. I got the idea to take saran wrap and wrap my body in it. I took a few minute, was really tight and I could barely breathe. But I wanted to see that dress being worn. Shit, so I get the dress on, take a few pictures and rush to get the saran wrap off.
But I can‘t get it off. Now, I can barely breath, I‘m claustrophobic (which makes the whole idea even more insane imo) and I can‘t unwrap myself from this giant burrito of shame. At this point I was completely naked, wrapped in foil and started getting a panik attack.
Next thing I know is being surrounded by three paramedics on my bathroom floor. I was pretty much still half asleep, an didn‘t catch the situation at all.
In the hospital I slowly came back to reality. Oh god. Oh fucking god. Not only did my parents find me naked as the day I was born, wrapped in saran wrap, genitals exposed, passed out in the bathroom. No, the paramedics saw me too.
This in itself could have been a TIFU story alone. I thought my life couldn’t get worse.
Until the doctor came into the room. He was almost tiptoeing around with his words, and didn‘t really say what he wanted. Until „you see, we see our patients with eating disorders doing this sometimes and...“
Okay, I had an ed and I knew a few people who actually did this in their ed times, so I knew what he wanted to tell me. But I am better than ever, I don‘t have problems with that anymore. But how do you explain, that you wanted to wear the dress you made for your gf and your only idea, was to wrap yourself in saran wrap?
„It‘s a fetish“
I don‘t know why I said it. My parents and the doctor visibly weirded out stopped talking and looked at me. At that point, I couldn‘t go back. It was said. So I just went with it. Anything as long as my parents don‘t think I have an ed again. I felt my soul dying over the next few minutes, explaining that I get sexually aroused by wrapping myself in foil.
Eventually we leave the hospital, my parents nervously exchanging looks now and then On the drive back home. It was awkward. Until my mom started talking about it. She asked me to please never do that again, it‘s dangerous. I habe to think of my health before my sex life.
I agreed with her, just never wanting to talk about this anymore.
I‘m now sitting in my room, dying of shame and I‘m pretty sure I never ever again, will have an idea that dumb.
TL;DR: I wrapped myself in saran wrap in order to try on a dress that is too small for me, got a panic attack and passed out after not being able to get it off, doctor tried to ask wether I did it because of an eating disorder, first thing that came to my mind was saying I did that because it‘s my fetish. FML
Edit: So I used Saran wrap, or plastic wrap as some called it in the comments. In German plastic wrap is called foil, so it felt only natural to call it that in english too, I learned that foil and wrap are something wildly different!
I wrapped myself in order to be a little tighter around the tummy and fit into the dress. Worked pretty well, I got the dress on until I couldn’t get the wrapping off obviosuly.
It was a panic reaction! When the doctor started talking about eds I was panicking and thinking about what to say, thought “just say it’s a fetish, bro, lol” in a joking manner, and then heard myself say it out loud. I wish I didn’t.
Yeah I came clean to my parents. They are pretty happy I didn’t do that for sexual reasons. They are happy I don’t have an ed. They think it’s hilarious a day later. I will be forever teased about ‘having a fetish’. Life is rough.
Also I realized I used no gendered language, I’m a dude, for the people asking!
https://imgur.com/gallery/BACEWXF <- there. The not special dress, that made life very weird today, lmao. It‘s just an old dress off of ebay, shortened, shorter arms, and a fancy thing under the chest to create a cute look. Nothing special, but I‘m not really that great at sewing!
submitted by joshua009dotcom to tifu [link] [comments]
2020.09.19 11:51 throwaway1172250 Naked english moms
Apologies for the wall of text. If you want to genuinely read a butt-naked, barebones, unapologetically honest and sad story about a strangers life. Then read on. If you're here, whatever problems your having, perhaps you will feel a drop less alone. At least we can be sad together, here goes:
My entire life has always been spent worrying about tomorrow. From the day I was born, up till age 18, I lived in America all of my life. One state - one city, never having moved or going through any big transitions. In 2015, after graduating high school, I had to move from the US, to a middle eastern 3rd world country with my mother, where she's originally from. After 20+ years of working as an engineer in the States, she developed a brain tumor, growths in her ovaries, a cyst in her tear duct, among many other things. She could not afford the medical costs of the surgeries and treatment she required, and as a result, we had to move to said 3rd world country, where, despite being 3rd world, healthcare is free. She got her brain surgery for virtually nothing. My mother has a PHD. And she could not afford these basic things.
I had just finished high school in the States, as I mentioned earlier. Obviously, based on what I mentioned earlier, we could not afford the 60k+ college tuition fees and other implied living costs of me studying. I was an average student, I was no Einstein, and I got okay grades. But I was able to attain 0 scholarships to the college I was accepted to. So I had to move back with her, to said 3rd world country, where, despite being 3rd world, my education was free. My mother has a PHD, and she could not afford to send her only child to college.
I lost touch with many friends, had to say goodbye to the place I grew up, and was immediately drowned in the new, oppressive, middle eastern and radical islamist culture of the country we had moved to. Yes, the education was free. Yes, the healthcare was free, but that's not to say I paid a dear cost.
I lived in depression for 5 years. Five. Long. Years. I had to camouflage myself every day, from day one, the minute I stepped off the plane into the airport. I hated waking up every morning, I hated the people of the country: a mass of radical islamic ignorant idiots, with no understanding of respect, hygiene, care for the environment, or respect for those around them. I disliked the increasingly religiously conservative government. I would get heart palpitations every time I drove, as if the lack of infrastructure wasn't enough, everybody driving either thought they were James Bond driving around in their shitty cars, with shitty music blasting, looking for a fight. I hated everything.
The cost I talked about earlier? I lost my joy for life, developed extreme anxiety (I even get it in my sleep and dreams now-my heart beats as if I'm running a marathon in the middle of the night), spiraled into depression, and my own body started suffering too. I developed hemorrhoids in my ass, started mouth breathing and got sleep apnea and halitosis, as a result gained tooth sensitivity, lost (some, not a lot) hair, developed minor scoliosis, and the list goes on and on. I'm super forgetful (dementia runs in the family), and always worried about something. My brain, physically, does not allow me to be happy anymore. I'm in my early 20's.
What was the way out? That god damn education. Every minute studying, every second spent looking at those formulas, every hand stroke on those tests, I knew, was either my way out if I succeeded, or another year trapped (if I failed), or potentially, forever trapped, if I failed too much and got kicked out of the Uni. Studying like your life depended on it- that was me, literally. I wasn't smart, since my English was good I passed some classes easily, and other math based classes with more difficulty and anxiety. But I did it. I graduated a 4 year bachelors in 4 years without failing. I made a few good friends along the way, was treated like shit by many others, even worked during my 3rd year, building up some modest savings.
To cut the BS short, I finally had my key to get out: the diploma. And now it was time to job search. During this job hunting period, I met the girl of my dreams; she was a European foreigner teaching in the country. Why she left her home country (A beautiful and developed one) and came to this shitty, underdeveloped place, especially on her own volition, I never understood, but I am glad she did, because we fell madly in love. Then, Covid hit.
She was a foreigner girl, all alone in this wasteland of a country. I helped her with what meager savings I had, and she helped me, sometimes my mom helped, but her, just by just being there, and loving me, and that was enough. Because for the first time, in a long time, I was happy. We were both suffering, but we were happy. Her house owners were mean to us, took our money, but we survived. We decided to move back to her home country in Europe. As a US citizen (non-eu), I needed a valid reason for being there for residency. Also, there were covid restrictions in her country, so I couldn't just rely on my passport giving me the automatic 90 days just to get in seamlessly. I applied for a masters degree, got accepted, and we moved to her country. We got out.
Now, it's back to the same sh*t again. It's only been two weeks of these nonsense online classes, and I already know I'm going to fail. I stupidly picked a program that was way harder than I anticipated, but in my defense, they also changed the curriculum for the first time right after we were admitted. I should've just picked something I knew was easier, I fcked up.
If I fail out of this university, I have no valid reason for residency and will get kicked out of the country back to the shithole I escaped from. Even worse, me and my girlfriend, whom I love deeply, will get torn apart. Perhaps I can find a job, but I do not know what the complications are, and do not even know f I can get a workers permit on top of having a residence permit that's given for education. My goal is to get permanent residency. If I fail out of the Uni here, I suppose a job is my only venue for salvation. But again, Covid and the effects it has had will not help.
I suppose another option might be to switch programs. I will try that come December, when I have been told it is possible. Even though it has been two weeks (some students just received their acceptance letters yesterday), the administration has informed me a switch right now is not possible. I have tried every venue, and emailed every relevant person. I have to wait for December. Some programs I want to switch to I have been told are already quite full, but at this point I will switch to whatever is easy at this point.
I hate worrying, I hate worrying, I hate worrying. And what for, even if I graduate, what will it amount to? My mother had a PHD (10x harder than what I'm *trying* to do, a masters.) and couldn't even afford treatment just to be healthy. I don't even know what the hell I am working for, and if it is even worth it. I've busted my ass of for 20+ years all for a pandemic to hit when it really counted. You could not write a better script. I just want to be happy with my girlfriend. I don't even want a car, fancy things, or a big house, but just to be NORMAL. Is that so much to ask world? I escaped, I won, yet I am still defeated, and being dragged down by my wounds.
The world is too hard of a place. 8 billion people is too much, and this global crisis could not have come at a worse time (Trump, Putin, Boris, China CCP, Erdo). On top of that, the George Floyd events. Now I have to worry about if the place I grew up will totally fall. At least carrying an American Passport meant something, now I'm worried about if it will even hold any power anymore. America is starting to look like the 3rd world country that I escaped from, and that's a scary prospect. I'm scared, for me, for the world, and for everything, and it's effecting my health, and my current state, and my ability to prosper. I'm trying, I try to win, but the world won't let me. I hate this. I just want to be happy.
submitted by throwaway1172250 to offmychest [link] [comments]
2020.09.17 10:33 mangojellyontoast Naked english moms
(It took me forever to type this and now it’s about 4am so there will be no proof reading so sorry in advance for any typos 😂)
So I’ve been learning about mbti for a few months, learning about the functions, stressing myself out and over analyzing myself to figure my type out. I think after many nights of giving up because I’m so frustrated and conflicted, I finally found some literature that gave me a new perspective and let to a much more thorough way to figure out my functions and I think I might have confidently figured out my type, So for a fun little experiment, what do you think?
• How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself?
I’m 25, female from America. I grew up with separated parents from the get go. I was an only child who switched schools and moved a lot, I was always exceptionally smart and excelled at anything I found interesting (English, history, art class) but anything I didn’t like (Math & P.E.) I would put 0 effort into. I’ve always struggled with organizing and simple processes that organized people are good at, Putting shoes on shelf, toys back after your done playing ect. My parents would make me clean my room and I would sit in my room for like 5-8 hours not cleaning because I didn’t want too and drove my parents insane. I was stubborn with things I didn’t want to do beyond words, no bribe was good enough if I didn’t want too. Though most people probably wouldn’t have used stubborn to describe me, I was pretty easy going, go with the flow, don’t enjoy conflict and known to walk on eggshells, but for some reason the few things I chose to be stubborn on were 100%. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, I had 1-2 here and there but since I moved a lot, bonds were hard to form. I was very good at playing by myself, I played bored games as both people and remember challenging myself to make unbiased game moves against myself, I was very independent and always had a very good understanding of what was going on around me, often referred to as a “little adult” with how I spoke and acted around adults. I had a very good understanding of lying at a young age and how you can lie to make situations better or conceal how shitty things really are. My moms was very unstable and my life was chaotic and I knew I had to lie at school so no red flags were raised. I made up a story to CPS that my mom was just really into being eco friendly and not using resources that negatively impact the environment and then just tried to tell him about composting to stop talking about my mom when I was like 9.. because our power had been off for like 6 months. Anywho, I think I should answer these other questions but that’s my nutshell 🥜
• Is there a medical diagnosis that may impact your mental stability somehow? Adhd inattentive
• Describe your upbringing. Did it have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it?
I was born into a Jewish family but my mom was essentially the black sheep who didn’t keep up tradition or teach me much, holidays and seeing extended family were where I had all my culture and tradition from since she chose her own path with addiction and dysfunction so I didn’t exactly grow up like my cousins, and I don’t currently practice any religion but still keep up some traditions from my childhood alive without the religious backing.
• What do you do as a job or as a career (if you have one)? Do you like it? Why or why not? I’m a waitress, it’s okay. It’s not where I want to be but for now it pays my bills and lets me keep up with my hobbies. Good money for the amount or time I have to work which is ideal.
• If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed? depends on when you ask me, on average I tend to love 1 on 1, though I often feel like I spend to much time hanging out and neglect doing things I love that I can only do by myself. I’m really shy about things I put my heart into artistically, I don’t show people my writing, my paintings or anything I actually have to pull from emotion to create. I’m crafty and will show off my little superficial crafts to friends that are fun and silly but never anything that takes real soul searching and emotion. So for that I can’t have people around so sometimes if I havnt had enough time for that, then I’d be fine being alone. Most of the time I like having 1 friend over at my house that I hate leaving but I’m not l a fan of being in a group though do oblige since my friends are very important to me and if it’s important I’m there for them, then it’s important that I’m there.
• What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities?
I danced ballet and that was my main hobby athletically as a kid. I did track for a little while and enjoyed it, I hurdled.
• How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please explain?
Im very curious. My brain is constantly asking questions and seeking answers. I’m really nosey, but an great secret keeper. My motivation to not divulge gossip and tell secrets comes down to 1) if i tell someone and they find out, then I will no longer be told secrets and I like knowing what’s going on around me and being up to date and the current situation behind closed doors. 2) the conflict coming from telling a secret and being caught is too much, I hate drama and conflict if I’m involved. I only like living vicariously through other people’s drama.
• Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be?
I’m highly competitive, becoming some sort of leader is a prize. Sometimes I get caught in this rut but I have 0 interest in being a boss and having that much responsibility and having that many people to be responsible for. I’m awful at conflict, I don’t wanna fire people. I literally loop myself into this sometimes, I turned down the manager position at my last job after basically securing it through all my extra roles I took on and making myself privy on management duties and processes and a perfect easy train to be manager.
• Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity? I have average coordination, I danced so obviously that helped, I was not a naturally coordinated child by any means. I do enjoy working with my hands, I tend to be a pretty hands on learner, I never read directions before putting things together until I’ve tried to do it by looking at it first, then I’ll stagger through the directions when I get lost.
• Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particularly artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forms of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer.
I wouldn’t say I’m exceptionally gifted when it comes to all forms of art, but I love art. I have a plethora of crafts and projects to always give me an outlet. I watercolor, sew, knit, I love my bullet journal, I think I’m a phenomenal writer when I’m in the right headspace but unfortunately it’s hard to get there. My personal aesthetic is important to me, I express myself through clothes, makeup, hair ect. I’ll search far and wide for a perfect hair clip to compliment my outfit and pull together the mood. Things most wont notice, but for me it completes it. Even with such minuscule things as placing proper lingerie under dresses when going out can often be pulled into the aesthetic when I know nobody will see it, but for me it matters that it’s all balanced and tied together and no detail should be spared. Obviously I have lazy days but more often than not, Im all put together. For me clothes and appearance are a form of art as weird as that sounds.
• What's your opinion about the past, present, and future? How do you deal with them?
Past: My past is often searched through when I need it, I look back and thing about how it effects my present. I don’t particularly dwell on it, “is what it is” kind of situation
Present: I’m impulsive AF and live in the moment more than I lead on. The Future is fucking scary
Future: hopeful maybe I’ll get my shit together but no plans on how to do that yet.
• How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so? I’m happy to help if it doesn’t majorly inconvenience me. I live for small favors, I’m happy to grab coffee, babysit, borrow small amount of money ($10-30 to cover lunch ect), pet sit, give rides home ect though I probably will never offer to drive you to the airport at 5 am or help you move unless I really love you.
• Do you need logical consistency in your life? I suppose not, I believe in some things that simply can’t be proven though few and far between. I tend to stick to facts and evidence when making opinions about things.
• How important is efficiency and productivity to you? I wish I was more efficient and productive. I have a great brain but I can be really unmotivated and often procrastinate
• Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that? I hate this question, Yes I’m very good at controlling certain personalities for my gain though I reserve that skill for good. I can often manipulate a situation to have a good outcome when it’s headed south. I don’t ever use this skill for anything malicious. More or less unpredictable people as a survival technique to avoid escalation.
• What are your hobbies? Why do you like them? Anything I can create, I love making things. Painting pictures, making a quilt, making candles, photography. I collect hobbies and constantly try new things surrounding crafts and arts. I like reading books, watching movies and listening to music, I love to sing though I’m not very good it’s still something I love doing while driving or alone.
• What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses?
Memory and creativity are my strongest skills, though memory can be iffy as I tend to have to actually be interested to choose to store it in my brain (math never stuck idk) I remember things in images and little memory videos, text book pages of where I read the answer, images of where I last had my phone because I looked at it when I set it down, image or the word spelled to remember how to spell it ect
• How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go?
wing it as I go 100%
• What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally?
To be normal and do things I love. I want stability, I want to be organized, I want a decent paying career that makes me happy and isn’t boring, I want a nice middle class home and reliable cars, to be able to afford experiences such as traveling or going to concerts, musicals ect. I want to be able to afford to make my life aesthetically pleasing
• What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
I hate conflict, I just shutdown and it’s the worst feeling ever. I avoid it like the plague. I’m afraid of unpredictable people, I don’t like unexpected behaviors and fear they will become dangerous. I’m afraid of getting in trouble, I follow laws and don’t rock boats. Talking about my feelings makes me uncomfortable, usually I just make jokes to make light or feelings. I have a lot of feelings though. I’m often torn between 1) showing emotion gives somebody an in to your weaknesses and what breaks you down, essentially showing your hand 2) I feel like my feelings are insane sometimes and it’s like a Pandora’s box of bullshit that would be exhausting to explain and hard to follow or understand anyways so it’s not worth the divulge I’m not a robot though, I do divulge feelings on surface level though and when I find somebody who understands and makes me feel comfortable, askes the right questions and digs with the trust established, then I can unload and sometimes can just sorta overwhelm them with the things I can’t talk to anybody else about and then I just feel stupid because I’m pretty sure they think I’m insane cause I word vomited 25 years of feelings and then I’ll usually reel it in and try to not do that again, but if they continue their comforting inquisitive tactics, I can keep going through that cycle.
• What do the "highs" in your life look like?
People think I’m a good person so that’s pretty cool, I like that people choose to associate me with the good I try to spread. I’m proud of that.
I’m a great mom, I know most people wonder if they’re doing okay, I know I am because that’s the only option I’ve given myself. Raising these humans is such a huge importance in my life , a huge high in my life and I’m proud of who they’re becoming and I love seeing my influence come out when they talk, they speak so kind and positive and it makes me really proud that the way I’ve chosen to guide and influence them really was a good choice and has played out nicely. Many people warned me my way would only create selfish brats, but they’re kind, empathetic and giving little humans.
• What do the "lows" in your life look like?
Some days I’m so exhausted and do nothing all day, I have days where I sit on my couch all day with my girls and we just watch movies cause I’m literally so mentally drained. Usually after a long week at work.
• How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so? I daydream but I’m often aware of my surroundings. Not being aware of my surroundings is danger to my brain. I tend daydream most when I’m creating and use them as inspiration to build off.
• Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
It would depend on what was going on in my life, I tend to pull daydreams from what I wish my life was like. Could be what if I was born a princess , could be romanticizing a date with the cute boy I saw in the grocery store for 2.5 seconds, could be how long I would survive on Naked and afraid could be a plethora of things, my brains pretty whimsical when left to its own thought process.
• How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it?
Can be fast, can be til the last minute depending on how passionate I feel. I chose my children’s names months before their arrival but about a month after starting the naming process. Both of them have the same names I decided on when I made my final decision and starting telling people the name. I almost never change my mind once I’ve made and verbalized a decision
• How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
It’s a pretty quick process I call “don’t think about it” You just keep shoving them down you until they don’t fit anymore and then you have a little emotional meltdown and you’re good for awhile. I tend to have this process behind closed doors.
• Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
I don’t necessarily agree with people arbitrarily, but I will listen to them without putting my 2 cents in for the sake of conflict avoidance. I tend to not say things I don’t mean, it’s uncomfortable for me.
• Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why? I break rules that have bend and have some sort of grey area with low risk associated. We’re not allowed to wear colored hair accessories only black, I wear whatever accessories I want because nobody cares and it’s been tested and proven that no push back will come from me not following a dumb formality; I enjoy pushing my dress code to the limit any place ive ever worked even its just by adding a perfect little hair clip or headband that doesn’t effect anything but gives me a little creative freedom.
If you’re reading this, thank you! You made it through me really long post and that took me way to long to type. Looking forward to hearing outside feedback on my type.
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