#I haven’t taken photos of myself in ages

[leftsidelulu]

A practice in perception through trial, and error; such is the performance.🪞✨

[wilbursprincess]

“Damn, You’re Hard as a Rock!”

Simpbur x Female Reader

Warnings: Reader walks in on Simpbur jerking off to a picture of her, handjob, sub!Simpbur (when is he not tbh), masturbation

Another one I yoinked from the vault! At this point, we all know my soft spot for Simpbur, so I wrote this for one of the days in Fictober. It’s one of my personal favorites so I hope you enjoy! Been neglecting my vault due to my irl friend informing me he found my blog (ily dw) and the sheer number of asks as of late!

Smut under cut!

“Will, I’m home!” I call out, slipping off my coat and hanging up my purse. I peek my head into the living room, expecting to see him watching a movie, waiting up for me, but nothing.

The only place I haven’t looked is in our bedroom, and as I walk towards it, the door is shut, light spilling under the crack at the bottom of the door.

I push open the door, sighing. “Sorry I was so late, the bus took ages, and-” Cutting myself off abruptly when I look up, seeing exactly why Wilbur didn’t respond when I got home.

Jeans around his ankles, my favorite tube of hand cream laying next to him, one hand holding his phone, the glowing screen displaying whatever he’s getting off too, the other hand working up and down his lotion-slick cock.

“You’re home!” He says, an embarrassed smile growing on his face.

Laughing, I sit down on the bed next to him. “You missed me, huh?”

Wilbur nods sheepishly, spinning around his phone so I can see he’s been looking at a photo of me, stretched out by a pool in a lime-green bikini.

“Well, I’m flattered,” I say, grabbing the tube of hand cream. “Do you want me to-”

He frantically nods, letting go of his cock, and it lightly slaps against his stomach. Gently kissing him on the forehead before slicking up my hand, slowly starting to work up and down his length.

“Damn, you’re hard as a rock!” I comment, twisting my thumb over his tip and making him groan. “You really did miss me!”

“I tried to wait until you got home,” Wilbur pants, breaking off with a low moan. “Sorry.”

I shake my head, giving him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I love giving you a hand.”

Wilbur grins, a blissful expression in his pleasure-glazed eyes. “Fuck, why does it feel so much better when you do it?”

His hips keep jumping up, trying to thrust into my hand as I give him long, slow strokes, rubbing my thumb on the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. Wilbur’s breaths are coming faster, moans and other beautiful noises dripping from his mouth more and more as he gets closer to his climax.

“Gonna cum for me?” I coo, speeding up my hand and making him whine, hips jutting up into my hand. “What was that, Will? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

Wilbur whimpers, cock twitching in my hand. “Yes, fuck.”

A few more pumps of my hand, and he’s spilling all over my hand, drops landing on his exposed stomach and even a few on the sheets.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, the post-orgasm haze making him cuddly as usual. “I missed you.”

Laughing, I squirm away from his embrace. “No! You’ll get cum all over my dress! I’ll get you a towel.”

I toss him the one I keep in my nightstand for times just like this, then head over to Wilbur’s closet, swapping my dress for one of his t-shirts, changing from heels into fuzzy socks.

Crawling back onto our bed, he’s taken off his jeans, just in a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt. Wilbur wraps me into his outstretched arms, letting me swing a leg over his waist and snuggle into his chest.

“I love you so much, baby girl,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. “You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

My heart swells with the soft glow of love, and I run my fingers through his fluffy brown curls. “I love you too, Will.

[foolforharrry]

Cactus Mug - Harry Styles Oneshot

Summary: After being away from each other for so long while Harry is on tour, y/n finally decides to go surprise Harry.

2.5k words

Any support is very appreciated. And if you have any requests feel free to send an ask, comment or a direct message

Also let me know if you guys want a part 2

Here's my masterlist if you want to check out more of my stuff

Harry has been on tour for months now. Waking up to a cold bed alone every day is something he’s made known he absolutely despises. As much as he loves performing in front of his fans every night, touring can get lonely. And some days are harder than others.

Today has been one of those days.

The first thing I did when I opened my eyes was to check my phone for a text message from Harry. 

And like almost every single morning, there it was. The notification bubble with his contact name in.

H: Missing you extra tonight. I can’t wait to finally kiss you and have you in my arms again. This house doesn’t really feel like a home without you. So I might have tried out that new recipe you sent me the other day. The mushroom risotto. Not sure where I went wrong, but it didn’t taste very good. So you’ll have to show me how to make it when you get here. Only one more week, yeah? Goodnight, my love.

Reading it, all I could think about was the disappointed frown he must’ve had on his face when he realised that he had messed up the food. Knowing him, he would have eaten as much of it as he could stomach.

It was then I decided to call my boss and ask her if there was any chance that I could work from home. I wasn’t 100% sure if she would grant it, but she must’ve heard the desperation in my voice and decided to show me mercy. 

Before Harry, I’d never seen myself as someone who would be able to be in a long-distance relationship. In the past when situations where a relationship would’ve become long distance, I was always the one to end it, not being able to stand being away from the person for that long.

But with Harry it was different. With him, it’s worth it.

That doesn’t mean I’m not counting down the days until we can be together again from the minute he leaves.

Which is why I didn’t think the flight through enough and ended up having to sprint through the airport to make it to my gate in order to not miss my flight, knowing I definitely forgot to pack something I’m going to need but it’s too late to worry about that now.

The second I’m squeezed between a teenage girl and a middle-aged man on the plane at 12:05 pm, I fish my phone out of my pocket again with hands shaky from excitement and nerves. Both over seeing Harry again and the sneaky element of flying to him without him knowing I am.

Me: Morning, Angel. I’ve got a really busy day at work today, so I’m sorry if I don’t get back to you before late. And of course, I’ll teach you how to make it (what would you do without me?). I love you higher than the sky xx

I’m hoping he won’t ask me any questions about what I’m going to be so busy with since I’m a horrible liar, especially under stress. 

My prayers are answered when his reply comes almost immediately. The text message attached to a photo of his sleep-puffed face with his eyes closed, pink lips puckered and his hair wild and curly from sleep.

H: Sending all my love and kisses to you baby. Good luck with your day. If you’re not too tired when you get home, we could facetime? I miss your voice so much.

Me: It’ll be nice to see your face again. I miss it.

H: If you miss it too much you can always just look at your lock screen, you know.

Me: Yes. This solves all of my problems! Bye now, my love.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling like a psychopath as I type out one last text message and attach a photo I know will hurt his ego a bit before I set my phone to flight mode.

There hasn’t gone a week since the photo was taken where I haven’t reminded him of its existence. If I can’t share it with anyone else, I’m gonna share it with him.

It was taken almost a year ago in the hotel room we were staying in. Harry had demanded that I take a photo of him with his new cactus mug. The mug was adorable and literally looked like a cactus. He had been posing by the sofa when he forgot that tea is hot. The sip of tea he’d just taken had been sent flying everywhere as well as all the tea that was still inside the mug. 

I thank the lucky stars every day for live photos.

While he had been panicking about burning his tongue, he had ended up dropping the mug to the floor. Something he says he’s still upset over.

So last week, when I saw a mug almost identical to the one he broke, I had to buy it for him. It’s safely tucked in my bag. My favourite hoodie of Harry’s is wrapped around it to keep it from breaking. Hopefully.

“You need to put your seatbelt on, miss.”

The polite voice snaps me out of my thought, turning my head to look at the flight attendant. It takes me a second to comprehend, what she says, but when I do I thank her quickly, offering her a small smile before fastening my seatbelt.

When I’m secured, I plug my wired AirPods in, and try my best to get comfortable for the six-hour flight ahead of me

-

I’ve never really been a fan of flying. 

The idea of being crammed in a metal box with a bunch of strangers high up in the clouds for a longer period of time just never appealed to me. Especially not with the occasional screaming baby.

But this might have been one of the least uncomfortable flights I’ve ever taken.

Sleeping for most of it might have a lot to do with it, but oh well.

I’m not gonna lie and say that it wasn’t a relief to finally exit the plane and stand in a building that doesn’t lift off the ground either.

However, that relief doesn’t even get close to the feeling when I finally lay eyes on my final destination.

When the driver finally stops the car, I’m quick to pay before I’m hauling myself and my bag out of the cab while thanking him over my shoulder. He drives off immediately, leaving me alone in front of the house I’m starting to think is empty.

The lights are all turned off and Harry’s car isn’t parked in its usual spot. He only ever parks it in the garage when he’s leaving LA.

A bit defeated, I take my keychain out of the outer pocket of my bag as I step up the few stairs leading to the front door. Finally, after fiddling with it for way too long, I find the right key.

Like I thought, the house is empty. There is no music playing anywhere. The TV is off and there is no sign of life as I drop my bag by the staircase. 

Still, just the faint smell of him feels like a warm, much-needed hug.

Not wanting to spoil the surprise, but also wanting to know what he’s up to, I get my phone out of my back pocket and dial Harry’s number on my way up the stairs to the second floor.

He picks up before I’ve reached the top.

“Hi, love.”, Harry’s voice has a smile forming on my face within seconds.

I stop in my tracks, willing my heart to slow down again half convinced he’s able to hear it through the phone from how hard it’s beating. Even after all this time, just hearing his voice makes my stomach fill with butterflies. “Hi, baby. I only have a second. But i wanted to hear your voice. what are you up to?”

That’s a good lie, right? 

“I’m on my way to the shop right now. I was craving grapes. Are you ok, though? You sound a little out of breath.” 

“I just ran up the stairs.” Not a complete lie. “But anyways. I have to go again.”

“Already?”, he asks, his voice sounding sad. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” I genuinely am. “But hey. We’ll see each other so soon, yeah? Can’t wait to see you.”

He hums, “One more week.”

After saying goodbye, I hang up, doing some quick calculations in my head that I do have time to shower the icky feeling of flying off me before he gets back home from the store if I’m fast.

Not wasting any time, I speed walk to our bedroom, making a beeline for Harry’s side of the closet so I can grab one of his hoodies. I settle on a pastel yellow one with a big kawaii drawing of a pug on the front before shuffling to grab a pair of grey sweatpants and some underwear from my own side of the closet.

Since I’m not entirely sure exactly how much time I have before Harry is going to be back home, I decide against music. I can’t let myself get carried away and take too long.

But before I strip out of my clothes and hop in the shower, I run downstairs, pull the cactus mug out of my bag and set it on top of the kitchen island next to the plain black one with a used tea bag that was already left there.

Just in case.

As much as I love our home in New York, it just hasn’t felt the same while he’s been away. The only mess in the apartment was made by me and me alone.

And I’m not gonna lie and say that I haven’t missed the way Harry always leaves a mess behind throughout the week. Whether that be a towel on the floor or a heap of clothes left slung over a chair. Or the way he would vow to get better at tidying up after himself every Sunday only to never follow through on it.

So seeing all the different products and stuff scattered all over the dark grey bathroom countertops brings me a sense of peace I didn’t know that I needed.

I make quick work of my shower, even turning the water off while washing my hair and body to force myself to be more efficient. But even with that, I wasn’t fast enough.

While in the process of pulling the soft hoodie over my head, my breath gets caught in my throat when I hear footsteps just outside the bathroom door.

They’re very quiet. Almost as if the person is trying to keep themselves from anyone hearing them. I wouldn’t even have caught them if it weren’t for the fact that I didn’t close the door all the way.

“Fuck.”, I curse, scrambling to loop my arms through the sleeves just as the door swings open fully to reveal a sight that has me torn between whether to laugh or cry from pure happiness.

Harry is holding a frying pan up in defence, clutching it with both hands as if his life depends on it. And I can’t decide whether he looks terrified or surprised.

I clear my throat, not even caring about the whole plan I had been ruined. “You just gonna stand there, Rapunzel?”

One second later and he’s dropped the frying pan, the sound of it clattering to the ground echoes around the bathroom. But I don’t get to even look at it for more than just a moment before I’m engulfed in one of the tightest hugs I’ve ever gotten.

Harry’s arms go around my waist, burying his face in my neck when I hug him back. I have to stand on my tippy toes to loop my arms around his neck, feeling my eyes start to well up with tears. It’s only now that I’m back in his arms, feeling his chest move with every breath he takes and the puffs of air fanning out over the soft skin of my neck with each exhale.

He’s so freaking warm too. Not just physically. But just the feel of being close enough to smell his cologne and the faint remnants of his body wash makes a warmth spread through my whole body. It’s like taking a sip of hot tea when you’re freezing cold. The heat slowly expanded from my heart to my fingertips.

It feels like home.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”, Harry mumbles, forcing a choked chuckle from me as I hug him tighter. “I can always go back to New York if you don’t want me here.”, I joke without meaning it one bit. You’d have to knock me out and drag me along the floor for me to leave.

Pulling back enough to look me in the eye, Harry takes my face in his hands, “If you even think about leaving me alone again, I’m going to follow you. And then when I’ve caught you. I’m gonna throw tomatoes at you.”

The more he speaks, the more he squishes my cheeks, making my words partly slurred which only makes it that much harder to keep a straight face. “What if I want you to throw tomatoes at me?”

He tilts his head to the side with a chuckle, dimples indenting his cheeks. His green eyes look like they’re sparkling from the way the light reflects in them and blush has painted his cheeks pink.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know.”, he breathes out with a laugh.

I run my fingers through his hair, getting distracted momentarily by how soft his curls are. “You still love me, right?”

Instead of answering me with words, Harry ducks down, pressing his lips against mine in a way that has me losing my breath as my eyelids fall shut.

The way he kisses me turns me into putty in his arms. Both from how gently his hands hold my face to how soft his lips are as he mumbles ‘I love you' against my lips between kisses until I’m giggling too much to kiss him back and he just starts peppering kisses all over my face.

I tug lightly on his hair to get pull his face back a bit when I hear a sniffle, frowning when I see his eyes watery with unshed tears. the tip of his nose is a bit red and his lips turned into a pout.

It’s when I ask him what’s wrong, a single tear starts rolling down his cheek quickly followed by another.

Harry blinks rapidly, looking up at the ceiling as he sniffles again but doesn’t tell me why he’s crying.

Wiping his tears away with my thumbs, I kiss his moist cheek tenderly, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Tell me what’s wrong, Angel.”

“I just missed you.”, Harry sniffles. “They’re happy tears though.”

“I missed you too.”, I admit. Whispering it to him as if I haven’t told him that I miss him every day we’ve been apart.

“Now really. How are you here, baby?”, Harry asks seriously, sliding his hands from my face down my neck. “I thought you couldn’t get away from work for another week.”

“Well.”, I start, already feeling my cheeks heat up, “Asking your boss very nicely with a drop of desperation seems to work wonders.”

Harry smirks, “Desperation huh?” Even his chest puffs in pride.

“I had to give you your belated birthday present.”, I explain to him, feeling giddy as I remember the genius purchase I made.

“My birthday is in February, love.”

I roll my eyes at him, grabbing his hand before dragging him with me. Careful to step over the pan he dropped.

“Where are we going?”, Harry asks. He still laces our fingers together, giving my hand a squeeze. It might as well have been my heart he had his hand wrapped around with the jump it made at the gesture.

“To get you your present.”

-

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Let’s talk about 16th century Italian theatre.

No wait come back I promise this is actually related to Sanders Sides

So, last night I was talking with some friends about an AU I’m currently working on. I’ve been away from the Sanders Sides fandom for a good while now, but recently my hyperfixation reactivated and now my brain is so ready to write a ridiculously long longfic with a convoluted premise and horrifying implications. (I’m like 25k in. Having the time of my life. No doubt I’ll talk about it more later. This isn’t about that.)

Since I’m not the sort of person who usually writes AUs - I prefer to stick to canonverse, and canonverse-adjacent fics - I eventually brought up how worried I always am about characterization of the Sides in AUs. Because although I do adore an AU; I devour Love and Other Fairytales like candy and think about Lavender For Luck all the time and don’t even get me started on WIBAR, when it comes to my own writing, I secondguess myself a lot. I don’t like to stray too far from canon concepts and characterization. I get worried when I don’t draw enough connections to things that happen in the series, because it feels like a betrayal of the source material - if I change a character dynamic from how it’s usually portrayed, I spend entirely too long thinking about how to make it work. 

And someone else said, well, I don’t usually worry about that sort of thing very much anymore. 

And I said, why not?

And they said, well, I haven’t watched the actual show for ages. I mainly treat the Sides as stock characters for the stories I write, and my brain fucking exploded.

...Exploded in a good way. I have to stress this so, so hard. My personal opinions on writing characterization and AUs apply just to my writing. I judge my own work entirely too harshly and work too hard at Getting Characterization right, and that doesn’t apply to other people’s work or AUs at all, I enjoy them all without a problem. This meta isn’t about OOC being a bad thing, or AUs that are completely removed from their source material being a bad thing, because they aren’t, not at all, they’re a form of creative expression just like any fanwork. And if someone starts getting on your case about that sort of thing, just... just block them.

Anyway, where was I. Exploding brain? Ah yes.

So a few other people chimed into the conversation at this point, agreeing that in a lot of cases, the Sides for them were stock characters with fun names, established personalities and tropes to play around with, and part of the fun for them at this point came less from interaction with canon and more about interactions with friends and fellow writers. Which is very different to how I do things.  I was fascinated, and my brain had one big delighted thought, oh shit! You’re treating the Sides like Commedia Dell’arte characters! I get it now!

(Disclaimer: I haven’t done drama or theatre for a good while now. If I make a factual mistake, either patiently bear with me or gently correct me.)

Commedia Dell’arte was a form of Italian improv theatre that was first popular in the 16-18th centuries through Europe, and didn’t have any proper established plots or scripts. The actors were almost never the same from performance to performacne, the comedy was over-the-top and often satirical and absurd in its physicality, it focused on plots about romance and jealousy and love.  Emphasis on an ensemble cast. Very stylized, very distinctive. Here’s one beng performed in Venice, for the Vibes.

[image description: a photo shot of two masked people in period costume conversing on a small wooden stage, taken over the heads of a crowd in Venice.]

The key, the thing that ties all Commedia Dell’arte together? The stock characters. There’s a list of all of these character archetypes, all with specific names and associated masks assigned to them, and when you’re performing this sort of theatre, all the actors pick one of the archetypes and put on a mask and work out what the situation is, and bam, you’re on the stage and off to the races. You’ve got the servant of two masters, the stuttering statesmen, the Sad Clown (relatable), the utterly obsessed lovers who won’t stop making doe eyes at each other on stage from behind those masks of theirs. 

Pretty freaky-looking masks, admittedly. Look at that nose on Naso Turco, the sly servant!

[image description: eight blue-and-black stylized Commedia Dell’arte masks, all labelled with their roles]

And the thing is, audiences would recognize these archetypes upon seeing them - it wasn’t so much about having characters that were perfectly ported from one story to another, like you might have in adaptations of fairy tales, it’s more about the archetypes. The personalities. Their status, and the way they interact with one another. Apparently all of the original cast of stock characters (you can find a list of them on Wikipedia, or maybe elsewhere) were "originally intended as a kind of characteristic representative of some particular Italian district or town." They’re representations of archetypes. You might even say that they’re conceptual representations. 

Sound familiar? Yeah, it’s not hard to see where I’m going with this.

In Commedia, stock characters are almost never played by the same actors because the cast is always different, and might be an entirely different theatre troupe - so the way of recognizing certain archetypes is by their clothing style, or other symbolic context clues. 

And that’s exactly how you recognize the Sides in fanworks when the AU is too far divorced from canon to understand them otherwise. If you’ve changed their ethnicity, or genderbent them, or given then a different species, you look for the context clues because at this point you’ve learned to read them like a language. 

If it’s just fanart, or the names haven’t been brought up yet, how do you tell it’s Roman? Well, Roman’s costume is pretty distinctive, even when modified - and failing that, even if he’s just in jeans and a t-shirt, or even if he’s an indistinct jello-y blob floating in the distant reaches of space - he’s going to be the red blob. They’re color-coded for our convinience. Virgil’s stormclouds and spiders, Janus has his snakes and almost always has something going on with one side of his face. 

Do you find this delightful? I hope you do. Because I do. I find it really, really delightful, and I’d never put conscious thought into this before last night. The Sides aren’t quite as flat and archetypal as the colorful cast of Commedia Dell’arte - they’re more fleshed out, for one thing, and even if writers don’t always pull on it, there’s canon backstory and plotlines to draw from. But they’re still archetypes, deliberately so in the context of canon. Someone in the server I was discussing this in summed it up really nicely - [..] we have Roman the artist, we have Janus for all the drama and deception, we have clever Logan to represent the science spirit. We have Patton for the morale lessons. We have Virgil for the memento mori style, and we have Remus for all the gore and dark comedic relief. 

Which is such a great updating of all of the classic theatrical archetypes. Because (although Italian improv theatre is still performed! People still use these old roles and costumes, but it’s definitely more historical than modern) the idea of servants and masters and cunning peasants and all the complicated dynamics between these roles, well... it isn’t super relevant to modern storytelling. When Commedia Dell’arte is performed nowadays, it’s almost never hashtag-relatable in the way it used to be. You know what’s more relatable? Archetypes of the nerd who doesn’t acknowledge his emotions, the grumpy loner with a heart of gold, the theatre kid who won’t stop singing. You can take those and all of the rest and shove them into all manner of situations, and you can make some really cool stories out of that. 

(National Theatre has a really nice video breaking down this theatre form a lot better than I can, with details I didn’t include here. Check it out here if you’re interested. It also includes details about the various archetypes’ physicalities and movements, which I think is kind of interesting, because in canon Sanders Sides the character’s physicalities are terrifyingly recognizable. That’s not really relevant to the idea of AU Improv Theatre, though, so I won’t poke any further at that thought. ANYWAY.)

I’ll level with you: some of the things people write in this fandom, I just don’t vibe with and I don’t get, and I’m okay with that. It’s the maxim of Mind Your Own Business, I just don’t interact and I keep on moving in my own lane. But, like... maybe I don’t need to get it. I’m pretty sure there were people in 1600s Europe who showed up to a Commedia Dell’arte performance and went ‘no, this one isn’t for me, did you see how they absolutely butchered the characterization of the Innamorati? Disgraceful’. But for many other people, maybe that particular performance just hit the spot, because they’d always wanted to see an interpretation just like that, that diverged from the norm just a little bit. And even if nobody in the audience at all liked it, maybe the performers were having enough of a blast that it more than made up for it.

And if not any of that - well, there’s always the next show!

[image description: four masked Commedia Dell’arte performers crowded around a prop cafe table, exclaiming dramatically over a menu that they’re all bent over.]

I don’t know if my brain will ever be chill enough to let me write something completely separated from canon. (Although... now that I’m typing that, I recognize that the chessboxing AU is not so much separated from canon as a tragic widower of a dinosaur-related apocalyptic divorce. Okay. Nevermind. Still, you probably get where I’m coming from.) And I’m probably not going to stop treating characterization like I’m going to be sentenced by a vicious panel of judges to a cruel and untimely death if I get the slightest bit of it wrong, but... I don’t know. The realization that it’s all comes back to this makes me happy, somehow. Just generally joyful about the state of the fandom, and the things that people create, and the community that’s been built up around it. 

Commedia is all about exploring stuff in improv like love and romance and dynamics, and isn't that exactly what we're doing as writers? Throwing character archetypes together and making them kiss and talk to see what will happen? It's not really improv, but it's not like we have any stage to act on except the AO3 posting page.

We didn't set out to make the characters from a web series into stock archetypes that so many people pick up and play with to Work Out Our Issues With. (Writing is free therapy. We all knew that already.) That was definitely not the original intention of Sanders Sides - or any similar fandom, actually. (I know TSS isn’t the only one this happens in, not even close.)

But, hey, we're humans, and it always comes back to us wanting to play. And there's nothing new under the sun, not really. Of course given an infinite internet sandbox and a goofy web series about some guy’s identity crisis, we would accidentally reinvent the original Italian comedy theatre. That’s kind of brilliant. 

You know what, I think 16th century Italians would enjoy Sanders Sides AUs a lot. I bet they’d make some pretty banger masks for the boys to wear. 

God, I wish I had a time machine.

[idontknowreallywhy]

For the fic writers ask game!!

14 how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

40 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

56 What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

p.s. you are definitely a proper writer and a wonderful one!

Rediscovered The Inbox (which tends to hide on the mobile app) -better late than never on a reply??

I did answer 14 already ages ago I think so have been pondering the other two…

40 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I actually just commissioned some art on one particular scene which I am beyond excited about and may well get addicted to that process (note to self, check whether hubby is cool with second mortgage purely for multiple art commissions…) so that is kind of a dream come true (I’m getting WIP sketches etc and doing a lot of happy screaming!) but aside from that one…

There are scenes I feel like I’ve described quite well which could be artable but for others the actual picture stayed mostly in my head because I felt the detail would clog the narrative and I think I describe sound and smell better than visual anyway I think? There definitely one I’d love to see but not sure I’ve ever adequately described Estera for anyone to draw her (tho they’d be welcome to try!) but… if I could magically crystallise any image I’ve written it would be the photo she’s looking at here:

Her gaze shifted to the new photo, framed in blue, that she had recently added to her gallery. Yes, and in the last few months… everything had suddenly changed again. But this time in an indisputably good way. Because the imaginary hero had somehow shed the imaginary bit and become her friend. The two of them grinned manically out of the hasty selfie - hair dishevelled, flushed with adrenaline and drenched in seawater but vividly, irrepressibly alive.

Which was taken just after this scene. And yes, Scooter has destroyed another expensive suit 😏

56 What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

I’m going to try to flip something I often worry is a failing in my stories because the reason I haven’t “fixed” it is because it is actually the bit I feel I’m best at and certainly is the stuff that comes out when I get excited with a sudden NEED to write immediately. So… even though I suspect it makes my fic slooow and the plot languishes in the background…

A thing I love doing and I think I’m getting better at is exploration of the thoughts and feelings of a character in a specific moment/scene. Usually through an inner monologue, sometimes interspersed with dialogue, but I just love picking apart a character’s mind spiral to show where they are mentally on a matter, where they came from and maybe edging them towards some progress. Scott and Virgil are the usual victims of this but I often do it to an OC as well, with the intent of showing one of the main characters’ development through external eyes.

Again, it doesn’t make for exciting, action-filled fic and I sometimes feel guilty for posting 3 chapters covering about 10 mins of events but… actually I enjoy reading that kind of thing from other people so clearly I believe it’s legit story telling when they do it so I’m trying to give myself permission to believe it is when the writer is me :)

Thanks for the ask and the encouragement (which, coming from one of my fave writers, is extra encouraging!)

[a-cosmic-elf]

(I should have posted this ages ago, but for some reason, I just left it in my drafts. But I regret not posting now because of the renewed surge in ill-informed Starfield hate due to it winning the Steam award. If you’re curious about what Starfield does that is so different, you might want to continue reading. This game surprised me in ways I was not expecting).

And just like that, she was starborn.

My thought on the ng+ under the cut. **massive spoilers ahead**

Sorry, it’s a long post, you might wanna grab a drink and get comfortable.

I think Starfield just taught me a valuable lesson…

I spent 425 hours on my first playthrough. I attempted to experience everything this game had to throw at me. I was also very distracted by all the pretty scenery, so some of that time was spent exploring and taking photos.

I completed every quest I came across during the game. I thoroughly looted every location I found. I spoke to every single NPC I encountered. I read every book/slate I picked up. I collected every single plushie and plant (it did get a little silly). I ran every research project and collected an obscene amount of resources. Dabbled a bit in decorating, outpost and ship building.

I had over two million in credits. I amassed such a vast inventory my save slots were reduced to ten or so on the series x. I’m assuming just because of the sheer size of my game save since that issue has suddenly evaporated in ng+

By the way, this is normal player behaviour for me. I’m not a total completionist. I haven’t visited every single system and maxed out every single survey. But I would do that for almost every location I visited during the natural progression through the game. I just can’t seem to leave a site unless everything in the area is done.

It was fun. I had a whale of a time. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t enjoying myself.

But this ng+ thing. Walter was right. You can’t take it with you.

And I find that ridiculously ironic, considering I’m usually such a hoarder in these games and how, in Starfield, your companions constantly nag so much about how much loot you’re carrying. It now feels like it wasn’t them talking at all but Bethesda breaking the fourth wall.

They enabled players to collect even more by not reducing our movement to a crawl when over-encumbered. So I pinched everything, and then I reached the Unity, and you know what? If you decide to go into ng+, they were right. None of it mattered.

Unlike some players, I like what they’ve done here. I think it’s clever. I like how they’ve taken known facts about their hardcore player base and turned them into a feature. How in previous bethesda games, the fans would always play multiple times. Here, they’ve gamified that by writing it into the lore.

But it’s had an unusual effect. Because is this going to affect how I play on a ng+? You bet your arse it will. No more over-looting for me. No more bothering with vast collections of books, plants or plushies.

I like playing as a Starborn. It’s a different dynamic. I feel free of all that collecting nonsense. I left all of that behind. I feel powerful yet disconnected. I know I don’t belong here. It’s not like starting a whole new game. It’s a different way of experiencing the story—a new perspective.

I’ve heard there are multiple possible narrative changes, too, which is always welcome in branching narrative games. I want to be incentivised to play again and the possibility of a changed experience is a massive draw to play again. How many games actually do that? Very few, and that’s what makes Starfield so different.

Because of the higher skill stats, I’m playing differently. I’ve stuck a load of points into melee and running headlong into battle, using void form and slicing pirates up with the blade from behind. I rarely use a gun, and it’s a lot of fun! I feel like a space ninja.

At first, I was a little upset that I couldn’t respec my character traits, and this became very apparent as soon as I landed in New Atlantis, and the adoring fan turned up again and spoke about things I hadn’t done in this playthrough.

Or did I? What happened to this universe’s version of me? I have so many questions.

Mainly to do with what is the Starborns’ long-term goal. Their main incentive seems to be to ‘reach the unity again’ at all costs, almost like it’s a drug they can’t give up.

With exception of The Emissary, whose goal seems to be to guide the worthy to the Unity.

But what happens when you reach a saturation point, and everyone is Starborn? What is the end goal of all of this? Where is it heading?

Or is this game again just asking you how far do you want this to go? At what point does your character think, ‘You know what, I need to retire and just pick a universe to sit back and relax in and become the Pilgrim’?

How will Bethesda build on this in future? Because what more can be said about being Starborn?

Sure, they’ll add more expansions, quests, areas, and Starborn content. Even before I started playing, I could appreciate how much Bethesda could just keep adding to the game, now not just spatially but also new alternate universes.

I have issues with it narratively speaking. In Mass Effect, for example, the stakes were way higher. You tore yourself away from everyone you loved to save the galaxy. Not because you were just curious.

Personally, I can’t understand why someone with loved ones who were happy would choose to throw that away to roll the dice again on a whim. I just don’t think that I would. Especially if a child was involved, how could the kid be physically and emotionally mature enough to be cast into the multiverse alone? What kind of future nut-job are we creating there?

ng+ just feels like a nice feature that I might use every once in a while. Otherwise, it cancels out all the collecting and building you do in any regular playthrough.

The point of a Starborn playthrough seems to be not want can I loot/collect, but ‘what has changed.’

Also, I will want to experience the other player traits, which means a whole new game and leaving this one for good, at some point.

Why do I feel like I’m going to need a spreadsheet to keep track of all my playthroughs? Ha.

I’ll leave you with some parting thoughts. People say Starfield doesn’t do anything new. They’re wrong.

Starfield is much deeper than people realise, and it’s true: back on day one, when I first started the game, I felt that I was standing on a precipice. I just wasn’t aware of exactly how deep this rabbit hole goes.

Whether playing as Starborn, or starting out again from scratch, over 400 hours in and I’m still having an absolute blast.

EDIT: I’ve since gone through the Unity a second time, and I love love love how the Starborn ship upgrades and the suit changes each time, too.

My second Starborn suit is very nice, with a different helmet and gold accents. It will be interesting to see how they continue to evolve with further trips through the Unity. The only other game I can think of that did something similar was Journey - which was universally loved, even though you play through the exact same game over and over again (because that was the point in Journey - the circle of life and all that jazz).

Starfield does so much more than people realise. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

[hoodies-monster-ranch]

(@lightofunova) Reshi@Helix: Overhearing the commotion about an artist at the event, she approaches timidly before asking her question. “I overheard you do portraits yes?” She paused, feeling awkward before continuing. “Do your subjects still have to pose all day whilst you paint them or have things improved since then?? I remember taking half a day just to have one done with my prince ages ago.” She laughs nervously. “Our necks were so sore afterwards.”

“Oh wow” helix chuckled a bit at that.

“I do portraits yeah but not in real time, that would cramp up my wrist and I wouldn’t be able to sit all day myself. I can’t even imagine a time before phones or Rotom phones.” They scratched at their head before shuffling forward and showing Reshi the photos they have taken today.

“I suppose i like to take a photo of still life, and well… add motion and depth to it. Interpret what an expression is… mostly because I can barely read them myself, so I try to see it all in color… you currently give a very pearly pink and yellow right now~”

They took a moment before blinking.

“WAIT! Who painted you? Can I see the painting? Oh gosh I haven’t been in unova so I haven’t seen the castle-“

The lights are vibrant due to their excitement, almost too vibrant as they made light whirling noises. It causes their phone to flicker a bit before they stop the light immediately and looked panic.

“Fuck me not again!”

[authortobenamedlater]

😎🦋🎨🎁

From these fanfic asks.

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

Depends on the canon 😂 and how we define “wildly original.” I tend to get off the wildly original train when we get to coffee shop/college or university/modern AUs because the characters are usually not even themselves anymore by then.

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

I’ve been in this game way too long to have only one LOL.

The TV versions of Chief and Cortana are the BEST to write. I love their game selves too, but I met them through the show so that iteration of them will always be special for me.

Though I haven’t for ages, I loved writing AOS Captain Pike and my versions of Robert and Sarah April. I can never get past the starting friction to get this one rolling again.

Rex and Cody. I lost so many WIPs with them in my computer crash.

Last but most definitely not least, since they currently have my muse in a chokehold. Tom and Chyler. For some reason I find both of their voices very natural.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I will keyboard smash and cry for joy if anyone ever does fanart for ANY of my stuff.

Top of my list would be something for MWAS. I would love to have a visual of Tom and Chyler together as adults. If I had the requisite photo manipulating abilities and software I’d do it myself. There’s one scene I have in mind but I haven’t written it yet.

For Such a Time As This would be a runner-up because I’d like to see the characters from B5 and Halo interacting.

I’ll throw The Toddler Invasion in there, too, just because it’s one of my best fics.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

The last two fics I posted have taken up most of my time for the past several weeks but *goes on archaeological dig through WIP folder*

Ah! Here’s a good one! This is from the story of how Tom and Chyler nearly split. Working title is Neither Can The Floods Drown It. Excerpt is a little long so it’s going under a cut.

—

“I heard there was an incident with Lieutenant Lasky earlier,” Murray started.

“That’s correct, sir,” the squad leader said. “I had words with him.”

Murray nodded. “Has he ever given you problems before?” The CAG didn’t know Lasky well, but the name was one that always seemed to float to the top of the pile in a good, or at least neutral, way.

Larsen seemed to think. “He…well, let’s just say self-expression’s not one of his struggles, sir.”

Murray chuckled. 

“He also likes to play a little closer to the edge than he should, if you know what I mean,” Larsen continued.

“I do.”

“But no. Lasky’s never been a problem.” The troubled look hadn’t left Larsen’s face. “He a good guy. A good officer, a damn good pilot.” He glanced up at Murray. “Keep an eye out, sir, he might have your job in twenty years.”

Murray grunted. “I’ll put him at the top of my prayer list.” He eyed Larsen. “What aren’t you telling me, Larsen?”

Larsen bit his lip. “Lasky’s wife filed for divorce, sir.”

Murray closed his eyes. “Sonofabitch,” he breathed. Divorce wasn’t uncommon in the service, but that didn’t make it any less painful. Many of the younger generation had chosen to simply forget the idea of marriage altogether.

Lasky had bucked that trend, and now he was paying for it.

[ms-neens]

James May, Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond in "Come what May!"

My longest comic about the Grand Tour so far ～♡ This time Jeremy, James and Hammond head off to Britain’s number one car show! Sadly heavy traffic and certain weather conditions give them a rough time on the road...but thank goodness it’s Friday!  *✦.°

All paintings, story and text by me (February 2022 - October 2022)

Thank you very much for reading and I hope, as always, I could make you smile with it! ♥︎  This comic will be released as a real book together with my “The Long Way Home“ comic, my “Scandi Flick“ poster, more single artworks of the trio and a bit more in 2023! Please stay tuned if you want a copy of the book for yourself! ♥︎ I’d like to add the pre-release cover as well:

A few words by the author (yeah, that’s me): This time my goal was to write/create/draw a sweet, funny, and heartwarming comic about the trio focused on a simple car ride. In typical fashion of all the comics I do, you won’t find any action based scenes or rude stuff (also I’m no native speaker, but you shouldn’t notice that while reading!). As a result the trio acts a lot nicer and definitely more helpful than in real Grand Tour episodes. The three guys have a super big place in my heart ♡ and because of that, once again, all I could create is something cute and adorable (I could never be mean to them!). Also not everything can be accurate, I have never been to James’s Pub, the Diddly Squat Farm Shop, inside Jeremy’s car or at a car show myself. I had a few reference photos, but 90% of this comic is drawn by memory and how I imagine environments. Anyway, I still hope that I got everyone in character, recognisable and enjoyable for you to look at! Stuff you might have missed:

On the outside of Jeremy’s farm shop you can spot Sansa and Arya, who were puppies when I started working on this comic, so I kept them that way…I am always happy when I spot a photo of the two on Jeremy’s Instagram! ♥︎

Actually everything in that comic takes part in the past, as I was working on it way too long...

Jeremy explains that it’s lucky to turn right at the start of a journey. Of course it’s from the Grand Tour Mongolia Special.

The numberplate on Jezza’s car is a pun on "Jeremy Clarkson 1 Diddly Squat Farm", in case you haven’t already noticed. I thought that’s funny.

James talks about fish finger sandwiches, he posted about them on his Twitter and FoodTribe accounts several times in the past and it’s a really nice and easy dish I like to eat as well!

The CDs in Jeremy’s glovebox are "Supertramp - Crime of the Century", "Yes - The Yes Album", "The Who - Who’s Next", "Genesis - Seconds Out", some album by Eric Clapton you cannot read and "Pink Floyd - The Dark Side of the Moon". Despite my age, these are all albums and bands I absolutely love and I think he does as well. ～♡

I had to make something up for the broken air conditioning, something like that is always happening on their journeys (especially in James’s cars!). I’m sure after the events of the comic, it was completely fine again! ^◡^

They always take photos of themselves sleeping and post it somewhere online, this time it was my chance to draw a scene of that! I enjoyed working on that one! Hehehehe...

Jeremy and James’s painful high-five I got from the Grand Tour Colombia Special

In James’s Pub Hammond gets served Spag Bol (yeah, I have this from "Oh Cook!") and Jeremy ordered the infamous fish pie. The reason why I’ve chosen two different meals is that Richard doesn’t like fish, a running gag I keep constant in all of my comics. Also it can be taken as a reference to "The Perfect Road Trip".

James’s apron I spotted in "Lochdown", I think it really suits him! ♥︎

And this time there’s even a moral of the story: Don’t drink and drive!

[d-000-dle]

My anorexia story (from age 8 to now)

I was the skinniest kid in my family. I refused to eat food I didn’t like and was a really picky eater. There was never a point where I was worried about my weight, about calories, about anything anorexia related. Then I turned 8 and started puberty. I gained over 10 lbs in one and a half years. I was still on the low end of a healthy weight, but I didn’t think so.

I was nine years old and I wanted to lose weight. I started wearing baggy clothes and refused to have photos taken of myself. My parents have max five photos of me from the age of 8 to 10. I was still a really picky eater but I had found lots of snacks I loved which caused me to put on a lot of that weight. It didn’t stop either, and I was steadily gaining weight from ages 8-12.

When I was 11, that’s when I first actually attempted to lose weight. By this point, my picky eating habits had almost fully disappeared. I loved food and I ate more than my 13 year old sister. I hated my body so much but I loved eating enough that I could just tell myself “if I just maintain this weight for long enough, I’ll be skinny again. Just stop gaining weight and it’ll be fine.” I didn’t know what calories were or anything about nutrition and losing weight. My mom was obese and my dad was overweight. Before me, none of their three kids had followed them down that path.

I obviously can’t give exact dates, but a few months after I turned 11, I started to eat “healthy.” I thought that healthy eating = skinny. For over a year, I did that. And I sucked at it too. My sweet tooth was massive and I just couldn’t give up those giant afternoon bowls of chips. I was still gaining weight, and hating my body more and more. I was never diagnosed, but I may have been depressed too.

Everything quickly changed when I was 12. Just a few months after my birthday, I began watching videos on weight loss and discovered the key was a calorie deficit. I started learning more about calories and payed more attention to them. But I wasn’t yet anorexic. I knew how to lose weight, I just couldn’t manage to give up the food I loved.

Every year my family goes on one vacation for 3-4 weeks in August. This year, we were going to Virginia. When I left for that trip, I weighed 117 pounds at 5’0” tall and was classified as overweight. When I came back, I was 106 pounds and no longer overweight. I felt high when I stepped onto the scale, and I still remember the feeling of disbelief I had when I saw I had dropped over ten pounds in three weeks while eating considerably more than I ever did at home. To this day, I still don’t know how.

From this point forward, I was hooked on losing more. I had to be skinny again. It was the only thing I wanted. That October, I turned 13 and by that point, anorexia had me.

I remember counting calories in my head for the first few months. I was eating 1500-2000 calories a day until I managed to stop the snacking. That alone brought it down to 1400 or less. I was losing weight, and fast. It only took a few weeks to drop down to 102 lbs.

After I was stuck at 102 lbs for over a month, I made an account on a website called my-diary.org and started a food journal there. I was averaging around 1200 calories by this point and began loosing weight again. I dropped to 100 lbs. This was my original goal. But I couldn’t stop. I still felt fat, despite being right in the middle of the healthy weight range for my age and height. So I lost more.

I got to 95 lbs. I still wasn’t happy. I wanted to lose more. I was fully anorexic now.

It’s been a long time since then. I have lost my period, half my friends, and have become depressed. I only eat 1000 calories or less per day. Even now, I hide my disordered habits from my parents and siblings. I only have one friend who knows, and I call her a friend loosley. I still haven’t gotten officially diagnosed and I normally strongly disagree with self diagnosing, but I just can’t see myself not having anorexia. I’m happy to hear out any disagreements, but after everything I wrote, I don’t think there are many arguments against it.

This disorder has ruined my life, but it also is my life. And I think this applies to many others too. I can’t imagine living without it.

I often have moments where I feel like a “wannarexic” because I eat more than 500 calories a day. But wannarexics don’t cry because they gained a pound. Wannarexics don’t lose 10 lbs in a month and a half. Wannarexics don’t lose their period and stunt their growth from under eating. You, me, and everyone else, is valid. You don’t have to fast, or eat under 500 calories, or weigh less than 80 lbs to have anorexia. It’s a mental disorder, not a weight disorder and we really need to stop pretending otherwise.

Love you all, please stay safe and eat at least a little bit today <3

[themwordcic]

When my first children were born, I was told to ‘get a notebook’ that lives on the working top or in the bedside drawers, to record the memories and milestones and firsts from my children. Why - I thought, I’ve bought a baby book, I had spent hours choosing ‘the’ baby book that I wanted. It was linked to a childhood favourite character and the page layout and design inside was the one I liked the most and I was ready to record everything in there and add in all the pictures.

I did purchase the notebook too.

It soon became very clear to me that the notebook was by far going to be where I recorded these firsts from my children.

That baby book still lies 12 and a bit years on with just the first page of their name on it - the rest empty - I had no time and still haven’t filled it in, yet I had the whole of this book mapped in my head!!

That notebook however has been one of the best pieces of advice I was given and I have taken on board with all four of my children. A notebook that lived on the side meant that I could so quickly open it up and write the date and jot down ‘took 3 steps’ or ‘said the word duck’.

With each child I had, I purchased them a new notebook so that I could do the same and record those memories and moments.

When writing memories and moments of my third child, at about the age of 3, I was making lots of notes with their speech and began to pick up their mispronunciations and difficulties. Whilst this notebook was originally there to record the firsts and memories, it soon became a really useful tool to share with the speech and language specialist and note the dates and how long certain struggles had been faced.

By the time I had my fourth child, and another new notebook, I made once again dated notes with the memories and firsts of my child. These notes soon were taken over by dated notes of things my child was struggling with. I felt as though I had maybe missed the purpose I was using this notebook for in terms of capturing those memories and ‘positive moments’ but then reflected on how useful the speech notes had been with my third child to share with professionals.

I continued to make dated notes in this notebook for my child and this has been a really useful tool to use when speaking with a whole variety of professionals throughout my child’s life so far. Having the dates has allowed me to let professionals see the progression or areas that my child is still struggling with. When we reached school age, I could speak to them about how long things had been going on for and refer back to the exact ages and stages my child was at.

It is surprising, the amount of professionals that ask for infant and early childhood background information.

The notes have also allowed me to record some of the things that we have tried over the years, resources used, services used, professionals who have worked with me and my child and to see what has worked and what hasn’t, so that further services and professionals can best support my child and myself moving forwards.

I have continued to jot down notes, even now my children are all at school, albeit I now do a mixture of recording this in a notebook and due to the changes in the way the world works - under a notes tab on my phone for more specific lists that I am making such as sensory notes. I have also opened a folder on my photo app on my phone to allow me to quickly add any photos of something my child might be doing or struggling with and saving them into that folder with a date for evidence if I need it for anything or to share once again with a professional.

There are many chances your child may grow out of things they might be struggling with and your notes may not be needed or you can reflect back at the huge progress that your child has made and also importantly enjoy recalling some of the first memories of things your child did.

The ‘get a notebook’ suggestion has really been a very useful piece of advice to me and in terms of evidencing things in my child’s journey. It has also been very useful to avoid repeating myself to different professionals or not quite remembering exact dates - as I can copy and share the notes to them. So from someone who is buying that baby book, or to someone who is just starting to notice some struggles your child is facing, make some notes and jot them down, be it in a notebook or in a more modern way such as through an app on your phone. It has been the best advice I could have had in terms of best supporting my child and evidencing their additional needs and the challenges we have faced.

[aries-rp-corner]

Back in the Orre Region, Baron and his wife, Rina looked through old photos of when Baron was young with his brother Cornelius. Pulling out some photos as he chuckled softly upon seeing old memories from the past, getting his Rina’s attention. “Dear? What caught your eye?”

“Just… I and my brother when we were kids.” He showed her a photo of himself and Cornelius covered in mud with their Pokémon at the time. “Mah was mad at us after this photo was taken. I and Core had to clean up our mess, it was fair of course.” He chuckled softly, as he continued to dig through the photos and found something that gave him a sad smile. “This is the photo that Cornelius graduated Ranger School…dawning his Ranger Uniform…I honestly tried to be a Mechanic for the Rangers…sadly I was late to join.” He sighs as Rina looked over with sadness. Understanding his struggle, but she can see he wanted to help his brother through anything.

“Did you ask your brother to help you find an opening?” She asked softly making Baron turn over with a sadden look.

“I did, all spots taken sadly. Yet I didn’t put the skills to waist, I put myself through other Mechanical and Technological training… Remember my Glider?” He looked over with a sly smile, making the woman huff out as she remembered with a somewhat annoyed and teasing smile.

“Oh yes, I do. Especially the day you rescued me and Meloetta from those Poachers, which was also the day I almost slipped and fell because of your flying at the time.” She huffed out angrily, making Baron giggle in fear and embarrassment.

“In my honest defense, we were escaping them…but I did said I wasn’t going to let you go. However, you do have a point and I’m still gonna apologize for that.” He whimpered out, until feeling hands on his cheeks and a kiss on his forehead as that instantly made the man blush softly.

“I know, and I was only teasing.~ But before we met, were you also spying on an old organization? What was it called again dear?” Rina asked with curiosity. “Because I do remember the Poachers use to work with them before…”

“Team Olethros? Ah, the seedling that grew into the Three Branches: Team Go-Rock, Dim Sun, and the Pinchers. I’ve never thought that would happen until they rose…I’m glad those Rangers were able to stop them…I do hope they’ll help our daughter through Cipher’s madness when she message us back...” Baron sighs softly as Rina held his hand close, causing him to look over to her as memories of the past came back to his mind. “Forgive me, love… I’m… well, we’re all worried for Aries. I just hope she and her friends made it through…”

“I hope so as well…” She spoke softly, clearing the photos until finding herself, Baron, and Cornelius giving big smiles. She herself chuckled and giggled warmly. “Now I haven’t seen this in ages.~ And look at that hair of yours!~” she happily chirped out to him, as Baron groaned in embarrassment as he sees his young self with the side of his head shaved and the other having free wild hair.

“I have no idea why I found that cool in my youth…” Baron grumbled out.

“I think it was cool! It said a lot about you! Brave, Reckless, Silly-”

“Hey!” Baron pouts out as he blushed at the same time. Making Rina continue with a giggle.

“And most importantly, Wild and Free. I think Aries inherited that as well, both of you are reflections.~” Rina finished as Baron playfully tackled her and hugged her close.

“She also got something from you as well ya know! Your kindness, also goofy personality, cleverness, and a chance to hear people out while understanding them.” Baron added, making Rina hug him back as the two relaxed. “No matter what, Aries will also be our reflection.” The man smiled warmly, until something catches his eye. Freeing Rina as he grabbed the photo, it what himself, Cornelius, and Aries when she was three years old. Himself on his glider and Cornelius holding onto Aries as the two were riding Baron’s Flygon. “Stars… I haven’t seen this one in years….”

He gently held the photo close as Rina looked over with a worried look. “Do you miss to fly?… After what happened to your brother?…”

“Deeply… I felt like my wings got clipped the moment Cornelius…. I…. Ugh…. I wish he didn’t go…I want to know if he is okay now…” Baron sighs deeply, now looking tired from staying up in some nights due to worrying for Aries, and ready to cry a bit from the past. Rina held his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek again.

“You can rest Baron. I’ll join you in a bit…I’ll clean up and I’ll look out for anything that Aries sends.” She spoke with a soft kind smile, Baron honestly felt terrible as he tried to offer to help…yet his tiredness is growing.

“Alright…I’ll see you in bed love.” Baron retreated to their bedroom and flopped down on his bed. Closing his eyes to rest…

[randadrives]

Blog 1

For a long time, I always said I wasn’t creative. In my mind, creativity meant being vulnerable, and I was afraid to be seen. I had a heavy appreciation for the creativity of others. I spent my childhood with a book in hand constantly, and I loved googling different artists (did anyone else go through the Rene Magritte/Salvador Dali phase at 13?), as well as going to street festivals to look at the jewelry people made by hand. I would go home and write about the things I saw, write about my experiences, and keep all my “notebooks” (because I couldn’t call them journals) as secret as possible, standing by my idea that I was logical, and smart, but absolutely not creative. I was convinced I was not blessed with that specific gift as my sisters were, not realizing until much later in life that often creativity is a practice, not something a person is just given.

Meanwhile, there I was most of my life practicing the creativity of writing and just never letting anyone see it. I carried my notebooks around from move to move, apartment to house, over and over like I was afraid to lose that part of me. Two years ago, I made the decision to start letting go of the past. To start that process, I re-read each notebook, took notes on it for my therapy sessions, and with each one finished I burned them in a barrel in the backyard. At the time it did feel quite therapeutic, if not dramatic. My notes outlined how early my anxiety could be seen manifesting, when my depression started, my struggle with religion at a young age, negativity, and much deeper emotions as the years went on. I was forced to look in the face of life events that I had decided to bury deep down. Therapy was starting to make more sense. All the times before my dear therapist, who I will call “Rebecca,” would say “feel your feelings, sit with your feelings” I couldn’t comprehend how to do that. Doing this practice made it start to click, though I still struggle and have to make myself really stop and feel, as miserable as it might be. No one said therapy was an easy process!

At this time, I was going through some major life decisions. Not only was I dredging up my past in my therapy sessions on a weekly basis, but I was also debating with myself on leaving my career, and I had just transitioned out of the Air Force Reserves. I was trying to find a hobby, as well as wondering what I could do with my future if I wasn’t tied to the job I had chosen that sucked up all of my energy, time, and compassion. I thought maybe I should try something I haven’t done before. Something creative? I attempted to try to start a blog, as well as took up a noncredit photography class online through a local college. Both of those things I felt terribly unskilled with, and one of my domineering personality traits is I HATE to be bad at something. So, I didn’t continue, but kept saying out loud when people would ask: “I’m going to start a blog! I got a camera and am going to start taking photos!” There was some hope, albeit a small amount. I figured maybe the more I said it, the more I would convince myself to just start already. All these people already knew what my intentions were! I told myself over and over to let myself be bad at it, practice more, and maybe I’ll eventually get better. That was a year and a half ago, all the way up until now. These things take time, right?

Part of my struggle to commit was a theme. Every blog I’ve come across has been a niche that I didn’t feel connected to, or convinced me the market is saturated and what quality do I possibly have to contribute to this? There are 600 million blogs currently. I kept a running list in the Notes app on my phone of what I was interested in writing about: women in the military, travel, books, my 30’s, women’s safety, being child-free, books, post-DD214 life. All of which has been done before! But it’s taken me this long to remind myself I don’t write to provide never-before-seen content. I write to feel my feelings! To share opinions, and celebrate the small joys in life, to make a written history of things I may not even remember in 15 years. And I think finally, 10 months after making the active decision to leave my job, and a year after I purchased a travel trailer and committed to an alternative lifestyle, I finally realized that I can write about things that have been written about before. I can take photos of trees and birds and be bad at it for a while. I can grant myself grace in trying something new and being vulnerable.

Cheers to myself for taking the first step, even if it was a very looooong step. I’m not going to be an influencer, or content creator, or make money. But I am going to write and attempt to share my musings, and hope others can take that step as well. You don’t have to be naturally talented to try something new, and no one is an expert their first time.

Photo taken at Todd Nature Reserve in Pennsylvania, October 2022

[holonfoil-birthday-cards]

Holon Information Post

{ooc: this is gonna be a bunch of headcanons so I know the rules Phil’s playing by. Feel free to agree or disagree with whatever!)

When I first made this blog I made a poll on what people know about Holon so I could make a post explaining a bit about it as a region. Since then I’ve been making this to try explain parts of our region and what were known for. This will be long but if you’re interested I think it’s worth a read!! Though of course I’d say that!

Contents

Geography Culture δ / Delta Species Pokemon Pokemon ex & Holon

Geography

Holon is both the name of the region and the name of our main city pictured below. For ease, Holon will refer to the region, Holon City/HC will be the city.

Thanks to our very small population and being a place of minimal interest, the region is mostly comprised of Mirage Forest. In the above photo, Mirage Forest is all the wooded bits around the edge. HC is quite small in comparison and completely surrounded by the Forest! This photo is a little old as there are more buildings in the open green spaces but we haven’t expanded the city’s limits. At the centre of the city there is the research tower that’ll be discussed more later.

Holon Lake is on the southern outskirts of Mirage Forest, just past some marshland. The other side of the lake leads to a lovely mountain range that is the most exhausting hike you’ll ever do, even if you use the caves for rest.

Holon is a coastal region! To the north-west of HC is the sea. The main island off the coast is Fract Isle, known as the ~mysterious island~ to most. Fract Isle’s most notable trait is that it grows ex crystals, again to be talked about later. Below is a picture taken on Fract Isle that includes a crystal cluster.

There is also a chain of small islands, the first of which is just about visible from Holon’s coast. There’s very little human presence on them or Fract Isle, just wildlife workers like myself and tourists.

Culture

I’ll be honest, it’s really hard to identify what should be here.

Since we’re a small region, it’s a close-knit community we’ve made. Everyone knows everyone to some degree, even if you never interact with them. This extends to people we know who don’t live here. I’ve talked about my interregional friends so much that when they come over most people accurately greet them and ask them something personal. They don’t come over that much after their first time.

Our relationship with Pokemon is a bit different too. We don’t have as big a “trainer culture” as most other regions. People keep Pokemon if they want to but there’s no obligation to from Holon, most of the pressure is from other regions. As a result we don’t have a Gym or League system, nor an Elite Four. We have one Pokemon Center that’s apparently a little bigger than ones in other regions. I guess this is to accommodate tourists who end up in battles with our Pokemon — they are likely underprepared. Those who do keep their own Pokemon are expected to be able to do most the care themselves. I invested in my own healer when I had to get a Service Pokemon. Very expensive. But that’s what’s expected if you can!

We do have 1 school building that has room for every child of different ages but it isn’t a trainer school — kids or parents who want that for their kids send them to other regions. This is also true of other specialist schools. At that point it’s expected they won’t come back to Holon for years if at all. I myself am an exception.

Another minor thing is a mix of self-sufficiency and collectivism. It’s a “you do what you can for yourself but if there’s anything you can’t do we won’t hesitate” thing. Pretty much every home has at least one berry crop of some kind, the healer thing, apricorn Pokeballs is a common practice; if you can’t do these there’s no shame! Everyone else will give you what you need and do what they can to help you get to the point you can be independent.

We’re getting more tourists than ever, likely due to the Internet allowing other regions to learn about us and our phenomena. I work with Renée and she’s apparently famous on some social site for posting clips and pictures of Sanctuary Pokemon. The issue is people come here wanting to take home a “weird Pokemon” and are grossly unprepared. Like one Ludicolo δ has wiped out a whole group that came wanting something. This has unfortunately put some strain on our Pokemon and how they view humans in general. Even the ones who go to the Shelter have to put a day in at the Sanctuary to be considered for adopting a δ Pokemon to prove they’re up to it.

Another reason may be that someone from Holon is one of the founders of the TCG. Helped us get some fame from there, although that influence has likely long dropped.

δ Pokemon

δ Pokemon, A.K.A. Delta Species Pokemon, are Pokemon whose DNA has been altered so it’s a different type. δ Pokemon are unique to Holon due to our weather; we have electromagnetic (EM from now on) storms fairly frequently. The region has natural EM storms, yet there has been an increase since the Research Tower’s construction as it emitted EM waves for its original purpose of finding Mew. EM waves are what cause the change to δ Pokemon, hence the influx of δs on the mainland despite consistent numbers on Fract Isle and the other islands.

Not all δ Pokemon are one from their hatching. The EM can affect them at “vulnerable stages” which is pretty much hatching & evolution. There are some cases of the change happening while at a healer so that may count but there’s not enough of a sample size to truly suggest the claim. There haven’t been any recorded cases of this but it’s theorised that phenomena such as Mega Evolution, Z-Energy, Giganti/Dynamaxing, and Terastilizing could also form “vulnerable stages” as Pokemon move into/out of them. Terastilizing especially!

( Small side note: Holon and Paldea have a few things in common: Pokemon changing type due to natural phenomena, phenomena-associated crystals, poison Woopers (δ Pokemon in our case), it being considered rude to enter people’s homes off the street, investment & use of door locks, and probably more I’d know if I ever visited Pa more. )

A lot of the time the change in type is addition of the Steel type or, in already dual-type Pokemon, one type being replaced by Steel. For examples, see my Orich (Psychic/Steel) and my friend’s Beedrill (Bug/Steel). Other type changes are possible even within species! I know a whole group of Electric Totodile-line δs that have a couple Grass ones in their ranks. It isn’t preset, so to speak, but it seems EM is more likely to change them to some types over others.

Explaining δs is hard to do without touching on how types work and whether they are real things. I can’t say much as I don’t know any science or sides of the debate, however I do think the traits we associate with the types aren’t just a random collective we group together for no reason. Orich’s got fur like copper, he’s immune to poisons & venoms, and he’s sensitive to heat physiologically. There’s likely a link between these traits all being activated by the EM. That’s just my thoughts though, best to listen to the professionals.

Pokemon ex & Holon

Pokemon ex (a shortening of “Pokemon Extra”) are found in many other regions, they are not a Holon exclusive. From memory they were first acknowledged in Hoenn. Pokemon ex are Pokemon with enhanced ability in all areas but most notably health and attack. They’re sought by competitive battlers as a result, even by those who don’t do Leagues because exs are more capable of different moves. There are whole separate battle systems where exs are legal and their move pools include home-brewed techniques. One of the more famous and recent examples I know of is a Paldean Ampharos ex who has a signature Thunderstrike Tail. However, Holon doesn’t have any part of these systems housed here.

From what I’ve looked up and asked professional researchers I work with, the true cause of Pokemon ex is unknown. The best guess Holon researchers have is ex crystals. Found in abundance on Fract Isle, residents of Holon and tourists alike have a habit of taking some home; our Pokemon Center sells faceted pieces, raw pieces and jewellery. This doesn’t explain exs’ presence in other regions. It’s possible it’s a different phenomenon entirely to what the crystals do and they’ve been incorrectly labelled the same.

And yes, there can be overlap between ex and δ!

Hope this was a good read and not too long! I tried to keep to the need-to-knows and stay off tangents.

[aneverydaything]

Day 1462, 24 June 2022 Happy 4th birthday An Every Day Thing

Today’s photo marks 4 years of An Every Day Thing. Remarkably I haven’t missed a day in the last 12 months. Maybe that’s because I’ve taken to setting an alarm where I think there is a risk I might. Even more remarkable is that I’m still finding new photographic subjects on a daily basis more often than not no more than a few hundred metres from home. Still, I am planning to spread my photographic wings somewhat further afield over the next 12 months so I very hope that An Every Day Thing can become more diverse, interesting and inspiring.

If you enjoy An Every Day Thing, you can also find my photographs on:

Sometimes London which showcases the London which visitors like;

London Edge for the more genuine, authentic and gritty London;

Postcards From Wanderings the one that started it all and which is now reserved for far off travel...and Wales;

My Cornish Place for Cornwall (not that I get back there much these days);

My Monochrome Place for a world in black and white;

More Every Day Things where you can find more photographs from a particular day on An Every Day Thing but which do not fall into the theme of one of my other Tumblrs. It also contains some added bonuses such as some explanation about and even some stories behind the photographs.

Sports Spectator for sport from a spectator perspective (but sadly not enough time for sports spectating these days);

Small Town XTC which celebrates the uniqueness and reflects on some of the dispiritedness of small town Great Britain (currently in need of some TLC so really less of the XTC happening on this Tumblr these days):

My Colourful Place which is meant to contain lots of colour. Unfortunately this Tumblr has been neglected for an age so I’m hoping to shame myself into re-invigorating it; and

English Shops for well errrr…English shops

[meghansworks]

Where the Wendigos Went

2 November 2022

A Creative Writing Class portfolio piece, filling my short story slot, lol. Nice Alliteration there.

I felt like I haven’t slept in a month, and I probably look like it, too. It was the longest trip away from home I had taken so far. The snow, which had just begun to fill my knee-high snow boots, was nearly burned into my vision as I trekked along. I cursed under my breath at the sheer amount of land the white powder stretched across. If it weren’t for the forest to the right, the entirety of the landscape would look like a plain canvas. However, amongst the white hills was a large cave– the sight resembling a drop of black paint onto that plain canvas. I heaved a much-needed sigh of relief.

My legs were immediately in motion towards the newfound shelter. Up close, it was even better than I had imagined. The ground was flat and clear of debris and snow, there was a clear place I could set up a small fire, and more importantly were the copious amounts of cryptic lettering and pictorials. From a young age, anything about the supernatural made my mind race with creative theories and my wild insights of the matter. Once setting my numerous bags on the cave floor, I lowered my face inches away from the writing on the wall. It nearly covered the entirety of one side of the cave, revving the engine in my heart up to a roar. This had been something I was looking for. My excursions have always favored the reward of finding uncovered evidence of just about anything supernatural.

Brimming with excitement, I dug through my bags to uncover my trusty camera, quickly and fervently taking as many photos as the memory card could hold. The writings seemed much more fascinating up-close rather than behind the glass at a museum. I reached out and delicately brushed my fingers across the indented letters and artwork, reminding myself how much history lay beneath my touch. It was so titillatingly new to me.

I squinted my eyes, trying my best to depict any possible meanings behind them. However, it was rather easy to tell what the story was about. Eerie etchings of skulls and deformed humans of the like gave a clear window to the story of the Wendigos. The pictures, the shape of the letters, the location– all lined up to the folklore of the terrifying creatures. I had chosen this exact site to hold an excursion for the sole purpose of uncovering some evidence to the origin of certain legends, one of the possibilities being the Wendigo.

Wendigoes were perhaps my favorite of the legends I dug my nose into. Those hostile and ever-hungry creatures were always on the hunt for flesh. I always found an odd intricacy to the antlers perched atop their exposed skulls, hiding the rest of their face. They had some sort of beautiful secrecy to them. While intimidating, they also looked starved and scrawny, desperate for any form of sustenance they could get their hands on. It was a fitting characteristic, as most of the ancient stories spoke of humans falling to their greed and undergoing the painful transition into a Wendigo. And if you were to ever encounter one, there was a chance they would pass on their greedy dissatisfaction to you.

My fascination had kept me occupied so well that I hadn’t noticed the sun was well below the treeline. So, to keep up with the darkness of the night inching closer, I shoveled through some items in a bag to grab some firestarter and a match. Once a comfortable fire was going, I unraveled my sleeping bag to finally retire after a long day of travel.

─ ∘°❉°∘ ─

By the time I had risen the fire was completely out, and left in its absence a pile of ash. Luckily, I hadn’t gone through all the wood I collected last night, so I could safely check it off my ‘things to gather’ list. Having found such an exciting piece of evidence in such a convenient location was music to my ears, and I was ready to establish a camp here.

As much as I wanted to spend the whole day gawking at my findings, and begin translating the strange lettering, I reminded myself that getting behind on food and firewood wouldn’t allow me to survive long enough to decode it. So, I prepared myself to venture out again.

The bindingness of the snow urged me to pray for night to come sooner. Luckily, I was able to see some new sights entering the forest, which was filled with nothing but bushy evergreens and pinecones lodged into the snow on the ground beneath them. To my observations, I was relieved to have seen a set of footprints in the snow. They looked to belong to a deer, and I felt giddy off of the luck I’d been having on this trip so far. I followed them closely, minding the area around it to hopefully track another one with it. However, my focus was broken upon noticing an entirely new set of tracks deriving from a few sets of hoof tracks.

Instead of four, there were two. I inwardly grumbled out of confusion, bringing my hand to my face and absentmindedly rubbing the stubble. There were few possible animals that would only make a pair of footprints. And retain the rounded hoof shape? Yeah, no way.

My heart leaped at the possibilities. But, I calmed myself, reminding myself that my silly legends were mere tales and fiction. As much as I was enamored with their lore, I merely studied the concept of them. I felt rather stupid, clinging onto a childish hope fluttering around in my chest. But, I was ultimately yanked out of my deep thoughts when the sound of a branch snapping hit my ears. I whipped around, gloved hand instantly flying up to withdraw my crossbow from its holder. Eyes focused through the sight, I steadied my hands against the trigger but was met with nothing.

After realizing I had no target, I cautiously lowered the crossbow, checking the entirety of my surroundings. For a moment I was well-convinced I was going crazy from my solidarity. But, I was well relieved when I investigated the origin of the sound, taking note of the same pair of prints that had led me here.

From then on I was tense and cautious, checking over my shoulder every few minutes. Even when I had successfully tracked down a good meal, I still kept my cool in order to be ready for an attack. It felt like time was moving slower than ever, and the trudge back to the cave seemed to double in distance. Dragging my kill back to the cave, only halfway did I realize I had been running frantically. But, with another quick check around my surroundings, I confirmed that I had lost my nerves for no reason at all.

A hiss generates through my teeth as I pull it over the lip of the cave entrance, setting it beside the fire to prepare. Once I had gathered all the tools I needed, I got down on my knees to begin my work. But, I stop in my tracks when my heart drops at the sight of a few different chunks of the deer missing. The missing chunks of flesh were not removed carefully and appeared to have been torn off. Thinking back on it, I wasn’t sure if I had known about the gashes before I killed it.

I shook my head, almost to reassure myself I was alone, and nonchalantly continued with what I was trying to accomplish. By now the sun was already well into setting, so I got to work restarting the fire. Brushing away the leftover ash and creating a clean slate for me to set the logs up in a tent-shape. Once I had poured a hearty amount of firestarter on the wood I started it up with a satisfying fwoosh.

When the orange flames lapped over the logs it gave light to the cave, and revealed a dark figure standing right in front of the engraved scriptures on the wall. My heart dropped and I instinctively lurched to my crossbow. There was a distinctive prickling in my fingers as they hovered over the trigger, threatening to shoot. But, as I observed it through the sight I began to notice it was quite small in comparison to the shadow it casted upon the wall. Lowering my weapon, my confusion grew at the profile of what looked to be a young girl. She couldn’t have been over ten years old. Although she was turned toward the wall, obviously curious with the writing, she appeared deathly skinny and disproportionate. Her hair was in knots and she was clad in horrendously disheveled cloth. When she turned around, however, my adrenaline spiked. Her face was masked by a stained skull, fitting the exact description of the creature I was studying.

My hand left the crossbow and slowly traveled to my camera– which I praised myself for leaving out yesterday. I ensured the flash was off when I snapped a few pictures, afraid of alarming the creature before me. She peered down at me with her hollow eyes for many long minutes before I decided to finally rise to my feet. Upon realizing how short she was in comparison to myself, the fear in me dropped exponentially and I let out a half-nervous, half-relieved chuckle. In reaction to the sound she tilted her head, much like a curious cat, and continued to observe her surroundings.

It was very much obvious to me that she was very much a child. I was still in a huge debate with myself if she really was a Wendigo. Once she was occupied with exploring every inch of the cave I took the liberty of observing all the strange features on her. Firstly, her footprints matched those that derailed me from tracking down a deer earlier, as her legs were that of a deer’s. She stalked in an animalistic way. Squatted down and brushing her claws up against every new surface she encountered. She was an entirely new enigma to me.

I cleared my throat before I spoke slowly and cautiously, “Do you know where your parents are?” And to the sound of my voice she did nothing but snap her head to my direction, once again tilting her head curiously at the sounds coming from my mouth. The many minutes of silence were a clear indication that I wouldn’t get a clear response, and she ultimately focused her attention back to rummaging through my pile of belongings.

Thankfully, she had ceased her prodding curiosity and had comfortably sat herself by the fire, curling up much like a cat would. Her action piqued my interest, and I quickly produced a notebook from my pocket to write down my observation: Comfortable enough to sleep next to me. Which went against my assumption that her kind was violent and territorial, and I was fully expecting her to train her focus on me out of distrust that I would attack her.

Any normal person would usher her out of my space but I knew that my mindset was well far from the ‘normal’ spectrum. So, out of research purposes I continued what I was doing and prepared my meal, but I also prepared another portion for the ‘guest’ in my camp. I carefully slid one of the completed meals over to her, cautious as to use a large stick I had found to push it in her vicinity. I watched her with curiosity sparkling in my eyes, when she poked around the dish suspiciously. To my surprise, she took it gingerly. This made me giddy with excitement, half because she would greatly change the direction of my research to a level I never even dreamed of being on, and the other half of me thanking the Lord that I wouldn’t be alone now.

─ ∘°❉°∘ ─

My intriguing visitor did not speak. Even so, it contributed to my studies even more, and I was enthralled to find out more. The following day would now be dedicated to figuring out where she came from. Luckily, it wouldn’t be hard for me to contribute to my survival needs while observing her, and she refused to leave my side.

When I was busy replenishing the stock of firewood, she stayed within my vicinity and insisted on poking around anything she found unfamiliar. Occasionally she would be in my way, insisting on checking out my boots or whatever I was holding. At some point, she joined me on the hunt for more food, given that there were now two mouths to feed.

However, once I had located a hearty-sized deer I remained light on my feet, taking note of the way the child mimicked my cautious movement. It put me more at ease when I readied the crossbow to shoot, but halted when I noticed the smaller doe alongside the deer’s side. I lowered my weapon with a defeated sigh, walking away as it was out of my morals to leave the doe abandoned. Besides, I was under the impression there was little fauna in the area already.

As I was in the process of leaving, I was nearly tripped by the infamous child tugging at the bottom of my jeans, somewhat prompting me to finish the job. The cruel behavior didn’t surprise me, but more of intrigued me upon seeing her expected behaviors playing out. I tried to explain awkwardly and slowly with the sliver of hope that she’d understand. It shocked me when she gave me a knowing nod. Even though I felt as though I had encountered a revelation– teaching a Wendigo the means of human compassion. Even though she hadn’t been following me for long, I felt a strange connection to her in a sense that I felt a need to teach her how to survive. I had tried numerous times throughout the night to attempt to get her to speak, or to get her to lead me to where she came from. After the relentless questioning I was convinced she may be the last of her kind.

─ ∘°❉°∘ ─

It was now a week since I arrived, and still well-accompanied with the young Wendigo that had ominously followed me back to my camp. I was able to decode bits and pieces of the scriptures on the wall, uncovering unnerving news to me.

I had stood frozen in concentration with a rather messy slew of notes scribbled on my notepad. ‘Prolonged contact with … caused cannibal behavior … turn into.’ I had read, feeling a short sense of dread wash over me, and I turned to the ratty child curled up in the corner. I gulped, shooting her a knowing look while she met my gaze. I would have said I couldn’t believe that she could possibly turn me into some sort of cannibal, but her mere existence was enough to prove me wrong. Throughout the time I knew her, I could tell I was rubbing off on her a great deal. She prominently walked on two legs, preferred to only pester deer when they did not have a doe accompanying them, and she slept by the campfire alongside me. But it had never occurred to me that she was rubbing off on me.

Later that day we went out again like usual. Traveling further from the cave was easier with company, so we took the eastern direction for the first time. We were rewarded with a new sight, an eerie trail of large footprints. This time, however, it was no mystery of what they belonged to, as the large pads and claw indents in the snow was a clear indication that bears frequented this side of the forest. When we had finally spotted it, we crept behind a tree to watch it tear into a deer carcass for her newborn cub, which was just alongside her.

But, I had taken a careless step, crushing a pinecone into the snow which generated enough noise for her to snap her broad face in my direction, drawing her lips in a snarl to reveal her large teeth. My smaller companion backed away, pulling my pant leg in indication to run. As much as I wanted to, I felt the strong urge to bring the crossbow up to my eye, lining up my shot with my target. It was as if my body reacted on its own, and my finger depressed the trigger, subsequently sending an arrow through the cub’s head.

I felt an immense sense of sadness and guilt wash over me, bringing me to my knees as the mother bear turned her attention toward her dead offspring. I didn’t know why I killed it, but I looked over to my own companion to see her trembling in fear. It was then I realized that nature never intended for us to meet.

She wordlessly stalked in the opposite direction, and I followed her in hopes to return back to the cave after such a somber day. But, we passed the cave by a long distance, soon approaching a set of much denser forest. The ground soon began to dip into a valley, and upon looking into it from higher ground, my jaw dropped upon seeing the plethora of her kind wandering through the valley. They were completely silent, never interacting with each other with words but just simple nods. It was as if they were burdened by a heavy sense of melancholy that constantly kept their heads down. She turned to me once more before stalking down the valley to join her kind, leaving me to look down at my hands, those of which had gone against all of my morals. As much as I wanted to call out for her, I came to the realization that she too had read the scriptures on the wall.

Not long after the incident I returned home after my excursion. Now sitting by the fireplace I flip through my digital camera, admiring many photos of the young creature I had taken. But, those memories also came with the devastating one of the mother bear and her desperate attempts to keep her child alive– a shallow mistake done by my own hands. At times I have the urge to return back to visit my tiny friend, but I knew that nature would always have its ways to separate us, just as it had always intended.

─ ∘°❉°∘ ─